The Sacred Art of Living Beautifully
God Loves Beauty and So Must We
What if worship isn’t just in our prayers or prostrations, but in the way we lay a rug, speak a word, or set a table with care?
What if beauty, in all its forms, is how we resist despair — not by escaping the world, but by honoring it?
I have been blessed to grow up enveloped in beauty: a hospitable home, generous parents, and the quiet certainty that kindness and love should eternally take precedence over all else. All because the culture and belief system I was privileged enough to inherit is one inherently soaked in the appreciation for beauty.
Anyone who visits Pakistan will tell you it is a land, culture, and people who revere beauty as a sacred pursuit, generationally and culturally ensuring its continued existence. So, for as long as I can remember, I've grown up with a deep appreciation for the aesthetic — the task of beautifying things given a holy status. This is perhaps an inheritance from my mother, a lawyer turned fashion designer whose Islamabad boutique housed lovingly crafted and intensely curated womenswear, all in the spirit of upholding Pakistan's rich tradition of textile craftsmanship. She was gifted that passion from my grandfather, who was renowned for his love of poetry and fine suits. Though the truth is they were not unique in their respect and adoration for beauty; they were simply honoring the innate human pull toward the beautiful.
My mother’s love for interior design meant our home was never just a place to live, but a space where beauty was arranged as devotion. She taught us that living beautifully was a way of honoring what God had given. Like many Pakistani homes, my parents paid quiet homage to beauty, not as luxury, but as love. For my mother, this reverence translated to an affection for shawls; for my father, rugs — finely woven, thoughtfully placed. The intricate weaving required to create these treasures reminds us that it’s more than mere craft or preservation of tradition; it is reverence in motion.
On days when I choose to stay in my pajamas for a bit too long, she still gently scolds me: “Always dress your best, it’s good for you,” a gentle reminder that appreciating beauty is an act of expressing gratitude. And she’s not wrong; what may seem like cultural preference or aesthetic flair is actually supported by science. Research in psychology has shown that dressing well can significantly improve mood, increase self-confidence, and even enhance cognitive processing — a phenomenon known as "enclothed cognition." One study found that wearing clothes associated with positive attributes improved attention and performance on tasks.
It makes me consider that perhaps the Islamic reverence for beauty, whether in clothing, architecture, language, or character, is not simply about presentation, but preservation of the soul. What God loves is not only beautiful in theory, but beneficial in practice. His commands are never ornamental; they are always aligned with our design. There is a science to this sacredness.
The heart is naturally drawn to beauty because it was created to love the Divine. In beauty, the soul glimpses its Source. And in yearning for it, we return to Him. This yearning is not a worldly distraction; rather, it is a spiritual compass. To be moved by beauty is to be reminded of God, and to respond with reverence is to participate in His remembrance. When we soften at the sight of something lovely: a moment, a word, a woven shawl, it is the soul instinctively recognizing the trace of its Creator.
This sacred instinct to seek, to feel, to express beauty, pulses not only in our private lives but in the very rhythm of our cultures. And in Pakistan, it most powerfully manifests through music: a lineage of sonic devotion that transcends time, borders, and even belief.
Renowned across the Muslim world and beyond, our poetry and Sufi anthems — the qawwali and ghazals that stir the soul — echo with sacred longing and divine remembrance. These aren’t just songs; they’re vessels of devotion, composed to awaken something eternal through symphonies and soothing voices. This tradition is arguably unmatched by any other, which is why it is universally appreciated. Something I often remember during my own listening sessions is that even Sam Harris, militant atheist, once named Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan among his favorite artists. That even a man who rejects God cannot deny the beauty of music that praises Him speaks to a deeper truth: sincere beauty, that is born in reverence, cannot help but move us, no matter where we stand. That is what sanctifies it not only as a treasure, but a tool.
This lifelong love of beauty, then, is not merely cultural or personal. It is, more than anything, spiritual.
Beauty is Reverence
This brings me to a truth I've come to understand: the reverence for beauty is not a cultural accident, but a spiritual imperative.
God loves beauty. And why wouldn't He? He is the most beautiful, Al Jameel, and the most merciful, Ar Rahman. And it is nothing less than the implementation of mercy to spend your efforts making things, and thus life, beautiful.
