We need to start with the idea that numbers mean something, that the first few whole numbers have profound associations with our daily life and spiritual experience. These associations give us the grounding we need to look at the tiles.
To begin with the number one: it is the number of unity and refers to the divine, to what is original, complete, perfect, undivided, and whole. It includes all life and both the material and spiritual world; it holds both our origin and our destiny. It corresponds, in other words, to the fundamental conception of sacred power in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. In geometry, the symbol of unity is the circle, which from an invisible center traces out the perfect form from which all others can be derived. From the circle, craftsmen were able, with a kind of ecstatic improvisation, to work out the myriad shapes and patterns found in the walls of tile in the Alhambra and throughout northern Africa and the Middle East. What is more, the conception of beauty historically has, in many cultures, been bound closely with the very notion of unity embodied in the circle. When we encounter beauty, it is at its best radiantly inclusive, showing the connections among things, the resemblance and joinery of things, bringing together gracefully what seems separate—man and woman, mind and body, earth and heaven, human and divine.
Next, the number three: this number which, long after the composition of the Old Testament and the life of Jesus, became so central in Christian theology. It calls to mind the three celestial bodies most bound up with human life, the sun, the earth, and the moon. It contains as well the way the essentials of our lives are naturally understood in groups of three terms: say, lover, beloved, and love itself; the knower, the known, and knowledge itself; the perceiver, the perceived, and perception itself; and of course birth, life, and death. What is more, the number three, in the mysticism of the religions of the convivencia, marks our threefold motion: we descend from a divine and original world; we become part of a material and sensible world; and then, with work and knowledge and love, we rise again to a perfect world whence we came. In geometry, when a circle is twice reflected and extended outside itself, then as the reflection is completed, we have the first polygon, the triangle, which is the very first way we have to enclose space within lines.
From this figure, many other forms in Islamic tile work are derived. If we take two triangles together, we get a central symbol of Mediterranean spirituality, the six-pointed star, which refers to the very motions of descent, incarnation, and ascent described, the simple pattern of a personal journey.
The number four summons for us the elemental division of every year into four parts, since by the motion of the earth the sun seems to move south and north along the ecliptic. Twice during the year, at the vernal and autumnal equinox, the day and night are of equal length, and at the winter and summer solstice, we have our longest night and longest day. This fourfold division of the year gives us the traditional way to mark the seasons and refers as well to the ancient quartet of earth, air, fire, and water, as well as to cold, heat, wet, and dry, and to the four cardinal points of the compass. Four was also a key number for the Pythagoreans, who associated it with justice, perfection, and the nature of the soul. The square is easily inscribed within a circle, by locating four equidistant points. Also, if we continue in our reflection and extension of circles, so that the originating circle is itself encircled, a square emerges.
The number five is especially bound up with each of us because we have five senses to connect us with the world. In the mysticism of the Middle Ages, as it was found in the Middle East and in Spain, our five senses do not show us a real world, but introduce the world. That is, our five senses may be developed into a further set of five capacities, more subtle and powerful, so that we may learn to see things whole and true and act with more insight and prescience. With full development of such capacities, a man or woman will have a direct, creative, and conscious connection with a divine order that shows itself on earth. In geometry, we invoke the number five with the pentagon, which we can inscribe within a circle using only a compass and straightedge. The pentagon has remarkable qualities, since if we connect its vertices, we create a beautiful set of pentagonal stars. The ratio of the side of a pentagon to the diagonal of a pentagon (that is, to each of the sides of the star) gives us the golden ratio, identified with beauty throughout history. The golden ratio is found not only in the human body and in beautiful human creations, but also everywhere in the natural world—in nautilus shells, in sunflowers, in pine cones, even in the play of light. So are patterns of growth and movement in nature related directly to geometrical ratios and the integration of mind as we seek to understand our place and purpose in the world.
What we are sketching here are cumulative, vital associations with the first few whole numbers. They are essential to understanding the tiles of the Alhambra, since the design of the tiles holds a meaningful pattern, and what it may mean is bound up with numbers. A sense of the meaning of numbers, along with rules of numerical order, ratio, and harmony, were used to create the patterns of the tiles.
Let us move on to the fine prospects afforded by six, seven, eight, and twelve.
As to six, it is an essential quantity in geometrical design because of its connection with the circle and its perfections. If we, from a point, inscribe a circle, and reflect that circle outward, we find that six circles, only and always six, will fit around the circumference. If you connect the center points of the surround of circles, you draw a hexagon that mirrors and encloses the first. If you draw lines to connect the vertices of the hexagons, you get the six-pointed star that is a symbol of perfection in the religions of the convivencia. Of course, in all three religions, God created the world in six days, and rather than take this in a brute, literal sense, we might see it a statement about the way form is conceived in the mind and expressed in the world. So the center point of a circle, from where a circle is created, corresponds both to origin and to completion, both the invisible source of things and the still point—call it the day of rest—after form is brought forth.
