What is the ‘divine’ in ‘divine art’? Divine art seeks to evoke the human instinct for universal truth and beauty, for that which is timeless, beyond taste, endlessly relevant; the divine is an inherent quality which operates beyond the barriers of language and locale. By studying various works, each dealing with aspects of the divine, it has been possible to demarcate distinctive ‘sacred’ aesthetic and geometric principles, and to analyse their significant, intrinsic relation to universal creative forms and human consciousness. A primary point of interest is the archaic symbol of the cross and its structural correspondence with the mystical concept of coincidentia oppositorum, or unity in opposites.
EARLY WORLD
Art is defined as being an application or expression of human skill, imagination and craft designed at producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power. For a discussion on works considered sacred or divinely inspired, it is first necessary to make distinctions between this general understanding of art, and the art which stems from sacrosanct traditions of antiquity. One of the earliest symbols considered ‘sacred’ is that of the cross—though most commonly associated with Christianity, previous iterations such as the ‘cruciform’ were recently discovered in Ice-Age European cave art dating back over 30,000 years (Luuk, 2018: 261). Later use of this symbol is found with specific relation to religious ceremony, observable in its use by the Vestal Virgins of Ancient Rome (Woodrow, 1966: 51). Geometry is often related to an outward meaning in terms of mathematical and mechanical function, yet its higher purpose seeks to engage the observers’ mind and spirit with the objective laws of the universe, this activity unites our singular point of experience with ‘the whole’ (Critchlow, 2011: 435). To show opposites, in the case of the two opposing lines, as a unified form may be what gives the symbol of the cross its sacred dimension—due to its prominence in diverse religious texts and works concerning hierophany, the notion of unifying opposites, or coincidentia oppositorum, is termed the ‘mythical pattern’ (Eliade, 1958: 419).
Our relationship with the world is likewise one of opposites—we are compelled upwards in the same way as the flower is naturally impelled towards the sky, whilst concomitantly acted upon by an unseen, experientially downward force. Man finds himself at the point between two seemingly opposing vertical forces of upward growth and downward pull, and a concurrent interaction between an explicit horizontal outside, and inside world—a dependance on an external realm of nature and events, and an independence expressed by the internal faculties of thought, feeling and imagination. Psychologically, we may relate to centric symbols due to our own centric notions and tendencies; our self-aware experience is what characterizes the human outlook (Arnheim, 1988: 2). If this is the case, the motivation for these early works could be an attempt at minimum geometric representation of the human condition, in symbolic form. This is true of other sacred forms such as the Sri Yantra (or ‘Supreme Yantra’) of the Indian Tantric Tradition; ‘cosmogonic and psychophysiological’ concepts are visually represented by mathematical structural relations (Kulaichev, 1983: 279).
This determinative factor engenders their potential for practical use, whether mathematically, ceremoniously, or in personal meditative contemplation—in Tantric practice, the unity of Siva & Sakti (or male and female energy) represented in the Sri Yantra is sought as a mystical experience brought about by the neophyte’s cathexis, or charged engagement with the form (Kulaichev, 1983: 280). A mystical experience is a state of personal, internal illumination or enlightenment; an insight or attainment of knowledge of a noetic quality, imbued with a sense of significance or authority (Johnstone, 1978: 35). Since the profundity of spiritual and esoteric teachings often defies written and vocal expression, we find these ‘higher truths’ are additionally communicated through the medium of images (Birnbaum, 2003: 77). This sentiment is echoed in the Gnostic gospel of Philip:
Truth does not come into the world without robes; it enters through words and pictures—Truth cannot be received by the world in any other way. (Jacobs, 2016: 96)
This so far appears to be a defining feature of early artworks or symbols considered ‘divine’ —they are concentrated, representational objects associated with the evolutionary development of man and the universe, conducive to invoking in the observer a mystical experience or sense of implicit awe. Over the course of the past two millennia, sacred works have evolved in their expression whilst retaining certain essential characteristics.
Leonardo da Vinci, Vitruvian Man, 1490
RENAISSANCE & BEYOND
Representation of the divine in art had a significant resurgence during the Renaissance period, particularly in the works of the polymath Leonardo da Vinci. Drawing extensively from natural forms of creation, da Vinci applied these same objective proportions in his engineering designs (early biomimesis), his architectural plans, as well as in his paintings and art; in his sketch of the ‘Vitruvian man’, the geometric symmetry of the human form reflects the ideal beauty of a natural order (Lusheck, 2014). Observation and application of this naturally occurring geometry and mathematics, as evidenced by the use of ‘the divine proportion’ (or golden ratio) and the Fibonacci sequence, is seen as a “reminder of the connection of the created world to the perfection of its source, and its potential future evolution” (Lawlor, 1982: 53).
