Secularism and State Religion in Modern Turkey: Law, Policy-Making and the Diyanet 9781780766225, 9781786722294, 9781786732293

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Emir Kaya is Assistant Professor of Philosophy and Sociology of Law at the Social Sciences University of Ankara. Previously he had worked as a rapporteurjudge for the Constitutional Court of Turkey. He holds a PhD in Law from SOAS, the University of London, a Master of Theological Studies from Harvard University, and a Bachelor of Arts in Political Science and Philosophy from Indiana University Bloomington.

‘This impressive book offers a probing analysis of the role and the evolution of Turkey’s Directorate of Religious Affairs, along with ongoing tension between secularism and Islam. Kaya’s historically grounded book employs an effective blend of interdisciplinary methodology and offers a coherent understanding about the cohabitation of religion and secularism in the field of law. He is thoughtful, persuasive and objective in his analysis. This will become one of the authoritative books on the Diyanet.’ M. Hakan Yavuz, Professor of Political Science, University of Utah ‘This fascinating study of law in action demonstrates the skilful arrangements that Turkey as a modern secular Muslim polity has put in place and navigates successfully to survive and prosper as a nation. Detailed examination of the Diyanet as a central institution to manage Turkey’s Islamo-secular identity clarifies that law and religion must learn to co-exist and can indeed work together for the greater good.’ Werner Menski, Emeritus Professor of Law, SOAS, University of London

SECULARISM AND STATE RELIGION IN MODERN TURKEY Law, Policy-Making and the Diyanet

EMIR KAYA

Published in 2018 by I.B.Tauris & Co. Ltd London • New York www.ibtauris.com Copyright q 2018 Emir Kaya The right of Emir Kaya to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in a review, this book, or any part thereof, may not be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Every attempt has been made to gain permission for the use of the images in this book. Any omissions will be rectified in future editions. References to websites were correct at the time of writing. ISBN: 978 1 78076 622 5 eISBN: 978 1 78672 229 4 ePDF: 978 1 78673 229 3 A full CIP record for this book is available from the British Library A full CIP record is available from the Library of Congress Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: available Typeset in GaramondThree by OKS Prepress Services, Chennai, India Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

To all who aspire to be fair-minded

CONTENTS

Introduction Turkey: Confusing and Confused Contrasted Facts, Perspectives and Results Alternatives to Positivism The Methodological Apparatus: Pluralism – not Secularism The Diyanet’s Place and Role in Turkey What is – and is not – in this Book?

1 2 3 5 7 10

Part I Background 1. A General Interlegal Background The Political Background The Religious Background The Social Background

15 15 34 43

2. Introducing the Diyanet: Structure, Discourse and Criticisms Historical Evolution Organisational Structure Today The Diyanet’s Official Discourse Criticisms

49 50 53 58 63

Part II Three Facets 3. The State’s Management of Religion Turkish Laicism in Light of the Constitutions The Parliamentary Acts The Statutory Laws of the Diyanet 4. The Diyanet’s Interpretation of Islam The Diyanet on Islamic Religion and Law The Diyanet on Axes of Authority Islam and the Diyanet in the Socio-Legal Sphere

79 81 89 99 111 111 118 124

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5. The Diyanet and Society Interactions with non-Muslim Minorities Interactions with Muslim Communities Interactions with ‘Secular’ Groups Features of Society and the Diyanet The Diyanet’s International Relevance

137 138 141 150 162 171

Conclusion

179

Notes Bibliography Index

189 195 223

INTRODUCTION TURKEY:CONFUSING AND CONFUSED

The double character of Turkey, namely that it is both Muslim and secular, is a chronic cause of polarisation in the country. Abroad, these two elements form an enigma. Some accounts of Turkey problematise this dualism, and highlight the crises experienced. Others praise Turkey’s aspiration for harmonisation, without thoroughly comprehending what this means for everyday politics in the country. Rarely does one get glimpses of a vigilant and disinterested approach that draws attention to the surprising core of Turkish secularism and the constant fine-tuning taking place therein. The issue of Turkish secularism continues to be at the mercy of misconceptions and simplifications – despite a great deal of (ultimately repetitive) information we have about it. How does the co-existence of Islam and secularism actually and systematically occur in the field of law, and by whom it is represented and maintained? It is my contention that the answer would lie in a thorough examination of the role of the Presidency of Religious Affairs, the Diyanet.1 On 3 March 1924, the caliphate, the political and symbolic leadership of the global Muslim/Sunni community, became de jure vested in the Grand National Assembly of the then Islamic Republic of Turkey. The de facto effect was the abolition of this thirteen centuries-old vital post, occupied by the Ottomans for the last four centuries. On the very same day, the Diyanet was founded, a local and ostensibly apolitical department, which was to carry on with religious services. Today, the Diyanet is still active as laic Turkey’s official religious organ. The Diyanet has not only survived the elimination of Islam as a source of law from the Constitution in 1928 and the insertion of laicism into it in 1937, but also an erratic socio-political history with military coups and numerous national and international policy shifts. This book examines how the Diyanet’s institutional mentality and behaviour has allowed it to keep its

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position within both state and society, despite the constant pressures that surround it. The Diyanet administers all mosques and official Qur’an schools in Turkey, and offers services that range from religious training to social aid, from publications to developing public discourse on religion, and from carrying out rituals to addressing emerging religious issues. It fulfils requests for advice at local, national and transnational levels. It consists of central, provincial and overseas divisions, each of them being moved and shaped by numerous factors elucidated in this book. With its nearly 120,000 employees2 and £1.7 billion budget3, the Diyanet is larger than most ministries. Most essentially, it provides a medium between state and society on a most pertinent subject: identity.

Contrasted Facts, Perspectives and Results ¨ zay, 2006: The Diyanet is claimed to be the secular ‘Republic’s religion’ (O 101), but it signifies as well how this predominantly and historically Muslim society acquired this semblance of secularity. Therefore, it is the key to deciphering Turkey’s identity in progress, which could well be denoted ‘Islamo-secular’. At the outset of this amalgamation of these two concepts – upon the collapse of the ultra-diverse Ottoman Empire – the increase of Muslims’ demographic density in Turkey coincided with a bureaucratic acceleration in secularisation. Likewise, over 60 years later, the declaration of laicism as an irrevocable provision in the 1982 Constitution was followed in 1983 by the enactment of the Political Parties Act that banned challenging the Diyanet’s constitutional status, which can in many ways be read as banning any challenges of religion’s constitutional status. An encompassing truism in the face of countless such subtleties is that the Diyanet’s reality is made up by contrasts, which are what this book seeks to highlight. First of all, the evident contrasts, thanks to the larger socio-political context, in the Diyanet’s formation and operation will be addressed, avoiding as much as possible any value judgements on whether they are good or bad, evitable or inevitable. This is an enormous challenge for such a contentious and political topic. Comments on the subject have unswervingly proved that a prescriptive track is commonly seen as a must; that is, the Diyanet ought to undergo reforms one way or another. There may indeed be such a need. However, admitting so as an overt or covert starting point would be a grave methodological error, and would damage the aims of the project in hand. The primary purpose of this book is to capture and examine an ongoing reality as plainly and widely as possible: a prescriptive basis cannot circumvent prejudices and other limitations. Moreover, it takes no ingenuity

INTRODUCTION

3

to propose changes when the Diyanet is the subject matter; the literature is already overwhelmed by partial ideas that miss out the full picture. Hence, this study is built upon an analytical approach to the Diyanet and tackles the following question: what is it that the Diyanet is doing or that is done by means of it? The preliminary answer in a nutshell indicates constant negotiation and a pursuit for balance between competing legalities, namely state, religion and society – each of them hosting internal pluralities. Such words as ‘negotiation’ and ‘balance’ imply duality of sides and existence of binary pairs. It is, therefore, only too normal to analyse the same facts from different, as well as opposing, standpoints and to arrive at contradictory conclusions. My hypothesis is that the Diyanet appears to be deficient, as a result of the struggle to assert itself against the triumvirate of state, society and religion. And yet, it appears to be fair and fitting since it places the institution in a vital position within which all three are able to support and legitimise each other at the same time. To reiterate a former point, I must confess that despite presenting sufficient material in this book, I suggest no neat and final answer to this basic curious question that everybody seems to be asking about the Diyanet: is it any good? The answer in this book is ‘It depends on priorities.’ My answer may not sound attractive, but it is nonetheless the most accurate. It is a fact of social sciences that we are often dealing with appearances, and all we can do is to roam between alternative perspectives so that we may take account of as many appearances as possible. Each appearance may entail one judgement and negate another. While participating in such a relativistic dialogue of perspectives and ideas, I try to keep in mind that, through a holistic description and analysis of the Diyanet, it may be likely to achieve a finer understanding about its role in Turkey as well as the legal implications of religion in general.

Alternatives to Positivism As the Diyanet is so meticulously circumscribed by statutory laws, it is necessary for this book to focus predominately on the legal aspects of this institution. However, the positivist top-down view of legislation, which sees it solely as a weight which can be imposed upon people is inaccurate and now quite outdated. The socio-legal view that regards law in action, with its background, interpretations, consequences and degree of public acceptance, offers a more reliable picture. For this reason, Menski’s (2006) triangular model of explaining law as amalgamation of and interaction between state, religion/ethics/morality, and society has been chosen to set the framework.4

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SECULARISM AND STATE RELIGION IN MODERN TURKEY

I do not perceive the Diyanet simply ‘under the law’ in a positivist sense (i.e. the state law, solely) but ‘within the law’ in a pluralist sense (i.e. as regulative forces including but not restricted to the state law). Religion should be admitted as a normative force in its own right, so should society. Consequently, religious, social and other views have to be heard and understood – and in their own terms. Such a preference brings an orientation shift from ‘enforcement’ to ‘balance’: it is not a unilateral relationship of the ruler with the ruled anymore, but a dynamic multilateral field in which every component affects and is affected by all the other components. In this book, I attempt to explore how the Diyanet functions in such a multidimensional interlegal setup.5 This perspective might disturb the reveries of Turkish and other positivists. However, there need not be any presumption for or against a particular state’s legislative path. The Turkish state was ambitiously and somewhat effectively monist at first, but society has gradually pushed it to moderation. Generally, the state also seems to be most concerned about the moderation of social groups as proved by numerous events in Turkey’s political history. Thus, the implications of this study intersect with the debates concerning the boundaries between state and society, the legal and the non-legal, positivism vs. pluralism, and suppressing vs. acknowledging religion by the state. This book presents a case study of a legal pluralist axiom (Griffiths, 1986) through the Diyanet’s convolutions, and hints how a state fails or succeeds and why it is impelled to step forth or back in the course of its legislative, judicial and executive procedures. The way in which the Diyanet has carved out its role within Turkey’s sociolegal context is the main focus of this book. Bearing this in mind, it aims to demonstrate that the law in Turkey, which has adopted an idiosyncratic but equilibrium-oriented version of laicism through the Diyanet, retains this secularism in as much as it recognises aggregate realities and prefers them over particularistic ambitions, be they secularist, pro-religious, modernist, conservative, statist, populist, Westernist, traditionalist, nationalist, globalist, or any other. This book also aims to link the turns and twists of this highly complicated arrangement to an anaylsis that highlights why and how the Diyanet emerges as a flawed and indispensible body at the same time. Positivist assumptions and convictions aside, making sense of the Diyanet and Turkey is not possible from a socio-legal perspective alone. The natural law tradition is also relevant as well as present. The Diyanet relies upon positive laws and Islamic tenets simultaneously. Indeed, it retains an Islamic worldview that accredites human-made laws – its major enemy seemingly. According to this worldview, the Diyanet already resides in a meaningful and interconnected order that is ultimately determined by and under the control of God.

INTRODUCTION

5

By infusing such natural legal beliefs, next to a more accustomed critical attitude, it is not meant to override the whole discussion with theological justifications, but to hear the Diyanet’s way of understanding the social world and to make sense of its conformist as well as transformational propensities. In order to do that, we should first realise our own such propensities. Do we instinctively approach the Diyanet with a secular methodology, for example?

The Methodological Apparatus: Pluralism – not Secularism The Diyanet is a fertile field of research that has not been adequately unravelled. In English, there are two Diyanet-sponsored publications available on the subject (Bardakog˘lu, 2006; The Muslim World, April 2008). In Turkish, the department’s individual aspects are scrutinised via methods of particular disciplines, including administrative law (Tarhanlı, 1993), sociology (Kaya, 1998; Tas¸, 2002), history (Aksoy, 1998), and policy studies (Pehlivan, 1994). Despite its well-defined legal periphery, no work could aspire to cover the Diyanet’s vast scope of relevance: all had to fall short of comprehensive representation. C¸akır and Bozan’s (2005) expansive survey outlined the Diyanet-related debates successfully applying journalistic priorities, albeit without an analytical model. The present study, taking lessons from the literature, targets the core of the Diyanet – its higher objectives as well as function for Turkey – moulded by political, religious, social and ideological concerns, and, in the end, crystallised by law. Hence, the Diyanet phenomenon speaks to a number of scholarly disciplines at once, holds keys to their intricate questions, and more importantly, defies their often aimed-for isolation from one another. The encompassing pluralist spirit of this book needs to be contextualised and explained, especially in relation to secularism. Despite being controversial and multi-implicational (McLennan, 1995; Connolly, 2005), the concept of pluralism is extremely useful when it comes to expanding one’s view over the less salient aspects of any social subject. Legal pluralism, likewise, holds promise to offer more accurate and open-minded analyses (Melissaris, 2009). Yet it is more often than not reckoned with anarchist connotations and is assumed to advocate agitating political orders, wherever it may be. In Turkey, too, pluralism, possibly due to a post-Ottoman regret, can ¨ ru¨cu¨ (2008: 36), for be misunderstood and treated as a political blasphemy. O instance, refers to different types of pluralism – moral, ethnic, cultural and legal – and suggests that Turkey’s could be cultural pluralism, not legal. The fact that the phrase ‘legal pluralism’ is not free of defects has been used to justify most such oppositions and clarifications about it. My main task, however, is not to perfect the theoretical claims of legal pluralism. It is by

6

SECULARISM AND STATE RELIGION IN MODERN TURKEY

incorporating its methods into this book’s analysis that I seek to curb the likelihood of being dominated by legal positivism and its secularist conditioning. Legal positivism insists that law is exclusively a state business or science. In reality, however, no state can endure, except by what is quickly dismissed by positivists as ‘non-legal’ or ‘extra-legal’. As Cotterrell (1998: 192) argues, ‘legal ideas are a means of structuring the social world’, thus ‘must be interpreted sociologically’ (p. 171). Legal pluralism denotes the plurality of effective factors in the social sphere, and is to be utilised to reach analytical accuracy. In this respect, legal pluralism is more of a research tool than a political system. By not yielding to the presumptions of positive laws, the likelihood that secularism could have dominated this book is prevented. Where secularism is a prime theme, such as in this case, it does not have to be the sole provider of perspective. Whether in the form of attack or defence, or mere investigation, laicism may be a main tool for the positivist, but not for the pluralist, if one is to analyse religion and state in Turkey. Pluralist methodology can help avoid the vicious circles of ‘secularism-talk’. It is rather easy to add up to a fruitless clash of abstractions, when secularism is the subject-matter. Jakobsen and Pellegrini (2008) have most successfully proved that secularism is multiple, not uniform. Warner, Vanantwerpen and Calhoun (2010), likewise, have managed to display the varieties of secularism. In today’s world, ‘secularism’ seems to be an intangible category, similar to ‘religion’: it is of little precision but great complication without context and specific applications. For instance, Smith (2008) notes that secularism is at root Christian, whereas Gregory (1853) and Buchanan (1857) declared it atheistic more than a century-and-a-half ago. Both views may be acceptable in their own right, but building upon either of the statements would affect the development of arguments dramatically. So much has been written on the subject that it is almost impossible not to lose focus and be misguided due to effects of theorisation, polarisation and politicisation, or due to attempts to etymologise or historicise the term. A survey of Turkey-related literature does not help one progress even minimally on the question of semantics. Publications as early as Poroy (1951) and Sinanog˘lu (1954) and as late as Axiarlis (2014) depict similar scenes of dualism and conflict in the country. Taylor (2009) proves that perplexity over secularism is an international condition. Bader (1999) essentialises concepts like religious pluralism and democracy, and finally, discussing 12 major connotations of the term ‘secularism’ by means of Turkish and Indian court cases, proposes that the phrase ‘priority for liberal-democracy’ should ‘replace all normative concepts of ‘secularism’’ (Bader, 2010: 8).

INTRODUCTION

7

In this book, the subject of secularism is tackled in a pragmatic manner. There is neither a proposed definition, nor an extensive historical or geographical analysis, linking Turkey’s experience with others. The reason for this choice is threefold: first, the unavoidably incomplete selection of materials would manipulate the conclusions reached in the end; second, historical and other materials on the subject are of secondary value as they help one interpret what is of primary value beyond nomenclature, that is, the existing facts and ongoing relations; third, practice is a definition itself, hence, as American philosopher James (1907) puts it, is self-evident. In this respect, the entirety of this book can be regarded as a treatise on secularism – a treatise that treats a particular type and implementation of secularism, though often tacitly, not head-on. The pragmatic stance of this study, in line with the Diyanet’s pragmatic solutions in the midst of ideology fights, discourages speculations stemming from reformative or conservative wishes. The current situation involves the irrevocable Article 2 of the 1982 Constitution about laicism, and Article 136 about the Diyanet. The chief question is about how the practitioners of legal tasks embody laicism and religion on a daily basis; it is not about the theoretical aspects. To sum up, this book is mainly about describing the relations of state, religion and society in Turkey. Secularism is a permanent factor and aspect in this milieu, but, as a theoretical tool, it is too scattered and speculative to be useful.6 The descriptive methods of legal pluralist theory are employed instead.

