Heretics, Atheists or Simply Undesirable? Ottoman Officials’ Treatment of Melami-Bayrami Sufis and the Anatolian Kızılbaş in the Late Sixteenth Century

ABSTRACT

In the second half of the sixteenth century, Ottoman authorities carried out two waves of persecution of the members of the Melami-Bayrami Sufi order in the Ottoman European province of Bosnia. At the same time, similar persecutions took place in central Anatolia against the Kızılbaş and their sympathizers. Two different groups of religious subalterns at two opposite ends of the empire, one, a Sufi order with strong urban support and links with trade-guilds, and the other, a militant Shi’a movement with a rural power-base and links with the neighbouring Safavids, were afforded almost identical treatment by the Ottoman state.

Information on these persecutions can be found in legal opinions (fetvālar) and investigation or arrest warrants (ḥükümler) contained in the Ottoman ‘registers of important affairs’ (mühimme defterleri). This article examines a sample of these documents to ascertain the extent to which the Ottoman government saw these two groups as parts of the same phenomenon. It also assesses whether, in these persecutions, political and security concerns were of more pressing importance than the ostensive religious ones – a valuation that nuances the academic debate on the ratio between Ottoman administrative pragmatism on the one hand, and ‘Sunnitization’ tendencies on the other.

KEYWORDS:

• Melami-Bayramis
• Kızılbaş
• Ottoman Empire
• Sunnitization
• Ottoman Sufism
• Bosnia

Introduction

In the second half of the sixteenth century, the Ottoman authorities carried out two waves of ruthless persecution of the members of the Melami-Bayrami¹ Sufi order in the northern-most part of the Ottoman Empire’s European province of Bosnia. The first wave, in 1573, started with and centred on the execution of the leader and spiritual pole (ḳutup) of the order, Şeyh Hamza Bali. Hamza Bali had been a ḫalı̄fe of Şeyh Hüsameddin Ankaravi and, upon the latter’s death in 1557, became the head of the Melami-Bayrami order. He was arrested in his hometown of Tuzla, in the ḳaṣaba known at the time as Gornja (‘Upper’) Tuzla, sometime at the end of April 1573, on the basis of an imperial arrest warrant dated 22 April of that year.² Hamza was subsequently brought to Istanbul, where he was tried and convicted of heresy, and sentenced to death by stoning at the Atmeydan, the Istanbul Hippodrome. Hamza did die on the day intended for his execution, 6 June 1573, but this did not quite happen as the authorities had planned. According to several contemporary reports on the event, rumours of many Hamza supporters gathering at the Hippodrome had quickly spread. This caused the authorities, specifically the Grand Vizier Sokullu Mehmed Paşa (d. 1579), to cancel the planned execution and have Hamza killed on the way out of prison before he could make it to the arena, which was supposedly teeming with his followers and sympathizers. Many of the latter were apparently from among the ranks of the Janissaries, as the further dramatic development on this day attests: a çavuş (guard) sent by the Grand Vizier Sokullu promptly stopped Hamza as he was on his way to the Hippodrome and beheaded him. Straight after, one of the Janissaries present at the scene fell before the martyred sheikh, and, kissing the sheikh’s feet, slit his own throat exclaiming that by doing so he wished to become ‘an eternal witness to his master’s innocence, before the whole world’.³

A number of further arrests and prosecutions of suspected Hamza supporters in the areas bordering the Bosnian province (sancaḳ) followed these events over a period of several months.⁴ However, neither Hamza’s execution nor these subsequent persecutions had the desired effect. Hamza continued to gain devotees even after his death and the order changed its name to Hamzevi in honour of the sheikh’s martyrdom. A revival in the activities of the Hamzevi order in north-eastern Bosnia, closely followed by another surge in persecutions in the area, occurred less than a decade later, in 1582.⁵

At almost exactly the same time as Sheikh Hamza’s execution and the purges that followed it, the second large phase of the persecutions of the Kızılbaş and their suspected sympathizers, was taking place deep inside central Anatolia. The Kızılbaş can be defined as Anatolian Turcoman peasants and tribesmen who were the followers of the Ṣafavī Sufi order, founded by Sheikh Ṣafī al-Dīn (d. 1334) in Ardabil, and thus, by extension, sympathizers of the Safavid dynasty and empire.⁶ By that stage, the second half of the sixteenth century, these groups, in direct collaboration with or supported by the Safavids, had been rebelling against Ottoman authority for decades and they had already gone through the first phase of the persecutions by the Ottoman state. The most important examples of such rebellions were that of Şah Ḳulu in 1511, the Şah Veli uprising in 1520 and the Ḳalender revolt in 1527.⁷

The fact that these two sets of persecutions were occurring at exactly the same time – albeit several hundred miles apart – in itself seems to indicate a connection between the two phenomena. Were there any similarities between these two seemingly different religious groups: one a Sufi order with strong urban support and links with trade-guilds, the other a militant Shi’a movement with a rural power-base and links with the neighbouring Safavids?

The first thing that comes to mind is that each phenomenon was a revival of a previous movement, and the persecutions of them by the Ottoman state were re-enactments of previous such persecutions. In the case of the Melami-Bayrami order, the precedent was the execution in 1529 of another Melami-Bayrami spiritual pole, İsmail Maşuki, also known as Oğlan Şeyh, together with his twelve followers.⁸ This seemingly put a halt to the order’s more extreme heterodox tendencies and they did not attract much attention from the Ottoman authorities again until the appearance of Şeyh Hamza Bali in the second half of the sixteenth century. In the case of the Kızılbaş, they suffered some of the most extensive persecutions in the wake of the Şah Kulu rebellion in 1511, and again in the wake of Süleyman I’s (r. 1520–1566) military campaigns into Iran in 1533–1535.⁹

Second, although, as hinted at above, Hamza and his followers had particularly strong links with the urban artisan population in Bosnia,¹⁰ evidence suggests that, at least as far as the capital Istanbul was concerned, the Melami-Bayrami order was very popular among the Janissaries too. Thus, the Janissary who slit his own throat as a sacrifice to his master Sheikh Hamza also reportedly exclaimed that he was not the only Hamza devotee there and that there were some five hundred others in the Janissary corps in Istanbul who were also ardent Melami-Bayrami supporters.¹¹ Furthermore, there is evidence that suggests that members of the sipāhı̄ (feudal cavalry) troops in Bosnia may have also belonged to the Melami-Bayrami order there.¹² This gives the order an additional military dimension, and hence a potential militant character that would have been a further concern for the Ottoman authorities.

