Selected Books
Turkey in Europe & Europe in Turkey
Turgut Özal

Ottoman-Turkish Culture

(Sinan) the eye of illustrious engineers, the ornament of the great founders, the master of the learned men of his time, the Euclid of his century and of all times. . .

In the previous chapters I have dwelt on the genesis and growth of the Ottoman Empire. To complete the picture, I should now like to address the following question. Has there ever been a civilisation and a culture which could be called Ottoman, or were the Ottomans a nomadic warrior tribe which had no civilisation of its own, and which was merely trying to make an expedient change from a superficially espoused Muslim faith to an equally skindeep Western appearance?

Without entering into the controversy over the distinction between culture and civilisation, I will state my views on Ottoman art as an essential component of civilisation. In this context I will focus on the architecture of mosques in the classical period, setting aside the intense construction activities both of a religious and a secular nature before and after this period. `It is in its mosques that Ottoman art shows its most severe but also its most serene intellectuality.'56

Ottoman art, including architecture, has been poorly appreciated until recently. A. Toynbee, in his book entitled Mankind and Mother Earth (p.552), after a brief reference to the Sultan Ahmet Mosque says, `however, no Ottoman public monument except Mehmet I's Green Mosque in Bursa can compare with Masjid-i Shah at Isfahan and Taj Mahal at Agra'. In his other books he accuses Ottoman architecture, especially the mosques of Istanbul, of `slavishly' imitating Byzantine art.

Although the character of Ottoman art remains its own, when every influence and indebtedness has been explored. . . serious appreciation of it was for long delayed and one may suspect that even now it carries nothing like the prestige of, say, Persian art. Certainly it brings with it no agreeable cultural connotations rather the opposite. . . Perhaps too, in Europe, the Turks have never quite been forgiven for taking Constantinople. Still, Ottoman art is, if not positively neglected (that I think it is), at least not over-familiar. . .57

In every phase of its long history, Anatolia created artistic syntheses which incorporated memories of diverse cultural origins. Anatolian cultures contain a certain eclectic quality, the natural outcome of the land's geographical situation in the centre of the Old World.

Hittite culture had a strong relationship with Mesopotamian civilisation. Ionia was certainly more Asiatic than mainland Greece. The Persians brought Asiatic ways to the West, and Alexander's conquest carried to Central Asia the flowers of Hellenism, but also caused the transference of Eastern ideas and forms to the West. Roman culture was superimposed on these earlier cross-cultural developments, resulting in a blend of Eastern and Western traditions in `Byzantium'. The early Christian architecture of Syria and Anatolia, and later the East Roman civilisation, arose from the fusion of Hellenistic and native art with the building technique of Sassanid Persia.

In Turkish Anatolia a new concept of architecture developed which was significantly different from the Islamic styles of other regions. Despite the Mongol conquest, thirteenth-century Anatolia became the centre of East-West trade. Its rich Islamic culture produced the great mystic Mevlana Jalal al-Din Rumi. For Mevlana, a good heart and good intentions were enough whether one was a Muslim, a Christian, or a pagan. This tolerant attitude also characterised the arts and architecture of this period. Anatolia was a melting pot where new experiences fused with old ideas, forms, and techniques to create a world of great richness of form, even to the point of exuberance. Only with such a diverse wealth of cultural backgrounds could Ottoman architecture have evolved with precepts so divergent from those of Islamic tradition.

The political map of the Seljuk era consisted of Emirates. Anatolia of the twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth centuries was therefore culturally multi-centred, as also was the case in medieval and Renaissance Italy. This was a major cause of the extensive variety and richness of the medieval architecture of Anatolia. Essentially, the two centuries of the Seljuk period produced more distinctive works of architecture in Anatolia than the six centuries of Ottoman rule or a millennium of the Eastern Roman Empire.

Artists came from every corner of the world. The artistic ambience had a heterogeneous and pragmatic character. As a result, we find mosques in the style of old Arab examples with courtyards and a simple columnar hall for prayer, or totally interiorised longitudinal halls without courtyards but with central light-wells, a type of mosque peculiar to Anatolia; we find tomb towers following Central Asian and Iranian examples, built with local materials and construction techniques; we witness the blossoming of wonderful stone carving, with a vocabulary derived from Iranian, Central Asian, Caucasian, and Syrian art traditions, or from the textiles of nomads or from the old animal designs of the steppes.