The Diyanet’s Place and Role in Turkey Tarhanlı (1993), as a leading example, approached the Diyanet as a matter of legislation and addressed its administrative status and implications. The ultimate target and basis in this case was the Republic of Turkey, the Diyanet being an element – the scrutinised one – of its legality. The present study does recognise neither ‘the secular state’ nor ‘the religion of Islam’ nor any interest group as its solitary basis. The constant basis is the Diyanet, which has official and unofficial, visible and invisible features. In an area where clear-cut categorisations are not feasible, the Diyanet’s performance needs to be interpreted along with its alert organisational mind. The Diyanet, in this sense, is not only a dependent aspect of a larger context, say, of Turkish political history, but also an entity whose concerns are crucial in itself as well as for uncovering the socio-legal reality in Turkey. The Diyanet is both an element and an undertaker of various balance pursuits. Perceiving the Turkish legal structure through the eyes of the Diyanet can offer a broad view of the ‘living law’ (Ehrlich, 1936) in Turkey as it is perhaps

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the only state department which naturally interconnects with unofficial and other types of laws (Chiba, 1986). By selecting the Diyanet as the centre of a polycentric, or perhaps a-centric, legal environment, this book distinguishes itself from the common instrumentalist investigations which question the use of the Diyanet for different ideologies such as those of the state and religious blocs. Surely one may wonder if the Diyanet is the centre of all Turkish socio-legality. It may not be, but, like all other players, it acts in a sphere where it sees itself at the centre. That is why its organisational mind is decisive. Furthermore, since the Diyanet represents the most manifest junction of state, religion and society, it could perhaps be a hidden centre of Turkish law – considering that any radical change in its status would imply a change in the regime. The Diyanet, while acting in a universe where it is the centre, has to alleviate the tensions a normative system encounters and must implement policies and strategies that would serve an overall harmony. Placing it in the centre expects to achieve a precise depiction of what the Diyanet really seeks in its course of activity – social stability, rather than fulfilling the particularistic demands in the names of state, religion or various communities. Whereas legal professions generally evoke a sense of activism, the Diyanet’s performance often looks inert, quiet and subservient. This observation might engender another objection to the Diyanet’s centrality in Turkey. However, just like cyclones generating heavy storms have calm and low-pressure centres that are not easily noticed due to the mess around them, national legal systems may also depend upon the passivity of their gentler but critical units. The pluralist thinking of law specially verifies such impressions while positivism often turns a blind eye to subtleties. In short, once the playground of normative forces is noticed, the Diyanet’s role as a mediator of interlegality becomes evident.7 The Diyanet’s perception of society and service to people await to be grasped beyond particularistic expectations pertaining to religion, state structure, legal system, identity, and so forth. As for the surroundings of the Diyanet, one automatically slips back to secularism. Laicism, as its governmental manifestation in Turkey, is an integral and rewarding ingredient of the country’s socio-legal setup and cohesion – despite a gigantic semantic problem.8 Yet, secularism needs to be pointed out as a mental subsystem that upholds philosophical and scientific positivisms, if legal positivism, a theory within this grander cult of intellectual genre, is to be contextualised properly. What is right or wrong about laicism/secularism? Is there any eternal reason why the religious and the secular, the sacred and the profane, cannot form an entwined and harmonious relationship? There seems to be one simple reason why they are almost

INTRODUCTION

9

universally viewed in chaotic terms: parochial idealism. Ungrounded and exclusivist idealisms lead to an awkward situation in which the two concepts become theoretically irreconcilable yet practically inseparable. The Diyanet, strikingly, is a practitioner that, to a large extent, serves to invalidate the eligibility of most of those high-toned dichotomist theories. Its main challenge has been to answer to religious and secularist shibboleths, as is Europe’s and many Asian and African countries’ predicament in the face of their pressing social evolutions.9 Turkey’s Diyanet is certainly not an epitome of state-and-religion scenarios, however. On the contrary, the lateral practicalities of a core tolerance to marry religious and secular sensitivities are in shreds. The status of religious minorities (Karaosmanoglu, 2006; Yildiz, 2007), the Alevis’ weariness in their long-censored social position (Shankland, 1999), the pressing discontent that spread from eastern Turkey as the Kurdish question (Bes¸ikc i, 1992), human rights issues as a whole (Arat, 2007), gender problems (Tekeli, 1995), accession to the European Union (Ug˘ur and Canefe, 2004; Grigoriadis, 2009a), the nation’s international identity and outlook (Larrabee and Lesser, 2003), politicisation of Islam (Yavuz, 2003a; White, 2003; Axiarlis, 2014), regionalism, and so on, pose serious challenges to the Turkish state, to which the Diyanet certainly is not immune. Nor has it been immune to the state’s ¨ zenc , engineering agendas, also incorporating religion (Go¨kc enay, 2003; O 2006). Across a multidimensional labyrinth, the state does not seem pragmatic but unsteadily ideological. After all, one principal angle of this study is the Diyanet within the very state tradition in Turkey (Heper, 1985; Ahmad, 1993; Jacoby, 2004), which cannot set an optimistic example smoothly. How is the Diyanet’s religiosity affected by state-centric nationalisms, for instance? Needless to say, this component of the research goes hand-in-hand with a social one. The aspirations of the state as well as the demands of society are analysed from historical, cultural, legal and political viewpoints. From a religious viewpoint, the Diyanet’s standard conduct may at certain points look expedience-driven, yet at others it may (also) be profoundly principle-based. Its principles must not solely be drawn from Islamic legal doctrine but also from the considerations of (Islamic) law vis-a`-vis ethics, text vis-a`-vis context, revelation vis-a`-vis reason, religious ideals vis-a`-vis social realities, and finally of a holistic panorama. The Diyanet concretises a theological stance that regards Islamic teachings in a gradual order and through prioritisation. It seems to be concentrated on the higher objectives of Islam, rather than principles contingent upon circumstances.10 How does such a reading of religion differ from the national and international alternatives available today? Is it ‘fundamentalist’ or ‘anti-fundamentalist’? Or, does the Diyanet manage to represent a native Islamic perspective that

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SECULARISM AND STATE RELIGION IN MODERN TURKEY

blinks at such rushed conceptualisations and still it may be at peace with its surroundings? If so, what is the cost of such a peace? The societal aspect of this study is not limited to discussions about state intervention. The Diyanet’s social facet unsurprisingly consists of dual meanings, advantages and disadvantages, merits and faults, often resulting from the very same facts. Overall, the society’s perceptions on a wide range of topics about the Diyanet lay out a highly instrumental theme: image. Is there a difference between the Diyanet’s actuality and its public image? Which one matters most? How are conflicting images generated? What does the image question tell about the Diyanet’s social reception vis-a`-vis bureaucratic loyalty? The furtherance of such questions leads to other crucial themes such as influence, authority and power. Here, again, the assessment of power, for instance, varies according to one’s angle. The authority over the whole field is fuzzy: is it the state, which seems to constrain the public expression of religion; is it Islam, which overrides the laicist dreams in part; or is it ultimately society with its obscure yet undeniably forceful spirit? Or, is it the manipulators of the public, which are countless – politicians, intellectuals, community leaders, media, NGOs, local factors across the country, globalisation and its projections? Or, is it, at the end of the day, individuals who combine the state, religion and society corners in themselves, judge the Diyanet accordingly, and make their own choice? It seems that power and law are polycentric or even a-centric, and there is no tangible way of calculating the barycentre (Teubner, 2004). The question, then, is about what the Diyanet prioritises and defers, and why, and what consequences arise out of its strategies. For example, where does it stand between public and private religious practices in Turkey? Does it basically sacrifice its effectiveness on personal religiosity while trying to uphold an intact public image in the midst of discursive struggles and intense power relations?

What is – and is not – in this Book? As the Diyanet question is multifaceted and multilayered, there is an abundance of correlated issues. This fact poses two risks: first, one may fail to maintain the division between what is essential and what is peripheral; two, one may not be proportionate in one’s engagement with historical, social, bureaucratic, educational and other backgrounds. Of the dozens of subjects relevant to the Diyanet, some have been dealt with by earlier works. Significant they may be; these subjects are nevertheless peripheral to the present book which is not interested in investigations that are not directly related to the core theme of interlegality. Those topics – including but not limited to Ottoman era religious pluralism, the European roots of Turkey’s secularism and legal

INTRODUCTION

11

transplants, the early republican years as an intense and vibrant era of Turkey’s self-pursuit, Atatu¨rk’s enormous personal contribution to the Diyanet’s and the nation’s character, competing political ideologies throughout the republican history, the role of the military, the influence of the ruling Justice and Development Party (JDP), a general intellectual history of Islam about state and religion relations – are all touched and occasionally expanded upon, but only insomuch as they enrich the leading concern of this book, not in proportion to their general importance. The existence of the multiplicity of factors pertinent to the Diyanet forbids extravagant efforts to go too profoundly into any of these factors in a way that might blur the focus of interlegality. Pluralism, in this vein, reduces the depth while increasing the breadth of the topical constituents of the present study, for the sake of deepening ultimately the question of interaction and negotiation between various norm-generating mechanisms. Having established the focus, it may be useful to clarify what is not principally investigated in this book. Individual religiosity, an enormous sociological subject in and of itself, is not a direct concern. The results of such an alternative viewpoint on the Diyanet could understandably differ from the hypotheses and findings presented here, for it is a governmental unit with public orientation and may draw a divergent profile on the private sphere. Indeed, laicism requires that the Diyanet must take a flexible and nonmanipulative approach in order to sustain space for free choice, which positively influences the department’s overall social endurance as well. It cannot get involved with personal lives unless willingly accepted, while its social activities constantly take place throughout the country and abroad to encourage choice making. Therefore, as the Diyanet’s socio-legal dimension and relevance for individual religiosity are naturally intertwined, an in-depth examination of the Diyanet’s public stance should eventually unveil the motives and results of its behaviour with regard to personal religious choices. Secondly, the Diyanet’s overseas activities are not of a primary concern here either. It is a noteworthy area of research, with particular reference to Europe, the Balkans and the Turkic republics in central Asia. This book, however, is largely demarcated by the Turkish nation-state while international aspects are incorporated only where they correlate to domestic determinants. Thirdly, it is rather the institution’s executive mind and general philosophy than its componential features that attracts the interest of this project. The Diyanet is not a monolithic body. It has its own internal diversity, ideological and otherwise, and the local and occasional undertakings led by its staff may fairly be used against the findings here. However, there endures a general discursive and behavioural tradition in a more or less discernible pattern. A plain evidence for this claim is that the Diyanet headquarters are the sole provider of spokesmen, thus unison is clearly an

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SECULARISM AND STATE RELIGION IN MODERN TURKEY

ambition (DI˙B, 2007/11/28). The pattern scrutinised hereby has reasonably attuned to times along with the state and the society; these changes are referred to when required. This book has two parts. The first consists of two introductory chapters, namely, a panorama of Turkish socio-political and religious dynamics, and an account of the Diyanet’s organisational structure. The second part consists of three chapters of in-depth normative analysis, namely, a description of the Diyanet as an arm of the state structure and ideology, an evaluation of the Diyanet’s Islamic mentality and presence, and a positioning of the Diyanet within social forces and relations. Chapter 1 considers the Diyanet as an outcome of a larger sublegal context comprising social, demographic, political and intellectual elements, and has three angles. The political angle examines the environment in which the official legislation has been developing. The religious angle explicates the structure of religious communities and ideas in Turkey that underpin religious legalities. The societal angle unravels the diverse composition of the country, thus increases one’s awareness of the challenges the Diyanet is faced with. Each of these subsections sets the ground for a major later chapter, namely 3 (state), 4 (religion) and 5 (society). Chapter 2 critically introduces the Diyanet’s history and current organisation scheme, along with the duties undertaken by each unit. Chapter 3 presents a comprehensive discussion of Diyanet-related – and some further religion-related – statutory laws and Constitutional Court cases in Turkey. In the end, an accurate portrait of Turkish laicism is acquired. The laws follow a complex pattern between serving and exploiting religion. The resultant Diyanet is a sample of Turkish confusion with regard to the country’s identity and future direction. This largely technical chapter includes some groundbreaking analyses. Chapter 4 tackles the question how the Diyanet grasps, maintains and represents the Islamic scholarship and cult in Turkey.11 The soft spot of the Diyanet’s religiosity is obviously its concretisation of Islamic law, by which it is enabled to attune to a laic regime and become its indispensable player. The situations of mutual appeasement between state and religion are illustrated. Many contemporary questions about the nature of Islam are also debated through the example of the Diyanet. Chapter 5 depicts the reciprocal implications of the Diyanet vis-a`-vis Turkish society that consists of multiple interest groups, formal and informal organisations, ideological parties, alternative religiosities, and so on. The chapter also points at the Diyanet’s international relations in the Western, Muslim, and Turkic countries. The Diyanet’s real social function is exposed by examining its power relations and responses to critical issues.

PART I BACKGROUND

CHAPTER 1 A GENERAL INTERLEGAL BACKGROUND

Three main sources of law and types of legality affect Turkish society when thinking about the context within which to put the role of the Diyanet: the state with its official laws, Islam with unofficial religious tenets, and society with its customary norms. At a micro level, the Diyanet can be seen to be a special junction for these three norm-generating forces. It is a condensed entity located and somewhat deliberately placed at the centre of Turkish socio-legal reality. The topic to be explored in this chapter is the historical and intellectual development of Turkey’s modern-day structures in political, religious, and social arenas: how has each come to its current legal arrangement and mindset? How they, in turn, relate to the Diyanet is then explored further in chapters 3, 4 and 5.

The Political Background Turkey is an idiosyncratic country where generalisations one might draw out of classical dichotomies such as ‘religion’ and ‘secularism’ are bound to be mistaken. One undeniable fact is that the modern Turkish state was planned and established with a nationalistic outlook whose theory was pioneered by Ziya Go¨kalp, a Durkheimian sociologist, and epitomised in his 1923 work titled Tu¨rkc
u¨lu¨g˘u¨n Esasları (The Principles of Turkism) (Go¨kalp, 1950; 1968). Nationalism, by raising the question of Turkish identity, became an area of multiple voices. Ethnically, a Turk is a descendant of a Ural-Altaic tribe whose ancient homeland is northern China and central Asia at large (O¨gel, 1962). Culturally, ‘Turk’ had referred to the Muslim members of the Ottoman Empire (Ramsay, 1897), or to Muslims generically where and when Turks made the primary contact with non-Muslims, such as with Hindus in India (Gilmartin and Lawrence, 2000) and Christians in Europe

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SECULARISM AND STATE RELIGION IN MODERN TURKEY

(Fischer-Galati, 1959). More recently, with the establishment of the Republic, ‘Turk’ has become a matter of re-making from scratch, portrayed as a person who is undistinguishable from ‘advanced’ (gelis¸mis¸), ‘contemporary’ (c
ag˘das¸) Europeans by look, lifestyle, or mentality (Ahmad, 1993; Log˘og˘lu, 1997). In the eyes of the founders of the Republic, ‘Turk’ was to be identitfed more as a European than an Asian. This new identity was to be more the product of a project of cultural transformation, hence an accomplishment to come, rather than an existing reality.1 Unsurprisingly, modern Turkish law was to be created along with the Turkish identity which could have the following three major contributors: pre-Islamic ethnic history, Islamic legacy sealed by the Ottoman State, and the European advancement that drew the country’s new vision. The founders of Turkey attempted to contrive a mixture of these three poles. One of the great challenges of doing so was to strip Islam and the Ottoman notions and institutions, which had incorporated the global Muslim caliphate, off from each other. In light of the fact that any religion exists only by its adherents and through cultural versions, the folk culture that included Islam as an indispensable element was thus also to be challenged. The pre-Islamic Turkish roots were to be utilised as a tool for discovering the Turk in and of itself, that is, without an Islamic input. The West, on the other hand, was like a lighthouse for future navigation. From these three phenomena, modern Turkish identity emerged as a prime issue to be clarified, with reference to the past and the future, and the law became both a field of transformation as well as an instrument as for holistic reforms. In order to understand modern Turkish law, each of these identity categories that dominate the political discourse should be dealt with separately and extensively. That is because at the heart of most legal and political decisions and changes in the country, including those pertaining to the Diyanet, lie three words, their conflict and harmony in numerous ways: ‘Turk’, ‘Islam’ and ‘the West’. The legal field of the Ottoman Turks was dominated by religion until the second half of the nineteenth century. The initial reception of French codes in the 1860s and the foundation of the first law school named Mekteb-i Hukuk in the 1870s accelerated the incorporation of non-Islamic notions into the discipline. The first legal history book (Tarih-i I˙lm-i Hukuk) of the Empire was written by Seydis¸ehri Mahmud Esad Efendi in the early 1910s as a general work that included Egyptian, Babylonian, Chinese, Japanese, ancient Turkish, Mongolian, Persian, Hindu, Jewish and Islamic legal developments. Along with the Republic’s ideological positioning and intellectual reforms, the legal history courses at law schools became more of a particular, national kind and started to put special emphasis on pre-Islamic

A GENERAL INTERLEGAL BACKGROUND

17

Turkish laws, while gradually pushing the Islamic aspects to the realm of divinity and history departments (Aydın, 2005: 9). This shift in legal studies, as is seen time and again below, is quite typical of an early republican mentality: global, imperial and religious visions are replaced by a national, ethnic and secular one – under the premises of the Young Turk movement (Turfan, 1999). The ancient, pre-Islamic and Central Asian Turks, whose influence had nearly been lost at empirical levels during the Ottoman reign, now became a resort of lineage and identity for the founders of Turkey. It was to be remembered, re-interpreted, re-introduced into the society. It also proved legally relevant in two major ways. First, certain practices, such as those pertaining to women, were quoted as evidence of non-Islamised Turkish culture and were praised for their compatibility with contemporary European values. Secondly, a series of laws were enacted to retrieve what was perceived to be the ‘neglected Turkishness’; language reforms, to name but one. In both cases symbolism was a prominent feature. As a result, the pre-Islamic Turkish life and its legal side secured its place in the political backdrop of modern Turkey. One of the reasons why Turks felt obliged to look back to their ancient roots was to make a point that they were dissimilar to Arabs, Iranians and other Muslim populations of the Middle East. By doing so, much of the disliked customs including the dress code could simply be labelled as Arabian culture, that is, not indispensable for remaining Muslim; thus the desired affiliation to the economically and scientifically advanced European community could become easier. Apparently, they did not mind the contradiction in dismissing their centuries-long contact with the West under Islam and aspiring to become Western by going back to their far-eastern origins. Their argument essentially was that ‘Turk’ can and does bear a meaning without Islam. This attempt was not necessarily anti-religious per se, but rather to locate the Turks as a self-standing nation among others. Religion was to be affected by such attempts, nevertheless. Danis¸mend (1983: 48), for example, linked the weakening of the Empire with tolerance to non-Turkish elements in the system of governance – a fact amplified by Islam’s ethnicallydisinterested approach to social and political affairs. The founders of the Republic pointed to a perceived lack of appreciation for the Turks, citing examples such as how, in the nineteenth century, the word ‘Turk’ was used to mean the Anatolian peasants (Kuran, 1997: 244). Ramsay’s account (1897: 22) among many others is a striking one: Every one of the few processes in Turkey that require skilled labour is performed by a Christian . . . The Turk, if he works, is a servant, a hewer of wood and a drawer of water: he rarely can learn to do more. Only in

18

SECULARISM AND STATE RELIGION IN MODERN TURKEY

certain districts, where some manufacture has been practiced from time immemorial, do you find Turks engaged in it; but the careful observer will entertain no doubt that they are only the older population Mohammedanised. At Tyana I found an able and active and wealthy Turk; but he was distinctly not Turk in type or race. A typical representation of a Turk had included two characteristics: a Muslim subject of any race in the Empire and/or a member of a specific race of largely useless people, except perhaps on the battleground (Schiffer, 1999). The reactive Pan-Turkist movement of the late Ottoman era made it clear that Turks were to be recognised as a people in and of its own nobility, not as the banner bearers of Islam (Kuran, 1997: 13). The ethno-historical roots, as the religious one was now dispelled, therefore, became a serious subject of investigation. By this new ethnocentric paradigm, Turkish law’s origin was attributed to the Hun (Xiongnu) Empire. The Hun Empire was a federation of nomadic tribes established in the north of China and lasted from the third century B.C. to the third century A.D. Turkish law is assumed to have developed in this era, particularly after Mete Han (Modu Chanyu), who reigned from 209– 174 B.C. This reading of legal history is clearly a state-centric one and reflects contemporary and official conceptualisations of identity in Turkey. Above all, there is a shortage of comprehensive works on Turkish legal history. Scholarly works on the Ottoman/Muslim Turkish laws are plentiful, so are ones on the modernisation of laws starting from the Tanzimat Edict of 1839. Pre-Islamic Turkish law is difficult to identify for two reasons: first, the notion of law in the pre-Islamic tribal Turkish communities is too distant from our modern notions; then the law (to¨re, or to¨ru¨ in old Turkish) was diffused within society as a comprehensive code of conduct. It comprised a strong sense of tradition and communal solidarity as well as beliefs. This largely chthonic legal system was an even amalgamation of all the public and private norms and functioned as a ‘self-controlled order’ system (Menski, 2006). A second and correlated reason is that the pre-Islamic Turkish law has been analysed by modern lawyers in terms of today’s formal structures, which does injustice to understanding to¨re, a surviving determinant in the socio-legal milieu whose role is scarcely recognised by the official doctrine (O¨ru¨cu¨, 1987– 8, 2008). It is too much a matter of socio-cultural norms to qualify as proper ‘law’ in the eyes of most analysts. A Turkish legal history journal in the 1940s, several books by Sadri Maksudi Arsal (1928, 1947), a two-volume book by Halil Cin and Ahmet Akgu¨ndu¨z (1989), and a more ¨
cok, Mumcu and Bozkurt (1996) are among the few recent work by U noteworthy publications on the subject of Turkish legal history.2

