Sydney Smirke’s (1797-1877) design for the Round Reading Room of the British Museum made it one of the architectural landmarks of the world. Readers’ tickets have been held by Marx, Lenin (who used the name Jacob Richter on his library card), Bram Stoker (of “Dracula” notoriety) and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle – and me.
Since the British Library split and moved away in 1973, the glorious space has been redundant. But it has recently been used as an exhibition space for:
· The First Emperor: China’s Terracotta Army 13 September 2007 – 6 April 2008
- Hadrian: Empire and Conflict 24 July- 27 October 2008
- Shah ‘Abbas: The Remaking of Iran 19 February – 14 June
- Moctezuma: Aztec Ruler 24 September 2009 -24 January 2010
- Fra Angelico to Leonardo: Italian Renaissance Drawings
22 April – 25 July 2010 - Journey through the afterlife: ancient Egyptian Book of the Dead 4 November 2010 – 6 March 2011
- Treasures of Heaven: saints, relics and devotion in medieval Europe 23 June – 9 October 2011
And from the 26th January to 15th April, it is home to Hajj: Journey to the Heart of Islam.
19th-C Egyptian mahmal, ceremonial palanquin, symbol of the sultan’s authority over the holy places (Nasser D. Khalili Collection of Islamic Art)
I have seen,
wondered at, and reviewed – enthusiastically – all the previous items in this
list, with the slight exception of the relics show last year. (I felt a little
skeptical about the organisers’ silence about the magical aspects of these religious
objects, which were logically on a par with those venerated or used by, say, followers
of voodoo. Curators have no difficulty using the word “superstition” if the
makers and worshippers of the objects are black. Doesn’t this also apply to
white Christians who believe in the efficacy of splinters of the True Cross and
the virtue of ancient fragments of bone?)
So there are
some of my cards on the table already: I am made uneasy by the uncritical
presentation of religious belief. In “Treasures of Heaven” I was able to see through
to the beauty and craftsmanship of most of the many objects on display, without
being made nervous by the nature what was ostensibly inside some of them.
But
that attitude is not possible to assume with the current BM show, which is
shoddy, even tacky in its installation (with some information plaques looking
like signage in a pound-, or dime-store), unbeautiful, unscholarly, and in some
ways no better than propaganda for the current Saudi régime. In fact, I am a
little shocked that the BM agreed to mount this exhibition and lend its name
and reputation to what is a pretty creepy enterprise. (I except from these
strictures the book of the show, same title, £25, with excellent essays by Hugh
Kennedy and Robert Irwin.)
It is
a wholesale endorsement of the Muslim pilgrimage, the Hadjj, one of the five
pillars of Islam. Unlike the book
that accompanies the show (but is not a catalogue of it), it doesn’t seem to
contain a word of criticism about any aspect of the Hadjj. Its sole concession
to the physical dangers of having so many people in such a small piece of Saudi
real estate at the same time is to mention the troubles of 1865, when Indian
pilgrims seem to have transmitted cholera to Europe and the US, resulting in
Thomas Cook becoming agents for the Hadjj for a year in 1866-7.
Overcrowding
is a trivial issue. But overlooking the Sunni-Shi’a schism is serious. I came
away from this show thinking that Islamic sectarianism is (and almost always
has been) set aside completely by all pilgrims making the Hadjj. Indeed, the
show’s curator, Venetia Porter, told me explicitly that this is so – that both
Shi’a and Sunni pilgrims perform the same rituals, and that their differences
are suspended when making the Hadjj. Of course (you learn from the book, which
she edited) this isn’t quite true, as there have been times in history when the
rulers of one of the sects (or political factions, indeed) banned members of others
from making the Hadjj; and you only have to look at the internet to learn that
such a ban is rumoured (untruly) every year. The exhibition glosses over the
differences within Islam, and it does this on purpose, as it explicitly
endorses, and is endorsed by, arms of the Saudi government and tourist
authorities. The Saudis are thanked frequently and
copiously in parts of the exhibition, not only for their support for the show,
but for their contribution to making the Hadjj safer and less uncomfortable for
participants.
Worse,
sparse though the exhibits are, the information supplied is not good or
plentiful. You have to peer closely at some of the wall captions to learn the
date of the object on which it comments. Perhaps this is because a good deal of
what is displayed is recent or even new. There is not much “art” included
anyway – most of it illuminated manuscript pages, a few ceramic tiles, some
porcelain and several textiles – and not all of the first rank. Even the
exhibition design is poor. Given that one physical setting of the Hajj is an
arena with the Ka’ba – a black monolithic-looking building supposedly rebuilt
by Abraham and Ishmael – which pilgrims circle seven times, you would have
thought the circular Reading Room was the ideal venue for this show. Though
there is half a black rectangular-solid structure in its middle, the design
singularly fails to cash in on the idea of circumambulation.
So
what about the Hadjj itself? I speak from the vantage point of one of Sir
Jonathan Miller’s pious atheists, but this exhibition does no favours to Islam.
Hadjj is required of any believer who has the means and opportunity to go to
Mecca at the appropriate time of year. In fact, everything from the size of the
49 pebbles used to stone the pillars representing the devil to the seamlessness
of the two white male garments is ritually prescribed in detail. Even today the
pilgrimage is costly, arduous, uncomfortable and occasionally dangerous.
Pilgrims undertake it, if not solely, then chiefly because of the promised
reward of Paradise for doing so. If so many millions find it so easy to believe
in Paradise gained by following sometimes physically gruelling rituals that
have grisly aspects including animal sacrifice, is it not easy to understand
why a few hundred of them might regard favourably killing people they see as
enemies? Mightn’t it be easy to persuade such people that assassination can be
a shortcut to Paradise?
The
best thing about this exhibition is the large amount of new work collected or
commissioned for it from living artists. I’m afraid, though, the experience of
seeing this mess is best summed-up in its final vitrine, a showcase of up-to-the-minute
souvenir tat of the Hadjj. I’d
recommend staying at home and reading The
Satanic Verses. Should this great international institution, the British
Museum, really be hosting this feel-good exhibition?
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