What characterizes Ottoman Sunnism, and how did it come to be? The conventional view is that by roughly the middle of the sixteenth century the imperial elite came to adopt and promote a particular religious identity, which can be characterized by several overlapping, interrelated, and historically defined denominational (madhhab) affiliations, as well as a particular relationship with the political hierarchy. The favored denominations included Hanafi legal affiliation and Maturidi kalÄm orientation, accompanied by elite support for particular aspects of mystical thought and practice, a cooperative relationship between favored Sufi orders and the state, and advanced integration of the ulama into a state-supported madrasa system.1 The scholarly literature on the evolution of these markers of belonging, as well as their meaning and content in an Ottoman context, has blossomed in recent years; however, much still remains to be clarified concerning the characteristics of this posited âOttoman Sunnismâ and how it came to be.
The coming together of these main factors into a coherent religious outlook evolved over approximately a century, from roughly the last quarter of the fifteenth to the middle of the sixteenth century. Prior to that period, Anatolian societies displayed a plethora of religious, spiritual, and political identities, which cannot easily be characterized as either fully Ottoman or Sunni. As Rıza Yıldırım characterized it, the religious landscape of Anatolia prior to the coming together of Ottoman Sunnism can best be described as âclusters of faiths,â sharing both Sunni and Shiâi elements.2 The earliest element in the institutionalization of a comprehensive Sunni imperial identity was likely Sultan Meḥmed IIâs (d. 886/1481) construction of a fully hierarchical madrasa system, accompanied by a unified curriculum.3 Following the establishment of the top madrasas, a synthesis between Ashâari and Maturidi theological approaches was embedded in the curriculum,4 along with a particularly Ottoman take on the Hanafi tradition.5 Covering theology, logic, philosophy, law, language, rhetoric, and other fields outside the physical sciences, this curriculum was heavily influenced by an earlier Timurid example of royal patronage for madrasa scholarship, which has been described as a âSunni revivalâ and came to play a major role in articulating an Ottoman path of practicing Sunni Islam.6 Concurrently, after the turn of the sixteenth century, facing an explicitly Shiâi Safavid challenge, which was itself evolving, this Ottoman interpretation of Sunnism hardened further in the midst of an âage of confessionalization,â which paralleled a similar (and far more extensively researched and commented upon) age in European societies.7
Before stabilizing as an institutionally consistent madrasa course of study, some of the curriculumâs foundational texts and pedagogical emphases remained hotly debated, with one of the realms most in dispute being that of uṣūl al-dÄ«n, or âprinciples of religion.â The discipline within uṣūl al-dÄ«n to receive the most attention has always been Ê¿ilm al-kalÄm, or just kalÄm, commonly translated as âtheology.â8 The Ottoman madrasa curriculum included a thorough study of kalÄm, perhaps because learning the classics of theological disputation provided students with a solid orientation and history of Muslim identity politics through the centuries up to that point. Likewise, by studying kalÄm, students could strengthen their grasp of uṣūl al-dÄ«n in general, logic, and rhetorical methodology, and the factors inherent in successful theological positions. As Ottoman religious politics underwent a shift at the turn of the sixteenth century due to the Safavid challenge, that training proved quite useful, as kalÄm provided one of the key tools for state-supported scholars to redefine the boundaries of sanctioned belief.
One figure whose writings reflect this coming together of Ottoman Sunnism at a nascent stage is ÅehzÄde Ḳorḳud (d. 919/1513), who argued a series of positions on matters of religious belief, doctrinal certainty, favored groups, and the relationship between the state and ulama. Largely because he failed to win power in the 917â919/1511â1513 dynastic succession struggle, the princeâs arguments left a limited mark, and several of his positions reflected a minority viewpoint. However, at the same time, his positions highlight several relevant intellectual influences at that time and place, point to factors contributing to the form Ottoman Sunnism came to take, and demonstrate the range of debate inherent in elite circles at the time.
1 Lineages of Ottoman KalÄm
KalÄm had evolved through several epochs by the time Ottoman scholars entered the arena. Early Islamic doctrinal debates were contested between a number of groups, some of the more influential consisting of: Muâtazili supporters of full human agency, divine justice, and responsibility who accepted rational argumentation; Hanbali traditionalists who prioritized revealed knowledge (naql)âparticularly prophetic hadith reportsâover all other forms of proofs; and Murjiâi partisans, who believed individuals would face Godâs judgment only in the afterlife.
In the course of these debates, which sometimes turned violent, supporters of such broad sets of positions sharpened their own stance in response to their opponentsâ critiques, borrowed arguments from each other, and ultimately reached a sort of consensus on certain points. Over time, as doctrinal debates continued to evolve, the original group coherence broke down, to be replaced by new groupings. Scholars, rarely obliged to follow consistent belief guidelines, frequently supported positions lifted from multiple groupings. As a result, the borders between primary belief orientations were frequently blurry, as well as constantly shifting. For example, while many Sunni scholars and theologians sympathized with various Muâtazili views, the grouping eventually became largely identified with Twelver Shiâi philosophy, while the Murjiâi strand later became identified with latitudinarian Sufism. Similarly, in the early centuries traditionalists persuasively portrayed both falsafa (philosophic rationalism) and kalÄm as doubt inducing and dangerous activities.9
As A.I. Sabra argued, falsafa and kalÄm evolved in opposition to each other, with each seeing itself as the supreme science, independent of all others. Advocates for this Islamicate form of philosophic rationalism, the most notable of which included al-KindÄ« (d. 259/873), al-FÄrÄbÄ« (d. 339/950), Ibn SÄ«nÄ/Avicenna (d. 428/1038), and Ibn Rushd/Averroes (d. 595/1198), saw themselves as searching for truth for its own sake, as contemporary representatives of ancient sciences exemplified by demonstrative proofs, doctrinal neutrality, and genuinely rational methodology.10 In response to falsafa critiques of kalÄm as a pseudoscience offering little more than apologetics in defense of Islamic belief, and recognizing the power of such critiques, prominent mutakallimÅ«n came to integrate philosophic method into their doctrinal arguments, while at the same time extending the reach of kalÄm discourse into fields well beyond what modern scholars might recognize as âtheology.â11
Several Ashâari scholars fleshed out kalÄmâs response to the falsafa critique in the fifth/eleventh to eighth/fourteenth centuries. AbÅ« Bakr al-BÄqillÄnÄ« (d. 403/1013) first supported al-AshÊ¿arÄ«âs statements by pioneering a system of intellectual premises built on an atomistic theory of the world. In response to Aristotelian critiques of al-BÄqillÄnÄ«âs atomistic premises set out by the falÄsifa (philosophers), especially by Avicenna, ImÄm al-Ḥaramayn al-JuwaynÄ« (d. 478/1085) introduced reason (Ê¿aql) to kalÄm discourse.12 Following al-JuwaynÄ«âs contribution, al-GhazÄlÄ« (d. 505/1111) argued against the purely rationalist positions of the falÄsifa as a whole, on the grounds that their methods were inadequate to prove several of their doctrineâs main points. For this reason, he argued that the falÄsifa as a group failed to demonstrate their claim of philosophic rationalismâs all-encompassing demonstrative consistency. As an alternative, al-GhazÄlÄ«, and those who followed him, proposed co-opting philosophic methodology and rigor to defend kalÄm positions.13 Within this school of thought, Fakhr al-DÄ«n al-RÄzÄ« (d. 606/1210) perfected al-GhazÄlÄ«âs challenge to the philosophers by combining and applying the methodology of rationalism (Ê¿aql) to confirm statements made by revealed knowledge (naql).
Once falsafa methodology and rhetoric had been thus co-opted into kalÄm discourse, most scholars followed their lead, aside from falsafa rationalists and traditionalists, who eventually grew somewhat marginalized within mainstream Islamicate intellectual circles. In addition to marginalizing unsympathetic philosophers and traditionalists, this âAvicennan turnâ in response to Ibn SÄ«nÄâs critique also transformed kalÄm under the aegis of an all-encompassing disciplinary approach, which came to be known as ḥikma (wisdom).14 Over the subsequent centuries, kalÄm evolved into a rigorous philosophic school of its own, which might be more accurately classified as a âreligious philosophyâ or a âphilosophical theology.â15 By the ninth/fifteenth century, an admixture of rationalist philosophical methodology and rhetoric had been progressively incorporated into the discipline, such that the postclassical (al-mutaʾakhkhirÅ«n) form of kalÄm came to prioritize logic, design, and strength of argumentation over madhhab affiliation.16
Living in an era defined by the dual threats of the Ismaâili daÊ¿wa and the doubt inducing faylasÅ«f, al-GhazÄlÄ« also strove to ensure legal effect for oneâs doctrinal thinking. As Frank Griffel has pointed out, al-GhazÄlÄ« denied the right of repentance (istitÄba) to those found guilty of secret apostasy (zindÄ«qs) due to their demonstrated internal beliefs, regardless of their external statements of faith. He also paved the way for state representatives to adjudicate the status of oneâs belief based on oneâs external actions, primarily by blurring the legal distinction between a Muslim guilty of internal unbelief (kufr) and a believer actively professing apostasy (irtidÄd).17 Over time, legists and other scholars elaborated on actions that signified such internal belief to the satisfaction of governing authorities. One of the earlier and more celebrated victims of this position was ShihÄb al-DÄ«n YaḥyÄ SuhrawardÄ« (d. 587/1191), author of the controversial tract HayÄkil al-nÅ«r (Temples of light). Due to the bÄá¹Ä±nÄ« (Neoplatonic, gnostic, esoteric) nature of his ishrÄqÄ« (illuminationist) writings, which went on to influence generations of philosophical Sufis, his views were considered enough of a provocation by the Ayyubid authorities of his day to justify execution.18
Coinciding with an era of great intellectual, philosophical, and political experimentation in the wake of the Mongol Irruption, in the decades and centuries after SuhrawardÄ«âs execution, several philosophically inclined scholars strove to rehabilitate SuhrawardÄ«âs ishrÄqÄ« thought and reconcile it with legal strictures on bÄá¹Ä±nÄ« thought. This scholarly philosophical trend has often been referred to by modern scholars as the âShirazi schoolââwhich actually appears to be two related, but somewhat distinct, intellectual clusters. Characteristic of the era, the boundaries of this âShirazi schoolâ were not particularly well defined, nor were its scholarsâ doctrinal identities uniformly clear. One group was made up of predominantly Ashâari scholars who integrated Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ«âs (d. 638/1240) metaphysics, SuhrawardÄ«âs illuminationism, and Avicennan ideas with post-GhÄzÄlÄ« kalÄm. Prominent scholars in this group included Ê¿Aá¸ud al-DÄ«n al-ĪjÄ« (d. 756/1355), SaÊ¿d al-DÄ«n al-TaftÄzÄnÄ« (d. 793/1390), and al-Sayyid al-SharÄ«f al-JurjÄnÄ« (d. 817/1413)âeach of whom came to play a major role in the Ottoman kalÄm curriculum.19 A parallel Shirazi cluster was characterized by scholars who either ignored or were not remembered for engaging with kalÄm but were similarly engaged with the philosophical, metaphysical, and mystical debates of the first group. Characterized as more mystically inclined, and usually discussed together with the evolution of Twelver Shiâi philosophy, such scholars included á¹¢adr al-DÄ«n al-QÅ«nawÄ« (d. 673/1274), Quá¹b al-DÄ«n ShÄ«rÄzÄ« (d. 710/1311), and á¹¢adr al-DÄ«n DashtaqÄ« (d. 903/1497).20 Both groups commented on the legacies of Avicenna/Ibn SÄ«nÄ, SuhrawardÄ«, and Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ«. At least two scholars were solidly entrenched in both groups, providing the tie between the two as both scholarly commonalities and chronological bookends, with Naṣīr al-DÄ«n ṬūsÄ«âs (d. 672/1274) TajrÄ«d informing philosophical discussions from the inception and JalÄl al-DÄ«n DawÄnÄ«âs (d. 908/1502) ShawÄkil al-ḥūr providing one of the last texts in common use in both Ottoman and Safavid circles.21