The creative thus has a unique place in God's eyes, I believe, because the one who utilizes His blessings to honor His creation operates on a different frequency, more in tune with the glory of God. To beautify is to draw nearer to Him by cloaking the space around and within you in mercy.
Beauty is Mercy
When I speak of beauty, I speak of it not as escapism for the senses but as an ethical insistence to revere what God Himself loves. Aesthetic expression is, in fact, nothing less than divine emulation. When something brings me calm, peace, I am in alignment with my spirit, who belongs only to the Most High. That is when I recognize Him best, when all I can think to say is "Allah, aap ki shaan!" Oh God, your glory!
This is not to mistake vanity for beauty, or the sinful pursuits of extravagance. Indulgence and excess are, of course, the embodiment of all that is ugly. It would be unfair and incorrect to minimize devotion to beauty to something as unjust as materialism, as many holier-than-thou attitudes would proclaim. If one sees beauty only as the physical, then their eyes work, but their hearts don't. That is when beauty is misunderstood, for it is not just intricate textiles or sugary language. It is character and conduct, it is the bringing of light to what was previously dark. It is goodness prevailing where it should always have been, which is everywhere.
Beyond its most obvious manifestation in the physical, its kindest is not in what is seen with the eyes, but touched by the heart, felt by the soul. To revere beauty is to live gently, and this is a virtue increasingly lost, yet eternally needed. Its greatest form, thus, will not be in the clothes we wear or art we hang on our walls, but in the presentation of our character. If that is ugly, even the brightest jewels in the world seem dim. I have many a time found myself in spaces of an exceptional standard physically, but lingering in the unique heartbreak of them being filled with people whose akhlaq (character) does not mirror any light.
Prophet Muhammad ﷺ had the most beautiful character, husn al-khuluq, an eternal reminder for us that true beauty must be embodied, not just appreciated.
Beauty is Balance
This understanding of beauty as character as mercy made manifest brings me to those who mistake aesthetic appreciation for spiritual weakness. I have wrestled with this tension myself. Here, I address those who believe that worshipping God means rejecting anything deemed beautiful as a worldly distraction. This binary thinking once troubled me as someone who has long witnessed and been in perpetual awe of malangs (ascetics), and who dwells still in the desire to reach the level of detachment all great saints write of. I wrestled, unnecessarily so, with what I mistakenly saw as a contradiction between spiritual devotion and aesthetic appreciation. I found myself questioning whether my love for such things was displeasing to God. But this misconception is precisely what Islam rejects through its emphasis on mizan, or balance.
The Quran tells us that God established equilibrium in all things. This divine principle extends to how we engage with beauty. Living modestly, as we all should, does not mean depriving ourselves of what God has been kind enough to bless us with. Prophet Muhammad ﷺ himself wore beautiful clothing on special occasions, used fragrance, and appreciated fine craftsmanship, yet he was the most spiritually elevated of all creation.
Consider the very mosque of the Prophet in Medina, which was not merely functional but thoughtfully designed. Consider the intricate calligraphy that adorns our holiest text, the careful architecture of the Kaaba's covering, the detailed geometric patterns that have defined Islamic art for centuries. If beauty were truly worldly and thus worthy of rejection, would our tradition be so deeply steeped in it?
The answer lies in understanding that Islam offers us a middle path between the extremes of asceticism and excess. We are neither monks rejecting all worldly pleasures, nor hedonists drowning in them. We are believers called to appreciate God's creation while maintaining proper perspective about its source and purpose. It goes without saying that I am not advocating for mindless consumption and vain, indulgent attachment to material items. I am praising the nuance Islam affords us, the recognition that the same God who forbids wasteful extravagance also forbids us from making lawful things unlawful. As long as we are mindful, not falling into the idol worship of modern luxuries and deriving our sense of worth, or worse, pride, from them, we are safe.
Preserving the mizan means recognizing the wisdom of God in offering us what He has and being mindful in accepting it. It means understanding that appreciation of beauty is appreciation of God.
