A New Reading of Old Egyptian Textiles

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A New Reading of Old Egyptian Textiles

Author(s): John ShapleyReviewed work(s):Source: The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, Vol. 20, No. 4 (Summer, 1962), pp. 375-388Published by: Wiley on behalf of The American Society for Aesthetics

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JOHN SHAPLEY

e w

e a d i n g oO l d

gyptian

T e x t i l e s

SINCE THE DAYS OF Gayet it has been

impossible for those occupied with either

Christian or Islamic art to be unmindful ofwhat the textiles from the burial grounds of

Egypt have to teach. That I return here to

this well-worn theme is owing to my belief

that the lesson to be read in these textileshas implications reaching far beyond the

fields of Early Christian, Byzantine, andIslamic art, and is worth considering for

the history of art as a whole.Man regardshimself as being somehow an

entity distinct from his environment. He

contrasts himself with his environment. Heis subject and the rest is object. The bound-

ary, indeed, between him and his environ-ment is not an absolutely precise one; but,in general, whatever lies within the imme-diate range of his own nervous system is re-

garded as himself, and whatever lies out-side this range and, as far as it is concrete,comes to him actually or potentially throughhis senses, is felt to be foreign. Because manis, as the ancient Greeks observed so trench-

antly, a social being and because he has anintense attachment to, and feeling of fellow-

ship with, others of his own human kind, hereadily (from instinct rather than logic) ar-rives by extension of self at the conceptionof a division between things that are humanand things that are extrahuman. Largely

JOHNSHAPLEY is professor of archaeology, Collegeof Arts, University of Baghdad, Baghdad.

in consequence of the Romantic movementof the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries,it has become customaryto refer to the extra-human as "nature" and to oppose "man"and "nature" as two terms indicating-ad-mittedly, with some logical inaccuracy-thepostulated distinction between the humanand the extrahuman. With conscious sac-rifice of accuracyto brevity, these terms shallbe employed in this brief essay.

The relation of "man" to "nature"is verycomplex, but there are two somewhat con-tradictory aspects of it which stand out with

sufficient clarity. On the one hand, "nature"is alien, and frequently seems to be hostile."Nature" offers obstacles and hindrances atevery turn. It is commonly too strong to bereadily tractable. Indeed, it often appearsoverwhelming. In wilder moments andphases "nature" can be deadly destructive;and, even when favorable and mild, it doesnot lie entirely within the grasp and controlof "man" though it may well accord withhis wishes.

On the other hand, however paradoxical

it may seem, "nature" is also regarded asfriendly inasmuch as it fostersand nourishes"man." It provides him material for shelterand clothing. It is the source of his food, and,going beyond bare necessities, of his pleas-ure. It cooperates with "man" and yields tohuman efforts to make it more serviceablethrough tilling the soil, through drainageand irrigation. It favors the cultivation ofplants which cater to human needs. It col-laborates in the multiplication of herds, in








376 JOHN SHAPLEY

the growing of fowl, and in many other waysunnecessary to enumerate.

Though these two human appraisals of"nature," the positive and the negative, are

diametrically opposed, they can in practicebe concurrent. As we turn back over thepages of times past, we find that the twocould live together, but that usually one orthe other has been dominant. Is not art thebest index that we have to their respectiveperiods of dominance?

That art is an index to the varying rela-

tionships between "man" and "nature" noone will wholly disallow. My thesis, whichis not so obvious at first sight, is that when"man" is at peace with "nature," through

his having come to an amicable understand-ing with it, or to an adjustment to it, hisart tends to become more naturalistic, andthat when he is not at peace with "nature,"

through his heightened awareness of it asalien, untractable, hostile, or even over-

whelming, his art tends to become more (orperhaps completely) antinaturalistic. In theformer case he develops an art of representa-tion, or what we call a figurative art. In thelatter case he develops an art which does notaim at "natural" representation, or what is

often called a geometrical art. Our tradi-tional current terminology is very clumsy;but by contrasting the concrete with the ab-

stract, the objective with the nonobjective,the figurative with the nonfigurative, thelifelike with the unlifelike, the represen-tational with the nonrepresentational, wemake shift to convey in words the contrastwhich is visually perfectly clear between anart which is, in intention and achievement,naturalistic and an art which is in both re-

spects antinaturalistic.In thought, as should appear from the

above-written, the cleavage between the twoextreme human attitudes toward "nature"is sufficiently distinct. In the history of artit is less so. For not every person of a givenhuman group need necessarilybe committedto the same attitude, and, what is far more

important, the artistic traditions reflectingone attitude may linger on when the otherattitude has already become dominant. Per-sistence is as valid as change though it is onlywith change that we are mainly concerned

here. Another caveat (among many): judg-ing from the works of art that are preservedfrom man's past, he has, since human art be-gan, usually remained aware enough of be-ing himself a participant in the total naturalorder that he could occasionally look uponhimself both subjectively and objectively,and therefore make things in "natural," thatis, extrahuman, materials to stand for hisown kind. But this is a matter which involvesthe whole problem of the iconic and theaniconic, and it must be left for treatmentelsewhere. It is sufficient here to deal withthe conspicuous and clear-cut cases of nat-uralistic and antinaturalistic art, and topoint out that the former carry the implica-

tion of an approving or satisfied attitudetoward "nature," while the latter carry theimplication of a disapproving or dissatisfiedattitude.

Speaking broadly, the great historic peo-ples of antiquity in Western Asia, aroundthe shores of the Mediterranean and else-where, may be said to have become historicprecisely through their successful collabora-tion with "nature."She-for when regardedas friendly, "nature" is often taken as femi-nine, e.g., as Mother Nature-seemed fa-

vorable in their eyes. In consequence theyapproved of her. They found her helpfulin their main activities. For their tillage shefructified the fields, gardens, and orchards.For their animal husbandry she magnifiedand fattened the flocks.For their commercialand other transportation and communica-tion she provided beasts of burden, conven-ient waterways,and some propelling winds.With her cooperation, of which they werealways keenly conscious, these ancient his-toric peoples attained that

adequacyof the

necessities of life, and even surplus, whichconditioned the rise and spread of theircivilizations and gave them their role in his-tory.

They had their bouts with "nature" too.Yet when she turned apparently hostile, thiswas interpreted as being on account of hu-man imperfections, and as not being charge-able to her as a fault. Floods were viewed asvisitations attributable to the wickedness ofa people, and pestilential storms the same.

Famines were not thought to be occasionedby the mere unfriendliness of "nature."








