Istanbul I: Conquest

Part I of Istanbul: Conquest, Empire and Modern Life

Prologue
Conquest
– 1.1 Theodosian Wall and Panorama 1453
– 1.2 Eyüp Sultan and the Golden Horn
– 1.3 Galata and Bosphorus
– 1.4 City center and the Milion
– 1.5 Ayasofia
– 1.6 Fatih Complex
– 1.7 Semâniyye
Bibliograpy

I visited Istanbul from 28 May to 1 June 2023, having first visited the city in February 2016. What follows is not a day-by-day account of everything we did, but a record of the places that helped me think about Istanbul historically. My twin sons are homeschooled, and I had brought them partly as a history field trip. I wanted the city itself to help us explore conquest, empire and Muslim civilisation from within our own historical tradition, rather than encountering them only through a Western or British frame. Three periods in particular provide recurring points of reference: the age of Justinian and Heraclius (527–641), Mehmed II Fatih (1451–1481) and Süleyman I Qanuni (1520–1566).

Prologue

It was night and our pre-booked taxi was late. We were staying on the European side in Fatih, more specifically the Molla Gürânî neighbourhood – an area close to the Grand Fatih masjid. 

When the driver arrived, he was apologetic and said there was traffic because the result of the presidential election had just become clear. Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, leader of the religiously conservative AK Party, had defeated Kemal Kılıçdaroğlu of the secularist CHP. Driving on the Asian side, I could see many cars waving the Turkish flag. He asked whether we wanted to take the ‘Bosphorus bridge’ or go through the tunnel to Fatih. I chose the bridge so the children could see the Bosphorus Strait as we crossed from Asia into Europe.

I asked the driver to identify the districts and landmarks as we passed them. We went through Üsküdar and then on to the Bosphorus bridge (now officially called the 15 July Martyrs Bridge).

The Bosphorus Strait connects the Black Sea in the north with the Sea of Marmara in the south, separating Europe from Asia. The Ottomans broadly referred to the lands on the Asian side as Anadolu (Anatolia) and those on the European side as Rumelia. The Golden Horn separates Fatih from Galata to the north. To reach the walled city from Galata without crossing the Golden Horn meant going around through Eyüp and approaching it from the west. In the Ottoman period, Üsküdar, Galata, and Eyüp were collectively known as the Bilâd-ı Selâse, or “the Three Towns.”

Over the bridge, we entered the wealthy district of Beşiktaş, then continued through Şişli or Kağıthane. Beşiktaş is modern and, to me, looks more like London. There were banners depicting Atatürk. The area was quite subdued and I saw no celebrations here. We moved towards Eyüpsultan, which was also quiet at this time, but here I saw banners depicting President Erdoğan instead of Atatürk. Then we entered Fatih District.

Fatih, by contrast, was jubilant that night. The district is considered conservative, and pro-Islamic candidates tend to do well here. Modern Fatih largely corresponds to the old walled city, the historic core of Ottoman Istanbul. It contains 57 neighbourhoods, including Sultanahmet at the eastern end of the historic peninsula. The roads were blocked. People leaned through sunroofs and perched on car doors, waving flags and celebrating Erdoğan’s victory. It reminded me of Green Street or Ilford Lane when Pakistan won cricket in the early days.

The driver moved away from the main roads and started driving through the inner roads to avoid the crowd and roadblocks. This gave us a chance to see more of the old city. Interestingly, along the route, he stopped in front of the Shehzade Masjid. It was late and the boys were tired. I will explain the significance of this masjid later but I pointed out the green marker in the corner of the complex (41.0131, 28.9577) – ‘İstanbul’un Orta Noktası’ (the centre of Istanbul). According to tradition, this marked the geographical centre of the old walled city. Istanbul has long since expanded far beyond those walls, so today it lies well to the east of the modern city’s centre.

We arrived at the hotel a little after midnight. The area was quiet and the shops and restaurants were shut, but we had brought food with us. We rested as we had a long day ahead.

Conquest

By coincidence, it was 29 May 2023. Exactly 570 years earlier, on 29 May 1453, the 21-year-old Sultan Mehmed II had conquered Constantinople, earning the epithet Fatih—the Conqueror.

The theme of the day was conquest. Before examining individual monuments, I wanted the boys to understand the city as a whole: its formidable defences, the course of the Ottoman assault and the transformation that followed. We would therefore begin at the Theodosian Walls and Panorama 1453 museum, before working our way around the city to understand how Mehmed overcame its defences and what the conquest meant.

