Scholars and Sultans in The Early Modern Ottoman Empire PDF

Scholars and Sultans in the Early Modern
Ottoman Empire
During the early Ottoman period (1300–1453), scholars in the empire

carefully kept their distance from the ruling class. This changed with the
capture of Constantinople. From 1453 to 1600, the Ottoman government
coopted large groups of scholars, usually more than a thousand at a time,
and employed them in a hierarchical bureaucracy to fulfill educational,
legal, and administrative tasks. Abdurrahman Atçıl explores the factors
that brought about this gradual transformation of scholars into scholar-
bureaucrats, including the deliberate legal, bureaucratic, and architectural
actions of the Ottoman sultans and their representatives, scholars’ own
participation in shaping the rules governing their status and careers, and
domestic and international events beyond the control of either group.
abdurrahman atçıl is Assistant Professor and a fellow of the Brain

Circulation Scheme, co-funded by the European Research Council and the
Scientific and Technological Research Council of Turkey, at Istanbul Şehir
University. He also holds an assistant professorship in Arabic and Islamic
studies at Queens College, City University of New York.
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Scholars and Sultans in
the Early Modern
Ottoman Empire
abdurrahman atçıl
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To my parents,
Hakkı Atçıl and Sevim Atçıl
Contents
List of Tables page ix

Notes on Usage x
Acknowledgments xii
Introduction 1
Part I Scholars during the Early Ottoman Period (1300–1453)

1 Post-Mongol Realities in Anatolia and the Ottomans 17
2 Madrasas and Scholars in Ottoman Lands 28
Part II The Formation of the Hierarchy (1453–1530)

3 Introducing the Ottoman Empire 49
4 Scholars in Mehmed II’s Nascent Imperial Bureaucracy
(1453–1481) 59
5 Scholar-Bureaucrats Realize Their Power (1481–1530) 83
Part III The Consolidation of the Hierarchy (1530–1600)

6 The Focus of Attention Changes 119
7 The Ascendance of Dignitary Scholar-Bureaucrats (Mevali) 134
8 The Growth and Extension of the Hierarchy 145
9 The Rules and Patterns of Differentiation among
Scholar-Bureaucrats 170
10 The Integration of Scholar-Bureaucrats in Multiple Career
Tracks 188
Conclusion 212
vii
viii Contents
Glossary 223
Bibliography 227
Index 251
Tables
2.1 Madrasas constructed in Ottoman lands during the early

Ottoman period page 29
2.2 Royal-prestige madrasas in Ottoman lands during the
early Ottoman period 31
2.3 Distribution of madrasas in Anatolia and Rumeli during
the early Ottoman period 32
5.1 Types of novices (mülazıms) during the first quarter of the
sixteenth century 105
5.2 Paths of entrance to government service for scholar-
bureaucrats in the first quarter of the sixteenth century 108
8.1 Promotion of professors to the Prince Mehmed and Selim
I Madrasas during the sixteenth century 148
8.2 Last positions held by professors before appointment to
the Süleymaniye madrasas during the sixteenth century 149
8.3 Last positions held by professors before appointment to
one of the Sahn madrasas in the sixteenth century 151
8.4 Promotion of professors from Rüstem Pasha Madrasa in
Istanbul in the sixteenth century 152
10.1 Profession/status of the fathers of scholar-bureaucrats in
the lower career track of dignitaries 199
10.2 Profession/status of the fathers of scholar-bureaucrats in
the upper career track of dignitaries 210
ix
Notes on Usage
Arabic, Persian, and Turkish words listed in the Oxford English Dictio-
nary appear in this book without italics – hence, Qur’an, ulema, shah,
Sunna, hadith, sheikh, sharia, ghazi, hajj, pasha, and vizier. However,
madrasa (set in roman), vakf (italics), and fetva (italics) are used instead
of madrasah, waqf, and fatwa.
Arabic and Persian terms, texts, and book titles are fully translit-
erated without macrons and diacritics, except that hamza (‫ – )ء‬when
it is in the middle of a word – and ʿayn (‫ )ع‬are shown with ʾ and ʿ
respectively. Thus, Al-Shaqaʾiq al-Nuʿmaniyya, Qamus al-Muhit, and
mihna. Ottoman Turkish texts and terms are rendered according to
modern Turkish orthography: kanun, kadıasker, mevali, ilmiye, and
mülazemet. Long Turkish vowels (â and î) are used only in cases
where confusion may occur, such vâkıf and Mustafa Âlî. As for those
terms that may be used in both Arabic and Ottoman Turkish con-
texts, Turkish renderings are given in the text (e.g., vakfiye, fetva, vakf,
kadı, müfti), and both Arabic and Turkish appear in the Glossary and
Index. Plurals of non-English terms use the English plural suffix s (e.g.,
kasabat kadıs, kadıaskers, mülazıms, and vakfiyes), except for the plu-
ral word mevali, the singular form of which (mevla) never appears in
this study.
Arabic and Persian personal names are normally fully transliterated
– for instance, Abu Hanifa, al-Muʾayyad, and Ibn ʿArabi. However, if
the context relates to Anatolia or the Ottoman dynasty, all personal
names appear in their modern Turkish rendering, as in Molla Hüsrev,
Ebussuud, Seyyid Şerif Cürcani, and Sadeddin Taftazani. The modern
Turkish version of place-names is used (e.g., Konya, Ankara, and Man-
isa) unless there is an established anglicized form, as there is for Istan-
bul, Cairo, Damascus, Medina, Mecca, Aleppo, Anatolia, Nishapur,
Merv, Samarkand, Baghdad, Herat, Khorasan, and Transoxiana.
All dates are given according to the Common Era. In cases of lunar
dates for which the month is not known, the lunar year may extend
Notes on Usage xi
into two years of the Common Era. Then, the two years are shown
with a virgule (/). For example, 1548/49 is given for the lunar year
955.
The following abbreviations are used throughout the book:
ATAYI Nevizade Atayi, Hadaʾiq al-Haqaʾiq, ed.
Abdülkadir Özcan (Istanbul: Çağrı Yayınları,
1989)
EI2 Encyclopaedia of Islam, 2nd ed. (online)
KANUNNAME Kānûnnâme-i Âl-i Osman, ed. and transliterated
by Abdülkadir Özcan (Istanbul: Kitabevi, 2003)
MECDI Mecdi Mehmed Efendi, Hadaʾiq al-Shaqaʾiq, ed.
Abdülkadir Özcan (Istanbul: Çağrı Yayınları,
1989)
SHAQAʾIQ Ahmed Taşköprizade, Al-Shaqaʾiq al-Nuʿmaniyya
fi ʿUlama al-Dawla al-ʿUthmaniyya, ed. Ahmed
Subhi Furat (Istanbul: İstanbul Üniversitesi
Edebiyat Fakültesi Yayınları, 1985)
SK Süleymaniye Kütüphanesi
TDVIA Türkiye Diyanet Vakfı İslam Ansiklopedisi (online)
TSMA Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi Arşivi (Topkapı Palace
Museum Archive)
TSMK Topkapı Sarayı Müzesi Kütüphanesi (Topkapı
Palace Museum Library)
Acknowledgments
My interest in the topic of this book started when I was a Master’s

student in Bilkent University’s History Department between 1999 and
2002. Since then, I have studied, conducted research, or taught at sev-
eral educational and research institutions: the University of Chicago,
Harvard University, Queens College of City University of New York
(CUNY), Istanbul Şehir University, American University in Cairo, the
Center for Islamic Studies in Istanbul (İSAM), the Foundation for Sci-
ences and Arts in Istanbul (BİSAV), the American Research Institute in
Turkey (ARIT), the Süleymaniye Library, the Prime Minister’s Archive
in Istanbul, the Topkapı Palace Museum Archive and Library, the
Archive of Directorate General of Foundations in Ankara, Müftülük
Archive and Library in Istanbul, and Dar al-Kutub in Cairo. Bilkent
University, the University of Chicago, Harvard University, Queens Col-
lege, the Andrew Mellon Foundation, the National Endowment for
the Humanities-ARIT, the European Research Council–Scientific and
Research Council of Turkey (TÜBİTAK) (BİDEB 2236–114C009), and
the Turkish Academy of Sciences (TÜBA) financially supported my
studies and research. I thank these institutions and their personnel for
making my research possible.
During the researching and writing of this book, I benefited from
the guidance, knowledge, mentorship, and friendship of a multitude
of people. I am grateful to all of them but will name only a few of
them here. Special gratitude is due to my PhD adviser, mentor, and
abi, Cornell H. Fleischer, for his erudite advice, encouragement, help,
patience, and confidence in my work. His generosity with his knowl-
edge, time, and friendship has humbled me and continues to do so.
I am indebted to Engin D. Akarlı for providing me with a perfect
model of academic integrity and excellence and for supporting me and
my work since our first meeting in 2004. A. Holly Shissler and Euge-
nia Kermeli have always been willing to give academic, professional,
and personal advice and played critical roles in my academic and
xii
Acknowledgments xiii
professional development. I was so fortunate to have William McClure,

who never failed to encourage, help, and support me, as my supervisor
and mentor at Queens College.
I wish to express my sincere gratitude to the professors who taught
me to read and interpret historical sources and to think with a his-
torical perspective, as well as to those who contributed to the devel-
opment of this book in many different ways: Ali Akyıldız, M. Akif
Aydın, Bilgin Aydın, Orit Bashkin, Arif Bilgin, Tufan Buzpınar, Robert
Dankoff, Fred M. Donner, Muhammad S. Eissa, Feridun Emecen, İhsan
Fazlıoğlu, Nejdet Gök, Colin Heywood, Halil İnalcık, Mehmet İpşirli,
Baber Johansen, Wadad Kadi, Cemal Kafadar, Ahmet T. Karamustafa,
Hakan Karateke, İlhan Kutluer, Joel Lidov, the late Farouk Mustafa,
Oktay Özel, Erol Özvar, Judith Pfeiffer, Chase F. Robinson, and John
E. Woods.
It gives me a great pleasure to thank many colleagues and friends
who showed an interest in and shared their ideas with me on this
project: Mehmetcan Akpınar, M. Zahit Atçıl, James E. Baldwin,
Jonathan Brown, Osman Baş, Tuncay Başoğlu, İ. Evrim Binbaş, M.
Talha Çiçek, Garrett Davidson, Ali Erken, Hasan Karataş, Özgür
Kavak, E. Said Kaya, Seyfi Kenan, Abdülhamit Kırmızı, Kasım Kopuz,
Hızır M. Köse, Emin Lelić, Christopher A. Markiewicz, Güngör Öğüt,
Ertuğrul Ökten, Ferruh Özpilavcı, İ. Kaya Şahin, A. Tunç Şen, Himmet
Taşkömür, Kenan Tekin, Yunus Uğur, and Nükhet Varlık.
I presented parts or earlier versions of this book at the University
of Chicago, Harvard University, Columbia University, Istanbul Şehir
University, Istanbul Medeniyet University, Istanbul University, the Uni-
versity of Tübingen, and BİSAV, as well as at the annual meeting of the
Middle East Association of North America and at the annual confer-
ence of American Association of Teachers of Turkic Languages, and
received useful feedback. I am grateful to all who thought about this
work and shared their ideas with me.
I am deeply indebted to Professors Cornell H. Fleischer, Engin D.
Akarlı, and Ahmet T. Karamustafa and to two anonymous reviewers
who carefully read a draft of this book and saved me from many embar-
rassing mistakes. I also would like to thank M. Zahit Atçıl, Ertuğrul
Ökten, Ferenc Csirkés, Nükhet Varlık, Gürzat Kami, Hugh Jefferson
Turner, Padraic Rohan, and Rebecca Loumiotis for reading earlier ver-
sions of parts of this work and for making critical interventions. Any
remaining errors are, of course, mine.
xiv Acknowledgments
I am delighted to thank Cambridge University Press editors William

Masami Hammell and Maria Marsh for their interest and support.
Thanks are also due to Claire Sissen and Arindam Bose, who provided
help during the production process of the manuscript.
I must acknowledge that were it not for the unconditional love, sup-
port, and encouragement of my parents, Hakkı Atçıl and Sevim Atçıl,
I would never have trodden the path of knowledge. I cannot express
my gratitude to them in words. I would also like to warmly thank my
parents-in-law, Haluk Bilyay and Hatice Sonad Bilyay, for their love
and support and all the sacrifices that they have made on my behalf.
Let me finally thank my wife, Elif Zeynep, and my daughter, Münire
Sevim, for gently sharing my burden and for keeping me on track with
their love, joy, and patience throughout the research and writing of this
book.
Introduction
This book aims to open a window onto the successive turns and recon-
figurations in Ottoman ideology and governance during the early mod-
ern period. To this end, it explores the changing roles and attitudes of
Sunni scholars (ulema) in Ottoman lands from the fourteenth through
the sixteenth century. How did the Ottomans adapt to the volatile
global and regional, ideological and political conditions that shaped
their world during this period? What functions did scholars serve in
the Ottoman polity at different moments within this larger time? Did
scholars help the Ottomans sustain their power? Did scholars exer-
cise authority independently of the government? What policies did the
Ottomans adopt in order to coopt scholars? How did the roles and
positions of scholars in the Ottoman polity change?
The Ottomans ascended to the political stage by establishing a small
principality in Bithynia, in northwestern Anatolia, at the turn of the
fourteenth century. The early Ottoman political enterprise can be seen
as a product of the conditions and limits set by the advance of the
Chinggisid Mongols into the Islamic world. It functioned on the fringes
of Anatolia and the Balkans and vied with several principalities to fill
the power vacuum created by the collapse of the centralized Seljuk
administration under Mongol attack. Its military power to a great
extent depended on nomadic warriors, who moved westward to the
frontiers in greater numbers after the arrival of the Mongols. Its rulers
tried to legitimize their power by using a variety of Mongol and Islamic
ideas – a feature of post-Mongol polities in the Islamic world.
The Ottoman political enterprise appears to have transformed
from a post-Mongol principality into an early modern empire begin-
ning in the second half of the fifteenth century.1 The conquest of
1
For some studies conceiving the early modern period (roughly from the fifteenth
to the eighteenth century) as a global era in which societies from western
Europe to China – including the Ottoman lands – developed shared features
and trends, see Joseph Fletcher, “Integrative History: Parallels and
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2 Introduction
Constantinople (Istanbul), the time-honored capital of the Roman

(later, Byzantine) Empire, in 1453 appears as a milestone that properly
marked the beginning of the transformation. This astonishing success
underlined the military edge the Ottomans enjoyed over their rivals.
Their advantage increased with the growing use of firearms in field and
siege battles, a technology that marginalized nomadic warriors.2 The
Ottomans continued to extend their territories in the east and west
after the conquest until the end of the sixteenth century, moving at
differing paces during various periods and sometimes facing setbacks.
Having brought Istanbul under their control and established rule over
diverse geographies and peoples, the Ottomans gradually adopted an
imperial identity and began to assert a universalist ideology. Related to
this new imperial identity were efforts to establish a legal-bureaucratic
administration, which would increase the center’s power by facilitating
its control of the provinces.
Bureaucratization was a particular global phenomenon of the early
modern period. Imperial states at that time set out to recruit an army of
civil officials to supplement their military control over the provinces.3
These officials usually had legal knowledge and expertise by virtue of
which they could fulfill administrative, judicial, financial, and scribal
duties. They reported directly to the central government and aug-
mented its power in the provinces. For example, in France and Spain,
graduates of the burgeoning universities (lieutenants and corregidors,
Interconnections in the Early Modern Period, 1500–1800,” Journal of Turkish

Studies 9 (1985): 37–57; Cemal Kafadar, “The Ottomans and Europe,” in
Handbook of European History, 1400–1600, ed. Thomas A. Brady, Jr., Heiko
A. Oberman, and James D. Tracy (Leiden: Brill, 1994–95), 1: 620–25; Sanjay
Subrahmanyam, “Connected Histories: Notes towards a Reconfiguration of
Early Modern Eurasia,” Modern Asian Studies 31 (1997): 735–62; Baki Tezcan,
The Second Ottoman Empire: Political and Social Transformation in the Early
Modern World (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2010).
2
The Ottomans began to use firearms in siege battles in the last decade of the
fourteenth century. They first used field artillery in the battle of Kosovo in 1448.
From the siege of Istanbul onwards, they used both artillery and handguns with
increasing efficiency. Gábor Ágoston, Guns for the Sultan: Military Power and
the Weapons Industry in the Ottoman Empire (New York: Cambridge
University Press, 2005), 17–60. See also Gábor Ágoston, “War-Winning
Weapons? On the Decisiveness of Ottoman Firearms from the Siege of
Constantinople (1453) to the Battle of Mohács (1526),” Journal of Turkish
Studies (Defteroloji: Festschrift in Honor of Heath Lowry) 39 (2013): 129–43.
3
In this book, civil is used to describe officials and bureaucratic branches whose
primary duties were not military.
Introduction 3
respectively) filled bureaucratic ranks and participated in administer-

ing the centralized states. In England, notables were appointed as jus-
tices of the peace in their respective localities and reported to the central
government.4 In Mughal India, Muslim and Hindu officials, who were
fit into the mansabdari system, worked to realize the financial and legal
goals of the central government in the provinces.5 Along lines similar
to these bureaucratization efforts, beginning in the second half of the
fifteenth century, the Ottomans coopted into the imperial administra-
tion a sizable group of scholars who had trained in madrasas and had
acquired the legal expertise and competence to fulfill various bureau-
cratic tasks. These scholars constituted a civil bureaucracy under the
control of the central government and fulfilled legal, financial, scribal,
diplomatic, and educational tasks.
From the perspective of earlier Islamic history, the bureaucratiza-
tion of scholars in the Ottoman Empire in the early modern period
appears to have been unprecedented. Generally speaking, in medieval
Islamic society – where religious knowledge, law, and politics were
hardly separable – scholars commanded special prestige and respect.
Their specialized knowledge of the scriptural sources (the Qur’an and
the Sunna) and the interpretation of these sources distinguished them
from others and gave them the authority to define the beliefs and
acts enjoined by Islam.6 They transmitted their knowledge in informal
gatherings or in the structured environment of madrasas. They also
4
Eugene F. Rice, Jr., and Anthony Grafton, The Foundations of Early Modern
Europe, 1460–1559 (New York: W. W. Norton, 1994), 114–16.
5
John F. Richards, The Mughal Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1993), 58–74. In Safavid Iran, local Iranian bureaucrats known as tajiks, as well
as scholars, fulfilled administrative tasks assigned by the central government.
For this, see Andrew J. Newman, Safavid Iran: Rebirth of a Persian Empire
(London: I. B. Tauris, 2009), 13–40. In Ming China, scholars who passed the
imperial examination on the Confucian classics were assigned to fulfill
bureaucratic tasks. Charles O. Hucker, “Ming Government,” in The Cambridge
History of China: The Ming Dynasty, Part 2, ed. Denis Twitchett and John K.
Fairbank (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 29–54.
6
Patricia Crone and Martin Hinds, God’s Caliph: Religious Authority in the First
Centuries of Islam (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 97–110;
Wael B. Hallaq, The Origins and Evolution of Islamic Law (New York:
Cambridge University Press, 2005), 57–78. See also Jonathan Brown, The
Canonization of al-Bukhārı̄ and Muslim: The Formation and Function of the
Sunnı̄ H
. adith Canon (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 47–59; Ahmed El Shamsy, The
Canonization of Islamic Law: A Social and Intellectual History (New York:
Cambridge University Press, 2013), 44–87; Khaled Abou El Fadl, Rebellion and
Violence in Islamic Law (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 92–96.
4 Introduction
articulated religious and legal rules (sharia) and at times provided pri-
vate nonbinding religio-legal guidance by acting as jurists (müftis).7 In
addition, the legal and bureaucratic capabilities of scholars made them
indispensable to the ruling authorities: they were appointed as judges
(kadıs), judges of equity courts (mazalim), market inspectors (muhte-
sibs), and so on.8
Scholars, however, did not constitute a closed group or a social or
professional class. Any member of society could acquire the status of
scholar if he or she dedicated his or her time to learning the relevant
texts and methods. The certificates (icazet; lit., “permission”) given by
teachers verified the qualifications of individual scholars. These certifi-
cates had no connection with the rulers and did not necessarily bring
official rights.9 Most often, scholars maintained an ordinary life and
could not be easily recognized on the basis of their external trappings.10
In Islamic societies, scholars embodied a moral authority that was
separate and independent from the political authority. By virtue of their
knowledge, scholars had the right to define most of the religious and
legal rules of the society. The wielders of political authority therefore
could not interfere in scholarly matters unless they acquired the knowl-
edge and skills of a scholar. The sensibilities of Muslim society under-
girded scholars’ authority and checked rulers, preventing them from
encroaching on the scholars’ sphere of expertise.11 Further, scholars
usually valued their distance from the ruling class. In different periods
7
Wael B. Hallaq, An Introduction to Islamic Law (New York: Cambridge
University Press, 2009), 7–13.
8
Muhammad Qasim Zaman, Religion and Politics under the Early ʿAbbāsids:
The Emergence of Proto-Sunnı̄ Elite (Leiden: Brill, 1997), 71–81; Yossef
Rapoport, “Royal Justice and Religious Law: Siyāsah and Shariʿah under the
Mamluks,” Mamluk Studies Review 16 (2012): 86–92; Kristen Stilt, Islamic
Law in Action: Authority, Discretion, and Everyday Experiences in Mamluk
Egypt (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011), 64–67.
9
Jonathan P. Berkey, The Transmission of Knowledge in Medieval Cairo
(Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1992), 21–43; Cemil Akpınar,
“İcâzet,” TDVIA.
10
R. Stephen Humphreys, Islamic History: A Framework for Inquiry (Princeton,
NJ: Princeton University Press, 1991), 195.
11
For a thoughtful discussion about the authority of scholars, see Engin Deniz
Akarlı, “Maslaha from ‘Common Good’ to ‘Raison D’Etat’ in the Experience
of Istanbul Artisans (1730–1840),” in Hoca, ‘Allame and Puits de Science:
Essays in Honor of Kemal H. Karpat, ed. Kaan Durukan, Robert W. Zens, and
Akile Zorlu-Durukan (Istanbul: Isis Press, 2010), 65–67. See also Frank E.
Vogel, Islamic Law and Legal System: Studies of Saudi Arabia (Leiden: Brill,
2000), 178–221.
Introduction 5
and in different parts of the Islamic world, individual scholars estab-

lished close relationships with rulers, serving, for instance, in madrasas
established by the reigning rulers and acting as judges or advisers. But
scholars’ ethos prevented their becoming too closely enmeshed with
the ruling class. Consorting with political authorities was thought to
compromise the integrity of individual scholars.12
This broad-stroked depiction of scholars in medieval Islamic soci-
ety does not seem to correspond, however, with the positions and per-
spectives of scholars in the Ottoman Empire during the early modern
period. From the second half of the fifteenth century onward, the rela-
tionship of scholars with the sultans was not the reluctant service of
a few individuals. Instead, a multitude of scholars accepted employ-
ment from the government. Some scholars spent their entire lives in
careers within the imperial administration, where they were promoted
up through the hierarchy and had their rights protected by laws, regu-
lations, and precedent. As a result, scholars as a group became increas-
ingly affiliated with the government through an institutional bond.
They acquired the status of askeri, associated with the ruling class.13
They also came to constitute a professional class, developed an esprit
de corps, and began to underline their distinction from nonbureau-
cratic scholars. As a corollary to all of these developments, these schol-
ars began to see their relationship with the government as valuable
instead of as compromising.
The following pages present the story of this transformation in the
position and attitudes of scholars in the Ottoman Empire from the
fourteenth through the sixteenth century. I explore the contingencies
and particular characteristics involved in scholars’ integration into the
Ottoman administration, paying due attention to historical, legal, inter-
nal, regional, and global factors.
Scholar-Bureaucrats
As the foregoing discussion indicates, policies that were implemented
beginning in the second half of the fifteenth century resulted in the rise
12
Hallaq, An Introduction to Islamic Law, 38–56; Bülent Çelikel, “Gazâlî’nin
Dönemindeki Ulemâya Yönelttiği Eleştiriler,” Din Bilimleri Akademik
Araştırma Dergisi 13 (2013): 117–38; Abdullah Taha İmamoğlu, “‘Gevenden
ancak diken çıkar’: Süyûtî’nin Gözüyle Ulema ve Siyaset,” Dîvân:
Disiplinlerarası Çalışmalar Dergisi 35 (2013): 199–222.
13
The askeri status carried with it privileges as regards taxes and judicial
procedure. For this, see Halil Sahillioğlu, “Askerî,” TDVIA.
6 Introduction
of a professional group of scholars in Ottoman government service. I

refer to them as scholar-bureaucrats to underline their distinctiveness.14
Scholar-bureaucrats received education on the Qur’an and the Sunna
and the traditional knowledge derived from them. They served as pro-
fessors, judges, or jurists. In other words, they acquired the traditional
qualifications of and fulfilled the usual functions of scholars. Thus,
there is nothing wrong in calling them scholars. At the same time, how-
ever, scholar-bureaucrats became affiliated with the Ottoman govern-
ment through an institutional framework that was protected by laws
and by established precedents. They pursued a lifetime career, accept-
ing regular promotions to progressively better hierarchically organized
positions. As legal experts, they fulfilled judicial, scribal, financial, and
military tasks for the Ottoman government. This framework was not
temporary but well established and durable, making it possible for a
large group of men in every generation to professionally affiliate with
the Ottoman government. Insofar as the nature of the relationship
of these scholars with the government was concerned, they differed
from their predecessors and contemporary nonbureaucratic scholars.
As such, they appeared to be bureaucrats.15
An alternative concept in discussing the history of scholars in the
Ottoman Empire is the ilmiye (Ottoman learned establishment).16
14
For the usage of the term scholar-bureaucrats to refer to Iranian bureaucrats,
who were distinguished by their literary knowledge and skills, see Colin P.
Mitchell, The Practice of Politics in Safavid Iran, Power, Religion and Rhetoric
(London: I. B. Tauris, 2009), esp. 9–16.
15
I do not use the words bureaucracy and bureaucrats in the Weberian sense,
which primarily associates them with modern legal and rational domination.
For this, see Max Weber, Economy and Society, ed. Guenther Roth and Claus
Wittich, 2 vols. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978), 1: 217–26.
16
For some studies that take the ilmiye as their principal focus, see İsmail Hakkı
Uzunçarşılı, Osmanlı Devletinin İlmiye Teşkilâtı (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu,
1988); Richard C. Repp, “Some Observations on the Development of the
Ottoman Learned Hierarchy,” in Scholars, Saints, and Sufis: Muslim Religious
Institutions in the Middle East since 1500, ed. Nikki R. Keddie (Berkeley:
University of California Press, 1972), 17–32; Richard C. Repp, The Müfti of
Istanbul: A Study in the Development of the Ottoman Learned Hierarchy
(London: Ithaca, 1986), 27–72; Madeline C. Zilfi, “Sultan Süleymân and the
Ottoman Religious Establishment,” in Süleymân the Second and His Time, ed.
Halil İnalcık and Cemal Kafadar (Istanbul: Isis Press, 1993), 109–20; Mehmet
İpşirli, “Osmanlı İlmiye Teşkilâtında Mülâzemet Sisteminin Önemi ve Rumeli
Kazaskeri Mehmed Efendi Zamanına Ait Mülâzemet Kayıtları,” Güney-Doğu
Avrupa Araştırmaları Dergisi 10–11 (1981–1982): 221–31; Mehmet İpşirli,
“Osmanlı İlmiye Mesleği Hakkında Gözlemler, XVI–XVII. Asırlar,” Osmanlı
Araştırmaları 7 (1988): 273–85; Fahri Unan, “Osmanlı İlmiye Tarîkinde
Introduction 7
This term refers to the separate bureaucratic hierarchical structure

of scholars that developed after the division in the Ottoman bureau-
cracy and the creation of a separate hierarchy for scholar-bureaucrats
toward the middle of the sixteenth century. Once the ilmiye appeared, it
existed side by side with the kalemiye hierarchy of financial and scribal
officials.17 Thus, using the term ilmiye when discussing the develop-
ments that took place before the sixteenth century runs the risk of
projecting this differentiated bureaucratic structure backward in time,
when in fact no such division existed before the mid-sixteenth century.
One might consider using the terms judiciary and jurists to refer to
the group of scholar-bureaucrats in government service.18 It is true that
they were legal experts and could fulfill almost all functions related
to the law within and outside the empire’s courtrooms. Quite a few
scholar-bureaucrats spent all or a substantial part of their careers serv-
ing as judges or appointed jurists. But not all of the scholar-bureaucrats
undertook judicial or jurisprudential functions; there were many who
served as professors or as financial or chancellery officials. Thus, these
two terms cannot encompass the entire group of scholar-bureaucrats.
In addition, in the case of jurist, this title did not necessarily depend on
government appointment, so the category may also include scholars
who were not scholar-bureaucrats.
Considering all of these factors, the term scholar-bureaucrats pos-
sesses three advantages for the purposes of this study: (1) it allows
precision, in that it refers to all the members of the group studied here
and excludes others who are not of central importance in this context;
‘Pâye’li Tâyinler Yâhut Devlette Kazanç Kapısı,” Belleten 62, no. 233 (1998):
41–64; Yasemin Beyazıt, Osmanlı İlmiyye Mesleğinde İstihdam (XVI. Yüzyıl)
(Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 2014).
17
For this, see Josef Matuz, Das Kanzleiwesen Sultan Süleymans des Prächtigen
(Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner Verlag GmbH, 1974), 33–45; Cornell H. Fleischer,
Bureaucrat and Intellectual in the Ottoman Empire: The Historian Mustafa
Âlî, 1541–1600 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1986), 214–31.
18
For the Ottoman judiciary and jurists, see Engin Deniz Akarlı, “The Ruler and
Law Making in the Ottoman Empire,” in Law and Empire: Ideas, Practices,
Actors, ed. Jeroen Duindam, Jill Harries, Caroline Humfress, and Nimrod
Hurvitz (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 92–99; Engin Deniz Akarlı, “Law in the
Marketplace: Istanbul, 1730–1840,” in Dispensing Justice in Islam: Qadis and
Their Judgements, ed. Muhammad Khalid Masud, Rudolph Peters, and David
S. Powers (Leiden: Brill, 2016), 249–51. See also Guy Burak, The Second
Formation of Islamic Law: The H . anafı̄ School in the Early Modern Ottoman
Empire (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 21–64.
8 Introduction
(2) it gives an idea about their qualifications, jobs, and mode of affili-
ation; and (3) it is flexible enough to be used when discussing scholars
who served in official government positions from the second half of
the fifteenth century to the end of the sixteenth.
Sources
Not many written sources from the period attest the history of scholars
in Ottoman lands during the fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries.
Researchers have necessarily made do with the occasional notes in Ibn
Battuta’s (d. 1368/69) Tuhfa al-Nuzzar about the scholars he met dur-
ing his travels in Anatolia,19 several endowment deeds for madrasas,20
a few official documents,21 and scattered biographical or autobio-
graphical notes about scholars in various sources.22 The architectural
evidence, however, of surviving madrasas and other buildings23 can
inform educated guesses about investment in educational institutions
and about the attitude of rulers toward scholars and scholarly institu-
tions during these years.
From the second half of the fifteenth century, in contrast, a signif-
icant number of written sources about scholars remain extant. The
histories of the Ottoman dynasty, the production of which started
in the last decades of the fifteenth century, included notes related to
scholars in the Ottoman realm.24 In addition, quite a few imperial
decrees, endowment deeds, and official documents of various types,
19
Ibn Battuta, İbn Battûta Seyahatnâmesi, trans. A. Sait Aykut, 2 vols. (Istanbul:
Yapı Kredi Yayınları, 2004).
20
For example, see Mustafa Bilge, İlk Osmanlı Medreseleri (Istanbul: Edebiyat
Fakültesi, 1984), 209–305.
21
For example, see İsmail Hakkı Uzunçarşılı, “Osmanlı Tarihine Ait Yeni Bir
Vesikanın Ehemmiyeti ve İzahı ve Bu Münasebetle Osmanlılarda İlk Vezirlere
Dair Mutalea,” Belleten 3 (1939): 99–106.
22
For example, Abdurrahman Bistami, Durra Taj al-Rasa’il (Nuruosmaniye
Kütüphanesi, no. 4905).
23
For example, see Machiel Kiel’s study of surviving early Ottoman buildings in
the Balkans, “The Incorporation of the Balkans into the Ottoman Empire,
1353–1453,” in The Cambridge History of Turkey, vol. 1: Byzantium to
Turkey, 1071–1453, ed. Kate Fleet (New York: Cambridge University Press,
2009), 138–91.
24
Halil İnalcık, “The Rise of Ottoman Historiography,” in Historians of the
Middle East, ed. Bernard Lewis and P. M. Holt (London: Oxford University
Press, 1962), 152–67; Feridun Emecen, “Osmanlı Kronikleri ve Biyografi,”
İslam Araştırmaları Dergisi 3 (1999): 83–90.
Introduction 9
which might include information about scholars from this time, have
been preserved.25 Furthermore, the architectural evidence in most cases
can supplement and confirm the written sources.
Beginning in the first decades of the sixteenth century, a flurry of
official documents and registers providing information about schol-
ars was produced.26 Some of these are introduced or analyzed for the
first time in this book.27 It seems that from the 1540s onward, regular
day registers (ruznamçe) recording new initiates to government service
(novices/mülazım) and others recording appointments and promotions
were introduced and kept in the office of the chief judge (kadıasker)
of Rumeli.28 The abundance of official documents from the sixteenth
century, including regular registers, makes it easier to corroborate the
information gleaned from the historical accounts, as well as from other
written sources and architectural evidence.
During the sixteenth century, a new type of source for the his-
tory of scholars in the Ottoman realm appeared. In Al-Shaqaʾiq
al-Nuʿmaniyya fi ʿUlama al-Dawla al-ʿUthmaniyya,29 Ahmed
Taşköprizade (d. 1561) adopted the genre of biographical dictio-
nary to write the history of scholars and Sufis in Ottoman lands in
25
Robert Anhegger and Halil İnalcık, eds., K
. ānūnnāme-i Sult.ānı̄ ber Mūceb-i
ʿÖrf-i ʿOsmani: II. Mehmed ve II. Bayezid Devirlerine Ait Yasak.nāme ve
K. ānūnnāmeler (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 1956); II. Bayezid Vakfiyesi
(Istanbul) (Vakıflar Genel Müdürlüğü Arşivi, no. 1375, Kasa 130); Tahsin Öz,
Zwei Stiftungsurkunden des Sultans Mehmed II. Fatih (Istanbul: Das
Archäologische Institut des Deutschen Reiches, 1935).
26
For example, see Ömer Lutfi Barkan, “İstanbul Sarayları’na Ait Muhasebe
Defterleri,” Belgeler 9 (1979): 296–380; Bilgin Aydın and Rıfat Günalan,
“XVI. Yüzyılda Osmanlı Devleti’nde Mevleviyet Kadıları,” in Prof. Dr. Şevket
Nezihi Aykut Armağanı, ed. Gülden Sarıyıldız et al. (Istanbul: Etkin Kitaplar,
2011), 19–34.
27
For example, TSMA, D. 5605.1; D. 8823.1.
28
Cahid Baltacı, “Kâdî-asker Rûz-nâmçeleri’nin Tarihî ve Kültürel Ehemmiyeti,”
İslam Medeniyeti Mecmuası 4, no.1 (1980): 55–100; İsmail Erünsal,
“Nuruosmaniye Kütüphânesinde Bulunan Kazasker Ruznamçeleri,” İslam
Medeniyeti Mecmuası 4, no. 3 (1980): 19–31. For a recent study analyzing ten
day registers of the chief judge of Rumeli from the sixteenth century, see
Beyazıt, Osmanlı İlmiyye Mesleğinde İstihdam. It is not known whether the
office of chief judge of Anatolia produced comparable day registers during the
sixteenth century, as no example of them is currently available. See also Cahid
Baltacı, “Hadâiku’ş-şakâik ve Hadâiku’l-hakâik’te Bulunmayan Ulemâ
Hakkında Notlar,” İslam Medeniyeti Mecmuası 4, no. 2 (1979): 54–65.
29
Ahmed Taşköprizade, Al-Shaqaʾiq al-Nuʿmaniyya fi ʿUlama al-Dawla
al-ʿUthmaniyya, ed. Ahmed Subhi Furat (Istanbul: İstanbul Üniversitesi
Edebiyat Fakültesi Yayınları, 1985); hereafter, SHAQAʾIQ.
10 Introduction
Arabic.30 He collected information about the scholars and Sufis who

lived in, passed through, or died in the Ottoman realm from the begin-
ning of the Ottoman enterprise until his completion of Al-Shaqaʾiq in
1558 and recorded their lives using written sources, orally transmitted
reports, his personal memories, and the memories of his friends and
relatives. As Al-Shaqaʾiq includes a great deal of information about
scholars that cannot be acquired from any other written or unwritten
sources, it is probably the most significant source available attesting
the history of scholars during the period covered in this book, 1300–
1600. Nonetheless, one must not overlook the fact that writing in
Istanbul in the middle of the sixteenth century, Taşköprizade reflected
some of the interests of scholars in the Ottoman center and tended to
project the realities of his century backward in Al-Shaqaʾiq.31
Al-Shaqaʾiq quickly became popular among the reading public in
the Ottoman realm. Several scholars abridged it, and others translated
it into Turkish.32 Mecdi Mehmed’s (d. 1590/91) translation, Hadaʾiq
al-Shaqaʾiq, later came to be considered the most successful of all the
translations.33 Scholars such as Aşık Çelebi (d. 1572) and Ali bin Bali
30
For the genre of biographical dictionary, see Wadad al-Qadi, “Biographical
Dictionaries as the Scholars’ Alternative History of the Muslim Community,”
in Organizing Knowledge: Encyclopedic Activities in the Pre-Eighteenth
Century Islamic World, ed. Gerhard Endress (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 23–75; cf.
Chase F. Robinson, Islamic Historiography (New York: Cambridge University
Press, 2003), 66–74. Al-Shaqaʾiq as a biographical dictionary differed from its
predecessors in organizing the history of scholars and Sufis according the
timeline of the rulers’ reigns. For this, see Abdurrahman Atçıl, “‘Osmanlı
Devleti’nin Ulemâsı’ / Osmanlı Âlim-Bürokratlar Sınıfı (1453–1600),”
Osmanlı’da İlim ve Fikir Dünyası: İstanbul’un Fethinden Süleymaniye
Medreselerinin Kuruluşuna Kadar, ed. Ömer Mahir Alper and Mustakim Arıcı
(Istanbul: Klasik, 2015), 265–82.
31
Ali Anooshahr, “Writing, Speech, and History for an Ottoman Biographer,”
Journal of Near Eastern Studies 69 (2010): 43–62; Burak, The Second
Formation of Islamic Law, 94–98; Aslı Niyazioğlu, “In the Dream Realm of a
Sixteenth-Century Ottoman Biographer: Taşköprizade and the Sufi Shaykhs,”
Sufism and Society: Arrangements of the Mystical in the Muslim World,
1200–1800, ed. John J. Curry and Erik S. Ohlander (New York: Routledge,
2012), 243–57. See also Atçıl, “Osmanlı Devleti’nin Uleması.”
32
For several copies of Al-Shaqaʾiq from the sixteenth century and copies of its
abridgements and translations, see Behçet Gönül, “İstanbul Kütüphânelerinde
Al-Şak.âʾik. al-Nuʿmaniya Tercüme ve Zeyilleri,” Türkiyat Mecmuası 7–8
(1945): 136–55.
33
Mecdi Mehmed Efendi, Hadaʾiq al-Shaqaʾiq, ed. Abdülkadir Özcan (Istanbul:
Çağrı Yayınları, 1989); hereafter, MECDI.
Introduction 11
(d. 1584), who was also known as Ali Mınık, wrote continuations
(dhayl) to Al-Shaqaʾiq in Arabic.34 These continuations include the
biographies of scholars and Sufis who died after 1558. During the early
seventeenth century, Nevizade Atayi (d. 1636) wrote a Turkish con-
tinuation to Al-Shaqaʾiq, incorporating the biographical information
contained in its earlier Arabic continuations.35
During the sixteenth century, in addition to Al-Shaqaʾiq, its trans-
lations, and continuations, other important biographical dictionaries
were also written, recording the lives of poets and Hanafi scholars –
from Abu Hanifa to Ottoman times.36 These biographical dictionaries
at times provide information about scholars that is not available in any
other sources.
The Structure of This Study

This book has three parts, each of which deals with a distinct period
in the history of scholars and scholarly institutions in Ottoman lands,
as well as with the relationship of both with the Ottoman government.
The first chapter of each part discusses the pertinent political and ide-
ological conditions, setting the stage for a discussion of the standing
and attitudes of scholars in each period.
Part I covers the early Ottoman period (1300–1453), tackling in
Chapter 1 the political and ideological transformation in Anatolia after
the advance of the Mongols in the thirteenth century and discussing
how the Ottomans worked through the opportunities and limits of the
time. Chapter 2 explores Ottoman efforts to attract scholars to their
realm and the variety of relationships that obtained between scholars
and the Ottoman government.
34
Aşık Çelebi, Dhayl al-Shaqaʾiq al-Nuʿmaniyya, ed. ʿAbd al-Raziq Barakat
(Cairo: Dar al-Hidaya, 2007); Ali bin Bali, Al-ʿIqd al-Manzum fi Dhikr Afadil
al-Rum, ed. Sayyid Ahmad Tabatabai Bihbahani (Tehran: Kitabkhana-i
Muzah, 1431 [2010]). For a recent study on Al-Iqd al-Manzum, see Gürzat
Kami, “Understanding a Sixteenth-Century Ottoman Scholar-Bureaucrat: Ali
b. Bali (1527–1584) and His Biographical Dictionary” (MA thesis, Istanbul
Şehir University, 2015).
35
Nevizade Atayi, Hadaʾiq al-Haqaʾiq, ed. Abdülkadir Özcan (Istanbul: Çağrı
Yayınları, 1989); hereafter, ATAYI.
36
For example, see Aşık Çelebi, Meşâʿirü’ş-Şuʿarâ: İnceleme-Metin, ed. Filiz Kılıç,
3 vols. (Istanbul: İstanbul Araştırmaları Enstitüsü, 2010); Kınalızade Ali
Çelebi, Tabaqat al-Hanafiyya (SK, H. Hüsnü Paşa, no. 844); Kefevi Mahmud
bin Süleyman, Kataʾib Aʿlam al-Akhyar (SK, Halet Efendi, no. 630).
12 Introduction
Part II focuses on the formative period of the hierarchy of scholar-

bureaucrats (1453–1530). Chapter 3 investigates the transformation
of the Ottoman political enterprise from a post-Mongol principality
into an early modern empire. I discuss the effective and symbolic sig-
nificance of the conquest of Istanbul and the prominent turning points
during the reigns of Mehmed II (1444–46 and 1451–81), Bayezid II
(1481–1512), and Selim I (1512–20) and during the first decade of
Süleyman’s rule. Chapter 4 is dedicated to examining Mehmed II’s
architectural and legal policies and the role of scholar-bureaucrats
in imperial administration and their attitude toward the govern-
ment during his reign. Exploring the developments related to scholar-
bureaucrats during 1481–1530, Chapter 5 then draws attention to the
increasing importance of scholar-bureaucrats in the formation of polit-
ical and ideological discourse, as well as their growing self-awareness
as a privileged professional class during the same period.
Part III deals with the period of the scholarly-bureaucratic hierar-
chy’s consolidation (1530–1600). Chapter 6 underlines the shift in
managing the Ottoman imperial enterprise and the growing empha-
sis on internal consolidation at the expense of territorial expansion,
beginning in the 1530s. The increase in the number of civil and
military officials in the center and provinces, the vigorous activity
of population surveys for military and tax purposes, the introduc-
tion of new bureaucratic procedures, the concentration of the dynas-
tic family in Istanbul, the formation of new rules, and the regula-
tion and codification of laws are discussed as elements of the new
emphasis on administrative efficiency. The remaining Chapters (7–
10), thematically organized, investigate various aspects of the devel-
opment of the scholarly-bureaucratic class during the period 1530–
1600. Chapter 7 addresses the increasing power of dignitary scholar-
bureaucrats (mevali) in the administration of the hierarchy and general
imperial governance. Chapter 8 details the proliferation of positions
in which scholar-bureaucrats could serve through the construction of
new madrasas, the incorporation of old ones into the hierarchy, and the
extension of the centralized judicial administration. This chapter also
points out the growing concern of administrators, madrasa founders,
architects, and scholar-bureaucrats with defining the rank of each posi-
tion within the hierarchy. Chapter 9 takes up the issue of professional
differentiation between scholar-bureaucrats and explores knowledge,
professional competence, patronage, and economic means as factors
Introduction 13
affecting the success of individual scholar-bureaucrats in professional

life. Chapter 10 deals with the four different career paths scholar-
bureaucrats could follow.
In the Conclusion, I summarize this book’s findings and outline the
development of the bureaucratization of scholars, before discussing
the implications of this bureaucratization for some prominent themes
of the early modern period. Finally, I present the lines of inquiry that
future studies on related topics might follow.
part i
Scholars during the Early Ottoman

Period (1300–1453)
1 Post-Mongol Realities in Anatolia
and the Ottomans
The Ottoman political enterprise emerged in the northwestern corner

of Anatolia at the turn of the fourteenth century, a time when the
political and ideological conditions largely created by the advance of
the Mongols in the thirteenth century still dominated. Chinggis Khan
(d. 1227) united the Mongol tribes in 1206 and formed the army of
nomadic warriors that would bring about the creation of the largest
empire in human history. During Chinggis Khan’s lifetime, the Mongol
armies captured northern China, Transoxiana, Khorasan, Khwarezm,
and Azerbaijan. After his death, his sons extended the limits of the
empire even further. A Mongol army stepped into Anatolia, defeated
the Seljuks in 1243, and forced them into vassalage. After under-
taking the task of consolidating and expanding control in the west
in 1255, Chinggis Khan’s grandson Hülegü (d. 1265) led the Mon-
gol army against Baghdad and sacked the city in 1258, ending the
Islamic caliphate – a religio-political institution that had ostensibly rep-
resented the moral unity of Muslims since the seventh century. After-
ward, Hülegü established a separate political unit within the Great
Mongol Empire, the Ilkhanate, which comprised Iran, Iraq, and Anato-
lia. The rulers of the Ilkhanate gradually increased their influence over
the affairs of Anatolia to the point of establishing a direct administra-
tion after 1295.1
The Mongol advance introduced a new understanding of sovereignty
and law to the Islamic world. In the Mongol understanding, Chinggis
Khan and his progeny through his four sons were God-chosen and had
a divine mandate to rule the world. Anyone who attempted to main-
tain political independence from them was an insurgent and deserved
execution. In addition, Mongols believed that the laws instituted by
1
Michal Biran, Chinggis Khan (Oxford: Oneworld, 2007), 47–63; Charles
Melville, “Anatolia under the Mongols,” in The Cambridge History of Turkey,
vol. 1: Byzantium to Turkey, 1071–1453, 51–101.
17
Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Florida, on 13 Jan 2017 at 12:36:45, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use,
available at https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/9781316819326.003
18 Part I Scholars during the Early Ottoman Period (1300–1453)
Chinggis Khan, known as yasa or yasak, had a status higher than that
of all other laws.2 From the perspective of the conquered Muslim peo-
ples, the Mongol idea of sovereignty and law was alien and mostly
unacceptable, for it accorded no value to the continuous unity (real or
assumed) of the Muslim community under the caliphate and did not
recognize the superior status of sharia.
From the mid-thirteenth century onward, the Mongols appear to
have shown an interest in establishing a regular administration.3 They
then attempted to legitimize their rule in the eyes of the subject popu-
lation instead of keeping them subdued through brute force and fear.
Although they continued to uphold Chinggisid lineage as paramount
and adherence to yasa as significant, they began to convert to Islam
and appeal to Muslim ideas, institutions, and practices.4 They tried
to appear as both Chinggisid khans and Muslim sultans.5 The Ching-
gisid Mongols gradually left the political scene during the fourteenth
century. Nevertheless, as the nomadic warriors of central Asian origin
persisted as a significant military resource, new rulers of Turkic origins
usually had to come to grips with the Mongol political legacy. They
boasted an illustrious lineage (Mongol, Timurid, Oghuz, etc.), enacted
laws (known by the names törü, töre, tüzük, and kanun), and showed
respect to indigenous Muslim traditions.6
2
Anne F. Broadbridge, Kingship and Ideology in the Islamic and Mongol Worlds
(New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 6–11; David Ayalon, “The
Great Yāsa of Chingiz Khān. A Reexamination (Part B),” Studia Islamica 34
(1971): 151–66; Marshall G. S. Hodgson, The Venture of Islam, 3 vols.
(Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1974), 2: 391–404; Devin
DeWeese, Islamization and Native Religion in the Golden Horde (University
Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1994), 106–35. Cf. David Morgan,
“The ‘Great “Yāsā” of Chingiz Khān’ and Mongol Law in the Īlkhānate,”
Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 49, no. 1 (1986): 163–76.
3
Nicola Di Cosmo, “State Formation and Periodization in Inner Asian History,”
Journal of World History 10 (1999): 21–23.
4
Judith Pfeiffer, “Reflections on a ‘Double Rapprochement’: Conversion to Islam
among the Mongol Elite during the Early Ilkhanate,” in Beyond the Legacy of
Genghis Khan, ed. Linda Komaroff (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 369–89. See also
Reuven Amitai-Preiss, “Ghazan, Islam and Mongol Tradition: A View from the
Mamlūk Sultanate,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 59,
no. 1 (1996): 1–10; Michal Biran, “The Chaghadaids and Islam: The
Conversion of Tarmashirin Khan (1331–34),” Journal of the American Oriental
Society 122, no. 4 (2002): 742–52.
5
Broadbridge, Kingship and Ideology, 6–11.
6
Ibid., 9–11; Beatrice Forbes Manz, The Rise and Rule of Tamerlane
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 10–18; Maria E. Subtelny,
Post-Mongol Realities in Anatolia and the Ottomans 19
As Mongol power and ideology changed the political and ideolog-

ical landscape in the Islamic world, the polity of slave soldiers – the
Mamluk sultanate – held its own in Syria, Egypt, and Arabia and rep-
resented an alternative model of sovereignty and legitimacy that relied
mostly on pre-Mongol Islamic ideas, practices, and institutions. Given
their slave origins, Mamluks had no recourse to lineage in order to
legitimize their rule. Instead, they emphasized their role in checking
the Mongol advance in ʿAyn Jalut in 1260 and fashioned themselves
as the guardians of the Islamic world. They emphasized the primacy of
sharia and lavishly patronized scholars.7 In addition, they reinstituted
the caliphate in Cairo by investing an Abbasid as the caliph who would
sanction their government as legitimate sultans. Furthermore, having
the two holy cities of Islam, Mecca and Medina, under their rule, the
Mamluks accentuated their role in the maintenance of the holy edi-
fices, as well as their responsibility for the safety of the pilgrimage.8 As
opposed to the Mongol model, the Mamluk way of legitimating their
political rule was not fashionable and did not have universal appeal.
Nevertheless, it helped the Mamluks to sustain their power for more
than two and a half centuries, allowing them to occasionally influence
the ideologies of other polities.
When the Mongols advanced into Anatolia, some politically and
militarily enterprising nomadic Turkmen groups that wanted to evade
Mongol domination moved into western and northwestern Anatolia,
a region that was one of the borderlands of Islamdom at that time.9
Timurids in Transition: Turko-Persian Politics and Acculturation in Medieval

Iran (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 11–42; John E. Woods, The Aqquyunlu: Clan,
Confederation, Empire, rev. and expanded ed. (Salt Lake City: University of
Utah Press, 1999), 1–9; Fleischer, Bureaucrat and Intellectual, 273–79; Said
Amir Arjomand, “Legitimacy and Political Organization: Caliphs, Kings and
Regimes,” in The New Cambridge History of Islam, vol. 4: Islamic Cultures and
Societies to the End of the Eighteenth Century, ed. Robert Irwin (New York:
Cambridge University Press, 2010), 245–54.
7
Berkey, The Transmission of Knowledge, esp. 44–127; Michael Chamberlain,
Knowledge and Social Practice in Medieval Damascus, 1190–1350 (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1994), 69–90.
8
Broadbridge, Kingship and Ideology, 12–16; Cihan Yüksel Muslu, The
Ottomans and the Mamluks: Imperial Diplomacy and Warfare in the Islamic
World (London and New York: I. B. Tauris, 2014), 1–19.
9
Feridun M. Emecen, İlk Osmanlılar ve Batı Anadolu Beylikler Dünyası
(Istanbul: Kitabevi, 2010), 175–85; Melville, “Anatolia under the Mongols,”
73–81.
Once there, they worked to acquire independent or semi-independent

territory in a region that was relatively distant from Mongol power and
influence. As Mongol power waned and the Seljuk administration dis-
integrated during the early fourteenth century, these frontier groups
asserted their own claims to power and independence more force-
fully and established political units known as principalities (beyliks) –
among these was the Ottoman principality. It appears that all of these
groups wanted to unite politically and militarily active elements, estab-
lish a strong administration, gain supremacy over the others, and fill the
new power vacuum. Although some principalities struggled against –
and occasionally allied with – the Christian powers in the region, their
primary competition was for primacy among themselves.10
As the foregoing discussion shows, in the post-Mongol period, the
loyalty of nomadic warriors could be critical for the supremacy of a
ruling group. Because they tended to recognize the political rights of
groups with illustrious lineages, some Anatolian rulers took special
care to articulate their Turkmen pedigree in order to support their
political claims. For example, the Karamanid dynasty, which ruled
parts of central and southern Anatolia from the second half of the thir-
teenth to the late fifteenth century, upheld its Afşar-Oghuz lineage so
as to increase its prestige and power.11 Likewise, the Ottoman dynasty
claimed descent from the Kayı-Oghuz lineage.12
In most cases, rulers of the Anatolian principalities did not content
themselves with aristocratic claims. Instead, they tried to appeal to the
loyalty of people through indigenous Muslim traditions. Some took
recourse to elements of the Mamluk model. For example, several rulers
10
Rudi Paul Lindner, “Anatolia, 1300–1451,” in The Cambridge History of
Turkey, vol. 1: Byzantium to Turkey, 107–17; Claude Cahen, The Formation of
Turkey: The Seljukid Sultanate of Rūm: Eleventh to Fourteenth Century, trans.
P. M. Holt (Harlow, UK: Longman, 2001), 227–33. See also Cemal Kafadar,
“A Rome of One’s Own: Reflections on Cultural Geography and Identity in the
Lands of Rum,” Muqarnas 24 (2007): 7–25; Emecen, İlk Osmanlılar ve Batı
Anadolu Beylikler Dünyası, 17–23, 37–74.
11
For this, see Faruk Sümer, “Karamanoğulları,” TDVIA.
12
For the differing ideas about the authenticity of the Ottoman claim for
aristocratic origins, see Paul Wittek, The Rise of the Ottoman Empire
(London: Royal Asiatic Society, 1938), 7–13, 33–51; Fuad Köprülü, “Osmanlı
İmparatorluğu’nun Etnik Menşei Mes’eleleri,” Belleten 7, no. 28 (1943):
219–303. See also Emecen, İlk Osmanlılar ve Batı Anadolu Beylikler Dünyası,
4–7, 151–60.
considered that carrying the title of sultan, which implied appoint-

ment by the caliph in Cairo, would enhance their legitimacy. The
Karamanid rulers reportedly petitioned the Mamluks for the title
Sultan al-Rum;13 in the same vein, when the Mamluk sultan dubbed
Murad I (r. 1362–1389) Sultan al-Ghuzat wa-l-Mujahidin (Sultan
of Holy Warriors), the Ottomans were gratified and made this title
known.14 Later, Bayezid I (r. 1389–1402) petitioned the caliph for
the title of Sultan al-Rum.15 These examples demonstrate that the
Mamluk type of sovereignty – sultanate endorsed by the caliph – was
meaningful for some Anatolian rulers of the fourteenth and the early
fifteenth centuries.
Some principalities located in the territories bordering the Aegean
Sea and Christian lands, such as the Ottomans and the Aydınids,
cherished their war against non-Muslims and identified themselves as
ghazis (holy warriors).16 In this way they attempted to attract nomadic
warriors to their own lands with the incentive of material gains as
booty.17 In addition, they hinted at their association with a legitimate,
albeit marginal, form of political existence in the Islamic world.18
13 14 15
Muslu, The Ottomans and the Mamluks, 66. Ibid., 71–73. Ibid., 79.
16
Kemal Sılay, “Ah.medı̄’s History of the Ottoman Dynasty,” Journal of Turkish
Studies 16 (1992): 129–200. İlker Evrim Binbaş’ recent work shows that
during the late fourteenth century, Muhammed Cezeri of Damascus viewed the
Ottoman principality as primarily a holy war (ghaza) enterprise. For this, see
his “A Damascene Eyewitness to the Battle of Nicopolis: Shams al-Dı̄n Ibn
al-Jazarı̄ (d. 833/1429),” in Contact and Conflict in Frankish Greece and the
Aegean, 1204–1453, ed. Nikolaos G. Chrissis and Mike Carr (Farnham, UK:
Ashgate, 2014), 153–75, esp. 168. For a review of modern interpretations of
what ghaza meant at that time and a fresh look at the subject, see Cemal
Kafadar, Between Two Worlds: The Construction of the Ottoman State
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995), 29–117. See also Linda
Darling, “Contested Territory: Ottoman Holy War in Comparative Context,”
Studia Islamica 91 (2000): 133–63; Emecen, İlk Osmanlılar ve Batı Anadolu
Beylikler Dünyası, 65–74, 75–85.
17
For a study underlining the significance of the incentive of booty for the
warrior groups at the time, see Heath W. Lowry, The Nature of the Early
Ottoman State (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2003), esp. 45–54.
18
From the early centuries of Islam, the ghazis resided in the frontier regions,
received the support of the central government, and supported themselves by
plundering enemy territories. For this, see Wittek, The Rise of the Ottoman
Empire, 16–32. For a discussion on Mahmud of Ghazna’s (d. 1030) claim of
being a ghazi king in the eleventh century, see Ali Anooshahr, The Ghazi
Sultans and the Frontier: A Comparative Study of the Late Medieval and Early
Modern Periods (New York: Routledge, 2009), 58–73.
Some principalities sought the support of those organized groups

that could help secure widespread popular loyalty and crucial mili-
tary support. For example, craftsmen throughout central and western
Anatolia had the ahi organization. The members of this organization
(ahis) had their own lodges, leaders, and code of conduct.19 Similarly,
Sufi orders (tarikats) brought together people from different walks of
life in cities and the countryside in their own buildings under the direc-
tion of a single leader (sheikh or baba).20 It is clear that the support (or
lack thereof) of such organized groups for a certain principality could
change the balance of power in post-Mongol Anatolia.
In the competition for supremacy, the Anatolian principalities seem
to have appreciated the significance of scholars. In contrast to ahis
and Sufis, scholars (ulema) at the time did not constitute an organized
group. In general, individual scholars had authority because of their
knowledge but not because they were members of a specific group.
Scholars could help rulers establish a regular administration, separate
from the military rule. As legal experts, scholars could provide legal
services inside and outside the courtrooms and undertake bureaucratic
services, including recording tax resources, distributing revenues, and
undertaking diplomatic correspondence. As experts on the religious
texts (i.e., the Qur’an and the Sunna) and their interpretation, schol-
ars could provide the Muslim public with moral guidance. Scholars at
19
Mikail Bayram, Ahi Evren ve Ahi Teşkilâtı’nın Kuruluşu (Konya: Damla
Matbaacılık ve Ticaret, 1991), 11–30, 147–57; Fuad Köprülü, Osmanlı
Devleti’nin Kuruluşu (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 1999), 89–93; Friedrich
Giese, “Das Problem der Entstehung des Osmanischen Reiches,” Zeitschrift für
Semitistik and Verwandte Gebiete 2 (1923): 246–71; Mehmet Ali Hacıgökmen,
“Ahi Şecere-nâme ve Fütüvvet Nâmelerine Göre Ahi Zaviyeleri,” in
Selçuklu’dan Osmanlı’ya Bilim, Kültür ve Sanat, ed. Mustafa Demirci (Konya:
Kömen Yayınevi, 2009), 251–61.
20
Fuad Köprülü, Islam in Anatolia after the Turkish Invasion (Prolegomena),
trans. and ed. Gary Leiser (Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1993),
25–31; Ahmet Yaşar Ocak, “Les milieux soufis dans les territoires du beylicat
ottoman et le problème des ‘Abdalan-i Rum’ (1300–1389),” in The Ottoman
Emirate (1300–1389): Halcyon Days in Crete I: A Symposium Held in
Rethymnon, 11–13 January 1991, ed. Elizabeth Zachariadou (Rethymnon:
Crete University Press, 1993), 145–58; Emecen, İlk Osmanlılar ve Batı
Anadolu Beylikler Dünyası, 65–70, 133–49. See also Ahmet T. Karamustafa,
God’s Unruly Friends: Dervish Groups in the Islamic Later Middle Period (Salt
Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1994), 61–63; Ahmet T. Karamustafa,
“Origins of Anatolian Sufism,” Sufism and Sufis in Ottoman Society, ed. Ahmet
Yaşar Ocak (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 2005), 67–95.
times undertook the task of teaching reading and writing, as well as

instructing students in advanced topics and texts. Thus, the patron-
age of scholars could bring several benefits to rulers, contributing to
the efficiency of their administration and hence to their legitimacy. For
this reason, almost all the Anatolian rulers of the time tried to attract
scholars to their realm.21 They invested in madrasas and invited schol-
ars to teach in them or to fulfill other functions.22
It was amid these constraints and opportunities in the post-Mongol
period that the Ottomans started their political enterprise in the early
fourteenth century. Osman (r. ?–ca. 1324) was the leader of a group
of nomadic warriors23 – hence the name Osmanlı or Ottoman for his
political undertaking. Mostly reflecting post-Mongol realities in Ana-
tolia, ambiguity persisted regarding the Ottoman polity’s administra-
tion. The nature of the relationship between the Ottoman family and
other warrior families or groups was not altogether clear and consis-
tent. Was the Ottoman family superior to the other warring groups?
Were they all equal partners? Was this particular family primus inter
pares? Did any political arrangement regulate the relationships among
them? In his masterful treatment of this period’s political formations
and transformations, Cemal Kafadar suggested that “[this period] was
a history of shifting alliances and conflicts among various social forces
21
Since most Muslims in Anatolia were of Central Asian descent, and most of
them were Hanafis, Hanafi scholars of Central Asian origin were especially
(but not exclusively) welcome. See Wilferd Madelung, “The Spread of
Māturı̄dism and the Turks,” Actas do IV Congresso de Estudeos Árabes e
Islamicos, Coimbra–Lisboa 1968 (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1971), 109–68, esp. 141.
22
For a comprehensive list of madrasas in Anatolia built during the pre-Ottoman
period, as well as a description of their architectural features, see Metin Sözen,
Anadolu Medreseleri, Selçuklu ve Beylikler Devri, 2 vols. (Istanbul: İstanbul
Teknik Üniversitesi, Mimarlık Tarihi ve Rölöve Kürsüsü, 1970). See also
Abdurrahman Atçıl, “The Formation of the Ottoman Learned Class and Legal
Scholarship (1300–1600)” (PhD diss., University of Chicago, 2010), 36–39.
Ibn Battuta traveled through Anatolia and visited a number of principalities
circa 1332. In almost every town he encountered scholars who were esteemed
and well treated by the rulers. For this, see İbn Battûta Seyahatnâmesi, 1: 402,
406–7, 410, 411, 419–21, 431, 432, 438–39, 443.
23
For the crucial significance of nomadism and tribalism in the early decades of
the Ottoman enterprise, see Rudi Paul Lindner, Nomads and Ottomans in
Medieval Anatolia (Bloomington: Research Institute for Inner Asian Studies,
Indiana University, 1983), 9–38. See also Di Cosmo, “State Formation and
Periodization,” 36.
which themselves were undergoing rapid transformation while con-

stantly negotiating their position within the polity.”24
From the beginning, the Ottoman family apparently had an interest
in ending this ambiguity, centralizing power, and strengthening the
Ottoman claim to overlordship. To this end, they tried to break the
power of nomadic warriors by adopting an administrative orga-
nization and establishing standing armies, first yayas and then the
janissaries.25 Despite significant progress in this regard, the family
could not realize its goals entirely and so had to negotiate with other
warrior groups continually.26 In addition, there seems to have been
some confusion as to who would wield this centralized power. Did
the family have undisputable control? Which member(s) of the family
had the final word? Could nonfamily individuals or groups dominate
governance in the Ottoman polity? The persistent succession struggles
illustrate the lack of consensus about which family members had
the right to wield power. The janissaries’ rebellion (with impunity)
in 1446 and Çandarlı Halil Pasha’s (d. 1453) attempt to bypass
Mehmed II’s will in both 1446 and 1453 are examples of nonfam-
ily individuals’ and groups’ attempts to use power for their own
purposes.27
24
Kafadar, Between Two Worlds, 140. For a very useful discussion about the
various political forces and their relationship with the Ottomans during the
early Ottoman period (1300–1453), see Emecen, İlk Osmanlılar ve Batı
Anadolu Beylikler Dünyası, 16–23, 37–74. See also Hasan Basri Karadeniz,
Osmanlılar ve Rumeli Uç Beyleri (Istanbul: Yeditepe, 2015), 13–155.
25
Kafadar, Between Two Worlds, 138–50; Lindner, Nomads and Ottomans,
51–74; Halil İnalcık, Fatih Devri Üzerine Tetkikler ve Vesikalar (Ankara: Türk
Tarih Kurumu, 1954), 137–84; Lowry, The Nature of the Early Ottoman State,
55–94, 131–43; Pál Fodor, “Ottoman Warfare, 1300–1453,” in The
Cambridge History of Turkey, vol. 1: Byzantium to Turkey, 196, 206–8;
Karadeniz, Osmanlılar ve Rumeli Uç Beyleri, 213–53.
26
For Bayezid I’s attempt to end the vassalage relationship with the Anatolian
principalities and to establish a direct administration, as well as the limits of
this policy, see Emecen, İlk Osmanlılar ve Batı Anadolu Beylikler Dünyası,
44–47, 53–65. For the limits of the centralization of power in Rumeli, see
Halil İnalcık, “Stefan Duşan’dan Osmanlı İmparatorluğuna: XV. Asırda
Rumeli’de Hristiyan Sipahiler ve Menşeleri,” in 60. Doğum Yılı Münasebetiyle
Fuad Köprülü Armağanı (Istanbul: Dil ve Tarih Coğrafya Fakültesi, 1953),
207–48.
27
İnalcık, Fatih Devri Üzerine Tetkikler, 90–102. See also Feridun M. Emecen,
Fetih ve Kıyamet 1453 (Istanbul: Timaş Yayınları, 2012), 117–40.
Be that as it may, the Ottoman principality gradually emerged as

stronger than the other Anatolian principalities. They incorporated
the principality of Karasi into their realm in the 1340s and captured
their first stronghold in Thrace in the early 1350s.28 Before the end
of the fourteenth century, the Ottomans had extended their territo-
ries into the Balkans, annexing the Bulgarian kingdom and forcing
the Serbian kingdom into vassalage. The warrior classes in the cap-
tured Christian territories were incorporated into the Ottoman army.29
From the mid-fourteenth century onward, they captured territories in
the east. They seized Ankara in 1354. During Murad I’s reign, they
captured an important part of the territories of the Germiyanid prin-
cipality and made several others tributaries. Later, Bayezid I asserted
Ottoman power by annexing most of Anatolia.30
Ottoman ascedancy and expansion was hindered by Timur’s (d.
1405) onslaught into Anatolia and his defeat of Bayezid in the battle
of Ankara in 1402. After this victory, Timur allowed the restoration
of the Anatolian principalities that the Ottomans had incorporated.
He reduced Bayezid’s sons to vassal status and divided the Ottoman
territories among them. Then, during 1402–13 (known as fetret devri,
the interregnum period), Bayezid’s sons became embroiled in a decade-
long struggle with each other. Finally, Mehmed I (r. 1413–21) was able
to assert his control over all Ottoman territories in Anatolia and the
Balkans in 1413.31
After the interregnum, the Ottomans recouped most of their “lost”
territories. Mehmed seized Saruhanid territories and part of the
Aydınid realm in 1415. Murad II (r. 1420–44 and 1446–51) elimi-
nated the Aydınids in 1424 and the Germiyanids in 1428 and sub-
jugated the Karamanids in 1443.32 However, the Ottomans had to
confront the humiliation and loss of prestige that Timur’s havoc
28
Elizabeth Zachariadou, “The Emirate of Karasi and That of the Ottomans:
Two Rival States,” in The Ottoman Emirate (1300–1389): Halcyon Days in
Crete I, 225–36.
29
Halil İnalcık, “Ottoman Methods of Conquest,” Studia Islamica 2 (1954):
103–29; İnalcık, “Stefan Duşan’dan Osmanlı İmparatorluğuna,” 207–48.
30
Halil İnalcık, The Ottoman Empire: The Classical Age (1300–1600), trans.
Norman Itzkowitz and Colin Imber (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1973),
9–16.
31
Lindner, “Anatolia, 1300–1451,” 131–33.
32
Colin Imber, The Ottoman Empire, 1300–1650 (New York: Palgrave
Macmillan, 2002), 23–26.
wrought. Timur’s son, Shahrukh (r. 1405–47) treated Mehmed I and