A GENERAL INTERLEGAL BACKGROUND

19

The pre- and post-Islamic as well as modern secular Turkish laws and politics are related in interesting ways. It was particularly wished by the founders of Turkey to connect the first and the last with as little reference as possible to Islamic law. A good example of adherence to the ancient past is that the foundation of the modern Turkish Army is accepted as 209 B.C., the accession of Mete Han to the throne. It is believed that he had invented an advanced, hierarchical military system. Similarly, the arrow, an ancient symbol for classifying the tribes (Ero¨z, 1983: 115), is used for the emblem of the first political party of the Turkish Republic, Cumhuriyet Halk Partisi (Republican People’s Party). The party was established by Mustafa Kemal, the founder of the Republic, who later was exclusively granted the title of Atatu¨rk (The Forefather Turk). The title bestowal is also a tradition from ancient times. The second president, I˙smet I˙no¨nu¨, was called Milli S¸ef (National Chief) whereas the founder of the nationalistic party (Milliyetc
i Hareket Partisi), Alparslan Tu¨rkes¸, was popularly named Bas¸bug˘ (Chieftain), an ancient word of charismatic tribal leadership, nonetheless an archaic one for Ottoman times. This party adopted the wolf as its icon, which, according to the mythology, Turks befriended throughout their voyages in the wilderness.3 Many other elements of the representation of Turkish nationalism, both in official and political forms, are reproductions from these ancient times. The nationalistic ideological background of the Republic required the contribution of secularism to establish itself. Though the society was largely unaware of this motive, some members of the late Ottoman bureaucracy had been in search much earlier for non-religious alternatives for saving parts of the crumbling Empire. The movement led by the Young Turks through the Committee of Union and Progress (I˙ttihat ve Terakki Cemiyeti) was driven by ethnic/nationalistic agendas and was often religiously disinterested, if not critical. Gu¨lec
(1992: 33), praising secularism and attaching it to nationalism, accepts the reality of a big identity crisis in the face of an early republican utopia to resurrect Turkishness. Ko¨sog˘lu (1996: 85) distinguished between the cultural and national identities and tried to make sense of Turkish identity on a spectrum formed by the two. Others, especially after the chaotic situation which led to a military coup in 1980, such as Gu¨nyol (1985), Zaralı (1987) and O¨zertem (1988), proposed additional approaches to the problematic of identity in Turkey. Psychological and socio-political methodologies of Western scholars such as Erikson (1956), Wheelis (1958) and Lichtenstein (1963) were also benefitted from. Atabinen’s (1930) study seeks marks of Turkish presence and nationalism across and around the old Ottoman boundaries. Noting that when he compiled his research, that there was not a single book on the essence and origins of Turks, he noted that there was a difficulty in establishing a coherent

20

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field of Turkology, especially if the race in general rather than dynasties should be given priority in research. He describes Turks as a mobile phenomenon through which the farther eastern and Western parts of the world came to know about each other (Atabinen, 1930: 11). His book was published by Tu¨rk Ocakları, an association devoted to promote Turkish identity since 1912 and whose honorary chair was Atatu¨rk. Atatu¨rk initiated and supported similar organisations by which Turkish nationalism could be elaborated academically. Among them are the Turkish Historical Society (Tu¨rk Tarih Kurumu; est. 1931) and the Turkish Language Society (Tu¨rk Dil Kurumu; est. 1932). These scholarly societies promoted Atatu¨rk’s nationalistic theses that exalted the Turkish race and aimed to generate what they understood to be a new, uncontaminated language, emancipated from the Arabic and Islamic terminologies. The proceeds of these societies were swiftly introduced into the educational system, and the concept of a pre-Islamic Turkish history was the main focus in such attempts. Afet I˙nan, in her memoirs about the establishment of the Historical Society, reports an incident where Atatu¨rk shared his sadness due to the unfairness and restraints against the Turks in Wells’ The Outline of History (1920) and Pittard’s Le Races et l’Historie (1924). Hence the central concern for the Society was: what is the real place of the Turks in the world history and what services have they provided for humankind’s civilisation? (C¸oker, 1983: 2). ¨
c Tarz-ı Siyaset (Three Manners of Politics) Yusuf Akc
ura’s 1904 article titled U had highlighted Turkism as the most suitable political strategy to be adopted by the Ottoman authorities against the upcoming collapse. Ottomanism, a fair treatment to all subjects of the Empire as citizens without any reference to religion and ethnicity, could mean Arab or non-Muslim dominance and elimination of the founding members from the rule. Islamism, continuing to assume global leadership of Muslims, would, on the other hand, position the Ottoman State against Western powers that governed huge Muslim populations in their colonies. Akc
ura (1976) had argued that the State should not be fixated on protecting the boundaries or solving the Muslims’ problems at all costs. That would be neither realistic nor appropriate. Rather, Turkishness should govern the spirit of the state, not imperial or religious convictions. These nationalistic views summarised by Akc
ura, later the chair of the Turkish Historical Society, were indeed concretised by the new Republic, though along with its serious, inevitable defects. It is true that Ottomanism had become void upon the collapse of the Empire in 1922. Global Islamism had also to be dismissed, both due to the burdensome consequences of the post-war situation as well as the Turks’ semi-voluntary choice for the abolition of the caliphate. That, in its context, meant that Turks were to withdraw from claiming the Muslim world’s leadership.

A GENERAL INTERLEGAL BACKGROUND

21

However, the emerging Turkish nationalism was too immature and devoid of public appreciation, not to mention insufficient knowledge about the Turkish history and language in its own ethnic right. Nationalism was an elite phenomenon, an intellectual endeavour of the ruling class. The people, regardless of the quality of their religious vision, were deeply, culturally as well as theologically, religious. In Lewis’s (2002: 15) words, Turks had, by then, already effaced themselves in Islam. As one would expect, they were not willing to give up their religion; they were encompassed by it, holding on to both authentic and diverted, nonetheless internalised beliefs. Sencer (1969), while examining the Ottoman social structures to evaluate the chance of a socialist revolution in Turkey, particularly with respect to land ownership, finds the Turkish national culture greatly interwoven with Islamic legal principles. Linking the Turks’ nomadic lifestyle with shamanism, he claims that the Islamisation of Turks coincided with their transition to settlement (Sencer, 1999: 59). As Turk and nomad had been synonymous since pre-historical times, it is plausible to say that Islamisation was not merely a religious conversion, but a total social and cultural transformation. After 1071, the Battle of Manzikert, Anatolia gradually became the homeland for immigrant tribes. The Seljuks took over the land; the Ottomans politically embodied the persona of this new Muslim Turk, who was now settled to develop a more complex culture. Og˘uzog˘lu (2000: 31) also demonstrates a deep religiosity within the Ottoman philosophy of governance, and presents the early Sultan Murat I’s letter to his governors as an example among others. He believes that the true Ottoman spirit was fertilised during the first 150 years by the spiritual masters who guided the ruling family with serious and candid advice (p. 208). Indeed, the place of religion in Ottoman life, again both in authentic and altered or even corrupted ways, remained substantial throughout its continuum. The new Turkish Republic, as a result, found itself in a position of sorting out a proper, possibly also an adjustable religiosity while searching for Turkish identity. This was one of the functions assigned to the Diyanet. Society was ‘unruly’, however: endeavours of various parties for or against the existing religious culture and concepts brought massive tensions into the political arena. Consequently, Islam has proved to be one of the main components of the Turkish political life. Radcliffe-Brown (cited in S¸aylan, 1992: 15) argued that religion’s fundamental public function is to produce and formulate the norms that bring about social cohesion. Islamic political discourses in Turkey functioned reversely and often against the perceived Kemalist ideology. S¸aylan (1992: 79) observes Kemalist secularism between two converse movements: the dissolution of Islamic Sharia and the rise of Turkism. Thus, Kemalism, an

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ideology formulated upon Kemal Atatu¨rk’s death based on his alleged vision, and its secularist outlook became an easy target for the Islamically-sensitive. Islam, in this context, has been interpreted by traditionalist means and located against the Republic’s reforms. Later on, inspirations from the Arab countries and Iran also made their effects, while certain groups like the Naks¸bendis insisted on preserving the Ottoman way (S¸eker, 2007). Politically, too, all parties felt the need to announce their religious views as much as their agendas and the social sensitivities permitted. S¸aylan (1992: 237) linked the continuation of religious sensitivities despite the reforms with the failure of the Republic in fulfilling its promise for economic advancement. Such reductionist theories deserve limited credit, however. It is beyond doubt that religious feelings mixed with attachments to the past are ever-present in Turkey, as in other countries. Ko¨ktas¸ (1997) compares Turkey with Western countries in this respect, particularly with Germany and America. He borrows the scheme of Michelat and Simon (1977: 414– 5, cited in Ko¨ktas¸, 1997: 178) which depicts strong correlation between religious and political systems, noting that the attempts to replace Islam’s role in social cohesion and identity with Turkish nationalism destabilised the political institutions (p. 183). Duman (1997: 25) admits that Kemalism indirectly challenged the political assertions of Islam represented by some of the religious scholars (ulema) of the late Ottoman Empire. Muslims were anticipated to continue holding significant political expectations in Turkey, the former seat of the caliphate. However, as the ulema were now conserved in the body of the Diyanet and all the unofficial religious practices were banned, the political leadership of Muslims was absent. Upon elimination of the risk of religious counterrevolutions, Atatu¨rk followed determined strategies to secure a nationalist and secularist foundation for the Republic. Occupying the otherwise neutral position of the President, he did not hesitate to direct the Republican Party to this end. After his death in 1938, the growing social unease caused by ‘anti-religious’ policies – or, anti-social as it was public opinion that disagreed with the laws enacted in the direction of Westernisation and secularism – increased the pressures for a multi-party system which materialised in 1946. Since then the populist parties embodying the traditionalist expectations have challenged – and partly dismissed – the official engineering ideology that had been practised by the ruling elites. Furthermore, the Republican Party has remained a scapegoat of religious discontent in the country; even when it had strived to satisfy the needs of religious people, it was accused of insincerity (Duman, 1997: 28–9). Here, we witness the superficial formation of two ideological monopolies in Turkey, Islamism and Kemalism, between which transitions are discouraged, as if to keep the camps intact and fighting.4

A GENERAL INTERLEGAL BACKGROUND

23

One of the major deadlocks of the Turkish political system is, it seems, due to not having a clear and agreed definition of secularism. The law by which the Diyanet had been established in 1924 was not challenged seriously after the removal of Islam from the constitution in 1928 and the insertion of laicism (laiklik) into it in 1937. What is the effect of laicism, then? There is evidence that secularisation was to become a prime ingredient of the Republic’s grassroots-level cognitive transformation scheme. In 1928, for example, the Correction of Religion Project (Dini Islah Projesi) was a matter of discussion. Since the modern republic was a high-class intellectual dream rather than a public demand, all the elements of social life including religion were perceived as pieces of that dream. The central concern was to create a national Islam (ulusal I˙slam), a debate which still persists under the label of moderate Islam (ılımlı I˙slam). Accordingly, the Turkish model of secular governance would be an acceptable example for the rest of the Middle East. This view is, however, hotly contested due to its supposed American backing as well as to subjugating Islam to political pragmatism. After all, the socalled Turkish model for laicism is short of clarity, too. Davison (2003: 333) successfully depicts and further complicates the situation: The analytical reason for suggesting that what is known as secularism in Turkey be understood and consistently redescribed as laicism, indeed as a limited, inconsistent, and ambivalent form of laicism, is that secularism and laicism are not two different words for the same institutional arrangement, but rather two distinct, complex, varied, contested, and dynamic possibilities in the range of nontheocratic politics. Turkish secularism is claimed to have been inspired by the French model of a rigid separation between church and state (Michalski, 2006; Go¨le, 2007: 187; Gordon and Taspinar, 2008: 12; Warner, Vanantwerpen and Calhoun, 2010). Despite this view’s accuracy in terms of the ideological source of inspiration, the practical application in Turkey differs from France where the state had cut off subsidies for religious institutions more than a century ago. The continuation of state support for religion in Turkey seems to be one of the fundamental contradictions of Turkish secularism in view of the French model. Turkish secularism is also dissimilar to the American version of ‘nonestablishment’ (Temperman, 2010: 116). The First Amendment (1789) to the American Constitution (1787) states that ‘Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof’. The Turkish Constitution of 1982 in Article 136 provides the formal basis for the Diyanet, and unofficial religious groups are left outside the Islamic realm as far as the state is concerned.

24

SECULARISM AND STATE RELIGION IN MODERN TURKEY

The Alevi community, an ethno-cultural group with Islamic elements, has been objecting to this orthodoxy since the foundation of the State, while the Jewish and Christian rights to religion are listed under minority rights. The Turkish form of secularism is also different from the Indian version, where, in theory, equidistance to all religions is pursued. Yet, it has some similarities with those countries, particularly in terms of electoral systems, and with others such as Thailand, a predominantly Buddhist and yet secular country, for having a big religious majority, and as Indonesia, for the official interest in religious classification of the population. In Turkey, the identification cards had to state religious affiliation until November 2006, when the religious information was allowed to be altered or left unanswered. Notably, this amendment occurred in the context of European integration. In brief, one should admit and be aware that Turkey has generated its own way of secularism as an idiosyncratic model, and continues to fine-tune it in light of domestic and international factors. Therefore, any vigilant discussion on Turkish secularism should avoid impatience while attempting to reach clarity, either in the form of conceptualisation or comparison. It is clearly a special case in and of itself. Islam’s place in Turkish politics is much larger than indicated so far. It strategically overlaps with the Turkist and Westernist paradigms as well. Due to the increasingly leftist, socialist influences during the Cold War, atheistic and revolutionary ideas became popular in the 1960s and 1970s. But Turkey recognised that its strong links to the US were essential, and as a result, allying with the Soviet Union could not be part of its international relations strategy. Hence, social solidarity was perceived under threat, and religion was called for. Kemalism was not an anti-religious movement to start with; it rather attempted at times to promote a pure and true version of Islam (Davison, 2003: 340). Meanwhile, Turkish nationalism gradually embraced more of the Islamic values against such risks as communism and ethnic, mainly Kurdish, counter-nationalism. Eventually Islam became recognised as a part of nationalism at the social level. This has appeared to be a rather foreseeable middle point between Turkism and Islamism in Turkey. The military coup of 1980, which resolved the chaos across the country that resulted from a leftist/rightist clash, introduced mandatory religious courses into the curriculum and made religious education exclusively a state business (1982 Constitution, Article 24). One can see this as a realistic as well as tactical admission of Turkey’s Muslim disposition. Obviously, such an implementation was to facilitate the management of diversity found among Islamic communities while preserving the Turkish identity, along with its indispensable Islamic ingredient, against further social dissolution.

A GENERAL INTERLEGAL BACKGROUND

25

Contrary to the initial plans of the Republic’s founders, Islamic motives permeated all other matters of Turkish politics such as the Kurdish question, the European Union, the Palestinian conflict, and so forth. Especially during the fourteen years of the JDP rule, Islam gradually has become more loud and visible in political and legal debates. Today Islam continues to be one of the three chief concerns governing Turkey’s domestic and international politics despite a facade of laicism. The third major force in Turkish politics is westernism, which has its roots in the Ottoman era. The Ottomans continued to perceive themselves as superior to the European countries until around the eighteenth century; more precisely, until after signing a peace treaty in 1699, upon defeat for the first time. Further failures on the battle fields made the Ottomans doubt their supremacy as military victories had been the primary criterion for the state’s performance. They experienced a late awakening to the improvements in Europe upon the opening of embassies in Western capitals, the first in Paris in 1721 (Burc
ak, 2007). European countries by then had discovered many of the world’s distant corners, had progressed in accumulation of wealth through trade and colonisation, and were advanced enough militarily and logistically to preserve their means of profit. Developments in art, philosophy and politics were also taking place at a quick pace. The Ottomans, on the other hand, were in the hands of obsolete and complicated mechanisms of bureaucracy that lacked efficiency in such a gigantic land (Barbir, 2007: 135); the military system, particularly the janissary branch, was corrupt (Kafadar, 2007: 113); the Empire had its most ambitious boundaries reached; the education system was to become more exclusive in favour of religious sciences and against the natural ones5; the society had lost its initial Turko-Islamic dynamism; and people from all arenas of life were in a dreamy mood of apprehending something unsafe (Ortaylı, 1983). Napoleon Bonaparte’s invasion of Egypt in 1798 and the following years had opened the eyes of the Ottomans to the condition the Europeans had attained and this marked for the Ottomans acceptance of military incapability against the West. Coupled with scientific and cultural innovations, the West slowly became a source of admiration and inspiration and a symbol of the power that the Ottomans had somehow lost. The reformist movements sparked by the encounter with the West can be traced back to the same decades. Mohammad Ali of Egypt (1769– 1849), recognised as virtually independent from the Ottoman Empire after his armed victories, benefitted from the distance from the capital and led an intense campaign to imitate the Western, more specifically French techniques for military ends. Sponsoring students for training in Western countries so as to transfer their advancement into the homeland was launched by him (Zahlan, 2001). This policy made huge direct and indirect impacts on Turkish life and

26

SECULARISM AND STATE RELIGION IN MODERN TURKEY

politics. The transfer of ideas through Europe-educated young professionals and academics is a fundamental factor in Turkey’s legal structure even today. Mahmud II (reigned 1808– 39) was the Sultan of the same era who pioneered the reform movements in Istanbul. He made wide-reaching changes pertaining to such aspects of the traditional culture as clothing and social classifications. He reckoned that a total reformation was required, almost to the degree of remaking the state. Though, it must be emphasised, ‘total’ could not yet be seen to include the sacred spirit of the state. He implemented changes in taxation, simplified the administrative hierarchy, abolished idle posts as well as the janissary army, deprived legal officers of privileges which had been subject to abuse, and restarted the royal custom of attendance to the state councils (divan). His significant undertakings resulted in the Tanzimat Fermanı (Reorganisation Edict) in 1839, which was announced after his death by Mustafa Reshid Pasha. The Tanzimat is believed to have been one of the most important events of ¨
cok, Turkish history, legal and otherwise (Yıldız, 1992; Eryılmaz, 1992; U Mumcu and Bozkurt, 1996; I˙nalcık and Seyitdanlıog˘lu, 2006). It was a decisive point in terms of the relationships between the Ottomans and the Europeans as well as between the Ottoman State, which had been characterised by Islam, and its subjects, whose religious affiliations were now to be disregarded for the sake of conserving the Empire against the nationalistic dreams triggered by domestic and external campaigns. Berkes (1998: 137) notes that the Tanzimat is a cornerstone of Turkish secularisation by which ‘the doors to the West were thrown wide open’, much wider than by previous piecemeal reforms. As the Edict’s opening admits, the Tanzimat, in a way, meant an official termination of the Ottoman spirit and to surrender before a Western complication. In the aftermath of the Tanzimat, many legal developments took place. Most importantly, the notion of codification was inserted into the legal system. The Commercial Code of 1850, the Penal Code of 1858, the Commercial Procedure Code of 1861, the Maritime Commerce Code of 1863, the Land Code of 1868, and the nizamiye courts dealt with legal matters with an ambition to realise the set goal of equality for all subjects regardless of religion. Most notably, the Mecelle of 1877 formed the outset of a long debate whether Islamic law, its civil aspect in this particular case, could ever be codified (Schacht, 1982; Mayer, 1990; Jackson, 1996). In addition to such legal transformations, many innovations were introduced into the educational, military, bureaucratic and fiscal structures of the state. In most scenarios, a clash between the traditional and the modern was unavoidable. As the traditional system was notably failing, ideas of modernity associated with the West fortified their influence upon the Ottoman intellectuals.