DawÄnÄ«, the last figure of mutual influence in these twinned Shirazi schools, mentored several students who went on to successful careers as policymakers and scholars in the Safavid, Ottoman, and Mughal Empires. Their common teacher may partially explain not only why his works were studied throughout these empires but why what has become categorized in modern scholarly literature as distinct Ottoman kalÄm and Twelver Shiâi philosophy schools shared several common scholars who wrote prior to the turn of the tenth/sixteenth century.22 In the wake of the Safavid revolution, with new issues to confront in a radically changed political landscape, these related schools started to go their separate ways as distinct fields.23
During the same epoch, as the Ashâari kalÄm school adopted philosophical methodology and reigned supreme throughout most of the central Islamic lands, the rival Maturidi kalÄm school gradually spread from Transoxania into Iran and Anatolia along with Turkic nomadic populations making their way westward. In the course of this spread westward, Maturidi scholars sharpened their arguments against Ashâari criticism while adopting certain Ashâari positions, so much so that ultimately the two schools grew quite intertwined. By the eighth/fourteenth century, scholars such as TÄj al-DÄ«n al-SubkÄ« (d. 771/1370), SaÊ¿d al-DÄ«n al-TaftÄzÄnÄ« (d. 793/1390), and al-Sayyid al-SharÄ«f al-JurjÄnÄ« (d. 817/1413), among others, argued that both Ashâari and Maturidi belief systems should be recognized as legitimately falling within the broader grouping of ahl al-sunna wa-l-jamÄÊ¿a (lit. âPeople of the Sunna and Community,â i.e., Sunnis)âeach threatened not so much by each other as by anthropomorphist trends (mujassima), which is how Hanbali and Karrami traditionalist arguments were often labeled.24
The culmination of these intertwined intellectual trends meant that what became Ottoman kalÄm was heavily influenced by positions and debates articulated by the following group of middle-period scholars: Najm al-DÄ«n Ê¿Umar al-NasafÄ« (d. 536/1142), Fakhr al-DÄ«n al-RÄzÄ« (d. 606/1210), Sayf al-DÄ«n al-ÄmidÄ« (d. 631/1233), NÄá¹£ir al-DÄ«n al-Bayá¸ÄwÄ« (d. 685/1286), Shams al-DÄ«n al-Iá¹£fahÄnÄ« (d. 749/1348), Ê¿Aá¸ud al-DÄ«n al-ĪjÄ« (d. 756/1355), SaÊ¿d al-DÄ«n al-TaftÄzÄnÄ« (d. 793/1390), al-Sayyid al-SharÄ«f al-JurjÄnÄ« (d. 817/1413), KhayÄlÄ« Aḥmad Efendi (d. 874/1470), and JalÄl al-DÄ«n DawÄnÄ« (d. 908/1502).25 With the exception of al-NasafÄ«, al-TaftÄzÄnÄ«, and KhayÄlÄ«, these scholars were all Ashâari affiliates.26 In addition, while al-NasafÄ« is considered a staunch Maturidi advocate, most Ottoman madrasa students read his Ê¿AqÄʾid through al-TaftÄzÄnÄ«âs and KhayÄlÄ«âs commentaries on it.27 SaÊ¿d al-DÄ«n al-TaftÄzÄnÄ« played something of a mediating role between al-NasafÄ«âs positions and those of his Ashâari colleagues, has been said to have merged Ashâari and Maturidi positions in his Sharḥ al-Ê¿AqÄʾid, and cannot be reliably assigned to either school.28 Meanwhile, KhayÄlÄ« Aḥmad Efendi, the only Ottoman scholar Mustafa Said YazıcıoÄlu found listed in a tenth/sixteenth-century manuscript describing the Ottoman kalÄm curriculum, appears to have spent much of his career adjudicating famous theological debates between the aforementioned scholars, as he is credited with either commentaries or glosses on the treatises included in the Ottoman curriculum by al-NasafÄ«, al-ĪjÄ«, al-TaftÄzÄnÄ«, al-JurjÄnÄ«, and al-DawÄnÄ«.29 In light of his own body of work, his position, and his lifespan, it seems likely that KhayÄlÄ« may have played a major role in defining the first standardized Ottoman madrasa curriculum on kalÄm. A product of his era, KhayÄlÄ« was later criticized by the Ottoman scholar Ê¿UthmÄn KilÄ«sÄ« al-Ê¿UryÄnÄ« (d. 1167/1754) for insufficiently emphasizing the differences between Ashâari and Maturidi positionsâwhich may have simply reflected the reality that Ottoman articulations of Maturidi kalÄm had grown far more detailed and distinct from its Ashâari cousin by the twelfth/eighteenth century.30 On the whole, considering how prominent, even dominant, Ashâari scholars were within the madrasa theology curriculum, just how Maturidi was Ottoman kalÄm in the late ninth/fifteenth century?
A generation later, in the wake of the Safavid challenge, it appears that self-identifying as following the Maturidi school came to carry greater importance within high Ottoman ulama circles. As if to signal this point, the powerful chief mufti (Åeyhüâl-islÄm) Ibn KemÄl/ KemÄlpaÅazÄde (d. 940/1534) devoted an entire treatise to clarifying doctrinal differences between the Maturidi and Ashâari schools,31 which was one of a long line of Ottoman ulama treatises engaging with TÄj al-DÄ«n al-SubkÄ«âs doctrinal poem describing Ashâari positions, al-NÅ«niyya.32 As the early Ottoman theologian Hıżır Beg (d. 863/1459) completed an Arabic versed exposition of doctrinal belief entitled Qaṣīdat al-nÅ«niyya, and his student, the aforementioned KhayÄlÄ« Aḥmad Efendi, completed a Turkish commentary on that work, entitled Sharḥ qaṣīdat al-nÅ«niyya, KemÄlpaÅazÄdeâs treatise was likely informed by all three of the aforementioned works and meant to definitively settle such debates within an Ottoman context.33 It also appears likely that KemÄlpaÅazÄde intended his contribution to better delineate divergences between Ashâari and Maturidi belief systems in order to more effectively promote the latter as reflecting Ottoman imperial identity. The conversation between these four texts delineating doctrinal belief suggests that one of the legacies of Ottoman Sunnism was to rescue Maturidi distinctiveness from its earlier blurring with Ashâari beliefs under what Mehmet Kalaycı has characterized as the âRÄzÄ« frameworkâ dominating ninth/fifteenth-century Ottoman letters.34 A century after KemÄlpaÅazÄdeâs contribution, the Indian Naqshbandi Shaykh Aḥmad al-SirhindÄ« (d. 1034/1624) seemingly confirmed Maturidi success by arguing that even though both doctrines are properly Sunni, one comes to prefer Maturidi over Ashâari positions after contemplating their arguments more deeply. Although he credited al-AshÊ¿arÄ« with introducing Ê¿aql proofs to discussions of belief, al-SirhindÄ« conceded that the difficulty of such contemplations had emboldened religionâs enemies and driven them on the path to Salafism. However, in his own day, those interested in the light of Godâs prophecy followed the ahl al-ḥaqq (people of verity)âwhich he associated with the Maturidi doctrine.35
Yet another middle-period trend that shaped Ottoman Sunnism was a drive for certainty in both religious belief and the legal consequences of such belief. Several fifth/eleventh- to eighth/fourteenth-century scholars, including Fakhr al-DÄ«n al-RÄzÄ«, Sayf al-DÄ«n al-ÄmidÄ«, and SaÊ¿d al-DÄ«n al-TaftÄzÄnÄ«, who also came to play a prominent role in the Ottoman kalÄm curriculum, strove to have the study of Islamic jurisprudence (fiqh) and its sources (uṣūl al-fiqh) be treated as science according to the standards of Aristotelian theory. Loosely related to al-GhazÄlÄ«âs and Fakhr al-DÄ«n al-RÄzÄ«âs integration of falsafa methodology into kalÄm discourse, these scholars treated the reconfigured kalÄm as an external corroboration of the four accepted sources of Islamic jurisprudence. Demonstrating just how far theological disputation had progressed, from a shunned source of doubt to a philosophically rigorous source of certainty, kalÄm proofs for the existence of God and accuracy of Quranic revelation, the first and primary source of fiqh, were taken to subsequently ensure the accuracy of the remaining three fiqh sources (hadith, consensus, and analogy). In effect, by striving for certainty in legal theory via demonstrative proofs as opposed to what they presented as the earlier reliance on taqlÄ«d (imitation), such scholars tried to render legal practice more âscientific,â and thus more persuasive. Treating uṣūl al-fiqh sources as scientific proofs from which legal assessments (aḥkÄm) can then be drawn, such scholars, particularly á¹¢adr al-SharÄ«Ê¿a (d. 747/1346), laid the groundwork for later legists to claim religious certainty in their interpretations of beliefs and subsequent legal certainty in specified punishments for countering those beliefs.36 By the late ninth/fifteenth century, Ottoman scholars further explored and extended the implications of this trend by arguing that juristsâ opinions qualified as fulfilling the requirements of legal certainty. Not surprisingly, the culmination of this trend rendered religious belief increasingly prominent and legally relevant, additionally threatening public figures who refused to conform, as well as communities whose actions were considered to display external signs of internal unbelief (kufr).37
As Ottoman Sunnism was just taking shape, kalÄm had evolved well beyond the foundersâ (mutaqaddimÅ«n) emphasis on revealed knowledge of the earlier centuries, which tended to emphasize fairly straightforward interpretations of scriptural proofs, according to madhhab affiliation. Following al-GhazÄlÄ«âs and Fakhr al-DÄ«n al-RÄzÄ«âs reformulation of the discipline, and the contributions of several subsequent scholars, kalÄm had evolved into a complex, comprehensive, and philosophically informed discourse, which provided doctrinal certainty and external legal corroboration for the opinions of state-affiliated ulama. Of course, an alternative view advocated for keeping philosophical methodology and discourse out of kalÄm and concentrating purely on broader religious doctrine (uṣūl al-dÄ«n) verified via naql revealed proofs. Supporters of this view included the Hanbali scholars Ibn Taymiyya (d. 728/1328) and his student Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyya (d. 751/1350), as well as the Mamluk scholar JalÄl al-DÄ«n al-SuyÅ«tÄ« (d. 911/1505).38 While this alternative view might appear to represent a narrow-minded reliance on revelation, it might also be seen as resisting the ongoing expansion of theological discourse into matters and disputes that went well beyond the âoriginal intentâ of prophetic revelation.
Generally speaking, by the end of the ninth/fifteenth century, both the Maturidi and Ashâari schools had mutually recognized each otherâs legitimacy as Sunni positions, the Shirazi school(s) had successfully rehabilitated mystically inclined rational philosophy, scholars continued to search for certainty in religious belief, and some scholars articulated arguments rendering kalÄm legally relevant. The integration of philosophical discourse into theology, coupled with the search for certainty and the recharacterization of ahl al-sunna as accepting both Maturidi and Ashâari positions while rejecting others, eventually led to the political use of kalÄm as a form of state legitimation, with deadly consequences for some. As first MollÄ Luá¹fÄ« (d. 900/1494) and later MollÄ á¸²Äbıż (d. 933/1527) were to discover, once state-backed scholar-bureaucrats had moved beyond certainty in religious belief to rendering such correct belief legally actionable, kalÄm became a dangerous discourse for those publicly insisting on views considered beyond the pale.39
As the imperial madrasa infrastructure and curriculum reached its full articulation by the middle of the tenth/sixteenth century, a recognizable Ottoman kalÄm branch had emerged. While this branch is usually described as simply âMaturidi,â it might be more accurate to follow M. Sait Ãzervarlıâs lead in characterizing this as a ânew synthesis.â40 This new synthesis emerged together with Ottoman Sunnism, maintained continuous scholarly dialogue with classic works of the Ashâari school while largely defending Maturidi positions, absorbed the methodology and rhetoric of what is usually described as the âShirazi schoolâ of ḥikma-driven philosophy into theological dialogue, and had grown both legally relevant and politically powerfulâat least in those areas under Ottoman sovereignty.