Murad II as vassals.33 Sheikh Bedreddin (d. 1420) revolted and gained
the support of a wide segment of society in Anatolia and the Balkans
against the Ottomans.34 It seems that many, including the remnants
of the eliminated principalities and the warrior families active in the
Ottoman territories, were unsure about the future of Ottoman power
and considered its demise a real possibility.35
Given this precarious situation, the Ottomans took special care
to augment their military power by increasing the number of janis-
saries and implementing firearms in their sieges and field battles.36 In
addition, they introduced new procedures to strengthen their admin-
istration. For example, they began to survey their conquered territo-
ries in order to increase efficiency in tax collection and the distribu-
tion of revenue.37 Moreover, facing the challenge of the Timurids and
internal competitors, the Ottomans undertook to reinforce the ideo-
logical underpinnings of their political enterprise. Instead of produc-
ing a paradigm shift, however, they mostly drew on and augmented
their efforts toward post-Mongol ideas and models for legitimacy.
For example, they commissioned works that “proved” their place in
the Oghuz lineage.38 They valued and continued to use the title of
sultan, even though the Mamluks were reluctant to address them
33
İsmail Aka, Mirza Şahruh ve Zamanı (1405–1447) (Ankara: Türk Tarih
Kurumu, 1994), 144, 179; Hayrunnisa Alan, Bozkırdan Cennet Bahçesine:
Timurlular (1360–1506) (Istanbul: Ötüken, 2015), 260–63; Muslu, The
Ottomans and the Mamluks, 100–2.
34
Ahmet Yaşar Ocak, Osmanlı Toplumunda Zındıklar ve Mülhidler (15.–17.
Yüzyıllar) (Istanbul: Tarih Vakfı Yurt Yayınları, 2013), 159–235; Lindner,
“Anatolia, 1300–1451,” 133–34.
35
For the use of titles asserting rival political claims such as Zill Allah fi al-Ard
(Shadow of God on Earth) by the Aydınid Prince Hamza Bey in the inscription
of the mosque he built in Zağra, see Kiel, “The Incorporation of the Balkans,”
170–71. For some examples of the frontier commanders’ direct (and almost
impudent) challenge to Murad II’s authority in 1443–44, see İnalcık, Fatih
Devri Üzerine Tetkikler, 57–58; Karadeniz, Osmanlılar ve Rumeli Uç Beyleri,
255–82.
36
Fodor, “Ottoman Warfare,” 206–8, 217–19.
37
Halil İnalcık, Hicrî 835 Tarihli Sûret-i Defter-i Sancak-i Arvanid (Ankara: Türk
Tarih Kurumu, 1954).
38
Murad II commissioned Yazıcıoğlu Ali to write Tarih-i Âl-i Selçuk, which is the
earliest available written source connecting the Ottomans with the Oghuz
lineage. For this, see Osman Gazi Özgüdenli, “Târîh-i Âl-i Selçuk,” TDVIA.
thus.39 They emphasized their association with holy war and wanted
to be known as ghazis.40 Moreover (as detailed in Chapter 2), they
increased their investment in madrasa construction and tried to attract
a greater number of scholars to their realm in the apparent belief that
supporting scholars would enhance the quality of their administration.
To recap, the Chinggisid Mongols irreversibly changed the political
and ideological scene in the Islamic world. They broke the power of
the Abbasid caliphate in Baghdad and that of the Seljuks in Anatolia.
In the period that followed, the Mongol understanding of sovereignty,
based on the idea of a divine mandate given to the ruler’s family, gained
effectiveness and interacted with indigenous Muslim traditions. This
gave rise to variegated and not always coherent ideologies and political
systems. Making their political bid in a world that was largely shaped
by the Mongol advance and the ensuing fragmentation and variety, the
Ottomans continually participated in these ideological and political
experimentations in order to establish their independent sovereignty.
They tried to overcome internal and external threats and frequently
reshuffled the relative positions of the internal actors. Hence, from the
inception of their enterprise in the early fourteenth century until the
capture of Istanbul in 1453, the Ottomans’ ideology, political system,
and administration were marked by variety, uncertainty, and a lack of
an identifiable order.
39
For Mehmed I’s use of the title sultan, see Dimitris J. Kastritsis, The Sons of
Bayezid: Empire Building and Representation in the Ottoman Civil War of
1402–1413 (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 197–200; Muslu, The Ottomans and the
Mamluks, 88–90.
40
Anooshahr, The Ghazi Sultans and the Frontier, 139–64.
2 Madrasas and Scholars in
Ottoman Lands
It is proper to start with the caveat that the extant sources on madrasas
and scholars during the early Ottoman period (1300–1453) are very
few. In addition, studies on this topic have not, in my view, exploited
the available sources to their full capacity. Thus, for the time being, it is
impossible to draw a satisfactory picture of madrasas, scholars, and the
relationship of both with the Ottomans during this period. The results
of my study on this topic are therefore mostly provisional and open to
revision.
Madrasas in the Early Ottoman Period

The Ottomans’ expansion came mostly at the expense of their Chris-
tian neighbors. Beginning their enterprise in northwestern Anatolia
during the early fourteenth century, the early sultans and their men
usually advanced westward and captured territories belonging to the
Byzantine Empire or to the Serbian and Bulgarian kingdoms. Although
the Ottomans later captured some lands from Anatolian principali-
ties, the annexed territories in which Islam had been established before
their arrival were very few during the early Ottoman period. Thus, in
most Ottoman territories, it was the Ottomans who first established
madrasas.
The early Ottoman sultans, their men, and other benefactors who
established madrasas all followed the traditional template that had
existed at least since the eleventh century. In addition to constructing a
building in which to train and accommodate students, they donated
revenue-yielding property to cover the related expenses (vakf) and
drew up endowment deeds (vakfiye) to stipulate, for example, how
the building could be used and how much its staff would be paid.1
1
George Makdisi, The Rise of Colleges: Institutions of Learning in Islam and the
West (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1981), 35–74; Berkey, The
Transmission of Knowledge, 6–9.
28
Downloaded from https:/www.cambridge.org/core. Columbia University Libraries, on 20 Jan 2017 at 01:18:37, subject to the Cambridge Core terms
of use, available at https:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/9781316819326.004
Madrasas and Scholars in Ottoman Lands 29
Table 2.1 Madrasas Constructed in Ottoman Lands during the Early

Ottoman Period
Number of Madrasas
Founded by Members of Number of Madrasas
the Ottoman Dynasty Founded by Others Total
Orhan’s reign 8 3 11
(ca. 1324–62)
Murad I’s reign 2 2 4
Bayezid I’s reign 6 9 15
Mehmed I’s reign 3 6 9
Murad II’s reign 4 26 30
Total 23 46 69
Source: Bilge, İlk Osmanlı Medreseleri.
The continuous construction of madrasas and their ubiquity consti-

tute indisputable evidence of the Ottoman interest in madrasas, schol-
ars, and their services. Madrasas first spread in the Anatolian lands of
the Ottomans; beginning in the early fifteenth century, they began to
appear also in Rumeli.2
Table 2.1 shows that the members of the Ottoman dynasty (sultans,
princes, and women) founded fewer madrasas than those constructed
and endowed by other people, including viziers, statesmen, and schol-
ars (23 as opposed to 46). This difference is significant: it indicates the
prevalence of interest in legal and religious education throughout the
upper classes and reflects the dynasty’s lack of a monopoly on madrasa
construction. Further study is required to reveal whether and how the
identity of a madrasa’s founder affected the status of the scholars hired
to teach there.
2
There are several studies on the madrasas built during the early Ottoman
period. Bilge, İlk Osmanlı Medreseleri; Cahid Baltacı, XV–XVI. Asırlarda
Osmanlı Medreseleri (Istanbul: İrfan Matbaası, 1976), 15–16; Ahmet Gül,
Osmanlı Medreselerinde Eğitim-Öğretim ve Bunlar Arasında Dâru’l-Hadîslerin
Yeri (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 1997), 36–57. For a study on the
architectural characteristics of this period’s madrasas, see Yekta Demiralp,
Erken Dönem Osmanlı Medreseleri (1300–1500) (Ankara: T.C. Kültür
Bakanlığı, 1999). See also Uzunçarşılı, Osmanlı Devletinin İlmiye Teşkilâtı,
1–3.
Such quantification, however, appears to obscure the diversity of the

madrasas in terms of their size, resources, and prestige during the early
Ottoman period. Some madrasas, particularly those built by members
of the dynasty, usually in their capital cities, appear to have been larger,
to have had more resources, and to have enjoyed greater prestige. They
had a classroom and multiple student rooms for study and accommo-
dation. The revenue from their endowed property covered most of the
expenses of the teacher and students. Teachers were paid and provided
with food and additional benefits. Students received food and lodg-
ing at no personal cost. The most prestigious scholars in the Ottoman
realm usually taught the advanced texts in these well-endowed
madrasas.3 On the other hand, some madrasas had only a simple room.
Their endowment was very limited or nonexistent, and their teachers
were usually unknown figures who taught introductory subjects.4
A detailed analytical study of extant madrasa buildings and their
endowment deeds would contribute to a well-rounded typology of the
madrasas during the early Ottoman period but lies beyond the scope
of this study. Instead, I here highlight as a class the above-mentioned
well-endowed madrasas established by members of the dynastic family
in their capital cities (İznik, Bursa, and Edirne). Considering that these
madrasas were built to mark the prestige of the ruling dynasty and
usually of the reigning sultan, I label them royal-prestige madrasas.5
As for the distribution of madrasas between Anatolia and Rumeli, it
is possible to observe that almost all of the madrasas built during the
reigns of Orhan, Murad I, Bayezid I, and Mehmed I, with the excep-
tion of two,6 were located in Anatolia.7 During Murad II’s reign, the
madrasas built were equally distributed between Anatolia and Rumeli.
3
For example, see Bilge, İlk Osmanlı Medreseleri, 85–90, 98–99, 112–13,
118–22, 130–35.
4
For example, see the information about Lala Şahin Madrasa in Kirmasti
(Mustafakemalpaşa), Bursa in ibid., 191–92.
5
For a discussion about royal-prestige madrasas, see Abdurrahman Atçıl,
“Mobility of Scholars and the Formation of a Self-Sustaining Scholarly System
in the Lands of Rūm during the Fifteenth Century,” in Literature and
Intellectual Life in Medieval Anatolia, ed., Andrew S.C. Peacock and Sara Nur
Yıldız (Würzbug: Ergon Verlag, 2016), 324–29.
6
Eski Cami Madrasa in Edirne and Oruç Pasha Madrasa in Dimetoka.
7
It should be kept in mind that the Ottomans constructed other types of
architectural buildings (mosques, dervish lodges, tombs, bathhouses,
marketplaces, etc.) in Rumeli in abundant numbers from the second half of the
fourteenth century onward. For this, see Kiel, “The Incorporation of the
Balkans,” 138–91.
Table 2.2 Royal-Prestige Madrasas in Ottoman Lands during the Early

Ottoman Period
Date
Name Founder Established City
Manastır Madrasa Orhan 1335 Bursa

Orhan Gazi Madrasa Orhan ca. 1335 İznik
Süleyman Pasha Madrasa Süleyman (d. 758/1357 before 1357 İznik
[?]), son of Orhan
Kaplıca Madrasa Murad I 1365 Bursa
Yıldırım Madrasa Bayezid I 1388 [?] Bursa
Eski Cami Madrasa Mehmed I (d. 1420) 1413 Edirne
Sultaniye Madrasa Mehmed I 1419 Bursa
Muradiye Madrasa Murad II 1430 Bursa
Darulhadis Madrasa Murad II 1435 Edirne
Üç Şerefeli Madrasa Murad II (d. 1451) 1437–47 Edirne
Halebi Madrasa Murad II 1421–51 Edirne
Source: Bilge, İlk Osmanlı Medreseleri, 67–78, 83–90, 94–99, 117–22, 129–38, 140–
48, 153–56, 158–59.
In all the tables (Tables 2.1–2.3), Murad II’s reign is outstanding.

Table 2.1 indicates that the pace of madrasa construction fluctuated
and, during the Murad II’s reign, saw a sudden hike. Table 2.2 illus-
trates that Murad II built more royal-prestige madrasas than each of
his predecessors had (4 as opposed to 3, 1, 1, and 2 in sequence).
Table 2.3 shows that during Murad II’s reign, madrasa construction
spread to Rumeli in earnest. Here, instead of making an attempt to
explain each of these facts, which require studies of their own, I draw
attention to their common indication – the increased investment in
madrasas in Ottoman lands during Murad II’s reign – and link it
with Ottoman efforts to gain power and legitimacy in the period after
the catastrophe wrought by Timur. As discussed in Chapter 1, dur-
ing this time the Ottomans were struggling with external threats and
internal challenges. In this context, scholars could undertake admin-
istrative services that would help rulers control the Ottoman realm
and crucial ideological services, enhancing their image.8 Thus, it is
8
It is clear that Murad II commissioned several scholars to produce works for
himself. For example, Devletoğlu Yusuf (d. after 1424) submitted his translation
of Wiqaya, which deals with jurisprudence, from Arabic to Turkish to Murad II.
Table 2.3 Distribution of Madrasas in Anatolia and

Rumeli during the Early Ottoman Period
Number of Number of
Madrasas Madrasas
in Anatolia in Rumeli Total
Orhan 11 – 11
Murad I 4 – 4
Bayezid I 15 – 15
Mehmed I 7 2 9
Murad II 15 15 30
Total 52 17 69
Source: Bilge, İlk Osmanlı Medreseleri.
plausible that in order to attract a greater number of scholars to their

realm, the Ottomans built more madrasas, now not only in Anatolia
but also in Rumeli.
Scholars Gravitate to Ottoman Lands

As mentioned before, the Ottoman enterprise developed mostly in for-
merly Christian-ruled and -inhabited territories. Thus, there was no
indigenous Muslim scholarly class for the Ottomans to work with dur-
ing the early years of their rule. They therefore remained quite depen-
dent on scholars who had been educated in the established centers of
Islamic education in Anatolia, Egypt, Syria, Iran, and Azerbaijan. If the
limited evidence can be trusted,9 one can say that this dependence on
immigrant scholars for high-level scholarship continued until the early
fifteenth century, when the signs of a self-sustaining scholarly system
began to appear in Ottoman lands.
For its copies, see SK, Çelebi Abdullah Efendi, no. 138; Beşir Ağa, no. 71. For
Devletoğlu Yusuf’s biography, see Mustafa Özkan, “Devletoğlu Yûsuf,” TDVIA.
Murad II had Mercimek Ahmed translate the famous book of political ethics
Kabusname from Persian to Turkish. For this, see Rıza Kurtuluş, “Keykâvus b.
İskender,” TDVIA. Kasım bin Mahmud Karahisari rendered a definitive Turkish
version of Mirsad al-ʿIbad, which existed in Persian, Arabic, and Turkish, for
Murad II. For this, see Hüseyin Yılmaz, “The Sultan and the Sultanate:
Envisioning Rulership in the Age of Süleyman the Lawgiver (1520–1566)”
(PhD diss., Harvard University, 2005), 35–37.
9
Most of the available evidence about scholars during the early Ottoman period
was brought together in SHAQAʾIQ and MECDI.
The first-known immigrant scholars came from the environs of

Konya, the capital city of the Seljuks of Anatolia. After completing
their preparatory training, most of them went to Egypt or Syria for
advanced studies. Edebali (d. 1325/26), the father-in-law and Sufi guide
of Osman, received his early training in the Karaman region of Anato-
lia, studied under the famous scholar Muhtar Zahidi (d. after 1269) in
Larende, and then went to Damascus to attend Süleyman bin Vüheyb’s
(d. 1278) classes. According to the tradition, he was already a distin-
guished Sufi and headed a dervish lodge in Bilecik by the time of his
contact with Osman. He seems to have governed the Bilecik region
in addition to offering his religio-legal opinions (fetvas) to the Mus-
lim public.10 Another son-in-law of Edebali, Dursun Fakih (d. after
1325/26), was a scholar who also left the Karaman region and moved
to Ottoman territories.11
Davudi Kayseri (d. 1350), educated in Kayseri and Egypt, likewise
migrated to Ottoman lands. He acquired an advanced knowledge of
the religious and rational sciences and became famous for his com-
mentary on Ibn ʿArabi’s (d. 1240) theosophical work Fusus al-Hikam.
Appointed by Orhan as the professor of his madrasa in İznik, Davudi
Kayseri taught there until his death.12 Afterward, Taceddin Kürdi, who
had studied under Siraceddin Urmevi in Konya,13 and Alaeddin Esved
(d. 1397), who had completed his studies in Iran,14 taught in Orhan’s
madrasa in İznik.15
10
SHAQAʾIQ, 4–5. See also MECDI, 20–21; Murteza Bedir, “Osmanlı Tarihinin
Kuruluş Asrında (1389’a kadar) İlmiye’ye Dair Bir Araştırma: İlk Fakihler,”
Türk Hukuk Tarihi Araştırmaları 1 (2006): 26–29; Kamil Şahin, “Edebâli,”
TDVIA.
11
SHAQAʾIQ, 5. See also MECDI, 21; Bedir, “Osmanlı Tarihinin Kuruluş
Asrında,” 29–30.
12
SHAQAʾIQ, 7. See also MECDI, 27; Bedir, “Osmanlı Tarihinin Kuruluş
13
SHAQAʾIQ, 7–9. See also MECDI, 27–29; Bedir, “Osmanlı Tarihinin Kuruluş
14
Ottoman sources usually use the generic phrase “from the Persianate
countries/acem diyarından” to refer to the geographical origin of the scholars
and other learned men coming from all of Fars, Azerbaijan, Khorasan, and
Transoxiana. See Ali Arslan, “Osmanlılar’da Coğrafî Terim Olarak ‘Acem’
Kelimesinin Mânâsı ve Osmanlı-Türkistan Bağlantısındaki Önemi (XV.–XVII.
Yüzyıllar),” Ankara Üniversitesi Osmanlı Tarihi Araştırma ve Uygulama
Merkezi Dergisi 8 (1999): 83–87. In this study, to refer the Persianate countries
in general, I use Iran.
15
SHAQAʾIQ, 9. See also MECDI, 29–30; Bedir, “Osmanlı Tarihinin Kuruluş
In the late fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries, three famous

scholars of Anatolian or Rumelian origin – namely, Ahmedi (d. 1412),
Sheikh Bedreddin, and Şemseddin Fenari (d. 1431), all of whom had
studied under Ekmeleddin Baberti (d. 1397) in Cairo – resettled in
Ottoman lands.16 In addition, a number of scholars from Arabic-
speaking regions, including Egypt, Syria, Iraq, and Yemen, visited the
Ottoman realm and benefited from the sultans’ patronage. For exam-
ple, Ebulhayr Muhammed Cezeri (a.k.a. Ibn al-Jazari; d. 1429), who
was born in Damascus and received his education both there and in
Cairo, became famous for his expertise in the ten variant readings of
the Qur’an. After he came to Bursa in 1396 and received Bayezid I’s
patronage, he taught these readings to many of his students and tutored
Bayezid I’s three sons until Timur took him to Samarkand in 1402.17
Mecdüddin Firuzabadi (d. 1415), who was born in Kazerun (Iran)
and authored the famous Arabic dictionary Qamus al-Muhit, traveled
widely to pursue his education and to teach. He visited Bayezid I’s court
in Bursa, though apparently he did not stay there for very long.18
During the early fifteenth century, scholars from Iran, such as
Burhaneddin Haydar Herevi (d. 1426–35),19 who studied under Saded-
din Taftazani (d. 1390), as well as Seyyid Ali Acemi (d. 1455/56)20
and Fahreddin Acemi (d. 1460/61 or 1468),21 who both were trained
by Seyyid Şerif Cürcani (d. 1413), agreed to teach in the Ottoman
madrasas. Siraceddin Halebi, who had been forced to Samarkand by
Timur, left Transoxiana for Ottoman lands; Murad II appointed him
to his newly built madrasa, which later became known as Halebi
Madrasa after its first teacher.22 In addition, some scholars immigrated
to Ottoman realms from the Qipchaq territories in the north of the
Black Sea. Şerefüddin Kırımi, a student of the famous Hanafi jurist
16
For Ahmedi’s biography, see SHAQAʾIQ, 48–49; MECDI, 70–71. For
Şemseddin Fenari, see SHAQAʾIQ, 22–29; MECDI, 47–53. For Sheikh
Bedreddin’s biography, see SHAQAʾIQ, 49–53; MECDI, 71–73.
17
SHAQAʾIQ, 36–39; MECDI, 59–60. See also Tayyar Altıkulaç, “İbnü’l-Cezerî,”
TDVIA. For an article that includes Muhammed Cezeri’s biography, see Binbaş,
“A Damascene Eyewitness,” 153–75.
18
SHAQAʾIQ, 29–31; MECDI, 54–55. See also Hulusi Kılıç, “Fîrûzâbâdî,”
TDVIA.
19
SHAQAʾIQ, 59; MECDI, 83.
20
SHAQAʾIQ, 101–2; MECDI, 121–22.
21
SHAQAʾIQ, 59–61; MECDI, 81–83. See also Repp, The Müfti of Istanbul,
105–11.
22
SHAQAʾIQ, 168; MECDI, 187–88.
Hafızuddin Muhammed Bezzazi (d. 1424), fled his region’s political

turmoil to enjoy Murad II’s patronage.23 Şerefüddin was accompanied
by his student Seyyid Ahmed Kırımi, who was appointed to a madrasa
in Merzifon. Under Mehmed II, he settled in Istanbul.24
During the early fifteenth century, the presence of both immigrant
scholars and those who had been educated in the more developed
learning centers seems to have raised the level of learning in Ana-
tolia and Ottoman lands in general. Presumably for the first time,
a significant number of students could acquire an advanced educa-
tion close to home.25 For example, Molla Yegan, originally from the
Aydınids’ territories in western Anatolia, studied there and then moved
to Ottoman lands during Murad II’s reign to study under Şemseddin
Fenari. After his graduation, he taught in various madrasas, served as
the judge (kadı) of Bursa, and then became the Ottoman chief jurist
(şeyhülislam).26 Several students, including Yusuf Bali bin Yegan, Hızır
Bey (d. 1458/59), Taceddin İbrahim, and Mehmed bin Kadı of Aya-
soluğ, completed their studies under Molla Yegan in Anatolia and
accepted appointments by Murad II and Mehmed II.27
23
24
SHAQAʾIQ, 82–83; MECDI 101–2. He probably taught at Mehmed I’s
madrasa in Merzifon.
25
Ertuğrul Ökten’s quantitative analysis of the scholars’ origins, mentioned in
SHAQAʾIQ, gives a critical insight into how madrasas (in the Ottoman realm)
gained the ability to provide students with advanced training during the first
half of the fifteenth century, especially under Murad II. See Ertuğrul Ökten,
“Scholars and Mobility: A Preliminary Assessment from the Perspective of
al-Shaqāyiq al-Nuʿmāniyya,” Osmanlı Araştırmaları Dergisi 41 (2013): 55–70,
esp. 60–61. For the rise of a self-sustaining scholarly system in Anatolia and
the Balkans (the lands of Rum), see Atçıl, “Mobility of Scholars,” 315–32.
26
SHAQAʾIQ, 79–80; MECDI, 99–100. See also Repp, The Müfti of Istanbul,
98–104.
27
For these scholars’ biographies, see SHAQAʾIQ, 80–81, 91–95, 96–97;
MECDI, 100, 111–15, 117. Hızır Bey attained such high levels of learning that
he could best those scholars from the Arabic-speaking lands who challenged
the Ottoman scholars during Mehmed II’s reign. He also defeated Molla
Gürani (d. 1488), who was born and received education in the Arabic-speaking
lands, on a question about Arabic grammar. He taught at Bursa Sultaniye
Madrasa and graduated a number of students who would later become
significant figures and were distinguished by their theological views. M. Sait
Özervarlı considers Hızır Bey and his students a distinct theological group: the
“Bursa theological circle.” For this, see M. Sait Özervarlı, “Osmanlı Kelâm
Geleneğinden Nasıl Yararlanabiliriz?” in Dünden Bugüne Osmanlı
Araştırmaları: Tespitler, Problemler, Teklifler, ed. Ali Akyıldız, Ş. Tufan
Buzpınar and Mustafa Sinanoğlu (Istanbul: İSAM Yayınları, 2007), 199–200.
To summarize, during the early Ottoman period, the Ottomans

needed and welcomed scholars who had studied in other parts of the
Islamic world. Scholars from Anatolia, Arab lands, Iran, and Qipchaq
territory came to Ottoman lands. From the early fifteenth century
onward, their activities facilitated the development of an indigenous
educational system that could meet the Ottoman need for scholars.
The Services of Scholars in Ottoman Lands

Like the other Anatolian principalities of that time, the Ottomans
required scholars’ services. Scholars could serve as professors in the
madrasas and train other scholars. They could also function as prop-
erly trained judges or religio-legal experts and help establish a reli-
able justice system. In addition, scholars could undertake bureaucratic
tasks, such as record keeping and official correspondence. Finally,
scholars could provide people with religious guidance. Thus, during
the early Ottoman period, scholars who had all sorts of educational
levels, origins, and connections settled and could find a niche in the
Ottoman realm.28
As discussed earlier, during the early Ottoman period, the rul-
ing family established several prestigious madrasas in Anatolia and
Rumeli – royal-prestige madrasas. The founders tried to attract pres-
tigious scholars to come and teach at their institutions. It seems that,
generally speaking, each founder considered his (or her) own newer
madrasa the most prestigious in the realm; he thus tried to install
the most esteemed scholars to teach there. For example, Mehmed
I’s madrasa (Sultaniye Madrasa) in Bursa was the most prestigious
in his reign; Murad II then established madrasas in Edirne and
considered them better.29 But there is no evidence to indicate that
madrasas were organized into a formal hierarchy or that one madrasa
served as a stepping-stone to another for professors. In many cases,
scholars served in their first professorship positions for many years
without (expecting) a promotion. Mehmed Şah Fenari (d. 1435),
for instance, was appointed to Sultaniye Madrasa in Bursa when he
was seventeen years old, and he remained in this position until his
28
The following discussion mostly relies on Atçıl, “The Formation of the
Ottoman Learned Class,” 59–64.
29
Bilge, İlk Osmanlı Medreseleri, 6–8.
death.30 Siraceddin Halebi taught at Halebi Madrasa in Edirne until

his death in 1453.31
Some scholars undertook positions in madrasas built by people other
than members of the Ottoman dynasty. Al-Shaqaʾiq mentions that
Burhaneddin Haydar Herevi taught in the madrasa founded by Şah
Melek bin Şadi Bey.32 Mehmed bin Kadı of Ayasoluğ taught in the
madrasa in Isparta established by the Seljuk statesman Mübarizeddin
Ertokuş,33 and Şücaüddin İlyas taught in the madrasas in Üsküp built
by İshak Pasha.34 It would be very interesting to investigate whether
teaching in institutions that were not built by members of the Ottoman
dynasty endowed scholars with a certain distance and autonomy from
the government,35 but this topic is beyond the means of the current
study.
From the early years of Ottoman rule in Anatolia and Rumeli
onward, some scholars known as fakihs (lit., “jurisprudents”) existed
in Ottoman lands.36 Some of these were probably legal experts, as
the meaning of their title suggests. The only person with that par-
ticular title included in Al-Shaqaʾiq is one Dursun Fakih. Accord-
ing to Taşköprizade, he studied the Qur’anic sciences, hadith, and
jurisprudence under his father-in-law, Edebali. He had the qualifica-
tions to give religio-legal opinions (fetvas).37 However, some of the
fakihs had apparently not advanced in legal studies far enough to be
considered legal experts. These instead acted more like prayer leaders
(imams), helping people fulfill religious duties and providing religious
guidance.38
30
SHAQAʾIQ, 33; MECDI, 56–57. 31
32
SHAQAʾIQ, 117; MECDI, 135. 33
SHAQAʾIQ, 96–97; MECDI, 117.
34
35
For example, in the endowment deed of his madrasa in Larissa (Yenişehir),
Turhan Bey stipulated that “the administrator (mütevelli) appoint and dismiss
the professors, and the great men of time not interfere in these affairs.” For
this, see Bilge, İlk Osmanlı Medreseleri, 21, 254. In this context, Hızır Şah’s
(d. 1449/50) relationship with Murad II is instructive. When he was professor
in a pre-Ottoman madrasa in Balat, Murad II offered him the professorship of
Muradiye Madrasa in Bursa. However, Hızır Şah did not accept the offer and
continued to teach in Balat. SHAQAʾIQ, 95–96; MECDI, 115–16.
36
Kafadar, Between Two Worlds, 109–14.
37
SHAQAʾIQ, 5. See also MECDI, 21. In that capacity, he delivered the first
Friday sermon (hutbe) in Karahisar and the first holiday sermon in Eskişehir.
38
For more information about fakihs, see Kafadar, Between Two Worlds,
109–14, 181. For the assignment of lands to the fakihs, see Ömer Lütfi Barkan
During the early Ottoman period, some scholars were represented as

articulating religio-legal opinions (fetvas). For example, Taşköprizade
and Mecdi Mehmed enumerate Edebali, Dursun Fakih, Taceddin
Kürdi, Molla Necmeddin, Bahauddin Ömer bin Kutbuddin, İbrahim
bin Mehmed, Yar Ali Şirazi, and Burhaneddin Haydar Herevi among
those who provided religio-legal advice.39 In the early fifteenth cen-
tury, however, the Ottoman rulers began to designate certain schol-
ars as chief jurists (şeyhülislam) and to assign them salaries for
issuing religio-legal opinions. It was probably Murad II who created
the office of chief jurist and appointed Şemseddin Fenari, Molla Yegan,
and Fahreddin Acemi to it consecutively.40 The institution of this office
did not divest other scholars of the right to offer their opinions on
religio-legal problems, but it did distinguish one scholar as having the
duty to voice or determine the rulers’ preferences on such issues.
As for the judges, who heard and passed judgments on the legal
cases, the reports suggest that the Ottomans early on developed a judi-
cial system that appointed judges in cities and small towns. According
to Aşıkpaşazade (d. after 1484), a historian of the Ottoman dynasty,
Osman appointed Dursun Fakih as the judge of Karacahisar in 1300.41
Taşköprizade refers to the services of several scholars as judge: Çan-
darlı Kara Halil (d. 1389) served as the judge of Bilecik during Osman’s
reign and of İznik and Bursa during Orhan’s reign;42 Kadı Mah-
mud was the judge of Bursa during Murad I’s reign.43 Moreover,
Taşköprizade reports that Sheikh Bedreddin’s father, İsrail, became mil-
itary commander, governor, and judge at the same time in Simavna dur-
ing Murad I’s reign.44 Şemseddin Fenari served as the judge of Bursa
during Bayezid I’s reign and Molla Hüsrev as that of Edirne during
and Enver Meriçli, eds., Hüdavendigâr Livası Tahrir Defteri (Ankara: Türk
Tarih Kurumu, 1988), 657, 691, 698, 702, 704.
39
SHAQAʾIQ, 4–5, 8, 35 and 51. See also MECDI, 20–1, 28–9, 59, 73.
40
For the biographies of these three scholars, see SHAQAʾIQ, 22–9, 59–61,
79–80; MECDI, 47–53, 81–83, 99–100. For an evaluation of the creation of
the office of chief jurist, see Repp, The Müfti of Istanbul, 111–24. Cf. Murat
Akgündüz, Osmanlı Devletinde Şeyhülislâmlık (Istanbul: Beyan, 2002),
37–48.
41
Aşıkpaşazade, Osmanoğullarının Tarihi, Tevârîḫ-i Âl-i Osmân, ed. and
transliterated by Kemal Yavuz and Yekta Saraç (Istanbul: Gökkubbe, 2010),
289–90.
42
SHAQAʾIQ, 9–10; MECDI, 30–1. 43
44
Murad II’s reign.45 Taşköprizade also mentions Mehmed Şah Yegani’s

service as the judge of Bursa and that of Hızır Bey as the judge of
İnegöl.46 One report in the histories of the Ottoman dynasty indicates
that Bayezid I, when told that twenty judges were corrupt, decided
to execute them; however, Vizier Çandarlı Ali Pasha (d. 1406/7) con-
vinced him to relent and assigned them a secure source of income
so that they would not become repeat offenders.47 All these reports
demonstrate that during the early Ottoman period, the Ottomans
took steps to establish a judicial system and to involve many scholars
in it.
Taşköprizade transmits the report that Orhan visited Alaeddin Esved
at the madrasa in İznik and asked him to appoint one of his students
to administer justice among soldiers during campaigns; he assigned
Çandarlı Kara Halil to the task.48 If this report is true, then the incipient
office of kadıasker (lit., “military judge”; in the later periods, this was a
chief judge) clearly did not carry all the responsibilities it would assume
later, among them administering the official hierarchy by overseeing the
appointments of most professors and judges.49 Çandarlı Kara Halil
was just one of the students and had no established reputation. His
duties seem to have been commensurate with what the name of the
office implies – that is, arbitrating and resolving legal problems among
military personnel.50
45
Şemseddin Fenari copied the endowment deed for Murad I’s foundation as the
judge of Bursa in 1400. For this, see M. Tayyib Gökbilgin, “Murad I. Tesisleri
ve Bursa İmareti Vakfiyesi,” Türkiyat Mecmuası 10 (1953), 219. He was
certainly the judge of Bursa in 1400–2. For this, see Repp, The Müfti of
Istanbul, 82–83. Mecdi Mehmed claims to have seen many documents signed
by Molla Hüsrev as the judge of Edirne during Murad II’s reign. See MECDI,
138–39.
46
For Mehmed Şah, see SHAQAʾIQ, 80; MECDI, 100. For Hızır Bey, see
SHAQAʾIQ, 92.
47
Edirneli Oruç Beğ, Oruç Beğ Tarihi, ed. Nihal Atsız (Istanbul: Tercüman,
1972), 53–55. See also Aşıkpaşazade, Osmanoğullarının Tarihi, 342–43.
48
49
For further discussion about the development of the office of kadıasker, see
Chapter 4 of this book.
50
Taşköprizade and Mecdi Mehmed include reports about the appointments of
such figures as Sheikh Ramazan, Hasan bin Emir Ali, Süleyman Çelebi bin
Halil Pasha, and Molla Hüsrev as kadıasker during the early Ottoman period.
SHAQAʾIQ, 48, 109, 116–20; MECDI, 70, 126, 109, 135–39. It is worth
studying when the office of kadıasker began to be entrusted to such higher-level
scholars as Molla Hüsrev.
Osman’s viziers Alaeddin Pasha and Sinaneddin Yusuf probably had

scholarly backgrounds.51 In addition, several members of the Çandarlı
family – including Kara Halil, Ali Pasha, İbrahim Pasha (d. 1428/29),
and Halil Pasha – who had received scholarly training also served as
viziers in the polity.52 İnalcık mentions that Murad II’s viziers Fenar-
izade Hasan Pasha and Fazlullah Pasha had scholarly backgrounds.53
It is quite possible that in addition to heading the government, these
scholar-viziers fulfilled bureaucratic tasks such as drawing up official
documents.
This survey and discussion clearly show that a large number of schol-
ars resided in Ottoman lands, where they provided educational, judi-
cial, advisory, and bureaucratic services to the government. Some of
them received appointments from the ruler or his representatives and
served in an official capacity as judge, kadıasker, chief jurist, vizier,
fakih, or professor at the royal-prestige madrasas. On the other hand,
others fulfilled significant functions, although they may not have held
an official position.
The Relationship of Scholars with the Ottoman Government

This section explores the relationship of scholars with the Ottoman
government, which I understand in this context as the sultan and his
loyal agents, during the early Ottoman period. It must be underlined
that the limited amount of available evidence, which mostly consists
of the anecdotal material in Al-Shaqaʾiq and other sources, does not
allow one to safely make generalizations on this topic. I therefore offer
some observations about whether and how the Ottoman government
and scholars were connected.
For a nuanced understanding of this issue, one must consider the
indispensability of individual scholars for the government, on one
hand, and their options outside the government, on the other. It is
clear that not all scholars had the same level of competence and knowl-
edge, nor could they all offer the same benefits to the government. We
51
Uzunçarşılı, “Osmanlı Tarihine Ait Yeni Bir Vesikanın Ehemmiyeti,” 101–2.
52
Franz Taeschner and Paul Wittek, “Die Vezirfamilie der Ğandarlyzāde (14./15.
Jhdt.) und ihre Denkmäler,” Der Islam 18 (1929): 60–115. See also Münir
Aktepe, “Çandarlı,” TDVIA.
53
Halil İnalcık, “Murad II,” TDVIA.
can divide scholars into two groups: low-level and high-level scholars.
The former had literacy and rudimentary religio-legal education (e.g.,
fakihs serving as prayer leaders). It is plausible that there were many
scholars who did not advance very far in their studies. Thus, the gov-
ernment could easily replace one with another. On the other hand, these
scholars probably did not have options more attractive than employ-
ment by the Ottoman government; they would therefore have been in a
position of obligation to the government and would have showed loy-
alty to it. These scholars do not appear in the biographical dictionaries.
Their existence is known only from tax surveys and from indirect ref-
erences to them in the chronicles.54 For this reason, again, knowledge
about them is very limited, and these interpretations are limited in their
applicability.
High-level scholars studied advanced texts, showed superior com-
petence in religio-legal topics, and acquired the ability to fulfill all
the tasks associated with scholars as a class. All Muslim governments
needed a pool of such scholars from which to appoint judges, jurists,
professors, and other professionals. But there were not enough high-
level scholars available to meet the demand for their services. Generally
speaking, therefore, this group of scholars had options and privileges,
enabling them to have a certain autonomy.
As discussed earlier, during the fourteenth century, the Ottoman edu-
cational system was far from self-sufficient; the government relied on
the inward mobility of high-level scholars who had been educated in
the Islamic world’s established cultural centers. Beginning in the early
fifteenth century, the indigenous Ottoman madrasas were able to grad-
uate scholars who had attained the highest levels of religious learning.
In considering what resources the high-level scholars in Ottoman lands
had at their disposal when dealing with the government, one can divide
them into two groups: those who had a reputation and connections
with colleagues and rulers beyond Anatolia and those whose repu-
tations and connections were confined to the Ottoman territories or,
at best, extended to the Anatolian territories not under the Ottoman
rule.
54
For example, see Barkan and Meriçli, eds., Hüdavendigar Livası Tahrir Defteri,
547, 657, 691, 698, 702, 704.
The first group included such scholars as Muhammed Cezeri,

Şemseddin Fenari, Alaeddin Tusi, and Molla Gürani. The account of
their careers, as well as the anecdotal material about them in Al-
Shaqaʾiq and other sources, implies that they had no special attachment
to the Ottoman government; rather, they viewed any such attachment
as a personal, temporary, and profitable relationship with the sultan.
They also dealt with the sultans from an advantageous position: these
men were fully aware that the latter needed their services and that other
options for employment existed. For example, when Muhammed Cez-
eri went to Bursa and met Bayezid I in 1396, he behaved as if they
were equals and suggested that he needed no special favor from the
sultan. According to Cezeri’s own account, he told Bayezid I, “I did
not come here for any purpose other than preparing the holy warriors
(al-ghuzat). Use my service so that those who cannot travel to see me
can benefit from me, and then I will return.”55 After Timur took Cezeri
to Samarkand in 1402, Cezeri never returned to the Ottoman territo-
ries (he probably never considered doing so).
Şemseddin Fenari’s attitude was similar. After studying under
Ekmeleddin Baberti, he traveled to Bursa and eventually met Bayezid I,
who assigned him the professorship of Manastır Madrasa and the
judgeship of Bursa. But when he later had a conflict with the sul-
tan, he moved to Karaman and spent approximately the next
ten years serving the Karamanid ruler Mehmed II. According to
Taşköprizade, Fenari returned only after Bayezid I expressed his
regret and invited him to return. In 1419, on his way back from
Arabia after the hajj, the Mamluk ruler Al-Malik al-Muʾayyad
(r. 1412–21) invited Fenari to Egypt. He stayed there for a while,
taught students, and participated in academic debates with other
scholars.56 These reports indicate that Fenari had connections beyond
the Ottoman territories, even beyond Anatolia, and thus did not feel
beholden to the Ottoman sultans. His relationship with them was
a cooperation of equals; when that cooperation failed, they parted
company.
The second group of high-level scholars mostly included such figures
as Molla Yegan, Fahreddin Acemi, Taşköprizade Hayreddin Halil (d.
1474/75), and Hızır Şah, all of whom had received most of their higher
55
Binbaş, “A Damascene Eyewitness,” 168.
56
education in Ottoman lands or in Anatolia. On the basis of the limited

information contained about them in Al-Shaqaʾiq, one can suggest
that they had an attachment to Ottoman lands and other Anatolian
territories because they could not easily seek their fortune elsewhere.
However, as they saw no reason to limit their world to a specific
political unit, they could easily cross borders to serve other Anatolian
rulers. For example, Molla Yegan was born in Aydın probably when
it was ruled by the Aydınids. After his elementary training, he went
to the Ottoman realm and studied under Şemseddin Fenari. Later, he
received important teaching and judicial positions from the Ottoman
sultans and trained many students who would go on to become impor-
tant scholars. When İsmail Bey (r. 1443–61), ruler of the Kastamonu
region, wanted to appoint a professor to Muzafferuddin Madrasa in
Taşköprü, he asked Molla Yegan to send one of his students there; he
sent Taşköprizade Hayreddin Halil.57 Molla Yegan’s itinerary, as well
as his ongoing connections with the Ottoman and Kastamonu rulers
at the time, reveals his understanding of the scholarly world and its
connection with political authority. For him, scholars could not be
limited by the boundaries of the domain in which they resided.
Neither group of high-level scholars necessarily felt any obligation
to Ottoman or any other rulers. Apparently, their shared understand-
ing of the limitations and rights placed on them through the estab-
lishment of endowments to support madrasas played a crucial role in
the scholars’ standoffish attitude toward rulers in general and toward
the Ottoman sultans in particular. The Islamic legal tradition afforded
private individuals who established endowments the right to state in
the endowment deed how their properties and the income they gen-
erated were to be used.58 The legal principle rendering the terms of
use set by the endower (vâkıf) equal in authority to the scriptures
meant that the stipulations in the endowment deeds were inviolable
and binding for all future generations. This principle was invoked
57
SHAQAʾIQ, 79–80, 161.
58
R. Peters, “Wak.f,” EI2 . See also Makdisi, The Rise of Colleges, 35–36; Ahmed
Akgündüz, İslâm Hukukunda ve Osmanlı Tatbikatında Vakıf Müessesesi
(Istanbul: Osmanlı Araştırmaları Vakfı, 1996), 150–67, 264–70; Peter C.
Hennigan, The Birth of a Legal Institution: The Formation of the Waqf in
Third-Century A.H. H . anafı̄ Legal Discourse (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 71–106;
Muhammad Zubair Abbasi, “The Classical Islamic Law of Waqf: A Concise
Introduction,” Arab Law Quarterly 26 (2012): 121–53.
to prevent rulers from interfering in the management of charitable

institutions.59 As the survey earlier in this chapter showed, many of the
realm’s madrasas were founded by individuals who were not necessar-
ily related to the Ottoman dynasty and government. In addition, as the
Ottoman domain expanded at the expense of other Anatolian princi-
palities, it became home to many pre-Ottoman madrasas. Thus, schol-
ars who taught in these madrasas and received their salaries from their
endowments had no reason to feel any gratitude toward the Ottoman
sultans because their rights came from the endowment deed and thus
were protected.
Taşköprizade Hayreddin Halil’s biography in Al-Shaqaʾiq is prob-
ably illustrative of this viewpoint. As mentioned, Molla Yegan
recommended to Kastamonu’s ruler İsmail Bey that Hayreddin Halil
be appointed to the Muzafferuddin Madrasa in Taşköprü. In this post,
he received 30 aspers a day from the endowment and 50 aspers a day
from the revenues of Küre’s copper mine. When Mehmed II defeated
İsmail Bey and annexed his domain in 1461, Hayreddin Halil gave
up the latter source of income. Later, when Mehmed II completed
building his eight madrasas (which later became known as the Sahn
madrasas) in Istanbul,60 he ordered Hayreddin Halil to teach in one
of them. The scholar ignored Mehmed II, who then attempted to force
him to accept this post by dismissing him. Ultimately, Hayreddin Halil
earned a living by preaching in Küre.61
Hayreddin Halil probably gave up his income from the mine because
it did not come from the endowment and because Mehmed II claimed it
for the Ottoman treasury. But he clearly did not expect to be dismissed
when he rejected the sultan’s offer precisely because he served in an
endowed pre-Ottoman institution. Mehmed II’s action is a precursor
to his later attempt to compromise the status of the endowments, dis-
cussed in Chapter 4. Nevertheless, Hayreddin Halil’s resistance illus-
trates a principled scholar’s ability to thwart political pressure in order
to maintain his autonomy.
All these observations suggest that there was not a reliable strong
bond between high-level scholars and the Ottoman government during
59
For an explanation of this principle, see Akgündüz, İslâm Hukukunda ve
Osmanlı Tatbikatında Vakıf Müessesesi, 266–67.
60
Fahri Unan, Kuruluşundan Günümüze Fâtih Külliyesi (Ankara: Türk Tarih
Kurumu, 2003), 60–68.
61
SHAQAʾIQ, 120–23. See also MECDI, 139–42.
the early Ottoman period. Several scholars born in Anatolia or in other

parts of the Islamic world lived and served in the Ottoman territories;
some even accepted employment as part of the Ottoman government.
They usually kept their distance, however, on the grounds that their
positions did not necessarily depend on the rulers’ will and that most
of them had the option of trying their luck elsewhere.
part ii
The Formation of the Hierarchy

(1453–1530)
3 Introducing the Ottoman Empire
It can be argued that from the second half of the fifteenth century
through the early sixteenth, changes in governance and ideology trans-
formed the Ottoman polity from a post-Mongol Turkmen principality
into an early modern empire. In the face of the growing importance of
gunpowder and a standing army of janissaries, nomadic warriors lost
much of their strength.1 The distinguished position of the Ottoman
family, especially the Ottoman sultan, became articulated. Aristocratic
Turkish families became excluded from the top administrative posts.
In the meantime, the bureaucratic state formation took on momentum.
Viziers and commanders of slave or non-Muslim origin undertook gov-
ernmental responsibilities and managed a growing bureaucracy of mil-
itary and civil officials in the name of the sultan. In conjunction with
all of these developments, the heads of the Ottoman political enter-
prise deemphasized the post-Mongol means of gaining legitimacy and
power and adopted a universalist imperial ideology to project their
status, power, and ambitions.2
The conquest of Istanbul in 1453 seems to have catalyzed significant
shifts in Ottoman governance and ideology. This success manifested the
superiority of Ottoman arms over regional competitors and gradually
pushed the Ottomans to the global stage. During Mehmed II’s reign,
the Ottomans supplemented their influence in the region by annexing
the territories of or subjugating the Muslim principalities, eliminat-
ing the Byzantine control over Trabzon and the Morea and weakening
the power of the Italian states in the region. They established control
1
Hodgson, The Venture of Islam, 3: 99–104; Metin Kunt, “The Later Muslim
Empires: Ottomans, Safavids, Mughals,” in Islam: The Religious and Political
Life of a World Community, ed. Marjorie Kelly (New York: Praeger, 1984),
129–30.
2
For a general treatment of the transformations that resulted in the formation of
imperial institutions in the Ottoman Empire, see Karen Barkey, Empire of
Difference: The Ottomans in Comparative Perspective (New York: Cambridge
49
50 Part II The Formation of the Hierarchy (1453–1530)
over Albania, Bosnia, and Serbia and marched toward Moldavia. In

addition, they established a kind of suzerain control over the khans
of Crimea.3 During the early years of Bayezid II’s reign (1481–1512),
although two fortresses in Kili, and Akkirman were incorporated into
the Ottoman domain, overall Ottoman territorial expansion deceler-
ated. The most important reason for this was probably the captivity
of the sultan’s brother, Cem Sultan (d. 1495), by the Hospitallers, the
French king, and the pope in succession. The Ottomans feared that
Cem’s captors would force him to help them launch a crusade.4 Nev-
ertheless, after Cem’s death, the Ottomans began to gather a strong
naval power and captured some important Venetian strongholds in the
Aegean Sea.5 The reigns of Selim (1512–20) and Süleyman (1520–66)
were marked by rapid territorial expansion. Selim incorporated east-
ern Anatolia, Syria, Egypt, and Arabia, while Süleyman extended the
Ottoman domain in Iraq, Hungary, and North Africa.6
As for the changes in governance, as discussed in Chapters 1 and 2,
the Ottoman family had an interest in breaking the influence of the
nomadic warriors and other groups that limited its power. The cap-
ture of Constantinople, which had been an imperial capital and the
center of a stationary bureaucratic administration for centuries, would
3
Imber, The Ottoman Empire, 27–37. The perceptions of the Ottomans and the
khans seem to have diverged. While the Ottomans considered the khans as their
vassals, the khans thought of their relationship as one between equal partners.
For this, see Halil İnalcık, “Yeni Vesikalara Göre Kırım Hanlığının Osmanlı
Tâbiliğine Girmesi ve Ahidname Meselesi,” Belleten 30 (1944): 185–229;
Natalia Krolikowska, “Sovereignty and Subordination in Crimean-Ottoman
Relations (Sixteenth–Eighteenth Centuries),” in The European Tributary States
of the Ottoman Empire in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, ed.
Gabor Karman and Lovro Kuncevic (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 43–65; Nicole
Kançal-Ferrari, “An Italian Renaissance Gate for the Khan: Visual Culture in
Early Modern Crimea,” Muqarnas 34 (forthcoming 2017).
4
Halil İnalcık, “A Case Study in Renaissance Diplomacy: The Agreement
between Innocent VIII and Bayezid II on Djem Sultan,” Journal of Turkish
Studies 3 (1979): 209–30.
5
Palmira Brummet, Ottoman Seapower and Levantine Diplomacy in the Age of
Discovery (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1994), 89–121; İdris
Bostan, Osmanlılar ve Deniz: Deniz Politikaları, Teşkilat, Gemiler (Istanbul:
Küre Yayınları, 2007), 7–14.
6
For Selim’s conquests, see Feridun M. Emecen, Yavuz Sultan Selim (Istanbul:
Yitik Hazine Yayınları, 2011). For Süleyman’s reign and conquests, see Kaya
Şahin, Empire and Power in the Reign of Süleyman, Narrating the
Sixteenth-Century Ottoman World (New York: Cambridge University Press,
2013), 15–154.
Introducing the Ottoman Empire 51
boost the dynasty’s efforts in this regard.7 Those who had vested inter-
ests in the preconquest political system did their best to prevent or
discredit the city’s takeover. For example, they circulated Byzantine
Christian and Islamic apocalyptic traditions that linked the end times
with Istanbul’s takeover both before and after the conquest in order
to depict the capture of the city as a bad omen.8 In response, Mehmed
II sought to allay such concerns before initiating the conquest. Along
with Sheikh Akşemseddin (d. 1459) of the Sufi Bayrami order, he down-
played the prophetic sayings’ apocalyptic content by producing and
disseminating new divinations that promoted capturing the city.9
After the conquest, however, Mehmed II undertook various actions
(planned or improvised) designed to concentrate and increase the
power in the hands of the sultan and his agents. Immediately after
capturing the city, he killed Orhan, the Ottoman prince who had been
held hostage by the Byzantine emperor for use against the sultan if an
opportune moment arose.10 Mehmed II justified this act by his well-
known dictum, which later appeared in his law code (kanunname),
“It is appropriate for those of my descendants who ascend the throne
to execute their brothers for the sake of [preserving] the order of the
world.”11 He presumably intended that given this precedent and autho-
rization, Ottoman sultans would face no rivals within the family and
thus would wield undisputed power.
In addition, Mehmed II appears to have eliminated or neutralized
all potential or real threats to his authority. For example, immediately
after the conquest, he imprisoned and then executed Grand Vizier
Çandarlı Halil Pasha, who had famously engineered his dethronement
in 1446 and had opposed his attempt to capture Constantinople.
From this point onward, Mehmed II largely excluded aristocratic
Turkish families from top administrative posts. He generally did
7
Kafadar, Between Two Worlds, 146–50.
8
Stefanos Yerasimos, Kostantiniye ve Ayasofya Efsaneleri, trans. Şirin Tekeli
(Istanbul: İletişim, 1993), 267–81. Certain sayings attributed to the Prophet in
the canonical sources lent credibility to apocalyptic reports and rumors.
Feridun M. Emecen, Fetih ve Kıyamet 1453 (Istanbul: Timaş Yayınları, 2012),
30–38; Kaya Şahin, “Constantinople and the End Time: The Ottoman
Conquest as a Portent of the Last Hour,” Journal of Early Modern History 14
(2010): 339–50.
9
Emecen, Fetih ve Kıyamet, 38–62, 260–62; İnalcık, Fatih Devri Üzerine
Tetkikler, 131; Şahin, “Constantinople and the End Time,” 326–28.
10 11
İnalcık, Fatih Devri Üzerine Tetkikler, 132. KANUNNAME, 18.
not trust the loyalties of Turks to himself and the dynasty. Thus, he
mostly appointed as grand viziers officials of devşirme origin, who
consisted of recruited sons of non-Muslim Ottoman subjects. As these
men converted to Islam and received rigorous training in the skills
needed for loyal service to the dynasty, they appeared more dependable
from Mehmed II’s perspective.12 He probably envisaged that grand
viziers could use significant powers by leading the central government
in his name but could in no way claim independent authority. In
addition, his policies increasingly marginalized the frontier-based
semi-independent nomadic warriors, who now presented themselves
as ghazi commanders.13
Moreover, the sultan initiated the reconstruction of Istanbul as his
capital by building new palaces, mosques, and madrasas, ordering
dignitaries to undertake charitable works within the city, increasing its
population, and ensuring its development and prosperity.14 After the
completion of the new Topkapı Palace in the late 1470s, Mehmed II
secluded himself within the palace and ruled through his agents,
thereby underlining the distance between himself and all others in
the realm.15 He also set up and codified laws for the entire realm in
general law codes and did his best to reorganize all property relations
and rights, as well as to monopolize patronage.16 These undertakings
were clearly intended to underline his status as the sole sovereign.
The period 1481–1530, covering the reigns of Bayezid II, Selim I,
and the first decade of Süleyman, witnessed a number of significant
crises regarding the sultan’s authority. The occasions for the succession
of a new ruler during 1481–94, 1509–13, and 1520, not to mention
12
Theoharis Stavrides, The Sultan of Vezirs: The Life and Times of the Ottoman
Grand Vezir Mahmud Pasha Angelović (1453–1474) (Leiden: Brill, 2001),
59–67; Lowry, The Nature of the Early Ottoman State, 115–30.
13
Kafadar, Between Two Worlds, 143–50; Karadeniz, Osmanlılar ve Rumeli Uç
Beyleri, 315–48.
14
Mehmet Genç, Osmanlı İmparatorluğunda Devlet ve Ekonomi (Istanbul:
Ötüken, 2002), 317–26.
15
Gülru Necipoğlu, Architecture, Ceremonial and Power: The Topkapı Palace in
the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries (New York: Architectural History
Foundation, 1991), 16–19.
16
Predictably, these imperial policies upset various social sectors. But such voices
were raised only after his son Bayezid II assumed power. For this, see
Yerasimos, Kostantiniye ve Ayasofya Efsaneleri, 9–12; Karadeniz, Osmanlılar
ve Rumeli Uç Beyleri, 333–48.
the Safavids’ military and ideological challenge and the annexation

and integration of former Mamluk territories during the first quarter of
the sixteenth century, affirmed certain aspects and rattled others of the
political and administrative system which gradually took form after the
capture of Istanbul. For one thing, all political actors now understood
that the military and bureaucratic structure organized around the sul-
tan in the imperial center17 possessed military and political power that
could not be equaled. Not one of the groups outside the center could
realize its plan without the center’s permission or cooperation.18
At the same time, however, the sultan’s supreme authority, which
Mehmed II had claimed and backed by initiating new institutional
arrangements, was not immune to outside influence.19 The individu-
als or groups within the military and bureaucratic structure, who sup-
posedly functioned in the name of the sultan, tried to exert influence
17
During the period under study (1453–1530), although the imperial center
increasingly became associated with Istanbul, it moved as the sultan and his
influential agents – mostly the members of the Imperial Council – moved.
Further discussion about this is in Part III.
18
One can give several examples of the center’s superior military power. Bayezid
II received the support of the janissaries, who constituted the backbone of the
army in the center, and easily defeated Cem, supported by the cavalries of
Karaman region. For this, see Şehabeddin Tekindağ, “Bayezid II.’in Tahta
Çıkışı Sırasında İstanbul’da Vukua Gelen Hâdiseler Üzerine Notlar,” İstanbul
Üniversitesi Edebiyat Fakültesi Tarih Dergisi 14 (1959): 85–96; İbn Kemal,
Tevârîḫ-i Âl-i Osmân, VIII. Defter (Transkripsiyon), ed. and transliterated by
Ahmet Uğur (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 1997), 3–16. Several groups,
including the viziers of the Imperial Council, janissaries, and warriors of the
frontiers, became involved in the struggle for the succession to Bayezid II.
During the ensuing negotiations, the janissaries’ approval was critical for Selim
I’s enthronement. For this, see Çağatay Uluçay, “Yavuz Sultan Selim Nasıl
Padişah Oldu?” İstanbul Üniversitesi Edebiyat Fakültesi Tarih Dergisi 6,
no. 9 (1954): 53–90; İsmail Hakkı Uzunçarşılı, “II inci Bayezid’in
Oğullarından Sultan Korkut,” Belleten 30, no. 120 (1966): 539–601;
H. Erdem Çıpa, Yavuz’un Kavgası: I. Selim’in Saltanat Mücadelesi (Istanbul:
Yapı Kredi Yayınları, 2013), 58–62; Karadeniz, Osmanlılar ve Rumeli Uç
Beyleri, 369–77.
19
Cornell H. Fleischer’s article on the Timurid Babur’s memoirs includes many
insights and perceptive comments about political authority and loyalty in the
second half of the fifteenth century in Anatolia and Central Asia. For this, see
his “Companions to a King Errant: Bābur and His Lieutenants to the Conquest
of Kabul,” in Horizons of the World: Festschrift for İsenbike Togan, ed. İlker
Evrim Binbaş and Nurten Kılıç-Schubel (Istanbul: İthaki Yayınları, 2011),
545–56.
on the sultan and appropriate power for themselves. For example,

several statesmen exerted a high degree of control over Bayezid II
and the administration of the empire for most of his reign.20 Selim I
apparently tried to reestablish the sultan’s supreme authority.21 Dur-
ing the first years of his rule, dealing with several internal rebellions
and the condescending attitude of international rivals, Süleyman prob-
ably felt overwhelmed by the influence of the old-guard viziers of the
Imperial Council (Divan-ı Hümayun, the governing body that ruled
the empire in the sultan’s name) inherited from his father, a reality
that he tried to overcome in 1523 by appointing İbrahim Pasha –
his trusted childhood friend of slave origin and head of his personal
entourage of servants – as his grand vizier, head of the Imperial
Council.22
As for the political ideology of the Ottomans, the capture of Istan-
bul brought about dramatic changes. As discussed in Chapter 1, after
their defeat by Timur in 1402, the Ottomans struggled politically.
Bayezid I’s sons found it very difficult to acquire allies in their fratrici-
dal struggle.23 Even after reestablishing central authority in 1413, the
Ottomans were hard pressed to contain such rebels as Sheikh Bedred-
din. They tried a variety of methods to justify their rule, styling them-
selves as ghazis fighting to spread Islam, as sultans designated by the
caliph to rule a certain territory, and as representatives of the Turkmen
20
For some examples showing Bayezid II’s frailty, see Halil İnalcık, “Mehmed II,”
TDVIA; Necipoğlu, Architecture, Ceremonial, and Power, 21–22; İbn Kemal,
Tevârîḫ-i Âl-i Osmân, VIII. Defter, 42–43; Hedda Reindl Kiel, “Gedik Ahmed
Paşa,” TDVIA; Uzunçarşılı, “II inci Bayezid’in Oğullarından Sultan Korkut,”
plates 2, 4, 7. See also Hedda Reindl, Männer um Bāyezı̄d: Eine
Prosopographische Studie über die Epoche Sultan Bāyezı̄ds II. (1481–1512)
(Berlin: Klaus Schwarz, 1983), 37–38.
21
See Feridun M. Emecen, İmparatorluk Çağının Osmanlı Sultanları-I (Istanbul:
İSAM Yayınları, 2011), 67, 77–80; Hasan Aksoy, “Müeyyedzâde
Abdurrahman Efendi” TDVIA.
22
Cornell H. Fleischer, “The Lawgiver as Messiah: The Making of the Imperial
Image in the Reign of Süleymân,” in Soliman Le Magnifique et son Temps:
Actes du Colloque de Paris Galeries Nationales du Grand Palais 7–10 mars
1990, ed. Gilles Veinstein (Paris: La Documentation Française, 1992), 166–67.
For a more explicit and detailed discussion of Süleyman’s struggle with viziers
appointed during his father’s reign, see Ebru Turan, “The Sultan’s Favorite:
İbrahim Pasha and the Making of the Ottoman Universal Sovereignty in the
Reign of Sultan Süleyman (1516–1526)” (PhD diss., University of Chicago,
2007), 66–99.
23
Kastritsis, The Sons of Bayezid, 9–11.
Kayı tribe.24 Despite all these efforts, Timur’s sons considered and
treated the Ottoman sultans as their vassals.25
But this all changed when the Ottomans captured Constantinople.
This astounding achievement immediately transformed the dynasty’s
self-perception and its image among contemporary powers. A Mus-
lim dream since the first Islamic century, this event was in and of
itself enough to legitimize the dynasty. In his letters to other Mus-
lim rulers informing them that he had fulfilled this dream, Mehmed
II cited the Prophet’s sayings that allegedly extolled the city’s defeat,
noted the failure of earlier Muslim rulers to capture it, mentioned that
he had ordered the removal of signs of Christianity and had converted
churches and monasteries into mosques, and proclaimed that he had
minted his own gold coins and sent them to the ruler of Mecca for dis-
tribution among the city’s poor.26 In other words, he was now a self-
sufficient sovereign strong enough to conquer a great city in the name
of Islam and to take care of those who lived in the holy cities. The
addressed rulers’ reactions confirmed Mehmed II’s own understanding
of his new status.27
In addition, the Ottomans began to make imperial assertions after
the capture of Istanbul. Having a particular interest in ancient his-
tory, especially in the feats of Alexander the Great, Mehmed II appears
to have long been infatuated with the idea of universal empire.28
Given that his dream had now become reality, some Greek and
Muslim scholars began to eulogize him as emperor and encour-
aged him to act accordingly. Kritovoulos of Imbros, who wrote
a partial history of Mehmed II’s reign in Greek, hailed him as
Supreme Emperor, King of Kings and compared him to Alexander the
24
Kafadar, Between Two Worlds, 37–38, 122. See also Wittek, The Rise of the
Ottoman Empire, 7–13, 33–51; Kastritsis, The Sons of Bayezid, 197–200;
Muslu, The Ottomans and the Mamluks, 86–102.
25
Kafadar, Between Two Worlds, 137; Alan, Bozkırdan Cennet Bahçesine,
260–63.
26
Ahmet Ateş, “İstanbul’un Fethine Dâir Fatih Sultan Mehmed Tarafından
Gönderilen Mektuplar ve Bunlara Gelen Cevablar,” İstanbul Üniversitesi
Edebiyat Fakültesi Tarih Dergisi 4, no. 7 (1953): 11–50.
27
Ibid., 21–23, 26–36, 44–50.
28
Julian Raby, “Mehmed the Conqueror’s Greek Scriptorium,” Dumbarton
Oaks Papers 37 (1983): 18–19; Pınar Emiralioğlu, Geographical Knowledge
and Imperial Culture in the Early Modern Ottoman Empire (Farnham:
Ashgate, 2014), 57–74.
Great.29 The famous Greek scholar George of Trabzon endorsed his

claim to imperial authority by proclaiming that “he who by right pos-
sesses this city [Constantinople] is the emperor of the Romans . . . he
who is and remains emperor of the Romans is also emperor of the
entire earth.”30 Muslim authors also associated the capture of the
city with universalist claims. Some identified Istanbul with the ancient
myth of the golden apple, a metaphor for universal rule.31 Sufi writer
Ahmed Bican (d. after 1465) considered the possession of Istanbul to
be the first step in capturing the real golden apple, Rome, and initiating
the sultan’s universal rule.32 Ottoman assertions of universal imperi-
alism continued and culminated in Süleyman’s struggle with Charles
V, crowned Holy Roman Emperor in 1519, for supremacy over the
Mediterranean and Eastern Europe.33
Scholars occupied a significant place in most of the transformations
and crises taking place during 1453–1530. First of all, attempts to
increase the central government’s control over the imperial realm had
to be coupled with appeals to a legal system with universal applica-
bility that would define limits for the agents of the government and
prevent them from exercising coercive power.34 Possessing knowledge
29
See Kritovoulos, History of Mehmed the Conqueror, esp. 3–6.
30
Raby, “Mehmed the Conqueror’s Greek Scriptorium,” 24; Franz Babinger,
Mehmed the Conqueror and His Time, trans. Ralph Manheim (Princeton, NJ:
Princeton University Press, 1978), 249.
31
Osman Turan, Türk Cihan Hakimiyeti Mefkûresi Tarihi, 2 vols. (Istanbul:
İstanbul Matbaası, 1969), 2: 37–47; Orhan Şaik Gökyay, “Kızıl Elma” in his
Seçme Makaleler 2 (Istanbul: İletişim, 1997), 73, 98–99; Karl Teply, “Kizil
Elma: Die große türkische Geschichtssage im Licht der Geschichte und der
Volkskunde,” Südost Forschungen 36 (1977): 94–99; Pál Fodor, “The View of
the Turk in Hungary: The Apocalyptic Tradition and the Red Apple in
Ottoman Hungarian Context,” in Les traditions apocalyptiques au tournant de
la chute de Constantinople: Actes de la Table ronde d’Istanbul, 13–14 avril
1996, ed. Benjamin Lellouch and Stéphane Yerasimos (Istanbul: Institut
français d’études anatoliennes Georges-Dumézil, 2000), 123–24.
32
Şahin, “Constantinople and the End Time,” 340, 348–50.
33
Şahin, Empire and Power, 81–87. For a comparable military and ideological
competition with the Portuguese in the Indian Ocean, see Giancarlo Casale,
The Ottoman Age of Exploration (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010),
13–83. For a different interpretation of the association of the Ottomans with
the imperial idea and practice, see Hatice Palaz Erdemir, “İmparatorluk
Kavramının Evrenselleştirilmesi,” Dîvân: İlmî Araştırmalar 8 (2000): 187–96.
34
For a painstaking theoretical treatment of power and law in the Ottoman
Empire in the pre-modern period, see Akarlı, “The Ruler and Law Making in
the Ottoman Empire,” 87–109.
of sharia and the long tradition of its application in the courts, schol-
ars could respond to this challenge. In addition, strengthening the cen-
ter’s control required the establishment of a civil bureaucratic structure
that would undertake financial, scribal, and administrative tasks in the
center and provinces. Scholars could fulfill these tasks as judges or in
other capacities. Finally, as the Ottomans extended their territory and
increased the efficiency of their administration, they became richer and
built more madrasas. They needed scholars to fill the professorships of
these madrasas and to train the next generation of learned men.
As a consequence, the Ottoman central government during this
period recruited scholars more vigorously than before so as to assign
them specific duties in the imperial center and outside it, be they
educational, judicial, scribal, financial, or other posts. The positions
in which scholars served were organized in the form of a specific hier-
archy that ensured them regular and predictable promotions. Toward
the end of Mehmed II’s reign (probably between 1477 and 1481), the
rules that made this predictability possible were written down and
issued as a law code. In the period that followed, the hierarchical sys-
tem persisted and facilitated the integration of increasing numbers of
scholars.
This vigorous recruitment and hierarchical organization of scholars
gave birth to a distinct and probably unprecedented type of rela-
tionship between the government and scholars in the Islamic world.
A large number of scholars (during the early sixteenth century, for
instance, roughly 1500–2000 at a time) became affiliated with the
central government through an abstract institutional form.35 These
scholars played significant roles in the reconfiguration of the empire’s
ideology and law. To distinguish these scholars from others, and to
35
I rely on a list of scholars in government service dated ca. 1523 (TSMA,
D. 8823. 1) to make a guess about their number during the sixteenth century.
According to this list, the number of the scholars in government service in
Anatolia, Syria, and Egypt was 919. This document does not include the
government-employed scholars in the Balkans. If we assume that the number of
those in the Balkans was more or less the same (considering that the Balkans
on the one side and Anatolia, Syria and Egypt on the other had about equal
populations), we can guess that in about 1523, some 1500 to 2000 scholars
were in government service. Their numbers probably increased throughout the
sixteenth century. For the population of the Ottoman Empire during 1520–30,
see Ömer Lütfi Barkan, “‘Tarihi Demografi’ Araştırmaları ve Osmanlı Tarihi,”
Türkiyat Mecmuası 9 (1951–53): 11.
underline the distinctiveness of their status, work, and relationship

with the government, I refer to them as scholar-bureaucrats.
The development of this hierarchy of scholar-bureaucrats in its for-
mative period (1453–1530) involved both continuities with the old
way of governing and novelties. Planning, improvisation, and acciden-
tal results as regards the perspectives of both scholars and other exec-
utive authorities are attested in the evidence.
4 Scholars in Mehmed II’s Nascent
Imperial Bureaucracy (1453–1481)
The period 1453–81 (from the capture of Istanbul until Mehmed II’s
death) proved to be the beginning of a new phase in the Ottoman gov-
ernment’s relationship with scholars. Flushed with the prestige of cap-
turing Constantinople, Mehmed II initiated an imperial program and
undertook grandiose architectural and legal projects. His unprecedent-
edly large investments in madrasas attracted many scholars to move to
the empire. In addition, he designed and implemented a hierarchical
framework that not only provided scholars with a lifetime career in
the administration, but also created career expectations and caused an
ever-increasing number of them to offer their services to the dynasty. In
this chapter, I discuss the efforts of Mehmed II and his men to establish
Istanbul as the imperial center, project himself as a patron of scholars
and artists, and create a civil bureaucratic class of scholar-bureaucrats
based on the appropriate institutional and legal frameworks. I show
how the internal and external conditions, as well as deliberate policies,
of those years enabled the dynasty to start developing a bureaucratic
structure. In addition, I draw attention to the fact that while this envis-
aged institutional framework was developing, certain features of the
early Ottoman period (for instance, personal ties between the sultan
and scholars and the scholars’ reluctance to wholeheartedly dedicate
themselves to the Ottoman project) still existed.
Rebuilding Istanbul and Supporting Scholars