Geometric forms are fundamental in Islamic art as representations of the divine; God is depicted as the formative biomorphic foundations of life (Critchlow, 1976: 8). It is important to note that the resulting works are not merely ‘expressions of emotions’, or equivocal representations of an ineffable, transcendental God; rather a convergence of science and art is produced, the discoveries and principles of an inquisitive, natural scientific investigation culminating in observable and applicable patterns of creation, growth and development. Although an essential component of art, structure itself is not man-made, but rather an objective feature of the natural world—what we perceive as bodies and forces are structures of space (Schrödinger, 1989: 327).
Luca Pacioli, De Divina Proportione, 1509
An attempt at identifying these original forms constitutes the basis for Luca Pacioli’s ‘On the Divine Proportion’, his three-part thesis illustrated by da Vinci concerning natural mathematical geometry and its practical application in art and architecture. The second part is dedicated to the Roman architect Vitruvius who notably expounded on earlier Greek notions that cosmic order could be represented by fundamental geometric patterns (Luminet, 2009: 2). These forms of nature find use in architectural structures due to their simultaneous rigidity, and flexibility (Thomson, 1961: 261). Pacioli noted that the five Platonic solids were derived from the dodecahedron, and that this shape is uniquely based on the ‘golden mean’ of the Pythagorean tradition; it follows that this form is the principle visual characteristic of the process of creation in the universe (Tennenbaum, 1992: 50).
Plato believed the form of the dodecahedron was representative of the universe, as it could contain within its structure all 4 of the other solids, thereby rendering it a ‘geometrical matrix’ of the cosmos (Kotrc, 1981: 222). The theory of the dodecahedron as a primordial structure has since been postulated scientifically as a potential ‘shape’ of the universe (Elis, 2003: 566).
Johannes Kepler, Mysterium Cosmographicum, 1596
This interest in originating organic structures is later shared by Goethe in his idea of ‘Metamorphosis’ wherein he proposed the notion that all plants are nothing but manifestations of a single, ideal archetypal plant (the Urpflanze or ‘Proteus’); though we cannot experience this ideal form directly, we may infer its qualities by proper attention to the shared properties and patterns of living things (Miller, 2009: 19). If the Proteus is the form which produces all forms, it follows that multiplicity and variety are only a phenomenon of appearances on our level of interpretation (Schrödinger, 1967: 139). The archetypal plant is the fundamental design of all plants, ‘the knot and the leaf’, which varies in manifold ways upon materialising—if it could be grasped as a living pattern, one may be able to construct new plants which don’t yet exist (Bergman, 1980: 14). We see this in the origin of the word Proteus, from the Greek protogonos, meaning ‘first born’.
The plant seed itself expresses the coincidentia oppositorum or ‘divine dichotomy’, whereby it immediately separates into two seemingly distinct forms, that of the germ and the rhizome (Lawlor, 1982: 43). Goethe’s Urpflanze, or Primal Plant, bears a significant relation to his idea of Urphänomen, the principle phenomenon; expressing this relation of ‘forces of polarity’ at once giving life, yet simultaneously pulling it apart (Mertens, 1997: 12).
Trobridge (1904: 6) asserts that growth is the distinguishing characteristic of vegetation. Yet, the protoplasmic, material structures of the plant cells themselves do not appear to be the source of this developmental power; rather, the expression of growth and development is evident of an indwelling ‘ultra-physical‘ force which guides and directs its patterns and motions (Trobridge, 1904: 13).
Louis Sullivan, A System of Architectural Ornament, 1923
These consistent principles of nature seem to signify a purer, more structured realm of origin; therefore divine art, or art which seeks to communicate this Proteus, is concerned primarily with order as opposed to eccentricity and disarray. In studying these structures it becomes evident the expression of these forms, this embodiment of the one and the many, the ‘single radiant point of light’ and the ‘all that is’, are also central tenets of religion in regards to their definition of a single, yet manifold God. Heraclitus, the pre-Socratic philosopher argued these opposites are not absolutes in themselves, but relative entities—appearing separate, yet engaged in a dynamic, reconciling relationship:
Cold things warm up, the hot cools off, wet becomes dry, dry becomes wet. (Kocandrle & Couprie, 2017: 81)
In this same vein, the eminent 17th century scientist and philosopher Gottfried Leibniz said of the divine that it was at once imminent and transcendental; this seeming contradiction provides the ‘ground of all being’ (Toksvig, 1948: 114).
