When we picture the grand colonial churches of Latin America, we often imagine baroque facades and European classicism imposed upon a conquered landscape. But a MIT thesis reveals a startling, hidden layer of this history: the first churches built for Indigenous peoples in 16th-century Mexico and Peru were profoundly influenced by Islamic architecture from Spain, creating a unique and politically charged “memory of Islam” in the New World.
The Thesis: A Hidden Architectural Dialogue
Architectural historian Salvatore Autorino’s comparative study, “Memory of Islam: Culture and Politics in Sixteenth-century Religious Architecture of Mexico and Peru,” investigates two unconventional church types:
- The Mexican “Open Chapel” (Capilla Abierta): A religious space completely open to a large atrium, often with a porticoed facade and sometimes featuring a forest of columns.
- The Peruvian “Lateral Church”: A single-nave church where the main entrance was shifted from the front to the side, reorienting the entire spatial experience away from the Christian axial procession toward the altar.
Autorino argues these forms are among the most “anti-classical” in the colonial repertoire. Their inspiration, he finds, lies not in Renaissance Europe, but in the eight centuries of Islamic presence on the Iberian Peninsula—the world of Al-Andalus.
From Mosque to Chapel: The Islamic Imprint
The most striking evidence is the Mexican capilla hipóstila (hypostyle chapel), like the monumental but lost Chapel of San José de los Naturales in Mexico City. Described by contemporaries as having “seven naves” supported by “many columns,” it was explicitly compared by a 17th-century priest to the Great Mosque of Córdoba.
Table 1: Formal Echoes – From Al-Andalus to the Andes
| Feature in Mexican/Peruvian Churches | Probable Hispano-Islamic Reference | Significance |
|---|---|---|
| Hypostyle Hall (forest of columns) | Great Mosque of Córdoba & other Spanish mosques | Rejection of basilican plan; space defined by repetition, not a single axis. |
| Large, Walled Atrium as primary worship space | Courtyard (sahn) of a mosque | Worship and community life in an open courtyard, not a closed nave. |
| Lateral entrance & loss of axiality | Possibly the T-type plan of mosques, emphasizing the qibla wall | Subversion of the Christian ritual procession toward the altar. |
| Use of alfiz (rectangular frame around arches) and intricate wooden artesonado ceilings | Standard elements of Mudéjar architecture (Islamic-style art under Christian rule) | Transfer of building techniques and aesthetic sensibilities. |
These forms arrived with the first friars and builders. Many came from Andalusia, Spain’s most Islamicized region. Some friars had even worked to convert Muslims in Granada. They carried a “collective visual memory” of the architectural landscape they knew.
Politics, Power, and Identity: Why Build a “Mosque” in the New World?
This was not a neutral transfer of style. Autorino places it in the fierce political and cultural battles of the 16th century.
- In Spain: The year 1492 saw both the conquest of Granada (the last Muslim kingdom in Iberia) and Columbus’s first voyage. The Spanish Crown, seeking to forge a pure “European” identity centered on Roman Catholicism and Classical Rome, began suppressing Islamic heritage. The Renaissance style became the official architecture of imperial power (exemplified by the Palace of Charles V in the Alhambra itself).
- In the Americas: Paradoxically, as Spain tried to erase Islam at home, its architectural memory became a tool for colonization abroad. The open and lateral churches were built exclusively for Indigenous congregations. The author posits they served a double purpose:
- A Tool of Discrimination: Associating Indigenous people with the “infidel” Muslim “Other.” The Spaniards worshipped in “correct” Renaissance-style churches, while Natives were given spaces echoing the architecture of the subdued Moors, visually encoding social hierarchy.
- A Space for Appropriation: For Indigenous peoples, whose worlds were shattered, these unique buildings offered a distinct form to appropriate. The chapel of San José, for example, was fiercely claimed by Mexico City’s Indigenous population as “our San José.”
The Fading Memory: Classical Order Ascendant
As the 16th century progressed and the Crown tightened its ideological control, this Islamic imprint faded. By the time the Lateral Churches of Peru were built (1590-1620), the reference had become subtle—a shifted entrance, a residual spatial concept—almost swallowed by a more orthodox classical veneer.
Table 2: The Timeline of a Fading Memory
| Period & Context | Architectural Expression | Degree of Hispano-Islamic Influence |
|---|---|---|
| Early 1500s (Mexico): Less control, pressing need for mass conversion. Friars with Andalusian experience. | Hypostyle Open Chapels (e.g., San José, Cholula). | VERY HIGH. Direct formal and spatial analogies to mosques. |
| Mid-Late 1500s (Mexico): Increased Crown/Church control. | Portico Open Chapels. More blended forms. | HIGH to MODERATE. Hybrids between hypostyle model and Christian basilica. |
| c. 1555 (Mexico): “Basilica” of Cuilapan. | A three-nave church with arcaded walls and a lateral pulpit. A confusing blend. | MODERATE. Spatial disorientation mixes concepts. |
| 1590-1620 (Peru): Post-Council of Trent, strict orthodoxy. Secular clergy in charge. | “Lateral Churches” of the Altiplano (e.g., Chucuito, Juli). | LOW (but significant). Superficially classical, but the plan is “reversed”; the memory is spatial, not decorative. |
Conclusion: An Unfinished Legacy
Autorino’s work is more than an architectural detective story. It reveals that the birth of Latin American colonial culture was a three-way dialogue—between imposed Christianity, suppressed but persistent Islamic heritage, and resilient Indigenous identity. The first churches were not pure European imports but complex, hybrid creations born from Spain’s own internal cultural conflict.
The “memory of Islam” in the Americas is a ghost in the stone and mortar—a testament to how cultures are never simply erased, but transformed, travel, and resurface in unexpected places. It challenges us to see the rich, conflicted tapestry of history in the monuments we think we know.
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