Eovvbtian Textiles 377

They were regarded as the punishment of

iniquity. Most remarkable of all, as is sowell attested in Classical European litera-

ture, even the individual failure of a farm-er's crop might cause him to reconsider hisown conduct as to its (usually religious)morality. In other words, it was widely as-sumed by the peoples of these historic civi-lizations that when things went badly "na-ture" was right and only "man" was wrong.One is inevitably reminded of a line of verse

dating from the embryonic period of Euro-

pean Romanticism (a corresponding moderncult of "nature"): "Where every prospectpleases, and only man is vile." (Thompson)Now, these same great historic peoples of

antiquity had as a common characteristictheir productive interest in an art of repre-sentation. As a matter of course, they did not

give up entirely what inheritance they hadof nonrepresentational art. Persistence, asmentioned above, must always be allowedfor in art history. And there were alwayssome among them who, either through thisinheritance of tradition or through convic-

tion, did not approve and feel at peace with"nature."But all in all, from the beginningsof ancient history, with the Sumerians and

the early Egyptians, down to the end of an-tiquity, with the Romans, we find variouskinds and degrees of naturalism.

Meanwhile, among the nonhistoric peo-ples with whom the historic came into scantcontact, the native bent was mainly towardthe antinaturalistic, the principally or to-

tally nonrepresentational. With some, wherewe are on the borderline between the his-toric and the nonhistoric, such as the Scyths,we see this hybridity in their art: elements ofnaturalistic

originborrowed from historic

neighbors are transformed, as fully as maybe, into antinaturalistic forms. The peoplesof Northern Europe who were contemporarywith the ancient Mediterranean civilizationsfound their climate very difficult for their

undeveloped economy, and the burgeoningforests a handicap to tribes ill-supplied withmetal. Consequently, "nature" seemed tothem hostile. Accordingly, their art was anti-naturalistic. The same disapproval or dis-trust of "nature" was expressed in art by the

sparse population of great regions of North-ern Asia, except as penetrated by the in-

fluence of the Chinese, among whom thelove of "nature" is notorious. Siberian Sha-

manism, as revealed in art or otherwise,shows an antipathy to the idea of a "natu-ral" or orderly or moral governance of

things, that is, to the conceptions long prev-alent further south in Asia, and in the Medi-terranean countries as well.

It may seem paradoxical at first sight that

precisely in the early pottery of the neo-

lithic, when cooperation with "nature" in

satisfying human needs had begun, the or-namentation of this pottery should be anti-naturalistic, should thus reflect the feelingthat "naure" was hostile. But we must re-member that agriculture was very precari-

ous at the outset. Without any of the knowl-edge which was to accrue in the course ofmillenia, the incipient agriculturalist felthimself to be completely at the mercy of theforces of "nature," sometimes, indeed, in

perilous opposition with them. Throughhis adverseexperiences, he had reason to be-come only more acutely aware of the fre-

quently disastrous maladjustments between"man"and "nature." For we must be on our

guard against thinking of agriculture as of-

fering any certainty in its initial stages.

Man did not say to himself, "Let us leavethis primitive life of food-gathering behindand go ahead to the more advanced stage of

food-producing," any more than on an ear-lier occasion, on his ceasing to be arboreal

(to recall a threadbare jest), he said as heclimbed down from the tree, "Come on

boys, let's start the human race " What hap-pened was that food-gathering proved, as

very commonly, inadequate, and some-most likely, of the womenfolk-anxiously

tried to eke out the insufficient supply ofgathered food by means of a little cultiva-tion of nearby plots. Even before that time,perhaps (the chronology is unknown), man-kind had turned its penchant for havingpets to practical purposes by using the petsfor an auxiliary food supply, and by ini-tiating experiments in animal husbandry.The significant point is that early neolithiclife was hazardous despite its cooperationwith "nature." The two new lines of ex-perimentation in producing things for food

and clothing must have seemed all the morehazardous because of the time it took to








378 JOHN SHAPLEY

get results. It is no wonder that "nature"did not immediately seem very friendly, co-

operative, and tractable. No wonder thatthe pottery decoration of the early neolithicdoes not show that confidence in "nature"or in human control of "nature" impliedby a figurative art.

The ornamentation of the earliest neo-lithic pottery, such as that of Tell Hassuna,is for us wholly antinaturalistic. What it

may have conveyed to the people by and forwhom it was made we do not surely know.But no matter how little or how much it

may have conveyed, it is still to be classifiedas antinaturalistic, for there is nothing life-like about it. That naturalistic figuration

should appear, and gradually increase,through the following stages of Samarraand Tell Halaf is a measure of the increas-

ing feeling of satisfaction with "nature,"and of success in food-producing venturesin cooperation with "nature." For new-comers to arrive later on the cultural scenewith nonfigurative pottery, as did an early

people, presumably Sumerians, at Uruk, is

quite explicable. From their ancestors' harsh

struggle with "nature" they may well havecome by an antinaturalistic attitude. But

once they were settled and happily ad-justed, their figurative art appears in full

vigor, already in the Jemdet Nasr period.As Frankfurt puts it: "Sumerian art, al-

though born in the newly founded cities,

expressed man's unshakeable attachment tonature." A similar statement would be ap-plicable to the art of each of the great his-toric peoples of antiquity.

But-someone will surely ask-if in the

early neolithic, conditions were such as to

make "nature" seem intractable and artantinaturalistic, what about the palaeo-lithic, with its distinctly naturalistic cave

paintings? The answer is simple, though theevidence is complex. While we cannot hopeto enter with security and completeness intothe mental climate of human beings so un-

imaginably remote as those to whom weowe the cave paintings of the DordogneValley and the Cantabrian Mountains, mod-ern students of the palaeolithic are gen-erally agreed that these men of the Old

Stone Age had found a psychologically sat.isfactory modus vivendi with "nature." The

hunter of the prehistoric cave-paintinggroup felt akin to the animals he hunted.Their flesh entered into him by ingestionand gave him their strength, and perhaps tohis mind some of their other qualities. Hewore their skins. He felt so close to themthat he assumed human magic to be effec-tive with them also. We might say that Dar-win would have encountered no oppositionfrom him. He was habitually one with "na-ture," or felt himself to be so. If changes of

climate, no matter how gradual, sometimesmade life exceptionally difficult for him,this did not estrange him from "nature," atleast from that living part of it which inter-ested him most, for both shared in the same

hardships. There is a current colloquialismin American practical politics: "If you can'tlick 'em, join 'em." The attitude of thesepalaeolithic hunters was unconsciouslysomewhat similar: they could not manage,much less wholly defeat "nature," but theycould come over to its side. And that theydid. Thus they were at peace with it. Thus

they could figure forth in their art human

beings along with the bison and the horsesand the like which were desirable for foodand clothing. In sum, the amicable adjust-

ment between "man" and "nature" gaverise then as later to a naturalistic art.