Third, it has already been proposed that the swift and ruthless measures taken against Hamza and his followers were primarily due to this order acquiring, at least in their stronghold of Gornja Tuzla, a very strong socio-political character and sectarian tendencies. In keeping with Melami-Bayrami tradition, the order seems at some point to have made attempts at political independence and disowning the official local authorities through formation of their own internal court and appointment of court officials.¹³

There are thus a number of similarities between these two religious groups. Their simultaneous appearance and reappearance, and the Ottoman authorities’ immediate and swift attempts to supress them, do not seem to be coincidental. In her article ‘Sufis in the Age of State-building and Confessionalization’, Derin Terzioğlu observes that the so-called ‘Sunnitization’ process, which the Ottoman Empire underwent for most of the sixteenth century, should not be thought of as a one-sided development. This is because it consisted of a number of different transformations in both directions, namely, both a movement of the Ottoman state and elite towards a more orthodox stance, and, among other parts of the population, a movement in the more heterodox and Shi’a-oriented direction.¹⁴ Adopting Terzioğlu’s standpoint, the two phenomena of the Kızılbaş rebellions and the reinvigoration of the more heterodox tendencies of the Melami-Bayrami order in the shape of the Hamzevis can be characterized as belonging to the latter movement, namely the ‘Shi’itization’ process among certain parts of the Ottoman population. This leads to a further observation regarding the current academic debate on the nature of the ‘Sunnitization’, or – to follow Terzioğlu’s lexicon – ‘confessionalization’ process. Namely, that the persecutions of Shi’a and other heterodox groups in the sixteenth century were not caused by the Ottoman state having an intrinsically Sunni character; rather, the adoption of this character was in many ways conditioned by the ‘Shi’itization’ processes that were occurring at the time.¹⁵ Moreover, as the Kızılbaş persecutions centred on security concerns, the above-mentioned similarities between the Kızılbaş and the Melami-Bayrami order, in terms of the latter’s character and activities in the second half of the sixteenth century, would suggest that similar concerns were important in the Melami-Bayrami persecutions too.

However, what do we know about the Ottoman state’s view on this? How did it perceive the two phenomena, and what does this tell us about the place of these two movements in the ‘Sunnitization’ process? Does the Ottoman state’s view of these two groups help us determine the extent of their role as a cause rather than an effect in relation to this process?

Some information on this can be gleaned from the official documents dealing with these persecutions, specifically, the orders for arrests or investigation (ḥükümler or fermānlar) contained in the Imperial Divan’s ‘registers of important affairs’ (mühimme defterleri), and the legal opinions (fetvālar) used to justify the measures taken against the members of these groups.

‘Heretics’, ‘atheists’ or simply undesirable? Definitions, templates and the terminology of the persecution documents

In the orders for arrest or investigation against them, the Melami-Bayrami Sufis accused of heresy are most commonly referred to as ‘mülḥid’ (‘atheist’ or ‘unbeliever’) and they are charged with ‘ilḥād’ (‘atheism’ or ‘unbelief’). To this, the charge of ‘zandaḳa’ (‘heresy’) is also sometimes added, referring to the accused as ‘zındı̄ḳ’ (‘heretic’), seemingly in order to reinforce the seriousness of the heterodoxy in question and justify the recommendation of the death penalty.

In the persecution documents relating to the Kızılbaş, the latter are likewise most often referred to as ‘mülāḥide’ (‘atheists’ or ‘unbelievers’) or ‘zındı̄ḳlar’ (‘heretics’).¹⁶

The consistency with which this terminology was employed, and the similarity between the terms used in the two cases, is not accidental. This is because the vocabulary of the imperial orders issued in the second half of the sixteenth century was by no means arbitrary. Rather, it closely followed that formulated in the fetvās issued by a number of prominent scholars earlier in that century, both with regard to the Kızılbaş and in relation to renegade Sufis, including the Melami-Bayramis. The most famous of these scholars were Kemalpaşazade (d. 1534) and Ebussuud Efendi (d. 1574), but one of the earliest fetvās in this category, issued against the Kızılbaş, in fact came from a lesser-known scholar Müfti Hamza (d. 1521). It was composed around 1511 and, given its contents, it is fair to say that it sets the tone for similar documents that followed. In his fetvā, Müfti Hamza lists a number of transgressions and crimes that the Kızılbaş are accused of or reported to have committed, with the aim of defining them as heretical and declaring fighting against them and killing them as lawful:

Muslims, know and beware! The Kızılbaş, whose leader is Erdebiloğlu İsmail, are treating with contempt the Sharia and the Sunna of our Prophet, peace be upon him, the religion of Islam, the religious science, and the glorious Qur’an. They say that the sins that God Almighty has declared as forbidden are lawful, and they do not take them seriously (istihfāf ettikleri). They denigrate and destroy the glorious Qur’an and books on Sharia, and they betray and kill the ʿulemā and other upstanding members of the religious community, destroying their mosques, and instead prostrating in prayer to their accursed leader. They also curse the venerable Ebu Bekir and Ömer, may God be pleased with them, and deny their caliphship, as well as cursing our Prophet’s wife and our mother Ayşe … [For this reason] … we have issued a fetvā to the effect that the above-mentioned group are infidels (kāfirler) and atheists (mülḥidler), and all those who are inclined towards them, and agree with and aid their corrupt religion are also infidels and atheists. Killing them and dispersing their gatherings is an obligatory duty incumbent upon all Muslims … ¹⁷

Calling Shah İsmail (r. 1501–1524) their leader, the fetvā thus makes a direct link between the Kızılbaş and the Safavids, this being one of the common traits of all such fetvās issued subsequently. They were issued in relation to either specifically the Kızılbaş, or the Safavids more generally, but with the Kızılbaş included in the latter category either explicitly or implicitly by an already-established association, such as the one at the start of this fetvā. They were issued either during or just before an Ottoman-Safavid conflict, or occasioned by a Kızılbaş unrest (this one seems to have been prompted by the Şah Kulu rebellion in 1511), with the aim of justifying entering into armed conflict with and killing the two groups. To strengthen the argument, making the killing of the Safavids and/or the Kızılbaş not just lawful, but religiously incumbent upon all (read Sunni) Muslims, was preferable and additional charges of heterodoxy were often added to ‘seal the deal’. Here, Müfti Hamza says at the very end of his fetvā: ‘All in all, this group are both infidels and atheists, and defectors/rebels (ehl-i fesād), and killing them is a duty on two counts (iki cihetten).’¹⁸

