Islamic art, or perhaps, more specifically, art made by the people who have followed Islam through the centuries, whether in a secular or a religious context, is hard to try and describe even over volumes of books, because it is so vast, varied, and perhaps, arguably, according to taste, representative of some of the most beautiful art and architecture of all time. It does, indeed, include representations, mostly in the form of miniature painting in illuminated manuscripts or books of poetry, of people, male and female, and of other relevant living beings from nature.

When the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York expanded its now famous Islamic art section in 2011 to include stunning new galleries titled (very politically correctly) New Galleries for the Art of the Arab Lands, Turkey, Iran, Central Asia, and Later South Asia, the world gasped at the artistic riches housed within these 15 rooms, ranging from ceramics and glassware to carpets, miniature paintings and calligraphy, and, of course, the unforgettable architecture, created and produced by Muslims from the 7th century onwards, across continents.

In light of recent events in Paris, with the horrific massacre of the Charlie Hebdo cartoonists who were killed for depicting the Prophet Muhammad, and for making fun of him (they were satirists), we must realise that Islam is a deeply sophisticated religion (in art and in practice) that does not ever condone such violence—neither through its Prophets, and as pointed out by Imams everywhere, certainly not in the Quran.

 It is true that using the very Gallic sensibilities (liberté) that also very fiercely defend democratic freedoms, and especially the freedom of speech, the Paris-based Charlie Hebdo staff quite often pushed the boundaries of what, in most parts of the world, would be regarded as really quite offensive (to Islam, to the Catholic Church, to Judaism—everyone was fair game). In an extraordinary display of fortitude (in the aftermath of what must have been a great deal of terrible grief) the remaining staff members released this week’s issue of Charlie Hebdo—its cover showing the Prophet Muhammad weeping and holding a sign saying “Je suis Charlie” (“I am Charlie”), a slogan used the world over in solidarity with the slain journalists. Above the Prophet is a phrase: “All is forgiven” (Translated from the French: “Tout est pardonné.”).

Whether you are in line with Charlie Hebdo or not, if you support the freedom of speech, and therefore the freedom of expression, and whatever you may think of the newest issue’s message, it is important to realise here and now that the moment religion starts to wield the power to encourage its believers to kill, humanity loses, wars are started, art is sidelined and the people who follow the said religion are considered monstrous—without nuance—therefore continuing a vicious cycle whereby religious extremists profit by tapping the already weakened minds of the inevitably marginalised.

Sometimes art can break boundaries, visual beauty can create harmony— one only has to look at the Alhambra in Grenada, the St Denis or Chartres cathedrals in France, and Angkor Wat in Cambodia (I could go on and on) to understand that religious fervour can create great beauty. Unfortunately it can also do the opposite, such as in Myanmar, a vast country that includes Bagan, where hundreds of Buddhist and Hindu temples are built side by side, but Myanmar is also where, currently, Buddhist monks are persecuting the already marginalised Rohingya, an ethnic minority who are Muslim.  

Let us not forget then, that Islam is a religion that essentially teaches compassion and forgiveness. It is after all the religion that has given us the poetry of Rumi and Hafiz.