A significant component of the imperial program was architectural.
Building mosques, madrasas, public bathhouses, marketplaces, and
other establishments and converting Byzantine buildings to new pur-
poses projected the sultan’s imperial vision on Istanbul and other cities
in stone.1 Another component was to increase the importance of
1
For an interpretation of the architectural undertakings in Istanbul under
Mehmed II, see Çiğdem Kafescioğlu, Constantinopolis/Istanbul: Cultural
59
Ottoman cities, especially Istanbul, as centers of learning. To this end,

Mehmed II and his men erected madrasas in Istanbul and elsewhere.
It seems that Istanbul’s reconstruction was central to creating a hier-
archical institutional framework through which scholars could affiliate
themselves with the dynasty and its enterprise. I contend that control-
ling the planning and completion process of architectural projects in
Istanbul, especially madrasas, enabled Mehmed II to project a hierar-
chy of madrasas and impose a hierarchical structure on the scholars.
Eager to repopulate his capital city, Mehmed II forced people to
migrate to it; others came willingly.2 The commercial center was rebuilt
to propel economic development. These policies succeeded, and the
population grew from about 10,000 in 1453 to more than 50,000 in
1478.3 However, it seems that he and his men were a bit hesitant to
commission monumental buildings during the first decade of his rule.
Çiğdem Kafescioğlu suggests that the elite’s confusion and questions as
to whether Istanbul should become the capital delayed the undertaking
of expensive projects.4
Islamic learning was introduced in the city by converting some
churches into madrasas and appointing scholars to teach in them. For
example, the Pantokrator church and monastery became a madrasa
and was renamed after its first professor, Molla Zeyrek.5 When the
Church of Hagia Sophia (Ayasofya) became a mosque, part of it was
reserved for teaching. It seems that these churches-turned-madrasas,
except for Ayasofya (where a separate building was constructed for
teaching later on), were discontinued after the sultan founded his own
madrasas in Istanbul.6
Encounter, Imperial Vision, and the Construction of the Ottoman Capital

(University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2009). See also Ekrem
Hakkı Ayverdi, Fatih Devri Mimarî Eserleri (Istanbul: İstanbul Matbaası, 1953).
2
Tursun Bey, Târîh-i Ebü’l-Feth, ed. and transliterated by Mertol Tulum
(Istanbul: Baha Matbaası, 1977), 67.
3
Kafescioğlu, Constantinopolis/Istanbul, 30.
4
Ibid., 17–18. See also Genç, Osmanlı İmparatorluğu’nda Devlet ve Ekonomi,
317–26.
5
Kafescioğlu, Constantinopolis/Istanbul, 22. For Molla Zeyrek’s biography, see
SHAQAʾIQ, 23–125; MECDI, 142–45. According to Taşköprizade, Mehmed II
turned eight churches into madrasas and appointed Alaeddin Tusi (d. 1482),
Molla Abdülkerim (d. ca. 1489), Hocazade Muslihuddin (d. 1487/88), and
others as professors. For this, see SHAQAʾIQ, 97.
6
Baltacı, XV–XVI. Asırlarda Osmanlı Medreseleri, 474–75.
Scholars in Mehmed II’s Bureaucracy (1453–1481) 61
As for the construction of new buildings in Istanbul, Mehmed II

appears to have asserted paramount rights over Istanbul’s land.
According to the Islamic legal tradition, the ruler or his agents had the
right to assign public estates to be endowed for public good. Such an
assignment was called irsadi vakf (lit., “endowment of supervision”).7
Presumably considering this particular sharia institution, Mehmed II,
as the custodian of public property and interests, viewed the entire city
as an endowment and called himself its endower (vâkıf).8
In 1459, Mehmed II established his first madrasa outside the walled
city of Istanbul in the area known as Eyüp today. During the siege of the
city, his mentor Akşemseddin had determined, with spiritual insight,
that this area hosted the grave of Halid bin Zeyd (popularly known
as Ebu Eyyüb el-Ensari), a Companion who supposedly joined the
Umayyad army that attempted to capture Constantinople in 672. After
the city fell, Mehmed II ordered the erection of a complex, including a
mosque, a tomb for Halid bin Zeyd, a madrasa, and a soup kitchen in
this area.9 The madrasa was quite modest: its six rooms housed eleven
students in the late sixteenth century.10
7
I am grateful to Engin Deniz Akarlı for attracting my attention to the concept
of irsadi vakf in my efforts to understand Mehmed II’s policies as regards the
reconstruction of Istanbul. Akgündüz, İslâm Hukukunda ve Osmanlı
Tatbikatında Vakıf Müessesesi, 524–25. Nothwithstanding the terminology
used (irsadi vakf), these assignments differed from the endowments (vakfs) of
the regular type, which could be established out of private properties. For this
reason, irsadi vakfs were also called invalid endowments (gayr-i sahih vakfs).
8
One of Mehmed II’s endowment deeds mentioned that during the siege of
Constantinople, he had promised God that if he was successful he would
endow all of the city’s lands for religious and charitable purposes. Fatih
Mehmet II Vakfiyeleri, “Türkçe Vakıf Vesikası” (Ankara: Vakıflar Umum
Müdürlüğü, 1938), facs. 31–32 and 63–65. This document is a
sixteenth-century translation of the original fifteenth-century Arabic-language
endowment deed. For a comparison of and discussion of the relationship
between the multiple copies of Mehmed II’s endowment deeds, see Kayoko
Hayashi, “Fatih Vakfiyeleri’nin Tanzim Süreci Üzerine,” Belleten 72, no. 263
(2008): 1–15. In the same vein, after the conquest Mehmed II invited people
from all over the Ottoman realm to Istanbul and promised to transfer the
vacant houses of the city to them (as private property). But after a while he
imposed a tax/rent on them on the grounds that the lots on which they were
built (as opposed to houses themselves) were endowments (vakf).
Aşıkpaşazade, Osmanoğullarının Tarihi, 415; Tursun Bey, Târîh-i Ebü’l-Feth,
68.
9
Ibid., 201–5.
10
See Fatih Mehmet II Vakfiyeleri, “Eyyup Vakfiyesinin Faksimilesi,” facs. 10–11,
32. The original endowment deed of the complex in Eyüp is missing. The
Mehmed II’s more important contribution to education arose in the

building complex named after him in Istanbul. This complex, which
included a mosque, eight madrasas (which later became known as the
Sahn madrasas), eight preparatory schools, an elementary school, a
library, a hospital, and a soup kitchen, was under construction from
1463 to 1470. Its madrasas surpassed all previous Ottoman invest-
ments in education in both size and endowment. Professors as well
as their assistants and students were assigned salaries and stipends.11
Clearly, one of the sultan’s motives for building the Sahn madrasas
was to impress his contemporaries with his generosity to scholars
and to emphasize his commitment to learning. Providing the highest
salaries and creating the best research environment in this complex,12
he wanted to attract scholars and encourage their commitment to the
Ottoman project.13
According to Kritovoulos, in 1459 Mehmed II ordered “able persons
to build splendid and costly buildings inside the City.”14 One of his
endowment deeds refers to this order and provides further details.
[After the conquest of Constantinople] this emperor, who had a pure dis-
position, was occupied with the conquest and submission of countries, the
establishment of the signs of holy war, and the reform of conditions of people
for ten years. Then, he gave permission to the kadıaskers, other dignitaries,
honorable scholars, great sheikhs, respectable jurists . . . to build charitable
institutions in Istanbul with the wealth acquired as booty . . . 15
Probably relying on his rights as the custodian of public property in

Istanbul, Mehmed II distributed chunks of real estate to the statesmen
and asked them to undertake projects and establish endowments
of supervision (irsadi vakfs) for public good. After receiving this
existing endowment deed was prepared by a group of experts appointed by

Murad III (r. 1574–95) in December 1582.
11
Fatih Mehmet II Vakfiyeleri, “Türkçe Vakıf Vesikası,” facs. 49–56, 262–65. See
also Unan, Kuruluşundan Günümüze Fâtih Külliyesi, 50–89.
12
Mehmed II’s complex (including the Sahn madrasas) was endowed with a large
collection of books. Fatih Mehmet II Vakfiyeleri, “Türkçe Vakıf Vesikası,” facs.
53–54. See also İsmail E. Erünsal, Osmanlılarda Kütüphaneler ve
Kütüphanecilik (Istanbul: Timaş, 2015), 106–15.
13
Unan, Kuruluşundan Günümüze Fâtih Külliyesi, 60–68.
14
Kritovoulos, History of Mehmed the Conqueror, 140.
15
Fatih Mehmet II Vakfiyeleri, “Türkçe Vakıf Vesikası,” facs. 33–34.
permission/command, viziers Mahmud Pasha (d. 1474)16 and Murad

Pasha (d. 1473)17 established complexes that included mosques and
madrasas. Rum Mehmed Pasha (d. 1474 [?]) established a mosque and
a madrasa in Üsküdar.18 Predictably, such institutions and their endow-
ments were unpretentious when compared with the sultan’s complex;
their madrasas accommodated fewer students, and their professors
and students were paid less. As I will show below, all such madrasas
in Istanbul were deemed hierarchically inferior to the sultan’s Sahn
madrasas. Therefore, professors at the former consistently moved to
the latter, if they could.
Under Mehmed II, Istanbul became the focus of most public archi-
tectural patronage. But madrasas were established elsewhere as well.
For example, the sultan added a madrasa to the Üç Şerefeli complex in
Edirne.19 Mahmud Pasha constructed one in Hasköy (Kırklareli), and
his son Ali Bey built another one (which later became known as Taşlık
Madrasa) in Edirne.20 Molla Hüsrev and İshak Pasha (d. 1487) also
founded madrasas in Bursa and İnegöl, respectively.21
Mehmed II’s splendid and well-funded madrasas, as well as those
built by other individuals, increased the dynasty’s ability to support
students and professors and, not coincidentally, to draw even more
of them to the empire’s major cities. Their varying sizes and resources
16
For Mahmud Pasha’s architectural patronage, see Stavrides, The Sultan of
Vezirs, 267–87. For an interpretation of the architectural features of his
institutions in Constantinople, see Kafescioğlu, Constantinopolis/Istanbul,
109–19.
17
For Murad Pasha’s architectural patronage in Istanbul, see Stavrides, The
Sultan of Vezirs, 415–16; Kafescioğlu, Constantinopolis/Istanbul, 122–25. For
Murad Pasha’s endowments in Edirne for maintaining his institutions in
Istanbul, see M. Tayyib Gökbilgin, XV.–XVI. Asırlarda Edirne ve Paşa Livâsı:
Vakıflar, Mülkler, Mukataalar (Istanbul: Üçler Basımevi, 1952), 335–37.
18
Stavrides, The Sultan of Vezirs, 413–14; Kafescioğlu, Constantinopolis/
Istanbul, 119–22. For their endowments, see Gökbilgin, XV.–XVI. Asırlarda
Edirne ve Paşa Livâsı, 334–35.
19
This new madrasa was attached to Üç Şerefeli Madrasa, built by Murad II. For
this, see Baltacı, XV–XVI. Asırlarda Osmanlı Medreseleri, 450–51;
SHAQAʾIQ, 97–100.
20
For Mahmud Pasha’s buildings in Kırklareli, see Stavrides, The Sultan of
Vezirs, 278–79. For Ali Bey’s madrasa in Edirne, see Stavrides, The Sultan of
Vezirs, 446. For its endowments, see Gökbilgin, XV. –XVI. Asırlarda Edirne ve
Paşa Livâsı. 322–23.
21
For Molla Hüsrev’s madrasa and others built in Bursa during this period, see
Hızlı, Osmanlı Klasik Döneminde Bursa Medreseleri, 109–31. For İshak
Pasha’s institutions in İnegöl, see Stavrides, The Sultan of Vezirs, 412–13.
facilitated the establishment of a hierarchical ordering of madrasas and

of their professors.
The Migration of Scholars from Iran

As discussed in Chapter 2, Mehmed II’s predecessors had established
madrasas in Ottoman cities and tried to attract important scholars to
teach in them instead of those run by the Mamluks (Syria and Egypt),
the Turkmens and Timurids (eastern Anatolia, Iran, Khorasan, and
Transoxiana), or other Anatolian principalities. Some important schol-
ars did come; however, most of them usually left after a while for lands
with better living conditions or that possessed a richer cultural environ-
ment. It seems that the Ottoman cities could not yet compete effectively
with the older Islamic centers of Cairo, Damascus, Baghdad, Tabriz,
Bukhara, and Samarkand.
To counteract this situation, Mehmed II invested heavily in educa-
tional institutions. It seems that he and his Ottoman contemporaries
viewed the Persianate courts in Iran22 as representing the pinnacle of
cultural development and believed that attracting their scholars would
increase both the quality of the empire’s learning and its scholarly
production, as well as support the dynasty’s imperial claims. Seek-
ing to establish himself as the greatest patron of learning, he there-
fore invited Mahmud Gilani, Abdurrahman Cami (d. 1492), Celaled-
din Devvani (d. 1501), and Fethullah Şirvani (d. 1486) to settle in his
realm. Although they did not come, he nevertheless sent them hand-
some gifts.23
22
Here, I refer to Iran as comprising all Persianate countries of the time (acem
diyarı): Fars, Azerbaijan, Khorasan, and Transoxiana. For this, see Arslan,
“Osmanlılar’da Coğrafî Terim Olarak ‘Acem’ Kelimesinin Mânâsı.”
23
Babinger, Mehmed the Conqueror and His Time, 471–72; Hanna Sohrweide,
“Dichter und Gelehrte aus dem Osten im Osmanischen Reich (1453–1600):
Eine Beitrag zur türkisch-persischen Kulturgeschichte,” Der Islam 46 (1470):
265–66. For Mehmed II’s relationship with Abdurrahman Cami, see Ertuğrul İ.
Ökten, “Jāmı̄ (817–898/1414–1492): His Biography and Intellectual Influence
in Herat” (PhD diss., University of Chicago, 2007), 193–94; SHAQAʾIQ,
261–63. For Cami’s letter to Mehmed II, see his Namah-ha va Munshaʾat-i
Jami (Tehran: Mirath-i Maktub, 1999), 272–74 (I am grateful to Ertuğrul İ.
Ökten for helping me locate this letter). For a Turkish translation of this letter,
see Mustafa Runyun and Osman Keskioğlu, Fâtih Devrinde İlim (Ankara:
Diyanet İşleri Reisliği Yayınları, 1953), 23–24. For a copy of the invitation
The sultan was more successful with Ali Kuşçu (d. 1474), the famous
theologian, astronomer, and mathematician who had served in the
court of Timur’s grandson Uluğ Beg (d. 1449) and had accepted Uzun
Hasan’s (d. 1478) patronage, Mehmed II’s Akkoyunlu rival. Ali Kuşçu
gave up Uzun Hasan’s court to teach in Istanbul. On Kuşçu’s arrival
in 1472, the sultan sent his servants to welcome him and to accom-
pany him to Istanbul. He ordered that 1000 aspers be spent when-
ever the caravan stopped. Kuşçu, appointed to the professorship of
Ayasofya Madrasa, received 200 aspers a day, which was even higher
than the salary of the professors teaching in the Sahn madrasas.24 This
sending of gifts to illustrious learned men, as well as the spectacle
of Ali Kuşçu’s reception and appointment, were intended to display
the sultan’s sincerity and generous support of scholarly pursuits, as
well as the superiority of the Ottomans to other Muslim rulers in that
respect.
Many scholars came to the Ottoman lands on their own initia-
tive, mainly to escape the political turmoil following Timur’s death.
The rise of the Turkmen powers, the Karakoyunlus and Akkoyun-
lus, and the Timurid-Turkmen struggle for control over more or less
the same territories (viz., Fars, Azerbaijan, Khorasan, and Transoxi-
ana) caused political destabilization and a rapid turnover of rulers.25
Many scholars, bureaucrats, artists, and poets who had not been on
the winning side had to seek refuge elsewhere. Some migrated to the
Ottoman realm, which would have appeared relatively stable politi-
cally and full of opportunity. For example, Sirac Hatib, who served a
Karakoyunlu commander, probably fled after the Akkoyunlus defeated
the Karakoyunlus in 1467. His arrival coincided with the completion
of Mehmed II’s new mosque in Istanbul. On Alaeddin Ali bin Yusuf
letter sent to Fethullah Şirvani, see Fâtih Devrine Âit Münşeât Mecmuası, ed.
Necati Lugal and Adnan Erzi (Istanbul: İstanbul Matbaası, 1956), 45.
24
SHAQAʾIQ, 159–62. See also Süheyl Ünver, Ali Kuşci, Hayatı ve Eserleri
(Istanbul: Kenan Matbaası, 1948), 16–21.
25
This is not to deny that Transoxiana and Khorasan experienced a cultural
florescence under the Timurids during the fifteenth century. For this, see
Beatrice Manz, Power, Politics and Religion in Timurid Iran (New York:
Cambridge University Press, 2007), 208–44; Maria E. Subtelny, “Tamerlane
and His Descendants: From Paladins to Patrons,” in The New Cambridge
History of Islam, vol 3: The Eastern Islamic World Eleventh to Eighteenth
Centuries, ed. David O. Morgan and Anthony Reid (New York: Cambridge
Fenari’s (d. ca. 1497/98) recommendation, Mehmed II appointed Sirac

Hatib as preacher and prayer leader in his new mosque with a daily
salary of 50 aspers.26 Similarly, when Uzun Hasan defeated Timurid
Sultan Abu Said in 1469, the latter’s seal-keeper and physician Hekim
Kutbuddin Acemi was imprisoned. As soon as he was released, he left
Khorasan for the Ottoman realm where, due to his medical knowledge,
Mehmed II found him a place in his retinue where he received a daily
salary of 500 aspers, as well as 20,000 aspers per year and various
gifts.27
It is more difficult to discern the motivations of other scholars. For
example, Herat-educated Musannifek (d. 1470/71) moved to Anatolia
and began teaching in Karamanid-ruled Konya in the 1440s. Grand
Vizier Mahmud Pasha arranged for his transfer to Istanbul, where
he was given a daily stipend of 80 aspers.28 In addition, the physi-
cian Şükrullah Şirvani, who was an expert in Qur’anic commentary
and hadith, arrived and accepted Mehmed II’s patronage.29 Moreover,
Hoca Ataullah Acemi, a polymath who was well versed in medicine,
mathematics, and the religious and rational sciences, as well as the
physician Lari Acemi (d. 1485) arrived in the Ottoman lands during
Mehmed II’s reign.30
Clearly, many scholars and other learned men far beyond the
Ottoman realm appreciated the sultan’s capture of Constantinople
and subsequent establishment of monumental madrasas there. This
can be seen in the fact that such a highly respected scholar as Ali
Kuşçu rejected Timurid and Akkoyunlu patronage and that oth-
ers spent their entire careers in the empire. Moreover, the presence
of so many immigrant resident scholars as well as graduates of
Ottoman institutions provided the human capital for, and enabled
the dynasty and its agents to implement policies designed to cre-
ate, a hierarchical class of scholars dedicated to the dynasty and its
enterprise.
26
SHAQAʾIQ, 218–19; MECDI, 234–35. See also Sohrweide, “Dichter und
Gelehrte aus dem Osten im Osmanischen Reich,” 267.
27
SHAQAʾIQ, 220; MECDI, 235–36. See also Sohrweide, “Dichter und Gelehrte
aus dem Osten im Osmanischen Reich,” 267, 283–84.
28
SHAQAʾIQ, 165. See also MECDI, 186.
29
SHAQAʾIQ, 220–21. See also MECDI, 236.
30
SHAQAʾIQ, 221–24. See also MECDI, 236–39.
Mehmed II’s Attempt to Monopolize the Patronage of Scholars

I mentioned above that beginning in the eleventh century, madrasas
and their personnel were maintained and supported by endowments
(vakf ). The legal tradition protected endowments and the conditions
set by their endowers (vâkıf ). Hence, scholars enjoyed economic auton-
omy and relatively strong positions vis-à-vis the sultans.31
During the Ottoman expansion, newly conquered lands were rec-
ognized as public lands (miri) and had their revenues assigned pri-
marily to Muslim and Christian soldiers in return for their military
service.32 On the other hand, the status of the lands categorized as Mus-
lim and Christian endowments (vakf ) before the Ottoman conquest
was confirmed.33 In addition, some Muslim families maintained their
hereditary rights to collect a share of tax revenues after the Ottoman
expansion into Anatolia.34 Moreover, the rulers occasionally assigned
some lands and buildings as private property (mülk). For example,
Mehmed II, who wanted to increase Istanbul’s population and pros-
perity, granted houses as private property to new inhabitants.35
During the last decade of his reign, Mehmed II himself appeared
to have disregarded the legal principle of eternal adherence to the
endower’s conditions. According to Aşıkpaşazade, Mehmed II, influ-
enced by his grand vizier Karamani Mehmed Pasha (d. 1481), con-
verted endowment lands (vakf) into public lands (miri) and proclaimed
31
Akgündüz, İslâm Hukukunda ve Osmanlı Tatbikatında Vakıf Müessesesi,
266–67.
32
İnalcık, “Ottoman Methods of Conquest,” 113–16.
33
For an example of the endorsement of a pre-Ottoman endowment deed during
the Ottoman period, see İsmail Hakkı Uzunçarşılı, “Karamanoğulları Devri
Vesikalarından İbrahim Beyin Karaman İmareti Vakfiyesi,” Belleten 1, no. 1
(1937): 57. For the church endowments, see Eugenia Kermeli, “Ebū’s Suʿūd’s
Definition of Church Vak.fs: Theory and Practice in Ottoman Law,” in Islamic
Law, Theory, and Practice, ed. Robert Gleave and E. Kermeli (London: I. B.
Tauris, 1997), 141–45. See also Eugenia Kermeli, “Central Administration
versus Provincial Arbitrary Governance: Patmos and Mount Athos
Monasteries in the 16th Century,” Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies 32
(2008): 189–202.
34
Ömer Lütfi Barkan, “Türk-İslam Toprak Hukuku Tatbikatının Osmanlı
İmparatorluğunda Aldığı Şekiller I: Malikane-Divani Sistemi,” Türk Hukuk ve
İktisat Tarihi Mecmuası 2 (1932–39): 119–84. Oktay Özel, “Limits of the
Almighty: Mehmed II’s ‘Land Reform’ Revisited,” Journal of the Economic and
Social History of the Orient 42 (1999): 231–32.
35
Tursun Tursun Bey, Târîh-i Ebü’l-Feth, 67.
that the central government would either collect their revenue or assign
them to soldiers.36 Tursun Bey mentions that more than 20,000 villages
were reclassified as public land.37
As I will examine in Chapter 5, early in his reign Bayezid II reversed
Mehmed II’s policy and reinstituted the former rights concerning
endowments. Mehmed II’s policy thus did not last longer than three
to four years. The level of current scholarship on this does not allow
us to reveal the legal and political reasoning behind Mehmed II and
Bayezid II’s decisions.38 However, it is not far-fetched to consider
that Mehmed II’s decision showed just how insecure such patronage
could be for scholars who were not directly affiliated with the central
government.
Creating the Opportunity for a Lifetime Career in the Service

of the Empire
As the Ottomans always needed more scholars who would willingly
serve in the imperial administration, they pursued policies of establish-
ing new madrasas, attracting scholars from Iran, and trying to elimi-
nate alternative sources of patronage. It appears that the promise of a
lifetime career, a hierarchical organization, and constant promotions,
all of which were essential to inculcating career-related expectations,
played a significant role in ensuring scholars’ continued loyalty and
enthusiastic service.
It seems that the sultan had a predilection for a hierarchical order-
ing of scholars right from the beginning. For example, he liked to have
them debate in his presence and then identify and reward the win-
ner with gifts or high positions; the loser would be dismissed and/or
receive nothing.39 However, the most critical factor for creating this
36
Aşıkpaşazade, Osmanoğullarının Tarihi, 479.
37
Tursun Bey, Târîh-i Ebü’l-Feth, 27. In another context, Tursun Bey says that
more than 1000 endowed villages were appropriated for the treasury. For this,
see ibid., 197. For a copy of Mehmed II’s 1480 decree abrogating the
endowments in Bursa and its environs, see Halil İnalcık, “Bursa Şer’iye
Sicillerinde Fatih Sultan Mehmed’in Fermanları,” Belleten 11 (1947): 702–3
[document no. 14].
38
Akgündüz, İslâm Hukukunda ve Osmanlı Tatbikatında Vakıf Müessesesi, 544.
39
For the debate between Alaeddin Tusi and Hocazade Muslihuddin, see
SHAQAʾIQ, 97–100; MECDI, 117–20. For the debate between Molla Zeyrek
and Hocazade Muslihuddin, see SHAQAʾIQ, 123–25; MECDI, 142–45.
overarching hierarchical framework was probably the establishment

of the Sahn madrasas. Clearly enjoying the highest status in terms of
salaries and resources, these madrasas were immediately distinguished
as prestigious institutions. In fact, most scholars probably dreamed of
teaching in them. Another related significant act was arranging the pro-
fessorships of the Sahn madrasas into a hierarchical relationship with
other positions under the control of the dynasty. These hierarchically
organized positions constituted specific steps in a scholar-bureaucrat’s
career path. Generally speaking, professorships in the Sahn madrasas
became recognized as the top teaching positions. The judgeships of
Bursa, Edirne, and Istanbul, as well as the offices of chancellor (nişancı)
and chief judge (kadıasker), were identified as the positions to be taken
after teaching in the Sahn madrasas.
An obvious question is whether a hierarchical order existed among
those scholars who were serving the dynasty before the establishment
of the Sahn madrasas and even before the capture of Istanbul. After all,
as discussed in Chapter 2, during the early Ottoman period, the dynas-
tic family and others had built several madrasas in Bursa, Edirne, İznik,
and other cities.40 It seems that under each sultan, one or two of these
madrasas were recognized as the highest in the realm and their profes-
sors were honored with handsome salaries. Usually, the reigning sultan
appointed his favorite scholar to his madrasa and thus proclaimed it,
either explicitly or implicitly, to be the highest one.41 However, the idea
that they constituted distinct parts of an integrated hierarchical system
and that one was a stepping-stone to another did not exist, for these
scholars usually remained in their first teaching position for many years
without (expecting) any change in position or promotion.42
Here, it must be stressed that as far as the biographical evidence in
Al-Shaqaʾiq indicates, the hierarchical framework – at the center of
which were the professorships in the Sahn madrasas – began operat-
ing after the completion of these madrasas in 1470. All scholars men-
tioned in Al-Shaqaʾiq who received the judgeships of Bursa, Edirne,
or Istanbul, as well as those who held the chancellorship after 1470
and through the first years of Bayezid II’s reign, had taught in the Sahn
madrasas as their last teaching position. This clearly shows that the
40
For information about these madrasas and their professors, see Bilge, İlk
Osmanlı Medreseleri.
41
Ibid., 6–8. 42
For example, see SHAQAʾIQ, 33, 168.
professorships and judgeships were connected with each other in a hier-

archical order and that scholars moved from one to another according
to this order.43
Codifying the Hierarchical Order

The law code (kanunname) that Mehmed II promulgated toward the
end of his reign (probably between 1477 and 1481) is usually pre-
sented as the first attempt to set out the hierarchical rules related to the
appointment and promotion of officials and servants as well as fixing
their place in official court protocol.44 However, the above-mentioned
biographical evidence indicates that the rules included in Mehmed II’s
law code were based on existing practice.45 Therefore, the law code
should be considered the culmination of a trend, not its beginning.
Mehmed II’s law code, as we have received it, contains a preamble
and three sections. The preamble starts with his memorandum: “[T]his
law code is my ancestor’s law. It is my law too. Let my noble progeny,
generation after generation, act with it . . . ” This is followed by Chan-
cellor Leyszade Mehmed’s brief note, in which he describes how the law
code was formed. He says that after the conquest of Istanbul, Mehmed
II ordered that his ancestors’ laws be collected and bound together in a
book. He supplemented it with his own laws to make it a comprehen-
sive law code.46 The first section includes the rules for determining the
43
For the biographies of Molla Kestelli (d. 1595/96), Hasan Samsuni (d. 1486),
Efdalzade Hamidüddin (d. between 1496 and 1503), Yakub Pasha (d. 1486),
Kadızade Kasım (d. 1494), Manisazade Muhyiddin (d. after 1481), Molla
Siraceddin, and Ali Fenari (a.k.a. Fenari Alisi), all of whom followed the same
hierarchical scheme (viz., from the Sahn madrasas to a judgeship in Bursa,
Edirne, and Istanbul or the office of chancellor, and then to the office of chief
judge), see SHAQAʾIQ, 142–47, 157, 171–73, 177, 189–92, 196–97, 210–11.
See also MECDI, 161–66, 179, 191–93, 196–97, 207–10, 214–15, 227–28.
The careers of Hocazade Muslihuddin, Molla Abdülkerim, Hacıhasanzade
Mehmed, Alaeddin Ali bin Yusuf Fenari, and Molla Vildan (d. 1488) are
possible exceptions. Nonetheless, it is highly probable that they were appointed
as judges or chief judges before the Sahn madrasas were completed. For their
biographies, see SHAQAʾIQ, 126–39, 155–57, 158, 181–85, 198–199; MECDI,
145–58, 176–78, 179–80, 199–204, 215–17.
44
For example, see Repp, The Müfti of Istanbul, 32–36.
45
In fact, the preamble of the law code makes it clear that it to a certain extent
relies on the existing practice.
46
KANUNNAME, 3–4. Abdülkadir Özcan points out the possibility that the
preamble was a later addition to the text of the law code. For this, see his
“Giriş,” in KANUNNAME.
ranking of those in his service, their place in the protocol, their privi-
leges and duties, and the rules for their promotion. The second section
contains the rules for organizing life in the private part of the royal
palace (i.e., the sultan’s daily personal life and relationship with his
servants and the outside world). The third section deals mainly with
the salaries of certain officials and servants in his service, and the titles
and honorifics of various officials.
The language of the main three sections is simple. The rules were
recorded in the form of direct speech, as if the sultan actually uttered
them to his servants and subjects. For example: “Know that the grand
vizier is the head of viziers and commanders. He is above all oth-
ers . . . ”47 and “those who have the right to submit a petition in per-
son [to me] are viziers, chief judges (kadıaskers), and treasurers . . . ”48
They are not organized coherently into specific sections,49 apparently
because this law code was a compilation of oral or written commands
that Mehmed II himself, and possibly former Ottoman sultans, enacted.
The compiler did not attempt to rationalize them, but only sorted
them into three general categories and recorded them as he received
them.
Most of the articles related to scholars are found in the first sec-
tion. Scholars serving in teaching and judicial positions are treated
together with the other people in the ruler’s service and placed in a
hierarchy:
“the new initiate/novice (mülazım) takes up a madrasa position paying 20

aspers and moves to madrasa positions of 25 aspers, 30 aspers, 35 aspers,
40 aspers, 45 aspers and 50 aspers in sequence . . . ”50
“haric, dahil, and Sahn madrasas pay 50 aspers . . . ” Their professors “have
the rank of dignitary (mevleviyet) . . . ”51
“after teaching at the Sahn madrasas, they [the scholars] receive a 500
asper judgeship and then become chief judge (kadıasker) . . . ” The Ayasofya
Madrasa is at the same level as the Sahn madrasas.52
47 48
Ibid., 5. Ibid., 7.
49
For example, in the first section the rules of protocol are followed by the
commands concerning the right of petitioning the sultan and the rules related
to promoting servants and officials. After this, the rules of protocol are
supplemented, the duties and uniforms of the vizier’s servants are ordered, and
other rules for promoting officials are enumerated. Ibid., 5–10.
50 51 52
Ibid., 11. Ibid., 11. Ibid., 11.
“if a professor in a madrasa position of 25 aspers in the içil [Istanbul, Edirne,

Bursa and their environs] wants to become a judge, he is appointed to a
judgeship with a salary of 45 aspers . . . ”53
“unless a judge reaches a position paying 300 aspers, he cannot be appointed
as finance director . . . ”54
“professors of dahil and Sahn madrasas can be appointed as chancellor
(nişancı) . . . ”55
“professors of dahil madrasas can be appointed as finance director . . . ”56
A judge with 500 aspers can become governor-general.57
“the chief jurist (şeyhülislam) is the head of scholars, and the sultan’s tutor
is also the chief of scholars . . . ”58
These articles indicate that a continuous lifetime career in the govern-

ment service with predictable promotions was envisaged for scholars.
Only those formally accepted into the hierarchical service (mülazım)
by acquiring the status of novice (mülazemet) could expect to be
appointed and promoted. A position’s actual or presumed daily salary
reflected its holder’s hierarchical status. It seems that there were two
main options for entry-level scholars: teaching and serving as a judge.
Those who chose to teach and persisted in this track could rise to
the positions with a dignitary rank (mevleviyet) – top positions in the
scholarly hierarchy, as will be detailed in Chapters 7 and 10. For exam-
ple, they could teach in a Sahn madrasa or the Ayasofya Madrasa, and
then, in theory, could become chancellor or receive a top judgeship
position (judgeships with 500 aspers), and later on become chief judge
(kadıasker).
Those who opted to become judges earned more money at first –
as illustrated by the raise received by the professor in the central
cities (içil) when he became a judge – but lost the right to occupy a
position of dignitary in the hierarchy (mevleviyet). Those who rose
to the top positions in both paths could be appointed to financial,
scribal, and military positions. The law code insinuates that chief jurist
and tutor to the sultan were prestigious individuals in the retinue of
the sultan but outside the hierarchy, for their positions were neither
53 54 55
Ibid., 12. Ibid., 12. Ibid., 7.
56 57 58
Ibid., 12. Ibid., 7. Ibid., 5.
considered steps to other positions nor designated for the holders of

specific positions.59
That the law code was reconstructed from copies dating to the sev-
enteenth century and that it included some anachronistic elements have
called its authenticity into question. Some historians have argued that
the law code in its present form is a forgery and that the likely cul-
prits were the bureaucrats of the late sixteenth century.60 The law code
clearly does contain various anachronisms, such as terms and positions
that neither were used nor existed during the fifteenth century. Any
attempt to identify certain terms,61 or to determine what they meant
in the fifteenth century, will probably prove futile.62
Cornell H. Fleischer has argued that such discrepancies do not
always indicate forgery; rather, they reveal the law code’s continu-
ing importance for later generations. In the Ottoman understanding,
the rulers’ law codes were “accretive and, within limits, mutable.”63
In accord with this opinion, Mehmed II’s law code was amended, as
needed, but continued to be attributed to him.
Indeed, the form of the bureaucracy, described in the text of the law
code that we have, is so simple and rudimentary that it is hard to imag-
ine why the late-sixteenth-century bureaucrats would fabricate such a
text. As will be seen in Part III, the empire’s bureaucratic and scholarly
realities at that time were more complicated and sophisticated than
what was described and prescribed in Mehmed II’s law code. Beginning
in the second half of the sixteenth century, scholars became specialized
in the educational and judicial services. Scribal and financial positions,
59
In his seminal study, Richard C. Repp showed that during the fifteenth century
the office of chief jurist was outside the official hierarchy, but gradually
acquired relative significance and during the next century became its top
position. See Repp, The Müfti of Istanbul, esp. 293–304. See also Akgündüz,
Osmanlı Devletinde Şeyhülislâmlık, 37–75.
60
Konrad Dilger, Untersuchungen zur Geschichte des osmanischen
Hofzeremoniells im 15. und 16. Jahrhundert (München: Dr. Rudolf Trofenik,
1967), 35; Klaus Röhrborn, “Die Emanzipation der Finanzbürokratie im
Osmanischen Reich (Ende 16. Jahrhundert),” Zeitschrift der deutschen
Morgenländischen Gesellschaft 122 (1972): 124, 135–37. See also Ahmet
Mumcu, Divan-ı Hümayun (Ankara: Phoenix, 2007), 7–9.
61
For instance, dahil, haric, içil, 300-asper judgeship, and 500-asper judgeship.
62
Dilger, Untersuchungen, 14–34; Repp, The Müfti of Istanbul, 32–41.
63
Fleischer, Bureaucrat and Intellectual, 197–200. See also Matuz, Das
Kanzleiwesen, 35; Necipoğlu, Architecture, Ceremonial, and Power, 20.
which constituted a different career path, were given to officials specif-

ically trained to undertake those tasks.64
When historian Mustafa Âlî (d. 1600) described the scholars’ hier-
archy according to Mehmed II’s law code, he explicitly mentioned
those sixteenth-century amendments and additions in his discussion
of how new positions were ranked, the madrasa hierarchy, and who
appointed the scholars to the positions reserved for them. Nonetheless,
he said that “the law that I explicated is what Celalzade Mustafa Çelebi
[d. 1567], who was . . . the chancellor of the Imperial Council, taught
this poor one [Mustafa Âlî]. He [Celalzade] reported from the former
chancellor Seyyidi Çelebi that this was the Conqueror’s [Mehmed II’s]
law.”65 It is clear from Mustafa Âlî’s statement that there was a con-
tinuing commitment to Mehmed II’s law code in the late sixteenth cen-
tury. But this does not mean that Mustafa Âlî and his younger contem-
poraries understood the order of law code as it appears in its extant
copies.
Considering all of these, one can suggest that the extant copies were
based on a copy of the original,66 contained a few updates (termino-
logical and substantive), and reflected its outline and approach.
Scholars in the Government Service

Now, examining the biographical material contained in Al-Shaqaʾiq
with a prosopographical approach and consulting an archival docu-
ment from the early years of Bayezid II’s reign, I will comment on the
meaning of some articles in the law code at the time. I will also make
some observations about the level of correspondence between the law
code as reconstructed from its seventeenth-century extant copies and
what actually occurred during Mehmed II’s reign.
64
Matuz, Das Kanzleiwesen, 33–45; Fleischer, Bureaucrat and Intellectual,
214–31; Linda T. Darling, Revenue-Raising and Legitimacy: Tax Collection
and Finance Administration in the Ottoman Empire 1560–1660 (Leiden: Brill,
1996), 49–67; Christine Woodhead, “After Celalzade: The Ottoman Nişancı c.
1560–1700,” Journal of Semitic Studies, supplement 23: Studies in Islamic
Law: A Festschrift for Colin Imber, ed. Andreas Christmann and Robert
Gleave (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007), 299–304.
65
Mustafa Âlî, Künhü’l-Ahbar, Dördüncü Rükn: C. I. Tıpkıbasım (Ankara: Türk
Tarih Kurumu, 2009), facs. 110a–113b.
66
Bosnalı Hüseyin Efendi, the author of one of the two copies, saw a copy of the
original in the Imperial Council. Özcan, “Giriş,” in KANUNNAME.
It is important to keep in mind that the law code was probably

compiled toward the end of Mehmed II’s reign. As mentioned above,
some of the hierarchical principles related to scholars were in practice
even before its compilation. Moreover, there were updates to the orig-
inal text later and some of the new articles had no connection with
the practices and rules during Mehmed II’s reign. Considering this,
it is quite normal to notice certain correspondences and discrepan-
cies between the law code’s order and the functioning of the hierarchy
under Mehmed II.
With the benefit of hindsight, one can say that the law code’s
most critical element was the reservation of teaching and judicial
appointments to those who had been formally accepted into the
hierarchical service (mülazıms/novices, lit., “those who adhered” or
“those who received the status of novice/mülazemet”). Mülazemet
was the status of novice conferring the right to seek employment
in government-controlled positions. Although it resembled the cer-
tificate authorizing knowledge and skills (icazet), mülazemet and
icazet differed. Mülazemet was official and brought rights before the
government, while icazet was personal and depended on the authority
of the scholar who gave it. In other words, not all of those who held
icazet had the status of mülazım.67 But caution should be exerted,
because during Mehmed II’s time novice (mülazım) seems to have
had a meaning different from the meaning it acquired later, unless the
word was added to the law code’s text during the following period.68
The reports in Al-Shaqaʾiq suggest that for most of his reign, Mehmed
II personally supervised the entrance into the official service, and the
method of introducing a potential member lacked the formal rules and
procedures that applied during the later period. Viziers and prominent
scholars appear to have proposed candidates, but the sultan had
the last word. For example, Grand Vizier Mahmud Pasha advised
the appointment and promotion of several scholars. He promoted
Hocazade Muslihuddin and arranged for a scholarly debate in which
Hocazade could showcase his knowledge to Mehmed II. As a result, he
67
Mehmet İpşirli, “Mülâzemet,” TDVIA; Akpınar, “İcâzet.”
68
As will be seen in Chapter 5 and Part III, beginning in the first decades of the
sixteenth century, in the most common vein, the prominent scholar-bureaucrats
(mevali, those who received a mevleviyet position) introduced to the scholarly
bureaucracy new scholar-bureaucrats by granting them the status of novice.
For this, see İpşirli, “Mülâzemet.”
became the sultan’s tutor and then received various positions within
the hierarchy.69 Mahmud Pasha praised Hayali Şemseddin Ahmed
(d. 1470/71) and convinced Mehmed II to appoint him as the profes-
sor of one of the madrasas in İznik.70 Molla Hüsrev recommended
his hard-working student Manisazade Muhyiddin and ensured his
appointment to Mahmud Pasha Madrasa in Istanbul.71 Molla Gürani
urged that Alaeddin Ali bin Yusuf Fenari be appointed as the professor
of Manastır Madrasa in Bursa.72 It seems that these and other inter-
cessors did not have the duty or prerogative of finding and then intro-
ducing qualified scholars to the hierarchy73 and that the introduction
to and promotion within it mostly depended on Mehmed II’s goodwill.
Appointing two chief judges (instead of one, as in the past) to oversee
the affairs of scholar-bureaucrats in Anatolia and Rumeli, respectively,
may indicate the beginning of change in the official hierarchy’s admin-
istration toward the end of Mehmed II’s reign (probably in 1481).74
This division suggests that the sultan had relinquished certain authori-
ties and duties to the chief judges. Clearly, if this official had continued
to administer justice only in the Imperial Council, as described in the
law code,75 or in the army during military campaigns, as was the case
69
70
Ibid., 140–41. For Mahmud Pasha’s intercession on behalf of some other
scholars, see ibid., 165, 198–99.
71 72
Ibid., 190–92. Ibid., 181.
73
Taşköprizade never uses the words mülazım and mülazemet in Al-Shaqaʾiq to
express the practice of initiation into the hierarchy or attendance at the court
of chief judges. Rather, he uses their cognate, lazama, in the sense of a dervish’s
or a student’s attendance on his master or teacher. For this, see SHAQAʾIQ,
141, 245, 352, 365, 550.
74
Ibid., 143, 158; Uzunçarşılı, Osmanlı Devletinin İlmiye Teşkilâtı, 151–52;
Mustafa Şentop, Osmanlı Yargı Sistemi ve Kazaskerlik (Istanbul: Klasik, 2005),
37. Taşköprizade ascribes this change to Grand Vizier Karamani Mehmed
Pasha’s fear that Molla Kestelli, the incumbent chief judge, could lobby against
him before the sultan. He therefore wanted a second chief judge to attend the
meetings with Mehmed II and to inform him of what Molla Kestelli said about
him. For this, see SHAQAʾIQ, 143; MECDI, 162.
75
The law code described chief judges as Imperial Council members who heard
legal cases, imprinted the decrees pertaining to judicial matters with the
imperial seal, and had the right to assign clerical positions that had a salary of
less than 2 aspers. For this, see KANUNNAME, 9, 13. A report in Al-Shaqaʾiq
suggests that the chief judge could make appointments at the beginning of
Mehmed II’s reign. According to that report, Mehmed II offered his tutor Molla
Gürani a vizier post. The latter rejected it, saying that such posts were for the
royal households’ slave servants and that if somebody who did not belong to
in the early years of the Ottoman polity, dividing the office according
to geography would have been meaningless.
In fact, a document of complaint submitted to Bayezid II, probably
during the 1480s, testifies to the chief judges’ prerogatives in admin-
istering the official hierarchy. Its anonymous author informs the sul-
tan that “unqualified” people (na-ehil) have been appointed as judges
since he ascended the throne in 1481. Chief judges had the right and
responsibility to appoint judges. However, they mishandled this task
because they conceded to the demands of those who pled on behalf of
the unqualified. Although those educated by dignitaries (mevali) were
qualified (ehil), they would never receive a suitable position unless they
had a patron, regardless of how long they attended the chief judges’
court (mülazemet). The use of mülazemet in the sense of attendance at
this particular court76 indicates that by the 1480s, the sultan empow-
ered the chief judges as his agents as regards appointments and pro-
motions in the hierarchy of scholar-bureaucrats.
The biographical evidence related to the scholars active during the
reign of Mehmed II presented in Al-Shaqaʾiq does not help corrobo-
rate the ranking of all madrasas and scholars, as indicated in the law
code – namely, their stratification according to the daily salary of pro-
fessors from 20 to 50 aspers.77 Taşköprizade usually provides little or
no information about the scholars’ early careers and how much they
were paid in specific madrasas. However, an analysis of this material
shows that when the Sahn madrasas were completed in 1470, they
were regarded as offering the highest teaching positions available and
their group received one, they would be disappointed. Pleased with this
explanation, Mehmed II appointed him the chief judge. However, according to
the report, Molla Gürani conducted his office-related affairs so independently
that he did not even inform Mehmed II of whom he had appointed to
educational and judicial institutions. Consequently, Mehmed II arranged his
removal. For this, see SHAQAʾIQ, 85. See also MECDI, 104–5. For a
discussion of this report’s reliability, see Repp, The Müfti of Istanbul, 169–70.
76
Halil İnalcık, “A Report on Corrupt K.ād.ı̄s under Bayezid II,” in Studia
Ottomanica, Festgabe für György Hazai sum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Barbara
Kellner-Heinkele and Peter Zieme (Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1997), 78,
80, 81.
77
The claim that Mehmed II assigned Ali Kuşçu and Molla Hüsrev to grade
madrasas and organize their curriculum is unfounded. See Ekmeleddin
İhsanoğlu, “Osmanlı Medrese Tarihçiliğinin İlk Safhası (1916–1965),” Belleten
64 (2000): 554–56.
were considered stepping-stones to the judgeships of Istanbul, Edirne,

and Bursa, as well as the offices of chancellor and chief judge. For
example, Molla Kestelli taught in the madrasas of Mudurnu and Dime-
toka before receiving a professorship in a Sahn madrasa. He was later
appointed to the judgeships of Bursa, Edirne, and Istanbul in sequence
and, toward the end of Mehmed II’s reign, became a chief judge.
Similarly, Manisazade Muhyiddin taught in Mahmud Pasha Madrasa,
moved to a Sahn madrasa, and eventually became the judge of Istanbul
before ascending to the office of chief judge.78 All of this was before
the law code’s composition but in accordance with its order.
The above-mentioned complaint, composed during the first years
of Bayezid II’s reign, includes significant clues about the organiza-
tion of judgeships in small towns and their holders under Mehmed
II. It suggests a transition in judicial administration and provides
evidence of the central government’s increased involvement in judi-
cial appointments.79 As mentioned earlier, the complaint’s anonymous
author distinguished between those who were “qualified” (ehil) and
“unqualified” (na-ehil) for judgeship positions. For him, scholars edu-
cated in the central cities and affiliated with dignitaries (mevali) were
“qualified,” whereas those who had served only as substitute judges or
in clerical positions in mosques were “unqualified.”80 He complained
that the former could not receive appointments despite their long peri-
ods of attendance (mülazemet) to the courts of chief judges, whereas
the latter received them with no attendance at all. In addition, he listed
the names and positions of 30 “unqualified” judges in Anatolia and
then accused Molla Vildan, the chief judge of Anatolia since 1481,81
of not disqualifying them. The author called on Bayezid II to dismiss
them.
The issue here does not seem to be lack of proper education, for
these “unqualified” scholars probably had studied in their hometowns’
local madrasas and gained the required skills. Rather, it is an issue of
the central government’s control of provincial judgeships and appoint-
ment of its own agents, recruited and trained in the center. People
with local connections (the “unqualified”) either were preferred or
could ensure their appointment, thereby preventing the appointments
78
For the biographies of Molla Kestelli and Manisazade Muhyiddin, see
SHAQAʾIQ, 142–47, 190–92; MECDI, 161–66 and 208–10.
79
İnalcık, “A Report on Corrupt K.ād.ı̄s,” 75–86.
80
Ibid., 78–80. 81
Ibid., 75. See also SHAQAʾIQ, 198–99; MECDI, 215–17.
of those educated in the center (the “qualified”) and in attendance

of chief judges. For example the incumbent judge of Kestel, who had
administered Grand Vizier Gedik Ahmed Pasha’s (d. 1482) properties,
somehow received the 15-asper judgeship of Mazin and then the 30-
asper judgeship of Kestel with the help of Hacı Yusuf (Molla Vildan’s
steward).82
The author of the complaint, who did not mention any new arrange-
ment concerning the lower judgeships during the early years of Bayezid
II’s reign, nevertheless blamed Molla Vildan for acting inappropriately.
Thus, one can assume that Mehmed II ordered the appointment of
small-town judges from among the attendees of chief judges. Or per-
haps his policies had convinced some people that this was what should
have happened, and therefore led them to criticize the appointment
of people not directly affiliated with the central government. The high
number of “unqualified” incumbents (30) suggests that not too long
ago they had been considered “qualified.”
Al-Shaqaʾiq does not provide much information about those who
became judges early in their careers. Instead, it mostly includes the
biographies of those scholars who chose to teach at that point in their
careers and were destined to fill the hierarchy’s highest positions.83
However, there are references to the appointments of Hacıhasanzade
Mehmed (d. 1505/6) and Molla Vildan to the judgeship of Gallipoli
early in their respective careers.84 After this, they were appointed to
teaching positions and began their ascent to the highest posts. Their
careers suggest that under Mehmed II, those who became judges early
in their careers could change their paths and receive a dignitary posi-
tion (mevleviyet) at a later date.
Biographical evidence shows that scholars could assume scribal,
financial, and military positions. For example, Molla Siraceddin first
taught at a Sahn madrasa and then assumed the chancellorship.85
Karamani Mehmed Pasha taught in Mahmud Pasha’s madrasa and
82
İnalcık, “A Report on Corrupt K.ād.ı̄s,” 79–80. 83
SHAQAʾIQ, 2–3.
84
Ibid., 158, 198. See also MECDI, 179, 215. Taşköprizade mentions Hocazade
Muslihuddin’s appointment to the judgeship of İznik, of Sinan Pasha (d. 1486)
to the judgeship of Seferihisar, of İbrahim Pasha to the judgeship of Amasya,
and of Müfti Ahmed Pasha (d. 1520/21) to the judgeship of Üsküp. In all of
these cases, the appointment was not a regular assignment but a punishment
and demotion for displeasing the sultan. For these appointments, see
SHAQAʾIQ, 131, 175, 178, 204.
85
Ibid., 196–97; MECDI, 214–15.
served as scribe in the Imperial Council before being appointed

chancellor.86 Moreover, although there was a tendency to appoint peo-
ple with slave or non-Muslim backgrounds as viziers and to mili-
tary posts under Mehmed II,87 one does come across some scholars
in those positions. For example, Karamani Mehmed Pasha became
grand vizier,88 and both Sinan Pasha (d. 1486) and Ahmed Pasha bin
Veliyyüddin (d. 1496/97) served as viziers under Mehmed II. At the
end of his career, the latter became the governor of Bursa.89 Although
no detailed information is provided about the careers of financial offi-
cials serving under Mehmed II, it seems that most of them received
scholarly training and moved back and forth between financial and
scholarly careers.90
In addition to scholars within the hierarchy, some scholars received a
nonhierarchical position, such as the chief jurist, the sultan’s tutor, and
his doctor. During Mehmed II’s reign, Fahreddin Acemi, Abdülkerim
(d. ca. 1489), Molla Hüsrev, and Molla Gürani served as chief jurists.91
According to Taşköprizade’s account in Al-Shaqaʾiq, Hocazade Musli-
huddin, Hatibzade Muhyiddin (d. 1495/96), Hasan Samsuni (d. 1486),
Molla Ayas, Hoca Hayreddin, Sinan Pasha, Molla Abdülkadir, and
Ahmed Pasha bin Veliyyüddin all tutored Mehmed II.92 Based on this
evidence in Al-Shaqaʾiq, we can mention that scholars Hoca Ataullah
Acemi, Hekim Şükrullah Şirvani, Hekim Lari Çelebi, Hekim Kutbud-
din Acemi, Yakub Hekim, Arab Hekim, and Altıncızade served as the
sultan’s personal physicians.93 Although members of the court held all
of these scholars in high esteem, their posts were not a step before or
after another position.
86
Yusuf Küçükdağ, “Karamânî Mehmed Paşa,” TDVIA.
87
Stavrides, The Sultan of Vezirs, 59–67; Lowry, The Nature of the Early
Ottoman State, 115–30.
88
Küçükdağ, “Karamânî Mehmed Paşa.”
89
90
SHAQAʾIQ, 315–16. Mehmet Zeki Pakalın, Maliye Teşkilâtı Tarihi
(1442–1930), 4 vols. (Ankara: Maliye Bakanlığı Tetkik Kurulu, 1977), 1:
55–69.
91
SHAQAʾIQ, 59–61, 155–57, 116–20, 83–90; MECDI, 81–83, 176–78, 102–11,
135–39. See also Repp, The Müfti of Istanbul, 105–11, 125–74.
92
SHAQAʾIQ, 126–39, 147–50, 157, 169–70, 170–71, 173–77, 179–80, 200–2.
93
Ibid., 220–25. See also MECDI, 235–40.
Scholars’ Perceptions of the New Order

The foregoing discussion shows that under Mehmed II, more and
more scholars became affiliated with and accepted positions from
the government. As the number of government-controlled madrasas
and judgeships increased, attractive alternative options shrank. After
the establishment of the Sahn madrasas in 1470, Mehmed II and his
agents tended to follow an identifiable pattern when employing and
promoting scholars. Scholars had the opportunity to have a lifetime
career in the government service by fulfilling educational, judicial, and
scribal duties. They started from low-level positions and received reg-
ular promotions until they reached the top ranks. Toward the end of
Mehmed II’s reign, this pattern was codified in a law code (kanun-
name). In other words, a system of objective rules developed and pro-
tected the rights of scholars in the government service. As a conse-
quence, scholars in the government service began to resemble bureau-
crats. Hence, one can say that the reforms undertaken during Mehmed
II’s reign initiated the emergence of scholar-bureaucrats as a distinctive
group.
However, this unmistakable trend toward the establishment of pre-
dictable rules for the lifetime career of scholars in the government
service should not blind us to the divergent perceptions of what was
happening on the part of scholars. Although Mehmed II significantly
increased the dynasty’s prestige as a patron of learning and gathered
within his domain a large group of scholars, he could not close off
all other options. For example, during the early 1470s he dismissed
Taşköprizade Hayreddin Halil, who had been a professor at the Muzaf-
feruddin Madrasa in Taşköprü, so that he would be forced to come
to Istanbul in search of employment. But the scholar, who preferred
to stay near his hometown, refused to do so.94 Alaeddin Tusi left for
Transoxiana after Mehmed II favored Hocazade Muslihuddin over
him in an academic debate.95 Similarly, after he lost a competition
with Hocazade, Molla Zeyrek moved to Bursa and found a merchant
patron who allowed him to continue his studies. Later on, he report-
edly rejected the sultan’s offer of a position in Istanbul.96
94
95
96
While it was certainly prestigious to have a close relationship with

the dynasty, not all scholars subscribed to the idea that success in the
government service or proximity to the sultan showed one’s level of
academic proficiency.97 In other words, a parallel hierarchy of respect
still existed outside Mehmed II’s codified system. It seems that Sadeddin
Taftazani’s and Seyyid Şerif Cürcani’s studies represented the pinnacle
of academic achievement for scholars of the time. Scholars expressed
their claims to excellence by asserting that they had surpassed these
two laureates. For example, Molla Zeyrek claimed to be superior to
Cürcani, while Molla Abdülkadir made the same claim in respect to
both Taftazani and Cürcani.98
In fact, some scholars considered accepting an official position as a
black mark on their reputation and as something that compromised
their moral integrity and hence scholarship.99 In addition, some schol-
ars who were not averse to governmental service considered judge-
ship positions as impediments to intellectual progress. According to
Hocazade Muslihuddin, one of the reasons why he could not reach
Cürcani’s level was that he had served as a judge.100 The famous
scholar Molla Hüsrev, who reluctantly accepted judicial positions, con-
sidered the years spent in these positions as wasted time.101
97
For example, Hatibzade Muhyiddin claimed to be intellectually superior to
Hocazade Muslihuddin because he was Mehmed II’s tutor. But the sultan, who
did not like this claim, dismissed Hatibzade. SHAQAʾIQ, 147–50; MECDI,
166–71.
98
SHAQAʾIQ, 123–25, 178–80. Hoca Hayreddin and Efdalzade Hamidüddin
once even claimed that Cürcani was infallible. For this see, SHAQAʾIQ,
126–39; MECDI, 145–58.
99
For example Alaeddin Yetim, one of Taşköprizade’s professors, refused a
position and taught students for free. SHAQAʾIQ, 338–39; MECDI, 345–46.
100
101
Molla Hüsrev, Durar al-Hukkam fi Sharh Ghurar al-Ahkam, 2 vols. (Istanbul:
Matbaʿa-i Mehmed Es ʿad, 1299 [1881/82]), 1: 3. About Molla Hüsrev and his
jurisprudential work, see Kevin Reinhart, “Mollā Hüsrev: Ottoman Jurist and
Us.ūlı̄,” Journal of Semitic Studies, supplement 23: Studies in Islamic Law: A
Festschrift for Colin Imber, 245–58.
5 Scholar-Bureaucrats Realize Their
Power (1481–1530)
The five decades from Mehmed II’s death through the first decade of
Süleyman’s reign can be viewed as a time of crises as far as the supreme
authority of the sultan was concerned. Mehmed II’s reforms had estab-
lished the Ottoman family’s superior position and significantly curbed
the influence of centrifugal groups and all other families in the polity.
Yet, for almost fifty years after his death, intermittent periods of politi-
cal uncertainty and power vacuums encouraged bureaucratic and aris-
tocratic groups, both inside and outside the center, to acquire some
influence in the empire’s affairs and to restrict the sultan’s authority.
I suggest that the discursive and practical responses made by the sul-
tans and their competitors to solve these problems helped strengthen
the scholar-bureaucrats’ authority in the polity. The frequent calls
to follow sharia and realize justice elevated the status of scholar-
bureaucrats, who could claim to be holders of moral authority and
defenders of sharia and justice. In addition, the need to receive the
scholar-bureaucrats’ religio-legal sanction to justify military action
against fellow Muslims (viz., the Safavids and the Mamluks) further
strengthened their position. Furthermore, beginning with Bayezid II,
the sultans’ articulation of the dedication to the Ottoman dynastic tra-
dition and continuity confirmed the normative status of Mehmed II’s
reforms. This meant that the hierarchical order of scholar-bureaucrats
was not a transitory arrangement and would continue as long as the
dynasty did. The hierarchical order involved scholar-bureaucrats’ rela-
tionship with the Ottoman government through a link of institutional
nature, regulated and protected by impersonal laws.
Scholar-bureaucrats were both participants and beneficiaries of the
developing discourse and policies. Having their rights recorded in the
now unchallengeable law code (kanunname), not to mention their pro-
viding significant services to legitimize the dynasty and its policies,
they increasingly appeared as the constituent elements of the polity.
In conjunction with these changes, their attitudes began to change.
83
Becoming fully aware of the advantages that their positions could

bring, they sought to underline their distinction from those scholars
who remained outside the government service (nonbureaucratic schol-
ars). In addition, they tended to perceive their hierarchical order as
something restricted and superior, and thus wanted to limit member-
ship in it to their own students and protégés.
After providing a brief overview of the causes and context of the
crisis as regards the sultan’s authority, I will give some examples of the
discourse of the rule of law, sharia, and justice and reveal the scholar-
bureaucrats’ central role in this discourse. After this, I will examine
the role of Mehmed II’s law code in the operation of the hierarchi-
cal system in the period under discussion. Finally, I will investigate
the progress and problems associated with the hierarchy of scholar-
bureaucrats and the dignitary scholar-bureaucrats’ (mevali) increasing
control over who was allowed to enter it, with special attention to how
the scholar-bureaucrats’ standing and self-perception changed.
Exploring the Limits of the Sultan’s Authority

The foremost occasions for probing the nature of the relationship
between the dynasty and its affiliates, as well as the limits of the sultan’s
supreme authority, were the times of the ascendance of a new ruler.1
Benefiting from the resulting political uncertainty and power vacuum,
various individuals and groups would seek to strengthen their posi-
tions and restrict the sultan’s authority in the empire. A close look at
1
Until the seventeenth century, the Ottoman dynasty lacked a system for the
peaceful transfer of power. They seem to have adopted the Turco-Mongol
understanding of collective sovereignty and recognized the right of all male
members of the dynastic family to rule. See Subtelny, Timurids in Transition,
11–42. The Ottoman amendments to this tradition, such as excluding the ruler’s
brothers from sharing sovereignty and the principle of fratricide (i.e., the
successful son’s immediate execution of his brothers to prevent further conflict)
did not completely eliminate the wars of succession. See Halil İnalcık,
“Osmanlılarda Saltanat Verâseti Usûlü ve Türk Hakimiyet Telakkisiyle İlgisi,”
Ankara Üniversitesi Siyasal Bilgiler Fakültesi Dergisi 14, no. 1 (1959): 69–94;
Fleischer, Bureaucrat and Intellectual, 275–79; Kafadar, Between Two Worlds,
120–21, 136–38. From the seventeenth century onward, Islamic norms played a
greater role in the successions. See Tezcan, The Second Ottoman Empire,
46–78. For other factors affecting the change in the transfer of power in the
seventeenth century, see Günhan Börekçi, “İnkırâzın Eşiğinde Bir Hanedan: III.
Mehmed, I. Ahmed, I. Mustafa ve 17. Yüzyıl Osmanlı Siyasî Krizi,” Dîvân:
Disiplinlerarası Çalışmalar Dergisi 26 (2009): 45–96.
Scholar-Bureaucrats Realize Their Power (1481–1530) 85
the accessions of Bayezid II, Selim I, and Süleyman reveals that these
occasions were used to negotiate the new sultan’s authority and the
balance of power among different factions.
Bayezid II ascended the throne in 1481.2 He then defeated Cem, his
brother and rival for the throne. Cem, in turn, sought the help of the
knights of Saint John in Rhodes to take him to Rumeli in 1482.3 But
the knights, who had their own plans, took him to France and, until
his death in 1495, used him as a pawn in several international political
negotiations and as the subject of many diplomatic communications.4
He was considered valuable because the knights thought that he could
mobilize a large segment of Ottoman people and officials to support his
bid for the throne. Indeed, some members of the Ottoman government
believed that he was “better qualified and prepared for rulership, and
preferred by the Conqueror [Mehmed II] to be his successor on the
throne.”5 In addition, the frontier warriors and their commanders, who
represented the prevailing centrifugal tendencies at the time and were
increasingly excluded from influential positions, placed their hopes in
Cem’s ascendance to the throne, fully believing that he would give them
their due and protect them from the interference of bureaucrats sent
by the central government.6
Regardless of the feasibility of a Cem-inspired insurrection, Bayezid
II took that possibility seriously: he paid 40,000 ducats every year to
those who detained Cem in Europe7 and ordered his spies to keep a
close eye on him.8 The sultan, who still did not feel confident at home,
was most careful not to provoke either the military or the dynasty’s civil
2
For events surrounding Bayezid II’s enthronement, see Tekindağ, “Bayezid II.’in
Tahta Çıkışı,” 85–96.
3
İsmail Hami Danişmend, “Vâkıât’a Nisbetle Gurbetnâme,” Fâtih ve İstanbul,
İstanbul Fethi Derneği Neşriyatından: Yıllık Dergi 2 (1954): 217–18.
4
In 1489, Pope Innocent VIII (d. 1492) convinced Pierre d’Aubusson (d. 1503),
the knights’ grand master, to send Cem to Rome. The Mamluk sultan (Qaytbay;
d. 1496), the king of Hungary (Matthias Corvinus; d. 1490), and the king of
France (Charles VIII; d. 1498) negotiated with the pope to undertake the
custody of Cem in the hope that he would prove to be a useful instrument in a
crusade against the Ottomans. See İnalcık, “A Case Study in Renaissance
Diplomacy,” 211–12.
5 6
Ibid., 210. Kafadar, Between Two Worlds, 147–48.
7
İbn Kemal, Tevârîḫ-i Âl-i Osmân, VIII. Defter, 39; Mahmut H. Şakiroğlu, “Cem
Sultan,” TDVIA.
8
V. L. Ménage, “The Mission of an Ottoman Secret Agent in France in 1486,”
Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 3, no. 4 (1965): 112–32; İnalcık, “A Case
Study in Renaissance Diplomacy,” 209–23.
affiliates until his brother/rival’s death.9 For example, unlike Mehmed