Similar in content and sharing common components is a short treatise (risāla, in Arabic) by Kemalpaşazâde against Shah İsmail and his followers, written probably around the same time as Müfti Hamza’s fetvā, or just before Selim I’s (r. 1512–1520) campaign against the Safavids in 1514, also with the aim of legitimizing armed conflict with the latter. After listing transgressions similar to those mentioned above, such as cursing the first three Sunni caliphs, Kemalpaşazade charges the Safavids with ‘küfür’ (‘unbelief’), and ‘irtidād’ (‘apostasy’). He declares the murder of those who abandon the ‘realm of Islam’ (dār al-Islām) in favour of their corrupt religion (in other words, all of them, as they are all apostates) ‘a religious obligation incumbent upon all Muslims who are able to fight’. He also makes sure that the opinions given include the Kızılbaş: those who ‘voluntarily wear their special red headgear’ are openly displaying ‘signs of unbelief (küfür) and atheism (ilḥād)’. Furthermore, to ensure that all possible renegades are covered, Kemalpaşazade declares that even those among Safavid followers who surrender and are then freed, should ‘most certainly’ be killed if they later show themselves to be heretics (zındı̄ḳ).¹⁹ Thus, we have all possibilities catered for, ensuring that each not only justifies but actually necessitates killing the Safavids/Kızılbaş. By initially defining them as apostates as well as infidels, Kemalpaşazâde charges them with the highest degree of heterodoxy, and makes their murder both lawful and obligatory; if they surrender and nominally return to the realm of Islam, should heresy be detected among them, their murder is once again recommended. This feature, ensuring that recommending murder/death penalty is thoroughly justified and covered from a number of angles, is perpetuated in fetvās against renegade Sufis, and in government orders issued against both groups.

An often-cited fetvā by Ebussuud Efendi, composed in 1548 or 1549, further clarifies the prescription regarding the killing of the Kızılbaş. When asked whether killing the Kızılbaş is lawful (ḥelāl), and whether those who kill them would be considered as warriors of faith (ġāzı̄), while those killed by them would be martyrs (şehı̄t), Ebussuud replies: ‘Yes, [that would be] the greatest of holy wars and a glorious martyrdom.’²⁰

Once the parameters of the Safavid/Kızılbaş heresy were thus defined, the template could be used whenever needed. As long as somebody could be shown to fit the definition, on whichever count, the same punishment could be sought and applied to them. Indeed, even just labelling somebody as Kızılbaş would be sufficient for them to be automatically considered guilty of heresy as formulated in the relevant fetvās, and for their persecution to be justified. That this became a common practice is shown by the example of Shi’a communities in Syria, examined by Stefan Winter. These groups had previously been successfully integrated into the Ottoman establishment and society but, in the seventeenth century, during political, security or fiscal disputes with them, Ottoman officials increasingly began labelling them as Kızılbaş. According to Winter, this was not because of their link with the Safavids, but ‘as a legal device in order to justify official violence over more prosaic matters such as brigandage and tax evasion’.²¹ These communities thus provide a valuable insight into the pragmatism of the Ottoman state when it came to their treatment of non-Sunni groups and its place within the Sunnitization process: while enjoying a propitious relationship with the establishment, these groups’ Shi’ism was not problematic and they were not considered apostates ‘outside the realm of Islam’, but could easily become so when the political or security circumstances called for it. All that was needed was to associate them with the term Kızılbaş.

A similar development delineating the parameters of heresy and setting up a template for subsequent persecutions can be traced in the context of renegade preachers, heterodox Sufis and Sufi groups and, in particular, the Melami-Bayramis. Shortly after becoming Şeyhülislam in 1526, Kemalpaşazade was involved in two significant heresy trials. The first, in 1527, was that of Molla Kabız, a preacher who was charged as a heretic (zındı̄ḳ) for claiming Jesus’s superiority over the Prophet Muhammad. As Molla Kabız was apparently very skilled in defending his views, using both the Qur’an and the Hadith to do so, Kemalpaşazade himself had to take part in the trial in order to refute Molla Kabız’s claims. He then both issued a fetvā, declaring Kabız a zındı̄ḳ, and subsequently wrote a treatise further elaborating upon the legitimacy of this fetvā and the meaning of the term.²² Molla Kabız was charged as a heretic (as opposed to an atheist or an apostate) and was thus tried in accordance with the legal procedure prescribed for heretics. He was given a chance to retract his beliefs, which he refused to do and was subsequently sentenced to death.²³

The second heresy trial, and the one that set the precedent for classifying Melami-Bayramis as heretics, was that of the Melami-Bayrami Şeyh İsmail Maşuki, also known as Oğlan Şeyh, in 1529. İsmail Maşuki was seemingly accused of a plethora of heretical beliefs, including idolatry and anthropomorphism (presumably based on his subscribing to Ibn ʿArabī’s doctrine of the ‘unity of being’ [waḥdat al-wujūd]), denying the afterlife, dismissing the importance of the prescribed obligatory forms of worship, and declaring permissible such illicit acts as wine drinking and fornication.²⁴ Very little is known about the course of this trial, including whether and how Maşuki responded to these allegations, but we know that the end result was Kemalpaşazade’s issuing of a fetvā in which Maşuki was declared a heretic (zındı̄ḳ) and an atheist (mülḥid). Based on this fetvā, Maşuki and his twelve followers were sentenced to death and executed.²⁵