From our hotel in Molla Gürânî, Fındıkzade tram station on the T1 line was only a few minutes’ walk away. We travelled three stops westward to Topkapi station. This is not the palace area, but rather the area on the west end beyond the Theodosian wall. Topkapi means cannon gate as it is close to the place where the Sultan Mehmed used cannons to break through the wall.

As soon as we stepped out of the tram, the Theodosian Walls were visible about 300 metres away, stretching north and south as far as we could see. The land walls run for roughly 6.5 kilometres (four miles), from the Sea of Marmara to the Golden Horn. I asked a simple question: ‘How would you get into the city? They suggested climbing. That is not possible as they will see. I will ask again when we are at the foot of the wall. For more than a thousand years after their construction under Emperor Theodosius II in the early fifth century, these walls had frustrated almost every army that tried to force its way into Constantinople. In 1453, perhaps 7,000–8,000 defenders held off an Ottoman army numbering many tens of thousands for fifty-three days. So how did the Sultan get in? Planning, ingenuity, superior technology, persistence and of course the aid of Allah. The victory was prophesied. Imam Ahmad b. Hanbal reports in his Musnad that the Prophet ﷺ said, ‘Constantinople will certainly be conquered. Its leader will be a good leader, and its army will be a good army.’ Many have inferred that the leader foretold was Sultan Muhammad Fatih. Allah knows best.

Theodosian Wall and Panorama 1453

It was a short walk from the station to the Panorama 1453 Museum. In front were replica cannons.

The Ottomans deployed numerous cannons along the land walls, including several very large bombards. The heaviest Ottoman bombardment was concentrated in this central section of the walls, around the Lycus valley, close to where the Museum stands now and the area traditionally associated with the Gate of St Romanus.

The most famous was the enormous gun, cast by the engineer Urban, often referred to in modern accounts as Basilica. It was capable of firing enormous stone balls, some accounts putting them at roughly 75 centimetres across and around half a tonne in weight. When shot, the sound would bring terror to the enemy. However, it reportedly took around three hours to reload and required a large team to transport, position and operate. In that time, the defenders could repair the wall. So the Ottomans used a tactic which could be described as ‘the bear with the cub’ – while the great cannon was being reloaded, smaller cannons could continue battering the walls. The bombardment continued day and night. After 53 days, sections of the outer and inner defences had been devastated and the moat filled with debris, allowing Ottoman troops to force their way through the battered central sector.

Inside the museum were displays, replicas and maps tracing the course of the siege. Rather than explain everything there, I used the main siege map to orient the boys and would return to the events as we travelled around the city.

The modern Topkapı Gate is about a ten-minute walk away on the ridge of Istanbul’s seventh hill – close to the sector traditionally associated with the Gate of St Romanus and where the decisive fighting occurred. I did not know at the time that a short walk south was Mevlânakapı Kapısı where you can go up the restored wall and get a soldier’s view. The same is possible from Yedikule Hisarı (the Golden Gate) in the southernmost part of the wall – the Byzantine imperial gate. I went northbound (a thirty minute walk or five minute taxi ride) to the famous Edirnekapı (Charisius) Gate. It stands on Istanbul’s sixth hill, beside Mihrimah Sultan Camii and near the cemetery where Ibn Kemal Paşa is buried. It is reported that Sultan Mehmed entered through this gate. Thereafter it became one of the city’s principal imperial gateways, opening onto the road towards the former Ottoman capital of Edirne.

Here the boys could examine the walls up close. In the museum they had seen the drama; here they saw the reality.

First came the moat, roughly twenty metres wide and perhaps ten metres deep. Even if you crossed that, you emerged into open ground under fire from above. Then came the outer wall, roughly eight metres high. Beyond it lay another defensive terrace before the great inner wall, rising to around twelve metres, with towers reaching considerably higher. Do you think you can climb that and get through without being hit? They suggested, ‘Why not dig underneath?’ The Ottomans tried that too, but Byzantine counter-miners frustrated them. ‘Why not go around?’ That was the next problem, and one I would explain at Eyüp Sultan and Galata. For the moment the answer lay in front of us: Mehmed had used his artillery to pulverise sections of the walls and his men had filled parts of the moat with rubble and earth. Before the age of gunpowder artillery, these fortifications were nearly impregnable to direct assault.