2 An Engaged Participant
One emblematic participant in the small circle of imperial elites who engaged in a broad range of political and scholarly discourse, including kalÄm disputation and uṣūl al-dÄ«n commentary, and thus helped define Ottoman Sunnism, was ÅehzÄde Ḳorḳud (d. 919/1513). In the popular literature on Ottoman history, he is more commonly recalled (when remembered at all) as a complaining, compromised, and weak prince who proved completely unable to compete against his courageous and decisive younger half-brother, Sultan SelÄ«m I (r. 918â926/1512â1520). In reality, Ḳorḳudâs political biography was far more complex than the image promoted by subsequent court historians, and his gradual erasure from the pantheon of Ottoman letters is itself worthy of study.41
In preparation for a long-anticipated struggle to succeed his father BÄyezÄ«d II (r. 886â918/1481â1512), throughout the first decade of the tenth/sixteenth century Ḳorḳud strove to portray himself as a well-rounded candidate who was intellectually and ethically prepared to assume the role of an ideal Ottoman and Islamic ruler. He was not alone in such endeavors. As Christopher Markiewicz has demonstrated, IdrÄ«s-i BidlÄ«sÄ« (d. 926/1520), during the same decade, strove to portray first ÅehzÄde Aḥmed (d. 919/1513), then ÅehzÄde ÅehinÅÄh (d. 917/1511), and finally SelÄ«m each as respective heirs apparent to the âviceregency of Godâ (khilÄfa-yi raḥmÄnÄ«).42 While each of these four surviving sons of BÄyezÄ«d II could by 917/1511 count on various personal strengths and centers of support, only Ḳorḳud is credited with authoring treatises that laid out opinions on matters of faith, legitimacy, and correct governmental practice.
Turning the âpublish or perishâ mantra somewhat on its head, the largely forgotten Ḳorḳud proved more prolific, engaged, and successful in different realms of belles-lettres than any other Ottoman royal, ever. He has also resisted neat classification as either amÄ«r (commander) or Ê¿Älim (scholar), as his other accomplishments in the fields of poetry, musical composition, calligraphy, and other fine arts might be considered consistent with either category. Ä°smail Hakkı UzunçarÅılı treated Ḳorḳud as something of a weak prince who pursued a side interest in Arabic legal treatisesâa view largely consistent with that promoted by Ottoman historians in the decades following Ḳorḳudâs death.43 More recently, Ahmet Hamdi Furat considered Ḳorḳud a proper Shafiâi faqÄ«h who happened to be an Ottoman royal, as opposed to a fully competitive prince who nearly succeeded BÄyezÄ«d II.44 Why did a prince in the midst of a highly politicized and dangerous succession intrigue also engage in seemingly obtuse questions of theological discourse? As Lutz Berger has suggested, âtheological knowledge was part and parcel of the academic credentials of scholars and therefore their social standing.â45 Perhaps Ḳorḳud hoped to persuade potential supporters that he was the most worthy candidate to succeed his father BÄyezÄ«d by engaging directly in such matters as a participating Ê¿Älim, as opposed to merely patronizing such scholarly works as an amÄ«r.
While Ḳorḳudâs oeuvre is impressive for a royal figure normally obliged to follow the career track of a military sovereign, there remains a question of authorship. His extant correspondence, poetry, calligraphy, and musical compositions raise no particular red flags concerning authorship, no more than with any other historical figure living five centuries ago. However, his Arabic treatises are another matter. He is credited with as many as seven discursive treatises and a collection of legal opinions, four of which remain extant within Süleymaniye Libraryâs Aya Sofya collection. Three of these extant texts exhibit a high level of scholarly Arabic, free from obvious mistakes and in line with the conventions of the time.46 One of those texts analyzed here, DaÊ¿wat al-nafs al-á¹Äliḥa, survives in three manuscript copies. The draft version includes a prefatory statement attributing the text to Ḳorḳud while stating that an otherwise unknown scholar, Ê¿Abd al-SalÄm b. Muḥammad al-Aná¹£ÄrÄ«, dictated the text, on behalf of âthe sultan of scholarship and scholar of his era,â Ḳorḳud.47 The fourth extant text, WasÄ«lat al-aḥbÄb, which the prince addressed directly to his father as an extended and private explanation of his sudden 915/1509 departure for Mamluk Egypt, is riddled with basic Arabic grammatical errors.48 Comparison of all known copies of these texts attributed to Ḳorḳud suggests multiple possibilities in terms of authorship. Perhaps Ḳorḳud authored all texts attributed to him but had al-Aná¹£ÄrÄ« dictate (and edit) the draft version of al-DaÊ¿wa on his behalf. Alternatively, perhaps al-Aná¹£ÄrÄ« was the ghost writer of al-DaÊ¿wa, or perhaps it was a group effort by more than one scholar resident at Ḳorḳudâs court working under the princeâs direction. What is certain is that there is great discrepancy between the levels of Arabic competence displayed in DaÊ¿wat al-nafs al-á¹Äliḥa and in WasÄ«lat al-aḥbÄb and that all of the works were claimed by, and credited to, ÅehzÄde Ḳorḳud.
Through these texts, Ḳorḳud presented his views forcefully, his argumentation reflecting the worldview, expertise, and literature of Ottoman ulama around the turn of the tenth/sixteenth century. While many of his views were emblematic of this stage in the formulation of Ottoman religious identity, they were not entirely consistent with what came to be adopted. Notably, Ḳorḳud preferred the Shafiâi madhhab, even while the Ottoman madrasa system of his own day had already established a definitive Hanafi preference. Similarly, he condemned Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ« (d. 638/1240), whom KemÄlpaÅazÄde (d. 940/1534) rehabilitated after Ḳorḳudâs death, following Sultan SelÄ«mâs public visit to and restoration of Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ«âs tomb during the 922/1516 Syria campaign.49
Ḳorḳudâs intellectual journey is itself somewhat indicative of broader trends in ninth-to-tenth/fifteenth-to-sixteenth-century intellectual thought. Educated primarily by Anatolian-based scholars who were in turn heavily influenced by Timurid and Aqqoyunlu scholarly circles, Ḳorḳud also maintained a strong Egypt connection toward the end of his career. He requested theological advice from the famous Cairene scholar AbÅ« YaḥyÄ ZakariyyÄ al-Aná¹£ÄrÄ« (d. 926/1520),50 and relied on the aforementioned Egyptian shaykh with the same family name, Ê¿Abd al-SalÄm b. Muhammad al-Aná¹£ÄrÄ«, to both dictate the rough draft of his magnum opus and negotiate his 1510 return from exile in Cairo.51 To better understand Ḳorḳudâs personal journey and subsequent contribution to an emergent Ottoman Sunnism, let us now examine his educational formation, intellectual circles, his oeuvre as a whole, and some of the arguments contained in two of his most prominent treatises.
3 A Palace Education
Ḳorḳudâs educational formation combined a fairly typical Anatolian education, dominated by post-Timurid Iranian and Central Asian influences, and a somewhat less typical current characterized by Egyptian Ashâari influences.52 His father BÄyezÄ«dâs Amasya court retained teachers, calligraphers, artists, and scholars, several with strong connections to Iran or other eastern lands. These teachers included MollÄ á¹¢alÄḥuâd-dÄ«n (fl. 881/1476), Amasyalı Haá¹Ä«b ḲÄsım (d. ca. 926/1520), MÄ«rim Ãelebi MaḥmÅ«d (d. 930/1524), MuÊ¿arrifzÄde, and Amasyalı Shaykh ḤamdullÄh (d. ca. 926/1520).53 Several of those known to have been resident at BÄyezÄ«dâs Amasya court should have exerted influence on Ḳorḳudâs education. However, as little was recorded about Ḳorḳudâs childhood in Amasya per se, the only direct connection made between him and these teachers comes from a twelfth/eighteenth-century biographical notice stating that as a child he had studied with the Bukhara emigré and first significant Ottoman master calligrapher, Shaykh ḤamdullÄh of Amasya, who has been credited with designing a definitively Ottoman script.54
There is evidence that one of BÄyezÄ«dâs oldest and closest companions during his posting in Amasya and throughout his life, Amasyalı MüʾeyyedzÄde Ê¿Abduâr-raḥmÄn Ãelebi (860â922/1456â1516),55 played a mentoring role for Ḳorḳud. MüʾeyyedzÄde was a talented scholar and litterateur who was forced to flee Anatolia in 883/1479 following an execution order from Sultan Meḥmed, ostensibly for supplying his son BÄyezÄ«d with opium.56 After a brief stop in Aleppo, MüʾeyyedzÄde studied in Shiraz under the prominent Ashâari scholar and Shirazi school of philosophy paragon JalÄl al-DÄ«n DawÄnÄ« while waiting for events to turn more propitious in Istanbul.57 Soon after BÄyezÄ«d rose to power, this young scholar and boon companion followed the new sultan to Istanbul. Although not exceptionally prolific on his own account, MüʾeyyedzÄde was a star student of DawÄnÄ«, frequented the same circles as the foremost religious scholars of his own generation, and guided many of the empireâs religious policies from the 880s/1480s right up to his execution in 922/1516, both as BÄyezÄ«d IIâs close companion and later as first Anadolu and then Rumeli ḳÄá¸Ä«Ê¿asker (military judge). A powerful minister and scholarly practitioner, he boasted a personal library that was reportedly one of the largest ever seen in Istanbul, the inventory of which continues to provide a useful source for early modern Ottoman intellectual history.58
MüʾeyyedzÄde once responded to a personal request by sending Ḳorḳud a treatise addressing âcomplex issues of kalÄm,â accompanied by a versified Arabic introduction offering exaggerated praise of the prince. As no scholar named the treatise, it has not yet been identified and may no longer exist.59 Although Ḳorḳud never referred to MüʾeyyedzÄde directly, such personal ties, recalled in the teáºkire literature several decades after the fact, suggest that this powerful minister, scholar, and close friend of his father informed Ḳorḳudâs views and scholarly positions. Similarly, MüʾeyyedzÄdeâs active engagement in the field of kalÄm suggests an ongoing discussion within high imperial circles on matters of theological import and their role in society.
One teacher, whose court career is at least indicative of the type of intellectual influences that surrounded the young Ḳorḳud in Amasya and demonstrates how BÄyezÄ«d II himself engaged with scholarly Arabic kalÄm treatises, was MollÄ á¹¢alÄḥuâd-dÄ«n (fl. 881/1476).60 MollÄ á¹¢alÄḥuâd-dÄ«n reportedly instructed prince BÄyezÄ«d in SaÊ¿d al-DÄ«n al-TaftÄzÄnÄ«âs commentary on al-NasafÄ«âs creed, Sharḥ al-Ê¿AqÄʾid (Commentary on the tenets of faith), going so far as to write an explanatory gloss on the text in Arabic for BÄyezÄ«dâs benefit.61 While Ḳorḳud never cited any of MollÄ á¹¢alÄḥuâd-dÄ«nâs work, he also studied al-TaftÄzÄnÄ«âs Sharḥ al-Ê¿AqÄʾid at least as early as his teen years, as he was gifted a copy of it in 890/1485.62 Proof of his later familiarity with the eminent theologian came when Ḳorḳud cited Sharḥ al-Ê¿AqÄʾid along with several other works by al-TaftÄzÄnÄ« over 30 times in his own kalÄm engaged treatise, ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn.63
After Ḳorḳud was transferred around 884/1480 from his fatherâs court in Amasya to his grandfather Meḥmed IIâs court in Istanbul,64 one of his teachers was MollÄ Seyyid Ä°brÄhÄ«m (d. 918/1512). Like other influential figures in Ḳorḳudâs youth, Seyyid Ä°brÄhÄ«m had connections to both Iran and Anatolia. A somewhat colorful character, boasting miraculous powers, Ä°brÄhÄ«mâs father had been an Iranian notable who had previously emigrated to a village near Amasya.65
While the source evidence is somewhat fragmentary for his earliest instruction, it does suggest that the young Ḳorḳud was exposed in Amasya and Istanbul to the Iranian and Central Asian influences that were current in his day. Via those teaching at the court, the prince should have been exposed to debates concerning falsafa methodology, the integration of philosophy with kalÄm, both Maturidi and Ashâari beliefs, and even miraculous events connected to occult practice.