Given the lack of any other sources of information on this matter, it is hard to determine how many of the charges levelled against Maşuki were justified and how many could have been added for the purposes of the trial. Thus, for instance, the charge of idolatry and anthropomorphism sounds plausible, as we know that Melami-Bayramis nourished a strong tradition of reverence for Ibn ʿArabī and adherence to his teachings. However, both the allegation about dismissing the obligatory forms of worship and the one regarding the lawfulness of wine and fornication sound more like parts of the official legal proceedings at the trial. This is because a typical heresy trial procedure included a ‘heresy test’, which involved ascertaining the suspected heretic’s views on obligatory and forbidden acts in Islamic law. Thus, the accused would be confronted with examples of obligatory and forbidden acts, and if they were shown to belittle the importance of the first, i.e. hold them to be voluntary, and to hold the second to be lawful, their heresy was considered to have been proven. As Colin Imber observes, wine-drinking and fornication were the most obviously illicit acts, with symbolic connotations. This is why they are often found among the allegations levelled by the Ottoman authorities at heretical groups suspected of being disloyal to the sultan. ‘These acts were especially shocking to orthodox Muslims, and, by claiming that suspected heretics regularly indulged in them, the authorities could “prove” that they had declared the forbidden to be licit, and so justify their execution.’²⁶

Whatever the case may have been, İsmail Maşuki’s trial and Kemalpaşazade’s fetvā recommending his execution established a precedent for categorizing Melami-Bayramis as heretics and set up a template for further prosecutions of those Sufis. This is evident in the fetvā issued by Ebussuud Efendi at Hamza Bali’s trial in 1573. In this fetvā, Ebussuud declares that he is satisfied that Hamza is an atheist (mülḥid) ‘leading Muslims into heresy and godlessness’ and that it is therefore lawful to execute him. He asserts that it was established, before reliable witnesses, that Hamza propagated views that insulted the honour of the Prophet, and that he denied the afterlife and Judgement Day. He further states:

On the basis of the fetvā of my noble teacher, the late Ibn Kemal, İsmail Maşuki was sentenced and executed. The Sharia decision against Ismail was based on his being declared a heretic (zındı̄ḳ) and an atheist (mülḥid). Therefore, if Şeyh Hamza is in that same tarı̄qa, he too is a heretic, and his execution is in accordance with the Sharia prescriptions.²⁷

This final reasoning, namely basing the recommendation for executing Hamza on that given in relation to İsmail Maşuki, seems to override any other considerations, and puts into question the importance of establishing Hamza’s own views at the trial. It seems that, as far as Ebussuud Efendi was concerned, regardless of what may have been established in relation to Hamza’s teachings, simply belonging to the same order as İsmail Maşuki was a sufficient indictment. Here, too, as in the case of the fetvās against the Kızılbaş, we find the importance of a precedent and presumed guilt by association. Hamza Bali’s case also shows the significance of setting up a template and the relevant terminology, which could then be replicated as and when needed.

It is thus clear that, by the time of the latter waves of the persecutions of both groups, those in the second half of the sixteenth century, the templates for the persecution and subsequent prosecution of both the Kızılbaş and the Melami-Bayrami Sufis had already been set up. The terminology was well established and the governmental documents simply had to reproduce it to make their claims legally justified. The similarity between the terminologies defined by the fetvās issued against these two groups undoubtedly accounts for some of the similarities between the two sets of later persecution documents too.

Although, of course, in most cases, both the Melami-Bayrami and the Kızılbaş persecution documents contained some specific information regarding individuals or groups to be investigated, or specific charges brought against them, even in such cases, the language of the orders is formulaic and stereotyped. Thus, for instance, an imperial order (ḥüküm) issued to the Sancaḳbey of Herzegovina, dated 25 August 1573, states:

Some atheists (mülāḥide) have now appeared in the Sancak of Herzegovina. It has been reported that there are those who are mourning the previously arrested and executed mülḥid Hamza, so have the local kadis (topraḳ kāḍıları) investigate their actions in accordance with the Sharia. With whomever atheism (mülḥidlik) is proven, they should be arrested. A report on the procedure should be sent. … Their current actions and behaviour should be ascertained, and should it be established that they are marked with atheism (ilḥād), heresy (zandaḳa), or not belonging to any madhhab (bı̄-mezheblik), they, and any of their followers, should be arrested immediately. … If it is heard that they were protected by somebody, the punishment intended for the said mülāḥide will fall upon the necks of their protectors. Therefore, beware of offering protection to them.²⁸

An imperial order issued to the kadis of Diyarbekir and Ruha, on 22 September 1574, orders them to investigate two individuals accused of ‘being of the wrong religion’ and having connections with Iran, this latter identifying them as Kızılbaş, even if this term does not itself appear in the order:

… The aforementioned are heretics [judging by the terminology earlier in the order, probably mülāḥide] and their affair has already been investigated by the governor of Diyarbekir, Hüseyin (May his good fortune endure), following our noble decree. … I order you not to waste a moment and to investigate the affair of Shaverdi and his son from the notables of the province who have no bias. If the heresy [probably ilḥād] of the aforementioned is true, and if it is proven that they have received donations and have made contacts with Iran, then detain them and send a report, but refrain from taking forced testimony and misrepresenting the truth.²⁹

Some orders are much more sweeping, such as the order issued to the Sancakbey and kadi of Amasya and a number of kadis in Rum in August 1581, which simply instructs them to carry out ‘a general investigation of suspected Kızılbaş in the towns and villages’.³⁰ Some such sweeping orders relating to the investigations of the Kızılbaş in Anatolia, like the above-mentioned order regarding the Melami-Bayramis sent to the Sancakbey of Herzegovina, also refer to the local kadis, and the need for the investigations to be carried out with their cooperation.³¹ The formulaic phrase found in the above ḥüküm ‘to investigate their actions in accordance with the Sharia’ is often repeated with some variation, e.g. ‘guilt was proven according to the Sharia’ or ‘they should receive punishment according to the Sharia’, in both orders issued in relation to the Melami-Bayramis and the Kızılbaş. It is possible that this was because the matter was left in the hands of the local kadis, which the references to the latter in some orders would seem to corroborate. The kadis would have been expected to exercise their own discretion as to the appropriate punishment, relying, of course, on the already established definitions in the fetvās issued earlier, and the corresponding terminology used in the investigation orders. However, Colin Imber – who was one of the first scholars to analyse these documents from the mühimme defterleri – also observed that this formulaic language used in the orders against the Kızılbaş seems to indicate that the Ottoman state, represented by the Imperial Divan, which issued the orders, did not necessarily pay close attention to the procedure of the persecutions in question as long as dissent was suppressed swiftly and by whatever means.³² Judging by albeit much smaller numbers of orders referring to Melami-Bayrami Sufis, the same consideration seems to apply there. Apart from the general statements such as the one about the investigation being carried out ‘in accordance with the Sharia’, as is very often the case in the Kızılbaş-related documents, here too, the punishment for those who are proven to be heretics is not specified.