II, Selim I, and Süleyman, Bayezid attended public banquets for palace
servants, officials, and janissaries. He also made regular public appear-
ances until Cem’s death.10 These symbolically represented the decreas-
ing distance between him and his servants and officials – a decrease
largely due to his fear that his brother could replace him.
A close look at the competition to succeed Bayezid II points to an
interesting array of groups and individuals who dominated (or wanted
to dominate) the governance of the empire. It seems that Bayezid
II, during his last years, did not have a great deal of influence, for
the viziers in the Imperial Council (paşayan-ı izam), especially Grand
Vizier Hadım Ali Pasha (d. 1511), held the reins of power.11 They
apparently considered themselves entitled to choose the new sultan
and held that the janissaries would settle for a “bone” and accept any
candidate so long as they were given perks.12 Having the support of
leading scholar-bureaucrats, the chief judge of Rumeli Müeyyedzade
Abdurrahman (d. 1516) and the chancellor Tacizade Cafer Çelebi
(d. 1515), the viziers put their full support behind Prince Ahmed. The
grand vizier’s death did not change their decision. For their part, the
janissaries refused to be pawns of other groups, wanted to negoti-
ate their own position and interests, and therefore prevented Ahmed
from establishing control in Istanbul. Prince Selim received the sup-
port of aristocratic Turkish and ex-Christian groups as well as of com-
manders of frontiers in Rumeli. However, he could not assume the
9
For example, Gedik Ahmed Pasha, who had served as grand vizier and
conquered Otranto in Italy under Mehmed II, was in Albania at the time of
Bayezid II’s accession. He was made a vizier on his return and had a noticeable
influence on the janissaries. He acted independently, to the extent of having
Bayezid’s favorite (Mustafa Pasha) imprisoned and killed. Bayezid
understandably feared this man’s support for Cem and thus tolerated his
behavior for a while. İbn Kemal, Tevârîḫ-i Âl-i Osmân, VIII. Defter, 42–43,
and Reindl Kiel, “Gedik Ahmed Paşa.”
10
Necipoğlu, Architecture, Ceremonial, and Power, 21–22.
11
The Ottoman princes’ use of submissive language in their petitions to the
viziers (paşayan) during their father’s (Bayezid’s) reign illustrates the viziers’
power and ascendancy, especially that of Ali Pasha, at the time. For some
examples, see Uzunçarşılı, “II inci Bayezid’in Oğullarından Sultan Korkut,”
plates 2, 4, 7; Uluçay, “Yavuz Sultan Selim Nasıl Padişah Oldu?” 78n, 80n,
84–85n, 89n.
12
Uzunçarşılı, “II inci Bayezid’in Oğullarından Sultan Korkut,” 571.
throne until the ongoing negotiations resulted in an agreement that was

acceptable to a sufficiently dominant alliance of parties. During the
more than six-month interval between the janissaries’ rejection of
Ahmed’s attempt to enter Istanbul and Selim’s enthronement, Prince
Korkud worked hard to acquire the janissaries’ support. Selim’s
Rumelian supporters responded by issuing a military threat. It is highly
probable that Ahmed’s supporters in Istanbul did not yield until their
positions were officially guaranteed. In short, Selim I ascended to the
throne by making some promises and agreeing to the restraint of his
powers.13
In contrast to Bayezid and Selim, Süleyman ascended the throne as
the heir-apparent and without any fraternal competition. However,
he could not immediately assert his supreme authority because the
viziers in the center, as well as some provincial governors and for-
eign powers, considered him an easy prey who could be controlled
and manipulated.14 Thus, Süleyman had to prove his competence as
ruler by launching successful military campaigns against rebellious
governors and by capturing Rhodes and Belgrade. He then symbol-
ically declared his supreme authority over the central government by
appointing his trusted servant İbrahim Pasha to the post of grand vizier
in 1523.
Another occasion for questioning the sultan’s authority was the
ongoing political, military, and religious challenge presented by the
Safavids and other contemporaneous messianic movements. Shah
Ismail (d. 1524), the master of the Safavid Sufi order, captured Tabriz
and declared his independent rule in 1501. He declared Twelver Shiʿi
Islam the polity’s official sect, claimed descent from the Prophet, and
promised to save humanity as both the “messiah” and the “hidden
13
Çıpa, Yavuz’un Kavgası, 58–64; Uzunçarşılı, “II inci Bayezid’in Oğullarından
Sultan Korkut,” 574–80.
14
For the imperial court’s reaction, as well as that of the governor of Syria
Canberdi Gazali and the European powers, to Süleyman’s accession, see Turan,
“The Sultan’s Favorite,” 22–99; Şahin, Empire and Power, 33–48. For
example, the Venetians did not send the usual congratulatory gift to Süleyman
until the Ottoman army made Gazali retreat and his defeat became apparent in
1521. It seems that the Safavids also considered Süleyman’s accession as the
end of the Ottoman advance and aggression. For the Ottomans’ relationships
with the Safavids in the early years of Süleyman’s reign, see Remzi Kılıç,
Kanuni Devri Osmanlı-İran Münasebetleri (1520–1566) (Istanbul: IQ Kültür
Sanat Yayıncılık, 2006), 133–34.
twelfth imam.”15 He used the order’s network to extend his political

power.
The Turkmen tribes, which occupied a substantial portion of the
countryside in central, southern, and eastern Anatolia, had an affin-
ity for Ismail’s message. They wanted to preserve their traditional
tribal autonomy and loathed any strict centralized administration.
Most of them hailed the fourth caliph, ʿAli bin Abi Talib (d. 661), as
the rightful successor to Prophet Muhammad, cursed the first three
caliphs as usurpers and openly rejected Sunni Islam. They recognized
dedes who resembled pre-Islamic kams and şamans as their religious
guides and tended to support messianic figures who resisted central-
ized authority.16 Before the declaration of political independence and
after it, the Safavid movement could mobilize many of the Turkmen
tribes, calling on them to support it economically and to travel east-
ward to join its war effort. Because of this affiliation with the Safavid
movement, these non-Sunni Turkmen tribes were called Kızılbaş (lit.,
“Redhead”), after the headgear presumably designed by the leader of
the Safavid order, Haydar (d. 1488).17
The success of the Safavid movement encouraged other political
aspirants in Anatolia to follow the same model: using a Sufi network
15
Hossein Nasr, “Religion in Safavid Persia,” Iranian Studies 7 (1974): 273–74;
Hamid Algar, “Some Observations on Religion in Safavid Persia,” Iranian
Studies 7 (1974): 287–93; Said Amir Arjomand, “The Rise of Shah Esmāʿil as a
Mahdist Revolution,” Studies on Persianate Societies 3 (2005): 44–51; and
Roger Savory, Iran under the Safavids (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1980), 23–24, 27.
16
Ayfer Karakaya Stump, “Subjects of the Sultan, Disciples of the Shah:
Formation and Transformation of the Kizilbash/Alevi Communities in
Ottoman Anatolia” (PhD diss., Harvard University, 2008), esp. 171–206; Rıza
Yıldırım, “Turcomans between Two Empires: The Origins of the Qizilbash
Identity in Anatolia, 1447–1514” (PhD diss., Bilkent University, 2008). See also
Ahmet Yaşar Ocak, Babaîler İsyanı, Alevîliğin Tarihsel Altyapısı (Istanbul:
Dergah Yayınları, 2011), 158–60; Faruk Sümer, Safevi Devletinin Kuruluşu ve
Gelişmesinde Anadolu Türklerinin Rolü (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu, 1992),
10–14; Saim Savaş, XVI. Asırda Anadolu’da Alevilik (Ankara: Türk Tarih
Kurumu, 2013), 23–28.
17
Adel Allouche, The Origins and Development of the Ottoman-Safavid Conflict
(906–962/1500–1555) (Berlin: Klaus Schwarz Verlag, 1983), 50–64; Tufan
Gündüz, Kızılbaşlar, Osmanlılar, Safeviler (Istanbul: Yeditepe, 2015), 97–114;
Markus Dressler, “Inventing Orthodoxy: Competing Claims for Authority and
Legitimacy in the Ottoman-Safavid Conflict,” in Legitimizing the Order: The
Ottoman Rhetoric of State Power, ed. Hakan T. Karateke and Maurus
Reinkowski (Leiden: Brill, 2005), 151–73.
to provide the basis for a political enterprise. Turkmen sheikh Şahkulu

Baba Tekeli (d. 1511) initiated an anti-Ottoman rebellion in 1509 with
the help of the Turkmen tribes living along the Taurus Mountains.
Like Shah Ismail, he claimed to be the messiah. Some of his support-
ers spread the rumor that Shah Ismail had died and that Şahkulu had
replaced him. He quickly extended his movement from Antalya to Sivas
and challenged the Ottoman army until his death.18
Such challenges were religious as much as they were military and
political, for they were couched in terms of being led by God-succored
saviors of people from the ungodly Ottoman sultans. Their propa-
ganda was very successful; in fact, many Ottoman soldiers sympathized
with the Safavid ideals.19 Naturally, Selim and his successors felt that
their authority would slip away if they did not design a comparable
ideology.20
Another problem that raised doubts about the sultan’s authority was
the successful conquest of the Mamluk Sultanate (1516–17) and subse-
quent difficulties in the integration of its territories. It seems that some
soldiers did not want to fight a fellow Muslim and Sunni country and
thus forced Selim to provide a religio-legal justification for doing so.
After these territories were annexed, Selim and Süleyman both found
18
Uluçay, “Yavuz Sultan Selim Nasıl Padişah Oldu?” 61–74; Feridun Emecen,
“Şahkulu Baba Tekeli,” TDVIA.
19
Emecen, Yavuz Sultan Selim, 117, 121; Savaş, XVI. Asırda Anadolu’da
Alevilik, 18–20.
20
Recently, several Ottoman historians have drawn attention to the usefulness of
the concept of confessionalization in studying the intensifying link between
temporal power and religious ideas, including the confrontation between the
Ottoman and Safavid dynasties, in the period under study. For example, see
Tijana Krstić, “Illuminated by the Light of Islam and the Glory of the
Ottoman Sultanate: Self-Narratives of Conversion to Islam in the Age of
Confessionalization,” Comparative Studies in Society and History 51, no. 1
(2009): 35–63; Nikolay Antov, “Imperial Expansion, Colonization, and
Conversion to Islam in the Islamic World’s ‘Wild West’: the Formation of the
Muslim Community in Ottoman Deliorman (N.E. Balkans): 15th–16th cc.”
(PhD diss., University of Chicago, 2011), 140–88; Guy Burak, “Faith, Law and
Empire in the Ottoman ‘Age of Confessionalization’ (Fifteenth–Seventeenth
Centuries): The Case of ‘Renewal of Faith,’” Mediterranean Historical Review
28, no. 1 (2013): 1–23; Derin Terzioğlu, “Where ‘İlm-i hal Meets Catechism:
Islamic Manuals of Religious Instruction in the Ottoman Empire in the Age of
Confessionalization,” Past and Present 220, no. 1 (2013): 79–114; Derin
Terzioğlu, “How to Conceptualize Ottoman Sunnitization: A
Historiographical Discussion,” Turcica 44 (2012–13): 310–38.
it difficult to implement their will and establish order there. The sur-
viving members of the Mamluk ruling class were not willing to com-
pletely surrender to Ottoman rule. Furthermore, the region’s scholars
and common people were suspicious of the religious integrity of the
sultan and his officials.21 Selim stayed in Egypt for eight months and
returned to Istanbul only after appointing the former Mamluk offi-
cials Hayır Bey and Canberdi Gazali as the governors of Egypt and
Syria, respectively. When they and their successors later rose against
Ottoman domination,22 it took the central government about a decade
to reestablish order.23
The Discourse and Practice of Justice and Sharia

as Sources of Legitimacy
One can see some of these challenges, negotiations, and limitations as
regards the extent of the sultan’s authority as the result of the expan-
sion of political society within the empire. Several individuals and
groups realized that they now occupied a significant place and there-
fore wanted to make their interests known. The dynasty or its agents
sometimes accepted their demands (or had to do so), and at other times
rejected them (or were able to do so). Although the use or availability
of sheer force was the most significant part of this interaction, it was
not the whole of it. Different sides took symbolic actions or engaged in
discourse to gain legitimacy and widen public support for their causes.
It seems that the source of justification most frequently resorted to
at the time was the appeal to justice24 and sharia. Both the dynasty
21
For example, see Ibn Iyas, An Account of the Ottoman Conquest of Egypt in
the Year A.H. 922 (A.D. 1516): Translated from the Third Volume of the
Arabic Chronicle of Muh.ammed ibn Ah.med ibn Iyās, an Eye-witness of the
Scenes He Describes, translated by W. H. Salmon (Westport, CT: Hyperion
Press, 1981), 47–117.
22
Emecen, Yavuz Sultan Selim, 321–28.
23
Şahin, Empire and Power in the Reign of Süleyman, 53–59.
24
Most of the participants of the concerned discourse and practice chose to be
ambiguous about the referent of the word justice. By doing so, they presumably
wanted to evoke both sharia justice and the justice of equity, epitomized by the
rule of the ancient Persian kings. See Linda T. Darling, A History of Social
Justice and Political Power in the Middle East: The Circle of Justice from
Mesopotamia to Globalization (London and New York: Routledge, 2013), esp.
33–154; İlker Kömbe, “Dünya Düzeninin Temelleri: Adalet Dairesi
Literatürüne Giriş,” Dîvân: Disiplinlerarası Çalışmalar Dergisi 35 (2013):
and other political actors frequently (by practice and/or by discourse)

invoked justice and sharia to legitimize their positions. I contend that
this emphasis on justice and sharia increased the scholar-bureaucrats’
profile, for their status as representatives of the Islamic legal tradition
and holders of moral authority naturally meant that they could either
endorse or undermine any such claims.
As adumbrated in Chapter 4, Bayezid II embodied a type of ruler
who significantly differed from Mehmed II. From the early days of
his reign, Bayezid II treated his agents and servants more leniently
than his father had. For example, he raised the salaries of the infantry
and cavalry in the standing army and made generous donations to
viziers. He revoked his father’s momentous policy and reinstituted
endowments.25 He established contacts with groups his father had
disregarded.26 Beneficiaries of Bayezid’s rule perceived these changes
as the product of his justice. For example, the famous historian
Aşıkpaşazade, who had probably acquired some privileges because of
Bayezid’s endowment policy,27 characterized his reign in the following
terms:
[During Bayezid II’s reign] the country is filled with justice, generosity, benev-
olence and kindness. He also reinstituted the privileges which had been abro-
gated by the Greek vizier [Rum Mehmed Pasha], with supplements, so that
those who came [to Bayezid’s court] poor left rich. He returned the endow-
ments and private properties which had been revoked by the vizier of fake
lineage [Karamani Mehmed Pasha] to their owners . . . 28
Bayezid II and his agents for their part associated the act of reinsti-
tuting endowments with the sultan’s commitment to sharia as well as
139–198. See also Gottfried Hagen, “Legitimacy and World Order,” in

Legitimizing the Order: The Ottoman Rhetoric of State Power, 66–73.
25
İbn Kemal, Tevârîḫ-i Âl-i Osmân, VIII. Defter, 3–5; Tursun Bey, Târîh-i
Ebü’l-Feth, 194–96; “İshak Paşa,” TDVIA.
26
Hasan Karataş, “The City as a Historical Actor: The Urbanization and
Ottomanization of the Halvetiye Sufi Order by the City of Amasya in the
Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries” (PhD diss., University of California,
Berkeley, 2011), esp. 117–18.
27
Halil İnalcık, “How to Read Aşık Paşazâde?” in Studies in Ottoman History in
Honour of Professor V. L. Ménage, ed. Colin Heywood and Colin Imber
(Istanbul: Isis Press, 1994), 139–156.
28
Aşıkpaşazade, Osmanoğullarının Tarihi, 476. For similar praises of Bayezid II
for changing the endowment-related policy, see Tursun Bey, Târîh-i Ebü’l-Feth,
197.
to justice. In the history of the dynasty commissioned by Bayezid II,

Kemalpaşazade (d. 1536) presented the sultan as a just ruler who
upheld sharia and redressed injustice by returning private properties
and endowments to their rightful owners and beneficiaries.29 Simi-
larly, in Bayezid’s 1505 endowment deed for his mosque and madrasa
complex in Istanbul, Müeyyedzade Abdurrahman eulogized him as
superior to all of his ancestors in terms of prestige, authority, justice,
and generosity. He adduced the sultan’s restoration of endowments as
the reason for this distinction.30
During Selim I’s reign, the discourse of justice and sharia as sources
of legitimacy surfaced in various contexts and occasions. For example,
Ali Cemali’s (d. 1525/26) encounter with Selim, which is reported in
Al-Shaqaʾiq, underlined the sharia’s force as a legitimating factor:
Sultan Selim ordered the execution of 150 treasury officials. The mentioned
scholar [Ali Cemali, the chief jurist/şeyhülislam at the time] heard this and
went to the Imperial Council. The chief jurist would not go there, except for a
significant event. [On seeing him] people in the council were surprised . . . he
greeted the viziers who welcomed him and had him seated in the foremost
part of the room. The viziers asked him: “What made you come to the coun-
cil?” He replied: “I want to meet the sultan. I have something to tell him . . . .”
He met the sultan and said: “The duty of the people of religo-legal opinion
(fetva) is to ensure the sultan’s [interests in the] Hereafter. The execution of
150 people is not permissible according to sharia. Thus, you have to forgive
them.” Sultan Selim became angry . . . and said: “You interfere in the affairs
of the sultanate. This is not your job.” He retorted: “I interfere in the affairs
of your [life in the] Hereafter. This is certainly my job. If you forgive them,
this is safety [for you]; otherwise, you will be punished.” Then, his [Selim’s]
anger subsided and [he] forgave all [of the condemned men].31
By presenting sharia as determining the limits of legitimate action, Ali

Cemali clearly tried to restrict the sultan’s authority. Such interventions
or merely the story of such incidents helped increase and justify the
standing and authority of scholar-bureaucrats.
Ali Ekber’s Hıtayname can be considered another contribution to the
discourse on the rule of law, which had been developing for decades. In
that book, submitted to Selim in 1516, the author presents himself as a
29
İbn Kemal, Tevârîḫ-i Âl-i Osmân, VIII. Defter, 3–4.
30
II. Bayezid Vakfiyesi (Istanbul), 11b–12a.
31
SHAQAʾIQ, 288.
merchant who went to Ming China for business and wrote about what
he saw there.32 According to him, Chinese society was well educated,
well mannered, noble, highly disciplined, and wealthy; the source of
all these good qualities was following the law rigorously. Chinese soci-
ety had been spared both war and plague for 4000 years due to their
strict obedience to the law.33 They were so bound by it that “if Mus-
lim peoples followed sharia as much, every individual would become
a saint . . . .”34 Ali Ekber draws attention to the fact that even the Chi-
nese emperor was bound by the law. He could be forgiven twice for
violating the law, but his third violation would cost him his throne and
his progeny their right to succeed him.35 It is apparent that Ali Ekber’s
motive was not so much to reflect the reality in China as to promote
the law’s pre-eminence and binding status within the empire.36 He used
China as a foil to make indirect arguments about the Ottoman polit-
ical system and society and, more specifically, to promote the law’s
superiority.37
Under Selim I, sharia and scholar-bureaucrats were explicitly called
on at least twice to justify military action. Before moving against the
Safavids, Selim asked scholar-bureaucrats about the envisioned cam-
paign’s legality. They deliberated and eventually concluded that such a
campaign was a religio-legal obligation. Sarıgörez Nureddin Hamza
32
The existing scholarship has not located any information about Ali Ekber
other than what he presented in his Hıtayname. For three recent studies on this
book and its relationship with the developing Ottoman imperial ideology of
the sixteenth century, see Baki Tezcan, “The Multiple Faces of the One: The
Invocation Section of Ottoman Literary Introductions as a Locus for the
Central Argument of the Text,” Middle Eastern Literatures 12, no. 1 (2009):
esp. 35–38; Kaveh Louis Hemmat, “Children of Cain in the Land of Error: A
Central Asian Merchant’s Treatise on Government and Society in Ming
China,” Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa, and the Middle East 30,
no. 3 (2010): 434–48; Pınar Emiralioğlu, “Relocating the Center of the
Universe: China and the Ottoman Imperial Project in the Sixteenth Century,”
Osmanlı Araştırmaları Dergisi 39 (2012): 161–87.
33
Lin Yih-Min, Ali Ekber’in Hıtayname Adlı Eserinin Çin Kaynakları ile
Mukayese ve Tenkidi (Tai-Pei, 1967), 82, 91.
34
Ibid., 62; Hemmat, “Children of Cain in the Land of Error,” 441.
35
Yih-Min, Ali Ekber’in Hıtayname, 84–85, 90.
36
Contrary to what Ali Ekber stated, there was no established procedure to
dethrone China’s emperor at the time. Ibid., 11–12, 101; Hemmat, “Children
of Cain in the Land of Error,” 442.
37
Ottoman intellectuals and society were not above making such indirect
political and social arguments. For an antecedent, see Stefanos Yerasimos,
Kostantiniye ve Ayasofya Efsaneleri.
(d. 1522),38 the chief judge of Anatolia at that time, composed a

short pamphlet for the general public in the name of several scholar-
bureaucrats. Using readily accessible language, he explained why they
viewed Shah Ismail and his followers (the Kızılbaş) as unbelievers and
their consensus that a military campaign against them was both legal
and necessary.39
O Muslims! Know and beware! The Kızılbaş, whose leader is Ismail of Ard-
abil, are unbelievers (kafir) and heretics (mülhid). [These are the reasons:]
They disdain sharia and the Sunna of our prophet, prayer and peace be
upon him. They also disrespect the religion of Islam, religious knowledge,
and the unambiguous Qur’an. In addition, they deem permissible and take
lightly the sinful acts that Allah, who is exalted, prohibited. They scorn and
burn the noble Qur’an, scriptures (mushaflar), and books of sharia. They
despise and kill scholars and pious people in addition to destroying places
of worship. Moreover, they take their accursed leader as god and prostrate
themselves before him. They curse Abu Bakr andʿUmar, may God be pleased
with them, and reject [the legitimacy of] their rule as caliph. They swear at
the wife of the prophet our mother ʿAʾisha, may God be pleased with her.
They intend to erase the religion of Islam and sharia, which our prophet,
prayer and peace be upon him, established. These and other words and acts
of theirs, which are against sharia, became conclusively established (tevatür)
and evident for this humble one and other scholars of the religion of Islam.
Thus, on the basis of the rules of sharia and reports of our books, we issued
the religio-legal opinion (fetva) that this people are unbelievers and heretics.
Those who swayed toward them and who accepted and helped their invalid
religion are also unbelievers and heretics. It is obligatory (vacib and farz)
for all Muslims to kill them and disperse their community. Those Muslims
who die [during the fight with them] become martyrs. They are happy in the
highest heaven. Their [the Kızılbaş’s] dead are despicable and in the lowest
hell. Their state is even worse than unbelievers, for the animals they slaugh-
ter or hunt by falcon, arrow, or dog are unclean (murdar); their marriage
contracts with women from their community or outside are invalid, and
they cannot inherit from anybody. If the people of a town belongs to this
group (the Kızılbaş), the sultan of Islam, may God exalt his helpers, can kill
men among them, and distribute their property, women, and children among
38
39
TSMA, E. 12077. For a transliteration of the document, see Şehabeddin
Tekindağ, “Yeni Kaynak ve Vesîkaların Işığı Altında Yavuz Sultan Selim’in İran
Seferi,” Tarih Dergisi 22 (1968): 54–55.
the holy warriors (ghazis) of Islam [as booty]. After they are captured, they
should be killed with no regard to their repentance. He can also kill those
from this country [the Ottoman lands] who are known to follow their [the
Kızılbaş’s] path or are caught on their way to join them. This people [the
Kızılbaş] are unbelievers and heretics as well as trouble makers (ehl-i fesad),
so there are two justifications for the necessity of killing them.
Selim also sought the scholar-bureaucrats’ approval for his military

campaign against the Mamluks. Some referred to the assumption that
the Mamluks had helped the Safavids and therefore issued the religio-
legal opinion that “whoever helps an unbeliever is an unbeliever.”40
Others tended to categorize them as highway robbers (qatiʿ al-tariq)
in order to justify the desired military action. Selim and his men publi-
cized these views in the military encampments. Those who joined and
wrote about this campaign mentioned these opinions.41
The fact that Selim sought the scholar-bureaucrats’ ideological sup-
port to justify his actions and preempt any opposition on religious
grounds underlined the sharia’s force as a legitimating factor and this
group’s centrality in influencing the public discourse at the time.
When Süleyman was in dire need of strengthening his legitimacy,
during the early years of his reign, he conjured up the image of just
ruler to support his power. Through discourse and action, he dissem-
inated the message that he was committed to promoting justice and
equity for all of his subjects. He therefore changed some of his father’s
policies. For instance, he allowed those Egyptian and Iranian exiles
whom his father had deported to Istanbul and other Ottoman cities to
return home. He reimbursed the silk merchants for their properties that
Selim had confiscated. In addition, Süleyman ordered the execution of
Gallipoli’s governor for oppressing the people, and of Prizren’s gover-
nor for capturing and selling some of the empire’s Christian subjects
into slavery.42 These symbolic actions and others were successful in
establishing Süleyman’s image as a just ruler.
40
Mustafa Âlî, Künhü’l-Ahbar, fac. 249a. Mustafa Âlî also mentions two other
fetvas justifying the action against the Mamluks.
41
Emecen, Yavuz Sultan Selim, 209.
42
Hüseyin G. Yurdaydın, Kanunî’nin Cülûsu ve İlk Seferleri (Ankara: Türk Tarih
Kurumu, 1961), 5–6. Halil İnalcık, “State, Sovereignty, and Law during the
Reign of Süleymân,” in Süleymân the Second and His Time, 64.
Parallel to these rather informal declarations of commitment to jus-

tice and equity, the general and provincial law codes (kanunnames)
became a formal venue for stressing the same theme and augmenting
Süleyman’s image. In the long preambles to these law codes, he asserted
his attention to abide by sharia and ensure the fulfillment of justice
and his subjects’ well-being.43 For example, the preamble to the 1525
law code of Egypt emphasized the dynasty’s commitment to preventing
oppression and injustice as well as the sultans’ issuance of law codes to
support sharia and to end any oppressive measures launched by their
agents.44 Similarly, the preamble to the law code of Bosnia, dated to
1530, stressed the dynasty’s superiority as regards the ability to pro-
tect people from oppression and to ensure that justice and equity were
realized.45
These examples illustrate that during the period under study in this
chapter (1481–1530), there was a heightened sensitivity to the con-
cepts of justice and sharia as sources of legitimacy. On many different
occasions, those who supported as well as those who opposed and/or
criticized the sultan’s authority evoked justice or sharia (or both) and
sought scholar-bureaucrats’ endorsements to buttress their cases. In
many instances, scholar-bureaucrats themselves participated in the dis-
course and articulated the sharia’s high status as a source of legitimate
action. In most of the other cases, the conversation about sharia and/or
justice brought scholar-bureaucrats, the recognized custodians of the
Islamic tradition and wielders of moral authority within the system, to
mind.
The Hierarchical System Gains Regularity and Normativity

I have argued that Mehmed II’s policies and reforms led to the for-
mation of an institutional framework through which scholars could
43
For the preamble of the law code of Tripoli, dated to 1519, see Rifaʿat Ali
Abou-El-Haj, “Aspects of the Rule of Legitimation of Ottoman Rule as
Reflected in the Preambles to Two Early Liva Kanunnameler,” Turcica 21–23
(1991): 374–81.
44
Ahmet Akgündüz, Osmanlı Kanunnâmeleri ve Hukukî Tahlilleri, 9 vols.
(Istanbul: Osmanlı Araştırmaları Vakfı, 1990–96), 6: 86–101. For an
interpretation of this preamble, see Snjezana Buzov, “The Lawgiver and His
Lawmakers: The Role of Legal Discourse in the Change of Imperial Culture”
(PhD diss., University of Chicago, 2005), 29–35.
45
Buzov, “The Lawgiver and His Lawmakers,” 233–36.
affiliate themselves with the Ottoman government. He codified this

system in the law code toward the end of his reign (probably dur-
ing 1477–81). However, it was not altogether clear if this was a
permanent arrangement that would continue after his death or not.
After all, his successors could have chosen to establish a different
type of relationship with them. However, it is clear that as far as the
hierarchical system of scholar-bureaucrats was concerned, Bayezid II,
Selim I, and Süleyman followed a conservative policy and supported its
continuation.
A major aspect of Bayezid II’s reign was his manifest commitment
to the continuation of the Ottoman dynastic tradition. To underline
this, he commissioned such scholars as İdrisi Bidlisi (d. 1520) and
Kemalpaşazade to write the dynasty’s history from its beginning to
his own reign.46 The institutional ideals and principles of Mehmed II’s
reign were embraced and developed. By the end of Bayezid’s reign, the
hierarchical system had gained such constancy that Selim I and Süley-
man probably never thought of repealing it. Instead, their own policies
firmly established it as a permanent institution.
The hierarchical system’s continuity, despite the changes and prob-
lems related to the authority of the dynasty and the sultan, augmented
the scholar-bureaucrats’ self-confidence and dedication to the Ottoman
system. They increasingly felt that it protected their privileges and sta-
tus and that its continued existence was in their own interest.
The idea of having scholar-bureaucrats make a lifetime commitment
to serve in the imperial administration, as adumbrated in the law code,
appears to have taken root at the turn of the sixteenth century. Mem-
bers of this group clearly enjoyed job security and were never pun-
ished with expulsion from official employment. Their honor and sta-
tus were taken into consideration even when they were punished and
demoted.47
46
İnalcık, “The Rise of Ottoman Historiography,” 152–67; Fleischer, Bureaucrat
and Intellectual, 238–40. For a recent study on the development of history
writing during Bayezid II’s reign, see Murat Cem Mengüç, “Histories of
Bayezid I and Historians of Bayezid II: Rethinking Late Fifteenth-Century
Ottoman Historiography,” Bulletin of School of Oriental and African Studies
76, no. 3 (2013): 373–89.
47
During Mehmed II’s reign, scholars were sometimes punished with permanent
expulsion from the hierarchical service. For example, Çandarlı İbrahim Pasha
was dismissed from the judgeship of Edirne when Mehmed ordered his father
Çandarlı Halil Pasha’s execution in 1453. Unable to receive another job for a
It seems that compared with Mehmed II, his three successors,

Bayezid II, Selim I, and Süleyman, interfered less in the scholar-
bureaucrats’ affairs, as the two chief judges assumed a greater responsi-
bility for administering the hierarchy of scholar-bureaucrats according
to the principles codified in the law code. A number of reports in Al-
Shaqaʾiq attest to the increase in the power of chief judges. For exam-
ple, it is reported that Müeyyedzade Abdurrahman, the chief judge of
Anatolia, arranged for several scholars (including Muzafferuddin Ali
Şirazi, Kara Kemal, Hafızı Acem, and Saçlı Emir) to be appointed.48
In addition, an official document (TSMA, D. 929), dated to 1513, pro-
vides evidence for the extension of the chief judges’ powers as regards
appointments of scholar-bureaucrats. It includes information about the
appointments of 232 judges in Anatolia. The sultan’s interference is
specified only in a single appointment.49 So, one can surmise that chief
judges dominated the appointments with no, or at least very little, inter-
vention on the part of the sultan or his agents.
As seen in Chapter 4, the law code contained general principles
related to the hierarchical order of various offices and officials. For
example, an official’s daily salary reflected his rank; the Sahn madrasas
constituted the highest teaching positions; their professors could be
appointed to the judgeships of Bursa, Edirne, and Istanbul or the chan-
cellorship; and scholar-bureaucrats could fulfill specific educational,
judicial, financial, scribal, and military tasks.50
Although new positions were added, scholar-bureaucrats were
appointed and promoted according to a recognizable pattern that
reflected the dedication to the hierarchical system prescribed in the
law code. For example, Bayezid II built one madrasa each in Istan-
bul, Edirne, and Amasya and deemed them prestigious and as being on
the same level as Istanbul’s Sahn madrasas. In some cases, his madrasas
long time, he became humiliated to the point that he had to groom his own
horse, something that was unacceptable for a scholar of his stature at the time.
For this, see SHAQAʾIQ, 203; MECDI, 221. In contrast, I have not come across
a single report of Bayezid II, Selim I, or Süleyman depriving scholar-bureaucrats
of the rights that went along with their positions in the event of a disagreement.
48
SHAQAʾIQ, 329–30, 335, 449–51, 488–89; MECDI, 340–41, 343–44, 449–51,
482–84.
49
For this document, see Turan Gökçe, “Anadolu Vilâyeti’ne Dâir 919 (1513)
Tarihli Bir Kadı Defteri,” Tarih İncelemeleri Dergisi 9 (1994): 215–59, esp. 234.
50
KANUNNAME, 5–12.
were considered superior to the Sahn madrasas. Professors at the latter

were promoted to the former.51
There is indisputable archival evidence that the principle of dis-
tinguishing the scholar-bureaucrats’ ranks and determining their pro-
motions according to their daily salaries was operative during the
period under study.52 Those official documents that included the list
of scholar-bureaucrats in teaching or judicial positions also recorded
the amounts of their salaries. For example, in 1513, the judge of Bursa
was paid 300 aspers a day;53 around 1516, a professor in a madrasa
in Merzifon earned a daily salary of 30 aspers;54 around 1523, a
scholar-bureaucrat received the judgeship of Çağa with 7 aspers a
day,55 and another was appointed to Bolvadin as judge with 10 aspers
a day.56 In 1528, the professor of Ferhadiye Madrasa in Bursa earned
30 aspers a day,57 and the judge of Limni received 15 aspers a day.58
Clearly, scholar-bureaucrats were ranked and promoted according to
their daily salaries.59
It is open to question, however, whether these listed amounts
reflected their actual salaries and from which source they were dis-
bursed. Although professors received their wages from the endowment
of their madrasas, which was the norm at that time, it seems that the
central government wanted to assert some degree of authority over this
51
For example, see the biographies of Ali Cemali, Seyyidi Karamani, Halil Efendi,
and Kemalpaşazade, SHAQAʾIQ, 286–90, 297–98, 310–11, 377–79; MECDI,
302–8, 313–14, 324, 381–85.
52
This helps explain why articles referring to scholars’ salaries were included in
the extant copies of Mehmed II’s law code, though whether they were added
during or after his reign is, as noted above, still an open question.
53
Gökçe, “Anadolu Vilâyeti’ne Dâir 919 (1513) Tarihli Bir Kadı Defteri,” 231.
54 55 56
TSMA, D.5781.1, 2b. TSMA, D.8823.1, 17b. Ibid., 16a.
57
Turan Gökçe, “934 (1528) Târihli Bir Deftere Göre Anadolu Vilâyeti
Medreseleri ve Müderrisleri,” Tarih İncelemeleri Dergisi 11 (1996): 169.
58
TSMA, D.5604.1, 3b.
59
The document (TSMA, D. 929), which contains a list of judges in Anatolia in
1513, employs an additional taxonomy to classify scholar-bureaucrats: asil,
müteferrika, müvella, and müştebih. One cannot see any congruence between
the rank/salary and the assignment of these categories. For example, among
those classified as asil are the various officials who receive 300, 100, 90, 80, 55,
50, 35, 30, 25, 22, 19, and 15 aspers. Since this taxonomy was not used during
the following period, it is difficult to decipher what these four terms signified.
The possibilities are the nature of the official’s first appointment, academic
background, or geographical background. For (TSMA, D. 929), see Gökçe,
“Anadolu Vilâyeti’ne Dâir 919 (1513) Tarihli Bir Kadı Defteri,” 231–59.
funding mechanism. In most cases, it authorized the stated amount;

however, in some cases, the scholar-bureaucrat received a higher salary
if his rank justified it. For example, the endowment deed of the Sahn
madrasas assigned a salary of 50 aspers for their professors.60 Sinaned-
din Yusuf and Ahizade Yusuf each received a 10-asper promotion in
the Sahn madrasas after they were appointed with 50 aspers. Kara Bali
Aydıni (d. 1514/15) was appointed to a Sahn madrasa with a salary of
80 aspers; he later received a 20-asper increase.61 Babek Çelebi received
an appointment with 100 aspers to a Sahn madrasa.62
On the other hand, the nature and mode of disbursing the recorded
amounts of the salaries of judges are not completely clear. These offi-
cials were entitled to collect fees from the transactions and hearings
they presided over in the courtroom. It is highly probable that in most
cases, the amounts specified for their salaries included the expected
income from these fees.63
The limited biographical evidence in Al-Shaqaʾiq about the scholar-
bureaucrats’ appointments and promotions indicates a congruity
between the practice and the hierarchical order described and pre-
scribed in the law code. As discussed in Chapter 4, Sahn madrasas
offered the highest teaching positions and each could be the last step
before being promoted to one of the judgeships of Bursa, Edirne, or
Istanbul. Now, Bayezid II’s madrasas in Istanbul, Edirne, and Amasya
were ranked at the same level as and sometimes higher than the Sahn
madrasas. For example, Kara Bali was appointed to Bursa as the judge
after teaching in one of Istanbul’s Sahn madrasas.64 Yarhisarizade
60
Fatih Mehmet II Vakfiyeleri, “Türkçe Vakıf Vesikası,” facs. 262–63.
61
SHAQAʾIQ, 301–2; MECDI, 316–17. For other examples of salary increase,
see SHAQAʾIQ, 276–77, 388–90, 396–97; MECDI, 293–94, 391–93, 398.
62
63
KANUNNAME, 21. In the early fifteenth century, some judges were assigned
the tax revenues of public lands as their salaries; see İnalcık, “Ottoman
Methods of Conquest,” 108–9. There are some exceptional sixteenth-century
cases in which judges were assigned a fixed income. For example, in January
1564, Şemseddin was appointed as the judge of Medina with the annual salary
of 3,000 ducats on the condition that he not charge any fees in the courtroom.
For this, see Aydın and Günalan, “XVI. Yüzyılda Osmanlı Devleti’nde
Mevleviyet Kadıları,” 31. For the salaries of judges, see Repp, The Müfti of
Istanbul, 305–6; Uzunçarşılı, Osmanlı Devletinin İlmiye Teşkilâtı, 84–86. A
more detailed discussion about judges’ salaries appears in Chapter 8 of this
book.
64
Mustafa assumed the judgeship of Istanbul after teaching in the Sahn

madrasas.65 Birgizade Mustafa (d. 1513/14) was appointed the judge
of Edirne in 1501 after serving as Sahn professor.66 On the other
hand, Seyyidi Karamani (d. 1517/18) first taught in one of the Sahn
madrasas and then moved to Bayezid II’s madrasa in Edirne before
being appointed as the judge of Bursa.67 Similarly, Kemalpaşazade
taught in both one of the Sahn madrasas and Bayezid II’s madrasa
in Edirne in sequence before being appointed to the judgeship of
Edirne.68
One can see several examples of appointments of scholar-
bureaucrats to financial, scribal, and military positions during the
period under study. As mentioned earlier, the law code authorized such
appointments.69 Scholar-bureaucrats Piri Pasha (d. 1532/33) and Ebul-
fazl Defteri (d. 1574) served as judges in several towns and then became
treasurers under Bayezid II.70 Leys Çelebi (d. 1508/9) taught in several
institutions before entering the financial service to become treasurer.71
Abdülvahhab bin Abdülkerim and Sinaneddin Yusuf Yegani served in
both teaching and judicial positions before being appointed treasurers
under Selim.72 Tacizade Cafer Çelebi (d. 1514) was appointed chan-
cellor after teaching in Mahmud Pasha Madrasa in Istanbul.73 Kamil
Mehmed Pasha (d. 1517) became chancellor after teaching in Üç
Şerefeli Madrasa in Edirne.74 Of the above-mentioned scholars, Piri
Pasha and Kamil Mehmed Pasha later attained the rank of vizier, as
the title of pasha should indicate.
On the basis of the above-mentioned evidence, one can say that a
hierarchical order, which was more or less reflected in the extant copies
of Mehmed II’s law code, increasingly gained normativity and guided
the appointments and promotions of scholar-bureaucrats during this
period of 1481–1530. Every individual scholar-bureaucrat could nor-
mally know his rank and expect (as well as work for) a predictable
promotion in due course. As a result, the institutional nature of their
affiliations with the dynasty became even more apparent.
65
66
68 69
Ibid., 377–79. KANUNNAME, 10, 12.
70
SHAQAʾIQ, 311–22; MECDI, 324–26. For Ebulfazl Defteri, see ATAYI,
188–90.
71
SHAQAʾIQ, 315–16; MECDI, 329. 72
MECDI, 333–34, 405.
73 74
Ibid., 335–37. Ibid., 420.
Novitiate Status (Mülazemet) as a Tool for Extending

and Restricting the Government Employment
I have discussed how, during the period of 1481–1530, a new emphasis
on justice and sharia increased the significance of scholar-bureaucrats
in the development of political discourse and practice. I have also
underlined the hierarchical system’s attainment of constancy and nor-
mativity during the same period. It seems that these developments
accompanied a change in the scholar-bureaucrats’ attitudes toward
their affiliations with the Ottoman enterprise. Scholar-bureaucrats
more and more considered inclusion in the administration a privilege
and distinction that they should actively preserve.
The effects and one cause of this new attitude can be seen in the
peculiar features of the development of the procedure for the granting
of novitiate status (mülazemet) – the formal initiation of scholars
into the hierarchy – during the period under study. Dignitary scholar-
bureaucrats (mevali) increasingly became involved in the formal
decisions about who would be admitted to the official hierarchy and
took steps to restrict membership in the hierarchy to their own stu-
dents. The procedure for novitiates, in its most common vein, worked
as follows: students became affiliated with the dignitary scholar-
bureaucrats, attended their lectures, and served them as teaching
assistants. In turn, the dignitaries vouched for their qualifications and
granted them the status of novice, which made them eligible to enter
their names in the chief judges’ registers in order to seek a position.75
The recognition of such a right for the dignitaries and its exclusive
application to the entrance to the hierarchy would underline the excep-
tional status of scholar-bureaucrats and had the potential to create a
self-reproducing hierarchy: dignitaries would introduce their students,
who would then receive regular promotions. Some of the latter would
ascend to dignitary status and acquire the right to recruit others. In my
opinion, the availability of such a tool in the hands of the dignitaries
was predicated on – and destined to create or strengthen – the feeling
among scholar-bureaucrats that they constituted a distinct group that
possessed qualities that set them apart from other scholars both inside
and outside the empire.
75
İpşirli, “Mülâzemet.” As will be seen shortly and in Part III, there were ways of
receiving the status of novice without associating with dignitary scholar-
bureaucrats, although they were not essential but subsidiary.
As discussed in Chapter 4, the law code mentions the term mülazım

(novice scholar-bureaucrat). However, one cannot determine whether
the word existed in the original document or was added at a later date.
If the term was in use during Mehmed II’s reign, it probably referred to
a procedure different from that of novitiate status under the control of
the dignitary scholar-bureaucrats. The biographical information con-
tained in Al-Shaqaʾiq suggests that Mehmed II accepted scholars into
the hierarchy according to his own will. Some military and civil officials
interceded for scholars to receive positions, but there was apparently
no formal procedure of introduction at that time.76
On the other hand, the author of a document of complaint from the
early years of Bayezid II’s reign (discussed in Chapter 4) argued that
students of the dignitary scholar-bureaucrats had the right to receive
positions and criticized their being passed over for appointments.77
This might be considered some of the earliest evidence that the
dignitaries expected to have a say about who would be accepted as
a scholar-bureaucrat. Two documents from the first quarter of the
sixteenth century (one dated to ca. 1506,78 the other to ca. 152379 )
included lists of novices (mülazıms) that provided information about
their paths into the official hierarchy. These documents indicate that
the dignitaries gradually increased their influence in the formal deci-
sions regarding novitiate status and hence admissions to the hierarchy.
It is clear that a procedure for entrance to the hierarchy dominated
by the sultan and his agents would produce results different from a
procedure for entrance through the granting of novitiate status by the
dignitaries. As the sultan was above all subjects in his realm, he would
not mind recruiting any scholars with the certificate of authoriza-
tion for teaching (icazet) to the official hierarchy, be they students of
76
For a detailed discussion of the admission to the official hierarchy during
Mehmed II’s reign, see Chapter 4 of this book.
77
İnalcık, “A Report on Corrupt K.ād.ı̄s,” 75–86.
78
TSMA, D.5605.1. In this document, there are references to the appointments
and dismissals from June 1501 to October 1505. Since the document is
organized thematically and lacks any chronological order of records under
different categories, it cannot be a register in which daily transactions in the
chief judge’s office were recorded (ruznamçe). Rather, it is a summary of the
bureaucratic acts, related to scholar-bureaucrats, that took place over several
years.
79
For a discussion about the date of TSMA, D.8823.1, see Repp, The Müfti of
Istanbul, xiii–xiv.
dignitaries, those who had received education in the outlying provinces

of the empire, or even those educated outside Ottoman lands. On the
other hand, the procedure of novitiate status under the control of the
dignitaries was restrictive. The dignitaries would naturally choose to
bring their own students into the official hierarchy.
Table 5.1 shows that in contrast to the period of Mehmed II, during
the first quarter of the sixteenth century, students were not expected
to have direct contact with either the sultan or his representatives in
order to enter the hierarchy. Only 1 of the 113 new scholar-bureaucrats
around 1506 (and none around 1523) directly petitioned the sultan for
the status of novice.
Obviously, the dignitaries endorsed the largest number of scholars
for novitiate status. In Table 5.1, the figures of dignitary-sponsored
candidates, students of deceased dignitaries, and the children and
teaching assistants of dignitaries (first four columns) represent about
90 percent of those who received the status of novice ca. 1506 and
ca. 1523. This proves that novitiate status was primarily a tool by
which the dignitaries introduced their own students to the hierarchy.
However, the dignitaries could not initiate their students whenever they
wanted. Almost half the new scholar-bureaucrats (65 of 113 ca. 1506,
and 50 of 112 ca. 1523) were unable to receive the status of novice
during their sponsor’s lifetime and had to wait until after their death
for the government’s authorization.
Some policy changes can be observed from 1506 to 1523 (Table 5.1).
First of all, while viziers and military officers could sponsor scholars in
1506 (8 percent), they seemed to have been excluded from the process
by 1523. The viziers’ involvement in this process in the first decade
of the sixteenth century accords with their well-known domination
of governance under Bayezid II. The table also suggests that the dig-
nitaries (as opposed to the sultan and his representatives) gradually
increased their control over entrance to the hierarchy. In addition, the
dignitaries’ children received the right to seek employment automat-
ically in about 1506 (10 novices); by ca. 1523, however, they had to
follow the same path as all the others and necessarily associated with
the dignitaries as students to be able to receive the status of novice. This
might indicate a change (viz., paying more attention to merit than to
birth) in appointments during the first decades of the sixteenth cen-
tury. Moreover, in the period from 1506 to 1523, military campaigns
gradually became more important for those scholars who wanted a
Table 5.1 Types of Novices (Mülazıms) during the First Quarter of the Sixteenth Century
Novices by Novices
Dignitary Students of the Intercession by Their Novices by
(mevali)- Deceased Children of Teaching Vizier- of Military Own Military
Year sponsored Dignitaries Dignitaries Assistants sponsoreda Officers Petition Campaigns Unspecified
1506 (113 novices)b 23 65 10 3 5 4c 1 – 2
1523 (112 novices)d 43 50 – 13 – – – 6e –
a Those who became novices through the petition of a vizier of the Imperial Council (arz-ı paşayan).
b The data in this row derive from TSMA, D.5605.1.
c İskender Pasha, Yakub Pasha, the head of janissaries, and Huseyin Ağa all interceded to secure novitiate status for their protégés.
d This row is based on TSMA, D.8823.1.
e In the Belgrade and Rhodes campaigns of 1521 and 1522, respectively.
position. 6 scholars gained the status of novice during Süleyman’s cam-

paigns against Belgrade (1521) and Rhodes (1522). However, it should
be emphasized that these were not just any scholars; they were students
of dignitaries.80
Overall, during the first quarter of the sixteenth century, the dig-
nitaries gradually increased their influence over initiations and had
the chance to formally introduce their own students to the hierar-
chy through the procedure for granting novitiate status. This develop-
ment was based on – or would create – the self-perception of scholar-
bureaucrats that they constituted a privileged group, distinct from
nonbureaucratic scholars who were not affiliated with the Ottoman
dynasty and government.
The Extended Official Hierarchy: Scholar-Bureaucrats

without the Status of Novice
One might ask whether the introduction of scholars to the hierarchy
through the granting of the status of novice produced enough scholar-
bureaucrats to fulfill the administrative and scholarly needs of the
empire. As scholar-bureaucrats were becoming more aware of their
distinct status, the empire’s territories were expanding. Selim’s military
campaigns added eastern and southern Anatolia, Syria, Egypt, and Ara-
bia to the empire. If the government decided to work only with those
scholar-bureaucrats who had acquired the status of novice, what would
the scholars in these conquered lands do? Moreover, as the Safavid
empire adopted Shiʿi Islam as its official religious understanding and
began persecuting Sunni scholars, ever more scholars were moving
westward.81 How would the central government absorb them?
The document recording the results of an extensive survey of scholar-
bureaucrats in Anatolia, Syria, and Egypt in about 1523 (TSMA,
D.8823.1) presents some clues about the central government’s deci-
sions regarding the management of these new territories and additional
scholars. This document, which provided the data for the second row in
Table 5.1, includes a list of incumbent (mensub) and dismissed (mazul)
80
See TSMA, D.8823.1, 3a.
81
More information about the migration of scholars from Iran is provided later
in this chapter.
scholar-bureaucrats in the aforementioned areas, as well as their short

resumes, if available (Table 5.2).
It proves that the central government decided to extend a kind of cen-
tral control over the scholarly positions available in the said territories
by making all such positions and privileges in those regions depen-
dent on its authorization. On the other hand, as understood from the
resumes of the scholar-bureaucrats mentioned in it, the government
did not (perhaps could not) fill all scholarly positions with scholar-
bureaucrats who had previously been granted the status of novice.
Instead, various types of scholars who were not affiliated with the dig-
nitaries (mevali) and who had not received the status of novice never-
theless managed to find their way into the official hierarchy, becoming
scholar-bureaucrats. In fact, they constituted the majority of members
of this group.
Table 5.2 shows that around 1523 only 37 percent of incumbent
and dismissed scholar-bureaucrats associated themselves with the dig-
nitaries and had received the status of novice. Thus, it is fair to ask
whether novitiate status was (or tended to be) relatively insignificant
for the hierarchy. In my opinion, this particular document underlines
the crucial importance of novitiate status, for its composer was clearly
instructed to record how the scholars had come to enter the hierarchy.
This document was formulated, at least in part, to distinguish scholar-
bureaucrats who had received the status of novice from those who
had not. It was probably thought that the former were superior, and
the acceptance of the latter was likely an either transitory or waning
practice.
At least 58 percent of the scholar-bureaucrats in Anatolia, Syria,
and Egypt around 1523 had not received the status of novice. Scholars
who had no chance to establish contact with the dignitaries or who
could not wait to complete all the stages of education and service and
receive the status of novice sought other ways to enter the hierarchy.
Some attended the military campaigns and petitioned for a position
at an opportune moment (usually with the help of a powerful military
or civil official). Others started out in lesser nonhierarchical positions
(e.g., prayer leader, preacher, deputy judge, tutor of the vizier’s chil-
dren, endowment administrator, elementary school teacher) and then
requested appointment to a hierarchical position. Some found inter-
cessors who helped them secure appointments; others were appointed
by local authorities and convinced the government to recognize their
Table 5.2 Paths of Entrance to Government Service for Scholar-Bureaucrats in the First Quarter of the Sixteenth Centurya
Promotion
from a
Appointment Lesser Education Local
during the Position outside Appointment Stipulation of Submission
Novitiate Military outside the Ottoman by a Prince or Endowment of Scholarly
(mülazemet) Campaigns Hierarchy Intercession Lands a Governor Deed Work Unknown
All incumbent and 264 68 150 172 23 10 7 1 25
dismissed 37% 9% 20% 23% 3% 3%
scholar-bureaucrats
(720 officials)b
Incumbent and 241 43 121 139 8 5 5 1 6
dismissed 42% 8% 21% 24% 1% 1%
scholar-bureaucrats
in the core lands
(569 officials)c
Incumbent and 23 25 29 33 15 5 2 – 19
dismissed 15% 17% 19% 22% 10% 13%
scholar-bureaucrats
in the newly
captured lands
(151 officials)d
a Data from TSMA, D.8823.1.
b TSMA, D.8823.1 covers incumbent and dismissed scholar-bureaucrats in Anatolia, Syria, and Egypt around 1523.
c Namely, western, central, and northern Anatolia.
d The lands captured after 1514, namely, eastern and southeastern Anatolia, Syria, and Egypt.
status within the hierarchy. Some scholars acquired teaching posts in

a madrasa via an endowment deed that gave them the right to teach
in them. Based on the status thus acquired, they sought recognition
as members of the official hierarchy and promotion from the central
government.82 Some scholars attained employment by proving that
they had completed advanced education outside Ottoman lands. Oth-
ers occupied positions despite the imperial government’s lack of specific
knowledge about their education and how they acquired it. In short,
this register shows that the central government considered all scholars
who held educational and judicial positions to be scholar-bureaucrats.
But by recording as accurately as possible how these officials had
entered the hierarchy, it highlights the distinction between those who
had received the status of novice and those who had not.
Here, a caveat is appropriate. The scholars’ actual entrance paths
were more complicated than those shown in Table 5.2. In many cases,
two or three factors converged to enable a scholar to receive a posi-
tion. In order to avoid multiple counts and to attain analytical clarity,
I have exercised some preferences and tried to reflect the most effi-
cient and most immediate factor. The intercession of various influen-
tial men, princes, Crimean khans, military officers, dignitary scholar-
bureaucrats, and other figures played a role in many appointments.
However, if the concerned scholar had a lesser position (e.g., deputy
judgeship, tutoring a prominent official’s children, or preaching) or
took action (e.g., participating in a military campaign), I discounted the
intercession. If those educated abroad tried to attain positions through
other paths, I disregarded their educational background. When schol-
ars in lesser positions attended military campaigns in search of pro-
motion, I counted their entrance as a case of appointment during the
military campaigns.
The division of scholar-bureaucrats in the list into two groups based
on the locality of their offices and when that locality was incorporated
into the empire enables us to understand more about the Ottoman
policy of employing scholars who did and did not have the status of
novice. There are significant differences in the numbers of scholar-
bureaucrats in different categories (how they entered the hierarchy)
82
More information about the government’s policy as regards the restrictive
clauses in the madrasas’ endowment deeds will be given in Chapter 8 of this
book.
between the core lands (Anatolian areas controlled by the Ottomans

before 1514) and those captured after 1514 (eastern and southern Ana-
tolia, Syria, and Egypt). First of all, the existence of scholar-bureaucrats
without the status of novice in the core lands (about 56 percent)
shows that their entrance to the hierarchy did not necessarily relate
to the empire’s rapid post-1514 expansion. Although the dignitary-
endorsed scholar-bureaucrats were setting themselves apart from their
counterparts without the support of dignitaries, the latter nevertheless
found (or forced) their way into the hierarchy. Incidentally, this sit-
uation shows the centralized administration’s limits even in the core
lands.
On the other hand, while 42 percent of the scholar-bureaucrats in the
core lands had received the status of novice, only 15 percent of those
in the newly captured lands had done so. There are several plausible
explanations, either on their own or in combination, for this differ-
ence: (1) the imperial administration had not yet been firmly estab-
lished in the newly captured territories, and therefore the government
authorities wanted (or had) to coopt and accept local scholars into the
hierarchy without the status of novice; (2) scholar-bureaucrats with
the status of novice preferred a position in the core lands over one
in the newly captured lands; and (3) there were not enough scholar-
bureaucrats with the status of novice to fill all of the open positions, so
the central government preferred to employ the ones who were avail-
able in the core lands.
A closer look at the outstanding difference between these regions
in three other columns in Table 5.2 will reveal more about how the
official hierarchy was extended and about the backgrounds of the
scholar-bureaucrats without the status of novice. Those educated
elsewhere, mostly in Iran,83 but who did not associate with the dig-
nitaries were more frequently employed in the newly captured lands
(10 percent, as opposed to 1 percent in the core lands). The Safavids’
rise as a politico-religious movement clarified the distinctions between
Sunni and Shiʿi territories in the western Islamic world. The Safavids
imposed Twelver Shiʿi Islam as the official religious understanding of
their realm and made adherence to it a sign of political loyalty. Some
83
20 of 23 such scholar-bureaucrats studied in Iran (Fars, Azerbaijan, Khorasan,
and Transoxiana). The other 3 studied in Diyarbakır, Mardin, or the Arab
lands before their incorporation into the empire.
Sunni scholars, Sufis, artists, and bureaucrats in Iran chose to move to

the Ottoman Empire.84 Some of them received lucrative positions in
Istanbul through the help of their influential friends.85 However, many
of them had to be content with and even fight for humble positions in
the provinces, especially in newly captured areas.
84
Sohrweide, “Dichter and Gelehrte aus dem Osten im Osmanischen Reich,”
268; Arjomand, “The Rise of Shah Esmāʿil,” 59–62; Hamid Algar,
“Naqshbandis and Safavids: A Contribution to the Religious History of Iran
and Her Neighbors,” in Safavid Iran and Her Neighbors, ed. Michel Mazzaoui
(Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 2003), 7–48; Stefan Winter, The
Shiites of Lebanon under Ottoman Rule, 1516–1788 (New York: Cambridge
University Press, 2010), 20–25; Devin J. Stewart, “Notes on the Migration of
ʿĀmilı̄ Scholars to Safavid Iran,” Journal of Near Eastern Studies 55, no. 2
(1996): 81–103.
85
Müeyyedzade Abdurrahman studied under Celaleddin Devvani in Shiraz and
returned to Ottoman lands around 1483. During Bayezid II’s reign, he
occupied significant positions and helped many colleagues from Iran to acquire
employment in the Ottoman scholarly bureaucracy. For Müeyyedzade’s study
under Devvani, see Judith Pfeiffer, “Teaching the Learned: Jalāl al-Dı̄n
al-Dawānı̄’s Ijāza to Muʾayyadzāda ʿAbd al-Rah.mān Efendi and the
Circulation of Knowledge between Fārs and the Ottoman Empire at the Turn
of the Sixteenth Century,” in The Heritage of Arabo-Islamic Learning: Studies
Presented to Wadad Kadi, ed. Maurice A. Pomerantz and Aram A. Shahin
(Leiden: Brill, 2015), 284–332. Shafiʿi scholar Muzafferuddin Ali Şirazi left his
homeland after the Safavids rose to power. Müeyyedzade Abdurrahman,
Şirazi’s classmate when they attended Celaleddin Devvani’s lectures,
recommended him to Bayezid. In addition, he had him appointed to Mustafa
Pasha Madrasa and then to a Sahn madrasa. For Şirazi’s biography, see
SHAQAʾIQ, 329–30; MECDI, 340–41. Hafızı Acem (d. 1551), another scholar
who fled Safavid persecution, also sought Müeyyedzade’s help. He was able to
receive teaching positions in Ankara, Merzifon, and İznik. He finally taught in
a Sahn madrasa and Ayasofya Madrasa, both of which were in Istanbul. See
SHAQAʾIQ, 449–51; MECDI, 449–51; Sohrweide, “Dichter and Gelehrte aus
dem Osten im Osmanischen Reich,” 268. Similarly, Muhyiddin Muhammed
bin Abdülevvel (a.k.a. Saçlı Emir; d. 1555/56) came to the Ottoman realm
during the first decade of the sixteenth century. His father was the Hanafi judge
in Tabriz. One can presume that his family got into trouble when the Safavids
established their rule in Tabriz. Thanks to his father’s relationship with
Müeyyedzade, Saçlı Emir acquired teaching and judicial jobs in Ottoman
lands. For Saçlı Emir’s biography, see SHAQAʾIQ, 488–89; MECDI, 482–84.
Another Iranian scholar who was well received and given high positions was
Kıvamuddin Yusuf Şirazi. After the Safavids’ rise, he left his position as the
judge of Baghdad and went to Mardin (probably under Dulkadiroğlu rule).
Toward the end of his life, he came to Istanbul. Bayezid appointed him to
Sultaniye Madrasa in Bursa and then a Sahn madrasa in Istanbul. See
While only 8 percent of the core lands’ scholar-bureaucrats secured

their positions by attending the military campaigns, 17 percent of their
counterparts in the newly captured lands followed the same path. It
seems that a large group of people with some type of scholarly back-
ground joined Selim I’s military campaigns against the Safavids and
the Mamluks. Many of them, however, were not advanced enough in
their studies to associate with the dignitaries and seek a position in the
center. For example, one student studied under Zeyrekzade Rükneddin
(d. 1522/23) for a while, took part in the anti-Mamluk military cam-
paign, and eventually secured the judgeship of Damanhur (Egypt) with
Faik Bey’s intercession.86 Similarly, another student studied in Halebi
Madrasa and one of the Sahn madrasas, after which he participated in
the military campaign against Kemah and bravely scaled the fortress.
As a reward, he received a judgeship and entered the hierarchy.87 In
other words, the wartime conditions of uncertainty, an administrative
vacuum, and the greater availability of positions in the newly cap-
tured lands clearly presented an opportunity for scholars who could
not receive the status of novice in order to get themselves noticed and
appointed to a hierarchical post.
Interestingly, the central government appears to have known nothing
about the educational and career backgrounds of some of the scholars
whom it regarded as its officials. This shows that its control in some
regions was not yet fully established and that various areas and posi-
tions still remained beyond the reach of central authorities. Clearly, it
was far more likely that these scholars could arrange for an appoint-
ment without the central government’s knowledge in the newly cap-
tured lands (19 percent, as opposed to 1 percent in the core lands). It is
highly probable that governors or local administrators appointed some
of the local scholars who had formerly served in the newly conquered
Mamluk lands, which had a long-established tradition of Islamic edu-
cation and justice. The central government would have to recognize
these appointments at a later date.
Apart from what is included in Table 5.2, in certain areas the
central government assigned the prerogative of appointing judges to
the local administrator. For example, “there are seven judgeships
in the province of Upper Egypt (Saʿid). It is recorded in the register
that the Bedouins control them, and no one from the imperial center
86 87
TSMA, D.8823.1, 8a. Ibid., 7b.
(dergah-i muʿalla) is appointed there”88 ; and “[i]t is said that

Tabariyye, Şakik, Kefr Kane, Ata, and Cebeli Amil are dangerous
regions. The Bedouins control their judgeships.”89 Thus, although the
official hierarchy continued to expand, the Ottoman central govern-
ment and the control of dignitaries over who entered it were far from
perfect – especially in the newly conquered lands.
To summarize, as scholar-bureaucrats increasingly came to think
that they, as a whole, occupied a significant position within the system
and that their professional rights were guaranteed by it, they eventu-
ally realized that they were distinctive. Thus, the dignitaries gradually
asserted their control over the granting of novitiate status and began to
actively reserve entrance into the hierarchy for their students. However,
scholars with no connection to the dignitaries still found way to enter
its ranks. With the capture of eastern and southern Anatolia, Syria, and
Egypt after 1514, those scholars without the status of novice had more
opportunities than ever to become scholar-bureaucrats.
The Scholar-Bureaucrats’ Relationship with the Ottoman

Government during a Time of Crisis
The developments during 1481–1530 augmented the development of
an institutional relationship between scholars and the government. The
debates and struggles over the nature and limits of the dynasty’s author-
ity positively influenced the scholar-bureaucrats’ standing within the
Ottoman polity. As several actors from different sides evoked justice
and sharia as sources of legitimacy, scholar-bureaucrats began to gain a
greater role in the formation of the political discourse. Meanwhile, the
hierarchical order continued to exist and prosper. Employing scholar-
bureaucrats according to an established pattern became increasingly
recognized as part of the Ottoman tradition, and hence acquired such
a high degree of normativity that sultans of the period could not imag-
ine another mode of affiliation.
As scholar-bureaucrats began to feel important, secure, and privi-
leged, they also became aware of their distinctive place in the system.
Laws and tradition guaranteed their rights and privileges. From the
first decade of the sixteenth century, the dignitary scholar-bureaucrats
(mevali) increased their dominance over novitiate status in order to
88 89
Ibid., 8a. Ibid., 8b.
induct their own students into the hierarchy and bring about a self-
reproducing system. These developments appear to have supported
and reinforced scholar-bureaucrats’ sense of distinction as well as their
dedication to the Ottoman cause.
One can argue that the scholar-bureaucrats’ institutional relation-
ship with the dynasty and its enterprise became entrenched during
this period. It was now crystal clear that they were not servants in
the sultan’s household and that their connection was not with him
(and therefore personal) but with the institutional order as defined by
laws and tradition. Moreover, they were not outsiders trying to attach
themselves to the Ottoman system, but individuals who had already
acquired a significant place within it, provided legitimacy to it, and
helped administer it through grants of the status of novice.
A report90 about Hatibzade Muhyiddin’s encounter with Bayezid II
is illustrative of this relationship. Hatibzade, who enjoyed a 100-asper
pension, once visited Bayezid on a celebratory occasion for a religious
holiday. He neither bowed to him nor kissed the sultan’s hand. The
accompanying students, Muhyiddin Fenari (d. 1548) and Mehmed Şah
Fenari (d. 1522/23), thought that Hatibzade’s behavior was improper.
Hatibzade replied: “You do not know anything; that a scholar of Hat-
ibzade’s caliber should go to him [Bayezid II] is enough of an honor
for him; he is satisfied with that much respect.” This anecdote suggests
that Hatibzade did not feel dependent on the sultan for his position,
for his guarantees and privileges within the polity provided him with
adequate protection.
On the other hand, several features of the hierarchy of scholar-
bureaucrats at this time demonstrate that its transition phase had not
ended yet. Neither did the old tendencies disappear completely, nor the
new features flourish fully. There was a bit of uncertainty/flexibility as
regards the hierarchy’s rules. For example, the procedure for granting
novitiate status seems to have been introduced as the way to enter-
ing it; nevertheless, many people were allowed entrance without it.
Although novices were apparently preferred, the latter group consti-
tuted the majority of scholar-bureaucrats. In addition, as the empire’s
bureaucratic structure was still rudimentary, it was only natural for
90
SHAQAʾIQ, 147–48. Taşköprizade reported this anecdote from his teacher
Muhyiddin Fenari, who was involved in the incident.
scholar-bureaucrats to assume purely financial, scribal, and military

duties.
Moreover, the sultans could maintain a personal relationship with a
large group of scholars. Sometimes, this ran parallel to the institutional
structure and did not necessarily influence the standing of scholar-
bureaucrats within it. For example, Bayezid II maintained his rela-
tionship with his learned slave Zamiri and bestowed on him generous
grants that were separate from the salary he earned from his teaching
position.91 In some cases, such a personal relationship helped a scholar-
bureaucrat move forward. It seems that the sultans were careful not to
break any hierarchical principles, but rather ensured that their protégés
ascended faster than they normally would have. For example, once
in power Bayezid appointed his prayer leader İmam Ali (d. 1520/21)
to Ankara as the judge. Shortly thereafter, he jumped to the judge-
ship of Bursa and then became the chief judge of Anatolia.92 Similarly,
Bayezid appointed the above-mentioned Zamiri to one of Istanbul’s
Sahn madrasas over Chief Judge Müeyyedzade Abdurrahman’s protest
that this scholar did not possess the academic qualifications necessary
for teaching in this position.93 In other cases, the sultan’s relationship
with individual scholars was completely independent of the hierarchy.
Sultans did not push their protégés forward, but rather kept them in
their entourage and provided them with salaries. For example, Halim
Çelebi was Selim’s prayer leader in his princely seat, Trabzon. After
becoming sultan, Selim appointed him as his tutor and granted him a
daily payment of 200 aspers.94 Similarly, the famous scholar and physi-
cian Muhammed Kazvini did not receive a hierarchical position and yet
became Selim’s personal physician and boon companion.95
To summarize, an institutional framework through which scholars
could affiliate themselves with the Ottoman dynasty became further
established during 1481–1530. It became apparent to everyone that
scholar-bureaucrats were now a significant part of the Ottoman project
and had specific rights and privileges that were ensured by law and
91
For two generous cash grants made by Bayezid II to Zamiri in 1503, see
Barkan, “İstanbul Saraylarına Ait Muhasebe Defterleri,” 310, 312.
92
SHAQAʾIQ, 309; MECDI, 323. For a similar case, see SHAQAʾIQ, 310;
MECDI, 323–24.
93
94
95
SHAQAʾIQ, 330–31; MECDI, 341–42. See also Sohrweide, “Dichter and
Gelehrte aus dem Osten im Osmanischen Reich,” 266.
tradition. However, despite all of this, the emerging hierarchical insti-

tutional structure did not reach its full maturity at this time due to the
continued existence of such conflicting tendencies as impersonal and
personal relationships, the strict control of entrances to the hierarchi-
cal system through the grants of the status of novice, and the admission
of overwhelming numbers of scholars without it.
part iii
The Consolidation of the Hierarchy