Ḳorḳud also appears to have maintained a Cairo connection, both politically and intellectually. The origins of this connection remain uncertain, but as an adult Ḳorḳud collaborated extensively with Ê¿Abd al-SalÄm b. Muḥammad al-Aná¹£ÄrÄ«. Described only as an âal-Azhar Shaykhâ in WasÄ«lat al-aḥbÄb, this scholar played a key role in Ḳorḳudâs political writings and negotiations from at least 1508 onward.66 Ê¿Abd al-SalÄm might have been related to the celebrated Cairene scholar and mystic AbÅ« YaḥyÄ ZakariyyÄ al-Aná¹£ÄrÄ« (d. 926/1520), from whom Ḳorḳud sought a legal opinion concerning the legal status of concubines.67 These relationships suggest a level of intellectual interaction between both Ottoman and Mamluk ulama and umarÄʾ, and since Egypt was famously a stronghold of the Shafiâi madhhab, it might also explain to some extent Ḳorḳudâs apparent Shafiâi affiliation.
4 Following a Curriculum, Starting a Library
The young Ḳorḳudâs strong predilection for scholarship was also confirmed by gifts recorded as presented to him in a 890/1485 register, when he was roughly fifteen-sixteen years old, and soon after he had been assigned to his first provincial posting. While all the princes recorded in the gifts register, including Ḳorḳud, were gifted falcons, concubines, and slaves, only this scholarly ÅehzÄde was also presented with texts covering a broad range of literary, philosophical, and legal issues.68 Of these six texts, one was NiáºÄmÄ«âs (d. ca. 605/1209) poetry quintet,69 one was devoted to jurisprudence or governance,70 and four were devoted to issues of philosophy and theology. Each of these texts demonstrate the intellectual milieu to which the young prince was exposed growing up, although disentangling precisely how certain texts influenced him remains a challenge.
A text addressing either jurisprudence or governance was KitÄb al-mukhtaá¹£ar (The handbook), a generic title which could refer to several works providing the early modern equivalent of college law textbooks. In his own scholarship, Ḳorḳud cited works with the same title by the Egyptian Hanafi jurist AbÅ« JaÊ¿far al-ṬaḥÄwÄ« (d. 321/933), the Baghdad Hanafi jurist al-QudÅ«rÄ« (d. 428/1037), and the Shafiâi-influenced Maliki jurist al-Shaykh al-KhalÄ«l b. IsḥÄq (d. 775/1374). It is equally possible that the title referred to a text recently analyzed by Hüseyin Yılmaz, Mukhtaá¹£ar fÄ« l-siyÄsa wa-umÅ«r al-salá¹ana (Compendium of governance and the affairs of rulership). This anonymous Arabic text was completed early in BÄyezÄ«d IIâs reign, urging him to follow the lead of his deceased father, Meḥmed II, in promoting a devÅirme class of trained professionals at the expense of old Anatolian elites. Consistent with the Mamluk tradition of moralistic mirrors for princes, Mukhtaá¹£ar advocated a more juridical and hierarchical view of correct governance than previous works found in the Ottoman milieu, which tended to be more abstract and lean toward hagiographical presentations of ruler perfection.71 Serving as an administrative manual based on older Islamicate examples, this work was capable of providing several of the governance critiques Ḳorḳud later made in his DaÊ¿wat al-nafs al-á¹Äliḥa.
The first of four texts likely addressing religious belief, listed as simply K. IsfarÄʾīnÄ« (The book of IsfarÄʾīnÄ«), could be one of several works by any of three scholars hailing from IsfarÄyÄ«n in KhorÄsÄn. While available evidence does not allow full confirmation of which text the gift register referred to, the topics in which Ḳorḳud most engaged suggest that he was likely given the text by âal-UstÄdhâ AbÅ« IsḥÄq al-IsfarÄʾīnÄ«âs (d. 418/1027) al-Ê¿AqÄ«da (The creed). Covering a wide range of theological questions from an intellectual grandson of al-Ê¿AshÊ¿arÄ«, who broke with him on several points as a rationally minded and Muâtazili-leaning Ashâari theologian, al-Ê¿AqÄ«da was one of the foundational texts of kalÄm, and clearly worthy of consultation and instruction in the late ninth/fifteenth century.72
Another text, listed with the generic title Sharḥ-i Ê¿aqÄʾid (Commentary on the creeds), can be tentatively identified through Ḳorḳudâs own citations as SaÊ¿d al-DÄ«n al-TaftÄzÄnÄ«âs Sharḥ al-Ê¿aqÄʾid, a kalÄm classic that greatly influenced Ottoman theological study.73 Credited with combining and reconciling Ashâari and Maturidi kalÄm disputation, al-TaftÄzÄnÄ«âs commentary served as an exploration, critique, and philosophical elaboration of the rather brief al-Ê¿AqÄʾid text by the Maturidi theologian Najm al-DÄ«n Ê¿Umar al-NasafÄ«.74 Finally, while Ḳorḳud cited all of these scholars, the only Sharḥ al-Ê¿AqÄʾid he ever quoted by name was al-TaftÄzÄnÄ«âs celebrated commentary, which he referred to five times in two of his works.75
The final two texts listed on the gift register consisted of a commentary and a gloss on that same commentary. Listed as Sharḥ-i Maá¹ÄliÊ¿ and ḤÄÅiye-i maá¹ÄliÊ¿, these texts were most likely the Sharḥ al-Maá¹ÄliÊ¿ of Quá¹b al-DÄ«n al-RÄzÄ« al-TaḥtÄnÄ« (d. 766/1365) and ḤÄshiyyat al-Maá¹ÄliÊ¿ by al-Sayyid al-SharÄ«f al-JurjÄnÄ«. Consistent with the intellectual genealogies operative in the post-Mongol era, these texts were directly related to, and expanded on, a work originally produced by an earlier philosopher. The original work in the chain was Maá¹ÄliÊ¿ al-anwÄr (Ascensions of the illuminations) by SirÄj al-DÄ«n al-UrmawÄ« (d. 682/1283), a meditation on logic and philosophy by a highly influential and well-traveled scholar.76 Quá¹b al-DÄ«n al-RÄzÄ« produced a commentary on the logic section of al-UrmawÄ«âs work, entitled LawÄmiÊ¿ al-asrÄr fÄ« sharḥ maá¹ÄliÊ¿ al-anwÄr (Luminous mysteries in a commentary on the ascensions of the illuminations), which became known simply as Sharḥ al-Maá¹ÄliÊ¿. This text and its author were sufficiently renowned that al-JurjÄnÄ« traveled from his Astarabad home to Herat to study the text in person with the elderly al-RÄzÄ«. Later, while in Cairo instructing students on al-RÄzÄ«âs Sharḥ, al-JurjÄnÄ« produced his own gloss on that commentary, which he entitled ḤÄshiyyat Ê¿alÄ sharḥ Maá¹ÄliÊ¿ al-anwÄr (A gloss on the commentary of the ascensions of the illuminations).77 While Ḳorḳud chose not to cite any of these aforementioned texts by name in his own surviving works, he listed al-UrmawÄ« as one of the favored scholars in his suggested âthird doctrine,â quoted other works by al-JurjÄnÄ« several times, and criticized madrasa students of his day for reading only al-JurjÄnÄ«âs ḤÄshiyya and one other theology workâsuggesting that al-JurjÄnÄ«âs text played a prominent role in Ottoman scholarly discourse by the end of the ninth/fifteenth century.78
5 Engaging with KalÄm
Turning from the princeâs intellectual formation to his own scholarly output, Ḳorḳud contributed two lengthy texts, which extensively explored issues of kalÄm disputation, uṣūl al-dÄ«n, and their applicability to social issues of his day. Through these texts, he exemplified the range of mainstream thought within the Ottoman elite and left his mark on the evolution of Ottoman Sunnism.
In his voluminous 913/1508 DaÊ¿wat al-nafs al-á¹Äliḥa ilÄ l-aÊ¿mÄl al-á¹£Äliḥa, bi-l-ayÄt al-áºÄhira wa-l-bayyinÄt al-bÄhira (An errant soulâs summons to virtuous works, through manifest signs and splendid proofs),79 Ḳorḳud articulated specific critiques of imperial administrative practice, as well as general views of correct ethical living. Meditating first on the inevitability of death and the finality of the hereafter, he devoted this most ambitious of his treatises to renouncing his candidacy to the throne while addressing various aspects of what he considered disregard for sharÊ¿Ä« ethical considerations within Ottoman domains.80 His primary thesis was that no individual could both serve as an effective amÄ«r (prince) in his corrupt times (or any time) and still hope to attain a pleasant afterlife. By criticizing what he saw as critical problems in Ottoman governance, Ḳorḳudâs al-DaÊ¿wa implicitly provided his ideal vision for a well-functioning society. While DaÊ¿wat al-nafs al-á¹Äliḥa can in no way be classified as a kalÄm text, it provided strong arguments on the madrasa curriculum of the time, as well as kalÄmâs role in protecting society from dangerous or subversive trends and movements.
At roughly the same time that Ḳorḳud was working on al-DaÊ¿wa, he (and his team of scholars) was also working on ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn Ê¿an lÄfiẠal-Ä«mÄn wa AllÄh al-hÄdÄ« ilÄ á¹£irÄá¹ al-jinÄn (The individualâs protector from faithâs rejector, as God is the guide to the heavenly paths).81 This text was never completed, with the sole surviving copy bringing together 96 folios of a presentation draft, 16 folios repeating, in draft form, the end of the presentation draft, and a further 113 folios of draft copy, which ends in mid-thought. Since the text was referred to in al-Daâwa, Ḳorḳud had clearly begun working on ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn by 913/1508 and failed to complete it before his death in 919/1513.
With its strident arguments justifying secular enforcement and legal expansion of sharÊ¿-sanctioned punishments (aḥkÄm) for apostasy, ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn provided a comprehensive kalÄm justification for the legally sanctioned takfÄ«r of certain groups or individuals found guilty of exhibiting external signs of internal absence of faith. While not solely devoted to kalÄm debates, most of this text addressed kalÄm discourse and methodology, using the discipline as a basis to advocate for a more engaged state policy vis-à -vis religious belief. Together, these two texts demonstrate the rhetorical power of kalÄm discourse to promote policy positions justified as strengthening dÄ«n ü devlet (religion and state).
Throughout DaÊ¿wat al-nafs al-á¹Äliḥa, Ḳorḳud presented arguments by which, taken together, he intended to define the ideal characteristics of the empireâs religious identity. He opened al-DaÊ¿wa by first reflecting at length on the meaning of the afterlife, âpurchasing this world with the other one,â and the concept of the âbankrupt oneâ (muflis). To do so, he opened with several Quranic verses and prophetic hadiths about Judgment Day, which themselves constituted something of an argument, an abstract outline for the entire text, and a demonstration of the persuasive power of revealed knowledge.82 Advocating on behalf of the poor and oppressed, in this introductory section he signaled a facility for naql argumentation by employing a string of revealed proofs in his appeal for ethical rule. In addition, he pointedly used the term ahl al-sunna wa-l-jamÄÊ¿a when countering Muâtazila arguments concerning the fate of the muflis, thus demonstrating something of a âSunni consciousnessâ in his rhetorical selection.
Framing his resignation from ruling candidacy as an ethical imperative, Ḳorḳud next explained how one could never simultaneously enforce the dictates of both sharÊ¿ (religious ethics) and the Ê¿urf (imperial legal convention) of his time as a sovereign ruler.83 Nodding toward his political agenda, he implicitly promised to elevate the status of those he considered sharÊ¿-minded ulama, while equally promising to purge those corrupted ulama guilty of currying favor at courtâpresumably referring to those scholar-bureaucrats most responsible for establishing the nascent madrasa curriculum that would come to define Ottoman Sunnism.
