God is a Woman: The Religious Space of a Muslim Woman

Religion is a precious thing. Across diverse cultures, religious buildings have emerged as icons of these precious values. Religions like Islam, which embody a purely monotheistic belief system, forbid the use of iconography, imagery or sculpture to represent God. Instead, spaces of spirituality embedded with architectural typologies reinforce their inhabitants' connection to the heavenly realm. 

Because representations of deities such as Allah and the Prophets is forbidden, architectural form and ornamentation become particularly important in Islam. The stray away from depicting human or human-like figures is due to the belief that simple human form, biology, and visual capacity is not enough to depict God in all Her might. By specifically prohibiting idolatry, Islamic architecture turns instead to geometry, mathematics, and rich decoration as a way to turn the interior of a Mosque into paradise. Islamic art, which adorns the interior of Mosques, utilises flowers and plants in reference to nature; abstract patterns; artistic handwriting; and calligraphy of the divine revelation. All are designed with exquisitely crafted colours, symmetry and details to provide a moment of awe and wonder.

Mosques form highly intricate and complex structures with near impossible spans. Repetitive domed forms create the illusion of infinity. Three-dimensional muqarnas are some of the earliest and most impressive examples of elaborate ornamental vaulting systems. The beauty of abstract, hand-painted patterns and calligraphy with multiple angles of rotational symmetry has fascinated people throughout history. Mosaic tiling and glasswork, with their celestial connotations, represent the threshold between two worlds or a passage to eternal life, expressed by geometric forms. In their architecture, Mosques are said to contain the wonders of the universe.

As places of congregational prayer, certain architectural features appear in Mosques all over the world. Initially designed as a space for Muslims to complete their five daily prayers, Mosques were minimalistic in their design but bound by specific rules: the unalterable orientation towards Mecca which defines the qibla wall, mihrab and minbar; an external courtyard landmarked and characterised by the minaret; and a space of cleansing and ablution.

Because Islamic architecture, in particular Mosques, are engaged with on an everyday and ongoing basis, religious architecture is heavily intertwined with the interpretation of cultural and religious identity for Muslim people. Every Muslim’s relationship with Islam is shaped by class, geography and cultural context, resulting in different interpretations of the religion by its 1.8 billion followers. Yet these complexities and nuanced experiences are often overlooked.

One perspective which is particularly neglected is the consideration for women's bodies in spiritual space. No matter how beautiful, functional or poetic, the typology of the modern Islamic Mosque also reinforces the prioritisation of men over women. Islam arose in a patriarchal society. It gave clear and explicit rights to women but it addressed men in particular, because men were society’s leaders. As a result of cultural norms which surround ideas of the home and domestic labour, Mosques themselves were always designed in a male-centric manner.

A fundamental necessity of the Mosque’s architecture is that it is able to hold the Muslim male population of the area it serves. In Islam, men are required to visit the Mosque on the holy day, Friday, for an obligatory congregational prayer, while women are expected to pray at home. The prayer service in most Mosques sees a man give the call to prayer, another man give the sermon, and rows of men sitting on rugs listening to a male speaker. In many Mosques around the world, men occupy the space of the main prayer hall, generally on the ground floor, and women are pushed to the margins – either located above, or to the side, or in a completely different room altogether, entirely lacking the intended architectural connection to God. It is not uncommon for Muslim women to feel like they should not be or be seen by men at the Mosque. Women and men even have separate entryways to avoid any interaction.

This cultural and religious practice developed into an archetype of a religious building which excludes the spiritual woman and her body in physical space. Women are pushed to the margins because they are seen as only occupying the private, domestic space of the home, and as such are left out of any existence in public spiritual space. As societal expectations of women changed and women were more commonly seen in Mosques, they were accommodated by adding an extra separate room; however, it soon became evident that their experience of the space was different to that of their male counterparts. In the current moment, Mosques not only serve as spiritual spaces but also community hubs and cultural hotspots. Yet, as our societal values change, the historical typology of these architectures seem to not adapt accordingly.

In the Auburn Gallipoli Mosque and the Bonnyrigg Mosque (both in Sydney), women are located above the main prayer hall. This is generally the most common way Mosques have dealt with the spiritual woman's body. When women are placed above, the high ceilings become cramped, the space minimised: a half-level balcony above the main prayer hall means there is physically not enough space for prayer. As bodies fill the space and heat is generated, the main prayer hall remains cool but heat rises to the women's area. Women—who are already veiled and covered more than men—bear the extremes of rising temperatures, from local conditions to, on a larger scale, global climate disaster. 

