Maybe some people may have thought or imagined that Islam drains

When Cat Stevens, also known as Yusuf Islam, said, “Maybe some people may have thought or imagined that Islam drains all creativity. In fact, when you look at history, you discover that the golden age of Spain is what actually produced what we call the guitar,” he was not merely correcting a misunderstanding — he was restoring truth to memory. His words shine like a lantern in the dark corridors of ignorance, where many have forgotten that faith and art, far from being enemies, have often walked hand in hand. In this reflection, he recalls an age when Islamic civilization, in its height of wisdom and culture, became a bridge between worlds — nurturing science, philosophy, architecture, and yes, music — in ways that shaped the destiny of all humankind.

The heart of his message is a defense of creativity born from faith. To say that religion drains imagination is to misunderstand both religion and creativity. True faith does not imprison the soul; it frees it to see beauty where others see emptiness. The Golden Age of Al-Andalus, the Muslim-ruled Spain of the 8th to 15th centuries, was not an age of suppression, but of flowering. In the cities of Cordoba, Granada, and Seville, scholars debated philosophy under the same roofs where poets sang and musicians played the oud, the ancestor of the modern guitar. The air itself was alive with harmony — of thought, sound, and spirit. It was an age when faith inspired art, and art, in turn, reflected faith’s grandeur.

The guitar, that beloved instrument of the modern world, carries within its strings the memory of that time. Its ancestor, the oud, was brought by Muslim artisans and travelers from the East, perfected under the guidance of Andalusian craftsmen. From there it spread through Europe, transforming sound and song forever. When Cat Stevens reminds us of this, he reminds us also that culture is not the property of one people or creed; it is the shared inheritance of all humanity. The music that now fills every corner of the world — from flamenco to classical, from blues to folk — owes something to that ancient union of East and West, of devotion and invention.

The origin of this quote lies in Yusuf Islam’s own journey — a journey of transformation. Once a celebrated musician who reached the heights of fame, he turned toward Islam seeking meaning beyond the applause of men. Many thought he had renounced art altogether. Yet in time, he returned to music, not as rebellion but as renewal, proving through his own life that faith refines creativity, it does not extinguish it. In recalling the story of the guitar, he was speaking also of himself — of how belief, when rightly understood, can deepen an artist’s purpose, giving his creation not only beauty, but soul.

Throughout history, this harmony between faith and creation has built civilizations. The cathedrals of Europe, the mosques of the Middle East, the temples of Asia — all are born of devotion expressed through art. The mathematicians of Baghdad, the philosophers of Cordoba, the architects of the Alhambra — they did not see their work as separate from worship. For them, to create was to honor the Creator. The same spirit can be heard in the notes of a lute, the brushstrokes of a manuscript, or the verse of a poet. When humanity forgets this sacred unity, art becomes shallow, and religion becomes rigid; but when it remembers, civilization blooms like spring after a long winter.

The story of Al-Andalus stands as a living testament to what happens when faith and reason, science and art, coexist. Christians, Jews, and Muslims studied together, composed together, and dreamed together. The music of that age transcended dogma; it became the language of coexistence. From it came not only the guitar, but the very idea of cultural exchange that still nourishes the world today. It teaches that creativity is not born from rebellion against faith, but from faith infused with openness — a faith confident enough to celebrate difference and curiosity.

Thus, the teaching of Yusuf Islam’s words is both ancient and urgent: never believe that faith must silence the artist or that art must deny the divine. The truest creativity flows from gratitude — from the soul that sees the beauty of the world as a reflection of something greater. If we wish to restore harmony to our age, we must look again to the lesson of Al-Andalus: to learn from one another, to blend our gifts, and to let faith inspire creation rather than fear it.

So let the memory of the Golden Age of Spain be not a relic, but a mirror. Let it remind us that the hand guided by reverence will shape beauty that endures. And let every musician, poet, and maker of dreams remember this truth: when the heart believes and the mind imagines, creation becomes worship — and the world is made more whole.