If another excursion far afield may be

permitted in support of my thesis, let ustake a brief look at the state of affairsin theNew World before the arrival in force ofthe Europeans. There, as in the Old World,the aboriginal peoples fell into three

groups: historic, semihistoric, and nonhis-toric. The historic peoples of Mexico andCentral America had long enjoyed a

friendlyalliance with "nature."

Theyhad

acquired agricultural wealth and prosperity.Cities became flourishing, and a high po-litical organization was developed. Writingwas devised. That they accomplished somuch is all the more remarkable in view of

their lack (through no fault of their own) ofsuch advantages as draught animals, of both

large and small cattle, of various basic

grains, such as wheat, of tin to make bronze,and of other things upon which the econ-

omy of the Old World was founded. Their

art was naturalistic. Not far behind themwere the semihistoric peoples of the Andes,








Egyptian Textiles379

whose agriculture was apparently less pro-ductive and whose urbanism was on asmaller scale, but whose political organiza-tion was in part relatively high. For writing,some of the Andeans used a poor substituteof record-keeping on knotted cords. Still

they did have the useful llama, and theywere reasonably well adjusted to "nature."In consequence, much of their art was nat-uralistic, after its own fashion. Partly alongthe North Pacific coast and especially in thearid regions of the Southwest of the presentUnited States were various peoples a stageless advanced, with small towns, varyinglysuccessful agriculture, no writing, and anart antinaturalistic or of very limited nat-

uralism. Finally, in this necessarily over-simplified picture, we have the greater partof what is now the United States and Can-ada sparsely occupied by nonhistoric tribesleading the harsh life of food-gathering sup-plemented by some rudimentary agriculturebut by no development of animal hus-bandry. Their art was antinaturalistic ex-cept as it continued the hunter magic ofthe palaeolithic or as it borrowed from civi-lized neighbors to the south. The parallelswith the peoples of antiquity in the Old

World are too evident to need elaboration.But it is important to note that the rela-tionship between "man" and "nature" was

just as determining of art in the New Worldas in the Old.

To guard against any possible misunder-

standing let it be said that being historicdoes not make a people incline to natural-istic art, or vice versa. Whether a people ishistoric or not depends on whether or notthey have left records we can read. ThoughIslam has been

eloquentlyhistoric

through-out, large stretches of its art have been pre-ponderantly antinaturalistic. And vice versa,the naturalistic cave painters of the palaeo-lithic are not historic; even the Cretans ofthe second millenium B.C., whose art is sostrikingly naturalistic, are not truly historictoday because their early writing is not yetdeciphered. Whether an art is naturalisticor antinaturalistic is seen to depend on theattitude toward "nature" of its bearers.

Acceptance of my thesis that naturalistic

art and antinaturalistic art correspond re-spectively to the two antithetical human at-

titudes toward "nature" carries with it therejection, in whole or in part, or else theradical correction, of other theories. Someof these theories are what are styled, some-times out of an excess of

courtesy, half-truths, and therefore deserve some consider-ation.

It is hard to do justice to Gottfried Sem-per in few words. But some simplification isnecessary,and it will not be too misleadingto say that he held technique responsible toa large degree for the existence of geometri-cal, that is, antinaturalistic, art. He thoughtthat the nascent techniques of the weaverand potter brought with them, independ-ently of human taste, antinaturalistic or-

namentation. Let us readily grant the grainof truth in this theory, namely, that in somecases geometrical ornament did accord bet-ter with the technical process used. But thisis incidental. Now that we have much moreevidence available than Semper had, wesee that the history of art is not so simpleas he imagined it, and, particularly, thatnaturalistic forms have not necessarily pro-ceeded out of geometrical ones. Also, andof maximum importance, technical proc-esses remain basically unchanged, while artchanges from antinaturalistic to naturalisticor vice versa.

Another theory is that the antithesis, nat-uralistic vs. antinaturalistic, has somethingto do with social stratification. Proponentsof this theory usually obscure it somewhatwith their economic or sentimental preju-dices; but their idea seems to be that "fine"art is opposed to "folk"art in the sense thatthe prosperity of the bearers of the formermakes them incline to a world-approving

naturalistic art, while the supposedly down-trodden incline in the opposite direction.Instances that may fit this theory do notprove it. For the reverse occurs too. To takea well-known example, in Judaism the folkrepeatedly showed a penchant for natural-istic art, with their figural charms, clay fig-urines, etc., when their social superiorswere more or less vehemently inclined inthe other direction. The truth in this the-ory is that not all classesof society move inthe same direction at the same rate.

More reasonable, and certainly less be-fogged by prejudice, appears the theory that








380 JOHN SHAPLEY

the antithesis is not a matter of economicstatus but of way of life, the sedentary wayof life producing a naturalistic art, and thenomadic an antinaturalistic. This is an at-tractive theory, and many instances in agree-ment with it can be found. But is it true?Gypsies are the nomads par excellence.Their art, though variable, is often natural-istic. The gypsy art of the Balkans (thoughnot that alone) gives the lie to this theory,

just as the folk art of the Balkans gives thelie to the preceding theory. Yet we must not

go so far as to deny the elements of truth:nomads do not carry around with them the

painted marvels of Italian Renaissancechurches or the sculptured marvels of Egyp-

tian and Greek temples; neither can folk artinclude such monuments. But it is not

grandeur which is in question here; it is

naturalism, to which the folk and the no-mads may, or may not, incline.

Descending a little in the scale of logicand common sense, it is a duty now to men-tion two more theories, both of which havebeen repeatedly scotched by others; but likethat of the proverbial scotched snake thetail of each wags on. It may be poeticallytrue that:

Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again;The eternal years of God are hers;But Error, wounded, writhes in pain,And dies among his worshippers. (Bryant)

But it is not universally true in the study ofart. Erroroften rises again too. For there are

still people who express the opinion that

our antithesis has something to do withwhat they call race. It is necessary to say"what they call race," for usually race and

language have a way of getting confused in

people's minds. The racial theory is thatsome of the "races" have an inborn pro-

pensity to naturalistic, others to antinatural-

istic, art. This is in contradiction with themost obvious phenomena of art history. It

is from Greek art that we get the term "the

geometrical style." And so far as the Semitic

"race" is concerned, its allegedly being pre-disposed to an antinaturalistic art is vari-

ously contradicted, perhaps most conspicu-ously by the Assyrians, who could hardly

have been more Semitic (linguistically,of

course-there being no other valid measure)

or have had a more naturalistic art. Likethis theory, there is another which has beenoften refuted but dies hard. It too is popu-lar rather than scholarly. It is the theorythat naturalism in art, or its opposite, de-

pends on the particular religion professedby the bearers of the art.