UNFURLMENT
In this shared sense of unifying opposites we are led to Leibniz’s binary number system. The symbolic meaning of the cross shares a commonality with binary computer code, the basic underpinning of all modern computing; it was in his search for a Characteristica Universalis, or ‘Universal Language’, that Leibniz began composing his binary system (Leibniz, 1969: 222). After encountering the I Ching, which was itself based upon the concept of Yin and Yang, Leibniz came to believe this binary system described creatio ex nihilo or ‘creation from nothing’ and felt deeply inspired by its religious significance; Leibniz saw the act of design as a resemblance, or an ordered arrangement of that which the mind noticed in various things (Leibniz, 1934: 82). This is, in his case, a wholly religious notion, and yet it provides for a profoundly practical view of the living world. The engagement with rudimentary ideals was termed by Leibniz the ‘Perennial Philosophy’; interestingly, he found no immediate use for this number system during his life-time, yet pursued it fully and fervently still (Toksvig, 1948: 114).
As with the cross, the forms of 1 & 0 appear to represent opposites, and yet, what is actually symbolised is a mutual, dynamic relationship—1 & 0 is the minimum symbolic representation of a higher process of harmonious interaction. Centuries after its development, this simple, elegant system of opposites has in turn expanded into an exponentially advancing, evolving technology of inter-connected informational nodes, producing a practically unlimited diversity of variation, and yet still founded upon a unifying language of order: 1 & 0. To call Leibniz’ binary number system a work of art may be debated, but ultimately it was an attempt at condensing and rendering a higher order mechanism symbolically (emulative), as well as being intensely religiously inspired—a type of revelatory art.
Religious conviction is not a necessary prerequisite to revelatory art however. Art which invokes states of supreme wonder, which transcends and transports the mind of the viewer to the realm of the numinous, increasingly finds expression outside of overarching religious conceptualisations; in the early works of Surrealism, particularly present in the paintings of De Chirico, principles of spacial language and cosmic analogy were applied, and yet these works of art are not considered sacred but rather, ‘metaphysical’ (Strinati, 2011: 18). De Chirico himself said that the distinction is not between sacred and non-sacred works, but rather ‘true’ and ‘false’ works—that even “true pagan works” can be sacred (Dottori, 2011: 62). In the discussion of objective ‘truths’, we are essentially discussing a form of unitary ontology, whereby fixed standards and laws are established outwith human control, and therefore, human accountability; religious adherents and institutions have a vested interest in claiming that certain orderly forms are ‘sacred’, for after all, hierarchical order forms the basis of their theological proclamations. Who then ultimately decides which works fall into which categories? Further, to propose that only ‘sacred’ works may have profound effects on human consciousness is to deny the subjective experience of ‘gnosis’ or spiritual insight which may still occur in observation of works considered profane—the struggle of defining that which falls within the canon and the calls of blasphemy against that which falls outside shares a remarkable similitude with the experience of the early ‘heretics’ of the Gnostic tradition (Churton, 1987: 4). A contradiction arises in how one may freely express themselves in their artistic expression whilst simultaneously adhering to presupposed laws; art which is independent from historical ideas and the orthodoxy of religious institutions is liberated, and therefore, affords the artist more autonomy (Nelson, 2007: 11).
To claim that there is an inherent, observable order in the world is not the same as to say the world in all its ways is inherently ordered; there is undoubtably chaos in the world and in human nature. On the level of effect, the world often appears chaotic and devoid of purpose, yet the study and application of these archetypal, emanating structures infers a sense of solidity, as well as a living, formally communicable intelligence.
The function of art throughout history has been to express distinction and meaning through multitudinous forms and mediums, such as the carving of stone into statues, the distinction of melody and harmony in music, and the formation of narratives in text and stage. However, beyond a surface enjoyment, art-forms may be endowed with another dimension—that of the sacred. Notions preceded by a spiritual interest have proved, as in the case of Leibniz, to be far ahead of their time, while at the same time, eternally pertinent. The binding nature of these disparate works is their attempt at harmonising the creative force of heaven with the creative force of man, of displaying in their creation the same natural laws and forms of the universe. We can define a general principle of divine art as being emulative, as it seeks to mimic or represent God by using the same natural proportions of creation; in other words, Man emulating God through His laws.
Another marked distinction of sacred art from secular is the intended elicitation in the observer of an ascension toward the spiritual or heavenly, in the same way as the base, worldly medium of the artwork itself has been transfigured and ‘made alive’ by the will or eidos of the artist—this is a different sentiment from the early 20th century view of art as an object of catharsis, of recreation, or as simply the act of expressing or evoking emotions. We may see divine creation, whether in art, science, or architecture, as an appreciation for and observance of the original, vital patterns of design inherent in the natural, living world. Herein the connection with religious, or spiritual experience seems innate; we are not so much dealing with the ineffable and transcendental, rather, a more direct experience of reverence and sacred awe. New, emergent styles of art in the past century have sought in various ways to symbolise and reflect the contemporary confusion of modern life; in doing so we may empathise and connect with one another on this shared, worldly level of experience. The ‘divine’ is that which is concerned with a deeper, more fundamental level of human connection, one inherent in the underlying, archetypal forms of life itself. This is the world which divine art seeks to emulate, or at least represent.
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