Following the lead of the multiple Ashâari influences during his education, and consistent with the near merger of Maturidi and Ashâari views in the course of the ninth/fifteenth century, in DaÊ¿wat al-nafs al-á¹Äliḥa Ḳorḳud quoted over 20 pages from TÄj al-DÄ«n al-SubkÄ«âs (d. 771/1370) MuÊ¿Ä«d al-niÊ¿am to describe how he defined and delineated an ideal religious identity. In one section, al-SubkÄ« summarized how the legal madhhab factions grew hostile to each other, until eventually the ahl al-sunna wa-l-jamÄÊ¿a grew persuaded by al-AshÊ¿arÄ«âs path, as laid out in the various Ê¿aqÄʾid texts. After that, the Sunni groups came to include the enlightened ones among both the Hanafi and Shafiâi, all of the Maliki followers, and the best of the Hanbali. Concurrently, some of the Hanafi and Shafiâi adherents followed the Muâtazila, while some of the Hanbali turned toward the mujassima (anthropomorphists), neither of which should be considered Sunni. Tracing Muâtazili mistakes back to their origin during the reign of caliph al-MaʾmÅ«n (r. 197â218/813â833), al-SubkÄ« rejected those who condemned others for making false statements without care and reflection, based on simplistic and preliminary external proofs. To demonstrate his point, he related an anecdote whereby al-MaʾmÅ«n made a series of outrageous statements, which turned out to be truthful following clarification.84
The quoted al-SubkÄ« passage then urged the Sunni ulama to unite and continuously oppose those whom he characterized as factionalists, defined as those who attack Islam, oppose the two shaykhs AbÅ« Bakr and Ê¿Umar, and cast down Ê¿Äʾisha. As he saw it, fighting against those who defame the Quran is a duty, so much so that each and every believer must engage with them. In addition, they should actively engage in proselytizing among Jews and Christians, instead of passively accepting their conversion.85
Ḳorḳud was broadly sympathetic to the postclassical (mutaâakhirÅ«n) forms of theological disputation, which had successfully integrated falsafa methodology following Fakhr al-DÄ«n al-RÄzÄ«âs contribution. However, like many others of the era, he was exceedingly vigilant against the threat of falÄsifaâs (philosophers) conclusions coming to dominate kalÄm discourse and, thus, undermining what he saw as correct ụsÅ«l al-dÄ«n doctrines. Accordingly, Ḳorḳud provided another extended quote of al-SubkÄ« that condemned the falÄsifa, those who had mixed kalÄm from the theologians with kalÄm from the falÄsifa, Naṣīr al-DÄ«n al-ṬūsÄ«âs branch of kalÄm argumentation, and the Muâtazili theologian al-ZamakhsharÄ«âs (d. 538/1144) al-KashshÄfâwhich Ḳorḳud claimed that many Ê¿Ajam (i.e., Iranians) read.86 Having specified all the areas within and between falsafa and kalÄm discourses that were to be condemned, Ḳorḳud cited al-SubkÄ«âs validation of al-GhazÄlÄ«âs and Fakhr al-DÄ«n al-RÄzÄ«âs earlier use of falsafa methodology to counter their conclusions and defend ahl al-sunna doctrinal integrity. In this same passage, al-SubkÄ« spoke out directly against those philosophically inclined scholars in his own day who referred to themselves as the âwise onesâ (ḥukamÄʾ). Following al-SubkÄ«âs lead, Ḳorḳud argued forcefully that the only ones who should engage with the falÄsifa, effectively heretics who undermine religious belief from within the community, are those who are fully trained in the branches of fiqh, cannot be misled by heretical (malÄḥida) beliefs, and refuse to mix kalÄm with falsafa in a way that privileges falÄsifa doctrinal conclusions.87
In ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn Ḳorḳud similarly condemned the introduction of epistemological doubt due to the mixture of falsafa and kalÄm (at kalÄmâs expense), labeling ḥikma (wisdom) the most indecent discipline afflicting Ottoman and Ê¿AjamÄ« ulama. He specifically rejected teaching al-HidÄya (The guidance) and some of the leading commentaries on it, as these texts made students peripatetic and led to the removal of their beliefs, as well as their incarceration in the prison of error. This statement likely referred to the philosophical work HidÄyat al-ḥikma (Wisdomâs guide) by AthÄ«r al-DÄ«n al-AbharÄ« (d. 660/1262), or the commentary on that work by the contemporary logician MÄ«r Ḥusayn al-MaybudÄ« (d. 909/1504), a student of DawÄnÄ« whom Shah IsmÄÊ¿Ä«l (d. 930/1524) had executed.88 As Ḳorḳud explained in a lengthy section commenting on Fakhr al-DÄ«n al-RÄzÄ«âs views on perception, only revealed knowledge (naql), not rational speculation (Ê¿aql), can lead to certainty among the masses concerning the nature of the divine. Since pure rationalism ultimately depends on perception, which is inherently flawed and subjective, one must judiciously combine the two sources of knowledge, as Fakhr al-DÄ«n al-RÄzÄ« had done.89 Taken together, in these two texts Ḳorḳud appears to have been speaking out against what modern scholars have characterized as the âShirazi school,â or perhaps just the branch that was in the process of becoming the Twelver Shiâi offshoot of that school, when he was working on the texts between 914/1508 and 919/1513. He seems to have found their emphasis on ḥikma (wisdom) as a ruling principle, which was a highly popular motif at that time, to rely far too much on Ê¿aql at the expense of naql.
Toward the end of ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn, after a passage analyzing the impediments to certainty one might face relying exclusively on either reason or tradition, Ḳorḳud asserted the existence of, and his advocacy for, a âthird doctrineâ (madhhab), which accepted kalÄm as the methodology for reaching legal certainty in judging kufr and in clarifying the importance of ritual acts such as prayer, almsgiving, and pilgrimage. Those scholars and their works, which he listed as belonging to his ideal âthird madhhab,â included:
Fakhr al-DÄ«n al-RÄzÄ« (d. 606/1210), in NihÄyat al-Ê¿uqÅ«l, al-ArbaÊ¿Ä«n, and al-Maḥṣūl;Sayf al-DÄ«n al-ÄmidÄ« (d. 631/1233), in AbkÄr al-afkÄr;SirÄj al-DÄ«n al-UrmawÄ« (d. 682/1283), in al-Taḥṣīl;âAá¸ud al-DÄ«n al-ĪjÄ« (d. 756/1355), in al-MawÄqif;TÄj al-DÄ«n al-SubkÄ« (d. 771/1370), in JamÊ¿ al-jawÄmiÊ¿;SaÊ¿d al-DÄ«n al-TaftÄzÄnÄ« (d. 793/1390), in Sharḥ al-maqÄá¹£id; andBadr al-DÄ«n al-ZarkashÄ« (d. 794/1392), in Sharḥ jamÊ¿ al-jawÄmiÊ¿.90
Ḳorḳud argued that these scholars all agreed on the idea that individualsâ utterances convey certainty concerning the legal repercussions of scriptureâand obedience thereof. As Ḳorḳud saw it, this favored group provided the correct medial position between extremist advocates for Ê¿aql and naql, respectively, between those whom he believed undermine dÄ«n from within by mixing kalÄm with falsafa on one hand and the Hanbali mujassima literalists on the other.
While all the scholars Ḳorḳud listedâall Ashâari affiliatesâwere known in Ottoman madrasa circles, they were not all taught equally widely. Ḳorḳudâs favored al-SubkÄ« text JamÊ¿ al-jawÄmiÊ¿, and al-ZarkashÄ«âs commentary on it, never found a prominent place in the Ottoman madrasa curriculum, perhaps because Mamluk Ashâari works became dispensable after KemÄlpaÅazÄde and others more clearly delineated differences between Maturidi and Ashâari thought. The inclusion of SirÄj al-DÄ«n al-UrmawÄ«âs al-Taḥṣīl is something of an odd choice, as al-UrmawÄ«âs Maá¹ÄliÊ¿ al-anwÄr was condemned by al-JurjÄnÄ« for marginalizing kalÄm as a secondary science interested only in Godâs essence.91 As his al-Taḥṣīl was an abridgment of Fakhr al-DÄ«n al-RÄzÄ«âs al-Maḥṣūl, covering the principles of jurisprudence, perhaps Ḳorḳud felt the text supported his drive to achieve legal certainty in judging kufr.92 Similarly, Sayf al-DÄ«n al-ÄmidÄ« was highly critical of Fakhr al-DÄ«n al-RÄzÄ«, although perhaps solely due to professional jealousy.93 A fascinating list, this chain of supposedly like-minded scholars excluded al-GhazÄlÄ« (d. 505/1111), who was particularly known for his arguments paving the way for rendering scripturally based opinions legally relevant.94 It also excluded other notable figures who were studied widely in Ottoman madrasas and considered important contributors to the movement of taḥqÄ«q (verification),95 such as al-GhazÄlÄ«, ImÄm al-Ḥaramayn al-JuwaynÄ« (d. 478/1085), and al-Sayyid al-SharÄ«f al-JurjÄnÄ« (d. 817/1413).96 While his list did not correspond entirely with what became the Ottoman madrasa canon in kalÄm, it might be seen as an early roster of muḥaqqiqÅ«n scholars,97 who led a movement of textual verification that coincided with what Gerhard Endress has characterized as an Islamicate form of scholasticism.98
6 Legally Relevant KalÄm
Ḳorḳudâs main text engaging with kalÄm disputation and its role in society, ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn, followed a long line of Shafiâi legal and Ashâari theological literature discussing the meaning of true faith and its absence.99 In al-ShÄfiÊ¿Ä«âs (d. 204/820) own time, Muslims guilty of internal absence of faith (kufr) were effectively protected by the fact that internal belief was considered a private matter between any individual and his/her God. This de facto protection of religious privacy started to devolve following al-GhazÄlÄ«, who argued quite effectively that the phenomenon of zindÄ«qs, or secret apostates, necessitated the withdrawal of the right of repentance (tawba) from apostates, as such individuals following secret professions of faith and practicing concealment of inner belief (taqiyya) should not be extended the right to be offered repentance (istitÄba). As a result, the definition of apostasy shifted from an individualâs public statement breaking away from Islam to the proven existence of an individualâs inner conviction consistent with unbelief.100
Within Ottoman circles, the most significant legal progression following al-GhazÄlÄ«âs seminal contribution proved to be the elaboration of acts considered external signs of belief or unbelief. By the early tenth/sixteenth century, the legitimacy of considering such acts as reliable signs was fairly widely accepted, at least among Ottoman scholar-bureaucrats. In addition, it appears that the acts constituting such external signs had multiplied as well. According to Ḳorḳudâs count, in his own time such acts included: wearing certain clothing reserved for non-Muslim communities under Islamic rule, treating the Quran or other sacred texts with disrespect, bowing down to idols or to the sun, sacrificing animals in someoneâs name, claiming false prophethood, and practicing sorcery, among others.101
Arguments advanced by certain Ottoman religious scholars pushed this legal progression further still, allowing imperial officials to claim sharÊ¿Ä« justification for punishment of individual apostates as legal justification for state-sanctioned violence against entire communities. Ḳorḳudâs 913/1508 ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn argued for broadening apostate statutes to apply to whole populations and may have played a role in the stateâs growing politicization of doctrinal affiliation.102 Guy Burak has argued that state-affiliated Ottoman ulama by the late ninth/fifteenth century had effectively invented the punishment of ârenewal of faithâ (tecdÄ«d-i Ä«mÄn) as a tactic of âtemporary excommunicationâ in order to discipline doctrinal conformity, punish the expression of beliefs they defined as heretical, and assert their societal power. By utilizing this punishment, expressed solely through fatwa rulings and never articulated as part of Hanafi substantive law, such ulama were able to selectively enforce such conformity without having to attempt to execute every individual offending Muslim under their power.103 Although he never advocated for any ârenewal of faithâ punishment per se, via ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn Ḳorḳud contributed to the scholarly dialogue claiming sufficient doctrinal certainty to justify such takfÄ«r protocols, which in turn would have justified application of the tecdÄ«d-i Ä«mÄn punishments.
ḤÄfiẠal-insÄnâs benediction affirmed the solitary nature of God and Muḥammadâs unique status, explaining that Ḳorḳud had come across a preponderance of expressions of unbelief among the ignorant, even among those claiming to be seekers of knowledge. To remedy that societal ill, he had decided to clarify the definition of faith and unbelief according to the principles of Islamic jurisprudence and religion, uṣūl al-fiqh and uṣūl al-dÄ«n, informed by the other major branches of learning.104 This opening explanation effectively laid out Ḳorḳudâs disciplinary preferences and agenda, as he intended to demonstrate the doctrinal certainty provided by kalÄm discourse, assert the legal repercussions springing from that certainty, and thus argue the case for mass application of apostasy protocols against populations displaying external signs of apostasy, in turn justifying violent state reactions to protect religion.