Sponsors, spies and the ‘Inquisition’ mentality

Some characteristics of the manner in which the persecutions of both the Melami-Bayramis and the Kızılbaş were carried out have already been pointed out above. Many orders instructing the local government to carry out the investigations do not specify the procedure they should follow or the punishments to be applied. This may well be because, in both cases, the government needed to rely on the local Sharia representatives and their discretion in dealing with these matters, which is why the importance of handing the investigation over to the local kadis is sometimes explicitly mentioned. This would mean that the kadis were expected to use the already set templates for proving the heresy and the well-established terminology formulated in the fetvās and replicated in the orders. Just like the ways in which the legal apparatus for dealing with these two groups were developed, the manners in which their persecutions were carried out bear remarkable resemblances, pointing, once again, towards a similarity in the way in which the Ottoman government viewed these two phenomena. As long as they were efficiently supressed, the Imperial Divan was not inclined to interfere, nor was it necessarily interested in the way in which the heresy, atheism or disloyalty of these groups was proven. There are other parallels too.

From the wording in most of the Melami-Bayramis-related mühimme documents, it is clear that, in obtaining information on the suspected undesirables, the state must have relied on local informants. This is evident from phrases such as ‘it has been reported’, as in the case of the above-mentioned ḥüküm of 25 August 1573, issued to the Sancaḳbey of Herzegovina.³³ In many cases, the whereabouts of the suspects are known, and sometimes described in great detail. The warrant for Hamza Bali’s arrest issued on 22 April 1573 specifies his location, not just in terms of the town, but also in terms of the street and the house where he was living at the time:

Imperial order (ḥüküm) to the Zvornik Sancakbey and Zvornik kadi: in the aforementioned province (sancaḳ), in the town (ḳaṣaba) of Gornja Tuzla, arrest a certain Hamza, who is residing in the house of Sefer, the son of subaşı (chief of police) Hasan, in the maḥalle (quarter) of Eski Cuma. If he runs, make responsible his guarantors (kāfiller): Havace Ibrahim, the preacher (hatı̄p), and Cafer halife, the imam in the Hacı Hasan Mosque, Osman halife, the hatı̄p in the Atik mosque, and Sinan halife, the hatı̄p in the Hacı Bayezid Mosque. Have them found, and handed over to my cavuş Mustafa, and have them bound and sent to the Imperial Porte. … ³⁴

Likewise, many documents relating to the persecutions of the Kızılbaş use generic expressions such as ‘we have received reports’ or ‘pious men have reported’.³⁵ Occasionally, individuals specifically identified as spies are mentioned, such as a certain Kara Yakup, who was spying on a number of Anatolian villages in the late 1570s.³⁶ There must have been others employed in the same service, but a number of such reports indicate that the government was also reliant upon another source of information, namely, voluntary denunciation not just by local officials in the service of the government, such as the local kadis or members of the military corps, but also by friends and neighbours turned unofficial informers. Thus, according to the earlier mentioned imperial order issued to the kadis of Diyarbekir and Ruha on 22 September 1574, it was the residents of Ruha who ‘have expressed grievances against’ the two suspected Kızılbaş.³⁷ In 1579, the Imperial Divan received a report from the kadi of Kurşunlu stating that ‘ʿulemā and pious men in the district had reported the activities of four men in the village of Bahaeddin who were heretics in contact with Persia, and sent offerings to the Shah’.³⁸ Similarly, in the summer of 1585, the Divan received a report from the Rum Defterdar that ‘the people of Amasya’ had sent an agent to inform on a certain Şeyh Haydar from a village near the town. According to the informants, Şeyh Haydar had re-appeared after a long absence, and ‘was holding assemblies in the Kızılbaş villages in the area’, with the aim of raising 40,000 men and instigating an armed rebellion. As a result of this denunciation by his fellow villagers, Şeyh Haydar was captured and the Divan ordered his execution.³⁹ Communal tensions, distrust and the ‘Inquisition’ mentality created by the Ottoman authorities’ persecutions and anti-heretic propaganda were so rife by the second half of the sixteenth century that they were found not only on the level of neighbours, but even within the same households: in June 1571, in Kastamonu, a villager’s wife denounced her husband Kara Recep to the authorities, accusing him of taking part in orgies with his ‘Kızılbaş friends’.⁴⁰

The existence of official informants in the case of both the Melami-Bayramis and the Kızılbaş means that the Ottoman government must have considered both of these phenomena sufficiently important to establish such efficient informant and spy networks, in some cases employing centrally appointed professional spies. It remains to be ascertained when these networks would have first been established.

The instances of unofficial denunciation by fellow townsmen, villagers or neighbours are a testimony to the effectiveness of the anti-heretic propaganda initiated by the Ottoman authorities in both cases. Examples of such propaganda have already been mentioned here and include definitions of heresy and lists of illicit acts and beliefs found in the fetvās or court indictments against the members of the two groups. Nevertheless, the existence of these unofficial informants also provides evidence that the process was not entirely one-sided or top-down, with the Ottoman subjects thus taking an active part in the persecutions of undesirable heterodox elements within their society and, by extension, in the ‘Sunnitization’ process. That this does not apply only to ‘pious’ citizens, i.e. ‘righteous’ Sunnis who took it upon themselves to denounce suspicious neighbours and friends, but also to the latter, namely, those suspected of heresy, is attested by a number of examples where they, in turn, disputed the allegations against them and actively sought to clear themselves of the accusations.⁴¹ In some cases, the outcome of such investigations was the release of falsely accused prisoners, who turned out to be ‘Sunnis’.⁴² The possibility of false accusations and the need to avoid them was clearly taken seriously by the government, as the end of the 1574 order to the Diyarbekir and Ruha kadis confirms: ‘ … Detain them and send a report, but refrain from taking forced testimony and misrepresenting the truth.’⁴³