(1530–1600)
6 The Focus of Attention Changes
Early modern imperial state formations displayed two salient charac-

teristics: (1) articulating universal claims and trying to establish “uni-
versal” dominion1 and (2) establishing a centralized imperial bureau-
cracy that ruled all provinces in the name of the emperor.2 In the
Ottoman case, these two aspects did not always go hand in hand. For
example, as discussed in Chapter 5, during Selim I’s reign, the rapid ter-
ritorial expansion in eastern and southern Anatolia, Syria, Egypt, and
Arabia was not accompanied by commensurate bureaucratic growth;
the local military and civil personnel in place during the pre-Ottoman
period were incorporated into the imperial administrative structure.
Somewhat similarly, the first decade of Süleyman’s reign was marked
by the capture of new lands in the east and west, as well as by forceful
universalist imperial propaganda, but the bureaucracy did not regis-
ter corresponding strides. On the other hand, beginning in the 1530s,
the desire to strengthen centralized control over the provinces and the
drive to create techniques and to train personnel for this became the
essential concern of the sultans and their agents, although the asser-
tion of universal prerogatives continued. This shift in emphasis and
the attention to augmenting centralized control had important reper-
cussions for the size of the bureaucracy in general and for the standing
of scholar-bureaucrats in particular.
Süleyman started his reign with military campaigns and new con-
quests in the west. He captured Belgrade and Rhodes in 1521–22 and
defeated King Louis II of Hungary at Mohács in 1526. These successes
brought him into open conflict with two Habsburg brothers, the Holy
1
Subrahmanyam, “Connected Histories,” 739, 754–59; Gülru Necipoğlu,
“Süleyman the Magnificent and the Representation of Power in the Context of
Ottoman-Hapsburg-Papal Rivalry,” Art Bulletin 71, no. 3 (1989): 401–27.
2
Rice and Grafton, The Foundations of Early Modern Europe, 114–16;
Newman, Safavid Iran, 13–40; Richards, The Mughal Empire, 58–74; Hucker,
“Ming Government,” 29–54.
119
120 Part III The Consolidation of the Hierarchy (1530–1600)
Roman Emperor Charles V (d. 1558) and the Archduke of Austria Fer-
dinand (d. 1564), for preeminence in the Mediterranean and Eastern
Europe. The Ottoman army besieged Vienna twice, and privateers sup-
ported by the Ottoman navy attacked Habsburg possessions and ships
in the Mediterranean until the temporary truce of 1533 was signed.3
The Ottoman military confrontation with the Habsburgs had an
ideological aspect – namely, the contest for imperial titles and rights.
Charles V received the title of Holy Roman Emperor in 1519 and
declared his right and intention to establish universal rule by unit-
ing Christian Europe and conquering the Ottoman lands. In response,
the Ottoman side, through the orchestration of Grand Vizier İbrahim
Pasha,4 passionately voiced counterclaims. Süleyman assumed the titles
master of the lands of the Roman caesars and Alexander the Great,
master of all lands, and shadow of God over all nations.5 He point-
edly refused to address Charles V as emperor and called him instead
the King of Spain.6 Reinforcing these claims to universal sovereignty,
Süleyman adopted symbols, such as the seven flags representing power
over the “seven climes” and the four horse-tail standards representing
rule over the four corners of the world.7 With the purpose of further
disseminating these imperial claims in Europe, İbrahim Pasha commis-
sioned Venetian goldsmiths to produce a helmet bearing four crowns,
a golden throne, and a golden saddle. Süleyman wore and displayed
these regalia in the campaign against Vienna in 1532.8 The goal of such
expenditure and ostentatious display was to match or even surpass
3
John Elliot, “Ottoman-Habsburg Rivalry: The European Perspective,” in
Süleymân the Second and His Time, 156–58; Miguel Ángel de Bunes Ibarra,
“Charles V and the Ottoman War from the Spanish Point of View,” Eurasian
Studies 1, no. 2 (2002): 165–66; Yurdaydın, Kanunî’nin Cülûsu ve İlk Seferleri,
29–31, 41–44; Şahin, Empire and Power, 74–87.
4
Turan, “The Sultan’s Favorite,” esp. 254–355.
5
Gülru Necipoğlu, The Age of Sinan, Architectural Culture in the Ottoman
Empire (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2005), 27–28; İnalcık “State,
Sovereignty and Law,” 67. See also Colin Imber, Ebu’s-suʿud: The Islamic Legal
Tradition (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1997), 73–76.
6
Gilles Veinstein, “Süleymān,” EI2 . 7
Necipoğlu, The Age of Sinan, 27.
8
For İbrahim Pasha’s patronage of Venetian artists to create ceremonial objects
for Süleyman, see Necipoğlu, “Süleyman the Magnificent and the
Representation of Power,” 402–7. In fact, the four-crowned helmet was
specifically intended to impress Europeans, because its iconography immediately
recalled the three-tiered papal crown and could be recognized by European
observers, whereas it did not have any meaning in the Islamic context. For this,
see ibid., 411–17.
The Focus of Attention Changes 121
Charles V’s splendor and convey to the West European elite the mes-
sage that Süleyman had the majesty and the right to establish a univer-
sal empire.9
On the other hand, in Süleyman’s early reign, Ottoman-Safavid rela-
tions were relaxed. After ascending to the throne, Süleyman made
the gesture of lifting Selim I’s ban on the silk trade with Iran, a law
that had been introduced to isolate Iran economically. He freed the
imprisoned silk traders and compensated them for the confiscation of
their property.10 In addition, Süleyman declared his intention to estab-
lish cordial relations with the Safavids by sending Shah Ismail a let-
ter in which he called for cooperation against the enemies of Islam
and prayed for the continuity of the Safavid lineage in 1521.11 Shah
Ismail responded to Süleyman’s entreaties by sending an embassy to
express condolences for his father’s death and to congratulate him
on his enthronement in 1523.12 A contemporary Ottoman historian,
Tabib Ramazan, reflected this favorable climate in Ottoman-Safavid
relations in the early years of Süleyman’s reign, describing the Safavids
as fellow Muslims and writing that he saw no reason for an Ottoman
war against them.13
Nevertheless, in time, the visions of universal empire on both sides
wrought an adverse effect on Ottoman-Safavid relations. The Safavid
shahs, Shah Ismail and his successors, maintained their messianic
claims and asserted their divine mandate to rule the world. Selim and
especially Süleyman responded to this challenge by asserting their own
authority over the spiritual world and by assuming titles such as mes-
siah, divine force (kudret-i ilahi), owner of time (sahib-i zaman), mas-
ter of the conjunction (sahib-kiran), and axis-mundi (kutb).14 After
9
For an evaluation of ideological confrontation between the Ottomans and the
Habsburgs, see Gábor Ágoston, “Information, Ideology, and Limits of Imperial
Policy: Ottoman Grand Strategy in the Context of Ottoman-Habsburg
Rivalry,” in The Early Modern Ottomans: Remapping the Empire, ed. Virginia
H. Aksan and Daniel Goffman (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007),
75–103, esp. 92–102.
10 11 12
Kılıç, Kanuni Devri, 128–30. Ibid., 132. Ibid., 134.
13
Yurdaydın, Kanunî’nin Cülûsu, 16.
14
Barbara Flemming, “Sahib-kiran und Mahdi: Türkische Endzeiterwartungen
im ersten Jahrzehnt der Regierung Süleymans,” in Between the Danube and the
Caucasus, ed. György Kara (Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó, 1987), 43–62;
Barbara Flemming, “Public Opinion under Sultan Süleymân,” in Süleymân the
Second and His Time, 52–53; Fleischer, “The Lawgiver as Messiah,” 162–63,
169–70; Cornell H. Fleischer, “Seer to the Sultan: Haydar-i Remmal and
establishing a 1533 truce with the Habsburgs that lasted five years,
Süleyman turned his attention to the east. The Ottoman army captured
Tabriz and Baghdad from the Safavids in 1534.15
The focus on the acquisition of new lands and the articulation of
imperial claims helped Süleyman to prove his ability and to acquire
legitimacy in the first decade of his reign. However, this policy had
limits and seemed impossible to sustain long term. Although the tech-
nical equipment of the Ottoman army was competitive, and its lines
of provisioning were unrivaled,16 conquering and holding new lands
became increasingly difficult. Neither the main Habsburg army nor the
Safavid one (after the Battle of Çaldıran in 1514) engaged the Ottoman
army on the battlefield, but both continued to hinder Ottoman uni-
versal ambitions. After the return of the Ottoman army to the impe-
rial center, the Habsburg and Safavid forces reestablished their posi-
tions in their respective regions. For example, after the 1526 victory
in Mohács, the Ottoman dynasty decided to rule Hungary as a vas-
sal state under King John Zapolya. However, soon after the Ottoman
Sultan Süleyman,” in Cultural Horizons: A Festschrift in Honor of Talat S.

Halman, ed. Jayne L. Warner, 2 vols. (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press,
2001), 1: 290–99; Imber, Ebu’s-Suʿud, 73–76. After the conquest of Syria and
Egypt, Al-Ishbili, who resided in Damascus at the time, hailed Selim as having a
holy spirit (sahib al-nafs al-qudsiyya), as the Shadow of God on earth, as the
Renewer of Religion, and as one who was succored by the help of God
(al-muayyad bi-nasr Allah). For this, see Ali bin Muhammad al-Lakhmi
al-Ishbili, Al-Durr al-Musan fi Sira al-Muzaffar Salim Khan, ed. Hans Ernst
(Cairo: Dar Ihya al-Kutub al-ʿArabiyya, 1962), 2, 5–6.
15
Kılıç, Kanuni Devri, 210–12. Gülru Necipoğlu suggests that in the context of
the Ottoman-Safavid competition to appeal to Muslim souls and to dominate
Muslim lands, the Ottoman capture of Baghdad, the last Abbasid capital, had
symbolic significance and probably contributed to the emergence of the
discourse on the Ottoman dynasty’s representing the Islamic caliphate. See
Necipoğlu, The Age of Sinan, 27. See also Hamilton A. R. Gibb, “Lut.fı̄ Paşa on
the Ottoman Caliphate,” Oriens 15 (1962): 287–95; Halil İnalcık, “The
Ottomans and the Caliphate,” in The Cambridge History of Islam, ed. P. M.
Holt, Ann K. S. Lambton, and Bernard Lewis (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1970), 1: 320–23.
16
Gábor Ágoston, Guns for the Sultan: Military Power and the Weapons
Industry in the Ottoman Empire (New York: Cambridge University Press,
2005), 7–13; Gábor Ágoston, “War-Winning Weapons? On the Decisiveness of
Ottoman Firearms from the Siege of Constantinople (1453) to the Battle of
Mohács,” Journal of Turkish Studies 39 (2013): 129–43; Halil İnalcık, “The
State Treasury and Budgets,” in An Economic and Social History of the
Ottoman Empire, 1300–1914, ed. Halil İnalcık and Donald Quataert
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 95–98.
army left, Ferdinand occupied the country and established himself as

the king of Hungary. After this, Süleyman reoccupied the region and
reinstituted Zapolya. The overlordship over Hungary moved back and
forth between the Habsburg and the Ottoman dynasties until 1540,
when the Ottomans established direct rule over the region.17 Likewise,
the Ottoman army captured Tabriz on three separate occasions, in
1514, 1534, and 1548, only to lose it each time to the Safavids almost
immediately once the army returned to Istanbul.18 As the Habsburgs
and Safavids established themselves as stable polities and blocked or at
least slowed Ottoman expansion, the discourse of universal empire and
practical efforts to realize it increasingly became expensive, unproduc-
tive, and disappointing. Meanwhile, during the first decade of Süley-
man’s rule, rebellions in different parts of the empire were eroding its
power. In 1520, Canberdi Gazali, the governor of Syria, asserted his
independence.19 In 1524, Ahmed Pasha, the governor of Egypt, also
attempted to sever Egypt from the empire to establish an independent
rule.20 In addition, several messianic figures, such as Baba Zünnun in
1526 and Kalenderoğlu in 1526–27, were able to receive the support
of the Turkmens in Anatolia and rose against Ottoman rule.21
Although Süleyman and his successors continued to use titles reflect-
ing a desire for universal rule throughout the sixteenth century,
there was a noticeable change in the imperial program beginning in
the 1530s.22 The emphasis shifted from establishing universal rule
and capturing new lands to increasing administrative efficiency and
revenues and enhancing central control over the existing domain. The
Ottomans gradually adopted the mentality of peaceful coexistence
17
Rhoads Murphey, “Süleyman I and the Conquest of Hungary: Ottoman
Manifest Destiny or a Delayed Reaction to Charles V’s Universalist Vision,”
Journal of Early Modern History 5, no. 3 (2001): 197–221; Şahin, Empire and
Power, 59–68, 74–87, 109–15.
18
Şahin, Empire and Power, 68–74, 116–22; Allouche, The Origins and
Development of the Ottoman-Safavid Conflict, 120–21.
19 20
Kılıç, Kanuni Devri, 131. Şahin, Empire and Power, 52–59.
21
Kılıç, Kanuni Devri, 145–51.
22
Several scholars have indicated this change of emphasis in the management of
the empire. See Fleischer, “The Lawgiver as Messiah,” 159–77; Gülru
Necipoğlu, “A K.ânûn for the State, a Canon for the Arts: Conceptualizing the
Classical Synthesis of Ottoman Art and Architecture,” in Soliman le
Magnifique, 195–216; Leslie P. Peirce, Morality Tales: Law and Gender in the
Ottoman Court of Aintab (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003),
9–10, 107–9.
with the Habsburgs and Safavids and signed peace treaties with them
in 1547 and 1555, respectively.23
The introduction of enhanced administrative techniques and proce-
dures, as well as the recruitment and training of officials to carry them
out, gained new momentum beginning in the 1530s. The chancery took
steps to standardize the language of documents issued by the Imperial
Council in the name of the sultan.24 Hence, the council would have the
ability to communicate with officials in different parts of the empire
using uniform language and terminology. In addition, beginning in
the 1540s, the council began preserving in special registers copies of the
documents it issued. This way, officials in the provinces could be held
accountable for failing to heed commands of the central government.
In order to meet the increased need for scribal services in the Impe-
rial Council after 1530, a greater number of people with special train-
ing were employed.25 Similarly, the land registry office (defterhane),
whose function was to keep and update the registers of land surveys,
and the office of the treasurers (defterdars), responsible for control-
ling the imperial treasury and expenses, adopted new techniques and
expanded their task force beginning in the 1530s.26
In the late 1530s, almost all imperial lands were surveyed for tax
purposes. The existing registers were replaced by the new and updated
23
Rüstem Pasha, who served as grand vizier during the periods 1544–53 and
1555–61, played a central role in the changing emphasis in the management of
the empire, the growth of the bureaucracy, and the establishment of relatively
peaceful relations with the Habsburgs and Safavids. See M. Zahit Atçıl, “State
and Government in the Mid-Sixteenth Century Ottoman Empire: The Grand
Vizierates of Rüstem Pasha (1544–1561)” (PhD diss., University of Chicago,
2015).
24
Şahin, Empire and Power, 215–30.
25
Cornell H. Fleischer, “Preliminaries to the Study of Ottoman Bureaucracy,”
Journal of Turkish Studies 10 (1986): 135–41; Bilgin Aydın, “XV–XVI. Yüzyıl
Osmanlı Bürokrasisinde Divan-ı Hümayun Katipleri,” Journal of Turkish
Studies 31, no. 1 (2007): 41–49. For the register, consisting of copies of
imperial orders from 1544, see Topkapı Sarayı Arşivi H. 951–952 Tarihli ve
E-12321 Numaralı Mühimme Defteri, ed. and transliterated by Halil
Sahillioğlu (Istanbul: IRCICA, 2002).
26
For the defterhane, see Erhan Afyoncu, Osmanlı Devlet Teşkilâtında
Defterhâne-i Âmire (XVI.–XVIII. Yüzyıllar) (Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu,
2014); Douglas A. Howard, “The Historical Development of the Ottoman
Imperial Registry (Defter-i Hakani): Mid-Fifteenth to Mid-Seventeenth
Centuries,” Archivum Ottomanicum 11 (1986 [1988]): 213–30. See also
Fleischer, Bureaucrat and Intellectual, 311–14.
ones.27 One group of registers (mufassal) recorded the names of the

heads of households, their tax statuses, and the expected tax income
from the relevant province. Another group (icmal) included the names
of the military personnel who were assigned these revenues (timar
holders) and the amount of their salary assignments in the provinces.28
Through these registers, the central government acquired more
detailed knowledge of tax revenues and their distribution through-
out the empire. It appointed officials who oversaw this system and
reported changes: tımar defterdarı and defter kethüdası.29 In addition,
beginning in the 1540s, provincial treasuries were created, and finance
directors (mal defterdarı) from the center were appointed to handle the
tax farms and to disburse the salaries of soldiers and other officials.30
Moreover, beginning in the 1550s, the janissary corps was stationed in
different cities and fortresses throughout Anatolia, Syria, and Egypt.31
In short, the central government sent more agents to the provinces
in order to better control taxpayers and to maximize revenues, as
well as to prevent officials from undertaking activities adverse to its
preferences.
A development related to the augmentation of centralized control
in the empire after 1530 was the gradual settlement of the dynas-
tic family in Istanbul. In the previous period, the sultans frequently
participated in wars, traversing and settling in different parts of the
empire. As centralized control instead of territorial expansion received
greater attention, however, the Ottoman sultans less frequently left
27
Ömer Lutfi Barkan, “Türkiye’de İmparatorluk Devirlerinin Büyük Arazi
Tahrirleri ve Hakana Mahsus İstatistik Defterleri,” İstanbul Üniversitesi İktisat
Fakültesi Mecmuası 2, no. 1 (1941): 29–56; İnalcık, Hicrî 835 Tarihli Sûret-i
Defter-i Sancak-i Arvanid, vi–xxiii; Feridun M. Emecen, “Sosyal Tarih Kaynağı
Olarak Osmanlı Tahrir Defterleri,” Tarih ve Sosyoloji Semineri, Bildiriler
(Istanbul: Edebiyat Fakültesi, 1991), 143–56.
28
For information about these registers, see Afyoncu, Osmnalı Devlet
Teşkilâtında Defterhâne-i Âmire, 24–28.
29
Fleischer, Bureaucrat and Intellectual, 313; Howard, “The Historical
Development of the Ottoman Imperial Registry,” 219.
30
Fleischer, Bureaucrat and Intellectual, 311–14. See also Darling,
Revenue-Raising and Legitimacy, 61; Erol Özvar, “Finances and Fiscal
Structure,” in Encyclopedia of the Ottoman Empire, ed. Gábor Ágoston and
Bruce Masters (New York: Facts on File, 2009), 217–18; Bilgin Aydın and
Rıfat Günalan, “XVI. Yüzyılda Osmanlı Eyalet Defterdarlıklarının Ortaya
Çıkışı ve Gelişimi,” Osmanlı Araştırmaları Dergisi 30 (2007): 155–56.
31
Şerafettin Turan, Kanunî’nin Oğlu Şehzâde Bayezid Vak’ası (Ankara: Türk
Tarih Kurumu, 1961), 175–77.
their residence for a war. Süleyman dedicated a smaller percentage of

his reign to wars than Selim I and Mehmed II had, for example. In
addition, “Between Süleyman’s final European campaign in 1566, on
which he died, and Mehmed III’s (r. 1595–1603) European campaign of
1596, the Ottoman sultans did not participate in military activity. Then
another lapse of more than twenty years occurred before the young
sultan Osman II took up arms.”32 As a consequence, after 1530, the
sultans usually spent more time in the palaces, mostly in Istanbul and
sometimes in Edirne, than they had in the past.
In the same vein and during the same time, other members of
the imperial family also left the palaces less often. First, the practice
of princes’ mothers accompanying their sons to the provinces ended
when Hürrem Sultan (d. 1558) decided to stay behind in Istanbul
on Prince Mehmed’s (d. 1543) appointment as Manisa’s governor in
1542.33 Then, during the reigns of Selim II (r. 1566–74) and Murad
III (r. 1574–95), only one of the princes was assigned a provincial
post.34 Finally, beginning in Mehmed III’s reign, the imperial family
stopped sending princes to the provinces as governors.35
These changes in the size and sophistication of the centralized
bureaucracy and in the residency practices of the dynastic family after
1530 transformed the Ottoman imperial project from a conquest enter-
prise into a revenue-raising bureaucratic machine; so it remained until
the end of the sixteenth century. The uncertainties about who would
exercise supreme power in the imperial center were resolved once and
for all; predictable rules and procedures increasingly dominated rela-
tions among the elite in the empire. The respective spheres, rights,
and limitations of the different branches of the central government
and their relationship with their bureaucrats became better delineated.
Now the sultan was indisputably the head of the central government,
the mechanism of decision making for empire-wide affairs, which was
embodied in the Imperial Council at the time. However, the sultan
became more and more secluded and delegated his powers to and
reflected his views through the grand vizier, who presided over the
council. The other members of the council, such as viziers, chief judges
32
Leslie Peirce, The Imperial Harem (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993),
168.
33 34 35
Ibid., 61. Ibid., 92–97. Ibid., 97–99.
(kadıaskers), and treasurers (defterdars), all had their own spheres and
functioned under the supervision of the grand vizier.36
As sultans and other members of the imperial family settled in Istan-
bul, other important members of the central government began to
reside in Istanbul, rarely leaving. Now that the central government
had expanded and acquired the ability to control appointments and
to exploit the tax resources, as well as to oversee and direct develop-
ments all over the empire – through its agents, recruited and trained
in the center, and through its decrees, written in a uniform language –
the distinction between the imperial center and the lands beyond it, the
periphery, became clearer. Istanbul acquired the status of the place from
which imperial power radiated.37 Edirne and Bursa, as the old capi-
tals, were also important and could be considered parts of the center.
They were geographically close to Istanbul; each housed an imperial
palace and several significant royal complexes. The dynasty considered
them secondary capitals and never disregarded the maintenance of the
palaces and the royal institutions in Edirne and Bursa.38 Official posi-
tions in these cities carried significant prestige and usually served as the
last step leading to a position in Istanbul. In addition, officials in Edirne
and Bursa could easily communicate with their colleagues in Istanbul,
could influence decisions affecting all parts of the imperial domain, and
could recruit and train bureaucrats who would be appointed to official
positions in both the center and the provinces.
36
Mumcu, Divan-ı Hümayun, 13–17. See also İnalcık, The Ottoman Empire:
The Classical Age, 89–100.
37
For example, during times of war in the preceding period, the sultans moved
accompanied by the bureaucratic elite. On their way to or in the cities where
they settled, they distributed positions and benefits to people who could
present themselves in the royal court. As discussed in Chapter 5, during Selim
I’s campaigns against the Safavids and the Mamluks in 1514 and 1516–17, at
least 68 people of scholarly background, most of whom did not carry the usual
eligibility requirements for the status of novice (mülazemet), received
appointments to scholarly positions. For this, see Table 5.2. Similarly, also in
the preceding period, princes were appointed as governors to the provinces,
including Amasya, Manisa, Konya, and Kütahya. They established satellite
courts, modeled after their father’s, with financial and scribal officials and
scholars around them. The entourage of the enthroned prince usually moved
up with him and occupied the top positions in the government.
38
İsmail Hakkı Uzunçarşılı, Osmanlı Devletinin Saray Teşkilâtı (Ankara: Türk
Tarih Kurumu, 1988), 9–12.
In this situation of enhanced centralized control, it became imper-

ative (and easier) to develop a set of new rules that would regulate
intraelite relations and hierarchies in the center, that would inhibit dis-
cretionary or extraordinary acts of various powerful people, and that
would facilitate the imposition of the center’s power through bureau-
crats stationed throughout the empire. New rules, usually called kanun,
were gradually created, and these directed the functioning of the central
government and its officials in the center and other parts of the imperial
domain. Not all these new rules emerged as written or enacted laws.
The legislative activity of the sultans could not always keep up with
the new developments. In this situation, the consensus and common
practice of the elite in the center – including the sultan, the members of
the Imperial Council and other military and civil bureaucrats – filled
the void, came to be recognized as enforceable (thus having the nature
of law), and provided predictability to the administration.39
Closely related to downplaying the claims and efforts of univer-
sal sovereignty and extending and intensifying the centralized admin-
istration – that is, the administration through bureaucrats trained
or recruited in the imperial center – was the growing influence of
Sunni ideas in defining the official ideology and the efforts to assert
this position by means of state power. Previous Ottoman sultans and
most of the elite in their realm had probably considered themselves
Sunnis, but they did not attempt to define their political enterprise
with reference to the principles of Sunni Islam before the sixteenth
century.40 However, after the rise of the Safavids and the elimination of
39
The term kanun could be used in different contexts with different meanings. It
could be used in a restricted sense to refer to the law codes (kanunnames) and
individual imperial decrees (fermans) issued by (or in the name of) the sultan. It
could also be used in a general sense to signify all the society’s imposed rules
and regulations whose origins were not sharia. Then, kanun in the general
sense was much wider and more complicated, as it comprised the kanunnames,
and fermans, as well as other unwritten rules, authorized by the consensus of
the elite. For the different usages of the term kanun, see Uriel Heyd, Studies in
Old Ottoman Criminal Law, ed. V. C. Ménage (Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1973), 167. See also Fleischer, Bureaucrat and Intellectual, 191–200.
40
A noteworthy example is that several Turkmen tribes who were later called
Kızılbaş had always had ideas and practices which did not conform to the
established Sunni understanding. However, the Ottoman government did not
conceive of them as a threat and even employed their members in the army
until the sixteenth century, when the Safavids and other messianic movements
began to mobilize them against the Ottomans and the Ottomans started
the Mamluks, the Ottoman Empire emerged as the most powerful

political authority and as the ruler of almost all Sunnis in the western
Islamic lands. Underlining the Sunni identity of the Ottoman political
enterprise by discourse and practice would help the Ottomans justify
their rule in the eyes of their now significantly increased Sunni pop-
ulation and help them legitimize their violent struggle with the Shiʿi
Safavids. In addition, the adoption of Sunni ideas as parts of the offi-
cial ideology led to greater predictability and closer supervision in the
administration, for theological and legal systems associated with Sunni
Islam could be used to justify the suppression of nonconforming beliefs
and practices in the empire.41
As a consequence, in the period under study, concepts, institutions,
and practices primarily inspired by Sunni principles began to play a
greater role in the ideology and policies of the empire. First of all,
the idea that as the rulers of the two holy lands of Islam, Mecca and
Medina, and as the protectors of all Sunni Muslims the Ottomans
represented the historical caliphate seems to have gained currency in
the sixteenth century.42 In addition, the Ottoman sultans supported
efforts to relate all aspects of the law that was imposed in the Ottoman
persecuting them. For the employment of the Kızılbaş in the Ottoman army, see
Savaş, XVI. Asırda Anadolu’da Alevilik, 18–20; Tekindağ, “Yeni Kaynak ve
Vesîkaların Işığı Altında,” 65; Emecen, Yavuz Sultan Selim, 117, 121.
41
Terzioğlu “How to Conceptualize Ottoman Sunnitization,” 310–38.
42
For a substantiation of the claim of the Ottoman caliphate with reference to
the rule over Mecca and Medina, see Özgür Kavak, “Bir Osmanlı Kadısının
Gözüyle Siyaset: Letâifü’l- Efkâr ve Kâşifü’l-Esrâr Yahut Osmanlı Saltanatını
Fıkıh Diliyle Temellendirmek,” Marmara Üniversitesi İlahiyat Fakültesi Dergisi
42 (2012): 95–120. For the significance of controlling and provisioning Mecca
and Medina for the Ottoman ideology, see Suraiya Faroqhi, “Trade Controls,
Provisioning Policies and Donations: The Egypt-Hijaz Connection during the
Second Half of the Sixteenth Century,” in Süleymân the Second and His Time,
133–36. For the emphasis on the strength of the Ottomans and their ability to
protect Sunnis to justify their claim of the caliphate, see Gibb, “Lut.fı̄ Paşa on
the Ottoman Caliphate,” 287–95. See also Al-Ishbili, Al-Durr al-Musan, 2;
Imber, Ebu’s-suʿud, 98–11; Colin Imber, “Süleyman as Caliph of the Muslims:
Ebu’s-Suʿud’s Formulation of Ottoman Dynastic Ideology,” in Soliman le
Magnifique, 179–84. Selim I and his followers did not pay particular attention
to the institution of the caliphate as represented by the Abbasids in Cairo,
which did not have any political power. After capturing Egypt, Selim I deported
the Abbasid caliph al-Mutawakkil (d. 1543) to Istanbul; however, contrary to
the popular belief of our time, Selim did not organize a ceremony of the transfer
of the caliphate from the Abbasids to the Ottomans. For this, see İnalcık, “The
Ottomans and the Caliphate,” 1: 320; Hakan Karateke, “Legitimizing the
Ottoman Sultanate: A Framework for Historical Analysis,” in Legitimizing the
realm, especially the law codes (kanunnames), whose normativity

depended on the will of the sultan, to Sunni sharia (in the Hanafi form)
and to ensure the agreement of these two different types of law.43
Furthermore, as the Ottoman sultans and officials became involved
in the codification of Sunni Hanafi law as the official law, impe-
rial decrees specifically commanded the imposition of this law in the
courtrooms.44
Cornell H. Fleischer succinctly and exquisitely summarized the
change in the management of the empire that started after 1530 and
its consequences:
After the execution of İbrâhîm Pasha, Süleymân employed a far less personal,
and therefore more awesome, surrogate persona: The dynastic law, k.ânûn,
Order, The Ottoman Rhetoric of State Power, ed. Hakan Karateke and Maurus
Reinkowski (Leiden: Brill, 2005), 25–32; Emecen, Yavuz Sultan Selim, 321–28.
For a review article on the studies on the Ottoman caliphate, see Ş. Tufan
Buzpınar, “Osmanlı Hilafeti Meselesi: Bir Literatür Değerlendirmesi,” Türkiye
Araştırmaları Literatür Dergisi 2, no. 1 (2004): 113–31.
43
Ebussuud played a critical role in the efforts to show the compatibility of the
law codes and sharia. For example, in the preambles of the law codes of Buda,
Salonika, and Skopje, he articulated the concept of miri land (public land).
According to Ebussuud, most of the lands in Anatolia and the Balkans were
miri and belonged to the public treasury. The peasants who tilled these lands
were not real owners but were tenants and as such had only the usufruct rights.
They could not sell, bequeath, or mortgage these lands, but their heirs could
inherit the usufruct rights. As the keeper of these public lands, the public
treasury could levy taxes by percentage (harac-i mukaseme) and by
measurement (harac-i muvazzaf). Thus, according to Ebussuud, the imposed
taxes, öşr (lit., tithe, but in practice, more than 10 percent) and çift resmi
(poll-tax), were legal from the perspective of sharia. Halil İnalcık,
“Islamization of Ottoman Laws on Land and Land Tax,” in Osmanistik-
Turkologie-Diplomatik, ed. Christa Fragner and Klaus Schwarz (Berlin: Klaus
Schwarz Verlag, 1992), 101–18. For a different interpretation, see Ömer Lutfi
Barkan, “Osmanlı Kanunnâmeleri,” in his XV ve XVI inci Asırlarda Osmanlı
İmparatorluğunda Ziraî Ekonominin Hukukî ve Malî Esasları, 2 vols.
(Istanbul: İstanbul Üniversitesi Edebiyat Fakültesi Yayınları, 1945), 1: ix–lxxii,
esp. xxxvii–xli. According to Barkan, the Ottoman sultans had absolute legal
authority; they did not need to justify their legal acts with religious principles.
These preambles represented the attempt to explain the orders of the law codes
in a religious language to the judges with religious training.
44
Jon E. Mandaville, “Usurious Piety: The Cash Waqf Controversy in the
Ottoman Empire,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 10, no. 3
(1979): 289–308; Richard C. Repp, “Qānūn and Sharı̄ʿa in the Ottoman
Context,” in Islamic Law, Social and Historical Contexts, ed. Aziz al-Azmeh
(London: Routledge, 1988), 125–45; Akgündüz, Osmanlı Kanunnâmeleri, 4:
35–59.
which represented and implemented sovereign authority, in written and oral

form, over tremendous distances. It is in this period, the late 1530’s and
1540’s, that we see an energetic compilation, codification, and modification
of imperial ordinance, its regularization, universalization, and reconciliation
with the dictates of the Holy Law, and also the rapid expansion and deepen-
ing of the machinery of government based on newly articulated principles of
hierarchy, order, meritocracy, regularity, and replicability of basic structures
based on function rather than on persons.45
The general transformation in the governance of the imperial enter-

prise and related changes in its ideology after 1530 caused significant
changes in the duties, rights, numbers, status, and self-perception of
scholar-bureaucrats. I call the years 1530–1600 the period of con-
solidation for the scholar-bureaucrats’ hierarchy because all the fea-
tures of the institutional bond between the Ottoman dynasty and its
scholar-bureaucrats grew dominant and easily recognizable during this
time. Scholar-bureaucrats came to specialize in educational and judicial
tasks. As mentioned in Chapters 4 and 5, during the formative period,
they were frequently assigned to offices, responsible solely for tasks
of a financial and scribal nature. However, the bureaucratic growth
and increased sophistication after 1530 encouraged the recruitment
and training of a greater number of officials with specialized qualifi-
cations for these tasks. The heads of the scribal and financial offices
were chosen from among the officials with substantial service in their
respective career lines, and new recruits were given specialized train-
ing. Thus, a civil bureaucratic sphere separate from that occupied by
scholar-bureaucrats began to develop. As a consequence, two discrete
career lines within the civil bureaucracy gradually came into existence:
the kalemiye (the career track consisting of financial and scribal offices)
and the ilmiye (the career track consisting of educational and judicial
offices).
Separating scribal and financial services from the scholar-
bureaucrats’ sphere of competence did not reduce for them the
number of job opportunities in government-appointed positions. In
fact, the loss of employment opportunities for scholar-bureaucrats
in scribal and financial services was overcompensated for by the
simultaneous increase in the number of educational and judicial posi-
tions. Newly built madrasas and newly incorporated judgeships made
possible the continuation and even the expansion of the hierarchy of
45
Fleischer, “The Lawgiver as Messiah,” 167.
scholar-bureaucrats, who during this period specialized increasingly

in educational and judicial tasks.
During the period of consolidation (1530–1600), connected to the
specialization and expansion of the ranks of scholar-bureaucrats was
the establishment of new rules for the regulation of their hierarchy.
As scholar-bureaucrats began specializing in educational and judicial
tasks, it became easier to develop a body of hierarchical rules with few
or no exceptions. In addition, as the number of scholar-bureaucrats
increased, there arose a need to create new rules for their appointments
and promotions to ensure the hierarchy’s smooth functioning. Mehmed
II’s law code could not completely control and direct the developments
related to the hierarchy. The sultans of the period issued some indi-
vidual commands, but no thoroughgoing law code incorporating the
new changes came into existence until the seventeenth century.46 The
practices of a multitude of individuals and groups, usually located in
the central cities and including sultans, administrators, job seekers,
architects, and endowers, formed the basis of most new rules related
to scholar-bureaucrats. Architects’ planning, pious endowers’ stipula-
tions in endowment deeds, and the administrators’ decisions regarding
appointments, job seekers’ demands, and their acceptance or rejection
of offers all contributed to the formation of binding norms as much as
sultans’ commands and injunctions did.
During the period of consolidation, the institutional nature of the
bond between scholar-bureaucrats and the Ottoman dynasty became
even more apparent. Loopholes in the system were closed, and alterna-
tives were defined along every step of the scholar-bureaucrats’ careers.
Now, rules and regulations, epitomized as kanun, guided entrance into
and appointments to the official hierarchy. The will of the sultan (or
any other official) and the extraordinary conditions of a period or a
region had, if any, only a marginal effect on the functioning of the
scholarly-bureaucratic hierarchy.
Scholar-bureaucrats both contributed to and were influenced by the
developments in the period 1530–1600. They helped define the Sunni
identity of the empire and carry out its policy consequences, espe-
cially related to law. In addition, they played a significant part in the
46
For the law code prepared in the seventeenth century that includes the
comprehensive rules about the hierarchical order of scholar-bureaucrats, see H.
Ahmet Arslantürk, ed., Abdurrahmân Abdî Paşa Kanunnâmesi (Istanbul: Okur
Kitaplığı, 2012).
formation of kanun through their demands, decisions, and criticisms.

Moreover, the vision of establishing a self-reproducing group through
controlling the assignment of novitiate status (mülazemet) came nearer
to realization. As will be seen, in contrast to the last decade of the
formative period, the overwhelming majority of scholar-bureaucrats
in the hierarchy in the second half of the sixteenth century under-
went the procedure for acquiring novitiate status. Meanwhile, the chief
jurist (şeyhülislam), chief judges (kadıaskers), and some other scholar-
bureaucrats began to play an even greater role in the general admin-
istration of the empire as well as the administration of the hierarchy.
These developments appear to have made scholar-bureaucrats – espe-
cially top representatives – stronger than ever within the Ottoman sys-
tem. They emerged not as agents who served the desires of the ruling
apparatus; rather, they appeared as parts of that apparatus by virtue
of their participation in defining laws and applying them as well as in
the administration of the empire.
7 The Ascendance of Dignitary
Scholar-Bureaucrats (Mevali)
During the period of consolidation, some tendencies of the formative

period gained new momentum and resulted in a remarkable increase
of power for the dignitary scholar-bureaucrats, known as mevali. The
vision of a self-reproducing hierarchy that would admit only those who
were affiliated with the dignitaries (by virtue of the grant of status of
novice/mülazemet) was almost completely realized. The topmost of the
dignitaries – namely, the chief jurist and the two chief judges – came to
hold great sway over the hierarchy by dominating the decisions regard-
ing the appointments and promotions of scholar-bureaucrats.
The Bifurcation in the Scholarly Hierarchy

The idea of distinguishing between two groups of scholar-bureaucrats
(mevali/dignitaries and kasabat kadıs/town judges) can be traced back
to the second half of the fifteenth century. The extant copies of Mehmed
II’s law code refer to those who had the status of dignitary: “the profes-
sors of the Sahn madrasas have the status of dignitary,” and “the pro-
fessors of the madrasas at the levels of dahil and haric have the status of
dignitary.”1 The law code also mentions the chief jurist (şeyhülislam),
the tutor of the sultan, the chief judges, the judges of throne cities
(taht kadısı: Istanbul, Edirne, and Bursa), and the tutors of the princes
among those who held the status of dignitary.2
In addition, the text reflects the higher income accorded to those
who served as town judges early in their careers: “a professor with 20
aspers [in a madrasa] in the interior (içil: Istanbul, Edirne, Bursa, and
their environs) becomes a judge with 45 aspers.” As mentioned dur-
ing the discussion of its authenticity in Chapter 4, the extant copies
1
KANUNNAME, 11. Haric (lit., “outer”) and dahil (lit., “inner”) designated the
two ranks of madrasas just below the Sahn madrasas. More information about
the terms haric and dahil is provided in Chapters 8 and 10.
2
Ibid., 12.
134
Dignitary Scholar-Bureaucrats (Mevali) 135
of Mehmed II’s law code include many additions and updates made
after its composition.3 It is impossible to substantiate (or reject) the
idea that a group of dignitary scholar-bureaucrats, with certain charac-
teristics and privileges, existed in Mehmed II’s time. However, regard-
less of the authenticity of the relevant clauses of the law code, the ref-
erence found in a document dated early in Bayezid II’s reign to the
dignitaries (mevali-i izam) as people who had the right and respon-
sibility to train the scholars who would be employed in the judge-
ships suggests that the dignitaries constituted a separate group before
the end of the fifteenth century.4 Beyond this, the document listing
the novices (mülazıms) introduced by the dignitaries and others, dat-
ing to circa 1506, clears all doubt about the distinction of dignitary
scholar-bureaucrats with certain rights in the first decade of the six-
teenth century.5
Nevertheless, it seems that a definitive separation between the dig-
nitaries and town judges did not take place until the period of consol-
idation. Only then did it become clear that these two groups followed
two distinct career paths. The status of dignitary could be acquired by
scholar-bureaucrats who chose to first serve a long period in teaching
positions and then to serve in prestigious judgeships before ascending
to the office of chief judge and finally to that of the chief jurist. On
the other hand, town judges were appointed from among those who
could not progress in teaching positions but advanced along a string
of judgeships classified according to income, the highest of which def-
initely ranked below the judgeships on the career path of dignitaries.
As this distinction between the two career paths became definitive, it
became increasingly difficult to change career track and to acquire the
status of dignitary after serving in low-level judgeships, defined as steps
along the career paths of town judges.6
3
The references to the levels of dahil and haric are most probably such
interpolations. See Repp, The Müfti of Istanbul, 36–42.
4 5
İnalcık, “A Report on Corrupt K.ād.ı̄s,” 78–79. TSMA, D.5605.1.
6
In the late fifteenth and early decades of the sixteenth century, some
scholar-bureaucrats moved between teaching positions and judgeships before
acquiring the status of dignitary. For example, see the biographies of Molla
Vildan, Hacıhasanzade Mehmed, Nihali Cafer Çelebi (d. 1540s), and Saçlı Emir
in SHAQAʾIQ, 198–99, 158, 478–79, 488–89. For an exceptional case of
changing tracks and moving from the career of town judges to that of
dignitaries after the consolidation of the division between these two, see the
biography of Bostan Mustafa Efendi (d. 1570); ATAYI, 129–32.
One thing that indicated and furthered the actual division between
dignitaries and town judges was the separation in their supervisors
and bureaucratic registers during the period of consolidation. Two
chief judges managed the appointments of the town judges and of the
professorships below the level of the career track of dignitaries. They
recorded day-to-day appointments and removals of judges and profes-
sors in their registers, known as day registers (ruznamçe).7 On the other
hand, the grand vizier and the chief jurist administered the appoint-
ments of dignitaries,8 and their decisions were recorded in registers
known as appointment registers (ruus).9 Thus, it is possible to say that
the distinction between supervisors and registers made it more diffi-
cult to change one’s career decision along the way and contributed to
the clear separation of two groups as well as two distinct career tracks
within the official hierarchy.
This bifurcation helped the central government deflect, to a certain
extent, the pressure for appointments and promotions from the ever-
increasing number of scholar-bureaucrats and to keep them satisfied in
general. The competition-based hierarchical structure had a pyramid
shape. Only some of those at a certain level could progress to a higher
level. As one progressed toward the top, desirable positions became
fewer. The split in the scholarly career structure resulted in the emer-
gence of two pyramids instead of one and kept alive the career expec-
tations of a greater number of scholar-bureaucrats in a given cohort.
This division in the hierarchy also facilitated the formation of two
discrete groups of scholar-bureaucrats with different skills, expertise,
7
The day registers (ruznamçe) of appointments of scholar-bureaucrats with the
earliest date, among those that has been discovered so far, is Çivizade Mehmed
Ruznamçesi (Nuruosmaniye Kütüphanesi, no. 4569.2, old no. 5193.2), from
1581–82. For information about these registers from the sixteenth century and
their types, see Beyazıt, Osmanlı İlmiyye Mesleğinde İstihdam, 17–26.
8
According to one report, during Ebussuud’s tenure in the office of chief jurist, it
became the duty of this office to administer the appointments of the professors
above the 40-asper level. For this, see Uzuncarşılı, Osmanlı Devletinin İlmiye
Teşkilâtı, 179; Repp, The Müfti of Istanbul, 294–95.
9
For information about the appointment registers (ruus) in general, see Nejat
Göyünç, “XVI. Yüzyılda Ruûs ve Önemi,” İstanbul Üniversitesi Edebiyat
Fakültesi Tarih Dergisi 17, no. 22 (1968): 17–34. For the records of the
appointments of professors and judges in the career of dignitaries in the
sixteenth century in the appointment registers, see Aydın and Günalan, “XVI.
Yüzyılda Osmanlı Devleti’nde Mevleviyet Kadıları,” 26–34; Bilgin Aydın and
Rıfat Günalan, “Ruus Defterlerine Göre XVI. Yüzyılda Osmanlı Müderrisleri,”
in Osmanlı’nın İzinde: Prof. Dr. Mehmet İpşirli Armağanı, ed. Adem Koçal and
Zeynep Berktaş (Istanbul: Timaş Yayınları, 2013), 169–91.
and connections with the imperial center. Most of the scholar-

bureaucrats following the path of town judges had embarked on their
judicial careers immediately after taking the status of novice. Some
of them had taught in a number of madrasas but decided to move
into a judgeship career before they reached the haric level (the low-
est step along the path of dignitary scholar-bureaucrats, discussed in
Chapter 10) in their teaching careers. On the other hand, scholar-
bureaucrats on the career track of dignitaries had to pass through
teaching positions at every level to be assigned as professors to high-
level madrasas (haric and above). Then, they could receive an appoint-
ment to a judgeship in the career track of dignitaries. Thus, the digni-
taries became distinguished from the town judges in that the dignitaries
had generally acquired teaching experience over a longer period of
time.
In addition, scholar-bureaucrats following the career track of digni-
taries spent a longer time in the central cities than those in town judge-
ships did. Occupying the prestigious teaching positions in the center
for an extended period, dignitaries had the chance to establish con-
tacts with the Ottoman dynasty as well as the elite. In contrast, most
of the scholar-bureaucrats who became town judges left the imperial
center early in their careers and returned only at irregular intervals to
accept promotions.
The Privileges of Dignitaries

It is clear that the path of dignitaries was more prestigious and car-
ried some benefits that were denied to town judges. The dignitaries
had a more or less continuous income. Dignitary professors were not
removed from their positions unless they were immediately assigned to
other positions.10 Dignitary judges could be removed from their posi-
tions, but when this happened, most of them were assigned to teach-
ing positions or lower-level judgeships as an unemployment benefit.11
Sometimes, at the time of their removal, they were assigned salaries
10
For examples of professors with dignitary status who moved from one position
to another without a waiting period, see Aydın and Günalan, “Ruus
Defterlerine Göre XVI. Yüzyılda Osmanlı Müderrisleri,” 169–91.
11
Abdurrahman Atçıl, “The Route to the Top in the Ottoman İlmiye Hierarchy
of the Sixteenth Century,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African
Studies 72, no. 3 (2009): 508–9. See also ATAYI, 539–41.
from the central treasury.12 On the other hand, most town judges
faced an obligatory unpaid period of unemployment between two
positions.13 In addition, as discussed in detail in Chapter 9, the sons
of some dignitary scholar-bureaucrats enjoyed advantages from their
very introduction to the career, while the sons of town judges were
granted no such benefit of preference.
Another important privilege associated with dignitary status was
the possibility of their participation in the general governance of the
empire as well as in the administration of the official hierarchy. The
holders of the top three positions in the hierarchy, the chief jurist and
the two chief judges, could have such influence in administration. The
chief jurist issued religio-legal opinions (fetvas) on questions posed by
private individuals as well as by public officials. As the top official
in the hierarchy,14 he could represent (and influence the opinions of)
scholar-bureaucrats and could affect the foreign and internal policies
of the empire by his issued opinions.15 In addition, the chief jurist had
the prerogative of making appointments to the madrasas (mostly in
the center) that paid more than 40 aspers, and he could express his
opinion regarding the promotion of dignitary scholar-bureaucrats to
judgeships.16
12
Chief judges received 150 aspers as a retirement salary when they were
removed from the position. For this, see ATAYI, 509. For references to the
retirement salary of chief judges, see the biography of Muhyiddin Fenari in
SHAQAʾIQ, 384–85, and the biography of Bostan Mustafa Efendi, in ATAYI,
129–32. For the salaries of the high-level dignitaries after removal, see Baki
Tezcan, “The Ottoman Mevali as Lords of the Law,” Journal of Islamic Studies
20, no. 3 (2009): 394–95.
13
Halil İnalcık, “The Rūznāmce Registers of the Kadıasker of Rumeli as
Preserved in the Istanbul Müftülük Archives,” Turcica 20 (1988): 261–62;
Beyazıt, Osmanlı İlmiyye Mesleğinde İstihdam, 116–26.
14
For the development of the office of the chief jurist in the Ottoman Empire, see
Repp, The Müfti of Istanbul. In the fifteenth century, the chief jurist was
outside the hierarchy and did not have any functions directly related to it.
However, during the period of consolidation, he became the holder of the top
position and assumed several administrative functions, such as the
appointment of dignitaries to the professorships and judgeships in the official
hierarchy. See also Akgündüz, Osmanlı Devletinde Şeyhülislâmlık, 37–75.
15
For a list of fetvas about the relationships of the empire with other political
powers, see Repp, The Müfti of Istanbul, 217–24. See also Tezcan, The Second
Ottoman Empire, 30–43.
16
Uzuncarşılı, Osmanlı Devletinin İlmiye Teşkilâtı, 179; Repp, The Müfti of
Istanbul, 294–95.
The chief judges of Anatolia and Rumeli attended the Imperial

Council and participated in discussions of all kinds of issues there.
They also heard and passed judgments on the legal cases brought to
the council; in addition, they kept the registers of low-level scholar-
bureaucrats and made appointments to the professorships of madrasas
that paid less than 40 aspers and to all town judgeships.17
The Dignitaries’ Increasing Sway over Novitiate Status and

Entrance to the Official Hierarchy
Perhaps the most conspicuous privilege of the dignitaries was their
right to decide who would be included in the hierarchy by grant-
ing the status of novice. They exercised this prerogative since at least
the early sixteenth century.18 During the formative period, this right
was less exclusive, for acquiring the status of novice was only one
of several ways to enter into official service.19 On the other hand,
during the period of consolidation, the control of dignitaries over
novitiate status increased, and there was consistent progress toward
making the acquisition of this status the only legitimate way into the
hierarchy.
As mentioned in Part II, already during the formative period,
scholar-bureaucrats took action to maintain their advantages as a
privileged group by restricting entrance to the hierarchy, limiting it
to their students by selectively granting novitiate status. During the
period of consolidation, they continued to push for an extended
role for novitiate status at the expense of other ways of entrance to
the hierarchy. Meanwhile, as the government in general turned atten-
tion toward strengthening the centralized control of all provinces, it
probably supported more than ever the employment of scholars with
the status of novice, who were normally recruited and trained in the
center.
17
Mehmet İpşirli, “Osmanlı Devleti’nde Kazaskerlik (XVII. Yüzyıla Kadar),”
Belleten 61 (1997): 660–91.
18
A document from the first decade of the sixteenth century (TSMA, D. 5605.1)
demonstrates that the dignitaries had acquired the right to grant the status of
novice by that time.
19
For the granting of the status of novice without the support of dignitaries, see
Table 5.1. For the widespread use of paths other than novitiate status to enter
the hierarchy, see Table 5.2.
The desire to increase the role of novitiate status and to exclude those
without it created tension and led to the submission of a complaint to
the sultan, probably in the early 1540s:
It is reported that until the tenure of this scholar [Ebussuud] as the chief judge
[of Rumeli; 1537–45], there had been no special attention given to the regis-
tration of those with the status of novice, so that everybody could find a way
to enter the hierarchy. His peer [the chief judge of Anatolia] Çivizade Efendi
[Mehmed bin İlyas; d. 1547] had prevented all outsiders (ecnebis) from atten-
dance [in his court to request an appointment]. They came together and
submitted a petition to the . . . imperial stirrup (rikab-i sultani) [the sultan],
who gave it to this scholar [Ebussuud] and asked him to solve the problems
of these outsiders. Considering that their deprival would not be suitable to
the honor of the sultanate (şayeste-i namus-i saltanat), he appeased each of
them with a position. However, he established a special register for novices.
In addition, he submitted a petition suggesting that the number of novices
that scholars [dignitaries] of each rank could invest be determined and that
there be a general occasion for the investment of novices (nevbet) every seven
years. This petition was approved.20
Atayi uses the word ecnebi (outsider) for those who had not received
the status of novice but sought a position in the hierarchy.21 It is highly
probable that Ebussuud allowed the complaining outsiders into the
hierarchy at that time but started a register listing daily the names of
those who had received the status of novice.22 The purpose of the new
register was to restrict the right of attendance in the courts of the chief
20
ATAYI, 184.
21
It is quite possible that the word ecnebi (outsider) was not used at the time of
this tension in the early 1540s but that Atayi himself concocted the term to
label those who were not then affiliated with dignitaries, for, at the time of
Atayi’s writing, calling such scholars “outsiders” was very common. For this,
see Hans Georg Majer, “Die Kritik an den Ulema in den osmanischen
politischen Traktaten des 16.–18. Jahrhunderts,” in Social and Economic
History of Turkey, ed. Osman Okyar and Halil İnalcık (Ankara: Hacettepe
Üniversitesi, 1980), 147–55; Uzuncarşılı, Osmanlı Devletinin İlmiye Teşkilâtı,
241–54. See also Tezcan, The Second Ottoman Empire, 184 –212.
22
Evidence supporting the veracity of Atayi’s report is the existence of a register
for novices started in September 1544. For this, see Nedim Ceylan, “951–959
(1544–1556) Tarihli Rumeli Kadıaskeri Ruznâmesi” (senior thesis, Istanbul
University, 1980). This register is the oldest known one to record, on a daily
basis, the name of novices, their sponsors, and the date and occasion of their
acquisition of the status of novice. As such, it is different from the two
documents with earlier dates (TSMA, D. 5605.1 and D. 8823.1), which include
summary lists of all novices.
judges in search of employment in the hierarchy to novices. In addi-

tion, Ebussuud suggested that dignitaries have the chance to designate
a certain number of novices prescribed according to their rank in the
hierarchy on the general occasions (nevbet), held every seven years.23
The idea of excluding scholars without the status of novice was not
new in the 1540s. As discussed in Chapter 5, a tendency to privilege
those who entered by acquiring the status of novice over others in the
hierarchy had emerged by the 1520s. Nevertheless, the introduction
of a register for recording novices made the idea of excluding schol-
ars without the status of novice operative and guaranteed privilege for
those with it. Possessing a register of novices, the officials of the cen-
tral government had the ability to identify those without the status of
novice. For example, during the investigation into Muhaşşi Sinan’s24
(d. 1578) acts on his dismissal from the office of chief judge of Anatolia
in 1551, he was questioned about the appointments of many scholar-
bureaucrats who had not received the status of novice. During this
investigation and other situations, the existence of a record (or lack
thereof) in the registers served as the yardstick to distinguish between
novices and others.25
The intention to restrict employment to novices and increasing effi-
ciency in doing so caused many people of scholarly origin who had not
23
General occasions for the introduction of novices (nevbet) took place even
before Ebussuud’s tenure in the office of the chief judge of Rumeli. What he did
was to reform this practice, not to introduce it. A note at the end of the
document related to the occasion in 1561 mentions that there were such
occasions in 1523/24, 1532/33, and 1539/40. For this, see TSMA, D. 5605.2,
4b.
24
For his biography, see ATAYI, 248–51.
25
For some examples, see Mecmuʿa-i Muhakamat, TSMK, Revan, no. 1506
mükerrer, 12a, 14a, 17b, 18b, 19b, 20b, 21a, 22b, 23–23b, 24a, 28b. For an
introductory evaluation of Mecmuʿa-i Muhakamat, see Mehmet İpşirli,
“Anadolu Kadıaskeri Sinan Efendi Hakkında Yapılan Tahkikat ve Bunun
İlmiye Teşkilâtı Bakımından Önemi,” İslam Tetkikleri Dergisi 8 (1986):
205–218. Another example of the government’s ability to detect scholar-
bureaucrats without the status of novice is the case of Rüstem, who served as
judge in a town in the environs of Peşte. However, as it was understood that
“Rüstem was not a novice but an outsider,” he was dismissed from his position
in May 1581 (Çivizade Mehmed Ruznamçesi, 3a). Similarly, Mehmed, the
judge of Niş, was dismissed from his position with the claim that he was an
outsider. However, a search in the register of novices brought to light the
record of his acquisition of the status of novice, and thus he was appointed to
another position in 1591. For this and other examples, see Beyazıt, Osmanlı
İlmiyye Mesleğinde İstihdam, 94–95.
received an education in the Ottoman center and who did not have a
connection with dignitaries to search for loopholes in order to enter
the hierarchical scholarly system. In response, the government – prob-
ably at the instigation of the dignitaries – tried to close these loopholes
or discriminate against those who benefited from them.
The most commonly used loophole reflects a discrepancy between
intentions and means. The register of the aforementioned investigation
into Sinan’s acts clearly shows that although the consensus of the elite
was to assign all teaching and judicial positions to novices, many posi-
tions in areas far from the center, especially in eastern Anatolia, Syria,
Iraq, Egypt, and Arabia, went to those without novice status. When
Sinan was asked about the appointment of Meccan scholars (who did
not have the status of novice) as judges to Sana and Muha in Yemen,
he responded, “Those with the status of novice do not want [the posi-
tions in] this country.”26 Sinan implicitly accepted that acquiring the
status of novice was a requirement of serving in the hierarchy, but he
had to employ those without it because this was the only way to fill
the positions in the distant provinces.
The desire was to prevent service in peripheral areas from becom-
ing an alternative means of entering the hierarchy, a way around the
requirement of the status of novice. Sinan was questioned and criticized
for appointing a scholar-bureaucrat without this status and who had
served in the distant parts of the empire to a position of equal rank and
salary in Anatolia.27 It was unambiguously declared, “It is against the
law (kanun) for someone to receive a promotion when he has moved
from a position in the Arab lands to a position in Anatolia (Rum).”28
Clearly, in the 1550s, the emerging law/precedent (kanun) rule was that
scholars without the status of novice should not be employed in the
hierarchy. If they somehow received employment in scholarly positions
in the distant provinces, a delay in their careers should be enforced if
they wanted to integrate fully into the official hierarchy.
Nevertheless, the imperial decree prepared by the leading dignitaries
and issued by the sultan in 1598 was stricter and designed to frus-
trate any hopes of entering the hierarchy via a teaching position in the
peripheral regions:
26
Mecmuʿa-i Muhakamat, 20b. For other examples along the same lines, see
ibid., 21a, 22b.
27 28
Ibid., 17b. Ibid., 17a–17b.
There are some madrasas in the far-away areas (bilad-ı kasiye) that novices
do not accept [to teach in] and thus are given to outsiders (ecanib). They
[outsiders] later come and enter into the path of the novices and reach high
positions . . . it is commanded that, from now on, these madrasas be recorded
in the salary (cihet) registers and that no one enter into the ranks of novices
through this path.29
The salary registers included the records of the appointments to schol-

arly positions below the level of those in the hierarchy.30 So the mes-
sage of this statute is clear: professors in madrasas distant from the
center were on a different career path and should not have any hope
of ascending within the hierarchy. This was effectively an attempt to
define the limits of the hierarchy by placing outside its bounds certain
scholarly positions that had once been part of it.
Another loophole that allowed scholars who did not have a spon-
sor from among the dignitaries to enter the hierarchy was the right
of prayer leaders in the royal gardens, palace bakeries, and imperial
stables to receive the status of novice at the time of general occasions
(nevbet) without associating with dignitaries. It seems that with the
gradual closing of all the other ways of entering the hierarchy, scholars
who had originated or been educated outside the center and who had
no hope of dignitary sponsorship rushed to benefit from this opening.
The decree of 1598 included the observation that while only 5 or 6
scholars had become novices on the basis of their service in the clerical
positions of prayer leader in the 1550s, 140 scholars ascended to
the hierarchy on the same basis in 1595. It commanded that the number
of novices who acquired the status through these positions be reduced
to the level of the 1550s. In addition, the law prescribed a distinc-
tion between dignitary-sponsored novices and novices who acquired
the status through the position of prayer leader and commanded that
the former be privileged over the latter. Accordingly, the dignitary-
sponsored novices would have had a head start of one year on the
others.31
Because it was becoming ever more difficult to find a path into the
official hierarchy, some people tried to use trickery to do so. The most
common approach was to impersonate a deceased scholar-bureaucrat,
29
Akgündüz, Osmanlı Kanunnâmeleri, 8: 635.
30
İnalcık, “The Rūznāmce Registers of the Kadıasker of Rumeli,” 251–69.
31
For this, see Akgündüz, Osmanlı Kanunnâmeleri, 8: 633–36.
relying on the similarity of personal names and fathers’ names. The

measure against this deception was to record the physical characteris-
tics of the novices.32
These attitudes among the dignitaries and the measures they took
to exclude scholars who were not directly affiliated with them were
largely successful. In the 1520s, most of the positions thought to lie
within the hierarchy were occupied by scholar-bureaucrats who had
entered via ways other than acquiring the status of novice.33 On the
other hand, toward the end of the sixteenth century, there were so very
few without the status of novice in the hierarchy that it was possible
to call them “outsiders” and to carry out a campaign to purge the hier-
archy of them completely.
32
Ibid., 8: 634. For the implementation of the law that commanded recording the
physical features of novices, see Yasemin Beyazıt, “Efforts to Reform Entry
into the Ottoman İlmiyye Career towards the End of the 16th Century: The
1598 Ottoman İlmiyye Kanunnamesi,” Turcica 44 (2013): 215.
33
See Table 5.2.
8 The Growth and Extension of
the Hierarchy
During the period of consolidation, new educational and judicial posi-

tions were created, and the legal and technical groundwork for the
control of existing scholarly positions was enhanced. Thus, a greater
number of scholar-bureaucrats could be employed. Meanwhile, the dif-
ferentiation of scholarly positions and their organization in a particu-
lar order by rank gained momentum and facilitated the development of
objective rules regarding the appointment and promotion of scholar-
bureaucrats.
This chapter investigates the dramatic increase in the number of
positions in which scholar-bureaucrats could serve and their stratifi-
cation during the period of consolidation. The construction of new
madrasas by the Ottoman dynasty and elite was an important factor
in these changes, along with the differentiation of new and existing
madrasas on the basis of the rank of each school’s founder, location,
and endowment. The officials of the central government exhibited an
interest in controlling the endowments, a concern that went hand in
hand with the extension of the hierarchy. Also during this period, many
judgeships were incorporated into the official hierarchy, a develop-
ment mostly relying on the expansion of land surveys and the ensu-
ing differentiation of judgeships based on the estimated revenue they
produced. Moreover, new administrative techniques, such as rotation,
limited tenures, and an interim period between positions, made it pos-
sible to keep a greater number of scholar-bureaucrats affiliated with
the central government.
The Construction of New Madrasas

The establishment of social institutions reached an apogee in terms
of the number and size of institutions and endowments during
the period under study. During Süleyman’s reign alone, more than
145
100 madrasas were established and endowed.1 During the reigns of

Selim II, Murad III, and Mehmed III combined, at least 64 madrasas
were constructed.2
This abundance of architectural projects in general and of new
madrasas in particular had much to do with the augmentation of cen-
tralized control all over the empire after 1530. Benefiting from the
wealth that was flowing to the center from the provinces, the Ottoman
dynasty and elite undertook architectural patronage so as to assert
their power. In addition, as the bureaucracy expanded, there arose a
particular incentive to establish new madrasas where officials would
be trained to fill the increasing number of official positions in both the
center and the provinces.3
Establishing new madrasas increased the number of positions that
scholar-bureaucrats could hold. Of varying sizes and with a range
of resources at their disposal, mostly determined according to their
founders and locations, the additional madrasas added new steps to the
different sections of the hierarchical ladder, extending it.4 Moreover,
partly in response to the classification of the new madrasas, existing
madrasas also came to be differentiated according to founder, the size
of their endowment, and their location; as a consequence, their place
in the hierarchy of madrasas was better defined. Generally speaking,
the madrasas in the central cities (Istanbul, Edirne, Bursa, and their
environs) that had been built by sultans and their mothers were the
1
İ. Aydın Yüksel, Osmanlı Mimarisinde Kanuni Sultan Süleyman Devri
(1520–1566): İstanbul (Istanbul: İstanbul Fetih Cemiyeti, 2004), xi–xii, 745–80.
2
Hüseyin Demir, Die Osmanischen Medresen: das Bildungswesen und seine
historischen wurzeln im Osmanischen reich von 1331–1600 (Frankfurt: Peter
Lang GmbH, 2005), 97.
3
Toward the middle of the sixteenth century, the chancery and financial services
began to train their officials in offices. However, their dependence on the
graduates of madrasas did not end immediately; see Fleischer, Bureaucrat and
Intellectual, 217–24; Woodhead, “After Celalzade,” 298–99. For example,
Mustafa Âlî graduated from one of the Sahn madrasas in 1560/61 and then
served in various scribal and financial offices. See Fleischer, Bureaucrat and
Intellectual, 220–22, 315–18.
4
Gülru Necipoğlu has shown that in the sixteenth century, the rank of the
founder or the dedicatee of mosque complexes, most of which included
madrasas, was most often reflected in their size, location, and endowment.
Mimar Sinan (d. 1588) played a crucial role in projecting the idea of hierarchy
on the buildings before and after he became the chief architect. See Necipoğlu,
The Age of Sinan, 119–21.
The Growth and Extension of the Hierarchy 147
most prestigious and constituted the highest class. The madrasas in the
central cities and thereabouts whose founders were either female mem-
bers of the Ottoman family (other than royal mothers) or viziers consti-
tuted second-tier madrasas. Those madrasas established by others and
with limited resources or located outside the central cities formed the
lower parts of the hierarchy. Thus, with the addition of new positions
and ranks, as well as more-precise rankings for existing madrasas, the
hierarchical ladder for educational careers grew more extensive and
well articulated. A greater number of scholar-bureaucrats became affil-
iated with the central government, and those in teaching careers had an
objective point of reference within the hierarchy of madrasas marking
their status.
During the period under study, one of the first additions to the top-
tier madrasas was Prince Mehmed Madrasa in Istanbul, completed
in 1547. Mehmed, who was the governor of Manisa at the time of
his death in 1543, seems to have been Süleyman’s favorite and heir
apparent. Süleyman commissioned the famous architect Mimar Sinan
to build a monumental complex that “deliberately conflated sultanic
and princely status to proclaim Mehmed’s unfulfilled destiny as future
ruler.”5 The endowment deed prescribed that the daily remuneration
of the institution’s professor be 50 aspers.6 Likewise, Süleyman also
commissioned Mimar Sinan to build a madrasa of the highest class
to be named after his father, Selim I. This madrasa was completed
in 1548/49. According to the endowment deed, the professor of this
madrasa would also receive 50 aspers per day.7
It is entirely clear that the salary of the professor mentioned in the
endowment deed did not necessarily reflect the rank of the madrasa.
According their endowment deeds, the professors at the madrasas of
the Sahn, Prince Mehmed, and Selim I were assigned the same daily
salary of 50 aspers. However, most of the professors – 23 of 25 in
the case of the Prince Mehmed Madrasa and 32 of 36 in the case of
the Selim I Madrasa – considered appointment to those madrasas a
5
Ibid., 204.
6
Yüksel, Osmanlı Mimarisinde Kanuni Sultan Süleyman Devri, 679.
7
Ibid., 518; Baltacı, XV–XVI. Asırlarda Osmanlı Medreseleri, 536–37. Selim I
Madrasa was built in the area known today as Vatan Caddesi, separate and
removed from the site of the complex dedicated to this sultan.
Table 8.1 Promotion of Professors to the Prince Mehmed and Selim I