Following the introductory statement, the three remaining sections provided something of a literature review of takfÄ«r debates throughout Islamic history up to that point. The first two sections contrasted definitions of faith (Ä«mÄn)105 and its opposite, kufr.106 The third section catalogued and described external acts that point to internal kufr and, thus, merit verdicts of and punishments for apostasy.107 By reviewing such takfÄ«r debates through the centuries, Ḳorḳud was effectively summarizing a politically relevant subset of kalÄm discourse to show why state adjudication of heresy was consistent with longstanding religious belief.
In the course of this text, Ḳorḳud traced the evolution of faith and unbelief from an inner belief, which only affected oneâs relationship to God, as it was understood in the third/ninth century, to a legally relevant external expression of religious belief, as it came to be understood in his own day. The way he presented this evolution suggested that the state, acting on behalf of the legists (fuqahÄʾ) in order to protect the status of religion within society, had the right to enforce social conformity and punish those who refuse to conform. In addition, he argued that such external expressions of belief, which are the signs of social conformity addressed here, remain legally material even when compelled. In addition, such expressions (i.e., stating the shahÄda, attending Friday prayers) must be displayed to legists regularly, and must be genuine. Possession of maÊ¿rifa (gnosis) cannot provide an excuse for exempting oneself from such ritual practice.
In the second section on unbelief, Ḳorḳud started by defining kufr as lack of belief in Muhammadâs prophecy, expressed via a number of external acts long recognized as signifying kufr, including scorning the Quran or dressing in clothing meant to signify oneâs dhimmi status. Citing Ashâari scholar and SirÄj al-DÄ«n al-UrmawÄ«âs student, al-á¹¢afÄ« al-HindÄ« (d. 715/1315), that denial of faith can be exhibited circumstantially, and al-TaftÄzÄnÄ«âs argument that jurists must ensure legal consequences for apostasy when such denial is demonstrated, Ḳorḳud explicitly rejected the older conclusion that an intentional statement of denial is required to confirm kufr.108 In addition, he asserted the legitimacy of applying qÄnÅ«n (sultanic law) to certain issues within the scope of sharÊ¿, such as enforcing the correct interpretation of certain theological matters, since state officials acted as sovereign representatives of the ahl al-ḥaqq (the true community of believers). Although these points seemingly contradicted arguments Ḳorḳud made in DaÊ¿wat al-nafs al-á¹Äliḥa concerning ideal ulama primacy and independence vis-à -vis the state, he might have believed that as long as ulama directed such efforts, their status would not be compromised.109
In the final section, Ḳorḳud affirmed the right of local religious officials to define apostasy locally, thus effectively asserting the right of the Ottoman state through its ulama to define apostasy for its subjects. In addition, he asserted that once the intended meanings of sacred texts are set, such implicit meanings can be used as a basis for customary law (Ê¿urf) rulings. Theologians must assist practitioners of Ê¿urf to accurately classify such acts and thus protect society from a threat which sharÊ¿ alone cannot address.110 To close the text, Ḳorḳud presented acts that merited kufr judgments. The first act was abandoning communal prayer. The second was mishandling the Quran, as well as related texts of the religious sciences and respected sciences, which support the canonical disciplinesâbut not falsafa and logic texts, or texts that intermix kalÄm and falsafa and undermine societyâs kalÄm, and that can therefore be abused with no legal punishment. Other acts included making false claims of prophecy and using sorcery to gain followers. Ḳorḳudâs final act meriting judgment of kufr was for those donning the qalansuwat al-kuffÄr (nonbelieversâ headgear), who are automatically to be treated as apostates.111 This was a clear reference to the KızılbaÅ rebel turban, which was spreading throughout Anatolia at the time of his writing. Ḳorḳudâs generation appears to have been the first to argue that this specific act of public dress constituted apostasy,112 thus demonstrating the mutability of external signs of internal kufr over time, as well as the consequences of linking imperial interests with accusations of apostasy. In 913/1508, the same year that Ḳorḳud completed a draft of ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn, thousands of Safavid supporters referred to as âḳızıl taçluâ (red crowned) were resettled by Ottoman authorities from Hamid and Teke provinces in Western Anatolia to the recently conquered Modon and Koron provinces in the Peloponnese peninsula. At the time, Ḳorḳud was the governing prince of both Hamid and Teke, suggesting a willingness on his part to implement policies justified by his arguments in ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn.113
In ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn, Ḳorḳud justified, according to the twin norms of uṣūl al-dÄ«n (religious dogma) and uṣūl al-fiqḥ (sources of Islamic jurisprudence), the right of imperial authorities to apply apostasy verdicts under the prerogatives of Ê¿urf. As such, his contribution can be characterized as one step in a long process reflecting a progressive extension of state hegemony over matters of individual conscienceâand toward the modern mass application of takfÄ«r as a justification for sectarian violence. This argument coincided in content and conclusionsâif not in direct methodologyâwith those of KemÄlpaÅazÄde and Sarı Gürz Ḥamza Efendi (fl. 920/1514).114 ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn also shows ulama views being granted pride of place by a sympathetic, knowledgeable, and semi-sovereign prince, as well as the promotion by this same prince of an expansion of sharÊ¿Ä« definitions of apostasy to fit imperial interests. On the whole, in this text Ḳorḳudâs arguments demonstrate the hegemonic extension of imperial control over sharÊ¿Ä« practice in order to harness the legitimating power of sharÊ¿Ä« norms to state interestsâan extension of state power quite emblematic of the âage of confessionalization,â whether in Europe or the Islamic East.
7 Political Repercussions, Societal Observations
While issues of kalÄm disputation might not appear to carry strong political repercussions, these debates did not take place in a vacuum, and the princeâs arguments appear to have fit a political agenda. Ḳorḳud tried to appeal primarily to the Ottoman ulama, who would presumably have agreed with his theological arguments and appreciated his deference to their primacy in matters concerning imperial religious identity. In his view, the interests of religion, defined according to the priorities of those he defined as the ahl al-sunna, trumped the interests of state, and the raison dââ¯etre of the Ottoman state was to support religion. Due to what he perceived as the failure of state and society by the turn of the tenth/sixteenth century, Ḳorḳud advocated a return to sharÊ¿Ä« principles and a move away from a capricious Ê¿urf al-salÄá¹Ä«n (dynastic law). In addition to his positions regarding religious identity, in al-Daâwa Ḳorḳud complained a great deal about state practices that he considered improper according to sharÊ¿Ä« precepts, including illicit expropriation of wealth via taxation, corruption and abuse by the umarÄʾ military class, excessive bowing down before the ruler, and extra-sharÊ¿Ä« punishments (al-siyÄsa), particularly in the case of royal fratricide.115
Ḳorḳud was scathing in his criticism of what he identified as widespread intellectual laziness and corrupt practices in his own era and society. He condemned sectarian madhhab followers who attempted to force agreement from others or reflexively followed the positions of their own school, providing only the justification that such traditions come from their forefathers (taqlÄ«d). As he saw it, individuals must instead search for truth, objectivelyâanother nod to the emerging taḥqÄ«q (verification) movement, which Tijana KrstiÄ discusses in this volume in the context of subsequent centuries and from the perspective of the sources known as Ê¿ilm-i ḥÄls, intended for the religious edification of the commoners.116 Ḳorḳud complained on several levels about the madrasa graduates of his own day, arguing that they were lazy, corrupt, and compromised. He stated that they read only small portions of two classics of Hanafi fiqh, á¹¢adr al-SharÄ«Ê¿aâs hadith collection and BurhÄn al-DÄ«n al-MarghÄ«nÄnÄ«âs (d. 593/1197) al-ḤidÄya, in order to justify taking illicit funds. Implicitly criticizing the madrasa curriculum first established by the patronage of his grandfather, Meḥmed II, Ḳorḳud stated that the students of his day, in order to learn Quranic commentary (tafsÄ«r), only read the two glosses by al-JurjÄnÄ« and al-TaftÄzÄnÄ« on al-ZamakhsharÄ«âs (d. 538/1144) KashshÄf and what had been commented on them, rather than reading the original work. Finally, in a complaint many university lecturers today might sympathize with, Ḳorḳud stated that not only were students reading too narrow a slice of the relevant tafsÄ«r literature via these two scholars, they were only reading a few pages.117
In order to accomplish his reform agenda, Ḳorḳud wished to elevate an independent class of ulama, excepting those who had been transformed into corrupt scholar-bureaucrats, worldly Sufis who were a danger to religion, and judges susceptible to bribes. As he saw it, judges should never rule according to dynastic ʿurf code in cases that should be adjudicated according to sharʿī norms, and ulama who frequent palace gates were inherently compromised. His recommendations, if enacted, would have inherently come at the expense of both the military class and certain outsider groups, particularly rural and nomadic KızılbaŠsupporters whom Ḳorḳud and other pillars of state were just beginning to characterize as heretics.118 In a sense, his hope was to turn back the clock on the role of the ulama in society, to an idealized past era when he thought they were a privileged group, with an indispensable role to lead society and independent of the political hierarchy. While others might emphasize the importance of the military in jihad, both previously and in his own time, Ḳorḳud was convinced that the educational and exhortatory role of the ulama was far more important in jihad than the military role, as only scholars can protect the very essence of religious belief.119
As with his views on the mixture of falsafa with kalÄm and the role of ulama in society, Ḳorḳud railed against several types, or stereotypes, of Sufis. For his discussion on Sufismâs role in society, Ḳorḳud supplemented al-SubkÄ«âs conclusions with quotes from such prominent Sufi figures as Ê¿Abd al-RaḥmÄn al-SulamÄ« (d. 412/1021), AbÅ« l-QÄsim al-QushayrÄ« (d. 465/1072), and ShihÄb al-DÄ«n AbÅ« Ḥafs Ê¿Umar al-SuhrawardÄ« (d. 631/1234). Still, for this section he relied primarily on the Ashâari Sufi scholar Ê¿AfÄ«f al-DÄ«n al-YÄfiÊ¿Ä«âs (d. 768/1367) mystical commentary, RawḠal-rayÄḥīn fÄ« ḥikayÄt al-á¹£Äliḥīn.120 Ḳorḳud was not against Sufism per se, as he had supported local orders when serving as the governor of Manisa in the 1490s. However, he advocated a restrictive approach to the role of institutionalized mysticism in society, going so far as to accuse his own ruling elite of favoring fake Sufis over real ulama. In this vein, he cited al-SubkÄ«âs exclusion of âTurks,â who had rejected and mocked the fuqahÄ (legists), from being considered Sufis, which might be taken as an indirect reference to rebellious Safavid followers of his own day. Similarly, he followed al-YÄfiÊ¿Ä« in rejecting magicians, fortune tellers, charlatans, and fake astrologers as Sufis. As Ḳorḳud saw it, any individual conjuring up extraordinary acts or miracles in order to persuade people to do what is forbidden must not be followed.121
Weighing in on prominent examples from the past, he agreed with certain previous scholars who had judged controversial Sufis. For example, according to Ḳorḳud, al-HallÄj (d. 310/922), Ibn al-FÄriḠ(d. 632/1235), and Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ« were each guilty of various forms of kufr, while Ê¿Ayn al-Quá¸Ät HamadÄnÄ« (d. 525/1131), who was crucified along with other Ismaâilis, joined the BÄá¹iniyya and was thus guilty of subverting religion from within. The primary justification for judging any of these figures for committing kufr was their lack of adherence to sharÊ¿Ä« protocols concerning acceptable belief. Likewise, Ḳorḳud spoke out against those guilty in his own day of identifying with what modern scholars sometimes characterize as âlatitudinarian Sufism.â122 For example, as Khiá¸r was a saint, not a prophet, he could not be used to excuse sharÊ¿Ä« transgressions, as some had claimed. Following al-GhazÄlÄ«, Ḳorḳud argued that Sufis claiming exemption from sharÊ¿Ä« rules and following material pursuits in proximity to the sultan must be condemned for kufr. Likewise, following al-Qurá¹ubÄ« (d. 657/1259), all BÄá¹iniyya ZanÄdiqa, believing that sharÊ¿Ä« rules do not apply to them due to their pure souls and greater intellect, must be condemned for kufr. Following ShihÄb al-DÄ«n AbÅ« Ḥafs Ê¿Umar al-SuhrawardÄ«, one must distinguish between Melami groups, who hide their worship and are honorable, and Qalandari groups, who openly try to destroy tradition. Again following al-SuhrawardÄ«, self-proclaimed muftis who claim to be Melami are actually ahl al-ibÄḥa who permit anything, claiming that special truths render them exempt from sharÊ¿Ä« precepts. Such individuals are not Sufis and are a source of all types of zandaqa, ilḥÄd (heresy), and ibÊ¿Äd (estrangement). Likewise, those who believe in the transmigration of souls must be condemned, as with the two most famous examples of âecstatic Sufism,â when al-ḤallÄj stated âAnÄ al-ḥaqqâ and BÄyezÄ«d al-Bisá¹ÄmÄ« (d. ca. 260/874) stated âá¹¢ubḥÄnÄ«.â Citing al-QushayrÄ« and al-SulamÄ«, Ḳorḳud pointed out that the same BÄyezÄ«d al-Bisá¹ÄmÄ« had also cautioned against following one promising miracles (karÄmÄt) until one knows where he stands in relation to the sharÊ¿Ä« limits. Here Ḳorḳud may have been indirectly referring to his own contemporary Shah IsmÄÊ¿Ä«l, who was widely reported to be capable of bringing about miracles. To provide a positive example, he stated that all three of these Sufi commentators agreed that Junayd (d. 297/910), the epitome of âsober Sufism,â was both a genuine Sufi and a sound Shafiâi.123
In ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn, Ḳorḳud characterized contemporary opponents to his use of scriptural revelation as the basis for secular legal pronouncements as the âMurjiâa,â who rejected the earthly legal intent of scripture and called for a sufficiently narrow reading of Quranic verses and hadith accounts as to obviate material legal conclusions.124 Another set of opponents were the âBÄá¹iniyya,â who claimed that the secret meanings within sacred texts are known only to a guide with special knowledge. He considered those he characterized as the BÄá¹iniyya more dangerous than the Murjiâa, and stated that anyone holding such views is ipso facto a murtadd (apostate).125
8 A Mixed Legacy
Ḳorḳudâs contributions left a mixed legacy within the early articulation of an imperial religious identity that one can refer to as âOttoman Sunnism.â As such, he engaged with kalÄm debates, critiqued the field, and commented on it and related disciplinesâ role in society, particularly in the education of Ottoman youth. While DaÊ¿wat al-nafs al-á¹Äliḥa and ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn are not, strictly speaking, kalÄm works, through these texts ÅehzÄde Ḳorḳud engaged directly with kalÄm, and commented on the role kalÄm and related disciplines were already coming to play in the development of Ottoman Sunni identity.
