Oxford is a city deeply entwined with religion. With the first of its colleges founded as Christian institutions, a college without a chapel is rare. The city’s architecture survives as a testament to this past. This is not to say that Christianity is the only religion to influence the city’s history. Every year on the 1st May, Magdalen College Choir sings the Hymnus Eucharisticus to herald the arrival of spring. Celebrations of May Morning are rooted in Celtic paganism, while the lyrics of the Hymnus Eucharisticus are inherently Christian (with the hymn beginning with a dedication “Te Deum Patrem colimus” or “We worship you, God, the Father”). Oxford’s religious syncretism is most obvious on May Morning through song and celebration – but in the Andalusian city of Granada, syncretism lives and breathes through its paint and stone. After a year of being consumed by my studies in Arabic and Islamic history and culture, the relief of summer after a long Trinity term crept into view. The idea of seeing Granada this summer – the last Islamic city to fall in the Christian Reconquista – grew clearer and more concrete.
For nearly eight centuries, cities like Córdoba, Seville, and Granada stood as centres of learning and beauty, shaped by the intellectual, cultural, and aesthetic values of the Islamic world. Today, in the region now known as Andalusia, the traces of Islamic civilisation are not just preserved, but define the region’s character. Granada’s Alhambra stands atop a hill, shielded by the mountains and overlooking the modern city, while serving as a vestige of Spain during the Islamic Golden Age. Walking in the space between the Nasrid palaces and the Alcazaba, one is not only astounded by their sight but by the sound that accompanies it. Hundreds of swifts can be heard singing from the towers and the treetops, the little birds permeating the complex with their euphony. One could easily be forgiven for forgetting their existence in the modern day, as one is immediately transported to an era of Islamic rule over Spain. The Alhambra complex is one of the best-preserved relics of the Islamic Golden Age, and this fact becomes evident upon wandering the sight. What most piqued my interest, however, were the Nasrid palaces.
In the Patio de los Arrayanes, the courtyard is symmetrical along a central axis – mirroring divine harmony as conceived within Islam. The rectangular pool serves as a mirror and a visual anchor that evenly divides the space, which is typical of Islamic Garden design. The pool, lined with myrtle hedges, serves as a reference to the Persian chahar bagh (or, “four-part garden”) which functions as a symbolic microcosm of paradise as described in the Qur’an. The stucco work in its arches are filled with Arabic calligraphy of Qur’anic verses, poetry, and Nasrid inscriptions – for Islamic architecture utilises (and indeed, relies on) text as decoration, transforming scripture and praise into visual experience.
Why, one might wonder, does Islamic architecture rely on calligraphy or geometry for decoration? Why is there no figural imagery? Islamic art often practices aniconism: the absence of figural representation of religious figures, especially in sacred places like the Alhambra. This is because the Qur’an and ḥadīth discourages the creation of images on the basis that doing so may lead to idolatry. This is not a prohibition of all figural art, but within architectural ornamentation it’s avoided in favour of more abstract modes of expression. This practice is in direct contrast with, say, many examples of Christian ornamental architecture which favours figural imagery (such as in the Catedral de Granada, only a short distance away).
The Court of the Myrtles is a masterpiece of Nasrid architecture and is of an architectural style typical of the Andalusi oeuvre, but today it is overlooked by a cross atop the turret of a building beside it. The presence of this cross, in a space built for and by followers of Islam, is emblematic of the shift in religious affiliation of those who inhabited the complex, as well as the majority religious affiliation of the region. One becomes aware of the religious changes in the region while inside the complex through simply lifting their head, as ceilings of the Nasrid palaces are painted with Castilian and Christian figural imagery.
After wandering further and further into the heart of the Nasrid palaces, one of the paintings in a ceiling alcove in the Hall of the Kings (Sala de los Reyes) seems incongruent to the setting and its origins are somewhat unknown by scholars. This painting is in the central vault of the court and features a Christian courtly scene. There are chivalric images of knights and a castle, possibly alluding to European heraldic or Arthurian traditions. In the lower half of the image, in the centre, two figures can be seen kneeling to pray in a typical Catholic fashion. One might easily label this painting within an oeuvre of Christian art, but one ought to look further – for the painting, while rich with examples of Christian figural imagery, features images that are evocative of the Qur’anic descriptions of paradise (such as the birds, the trees, and the fountain at which the figures pray).
What does this seemingly incongruent convergence of religion and culture represent? Convivencia. This term, translated as “coexistence” or the more literal “living together” refers to the syncretism of Muslims, Christians, and Jews in the Spanish Middle Ages. This painting is unique as it demonstrates the act of an Islamic court appropriating Christian artistic forms.
Having seen the representation of Christianity in originally Islamic spaces, when I came across the inverse of this – Islamic figures depicted in a Christian sphere – I was doubtlessly intrigued. Aside from being the burial place of Queen Isabella I of Castile and King Ferdinand II of Aragon, the Capilla Real de Granada also houses an impressive collection of artwork. What initially caught my attention was a smaller painting tucked away on the side of a wall in the chamber that precedes that royal crypt.
I refer to an oil painting, depicting Ferdinand III of Castile and Ibn al-Ahmar the first Muslim ruler of Granada – the founder of the Nasrid dynasty, and the same ruler responsible for the erection of the Alhambra complex. The artist depicts Ferdinand III as embracing al-Ahmar, whose attendant stands behind him. Al-Ahmar is wearing a red cape, which seems to be a reference to his epithet, and he is wearing a turban with a red rose and a feather. While we find men wearing turbans adorned with carnations in Ottoman art as a reflection of the current fashion, we have no evidence of it being the fashion for men of this period to wear roses in their turbans. Thus, this choice from the artist is emblematic of the artist’s depiction of al-Ahmar in the Spanish perception. One can also understand the adornments of al-Ahmar to refer to his high status. Ferdinand’s face is of centre view, and he is the largest of all six figures (as both rulers have two attendants behind them), showing that Ferdinand is intended to be the focus of the painting, rather than al-Ahmar. Ferdinand embraces al-Ahmar in a doorway, with Ferdinand and his attendants inside and al-Ahmar and his attendants on their way out of the door.
The painting aims to depict the conclusion of the conflict by the Treaty of Jaén. By illustrating the moment of their embrace, the artist visually communicates the formal submission of Granada’s ruler to the Castilian king, symbolising the end of hostilities and the establishment of a fragile peace. This event not only reflected a shift in political power but also emphasised the complex coexistence between Christian and Muslim territories on the Iberian Peninsula during the 13th century. Through the composition and the positioning of the figures, the painting encapsulates both the assertion of Castilian authority and the nuanced diplomacy that followed the treaty’s signing. The painting’s place in the Royal Chapel is pertinent, as it contrasts the portrayal of Christians in the Alhambra, by Muslims, as a portrayal of Muslims in a Christian sphere, by Christians. While the painting in the Alhambra celebrated Convivencia, this painting in the Royal Chapel aims to show an assertion of power.
Anyone can read about history, but there is something quite profound in seeing it and feeling it. It is not often that one can walk through a city and feel the presence of history so vividly – with cities like Granada and, doubtlessly, Oxford being the exception. Granada’s art and architecture is more than merely beautiful: it tells a story of succession, syncretism, and ultimately change.