Madrasas during the Sixteenth Century
Last Position before Prince Mehmed Madrasa Selim I Madrasa

Appointment (24 professors) (36 professors)
One of the Sahn Madrasas 23 33

Ayasofya Madrasa – 2
Muradiye Madrasa in Bursa – 1
The Jurist of Manisa 1 –
Source: Data from Baltacı, XV–XVI. Asırlarda Osmanlı Medreseleri, 514–17,

537–42.
promotion from their positions in one of the Sahn madrasas.8 Thus,

these two madrasas provided for the formation of a new step above the
level of the Sahn madrasas in the teaching career of scholar-bureaucrats
(see Table 8.1).
A bigger investment in madrasa construction and a more substan-
tial extension of the hierarchy took place when the Süleymaniye com-
plex (named after Süleyman) was planned by Mimar Sinan and built
in Istanbul during 1547–57. The complex included a mosque, five
madrasas, a medical school, an elementary school, a hospital, a soup
kitchen, and guesthouses.9 Four madrasas were located on the east and
the west of the complex, while the Darulhadis Madrasa was in the
mosque’s courtyard.10 According to the endowment deed, the profes-
sors in the general madrasas received 60 aspers daily, and the professor
of Darulhadis was paid 50.11
The status of the Süleymaniye madrasas in relation to those of Prince
Mehmed, Selim I, Ayasofya, and Bayezid II was not initially clear.
8
Keçimirzade Yahya (d. 1599/1600) taught in one of the Sahn madrasas and
then became nakibüleşraf in 1586/87. Since the office of nakibüleşraf was not
an integral part of the official hierarchy, I consider the Sahn professorship the
last position he held before teaching in Selim I Madrasa in 1588/89. For
Keçimirzade’s biography, see ATAYI, 431–32. For the development of the office
of nakibüleşraf in the Ottoman Empire, see Rüya Kılıç, Osmanlıda Seyyidler ve
Şerifler (Istanbul: Kitap Yayınevi, 2005), 79–86, 137–38.
9
Necipoğlu, The Age of Sinan, 207–08.
10
For the Darulhadis Madrasa, see Mehdin Çiftçi, Süleymaniye Dârulhadisi
(XVI–XVII. Asırlar) (Istanbul: Kitabevi, 2013).
11
Kemal Edib Kürkçüoğlu, Süleymaniye Vakfiyesi (Ankara: Resimli Posta
Matbaası, 1962), 31–32.
Table 8.2 Last Positions Held by Professors before Appointment to the

Süleymaniye Madrasas during the Sixteenth Century
Selim I Madrasa (after one of the Sahn madrasas) 21

One of the Sahn madrasas 14
Prince Mehmed Madrasa (after one of the Sahn madrasas) 12
Ayasofya Madrasa (after one of the Sahn madrasas) 8
Bayezid II Madrasa in Edirne (after one of the Sahn Madrasas) 2
Source: Data from the biographies of the professors of the Süleymaniye madrasas
in the sixteenth century, found in Baltacı, XV–XVI. Asırlarda Osmanlı Medreseleri,
519–34.
Professors teaching in the Sahn madrasas had two options: to move

directly to one of the Süleymaniye madrasas or to teach in one of
these four madrasas and then receive an appointment to a Süleymaniye
madrasa (Table 8.2). Nonetheless, the Süleymaniye madrasas appear
to have gradually become distinguished as the highest class. Therefore,
three steps in the top tier of the hierarchy became increasingly recogniz-
able in order from least to most prestigious. These steps were: (1) the
Sahn madrasas; (2) the madrasas of Ayasofya, Bayezid II in Edirne,
Selim I, and Prince Mehmed; and (3) the Süleymaniye madrasas (see
Tables 8.1 and 8.2).
Süleyman’s successors and royal mothers patronized the establish-
ment of madrasas. Selim II commissioned Mimar Sinan to construct a
building complex that included a monumental mosque and a madrasa
in Edirne. The complex, known as Selimiye, was completed in 1574.12
Similarly, Murad III had Sinan build a complex comprising a mosque,
a madrasa, and a hospice in Manisa.13 Murad III’s mother, Nurbanu
Sultan (d. 1583), also funded a monumental project that included a
mosque and a madrasa in Üsküdar; this was completed by Sinan in
1583 and named after her as the Valide Sultan complex.14 Mehmed
III’s mother, Safiye Sultan (d. 1605), established a madrasa in Istanbul
12
Baltacı, XV–XVI. Asırlarda Osmanlı Medreseleri, 548–49. See also Necipoğlu,
13
14
As the sultan’s mother, Nurbanu Sultan had the power and means to build a
complex comparable to those bearing the names of the sultans. Baltacı,
XV–XVI. Asırlarda Osmanlı Medreseleri, 470. See also Necipoğlu, The Age of
Sinan, 280–92.
that became known as the New Valide Madrasa, distinguishing it from

Nurbanu Sultan’s, the Old Valide.15 Generally speaking, royal founders
of madrasas had a tendency to make theirs the highest ranking and
most prestigious one, ensuring, for example, that during their lifetimes
the most prestigious professors taught in their schools. However, it
seems that a separate class outranking the Süleymaniye madrasas did
not emerge until the end of the sixteenth century.16
In addition, during the period of consolidation, the construction of
new madrasas in the central cities by female members of the dynasty
other than sultans’ mothers contributed to expanding the middle seg-
ment of the hierarchical ladder. Compared with the madrasas in the
highest class, these were of modest size and endowment, and the salary
assigned their professors in the endowment deed was smaller. Thus,
they did not take a place at the top of the hierarchy but instead became
stepping-stones to the madrasas in the highest class.
For example, Süleyman’s favorite concubine and later wife, Hür-
rem Sultan, commissioned Mimar Sinan to build a complex in Istan-
bul that included a mosque, a madrasa, a soup kitchen, an elementary
school, and a hospital. Completed in 1539/40, it became famous as
the Haseki complex. According to the endowment deed, the professor
of the madrasa received a daily salary of 50 aspers.17 Similarly, Süley-
man and Hürrem Sultan’s daughter Mihrimah Sultan (d. 1578) patron-
ized the construction, once again by Sinan, of two large complexes
in Üsküdar and Istanbul.18 The Üsküdar complex was built between
1542/43 and 1548, and the Istanbul complex was most probably com-
pleted in 1566.19 The professors in each of these complexes were
assigned a daily salary of 50 aspers in the deed of Mihrimah Sultan’s
endowments.20
The status of Hürrem Sultan and Mihrimah Sultan rather than the
salary of the professors allocated in the endowment deeds determined
the rank of their madrasas in the hierarchy. Their endowment deeds
indicate that the madrasas of Mehmed II, Bayezid II, Prince Mehmed,
15
Baltacı, XV–XVI. Asırlarda Osmanlı Medreseleri, 555–57.
16
Atçıl, “The Route to the Top,” 501–2.
17
Necipoğlu, The Age of Sinan, 272; Baltacı, XV–XVI. Asırlarda Osmanlı
Medreseleri, 496–97.
18
19
For the construction date of the Istanbul complex, see Necipoğlu, The Age of
Sinan, 306–7.
20
Yüksel, Osmanlı Mimarisinde Kanuni Sultan Süleyman Devri, 326–27.
Table 8.3 Last Positions Held by Professors before Appointment to One

of the Sahn Madrasas in the Sixteenth Century
Mihrimah Sultan Madrasas (in Üsküdar and Istanbul) 9

Haseki Madrasa 8
Üç Şerefeli Madrasas (by Murad II) 7
Eyüp (by Mehmed II) 4
Şah Sultan Madrasa (by Selim II’s daughter) 4
Kalenderhane Madrasa (by Mehmed I or Bayezid II) 2
Bursa Sultaniye Madrasa (by Mehmed I) 2
Hatice Sultan Madrasa (dedicated to Selim I’s daughter) 2
İsmihan Sultan Madrasa (dedicated to Selim II’s daughter) 2
Darulhadis Madrasa in Edirne (by Murad II) 2
Rhodes Madrasa (by Süleyman) 2
İznik Madrasas (by Orhan and Süleyman Pasha) 2
Hankah Madrasa (by Bayezid II) 1
Manastır Madrasa (by Orhan) 1
Kaplıca Madrasa (by Murad I) 1
Çorlu Madrasa (by Süleyman) 1
Source: Data from Aydın and Günalan, “Ruus Defterlerine Göre XVI. Yüzyılda
Osmanlı Müderrisleri,” 169–72.
Selim I, Haseki, and Mihrimah Sultan all paid the same daily salary of
50 aspers; however, it is certain that the madrasas bearing the name of
a sultan remained higher in status. Professors consistently moved from
Haseki and Mihrimah Sultan madrasas to the Sahn madrasas and then
to other royal madrasas. Their movement was definitely an advance-
ment in the hierarchy, although this was probably not accompanied by
a salary increase.
Table 8.3 clearly shows that Haseki and Mihrimah Madrasas ranked
just below the Sahn madrasas, a level called dahil.21 Madrasas founded
by other female members of the imperial family – such as the madrasas
of Şah Sultan, Hatice Sultan, and İsmihan Sultan – and those that
had been built by previous Ottoman sultans in the central cities but
probably had relatively limited endowment resources – such as the
madrasas of Üç Şerefeli, Kalenderhane, Sultaniye in Bursa, Darulhadis
21
Further information about the dahil level appears in Chapter 10.
Table 8.4 Promotion of Professors from Rüstem Pasha Madrasa in

Istanbul in the Sixteenth Century
Mihrimah Sultan Madrasas (in Üsküdar and Istanbul) 13

Haseki Madrasa 3
Hatice Sultan Madrasa 1
Efdalzade Madrasa 1
Source: From the list of professors at the Rüstem Pasha Madrasa in Istanbul in Baltacı,
XV–XVI. Asırlarda Osmanlı Medreseleri, 345–46.
in Edirne, Rhodes, İznik, Hankah, and Manastır – also belonged to this

level.22
The madrasas built by viziers in the central cities appear to have
fallen into the middle of the hierarchy and constituted the rank called
haric, below the rank of the madrasas built by female members of the
dynasty (dahil).23 These could become stepping-stones to Mihrimah
and Haseki and to other madrasas at the same level. For example,
Grand Vizier Rüstem Pasha commissioned Mimar Sinan to build a
madrasa in Istanbul that was completed in 1547/48.24 The promotion
pattern of professors in this madrasa suggests that it ranked just below
Mihrimah and Haseki Madrasas (Table 8.4).
Grand Admiral Sinan Pasha (d. 1554) also hired Mimar Sinan to
build a mosque complex in his name in Beşiktaş. Its mosque, a madrasa,
and an elementary school were posthumously completed in 1555/56.25
Likewise, Grand Vizier Sokollu Mehmed Pasha (d. 1579) had Sinan
build a complex including a mosque and a madrasa in Istanbul; the
madrasa was completed in 1570.26 It is highly probable that these
22
For a record showing the addition of new endowments to Süleyman Pasha’s
madrasa in İznik to improve its rank in the hierarchy and to make it consonant
with the rank of its founder, a member of the dynasty, see Aydın and Günalan,
“Ruus Defterlerine Göre XVI. Yüzyılda Osmanlı Müderrisleri,” 187.
23
Further information about the haric level is provided in Chapter 10.
24
İ. Aydın Yüksel, “Rüstem Paşa’nın Vakıfları ve İstanbul’daki Vakıf Eserleri,” in
Vakıf Medeniyeti Sempozyumu Kitabı (Ankara: Vakıflar Genel Müdürlüğü
Yayınları, 2003), 233–34. The first professor of this madrasa, Ataullah Ahmed,
received a daily salary of 50 aspers. See ATAYI, 149–51.
25
26
The Age of Sinan, 362–68; ATAYI, 283–84.
madrasas built in the central cities by viziers were considered equiv-

alent in rank to the Rüstem Pasha Madrasa.
It is possible to expand the list of the madrasas built by sultans,
female members of the imperial family, and viziers in the central cities
in the sixteenth century, but the purpose here is not to provide a com-
prehensive catalog but to convey a sense of the trend: a significant
increase in the number of prestigious teaching positions, the very idea
of hierarchy being projected onto the buildings themselves, and the
ensuing arrangement of old and new madrasas in a hierarchical ladder.
At the same time, sultans also patronized the construction of
madrasas in distant provinces. Although these madrasas were presti-
gious, they did not rank in the upper tier of the hierarchy and, indeed,
were sometimes considered to lie outside the hierarchy altogether. For
example, in the first years of his reign, Süleyman established a mosque,
a madrasa, a bathhouse, and a public fountain in Çorlu; he also built
a madrasa in Rhodes in 1549. The salary and rank of the professors
appointed to these madrasas show that they did not have large endow-
ments and fell somewhere in the middle of the hierarchy, definitely
ranking below the Sahn madrasas.27
Süleyman also established madrasas in Damascus and Mecca. Dur-
ing his stay in Aleppo while campaigning against the Safavids in 1553–
54, he ordered the construction of the complex on the outskirts of
Damascus.28 The madrasa there was completed in 1566/67. It seems
that unlike Süleyman’s madrasas in Istanbul, this institution did not
constitute a step leading to top judgeships in the hierarchy. According
to its endowment deed, the Hanafi jurist (müfti) of Damascus would
serve as the professor of this institution.29 Although some jurists in
the sixteenth century were chosen from among scholar-bureaucrats,
nonbureaucratic scholars of local origin gradually established con-
trol over the office of jurist and thus over the professorship in Süley-
man’s madrasa in Damascus.30 In addition, Süleyman established four
27
Baltacı, XV–XVI. Asırlarda Osmanlı Medreseleri, 270–71, 426–27.
28
Although Mimar Sinan functioned as the architect of the project, he did not go
to the area but directed the construction from Istanbul. See Necipoğlu, The Age
of Sinan, 224–26; Stefan Weber, “The Creation of Ottoman Damascus,
Architecture and Urban Development of Damascus in the 16th and 17th
Centuries,” ARAM 9–10 (1997–98): 434–35.
29
30
ʿAbd al-Karim Rafiq, Al-ʿArab wa-l-ʿUthmaniyyun, 1516–1916 (Damascus:
Matabiʿ Alif Ba, 1973), 234–35. For some scholars who served in Süleyman’s
madrasas in Mecca in 1564/65. Each of these institutions specialized

in teaching the doctrines of one of the four Sunni legal schools. The
professors were paid from the endowment of Süleyman’s institution in
Damascus.31 It seems that the professorships in Süleyman’s madrasas
in Mecca were only rarely assigned to scholar-bureaucrats.32
Somewhat similarly, when viziers established madrasas outside the
central cities, the place of these institutions in the hierarchy remained
ambiguous. Such madrasas sometimes ranked at a level lower than
those built by a vizier of similar rank in the center. For example,
Rüstem Pasha built madrasas in Tekirdağ, Hayrabolu, Medina, and
Kütahya. None of these ranked as high as his madrasa in Istanbul.33
In some cases, the viziers’ madrasas in the provinces remained outside
the hierarchy altogether or were only loosely connected with it. For
example, Hüsrev Pasha (d. 1545), who served Süleyman as vizier and
governor-general of various provinces, built madrasas in Diyarbakır
and Aleppo.34 Locally trained scholars who were not formally intro-
duced to the official service and those who had very little chance of
advancing in the hierarchy tended to teach in Hüsrev Pasha’s institu-
tions in Diyarbakır and Aleppo.35
The madrasas built by the subordinates of viziers in the central
cities and their environs took up places in the hierarchy’s lower lev-
els. Scholar-bureaucrats had to teach in these institutions in order to
institution in Damascus, see Baltacı, XV–XVI. Asırlarda Osmanlı Medreseleri,

534–35.
31
32
See Baltacı, XV–XVI. Asırlarda Osmanlı Medreseleri, 424–26. See also Aydın
and Günalan, “Ruus Defterlerine Göre XVI. Yüzyılda Osmanlı Müderrisleri,”
191. The scarcity of references to the professors in Mecca’s madrasas in sources
produced in the Ottoman center suggests that people with little or no
connection to the Ottoman center taught there.
33
Necipoğlu, The Age of Sinan, 318–21; Baltacı, XV–XVI. Asırlarda Osmanlı
Medreseleri, 140, 346–48. For Rüstem Pasha’s madrasa in Medina, see İ. Aydın
Yüksel, “Sadrâzam Rüstem Paşa’nın Vakıfları,” in Ekrem Hakkı Ayverdi
Hâtıra Kitabı (Istanbul: İstanbul Fetih Cemiyeti Neşriyatı, 1995), 254.
34
35
For some scholars who taught in Hüsrev Pasha’s madrasas in Diyarbakır and
Aleppo, see Baltacı, XV–XVI. Asırlarda Osmanlı Medreseleri, 255–56. For an
observation of the control of religious offices by local religious scholars in
Syria, see Çiğdem Kafescioğlu, “‘In the Image of Rūm’: Ottoman Architectural
Patronage in Sixteenth-Century Aleppo and Damascus,” Muqarnas 16 (1999):
78.
advance their careers and hence to become eligible for professorships

at the viziers’ and sultans’ madrasas in the central cities. For exam-
ple, Abdüsselam, who served as chief treasurer, established a madrasa
in Küçükçekmece. Compared with the vizier madrasas, its endowment
was modest: the endowment deed assigned the professor a daily salary
of 25 aspers.36 Similarly, Hekimzade Muhyiddin (d. 1543/44), who
served as the judge of Medina, established a low-level madrasa in Istan-
bul and paid 20 aspers to its professor.37
To sum up, the period of consolidation saw a remarkable increase
in the number of madrasas – and hence in positions available to
scholar-bureaucrats. New madrasas varied in size, resources, and thus
rank, which depended on the identity of their endower, their location,
and the size of their endowments. New madrasas in the central cities
built by sultans and their mothers extended the hierarchy at the top
end, whereas the madrasas built by viziers and others in the center
and provinces fell along the middle and the lower end of the hierar-
chy, either as new rungs on the ladder or the broadening of existing
ones. The implicit criteria for the new madrasas’ classification also
contributed to the differentiation and better delineation of the ranks
of the madrasas built in the preceding period. As a result, new and old
madrasas in the center and provinces acquired hierarchical ranks and
came to reflect the status of their professors. Thus, the construction of
new madrasas in the sixteenth century with endowments and features
that corresponded to the rank of their endowers contributed to the
growth of the scholarly bureaucracy and brought about the refinement
of the hierarchy of madrasas – and that of their scholar-bureaucrat
professors.
The Provisions of Endowment Deeds and

the Control of Madrasas
As briefly discussed earlier, madrasas were established by individuals,
funding their construction and donating revenue-generating property
for their maintenance and for the salaries and stipends of students,
36
Ömer Lutfi Barkan and Ekrem Hakkı Ayverdi, İstanbul Vakıfları Tahrîr
Defteri, 953 (1546) Târîhli (Istanbul: Baha Matbaası, 1970), 181–82; Baltacı,
XV–XVI. Asırlarda Osmanlı Medreseleri, 147–48.
37
Ibid., 135–36. See also Barkan and Ayverdi, İstanbul Vakıfları Tahrîr Defteri,
149.
professors, and other staff. The founding individual had the right to
draw up an endowment deed in which he or she defined the terms
of the buildings’ use and outlined how the income from the revenue-
generating property might be spent. According to the Islamic legal tra-
dition, the terms and conditions in endowment deeds were binding and
could not be changed. Thus, madrasas represented the personal acts of
individual founders and primarily reflected their own priorities and
preferences.38
On the other hand, beginning in the second half of the fifteenth
century, the Ottoman dynasty tried to coopt an increasing number of
scholars by organizing them and the positions in which they would
serve (including the professorships of madrasas) in a hierarchical form.
This attempt to establish public control over madrasas and their pro-
fessors occasionally infringed on the autonomy of the madrasas’ man-
agement. For instance, as discussed in Chapter 4, Mehmed II attempted
to annul the privileges of endowed properties by converting them to
public lands.
During the period of consolidation, the central government seems
to have been interested, through its officials, in having a say in the
management of a large number of madrasa endowments. The Islamic
legal tradition required the rulers and their representatives to ensure
proper functioning of all endowed properties under their jurisdiction.
The central government appears to have relied on this right as well
as loopholes in the endowment deeds to extend its power over the
endowments. As a result, it established control over the appointments
of professors – either by directly appointing them or by instituting
eligibility criteria for professorships specified in the endowment
deeds. It also interfered in the spending of the surplus income of the
endowments, where possible.
The surveys of endowments, most of which were undertaken after
1530,39 usually provide information about the conditions, terms of
use, and resources of madrasas built before and during Ottoman rule.
38
Makdisi, The Rise of Colleges, 35–74; Akgündüz, İslâm Hukukunda ve
Osmanlı Tatbikatında Vakıf Müessesesi, 264–67.
39
For example, see Barkan and Ayverdi, İstanbul Vakıfları Tahrîr Defteri; Ahmet
Yiğit, XVI. Yüzyıl Menteşe Livası Vakıfları: 338 Numaralı Mufassal Evkaf
Defteri H. 970/M. 1562 (Ankara: Barış Platin, 2009); Hamza Keleş, Erzurum
Vakıfları: H. 988 (M. 1580–1581) Tarihli Erzurum Evkaf Defterine Göre
(Ankara: Bizim Büro, 2000).
With this knowledge, the government officials could look for loop-
holes in the endowment deeds and attempt to integrate madrasas into
the official hierarchy, whether the endower was connected with the
dynasty or not.
It seems that one of the earliest and most detailed registers of endow-
ments was the one composed in 1546 that recorded the endowments
in Istanbul, along with their resources and terms of use. Appointed as
the investigator, Abdurrahman bin Seydi Ali (d. 1574/75)40 surveyed
all the endowments in Istanbul (except for those madrasas built by
the sultans) and recorded information about their buildings, income,
expenses, and the conditions stipulated by their founders. He con-
sulted, if available, the endowment deeds and recorded their contents.
For cases in which the endowment deeds had been lost, he attempted to
determine their content by examining court documents41 and old gov-
ernment registers.42 In addition, he provided information about the
current condition of the buildings and the endowments’ finances.
For example, in the entry for Mahmud Pasha’s endowment, Abdur-
rahman bin Seydi Ali recorded its assets, along with its annual pro-
ceeds, and he showed the regular expenses of the endowment primarily
for building maintenance and the salaries of the staff. Then he enumer-
ated the founder’s stipulations. The latter required that the administra-
tor of the endowment (mütevelli) be chosen from among the founder’s
progeny; if they became extinct, his manumitted slaves and their chil-
dren would assume the administration of the endowment. If they also
died out, then the sultan was to choose whomever he wished as the
administrator. The founder had also instructed that the surplus revenue
(after expenditures for maintenance and the disbursement of salaries)
be collected and used for the construction of a mosque in Edirne. If
there was still a surplus, this could be distributed to pious people and
scholars. Abdurrahman bin Seydi Ali made clear that Mahmud Pasha’s
progeny and manumitted slaves had vanished and that the sultan had
taken on the management of the endowment. He also mentioned that
the mosque in Edirne had been built and that the endowment had
40
Abdurrahman bin Seydi Ali was a scholar-bureaucrat who taught in several
madrasas, held the judgeships of Aleppo, Bursa, Edirne, and Cairo in sequence,
and then became the chief judge of Rumeli in 1551–57. For his biography, see
ATAYI, 230–32.
41
For an example, see Barkan and Ayverdi, İstanbul Vakıfları Tahrîr Defteri, 98.
42
For an example, see ibid., 60.
a yearly surplus of 100,000 aspers to be distributed to the poor, to

pious people, and to scholars.43 As far as the official hierarchy was
concerned, the implication was clear: the sultan/central government
had full authority over Mahmud Pasha Madrasa, could appoint any-
one to teach in this madrasa, and could use the surplus income for
other purposes.
Another example is Hanzade Fatıma Sultan’s endowment in Istan-
bul. According to the register of endowments from 1546, Hanzade
Fatıma had appointed herself administrator and had stipulated that her
progeny become administrators after her. If they vanished, her manu-
mitted slaves and then the sultan would take over. She had specified
that Lutfullah Çelebi and, after him, the sons of Sheikh Muhyiddin bin
Bahaüddin teach in the madrasa. If they died without progeny, then
the sons of Sheikh Hacı Çelebi would have the right to take up the
professorship. If one of those specified was appointed, the professorial
salary could be increased by 30–50 aspers (over the regular salary of
40 aspers).44 As regards the management of this madrasa, the author-
ity of the government was limited. It had to consider the conditions
set by the founder, give priority to those specified in the endowment
regarding the professorial positions, and adjust the salary according to
the identity of the appointed professor.
In addition to surveys,45 the officials of the central government col-
lected information about endowments through its agents stationed
in every province. For example, the endowment for a dervish lodge
(zaviye) in Hezargrad had a monthly surplus income of 20 aspers.
Thus, a madrasa was established, and a professor was appointed with
a daily salary of 20 aspers. However, in April 1581, the sheikh of the
lodge and the judge of the town petitioned the chief judge of Rumeli
and requested the closure of the madrasa, saying that the endowment
revenue did not suffice to cover the regular expenses as well as the
salary of the professor. The petition was approved, and the madrasa
became defunct.46 Nevertheless, in September of the same year, a group
of judges and professors from the region and the supervisor (nazır) of
the endowment reported that the endowment could pay the salary of
20 aspers to the professor and had the madrasa reestablished. Then,
the former professor was reappointed.47 Somewhat similarly, in August
43 44
Ibid., 42–45. Ibid., 436–37.
45
For other examples of the surveys of endowments, see Yiğit, XVI. Yüzyıl
Menteşe Livası Vakıfları; Keleş, Erzurum Vakıfları.
46 47
Çivizade Mehmed Ruznamçesi, 29b. Ibid., 34a–34b.
1581, a novice requested and acquired the professorship of Oruç Çavuş

Madrasa in Kalkandelen by submitting the testimony of the judge of
Zağra-i Atika that according to the endowment deed, this novice had
priority to teach in this madrasa.48 In both cases, the chief judge did
not have detailed information about the resources of the endowments
and had to depend instead on the reports of officials in the respective
regions and extend or curb its involvement accordingly.
Having knowledge of the resources and the content of the endow-
ment deeds allowed the central government to be involved in the man-
agement of a greater number of madrasas throughout the empire. They
tended to make or to supervise all professorial appointments to and
dismissals from the madrasas according to a hierarchical scheme.49 In
cases where limitations were stipulated in endowment deeds, the pol-
icy was to record them, as well as to seek an accord between those
limitations and the hierarchical rules.
As touched on earlier, some founders named a particular person
or group as having the priority right to the professorship of their
madrasas. These designated scholars could claim the professorship by
presenting the endowment deed or by providing witnesses. For exam-
ple, Muslihuddin was unemployed after having served in Ahmed Bey
Madrasa, where he earned a salary of 40 aspers. He had been wait-
ing for an appointment for nineteen months when the professor of
Evrenos Bey Madrasa in Yenice-i Vardar left that position in June
1581. Muslihuddin arranged for the town notables to testify that
he had the priority right to hold the professorship of Evrenos Bey
Madrasa according to the endowment deed and acquired the position
and the salary of 50 aspers.50 It seems that Muslihuddin had to pass
through all the levels (from 20-asper to 40-asper madrasas) and to
wait for the removal of the incumbent professor before putting for-
ward his candidacy for a 50-asper madrasa. Likewise, another Mus-
lihuddin who had just become novice argued for his right to – and
received – the professorship of Tahtazade Mehmed Efendi Madrasa
in Kasımpaşa, Istanbul. He showed that the founder had required
the appointment to this madrasa of a professor who came from the
town of Bergama and proved that he himself had been born in that
48
Ibid., 32b–33a.
49
Compare this with the practice of appointing professors in Damascus and
Cairo in the pre-Ottoman period. See Chamberlain, Knowledge and Social,
94–106; Berkey, The Transmission of Knowledge, 96–127.
50
Çivizade Mehmed Ruznamçesi, 30b.
town.51 In some cases, founders required that the administrator

(mütevelli) of the endowment, not the sultan or his representatives,
choose the professor. For example, the administrator of Ömer Bey
Madrasa in Tırhala informed the chief judge of Rumeli that accord-
ing to the endowment deed, he had the right to choose the professor
and suggested that a descendant of the founder’s manumitted slaves,
who had taught in Emirşah Kadı Madrasa in Yenişehir with a salary of
20 aspers, be appointed as the professor at 25 aspers.52 Sometimes the
founders who were alive petitioned the chief judge for the appointment
of a particular scholar to their madrasas. For example, Sinan Ağa built
a madrasa in Istanbul and requested the appointment of a particular
scholar-bureaucrat.53
In all of the aforementioned examples, in accordance with the
Islamic legal tradition, the government honored the stipulations in the
deeds of madrasas. Among the candidates for a particular position,
those who were designated as having the right of priority in the endow-
ment deed would have preference. In addition, the government audited
and oversaw the endowments through the judges and other officials in
the provinces. The rules of the official hierarchy appear to have pro-
vided the overarching framework for the government supervision. As
government authorization was a requirement for the validity of any
appointments, founders’ stipulations and requests were acted on if they
accorded with the official hierarchical principles.
In addition to the appointment and dismissal of professors, the offi-
cials of the central government seem to have been interested in con-
trolling the surplus income of the endowments. As seen in the case of
Mahmud Pasha’s endowment, this surplus income could be consider-
able – as much as 100,000 aspers annually. It seems that the surplus
money was sometimes used to adjust professors’ salaries according to
their rank in the hierarchy. For example, Abdüsselam stipulated in the
endowment deed that the professor of his madrasa receive 25 aspers
per day,54 but in fact its professors received 20, 30, 40, and 50 aspers
during different periods in the sixteenth century.55 Similarly, the pro-
fessors of Sarıca Pasha Madrasa in Gallipoli received 20, 30, 40, and
50 aspers at various points in the sixteenth century.56
51 52 53
Ibid., 33b–34a. Ibid., 36b. Ibid., 34a.
54
Barkan and Ayverdi, İstanbul Vakıfları Tahrîr Defteri, 182.
55 56
Baltacı, XV–XVI. Asırlarda Osmanlı Medreseleri, 148–49. Ibid., 408.
It seems that some people questioned the legality of paying the

professor more than what was assigned in the endowment deed, as
reflected in Chief Jurist Sunullah’s (d. 1612) fetva.57
Question: If a madrasa . . . is assigned to Zeyd with the salary of 25

aspers, can the administrator of the endowment (mütevelli) reject pay-
ing 25 aspers . . . , saying that the salary assigned in the endowment
deed is 20 aspers?
Answer: No, he cannot reject paying, if the endowment has the surplus
money.
Having obtained knowledge about the surplus income and the right
to use it for the salaries of professors, the central government overcame
a possible restriction in the endowment deeds and gained the flexibility
to arrange the salary according to the rank of the appointed scholar-
bureaucrat in the hierarchy. Thanks to this ability, many scholar-
bureaucrats were granted promotions and salary increases without
changing their positions. For example, the professor of Ahmed Pasha
Madrasa in Alasonya, received a 5-asper promotion over his salary of
20 aspers in December 1581.58 Similarly, the professor of Ömer Bey
Madrasa in Tırhala saw his 25-asper salary increased to 30 aspers in
January 1582.59 In some cases, if a professor was granted a promotion
but the endowment of his madrasa did not have the surplus income
to cover the increase, the surplus income of other endowments in the
region could be used.60
Thus, systematic surveys about the endowments and their terms of
usage show that the central government acquired the ability to develop
strategies to overcome the limitations outlined in the endowment deeds
and to incorporate many professorships into the official career tracks.
In addition, it gained the ability to use the surplus income of the endow-
ments to complement the salaries of scholar-bureaucrats commensu-
rate with their ranks.
57
Sunullah Efendi, Fetava (SK, H. Hüsnü Paşa, no. 502), 29b.
58 59
Çivizade Mehmed Ruznamçesi, 37a. Ibid., 38a.
60
Beyazıt, Osmanlı İlmiyye Mesleğinde İstihdam, 192. See also Mefail Hızlı,
Mahkeme Sicillerine Göre Osmanlı Klasik Dönemi Bursa Medreselerinde
Eğitim-Öğretim (Bursa: Esra Fakülte Kitabevi, 1997), 31–32, 61–62.
Incorporation of Judgeships
An important aspect of strengthening the centralized administration
during the period of consolidation was the selection of judges for
the provinces from among scholar-bureaucrats, who were normally
trained and recruited in the center. Conversant with the procedures
and priorities of the center, scholar-bureaucrats as judges administered
justice and facilitated the survey of lands and the collection of taxes;
further, they provided reports about the activities of other officials in
the provinces, normally based on local complaints. Hence, the inter-
est in extending and strengthening the center’s power encouraged the
integration of judgeships in the outlying provinces and towns into the
hierarchy.
It seems that the classification of judgeships on the basis of their esti-
mated revenue from court fees facilitated their incorporation into the
hierarchy. The judges charged fees for various services and legal docu-
ments in the courts. The extant copies of Mehmed II’s law code record
this: “it is commanded that judges receive 32 aspers for each record
[in the court register] and for each document of court decisions, and
20 for each copy of the records and each signature. It is commanded
that they receive 20 aspers for every 1000 aspers of divided inheri-
tance, and charge 32 aspers for the [recorded] marriage of virgins and
15 aspers for the marriage of widows.”61 The revenue from such fees
of judicial services constituted the judge’s salary, in most cases after the
second half of the fifteenth century.62
In order to organize scholar-bureaucrat judges hierarchically and to
give them promotions accordingly, the central government needed data
about the judicial revenues of the various provinces and towns. Accord-
ing to the law code prepared in the sixteenth century known as the
Law Code of Celalzade, the formula for estimating the judicial revenue
of a district was to assume that every 1000 households would bring
10 aspers.63 The implementation of this formula greatly depended on
61
KANUNNAME, 21.
62
İnalcık, “Ottoman Methods of Conquest,” 108–9. See also Repp, The Müfti of
Istanbul, 305–6. Judges were eager to know what to charge and whom to
charge and sent petitions to the central government for explanations. For the
delineation of the fees judges could charge in the imperial decree, drawn up in
response to the petition of the judge of Bursa Abdülvasi Çelebi (d. 1538/39),
see Akgündüz, Osmanlı Kanunnâmeleri, 3: 144–45.
63
Ibid., 7: 250. See also Uzuncarşılı, Osmanlı Devletinin İlmiye Teşkilâtı, 91.
detailed land and tax surveys (mufassal defters), which included the
number of households in each district. As I discussed earlier, the cen-
tral government arranged new surveys and updated the old ones after
1530 and collected extensive data about the number of households in
and the revenue of most provinces. Thus, on the basis of these data,
the judicial revenue of the provinces could be easily estimated.
Using the formula just mentioned or others,64 scholar-bureaucrats
could be appointed to judgeships with a certain correspondence
between the rank of the appointed official and his income. The income
and ranks of judgeships gradually became standardized.65 For exam-
ple, in a register dated to 1581–82, appointments to judgeships were
made only to the judgeships with the estimated income of 20, 25, 30,
35, 40, 45, 50, 60, 70, 80, 100, 130, 150, 200, and 300 aspers.66
Having gained better knowledge of the number of households in
the provinces (thanks to the surveys), the government could adjust the
sizes and ranks of the judgeships. For example, in 1575, the judgeship
of Sidrekapısı was joined to that of Selanik to create a single judge-
ship of a higher income and rank.67 Likewise, the judgeships of Eyüp
and Galata were combined in 1575, but they were separated again
in 1580.68 Somewhat similarly, the village of Kulağuzlıca lay within
the jurisdiction of the judge of Rodosçuk and then became part of
the judgeship of Çorlu. In December 1581, however, it was transferred
back to Rodosçuk.69 In January 1582, the judge of Yenipazar, who
received a salary of 130 aspers, complained that he could make only
50–60 aspers, because some villages in the region had been transferred
to another judgeship. He requested the addition of other towns to his
64
Yasemin Beyazıt compared the data in the surveys with the estimated judicial
income of Çirmen, Selanik, Üsküp, and Zihne and found that the formula of 10
aspers per 1000 households was in fact not used. See Beyazıt, Osmanlı İlmiyye
Mesleğinde İstihdam, 174–78.
65
It seems that during the formative period, there was no standardized scale of
income and thus ranks for judgeships, so income and ranks ranged almost
anywhere from 4 to 300 aspers per day. For the variety in the ranks of the
judges, see Gökçe, “Anadolu Vilâyetine Dâir 919 (1513) Tarihli Bir Kadı
Defteri,” 215–259; TSMA, D.8823.1; TSMA, D.5604.1; Turan Gökçe, “934
(1528) Tarihli Bir Deftere Göre Anadolu Vilâyeti Kadılıkları ve Kadıları,” in 3
Mayıs 1944 50. Yıl Türkçülük Armağanı, ed. İsmail Aka et al. (İzmir: Akademi
Kitabevi, 1994), 77–94. See also Beyazıt, Osmanlı İlmiyye Mesleğinde
İstihdam, 176–88.
66 67
Çivizade Mehmed Ruznamçesi, 1a–27b. ATAYI, 442–43.
68 69
Ibid., 305–6. Çivizade Mehmed Ruznamçesi, 23b.
jurisdiction.70 In September 1586, the governor-general of Budin peti-

tioned the chief judge of Rumeli to increase the salary of the judge
of Bahşa by 40 aspers. In response, the region of Krovar was added to
the judge’s jurisdiction.71 These examples indicate that the government
could adjust the size of revenue and jurisdiction by adding or separat-
ing a town, according to the rank of the appointed scholar-bureaucrat.
Many judges received promotions without changing positions. For
example, in July 1581, the judge of Erikli with 60 aspers received a
promotion of 10 aspers.72 In January 1582, the judge of Hatvan with
40 aspers was promoted to the rank of 50 aspers,73 and the judge of
Fenar acquired the rank of 300 aspers after a 100-asper increase.74
Since none of the promoted judges in the examples requested the addi-
tion of new regions to his jurisdiction, one may ask why promotion
mattered for the incumbent judges (without any change in the rev-
enue and their jurisdiction). With our current knowledge, it appears
impossible to answer this legitimate question with a definitive answer.
I have two speculative suggestions. (1) For scholar-bureaucrats, such
a judicial promotion without any consequences as regards the income
mattered, because it served as a stepping-stone for a judgeship with a
higher income. (2) Such a promotion involved adjustments in the length
of tenure and the fee for the appointment diploma75 of the concerned
scholar-bureaucrat after promotion.76
The assignment of estimated judicial revenue to each judgeship and
the identification of its rank on this basis played a crucial role in the
classification of judgeships, their control by the central government,
and the expansion of the official hierarchy of scholar-bureaucrats. The
estimated revenue included an indication about the background of the
incumbent or prospective holders of a particular judgeship. If a candi-
date had not become part of the hierarchy, he was automatically elim-
inated. In addition, the assignment of an official rank to positions cre-
ated incentive for scholar-bureaucrats to serve in them. They accepted
lower positions in which they would not be willing to serve normally,
70
Ibid., 27a.
71
Ertuğrul Oral, “993–994 (1585–1586) Tarihli Rumeli Kazaskeri Ruznâmesi”
(senior thesis, Istanbul University, 1980), 108.
72 73 74
Çivizade Mehmed Ruznamçesi, 9a. Ibid., 25b. Ibid., 27b.
75
On appointment, the judge was expected to pay a sum roughly equal to two
months’ income to the treasury and to officials in the center in order to receive
the diploma of appointment. See Akgündüz, Osmanlı Kanunnâmeleri, 7: 250.
76
This insight can be proved or refuted by comparing the length of the tenure
and the amount of the diploma fee paid by different scholar-bureaucrats.
because they recognized them as a requirement for higher positions in

the hierarchy.
The efficiency of classifying judgeships by estimated revenue in
extending the center’s control is apparent in the register of the judi-
cial appointments kept by the chief judge of Rumeli, dated to 1581–
82. It indicates that only scholars who had just received the status of
novice and those who had already served in the hierarchy could apply
for positions. The office of chief judge knew approximately how much
each district could produce as judicial revenue and made appointments
accordingly. Each appointment promoted a scholar-bureaucrat to a
position that had a higher estimated income than his last position.77
Thus, the detailed land surveys undertaken after 1530 made it possi-
ble for the central government to acquire information about the judge-
ships in Rumeli, Anatolia, Syria, and Egypt and to differentiate them
on the basis of their estimated income. This development facilitated the
definition of a hierarchy of judgeship positions and the assignment of
a greater number of scholar-bureaucrats to them.
Here I should briefly mention the creation of many joint teaching
(müderris) and jurist (müfti) positions during the period under study.
Professors of some madrasas in the provinces were assigned the duty
of providing opinions (fetvas) about religio-legal issues.78 For exam-
ple, the professors of Süleyman’s madrasas in Damascus and Rhodes
were also the jurists of their respective cities.79 The professor of the
institution founded by Hafsa Sultan (Süleyman’s mother) in Manisa
was confirmed as the jurist of that province.80 The professors of Hüs-
rev Pasha Madrasa in Aleppo and professors of Hüsrev Bey Madrasa
77
Çivizade Mehmed Ruznamçesi, 1a–27b. Comparing the data in the register
(TSMA, 8823.1) dated ca. 1523 of the judges in Anatolia, Syria, and Egypt
with data about the judgeships in Rumeli in 1581–82 (Çivizade Mehmed
Ruznamçesi) provides an idea regarding the progress of centralized control
during the period of the consolidation. Around 1523, many scholars who had
little or no connection to the center and who had not received the status of
novice (mülazemet) could arrange an appointment to a judgeship, while in
1581–82, all scholar-bureaucrats appear to have been chosen from among
those who had obtained the status of novice.
78
The opinions of jurists did not have binding status in the court procedure;
judges were not obliged to follow the opinions of the appointed jurists in their
regions. For example, it is reported that in 1555/56, the judge of Aleppo,
Kadızade Ahmed Şemseddin (d. 1580), rejected the fetva of the jurist Nasuh
bin Yusuf Selaniki (d. 1573) and tore down the documents on which his fetvas
were written. See ATAYI, 181.
79
Necipoğlu, The Age of Sinan, 225. See also ATAYI, 112–13.
80
MECDI, 501–2; ATAYI, 242–43.
in Sarajevo were also recognized as the jurists of these provinces.81

These cases were not exceptional; however, not every province had an
official jurist. Joint teaching and jurist positions did not constitute a
separate career path.82 It seems that in most cases, the rank of a pro-
fessorship was taken into consideration for purposes of hierarchy and
promotion. As will be discussed in Chapters 9 and 10, having a teach-
ing career in the central cities became more important during the period
of consolidation, and many scholar-bureaucrats did not wish to take
teaching positions in the distant provinces, for the scholar-bureaucrats
who left the center to teach elsewhere would ultimately fail to advance
to top positions. Thus, in time, some of these lucrative joint teaching
and jurist positions became the preserve of scholars who were natives
of the respective provinces or who did not aspire to the official hierar-
chy’s most prestigious positions.83
Increasing the Number of Scholar-Bureaucrats

through Administrative Techniques
During the period of consolidation, the central government used vari-
ous techniques to provide regular promotions and to increase its capac-
ity to patronize scholar-bureaucrats at different levels. Some of these
techniques allowed it to keep on staff more scholar-bureaucrats than
there were available positions within the hierarchy.
As the foregoing discussion of the educational and judicial posi-
tions in the hierarchy indicates, the positions themselves reflected the
ranks of their scholar-bureaucrat holders in most cases. Thus, pro-
motion in this hierarchy could normally occur by moving from one
position to another with a higher rank. It appears that as early as
the first decade of the sixteenth century, the government began to
divide some promotions into two segments: leaving a position (azl) and
being appointed to another one (nasb). Between these two instances,
some scholar-bureaucrats waited a significant time, during which they
81
For the holders of the professorship of Hüsrev Pasha Madrasa and the position
of the jurist in Aleppo, see Baltacı, XV–XVI. Asırlarda Osmanlı Medreseleri,
255–56. Regarding an appointment to the joint teaching and jurist position in
Sarajevo, see the biography of Muslihuddin Mustafa in ATAYI, 110–11.
82
Repp, The Müfti of Istanbul, 65–68; Beyazıt, Osmanlı İlmiyye Mesleğinde
İstihdam, 192–93, 255–57.
83
Kafescioğlu, “In the Image of Rūm,” 78. See also Rafiq, Al-ʿArab
wa-l-ʿUthmaniyyun, 234–35.
regularly attended the court of their supervisor chief judge.84 This way,
more scholar-bureaucrats (those already appointed plus those in wait-
ing) than there were available positions for were kept affiliated with
the central government.85
It is clear that during the period of consolidation, imposing an inter-
val between removal from a position and appointment to another
became a regularly used technique for increasing the number of
scholar-bureaucrats. The tenure terms of some positions that scholar-
bureaucrats could hold were limited (müddet-i örfiye), and as they
completed one tenure, they were assigned a waiting period (müddet-i
infisal) before being appointed to a position of higher status and prob-
ably of higher income.86
It is not possible to determine with certainty when the systematic
use of this alternation between employment and waiting began. How-
ever, that the length of tenures was recorded in three registers dated to
1528 that list the incumbent professors and judges in Anatolia and
Rumeli can reasonably be considered preparation for the introduc-
tion of a waiting period in the management of the official hierarchy.87
Given knowledge of the tenures of each incumbent scholar-bureaucrat,
the government limited the tenure term and dismissed all scholar-
bureaucrats who had served longer than this in order to open space
for those who had been waiting. As time went on, alternating service
and interim became the established practice of the hierarchy. In the
last quarter of the sixteenth century, scholar-bureaucrats usually served
for two years in their appointed positions. Most of them were then
assigned a waiting period of between one month and three years.88
84
A document dated to about 1506 records 139 scholar-bureaucrats who had left
their positions but had not yet been appointed to a new one. TSMA, D. 5605.1.
The attendance to the court of chief judges was called mülazemet, and those
who attended mülazım. In this usage, the meaning of the words mülazemet and
mülazım differ from their meaning associated with novitiate.
85
For an interpretation of the significance of this technique for the power of the
Ottoman central state, see Karen Barkey, “In Different Times: Scheduling and
Social Control in the Ottoman Empire, 1550 to 1650,” Comparative Studies in
Society and History 38 (1996): 460–83.
86
It is worth inquiring how scholar-bureaucrats managed to disburse their living
expenses during their waiting period.
87
For these three documents, see TSMA, D. 5604.1; Gökçe, “934 (1528) Tarihli
Bir Deftere Göre Anadolu Vilâyeti Kadılıkları ve Kadıları,” 77–94; Gökçe,
“934 (1528) Târihli Bir Deftere Göre Anadolu Vilâyeti Medreseleri ve
Müderrisleri,” 163–75.
88
However, the dignitary scholar-bureaucrats (mevali) were treated

somewhat exceptionally as regards this rotation.89 The tenure of the
professors among them was not subject to limitation and they were
not required to spend time in a waiting period. They were not removed
from their positions except for a new appointment.90 In addition, dig-
nitary judges and chief judges usually moved from one position to
another without an interval until about 1580. After this date, most had
a waiting period of a year or less between two appointments.91 In many
cases, dignitary judges in a waiting period were assigned to prestigious
professorships in the central cities as an unemployment benefit.92
Conclusion
During the period of consolidation of the hierarchy (1530–1600), the
number of scholarly positions in the hierarchy significantly increased:
new madrasas were constructed; many madrasas that might have
remained outside the hierarchy owing to the restrictive conditions in
their endowment deeds became part of the hierarchy; and judgeships in
many outlying regions were also integrated into the hierarchy. Conse-
quently, more scholar-bureaucrats could be employed and offered pro-
motions. In addition, through the practice of imposing a waiting period
on scholar-bureaucrats after they had completed a term of employment
in a particular position, the central government cultivated the loyalty
and dedication of more scholar-bureaucrats than it could employ at a
given time.
A significant development closely related to the expanding employ-
ment opportunities for scholar-bureaucrats was the differentiation and
articulation of the ranks of positions, along with the extension of the
hierarchical ladder. The construction of new madrasas usually fol-
lowed an obvious hierarchical scheme. Generally speaking, the iden-
tity of the founder and the location of the madrasas determined their
89
The careers of dignitary scholar-bureaucrats and their divisions are discussed in
detail in Chapter 10.
90
For examples of the direct movement of dignitary professors from one position
to another without an interval, see Aydın and Günalan, “Ruus Defterlerine
Göre XVI. Yüzyılda Osmanlı Müderrisleri,” 169–91.
91
92
For some examples, see the biographies of Muhaşşi Sinan Efendi, Fudayl Çelebi
(d. 1583), Çivizade Mehmed (d. 1587), Abdülkerim Salih (d. 1588), Zekeriyya
Efendi (d. 1592), Abdülkadir Şeyhi (d. 1594), and Karaçelebizade Hüsameddin
(d. 1598) in ATAYI, 248–5, 275–78, 292–94, 303–5, 322–24, 327, 416–17.
size, the extent of their resources, and hence their ranks. Old madrasas
also came to be differentiated according to these principles and this
hierarchical scheme if their size and resources could justify doing so.
Hence new and old madrasas alike were organized into distinct steps,
depending on their prestige, along an extended hierarchy of scholar-
bureaucrats. Finally, thanks to the extensive land surveys of the six-
teenth century, the central government acquired the ability to estimate
the judicial revenue of each district. On this basis, judgeships of differ-
ent regions were given one of the standardized ranks and assigned to
scholar-bureaucrats of corresponding status.
9 The Rules and Patterns of
Differentiation among
Scholar-Bureaucrats
As the rules and practices related to the classification of scholarly posi-

tions developed, others emerged that determined the means of scholar-
bureaucrats’ advancement and distinction. Some of these concerned
the skills and competence of scholar-bureaucrats, such as academic
excellence and the ability to discharge the duties of office. Others
related to objective conditions, such as the geographic location of a
scholar-bureaucrat’s office and his economic resources. Still others reg-
ulated the influence of individuals’ personal and professional contacts
on their success in the hierarchy. Generally speaking, these rules about
distinction within the group of scholar-bureaucrats strengthened the
tendency toward merit-based differentiation and augmented the con-
trol that the dignitary scholar-bureaucrats wielded in the hierarchical
system.
Differentiation on the Basis of Scholarly Excellence

A scholar-bureaucrat’s level of knowledge (or the perception thereof)
could frequently influence his success in the hierarchy. This usually
determined which track he would follow in his career. As detailed in
Chapter 10, the track of dignitaries was considered higher, and those
on it were expected to be more advanced in their academic studies,
while the track of town judges was considered lower, and those on it
usually cut their studies short.
One way to measure the level of scholar-bureaucrats’ knowledge
was to give them examinations on theological and legal sciences. In
cases where several scholar-bureaucrats who were all equally eligi-
ble applied for a single open position, an examination was adminis-
tered. For example, in 1528/29, Çivizade Mehmed bin İlyas, Üskübi
İshak Çelebi (d. 1536/37), and İsrafilzade (d. 1536/37) applied for
an opening in the Sahn madrasas. They were asked to write short
treatises on specified topics in jurisprudence and theology. They also
170
Differentiation among Scholar-Bureaucrats 171
examined one another’s writings and wrote responses. Çivizade was

declared the winner.1 A similar examination took place during Ebus-
suud’s tenure as the chief judge of Rumeli (1537–45) when Vizeli
Abdülkerim (d. 1553/54), Abdülkerimzade Mehmed (d. 1568), Kara
Abdurrahman (d. 1569), and Kadızade Ahmed Şemseddin requested
promotions at the same time.2
In addition, if the chief judges were unsure about the competence
of applicants for a position, they could test them. For example, Derviş
Mehmed, who had received the status of novice (mülazemet), requested
an appointment to the judgeship of Korubana. He brought a letter
of recommendation from the judge of Ustrumca, confirming that he
taught some students in the town. The chief judge of Rumeli gave
Derviş Mehmed an examination to ensure his competence, and then
appointed him as the judge of Korubana in October 1581.3
Another indication of the significance of knowledge for advance-
ment in the hierarchy is seen in cases where inadequate knowledge set
back careers. For example, after being introduced to the hierarchy as
novice (mülazım), Ferruh Halife (d. 1556/57) climbed the rungs of the
hierarchy until he attained a professorship in one of the Sahn madrasas.
However, as Mecdi Mehmed reported, when Ferruh Halife was accused
of ignorance, his advancement stopped; he taught in the same madrasa
until his death.4 Likewise, Abdullah bin Mercan (d. 1570) progressed
rapidly up the hierarchy thanks to his relation with Cafer Ağa, one
of the palace servants, through marriage. He received the professor-
ship of Davud Pasha Madrasa in Istanbul with a salary of 50 aspers
in 1552/53. However, the chief judge of Rumeli reported Abdullah bin
Mercan’s incompetence (adem-i istihkak) and had him dismissed in
1558. After that, Abdullah was unable to obtain another position for
many years.5
That some scholar-bureaucrats requested a change of their career
track from that of town judge to that of dignitaries with reference
to scholarly achievement also indicates the existence of a connection
1
MECDI, 446–48, 468–70, 476. For a copy of Çivizade’s treatises in question,
see SK, Halet Efendi, no. 802, 57a–66b. For further details about this
examination, see ATAYI, 134–35; Repp, The Müfti of Istanbul, 248–49.
2
MECDI, 501–2; ATAYI, 114–16, 121–22, 259–61. For a copy of the treatises in
question, see SK, Kasidecizade, no. 675, 337a–342a.
3
Çivizade Mehmed Ruznamçesi, 16a. For additional examples, see Beyazıt,
Osmanlı İlmiyye Mesleğinde İstihdam, 136, 219.
4
ATAYI, 133–34.
between hierarchical rank and level of knowledge. For example, Bostan

Mustafa Efendi became novice in 1525/26 and started his career as
judge – which destined him to follow the track of town judges. How-
ever, he considered himself worthy of the track of dignitaries, which
required teaching in several madrasas before assuming a judgeship.
In 1537/38, he applied to change tracks and sought an appointment
to a madrasa, presenting his treatise on a section of the Qur’an. The
two chief judges at the time, Çivizade Mehmed bin İlyas and Ebus-
suud, supported his application, and he was transferred to the track of
dignitaries.6
Again, the assumption was that there existed a correspondence
between the place of a scholar-bureaucrat in the hierarchy and his
knowledge. For this reason, the level of knowledge that individual
scholar-bureaucrats possessed could play a critical role in their prefer-
ment and promotion in the hierarchy, especially in cases when several
eligible men of comparable skills competed for the same position.
Differentiation on the Basis of Competence

The primary duties of scholar-bureaucrats were teaching when
appointed as professors and administering justice when appointed as
judges. The central government could assign professors and judges
additional duties related to tax collection, the supervision of tax farms,
investigation, and so on. The level of effort scholar-bureaucrats
expended and their skill in achieving their primary obligations as well
as other assigned tasks could influence their promotion and success in
the hierarchy.
Professors were required to train students who were accepted to their
madrasas according to a prescribed schedule and curriculum. By the
end of the sixteenth century, prevalent practice dictated that students
finish studying a group of texts in order to be eligible for the status
of novice and thus for official positions; each professor had to teach
a specific text prescribed for his madrasa according to the school’s
place in the hierarchy.7 However, it is not altogether clear who first
6
Ibid., 130.
7
In the last decade of the sixteenth century, Mustafa Âlî provided a detailed list
of books to be studied in different madrasas. For this, see Mustafa Âlî,
Künhü’l-Ahbar, facs. 110b–111b.
developed a curriculum for madrasa students or when this practice

was first introduced.8
An imperial decree, probably from the early years of the sixteenth
century, referred to the “esteemed books” that “had been studied
according to the ancient custom,” divided professors into three groups,
and assigned each group the task of teaching several books on the list.9
The reference to the madrasas of Hashiya al-Tajrid10 in a document
dated to circa 1523 provides a terminus post quem for the beginning
of the association of madrasas, according to their rank, with the study
of specific textbooks in the curriculum.11
Another decree, addressed to the professors in Istanbul, Edirne,
Bursa, and other cities in 1538, states that students quickly changed
their textbooks (and thus their grades) and graduated without receiv-
ing the necessary training because they wanted to be appointed to posi-
tions in the hierarchy as soon as possible. The decree warned professors
against allowing students to move on to a different textbook, unless
they had studied the whole text of the book at hand. It also prescribed
that students spend at least five years in the lower madrasas before
gaining the right to receive training in one of the Sahn madrasas (which
were then among the highest-ranking schools).12 After the establish-
ment of new madrasas and the projection of the idea of hierarchy onto
new and existing madrasas (as detailed in Chapter 8), it became possi-
ble to define more exactly where and how long a student should study
specific textbooks in order to graduate and become eligible for the sta-
tus of novice. In a decree dated to February 1576, the madrasas below
the Sahn level were divided into five grades, each of which was des-
ignated as a venue for teaching specific texts in the curriculum. The
8
Ekmeleddin İhsanoğlu showed that the claim that a curriculum was defined
during Mehmed II’s reign could not be corroborated by historical evidence. See
İhsanoğlu, “Osmanlı Medrese Tarihçiliğinin İlk Safhası,” 554–56.
9
Akgündüz, Osmanlı Kanunnâmeleri, 4: 662–64; Uzuncarşılı, Osmanlı
Devletinin İlmiye Teşkilâtı, 13.
10
Hashiya al-Tajrid was a supercommentary written by Seyyid Şerif Cürcani on
Şemseddin İsfahani’s (d. 1349) commentary on the theological work Al-Tajrid
of Nasirüddin Tusi (d. 1274). For more information about Al-Tajrid, see Bekir
Topaloğlu, “Tecrîdü’l-İʿtikād,” TDVIA.
11
TSMA, D. 8823.1, 1b, 2a, 5b, 8a, 9a, 20a.
12
Akgündüz, Osmanlı Kanunnâmeleri, 4: 667–69. On the date of this decree, see
imperial command also set down how long a student had to spend in
each grade.13
It was each professor’s duty to teach the texts designated for the
level of his madrasa and to test students, thus ensuring that they
demonstrated knowledge of the lower levels before moving on to that
madrasa’s course of study. If professors failed to teach or to ensure con-
cordance between their lessons and the students’ abilities, they would
face dismissal, and thus their careers would suffer setbacks.14
As for the primary duty of the judges – administering justice – this
included hearing cases and passing judgments. It seems that in the six-
teenth century, probably during the reign of Süleyman, some judges
were ordered to pass judgments according to the soundest Hanafi opin-
ion (esahh-ı ekval) instead of according to their own reasoning on the
legal sources.15 In cases of uncertainty about what the soundest opin-
ion on a specific problem was, both judge and litigants could request a
fetva from the chief jurist (şeyhülislam) or other jurists. In some cases,
litigants requested and received an imperial decree to support their
cases in the courtroom. Disregarding a fetva or a decree could have
consequences for the judges.16
Related to the administration of justice, among the duties of the
judges were validating marriage contracts, dividing inheritances, pro-
tecting the properties of orphans, and appointing guardians for chil-
dren. As men of law and dispensers of justice, the judges also served as
notaries. They registered contracts, deeds, the acceptance of a debt, the
payment of a sum, and the release from a debt in the court records.17
13
Uzuncarşılı, Osmanlı Devletinin İlmiye Teşkilâtı, 14.
14
Akgündüz, Osmanlı Kanunnâmeleri, 4: 664. For an example of the dismissal of
a professor for his neglect of teaching, see Çivizade Mehmed Ruznamçesi, 35b.
15
For this, see Akgündüz, Osmanlı Kanunnâmeleri, 4: 50; Uzuncarşılı, Osmanlı
Devletinin İlmiye Teşkilâtı, 113. See also Halil İnalcık, “Mah.kama,” EI2 .
16
A fetva from Chief Jurist Yahya bin Zekeriyya (d. 1643) related to the
authority of fetvas and imperial decrees reads as follows: “Question: If the
judge of a town, Zeyd, does not heed a fetva from the chief jurist and the
imperial decree that agreed with the fetva, what is befitting for Zeyd? Answer:
If the case is not a matter of doubt, he is dismissed from his office.” See Yahya
bin Zekeriyya, Fetava (SK, Fatih, no. 2413), 208b.
17
For some examples, see Halil İnalcık, “Osmanlı İdare, Sosyal ve Ekonomik
Tarihi ile İlgili Belgeler: Bursa Kadı Sicillerinden Seçmeler,” Belgeler 10, no. 14
(1980–81): 1–91; Halit Ongan, Ankara’nın 1 Numaralı Şerʿiye Sicili (Ankara:
Türk Tarih Kurumu, 1958).
In addition to these tasks essential to their positions, the central gov-

ernment occasionally asked professors and judges to fulfill other duties.
If there was no special official in the region for a task or if the assignee
failed to fulfill it, the imperial decree usually requested that professors
or judges in the region or outside it (alone or together with other offi-
cials) perform the duty. If there was a problem between two officials
or between citizens and officials, judges were typically entrusted with
its resolution.18 The imperial decrees could charge judges and profes-
sors with the duty of investigating complicated cases.19 When military
officials levied illegal taxes on people or perpetrated other types of
injustice, the judges were to take appropriate action.20 Even after the
separation in the Ottoman bureaucracy and the rise of the kalemiye
(the scribal-financial career), scholar-bureaucrats could be assigned to
perform scribal and financial duties. For example, when the govern-
ment levied extraordinary taxes (avarız), the judges kept registers of
taxpayers, collected the taxes, and disbursed the sums to the coffers
of the central treasury.21 Likewise, several scholar-bureaucrats were
charged with the supervision of tax farms.22
The nature and content of such extra tasks could vary across time
and from province to province. For example, in 1581, the judge of
Üsküp needed advanced knowledge of accounting and familiarity with
the functioning of the mining industry;23 the judge of Ahyolu was
expected to be able to organize the construction of ships for the
Ottoman navy.24
18
Ahmet Yiğit, “XVI. Yüzyılın İkinci Yarısında Edirne Kadıları ve Mühimme
Defterlerine Göre Vazifeleri,” Tarih İncelemeleri Dergisi 14 (1999): 161–62.
19
For the appointment of the professors of Üç Şerefeli Madrasa to investigate a
case of heresy in Edirne in 1563, see TSMA, D.4128.1. For the assignment of
the judge of Vize to the clandestine investigation of an issue, see Çivizade
Mehmed Ruznamçesi, 22b–23a.
20
For imperial orders mentioning the injustices of military officials and enjoining
judges to prevent them, see Halil İnalcık, “Adâletnâmeler,” Belgeler 2 (1965):
49–142.
21
In 1583, the judge of Murtazabad collected taxes in kind and took them to
Erzurum. Özer Ergenç, Osmanlı Klâsik Dönemi Kent Tarihçiliğine Katkı: XVI.
Yüzyılda Ankara ve Konya (Ankara: Ankara Enstitüsü Vakfı, 1995), 87.
22
For the appointment of Hasan bin Zeyneddin Fenari (d. 1556/57), a judge, to
the supervision of tax farms, see ATAYI, 13. For the appointment of a professor
to the task of supervision of tax farms, see Çivizade Mehmed Ruznamçesi, 32b.
For other examples, see Çivizade Mehmed Ruznamçesi, 7a, 10b, 11b, 13b, 20a.
23 24
Çivizade Mehmed Ruznamçesi, 1b. Ibid., 22a.
The success or failure of scholar-bureaucrats to fulfill all the duties

connected with their offices could influence their progress in the hier-
archy. If the denizens or other officials in the region or the cen-
ter reported satisfaction with the scholar-bureaucrats’ performance,
the latter were granted promotions. For example, when the judge of
Yenişehir reported good relations between the judge of Velesin and the
people in his jurisdiction, along with his success in collecting taxes for
the central treasury, the judge of Velesin was promoted to the next level
in the hierarchy.25 The judge of Dubniçe was entrusted with the super-
vision of tax farms in Sofya. He was so successful collecting taxes and
improving the region’s mining industry that the treasurer (defterdar)
requested his promotion.26
On the other hand, if scholar-bureaucrats did not act honestly or
lost the people’s trust, residents of their jurisdictions or other officials
could report them to the central government and bring about their dis-
missal. For example, in a document of complaint the people of Çorlu
claimed that the judge regularly accepted bribes and passed judgments
contrary to the order of sharia. In accordance with instructions from
the central government, the professor of a madrasa in the town heard,
in an official/judicial capacity, some of these reported cases again, con-
firmed the judge’s corruption and caused him to lose his position.27
In addition, failure to achieve the assigned financial tasks or causing
injustice in doing so could also result in dismissal. During 1581–82, a
great number of judges in Rumeli lost their positions for overcharg-
ing taxpayers and for not disbursing the collected taxes to the central
treasury.28
In short, scholar-bureaucrats as professors and judges fulfilled duties
of various natures: teaching, administering justice, collecting certain
taxes, solving problems between officials, and supervising tax farms.
Their performance in these professional tasks was one factor in their
progress in the hierarchy. On this basis, they could either be distin-
guished among their peers or fall behind them.
25 26
Ibid., 2a. Ibid., 13b.
27
Ibid., 14b. Similarly, the people of Fenar reported their lack of confidence in
the judge Taşzade Alaeddin and had him replaced. For this, see ibid., 1b. For
the dismissal of Kara Haydar, the judge of Aleppo, accused of being unjust and
causing disturbances, see SHAQAʾIQ, 467; MECDI, 423.
28
For some examples, see Çivizade Mehmed Ruznamçesi, 4a, 5a, 6a, 8b, 9a, 10b,
11a, 12b, 14b, 15b, 16b, 17b, 18a, 18b, 19a, 21b.
Differentiation on the Basis of Geography

Another factor that influenced the prospects of success for scholar-
bureaucrats in the hierarchy was the location of the office to which they
were assigned. Generally speaking, scholar-bureaucrats who served in
Istanbul, Edirne, Bursa, and their environs early in their careers had an
edge over others in the competition for the status of dignitary.
It seems that the distinction between the imperial center and the peri-
phery existed within the hierarchy of scholar-bureaucrats from the sec-
ond half of the fifteenth century, as illustrated by the usage of the dual-
ity of interior-exterior (içil-kenar, sometimes dahil-haric).29 However,
the location of the center (and thus the referents of these terms) was not
fixed; it changed as the sultan, princes, and some statesmen moved and
relocated. On the other hand, as the imperial family settled in Istanbul
and the centralized administration was augmented, important decision
makers and decision-making mechanisms were gradually concentrated
in Istanbul, Edirne, and Bursa. As a consequence, the limits of the inte-
rior/imperial center and the exterior/periphery could be more exactly
defined: these three cities and their environs became increasingly rec-
ognized as the center, while the rest of the empire was considered to
constitute the periphery.
In conjunction with this development, as scholar-bureaucrats who
taught in Istanbul, Edirne, and Bursa in their earlier careers had
easier access to decision makers, they had greater opportunities to
advance and to succeed in the hierarchy. It is possible to illustrate
this trend by showing the differences in the early careers of scholars
who all had more or less similar success in the hierarchy in the dif-
ferent periods of the sixteenth century. 22 scholar-bureaucrats who
started their teaching careers before 1550 accepted appointments to
madrasas in 19 different cities, including Kütahya, Amasya, Alaşehir,
and Akşehir. However, 26 scholar-bureaucrats who began teaching
after 1550 taught in the 3 central cities and 4 others in their envi-
rons, namely Istanbul, Edirne, Bursa, İznik, Silivri, Tuzla, and Burgaz.30
29
İçil is used in this specific geographical sense in the extant copies of Mehmed
II’s law code, although the authenticity of this usage cannot be corroborated.
For this, see KANUNNAME, 12. For the usage of kenar, see TSMA, D. 8823.1,
9a. For the usage of içil-kenar and dahil-haric in the geographical sense, see
Repp, The Müfti of Istanbul, 36–42.
30
This observation clearly indicates that as the sixteenth century pro-

gressed, scholar-bureaucrats who served outside the center early in
their careers had fewer chances of succeeding in the hierarchy.
Some remarks in the biographical sources suggest that the histori-
cal actors became aware of this trend – the priority afforded scholar-
bureaucrats who had served in the central cities early in their careers –
and tried to adjust their own career tracks accordingly. For example,
Hürrem (d. 1562/63) was a professor in Sofya receiving a salary of 50
aspers. He requested an appointment to a madrasa in the central cities
and their environs (içil). His request was rejected; thus, he, as Atayi
commented, lost the chance to progress to the status of dignitary and
had to accept relatively minor judgeships at the end of his career.31 In
a somewhat similar situation, Abdülfettah (d. 1577) insisted on pre-
serving his chances to remain on the track of dignitaries. He served in
Seyfiye Madrasa in Ankara, receiving a salary of 50 aspers. After an
interim period of unemployment, he tried to attain a promotion, but
the same position was offered with the rank of an interior position
(içil hükmü ile). Nevertheless, he got more or less stuck there, unable
to move on to a more prestigious assignment along the track of digni-
taries and had to accept a jurist position in Damascus.32 Clearly, both
Hürrem and Abdülfettah knew that the route to the status of digni-
tary passed through the madrasas in the central cities. Yet despite their
efforts, they failed to arrange appointments to professorships there and
thus had to renounce their ambitions of becoming a dignitary.
In the same vein, some professors reached the highest-level madrasas
located outside the center. Probably because they could not gain
appointments to the center, they moved between madrasas in the
periphery – sometimes with a joint appointment as professor and
jurist – without attaining the status of dignitary.33
To summarize, during the period of consolidation, the cities of Istan-
bul, Edirne, and Bursa and the areas around them were gradually dis-
tinguished as the center of the empire. In connection with this, scholar-
bureaucrats who taught outside that center and thus did not have the
chance to cultivate close relationships with the relevant principal deci-
sion makers found it increasingly difficult to progress in the hierarchy
and to attain the status of dignitary.
31 32
ATAYI, 38. Ibid., 242.
33
Differentiation on the Basis of Economic Needs and Resources

Scholar-bureaucrats had to consider income, prestige, and career
prospects when applying for positions in the hierarchy. Generally
speaking, in the early stages of the service in the hierarchy, there was a
reverse correlation between income, on the one hand, and prestige and
career prospects, on the other hand. In other words, the positions lead-
ing to the status of dignitary paid less than others that were steps in the
career of town judges (kasabat kadıs). Conversely, in the later stages
of the service in the hierarchy, a positive correlation existed between
these elements. Dignitaries enjoyed higher status and earned more than
those who held lower judgeships.
As a consequence of these features of the hierarchy, scholar-
bureaucrats’ economic means (other than the salary from their posi-
tions in the hierarchy) or lack thereof in their early careers could deter-
mine their career decisions. Some of them, although they considered
themselves competent, had to forgo pursuing a career of dignitary for
economic reasons and exchanged future glory in the hierarchy for a
higher short-term salary that would meet their immediate needs.
The formative period (1453–1530) saw the establishment of an
understanding that starting one’s career with a judgeship position was
less prestigious than beginning with a teaching position.34 Beyond
that, during the period of consolidation (1530–1600), the assumption
that opting for a judicial career immediately after becoming novice
or before reaching the professorship in the career track of dignitaries
would reduce one’s chances of attaining the status of dignitary gained
wide currency.35 On the other hand, during this time in the lower
levels of the hierarchy, the practice of assigning a judge of a certain
level a salary higher than that of a professor from the same level
became normative. Thus, professors who needed to earn applied for
34
The anecdote about Kemalpaşazade’s appointment to his first position
illustrates this point well. On receiving the status of novice, he applied to the
chief judge of Rumeli, Hacıhasanzade Mehmed, for a position. The latter
offered him a low-level judgeship and submitted this appointment to the sultan
for a confirmation. The chief judge of Anatolia, Müeyyedzade Abdurrahman,
was also present at the meeting. He praised Kemalpaşazade’s learning and
argued that he deserved a teaching position. MECDI, 384; Repp, The Müfti of
Istanbul, 57–58.
35
More detail about the professorships and judgeships in the career of dignitaries
and town judges will be provided in Chapter 10.
judgeship positions. Some of them chose a judicial career immediately

after receiving the status of novice and thus earned more than their
peers in teaching positions. For example, during 1581–82, novices
were appointed to judgeships paying at least 25 aspers,36 while most
of the new professors, chosen from novices, received 20 aspers.37
In addition, some scholar-bureaucrats who started their careers in
teaching positions were obliged to change tracks in order to receive a
higher salary. For example, Muhyiddin taught in Kadı İvaz Madrasa
in Niğbolu, with a salary of 30 aspers. Then he applied for a judgeship
and became the judge of Mostar, earning 50 aspers beginning in
January 1582. Likewise, Uzun Bali (d. 1569/70) received the status
of novice and served as a professor in two different madrasas, one
paying 20 aspers and the other 25, one after the other. Later, however,
for economic reasons, he applied for judgeships instead and gave up
his pursuit of the status of dignitary.38
During the formative period, some scholar-bureaucrats serving in
low-level judgeships could request appointment to professorships;
hence, they would have a chance to attain the status of dignitary.39
But during the period of consolidation, the separation of the career
track of dignitaries from that of town judges – and the hierarchical
relationship between them – became entrenched. Thus, it became
very rare and indeed exceptional for scholar-bureaucrats to turn to a
career of dignitary after having served in low-level judgeships. In one
such rare moment, Bostan Mustafa Efendi was allowed to receive an
appointment to a teaching position in the track of dignitaries after
serving in a low-level judgeship with the strong support of the two
chief judges in 1537/38.40
In the lower levels of the hierarchy, then, judgeships paid better
than teaching positions; however, serving in these more lucrative posi-
tions disqualified scholar-bureaucrats from following the career track
36
The only exception was the appointment of Alaeddin as a judge salaried with
20 aspers in July 1581. For this, see Çivizade Mehmed Ruznamçesi, 9a.
37
During 1581–82, two professors were appointed at a salary of 10 aspers each,
and one professor was assigned 19 aspers. Ibid., 31a, 32a, 35a.
38
ATAYI, 134–35. For examples of other scholar-bureaucrats who received
judgeships with higher salaries after serving in one madrasa or more, see
Çivizade Mehmed Ruznamçesi, 15b, 25b, 35b.
39
For example, see the biographies of Molla Vildan, Hacıhasanzade Mehmed,
Nihali Cafer Çelebi, and Saçlı Emir: SHAQAʾIQ, 198–99, 158, 478–79,
488–89.
40
ATAYI, 129–32.
of dignitaries and from ascending to top positions in the hierarchy.