Now, it is certainly true that religious awe

may put incidental restrictions on natural-ism. But these are not confined to any one

religion. The Buddhists, whose art is gen-erally so naturalistic, were long chary of

representing Gautama. The Christians, somuch of whose art has been naturalistic,have very commonly omitted, at first on

principle, later in practice, the corpus

Christi from the Cross. Awe still persistsamong them. God, the Almighty, or the An-cient of Days, they still, after all their manycenturies of naturalistic art, do not repre-sent in full (except as functional in certainnarrative scenes), but they restrict them-selves to the head, the bust, the hand, or

merely a symbol. Awe mingles with otherobvious considerations: it is unthinkable,for example, to look in Christian art for the

bathing of the Virgin in the nude, while to

represent the newborn Christ Child thus is

commonplace, and even has been felt to bedogmatically necessary.Like any other largehuman group, the Christians have had

among them opponents of naturalism. Butit still does not appear that the Mosaic code,which they accepted, or the findings of theCouncil of Elvira (c. 305), which banned

pictures from churches, or the excesses ofthe iconoclasts, which were directed againstthe iconodules, or the strictures and ravagesof puritanical movements-all of these andmore-have lastingly determined whetherthe art of the Christians should be antinat-uralistic or naturalistic.

In the history of Judaism the relevant epi-sodes are different, but they lead to the same

conclusion, namely, that religion has not

governed art as to its naturalism or anti-naturalism. Though the fact is somewhatobscured by the modern splitting up of the

originally continuous text into verses, theoft-cited Second Commandment of the Dec-

alogue of Moses prohibiting the "graven

image, or any likeness" is explicitly directedagainst idolatry (with which we are not con-








Eovlgtian Textiles 381

cerned here). The very same book of Exodus

gives specific divine directions for natural-istic art objects to be made: cherubim ofthe mercy seat, floral candlestick, ten linencurtains "with cherubim of cunning work,"linen veil with cherubim. The existence ofa flourishing figurative art among the Jewshad long been assumed by students of EarlyChristian art, from other evidence, beforethe excavation of Dura-Europos revealed itto an incredulous world.

In the case of Islam it would be flogginga dead horse to elaborate upon the evidencethat religion has not controlled the attitudeof Muslims toward naturalism. Arnold,Creswell, Goldziher, Grohmann, Lammens,

and others have dealt with the matter; andeach has contributed to the demolition ofthe notion that the Islamic religion hasmade Islamic art antinaturalistic. Two

points may be mentioned: during the firsttwo centuries or so of Islam (which hereconcern us most) there was little or no ob-

jection to art of any kind; even later, con-demnations were notoriously ineffectual.One cannot help recalling in Baghdad the

large sculptured figure of a late Caliphmade to grace the Talisman Gate.

Again we are not to forget the truth thereis in the religion theory: religion, or reli-

gious awe, has often excluded naturalism in

specific situations. Neither are we to forgetthat art includes more than religious art.The Manichaeans integrated naturalisticart into their religion; the Quakers have ex-cluded all art from theirs, as far as possible;yet the non-religious art practiced by the

Quakers has been far more naturalistic thanthat of the Manichaeans.

It is with some genuine regret that onefinds oneself obliged to reject these theories.It would be so much simpler if one of themhit the truth. But since no one among themoffers even a good hypothetical startingpoint, we return to my thesis. And now weare at last ready to read the lesson that thetextiles from the burial grounds of Egypthave to teach.

By and large, the ancient Egyptians of his-tory practiced a naturalistic art. What art oftheirs has come down to us is mainly reli-

gious. For tombs were religious places as

well as temples. Consequently this art is

largely hieratic. But that does not make it

any the less a naturalistic art. It merely de-termines the kind of naturalism. If an

Egyptian figure is unnatural inhaving

two

right hands, instead of one right and oneleft, this is not intended as antinaturalism.It is merely the substitution of the concep-tual hand for the perceptual one. WhenAncient Egyptian textiles do show signifi-cant decoration, it is naturalistic too, in the

Egyptian sense.In Hellenistic Egypt a larger proportion

of the preserved textiles were decorated.The decoration shows clearly its derivationfrom Greek sources. Again it is naturalistic.

But ancient Egyptian textile designs andHellenistic designs are very different fromone another. The two correspond to differ-ent ways of coming to peace with, or ad-

justing to, "nature." Both the ancient Egyp-tians and the ancient and Hellenistic Greeks

may be said to have worshipped "nature,"or, more exactly, its various manifestations:the sun, the moon, rivers, etc. But the twodid so with a difference. If so brief, and per-haps slightly tendentious, a formulationmay be permitted, we might put it that the

Egyptians "naturalized" themselves, whilethe Greeks anthropomorphized "nature."The Egyptians do not seem to have con-ceived themselves as being entirely one with"nature" (as did the palaeolithic hunter),but as harmonizing with "nature." Theyrose like the vegetation from the earth, towhich, like it, when dead they returned

again. They felt that they were in some sortof harmony with animals, which played arole in their religious worship either in

living or, more commonly, in figured form.The Egyptians imagined that after theirbrief day of life they passed on westwardwith the setting sun. Their tombs are in thewestern desert. In contrast, the Greeks' con-

ception was that "nature" conformed tothem. Mountains and springs had some,thing, they felt, human about them, like-wise rivers and trees; hence the mountaingods, the naiads, the river gods, and thedryads, which the Greeks fancied forth. An-cient Egyptian art and Greek art, includingthe Hellenistic, are thus generically differ-








382 JOHN SHAPLEY

ent from one another, but they are both

naturalistic, and they are sometimes muchalike.