Eyüp Sultan and the Golden Horn

Now we turn our attention to the northern part of the wall in Eyüp Sultan. I would say to take a taxi all the way to the top of Pierre Loti Hill in Eyüp Sultan and then take the cable car down to Eyüp Camii. On top of the hill, beyond the wall, you can get a south-facing panoramic view of the Golden Horn with Galata on one side, Fatih on the other, and a clear view of the Golden Horn. Why could they not simply go around the land wall? The answer was now in front of us. Constantinople was surrounded by water on three sides. These sides were also protected by sea walls. These were not as formidable as the Theodosian land walls, but if Sultan Mehmed could bring his ships into the harbour, he could threaten another side of the city and force the already limited number of defenders to spread themselves more thinly.

There was, however, another problem. The Byzantines had closed the mouth of the Golden Horn with a huge chain stretching across the harbour, near the area of the modern Galata Bridge. Sultan Mehmed’s fleet could not simply sail through it. If he could not enter the Golden Horn by sea, he would have to find another way in. During the night of 21–22 April 1453, around seventy Ottoman ships were hauled overland across the hills behind Galata and lowered into the Golden Horn beyond the chain, around Kasımpaşa. When the defenders awoke, they were surprised to find Ottoman ships behind the chain. We had seen models of these ships at the Panorama Museum. The ships were relatively small, but they outnumbered the Byzantine fleet. The Ottomans did not need to destroy the fleet; their presence alone was enough to threaten another front, stretch the defenders more thinly and make reinforcement and resupply more difficult.

At the foot of the hill stands the Eyüp Sultan Cami. Did you know that long before Sultan Mehmed, the sahabah and the early Muslims tried to conquer this city? It is reported in Bukhari that the Prophet ﷺ said, ‘The first army from my followers who will invade Caesar’s City will be forgiven their sins.’ This entire district is named after the renowned sahabi Abu Ayyub Ansari (may Allah be pleased with him). He is the companion who hosted the Prophet ﷺ following his entry into Madinah. He was among those who gave the Second Pledge of Aqabah, fought at the Battle of Badr, and participated in the subsequent major engagements of the Prophet’s ﷺ lifetime. In later years, he campaigned in Syria and Iraq, led the vanguard at the Battle of Nahrawan, and served as governor of Madinah.

In his old age, Abu Ayyub RA, with other notable sahabah, joined the reinforcing army in the first campaign against the city under the command of Yazid during the reign of the Khalifah Mu’awiyah (may Allah be pleased with him). The year is disputed but it was around 670 CE (circa 50 AH). He passed away during the campaign due to illness and asked to be buried close to the walls of Istanbul.

During subsequent campaigns, the wall still could not be breached. The fleet was repelled with the aid of Greek fire—a terrifying liquid incendiary that could continue burning on water—a kind of maritime flamethrower. By 1453, however, the Byzantines no longer possessed the famous Greek-fire system that had helped defend their capital centuries earlier. They may not have been able to take the city then, but the Byzantines had been shaken: the Muslims had brought the war to the walls of Constantinople. It is important for us to make sincere efforts; the outcome is in the hands of Allah. An effort made sincerely for His sake is never wasted, even when its fruits are only seen by a later generation.

The historical accuracy of the actual burial site is disputed. Ottoman tradition relates that shortly after the conquest, Akşemseddin (the teacher of Sultan Mehmed) identified the location based on a dream. Whatever the historical certainty of the site, Eyüp Sultan became closely associated with piety and Ottoman religious life. The grand mufti Ebussuud Efendi RH, amongst others, is buried here. After ascending the throne, a new sultan might travel by imperial barge to Eyüp Sultan for the sword-girding ceremony, which affirmed the religious and military legitimacy of his rule. He would then return publicly by land, entering the walled city through Edirnekapı evoking the memory of Sultan Mehmed — the conqueror.

A short walk from the masjid is the Eyüpsultan ferry pier. From there, we could sail along the Golden Horn to Karaköy, at the foot of Galata, or convince a taxi to take us.

Galata and Bosphorus

The Galata Tower was a steep uphill walk. In 1453, Galata (Pera) was a fortified, self-governing Genoese commercial colony. Its authorities officially declared neutrality, but in practice its inhabitants maintained relations with both sides. Some assisted the defenders of Constantinople, while others reportedly passed information to the Ottomans. Sultan Mehmed therefore did not directly assault the colony. A direct assault might have provoked Genoa in the middle of the siege and disrupted valuable Mediterranean commerce, while also diverting men and artillery from Constantinople.

