By the passing of time.
Surely humanity is in grave loss.
Except those who have faith, do good and urge each other to the truth, and urge each other to perseverance.
Surah Al-Asr | Chapter 103 of the Qur’an
One glance at the Alhambra’s intricately carved walls will cause any onlooker to pause. Each flower — each letter extends in a never-ending dance of connectedness as high as the eye can see. Walls meld into ceilings, lush greenery into orange trees — sunshine reflects off water with the familiarity of an old companion.
The sound of bustling tourists fades away into the slow trickling from each fountain singing its own song of serenity. Winding lines of Arabic calligraphy draw the eye into a meditative trance, as each carved petal and leaf echo a message of both literal and figurative oneness.
This petal stands as one of the hundreds that decorate the Alhambra, perfectly curved into the four letters that outline the Arabic word for God — Allah.
Perseverance may not be the first word that comes to mind upon entering the Alhambra. Its towering painted ceilings and winding patterns of floral motifs evoke descriptions of its beauty and magnificence. Verses of the Qur’an gaze from above doorways and ceilings, as the walls of the Alhambra come alive with murmurs of their recitation.
Looking up at the magnificent ceiling encompassing the throne room, the entirety of Surah Al-Mulk’s inscription encircles the gaze of the onlooker standing nearly 20 meters below.
‘Breathtaking’, one might describe — ‘an unparalleled work of art’.
But what about the artists?
I found myself contemplating this question often during my tour of the Alhambra in early 2020. I was in my last year of undergrad, on a study abroad trip that explored various regions of Andalucía — a term derived from the Arabic and Muslim name for Spain, Al-Andalus. Of the many cities I visited, Granada quickly became a favorite. The small winding streets and relaxed pace of life awakened a sense of the city’s 12th-century ambiance. Unlike neighboring Andalusian cities, Granada holds a special reverence for its Islamic past. The Alhambra is a source of pride for the city’s dwellers, often spoken of with a familiarity and esteem that extends beyond the architecture itself, to the histories it rests on. Mezquita de Granada — the first mosque built after a 500-year lapse — maintains this sentiment, allowing entry only to Muslims who come to worship.
That fateful afternoon in the midst of my guided tour, I looked up at the layers of Islamic geometric patterns as they engaged in an almost reflective dance, and realized something was absent.
The very thing that has cultivated a culture of competition in place of collaboration.
Infiltrated our prayer mats and conversations.
Quickened our recitations of Al-Asr.
There was an absence of haste.
I have often idealized the societies of early Islam. I imagine timescapes of constant reflection and camaraderie, in which every Muslim was sitting around stacks of books and dhikr beads, gazing out to peaceful desert skies. I forget that Muslims then were plagued with similar senses of overwhelming dunya (worldliness) — that this was the very force that led our beloved Prophet to escape to Mount Hira.
Finding our own Hira in a world of constant notifications, billboards, and phone screens may seem futile at best. Many of us cannot think back to a Jummah prayer that was not interrupted by a blaring ringtone. But again, this ‘noise’ isn’t new. One of the guiding lessons we can pull from our Muslim predecessors is their commitment to pushing through this — to reclaim and remold time to fit the Sirat (correct path of religion).
This is exactly what the artists of Andalucía were attempting with their art. Andalucía did not exist as a utopia, warfare and strife found their way across borders. Despite this, the Caliphs of each region made a conscious decision to build and create. Artisans painted walls of palaces they knew would not be completed in their lifetime. Their dedication was not to the final product, but the process — it was to each carved ‘la illaha illa Allah’.
A timeless example of the perseverance spoken of in Surah Al-Asr.
To a culture of mass production, the act of painting for hours a single tile with repeated lines of calligraphy appears almost revolutionary. In an art scene that has shifted to rely upon the self as a primary motif, the use of a different singular — that of a singular Creator, may appear strange and even threatening.
To an 11th-century Andalusian artist, one who would often begin working on a palace or mosque knowing the next generation would complete it — motivation must have extended beyond the seen world.
The Prophet (pbuh) reminds us to ‘remember death often’ — an act that can easily be forgotten in the hustle of everyday life. We work to finish tasks within a set structure of time. Our projects have deadlines, our semesters structure our calendars. The blocks of our day are measured by work, not passion. We begin — to finish, not necessarily paying attention to the process.
A remedy and counterculture may perhaps be found in creating, not to finish — but to honor an intention in each brushstroke and line.
We learn from the Andalusian artist the importance of intention — one rooted in dedication to something larger than self.
Liberating oneself from the grasp of urgency doesn’t have to mean completely rejecting all constructs of time. Allah reminds us after all that time in this realm will indeed always ‘pass’.
To the Nasrid caliphate, governance and trade were not paused in pursuit of Muraqabah — meditative contemplation of the Divine. Rather, they found ways to incorporate remembrance into everyday life.
A dedicated room for istikhara located across from the palace’s ‘throne room’ was used by the Sultan to make the ‘prayer of seeking council’ in the face of great political and military decisions.
The intricate melding of dhikr (remembrance of God), into the everyday life of the Emirate of Granada, parallels the art woven across each palace wall, and is perhaps best encapsulated in the Nasrid motto repeated over 14,000 times across the Alhambra: ‘wa la ghalib illa Allah’ — ‘only God is the real victor’
This motto poses to offer Muslims of today, facing both physical and metaphysical battles of extinction, a solace. God’s victory presides both over time, in all its forms of rushing and slowing — and space, even those deemed ‘conquered’. Evident if nothing else, in the presence of Quranic inscription in a ‘fallen Islamic palace’. For what claim does time make in the face of la illlaha illa Allah whispered both today and 532 years ago?
When time passes by, will it extend salams?
Or will I miss its brief presence as I complain of my qualms.
Will it slow to pass my lips, listening for remnants of dhikr?
I pray the absence of my recitation does not make time pass quicker.
As I watch the clock change rapidly, I contemplate my fate.
Have mercy upon me, oh Merciful One — for both time and me, you did Create.
Ready to visit the Alhambra?
Tips to Make your Trip Easy
By M. Nafisah Cabrera Estévez
Where else to go in Granada:
Mezquita Mayor de Granada, Open for visiting 11h00-15h00 and Asr-Isha Daily; Mosque Garden 11h00-14h00 and Asr-Maghrib; Jummah Prayer starts with Khutbah at 14h30.
Plaza San Nicolás sn
18010 Granada
info@mezquitadegranada.com
+34 958 202 526
Check Out this Halal-Friendly Granada Travel Guide created by Safar Salama Tours to explore more of Granada. They give private tours of the area and Southern Spain if you don’t want to go alone.
Would you rather have a travel book instead? I recommend Huma’s Travel Guide to Islamic Spain Written and Researched by Medina Tenour Whiteman with contributions by Tahira Lamore Whiteman and Dr Abdur-Rahman Mangera.