A GENERAL INTERLEGAL BACKGROUND

27

Ever since, Westernism has been one of the dominant facets of Turkish political life. A grand shift was soon to take place in 1876 towards a constitutional monarchy (McCarthy, 1997: 302– 3): Reading European political tracts and associating with Europeans affected a new generation of Ottoman political thinkers . . . They were convinced that the Ottoman Empire would never be truly modernised until it had adopted a democratic government and a constitution . . . At first in Istanbul, then in exile in Europe, these reformers, called the Young Ottomans, propagandised against the governments of Ali Pas¸a then, when Ali died in 1871, against the increasingly autocratic rule of sultan Abdu¨laziz. Their weapon was the newspaper . . . Like the Men of the Tanzimat, they advocated European ways and were willing to impose them from the top . . . Their ideas were often utopian in one area – nationalism . . . Many of them also believed that Islam was essentially democratic and fitted easily into a constitutional system. An idealist thinker of the 1870s could have desired to reconcile the nationalist, Westernist and Islamist tenets all at once. However, a realist practitioner would instead choose to prioritise their aims according to each specific situation. The Empire was crumbling; even an Ottoman, let alone Turkish, nationalism sounded naive in the face of the independence-seeking Balkan and southern components. The West was not only a source of inspiration but also a force to be confronted. Besides, the people had virtually no idea about the philosophical aspirations of the Young Ottomans; they were in need of sustenance amid ongoing wars and economic hardships (Pamuk, 1987). Islam, still a great motivation for the people, was to be given a last chance. Abdulhamid II, who launched the first constitutional era, soon settled his thoughts on Islamism attempting to filter carefully what ought to be taken from the West. Abdulhamid II, acting as the caliph of the global Muslim community, also continued with reforms like his predecessors, focusing on infrastructure and education. Meanwhile, the progressive young Ottoman intellectuals – now called Young Turks, noticeably – amplified their ideological influence from within the new military schools up to the higher bureaucracy and came into power under the Committee of Union and Progress after the enactment of a new constitution in 1908. This event and the subsequent ‘31 March incident’ (1909) had many implications for the Turkish political culture, showing the military’s innate sentiment for governance, to name one. The later coup initiatives with potential and actual use of arms led by military officers were then launched as a phenomenon in Turkish politics. The ideological context

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has also stayed correlated to nationalism, secularism and progressivism – all being determinants of identity. Following World War I (1914– 18) and the independence wars (1919– 23), Turkey was built up by military officers who inherited the three themes listed above. Only this time, they were determined to bring an end to the confusion caused by their likely but unwanted alternatives, namely, a supra-Turkish identity based on religion, geography or imperial history (as opposed to Turkish nationalism); a theocratic regime (as opposed to a suitably de-legalised Islam); and socio-cultural as well as institutional conservatism (as opposed to Western-inspired progressivism). The new state was obliged to address serious dichotomies in the actual social field. Consequently, it was to acknowledge and give in to these forces in various ways where it was not possible to totally re-shape them. The ideas for an institution which was to become Diyanet emerged from within this framework. As both nationalism and secularism were concepts received from the West, one could rightfully attribute a predominantly westernist agenda to the Turkish Republic. The following were all in line with, and sometimes ahead of, Western thoughts and lifestyles: the abolition of the Sultanate (1922) and the announcement of the Republic (1923); the unification of religious and secular education under one ministry (1924); the adjustment to Western work days (1924), calendars (1925) and measurement units (1933); the law that prohibited the religious attires and obligated wearing of hats and other accessories for civil servants (1925); the adoption of Latin letters as part of the language reform (1928); the removal of symbolic titles and by-names and the introduction of family names (1934); recognising full and equal political rights for women (1934); the reception of a penal code from Italy, a civil code and a code of obligations from Switzerland (1926) and a code of criminal procedure from Germany (1929); and then explicitly adding laicism to the Constitution (1937). Hence, in terms of practicalities, most acts of revolution (devrim) – rather than ‘reform’ since they were viewed too groundbreaking to be called ‘reforms’ – are to be categorised within a Westernist project. The above and other revolutionary undertakings were encountered by deep-rooted discontent from society and scholars, mainly in the name of religion. As a result, Western modernism and religious traditionalism formed a line of friction in Turkish politics that persists to this day.6 This line is of a complex nature, exposed to various discourses of modernism and traditionalism with all sorts of justifications. There are both clashes and attempts of reconciliation; in addition to serious polarisations between Westernism and nationality- and religion-related movements; there are also interesting coalitions. Furthermore, what seemed to be in agreement with the

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West, Kemalism for example, can, and in fact did, later fall into opposition to it. An example is the process of Turkey’s bid to join the European Union, about which the so-called Kemalists are sceptical for nationalistic reasons whereas the so-called conservatives became rather keen for some time, as they expected to re-gain their religious freedom through Europeanisation. Either way, Westernism is an integral feature of Turkey’s political setup where state laws arise and contribute to the country’s socio-legal environment. The Diyanet has been under its direct and indirect influences, legal or otherwise. So far the political roots of the official Turkish laws have been set out to have three strands, those of Turkishness, Islam and Westernisation. Governments in Turkey could never afford ignoring any part of this mixture. Each has its own positive and negative connotations, having to be addressed carefully without exaggeration. The question of Turkishness comprises ethnic, national, cultural and modernist inputs: who is a Turk? Is this a question to be answered constitutionally, scientifically, historically or else? The formal answer in 1924, as it still is, was neat (Kral, 1938: 19) [italics in the original]: The inhabitants of Turkey who possess Turkish citizenship are called Turks, without distinction of religion, race, origin, etc. The Constitution proclaims the equality of all Turks in the eyes of the Law and guarantees in particular their natural, personal and political liberties and rights, as regards: – freedom of thought and of faith, freedom of speech and of the written word, freedom of the Press, of property, of contract and of travel in the interior of the country, liberty to hold meetings, the right to form societies and the guarantee of the privacy of the postal services etc., etc.,– all this, however, within the framework of the Law and without encroachment on the rights of others. On what kind of ideological premises did Atatu¨rk find the Diyanet appropriate, or perhaps necessary? He undertook public campaigns from 1919 onwards with a clear vision that was to be revealed and materialised gradually: an advanced and democratic country where all the citizens are regarded equally under the shared Turkish identity, and as free in their private beliefs, yet more or less uniform and harmonious in terms of philosophical outlook. Atatu¨rk, being from a highly diverse part of the dead Empire, thought the title ‘Turk’ would be adequate to preserve and advance the remaining land, Turkey. Indeed, as the collaboration of Turkey’s people during the

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independence wars and in the course of establishing a new country proved, ‘Turk’ could have been accepted as an overarching identity. But this was not to be, as the new state, having abandoned the Ottoman connotations of the term, launched a project of identity-reconstruction based on ethnic terms. This endeavour naturally seeded counter-reactions from non-Turkic groups, mainly from the Kurdish minority.7 The Republic could not hold back from a blatant contradiction created by disregarding ethnicity in legal definitions of the word ‘Turk’ on the one hand and yearning to create a brand-new Turkish type on the other, inspired by a pre-Islamic Asian history and aspired-for links to contemporary Europe. Kurds were torn apart in both respects for obvious reasons, and were to challenge this contradiction sooner or later. All the language, historical doctrine and education reforms violated the existing ethno-cultural traditions, Turkic or otherwise, in one way or another. One should note here that Atatu¨rk’s nationalism is not necessarily ethnically exclusive; rather, exclusivist claims based on ethnicity were to be severely encountered, such as in Dersim/Tunceli in 1937. In many respects, Atatu¨rk’s nationalism matches with the ‘Turk’s straightforward legal definition while holding risky potentials of discrimination depending on the interpreters’ and practitioners’ perspectives, and on how much emphasis is put on the racial aspect. Atatu¨rk reserved his dreams for an ideal Turkish prototype despite the social discontent, and summarised his ideology in a slogan: Ne Mutlu Tu¨rku¨m Diyene! (Happy is the one who says ‘I am a Turk!’). That was not a naive statement, but a pragmatic one. Another point to be clarified is that Atatu¨rk’s progressivism encapsulated both the subjects of Islam and the West. For some, Westernisation was Atatu¨rk’s central concern. Turhan (1959), for example, asked in a treatise: Where are we in Westernization? He classifies responses to this question – which he considers to be ‘our greatest problem’ – and states that in addition to the optimists who believe that Westernisation has secured a promising ground and will sooner or later be complete, many educated Turks regard Westernisation as an unrealistic dream. That is so, for reasons that include differences in cultural, religious and philosophical backgrounds, political experiences, and mainly for the fact that Westernisation is deemed to connote lagging behind the West all the time, which in itself is a dynamic and evolving phenomenon (Turhan, 1965: 9 – 10). Atatu¨rk’s well-known objective, ‘surpassing the level of contemporary civilisations’ (muasır medeniyetler seviyesinin u¨stu¨ne
ıkmak), c was not restricted geographically. During his posting as a military attache´ in Sofia in 1913, he was pictured at a reception in the extinct janissaries’ uniform, a sign of localism and patriotism to the extent of Ottoman traditionalism. His Westernism therefore

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could be owed to the pressing realities and perceived necessities. Nevertheless, this possibly pragmatic favouritism was at times found extreme and destructive by those who were less appreciative of or opposed to the influences of the Western world. Below is an excerpt from Atatu¨rk’s speech on 6 March 1922 in the parliament on Westernism (in Balabanlılar, 1999): . . . Mentalities that always pursue European advice have mushroomed, seeking to adapt all matters to the European demands and taking all the lessons from Europe, so as to improve our condition, to acquire exuberance, and to be human indeed. But what kind of independence could possibly emerge by foreigners’ advices and plans? There is no record as such in history. Those who had dared to do so faced poisonous results. Due to the bureaucrats of this crooked mentality, Turkey has regressed and declined evermore by each passing hour, day, and century . . . It would mean nothing if this fall and loss of altitude were only related to material things. Regrettably, Turkey and the Turkish people are declining morally too . . . As much as we suppose that we have resided at the crossroads of East and West and that we are approaching the West, we become isolated from our main disposition, the eastern spirituality. Doubtlessly, one cannot expect any outcome from this, except that it will lead this great country and nation to the dead end of collapse and extinction . . . Some thinkers in Turkey used to insult themselves. They would say ‘We are backward, and we will never improve. It is not likely to mend our ways on our own’. They dreamed, without any reservation, of leaving our lives, history and existence to our enemies; to the Europeans whose animosity against us is beyond doubt. [My translation] These words were uttered in the immediate aftermath of World War I and in the course of the Turkish Independence War. The context must have toughened Atatu¨rk’s tone; yet the above excerpt confirms that he had no blind admiration for the West. He was totally conscious where Westernisation should have stood amid the two other value sources, namely, Turkish nationalism and cultural inheritance, including religion. Spirituality is particularly highlighted in his speech. Here is another excerpt from Atatu¨rk (in Lewis, 2002): I flatly refuse to believe that today, in the luminous presence of science, knowledge, and civilisation in all aspects, there exist, in the civilised community of Turkey, men so primitive as to seek their material and

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moral well-being from the guidance of one or another s¸eyh. Gentlemen, you and the whole nation must know, and know well, that the Republic of Turkey cannot be the land of s¸eyhs, dervishes, disciples, and lay brothers. The straightest, truest Way (tarikat) is the way of civilisation. What can one deduce from either or both of the above statements? Conflicting evaluations of Atatu¨rk have generated much debate, and even conflict, in Turkish society. Hence, the most exigent matter of discussion in modern Turkish political thought has been the nature of Atatu¨rk’s multiple representations. While hasty and isolated looks at Atatu¨ rk’s statements and implementations can persuade one that he was obviously and totally proor anti-Islam or -Western, negating acts and statements as the above can also be brought forward. The simple truth is that Atatu¨rk, perhaps with the exception of nationalistic projects, did not especially aspire to be an ideologue or a theoretician, but was first and foremost a realistic and pragmatist politician. For him, Westernisation was a tool for the country’s development, a visionary aid rather than an obsessive quest. Likewise, Islam was an integral part of the life of the people whom he led: it was to be accepted and even sponsored, while being careful and preventive about what he believed to be its anti-social potentials. Seen within this context, the Diyanet can be understood as being largely a pragmatic innovation – as indeed was Turkish laicism. Where Atatu¨rk’s founding ideology comes in is not essentially about religion or secularism, but more about identity and nation-building. The formal acceptance of laicism is one of the final reforms that Atatu¨rk achieved, so as to secure the religious definition and foundations he had laid for the Republic: it was only after his death that it became a discursive issue, along with its Islamist counterpart. Therefore, the Diyanet’s deeper challenge was actually to fit into an ideology of social-engineering, under which religion, too, had to be pragmatic, as was everything else. The clashes between state and society on religious grounds occurred due to an essential misunderstanding, and have grown only bigger, deeper and worse, in the hands of politicians and community leaders. The Diyanet solution of Atatu¨rk, observed closely, can therefore be understood as not having an essentially divisive nature. It was designed for a collaborative public objective, eventually aiming at the individual’s freedom from social pressures. The two Turkish terms that refer to an adherence to Atatu¨rk’s legacy, Atatu¨rkc
u¨lu¨k and Kemalizm, also diverge from each other at this point.8 In Turkish, the former evokes an idea of loyalty to Atatu¨rk’s vision, whereas the latter implies a rather rigid and fixed, almost dogmatic, representation of

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Atatu¨rk. The latter invents an extra layer of ideology and pressure based on Atatu¨rk’s persona, and does not allow the former to be discussed and debated. In Turkey, there are endless representations of Atatu¨rk, who still occupies a corner in Turkish political life, both in obvious and hidden ways. This is also where the military steps into the picture as an arbitrator which upholds a dominant Kemalist metaphor in the whole Turkish discourse (Stone, 1998: 20). The military is not an immediate player, but a superintendent of the country’s laws and politics, vigilantly drawing outer boundaries to the fields of communication, representation and action.9 Following the 1980 military coup and seizure of government, the Office of the Prime Minister compiled a small book in 1981 to celebrate Atatu¨rk’s centennial birthday, Atatu¨rk and His Turkey, from which a few statements are quoted below. The pamphlet may well be a manifesto of Turkey’s officious state ideology: For Atatu¨rk revolution was a question of civilisation; passage of Turkey from the Eastern civilisation to the Western (p. 30). Today’s Turkey knows that ‘Westernisation’ means ‘becoming contemporary’ and advancing at a fast pace towards becoming a ‘big state’ with the support of national pride and faith (p. 32). Internal and external enemies who want to deviate the Turkish Republic from its path of reform objective and methods as described above, had started their intrigues in 1967 and arrived at the peak in 1980. However, the Turkish Army, true to its nature and worthy of the love of the nation, prevented the treacherous enemies from fulfilling their plans by the 12 September movement (p. 36). Laic Turkey was one of the criteria for which the new Turkish nation felt the need very deeply. To create a contemporary atmosphere, to keep pace with the scientific and cultural developments of the century was only possible by freeing ourselves from the reactionary thoughts which disoriented religion and put our daily lives under unnecessary duress (p. 52). Atatu¨rkism was summarised by the Six Arrows, which were also inserted into the Constitution in 1937: Republicanism (Cumhuriyetc
ilik), Populism (Halkc
ılık), Laicism (Laiklik), Reformism (I˙nkılapc
ılık), Nationalism (Milliyetc
ilik), and Statism (Devletc
ilik). MacFie (1994: 151) notes that ‘Mustafa Kemal frequently stressed that they should not be applied in a doctrinaire way, for the essence of his approach was pragmatic, based not on faith but on reason’. However, such guidelines as those listed, intended to identify the state’s character and apparatus, undergo conflicting interpretations, hence aggressive disagreements that hinder the realisation of Atatu¨rk’s

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pragmatist aims that disallowed ready-made, absolute formulas. He, at the end of the day, becomes a de-contextualised image in the hands of rival powerdriven parties. As an example, the post-modern military coup of 1997 was executed in the name of Kemalist protectionism against the pro-religious Welfare Party (Refah Partisi), whose leader, Necmettin Erbakan, had famously stated that Atatu¨rk would have voted for the WP had he been alive. This goes some way to suggest that the figure and image of Atatu¨rk remain at the centre of a battle of representations in Turkey. The Diyanet, too, develops a strategy on this critical subject of Turkish politics and laws. In summary, with regard to the interplay of Turkishness, Islam and the West, it suffices to note that the stability of Turkey’s political arena depends on a balance of these three. The governing party since 2002, the JDP, is also challenged mainly by these three aspects. The recent legislative, executive, and judicial developments in Turkey can easily be categorised into one of these main forces. The Kurdish question, involvement in Syria, Iraq and other countries, religious symbolism, Gu¨len movement, fluctuation in the role of the military, European Union integration, and attempts to re-connect with the Eastern nations are among the examples of ongoing important debates in Turkey. The goal of this long first section has been to map out the main ideological constituents of Turkey’s political field, from where various types of official laws are drawn. Since the Diyanet is a state department programmed by the Constitution, Acts of the Parliament, bylaws and regulations, before presenting and examining such pieces of statutory laws, one ought to be wellinformed about the political background of the whole state system. The Diyanet’s legal navigation takes place within the political context of the country at large. At this point, we may repeat that Turkish political thought has centred and continue to be focused around three ideological paradigms whose limits had been pursued and largely set by Atatu¨rk, to become yet another matter of debate: a new national identity, the historical religious heritage, and the Western influences – all in all, an overarching question of identity. The Diyanet’s way of tackling these questions constitutes a major part of its work and image.