In Mosques where women are physically separated in a completely different room, the issue becomes more evident. In the Green Valley Mosque in Sydney and Holland Park Mosque in Brisbane, the crucial mihrab—the space where the Imam speaks and prays—disappears. Instead, it is replaced by a loudspeaker in the corner of the room. The voice of the Imam and, inherently, the voice of God becomes distorted, sound crackling in and out, sometimes even incoherent and unintelligible. Furthermore, in the women’s section the spiritual architectural adornments do not exist; the visual connection to the heavens through highly ornamented ceilings, columns, and walls becomes lost. 

Ultimately, the women's section of a Mosque can be seen as an afterthought: an unsystematic, non-architectural and impartial measure to deal with the “religious woman” and her body in spiritual space. This pattern is repeated in contemporary iterations of the Australian Mosque. In Angelo Candalepas’ Punchbowl Mosque and Glenn Murcutt’s Mosque, the Australian Islamic Centre, women are again placed on a balconette above the main prayer hall.

These intertwined and entangled typologies, cultures, and histories present a tension between what women associate with religion and spirituality. The female body within the Mosque is a different social, spatial, sensorial and sensational subject from the female body in other spaces. Moving differently, sensing differently, subject to different experiences of vision and hearing. Even dressed and covered in a different way than what most consider “normal.” Ideally the spiritual space, and its unique architectural conditions, should create an emancipated, liberated, and newly subjected body. So despite the spirituality of such a space, why does the typology of Mosques enforce patriarchal separation? Men and women pray together in Mecca, so why can't they in ordinary Mosques? 

It’s possible the architect is not at fault here. The separation of men and women in Mosque designs was usually called for in the brief provided by the Imam, who is always male. Justifications for segregation include the need to avoid distraction during prayer. Furthermore, the majority of precedents that are crucial in understanding the Mosque typology normalise this separation. For some reason, we tend to repeat the same patriarchal organisation of male and female bodies across contexts and time.

As Muslim women start to gain autonomy over their spirituality, the spiritual spaces we design need to cater for this also. Historically and globally, many cultures had, and many still have, some form of female seclusion. These spaces do not go unchallenged. Many of the justifications that surround the separation of men and women in the Mosque focus heavily on the sexual desire of men. The separation of male and female is enforced to protect the man and his spirituality, and to protect the woman from being sexualised. Are we placing responsibility on the wrong people here? In such a spiritual place, shouldn’t men hold themselves accountable for their sexual thoughts, rather than focusing wholly on placing women out of sight to control this desire? Or, if men can’t control themselves and women need to be separated, why can’t Muslim women build an entirely new Mosque of their own? And, how can religious communities reinterpret their faith and their precious spaces to cater to the diverse needs of the current moment?

For many non-Muslim Australians, the Mosque is shrouded in mystery. For some people, the proposition to build a Mosque sparks fear, controversy, confusion, and in some cases, extremist backlash. As a symbol of growing fears about Islam, the Mosque has found itself in the firing line amidst the wider community’s rhetoric that Islam is antithetical, contrary, and even dangerous to the “Australian way of life.” As we question what it means to be Muslim in the 21st Century, re-imagining what a Mosque could look like for women could also mean re-imagining a more inclusive space for non-traditional Muslims—many of whom feel obliged to hide their identities when entering Mosques. Many queer Muslims feel uncomfortable praying in established Mosques and therefore avoid these spaces entirely, feeling that they embody something which is rejected by traditional Muslims. Young Muslims in Australia who want to pass on a new legacy of Islam to their children don’t want to be part of Mosques where there’s obvious discrimination. Creating a Mosque that welcomes anyone as he, she or they are is the first step in a long-term struggle to deconstruct prejudices within and of Islam in Australia.

The women's space in a Mosque is a much-needed addition, and works as such for existing spaces. But what about a reimagining of what a space of spirituality is and can be? What are the possibilities for a Mosque created and led by women? The goal is not to purify the Mosque of men, but to address the problem of the women's space in a Mosque. To overcome larger societal rejections of the Muslim community, while at the same time acknowledging how an emphasis on the separation of men and women might not accommodate every person’s interpretation of spirituality. Caring for the spiritual woman involves acknowledging but also understanding the injustices mapped onto the female body in realms that are not always in the forefront of feminist discourse. It can also involve triggering the collective imagination with the notion of an inclusive Mosque that is both gender equal and queer affirming. A Mosque with all the adornments of a Mosque but for those who are not commonly seen as belonging to a Mosque. A Mosque where the sermon leads with an acknowledgement of Country as well as a call to prayer.