The above cited order for the arrest of Hamza Bali reveals another important dimension to these persecutions, namely, the level of support both of these groups had, not only among the ordinary people, such as the villagers of northern Bosnia or central Anatolia, but also among the educated elite, as well as high-ranking government and military personnel. The order mentions the names of Hamza’s ‘guarantors’, Havace Ibrahim, Osman halife, Sinan halife and Cafer halife, all of whom were members of the ʿulemā: three hatı̄ps and an imam of the local mosques. This suggests that Hamza had already been identified as suspect sometime before the order for his arrest was issued and that, at that earlier time, these respected members of the Sunni ʿulemā vouched for him and his cooperation with the authorities. When the case against Hamza later escalated, their promised cooperation was called upon. It is not clear why these particular members of the ʿulemā would have volunteered to act as Hamza’s guarantors. Were they too Hamza’s sympathizers, either overtly or clandestinely, and did they perhaps offer their guarantee in hope of being able to save him from prosecution? Either way, the ḥüküm’s wording leaves their situation rather ambiguous. The second part of the order repeats the sponsors’ responsibility in the matter:

If he escapes, make his guarantors take the responsibility, and have them found at all costs. If there are any of his followers, have them arrested too, and, bound, be handed over to my abovementioned çavuş. … This is an important matter, so take heed. In no circumstances should it be allowed for the abovementioned and his people not to be caught.⁴⁴

Given that Hamza was arrested, his sponsors presumably handed him over to the authorities; if not, it is hard to imagine how they too would not have been accused of heresy or disloyalty for protecting him. The documents, unfortunately, do not shed any light on this issue. The same applies to the subaşı Hasan and his son Sefer: were they ‘guarantors’ too and thus keeping Hamza under some sort of house arrest, or where they supporters sheltering him? In the neighbouring Sancaḳ of Bosnia, some other high-ranking officials were Hamza’s supporters: two orders were issued between September and November 1573 in relation to the arrest and transport to Istanbul of a certain voivode Hasan and four city guards (müstaḥfıẓān).⁴⁵

As mentioned earlier, apart from having a strong support base among the Janissaries in Istanbul, in Bosnia the Melami-Bayramis also seem to have had sympathizers among the sipāhı̄s. This is confirmed by the Imperial order issued on 1 June 1582 to the kadis of Zvornik, Gračanica and Tuzla, which instructs them to carry out an investigation into a number of inhabitants of Gornja Tuzla who were suspected of being Hamza’s followers. The order indicates that some of them could be sipāhı̄s: ‘If they are sipāhı̄s, arrest the suspects and send a report about it. If the suspects are not sipāhı̄s, carry out the measures due to them according to the Sharia immediately’.⁴⁶ Thus, the order provides for special treatment of military personnel, whose sentence was not to be carried out there and then.

The situation with the Kızılbaş was similar. There are many instances of sipāhı̄s being mentioned as either protectors of, or suspected ‘heretics’ themselves. The persecution documents suggest special treatment for them, as they were ordered to be sent to Istanbul instead of being sentenced and/or punished by the local authorities. Thus, in November 1575, nine sipāhı̄s in Mosul were proven to be heretics ‘according to the procedures of the Sharia’, and were ordered to be sent to Istanbul for the execution of their sentences.⁴⁷ Similarly, in 1572, in Koyluhisar, a sipāhı̄ Ahmed and a number of his associates were accused of being Kızılbaş and, in 1579, a sipāhı̄ Ibrahim was denounced to the kadi of Artıkabad for sheltering Kızılbaş renegades.⁴⁸ In most cases, the sipāhı̄s were not to be treated in the same way as other suspected or convicted heretics, and were either not tried locally at all or, if they were, their sentences were not to be carried out by the local authorities. They were to be ‘arrested and their case reported’, or sent ‘tied and bound’ to Istanbul.⁴⁹

Wine, fornication and secret gatherings – the common narratives of illicit behaviour

The above mentioned Imperial order from 1 June 1582, demanding an investigation into a number of suspected Melami-Bayrami followers in the town of Gornja Tuzla and neighbouring regions, contains some more specific information on the nature of the allegations against these suspects. After listing the names of the accused, the order reads:

They were presented before the honourable court on the charge of being followers of the earlier tried and executed atheist (mülḥid) Hamza, that one of them had proclaimed himself ‘Sultan’, and that they had been gathering together with their wives for entertainment, and so, apart from committing bad and according to the Sharia illicit acts, they appropriated the ‘Sultanate’ for themselves. Having been asked about it, they denied it. However, Muslims Ömer halife and Yusuf halife, the son of Mehmed, bore witness to the fact that mülḥid Mehmed, son of Hasan, said, ‘I have become Sultan Mehmed, in place of Sultan Hamza.’ As you have also reported that to the question, ‘Why did you allow your wives to meet up with men to whom they are not related?’, some of them answered, ‘If that is forbidden to you, it is allowed to us’, and, as it has been seen that, at these gatherings, they were touching the shoulders of other men’s wives and committing some other despicable acts, I am ordering for this matter to be investigated in accordance with the Sharia.⁵⁰

It has already been mentioned earlier in this article that, at some point between Hamza Bali’s execution in 1573 and the second surge of persecutions in 1582, the Melami-Bayrami (by now known as Hamzevi) order seems to have rejected the official local authorities through formation of their own internal court and appointment of court officials.⁵¹ The reference to the appropriation of the ‘Sultanate’ in the above document could thus be related to the organization’s attempts at independence from the official authorities, rather than being a misunderstanding or deliberate misrepresentation of the spiritual title sometimes applied to Sufis of high station, and known to have been used for Hamza Bali by his supporters.

The allegation regarding illicit gatherings seems at first sight like nothing more than a standard application of the ‘heresy test’, which involves proving that the accused considers an unlawful act as lawful, fornication often being used as a paradigm for such acts.⁵² Indeed, the order explicitly mentions the suspects being questioned about the lawfulness of this particular action, which indicates that this may have been a part of the prescribed court procedure for proving heresy. There is, however, another dimension to this allegation.

An Imperial order from January 1579 asked the Kangırı Sancakbey to investigate whether the population of that region had been organizing secret gatherings of men and women, in which they played a stringed instrument called çeşte, danced and ‘became heretics (rāfıżı̄)’.⁵³ An order issued to the Sancakbey and kadi of Amasya in August of 1581 is more explicit and, for the purposes here, even more revealing. It instructs the above officials to carry out a general investigation of Kızılbaş in the area, who, according to the order, ‘assemble at night, bringing wives and daughters to their assemblies, where they have disposal of one another’s wives and daughters’.⁵⁴ The resemblance between the allegations here and those levelled at the suspected members of the Hamzevi/Melami-Bayrami order less than a year later is obvious.