After the fall of Constantinople, Sultan Mehmed had parts of Galata’s landward fortifications lowered to reduce the risk of rebellion. Most of the surrounding walls later disappeared, leaving Galata Tower looking like a standalone structure rather than part of a fortified complex. As a medieval tower in itself, I did not consider it an essential visit. Its real value was its position. We took the lift to the top and descended by the spiralling staircase. Of particular historical interest was a section displayed as part of the Golden Horn chain, which gave us a better sense of its size and why forcing a ship through it would have been so difficult.

The main feature, though, was the view from atop the tower, where you can observe the Golden Horn, Bosphorus and the historic peninsula of old Istanbul. From the observation deck the strategic importance of the waterways becomes much easier to understand. The Bosphorus was not merely a nice view; it was one of Mehmed’s central problems.

How could he prevent supplies and reinforcements reaching Constantinople while allowing authorised commerce to continue? The Bosphorus is approximately 3.7 kilometres across at its widest point but narrows to around 700–750 metres further north. Sultan Mehmed’s great-grandfather, Sultan Bayezid I, in 1394 attempted to starve the city into submission. To strengthen his control of the Bosphorus, he constructed Anadolu Hisarı on the Asian shore at the narrowest point. The fortress allowed the Ottomans to interfere with shipping, but it could not completely close the strait. After eight years, Bayezid’s blockade brought Constantinople close to disaster, but it ended when Timur invaded Anatolia and defeated him at the Battle of Ankara in 1402.

Sultan Mehmed adapted this strategy and built Rumeli Hisarı on the European shore, almost directly opposite Anadolu Hisarı. Batteries positioned on both sides could now command the narrow passage and make any attempt to sail through without Ottoman permission extremely dangerous. The barrier was not impenetrable, but it allowed Sultan Mehmed to control the Black Sea route far more effectively and greatly restricted supplies reaching Constantinople from the north.

The two fortresses stand around ten kilometres north of Galata and were therefore beyond our view from the tower. We will see them when we take the Bosphorus cruise. Sultan Mehmed had studied the earlier attempt: he retained what had worked, corrected what had failed and built upon his predecessor’s achievement.

Before we went down I highlighted the skyline of Fatih. What do you see? It is punctuated by massive masjids and domes on its famous hills. Prominently visible were Sultanahmet and Ayasofia on the first hill, Nuruosmaniye Masjid on the second hill, and the Suleymaniye and Beyazid Masjids on the third hill. Further afield were Fatih Masjid south-west on the fourth hill, and Yavuz Selim Masjid far-right to the west on the fifth hill. The sixth and seventh hills were harder to identify. On the Asian side on top of Camlica Hill was the largest of them all – Camlica Masjid. I did not notice it in my 2016 visit; now it was almost impossible to miss. To me, the skyline unmistakably proclaimed that the conquest was complete. Constantinople had not merely been captured; it had been transformed into a Muslim city. A hadith in Sahih Bukhari came to mind. The Prophet ﷺ said, ‘Caesar will surely be ruined and there will be no Caesar after him, and you will spend their treasures in Allah’s Cause.’

Walking down from Galata toward Sultanahmet was relatively easier than the steep climb up. We crossed the 490-metre Galata Bridge. During the siege, however, Sultan Mehmed constructed a temporary bridge farther up the Golden Horn, probably from around Kasımpaşa towards the city walls, using vessels or pontoons to support a wooden crossing. Ottoman troops could cross it and put additional pressure on the Golden Horn defences. This was not the same bridge.

The Bosphorus and Golden Horn were under Ottoman control. The Theodosian wall was breached. The last Byzantine Emperor Constantine XI was missing and presumed dead. Almost 780 years after the first siege, the city finally belonged to the Muslims. Grand victories are rarely the result of a single event; rather, they are the culmination of multiple stratagems, lessons learned, persistence and favourable circumstances. All praise belongs to Allah. However, Sultan Mehmed needed a symbolic event to signify his victory so he headed towards the imperial centre to lay claim to Ayasofia.

City center and the Milion

As we entered Sultanahmet Square, the monuments surrounding us seemed designed to impress. How wealthy and powerful must an empire be to devote such resources to ceremonial buildings? Grandeur itself sent a political message: anyone contemplating a challenge was meant to understand the scale of the state confronting them.