With the founding of the Empire there was a gradual replacement of Seljuk style by Imperial Ottoman art. The new State, like its predecessors, naturally found its artistic vehicle in architecture, which was no longer characterised by the brilliance of decoration, but by great monumental forms. The Ottoman-Turkish monumental style was born under the sign of domed structures. Dome construction was the common heritage of the Mediterranean and Iranian-Central Asian worlds. Domes gradually became established as the only accepted elements of roofing in the early Ottoman buildings of the fourteenth century, directing spatial and formal development for centuries to come. In a sense, Ottoman imperial style became the quintessence of a domed tradition which had begun with the Pantheon.

The earliest buildings of the Ottomans were in Bursa, and their architectural style spread from there to other cities. The most celebrated among them was the Green Mosque (Yesil Cami) built for Sultan Mehmet I. It was not only a mosque, but also the zawiya (convent) of a socio-religious brotherhood. It served for ceremonial gatherings and was also used as a hospice. The early sultans all built similar multi-purpose mosques, some of which included hospitals, as was the case with Bayezit I. However, in addition to this group of new religious buildings, Friday mosques of the old Arabic type were still being built in city centres.

Although all the main types of Ottoman buildings-madrasas, baths, hans, covered bazaars, mausolea - had reached their classical Ottoman form before the conquest of Constantinople, mosque architecture continued to develop towards its classical sixteenth century form.

The spirit of the post-conquest period, during the rule of Sultan Mehmet the Conqueror, was jubilant and triumphant, fully conscious of the heritage of the Empire of the Caesars. Cultural relations with Italy took a new turn. Several Renaissance artists came to the palace of the Turkish sultan, including Gentile Bellini and one of the brothers of Da Maiano. The Turkish Emperor, like Mevlana, believed that Christians as well as Turks had a role to play in building the culture of the new universal state.

Before discussing the mosque architecture of the classical period I must mention St Sophia, the sixth-century masterpiece of Justinian I, and show how it differs conceptually from the Turkish architectural tradition. The interior of the Green Mosque gave the impression of a crystalline cube on top of which rested two domes. The fact that `stalactites' connected the domes with the walls enhanced the crystalline effect while neutralising the weight of the domes. Thus tectonics being reversed, the interior, although clearly delimited, inspired an absolute sense of rest as if one were in a weightless crystal cube.58

This unity of space - rightly perceived as deprived of weight because of the use of stalactites (known also as `Turkish triangles') but sometimes, I think, wrongly interpreted as motionless because it is clearly defined-was the basic concept of Turkish mosque architecture. It was achieved within a relatively simple form in the Green Mosque.

After the conquest, when Turkish architects entered St Sophia, what did they see, apart from its legendary monumental size? St Sophia not only differed from the gothic style but was also just as fundamentally contrary to the Turkish concept of architecture. The interior of St Sophia had soft curves as well as fragile sail-like and floating surfaces, thus constituting an elusive space without body or limit. The dome, far from resting on the columns and enclosing the space, seemed to flow freely from top to bottom and vice versa. This sacred edifice gave an impression of extending in all directions and becoming ever lighter, so creating an illusion of infinity. It had one point in common with Turkish architecture, namely the negation of weight, though neither the objective nor the means of achieving it were the same.59

Apart from the first notable example, the Bayezit Mosque of Davut Agha (1506), the great landmark in Turkish architecture was the Architect Sinan (1489-1588).

I think a brief introduction to Sinan would be useful. He was a contemporary of Andrea Palladio (1508-70) whose theoretical treatise opened a new era in art and architecture. Sinan preferred to consider architecture as a craft, the secrets of which could be passed on from master to apprentice. However, it is unthinkable that such a master of design as Sinan was working without any theoretical or critical rationale or scientific method when he built 112 `cathedral' mosques (cami), 42 smaller mosques (mescit), 79 Islamic schools (medrese), 53 public baths, 42 mausolea, and 31 caravanserais. It is clear from his buildings that he was familiar with Euclidian geometry, that he understood the principles of spatial organisation, and that he had a feeling for the subtle manifestation of centrality and axiality in architecture.

The he total composition. In St Sophia, the observer very easily grasps the importance of the side aisles, whereas the Süleymaniye Mosque gives the impression of a unified space which is emphasised by excellent lighting from the 128 bays set at regular intervals around the walls. The minarets on either side of the portico leading into the courtyard have two balconies, whereas the two taller minarets attachwere put to use in the great imperial projects of his later years.