Considering this, one can say that members of well-to-do families and
scholar-bureaucrats who had economic resources beyond the salaries
from their assigned positions in the hierarchy had an advantage over
their peers: the financial ability to choose the career track of dignitaries
and to survive its initial economic difficulties.
Differentiation on the Basis of Contacts: Structured Patronage

In addition to skills, competence, and objective conditions, patron-
age – that is, the support of influential people – could affect the level
of success that scholar-bureaucrats achieved. Though different types
of patronage existed for scholar-bureaucrats, the most common and
most important one stemmed from a fundamental feature of the hier-
archy: the procedure for the grant of the status of novice (mülazemet)
created a special relationship between dignitaries (mevali) and their
novices (mülazıms) that normally persisted and entailed the former’s
support of the latter. Another type of patronage relied on family rela-
tions with dignitaries and was supported by the law. Still another sort
was the patronage of scholars by people not directly affiliated with the
hierarchy.
There were rules and patterns of all different types of patronage
whereby scholar-bureaucrats were supported. In most cases, patron-
age was not unlimited but rather structured and bounded: a patron
typically helped his protégé to move on to higher grades faster or to
pass a threshold but not to jump over several grades.
Establishing a relationship with a dignitary scholar-bureaucrat con-
stituted an important stride toward entering the hierarchy. The dig-
nitaries introduced new scholar-bureaucrats by granting the status of
novice in different instances. Each dignitary scholar-bureaucrat intro-
duced the specified number of novices according to their rank when
the general occasion for this (nevbet) was announced.41 For exam-
ple, in the occasion of 1561, the chief jurist sponsored ten students
for novitiate status; likewise, the incumbent and retired chief judges
each initiated seven scholar-bureaucrats. The incumbent and retired
41
İpşirli, “Osmanlı Devleti’nde Kazaskerlik,” 645–47. See also Yasemin Beyazıt,
“Osmanlı İlmiyye Bürokrasisinde Şeyhulislâmlığın Değişen Rolü ve Mülâzemet
Sistemi (XVI.–XVIII. Yüzyıllar),” Belleten 73 (2009): 427–28.
judges of Istanbul, Mecca, Medina, Edirne, and Bursa each introduced

four novices.42 In addition, some dignitary scholar-bureaucrats were
permitted to introduce students into the hierarchy when they them-
selves received a promotion, when the Ottoman army was victorious
in battle, or when they submitted an important academic work to
the sultan. Moreover, when professors of some designated madrasas
received judgeships, their teaching assistants had the right to receive
positions in the hierarchy. Finally, scholars serving in the offices of the
chief jurist and the two chief judges were accepted into the hierarchy
twice a year.43
Establishing contact with dignitary scholar-bureaucrats facilitated
scholars’ entrance into the hierarchy. In addition, if the sponsor enjoyed
a particular privilege, his novices could benefit from this. For example,
Sultan Süleyman ordered that the novices of his tutor, Hayreddin bin
Evhad (d. 1543/44), should start their careers earning a salary of 25
aspers (instead of the usual 20).44 Moreover, when individual digni-
taries had powers as regards appointments and promotions, they could
help their own novices to progress in the hierarchy. For example, Ebus-
suud served as the chief judge of Rumeli and as the chief jurist from
1537 to 1574. It is probably not a coincidence that 14 of the 25 scholar-
bureaucrats who started their careers after 1550 and reached the top
four positions in the hierarchy in the second half of the sixteenth cen-
tury received the status of novice from Ebussuud.45 He very well may
have promoted the careers of some of his novices at the expense of
other scholar-bureaucrats.
42
The other scholar-bureaucrats who granted the status of novice in the general
occasion (nevbet) of 1561 are as follows: the incumbent and retired judges of
Damascus and Aleppo and the tutors of the princes each sponsored three
novices; the incumbent and retired judge of Baghdad, professors of the
Süleymaniye madrasas, Selim I Madrasa, Ayasofya Madrasa, Bayezid II
Madrasa in Edirne, Bayezid II Madrasa in Amasya, Muradiye Madrasa in
Bursa, Sultan Madrasa in Manisa, the Sahn madrasas, Hürrem Sultan
Madrasa, and Mihrimah Sultan Madrasa each introduced two novices. The
professors of Murad II’s three madrasas in Edirne (Üç Şerefeli, Darulhadis, and
Halebi), Sultaniye Madrasa in Bursa, and Süleyman’s madrasa (most probably
in Rodos or Çorlu) each introduced one novice. For the document specifying
the number of novices each dignitary could introduce, see TSMA, D. 5605.2.
43
İpşirli, “Osmanlı Devleti’nde Kazaskerlik,” 647–54. See also Atçıl, “The Route
to the Top,” 496–97.
44 45
MECDI, 440. Atçıl, “The Route to the Top,” 496–98.
In addition to association with the dignitaries through the pro-

cedure of novitiate status, some scholar-bureaucrats had family or
marriage relationships with the dignitaries. Such relationships could
have important repercussions for the success of scholar-bureaucrats
in the hierarchy. As the enacted law recognized, the sons of some
dignitary scholar-bureaucrats had the right to receive stipends even
before they were employed.46 If they chose to proceed in scholarly
careers, on completion of their studies they did not have to await a
general or special occasion to receive novitiate status; their cases were
separately (müstakıllen) submitted, and they immediately became
novices.47 In addition, when they were employed, their stipends were
taken into consideration, and they bypassed one or more grades at the
bottom of the hierarchy.
For example, Ebussuud’s son Mehmed (d. 1564) received the status
of novice from Muhyiddin Fenari when the latter was the chief judge
of Rumeli. He began his teaching career at the Kasım Pasha Madrasa
in 1548/49, probably receiving 50 aspers.48 He started with a 50-asper
position (instead of the usual 20-asper one), probably because of the
consideration of, and the desire to give a promotion over, the preem-
ployment stipend that he received thanks to his father. Comparing
Mehmed’s career with that of his predecessor in the Kasım Pasha
Madrasa, Sururi Mustafa (d. 1562), makes apparent the advantage
of having a father from the group of dignitaries. Sururi was the son
of a merchant in Gallipoli and, like Mehmed, had received the status
of novice from Muhyiddin Fenari. However, unlike Mehmed, Sururi
began teaching at the Sarıca Pasha Madrasa in Gallipoli, a position
that paid 20 aspers in 1523/24. Then he received at least three promo-
tions before being appointed to Kasım Pasha Madrasa with a salary
of 50 aspers in 1537/38.49
One should not think that Ebussuud acted irregularly and ille-
gally when he advanced the career of his son. Many other scholar-
bureaucrats with dignitary status promoted their sons in a similar
46
According to the extant copies of Mehmed II’s law code, the chief jurist’s sons
and the sons of the sultan’s tutor would receive a stipend of 60 aspers. The
sons of the chief judges would receive 40 aspers; the sons of the judges of
Istanbul, Edirne, and Bursa and of the tutors of the princes would receive
30 aspers, and the sons of the professors of the Sahn madrasas would receive
20 aspers. For this, see KANUNNAME, 12.
47
48 49
ATAYI, 42–43. Ibid., 23–25.
way.50 Even the imperial decree of 1598, which aimed to give order
to the practice of granting novitiate status and to eliminate corruption
in it, affirmed privileges for the sons of the dignitaries once they had
received novitiate status and took up their first positions.51 Thus, it
is possible to say that the privileged hierarchical status of the sons of
the dignitaries became established in law and practice and gave them
a tremendous advantage in the competition for advancement in the
hierarchy.
Unlike their sons, the sons-in-law of the dignitaries did not enjoy
any legally established privilege. Nevertheless, the dignitaries, who
had the power to influence appointments, could help their relatives
without violating the law. For example, Ebussuud’s two sons-in-law,
Malulzade Mehmed (d. 1585) and Abdülkadir Şeyhi, both started
their careers with teaching positions paying 30 aspers. They served
in three other madrasas before being appointed to one of the Sahn
madrasas. Later, during Ebussuud’s lifetime, they reached the offices
of chief judges of Anatolia and Rumeli.52 It is quite plausible that
Ebussuud made sure that his sons-in-law progressed in their careers
smoothly; perhaps he personally intervened in their appointments to
their advantage.
In order to avoid conveying the impression that the top places in
the hierarchy were reserved for the sons or son-in-laws of the digni-
taries, I should mention the possibility of reaching the top positions
that existed for scholar-bureaucrats from nondignitary families. For
example, Ahizade Mehmed (d. 1581), the son of a judge (definitely
below the level of the dignitaries), received the status of novice from
Sultan Süleyman’s tutor, Hayreddin, and started his career with a teach-
ing position of 25 aspers. Ahizade taught in four other madrasas before
being appointed to one of the Sahn madrasas as professor.53 At the
50
For examples, see ibid., 292–94; Uzuncarşılı, Osmanlı Devletinin İlmiye
Teşkilâtı, 71–75; Tezcan, “The Ottoman Mevali,” 397–407.
51
52
For the biographies of Malulzade Mehmed and Abdülkadir Şeyhi, see ATAYI,
281–82, 327–28.
53
In order to see the difference between the careers of the sons of the dignitaries
and others, compare Ahizade Mehmed’s career with those of Ebussuud’s sons,
Mehmet (d. 1564) and Mustafa (d. 1599). Mehmed served in two teaching
positions before being appointed to one of the Sahn madrasas. For this, see
ibid., 42–43. Mustafa received a professorship in the Sahn madrasas
immediately after becoming novice. For this, see ibid., 428–29.
end of his career, he advanced as much as to become the chief judge of

Anatolia.54
Another type of patronage was that extended by sultans, viziers,
and officials from the other branches of the bureaucracy on behalf
of scholar-bureaucrats. It seems that some graduates of the madrasas
could not wait in the service of the dignitaries until the latter were
permitted to introduce novices. They submitted their cases directly or
through a powerful intermediary to the sultan or to the chief judges in
order to request novitiate status. For example, in the period 1544–56,
some thirty-six novices were introduced to the hierarchy through the
patronage of sultans, princes, and officials in nonscholarly positions.55
Nevertheless, the dignitaries considered introducing novices through
the intercession of others tantamount to usurping their rights and tried
to prevent it. For example, Sultan Süleyman issued the status of novice
for the famous poet Baki (d. 1600) in 1564, but the chief judge of
Rumeli resisted this act, refusing to appoint Baki to a position. On
the sultan’s insistence, however, the chief judge was obliged to assign
Baki to a teaching position.56 Yet, probably because of the resistance
of dignitaries, the intervention of sultans and other powerful figures
in the procedure of granting novitiate status seems to have gradually
waned and to have become obsolete in the second half of the sixteenth
century.57 So the decree of 1598 stipulated that even when the sultan
intervened in favor of granting novitiate status to a scholar, this scholar
was obliged to wait until the next general occasion (nevbet) for his sta-
tus to become effective.58
In addition, other nonscholarly figures could intercede for the career
progress of their protégés in the hierarchy. For example, Yahya bin
Derviş (d. 1604) had a modest family background and decent achieve-
ments in the study of sciences. He received the status of novice from
Ebussuud. Yahya could not proceed very quickly in his teaching career;
54
For the biography of Ahizade Mehmed, see ibid., 264–65.
55
Beyazıt, Osmanlı İlmiyye Mesleğinde İstihdam, 91. The sultan sponsored two
novices. The princes interceded for the introduction of twenty-one
scholar-bureaucrats. Grand Vizier Rüstem Pasha and the gatekeeper Haydar
Ağa each patronized four novices (mülazıms). The Safavid prince Elkas Mirza,
who took refuge in the Ottoman court, requested the investment of two
novices. Emirşah Şirvanzade, Sheikh Bali, and Sheikh Burhaneddin Mehmed
Hüseyni each requested that the status of novice be granted to one scholar.
56 57
ATAYI, 435. Beyazıt, Osmanlı İlmiyye Mesleğinde İstihdam, 91–93.
58
he was already over seventy years old when he became a professor

in one of the Sahn madrasas in 1592. Meanwhile, he was introduced
to Safiye Sultan, the mother of Prince Mehmed, heir-apparent at
the time, and he interpreted her dreams. As a consequence, Yahya’s
career immediately took an upward turn. He became the professor
of Selimiye Madrasa in Edirne in 1594. When Mehmed III ascended
the throne in 1595, Yahya was appointed as the judge of Mecca. He
became the chief judge of Anatolia in 1597 and after just six months
was made the chief judge of Rumeli.59 It is clear that Yahya’s scholarly
background and contacts within the hierarchy could not help him
move beyond a professorship in the Sahn madrasas for many years.
In contrast, Safiye Sultan facilitated his rapid movement through the
rungs of the hierarchy such that he reached its top levels in only a
few years.60
In short, the patronage of scholar-bureaucrats by the dignitaries
was a standard and indispensable element for success in the hierar-
chy. It was almost impossible to enter the hierarchy and progress to
the upper levels without the support of a dignitary scholar-bureaucrat.
The patronage of nonscholarly figures for scholar-bureaucrats was not
as ubiquitous, but whenever it existed, it could provide the scholar-
bureaucrat in question with a significant advantage over his peers in
the competition for promotion.
Conclusion
It is possible to identify certain factors that regularly influenced the
level of success of scholar-bureaucrats in the hierarchy. The merit of
scholar-bureaucrats (academic knowledge and the ability to discharge
assigned duties) and their objective circumstances (the location of the
office and their economic means) could play significant roles in their
careers. In addition, the patronage of powerful individuals brought
invaluable advantages to some. Nevertheless, the import of these fac-
tors and their interplay in scholar-bureaucrats’ career advancement
59
ATAYI, 520–22.
60
For additional examples of the patronage of scholar-bureaucrats by
nonscholarly figures, see the biographies of Hasan b. Zeyneddin Fenari, Hubbi
Mollası, and Hoca Sadeddin, in ibid., 13, 311–12, 429–31.
necessarily followed certain written and unwritten laws. All these fac-
tors had limits; none of them alone could explain the level of suc-
cess of an individual scholar-bureaucrat. Instead, various combinations
brought about variations in the careers of individuals and the emer-
gence of patterns of differentiation within the group.
10 The Integration of
Scholar-Bureaucrats in
Multiple Career Tracks
In Chapters 8 and 9, I discussed aspects of the stratification of schol-

arly positions as well as the differentiation of the scholar-bureaucrats
who filled them. It was not the case, however, that scholar-bureaucrats
and positions were catalogued in two separate columns in descending
order according to rank and prestige and that people and offices of the
same level were matched. As mentioned several times in the preceding
chapters, different career paths existed within the official hierarchy.
The central government probably supported the growing distinction
between these different career paths, for the variety of career paths
contributed to the diversification of scholar-bureaucrats in terms of
talent, expertise, and level of involvement, allowing the government to
assign them to tasks of various nature and levels.
Scholar-bureaucrats calculated their own skills, connections, and
chances for professional progress and economic gain in the hierarchy
and attempted to make the optimal decision. Some opted for immedi-
ate financial gain, while others aimed to obtain the highest positions
in the long run, relinquishing higher income for a time. In some cases,
they miscalculated the match between their resources and chances of
advancement and had to change paths because they encountered seri-
ous obstacles to their progress. As such, scholar-bureaucrats were dif-
ferentiated in terms of their career paths, their involvement in the
Ottoman administration and their satisfaction.
Generally speaking, there were two broad avenues in the official
hierarchy: the career track of dignitaries (mevali) and that of town
judges (kasabat kadıs). It is possible to identify four different paths
that led to, or were lanes within, these two broad avenues: (1) judge-
ships only, without the status of dignitary, (2) professorships followed
by judgeships but with no status of dignitary, (3) the lower career
track of dignitaries: professorships followed by judgeships with the
status of dignitary but the loss of the chance to reach the top, and
(4) the upper career track of dignitaries: professorships followed by
188
The Integration of Scholar-Bureaucrats in Multiple Career Tracks 189
judgeships with the status of dignitary and the opportunity to reach

the hierarchy’s upper echelons.
Judgeships without the Status of Dignitary

Scholar-bureaucrats who opted for judgeship positions immediately
after receiving the status of novice (mülazemet) typically served only in
judgeships throughout their careers, progressing as town judges. They
normally had no chance to acquire the status of dignitary or to benefit
from the privileges that accompanied it.
The assumption appears to have been that judges would have no
opportunity to acquire new knowledge, whereas professors could
increase their knowledge while teaching students.1 Therefore, those
who opted for professorships were regarded as more suitable for higher
status and more prestigious positions. In addition, accepting a judge-
ship early in one’s career in most cases entailed leaving the central cities
and not being able to settle there, even in the future. Thus, scholar-
bureaucrats who took these positions did not have the chance to estab-
lish sustained relationships with members of the elite or to prove to
decision makers their reliability and capability.
The advantage of taking a judgeship position early in one’s career
path was the salary, which, as already mentioned, was generally higher
than that of professorships. Based on the day register (ruznamçe) of
the chief judge of Rumeli from 1581–82, several observations can be
made. For one thing, the typical income of an initial judgeship was
25 aspers, while the salary for the first professorial appointment was
20 aspers. In addition, the income of town judges probably increased
faster than that of professors. A professor choosing to switch careers
and become a town judge received a substantial increase in income.
For example, the professor of Turhan Bey Madrasa with 40 aspers
transferred to the judgeship of Dukagin with 70 aspers.2 Similarly, the
professor of Mahmud Pasha Madrasa in Hasköy (Kırklareli) with 30
aspers received an appointment to the judgeship of Karitena, worth 60
1
A law code dated to the early years of the sixteenth century commands that
students, “especially those who want to acquire judgeship positions, [must]
study . . . [parts] from the detailed and summary books as the ancient custom
requires.” See Akgündüz, Osmanlı Kanunnâmeleri, 4: 662.
2
Çivizade Mehmed Ruznamçesi, 26b.
aspers.3 It seems that this jump in income for professors who moved
to judgeships was meant to bring their salaries into line with those
earned by members of their cohort who had pursued judicial positions
from the beginning. Thus, the most important reason for a scholar-
bureaucrat to pursue a career as a town judge must have been financial.
Those who did so necessarily set aside any desire for later professional
glory in order to earn higher salaries in the immediate future; many
made this choice because they did not have the supplementary income
to sustain themselves in lower-paying, more prestigious positions until
they could work their way up to more lucrative assignments in later
years.
Town judges, who most commonly started with a salary of 25 aspers,
received promotions to judgeships of 30, 35, 40, 45, 50, 60, 70, 80, 100,
130, 150, 200, and 300 aspers. It seems that the last two levels in the
career of town judges (200 and 300 aspers) constituted the upper tier
of the pyramid, and here a bottleneck occurred in their progress. For
while the number of positions was more or less the same for each level
below the 200-asper positions; the number of judgeships at the levels
of 200 and 300 aspers was limited.4 Thus, it can be surmised that only
some could advance to the top two levels.
Town judges were appointed for limited terms. In the last quar-
ter of the sixteenth century, they typically served and earned income
for two years. On completion of their tenure, they waited a time,
attending the court of the chief judges and requesting promotion to
a higher level. The waiting period for judges in 1581–82 varied, rang-
ing between one month and three years.5 It is highly probable that a
scholar-bureaucrat’s supporters and his good relationship with influ-
ential figures could affect the length of his waiting period.
It seems that some town judges were granted an honorary status of
dignitary but not all the rights usually associated with it:
It is commanded that the town judges who were given the status of dignitary
in their positions do not have the right to grant the status of novice. These
(town judges) are not subject to the [rule of a limited] tenure period. This
much appreciation is enough for their rank.6
3
Ibid., 15b.
4
For the names of judgeships in Rumeli in different levels, see Beyazıt, Osmanlı
İlmiyye Mesleğinde İstihdam, 171–88.
5 6
Ibid., 116–31. Akgündüz, Osmanlı Kanunnâmeleri, 8: 635.
It is clear that the town judges referred to in this imperial decree of

1598 did not acquire the status of dignitary with all its accompanying
rights. The only privilege these town judges and the dignitaries had in
common appears to have been that of continuous income. Unlike the
true dignitaries, these judges did not have the right to give the status of
novice to their students, and the sons of these judges had no particular
advantage if they were employed in the official hierarchy.
Some scholar-bureaucrats who started their careers with judgeship
positions switched career tracks and progressed financially. These men
usually occupied places in the newly developing financial bureaucracy
as provincial finance directors (mal defterdarı). However, as the idea
of a distinction between scholarly and scribal-financial careers gained
strength, such career changes came to be frowned on.7
Scholar-bureaucrats content with their progress in the town judge-
ships that they had pursued from the beginning of their careers perhaps
constituted the largest group in the official hierarchy. They adminis-
tered justice and fulfilled other judicial duties throughout most of the
empire. However, their resources for advancing in the hierarchy were
limited, and thus their ambitions had to be curbed. In most cases,
the only historical traces they have left are scattered references to
their appointments in the archival sources. Authors of the biograph-
ical dictionaries rarely paid attention to the activities of these scholar-
bureaucrats.
Professorships Followed by Judgeships without

the Status of Dignitary
During the period of consolidation, the only early career that might
eventually lead to the status of dignitary was professorship; however,
not all professors could acquire this status. The threshold was an
appointment to one of the madrasas on the haric level (most of which
were located in the central cities and offered salaries of 50 aspers).
Many who started with teaching positions could not move beyond this
threshold and thus failed to join the ranks of the dignitaries.
The two chief judges administered teaching appointments below the
level of dignitaries. The professorships were most commonly classi-
fied according to salaries, which normally ranged between 20 and 40
7
Fleischer, Bureaucrat and Intellectual, 201–13.
aspers. There was also an effort to establish a link between the profes-
sor’s level in the hierarchy and the courses he would teach. For exam-
ple, an imperial decree from 1576 named two levels below the 40-asper
level after the textbooks that were taught in them: Hashiya al-Tajrid
and Miftah al-ʿUlum. It seems that Hashiya al-Tajrid was one of the
texts professors at the 20- and 25-asper levels were expected to teach,
while Miftah was one of the texts taught by professors at the level of 30
and 35 aspers. The 40-asper level was sometimes identified by another
textbook, Al-Talwih.8
When professors reached the highest teaching rank under the con-
trol of the chief judges, they began to look for openings in the madrasas
whose professorships were administered by the grand vizier and/or the
chief jurist. The madrasas with the lowest level in this group carried
the haric rank. Thus, attaining a professorship with the haric rank in
one’s teaching career meant a change of administrator and the incep-
tion of competition within an entirely different group of colleagues.
Many scholar-bureaucrats who started out in teaching positions and
expected to eventually reach the status of dignitary failed to access the
grand vizier or the chief jurist and thus did not enter into competition
with this select group. They continued to accept appointments from
the chief judges, either to judgeships in the career track of town judges
or to teaching positions below the haric level.
The positive aspect of failing to progress in one’s teaching career
and of not acquiring the status of dignitary was the significant boost
in salary in the short term. Again, if scholar-bureaucrats who could not
make it to the haric level decided to pursue careers as town judges, they
jumped several salary grades when they made the switch. For example,
when a professor salaried at 20 aspers was transferred to a judgeship,
he was appointed to earn 30 or 40 aspers. A professor earning 30 aspers
moved to a judgeship of 50 or 60 aspers; one earning 40 aspers received
70 or 80 aspers when he became a judge.9 If such scholar-bureaucrats
8
Uzuncarşılı, Osmanlı Devletinin İlmiye Teşkilâtı, 14. Miftah al-ʿUlum is a work
of Arabic grammar and rhetoric by Abu Yaʿqub al-Sakkaki (d. 1229). For more
information about Miftah al-ʿUlum, see Mehmet Sami Benli, “Miftâhu’l-Ulûm,”
TDVIA. Al-Talwih is a supercommentary on Sadr al-Shariʿa’s (d. 1346) Tawdih,
a work of theoretical jurisprudence. For more information about Al-Talwih, see
Şükrü Özen, “Tenkı̄hu’l-Usûl,” TDVIA. For a detailed exposition of the
correspondence between the level of a professor and the textbook he taught, see
Mustafa Âlî, Künhü’l-Ahbar, facs. 110b–111b.
9
wanted to continue to teach, they could receive a joint appointment as

professor and jurist (müderris and müfti) with no status of dignitary.
In this way some apparently supplemented their professorial salaries
with the fees earned in the office of jurist.10
Several factors must have played a role in the success or failure of
scholar-bureaucrats in crossing the threshold and acquiring the haric
rank. Family background and supporters in the Ottoman center could
provide crucial help to scholar-bureaucrats during this passage to the
higher hierarchical level. Objective criteria such as performance in pre-
vious positions and the level of academic knowledge could have con-
tributed to one’s acceptance to (or rejection from) the group of dig-
nitaries. The immediate economic advantage might have enticed some
scholar-bureaucrats to forgo the status of dignitary.
Several examples illustrate contributory factors, hurdles, and consid-
erations involved in fulfilling or relinquishing the quest for the status
of dignitary. The sons of the dignitaries, as mentioned, skipped many
grades in the hierarchy. They could be assigned to teaching positions
with higher salaries in a short time and did not have to endure the
financial hardship other professors often faced early in their careers. In
addition, their fathers and other contacts could help them gain access
to the grand vizier or the chief jurist so as to request progressively
better positions and acquire the status of dignitary. For instance, Ebus-
suud’s son Mustafa, who was born in 1557/58, received the status of
novice from his father and embarked on his career with the professor-
ship of one of the Sahn madrasas (two steps above the haric level) in
1574.11 Mustafa at once joined the group of dignitaries and did not
face the usual uncertainty and difficulty involved in transitioning from
a professorship of 40 aspers to one at the haric level.
On the other hand, some scholar-bureaucrats who apparently did
not have powerful supporters in the center failed to arrange for an
appointment to a teaching position at the haric level and were instead
obliged to find a path for themselves that never rose to the status of
dignitary. For example, Hürrem, who was the manumitted slave of
the governor-general of Rumeli Sufi Mehmed Pasha, started his career
teaching in Dimetoka for a salary of 25 aspers. He was later appointed
10
For example, in July 1581, Hayreddin was appointed as the professor of İsa
Bey Madrasa with a salary of 50 aspers and as the jurist of the town. See
Çivizade Mehmed Ruznamçesi, 32b. For other examples, see ibid., 35a, 35b.
11
ATAYI, 428–29.
to two different madrasas, both paying 30 aspers, and then he became

the professor of the madrasa founded by his master, Sufi Mehmed
Pasha, in Sofya, where he received 40 aspers. He eventually received
an increase and was paid 50 aspers while still teaching at the same
madrasa. However, according to Atayi’s report, “when he requested an
appointment to a madrasa in the interior, his request was rejected.”12
Hürrem appears to have been denied promotion to the haric level and
thus entrance to the group of dignitaries. As a consequence, he decided
to pursue a career as a town judge and accepted a position that paid
150 aspers.
In short, generally speaking, scholar-bureaucrats who started their
careers with teaching positions had an interest in acquiring the status
of dignitary. They probably tried to establish strategic contacts in the
center and prepared themselves for a glorious career. However, for var-
ious reasons, some of them had to change those plans and to content
themselves with progress within the hierarchy without the status of
dignitary. Some of them became town judges, and others received joint
appointments as professors and jurists.
The Lower Career Track of Dignitaries

Receiving a professorial appointment of the haric rank meant cross-
ing the threshold and acquiring the status of dignitary. On scholar-
bureaucrats’ reaching this level, their appointments and promotions
were entered into the appointment registers (ruus); they had the right to
introduce their students to the hierarchy and to compete for positions
and ranks designated for the dignitaries. However, the haric level was
not the last point of selection and elimination in scholar-bureaucrats’
ascent to the top. In other words, reaching the haric level did not
necessarily shoot scholar-bureaucrats to the pinnacle of their careers:
some of those who attained the status of dignitary remained behind or
received promotions along a path that did not lead to the top. Scholar-
bureaucrats in this group had no influence in the hierarchy’s admin-
istration beyond granting the status of novice to their own students.
I call the path of these scholar-bureaucrats the lower career track of
dignitaries.
12
Ibid., 38.
As discussed in Chapter 8, the period of consolidation saw a tremen-

dous increase in the number of madrasas established in both the center
and the provinces. The founders and architects of the new madrasas
followed a hierarchical idiom and determined the size and resources of
the madrasas according to the identity and rank of their founders and
according to their geographical locations. By and large, madrasas in the
central cities that were built by or named after members of the hier-
archy were larger and had more resources at their disposal and thus
greater prestige, while madrasas built by viziers and others, as well as
those located outside the center, were smaller, limited in resources, and
thus less prestigious.
In connection with this activity of madrasa construction with a hier-
archical vision, a new classification of the professorships at the level
of the dignitaries was emerging: the haric level took its place below
the dahil level (sometimes called paye-i sahn), which was under the
Sahn level, above which there were two more levels. Precisely when this
new classification of the madrasas in the tier of dignitaries emerged is
open to question, as is when the levels such as haric and dahil were
clearly defined. The extant copies of Mehmed II’s law code refer to
these grades: “the professors of the madrasas at the levels of dahil and
haric have the status of dignitary.”13 However, it is highly probable
that the terms dahil and haric did not originate in the fifteenth century
but were added to the text of the law code later because they do not
appear in the archival and biographical sources of the early sixteenth
century.14 It may be that during the period of consolidation, the hier-
archical vision of the founders and architects of madrasas affected the
appointments and attitudes of scholar-bureaucrats and encouraged the
rise of a ranking system primarily based on the prestige of the founder
and the location of the institution. Prevalent practice was eventually
recognized in law and in bureaucratic terminology, and terms such as
haric and dahil were coined later to designate the ranks of madrasas
and professors.
Based on the analysis in Tables 8.3 and 8.4, it is possible to sug-
gest that immediately after their establishment, madrasas in the cen-
tral cities founded by the Ottoman viziers, commanders, and other
high-level bureaucrats (such as the madrasas of Rüstem Pasha, Sokollu
Mehmed Pasha, Mahmud Pasha, and Sinan Pasha in Istanbul, of Piri
13 14
KANUNNAME, 11. Repp, The Müfti of Istanbul, 40–41.
Pasha Madrasa in Silivri, and of Molla Yegan Madrasa in Bursa) were

staffed by professors of the lowest rank of the dignitaries and later con-
stituted the rank known as haric. On the other hand, madrasas in the
central cities established by Ottoman princesses and mothers of princes
(such as Haseki and Mihrimah Sultan madrasas, as well as some of the
madrasas in the central cities built by former Ottoman sultans, includ-
ing Üç Şerefeli Madrasa in Edirne and Manastır Madrasa in Bursa),
were usually given to the professors at a higher level and later formed
the rank recognized as dahil.
The eight Sahn madrasas constituted the next step for professors
who were in a madrasa of the dahil rank. After this, they could progress
in their teaching careers by serving in a higher class of madrasa, such
as Ayasofya Madrasa, Selim I Madrasa, and Prince Mehmed Madrasa
in Istanbul. The place of the Süleymaniye madrasas in Istanbul in the
hierarchy was somewhat ambiguous, even though they were definitely
at the top of the hierarchy. The pattern of professorial appointments
to these madrasas suggests that they were first considered to belong
to the level of Ayasofya Madrasa; however, before the end of the six-
teenth century, the Süleymaniye madrasas were distinguished from oth-
ers and constituted the highest rank, along with Selimiye Madrasa in
Edirne and others built by the successors of Süleyman and their moth-
ers (Tables 8.1 and 8.2).
The evidence available suggests that sometime after the emergence
of this pattern in appointments, haric and dahil first appeared as terms
signifying the two ranks below the level of the Sahn madrasas. The ear-
liest known document (with unquestionable authenticity) that explic-
itly mentions these ranks is an imperial decree from the year 1576. It
commands that students move to a madrasa with the haric grade and
then to another with the grade of paye-i sahn (dahil) after studying in
a madrasa of 40-asper grade.15 Several archival documents dated after
1576 use the same terms to designate professorial ranks.16
15
Uzuncarşılı, Osmanlı Devletinin İlmiye Teşkilâtı, 14.
16
For examples, see Aydın and Günalan, “Ruus Defterlerine Göre XVI. Yüzyılda
Osmanlı Müderrisleri,” 177–78, 184, 187–90. In the last decade of the
sixteenth century, Mustafa Âli also commented on the relationship between the
identity of the founder and the prestige of a madrasa. In addition, he explicitly
associated this classification with the steps along the career paths within the
official hierarchy. For him, 40-asper madrasas and haric madrasas were those
built by pre-Ottoman ruling families and by Ottoman viziers and commanders;
The construction of new madrasas and the creation of new ranks

made it possible to employ and promote a greater number of scholar-
bureaucrats in teaching positions in the mid-sixteenth century. How-
ever, owing to the pyramidal shape of the hierarchy, not all could
smoothly proceed to the top teaching positions. The absolute number
of dignitary professors who could not be promoted to teaching posi-
tions would increase because many new madrasas were added to the
haric and dahil levels, while the eight Sahn madrasas constituted a level
of their own and maintained that number, and there were relatively few
madrasas above the level of the Sahn madrasas.
It seems that the careers of some dignitary professors plateaued and
caused them to lose the hope of progressing in the hierarchy and of ever
reaching the top teaching positions. Such professors probably wanted
to benefit from the higher income that judgeships could bring but did
not wish to lose their dignitary status. In order to provide satisfaction
to them, new positions were created and the lower career track of dig-
nitaries gradually formed.
One way to create a new position for dignitaries was to transform
existing town judgeships into dignitary judgeships (mevleviyet). Thus,
after 1570, some high-income town judgeships were made dignitary
judgeships by absorbing smaller adjacent judgeships. In addition, some
newly captured cities were categorized as dignitary judgeships; for
example, the judgeships of Amid (alone or together with the judge-
ship of Mardin), Filibe, Galata, İzmir, Konya, Kütahya, Manisa (with
the addition of the judgeships of small towns in its environs), Maraş,
Sarajevo, Selanik, Tabriz, Tripoli, Yenişehir, Gallipoli, Kayseri, Üskü-
dar, and Cyprus all became dignitary judgeships after 1570.17 In addi-
tion, the central government classified some joint teaching and jurist
positions as the ones to be assigned to the dignitaries. These joint posi-
tions in, for instance, Damascus, Amasya, Ankara, Cyprus, Manisa,
Rhodes, Trabzon, Seyyidgazi, Aleppo, and Kefe could provide promo-
tions to dignitary professors.18
dahil madrasas were those founded by mothers of Ottoman princes and daugh-
ters of the Ottoman sultans. See Mustafa Âlî, Künhü’l-Ahbar, facs. 111a–b.
17
For appointments to some of these judgeships, see Aydın and Günalan, “XVI.
Yüzyılda Osmanlı Devleti’nde Mevleviyet Kadıları,” 26–34. For an extensive
summary of the appointments to these judgeships in the sixteenth century, see
Silsile Defteri (SK, Esad Efendi, no. 2142), 206a–209b.
18
For joint teaching and jurist positions, see Silsile Defteri, 223a–225a. For the
joint positions in Manisa, Seyyidgazi, Kefe, and Rhodes, see also Aydın and
Professors with the status of dignitary but no hope of progressing

in the teaching hierarchy could move to the newly created dignitary
judgeships. They would maintain their status as well as receive a signifi-
cant increase in income. For example, the professor of Seyfiye Madrasa
in Ankara, who earned 50 aspers, acquired the joint teaching and jurist
position in Kefe, which paid 90 aspers, in April 1564.19 He probably
also kept fees from fetva-issuing activity on the top of 90 aspers. Some-
what similarly, a professor, who served in a madrasa, which ranked
as paye-i sahn/dahil, moved to the joint judgeship and jurist position
in Sarajevo in February 1579.20 Considering that he had probably
received 50 aspers in the madrasa and that the Sarajevo judgeship was
among those assigned a salary of 300 aspers before it became a dig-
nitary judgeship,21 one can understand the dramatic increase in his
income.
The scholar-bureaucrats who chose to leave their teaching careers
before reaching the pyramid’s peak lost the chance to gain top positions
in the hierarchy. They moved between the aforementioned judgeships
and joint teaching and jurist positions22 and rarely stepped into the
prestigious judgeships that were reserved for the scholar-bureaucrats
in the upper career track of dignitaries.23
In general, it is possible to say that the dignitaries who followed the
lower career track started their careers with high hopes, acquired the
status of dignitary, and benefited from some of the privileges that sta-
tus conferred, such as granting the status of novice to their students.
However, at some point in their careers, they encountered a delay and
understood that persisting in their pursuit of the top positions would
cause them significant economic losses. As a consequence, they in effect
withdrew their claims to the top positions and acquired positions with
higher income – while maintaining their status of dignitary. They lost
Günalan, “Ruus Defterlerine Göre XVI. Yüzyılda Osmanlı Müderrisleri,” 188,

190–91.
19
Aydın and Günalan, “Ruus Defterlerine Göre XVI. Yüzyılda Osmanlı
Müderrisleri,” 190.
20
Aydın and Günalan, “XVI. Yüzyılda Osmanlı Devleti’nde Mevleviyet
Kadıları,” 32.
21
Beyazıt, Osmanlı İlmiyye Mesleğinde İstihdam, 183.
22
For some examples of the appointments of the scholar-bureaucrats in this
group, see Silsile Defteri, 50b–85a.
23
For the exceptional case of Dukaginzade Osman (d. 1603), who moved to the
judgeships after teaching at one of the Sahn madrasas and climbed up to the
judgeship of Istanbul, see ATAYI, 460.
Table 10.1 Profession/Status of the Fathers of

Scholar-Bureaucrats in the Lower Career Track of Dignitaries
Dignitaries 9
Town judges 10
Manumitted slavesa 5
Sufi masters 2
Professors below the dignitary level 2
Janissaries 1
Preachers 1
Candy seller 1
Unknown 55
a
This category comprises men who had themselves been slaves (not the sons
of manumitted slaves).
Source: Data from the chapter on the biographies of scholar-bureaucrats
active during the reign of Murad III (1574–1594) in ATAYI, 228–339.
the chance to reach the hierarchy’s top positions, such as the offices of
the two chief judges and that of the chief jurist, which entailed rights
and duties regarding the appointment of scholar-bureaucrats and the
general administration of the empire. Nevertheless, these individuals
maintained an important benefit associated with the status of digni-
tary: they continued to grant the status of novice and to introduce their
students into the hierarchy.24
The data in Table 10.1 suggest that the status of the fathers of
scholar-bureaucrats in the lower career track of dignitaries did not
necessarily determine their success or failure to progress to the next
level. 9 scholar-bureaucrats in the sample had dignitary fathers; the
fathers of 10 were town judges; 2 had fathers who were professors
below the dignitary level; 2 were the sons of Sufi masters, and 1 was
the son of a preacher. That these (20 scholar-bureaucrats) constitute
about one-third of the sample suggests that people with a learned
background had an inclination to direct their sons toward a schol-
arly career and could help them to progress in the hierarchy to a
certain extent. However, this does not mean that scholar-bureaucrats
24
For some examples of the status of novice granted by scholar-bureaucrats in
the lower career track, see İpşirli “Osmanlı İlmiye Teşkilâtında Mülazemet
Sisteminin Önemi,” 227–28; Beyazıt, Osmanlı İlmiyye Mesleğinde İstihdam,
52–63.
with fathers of nonscholarly background had no chance of climbing

the ladder and of attaining the status of dignitary. For example, 5
scholar-bureaucrats were of slave origin. Their masters directed them
to a scholarly career and probably helped them to succeed in the
hierarchy.
Atayi does not provide information about the fathers of 55 scholar-
bureaucrats in the sample. However, he gives information about the
geographical origins of 38 of these 55, almost all of whom (37 of
38) came from outside Bursa, Edirne, and Istanbul. Since the fathers
of these 37 scholar-bureaucrats had not established homes in the cen-
tral cities, one suspects that they did not have prominent roles in the
Ottoman administration. Taking into consideration that Atayi was
very well informed and was careful to provide information about
fathers of scholarly background, I surmise that only a few, if any, of
the fathers of these 55 scholar-bureaucrats occupied a significant place
in the official hierarchy.
This analysis suggests that there was not a monopoly held by the
sons of the dignitaries, town judges, or other people of scholarly back-
ground over the positions in the lower career track. Indeed, the sta-
tus of dignitary was open to people from different origins and family
backgrounds. Even scholar-bureaucrats with no family support could
arrange factors that facilitated their elevation in the hierarchy up to
the lower career track of dignitaries.
Other factors, such as the power of a person’s scholarly patrons, aca-
demic reputation, and the need for higher income, could have played
a role in the level of a scholar-bureaucrat’s success. It can be said that
the dignitaries in the lower career track were unable to combine factors
in a way that would enable them to reach the pinnacle of the official
hierarchy. However, many of them were well known in bureaucratic
and cultural circles. All of them spent substantial time teaching in the
madrasas in the center. In addition, some of them produced academic
works, and others established charitable foundations. Moreover, the
authors of biographical dictionaries recorded the life stories of many
of them.
The Upper Career Track of Dignitaries

Some scholar-bureaucrats experienced unhindered teaching careers
and ultimately reached the top teaching positions – namely,
professorships in the sultanic madrasas, such as the madrasas of

Süleymaniye, Selimiye, and Valide Sultan. Structural obstacles did not
impede these scholar-bureaucrats in their movement to the top of the
hierarchy. If they proved their competence and established useful con-
tacts, they could move forward, receive appointments first to the pres-
tigious judgeships of cities such as Mecca, Medina, Aleppo, Damascus,
and Cairo and then to those of Bursa, Edirne, and Istanbul, and finally
gain the pinnacle of the hierarchy, the offices of the two chief judges
and the chief jurist. The scholar-bureaucrats who followed this track
and reached its top steps had the right to benefit from all the priv-
ileges of the status of dignitary: a voice in appointments of scholar-
bureaucrats, granting the status of novice to their students, privileged
treatment for their sons, and continuous income. I call the path of these
scholar-bureaucrats the upper career track of dignitaries.
The top positions of this scholarly track – the office of chief jurist,
the two chief judgeships, and the judgeships of Istanbul, Edirne, and
Bursa – had existed since the fifteenth century, and they were always
ranked above the top professorships. During the period of consoli-
dation, the judgeships of the major cities in the Arab lands, such as
Medina, Mecca, Baghdad, Aleppo, Damascus, and Cairo, gradually
established their places above the highest professorships and below the
judgeships of Bursa, Edirne, and Istanbul. Incorporating these lucrative
judgeships made it possible to keep a greater number of people en route
to the top, on the upper career track.
The integration of the judgeships of the aforementioned cities in
Arab lands into the hierarchy of scholar-bureaucrats and into the upper
career track did not happen at once after the capture of these lands in
1516–17. The reconciliation of the emerging Ottoman system of uni-
tary justice, based on the Hanafi doctrine,25 with the Mamluk system of
plural justice, which accommodated all four Sunni legal schools, seems
to have been the major challenge.26 The bureaucratic scholarly system
25
For this, see Rudolph Peters, “What Does It Mean to Be an Official Madhhab?
Hanafism and the Ottoman Empire,” in The Islamic School of Law, Evolution,
Devolution and Progress, ed. Peri Bearman, Rudolph Peters, and Frank E.
Vogel (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005), 147–58.
26
Jane Hathaway, The Arab Lands under Ottoman Rule (1516–1800)
(Edinburgh: Pearson Education, 2008), 116–19; Bruce Masters, The Arabs of
the Ottoman Empire (1516–1918) (New York: Cambridge University Press,
2013), 63–65.
consisted mostly of scholar-bureaucrats who espoused the Hanafi doc-

trine and were accustomed to administering justice accordingly. On the
other hand, since at least the thirteenth century, four judges from the
four different schools had been appointed to administer justice in each
of the major Mamluk cities.27 In addition, the majority of the popu-
lation in the region was non-Hanafi. Thus, the Ottoman government
needed to adjust its judicial policy and accommodate the plural justice
in the Arab lands.
After the establishment of Ottoman military control over the former
Mamluk territories in 1517, a new administrative office was created:
that of the chief judge (kadıasker) of Arab and Acem lands. This official
would reside in Diyarbakır to supervise the affairs of judges in the Arab
lands and in eastern Anatolia.28 After a year, however, this office was
terminated, and the chief judge of Anatolia took over its duties and
rights.29
In fact, the integration of different regions of the former Mamluk
territories into the Ottoman judicial system followed several different
paths. After the conquest, the judges of four schools, probably chosen
from among indigenous scholars, were left in place in Cairo. It has been
reported that a new position, “the judge of Arabs” (kadı’l-arab), was
established to supervise the other four judges,30 and Kemalpaşazade, a
scholar-bureaucrat from the Ottoman center, became the first to hold
the position.31 However, the office seems to have been immediately
eliminated, and the four judges continued to administer justice as they
had done during the Mamluk period. Nevertheless, informed about the
corruption of the deputy judges working under the other four judges,
the central government responded. First, the number of deputy judges
each judge could employ was restricted in November 1521. Then in
May 1522, Muhyiddin Seyyidi (d. 1524/25),32 who had served as the
27
Joseph H. Escovitz, “The Establishment of Four Chief Judgeships in the
Mamlūk Empire,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 102, no. 3 (1982):
529–31.
28
İpşirli, “Osmanlı Devleti’nde Kazaskerlik,” 611–12.
29
ATAYI, 189; Şentop, Osmanlı Yargı Sistemi ve Kazaskerlik, 41–42.
30
Muhammad Nur Farahat, Al-Qada al-Sharʿi fi Misr fi al-ʿAsr al-ʿUthmani
(Cairo: Al-Hayʾa al-Misriyya al-ʿAmma li-l-Kitab, 1988), 24.
31
Seyyid Muhammed es-Seyyid Mahmud, XVI. Asırda Mısır Eyâleti (Istanbul:
Marmara Üniversitesi Edebiyat Fakültesi, 1990), 241n. See also Ömer Mahir
Alper, Osmanlı Felsefesi, Seçme Metinler (Istanbul: Klasik, 2015), 160.
32
For the biography of Muhyiddin Seyyidi, see SHAQAʾIQ, 299–301.
judge of Istanbul and the chief judge of Anatolia, was appointed the
supreme judge of Cairo. The other four judges were then demoted, and
they became deputies under Muhyiddin Seyyidi.33
In a short time after this reorganization under Muhyiddin Seyyidi,
the judgeship of Cairo joined the positions assigned to professors of
madrasas in the highest level of the hierarchy. At first, it may have
been treated as belonging to the same level as the judgeships of Bursa,
Edirne, and Istanbul, which were often the last step before one reached
one of the offices of chief judge.34 However, in the second half of the
sixteenth century, the judgeship of Cairo gradually established its place
below the judgeships of Bursa, Edirne, and Istanbul, below the offices
of the two chief judges, but above all other judgeships.35
The incorporation of the Damascus judgeship followed a differ-
ent path. It is highly probable that the offices of the judges of the
four schools there were degraded immediately after the conquest in
1516. Zeyneddin Mehmed Fenari (d. 1520),36 a scholar-bureaucrat
of the class of town judges, was appointed as the judge of Damascus.
Veliyyüddin İbnü’l-Farfur (d. 1531), who had been the Shafiʿi judge
of the city before the Ottoman conquest, succeeded Fenari in 1518.37
33
ʿAbd al-Razzaq Ibrahim ʿIsa, Tarikh al-Qada fi Misr al-ʿUthmaniyya (Cairo:
Al-Hayʾa al-Misriyya al-ʿAmma li-l-Kitab, 1998), 84–86; Mahmud, XVI.
Asırda Mısır Eyâleti, 70–71, 241–42; Farahat, Al-Qada al-Sharʿi, 26–28.
34
Taşköprizade mentions five scholar-bureaucrats other than Muhyiddin Seyyidi
who served as the judge of Cairo: Çivizade Mehmed bin İlyas, Mehmed Bey
(d. 1543/44), Pir Ahmed Çelebi (d. 1545/46), Manav Abdi, and Malul Emir
(d. 1555/56). For their biographies, see SHAQAʾIQ, 446–47, 498–99, 405–6,
506, 489–91; MECDI, 446–48, 491–92, 405–6, 497, 484–85. Of these five
scholars, Çivizade Mehmed bin İlyas and Malul Emir both took a promotion
to become the chief judge of Anatolia after serving as judge of Cairo. The other
three died either in the Cairo judgeship or before receiving a promotion.
35
See Atçıl, “The Route to the Top,” 504–6. See also Aydın and Günalan, “XVI.
Yüzyılda Osmanlı Devleti’nde Mevleviyet Kadıları,” 31–32.
36
For a brief biography of Zeyneddin Mehmed Fenari, see SHAQAʾIQ, 399;
MECDI, 400.
37
Michael Winter, “Ottoman Qād.is in Damascus in the 16th–18th Centuries,” in
Law, Custom, and Statute in the Muslim World: Studies in Honor of Aharon
Layish, ed. Ron Shaham (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 90–91. There were rumors that
İbnü’l-Farfur switched legal schools and became Hanafi. For this, see
Muhammad Adnan Bakhit, The Ottoman Province of Damascus in the
Sixteenth Century (Beirut: Librairie du Liban, 1982), 25, 127–28; Rafiq,
Al-ʿArab wa-l-ʿUthmaniyyun, 83, 105. For a contrary view, see Jon Elliot
Mandaville, “The Muslim Judiciary of Damascus” (PhD diss., Princeton
University, 1969), 31.
İbnü’l-Farfur remained active as a judge until he was dismissed in

1530.38 Then until the end of the sixteenth century and beyond,
dignitary scholar-bureaucrats were appointed to the judgeship of
Damascus. Scholar-bureaucrats usually took up this position after
teaching in madrasas of the highest rank. Sometimes they had to
move from the top teaching positions to another judgeship in order
to become eligible for that of Damascus. The judgeship of Damascus
was hierarchically below that of Cairo in the sense that the judge of
Damascus considered an appointment to Cairo a promotion, while
the opposite was not true.39
In Aleppo immediately after the invasion, the central government
appointed a scholar-bureaucrat as the judge.40 A scholar-bureaucrat
from the level of town judges, Çömlekçizade Kemal, became “the first
judge who was alone as the judge of Aleppo” since “the eighth century
A.H. (thirteenth century C.E.).”41 In other words, with his appoint-
ment, the Mamluk practice of plural justice and appointment of judges
from all four legal schools ended. It seems that at least until the end
of the sixteenth century and probably beyond, scholar-bureaucrats
held the chief judgeship of Aleppo without any intervening periods
in which nonbureaucratic scholars fulfilled the duty. Çömlekçizade
was followed by Zeyneddin Mehmed Fenari, who had followed the
38
Winter, “Ottoman Qād.is in Damascus,” 91–92. During Canberdi Gazali’s
rebellion in 1520–22, Şerefüddin İbnü’l-Muflih became the judge. See also
Repp, The Müfti of Istanbul, 46–47. For the biography of Kireççizade
Şemseddin Ahmed (d. 1529/30), who most probably served as the judge of
Damascus before 1530, see SHAQAʾIQ, 465.
39
For this, see and compare the biographies of Sinaneddin Yusuf Yegani
(d. 1538/39), Üskübi İshak Çelebi, İsrafilzade, Gulam Şemseddin Ahmed
(d. 1535/36), Merhaba Çelebi (d. 1544/45), Ebulleys (d. 1537/38), Mehmed
Bey (d. 1537/38), Kara Çelebi (d. 1557/58), and Kaf Ahmed (d. 1555/56) in
SHAQAʾIQ, 405, 474–75, 480–81, 491, 494, 498–99, 503–4, 512; MECDI,
405, 468–71, 476–77, 485–86, 488, 491–92, 495–96, 502–3. See also Atçıl,
“The Route to the Top,” 504–6; Aydın and Günalan, “XVI. Yüzyılda Osmanlı
Devleti’nde Mevleviyet Kadıları,” 33.
40
Timothy Jude Fitzgerald, “Ottoman Methods of Conquest: Legal Imperialism
and the City of Aleppo, 1480–1570” (PhD diss., Harvard University, 2009),
226.
41
Ibn al-Hanbali, Durr al-Habab fi Tarikh A‘yan al-Halab, ed. Mahmud Ahmad
al-Fakhuri and Yahya Zakariyya Abbara, 2 vols. (Damascus: Wazara
al-Thaqafa, 1972), 2: 67–68.
path of town judgeships and had served in Damascus.42 According to

Taşköprizade’s report, Selim I appointed Taşköprizade’s father, Musli-
huddin Mustafa (d. 1528/29), then a professor at the Sahn madrasas,
to the judgeship of Aleppo. Muslihuddin rejected the offer.43 How-
ever, this attempted appointment was probably the first instance of the
practice of assigning dignitary professors to the judgeship of Aleppo.44
Once the judgeships of Aleppo, Damascus, and Cairo were fully inte-
grated into the career of the dignitaries in about the mid-sixteenth cen-
tury, the judgeship of Aleppo fell into rank below the other two in
terms of the official hierarchy: the judge of Aleppo could skip serv-
ing in Damascus and Cairo in order to reach the higher judgeships of
Edirne, Bursa, or Istanbul,45 but holders of the Damascus and Cairo
positions would not have considered an appointment to Aleppo a
promotion.46
It is reported that after the incorporation of Mecca and Medina in
1517, Selim I did not see it proper to interfere in the internal affairs of
these two holy cities of Islam and decided not to appoint their judges
from the Ottoman center,47 but before long the central government
sent scholar-bureaucrats as judges to the region. It is certain that from
the early 1540s, the judges of Mecca were chosen from among digni-
tary scholar-bureaucrats.48 On the other hand, the integration of the
42
43
For his biography, see SHAQAʾIQ, 388–90.
44
For the appointments of the dignitary professors in the first half of the
sixteenth century, see the biographies of Ümmüveledzade Abdülaziz (d. ca.
1543/44), Mirim Kösesi (d. 1550/51), Mimarzade Muhyiddin (1527/28),
Kara Haydar, Bedreddin Mahmud bin Abdullah (1530/31), Pir Ahmed Çelebi
(d. 1540s), Saçlı Emir, Ebulleys, Masdar Muhyiddin (1537/38),
and Manav Abdi in SHQA’IQ, 408–9, 448–49, 464, 467, 473–74, 485,
488–89, 494–96, 506.
45
For example, see the biography of Zekeriyya Efendi in ATAYI, 322–24.
46
Atçıl, “The Route to the Top,” 504–6; Aydın and Günalan, “XVI. Yüzyılda
Osmanlı Devleti’nde Mevleviyet Kadıları,” 28, 33.
47
Repp, The Müfti of Istanbul, 47.
48
Taşköprizade mentions that Masdar Muslihuddin, Hidayet Çelebi, and Manav
Abdi, who had all ascended to the status of dignitary, served as judge of Mecca,
but he does not provide the dates for their tenures in this office. SHAQAʾIQ,
495–96, 503, 506. From the biographical evidence in ATAYI, we know that
beginning in the early 1540s, Manav Abdi, Arabzade Abdulbaki (d. 1564),
Mehmed b. Mahmud (1560/61), Emir Hasan (d. 1568), and Martolos (d.
1568), who had all acquired the status of dignitary, held the judgeship of
Mecca consecutively. ATAYI, 19, 29, 112–13, 118. For a partial list of judges of
Mecca, see TSMA, D.5832.1, 1.
judgeship of Medina into the career track of dignitaries took longer.