Beauty is Preservation
This balance I've found in my own life becomes even more precious when I witness how beauty itself is under siege in our time. What once felt like personal spiritual practice now reveals itself as urgent cultural preservation. Understanding beauty as both aesthetic and ethical explains why I am increasingly saddened by the erosion of tradition via machine-generated junk, or strategic curations for the scroll-enslaved eye. In this world that’s increasingly drowning out color, creativity, and kindness, reaching for beauty becomes resistance. We're witnessing the fading of beauty from public life, from language, from the way we treat one another. Anything that allows it to live is a gift.
That's why I feel for people who don't know Urdu, a language so poetic and steeped in affection that it drips like honey. For instance, I've only ever known my elders with 'jaan' attached to their name. Nanajaan means grandfather sweetheart — but jaan also means life. Is that not the sweetest thing? My mother will affectionately call me 'amma qurban,' which translates to 'as your mother, may I be sacrificed for you.' I believe this is how God should like our words to be: laced with such undying love.
Wherever I look, I see evidence that the human soul refuses to surrender its need for beauty, even in the most dire circumstances. I think of a photo I saw of a Syrian refugee family, who, despite living in a tent, had adorned it with beautiful rugs and artwork, bringing it to life in a way so radiant and gentle that you could not help but smile. I think of the Afghan refugees I documented living in a kachi abadi (mud settlement) in Islamabad. Despite living in such unkind conditions, consumed by extreme poverty and living under constant risk of having their homes demolished, they offered us unmatched hospitality, smiles brighter than the harsh sun they had no shield from. Their kindness brought joy to a scene that was otherwise deeply sorrow-stricken. That was the highest reverence for beauty there could be.
Beauty is Sacred Service
This instinct to create and preserve beauty, even against overwhelming odds, finds its most enduring expression in the sacred spaces we build for worship and remembrance. This is why Islamic architecture has long been so deeply appreciated and carefully curated. In our mosques and mausoleums, we see functional beauty for the public good, another example of mercy made manifest. In their unique and intricate design, we see echoes of glorious traditions that live on, drawing awe from all corners of the world, centuries after their construction.
When I was in Iraq recently, I was surrounded by some of the world's most glorious displays of Islamic architecture in the holy shrines of the Ahlul Bayt ع. Silk rugs in tranquil hues cover the courtyards before slipping into crisp marble floors, sitting beneath grand, glimmering chandeliers unlike any you've seen before. Mirrored walls reflect their luminosity, where calligraphy kisses the ceilings and archways. Even with thousands of pilgrims coming and going, the space is perpetually spotless and eternally smells of roses and oud. The spiritual beauty manifests not only in the metaphysical sense but in built space, in the careful crafting of sensory sanctity.
Around the same time, I also made my annual return to Lahore, finding myself before the same grand Badshahi mosque everyone adores and honors as the city's prized possession. It is a beloved sight dripping in historic and architectural beauty, which makes it all the more tragic to see that its surroundings are so neglected. The decay of its physical beauty, once so lovingly built out of tradition and as triumph, mirrors the gradual decline of something so fundamentally human within us, which is the commitment to preserve. To not see preservation as worth the effort it requires is a tragedy only the poets can sufficiently relay. It is a moral obligation upon us to maintain the responsibility of establishing and preserving beauty, even in the smallest of spaces, but especially for such monumentally important ones. Otherwise, what does this say about our state of affairs? To let beauty fade is to neglect ihsan (excellence), and in that forgetting, we quietly erase the spirit from the world we were entrusted to tend…and lose a part of ourselves, too. Reverence for beauty is our most fundamental human self on display; its opposite is a spiritual betrayal.
These moments of beauty persisting against all odds remind me that we are not passive observers in this struggle. We are not meant to simply lament what is being lost or celebrate what accidentally survives. We are called to be active participants in beauty's continuation, to make it a deliberate practice and a way of life that honors both God and the world He has entrusted to us.
I often lament the world we live in. I find it tragic and terrifying, and more often than not linger too closely to the edge of despair. I consider it a blessing and mercy from God that in this same spirit, he offered me the inheritance He has — one that reveres beauty and the sweetness it envelops one in. It is the cure I regularly find myself returning to, as a philosophy and form of worship.
Perhaps it is the only cure there is.