The Religious Background I have already touched upon the subject of religion, but only as an element of political discourse. Turkey’s official legislative activity, embedded in a broader political atmosphere, speaks of the religious life to a great extent. However, religion’s relevance to the Diyanet is beyond legislation and politics, as it has a

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latitude and its own religious character developed in addition to the boundaries of formality. What kind of Islamic understanding does the Diyanet hold, and where does such an understanding stem from? Where does it sit in an intellectual, institutional history of Islam? What justifications or objections could be found in Islamic law for or against a religious institution’s acceptance for being restricted by so-called secular principles? In order to find answers to similar essential questions and to bring out the particular Islamic legal mentality that underpins the Diyanet’s continuation, the general religious purview of Turkey ought to be analysed. Islam being the predominant religion in Turkey with over 98 per cent of a population of nearly 80 million, Judaism and Christianity also find some representation.10 Apart from these two, other religions, such as Baha’ism and Zoroastrianism, have little to no following. Ancient Jews are known to have lived in Asia Minor or Anatolia in Roman times, the later Christian apostle Paul of Tarsus being the most famous of them. A more recent Jewish populace was transferred into the Ottoman lands during the mass executions of fifteenth-century Spain. These Sephardic Jews compose most of the Jewish population in Turkey today, around 30,000 people with a few dozen synagogues, headed by the Chief Rabbi (Hahambas¸ı) in Istanbul. Anatolia, a former Roman and Byzantine land, is one of the ancient centres and expansion channels of Christianity. The seven major churches listed in Revelation 1:11 (Ephesus, Smyrna, Pergamos, Thyatira, Sardis, Philadelphia, and Laodicea) are located therein. Scores of ancient Christian sites can be found throughout Turkey as well as surviving monuments and/or communities in Antakya, Mardin, Trabzon, Van and Cappadocia. Nicaea (I˙znik) is where the historic council of 325 A.D. was held to formulate a Christian orthodoxy. Istanbul continues to be the ecumenical centre of the Greek Orthodox Church – unrecognised by the Turkish state as such – and home to most of Turkey’s Christians. The other two principal groups are Armenian Orthodox, linked to the Gregorian, or Universal Apostolic, Church in Armenia through the Armenian Patriarchate of Constantinople, and Syriac, headquartered in Antakya, Turkey. Catholics and Protestants come next with smaller numbers. The total Christian population approaches 100,000. Though Turkish laws guarantee religious freedom, the Christian population has experienced a dramatic decrease due to migration to Western countries motivated by cultural, political, economic and ethnic reasons. Missionary efforts have been met with some social discomfort; hence such activities have never reached the level of making any substantial change. As can be seen in all other Islamic countries, the Muslims of Turkey are neither doctrinally nor socially homogenous. The majority follows the Sunni interpretations of Islam, with or without Sufi elements. The rest is mostly

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Alevi, similar to in some respects, yet different in others, from both the Iranian Shias and the Syrian Alawis. More conventional Shia groups, like the Twelvers (Caferi), live in or are from eastern Turkey, and may be mixed with Azeri descent. Alawis (or Nusairis) of southern Turkey are Arabs and possess similar beliefs to Alevis – the Turkish cognate of the same word that means of Ali – yet diverge from them in ethnicity, as well as ‘in the extent of their doctrinal organisation, and the emphasis placed on the divine nature of “Ali”’ (Andrews, 1989: 152), the fourth caliph of Islam and the Prophet’s cousin and son-in-law. The Yezidi religion, another belief system incorporating Judaic, Christian, and pagan elements, also has traces among Turks and Kurds (Kehl-Bodrogi, Kellner-Heinkele, Otter-Beaujean, 1997). Among those syncretistic traditions, the Alevis of either Turkish or Kurdish origin are by far the largest and demonstrate a great variety in themselves. Their Islamic status has been a matter of confusion for themselves and others due to their diverse ideas and practices. Identification for Alevis, like Jews, can be religious or ethnocultural. Their total number is disputed, and might be from 10 to 30 per cent of the population. This big, dispersed group poses a major assessment tool for the Diyanet’s identity and public discourse (see chapter 5). In view of the country’s religious diversity, Article 136 of 1982 Constitution does not state a religion along with the Diyanet; it adverts to the explanatory Act 633 of 1965 – and now also Act 6002 of 2010 – which do not specify any Islamic school either. This is where the Diyanet’s jurisprudence and contact with the public commences.11 By Act 677 of 1925, religious venues such as tekke, zaviye and dergah were shut down; only mosques remained authorised. Much of the Ottoman pious life had depended on those ritual and gathering places and endowments (evkaf). Endowments are now placed under a separate regulation (see VGM, 1998). In the course of creating a new Turkish nation, religion was spared as a private matter with minimal social appearance. Offended Muslims occasionally rose against increasing nationalism and secularism. Scholars and community leaders throughout the country criticised and sometimes demonised the new regime. In 1932, the ezan, call to prayer, was ordered to be chanted in Turkish rather than in Arabic. The discontent was intensified, so were the pressures in order to secure the dawn of the new Republic. From 1923 until 1950, the country was governed by the Republican People’s Party (Cumhuriyet Halk Partisi) with no seriously tolerated opponent. More traditional-minded Muslims were intimidated by the ongoing reforms, which to them were heretical, whereas the reformers perceived the reactions as a signal for more reforms and Westernisation (Lewis, 2002). The former were waiting amid

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severe policies against the so-called irtica (reactionary viewpoints) for an opportunity to retrieve the eliminated traditions. The Democratic Party (Demokrat Parti) came into power in 1950, having incorporated conservative worries into its programme. It reversed the ezan ruling and permitted religious broadcasting. Islamic causes found a say during their term; only after the new regime had felt confident for democratisation via a multi-party system. Upon this watchful confidence, numerous religiously-driven communions and movements have been formed increasingly and more openly with various agendas and motivations. C¸akır (1991: 17) points at the I˙skenderpas¸a community, named after a mosque in Fatih district of Istanbul, among the influential religious groups in Turkey. Their leader Mehmed Zahid Kotku (1897 – 1980) was the imam of this mosque, but more importantly, a living successor of one of the populous and popular Sufi groups formed under the name ‘Naks¸bendi’, which Mardin (2006) views as a vital gateway to understanding Islam in Turkey. This group of spiritual formation got rather involved in politics behind the ¨ zal, former Prime Minister (1983 – 9) and President scenes. Turgut O (1989 – 93), and Necmettin Erbakan, former Prime Minister (1996 – 7), among many others, were participants of their meetings; both were engineers and put special emphasis on technological progress. The former adopted a liberal approach while the latter was explicitly a religious traditionalist. The I˙skenderpas¸a group was weakened by Kotku’s death, which also made Erbakan’s dissociation easier in the 1990s from the spiritual hub of the community, and even weaker after his successor Esad Cos¸an’s death in 2001. Currently they seem to be an introverted organisation compared to their past levels of activity; yet educational, social and other activities continue to take place. Erbakan came onto the Turkish political scene in the 1970s as a representative of religious conservatism, and dropped out of sight after the military interference in 1997. He presented himself as the voice and supporter of Muslims, and advocated religious revivalism as the only right and acceptable way of strengthening Turkey (Erbakan, 1975). Being a renowned scientist well-versed in Western civilisation, he labelled Westernisation as a cheap imitation (taklitc
ilik). His theories and loyal following were named Milli Go¨ru¨s¸ (National Outlook). Idealising Adil Du¨zen (The Just Order), he became popular both in Turkey and abroad, especially Germany. His parties, their members and political activities were banned from politics several times; they were to operate under a constant allegation of dreaming to bring back the S¸eriat regime. Erbakan returned to politics in 2010 and died in 2011. The movement’s Felicity Party (Saadet Partisi) has failed in the latest elections.

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Previously one of the closest devotees of Erbakan and the former Mayor of Istanbul, Recep Tayyip Erdog˘an, is now the President of Turkey, after having worked as the Prime Minister for 11 years. Former President Abdullah Gu¨l and many recent members of the cabinet and the parliament also belong to the same tradition. Along with their stream, Erbakan’s Milli Go¨ru¨s¸ is a prominent phenomenon in the Turkish socio-political religious arena (see Yıldırım, 1999: 122–41). Another religious group is the Nur (The Heavenly Light) movement, whose members are colloquially called Nurcu, founded by Said Nursi (1878– 1960). A Kurdish Ottoman scholar of superior intelligence and global aims, Nursi participated in the late Ottoman wars and the foundation of the Republic. Atatu¨rk initially paid special attention to the scholars of religion including Nursi, but soon disagreements arose between them about the parameters of the new state. Nursi therefore distanced himself from the Atatu¨rk regime, and instead acted as a passive resistant through his publications, compiled as the Nur collection.12 There is disunity today among almost a dozen subdivisions of his following; each developing a separate exegesis of Nursi’s texts, a different methodology for hizmet (service), and separate institutions of education and fundraising, and so forth. They are famous for denouncing everyday politics, associated with the devil by Nursi. In reality, however, some of the subgroups are known to have supported certain parties at past elections. The Fethullah Gu¨len faction deserves a special analysis in this and other respects. Gu¨len (b. 1938) is an autodidact preacher who retired from the Diyanet in 1981. Since 1998, he has been living in the United States, and the controversy surrounding him has only grown since then. His theological and methodological background is of the Nur movement, though he has distinguished himself on certain levels, chiefly for having greater political and ideological awareness. Combining his rare talent in preaching, innovative and progressive spirit and charismatic leadership, he managed to reach out to the masses first through the mosques, later through magazines, newspapers, television and radio channels. Including scripts of his talks, his list of publications contains about 50 books, some of which have been translated into other languages. For many decades he strictly shied away from party politics in his open communications, while motivating his followers for high hopes of reviving the lost ‘Turkish-Muslim spirit’. His following could be seen as the social, informal counterpart of the Diyanet, in the sense of residing at an intersection of Islam and secularism, and in terms of organisation that is almost as well-structured as and more pervasive than the Diyanet’s (Yavuz and Esposito, 2003). During the JDP rule, his movement became so powerful that it was to be named the ‘parallel state’ – as opposed to the former ‘deep state’.

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The Gu¨len movement has been gradually marginalised in Turkey since 2014. Especially after the 2016 coup attempt, Gu¨len’s followers have been purged and jailed. Before becoming infamous for their secret agenda to overthrow the regime, their main activity base consisted of educational institutions, private schools and after-school support facilities (dersane). His followers were integrated into small student houses called lighthouse (ıs¸ık evi) from early adolescence and trained according to the movement’s philosophies and strategies. To sponsor those houses and schools and for future expansion, tradesmen’s contribution was sought. Students and tradesmen constituted the two core pillars of the movement, in Turkey and more than a hundred other countries. Though their influence was limited on a global scale, their presence was strongly felt and debated in Turkey. Students trained within the organisation were encouraged to join public and private sectors, with the aim of having an impact on all areas of life from arts to sports, judiciary to intelligence service, media to universities, and bureaucracy to military. Political posts were not openly advised; yet, in all Turkish institutions one could find overt or covert admirers of Gu¨len. They have followed a careful strategy of mobilisation and expansion, arousing the military’s and the Kemalists’ suspicions about their ultimate goal. With their highly-praised international educational and financial activities that resembled the Christian missionaries, they controlled a huge budget and influenced Turkish socio-politics extensively. As their root was religious, aspiring to blend traditionalism with modernism, they should be noted among, and still at the top of, the Islamic groups of the country. They were in an indirect alliance with the ruling JDP government that adhered to a similarly collaborative policy with the US but currently they are the most marginalised religious group in Turkey along with their strong US ties.13 Another populous religious group is named Su¨leymancılar after Su¨leyman Hilmi Tunahan (1888– 1959), ‘a deified man of world’ (C¸akır, 1991: 127), who reiterated the fact that the Qur’an was not taught anymore in the new education system and dedicated his life to the Qur’anic training of children and teenagers in private schools (Kuran kursu) and student residences funded by donators – both frequently under official, Diyanet or otherwise, registration. C¸akır (1991: 130–1) highlighted an ‘interminable quarrel’ between them and the Diyanet that had started in 1965 when the Kuran kursu graduates were not admitted into Diyanet any longer; they were instead obliged to go through mainstream, state-maintained high schools and universities. Finally, in 1971, all the Kuran kursus in the country were placed under the Diyanet administration by law and their movement was further constrained. They are active as a socio-religious network throughout the country and abroad with a loyal following and a characteristic creed centred on their founder’s nobility.

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The notion of charismatic leadership in Turkey’s religious groups appears more important in the movements with Sufi claims. A revered successor (s¸eyh) of a Sufi branch (tarikat) must belong to a chain (silsile) that is traceable to the Prophet without interruption. Turkey, a major ground of the Sufis, is a home to many tarikats and their branches: Kadiri, Naks¸bendi, Mevlevi, Rifai, Halveti, Galibi, Cerrahi, Us¸¸saki, Melami, Haznevi, Menzilci, I˙smailag˘a group, Is¸ıkc
ı, Erenko¨y group, and so forth. The overall picture is complicated by inter-group divisions and overlaps.14 Each has a special outlook on politics, on the aspects of modern life such as finance, education and customs, as well as a distinguishable symbolism and terminology, and finally a sense of higher objectives. They appeal to different social strata in terms of wealth, education and occupation: where they do not, they compete with one another. There are less popular factions than the above that have made an impact on the Muslim mind. Turkey is a place of abundance in such religious trends. There are pro-Iranians; the opponents of the secular republic like Hizb-u¨t Tahrir; there is a Turkish version of Hizbullah; there are Kaplancılar, founded by Cemaleddin Kaplan, a former Diyanet mufti who strived from Germany to re-establish the caliphate and continuously attacked Atatu¨rk. Finally, apart from the members of these religious groups, there are independent individuals who fall into the various points of a vast spectrum of religious outlook and make up a great portion of the population. The purpose of the above information is to depict as clearly as possible the internal diversity of Muslim population in Turkey. Religiosity is totally interwoven with social, philosophical, economical, political, cultural, ethnic and psychological factors. According to a poll, 65 per cent of Turks perceive religion to be very important to their lives (PRC, 2002). In 2008, the percentage rose to 84, while the percentage of the performers of daily prayers was shown as 34 (I˙nternethaber, 2008). In 2016, those who regularly perform daily prayers are 24 per cent according to a survey conducted with nearly 5,500 people in 50 cities (MAK, 2016). The numbers vary but overall one may see that creed is clearly more important for Turks than deed. Considering the varied persistence of scholarly and popular religious traditions in Turkey, now we may delve into the origins of a particular path that the Diyanet follows: where is its religious framework derived from? Turkey’s religious societies have mushroomed in the midst of dramatic political events. The pre-Republic, especially the pre-constitutional Ottoman society could be described as being rather apolitical, so were the religious organisations. The Caliph-Sultan’s sanctified position, and often his persona, too, or the regime had not been a target for the lay people who, to a large extent, were habituated to reside under his shadow. The secular, democratic

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revolution made the sovereign’s legitimacy a subject which could be subject to debate. Soon, the Republic itself was negatively affected by this mental shift. The religious organisations and movements carrying out Ottoman-time habits were banned or forced underground. Only a minimal official representation through the Diyanet was allowed. Later on, upon gradual democratisation starting from the 1940s, the suppressed religious sensitivities re-appeared in the social arena, but now they held grudges against the regime and were also politicised. As shown above, they might be proposing apolitical, anti-political or political social programmes; but, they are all in essence of a political standpoint, primarily with regard to the early history and foundations of the Republic. Today, the learned Turkish Muslim is often political, whether he reconciles nationalism and statism with religion, or attacks the ‘faithless’ regime for God’s sake. This is due to the profound intellectual traumas experienced at the commencement of the new State. The Diyanet institution, on the other hand, has followed or represented an alternative mental track by resuming a taskoriented, seemingly disinterested scholarly tradition (ilmiye).15 Ers¸ahin (2008: 183) argues that the Ottoman ulema were in a similar position when they co-signed an ‘unwritten contract’ with the ruler: The government’s attitude towards the ulama was mainly governed by its own interests and objectives. In theory, there is no separation between church and state in Islam, but in practice, the sphere of politics and of the religious establishment have their own functions and areas of competence . . . Throughout Islamic history, as well as that of the Ottoman state, as a rule this traditional mutually supportive relationship between official ulama and the state continued to function as long as the government needed it. Erdem (2008b: 203) agrees that the head of the Ottoman learned institution (S¸eyhu¨lislam) regarded religious and worldly affairs as separate. Though there is a big difference: in the Ottoman State, muftis and judges (kadı) were educated under the same roof, and bureaucratic transitions between the two were practised (Uzunc
ars¸ılı, 1965: 66), whereas in modern Turkey, religious and legal institutions are separated from each other. Still, modern Turkey’s religious scholars did opt for prolonging an Ottoman legacy by means of the Diyanet where the state was carefully followed and/or conformably ignored. Uzunc
ars¸ılı (1965: 19– 31) gives a list of courses taught in a typical higher education institutions (medrese). The taxonomy of sciences taught in Ottoman medreses was rich and advanced, and was altered over time. A civil, flexible and intuitive approach was taken in the classical era (Akgu¨ndu¨z, 1997: 374).

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Starting from the sixteenth century, the education system centred on medreses was systematised by legislation. After this, with the effect of ideological divisions, the sciences of nature, ‘cosmic exegesis of the Qur’an’, and of analytical thought were gradually eliminated from the curriculum to the extent of religious dogmatism (p. 379). As a result, the religious trainees became, for the most part, more alike and less creative. The medrese reforms later on were designed to retrieve the classical format developed during the reigns of Fatih the Conqueror (1451– 81) and Suleiman the Magnificient (1520– 66), rather than to update the existing mentality according to modern conditions (p. 381). Improvements made on the degenerated system after the Tanzimat were generally administrative, and either superficial or longer-term than the Empire itself (Sarıkaya, 1997). Akgu¨ndu¨z (1997: 400–1) counts five jurisprudential methods (usul-ı fıkıh) and thirteen jurisprudence ( fıkıh) books throughout the Ottoman State history. Atay (1983) demonstrates the Hanafi dominance in the curriculum, explained by its historical popularity among the Turks. Combining the exposure to the same scholarly works and shared traditions with an education style that stressed the importance of memorisation over originality, the religious employees of the state were to become experts of a particular tradition in all aspects, including the importance of government support and providing habitual services that did not require or encourage critical thinking. Having received similar information through standardised methods, it is easy to agree with the opinion that they were little more than members of a well-established orthodoxy.16 As a result, at the onset of the Republic, exceptions such as the autodidacts and distinguished academics (mu¨derris) aside, the men of religion, whose education depended on these isolated and obsolete facilities, were largely indistinguisable. The Diyanet, especially in the country-side, inherited much of this custom; though one should not quickly presume that such a vocational concentration was useless. It helped keep the natural boundaries between state and religion more sustainable. Nevertheless, the Turkish state did adopt one vital feature of the Ottoman style of religious education: it assumed a complete monopoly over it, especially after the 1980s. Informal training must be accredited via official examinations, if one is intending to do government work. Since all the mosques are under Diyanet surveillance and believed to embody religion impartially, the unofficial, sectarian religious views automatically become irrelevant to the state. The state allows and administers three main religious education institutions. A Kuran kursu is a basic education facility managed by the local mufti, so is under the Diyanet. An I˙mam-Hatip Lisesi is a vocational high school founded to train imams and other religious personnel, though many

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citizens of conservative orientation also used to send their children to them before restrictions were put on their whole function. Their influence was greatly reduced during the early years of the JDP rule but currently they are favoured over other school types. Sending children to them are highly encouraged by the state officers. I˙mam-Hatip High Schools operate under the Ministry of National Education. Thirdly, an I˙lahiyat Faku¨ltesi is a divinity school for higher degrees required to become preacher (vaiz), mufti, academic, and/or others. The divinity schools in Turkey are included in the university system supervised by the controversial Council of Higher Education, established by Article 130 of the 1982 Constitution. In a word, religious education, and thereby, authority in Turkey becomes largely contingent upon state permission and support. Further features of modern religious education in Turkey are dealt with in Chapter 5. Here, it suffices to note that the Diyanet is not an open market of ideas. It belongs to an old scholarly tradition characterised by clear religious as well as secular perspectives and attitudes. Its Islamic legal reasoning has an obvious basis and uniform direction. Islam through the Diyanet is academically solid in as far as it collaborates with all the education institutes, and is politically compromising. In other words, the Diyanet, while striving for loyalty to the scholarly heritage, does not perceive Islam to be in contradiction to the state. This resultant conciliatory vision is examined extensively in Chapter 4.

The Social Background The Diyanet’s social presence and performance are shaped and complicated by numerous diversifying factors. This is a challenge both for the state of Turkey and the Diyanet. Turkey’s land is a jumble of identifications, where people can easily claim similarities and dissimilarities to one another. Depending on one’s, in this case the Diyanet’s, manoeuvrability, this fact can become an advantage or a disadvantage. Ramsay (1897: 94) speaks from the late Ottoman years: One of the facts that are most striking to the traveller in Asia Minor is the interlacing and alternation of separate and unblending races. In half a dozen villages which you visit in the course of a day you may find four or five separate peoples, differing in manners, dress, language, and even religion, each living in its own village, never intermarrying with, rarely even entering, the alien village a mile or two distant. The broad distinction of Christian and Moslem is wholly insufficient and even misleading.