In the 1540s, Hekimzade, a scholar-bureaucrat of the level of town
judges, served as the judge of Medina.49 Beginning in 1555, the judges
of Medina were chosen from among the dignitaries.50
However, unlike the judgeships of other major cities captured from
the Mamluks, the place of the judgeships of Mecca and Medina in
the hierarchy was not very well defined. Some appointments suggested
that the judgeships of Mecca and Medina ranked higher than the judge-
ships of Aleppo, Damascus, and Cairo,51 while others indicated just the
reverse.52 The provisionary notes regarding the appointment of judges
to Mecca and Medina suggest an explanation for this confusion. In
1564, Nişancızade Şemseddin, who was a professor at one of the Sahn
madrasas, was appointed as judge of Mecca, and another Şemseddin,
who was the professor of Selim I Madrasa, was appointed judge of
Medina, both with a yearly salary of 3000 ducats and on condition
that they would not charge any court fees or fees for the division of
inheritances.53 But in 1581, Mirza Mahdum, who had served as the
judge of Baghdad, was appointed to Medina as judge, jurist, and pro-
fessor. He would charge court fees and receive 60 aspers as a compen-
sation for his teaching; however, he would not charge fees for issuing
fetvas as the jurist.54 It is possible to observe that the central govern-
ment appointed scholar-bureaucrats of different ranks (with the status
of dignitary) to these two judgeships and could make adjustments in
their salaries according to their ranks.
In addition to those of the former Mamluk cities, the judgeship of
Baghdad was incorporated into the career track of dignitaries after the
city was captured from the Safavids in 1534. According to a note in the
margins of Atayi’s Hadaʾiq al-Haqaʾiq, scholar-bureaucrats who were
in the career track of town judges fulfilled the duty of judgeship in
Baghdad until 1540/41, when Muslihuddin Mustafa Niksari (d. 1561)
49
50
ATAYI, 129. Abdurrahman bin Ali (d. 1570) was the first dignitary judge of
Medina. For a list of the dignitary judges of Medina, see TSMA, D.5832.1, 1.
51
For example, see ATAYI, 39, 118, 288, 313, 315, 395, 418.
52
For example, see ibid., 29, 113, 326, 414, 445. See also Aydın and Günalan,
“XVI. Yüzyılda Osmanlı Devleti’nde Mevleviyet Kadıları,” 30–31.
53
Aydın and Günalan, “XVI. Yüzyılda Osmanlı Devleti’nde Mevleviyet
Kadıları,” 30–31.
54
Ibid., 31.
was appointed as the first judge of Baghdad with dignitary status.55

After him, several scholar-bureaucrats undertook the judgeship, pro-
gressing to the top positions in the hierarchy. Baghdad was often the
first step up for scholar-bureaucrats after they had served in madrasas
of the highest level.56 However, it seems that with the creation of the
new dignitary judgeships after 1570, the judgeship of Baghdad was
demoted to their level, and that, for the most part, scholar-bureaucrats
in the lower career track of dignitaries were assigned to it.57
There are probably several reasons for the relatively quick integra-
tion of the judgeships of all the major Arab cities into the upper career
track of dignitaries. In accordance with policy in other parts of the
empire, the central government wanted to control the judicial organi-
zation of swiftly captured large territories. The dignitaries, who knew
the established practices and priorities of the center, would make it
easier to apply imperial policies and to strengthen Ottoman control in
the newly captured territories. Further, after the addition of a number
of madrasas to the top of the teaching career path around the mid-
dle of the sixteenth century, a greater number of dignitary professors
requested promotions. In this context, the integration of the Arab cities
into the career track of the dignitaries was critical to keeping and pro-
moting the growing number of dignitary scholar-bureaucrats.
On the other hand, it seems that once centralized control through
scholar-bureaucrats had been established, the judgeships of these cities,
with their long-established traditions of Islamic justice, proved lucra-
tive. After a period of hesitation,58 dignitary scholar-bureaucrats began
requesting appointment to these cities.59
Scholar-bureaucrats who smoothly progressed through the hierar-
chy and were able to step into the upper career track of dignitaries
55
ATAYI, 22–23.
56
For example, see the biographies of Kemal Çelebi and Eminzade in SHAQAʾIQ,
507, 530–32. See also the biographies of Ruşenizade (d. 1561/62), Perviz
Efendi (d. 1579/80), and Fudayl Çelebi in ATAYI, 28–30, 253–55, 275–78.
57
For example, see the biographies of Manav Şemsi (d. 1582/83), Mustafa bin
Mehmed (d. 1587), and Mehmed bin Seyyidi Ahmed (d. 1587) in ATAYI,
269–70, 295–96, 301–2. See also Aydın and Günalan, “XVI. Yüzyılda Osmanlı
Devleti’nde Mevleviyet Kadıları,” 26. For a list of judges of Baghdad in the
sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, see Silsile Defteri, 206b–207a.
58
Discussed earlier regarding the appointment of town judges to Damascus,
Aleppo, Medina, and Baghdad in the early period after Ottoman incorporation.
59
For Mehmed Mecdi’s association of two scholar-bureaucrats’ wealth with their
service in the judgeship of Cairo, see MECDI, 405–6, 584–85.
enjoyed (or had the potential to do so) a package of benefits larger than
that available to those in the lower career track. First, only those in the
upper career track (with few exceptions) could reach the pinnacle of
the hierarchy, the offices of the chief jurist and the two chief judgeships,
which carried important prerogatives as regards the general affairs of
the empire, as well as over the hierarchy of scholar-bureaucrats. Dur-
ing the period of consolidation, the office of the chief jurist became
part of the hierarchy and was recognized as its top position.60 As men-
tioned, this official had the duty of issuing fetvas by means of which
he could influence imperial policies and public opinion. In addition, he
was involved in the appointment of dignitary professors and judges.
The chief judges of Rumeli and Anatolia had the right to participate
in meetings of the Imperial Council. In addition to hearing important
legal cases in the council and in their own courts, they administered
the appointment of professors at the 40-asper level and below, and the
appointment of town judges.
Second, the dignitary scholar-bureaucrats in the upper career track
invested more students with the status of novice and thus possibly had
a larger network of protégés in the hierarchy than those in the lower
career track. When the general occasion (nevbet) was announced, the
number of novices (mülazıms) each dignitary scholar-bureaucrat could
introduce was determined. The dignitaries in the upper career track
definitely introduced more novices than those in the lower track. In
addition, those in the upper track could introduce their students as
novices whenever they themselves received a promotion (teşrif).61
Third, scholar-bureaucrats in the upper track had greater assur-
ance of continuous income. When they were removed from digni-
tary judgeships, they received income as an unemployment benefit.
Some were assigned an unemployment subsidy (from the treasury or
the surplus income of a foundation). For example, the chief judges
received 150 aspers when they were removed and not appointed to
another position.62 When removed from their positions, some scholar-
bureaucrats in the upper track were appointed to a high-level profes-
sorship or to a judgeship (lower than their last position) as an unem-
ployment benefit. For example, Fudayl Çelebi became the professor of
one of the Sahn madrasas when his tenure in the judgeship of Aleppo
60
For this, see Repp, The Müfti of Istanbul, esp. 197–304.
61 62
İpşirli, “Osmanlı Devleti’nde Kazaskerlik,” 647. Ibid., 629–32.
ended in 1555.63 Kafzade Feyzullah (d. 1611) was appointed to the

judgeship of Galata after he left the judgeship of Edirne in 1598.64
That these appointments were not regular promotions or demotions
in the hierarchy but unemployment benefits can be understood from
the scholars’ next appointments and from the privileges they exercised.
For example, in 1561, Fudayl Çelebi was still professor in one of the
Sahn madrasas. However, in the general occasion (nevbet) he was given
the right to introduce three novices, just as the judge of Aleppo was65
– the Aleppo seat being the last position he had held before assuming
the professorship as his unemployment benefit.66 At the end of 1561,
Fudayl Çelebi received appointment to the judgeship of Mecca, which
seems a more probable assignment for a dignitary at the level of judge
of Aleppo than for the professor of a Sahn madrasa.67 These examples
illustrate that dignitaries in the upper career track could acquire unem-
ployment benefits in the form of a salary or a position (low for their
rank) and thus enjoyed a more or less continuous income.
Finally, the sons of the dignitaries in the upper track were assigned
salaries even before they entered government employment.68 More-
over, they received special treatment upon their acceptance and
employment in the hierarchy. They usually did not have to wait for
a special occasion to receive the status of novice and become eligi-
ble for positions. On completing their studies, their sponsors submit-
ted the cases of sons of the dignitaries (usually in the upper track)
separately (müstakıllen), and their novitiate status was immediately
approved and recorded.69 In addition, in keeping with the rank of the
dignitaries, their sons skipped one or several steps of the hierarchy once
they received their first appointment.
63
ATAYI, 275. See also TSMA, D.5605.2, 2b. According to Atayi, he was
appointed to Prince Mehmed Madrasa, not one of the Sahn madrasas.
64
ATAYI, 539–41.
65
In the occasion (nevbet) of 1561, the professors of the Sahn madrasas
introduced two novices. For this, see TSMA, D.5605.2, 3a–3b.
66
TSMA, D.5605.2, 2b.
67
ATAYI, 275. Kafzade Feyzullah served in the judgeships of Edirne, Galata, and
Istanbul in sequence. It is clear that his appointment to the judgeship of Galata
was considered an unemployment benefit; a promotion from the judgeship of
Galata to that of Istanbul would have been irregular, requiring a comment –
which is lacking. See ATAYI, 539–41.
68
KANUNNAME, 12.
69
Table 10.2 Profession/Status of the Fathers of

Scholar-Bureaucrats in the Upper Career Track of Dignitaries
Dignitary scholar-bureaucrats 12
Town judges 8
Treasurers 3
Chancellors 1
Manumitted slavesa 2
Sufi masters 4
Foundry workers 1
Supervisors of foundations 1
Palace gatekeepers 1
Butler of the grand vizier 1
Unknown 7
a
This category comprises men who had themselves been slaves (not the
sons of manumitted slaves).
Source: Data from the chapter on the biographies of scholar-bureaucrats
active during the reign of Murad III (1574–1594) in ATAYI, 228–339.
This last benefit raises the question of whether the dignitaries in the
upper career track formed a closed aristocracy. The data in Table 10.2
help tackle this question. That about one-quarter of the dignitaries in
the sample (12 of 41 scholar-bureaucrats) had a dignitary father sug-
gests a preferential treatment for the sons of dignitaries. Yet it also
proves that there was not a closed aristocracy of dignitaries at the
time.70 It seems that town judges and their sons could easily manage to
make arrangements to facilitate their rise in the upper track (8 scholar-
bureaucrats did so). The sons of Sufi masters and of officials in other
branches of the government also had a good chance of ascending to
the upper career track of dignitaries. If one assumes that the fathers
whose professions are unknown (7 scholar-bureaucrats) did not have
any influence on the success of their sons in the hierarchy, it can be
argued that their weak family background did not completely hinder
70
Madeline Zilfi traced the consequences of the preferential treatment for
the sons of the dignitaries and showed the formation of a circle of scholar-
bureaucrats, who could be considered as a closed aristocracy in the
seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. For this, see Madeline Zilfi, The Politics
of Piety: The Ottoman Ulema in the Postclassical Age (1600–1800)
(Minneapolis, MN: Bibliotheca Islamica, 1988), 43–80.
these men from progressing in the hierarchy or keep them from reach-
ing the top positions in the upper career track of dignitaries.
To summarize, during the period of consolidation, only scholar-
bureaucrats who reached the topmost teaching positions could pro-
gress in the upper career track of dignitaries. In the sixteenth century,
the judgeships of the major Arab cities of Cairo, Damascus, Aleppo,
Mecca, Medina, and Baghdad were incorporated into the official hier-
archy. These judgeships constituted the upper career track, along with
the judgeships of Istanbul, Edirne, and Bursa, as well as the offices of
the two chief judges and the chief jurist. Dignitaries in the upper career
track had the chance to benefit from all the privileges associated with
the status of dignitary. Although the sons of men in the hierarchy had
a higher chance of progress, the sons of men without a scholarly back-
ground or without connections in the center could also succeed in the
upper career track.
Conclusion
This book represents the findings of research on the formation of a

civil bureaucracy, its development, and its growing sophistication in the
Ottoman Empire through an examination of changes in the relation-
ship of scholars with the dynasty and its enterprise of state formation
during the early modern period.
In the tumultuous political and ideological environment of post-
Mongol Anatolia, the Ottomans needed the services of scholars to
develop a sophisticated administration and to augment their legiti-
macy. The early Ottomans had no indigenous scholars in their realm,
because the Ottoman polity originated and developed in formerly
Christian territories. For this, beginning in the first half of the four-
teenth century, the Ottomans invited prominent scholars to visit their
lands and encouraged them to stay. Simultaneously, they began to
build madrasas in which these educated men could teach and train
other scholars. As specialists of law, scholars provided the Ottomans
with knowledge of statecraft and fulfilled essential governmental tasks.
They served as viziers, bureaucrats, professors, judges, jurists, and in
other capacities. During the fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries,
scholars were in high demand throughout the Islamic world. A plethora
of political units built on the ashes of the Mongol system wanted to
acquire the services of scholars. Scholars were aware of this situation
and did not feel obliged to remain loyal to any particular political
group. For this reason, the Ottomans had difficulty retaining schol-
ars in their service, and many insouciantly left Ottoman territories to
receive the patronage of other rulers.
The conquest of Constantinople (Istanbul) in 1453 can be taken as
a watershed moment for Ottoman power, ideology, and governance
that is usually characterized as a transition from principality to empire.
After the conquest, the Ottomans’ advantages over their competitors
accumulated such that they incorporated into their territory several
Muslim and non-Muslim political units in Anatolia and the Balkans,
212
Conclusion 213
one after another. Parallel to this territorial expansion was the vig-
orous program of state formation and gradual development of a large
civil-bureaucratic apparatus (in addition to military cadres) that would
implement orders from the Ottoman central government. In addition,
as the new rulers of the centuries-old imperial capital, Istanbul, the
Ottomans began to fashion an imperial identity and articulate univer-
salist claims.
In connection with this state formation and imperial vision, the
Ottoman central government began to adopt policies that aimed to
bring scholars on board. Traditionally perceiving themselves as the
independent holders of moral authority in Islamic society, scholars up
to this point had tended to remain aloof from the ruling class. Given
this situation, the government tried to ensure scholars’ loyalty and ded-
ication to the Ottoman enterprise by increasing their dependence on
it. To this end, the number of positions in which scholars could serve
under government control was systematically increased. Ottoman sul-
tans, other members of the dynastic family, and statesmen constructed
many madrasas of various sizes in different parts of the empire. The
central government directly controlled appointments to most of these
newly built schools. In addition, the government attempted to decrease
the number of scholarly positions that were free from its interfer-
ence and to marginalize them. For example, the government brought
under its control the professorships of many madrasas built in the pre-
Ottoman period and of others founded during the Ottoman period
but intended to be free from government intrusion by virtue of stip-
ulations in their endowment deeds (vakfiye). As a result of these
shifts, more and more scholars began to expect appointments from the
government.
Another device that facilitated the cooptation of scholars was the
government’s organization of all the positions under its control in
a hierarchy. Madrasas were stratified according to factors such as
founder, size, and location. In addition, judgeships, jurist positions,
chief judgeships, and financial and scribal appointments were linked
to the different steps in this hierarchy of madrasas. Thus, a scholar
who accepted employment from the government would pursue a life-
time career with regular advancements and increases in pay and pres-
tige. He would attain high positions toward the end of his career,
according to his merit and connections. By promulgating a law code
(kanunname) in which the hierarchical rules were recorded, Mehmed II
214 Conclusion
intended to show that the scholarly system was not temporary and did
not depend on the discretion of any one person, including himself.
The incipient Ottoman scholarly system did not instantaneously
or smoothly take root. The gradual affiliation of scholars with the
government was a development that was perhaps unprecedented in
Islamic history. As opposed to earlier examples of the relationship
between scholars and rulers, the Ottoman system did not represent
a tacit agreement of cooperation between scholars and rulers. Nei-
ther did it follow the model of a ruler coopting several scholars by
assigning them places as companions in the royal court. Rather, the
Ottomans provided for the affiliation of a large number of scholars
(e.g., during the early sixteenth century, roughly 1500–2000 scholars
at a time) with the central government. They made arrangements for
an abstract institutional form, delimited by laws and regulations, that
constituted the link between scholars and the government. Through-
out this study, the term scholar-bureaucrat has been used to refer to
the scholars in government service with the intention to draw attention
to the distinctive nature of the relationship of these scholars with the
government.
In the face of this significant development, both scholar-bureaucrats
and rulers at times appeared mistrustful of what such a system would
lead to. Scholar-bureaucrats did not want to lose their integrity, while
sultans were fearful of developing a system that lay beyond their imme-
diate control. For this reason, many scholar-bureaucrats considered
government service a burden and felt the urge to assert their indepen-
dence. On the other hand, sultans and their agents occasionally impro-
vised new hierarchical rules or breached existing ones.
During the 1530s, under external and internal pressures, the
Ottomans realigned their administration and ideology to more closely
reflect the political reality. The wars with the Habsburgs in the west and
those with the Safavids in the east had not brought any significant terri-
torial gains for the Ottomans for many years, and the futility of efforts
to eliminate these two enemies had become clear. What is more, the
control of the central government over a significant part of the imperial
domain was only nominal; whenever there was a rebellion or enemy
encroachment, these territories easily fell out of imperial control. In
such a situation, although the Ottomans continued their universalist
claims discursively, they undertook actions that would help stabilize
borders as well as achieve internal consolidation by increasing the
Conclusion 215
central government’s control. For this, peace treaties with the Habs-
burgs and the Safavids were signed. Most of the empire’s provinces
were then surveyed to determine their population and to assess their
economic and military resources. A greater number of military and
civil officials were recruited in the center and employed to oversee
imperial interests throughout the empire.
This augmented administrative centralization after 1530 had reper-
cussions for the positions of scholar-bureaucrats in the empire. First of
all, the bureaucratic expansion was accompanied by bureaucratic spe-
cialization: financial and scribal offices were assigned more and more
to officials who had received specialized training. As a result, scholar-
bureaucrats stopped serving in these positions. Second, the central gov-
ernment brought under its control a greater number of educational and
judicial offices, such as professorships, judgeships, and jurist positions.
Thus, the increased number of scholar-bureaucrats (denied access to
positions in the financial and scribal offices) became professionally spe-
cialized in educational and judicial offices, and they came to constitute
a bureaucratic hierarchy of their own, known as the ilmiye. Finally,
the expansion, sophistication, and division of the bureaucracy occurred
alongside the development of well-defined rules governing the appoint-
ments and promotions of bureaucrats, as well as their duties and pow-
ers. The heads of the government, including the sultan, hardly ever
attempted to breach these rules. Hence, the stages of professional life
for scholar-bureaucrats became ever more predictable.
Related to these changes in Ottoman ideology and administration
after 1530 was the transformation in the attitude of the scholar-
bureaucrats toward the Ottoman imperial enterprise. By then, affili-
ation with the imperial administration had a history and had become
routine. Given the strong legal guarantees and precedents for their reg-
ular professional advancement, most scholar-bureaucrats did not ques-
tion the propriety of their affiliations. In addition, scholar-bureaucrats
now had their own bureaucratic hierarchy, which largely functioned
according to impersonal rules. They probably felt that they had their
own autonomous sphere within the imperial system, that their schol-
arly integrity and independence were not harmed, and that they could
transform Ottoman ideology and law from within according to their
own ideals. Thus, scholar-bureaucrats increasingly saw the Ottoman
enterprise as a blessing and dedicated themselves to its advancement,
attempting to strengthen their own positions in it.
216 Conclusion
Implications for Ottoman Historical Studies

To begin with, the conception and periodization of Ottoman history
according to the decline paradigm dominated Ottoman studies for
most of the twentieth century. According to this model, the period from
the beginning of the Ottoman enterprise until the late sixteenth century
was conceived as a period of gradual ascendance, while the following
period until the end of the empire in the early twentieth century was a
period of slow but inevitable decline.1 Within this periodization, during
the period of ascendance, scholar-bureaucrats appeared as constituting
a significant administrative branch that developed and implemented
increasingly sophisticated principles while contributing to the advance-
ment of imperial power and prestige. On the other hand, beginning in
the late sixteenth century, this paradigm sees scholar-bureaucrats as
degenerated: bribery, nepotism, favoritism, and the sale of offices grew
rampant among their ranks; scholarly creativity ended; and incom-
petents filled scholarly offices. Thus, in this view, scholar-bureaucrats
played a significant part in the decline of the empire.2
Revisionist scholarship has challenged the decline paradigm by
showing that its proponents relied less on facts than on the percep-
tions of the authors of advice books from the late sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries (known as nasihatname literature) regarding
what had happened. Contemporaries were not disinterested observers,
nor did they have the cognitive distance from the events or the intellec-
tual tools necessary for rigorous historical analysis.3 Thus, one need
1
Bernard Lewis, “Ottoman Observers of Ottoman Decline,” Islamic Studies 1
(1962): 71–87; İnalcık, The Ottoman Empire: The Classical Age, 41–52.
2
Uzuncarşılı, Osmanlı Devletinin İlmiye Teşkilâtı, 241–60; Ocak, Osmanlı
Toplumunda Zındıklar ve Mülhidler, 128–39; Unan, Kuruluşundan Günümüze
Fatih Külliyesi, 380–92; Beyazıt, “Efforts to Reform Entry into the Ottoman
İlmiyye Career,” 201–18.
3
Cemal Kafadar, “The Question of Ottoman Decline,” Harvard Middle Eastern
and Islamic Review 4 (1997–98): 30–75; Cemal Kafadar, “The Myth of the
Golden Age: Ottoman Historical Consciousness in the Post-Süleymânic Era,” in
Süleymân the Second and His Time, 37–48; Douglas A. Howard, “Ottoman
Historiography and the Literature of ‘Decline’ of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth
Centuries,” Journal of Asian History 22 (1988): 52–77; Douglas A. Howard,
“Genre and Myth in the Ottoman Advice for Kings Literature,” in The Early
Modern Ottomans: Remapping the Empire, ed. Virginia H. Aksan and Daniel
Goffman (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 137–66; Erol Özvar,
“Osmanlı Tarihini Dönemlendirme Meselesi ve Osmanlı Nasihat Literatürü,”
Dîvân: İlmi Araştırmalar (1999): 135–51; Jane Hathway, “Problems of
Conclusion 217
not necessarily blindly accept their judgment when evaluating this

period.
This study confirms the revisionist scholarship and adds details to
its insights. Authors such as Mustafa Âlî and those who drafted the
imperial decree of 1598 commented on the state of scholar-bureaucrats
and argued that the Ottoman scholarly-bureaucratic system had
deteriorated.4 They cited the “infiltration of outsiders” (who, as
explained in Chapter 7, were those who received government employ-
ment without having the status of a novice, mülazemet) as one of the
main causes of degeneration among scholar-bureaucrats. On this issue,
the current study presents significant findings. The legitimate means of
admission to the hierarchy showed variety in the early sixteenth cen-
tury. As discussed in Chapter 5, scholars without the status of novice
constituted the majority of scholar-bureaucrats around 1523. How-
ever, as shown in Part III of this book, after 1530, dignitary scholar-
bureaucrats (mevali) gradually increased their control over admissions
to the hierarchy and allowed only those who had attained the status of
novice to receive appointments to government service. It then became
possible for contemporary administrators and observers to pinpoint
only a few scholars in government service who had never had novice
status and to blame them for what they perceived as degeneration
and decline. In other words, regarding the so-called infiltration of out-
siders, there was in fact progress in the hierarchy on this point, not
a reversal, during the period when the writers of advice works were
active.
Considering that compared with the earlier period, the late sixteenth
and early seventeenth centuries were not necessarily distinguished
by diminishing standards, Ottomanists of the revisionist school have
tended to present the developments during this period as change and
transformation instead of decline.5 Recently, Baki Tezcan offered a new
Periodization in Ottoman History: The Fifteenth through the Eighteenth

Centuries,” Turkish Studies Association Bulletin 20 (1996): 25–31.
4
Fleischer, Bureaucrat and Intellectual, 156–59; Akgündüz, Osmanlı
Kanunnâmeleri, 8: 635–36. See also Majer, “Die Kritik an den Ulema,” 147–55;
Beyazıt, “Efforts to Reform Entry into the Ottoman İlmiyye Career,” 210–16.
5
Halil İnalcık, “Military and Fiscal Transformation in the Ottoman Empire,
1600–1700,” Archivum Ottomanicum 6 (1980): 283–337; Suraiya Faroqhi,
“Politics and Socio-economic Change in the Ottoman Empire of the Later
Sixteenth Century,” in Süleyman the Magnificient and His Age, ed. İ. Metin
218 Conclusion
conceptualization and periodization of Ottoman history, paying spe-

cific attention to this transformative period. He suggested that from
1580 onward, the Ottoman Empire transformed so thoroughly that
it is possible to conceive of it as a different political unit: the Second
Ottoman Empire. Two distinguishing features of this new unit were
the expansion of the political nation and the limitation of the absolute
authority of the sultan. The janissary corps became the conduit for the
inclusion of new members in the political nation. Carpenters, butchers,
bakers, and others who were otherwise considered commoners (reaya)
bought their way into the janissary corps and hence into the privileged
askeri class. Thus, they had a chance to influence developments in the
empire. The jurists’ law (sharia) and scholar-bureaucrats began to play
a greater role in the regulation of public affairs and provided legitimacy
for limiting the sultan’s authority.6
My study indicates the existence of developments analogous to what
Tezcan identified as characteristic of the Second Ottoman Empire
throughout the late fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. I have shown
that acquiring the status of askeri by entering the hierarchy of scholar-
bureaucrats was a path open to nearly anyone during the period. Men
of Muslim or non-Muslim origin, from different ethnicities and various
geographies, could become part of the scholarly-bureaucratic hierar-
chy by acquiring the necessary skills and associating with dignitaries.
In addition, during the period 1453–1600, the hierarchy of scholar-
bureaucrats developed and acquired increasingly sophisticated rules.
The professional career paths of individual scholar-bureaucrats could
be foreseen with considerable precision. The regulations that made this
possible did not always start from the top and move down, from the
sultan to his subjects. True, Mehmed II’s law code played a critical role
in the formation of the hierarchy; however, many rules were unwrit-
ten. Sultans, founders of madrasas, architects, administrators of the
Kunt and Christine Woodhead (London: Longman, 1995), 91–113; Mehmet

Genç, “Osmanlı’da 17. Yüzyılın Sosyal ve Siyasal Yapısında Değişmeler,” in Itrî
ve Dönemine Disiplinlerarası Bakışlar, ed. Emine Ayvaz and İlkay Baliç
(Istanbul: İstanbul Kültür ve Sanat Vakfı, 2013), 13–18; Rifa‘at ‘Ali
Abou-El-Haj, The Formation of the Modern State: The Ottoman Empire,
Sixteenth to Eighteenth Centuries (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 2005);
Marinos Sariyannis, “Ruler and State, State and Society in Ottoman Political
Thought,” Turkish Historical Review 4 (2013): 92–126. See also Börekçi,
“İnkırâzın Eşiğinde Bir Hanedan,” 45–96.
6
Tezcan, The Second Ottoman Empire, esp. 14–45, 191–226.
Conclusion 219
hierarchy, and job seekers all participated in the development of these

unwritten binding rules with their actions, demands, and rejections.
Did the sultan have the power to break these rules? Theoretically,
yes. But in practice, sultans and their representatives could enforce
decisions contradicting these rules only with difficulty.7 They also
would not want to risk appearing to be law-breaking sultans. More-
over, scholar-bureaucrats until the end of the sixteenth century do not
appear to have been simple instruments legitimating and augmenting
the power of the sultans. Rather, as representatives of the Islamic
tradition and legal experts, they spoke with a discrete authority and
frequently participated in the formation of public discourse. Although
they did not have the means to independently curb the power of the sul-
tan, they could authorize and provide legitimacy for forces within the
dynastic family or outside it that emerged in opposition to the sultan.8
Every piece of research is necessarily limited in scope, though it
should raise questions and open space for additional exploration. Sev-
eral research topics closely related to the subject at hand but that
are not examined in this book constitute promising areas for fur-
ther research. One of the perennial Ottoman historiographical debates
is about the nature of the Ottoman legal system. Generally speak-
ing, opinions on this issue can be divided into three groups: (1) The
Ottoman legal system was secular. The sultan’s will and his right of
legislation, which had origins in the Turco-Mongol tradition, dom-
inated it. The Islamic legal tradition or sharia was allowed to reg-
ulate the sphere of private law independently but did not have any
such role in public law.9 (2) The Islamic legal tradition defined the
7
For the reluctance of the chief judge to recognize the sultan’s grant of the status
of novice to Poet Baki, see ATAYI, 435. For the reluctance of the top dignitaries
to immediately acknowledge the grant of the status of novice by sultans, see
also Akgündüz, Osmanlı Kanunnâmeleri, 8: 636.
8
In this context, the efforts of Bayezid II, Selim I, and Süleyman to show their
commitment to sharia and justice and to acquire the confirmation of
scholar-bureaucrats for this are revealing.
9
Fuad Köprülü, “Ortazaman Türk Hukukî Müesseseleri: İslâm Amme
Hukukundan Ayrı Bir Türk Amme Hukuku Yok mudur?” Belleten 2 (1938):
39–72; Barkan, “Osmanlı Kanunnâmeleri,” 1: ix–lxxii; Ömer Lutfi Barkan,
“Osmanlı İmparatorluğu Teşkilât ve Müesseselerinin Şer’iliği Meselesi,”
İstanbul Üniversitesi Hukuk Fakültesi Mecmuası 11 (1945): 203–24; Ömer
Lutfi Barkan, “Türkiye’de Sultanların Teşriî Sıfat ve Salâhiyetleri ve
Kanunnâmeler,” İstanbul Üniversitesi Hukuk Fakültesi Mecmuası 12 (1946):
220 Conclusion
essential characteristics of the Ottoman legal system. The sultan’s will

and Turco-Mongol ideas performed as much as the Islamic legal tra-
dition allowed.10 (3) The Islamic legal tradition and Turco-Mongol
practices constituted two distinct entities within the Ottoman sys-
tem. They occasionally clashed, but Ottoman sultans and chief jurists
(şeyhülislams) exerted efforts to reconcile them so that these two legal
structures cooperatively formed the Ottoman legal system.11
It appears to me that the proponents of all three of these distinct
opinions assume an unbridgeable gap between the historical propo-
nents of the Islamic legal tradition and the sultan’s legislative right,
namely, scholars versus the ruling class. For them, the sultan’s indepen-
dent legislative right entailed the frailty of scholars and their status as
instruments of the sultan. Similarly, the ascendance of sharia signified
the domination of scholars at the expense of the sultan. Any reconcili-
ation of these two systems in turn entailed cooperation between these
two groups. But the argument of this book – that scholar-bureaucrats
fulfilled functions at every level of the Ottoman administration and
government – allows one to revise the assumption that there was a
clear distinction between scholars and rulers, thus shedding new light
on conceptions of the Ottoman legal system. Instead of looking at and
speaking about this issue using the concepts of domination and coop-
eration, scholars can focus on ways that sultans, scholar-bureaucrats,
and other representatives of sultans (all together constituting the elite)
observed the legal landscape from the same perspective and shaped the
legal system.12
Another area rich for exploration is the relationship between schol-
ars outside the scholarly-bureaucratic hierarchy and the imperial
713–33; Uriel Heyd, Studies in Old Ottoman Criminal Law, ed. V. L. Menage
(Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1973), 167–207, esp. 180–83; Imber, Ebu’s-Suʿud,
40–51.
10
Akgündüz, Osmanlı Kanunnâmeleri, 1: 78–81, 85–87; Hayrettin Karaman,
“Âdet,” TDVIA; Nasi Aslan, “Klasik Dönem Ceza Kanunnâmeleri Bağlamında
Osmanlı Hukûkunun Şer’îliği Üzerine,” Çukurova Üniversitesi İlahiyat
Fakültesi Dergisi 3, no. 2 (2003): 17–44.
11
Halil İnalcık, “Islamization of Ottoman Laws on Land and Land Tax,”
101–18. Cf. M. Akif Aydın, Türk Hukuk Tarihi (Istanbul: Beta Basım Yayım
Dağıtım, 2014), 65–77; M. Akif Aydın, “Osmanlı Hukukunun Genel Yapısı,”
in his Osmanlı Devleti’nde Hukuk ve Adalet (Istanbul: Klasik, 2014), 15–74.
12
For an admirable contribution to this effect, see Akarlı, “The Ruler and Law
Making in the Ottoman Empire,” 87–109.
Conclusion 221
administration. Scholar-bureaucrats (i.e., government-affiliated schol-

ars) did not comprise all the scholars in the Ottoman realm in any
given period; there were always many nonbureaucratic scholars who
did not (or could not) become part of the administration in Anato-
lia, the Balkans, and especially the Arab lands. Guy Burak’s study
attends to scholar-bureaucrats and nonbureaucratic scholars from
Syria. He investigates the differences between these scholars from Syria
and scholar-bureaucrats from Anatolia and the Balkans in terms of
the ways each group understood the history, doctrine, and author-
itative texts of the Hanafi legal school.13 In a recent article, Helen
Pfeifer examined the interaction between scholar-bureaucrats of Rumi
origin (Anatolia and the Balkans) and nonbureaucratic scholars of
Damascus.14 However, the topic of nonbureaucratic scholars, in not
only the Arab lands but also other regions of the empire, warrants
additional studies exploring how these survived independently from
the government and how they perceived Ottoman sovereignty and the
scholarly-bureaucratic hierarchy.
This book tells the story of scholar-bureaucrats – their hierarchy,
positions, and attitudes – until the end of the sixteenth century. One
wonders what happened afterward. Baki Tezcan’s opinion about the
critical role of scholar-bureaucrats in the Second Ottoman Empire has
just been mentioned; Madeline Zilfi’s work, as well as Denise Klein’s
book, have significantly contributed to current knowledge about the
existence (or lack thereof) of an aristocratic monopoly on the hier-
archy and about various issues related to socioreligious movements
during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.15 However, further
studies about scholar-bureaucrats after 1600 are needed. For exam-
ple, one promising area of inquiry would be to explore the reasons
behind why the government expanded the scholarly bureaucracy and
continued appointing judges from the center after 1600, at a time when
tax collection was decentralizing and the government was appointing
13
Guy Burak, The Second Formation of Islamic Law. For another study about
nonbureaucratic scholars in Syria, see Haim Gerber, Islamic Law and Culture,
1600–1840 (Leiden: Brill, 1999).
14
Helen Pfeifer, “Encounter after the Conquest: Literary Salons in Sixteenth-
Century Ottoman Damascus,” International Journal of Middle East Studies
47 (2015): 219–39.
15
Zilfi, The Politics of Piety. Denise Klein, Die osmanischen Ulema des 17.
Jahrhunderts: Eine geschlossene Gesellschaft? (Berlin: Klaus Schwarz, 2007).
222 Conclusion
fewer and fewer financial officials from the capital.16 In addition, the
changing roles of scholar-bureaucrats in the empire, the shifts in their
attitudes, and relationships in distinct periods after 1600 are topics
worth further investigation.17 In short, there is still much to be learned
about scholars during 1300–1600 and beyond this period, and further
research can build on the groundwork laid here in order to continue
clarifying the place of scholars in the larger workings of an imperial
society and administration that was a formidable player in the early
modern landscape.
16
For preliminary thoughts on this point, see Haim Gerber, State, Society, and
Law in Islam: Ottoman Law in Comparative Perspective (Albany: State
University of New York Press, 1994), 58–78.
17
Some studies related to scholar-bureaucrats in the eighteenth–twentieth
centuries are: Michael Nizri, Ottoman High Politics and the Ulema Household
(New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014); İlhami Yurdakul, Osmanlı İlmiye
Merkez Teşkilâtı’nda Reform, 1826–1876 (Istanbul: İletişim, 2008); Ahmet
Cihan, Reform Çağında Osmanlı İlmiye Sınıfı (Istanbul: Birey, 2004); Amit
Bein, Ottoman Ulema, Turkish Republic: Agents of Change and Guardians of
Tradition (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2011).
Glossary
dahil and haric: Dahil refers to the rank of madrasas at the level just
below the Sahn madrasas. Madrasas founded by female members of the
Ottoman imperial family (other than the royal mother) in the central
cities usually belonged to this rank. Some madrasas, built by Ottoman
sultans but with relatively limited endowment resources, were also
categorized as dahil. On the other hand, haric signifies the rank of
madrasas at the level just below the dahil madrasas – two levels below
the Sahn madrasas. The madrasas built by viziers in the central cities
usually belonged to the haric rank. Although the extant copies of
Mehmed II’s law code refer to dahil and haric madrasas, it is doubt-
ful if the terms dahil and haric and the rank of madrasas signified by
them existed in the late fifteenth century. Nevertheless, the textual evi-
dence shows the existence and widespread usage of dahil and haric
as the two ranks of madrasas below the Sahn madrasas from the late
sixteenth century.
fetva/fatwa: A nonbinding religio-legal opinion. The main duty of the
chief jurist (şeyhülislam) was to issue fetvas answering the questions
of ordinary individuals and officials in the central provinces. Some
provinces had appointed jurists who also issued fetvas. Any person
who had the appropriate training could provide fetvas even if he or
she had not been officially assigned to this task.
içil: The central cities – namely, Istanbul, Edirne, and Bursa – and their
environs.
ilmiye: The hierarchical professional career path of scholar-
bureaucrats. The term came to be used toward the middle of the
sixteenth century to underline the distinction between the career track
of scholar-bureaucrats and that of financial and scribal officials (the
kalemiye).
kadıasker: Kadıasker was first the judge of the army, who heard legal
cases during the campaigns. Later, probably from the mid-fifteenth
223
224 Glossary
century, he served as the chief judge, participated in the meetings of

the Imperial Council and administered appointments in the hierarchy
of scholar-bureaucrats. Beginning in the second half of the fifteenth
century, two kadıaskers were appointed to oversee the affairs of Ana-
tolia and Rumeli, respectively.
kanun: Rules implemented in society by the sultan to supplement legal
injunctions based on sharia, as well as the military and administra-
tive practices that the elite considered binding. In a restricted sense,
kanun referred to the administrative, financial, and penal decrees and
law codes issued by the sultans.
kanunname: A law code comprising laws whose normativity
depended on the will of the sultan. In some cases, kanunname referred
to compilations (not promulgated by the sultan but organized/codified
by individuals out of their own initiative) of rules of the kanun type.
kasabat kadıs (town judges): The group of scholar-bureaucrats in the
lower hierarchy who served as judges. In contrast to dignitary scholar-
bureaucrats (mevali), kasabat kadıs did not have the right to grant the
status of novice (mülazemet) and did not participate in the administra-
tion of the hierarchy. Kasabat kadıs were denied some of the benefits
the mevali enjoyed.
kenar: The peripheral parts of the imperial domain, namely those out-
side Istanbul, Edirne, and Bursa.
Kızılbaş: The followers of the Safavid order and later the supporters
of the Safavid political enterprise. They were called Kızılbaş (redhead)
after the red headgear they wore.
mevali (dignitary scholar-bureaucrats): The privileged group of
scholar-bureaucrats who reached the top positions in the hierarchy (or
had the potential to do so) and acquired special rights regarding the
grants of the status of novice (mülazemet) and hence admission of new
scholar-bureaucrats. Some of them participated in the administration
of the hierarchy. They started their careers in teaching positions and
then served in prestigious and lucrative judgeships.
mevleviyet: The positions that were assigned to dignitary scholar-
bureaucrats (mevali). In a more restricted usage, the term signified a
judgeship assigned to a dignitary scholar-bureaucrat.
Glossary 225
mülazemet: The procedure of novitiate that formally initiated schol-

ars to the official hierarchy. Scholar-bureaucrats had the right to seek
positions after undergoing the mülazemet procedure. The term may
also refer to the attendance of scholar-bureaucrats at the court of chief
judges during the waiting period between two scholarly positions.
mülazım: Novice, newly initiated scholar-bureaucrat, awaiting his

first appointment. The term may also be used to designate scholar-
bureaucrats in the waiting period between two scholarly appointments.
mütevelli/mutawalli: An administrator of a pious endowment. Accor-

ding to sharia, the founders of endowments had the right to select
the first mütevelli and to create stipulations dictating who the next
mütevellis would be. If the founders did not determine the identity
of the mütevelli, public officials could become involved in his or her
selection.
nevbet: The general occasion at which a specified number of novices

(mülazıms) were introduced to the official hierarchy by all the dignitary
scholar-bureaucrats. It took place at irregular intervals.
ruznamçe: Regular day registers recording new novices (mülazım) and

others recording appointments and promotions in the offices of the
chief judges.
Sahn madrasas: Eight madrasas in Mehmed II’s building complex in

Istanbul built during the period 1463–70.
şeyhülislam: The chief jurist, the top official in the hierarchy of

scholar-bureaucrats beginning in the middle of the sixteenth century.
He issued fetvas on questions posed by individuals from every stratum
of society. In addition, he had a say in the appointments of high-level
scholar-bureaucrats.
sharia: the collection of religio-legal rules, which regulated ritual and

morality, as well as legal transactions of every kind.
vakf/waqf: The act of endowment of a property for a charitable pur-

pose. Vakf also signifies the endowed institution together with its
sources of income.
226 Glossary
Vakfiye/waqfiyya: The endowment deed, in which the founder delin-

eated the use of the endowed buildings and the expenditure of income
from the associated revenue-generating properties.
Vâkıf/waqif: The founder of a vakf. He or she lost the property rights
to the endowed property but had the right to dictate its use during his
or her lifetime and even after death.
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Index
Abdülkerim (Vizeli), 171 Ali Fenari (Fenari Alisi), 66

Abdülkerimzade Mehmed, 171 ʿAli bin Abi Talib (fourth caliph), 88
Abdullah bin Mercan, 171 Ali Kuşçu, 65, 66, 77n77
Abdülvahhab bin Abdülkerim, 101 Al-Malik al-Muʾayyad (Mamluk ruler),
Abdurrahman bin Seydi Ali, 157, 42
157n40 Altıncızade (Mehmed II’s physician),
Abdurrahman Cami, 64 80
Abu Bakr (first caliph), 94 Amasya, 127n37, 177
Abu Hanifa, 11 joint teaching and jurist position in,
ahi organization, 22 197
Ahizade Yusuf, 100 judgeship of, 79n84
Ahmed, Prince (Bayezid II’s son), 86, Anatolian principalities, 1, 20, 21, 22,
87 23n22, 24n26, 25, 26, 28, 36, 44,
Ahmed Bey Madrasa, 159 64
Ahmed Bican (Sufi writer), 56 Ankara, 25, 115, 178
Ahmed Pasha (governor of Egypt), 123 battle of, 25, 54
Ahmed Pasha bin Hızır Bey. See Müfti joint teaching and jurist position in,
Ahmed Pasha 197
Ahmed Pasha bin Veliyyüddin, 80 Arab Hekim (Mehmed II’s physician),
Ahmed Pasha Madrasa (Alasonya), 80
161 Arab lands, 19, 36, 42, 50, 106,
Ahmedi (poet), 34 110n83, 119, 142, 201, 202,
ʿAʾisha (Prophet’s wife), 94 221
Akkoyunlus, 65, 66 Aşık Çelebi, 10
Akşemseddin, 51, 61 Aşıkpaşazade, 38, 67, 91
Alaeddin Ali bin Yusuf Fenari, 70n43, Ataullah Acemi, 66, 80
76 Atayi, Nevizade, 11, 140, 140n21,
Alaeddin Esved, 33, 39 140n22, 194, 200
Alaeddin Pasha (Osman’s vizier), 40 Hadaʾiq al-Haqaʾiq, 11, 206
Alaeddin Tusi, 42, 60n5, 68n39, 81 Ayasofya Madrasa, 60, 65, 71, 72,
Albania, 50, 86n9 111n85, 148, 149, 182n42, 196
Aleppo, 153, 154, 165, 204 Aydınids, 21, 25, 35, 43
joint teaching and jurist position in, Ayn Jalut, the battle of, 19
197 Azerbaijan, 17, 32, 65
judgeship of, 182n42, 201, 204, 205,
206, 208, 211 Baba Zünnun, 123
Alexander the Great, 55, 56, 120 Babek Çelebi, 100
Ali bin Bali, 10 Baghdad, 17, 27, 64, 122, 122n15
Ali Cemali, 92 judgeship of, 182n42, 201, 206, 207,
Ali Ekber (author of Hıtayname), 93, 211
93n32 Bahauddin Ömer bin Kutbuddin, 38
251
252 Index
Baki (poet), 185 Çandarlı Halil Pasha, 24, 38, 40, 51,
Balkans, 1, 25, 26, 57n35, 130n43, 97n47
212, 221 Çandarlı İbrahim Pasha, 40, 97n47
Bayezid I, 21, 24n26, 25, 29, 30, 32, Çandarlı Kara Halil Pasha, 39, 40
34, 38, 39, 42 Celaleddin Devvani, 64, 111n85
sons of, 25, 34, 54 Celalzade Mustafa Çelebi, 74, 162
Bayezid II, 12, 50, 52, 52n16, 53n18, Cem Sultan, 50, 53n18, 85, 85n4, 86,
54, 68, 69, 74, 77, 78, 79, 83, 85, 86n9
86, 91, 92, 97, 98, 98n47, 101, Cezeri, Muhammed (Ibn al-Jazari),
103, 104, 111n85, 114, 115, 135, 21n16, 34, 42
149, 156 chancellor, 7, 72, 78, 79, 101, 124,
endowment policy of, 91 146n3, 210
enthronement of, 85, 86n9, 87 Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor, 56,
Bayezid II Madrasa (Amasya), 98, 100, 120, 121
182n42 Charles VIII (king of France), 85n4
Bayezid II Madrasa (Edirne), 98, 100, chief judgeship (kadıaskerlik), 39,
101, 149, 150, 182n42 39n50, 69, 71, 72, 76, 76n75, 77,
Bayezid II Madrasa (Istanbul), 98, 100 78, 98, 127, 133, 134, 135, 136,
Belgrade, 87, 105, 106, 119 138, 141, 167, 168, 171, 182, 191,
Bezzazi, Hafızuddin Muhammed, 35 192, 199, 201, 224
Bilecik, 33, 38 of Anatolia, 139, 141, 184, 202, 208
Birgizade Mustafa, 101 of Arab and Acem lands, 202
Bithynia, 1 of Rumeli, 9, 139, 165, 184, 186,
Bosnia, 1530 law code of, 96 189, 208
Bostan Mustafa Efendi, 135n6, chief jurist. See şeyhülislam, office of
138n12, 172, 180 China, 1n1, 17, 93
Budin, 164 Ming dynasty, 3n5, 93
Bukhara, 64 Chinggis Khan, 17
Bulgarian kingdom, 25, 28 Chinggisid lineage, 18
Burak, Guy, 221 Çivizade Mehmed bin İlyas, 140, 170,
Burhaneddin Haydar Herevi, 34, 37, 172, 203n34
38 Çorlu, 163, 176
Bursa, 30, 34, 36, 42, 63, 69, 80, 81, Crimean khans, 50, 109
100, 127, 134, 146, 177, 178, 200, Cürcani, Seyyid Şerif, 34, 82, 82n98,
223, 224 173n10
judgeship of, 38, 39n45, 42, 69, 78, Cyprus, 197
98, 99, 100, 134, 182, 201, 203, judgeship of, 197
205, 211
Byzantine Empire, 2, 28, 49, 51, 59 dahil, 71, 72, 134, 134n1, 152, 177,
195, 196, 197, 197n16, 198, 223
Cairo, 19, 21, 34, 64, 202 Damascus, 33, 34, 64, 153, 154, 178,
judgeship of, 201, 203, 204, 205, 221
211 joint teaching and jurist position in,
Çaldıran, battle of, 122 197
caliphate, 18, 19, 129, 129n42 judgeship of, 182n42, 201, 203, 204,
end of Abbasid, 17, 27 205, 206, 211
transfer of, 129n42 Darulhadis Madrasa (Edirne), 31, 151
Canberdi Gazali, 87n14, 90, 123, Darulhadis Madrasa, Süleymaniye
204n38 (Istanbul), 148
Çandarlı Ali Pasha, 39, 40 Davud Pasha Madrasa, 171
Index 253
Davudi Kayseri, 33 England, 3

decree of 1598, 142, 143, 184, 185, Evrenos Bey Madrasa, 159
217 Eyüp, 61, 61n10
Devletoğlu Yusuf, 31n8 judgeship of, 163
dignitary scholar-bureaucrats. See
mevali Fahreddin Acemi, 34, 38, 42, 80
Dimetoka, 193 Fazlullah Pasha (Murad II’s vizier),
Divan-ı Hümayun. See Imperial 40
Council Fenarizade Hasan Pasha (Murad II’s
Diyarbakır, 110n83, 154, 202 vizier), 40
Dulkadiroğlu principality, 111n85 Ferdinand, Archduke of Austria, 120,
Dursun Fakih, 33, 37, 38 123
Ferhadiya Madrasa (Bursa), 99
Ebu Eyyüb el-Ensari, 61 Ferruh Halife, 171
Ebulfazl Defteri, 101 Fethullah Şirvani, 64
Ebussuud, 130n43, 136n8, 140, 141, fetret devri (interregnum period), 25
141n23, 171, 172, 182, 183, 184, firearms, use of, 2, 2n2, 26
185 Firuzabadi, Mecdüddin, 34
son-in-law of, Abdülkadir Şeyhi, Fleischer, Cornell H., 53n19, 73, 130
168n92, 184 France, 2, 85
son-in-law of, Malulzade Mehmed, Fudayl Çelebi, 168n92, 207n56, 208,
184 209
son of, Mehmed, 183, 184n53 Fusus al-Hikam. See Ibn ʿArabi
son of, Mustafa, 184n53, 193
ecnebi (outsider), 140, 140n21, 143, Galata, judgeship of, 163, 197, 209
144 Gallipoli, judgeship of, 79, 197
Edebali, 33, 37, 38 gayr-i sahih vakf (invalid endowment).
Edirne, 30, 36, 37, 63, 69, 126, 127, See irsadi vakf
134, 146, 149, 157, 177, 178, 200, Gedik Ahmed Pasha, 79, 86n9
223, 224 George of Trabzon, 56
judgeship of, 38, 69, 78, 98, 100, Germiyanid principality, 25
101, 134, 182, 201, 203, 205, 209, ghazis (holy warriors), 21, 21n18, 27,
211 42, 52, 95
Egypt, 19, 32, 33, 34, 42, 50, 57n35,
64, 90, 106, 107, 110, 112, 113, Habsburgs, 120, 122, 123, 124,
119, 125, 129n42, 142, 165 124n23, 214, 215
1525 law code of, 96 Hacıhasanzade Mehmed, 79, 135n6,
governor of, 90, 123 179n34
Ekmeleddin Baberti, 34, 42 Hadım Ali Pasha, 86
Emirşah Kadı Madrasa (Yenişehir), Hafızı Acem, 98, 99, 111n85
160 Hafsa Sultan, 165
endower, 43, 61, 67, 132, 155, 157, Hagia Sophia. See Ayasofya Madrasa
226 Halebi Madrasa (Edirne), 31, 34, 37,
endowment, 8, 28, 30, 37n35, 39n45, 112
43, 44, 61, 61n7, 61n8, 61n10, 62, Hankah Madrasa, 151, 152
63, 63n17, 67, 68, 68n37, 91, 92, Hanzade Fatıma Sultan, 158
99, 100, 107, 108, 109, 132, 145, haric, 71, 134, 134n1, 137, 152, 177,
146, 146n4, 147, 148, 150, 151, 191, 192, 193, 194, 195, 196,
152n22, 153, 154, 155–168, 213, 196n16, 197, 223
223, 225, 226 Hasan Samsuni, 80
254 Index
Haseki Madrasa, 150, 151, 152, Iraq, 17, 34, 50, 142
182n42, 196 irsadi vakf (endowment of
Hashiya al-Tajrid, madrasas of, 173 supervision), 61, 61n7, 62
Hatibzade Muhyiddin, 80, 114 İsa Bey Madrasa, 193n10
Hatice Sultan Madrasa, 151, 152 İshak Pasha, 37, 63
Hayali Şemseddin Ahmed, 76 İsmail Bey (Kastamonu’s ruler), 43, 44
Haydar (leader of the Safavid order), İsmihan Sultan Madrasa, 151
88 Isparta, 37
Hayır Bey (governor of Egypt), 90 İsrafilzade, 170, 204n39
Hayreddin bin Evhad, 182 Istanbul, 10, 12, 35, 44, 52, 56, 59, 61,
Hekimzade Muhyiddin, 155 62, 63, 65, 66, 72, 81, 86, 87, 90,
Herat, 66 92, 95, 111, 123, 125, 126, 127,
Hezargrad, 158 134, 146, 152, 153, 160, 177, 178,
Hıtayname. See Ali Ekber 223, 224
Hızır Bey, 35, 35n27, 39 judgeship of, 69, 78, 98, 100, 134,
Hızır Şah, 37n35, 42 182, 201, 203, 205, 211
Hoca Hayreddin, 80, 82n98, 184 the conquest of, 2, 12, 27, 49, 50,
Hocazade Muslihuddin, 60n5, 75, 51, 53, 54, 55, 59, 61, 61n8, 62,
79n84, 80, 81, 82 66, 69, 70, 212
Hospitallers, 50 Italy, 86n9
Hülegü, 17 İzmir, judgeship of, 197
Hungary, 50, 122, 123 İznik, 30, 33, 39, 69, 76, 177
Hürrem Sultan, 126, 150 judgeship of, 38, 79n84
Hürrem Sultan Madrasa. See Haseki İznik Madrasa, 151, 152
Madrasa
Hüsrev Bey Madrasa (Sarajevo), 165 janissaries, 24, 26, 49, 53n18, 86,
Hüsrev Pasha, 154 86n9, 87, 125, 218
Hüsrev Pasha Madrasa (Aleppo), 154, John Zapolya, king of Hungary, 122
165 judge of the Arabs (kadı’l-arab), 202
Hüsrev Pasha Madrasa (Diyarbakır),
154 Kabusname. See Mercimek Ahmed
Kadı Mahmud, 38
Ibn ʿArabi, 33 kadıaskerlik. See chief judgeship
Ibn Battuta, 8, 23n22 Kadızade Ahmed Şemseddin, 165n78,
İbn Kemal. See Kemalpaşazade 171
İbrahim Pasha (Grand Vizier), 54, Kafadar, Cemal, 23
79n84, 87, 120, 130 Kafescioğlu, Çiğdem, 60
içil, 72, 134, 177, 178 kalemiye (financial and scribal career),
İdrisi Bidlisi, 97 7, 57, 72, 73, 79, 98, 101, 115,
İhsanoğlu, Ekmeleddin, 173n8 131, 175, 215, 223
Ilkhanate Empire, 17 Kalenderhane Madrasa, 151
ilmiye (Ottoman learned Kalenderoğlu, 123
establishment), 6, 7, 131, 215, 223 Kamil Mehmed Pasha, 101
Imperial Council, 53n17, 53n18, 54, kanunname. See Mehmed II, law code
74, 74n66, 76, 76n75, 80, 86, 92, of
104, 124, 126, 128, 139, 224 Kara Abdurrahman, 171
India, 3 Kara Bali Aydıni, 100
İnegöl, 39, 63 Kara Kemal, 98
Iran, 17, 32, 33, 34, 36, 64, 66, 68, Karahisari, Kasım bin Mahmud, 32n8
110, 111, 121 Karakoyunlus, 65
Index 255
Karamani Mehmed Pasha (Grand Manisazade Muhyiddin, 70n43, 76,

Vizier), 67, 76n74, 79, 80, 91 78
Karamanids, 20, 21, 25, 42, 66 mansabdari system, 3
Karasi, the principality of, 25 Maraş, judgeship of, 197
Kasım Pasha Madrasa, 183 Mardin, 110n83, 111n85, 197
Kayı lineage. See Oghuz lineage Matthias Corvinus (king of Hungary),
Kayseri, 33, 197 85n4
Kefe, joint teaching and jurist position Mecca, 19, 55, 129, 154, 205
in, 197, 198 judgeship of, 182, 186, 201, 205,
Kemah, campaign against, 112 206, 209, 211
Kemalpaşazade, 92, 97, 101, 179n34, Mecdi Mehmed, 10, 38, 39n45, 39n50,
202 171
Kestel, 79 Hadaʾiq al-Shaqaʾiq, 10
Khorasan, 17, 64, 65, 65n25, 66 Medina, 19, 129, 154, 205
Khwarezm, 17 judgeship of, 155, 182, 201, 206,
Kırklareli, 63 211
Kıvameddin Yusuf Şirazi, 111n85 Mehmed, Prince, 126, 147, 186
Klein, Denise, 221 Mehmed I, 25, 26, 29, 30, 32, 36
Konya, 33, 66, 127n37, 197 Mehmed II, 12, 24, 35, 44, 49, 51, 52,
Korkud, Prince, 87 53, 55, 57, 59, 60, 60n5, 61, 61n8,
Kosovo, battle of, 2n2 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 70, 71,
Kritovoulos of Imbros, 55, 62 74, 75, 76, 76n74, 76n75, 77,
Küçük Çekmece Madrasa, 155 77n75, 77n77, 78, 79, 80, 81, 83,
Küre, 44 85, 86, 86n9, 91, 96, 97, 97n47,
Kütahya, 127n37, 154, 177, 197 98, 103, 104, 126, 135, 156,
Kutbuddin Acemi, 66, 80 173n8, 213
law code of, 51, 57, 70, 72, 73, 74,
Larende, 33 75, 76, 76n75, 77, 78, 81, 82, 83,
Lari Acemi (Mehmed II’s physician), 84, 97, 98, 100, 101, 103, 132,
66, 80 134, 135, 162, 177n29, 183n46,
Leys Çelebi, 101 195, 213, 218, 223
Leyszade Mehmed (chancellor), 70 Mehmed II (Karamanid ruler), 42
Louis II, king of Hungary, 119 Mehmed III, 126, 146, 186
Mehmed bin Kadı of Ayasoluğ, 35,
Mahmud Gilani, 64 37
Mahmud of Ghazna, 21n18 Mehmed Şah Fenari, 36, 114
Mahmud Pasha, 63, 66, 75, 76, 157 Mehmed Şah Yegani, 39
endowment of, 157, 160 Mercimek Ahmed, 32n8
Mahmud Pasha Madrasa Merzifon, 99, 111n85
(Hasköy/Kırklareli), 189 Merzifon Madrasa, 35, 35n24
Mahmud Pasha Madrasa (Istanbul), mevali, 71, 72, 75n68, 77, 78, 79, 84,
76, 78, 79, 101, 158, 195 102, 103, 104, 106, 107, 109, 113,
Mamluks, 19, 21, 26, 53, 64, 83, 89, 134, 135, 137, 138, 139, 143, 168,
95, 112, 127n37, 129 170, 172, 178, 179, 180, 181, 183,
model of political rule of, 19, 20, 21, 184, 188, 190, 191, 192, 193, 194,
201 197, 198, 199, 200, 205, 206, 207,
Manastır Madrasa (Bursa), 31, 42, 76, 208, 209, 211, 224
151, 152, 196 Mihrimah Sultan, 150
Manisa, 126, 127n37, 147, 149, 165, Mihrimah Sultan Madrasa, 151, 152,
197 182n42, 196
256 Index
Mimar Sinan, 146n4, 147, 148, 149, Murad III, 126, 146, 149
150, 152 Murad Pasha, vizier, 63
Mınık Ali. See Ali bin Bali Muradiye Madrasa (Bursa), 31, 37n35,
Mirsad al-ʿIbad. See Karahisari, Kasım 148, 182n42
bin Mahmud Musannifek, 66
Moldavia, 50 Muslihuddin Mustafa Niksari, 206
Molla Abdülkadir, 80, 82 Mustafa Âlî, 74, 146n3, 172n7,
Molla Abdülkerim, 60n5, 70n43, 80 196n16, 217
Molla Ayas, 80 Mustafa Pasha Madrasa, 111n85
Molla Gürani, 35n27, 42, 76, 76n75, Muzafferuddin Ali Şirazi, 98, 111n85
77n75, 80 Muzafferuddin Madrasa (Taşköprü),
Molla Hüsrev, 38, 39n45, 39n50, 63, 43, 44, 81
76, 77n77, 80, 82
Molla Kestelli, 76n74, 78 nakibüleşraf, office of, 148n8
Molla Necmeddin, 38 Nasirüddin Tusi, 173n10
Molla Siraceddin, 79 Nihali Cafer Çelebi, 135n6
Molla Vildan, 78, 79, 135n6 nişancı. See chancellor
Molla Yegan, 35, 38, 42, 43, 44 nomadic warriors, 1, 2, 17, 18, 19, 20,
Molla Yegan Madrasa (Bursa), 196 21, 23, 24, 49, 50, 52
Molla Zeyrek, 60, 81, 82 North Africa, 50
Mongol law, 1, 17, 18, 27 novitiate status. See mülazemet
Mongols, 1, 11, 17, 18, 19, 27 Nurbanu Sultan, 149, 149n14
Morea, 49 Nurbanu Sultan Madrasa. See Valide
Mübarizeddin Ertokuş (Seljuk Sultan Madrasa
statesman), 37
Müeyyedzade Abdurrahman, 86, 92, Oghuz lineage, 18, 20, 26, 26n38
98, 111n85, 115, 179n34 Ömer Bey Madrasa (Tırhala), 160,
Müfti Ahmed Pasha, 79n84 161
Muhammed Kazvini, 115 Orhan (Ottoman prince), 51
Muhaşşi Sinan, 141, 142, 168n92 Orhan, Sultan, 29, 30, 32, 33, 38, 39
Muhtar Zahidi, 33 Orhan’s madrasa (İznik), 31, 33
muhtesib (market inspector), 4 Osman I, 23, 33, 38
Muhyiddin Fenari, 114, 114n90, Osman II, 126
138n12, 183 Ottoman dynasty, 12, 23, 24, 28, 29,
Muhyiddin Seyyidi, 202, 203, 203n34 30, 36, 37, 38, 44, 49, 50, 51, 55,
mülazemet, 72, 75, 77, 78, 102, 103, 59, 60, 63, 64, 66, 69, 81, 82, 83,
106, 107, 109, 110, 113, 114, 116, 84, 84n1, 90, 96, 97, 101, 106,
127n37, 133, 134, 137, 139, 114, 115, 122, 123, 125, 126, 127,
139n18, 140, 141, 141n25, 142, 131, 132, 137, 145, 146, 147, 152,
144, 160, 171, 172, 173, 181, 185, 153, 156, 157, 177, 197n16, 213,
189, 190, 217, 224, 225 223
mülazım, 71, 72, 75, 103, 103n78, histories of, 8, 39, 97
104, 105, 135, 140, 140n22, 141, Ottoman principality, 1, 20, 21, 21n16,
141n25, 143, 144, 171, 179, 181, 25, 26, 49
208, 225
Murad I, 21, 25, 29, 30, 32, 38 Pantokrator church, 60
Murad II, 25, 26, 26n38, 29, 30, 31, Pfeifer, Helen, 221
31n8, 32, 34, 35, 35n25, 36, Piri Pasha, 101
37n35, 38, 39, 39n45, 63 Piri Pasha Madrasa (Silivri), 196
Index 257
Pope Innocent VIII, 85n4 Sarıgörez Nureddin Hamza, 93

Prince Mehmed Madrasa, 147, 148, Saruhanid principality, 25
149, 150, 196 Seferihisar, judgeship of, 79n84
Selanik, judgeship of, 163, 197
Qamus al-Muhit. See Firuzabadi, Selim I, 12, 50, 52, 54, 86, 89, 90, 92,
Mecdüddin 95, 97, 98, 98n47, 101, 106, 112,
Qaytbay, Mamluk Sultan, 85n4 115, 119, 121, 126, 127n37,
Qur’an, 3, 6, 18, 22, 34, 94, 172 129n42, 147, 205
enthronement of, 53n18, 85, 87
Rhodes, 85, 87, 106, 119 Selim I Madrasa (Istanbul), 147,
joint teaching and jurist position in, 147n7, 148, 148n8, 149, 151,
197 182n42, 196, 206
Rhodes Madrasa, 151, 152 Selim II, 126, 146, 149
Rodosçuk, judgeship of, 163 Selimiye Madrasa (Edirne), 186, 196,
Rome, 56, 85n4 201
royal-prestige madrasas, 30, 31, 36, Seljuks of Anatolia, 1, 17, 20, 27, 33
151 Şemseddin Fenari, 34, 35, 38, 39n45,
Rum Mehmed Pasha, 63, 91 42, 43
Rüstem Pasha, 124n23, 152, 154, Serbian kingdom, 25, 28, 50
185n55 Şerefüddin Kırımi, 34
Rüstem Pasha Madrasa, 152, 153, Seyfiye Madrasa (Ankara), 178, 198
195 Şeyh Ramazan, 39n50
şeyhülislam, office of, 38, 40, 72,
Saçlı Emir, 98, 111n85, 135n6 73n59, 80, 133, 134, 136n8, 138,
Safavid bureaucrats, 3n5 138n14, 174, 182, 192, 193, 201,
Safavid Sufi order, 87, 224 208, 223, 225
Safavids, 53, 83, 87, 88, 93, 95, 106, Seyyid Ahmed Kırımi, 35
110, 111n85, 112, 121, 122, 123, Seyyid Ali Acemi, 34
124, 124n23, 127n37, 128, Seyyidgazi, joint teaching and jurist
128n40, 153, 206, 214, 215 position in, 197
Safiye Sultan, 149, 186 Seyyidi Çelebi (chancellor), 74
Safiye Sultan Madrasa (New Valide Seyyidi Karamani, 101
Madrasa), 150 Shah Ismail, 87, 88, 89, 94, 121
Şah Melek bin Şadi Bey Madrasa Shahrukh (Timur’s son), 26
(Edirne), 37 Sheikh Bedreddin, 26, 34, 38, 54
Şah Sultan Madrasa (Istanbul), 151 Sidrekapısı, judgeship of, 163
Şahkulu Baba Tekeli, 89 Sinan Ağa Madrasa (Istanbul), 160
Sahn madrasas, 44, 62, 63, 65, 69, 71, Sinan Pasha, 79n84, 80
72, 77, 78, 79, 81, 98, 99, 100, Sinan Pasha (grand amiral), 152
111n85, 112, 115, 134, 134n1, Sinan Pasha Madrasa, 195
146n3, 148, 149, 150, 151, 153, Sinaneddin Yusuf (vizier), 40
170, 171, 173, 182n42, 184, Sirac Hatib, 65, 66
184n53, 186, 193, 195, 196, 197, Siraceddin Halebi, 34, 37
205, 206, 208, 209, 223, 225 Siraceddin Urmevi, 33
professors of, 147, 148n8, 149 Sivas, 89
Samarkand, 34, 42, 64 Sofya, 176, 194
Sarajevo, judgeship of, 197, 198 Sokollu Mehmed Pasha, 152
Sarıca Pasha Madrasa (Gallipoli), 160, Sokollu Mehmed Pasha Madrasa, 195
183 Spain, 2
258 Index
status of novice. See mülazemet 79n84, 80, 114n90, 203n34, 205,

Şücaüddin İlyas, 37 205n48
Sufi Mehmed Pasha (governor-general Al-Shaqaʾiq, 9, 11, 37, 40, 42, 43,
of Rumeli), 193 44, 69, 74, 75, 76n73, 76n75, 77,
Şükrullah Şirvani (Mehmed II’s 79, 80, 92, 98, 100, 103
physician), 66, 80 Taşköprizade Hayreddin Halil, 42, 43,
Süleyman bin Vüheyb, 33 44, 81
Süleyman Çelebi bin Halil Pasha, Taşköprizade Muslihuddin Mustafa,
39n50 205
Süleyman Pasha, 152n22 Taşlık Madrasa (Edirne), 63
Süleyman the Magnificent, 12, 50, 52, Tekirdağ, 154
54, 56, 83, 86, 89, 95, 96, 97, 98, Tezcan, Baki, 217, 218, 221
98n47, 106, 119, 120, 121, 122, Thrace, 25
123, 126, 130, 145, 147, 148, 149, Timur, 25, 31, 34, 42, 54, 65
150, 153, 154, 174, 182, 196 Timurid lineage, 18
enthronement of, 85, 87, 121 Topkapı Palace, 52
Süleymaniye Madrasa (Damascus), Trabzon, 49, 115
153, 165 joint teaching and jurist position in,
Süleymaniye Madrasa (Mecca), 153, 197
154 Transoxiana, 17, 34, 64, 65, 65n25, 81
Süleymaniye Madrasa (Rhodes), 153, Tripoli, judgeship of, 197
165 Turhan Bey Madrasa
Süleymaniye madrasas (Istanbul), 148, (Larissa/Yenişehir), 37n35, 189
149, 150, 182n42, 196, 201 Tursun Bey, 68, 68n37
Sultan Abu Said (Timurid ruler), 66
Sultan Madrasa (Manisa), 182n42 Üç Şerefeli Madrasa (Edirne), 31, 101,
Sultaniye Madrasa (Bursa), 35n27, 36, 151, 175n19, 196
111n85, 151 Uluğ Beg, 65
Sunna, 3, 6, 18, 22, 94 ʿUmar (second caliph), 94
Sunullah (chief jurist), 161 Üskübi İshak Çelebi, 170
Sururi Mustafa, 183 Üsküdar, 63, 149, 150, 197
Syria, 19, 32, 33, 34, 50, 57n35, 64, Üsküp, 37, 79n84, 175
106, 107, 110, 113, 119, 125, 142, Uzun Bali, 180
165, 221 Uzun Hasan, 65, 66
governor of, 90, 123 Uzunçarşılı, İsmail Hakkı, 40
Tabib Ramazan (historian), 121 vakf/waqf. See endowment

Tabriz, 64, 87, 111n85, 122, 123 vâkıf/waqif. See endower
judgeship of, 197 Valide Sultan Madrasa (Atik Valide
Taceddin İbrahim, 35 Madrasa), 149, 201
Taceddin Kürdi, 33, 38 Veliyyüddin İbnü’l-Farfur, 203
Tacizade Cafer Çelebi, 86, 101 Venetians, 50, 87n14
Taftazani, Sadeddin, 34, 82 Vienna campaign, 120
Tahtazade Mehmed Efendi Madrasa
(Kasımpaşa, Istanbul), 159 Yahya bin Derviş, 185, 186
tajiks. See Safavid bureaucrats Yahya bin Zekeriyya, 174n16
Tarih-i Âl-i Selçuk. See Yazıcıoğlu Ali Yakub Hekim (Mehmed II’s physician),
Taşköprizade Ahmed, 9, 10, 37, 38, 39, 80
39n50, 60n5, 76n73, 76n74, 77, Yar Ali Şirazi, 38
Index 259
Yarhisarizade Mustafa, 101 Zekeriyya Efendi, 168n92,

yasa or yasak. See Mongol law 205n45
Yazıcıoğlu Ali, 26n38 Zeyneddin Mehmed Fenari, 203,
Yemen, 34, 142 204
Yenişehir, 37n35, 160, 176, 189, 197 Zeyrekzade Rükneddin, 112
Yusuf Bali bin Yegan, 35 Zilfi, Madeline, 221

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Scholars and Sultans in the Early Modern

During the early Ottoman period (1300–1453), scholars in the empire

abdurrahman atçıl is Assistant Professor and a fellow of the Brain

Cambridge University Press is part of the University of Cambridge.

This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception

List of Tables page ix

Part I Scholars during the Early Ottoman Period (1300–1453)

Part II The Formation of the Hierarchy (1453–1530)

Part III The Consolidation of the Hierarchy (1530–1600)

2.1 Madrasas constructed in Ottoman lands during the early

My interest in the topic of this book started when I was a Master’s

professional development. I was so fortunate to have William McClure,

I am delighted to thank Cambridge University Press editors William

Constantinople (Istanbul), the time-honored capital of the Roman

Interconnections in the Early Modern Period, 1500–1800,” Journal of Turkish

respectively) filled bureaucratic ranks and participated in administer-

and in different parts of the Islamic world, individual scholars estab-

of a professional group of scholars in Ottoman government service. I

This term refers to the separate bureaucratic hierarchical structure

Arabic.30 He collected information about the scholars and Sufis who

The Structure of This Study

Part II focuses on the formative period of the hierarchy of scholar-

affecting the success of individual scholar-bureaucrats in professional

Scholars during the Early Ottoman

The Ottoman political enterprise emerged in the northwestern corner

As Mongol power and ideology changed the political and ideolog-

Timurids in Transition: Turko-Persian Politics and Acculturation in Medieval

Once there, they worked to acquire independent or semi-independent

considered that carrying the title of sultan, which implied appoint-

Some principalities sought the support of those organized groups

times undertook the task of teaching reading and writing, as well as

which themselves were undergoing rapid transformation while con-

Be that as it may, the Ottoman principality gradually emerged as

wrought. Timur’s son, Shahrukh (r. 1405–47) treated Mehmed I and

Madrasas in the Early Ottoman Period

Table 2.1 Madrasas Constructed in Ottoman Lands during the Early

Source: Bilge, İlk Osmanlı Medreseleri.

The continuous construction of madrasas and their ubiquity consti-

Such quantification, however, appears to obscure the diversity of the

Table 2.2 Royal-Prestige Madrasas in Ottoman Lands during the Early

Manastır Madrasa Orhan 1335 Bursa

In all the tables (Tables 2.1–2.3), Murad II’s reign is outstanding.

Table 2.3 Distribution of Madrasas in Anatolia and

Source: Bilge, İlk Osmanlı Medreseleri.

plausible that in order to attract a greater number of scholars to their

Scholars Gravitate to Ottoman Lands

The first-known immigrant scholars came from the environs of

In the late fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries, three famous

Hafızuddin Muhammed Bezzazi (d. 1424), fled his region’s political

To summarize, during the early Ottoman period, the Ottomans

The Services of Scholars in Ottoman Lands

death.30 Siraceddin Halebi taught at Halebi Madrasa in Edirne until

During the early Ottoman period, some scholars were represented as

Murad II’s reign.45 Taşköprizade also mentions Mehmed Şah Yegani’s

Osman’s viziers Alaeddin Pasha and Sinaneddin Yusuf probably had

The Relationship of Scholars with the Ottoman Government

The first group included such scholars as Muhammed Cezeri,

education in Ottoman lands or in Anatolia. On the basis of the limited

to prevent rulers from interfering in the management of charitable

the early Ottoman period. Several scholars born in Anatolia or in other

The Formation of the Hierarchy

over Albania, Bosnia, and Serbia and marched toward Moldavia. In

the Safavids’ military and ideological challenge and the annexation