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Over the years various Islamic cultures—Ottomans, Moors—have produced their own architectural interpretations. The ornament and tessellated patterning that Islamic architecture is so famous for is just that—an embellishment. Ironically this freedom authorised Arolat’s self imposed restrictions for the project. “Rather than trying to create a very new or extravagant form, we tried to reach to the essence,” he says. “We wanted to suppress the architectural language as much as possible. We wanted to get to the essence of the ritual of prayer, with humility and nobility.” To Arolat’s surprise, the Sancaklar Foundation and the Mufti agreed to his minimalist vision.

EAA achieve an ‘essential’ architecture by subordinating the building to the spectacular landscape and burying much of the building below ground. Nothing is ostentatious. The entire sequence of buildings—walls, floors, even gravel landscape—are constructed from concrete and local grey slate allowing the mosque to further blend into the landscape. This also accords with his firm belief that every building be true to its context.

From a distance, as visitors walk to the site, they can glimpse a garden enclosed by a series of horizontal stone walls. A tall stone monolith acts as a minaret. On its top corner, calligraphy becomes legible as one gets closer—the only indication from above ground that this is a place of worship. Arolat didn’t want to include a minaret, but it was the one thing the local Mufti insisted on.

From the vantage point of the garden, visitors can enjoy the view of Lake Büyükçekmece. Cows are known to graze among the stone walls. Native plants don’t require watering and like the stone work, blend with the prairie surrounds. Mosques aren’t just places of worship, they are a public meeting place, says Arolat: “They enable the community to socialise. There are few appealing spaces around the [Büyükçekmece] neighbourhood for people to congregate, but here people can set up a screen and a projector, so that they can even watch movies outdoors.”

To worship, one walks down slate steps cascading down the grassy hillside. It’s like walking through an ancient amphitheatre. Pathways ‘feather’ into the grass, further enhancing the feeling that this is an overgrown ruin. Trickling waterfalls and reflecting pools dampen the worldly street noise. Opposite the mosque entrance, another outdoor space in front of a library and teahouse enables people to socialise. “This is a public space, a real space,” Arolat says.

After removing your shoes, one enters the mosque through a small, modest doorway. Light and shadow take over. In contrast to the austerity of the grey minimalist stonework outside, spot floor lighting accentuates the walls and highlights the steps in this interior amphitheatre. Overhead a stepped concrete, domed ceiling reflects the amphitheatre’s levels below.

Rather than recreating a classical domed prayer room Arolat turned beyond Islamic architecture, back in to the core reaches of Islamic faith. The prayer room is like a cave. This is architecture that touches upon the essence of both architecture as shelter and Islamic religion. It was in the Cave of Hira on a mountain near Mecca, that Muslims believe Muhammad received the first revelations of the Quran from Allah, through the angel Jibril. “The cave is a simple space that was not designed,” says Arolat. In keeping with that “the materials have been reduced to their most elemental form”.

For all the effectiveness of uplighting the most spectacular use of light is natural. As worshippers face Mecca, a split above the qiblah wall allows natural light to fall across its off form concrete. Sunlight varies during the day. This feature is “the sole ornament of this twilit space,” says Arolat. “The sense of spirituality that this light adds to the space is designed to enhance the pleasure of worship and create a sense of enthusiasm for visitors,” he says.

From a reflective black ‘infinity wall’ a glowing calligraphic composition by Mehmed Özçay reminds worshippers: ‘AND always mention God’. Arolat doesn’t perceive the composition by this master calligrapher as decorative.

“Special care was to be given to avoid every possible form of symbolism—religious or otherwise—in the building’s elements while absolutely no decoration or embellishment of any kind was to be allowed on surfaces,” he explains. “The essential point of this frugal use of materials was a concern that the building’s ‘decoration’ should reveal itself solely in the junctures of surfaces: what Adolf Borbein referred to as ‘the art of joining’. What informs the building’s tectonic expression—and also guarantees its austerity—is this attitude towards junctures.”

Arolat describes the prayer room as a “primordial space” where “matter and light exist delicately”. In essence he believes this is the “aura of Islamic architecture … It’s a simple, humble interior … The walls and the ceiling strengthen the sense of purification and humility. The aim was to create a haven for the house of worship to take refuge in. From that thinking emerged the initial design concept of settling into the earth and creating a world relatively isolated from the outer one.” As Sancaklar mosque’s Imam, Ali Elmaci, told Architectural Record: “There are no distractions to the worshippers. You have a closer, more peaceful relationship with the Creator.”

Significantly, for the first time in Muslim architecture, women too have a closer physical relationship with God. “Unlike the conventional mosques in Turkey, here women can pray at the forefront,” says Arolat. This makes perfect sense. EAA is a modern office where five of its six team leaders are women. Nor should one forget the woman whose sincere religiosity helped inspire Arolat.

Aside from gaining its own local community who pray regularly—especially on Fridays and specific religious days—the mosque has become a landmark destination; part of cultural and architectural tours, with visitors coming from around the world to see this contemporary interpretation of mosque architecture. “The deliberate austerity in the design of the building’s structural elements, is compatible with the devotional practices of Islam,” he says. “It inspires both humility and a sense of awe.”

One trusts that this modest, tranquil space also embodies the experience that so affected Emre Arolat at his grandmother’s funeral. Still he feels cause for concern. “Religion has shape-shifted and the general atmosphere is getting more and more depressive,” Arolat reflects. Secular states the world over blur the separation of power between church and state. In Turkey, as Ugur Tanyeli writes in Architectural Review, what mosques sanctify is not the architecture, but a political ideology that amalgamates religion with nationalism. “Turks, or at least a large majority of them, define the architectural task within a historical imagination in which 16th century Ottoman Empire was defined as a military and political world power … Modern Turkish Muslim identity was and still is increasingly constructed as the heir of Suleiman the Magnificent … The modern mosque has to be an icon or a complex of icons, the main function of which is to support that realpolitik.”

In The Destruction of Memory: Architecture at War, Robert Bevan identifies the importance of buildings as vessels of symbolic cultural memory. It’s the reason why they are ransomed, ransacked and destroyed in battle. Yet in grounds that look like ancient ruins, Emre Arolat hopes that by focusing on “the essence” this primordial space might one day “turn a light on—that’s what we tried to capture with the architecture of this mosque”.

Arolat is fond of quoting the Quran passage: “Do not walk upon the earth bragging. You can never cleave the earth, nor can you reach up to the mountains.” Despite this call to modesty, Arolat arguably has some cause to brag. With the Sancaklar mosque, this non-religious architect respectfully cleaves the earth above this manmade mountain ‘cave’, allowing natural light to fall across the qiblah wall. It is an act of respect, reflecting his personal hopes for a modern Turkey; one of unity and tolerance that he witnessed 40 years ago with his devout grandmother and atheist grandfather.