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The present-day picture is, of course, not as distinctly and intensely diverse. Nonetheless, Andrews (1989), having closely examined the people of Turkey, has managed to list 47 traditional ethnic groups in Turkey, first classified by ethnicity, then into subgroups according to faith. The ethnic Turks who started to dwell in Anatolia in the second millennium A.D. seem to be the majority, but not so straightforwardly (Andrews, 1989: 55– 6): Since the foundation of the Republic, a new sense of identity based on Turkish language and history (rather than on unity through religion and loyalty to the Ottoman sultans as caliphs) has been deliberately moulded by the state, through an ideology fostered by Kemal, and propagated through education with the object of unifying the population. In practice this gives rise to some contradictions: although much historical emphasis is placed on the origin of the nation from among nomadic Tu¨rkmen invaders in the Selju¨k period, few urban or even village Turks care to associate themselves with the remaining nomads, whether Tu¨rkmen or Yo¨ru¨k. Nor is any allowance made for the assimilation of the earlier population (the Turkish History Thesis claiming that the Hittites, among others, were early Turks has largely been discarded). Despite the state’s wish to convince the nation that all the inhabitants of Turkey have been Turks since time immemorial, including descendants of ancient civilisations such as the Hittites and the Sumerians, the people, even the very nomadic Turks called Tu¨rkmen or Yo¨ru¨k, have chosen to identify themselves in more diverse ways. Andrews counts 14 Tu¨rkmen clans alone. There are four Azerbaijani subdivisions. Other Turkic groups such as Uyghur, Kirghiz, Kazakh, Uzbek, and Tatar reside in Turkey in smaller numbers. The second major ethnic group is the Kurds, who many argue also includes the Zazas (Kaya, 2011). There are distinctions between the Alevi and Sunni Kurds in terms of religious life, as there are also cultural ones between Kurds and Turks in general. The religious bond between the Sunni Turks and Kurds are strong, on the other hand, despite the fact that the former are almost always Hanafi, whereas the latter are predominantly Shafii. The various Kurdish customs – beyond religious commonalities – differ much from those of the Turks. Polygamy and extended families are more common, for example. The Kurdish people and language are categorised along with an Iranian subgroup within the larger Indo-European family.17 Unlike the Turks of Anatolia, Kurds are the indigenous people of an area called Kurdistan that stretches like a triangle across the adjacent parts of Turkey, Iran, Iraq and Syria. Kurdistan is today a politically loaded term in Turkey – it was not

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under the Ottoman Empire – and its separatist implications are met with reactions of the Turkish state. The insurgency in the region has crucially affected the demographics of the country as it has also had an influence on patterns of domestic and international emigration. There are other ethnic minorities who have more or less preserved their languages. Among them are the Arabs, Circassians, Abkhazians, Georgians, the Laz, Armenians, Greeks and Arameans. There are immigrant communities – mostly following upon wars – from Germany, Switzerland, Spain, Russia, Albania, Bosnia and other Balkan countries, Sudan, Estonia, and so forth. The assimilation and integration profiles vary across the minorities. As a general rule, the customary laws of a minority are preserved or lost proportionately with its language and religion. The geographical distribution of ethno-cultural groups makes Turkey’s socio-legal map rich and colourful. It is also a key factor in term of the goal of achieving uniformity that was set in the early years of the Republic. Turkish policy-makers seem to have failed to distinguish between oneness and sameness, and strived to make – or perceive when making was not feasible – their citizens not only united but also the same as each other. Timurog˘lu (1991) shows how the role of Islam increased after 1980, leading to the promotion of a Turkish-Islamic synthesis as state policy. The Diyanet’s function has been crucial for the state’s attention to or negligence of its people – both in order to achieve oneness through sameness. Another significant aspect of Turkish society are settlement patterns. Conventionally, there have been three principal dwelling units in Turkey: village, town, and city. According to the 1935 census, more than 80 per cent of the population lived in rural areas, whereas the current rate is around 30 per cent (Anon., 2007a). This shift is noteworthy for a sociolegal study as it indicates a massive transformation in cultural and economic patterns. Atatu¨rk said ‘The villager is the master of the nation’, referring to their importance for the country’s finance and labour force, and possibly intending to appeal to a substantial part of the population. The villagers’ worldviews and daily lives contain many interesting insights for a careful observer in terms of the country’s current socio-political structure. Sirman (1990: 21 – 2) writes: [I]t is argued that one of the ways of analysing relationships between state and peasants in Turkey should be via the representations that the latter construct the former . . . However, relationships with the state are imperative, not only for access to resources necessary for economic production, but also for the social identity of the peasant . . . [T]he state is one of the important variables constantly used in the reproduction and

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transformation of relations within the village. The state itself can thus be seen as a complex of relations, having numerous and contradictory effects and meanings, which, being embedded in village life, are subject to constant manipulation and redefinition. These meanings and representations do not form a coherent system and differ according to status and experience. Nevertheless, they are bounded by one dominant image, that of the state as provider, an image which is reproduced by its local representative and emulator, the household head. This image, also propounded by the state in the form of an ideology of modernity, reinforces the nature of everyday social relations and gender identity within the village. ¨ ru¨cu¨ (2009b) notes that the peasant question is a crucial gateway O to understanding Turkish society.18 Ramsay (1987) identified the Turkish villager as having a decent character, fortified by a devotional nature from which the state benefitted, with a lack of private entrepreneurship and a reliance on state aid, monotonous and customary lifestyle, unwillingness to work and improve, and other features. The Turkish villager formed a majority in the military force that had fought for in the wars following independence and became the ultimate target and criterion of the country’s development. ‘The humble, but content Turkish villager is regarded as a fossil of Turkey’s “backward” past by many Western developmental experts and modern, achievement-oriented Turks’ (Magnarella, 1974: 166). Whereas elitism is a long-standing area of debate in Turkey (Acar, 1976), the villager phenomenon is interesting not only as an aspect of this debate, but also as a vivid manifestation of traditionalism. The modernisttraditionalist tension in Turkey, which has been a decisive factor behind many other polarisations, could not be so lucidly demonstrated without the interactions and transitions between the village and the city. The Turkish villager’s exposure to the external world through increased modernist state activity in the areas of education, taxation, bureaucracy, census and infrastructure as well as technological innovation increased their economic awareness, but not necessarily willingness to change. Since the founding of the Republic, millions of Turks have migrated to towns, cities, and foreign countries, creating enormous questions over the concept of ‘mixed cultures’. The conventional boundaries between a villager (ko¨ylu¨) and a city-dweller (kentli) have to a large extent been broken. The urbanisation process has uncovered the deepest dichotomy of traditionalism vs. modernisation in Turkey. Modernising the villager was a key to re-shape the society.19 However, the traditionalist vs. modernist dichotomy continued to present itself within Turkish society. Religion, when sheltered by traditional lifestyle, can become

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impenetrable: it was indeed a major battlefront between state and society. The Diyanet, too, was influenced by this division, and ended up having elements which were more state-oriented and others which were more society-oriented (Sevva, 2003). The much-studied gecekondu areas (villager ghettos) in big cities are also quite revealing. Having settled illegally on the outskirts of the cities, the newcomers obtained opportunities to work, study, but as a result, have both the culture of the city and the countryside as part of their identities. Ayata (2002: 25) quotes Caldeira (1996): ‘In the fragmented city, encounters between different groups are increasingly marked by tension, suspicion and discrimination, and the promise of incorporation tends to wane as groups emphasise their irreconcilable differences’. Tension and suspicion exist in intergroup communications between pro-religious and pro-secular camps as well as within the Islamic factions (White, 2003). One of the most arduous challenges for the Diyanet is to deal with these divisions – both internal and external – which lie in and between multiple forms of traditionalisms and modernisms. Magnarella (1974) has shown interestingly in her field study how the traditional and modern norms differed in matters pertaining to marriage and kinship. Again, the tension between the old and the new is widespread across the country, hinting at the fluid nature of social legality. Contradictions and ¨ ru¨cu¨, 2006). hyphenated forms ought to be expected (O Another cite of social fragmentation can be seen in economic terms. Keyder (1999: 195, cited in Kandiyoti and Saktanber, 2002: 1) draws attention to the economic differentiations of the Turkish society via an Istanbul example: ‘In some neighbourhoods residents wait in line to buy bread that is a few pennies cheaper; in others all the glitzy displays of wealth can be found’. Opportunities gained by financial wealth often lead to an association with Western-originated notions and diminish or reshape traditionalism. For Nasr (2010), this development is an important one when thinking about attempts to eradicate religious extremism. Since the JDP took power in 2002, there has been a considerable trend to reconcile a so-called posh European lifestyle with a religious one. The incidence of fashion shows in which religious garments are displayed can be seen to reflect this trend. Yavuz and Yıldız (2005) put modernising Muslims in Turkey under scrutiny, and show how both religious and secular perspectives have evolved into a mixed lifestyle amongst many Turks today. Increasing harmonisation attempts of traditional and modern norms, made possible by economic improvements, and creating hybrid lifestyles is a social phenomenon in Turkey, one which can be seen to normalise the Diyanet’s position as well. On the other hand, since the Diyanet is faced with questions on almost every existing and changing norm and

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custom in the society, including these new phenomena, it is in need of subtler adaptations to society in terms of policy and discourse. Gender is one of the most sensitive social issues that concern the Diyanet, which is extremely disproportionate in its recruitment of women vis-a`-vis men. This has more reasons than the mere fact that mosque personnel are to be men according to the tradition. Representation of social subcategories is very much related to their political and discursive power that might run parallel to or against the state. The gender aspect of Diyanet operations reveals this so vividly that it can answer many other criticisms against the institution, including the Alevi question. The role of women in Turkish society, state, as well as Islam, is a subject about which the Diyanet’s action and passivity tell a great deal. Tas¸ (2002) examined the Diyanet through a number of social parameters and made connections between them and the Diyanet’s social reception. These included the level of education obtained, age, occupation and other identifiers. These are, so to say, the big questions that help highlight the ways in which the Diyanet has to negotitate between state and religion.

CHAPTER 2 INTRODUCING THE DIYANET: STRUCTURE, DISCOURSE AND CRITICISMS

Historically, the Diyanet resides at what can be seen to be a junction of four elements: the Ottoman sultanate (f. 1299); S¸eyhu¨lislam (f. 1424), accredited by the Sultan, as the chief religious authority, with legislative privileges; Hilafet, the global Muslim caliphate, that had been undertaken by the Ottoman sultans since 1517; and the modern Turkish republic (f. 1923) that embarked upon a gradual process of secularisation and nation-building out of archaic Ottoman institutions. From 23 April 1920 onwards, sovereignty in Turkey was double-headed: the Istanbul government under the captive Sultan and the Ankara government of the Grand National Assembly. Within the former was the post of S¸eyhu¨lislam, along with the Ministry of Royal (Pious) Endowments (Evkaf-ı Hu¨mayun Nezareti). Within the latter was the Ministry of Religious Legality and Endowments (S¸er’iye ve Evkaf Nezareti). The Ankara government abolished the sultanate on 1 November 1922 and along with it the post of S¸eyhu¨lislam and other cabinet posts. On 3 March 1924, it eradicated the caliphate by Act 431, and unified education by Act 430, which effectively abolished unofficial and religious schools (medrese). Also on 3 March 1924, by Act 429, Ankara dissolved its own religious ministry into two disjointed departments: the General Directorate of Endowments (Vakıflar Genel Mu¨du¨rlu¨g˘u¨) and the Presidency of Religious Affairs (Diyanet). The Diyanet, therefore, can be viewed in two opposite, as well as complementary, ways: first, as a legacy from the past, particularly from the abolished institutions of the late Ottoman Empire; second, as an original and expedient project of the new Turkish state to tackle a religious actuality. From the former viewpoint, one sees a massive reduction of power and responsibility. The Ottoman S¸eyhu¨lislam, residing at the office of Mes¸ihat, had

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possessed the responsibilities of five present-day directorates (Bozan, 2007: 49): Ministry of Justice (Adalet Bakanlıg˘ı), Ministry of National Education (Milli Eg˘itim Bakanlıg˘ı), the Council of Higher Education (Yu¨kseko¨g˘retim Kurulu), the General Directorate of Endowments, and the Diyanet. Thus, comparatively, the Diyanet signifies an enormous shrinkage of religious authority. From the latter viewpoint, however, the Diyanet was a new chance to promote religion in a political culture that was outwardly becoming more and more secular. Its continued presence represented an affirmation of the unyielding social weight of religion. It all is certainly a matter of perspective: opposite views can both be accurate. How can one count on a reading of the Diyanet’s history then? A historical analysis does not necessarily result in factuality; it may well cause, due to incompleteness, inaccuracy. The interesting and important historical details pertaining to the Diyanet and its wider context are so numerous that one can hardly cover a small portion of them. Below is such a selection made, based solely upon their direct relevance to other crucial observations about the facts concerning interlegality. The Diyanet’s institutional history, structure and views are relevant to the examination of its socio-legal and political navigation between tradition and modernity, religion and secularism, and many other dichotomies. Therefore, for a successful positioning of the Diyanet within a larger Turkish context, the turning points of its history, its organisational structure, and its discourse ought to be known, along with the major criticisms of the institution.

Historical Evolution The Ministry of Religious Legality and Pious Endowments (1920 – 4) can be viewed as a transitory form of religious administration in Turkey. The idea that the religion’s sacred status should inhibit the existence of a religious ministry in the cabinet – a purely political entity – later prevailed over conservatism, in spite of scepticisms about the claimants’ sincerity, and the Ministry was abolished (Bulut, 1997: 109). The next schism was about the appellation of a replacement department emancipated from political fluctuations; whether din, religion in its all-encompassing totality, or diyanet, a relatively private and spiritual derivative, was to be opted for. The latter was selected, tellingly. Rıfat Bo¨rekc
i (d. 1941), previously Mufti of Ankara, a keen supporter of the independence wars and the issuer of Ankara’s sweeping counter-fetva against the submissive Istanbul fetva, was appointed by Atatu¨rk as the Diyanet’s first president, and remained in charge until his death. The Diyanet’s president, at this embryonic stage of a secular democracy, was given

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the privileges of a cabinet minister, including the highest civil servant pay (DI˙B, 2002: 8). On the other side, comprehensive revolutionary acts were being promulgated in order to transform traditional society and religion. The new Republic seemed confused about the value and use of religion. The state’s religious department was protected, but most informal manifestations of religion were challenged. Under the nationalist, re-constructionist programme of the Republic, its initial undertakings consisted of translation projects aimed at a religiosity that is more in line with the image of ‘new Turk’.1 That is, the problem was not religion per se, but how it was understood and practised. The leaders of the Republic wished to create a specific type of religiosity that would suit the particular type of citizen they wanted to see. The Diyanet was needed for that, whereas the people had to change. Starting from 1928, when Islam was dropped from the Constitution, aspirations to re-discover Islam in an adaptable way were at times influenced by the idea of a wholesome transformation of religion. In 1931, mosque staff and management were taken away from the Diyanet and placed under the General Directorate of Endowments. This doubled the weakening of the Diyanet: first, upon the confiscation of religious endowments, most of which were adjacent to and subsidised the mosques; and now, by loosening the connection between religious scholarship and vocation. The Diyanet’s responsibility was reduced to ensuring the qualifications of staff (C¸akır and Bozan, 2005: 55). In 1932, a Diyanet circular stated that calls to prayer were to be chanted in Turkish language. This created chaos among the Diyanet staff, since both compliance as well as disobedience entailed discontent as well as legal or social sanctions. The public image of the religious officers suffered a big blow due to their torn and ambivalent state. The debates went as far as suggesting Turkish as the sole language should be used in all acts of worship, including daily prayers (O¨zbey, 1969). The Diyanet’s chief scholars did not give in to this proposal and stayed firm in their initial opinion that calls to prayer could be in Turkish, but not the actual daily prayers. Except for the radicallyrevolutionist or unquestioningly-statist, public opinion was largely against these regulations and attempts. As a result, the gap between state and society widened, while the Diyanet’s precarious position between the two became even more complicated and sensitive. Act 2800 of 1935, the first foundational Diyanet legislation, granted more formal clarity to the department, as well as justifications and excuses for its compliance with the state. Finally, in 1937, laicism became a constitutional provision and provided an official framework for the reformations taking place. The Diyanet’s status, compared to 1924, was

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tighter yet firmer within the state, since laicism, the pinnacle of all reforms, fortified the Diyanet by not having shaken it. The agenda, then, was surely to keep it under control. What was perhaps unforeseen was that the state’s tight hold around the Diyanet could be loosened by future governments, but that this was, in priniciple, to remain the status quo. The low-profile days of the Diyanet lasted until 1950. In 1947, the ruling Republican Party chose to revise its ‘militant policy against Islam’ (Ahmad, 1996: 40, cited in C¸akır and Bozan 2005: 57) and a series of policies with this in mind were suggested by its own members. The weakening of social spirit, the perceived communist threat, the enabling of establishing political parties, and consequently the propaganda of the newlyfounded Democrat Party all contributed to the political atmosphere in which this decision was made. The Republican Party withdrew some of the strictly laicist regulations before losing the 1950 elections. It, for instance, enacted a relatively liberating act for the Diyanet. The Democrat Party was greatly acclaimed by many conservatives for its pro-religious stance. C¸akır and Bozan (2005: 60), however, list its pro-laicism implementations and claim that they were seeking a medium and trying to limit both pro-religious and secularist demands and actions. There was not a significant legislative change for the Diyanet during their time in power, but the relatively lenient atmosphere facilitated its work. Their lack of legislative interest in the Diyanet could show that it was considered to have already been incorporated in the secular state. Alternatively, conformism felt easier than taking risks on this delicate subject. The 1960 coup started a new era. The new constitution referred to the Diyanet for the first time (Article 163). In 1965, Act 633 of the Diyanet’s Foundation and Duties was enacted, to remain effective until 2010. This has been the most decisive and encompassing legislation for the department. The crucial High Council of Religious Affairs was launched by it. Savcı (1965) defines Act 633 as a retreat from laicism as it allows the Diyanet to become engaged with society and, indeed, to shape it. Its responsive service duty was thereby enriched by the possibility of activism. Tarhanlı (1993) agrees, pointing at the Turkish state’s move to embrace and utilise Islam in its ideology. From a pluralistic perspective, such a move was both realistic and inevitable, if there was to be a state-and-society equilibrium, while maintaining a secular image for the nation. C¸akır and Bozan (2005: 65) claim that the presidential and prime ministerial visits to the Diyanet in the 1960s and 1970s highlight the improved prestige of the institution. Apparently such tributes to religion through the channel of Diyanet did not damage but instead could be used to support the secular project by creating an atmosphere

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of mutual recognition and dependency. The 1980 coup and the resultant 1982 Constitution also helped reform and clarify the understanding of laicism in Turkey and freed the Diyanet even more, while making it a more integrated state department. The governmental status of the Diyanet remained unaltered between 1965 and 2010. Its organisational structure, on the other hand, was frequently enlarged by secondary legislations. The basis provided by Act 633 has been made use of wherever possible. This possibility has always been contingent upon the political climate of the country and the ruling party’s religious policies. In fact, the Diyanet’s most noteworthy performance takes place in this sub-legal zone. Only when negotiations are ripe and the socio-political atmosphere is conducive, could legal changes have been brought in. Act 6002 of 2010 that increased the Diyanet’s bureaucratic status should be interpreted in this light. There is a complex dialogue between state and society on the subject of religion, involving legislation, loopholes, other sub-legal channels, including silences on certain issues. The Diyanet, throughout the terms of its 17 presidents, has been through constant re-adjustments. The above sequence of events makes it possible to anticipate that the Diyanet might continue to amplify its influence within the secular framework while the nature of laicism becomes more flexible in Turkey.