I tried to paint a picture of what this place would have looked like in the time of the Prophet ﷺ. Much of Sultanahmet Square was then the Hippodrome, a vast arena for chariot races, public ceremonies and imperial display, beside the palace and Ayasofia. This was the capital of Rūm (Rome) and, in the time of the Prophet ﷺ, the city of Caesar Heraclius. Its monuments and ceremonies projected the wealth and power of Rome. Eight centuries later, it became Sultan Mehmed’s city, and even today the landscape still projects the power and ambition of the Ottomans. Imagine standing here fourteen centuries ago: how would you describe such a city to someone who had never seen anything like it?

As we stood facing the Ayasofia, on my left was the surviving remnant of the Milion (pronounced me-lion or in Turkish the Milyon Taşı). The Milion marker served as a point from which road distances from the imperial capital were reckoned. From here the Mese, the city’s great ceremonial road, ran westwards through Constantinople, connecting eventually with routes such as the Via Egnatia towards the Balkans and the Adriatic. It was the Byzantine equivalent of the Miliarium Aureum, the Golden Milestone of ancient Rome. The monument later disappeared, but remains were uncovered in 1968. In symbolic terms, the Milion marked the centre of their imperial world.

Behind me in the queue was a young Turkish man from Anatolia. The way he spoke, I assumed he was twenty but to my surprise he was fifteen. He was visiting alone and this was his first time in Istanbul. I asked him the purpose of his visit today. He reminded me that today was the day Istanbul was conquered and he came to Ayasofia to pray ‘salat shukr’.

Ayasofia

From the outside, Ayasofia seemed almost fortress-like—irregular and ancient beside the elegant Sultanahmet Masjid (Blue Mosque) opposite. Why was it so important for Sultan Mehmed to lay claim to it soon after entering the city?

Many monuments of ancient Constantinople had disappeared or fallen into ruin over the centuries, but Ayasofia had endured. Since Emperor Justinian rebuilt it on its current monumental scale in 537 CE, successive rulers had repeatedly repaired and preserved it despite earthquakes, structural failures and the enormous cost of maintaining such a building. It was not merely another church: it was the principal cathedral of the Byzantine Empire and a primary setting for Byzantine imperial coronation and ceremony. To take possession of it was therefore a symbolic declaration that the Byzantine Empire was gone and Constantinople now belonged to the Ottomans. Sultan Mehmed declared Ayasofia a masjid. He also claimed the title Kayser-i Rûm—Caesar of Rome— and presented himself not merely as Constantinople’s conqueror, but as heir to its imperial authority.

We entered through the narthex — the entrance hall between the outside and the nave (the vast central hall). At its centre is a seven-meter-high imperial gate traditionally reserved for the emperor and his retinue. Other visitors normally entered through other doors. Now there are long rows of racks for visitors to place their shoes before entering the masjid. On our visit in 2023, Muslims and non-Muslims could enter the main hall. However, from 2024 the ground floor is reserved for worshippers only and the tourists are redirected to a separate route through the upper gallery.

As you enter, the eye is drawn towards the far end of the vast central hall by the columns running along both sides. The main body of the building is actually surprisingly close to square in plan, but it does not feel that way. The massive load-bearing piers—known in Turkish as fil ayakları, or “elephant feet”—flank the central space and, together with the columns and great semi-domes, emphasise the long axis towards the apse.

As I stepped further inside, my eyes naturally rose towards the large central dome. The diameter is approximately 31 metres – about 100 byzantine feet. Standing at the centre and looking up, the vast empty space beneath the dome has the effect of making one feel small and insignificant. The dome, due to the absence of barriers when looking up and the windows, feels as if it is almost floating.

The dome has forty windows which illuminate the dome with natural light. The sixth-century historian, Procopius, writes “[The Ayasofia] is singularly full of light and sunshine; you would declare that the place is not lighted by the sun from without, but that the rays are produced within itself, such an abundance of light is poured into the church”. The calligraphy now occupying the centre of the dome was added during the 1847–49 Fossati restoration. However, the association of Āyat 35 of Sūrat al-Nūr with the centre of the dome is much older and particularly apt.