Ḳorḳudâs support for Fakhr al-DÄ«n al-RÄzÄ«âs medial position between extreme supporters of Ê¿aql and naql alone remained popular for years to come, even though Ottoman kalÄm eventually inched ever closer to a primarily Ê¿aql dominant perspective. Likewise, state officials agreed broadly with justifications put forth in ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn for defining, judging, and punishing apostasy, with immediate political effect. His support for state involvement in crafting religious identity also carried the day, as court-affiliated ulama rolled out heresy accusations against the emergent KızılbaÅ challengeânone of which is surprising in the broader context of a nascent âage of confessionalization.â
However, Ḳorḳudâs promotion of a specific âthird madhhab,â opposition to mixing falsafa with kalÄm at the latterâs expense, condemnation of Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ«, and preference for Shafiâi fiqh and Ashâari kalÄm, ultimately met with tepid reactions within the Ottoman elite. Within a generation of Ḳorḳudâs death, some of his favored scholars faded from view while his proposed âthird madhhabâ was forgotten as an intellectual construct. Likewise, Ibn Ê¿ArabÄ« was practically enshrined as an imperial saint, the state preference for Hanafi fiqh grew ever more institutionalized, and madrasa graduates progressively articulated a recognizably Ottoman brand of Maturidi kalÄm heavily infused with falsafa methodology and views. Just as his ruling candidacy was marginalized and largely forgotten, several of ÅehzÄde Ḳorḳudâs views on religious practice came to represent an Ottoman path not takenâas well as a proof of the spectrum of views inherent within Ottoman Sunnism.
Acknowledgments
I wish to thank the anonymous reviewer, M. Sait Ãzervarlı, Tijana KrstiÄ, Derin TerzioÄlu, and Urs Gösken for their comments and criticisms offered in the course of developing this contribution.
Similarly, Necdet Tosun has argued that if one is to speak of a âTurkish Islam,â it would be defined as Maturidi in belief, Hanafi in fiqh, and following Sufi paths such as the Naqshbandi and Yesevi. Tosun, Mâtürîdiyye ve tasavvuf iliÅkisi 54.
Yıldırım, Sunni orthodox vs. Shiâite heterodox 304.
Atçıl, Scholars and sultans.
YazıcıoÄlu, Le kalÄm; Ãzervarlı, Theology in the Ottoman lands.
Burak, Second formation; Peters, What does it mean.
Ãzervarlı, Theology in the Ottoman lands; Ahmed and FilipoviÄ, The sultanâs syllabus. On the Timurid madrasa curriculum, see Subtelny and Khalidov, The curriculum.
This terminology follows that of KrstiÄ, Illuminated by the light.
As Jan Thiele has pointed out, none of these terms properly map onto Western understandings of âtheology,â as kalÄm touches upon issues considered beyond theologyâs purview, while some of what is considered theological discourse in Christendom falls outside of kalÄm. Due to the imprecise and constantly evolving nature of these terms, and their somewhat inconsistent use in the literature, this submission uses them interchangeably. Thiele, Recent scholarship 224.
Spannaus, Theology in Central Asia.
Ulrich et al., Philosophy in the Islamic world.
Sabra, Science and philosophy 1â15.
Ibid. 12â13.
Frank, Al-GhazÄlÄ«âs use.
Endress, Reading Avicenna 371â422.
Sabra, Science and philosophy 22â24.
Ãzervarlı, Theology in the Ottoman lands 568.
Griffel, Toleration and exclusion 344â354; Al-Tikriti, KalÄm in the service 131â149.
For an English commentary and rendering of HayÄkil al-nÅ«r, see SuhrawardÄ«, The shape of light.
Corbin, History of Islamic philosophy 267â272; Spannaus, Theology in Central Asia 591â593.
Corbin, History of Islamic philosophy 205â218, 332â338; Nasr, Islamic philosophy 193â199; Nasr and Aminrazavi, Anthology of philosophy iv, 1â135; v, part I.
For a Twelver Shiâi commentary on DawÄnÄ«âs ShawÄkil al-ḥūr, see Rizvi, MÄ«r Ä iyÄṯuddÄ«n 104â109.
Ãzervarlı, Theology in the Ottoman lands; Pourjavady and Schmidtke, Twelver ShiÊ¿Ä« theology 456â469.
Pourjavady, Philosophy in early Safavid Iran; Rizvi, MÄ«r Ä iyÄṯuddÄ«n 104â109; Endress, Reading Avicenna 416â422.
Berger, Interpretations 693â701.
YazıcoÄlu, Le kalÄm 54â70.
Gardet, âIlm al-kalÄm.
YazıcıoÄlu, Le kalÄm 55.
Würtz, Islamische Theologie im 14. Jahrhundert; Spannaus, Theology in Central Asia 591â592; Berger, Interpretations 697; Eichner, Handbooks 496; Ãzen, Teftâzânî 299â308.
Bebek, Hayâlî 3â5.
YazıcıoÄlu, Le kalÄm 82.
Dalkıran, Ä°bn-i Kemal 77â79, citing KemÄlpaÅazÄde, RisÄlat al-IkhtilÄf 57â60; Kalaycı, EÅarilik ve MaturidiliÄi 127â129.
Berger, Interpretations 697; Badeen, Sunnitische Theologie 10â24.
YazıcıoÄlu, Le kalÄm 71â83; Bebek, Hayâlî 3â5; YazıcıoÄlu, Hızır Bey 413â415.
Kalaycı, Mâtürîdî-Hanefî aidiyetin 26â34.
Tosun, Mâtüridîyye ve tasavvuf iliÅkisi 52.
Atçıl, Greco-Islamic philosophy 33â54.
Al-Tikriti, KalÄm in the service 131â149.
Atçıl, Greco-Islamic philosophy 51; Ãzervarlı, Theology in the Ottoman lands 583; Hoover, ḤanbalÄ« theology 625â648.
Ocak, Osmanlı toplumunda zındıklar 203â250; Erünsal, Molla Lütfi 37â54.
Ãzervarlı, Theology in the Ottoman lands 568, 576.
For Ḳorḳudâs life and works, see Al-Tikriti, Åehzade Ḳorḳud. For summaries of Åehzade Ḳorḳudâs life, see Emecen, Korkut, Åehzade 205â207; Gökbilgin, Korkut 855â860; Gökbilgin, Ḳorḳud 269; and UzunçarÅılı, IIâinci Bayezidâin oÄullarından 539â601.
Markiewicz, A Study of IdrÄ«s BidlÄ«sÄ« 366â369. See also Sariyannis, Princely virtues 121â144.
UzunçarÅılı, IIâinci Bayezidâin oÄullarından 539â601.
Furat, Osmanlı hânedanında 193â212.
Berger, Interpretations 701.
However, Prof. Wadad Kadi once suggested that the Arabic of Ḳorḳudâs Daâwa was not native.
This copy is probably the same as that said by UzunçarÅılı (IIâinci Bayezidâin oÄullarından 596â597) to be owned by the book merchant Raif Yelkenci. Cornell Fleischer (From Ḳorḳud to Mustafa Äli 67â77), the first modern scholar to analyze this text in depth, used a microfilm of this copy, also said to have once been owned by the prominent Ottoman historian M. Tayyib Gökbilgin. I am indebted to Prof. Fleischer for providing me with a microfilm of this copy. Ḳorḳud, DaÊ¿wat al-nafs al-á¹Äliḥa, MS Gökbilgin, 423. Unless otherwise indicated, all citations from this text refer to the presentation copy, Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi, MS Aya Sofya 1763.
For an extensive analysis of this text and Ḳorḳudâs Egypt visit, see Al-Tikriti, The hajj 125â146.
Dalkıran, Ä°bn-i Kemal 182â184; Åeyh Mekki Efendi and Ahmed Neyli Efendi, Yavuz Sultan Selimâin emriyle. For Ḳorḳudâs view, see ÅehzÄde Ḳorḳud, DaÊ¿wat al-nafs al-á¹Äliḥa 233bâ235b.
His full name was AbÅ« YaḥyÄ ZakariyyÄ Muḥammad b. Aḥmad al-Aná¹£ÄrÄ« al-ShÄfiâÄ«. For biographies of al-Aná¹£ÄrÄ«, see Ingalls, Recasting QushayrÄ«âs RisÄla 93â120; Geoffroy, Le Soufisme 517â518; Ãzel and Kallek, Zekeriyyâ el-Ensârî 212â215. I thank Matthew Ingalls for clarifying certain points of al-Aná¹£ÄrÄ«âs biography.
Al-Tikriti, The hajj 128.
For other preconquest Ottoman intellectual connections with Arab lands, see Pfeiferâs and TerzioÄluâs articles in this volume.
Mecdî, HadâikuâÅ-Åakâik 197â198, 212â213, 338â339, 513; Kappert, Die Osmanischen Prinzen 45â67; UzunçarÅılı, Ä°lmiye teÅkilâtı 145.
MüstaḳīmzÄde, Tuḥfe-i haá¹á¹Äá¹Ä«n 368; Osborne, Letters of light 44â53; Sohrweide (Dichter und Gelehrte 275â276) counted Shaykh ḤamdullÄh as one of many eastern scholars who greatly influenced Ottoman letters in its formative ninth-tenth/fifteenth-sixteenth centuries.
KemÄlpaÅazÄde (Ä°bn Kemâl, Tevârīḫ-i Ãl-i Os̱mân vi, 5â6) devoted a brief panegyric passage to MüʾeyyedzÄde during his discussion of BÄyezÄ«dâs preaccession court, demonstrating his importance and proximity to BÄyezÄ«d, at least when KemÄlpaÅazÄde wrote the passage, ca. 917/1511.
For BÄyezÄ«dâs response to his father, apologizing for not carrying out the execution order and promising to refrain from future opium consumption, see TSA E6366/1. UzunçarÅılı, Fatih Sultan Mehmedâin ölümü, 474â475.