Organisational Structure Today The Diyanet organisation consists of three sections: the headquarters in Ankara, provincial branches across the country, and overseas branches that mainly serve Turks living abroad. The central body in Ankara acts as a performer of the Diyanet’s legal duties while ensuring their proper emanation into other units in the provinces and abroad. The strict and encompassing nature of Diyanet-related legislation makes it the key national player in religious affairs, particularly in the representation of Islam. The Diyanet’s ideology and public attitude is generated through publications, press releases, correspondences, interviews, and, as we shall see, many meaningful silences. The lower units are expected to imitate the code of conduct developed by the centre. The Diyanet’s President is appointed by the President of the Republic and has been affiliated to the Office of the Prime Minister through an in-between state minister in the cabinet.2 Under him work three deputy presidents. There were five deputies until 2010, all of whom were university professors. Their relative lack of first-hand Diyanet experience at key worker level, such as imam or mufti, due to their academic pursuits, was a relevant factor in terms of intraDiyanet dynamics. Such appointments to the administrative posts from

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outside could be countered with a preference for in-house candidates who would have a better administrative insight about the institution. However, the assignment of academic experts made a visibly refreshing impact on the Diyanet’s vision and improved its global awareness. A government’s inclination towards appointing academics to Diyanet positions may be interpreted as an effort to seek justifications from academic objectivity in their policies. Indeed, coupled with their avoidance of any noticeable intrusion into the Diyanet, the currently ruling JDP has been taking advantage of its administrative chamber’s compliant and attuned attitude, especially in the context of various expansion projects targeting the Kurds and Alevis. The bureaucratic propensities are relatively retained for the lower, constituent units at the headquarters, which are of three types: fundamental services, consultation and inspection, and auxiliaries. The Higher Committee of Religious Affairs resides at the peak of fundamental service units and is tasked to develop the presidency’s policies and to carry out scholarship activities including research, answering religious questions and overseeing publications. It consists of a chair and fifteen members, who benefit from one chief expert and about 40 experts. Their bureau also houses a religious inquiries room ( fetva odası). According to fieldwork research that I carried out in relation to this, unless otherwise stated, a Hanafi approach is taken for granted. Shafii catechisms are the second port of call. Due to the room’s hectic tempo and the experts’ acquaintedness with frequently asked questions, the answers are delivered promptly, concisely, and aridly, following the classical methods of Islamic jurisprudence. The Committee of Scripture Scrutiny consists of a chair and eight members who are responsible for ascertaining a correct orthography for all the Qur’anic texts in the country. An excellent job is done by the Committee, which shows its approval via a blue stamp. Nonetheless, many unstamped publications of the entire Qur’an or with pieces from it are in circulation. While retaining one and the same letter sequence, different vocalic characters potentially – actually rarely – alternating recitation can be used for scribing the Qur’an. Due to the probable pitfalls of this diversity, Diyanet-approved texts may still not be acceptable to other authorities, such as the Saudis who implement a similarly strict regime, especially in the holy mosques of Mecca and Medina. This reaction is compatible with the Diyanet’s policy to remain loyal to an earlier Ottoman reluctance to recognise Qur’anic texts printed elsewhere, particularly in Iran and Europe, for diligence and devotion reasons, respectively (Uc
ar, 2008). The General Directorate of Religious Services is a chief undertaker of the constitutional duty to enlighten the public about Islam. The guidance (irs¸at) services involve Friday preachings and sermons; conferences; family

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counselling; organ donation; and activities specially designed for women, the disabled, those behind bars, orphans and abandoned children, and the like. The Diyanet collaborates with other state departments in these services, and, on the whole, acts as a social work organisation with religious orientation. It is possible to question whether in certain practices, such as the religious legitimisation of organ transplantation, social concerns outweigh religious meticulousness. When it comes to cult-related services, an Ottoman legacy stands out, the Islamic holy nights (kandil) being a prime example. Others, such as the Martyrs’ and the Veterans’ days, indicate a convergence with the state’s values. Finally, as regards calculation services, the Diyanet maintains a scientific approach to worship timings, such as daily prayer times and the start and end of lunar months. Calculations about the daily prayer times, as in most places in the world, lead worshippers to watch their pre-designed calendars, rather than the movements of the Sun and its shadows, or other celestial and natural signs, to perform their prayers. The result is an alienation from nature, and automated behaviours following presumed accuracy. Ramadan calculations cause a major dispute every year across the globe among Muslim communities. The scientific propensity of the Diyanet is countered by a puritan view, pioneered by Saudi Arabia, to observe the Moon’s phases with a naked eye, as instructed by the Prophet (C¸ic
ek, 1982). These examples hint at the fact that the Diyanet’s notions of religious service are influenced by various factors and trends, legal and otherwise, and its exertions are not necessarily acknowledged as authoritative by Muslim communities. That is, even if the state had aspired to have the Diyanet as the sole religious authority over the nation, the very Islamic principle of ikhtilaf (tolerated dissent) would not have allowed the Diyanet to enjoy such a status. That is a lucid example of how the Diyanet has to endure interlegality. The General Directorate of Educational Services operates on two fields: Qur’anic courses, and personnel training. The Qur’anic courses are designed in three streams: the long-time curriculum, offered at purpose-built facilities (Kuran kursu), encapsulates the rules of Qur’anic recitations, the fundamentals of Islam, and morality including national and patriotic values. It was offered to 785,750 students in 24,888 schools during the 2014– 15 academic year (DI˙B, 2016b). The numbers are nine times bigger than in 2000 – 01. The summer-time courses are offered often at mosques to school children beyond the fifth grade and cover similar subjects. The increasing demand for them brought the number of attendees as high as to 1,881,637 in 2009; 51 per cent male (DI˙B, 2010d). The actual number may be different, as children below the fifth grade also do attend these courses off-the-record whereas early quitters might still appear on paper to keep the numbers up. Finally, 4,806 students obtained certificates in the Qur’an memorisation stream in 2014

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(DI˙B, 2016b). More so than the others, the number of students, as well as their gender, in this stream is greatly affected by the political atmosphere of the country, which sometimes drastically changes the educational policies, as in the aftermath of the 1997 post-modern military coup. In all curricula, special attention has been paid to remain in line with the secular sensitivities of the state. Recently a more flexible attitude is taken as the political atmosphere becomes more tolerant to Islamic discourse. The personnel training division has eighteen training centres throughout the country and concentrates on several themes including the variants of Qur’anic recitation, expertise in Islamic sciences, day-to-day vocational training, foreign languages, and so on. It appeals not only to Diyanet personnel but also to local imams from the Balkans and the Turkic republics of Central Asia so as to fortify Turkey’s international influence by means of religious education. The division also determines the qualifications required to work for the Diyanet as a mufti, preacher, religious services expert, the Qur’anic school teacher, or an imam. For all occupations, in addition to a vocational preparation, extensive awareness of the Turkish society is expected. All personnel are to ‘know the personal and social gains acquired through the republic, democracy, and laicism’ and ‘to acknowledge the socio-cultural and religious makeup of Turkey’ (DI˙B, 2010f). The General Directorate of Pilgrimage coordinates the mandatory (hac) and optional (umre) visits to Mecca and Medina, either directly or through authorised travel agencies. It works in collaboration with a number of entities in the Saudi and Turkish governments. The numbers of hac and umre participants are fairly low, given as 59,773 and 434,656, respectively, in 2015 (DI˙B, 2016a). Many would-be hac pilgrims are turned down by the Diyanet, following the quota determined by Saudi Arabia. The General Directorate of Religious Publications has published about 900 titles since 1924 in a wide range of subjects, directly or indirectly related to religious life, at various degrees of scholarship, for a diverse readership, in different sizes, and in several languages. A special analysis of Diyanet publications would reveal its changing priorities and dominant interests throughout its history. The department also issues four periodicals (all in Turkish): the Diyanet Quarterly, a scholarly journal; the Diyanet Monthly, a collection of mainstream articles and in-house news; the Diyanet Monthly Europe, aimed at preserving the religious character of Turkish populations in Europe; and the Diyanet Child, attractively designed to add to the moral and religious upbringing of children. Thirdly, aural and visual items, namely cartoons, a few TV series, documentaries, interviews, hymns, slide shows, complete Qur’an recitations, audio books, poetry, instructive and other programmes are produced on a similarly diverse spectrum. Finally, the

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department prints the widely-used yearly calendars with regional prayer timetables. The General Directorate of External Affairs provides services for the Turkish and Turkic populations abroad, and coordinates the appointments made to the areas demanding such services. It also offers assistance to foreign individuals and groups researching on the Diyanet and its services. In addition to the above fundamental services, the consultation and inspection units make up a second bundle. The Department of Guidance and Inspection undertakes regular and occasional checks in all Diyanet-affiliated units on behalf of the President. The form of inspections is more formal than religious. The Department of Internal Review expands the inspection activities further by including strategic planning and paying closer attention to financial records, and to the compatibility between the units’ performances and the set goals of the Presidency. The Legal Consultancy prepares files for Diyanet’s legal and administrative cases and represents it in administrative ones, except those of a fiscal nature. It briefs and acts as a legal counsellor when required. It is also a statutory law intermediary between the Diyanet and other government departments, communicating the legislations and proposals across the parties involved. The Department of Strategy Development aims at increasing the efficiency and coordination of Diyanet units. In order to do so, it undertakes research, statistical and otherwise, as well as internal and government-related planning; it develops long-term strategies focusing on areas for improvement; and monitors the fulfilment of its suggestions. It proposes the Diyanet’s share in the state budget, distributes the allocated amount, and checks expenditures. It also manages the technological facilities, including internet and intra-net. The Diyanet’s third division at the headquarters, the auxiliaries, consists of five departments. The General Directorate of Human Resources is responsible for workforce planning and staff policies. It handles their candidature, examination, appointment, relocation, promotion and discipline, among others, as well as union correspondences. The General Directorate of Administrative Services caters for logistics at all levels from office equipment to building needs, from utilities to personnel’s transportation. It maintains fixtures and document archives. The Directorate of Revolving Funds works together with the publications office and manages the practical aspects of publication and distribution. The Protocol Directorate is attached closely to the President and carries out his communications and organises his visits, ascertaining compliance with the bureaucratic order of precedence. The Diyanet President was listed until recently after the top fifty department chiefs in Turkey, a rather low position compared to his Ottoman equivalent. On this, Professor Bardakog˘lu, the

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ex-President of the Diyanet said that he had not attended any of the receptions for high-level state officers because the Diyanet’s status was being pushed down continuously over the decades – also having noted that the best treatment given to the Diyanet was in the lifetime of Atatu¨rk (Radikal, 2010). In 2012, the JDP government raised considerably the rank of of the Diyanet in the state protocol. Now, it is the tenth in the list. The Consultancy of Press and Public Relations archives Diyanet-related news and communicates with the press, upon controversial news, at special religious occasions, or to release statements. It is also a contact point for members of the public. The Diyanet organisation’s second major component is the provincial branch. It has eighteen training centres specialising in various arenas of personnel development. Mainly, however, it includes the offices of muftis. There are 957 cities in Turkey, each linked to one of 81 provinces. The total number of muftis comes to 1,038. Deputy muftis, unit managers and controllers are recruited in the provincial mufti offices. The majority of the Diyanet’s personnel, namely, imams, muezzins (caller to prayer), preachers, and the Qur’an teachers, work under the muftis, performing Diyanet services and establishing direct contact with the public throughout the country. The Diyanet’s third major component consists of the overseas branches. Religious counsellors are assigned to work under ambassadors in 19 countries both in the west and in the east, all of them with a proven relevance to Turkish and Turkic communities outside Turkey. Out of 24 religious attaches working under 22 consuls, 13 reside in German cities. Finally, there are temporary religious officers sent by the Diyanet in about a dozen countries, offering a similar service. On the whole, they are expected to sustain and fortify Turkish identity abroad, against whose dissolution religion could be highly viable. The state actively supports Diyanet activities abroad for this reason.

The Diyanet’s Official Discourse The Diyanet has been reliant upon and hugely affected by the socio-political atmosphere in Turkey since its inception. Accordingly, it is a player that has to be watchful to adjust to the changes around it. This adjustment has rarely been in the form of legislation; hence, the Diyanet has been in a position to employ extra-legal strategies frequently, including discovering loopholes within the law, and remaining silent. The representations of the department reflect its precarious position as a state department, be it Diyanet-sponsored or independent.

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The Diyanet-sponsored descriptions of the department include many minor and major publications. The Diyanet occasionally publishes institutional histories and expanded activity reports that provide legal updates and locate the department in a dynamic, large socio-legal context. They resemble each other in terms of tone and message, while reflecting the general national atmosphere at a particular time. The predominant idea the Diyanet can be understood to be attempting to convey is of adjustment and harmony and the importance of improving oneself along with the sociocultural milieu. An early work by the Diyanet titled Aydın Din Adamları (The Enlightened Men of Religion) (1962) summarises a project led by the cabinet Minister Bekata to educate a new class of men of religion, more mindful of and in line with the Republic’s agendas as well as changing social and cultural conditions. The project was publicised as the precursor of a new mentality (yeni zihniyet) and a new attitude (yeni tutum) (p. 4). Self-development courses (tekamu¨l kursları) were launched for existing staff (p. 8). This tiny booklet embodies the early decisive features of the Diyanet’s institutional psychology shaped by its position in the state. The objective was an obvious one: men of religion shall be trained in line with state reforms and ideology, and they, in turn, shall train the public for the same end through religion. Bulut (2006) edited the transcript of a panel discussion that took place in Ankara on 3 March 2004, the eightieth anniversary of the Diyanet. President Bardakog˘lu gives an outline of the institution in the panel which he finds imperfect (p. 12). Obviously, the panellists are equally aware of the Diyanet’s difficult position and conscious not to propose unrealistic reforms. Mehmet Aydın, the then Minister of State responsible for the Diyanet, describes the religious establishment in Turkey as ancient and asserts that the change in nomenclature should not cloud the actual function being fulfilled for centuries (p. 13). This can be read as an attempt to create an axis of religious realist-altruism between the past and the present.3 He addresses the polarisation of religious knowledge and vocation between the divinity schools and the Diyanet respectively, and encourages their collaboration (p. 15). Professor Fayda’s talk, titled ‘The Attention and Value Paid by the Republic to the Fundamental Sources of Islam’ (Cumhuriyetin I˙slam’ın Temel Kaynaklarına Atfettig˘i O¨nem ve Deg˘er), focuses on the religious publications produced under the Republic’s sponsorship. Particular attention was paid to translations, such as of the Qur’an and the widely acknowledged hadith collections, as a part of nationalisation agenda. The scholars involved in the projects were subsidised by the government and were expected to develop a ground for reconciliation and clarification between East and West (p. 38), so as to synchronise Turkey’s traditional and modern patterns of thought.

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Professor Sarıkoyuncu’s talk, titled ‘The Men of Religion during the Establishment of the Republic of Turkey’ (Tu¨rkiye Cumhuriyeti’nin Kurulus¸unda Din Adamları), expounds the supportive role of the members of the Ottoman ulema during and in the aftermath of the Independence Wars. Atatu¨rk is quoted to show their leading position in social mobilisation (p. 41). In fact, a great deal of the memoirs provided is Atatu¨rk’s.4 The men of religious posts are portrayed as being in favour of the patriotic and republican goals. Unfortunately, there is no discussion of the counteractions of the other ulema who supported the comformist and monarchical order that immobilised the Sultan and was in the hands of the Allies. This makes the talk useful only in part, though the pro-independence movement was clearly stronger in Anatolia where the Sultan was devoid of influence and the Allies were perceived as offensive by the indigenous populations (Nadi, 1978). The message conveyed in the talk is that the Republic is and should remain proud of its ulema, the Diyanet, for their collaboration in independence and reformation (p. 99). Professor O¨zay’s talk defines the Diyanet as ‘The Republic’s Religion’ (Cumhuriyet’in Dini) (p. 103). As a lawyer, he draws attention to the special circumstances behind the Diyanet’s foundation and continuation, and refutes the reliability of comparative or utopian approaches (pp. 105– 6). For him, the state’s management of the religious services is ‘the most rational and legally most appropriate solution’ (p. 108), especially considering its idiosyncrasies since foundation (p. 110). Overall, Bulut’s book, being a Diyanet publication, is a standard elaboration of the status quo and is a compilation of certain realities that interest the Diyanet more than others, understandably. The Diyanet’s former President Bardakog˘lu’s book Religion and Society: New Perspectives from Turkey (2006) is a collection of his selected writings and speeches, and makes frequent references to Turkey’s Diyanet resolution. One of the purposes of the book is to indicate that the Diyanet does not remain silent on questions related to religious life, symbols and discourses (p. 8). To start with, he distinguishes the elements of continuity as well as novelty in the official religious structure when the Ottoman Empire collapsed and the Turkish Republic was announced (pp. 9 – 10). He then moves on to locate the Diyanet within a state-religion-society triangle, and dwells upon each aspect in detail (pp. 12 – 16). He also reflects on concepts such as the clergy, piety, dialogue, religious politics, and so on, to the Diyanet. In a second paper, he presents the Turkish model of Diyanet as a pioneer of a moderate perception of Islam (p. 21). He elaborates his arguments largely on the uniqueness of Turkey, whose solution he deems to be better than those found in other Muslim countries (pp. 29 – 33). Later on, Bardakog˘lu gives a historical account of Anatolian experience with diversity (pp. 35 – 40).

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He coins the phrase ‘freedom with religion’ (p. 41) and claims that the Divine Will is aimed at pluralism, not a uniform religion (p. 43). His responses to popular issues such as jihad and terrorism follow. In another article, he sheds light upon the question of ijtihad in the face of modernity, while discussing the religion’s adaptability to changes in general (pp. 55 – 68). Another paper compares the Turkish and Indian experiences of co-existence and proposes both as inspiring models (p. 85). The following articles repeat similar arguments regarding democratisation, secularism, authentic and misguided perceptions of Islam, global ethics, and originality of the Turkish model. In an interview, he rejects the ‘reformist’ tag given to him and states ‘Islam does not allow reform and it is not open to reform’ (p. 127). He vindicates the Diyanet from further accusations such as following the footsteps of politics (p. 131) and projecting a moderate Islam (ılımlı I˙slam) (p. 132), a term with negative connotations in Turkey. Another fine-tuning in his discourse occurs when he shows his dislike for the word ‘model’, which in his mind implies disrespect for other countries (p. 133). He re-emphasises the independence of the Diyanet from the state in religious opinions and draws a pleasant picture of secularism in Turkey (p. 134). He also answers to the Alevi demands, privatisation suggestions for the Diyanet, and the dual stance created between the state departments on the headscarf ban. While doing so, he watches out carefully for the tenets of Islam and the laic regime as well as social realities. Finally, he tackles honour killings and violence in two press releases from an Islamic perspective. Bardakog˘lu’s book is an excellent gateway to the present official religious discourse in Turkey. With pieces written in or translated into English, it shows the domestic and international dynamics the Diyanet has to keep in mind. Overall, along with tiny confessions about the need for its improvement, the Diyanet is presented by him as a successful and highly reasonable institution. Bardakog˘lu (2006) shows a multilayered awareness that incorporates Islamic traditions and discourses, national and international movements, political and social realities, and philosophical tendencies.5 The book is a first-hand publication from a practitioner’s viewpoint and is useful in this respect. Understandably, it is seriously devoid of critical analysis as to how the institution works beyond its public self-representation. The Diyanet, through the April 2008 special issue of the Muslim World, aimed to present itself to a larger audience. The academic value of the publication is overshadowed by the fact that more than half of the 20 contributions are authored by Diyanet functionaries and are most likely intended for publicity rather than critical analysis. The Diyanet administrators’ initiative may be a reflection of the existing research gap or a desire to convey the Diyanet mission beyond Turkey’s national boundaries. It nonetheless offers

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interesting material for probing into the evolving current outlook of the Diyanet. Even though Erdem (2008: 160), the editor, notes that the contributions are not official statements, most articles roam around the edge of the Diyanet’s official discourse. Erdem (2008a: 159) starts off by identifying the Diyanet as an administrative arm of the state that ‘balances religion, democracy, and secularism’. The Minister of State, Mehmet Aydın (2008), writes about the increasing international relevance of the Diyanet not only for the Turks outside Turkey but also due to global concerns about Islam. He draws interest to the renewals sought by the Diyanet, such as the incorporation of more academic approaches, within a plurality of contexts that promises to facilitate dialogues at various arenas and stages – a prime example being Turkey’s bid for accession to the European Union. President Bardakog˘lu’s (2008b) article is a reprint of a chapter from his book where he defines the Diyanet as having a triple nature as a public (i.e. governmental), free (in religious scholarship), and civilian (referring to its social aspect) institution. Ers¸ahin (2008) links the Diyanet with its Ottoman predecessor ulema establishment and explains how the new version of Islamic affairs has been theorised by Ziya Go¨kalp (1876– 1924), and been in essence confirmed by the changing circumstances. The continuing secularisation necessitated stricter regulations in this field. Erdem (2008b) goes into further details about the Ottoman ulema and demonstrates the signs of latent secularism in the S¸eyhu¨lislam’s vision and mission. He claims that Turkey assumed the Ottoman policy on religion (p. 211) and successfully combined Islamic culture with the state’s political agenda (p. 213). It is implied that the actual change occurred in the nomenclature, but not the function of state-and-religion collaboration. Adanali (2008) approaches the Diyanet through the principle of secularism with special attention to the secular/religious dichotomy in ethics. He concludes that secularism need not be eulogised but can be interpreted pragmatically to create peaceful coexistence and social coherence (p. 239). Karaman (2008: 289) likewise disagrees with the antagonistic interpretations of secularism. He believes that when it comes to Islam, an institution like Diyanet can help to guarantee the voice of the authentic and peaceful approaches to both secularism and religion. ¨ cal (2008) analyses the changing connotation of the term fetva since O Ottoman times up to now. Accordingly, the business of religious query is perpetuated by the Diyanet, which does not find the term fetva politically correct despite its widespread public use. Yel (2008) compares the interreligious dialogue between the Vatican and the Diyanet. He touches upon the mistakes made by the members of both religions on the way to

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‘an authentic, truthful, and respectful’ (p. 343) dialogue and proposes improvements in the modern context of re-inventing religion. Okumus¸ (2008) plays with phrases like ‘Turkish Muslimness/Islam’ and ‘Turkey-Muslimness/Islam’. He argues that these stand for the multiple pieties observable across the country’s provinces, and refer to ‘the Islamic experience peculiar to Turks or Turkey’ (p. 347). The objections against such a generalisation are turned off by a further claim for an average religiosity (p. 349). Such a religious identity has not only been a part of domestic nationbuilding, but is also an image required for Turkey’s diplomatic efforts on the international stage (p. 350). He presents the Diyanet as a contributor of the modern, as opposed to pre-Republic, Turkish religiosity, perhaps an upholder of a Diyanet-religiosity (p. 353). He draws the line of change in these various religiosities alongside the political conditions of the country. The last phase, under the leadership of President Bardakog˘lu, could be named academic religiosity (p. 359). Even though these generalisations are destined to be simplistic and may well even be mistaken, the very attempt to make them is useful to show the artificial impacts made on and the trends within religious life in Turkey. The features and the activities of the Diyanet are described in other articles. These are: Go¨rmez (2008) on the Diyanet’s legal status; Kutlu (2008) on the religious stance of the Diyanet amidst other religious groups; Er (2008) outlining the services of the Diyanet; and finally Turan (2008) on the Turkish Diyanet Foundation (Tu¨rkiye Diyanet Vakfı), an endowment that financially and logistically supports the Diyanet enterprises and conducts other public services. The Diyanet’s official discourse boils down to the claim that it is the most fitting solution for Turkey. It may be. But what is problematic is that the Diyanet presumes a priori that it must be so, instead of coming to such a likely conclusion through academic discussion. Every perspective and argument of the Diyanet is developed to support this pre-determined view. This attitude is met with an equally stiff one that the Diyanet is all about problems: as though it must be misguided totally, since it seems unusual at a first glance.