Hellenistic textile decoration found

ready acceptance in Egypt because the pop-

ulation there was naturalistically inclined.The easy transition from the Egyptian tothe Ptolemaic can be seen in the famous

sculptures of the temple of Dendera con-nected with Cleopatra. The lack of anystrong native figure tradition among thetextile makers of Egypt probably made the

adoption of the Hellenistic even easier forthem than for the sculptors. At any rate, ex-

ceedingly little of ancient Egypt is to be seenin the Hellenistic textiles from there. The

Hellenistic figure in counterpoise, the headin three-quarters view and often inclined,the oblique glance of the large eye, the

mincing steps and general activity were alltaken over, admittedly with some clumsi-

ness, as is to be expected in popular tapestry

weaving. Also the occasionally very lifelikeanimals and the vigorous traditional horse-and-rider groups are an astonishingly purereflection of late Greek art. Whatever local

tinge the Hellenistic motives received in

Egypt is hard for us to measure because we

lack sufficient comparative material fromelsewhere, but it does not seem to have beenconsiderable. The medallions filled with

genii, with animated beasts and birds, and

with floral motives, speak to us with the ac-

cent of the koine and form a tribute to the

Hellenistic capacity for cultural coloniza-

tion.

Christianity was of major importance at

Alexandria in earlier centuries, but only in

the course of the fourth century was it

spread throughthe

indigenous populationof Egypt in general. The transition from

Hellenistic Egypt to Christian Egypt wastherefore correspondingly slow; indeed, itis so gradual that the change is not sharplymarked in the textile decoration. Christian-

ity itself was Hellenistic enough not to pro-duce any break in the continuity. Takingthe word "Copt" in the usual sense as mean-

ing a Christian Egyptian, the textiles of thefifth to seventh centuries can be called

strictly Coptic; but in practice, it is often

difficult without the aid of external evi-dence to distinguish them from their fore-

runners, so continuous was the underlyingHellenistic tradition, and therefore so fre-

quent the attempted duplication of an oldermodel. The general stylistic change, how-

ever, is clear enough. For one thing the

Coptic textiles were more colorful. (Colorwas not a strong point in Hellenistic tex-

tiles.) In Coptic textile designs the vegeta-tion gets stiff and patterned, also illogical.The figures disintegrate, and as the parts ofthe body, such as legs and arms, begin to getdetached and to lose coordination, theirown proportions also go astray. Everythinghas a naturalistic basis, but no longer anaturalistic intention or appearance. Whathad happened? The masses, to whom the

weavers and most of their clients belonged,were at last being taught what elevatedminds had long expressed, but only for

those near their own high level, namely, thedoctrine of the vanity of this world. Chris-

tianity was imbued with this doctrine aswere the other religious movements contem-

porary with it. Accordingly, even for an il-literate Copt, "nature" could only be seenas a snare and a delusion. Coptic textiles

dragged their inheritance of Hellenisticfrivolities into an age when the harsh regu-

lations and strictures of Shenoudi and oth-ers were opposing all the "natural" impulsesof mankind. A new estrangement of "man"from "nature" was under way.

It was certainly not that Christianity it-

self was on principle inescapably committedto the antinaturalistic. The history of Chris-tian art indicates otherwise. The CopticChristians accepted and were probably in-

toning passages of the Psalms which reflecta high approval of "nature," such as the be-

ginningof Psalm XIX in glorification of

the vocal skies and personified sun: "The

heavens declare the glory of God;/ and the

firmament showeth his handiwork./ Dayunto day uttereth speech,/ and night unto

night showeth knowledge./ There is no

speech nor language,/ where their voice isnot heard./ Their line is gone out throughall the earth,/ and their words to the endof the world./ In them hath he set a taber-nacle for the sun,/ which is as a bridegroomcoming out of his chamber,/ and rejoiceth

as a strong man to run a race./ His goingforth is from the end of the heaven,/ and








Egyptian Textiles 383

his circuit unto the ends of it;/ and there is

nothing hid from the heat thereof." A simi-

larly naturalistically inclined approval ofthe earth is indicated by the beginning ofPsalm XXIII: "The Lord is my shepherd;/I shall not want./ He maketh me to liedown in green pastures;/ he leadeth me be-side the still waters." Even more than withthe Psalter, the Coptic Christians were fa-miliar with the abundant literature of "na-ture" in the New Testament, since that

played a greater role in the church services,in which lections were regularly read fromthe Gospels and from the Epistles. Of the

Gospels little need be said, for it is com-mon knowledge that they are full of

references to the life of the shepherd, thefisherman, the gardener, and other agricul-turalists. Most of the Parableswould serveasillustration. Though the Epistles are moreabstract in general, they too show attach-ment to "nature." Even the rigorous Paulwrites in I. Corinthians, XV, 37-41: "Andthat which thou sowest, thou sowest not that

body that shall be, but bare grain, it maychance of wheat, or of some other grain: butGod giveth it a body as it hath pleased him,and to every seed his own body. All flesh is

not the same flesh; but there is one kind offlesh of men, another flesh of beasts, anotherof fishes, and another of birds. There arealso celestial bodies, and bodies terrestrial;but the glory of the celestial is one, and the

glory of the terrestrial is another. There isone glory of the sun, and another glory ofthe moon, and another glory of the stars;for one star differeth from another star in

glory." It cannot be said that Christianity,of which the most austere formulator asserts

"the glory of the terrestrial," is per se a re-ligion disapproving of "nature." Exactlythe contrary is shown again by this passagefrom Hebrews, VI, 7: "For the earth whichdrinketh in the rain that cometh oft uponit, and bringeth forth herbs meet for themby whom it is dressed, receiveth blessingfrom God." (All quotations are from theKing James version.)

Nevertheless, the Coptic textiles of the

pre-Islamic period already show a strongantinaturalistic

tendency,a

growing disap-proval of "nature." We must record the

fact, hard as it is to determine the reasonsfor it. That a maladjustment to "nature"laybehind it there is no doubt. But why the

maladjustment? Some explanation may begathered from the following

contemporarycircumstances. There was first the generalsoulsickness, characteristicof late antiquity,and the corresponding disillusionment withthe everyday world. Then, secondly, therewas the complete upsetting of the olderideas of the conformity of "man" to "na-ture" (Egyptian) or of "nature" to "man"(Greek). This upsetting was due to the riseof the Oriental mystery religions, of whichChristianity was one. Thirdly, there was thedisturbing dissolution of the old traditional

social structure, in which everyone's status(class) had almost exclusively rested solidlyon birth. This dissolution was caused by theleveling influence of the Roman Empire.Indication of the change was the wholesalegranting of Roman citizenship in the thirdcentury A.D. In practice, this grant meantthat, except fortuitously, none were higherthan the lowest. Fourthly, there was theconstant ascetic inveighing against the de-sires of the flesh, the meretricious lures ofthe present world, and the vanity of earthlywishes. Fifthly (especially among the Egyp-tians-Copts-and other provincials whosetongues and patterns of thought were nei-ther Latin nor Greek, the two languages ofthe Imperial government), there was thefeeling of being despoiled by aliens whogathered what they could for remissionout of the country; thus the peasant musthave tilled his field, the husbandman tendedhis flock, and the tradesman plied histrade with some bitterness because the firstfruits of their efforts

were to be withdrawnby alien taxation. It would be possible toextend this enumeration; but that mightnot bring us to the bottom of the matter,since we are likely to confuse symptomswith causes. This much is certain: in thelater centuries of pre-Islamic Christianityfaith encroached on reason, and that faithwas not in this earthly sojourn but in thelife to come. Hence "nature,"being earthly,got to be regarded as of no account, as ahandicap, even as an enemy. This was the

mental climate of Egypt when Islam reachedthere.