ٱللَّهُ نُورُ ٱلسَّمَـٰوَٰتِ وَٱلْأَرْضِ ۚ مَثَلُ نُورِهِۦ كَمِشْكَوٰةٍۢ فِيهَا مِصْبَاحٌ ۖ ٱلْمِصْبَاحُ فِى زُجَاجَةٍ ۖ ٱلزُّجَاجَةُ كَأَنَّهَا كَوْكَبٌۭ دُرِّىٌّۭ يُوقَدُ مِن شَجَرَةٍۢ مُّبَـٰرَكَةٍۢ زَيْتُونَةٍۢ لَّا شَرْقِيَّةٍۢ وَلَا غَرْبِيَّةٍۢ يَكَادُ زَيْتُهَا يُضِىٓءُ وَلَوْ لَمْ تَمْسَسْهُ نَارٌۭ ۚ نُّورٌ عَلَىٰ نُورٍۢ ۗ يَهْدِى ٱللَّهُ لِنُورِهِۦ مَن يَشَآءُ ۚ وَيَضْرِبُ ٱللَّهُ ٱلْأَمْثَـٰلَ لِلنَّاسِ ۗ وَٱللَّهُ بِكُلِّ شَىْءٍ عَلِيمٌۭ

“Allah is the Light of the heavens and the earth. The example of His light is that of a niche, in which there is a lamp; the lamp is in a glass – the glass looks like a brilliant star – it is lit by (the oil of) a blessed tree, the olive, which is neither eastern, nor western. Its oil is about to emit light even though the fire has not touched it – (it is) light upon light. Allah guides to His light whomsoever He wills; Allah describes examples for the people, and Allah knows everything well.”

Domes had existed since antiquity; what was remarkable about Ayasofia was the enormous scale of its dome and the impression that something so massive was almost weightless. Supporting such a dome over a square central space required four pendentives—curved triangular surfaces—which channel its weight and outward thrust through the great arches into the massive piers below. It was an audacious solution at this scale. Parts of the dome have collapsed on several occasions and had to be rebuilt and reinforced.

The first time I saw it, I noticed the four tree-like images on the pendentives, but did not realise they represented angels. Their faces had been covered by the Ottomans, although I later learned that one was uncovered during restoration and remains visible today.

I am not interested in art without a functional benefit. I also hold the traditional and cautious position that physical images of animate beings must be avoided. In 2023, very few Byzantine figurative images were visible in the main prayer hall of Ayasofia. The upper gallery was shut; however, when I visited in 2016, it was still open and contained surviving mosaics, including the famous Deësis. Many Byzantine images were later covered by the Ottomans, but interestingly, the Ottomans were not the first to conceal or remove them. The Byzantines themselves had done so centuries earlier during the two periods of Iconoclasm, conventionally dated 726–787 and 814–843. The veneration of religious images became a major theological dispute, with iconoclast emperors and supporting clergy opposing images of Christ, Mary and the saints as potentially idolatrous so they removed such images and in some cases replaced them with crosses. Some scholars have argued that the rise of Islam and its opposition to religious images may have influenced Byzantine iconoclasm, although the extent of any such influence remains disputed. The Papacy rejected Byzantine iconoclasm which added to the divide between the Latin West and Byzantine East. Ironically, centuries before the Ottoman conquest, Latin Christian crusaders had violently sacked Constantinople in 1204, plundering Ayasofia along with much of the city.

Moving forward, I went towards the apse. In front there is the mihrab, slightly off the building’s central axis because it faces the Qiblah — a reminder that the building has been repurposed and was not originally designed as a masjid. The prayer area in front is slightly raised. Officials have placed retractable barriers to stop tourists from entering but Muslim worshippers are allowed. I, along with the boys, went through and prayed two raka’at tahiyyat al-masjid. In 2016, when it was a museum, we were not allowed to pray. As part of the secularising transformation of the new Turkish Republic under Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, Ayasofia was converted into a museum in 1934. In 2020, President Erdogan re-declared Ayasofia a masjid — a move the government and many of its supporters presented as a reaffirmation of Turkey’s Islamic identity. On 24 July 2020, Jumuah was prayed after 86 years. Muslims flocked there from all over. The head of religious affairs, Dr Ali Erbaş, gave khutbah and to symbolise the conquered status of the city held a sword during his sermon. He (Diyanet İşleri Başkanlığı, 2020) described conquest as “not subjugation but revival, not destruction but reconstruction.” He then said, “The reopening of the Hagia Sophia for worship is a tribute to its historical legacy, restoring a sacred mosque … to its original purpose. The reopening of Hagia Sophia for worship is proof that Islamic civilization … continues to rise despite all difficulties.”