See Pfeiffer, JalÄl al-DÄ«n al-DawÄnÄ«âs 284â331.
TaÅköprüzade, al-ShaqÄâiq 290â294; Menzel, Muâayyad-zÄde 272.
Mecdî, HadaikuâÅ-Åakaik 310; TaÅköprüzade, al-ShaqÄâiq 294; Hoca SaÊ¿düâd-dÄ«n, TÄc üt-tevÄrÄ«h ii, 556; KÄtib Ãelebi (Kashf al-áºunÅ«n iii, 433, #6302) referred to the work as simply âa treatise on kalÄm.â
Kappert, Die Osmanischen Prinzen 46, citing Ḥüseyin ḤüsÄmeddÄ«n, Amasya TÄrÄ«hi iii, 232. ḤüsÄmeddÄ«n, writing in the early twentieth century, rarely cited his sources.
Kappert, Die Osmanischen Prinzen 46; TaÅköprüzade, al-ShaqÄâiq 178â179; Mecdî, HadâikuâÅ-Åakâik 197â198.
The 1481â1487 gift register (TSA D10017) records a 1485 delivery of a copy to Ḳorḳud.
Ḳorḳud, ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn 2aâ3a, 4aâb, 8aâ9b, 14aâ15a, 20aâ26a, 27a, 32b, 58a, 60aâ61a, 62bâ65a, 82a, 89aâb, 90bâ91b, 94/2a, 114b, 118b, 124aâb, 129aâb, 137a, 145bâ146a, 158b, 160b, 172bâ173a, 187a, 188a, 215a.
Gökbilgin, Korkut 856.
Sohrweide, Dichter und Gelehrte 276; TaÅköprüzade, al-ShaqÄâiq 305â309; Mecdî, HadâikuâÅ-Åakâik 319â323.
Al-Tikriti, The hajj 128.
Ḳorḳud stated in his Ḥall ishkÄl (51b) that he had obtained a fatwa on this topic from âShaykh al-IslÄm al-Shaykh al-QÄá¸Ä« Zayn al-DÄ«n AbÅ« YaḥyÄ ZakariyyÄ al-Aná¹£ÄrÄ«âraá¸i AllÄh Ê¿anhu.â
According to the gift register (TSA D10017, f. 2), on 13 DhÅ« al-Qaâda 890/21 November 1485 the following texts were presented to Ḳorḳudâs niÅÄncı for personal delivery to the prince: K. IsfarÄâÄ«nÄ«, Sharḥ-i Ê¿aqÄʾid, K. Sharḥ-i maá¹ÄliÊ¿, K. ḤÄshiye-i maá¹ÄliÊ¿, KitÄb-i mukhtaá¹£ar, and K. Khamsa-yı NiáºÄmÄ«.
TSA D10017. This was his celebrated poetry collection, the Khamsa-yi NiáºÄmÄ« (NiáºÄmÄ«âs quintet). Comparison of these poems against his own poetry and scholarship suggests that Ḳorḳud studied these five works intensively as part of his advanced education, and that his later literary outputs, which lay beyond the scope of this study, were informed by these master works. Chelkowski, NiáºÄmÄ« GandjawÄ« 76â81.
TSAÂ D10017.
Yılmaz, Caliphate redefined 37â39.
Ḳorḳud twice cited âal-Shaykhâ AbÅ« ḤÄmid al-IsfarÄʾīnÄ« (d. 406/1016), a jurist sometimes referred to as a âsecond ShÄfiÊ¿Ä«â due to his TaÊ¿lÄ«q, a fifty-plus volume commentary on yet another Mukhtaá¹£ar text, this time a well-known Shafiâi legal manual by al-MuzanÄ« (d. 264/878). Several times Ḳorḳud also referenced arguments made by âal-UstÄdhâ AbÅ« IsḥÄq al-IsfarÄʾīnÄ« in his al-Ê¿AqÄ«da (The creed), ÄdÄb al-jadal (The art of dialectics), and other unspecified texts. Considering that the gifts document only mentioned a single volume, and that Ḳorḳud cited AbÅ« IsḥÄq far more than AbÅ« ḤÄmid, it is more likely that the text he was given was one of the two AbÅ« IsḥÄq treatises. Ḳorḳud, DaÊ¿wat al-nafs al-á¹Äliḥa 47a, 214a, 218b; Hall ishkÄl al-afkÄr, 33b, 53bâ54a; ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn, 2b, 29b, 40a, 41a, 65b; Madelung, al-IsfarÄyÄ«nÄ« 107â108; Yavuz, IsferÄyÄ«nÄ«, EbÅ« IshÄk 515â516; Heffening, al-MuzanÄ« 822.
The text may also have been KhayÄlÄ« Aḥmad Efendiâs (d. 874/1470) commentary on the same al-NasafÄ« text, with the same title. KhayÄlÄ«âs text would have been more current, and was also to become an integral part of the Ottoman madrasa curriculum, but as it was not nearly as well known, if it were this text, it should have carried an additional qualifier in its title. At least two other scholars, the renowned theologian Sayyid al-SharÄ«f al-JurjÄnÄ« and the relatively unknown Aḥmad JamÄl al-DÄ«n al-QÅ«nawÄ« (d. 731/1331/2) completed works that were also entitled Sharḥ al-Ê¿aqÄʾid. However, al-JÅ«rjÄnÄ«âs commentary on âAá¸ud al-DÄ«n al-ĪjÄ«âs al-Ê¿AqÄʾid and al-QÅ«nawÄ«âs on al-ṬaḥÄwÄ«âs al-Ê¿AqÄʾid were also not nearly as widespread as al-TaftÄzÄnÄ«âs work. TSA D10017; Tritton, al-DjÅ«rdjÄnÄ« 602â603; van Ess, al-ĪdjÄ« 1022; Görgün, ĪcÄ«, Adudüddin, 410â414; GümüÅ, CürcÄnÄ«, Seyyid Åerif 134â136.
Würtz, Islamische Theologie im 14 Jahrhundert; Spannaus, Theology in Central Asia 587â588.
Ḳorḳud, DaÊ¿wat al-nafs 239b; ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn 2b, 114b, 118b, 160b; Madelung, al-TaftÄzÄnÄ« 88â89; Wensinck, al-NasafÄ« 968â969; Yavuz, NesefÄ«, Ebüâl-MuÄ«n 568â570.
Marlow, SirÄj al-DÄ«n UrmavÄ« 279â313.
An Ottoman scholar named Ê¿Abdüâl-kerÄ«m Efendi, who flourished during the reign of MurÄd II (r. 824â855/1421â1451), produced another work entitled ḤÄshiyyat al-maá¹ÄliÊ¿. Since the reception of this scholarâs gloss was modest at best, it appears likely that Ḳorḳudâs gifted work was al-JurjÄnÄ«âs text. Pourjavady, Philosophy in early Safavid Iran 2; GümüÅ, Seyyid Åerif CürcÄnÄ« 86â88, 115â116, 148â149; GümüÅ, CürcÄnÄ« 134â136; ṬÄhir, Os̱mÄnlı Müâellifleri, i 352.
Ḳorḳud, Daʿwat al-nafs 221a.
Title as provided in frontispiece. This translation of the title follows Fleischer.
Ḳorḳud consistently used the term sharÊ¿, not sharÄ«Ê¿a, which supports Wilfred Cantwell Smithâs argument that the term sharÄ«Ê¿a came into common use only in later centuries. Smith, The concept of shariâa 581â602.
MS Aya Sofya 2289. Here referred to as ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn. I thank Urs Göskin for his incisive comments concerning this text.
Ḳorḳud, DaÊ¿wat al-nafs 1aâ4a, citing Q 3:185, 21:35, 29:57, 55:26, 28:88, 101:6â11, 99:7â8, 79:35â41, 89:27â30, 51:56, 83:4â5, 102:8, 35:5â6.
Ḳorḳud, DaÊ¿wat al-nafs 4aâ29a.
Ibid. 215bâ216b, 251aâ252a.
Ḳorḳud, DaÊ¿wat al-nafs 216bâ217a.
For more on al-ZamakhsharÄ«, see Versteegh, al-ZamakhsharÄ« 432â434.
Ḳorḳud, DaÊ¿wat al-nafs 217aâ219a.
Ḳorḳud, ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn 48aâb; Pourjavady, Philosophy in early Safavid Iran 35â37; [Al-AbharÄ« and al-MaybudÄ«], Commentary upon guidance.
Ḳorḳud, ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn 70bâ82a.
Ḳorḳud, ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn 186bâ188b.
Sabra, Science and philosophy 21.
Marlow, SirÄj al-DÄ«n UrmavÄ« 282; Endress, Reading Avicenna 304.
Endress, Reading Avicenna 408â410.
Griffel, Tolerance and exclusion 339â354.
For the broader significance of this trend, see Melvin-Koushki, TaḥqÄ«q vs. taqlÄ«d 193â249. For its subsequent development, see El-Rouayheb, Opening the gate 263â281; and Islamic intellectual history.
For a brief summary of al-GhazÄlÄ«âs, al-JuwaynÄ«âs, and al-JurjÄnÄ«âs contributions and roles in the early taḥqÄ«q trend, see Cürcânî, Åerhuâl-Mevâkıf 13â23. Ḳorḳud cited each of these scholars numerous times in ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn.
Ãmer Türkerâs introduction to his Turkish translation of JurjÄnÄ«âs Sharḥ al-MawÄqif lists four (al-RÄzÄ«, al-ÄmidÄ«, al-ĪjÄ«, al-TaftÄzÄnÄ«) of Ḳorḳudâs seven as key scholars in the taḥqÄ«q trend. Cürcânî, Åerhuâl-Mevâkıf 13â23.
Endress, Reading Avicenna in the madrasa 392, 400.
This section summarizes a more extensive analysis I previously completed on this same text. See Al-Tikriti, KalÄm in the service 131â149.
For further discussion of this earlier evolution of Shafiâi-Ashâari apostasy literature, see Griffel, Toleration and exclusion 339â354.
Ḳorḳud, ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn 191aâ215b.
Internal references within the text to Ḳorḳudâs DaÊ¿wat al-nafs and vice-versa confirm this earliest possible date of authorship. DaÊ¿wat al-nafs al-á¹Äliḥa is cited three times in ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn 65a, 72a, 196b. Meanwhile, ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn is cited twice in DaÊ¿wat al-nafs 159b, 236a.
Burak, Faith, law, and empire 1â23.
Ḳorḳud, ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn 1aâb.
Ibid. 1aâ88b.
Ibid. 88bâ161b.
Ibid. 161b-end.
Ibid. 89aâb; on al-á¹¢afÄ« al-HindÄ«, see Marlow, SirÄj al-DÄ«n UrmavÄ« 309.
Ḳorḳud, ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn 88bâ90a.
Ibid. 163bâ191a.
Ibid. 195aâb.
Earlier theologians had mentioned âgirding the sashâ as an external sign of kufr, thus laying the foundation for clothing-based apostasy rulings.
Kayapınar, Anadoluâdan Korona 6â11.
Al-Tikriti, KalÄm in the service 146â149.
For a discussion of Ottoman elite attitudes toward the concept of al-siyÄsa, see Derin TerzioÄluâs article in this volume.
Ḳorḳud, DaÊ¿wat al-nafs 201aâ202a.
Ḳorḳud, Daʿwat al-nafs 221a.
Karakaya-Stump, Kizilbash-Alevis in Ottoman Anatolia 256â319.
Ḳorḳud, DaÊ¿wat al-nafs 114bâ115b, 150bâ156b.
For more on these scholars, see Böwering, al-SulamÄ« 811â813; Halm, al-ḲushayrÄ« 526â527; Hartmann, al-SuhrawardÄ« 778â782; and Geoffrey, al-YÄfiâÄ« 236.
Ḳorḳud, DaÊ¿wat al-nafs 223aâ248b.
Fleischer, From Ḳorḳud to Mustafa Äli 72.
Ḳorḳud, DaÊ¿wat al-nafs 223aâ248b.
Ḳorḳud, ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn 130bâ158b. For more on the Murjiâa doctrine, see Madelung, Murdjiâa 605â607.
Ḳorḳud, ḤÄfiẠal-insÄn 157bâ161b.
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