384 JOHN SHAPLEY

To go on for the moment with the evi-dences of antinaturalism in Christian art,we find them increasingly apparent from thefifth century onward. They are clearly visi-ble in the Syrian denaturalization of the

plant forms of architectural ornament takenover from the Greek repertory, a denatural-ization that was eventually transmitted fromChristian to Islamic ornament. They are

equally conspicuous in Lombard Italy, andmore so in Merovingian France, two coun-tries we think of ordinarily as hotbeds ofnaturalism. In the great Frankish kingdomof the Merovingians, which also includedsome of modern Western Germany, anti-naturalism was the rule to such an extent

that the whole Roman inheritance wastransformed. Merovingian manuscriptpainting shows this most clearly, often re-

minding one of the abstract reticence of thedecoration of an early Koran. In the even

greater domain of the Carolingians, despitethe effort of the court to build up a "NewRome" and to revive the art of naturalistic

antiquity, antinaturalism was not to beeliminated. Its vitality carried it through to

enjoy later a new triumph in the pre- and

early Romanesque. During the same second

half of the first Christian millenium, thestate of artistic affairs in the British Isleswas similar. The manuscripts, the monu-mental carved Crosses,and such other works

of art as are still preserved show the same

antinaturalism, sometimes absolute, some-times struggling to denaturalize the lifelikeforms transmitted from the formerly natu-ralistic Mediterranean. Meanwhile, the peo-ples of the northernmost and northeastern

lands of Europe remained antinaturalistic,as

theyhad been before.

Throughout the second half of its first

millenium most of Christendom, as the

symptom of its strict monasticism shows, wasnot at peace with "nature," and small won-

der, considering the then impassioned,Christian profession of contempt for the

earthly estate of "man." Regarding the ex-

pression of this mood in antinaturalistic

art, there are two points which may profit-ably engage our passing attention. One isthat this Christian antinaturalism does not

seem to have had a single geographical

place of origin, as did, for example, theRenaissance; it would seem, rather, to havearisen spontaneously in widely separated re-

gions. The second point is that a widelyheld notion that the Barbarian Migrationsexplain the switch to antinaturalism is in-adequate. The notion is entirely inapplica-ble to Egypt and to Syria. It is inappropri-ate to Ireland, which these migrants did notat first reach. We must remember that byblood these new practitioners of antinatu-ralistic art were in large part people whosedirect ancestors had been for centuries on

good terms with "nature" and had prac-ticed a naturalistic art. The Lombards,Franks, and others who settled in the Ro-

man West did not annihilate the earlierpopulation there. They did not even oblit-erate the previous language, for France and

Italy and Spain still have a Latin tongue.They did not systematically destroy themonuments of art, as these countries abun-

dantly show today. After many centuries,when with Gothic art naturalism came backinto favor again, the ancient Roman statuesat Reims could still be used as sources of in-

spiration for the famous sculptured figuresof the facade of the Cathedral. Again we see

it is the attitude toward "nature" that de-cides whether or not art is to be naturalistic.Of this, Egypt with its textiles remains themost telling example. For in pre-IslamicChristian Egypt we have no invasion toreckon with, no change of government, no

sudden historic change of any sort (forChristianization was a slow process begin-ning centuries before); yet from the fourthor fifth century onward we can see the dis-tinct change in art and the shift to anti-naturalism.

At the time of the Roman and Byzantine

Empires the silk trade across Asia became

important. With it seems to be connected a

very curious phenomenon: among the tex-

tiles of the Coptic period there are somewith "geometrical"designs totally unrelated

to ancient Egyptian or Hellenistic forebears.

Squares, lozenges, zigzags, meanders, geo-metrical scrolls, etc., all tightly packed to-

gether in compartments, completely coverthe surface. The absence of space is as novel

and antinaturalistic as the ornamental ele-









ments themselves. Many features of theseunwonted designs specifically recall close

analogues on faraway Chinese bronzes.Because of its intrusion into pre-Islamic

Coptic art, and of its bearing on my thesis,this distinctive type of ornament meritscloser attention. Many of its characteristic

elements, though appearing on the earlybronzes of China, clearly indicate an originin some material other than bronze. Theyrecall wood carvings, carved stuccoes, andthe like, such as we still have preserved else-

where, but only from a much later date. Yetsome Chinese bone carvings with partlysimilar ornament are no later than thebronzes. And besides these objects of bone

and other ivorylike material, we have Shangsherds which are approximately coeval withthe bronzes and which bear designs resem-

bling those of the bronzes and those of theexotic Coptic textiles. This ornament on thehard whitish pottery of the Shang periodgives the appearance of having been incisedin the slant-cutting technique in imitationof wood carving. All these survivals would

argue for the existence of an apparently now

wholly lost art of wood carving in earlyChina. With their linear-and-band orna-

ment suggestive of wood carving the earlybronzes combine another repertory of or-nament derived from animal forms. Some-times the two repertories are fused; some-times they remain distinct, with the animalforms projecting as chief motives from a

background completely covered with the"geometrical" ornament. The bronzes ob-

viously display a late phase of a long devel-

opment. If their two repertories (linear and

animal) represent the amalgamation of two

strains of different provenance, China'sclaim would be for the animal strain. If theother strain is then an importation, it

might well have come from some northerly,and more or less forested, region of InnerAsia with which the Chinese were in earlycontact. However this may be, we canhardly go wrong in concluding that the pe-culiarly antinaturalisitc linear-and-banddesigns on Coptic textiles were well overtwo millenia old by the time they wereadopted in Egypt, that they came there

from a very distant source, and that their

presence there is explicable by way of thesilk trade. They do not need to have comefrom China itself. The finds of ColonelKozlov in Asiatic Russia, which startledthe world some decades ago, show thatMediterranean textiles reached the remotest