Fatih Complex

There was much more to see in Sultanahmet, which I will return to in due course. For now, however, the narrative takes us north-west towards Fatih Camii (the Conqueror’s Mosque). The masjid stands on the fourth hill of Istanbul – around a forty-five-minute walk from Sultanahmet through Molla Fenârî and then Molla Hüsrev.

From afar, we could see the two pencil minarets. Multiple minarets on a masjid were conventionally a privilege of sultans, or otherwise required imperial permission. The slender pencil minaret became one of the most recognisable signatures of Ottoman architecture, and across former Ottoman lands it still marks either the former presence of Ottoman rule or, at the very least, its architectural influence.

Constantinople was not a mere trophy. Sultan Mehmed intended it to become the political, spiritual and commercial centre of his empire. He transferred his capital from Edirne (Adrianople) to Istanbul and set about rebuilding and repopulating the city. As part of this programme, in 1463, he ordered the construction of a purpose-built grand masjid on the former site of the Church of the Holy Apostles — where Constantine and several of his successors had been buried. It announced to the world: we are here to stay.

We entered the large, expansive courtyard adjoining the masjid. Something did not quite match: the courtyard and the prayer hall appeared to belong to different architectural periods. In fact, the original masjid collapsed in the great earthquake of 1766, while much of the original courtyard survived. The present structure was completed in 1771 in a classical Ottoman form, but with hints of the then-modern Baroque taste in its curving decorative details.

The architectural grandeur of the imperial masjids is better discussed at Süleymaniye or Sultanahmet. Here, what is important is what Fatih Camii represents. I asked the boys, ‘What happens when a masjid is built in an area?’ Around a local masjid would develop the mahalle—the Muslim neighbourhood—with its imam and, depending on its size, schools, fountains and other endowed amenities. In this respect it was not entirely unlike an English parish, where the church also helped give a community its geographical and social identity. Fatih, however, was something much larger than a neighbourhood masjid. Its külliye brought together religious, educational and charitable institutions on an imperial scale. I will discuss the mechanics of the külliye at the Süleymaniye. The concept of a social complex centering around the masjid already existed. What was new was the scale and urban ambition of Fatih Camii and külliye. Beyond a neighbourhood centre, it became a template of an urban centre around which a city can grow.

Inalcik (2000, p. 143) reports that ‘between 1463 and 1470 Mehmed the Conqueror built a Great Mosque and around it eight medreses (Semâniyye), a school for children, a library, a hospital, two hostels for travellers and a refectory.‘ Furthermore, he required the leading men of his empire to build religious endowments in the city. Within a short time people settled nearby and formed quarters. As the historian Neşrî, quoted in İnalcık (2000, p. 144) succinctly put it, “Sultan Mehmed created Istanbul.”

Sultan Mehmed II Fatih—the Conqueror—died in 1481 at the age of forty-nine, having ruled continuously since 1451 and greatly expanded the Ottoman domains. His türbe (mausoleum) stands behind the Qibla wall within the complex. May Allah Almighty forgive and have mercy upon him.

Yet the conquest and reconstruction of a city are rarely the work of one man. They are the combined effort of many, building upon the achievements of those who came before them, most of whose names are eventually lost to history.

Semâniyye

The Sahn-ı Semân—the eight higher medreses of Fatih’s complex—stood in two groups of four on either side of the masjid. Although the complex no longer survives in its original form, the importance of these institutions was considerable. The historian İlber Ortaylı states, ‘Within a century, the Fatih district became the city’s quarter of the ulema.’

The names of the neighbourhoods surrounding Fatih preserve something of that scholarly world. Before turning to Molla Hüsrev (ملا خسرو) and Molla Gürânî (ملا كوراني), however, we need to go back a generation to Molla Fenârî (751–834 AH / 1350–1431 CE).

Shamsuddin Muhammad b. Hamzah Fenârî (d. 1431) is retrospectively regarded as the first Ottoman Şeyhülislâm—an office that would eventually develop into the highest religious authority in the empire. In 1424, Sultan Murad II declared him the first grand Mufti of the state (Müftü’l-Enam). His conduct in office would help establish precedents for the later role of the ulama in government (ilmiye). One important principle he emphasised was that Islamic law possessed an authority independent of the ruler: the Sultan himself was not above it. Taşköprüzāde (1975, p. 17) relates that while serving as judge, Sh. Fenârî refused to accept the testimony of Sultan Bayezid I because, according to the Hanafi ruling he applied, the Sultan’s failure to attend congregational prayer compromised his qualification as a witness. Molla Fenârî himself combined three of the principal functions that would later characterise the Ottoman ilmiye: he served as a müderris, qadi, and müfti.