To state this again: the center point gives rise to the first circle, then to six reflected circles, which gives us the hexagon. The hexagon holds the six-pointed star, which portrays by tradition our journey from our origins, to earth, followed by our ascent once more, after our life and learning here.
The center point and the inevitable hexagon, together, bring us to seven, especially rich in associations. It is three plus four, and so incorporates by reference the three stages of the journey, and, as well, the number that refers to the earth, its seasons, its cardinal points, and its essential components. What is more, it represents the ancient idea of the seven heavenly spheres and, as we saw, the six days of creation and one of rest. Seven is also one-quarter of the lunar cycle, which is the basis for the rhythm of work and rest worldwide. If we multiply three and four, we have twelve, another emblematic number in the faiths of the convivencia, showing up in the twelve disciples of Jesus, the twelve “pure ones” of Shiite Islam, and of course in the traditional division of the sky into the twelve signs of the zodiac. Even today, we live with these concentrated references, in the modern division of the day into twice twelve hours. One more harmony; if we add the numbers from one to seven, we have twenty-eight, the number of days of the complete lunar cycle. To bring things back for a moment to the Albayzín, it is the number of aljibes that brought fresh water to the barrio; it’s as though the Albayzín wanted to make a gesture of affection and recognition to the night sky.
One last set of associations, this time for the number eight. Eight is the double of four, which is associated with the earth. When it is expressed in the octagonal star (a square rotated one-eighth turn upon another square), it is a beautiful image of the turning earth and of the movement of life. Within the octagonal star is a perfect octagon, which throughout Christendom is the shape used for the baptismal font. It signifies spiritual rebirth, since Jesus rose from the dead on the eighth day of the Passion. In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus s
peaks of the eight beatitudes. In the Kabbalah, eight is the number of transcendence. Eight, as the next number after emblematic seven (the heavenly spheres and the week of Creation), represents the domain of fixed stars: an especially rich association, given the plentitude of stars in the tile work we will shortly have before us. It is the step beyond the created world, to the recreation of ourselves in a domain of light, the step from the life created for us to a life in creation. To put it another way: eight is the number of matter becoming spirit. Because of this, eight in many cultures is an auspicious number. In the Koran, there are eight forms of paradise, and eight angels carry the divine throne. It is worth mentioning that this linkage of eight to spiritual practice is worldwide: witness Buddhism with its eightfold way. Even in China, Taoism has eight immortals, and there are eight pillars of heaven. Closer to home, and directly relevant to the Alhambra, the octagon is the preeminent symbol of the Sufis, said to hold the wisdom at the source and confluence of Islam, Judaism, and Christianity.
Now, having in mind all this heritage, let us walk into the Alhambra, and into the throne room in the Tower of Comares. Above us, we see a ceiling of inlaid pieces of wood, over one thousand eight hundred of them, in seven circles marked by myriad stars. From the four corners of the room, four bright channels run, marking the course of the four rivers of paradise. They run to the center of the concentric stars at the highest point in the ceiling, the source of creation and its final destination. Around us are walls of iridescent tiles, each wall with its own design. Let us choose one to study and look into the world of number and form and see where we are led by the play of mind made available by an art meant to offer us a kind of treasure map for meditation.
It is just beside the entrance of to the throne room, a modestly sized panel. Let’s look at it carefully together.
The tiles fit together seamlessly. It looks as if the wall is in movement, which is an effect found throughout the Alhambra. The solid wall pulses with the energy of form. At the heart of this panel is an golden octagonal star, bounded by white lines, which create another octagonal star, which in turn unfolds into a larger, green octagonal figure. This beautiful design is surrounded in turn by eight golden figures, each with five points, and in form like human forms with arms outstretched, as if they were dancing. Then, as we look at the tiles, we find the central octagonal star reproduces itself, as eight deep blue octagonal stars, arranged symmetrically around the golden figures. If we refocus and try to see the center section of the design as a whole, we notice that the white line surrounding them makes a perfect octagon. After a moment, we can hold both the center octagonal star and the surrounding octagon in focus, so as to see both the centerpoint and its frame.
This is a good time to pause. For just with this one initial exercise, we have had to experiment with our vision, to change our perspective on the design, to see what is figure and what is ground. This figure-ground switching, commonly found in optical illusions, here is deliberately urged upon us, since crucial elements of the design remain concealed unless we refocus our attention to select another set of elements. But this skill of switching, whereby we question and change our assumptions about what we perceive, is of course an indispensable skill in perception of whatever kind, in whatever study. Here, before a wall of tiles in the Alhambra, we are given a chance to practice this art. So the tiles are a kind of athletic field of perception, where we might exercise in order to strengthen this very capacity of mind.
To return to the tiles: we next see that, beyond the enclosing octagon, the pattern flowers out along the interlocking white bands. It flowers both horizontally and toward the corners. This flowering occurs with various five-and six-pointed polygons, none of them regular pentagons or hexagons. Until suddenly, in the corners, we see the central pattern suddenly recreated (the golden octagonal star, unfolding into an octagonal figure, etc.). Surrounding the golden octagonal stars and figures in each corner, we see the same set of blue octagonal stars, and the same outline in white lines of the perfect enclosing octagon. One key pattern, then, is in the center and in all four corners. And there is a stunning sensation of movement, since the central pattern, as recreated in the corners, is incomplete. It is as if the whole design were alive and expanding before our eyes, moving beyond the borders of the design.