No matter how small or quiet, it is what grounds me in the remembrance of God. Not as escape, but as evidence — a flicker of light in the dark. In today's world, especially, creating and seeking beauty becomes an act of spiritual resistance against the ugliness of the world. It is jihad against the devil that is despair.
That being said, I like to think we can make Earth more Eden-like. As I remain a traveler lingering in the temporary of this world, I do what I can, with what I have, to appreciate God's creation. When in Pakistan, I find solace in designing clothing: sarees spun from velvet and embroidered net, ghararas sewn from pink jamavar and lined with pearl lace, abayas flowing in silk and chiffon. I'd like to believe God likes it when I do that, too.
As someone whose natural tendency is to refer to people as sweetie, honey, jaani, I have sometimes considered changing how I speak, before remembering life is too short and the world too unkind for us to waste our days repeating words deprived of such softness. After all, the Prophet ﷺ said, “A good word is charity.” So even if it seems small or silly, it doesn’t take away from the truth that beautiful words are a form of resistance, too. In a time when cruelty is casual and tenderness feels rare, choosing gentleness is a way of keeping beauty alive. It’s a quiet rebellion against the ugliness of indifference. And if we’re called to love what God loves, then surely that includes mercy in our manner and sweetness in our speech.
The world has enough sorrow, and that we cannot escape. The screens we’re now slaves to behold images of such brutality and pain that we can not pretend our world is not a cruel one. But when we look at the little beautiful things around us that still exist, casually in the background, we remember it can also be a kind one. In the moment of reprieve that gifts us, we’re grounded back in the nuance of life, pulled out of that darkness, even if only for a fleeting moment. When I feel as though my tears and grief will swallow me whole, I am forced to remember the love that went into making all the things around me. I'm drawn back to the reality of Al Jameel. When someone offers unexpected kindness, I remember there is still purity in this world. More than that, I realize there could be more of it, and in acknowledging that, it becomes an obligation upon me to spread it.
Beauty is Our Calling
If only we look for it, we will see the delicate face of love all around us, whether via song or smile. That alone should push us to build a better world — God knows it’s about time we did. We have to love beauty enough to seek it. Where it dwindles, we must protect it. That is what it means to honor God, to love what He loves.
Whatever keeps pulling us into this truth, in a time where so many forces want to push us away from it, must be protected. I have come to realize this is not silly; rather, it is the oxygen tank sustaining the sacred we have left. So let living be an act of beautification: leave every place and person better than you found them. Let beauty be not just what is seen, but what is felt. Let it be a movement more than a stillness.
As lovers of the Most Beautiful, it is our spiritual imperative to reignite the light of beauty’s presence in the places darkened by its absence. If you cannot find it, make it. If you can be it — in your conduct, your compassion, your character — then that is best.
May our hands create beauty, our tongues speak it, our hearts exude it, and our souls become it. Ameen.
Further Reading:
Adam Hajo and Adam D. Galinsky, “Enclothed Cognition,” Journal of Experimental Social Psychology, Volume 48, Issue 4, July 2012, Pages 918–925.
God is Beautiful and Loves Beauty, Yale University Press
Art of Islam, Language, and Meaning, Titus Burckhardt
Radical Love: Teachings from the Islamic Mystical Tradition, Omid Safi
The Search for Beauty in Islam, Dr. Khaled Abou El Fadl
Beauty and Islam: Aesthetics in Islamic Art and Architecture, Valerie Gonzalez
Purification of the Heart, Shaykh Hamza Yusuf
The Tao of Islam, Sachiko Murata
Zahra, this was such a grounding read. The way you connected everything you did really made me pause and reflect on the perspective with which I look at the world, which most of your essays do. Grateful for that.
Also appreciate how you write with both clarity and heart, and how you effortlessly manage to blend Islamic philosophy into story-telling like prose. There is a real distinct lyrical quality to how you write that makes it so enjoyable. It's refreshing and mirrors the beauty you speak of. Definitely saving this one to come back to.
Zahra pls 😭 this was so beautiful I don’t even know what to say. I literally paused halfway through like…wait, why am I crying over a paragraph about rugs?? lol. So gorgeous I'm gonna frame it!