In his first three imperial mosques Sinan may have felt confronted by the enormous challenge of surpassing St Sophia. As Brahms in composing his first symphony had been constantly haunted by Beethoven, the giant who had preceded him, Sinan would have felt the spirits of Anthemius and Isidore.

In the Sehzade mosque he experimented with four semi-domes buttressing the main dome, as against the two of St Sophia, thus transforming the axial symmetry of the latter into a perfect central symmetry.

This design was known to the East Romans, although they used barrel vaults to cover the four side aisles instead of the semi-domes used by Sinan. Employed even in small churches, this plan had religious and philosophical connotations in Christian architecture. From the Byzantine churches to St Peter's, and to its later proliferation in European architecture, the symbolism of the cross always remained more important than the spatial exploitation of its geometrical scheme. This is where Sinan, by using four semi-domes, brought the whole interior space under the hegemony of a central dome, without renouncing the basic principle of an Islamic mosque. At the hand of Sinan the simplicity of the rectangular prayer hall and the complexity of its roofing, the dialectic between the straight lines of the lower part and the curves of the upper part of the great mosque, all found a unique and monumental solution.

Twelve years after Sehzade he tried an even more daring scheme in Mihrimah, a dome resting directly on walls without any semi-domes. It appears that in these two earlier projects he deliberately explored designs which differed from St Sophia and only then did he embark on Süleymaniye (commissioned by Süleyman the Magnificent for himself) with a view to settling his account with St Sophia and `surpassing the Greeks'.

It was the largest religious, social, and educational complex of the Ottoman period, and covered twelve hectares, yet Sinan completed it in seven years. St Paul's in London, whose main building is a little larger and more ornate than that of Süleymaniye, took thirty-five years to complete.

Süleymaniye repeats the structural scheme of St Sophia, namely a main dome supported by two semi-domes. Sinan, having borrowed the fundamental form from St Sophia, reinterpreted it and created totally different spatial concepts. If one compares Süleymaniye with the preceding and subsequent mosques it is striking to note that this is the only one whose constructive elements have been made visible. In this respect the edifice has some points in common with the constructions of ancient Rome. St Sophia was the negation of Roman style while keeping the fundamental forms of antiquity. Sinan, in trying to surpass Byzantine architecture in its own forms, unconsciously came closer to Roman architecture. Detached pillars, cornices between arcs and surfaces, and embrasures of arcs, all stress the tectonics. The fact, however, that the interior of Süleymaniye, like Sehzade and Mihrimah, was created according to the principle of deductive structuralization, namely moving from the whole to the parts, renders it basically different from Byzantine and Roman architecture, despite certain similarities of form.6o

The interior of Süleymaniye, faithful to the tradition of Turkish architecture, represents the transformation of matter into a unified crystalline space, compact, self contained, and without weight. As against the vague, co-penetrating spherical forms of St Sophia, we have here an alternation between curves and straight surfaces. The clear delimitation of the space is the consequence of the contrast between the interior cubic volume and the spherical space above it. As a result, whereas St Sophia was mystical-transcendental, Süleymaniye was unifying, demonstrating on the temporal plane the oneness (vahit) of God.

This type of layout, a central dome flanked by two semi-domes, has unfortunately often misled art historians, whose analyses have not taken account of the mannerist aspect of Sinan's style, into seeing the Süleymaniye Mosque as a copy of St Sophia. In Sinan's work, the planning pattern is always linked to a hierarchy of architectural elements in the total composition. In St Sophia, the observer very easily grasps the importance of the side aisles, whereas the Süleymaniye Mosque gives the impression of a unified space which is emphasised by excellent lighting from the 128 bays set at regular intervals around the walls. The minarets on either side of the portico leading into the courtyard have two balconies, whereas the two taller minarets attached to the main body of the mosque have three balconies each. This hierarchical arrangement of architectural elements is the secret of the ingenious adaptation of the building to the steeply sloping site. The structural rhythms of the domed roof were thus made more articulate. He ornamented the façades with light and shade by the introduction of side galleries. The dome, half-domes, and minarets, all varying in size, are combined to create a harmonious pyramid-shaped silhouette which embellishes the city skyline. A close look at Süleymaniye quite clearly shows that Sinan only took an interest in the basic form of St Sophia, and that it was his exceptional talent which then developed the possibilities of a given system to its ultimate extent.