Here again is the role of this tile work as conductor of the mind: we see that the movement of the design is based on a harmonious and natural change of one form into another. Now, all of us change in the course of life, and the tiles speak to the notion that we might transform ourselves according to a radiant pattern alive within the world, and within us. Rather than change being chaotic and unwelcome, the tiles would suggest that there exists a natural path of change that might be traditional and available, by which we might proceed with clarity, precision, and integrity.
To put it another way: it is as if we are to learn that a clear and beautiful pattern in our own lives, once understood, can then, as our perception is extended, be found clear and resurgent in the world. It is a portrait of the way our lives might be part of an enveloping life, the way the world might offer a common and beautiful unity. Our minds, as we study these tiles, develop because we are being continuously sensitized to patterns of clairvoyant power. All of us live by patterns, in the way we think and the way we work. To see a pattern in each of our lives is to understand our place in that pattern, and, by extension, to know what to expect in the world from a given configuration of events.
To return once more to the tiles: if we look to each side of the central figure, we see the two strange forms: four octagonal stars (two green and two black) that look as if they are emerging from a white-bordered blue octagonal star; and at the corners of the figure, four green polygons with five vertices each. Once again the impression is that of inevitable emergence, of movement, of a harmonious channeling of energies.
And in the overall design, we can try to follow any one line, and track its various uses as it moves through the overall design. It is like driving a race car, since any one line swerves and veers, banks and curves, reverses course and rockets off in a new direction. It’s exhilarating; it’s just like walking in the Albayzín, and I have been tempted to post a satellite shot of the barrio on my wall, just to see if any of the patterns in the tiles are found in the network of streets that define our barrio. In following the lines in this wall of tile before us, we stop and note the forms they define: here a star, there an octagon, further on an emblematic figure of a man or woman standing, arms outstretched, in exaltation. In all this tracking, what is obvious becomes actively part of our experience, for there is no isolated line, there is no end point to the movement of the pattern; any one line can play its part in a whole variety of forms. We see before us what we say we have known all along: the necessary, organic connection of all things. It is driven home not in the pale form of a mere idea, but as a richly sensual experience of meditation as we look into the tiles. It is the idea made real, lovely, and irresistible.
Let’s return, after this journey around one wall of tiles, to the numbers that govern this design. First, it is dominated by eight, the number that is a portrait of earth as both material and transcendent, as matter in movement, yet turning in concord with a harmonious and perfect order. Transcendence, in some way, has to begin with the effort to bring a stable, harmonious order to the mind, to create a center point of peace that can sustain us and safeguard us as we live through the storm of events that comprise our days. The numerical theme here is a dense concentration of eightfold symmetries—a variety of stars and octagons, into which are woven the eight human figures. This very pattern, resurgent in the corners of the wall, suggests again how an order we find within may then be found in life itself. In other words, it is suggested that we can earn a capacity of mind that permits us to find within the world a more durable, transcendent order. Surely these tiles are meant to portray just such a deepening of experience, at core an experience of a merciful order in the mind that is at the
same time a living order in the world.
The figures at the sides of the wall hold the numbers four, five, six, and eight: an internal blue octagonal star, surrounded by four emergent stars, making five centers altogether (the central star and the four emergent stars). The number five, we recall, refers to our senses and their progressive development as we try to refine our capacities of mind and perception. And it refers, as well, to the organic growth in the natural world. So once again, we have a geometric figure that portrays what can be our unity with the green and growing world, as we learn to join our life to all life.
If we stand back and review our meditation upon the patterns of just this one wall of tiles, what might we carry away with us? To understand the design, we must use care and patience, change perspective by switching figure and ground, learn how to see emergent patterns, focus on how one pattern fits with another, and comprehend how the whole is connected. And all of this, bound up with whole numbers which have the most resonant, productive associations with spiritual history, with the workings of the earth, and the order of our minds. What if these tiles are meant to teach? What if here, before us, is art that has the power to help us test our perceptions, to learn to sense patterns in the world itself, to be able to follow the harmonious unfolding of events, to recognize how one form of understanding leads to another, to sense our connection to the whole? What I claim here is that the tiles of the Alhambra are not just beautiful. They have a useful beauty. They are a gift offered to us so that we may learn by means of the dynamic exercise they give our perceptions. We are given a chance to form capacities of mind that make a harmonious and sentient change in the way we live. That is, we begin to see how patterns in life can show the workings of a more fundamental, inclusive order, an order in the world and within us. To begin to see ourselves as part of a comprehensive order connected with beauty is to have, beyond faith, a hope of integrity brought to us by a design both generous and sacred. We are in the presence of an art of stars. Whatever the delight they give with their beauty, whatever the admiration they excite with their play of arabesque, they speak to us of knowledge we need to thrive.
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