According to Imber, who also noted the repetition of the same accusations in the context of the ‘reported’ activities of the Melamis in Bosnia, this was simply a caricature of Kızılbaş ceremonies that allowed the participation of both sexes.⁵⁵ This is confirmed by Ayşe Baltacıoğlu-Brammer, who observes that the Kızılbaş rituals and ceremonies, and their secretive nature, were used by the Ottoman authorities to create a sort of ‘metanarrative’ of the heresy of Shi’ism in contradistinction to the ‘true faith’ of Sunnism.⁵⁶ This metanarrative uses the fact that the Kızılbaş ceremonies were mixed and that they were carried out in secret in order effectively to create practical and ready-made evidence for the heresy test of approving fornication: if the Ottoman authorities can show that the suspected undesirables indulged in illicit acts, this automatically ‘proves’ that they consider them licit, which in turn proves that they are heretics and justifies the prescribed punishment – normally execution. Thus, the ceremonies that are known to have consisted of participants listening to their preachers, Safavid-sponsored proselytizers called halı̄fes, taking part in dhikr and then sharing a meal together,⁵⁷ became the practice of mum sӧndü, ‘the forbidden assembly of men and women in which, upon the lamps being out, the company engaged in a promiscuous and indiscriminate orgy’.⁵⁸

It is therefore obvious that this narrative of immoral sexual behaviour at illicit gatherings is yet another template, devised in the context of the Kızılbaş, but nevertheless applicable, as far as Ottoman officials were concerned, to other undesirable elements, as and when needed. Thus, once ready, the narrative was simply extended to the Melami-Bayramis, who are not even known to have had any comparable ceremonies, proving yet again that, in the Ottoman authorities’ view, these two groups of ‘renegades’ were two sides of the same coin who could be, and largely were, dealt with in the same manner.

Finally, one notable difference between the treatments of the two groups must be mentioned. Apart from the secret execution of Hamza Bali himself, in order to avoid rebellion at the capital, there does not seem to be any indication of the application of secrecy in the context of the persecutions of the Melami-Bayramis. A number of Kızılbaş-related documents, however, regularly suggest inventing a different charge under which to prosecute suspected Kızılbaş. In some cases, secret executions are also ordered.⁵⁹ This suggests that the real reasons for prosecuting certain undesirables were kept hidden, possibly so as not to alert others in the area and allow for their capture. In the case of the Melami-Bayramis, however, the intention seems to have been the opposite: namely, to prosecute the suspected heretics precisely on that basis and set an example to other potential devotees. One possible explanation for this could simply be that the Kızılbaş were more numerous and, as they were more militant, possibly considered more dangerous, whereas the suspected Melami-Bayramis were more likely to be supressed in one or two swift moves.

Conclusion

The phenomena of the persecution by the Ottoman state of the Melami-Bayrami Sufi order, on the one hand, and the Safavid-sponsored militant Kızılbaş, on the other, occurred periodically throughout the sixteenth century, at almost perfectly matching points in time. The manners of the persecution of the two groups followed very similar formats. The Ottoman authorities created the necessary framework within which these groups were to be treated, by denouncing them in a series of legal opinions, which then formed the basis for the persecutions. The opinions, mostly in the form of fetvās, provided templates to be used as and when needed. These templates could be adjusted according to context, as was the case with the ‘immoral sexual behaviour’ narrative constructed on the basis of the Kızılbaş ceremonies and extended to Melami-Bayrami Sufis. Although both sets of persecutions were religious at the core, the patterns of engagement with these two groups indicate that political and security concerns were just as, or even more, important. In the case of the Kızılbaş, their dissent was more serious because of their links with Iran, and it is therefore not surprising that security and political motives should take precedence over purely religious ones. In other words, the Kızılbaş persecutions were a part of the Ottoman state’s ‘efforts to establish its geo-political and religious authority vis-à-vis its Qizilbash and non-Qizilbash subjects, as well as its major rival to the east, the Safavids’.⁶⁰ As for the Melami-Bayramis, although their persecutions may, on the face of it, appear much more religiously motivated, there are clearly – at least in the second half of the sixteenth century – a number of parallels between them and the Kızılbaş, in terms of the nature of their organization, their activities and the security threats they posed at the time. The documents issued by Ottoman government officials offer ample evidence to suggest that the two sets of persecutions were viewed by them in a very similar light: actual or potential rebelliousness of the subjects in question was the key motivation behind both.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Notes

1 ‘Melami’ is the term applied to Sufi groups that adhere to the tradition of ‘melāmet’ – concealment of one’s piety and spiritual station, which can lead to being perceived as reproachable (Ar. ‘malāma’ = blame, reproach). An extreme example of adherence to this tradition are antinomian Sufi groups or individual Sufis who deliberately sought to attract reproach through unconventional behaviour, such as the Ḳalenders, Haydaris or Abdals. On these popular Sufi groups, see a number of works by Karamustafa, but especially his God’s Unruly Friends. For more on melāmet, see de Jong, Algar and Imber, ‘Malāmatiyya’. The Melami-Bayrami order represents a second phase in the history of the Bayrami order, which, following the death of its founder Hajji Bayram Veli in 1430, adopted the tradition of melāmet; see Bayramoğlu and Azamat, ‘Bayramiyye’, and also Ćehajić, Derviški redovi, 185-98.

2 Başbakanlık Osmanlı Arşivi (BOA), Mühimme Defterleri (MD), Vol. 21, No. 585; the text of the warrant is reproduced in Handžić and Hadžijahić, ‘O progonu Hamzevija’, 53, 56.

3 Handžić and Hadžijahić, ‘O progonu Hamzevija’, 67.

4 As attested by a number of orders issued between August and October 1573; see ibid., 54–5.

5 Aščerić-Todd, Dervishes, 164–73.

6 The term ‘Kızılbaş’, ‘red head’ in Turkish, refers to the turban traditionally worn by the followers of the Ṣafavī order, and goes back to one of its fifteenth-century leaders, Şeyh Ḥaydar (d. 1488), who is said to have invented the red twelve-gored cap around which the cloth of the turban is wound. This particular shape of the cap was later interpreted as symbolizing the twelve Shi’a imams. Morgan, Medieval Persia, 108; Abisaab, Converting Persia, 8.