Süleymaniye brought the period in which Sinan was interested in Byzantine architecture to a close, he having pushed this architecture to its logical limits. His next project was the construction of the Sinanpa,sa Mosque which had a somewhat old-fashioned appearance similar to the Piyale Mosque which he built after Selimiye, the peak of his career. These two lesser works of Sinan marked the end of the two distinct phases of his career, the first being his period of rivalry with Byzantine architecture, the second his period of maturity, hence his efforts to prevent both himself and others from attempting any mannerism based on his work.

All his efforts at formal research culminated in the unique mosque of Selimiye at Edirne, built between 1569 and 1575 for Sultan Selim II. His aim was to apply on a monumental scale, and to bring to its fullest expression, the early type of small Turkish mosque with a single dome. In the history of domed architecture there are very few examples which achieve their whole interior and exterior effect from a single colossal dome. The Pantheon is the only example in the West, and in the East the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem and a few Islamic mausolea are the only similar works. Selimiye has an octagonal scheme-a main dome supported by an octagonal base-and is composed to create maximum spatial effect. Its great dome is a little larger than that of St Sophia. The central and structural baldachin, the outer system of buttressing, and the curtain walls of the prayer hall are all combined to emphasize a total submission to God. In the interior of Selimiye every architectural element is subordinate to the dome. Sinan's virtuosity is plainly shown in the composition of the exterior. The interior architecture is completely reflected in its external form which embodies striking contrasts of horizontals and verticals, curved and straight lines, solids and voids, and also a marked distinction between the load-bearing structure and the lace-like screen walls. At the corners of the prayer hall it is buttressed by four minarets, each over 70 metres in height, which are designed to compensate for the lateral thrust. The Selimiye Mosque is surmounted by a huge 31.5 metre dome resting on eight elephantine pillars, the whole structure achieving an expression of centralised geometrical order.

The interior of the mosque is full of light from windows on different levels, from the base of the dome to ground level. Light filters through stucco screens on the upper levels, and coloured glass windows on the mihrab wall illuminate the prayer hall. This different quality of light distinguishes Turkish mosques from Christian churches, as well as from Iranian and Arab mosques where the light is dim and fenestration is less emphasised. The interior of the mosque is not closed to the exterior world; ground floor windows are built as small study niches opening to the surrounding gardens or outer courtyards, thus providing visual communication between inner and outer spaces.

Architecture and decoration create their separate worlds. Upon close examination another world of fantasy reveals itself in a miniature world-a miniature garden of abstract flowers and intricate patterns of geometrical lace. This contrast in scale is a key element of Ottoman mosque architecture and decoration.

Central to Ottoman classical architecture was a philosophical statement, the unity of space under a vast dome symbolizing the totality of the universe and the Oneness of Allah. The integration of architectural space brought with it the need for height; stressing the vertical dimension fostered exteriority by increasing the amount of exposed wall surfaces requiring articulation. This requirement was successfully met by Sinan when he brought the rationale of the centralised building to its logical conclusion in his superb imperial mosques. Where Asia embraced Europe, and Islam and Christianity overlapped, he integrated the precepts of Islamic interiority with Graeco-Roman exteriority to produce a universal architecture.

In the foregoing I have expressed my views mainly on the interior of mosques. The fundamental Turkish form in the shape of a cube remained, although it became structurally more and more richly elaborated in the later mosques, an evolution which proceeded from the interior towards the exterior. But it was Sinan who succeeded in fully reflecting on the exterior the form of the interior. Compared with Sinan's edifices, St Sophia is a massive block. It could be said that in St Sophia every solid element has been pushed to the outside in order to make room for the realization of the interior spatial concept, thus creating a totally opposite exterior: the form of an immense mass resting heavily on the ground. In contrast, the exterior of a mosque always reflects the interior, especially in that its outside appearance is also deprived of weight. Stalactites used in the main portal and column capitals have been uniquely instrumental in eliminating the impression of weight as if columns were not there to support anything.

The two architectural styles of the fifteenth and sixteenth century Mediterranean region, Italian Renaissance and Ottoman, shared the same tendency towards monumental centralised space. In Italy, liturgical demands kept the basilica scheme alive, but the influence of Neoplatonic ideals, the importance of geometry, and new discoveries in the realm of art such as perspective, encouraged a symbolic approach to monumental architecture which culminated in the centralised dome of St Peter's.