parts. The textile designs we are consider-

ing may represent an exchange in the op-posite direction. There is no reason to

suppose that the Kozlov textiles went outby way of China; likewise, if there was re-turn commerce that brought these designsto Egypt, it could have joined the overlandsilk routes somewhere west of China. It isunfortunate that we have none of the origi-nal textile imports but only Coptic imita-

tions of them. Pending further finds, theexact source of these importations remainsuncertain, but not its general direction. Tostudents of Islamic art, evidence of such im-

ported textile designs is of interest becauseit indicates that, long before Islam, influ-ences from faraway to the northeast werealready affecting the art of the territorythat was to become Islamic and thereafterderive so much in its art from that direc-tion. The acceptance and relative popular-ity of these particular designs in Egypt show

that after thousands of years of naturalisticart a preference for antinaturalistic art wasdeveloping there. The weavers' choice ofthem as models is a clear case of electiveaffinity. The Copts also found it easier to

adopt this foreign antinaturalism, which ac-corded with their own new inclinations,than to transform their native inheritanceof naturalism.

To the incursion of Islam into Egypt wefind no clearly visible corresponding break

in the traditions of textile design there. Asin contemporaneous Lombard Italy andMerovingian France, so in Egypt, the trendto antinaturalism continued to hold theupper hand. In all three countries the revo-lution against the naturalistic art traditionsof antiquity was conspicuously and increas-ingly successful. The pre-Islamic Copts hadalready replaced in part the Hellenisticsubjects on their textiles with Christiansubjects treated antinaturalistically withlittle or no modeling. They continued thisin the Islamic period but with greater dis-








386 TOHN SHAPLEY

regard of "nature." The figures becomemore and more geometricized, and the sub-

jects are often unintelligible. Sometimesthis Coptic decoration with Christian fig-ures is accompanied with Arabic writing, so

complete was the artistic fusion of the newand the old. Islam set up state textile manu-factories to satisfy the needs of the rulers.Because of their skill as craftsmen manyCopts were employed in these establish-ments. Thus the influence of Coptic art onIslamic textiles continued for at least fivehundred years.

On Islamic textiles inscriptions, whichhad been sporadic before, became abun-dant. This is fortunate in that they provide

much information to the historian of art;but it is still more fortunate in that theyopened up a whole new field of ornamental

beauty. The term tiraz, which referred tobands with inscriptions, was applied to theinscribed fabrics, and thence to the govern-ment factories where these were made. A

pair of inscriptions in opposed orientationis frequently placed with a band of decora-tion between. The band of decoration wasderived from Coptic traditions and, there-

fore, contained motives originally natural-

istic: human figures, birds, animals, plantmotives, etc. Since antinaturalism was pro-

gressive, these motives all became pat-terned, frequently beyond recognition.Sometimes these patterned elements are

amazingly combined, as when, for instance,birds and palmettes combine to form a

scroll. Echoes of the naturalistic past lin-

gered on, even into the times of the Mame-

lukes; but they were only echoes, scarcelymore connected with the naturalistic forms

from which they came than the music ofan orchestra is connected with the soundsof everyday life. Even at their most lifelike,the figurative designs of later Islamic tex-tiles are usually less convincing than thoseof playing cards. The inscriptions-first, inKufic only; later, many in floriated Kufic;

finally, in Nashki-represent the utmost inantinaturalism. Language is itself neces-

sarily abstract, and becomes more so whenit is written. The development of callig-raphy on the monuments of Islam, includ-

ing these textiles, may be regarded as thefurthermost flight from naturalism.

That Islamic Egypt carried the pre-exist-ing antinaturalism of the textiles even fur-ther would indicate, in terms of my thesis,that Islam did not introduce there an af-fectionate relationship between "man" and

"nature." Surely anyone with the most ele-

mentary knowledge of Islam will agree thatsuch was the case. The intent focusing ofIslam on the world to come is notorious. Itis well known what strength disregard forthis natural life and regard for the next life,

beyond "nature," gave to the Muslim arms.Disdain for this world, which presents itselfas "nature," is a cardinal tenet of Islam.

Leafing through the Koran almost at ran-

dom, one comes over and over again on

passages in confirmation. To pick the firstone that comes to hand, here is a selectionfrom Sura 57, "Iron."

Know that the life of this world is but a sportand a pastime, a show and an empty vaunt among

you, a quest for greater riches and more children.It is like the plants that flourish after rain; thehusbandman rejoices to see them grow; but then

they wither and turn yellow, soon becomingworthless stubble. In the life to come a woeful

punishment awaits you-or the forgiveness of Al-lah and His pleasure. The life of this world isbut a vain provision. Therefore strive emulously

for the pardon of your Lord, and for a Paradiseas vast as heaven and earth, prepared for thosewho believe in Allah and His apostles. (N. J.Dawood's translation)

Note that the reference to natural growthis only to show the deceitfulness of "na-ture." Rather than dwell on the obvious, letus turn our attention to what has not re-ceived the notice it deserves.

Many hundreds of thousands of Arabsleft their homeland in the first century ofIslam. But we find no trace of their having

felt any such general and intense homesick-ness as has plagued other large emigrationsto foreign lands. The French and Britishsettlers in North America plastered the mapthere with names redolent of their nostalgia.It is impossible to list the countless placenames drawn from the European back-

ground, but it will be sufficient illustrationto mention provinces along the Atlantic lit-toral named after European places or peo-ple: Quebec, Nova Scotia, New Brunswick,Maine, New Hampshire, New York, New

Jersey,Delaware, Maryland,Virginia, NorthCarolina, South Carolina, Georgia. It is be-









cause of the same homesickness that the

nightingale has often sung in American lit-

erature, though never in American woods.This nostalgia for their previous homes is

generally characteristic of European emi-

grants. It is the expression of their strongattachment to the "nature" formerly famil-iar and still dear to them. The emigrantArabs simply did not feel this strong attach-ment.

