If music be the food of love, play on

HAVING been involved in Muslim radio for some time, I am often asked about the permissibility of music in Islam – and if permissible, to what degree. I am always surprised by these questions because music has been part of the Islamic ethos ever since the Prophet Muhammad (s) condoned the singing of songs, the beating of drums (and even dancing) at a wedding feast attended by his young wife, A’isha.

What is interesting here is that while the Prophet (s) may not have participated, he verbally approved of the above. It could be argued, then, that music in Islam evolved the very moment that the Prophet (s) intimated certain forms were permissible.

There are also scholars who argue that the Prophet (s) avoided instrumental music, but not because he thought that it was forbidden, but because he feared that it could affect his receiving of the Revelation. It seems to have been a matter of taste, because another prophet who also received Divine Revelation, Dawud (as), was renowned for his musicality.

Aboriginal traditions indicate that in the Americas, Africa and Europe, music originated with the human voice. Associated with ritual, it then progressed to instrumentational accompaniment. In Islam, as we will discuss later, the voice is the key – the Mercy of the 700 tongues given to the first prophet, Adam (as), by Allah Himself.

The common English word for melodic sound is “music”, but it is interesting to see that “music” is derived from the Arab word “musiqa”, which in turn is derived from the Greek. Linguistically, there are further links: for example, the modern guitar – a cousin of the Arabic “‘ud” – takes its name from the Persian “tar” (which is “awtar” in Arabic).

Music is, to put it simply, the art of combining sounds with a view to beauty, form, expression and emotional pleasure. Historically, music has always found its roots in devotion, a dynamic expression of consciousness that often reflects the inner longing of humankind for divine ecstasy.

Maulana Aqtab Siddiqui, an English Sufi, states that music is simply the longing of the human heart for the sounds of Angels, for the sweetness of the Afterlife. An old story relates that the prophet Ibrahim (as) bequeathed his vast herds of animals to the Angel Jibril just because he wanted to hear the singing of Heavenly Beings.

Professor Seyyed Hossain Nasr, one of the illustrious scholars of our time, writes that traditions of music in the Islamic cosmos are amongst “the richest in the world”. In fact, most strains of modern music: gospel, jazz, flamenco and even urban rap and hip-hop can trace their roots back to historical Muslim societies.

The ecstatic ululation of gospel (originating from Muslim African slaves) is little different to the states found in the ritualistic Middle Eastern Hadrat. The repeated patterns of jazz are hardly dissimilar to the melodic chants of introspective Sufi tariqahs. The modern-day choruses of the Ummayad flamenco (la-ilai-la-ilai) are distinct remnants of the kalimah, which articulates: la-ilaha-illallah (there is no god except God).

Even the pomp and splendour of military marching bands, with bagpipes and rolling drums, can trace their origins back to the red-robed Janissary forces of the Ottoman Empire.

And lastly, rap and hip-hop (deriving from all of the above) represent the “secular Qasidah” of the city ghetto, a sound that older generations frequently criticise as being semantically degrading and musically discordant, without ever bothering to read into its desperate metaphor.

But if music is permissible in Islam, how does one deem it Islamic? Perhaps the finest response comes from Imam al-Ghazali, the giant polymath and Sufi of the 12th century. He wrote that music inflamed the passions. However, if music drew the person nearer to Allah it was beneficial, but if it didn’t, it was detrimental. It has to be noted that Imam Ghazali was wise enough not to lay down absolutes!

Over the years I have learnt that Imam Ghazali’s approach has been the most appropriate. Too often, issues of halal and haram (especially in music) have been pre-determined by pure like or dislike, rather than any juristic principle. And too often, when assailed with new sound, the most convenient Muslim response has been to cry haram – even though the music may not be alien to Islamic theology.

I can remember airing Ahmed Tijani’s beautiful CD, The Names of Allah, on Voice of the Cape and being accused of playing “gospel”. It was as if I had betrayed Islam. Later, Tijani visited South Africa. He gave an on-air rendition of the Fatihah from the Qur’an that could have been delivered by a Mississippi Baptist choir: “Is that gospel, now?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

To its great credit, our Muslim Judicial Council has desisted from issuing a fatwa on music. I like to think that its wise men have silently conceded to Imam Ghazali, thus leaving the door ajar that was left open by the Prophet (s) for Muslims to develop the lingua-franca of spiritually uplifting, and permissible music through ijtihad, or informed collective thought.

I agree with Seyyed Hossain Nasr who argues that as an Islamic art form, music falls under the category of Mercy and Beauty, and that Allah has written beauty upon the face of all things. The Prophet’s (s) Hadith that “Allah loves Beauty” serves to reinforce this idea. The lingua-franca of music is its beauty, or as the violinist, Yehudi Menuhin, commented when he heard Iranian classical music: “This music is the ladder between the soul and God.”

It is this connection to the Divine, through beauty and ecstasy, that Islamic music gains its currency. And the premier instrument is the Qur’an – an amazing compendium of metre, rhythm and rhyme – that almost “sings” its deeply profound message as it moves like a heartbeat from verse to verse. The miracle of the Qur’an is witnessed in as much the human voice, which is a Mercy from Allah, as it is in its words and message.

This is perhaps why the music of the masjid, the place of worship, is the human voice and the Qur’an; and why the market-place, the material world, expresses its awareness of Allah through the voice and instrument, its melodic timbre drowning out the jarring sounds of the dunya so that the senses can savour beautific splendour.

But what about contemporary music? Whilst music is historically devotional, it can also reflect the zeitgeist, or spirit, of a society. A good example is the Beatles’ 1960’s hit, Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. It is a pleasant enough song, but – without criticising Lennon and McCartney – it does subconsciously reflect secular nihilism: a soul floating in a universe so stripped of sacred meaning that it can only fixate on whimsical objects.

The lyrics of a verse go: “newspaper taxis appear on the shore/waiting to take you away/climb in the back with your head in the clouds/and you’re gone”. But where to? I think the point is that there is no destination.

Those who pour scorn upon the musical tastes of our children four decades after Lucy in the Sky need to pause a little in their thoughts. If young peoples’ music is characterised today by obscenity, anger and angst then we should be taking note. Are we not willingly co-opted role players in a greedy generation that has, in its rush for wealth, declared war on God’s Creation – and in the process, poisoned His skies, polluted His oceans and sterilised His soil?

Perhaps the solution lies in a genuine return to the discipline of Islamic arts so that the subtle veils of the deepest realities of Islam can be fully lifted. Or, as Seyyed Hossain Nasr says: “Today more than ever before, the understanding of Islamic art is an indispensable key for the comprehension of Islam itself”. To that, I say amen: if music be the food of love, play on.

Copyright Shafiq Morton