In contrast, the Ottoman experience seems to have been based on functional and structural ideas. The foundations of such spatial concepts were created in the West by the Pantheon and in the East by the Sassanian domed halls. St Sophia in Istanbul followed the same path, mixed with strong religious symbolism.

Turkish architects used the dome as a style-creating element, but they found no reason to enhance its exterior shape. In the European tradition, in contrast, Michelarhgelo's dome of St Peter's, the dome of St Paul's in London, and the dome of Les Invalides in Paris are monuments in themselves. In Islamic architecture there was no such glorification of the dome.

The outer shape of the Western domes was differentiated from their inner shape by means of a double shell construction. In Turkish architecture there was no such manipulation of the structural shape of domes. As a result, in the great Turkish mosques the configuration of the outer form and the interior space have a complete correspondence, which was the outcome of a coherent organic vision. The architects, instead of trying to superimpose an independent entity over their mosque, conceived the whole building as a function of the domed structure.

The attitude toward total design is also revealed in their treatment of the façades of their buildings, where the exterior directly expresses the structural scheme and organisation of the interior. This design concept is contrary to Western ideas, where richness of variety on church façades was customary. This is why the Ottoman style remains the perfect expression of the structural dome tradition. This is the basis of its originality.

Palladio assimilated the characteristic styles of the architectural history of his own culture.61 Sinan similarly used decorative elements which belonged to the cultural heritage of his region: arched windows of Byzantine origin in the central domes to transfer downwards the dynamic thrust essential to the support of such structures; ogee arch openings, showing Persian influence, in the walls of the main structure in order to emphasise the vertical composition.

However, these two master builders never, at any time, plagiarised the models of their cultural heritage. Their genius lies in having assimilated the constructive and ideological rationale underlying that heritage in order to found a conceptual methodology of their own.

As Fernand Braudel pointed out, the Ottoman Empire's vigour did not end with the death of Süleyman the Magnificent. Particularly in the arts, classical expression lingered on with impressive creativity until the beginning of the eighteenth century. In this context one should also perhaps mention Architect Mehmet Agha and his masterpiece the Sultan Ahmet Mosque (known as the Blue Mosque), on which I will not dwell in detail.

In one expert view 62 Ottoman architecture should be considered more as the creation of `a singularly talented people' than the outcome of a logical evolution.

This people (the Turks), with their taste for simplicity, brought the architecture of their predecessors (the Seljuks and Karamans) to its ultimate forms, thus paving the way to their destiny. Contrary to the pioneers of Islamic art who, amongst Christians and with the help of existing Christian forms, gradually developed their architecture, the Turks, when they came into contact with Christians, already had their own artistic laws and forms. Political victories compelled them to measure up to Christian architecture. This fertile competition led the Turkish architects to deepen their own concepts, to elaborate further their artistic laws, and to enrich their talent.

In this light the history of Turkish mosque architecture is evidence of `artistic greatness' and `a proof of a very particular creative genius' whose best representative was Sinan, a member of the Sultan's slave household, the allegedly `inhuman' and `ignominious' institution of the Ottoman Empire.

When the Turks conquered Constantinople, the city landscape had been frozen for a long time. Like Rome in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries which was shaped by architects ranging from Bramante to Borromini, Istanbul was brought to life equally vigorously by Sinan and others. Mosques were the main element in the new structure of the city. They were not only religious buildings but also served social and cultural purposes with their `complexes'. It was in Istanbul that mosques for the first time acquired a function which regulated and emphasised the general structure and form of the city. This is the main difference between Istanbul and other Islamic cities in Asia and Africa where sacred buildings have a less precise relationship with the city itself.

The public places of antiquity and of Byzantium were centres around which all activities gathered and from which main roads emanated. Then the point of departure for the urban structure was the square or agora, a kind of interior, where daily life took place. It was quite different with the Turks. Their focus points were not squares or crossroads, but hilltops and high points crowned with mosques of pyramidal shape.

The East Romans (like the Romans) left the hills of the Golden Horn unadorned and placed their buildings on more level ground, whereas the Turks paid attention to contours and silhouette. They emphasised the hills by means of the pleasing shapes of the domes and minarets of this singular architecture. Where the Byzantine architects had constructed horizontally, their successors built vertically. Even water became a component of this vision of urbanism, for in Istanbul water is not only an element of the city, but also a mirror which reflects its unique silhouette.63

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