From prehistoric Stonehenge to Christi-

anity inclusive, the religious buildings ofthe Mediterranean area, and far beyond inmost directions, showed evidence of theconscious or unconscious worship of "na-ture" in their design or orientation. Most

often they were in reference to the rising orsetting of celestial bodies, the sun espe-cially, but other natural phenomena re-ceived homage. In Islam worship is notdirected with reference to celestial phenom-ena, but only toward the seat of holiness.Even with their Zion, which, admittedly,they acquired rather late in the develop-ment of their religion, the Jews do not havethe counterpart of the qibla; it could be

shown that they have much that is "natu-ralistic" in their religion if this were the

place to discuss sacramental references to

"nature." In connection with many reli-

gions-other than Islam-much could besaid of the sacred importance of the four

elements of which "nature" was thought to

be composed (earth, air, fire, water).Another feature of Islam is that its calen-

dar is detached completely from the seasonsof "nature." Christianity, to take one of

many contrasting examples, has its Christ-mas holiday time marking the winter sol-

stice, like the Roman Saturnalia, and itsEastertide determined by the spring sol-stice. Both are obviously continuing, what-ever the cause, immemorial "nature" tra-ditions: the former, the promise of the

longed-for re-beginning of a new year of

vegetation, and the latter, the fulfillmentof the promise. But the Islamic festivalsmarch backward round the solar year dis-daining such consideration of the workingsof "nature."

Written in the year 1961, this essay, even

skeleton that it is, would be incompletewithout some mention of the current turn-

ing away from naturalism that, with spo-radic beginnings reaching back a century ormore, has

swept

over the Occident in thetwentieth century, and is now invading theOrient. The art of this movement has been

variously baptized, as "nonobjective," as"abstract," as "nonrepresentational," as"modernistic," etc., but to the historian itis simply a new wave of antinaturalism. It

may occasion some astonishment and rub-

bing of eyes as it invades even remote Bagh-dad; but it is a reality there too, as can beseen in sculpture at Southgate and in paint-ing by many artists represented at the Mu-

seum of Modern Iraqi Art. We are in themidst of this movement, and, being so, wecannot hope to survey it with detachmentand accuracy any more than the goldfishcan its tank. Any present attempt to ap-praise it is foredoomed to inadequacy, orworse. However, just because we are in itand of it, we are obliged to make an effortto understand it, and to analyze it as well aswe can.

It seems reasonably safe to say that thenew antinaturalistic movement in art cor-

responds to a newly arisen difficulty in therelation of "man" to "nature." The pointsof resemblance between our time and lateantiquity have often been pointed out.Doubts (and their almost inevitable coun-terpart, fanatic convictions), notably in con-nection with political and religious mat-ters; and anxieties, especially as to socialstatus; and general soulsickness-all are

widespread in the world of today, as theywere then. But the current situation is

clearly not identical with any previous one.The disquietudes of the present are notthose of the early neolithic. And few, if any,of the bearers of the new "modernistic" artmovement are disdainful of this life becauseof their preoccupation with a paradise tocome. Yet it is entirely possible that they areso preoccupied with the hazardous mun-dane future, the future of themselves and oftheir offspring and successors, that withtheir minds fixed on the canker they can-not sense the beauty of the rose.

There is supposed to have been a time








388 JOHN SHAPLEY

when there was no historical sense, that is,when the past had little or no meaning;but when the past did acquire meaning,since time can be read in both directions,the future acquired a vividness too. He who

says, "When I look back over the past I seenothing but ruins," is disposed to see

nothing but ruins in the future. In late an-

tiquity the historical sense is thought to

have led to the time's characteristic pessi-mism, while the pessimism led, in turn, to

a decreased joy in "nature." When the tex-

tiles of Egypt were in the process of becom-

ing more and more antinaturalistic, Oro-

sius was formulating history as merely a

series of disasters. Such a mood as this of

Orosius is very much with us, and it is nota propitious mood for a happy rapproche-ment with "nature." Modern humanity is

deeply concerned with, and for, the future.

Well over a century ago Ruskin began

declaiming against the industrial revolu-

tion, partly because of its defilement of the

natural beauty of the English countryside,

partly because of its destruction of the tra-

ditions of craftsmanship. Somewhat later

Samuel Butler made his famous prophecythat mankind would become the victim of

the very machines it invented. Nobody tookthis prophecy seriously at the time, perhapsnot even Butler himself, but now we see

what he was driving at. For machines (or to

generalize, applied science) can be very de-

structive to mankind. That an internal war

in the United States exactly a century agocould have the highest number of recorded

casualties of any one war up to that date

was made possible in large part by railway

transportation. The appalling losses of the

First World War were made possible inpart by motor transportation (technically,the internal combustion engine); and, simi-

larly, those of the Second World War, bythe aeroplane. To these three means of

transportation (which are, of course, only

examples chosen out of a cooperating multi-

tude of technological devices), roughly cor-

respond three stages of antinaturalism

in modern art: embryonic (e.g. Cezanne),

pronounced (Kandinsky), and worldwide.

Similarly, the telegraph, the telephone, and

the wireless fit fairly well into this de-moniac trilogy. It must be remembered that

all of these devices, once produced, lie out-side the range of the human nervous sys-tem, and thus become as much a part of"nature" as irrigation ditches, hybrid corn,or anything else outside "man." They getout of his control, and, indeed, begin tocontrol him. For many it is hard to feel

trusting satisfaction and peaceful amitywith a "nature" which includes threaten-

ing atomic explosions. The thought that allmankind might somehow become suddenlyextinct, and leave "nature" surviving aloneand therefore stripped of the quotationmarks, is absolutely terrifying. Increasingknowledge can increase distrust.

Whatever validity there may be in any of

these considerations, there can be no doubtthat the current trend to antinaturalism is

running true to form, in remarkable agree-ment with that of the first Christian millen-ium. We have today the same great majorityof works of art that show progressive de-naturalization, and the same minority that,like the exotic textiles we connected withthe silk trade, have practically no natural-istic echoes at all. The former, the major-ity, are the output of the abstractionists

variously qualified, such as the Romantic

Abstractionists; the latter, the minority, ofthe unqualified abstractionists, such as

Kandinsky and his following. But today wesee something interesting that we could notknow about the distant Coptic past, namely,that the same artist may fall into both

groups. As in Coptic times, one type of ab-straction, or better, of antinaturalism, is al-most as early as the other-that is, theyhave both flourished within the first cen-

tury of the current movement.

We cannot foresee what will happen; butif, on the one hand, denaturalization goesforward to arrive at something as wonder-ful as the arabesque, and, on the otherhand, pure abstraction goes forward to ar-rive at something as beautiful as the Kufic

inscriptions, the preponderant mass of peo-

ple who are still naturalistically inclinedand now come to scoff at this new move-ment in art will eventually remain "to

pray."This is the lesson in brief that, accord-

ing to my thesis, is to be read in the textilesfrom the burial grounds of Egypt.

Documents

A New Reading of Old Egyptian Textiles