7 İnalcık, Ottoman Empire, 186–202.

8 Repp, Müfti of Istanbul, 236–38.

9 Zarinebaf-Shahr, ‘Qizilbash “Heresy”’, 4, 8.

10 See Aščerić-Todd, Dervishes, 169–71.

11 Handžić and Hadžijahić, ‘O progonu Hamzevija’, 67.

12 Such as the imperial order (ḥüküm) from 1 June 1582, issued during the second wave of the Melami-Bayrami persecutions in Bosnia, which specifically provides for the possibility of the suspected Hamzevi followers being sipāhı̄s. BOA, MD, vol. 47, No. 435, reproduced in Handžić, ‘O progonu Hamzevija u sjeveroistočnoj Bosni’, 34–5.

13 Aščerić-Todd, Dervishes, 172–3.

14 Terzioğlu, ‘Sufis’.

15 One such process was the Shi’itization of the Ottoman futuwwa tradition observed by Rıza Yıldırım. See Yıldırım, ‘Shīʿitisation’.

16 Other terms include ışıḳ, haricı̄ and rāfıżı̄. See Baltacıoğlu-Brammer, ‘Formation’, 28.

17 MS Istanbul, Süleymaniye, Esad Efendi 3548, fol. 47a–47b. Here, this fetvā is included in a collection of Kemalpaşazade’s writings, but thanks to another, signed copy, Şehabeddin Tekindağ has identified it as being penned by Müfti Hamza, around 1511. See Tekindağ, ‘Yeni Kaynak’, 53–5.

18 MS Istanbul, Süleymaniye, Esad Efendi 3548, fol. 47b.

19 Ibid., fol. 45a–45b.

20 Ibid., fol. 45b. See also Atçıl, ‘Ottoman Religious Rulings’, 101; Imber, Ebu’s-suʻud, 86.

21 Winter, ‘Kızılbaş of Syria’, 172.

22 ‘Risāla fī mā yataʿallaq bi-lafẓ al-zindīq’ [Treatise on the Definition of the Word zindīq]; cited in Demiri and Kuzey, ‘Molla Kâbız’.

23 Ibid. See also Repp, Müfti of Istanbul, 234–6.

24 The information on these allegations is found in the registers of the Istanbul Sharia court: İstanbul Şer‘iyye Sicilleri Arşivi, Evkāf-ı Hümâyun, No. 4/2, p. 35. The text of the relevant entry is published in Ocak, Osmanlı toplumunda zındıklar, 354–6; cited in TDV İslâm Ansikopedisi, ‘İsmâil Ma'şûkī’. See also Düzdağ, Şeyhülislâm Ebussuud, 261.

25 Repp, Müfti of Istanbul, 236–8.

26 Imber, Ebu’s-suʻud, 92.

27 Handžić and Hadžijahić, ‘O progonu Hamzevija’, 65. Kemalpaşazade’s fetvā does not seem to have survived, and this fetvā by Ebussuud is in fact one of the sources that attests to the former’s existence.

28 BOA, MD, Vol. 22, No. 374; reproduced in Handžić and Hadžijahić, ‘O progonu Hamzevija’, 54, 57.

29 BOA, MD, Vol. 26, p. 176; cited in Zarinebaf-Shahr, ‘Qizilbash “Heresy”’, 10.

30 Imber, ‘Persecution’, 261.

31 Such as the orders sent to the Beylerbeys of Rum, Karaman, and Mar‘aş in 1577; Imber, ‘Persecution’, 265.

32 Ibid., 263.

33 BOA, MD, Vol. 22, No. 374; Handžić and Hadžijahić, ‘O progonu Hamzevija’, 54, 57.

34 BOA, MD, Vol. 21, No. 585; Handžić and Hadžijahić, ‘O progonu Hamzevija’, 53, 56.

35 See some of the orders examined in Zarinebaf-Shahr, ‘Qizilbash “Heresy”’, 1–15, and in Imber, ‘Persecution’, 245–73.

36 Imber, ‘Persecution’, 258–60.

37 BOA, MD, vol. 26, p. 176; Zarinebaf-Shahr, ‘Qizilbash “Heresy”’, 10.

38 Imber, ‘Persecution’, 259.

39 Ibid., 262.

40 Zarinebaf-Shahr, ‘Qizilbash “Heresy”’, 11.

41 Baltacıoğlu-Brammer, ‘Those Heretics’, 59.

42 Imber, ‘Persecution’, 259.

43 Zarinebaf-Shahr, ‘Qizilbash “Heresy”’, 10.

44 BOA, MD, Vol. 21, No. 585; Handžić and Hadžijahić, ‘O progonu Hamzevija’, 53, 56.

45 Handžić and Hadžijahić, ‘O progonu Hamzevija’, 54–5.

46 BOA, MD, vol. 47, No. 435; Handžić, ‘O progonu Hamzevija u sjeveroistočnoj Bosni’, 34–5.

47 Imber, ‘Persecution’, 247.

48 Ibid., 255, 260.

49 Ibid., 273.

50 BOA, MD, vol. 47, No. 435; Handžić, ‘O progonu Hamzevija u sjeveroistočnoj Bosni’, 34–5.

51 Aščerić-Todd, Dervishes, 172.

52 It will be remembered that the trial of İsmail Maşuki in 1529 involved proving that he considered drinking wine and fornication as licit acts. See n. 24 above.

53 Baltacıoğlu-Brammer, ‘Those Heretics’, 39–40. See also Imber, ‘Persecution’, 259.

54 Imber, ‘Persecution’, 261.

55 Ibid.

56 Baltacıoğlu-Brammer, ‘Those Heretics’, 39.

57 Morton, ‘Chub-i Tariq’, 228–9; cited in Baltacıoğlu-Brammer, ‘Those Heretics’, 46.

58 Morton, ‘Chub-i Tariq’, 237–9; Baltacıoğlu-Brammer, ‘Those Heretics’, 58.

59 See some of the orders are examined in Imber, ‘Persecution’, 270–1.

60 Baltacıoğlu-Brammer, ‘Those Heretics’, 42. This seems to represent a slight shift from the view expressed in the author’s 2014 article, where she suggests that in its dealings with the Kızılbaş, the confessional identity of its subjects was not important to the Ottoman state. See Baltacıoğlu-Brammer, ‘Formation’, 24.