Among Molla Fenârî’s prominent students was Molla Yegân (d. 1461), who in turn taught both Molla Hüsrev and, later, helped bring Molla Gürânî into Ottoman service.

Molla Hüsrev (d. 1480) – Muḥammad b. Farāmurz Khusraw – was a famed Hanafi jurist and distinguished student of Molla Yegân. I knew of him from my madrasah days through his work, Durar al-Ḥukkām, a standard Hanafi textbook combining theoretical rigour with a strong grounding in judicial practice. Molla Hüsrev was appointed başmüderris (chief professor) at the Ayasofia medrese and later at the Semâniyye colleges, where he also played an important role in shaping their curriculum.

Molla Gürânî — Ahmad b. Ismail Kawrani — was an accomplished muhaddith who had studied under Hafiz Ibn Hajar al-ʿAsqalānī. Molla Yegân encountered him while returning from the Hajj and brought him into the Ottoman realm. He introduced him to Sultan Murad II and, having himself earlier tutored the young Prince Mehmed II, helped secure Molla Gürânî’s appointment as the prince’s tutor in 1443. Molla Gürânî played a formative role in Mehmed’s education and retained an unusual freedom to rebuke his former pupil even after he became Sultan. Taşköprüzāde (1975, p. 50) reports that he dared to beat a royal emissary and tore up the government order because he deemed it contrary to the Shariah.

The circumspect Molla Hüsrev and the outspoken Molla Gürânî would each go on to serve as grand mufti of the state (Müftü’l-Enam), an office later associated with the title Şeyhülislâm. After the conquest, the grand mufti was formally also the Mufti of Istanbul.

Molla Gürânî and Molla Hüsrev were present at the siege of Constantinople. As the chief justice of the Military (Kazasker – قاضي العسكر), Molla Gürânî was actively part of Sultan Mehmed’s council of war. Molla Hüsrev as the chief justice of the capital (Edirne) advised on wider matters. Many in the bureaucracy led by the powerful grand vizier Çandarlı Halil Pasha opposed the siege and pushed for the Sultan to sue for peace. Molla Gürânî, Molla Hüsrev, along with the Sultan’s spiritual guide Akşemseddin amongst others urged the Sultan to stay the course and conquer the city. To this end, they provided legal, political, and moral support for the Sultan at a time when opposition to the siege remained formidable.

Before I leave the Fatih Camii hazire (graveyard), I want to highlight the grave of the historian Halil İnalcık (1916–2016) – widely regarded as one of the foremost modern historians of the Ottoman Empire. He did much to challenge negative Western stereotypes of Ottoman rule by demonstrating the complexity and methodical character of the empire’s institutions. His article ‘The Ottoman method of conquest’ (1954) is insightful and ‘The Ottoman Empire: The Classical Age, 1300–1600’ is perhaps his best-known work. In recognition of his contribution to Ottoman history, he was given the state honour of burial in the Fatih Camii hazire. The location was especially fitting for a historian who had devoted so much attention to Sultan Mehmed II and his age. Although İnalcık was a modern secular academic rather than a member of the ulema, President Erdoğan later instructed that his grave be fashioned in the traditional style of an Ottoman ulema grave.

As I retired for the day to my hotel in the Molla Gürânî neighbourhood and wrote up my own account, I reflected on one of the earliest official Ottoman accounts of the conquest. The Arabic fetihnâme announcing the victory to the Mamluk sultan had been composed in Sultan Mehmed’s name by none other than his kazasker, Molla Gürânî. Nearly six centuries after Molla Gürânî helped record Mehmed’s conquest, I was sitting in the neighbourhood that bears his name, writing for my own sons what I thought should be remembered of it.

—-

Muhammad Saifur Rahman Nawhami

13 Zul-Qaʻdah 1444 AH / 2 June 2023 CE
Reviewed and Update on 31 August 2026

This is Part I of Istanbul: Conquest, Empire and Modern Life. Part II explores Istanbul as the capital of an empire—its political, religious, and economic institutions. Part III turns to modern Istanbul, looking at how Muslims live, worship and navigate life in the city today. 

Bibliography

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