Criticisms Until the 1990s, the Diyanet had served within a more rigid official, ideological and rather unquestionable governmental framework. The fact that the Diyanet is a practitioner of Turkey’s hypersensitive secularism doubled its significance within the status quo. The recent democratisation process in the last decades has helped more brave voices to speak out against the flaws of the Diyanet’s mission and organisation. Thereafter, there occurred an outburst of

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criticism of the Diyanet, so intense that it has been associating the Diyanet almost exclusively with faults. What is most interesting about such accounts is that they often rely upon contradictory worldviews but end up agreeing upon the Diyanet’s problematic condition. This fact actually helps the Diyanet survive, by highlighting aggregate realities and maintaining a holistic consideration as much as the power struggle of multiple parties permits. Among the heavy contestants of the Diyanet’s mind are the Islamist groups. Diyanet Dosyası (The Diyanet Dossier) (Anon., 1989) gives a voice to their feelings about the state ideology. The book states that the Diyanet is neither the leader of Muslims nor an executor of Islamic law; it is just a selfcensoring mouthpiece of an official religious programme (p. 5). This programme restricts religion in the sense that it is only relevant to an individual’s conscience (p. 6); blends Islamic, Turkic and Western values into a ‘revolutionised faith’ (devrim imanı) in which Islam is only pertinent to spirituality and afterlife (p. 7); and uses the Diyanet to distort Islam and carve it according to laic, democratic principles (pp. 8 – 9). The expected outcome is a contemporary religion consisting of Western ideologies, Islamic morality, Muslimness without Sharia, nationalism, selected sanctities (mukaddesatc
ı), and the National Oath (Misak-ı Milli) that was uttered before the War of Independence. Significantly, the book specifically refutes Turkey’s version of laicism, claiming that religion, in contradiction with alleged laic ideals, has never been freed from the state (pp. 26 – 8). It politicises the matter, arguing that the Diyanet-religiosity would certainly displease God and the Prophet (p. 33). Its members should strive to preach Islam accurately and in entirety despite the laic setup (p. 35). The book explains the tutelage and restriction of religion as a late Ottoman phenomenon and a result of Westernisation (p. 37). It also attacks the educational institutions of the Republic and affirms that ‘no man of religion can be trained under a laic roof’ (p. 47). This indicates resentment of state control of religion. A realistic expectation from Turkey’s laic capitalist regime is to grant autonomy to the Diyanet (p. 48). The book also includes two interviews at the end. A resigned imam reiterates and expands the book’s stance on the Diyanet while an anonymous mufti shares the shame of his position between real Islam and official Islam (p. 54). The same mufti accepts that he is neither a mufti nor a scholar in reality but an administrator; imams are merely prayer officers (namaz kıldırma memuru) and muezzins are mosque keepers and servants (cami bekc
isi ve mu¨stahdemleri) (p. 55). The conclusion page consists simply of a caricature: three Western-looking men with hats stand behind three seated men of religion with beard and fez; one closing the eyes, the other the ears and the last one the mouth of the one in front of him.

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This depiction expresses an idea prevalent among the Islamist groups in Turkey, or among the religiously-aware in general, at one degree or another. Hence the demand for more freedom for the Diyanet at least, if not its reestablishment under a different scheme. It is not clear whether this is also a claim that religion should be superior, but to find religion controlled by the state is portrayed as unacceptable. This, then, may also be an implicit rejection of pluralism as a management method, probably without having given the matter deeper thought. But one feels the tensions over the competition between state and society over religious authority. Tarhanlı’s (1993) is the first legal and academic book on the Diyanet.6 She assumes a methodology of administrative law and tries to evaluate the legitimacy of the Diyanet’s position between state and society. Although she follows and bases her research on a popular, positivist notion of law, she admits that her venture led her personally out of her ‘lawyer biases’ and into the tolerant shores of other disciplines (p. 12). Here is an emergent realisation that pluralist methods could in fact be helpful to understand what has been going on in Turkey about the Diyanet, and Islam and laicism in general. Tarhanlı agrees that the foundation of the Diyanet signified the abolition of Sharia law (p. 42), bearing both an affirmative and a negative religious implication. She shows that the legislative constraints around the Diyanet later on pushed it towards scenarios that can be defined as illegal assumptions of authority (yetki gaspı), particularly with respect to the invention of some central branch units (p. 62). She regards such deliberate attempts to blur the legislative (yasama) and executive (yu¨ru¨tme) fields to facilitate the Diyanet’s mobility as technically unlawful (pp. 63–4). The abstinence of publishing some of the organisational alterations and additions in the Official Gazette constitutes another violation (p. 65). Tarhanlı’s close study demonstrates a considerable amount of failures in adherence to the formal regulations in the course of shaping and running the Diyanet. Overall, she observes a tendency to create a legal area for the Diyanet indemnified against constitutional jurisdiction (p. 70). In other words, space is created for religion without talking about religion. Having shown a number of defects in the makeup of the Diyanet, she confidently states that the Diyanet’s services shift the state’s character from a laic and democratic one towards a religious propagator (p. 98). In fact, the Diyanet’s central obligation of and commitment to balance makes such contradictions inevitable (p. 135). We may here agree that what is ‘illegal’ from a positivistic standpoint may well be ‘socio-legally inevitable’ from a pluralistic angle. Tarhanlı, upon examining the theoretical background of religion-and-state relations, lists alternative ways of re-structuring or improving the Diyanet’s organisational and legal profile. Turkey’s ideological disposition should be reviewed and renewed: the rigid secularist discourse does not only help to

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encourage pro-religious reactions but also damages democratisation (pp. 184–5). That is, she admits that the state ought to take a more inclusive approach towards parallel legal discourses, if it wants to avoid self-violations. Tarhanlı’s book, on the whole, emerges as an early and significant contribution to the Diyanet literature for its careful concentration on statutory law and fair assessment of the background issues such as politics and ideology. Whereas her research can be an extensive guide to the official legal arrangements on the Diyanet until the early 1990s, her analysis remains quiet about the other legal claims which the Diyanet is obliged to tackle, namely, the Islamic and social ones. The Diyanet is explained and analysed as an object of legislation, but its active involvement in the process of balancing state, religion, and society is left unexplored. An early chance to venture into pluralist analysis is lost. Only a larger, pluralist examination would answer to the formal defects of this institution. The outcome of such an examination can reveal the functionality and meaning of such seeming flaws, detectable in other sources of law-making as well. Tarhanlı later, as Go¨zaydın (2008), pointed at the shift between the initial function of the Diyanet, to regulate Islamic services, and the later one, to secure the secular nature of the state (p. 216). Based on a statutory law analysis, she calls Diyanet ‘a legal oddity’ with high administrative powers but a weak technical basis (p. 221). Due to the official nature of its loyally pro-state staff, the purpose of the Diyanet remains to create ‘good citizens’ rather than ‘good Muslims’ (p. 223). Though the Diyanet may seem an embodiment of the state’s control over religion, its exceptionally extensive network all over the country may grant it powers over the government while the state aims to ‘employ the Diyanet against religion and its influence on the socio-political level’ (p. 224). Her analyses depict the Diyanet as a power tool. Pehlivan (1994) has a similar stance from the perspective of Alevism. Based on the Diyanet magazine’s special issue on Alevis in January 1992, which then attracted massive public attention, Pehlivan identifies the Diyanet as not only assimilationist (p. 20) but also divisive (p. 22) against the Alevi community. He sarcastically criticises the Diyanet’s interest in the Alevis (p. 7) and argues that true Alevis would not request or welcome the Diyanet’s recognition (p. 8). He presents the following as facts: that one-third of Turkey’s population is Alevi (p. 8); that the Sunni population is ignorant/biased about Alevism and that this is largely because of the theocratic Ottoman propaganda (p. 9); that the Diyanet, with state backing, represents Sunni Islam exclusively (p. 9); that Alevi existence is neglected altogether as a state policy (p. 9); that Alevis are deprived of their rights to freedom of religion and conscience recognised by Article 9 of the Human Rights Convention

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and Article 24 of the 1982 Constitution (p. 10); and that Alevis have always supported Atatu¨rk’s reforms including laicism (p. 10). He proposes improvements that will allow Alevis to feel freer about their identity and culture.7 Pehlivan’s work deserves praise for several reasons. First of all, it is one of the earliest and largest contributions to the debates around the Diyanet’s Alevi policy. Pehlivan, maintaining a strongly rejectionist approach to the Diyanet, nevertheless does not fail to give equal voice to contesting views. The perspectives on the Diyanet lie on a spectrum where both the need for and the risk of embracing Alevi demands emerge clearly. Is Alevism to be defined religiously? If so, is it within or outside Islam? If within, why should a specific reference be required? If outside, what does the Diyanet have to do with it? Or, could Alevism be explained away as a matter of extra-religiosity? If so, could or should the Diyanet issue statements and develop policies about it? Pehlivan, perhaps more than he intended, illustrates the complexity of the Alevi question. Secondly, though the Diyanet is an embodiment of ill-intention for Pehlivan, his work confirms the central argument of this book that the Diyanet is an institution marked and driven by a pragmatist, rationalist power calculation rather than deep-rooted ideological agenda. Certain patterns in the Diyanet’s choices make it appear ideological, but that appearance is a sideconsequence of its fixation on social-legal conformism. By the same token, the Diyanet policies on Alevis are overcautious and passive, therefore not impressive. Pehlivan rightly claims that the selection of representatives from the Alevi community for exchange of ideas and the magazine articles were biased (p. 58). However, there is a limit to the Diyanet’s dispersion into religious diversity; too much of it would jeopardise its raison d’eˆtre. Beside such weaknesses detected in his book, it is a further irony to observe the same flaws as the Diyanet’s in Pehlivan’s approach. He, too, is selective and unfair about Alevi identity (p. 118): No proper Alevi villager would want a mosque in his village. There is no cami [mosque], but cemevi [literally, gathering house; an Alevi rite hall] in Alevism. There is no namaz [daily prayer], but niyaz [supplication or ritual]. An Alevi’s kıble [prayer direction] is human. Besides, an Alevi who works for the Diyanet in accordance with the Sunni mentality cannot be a true Alevi. Alevism is not by word, but by action . . . Alevism is older than Islam; it is influenced by it but the inputs of ancient Turkish and Anatolian cultures and customs are more persistent. [My translation and explanations]

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Pehlivan, just like his target, the Diyanet, thus imagines a homogenous Alevi community and culture. The reality is otherwise. First of all, a substantial portion of Alevis are not Turkic and not necessarily on excellent terms with the regime, as he too quickly chooses to assume. Being Kurdish Alevi is often regarded as a double-curse by the holders of this identity. Secondly, Diyanettype Alevis do exist, as do completely irreligious, even atheist ones. The former usually define the term literally, a follower of Ali, whereas the latter take it out of context and as a genealogical concoction. Similarly, the Alevi identity does not always indicate adherence to certain extra-orthodox Islamic philosophies, but is quite often viewed in ethno-cultural terms. Within that framework, a huge ideological diversity endures. Finally, the Alevi community and identity is so dispersed, as Pehlivan also agrees (p. 208), that any attempt to monopolise it is bound to be perceived as mistaken and is unlikely to succeed. The Diyanet benefits from this diffusion, and gains time to address – or finds reasons not to do so in greater detail – what this important phenomenon in Turkey is about. The discussion is more about communal elements than the state-religion relationship. Uluc
ay (1998) hits the most encompassing word with respect to the Diyanet in an almost 600-page compilation of research and excerpts: controversy. Having included a sizable deal of Alevi debate, he points at many other criticisms surrounding the department, the central one being religion within a secular regime. He represents a wide spectrum of perceptions on Islam and laicism through lengthy citations from the publications of and interviews with over twenty intellectuals, including Diyanet administrators. They all add up to the chaotic cacophony over the question, and turn conciliatory dialogue, which seems to be the book’s purpose, into an unachievable goal. Uluc
ay’s book is an excellent manifestation of the fact that it is the excessiveness, not lack, of critiques that makes the Diyanet solid, yet delicate, and hence untouchable. The Diyanet administration does not only benefit but also suffer from this situation (p. 277). Ironically, each interest and opinion group come forward with undeniable truisms, and in the end they all neutralise each other to the benefit of a status quo. That is why 12 years after Uluc
ay’s well-received proposal, the Diyanet is still not seriously addressed, nor is it yet deeply and comprehensively understood. Kaya (1998) is a sociological examination of the Diyanet that provides an extensive and solid theoretical foundation for the concepts of religion and religiosity, society, state, laicism, fundamental rights, and the types of political regimes, with a comparative historical analysis across Islamic and European models. However, his Diyanet account is rather brief and chronological. He describes the Ottoman model for religion-and-state as symbiotic and idiosyncratic that cannot simply be categorised into the major

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types of theocratic, semi-theocratic, or laic (pp. 107– 8). The founders of modern Turkey opted for ‘preserving the tradition’ of collaboration between the statesmen and religious scholars (ulema) despite their secular outlook and discourse (p. 116). Still, he notes that some fundamental changes took place in some other organically related fields (p. 144). At another point, he observes that the whole Diyanet system signifies the religion’s conquest by the state (p. 145). He claims that the goal of the new Republic was to socially marginalise and individualise religion (p. 149), and thus subjugate it to state control, even with an agenda of cultivating religiosity. He draws attention to a confession made by Atatu¨rk that the new regime is at danger for making the society lose its spiritual essence (p. 155). The Diyanet here re-emerges as an institution much needed for the rebuilding of post-Ottoman Turkey into a strong state with individuals firm in their adherence to Islam without being dominated by religious ideology. Such contradictions are shining through and are unavoidable due to the multifaceted implications of the Diyanet. Kaya portrays the Atatu¨rk era as a definitive and formative phase for the Republic’s religion-and-state policies. The one-party era until 1950 can be associated with painful clashes on the axes of reform in religion and symbolic remaking of the state. Kaya finds this era as the ‘unluckiest’ but also a source of much reconsideration in later times (p. 173). The following decades experienced a series of fluctuations between the state’s political vision and society’s religious demands. Faced with such challenges, the Diyanet has had to re-adjust itself constantly. Beyond the theoretical arguments for or against its legitimacy, the Diyanet, in Kaya’s view, is of a great function and is indispensible from a sociological perspective (p. 193). He also believes that were the Diyanet to be abolished, the chaos that would ensue would make the situation much graver than it currently is, citing the situation of Muslim congregations and their mosque-based separations in Germany as examples which back this up (p. 193). He reminds us that in Islamic history there is no religious institution without state affiliation; thus, it is equally risky for the religious life and the state’s peaceful endurance to conceive a no-Diyanet scenario (p. 193). There is, in other words, a compulsory interconnectedness – almost a pluralist statement. He brings all the problems down to the Republic’s rhetoric fondness for a theoretical laicism without necessary social and historical conditions to bolster it. According to this train of thought, laicism, intended to prevent religious abuse and to tranquilise the society, is instead a source of division and intellectual anarchy (p. 207). The agreement against the Diyanet of those who speak up for secularism and those who do so for true religiosity poses a danger for the national unity (p. 211). Nevertheless, the gap between the ‘State’s Islam’ and ‘Social Islam’ should be closed by legislative arrangements and the Diyanet should be given more

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autonomy to satisfy public opinion (p. 212). This proposal is a much repeated one, but it disregards the contrary yet rightful demands as well as the risks of increasing freedom.8 Imbalance for the benefit of a religious cult would be quickly refused by the upholders of the secular regime and the various Muslim factions. Hence, the Diyanet is forced to act in a small margin of autonomy, mindful of addressing pressures from all directions. A constructive criticism appears in Tas¸ (2002) about the public reception of the Diyanet. It is full of insights. He follows systematic and well-calculated measures in order to attain a high level of statistical reliability. The Diyanet is analysed via 26 questions directed at a diverse group of 1,500 inhabitants in Istanbul. The responses are gathered in a four-level agreement scale and indicate a choice of patterns across the questions. Tas¸ finds that the legal professionals, who happen to consider themselves at a lower religiosity level, hold the most positive attitude towards the Diyanet among other professionals (p. 141). Marriage is a factor that enriches religiosity as well as appreciation of the Diyanet services (p. 139). Gender, age, geographical origin, economic and educational status, and religious perceptions are the other determinants correlated with the opinions on the Diyanet. Significantly, 74 per cent of the respondents regarded the Diyanet and secularism as mutually compatible (p. 157). Concurrently, 80 per cent stated that the Diyanet is under the influence of political authority (p. 158). Hence, the Diyanet’s practical performance is more challenged by the public than its theoretical positioning. Other findings support this one, such as a low appreciation of the Diyanet’s inclusivity (p. 159) and a high expectation for institutional restructuring (p. 161). A highly credited area of operation is the production of juristic opinions ( fetva) (p. 162); 76 per cent of participants believed that they are supposed to follow the Diyanet fetvas (p. 163), quite a high number considering the country’s outwardly secular identification. When it comes to the reception of the Diyanet’s service policy and philosophy regarding educating, positively influencing and winning the confidence of the public, the Diyanet is underperforming (pp. 164– 6). Nevertheless, 68 per cent believe that the Diyanet plays a conducive role for national unity (p. 167); it also fortifies collaboration for the solution of social problems (pp. 168– 9). By the same token, 66 per cent think that the Diyanet exists, and occasionally acts, to prevent potentially dangerous religious theorisations (p. 170). Diyanet staff is considered insufficient for truly representing their vocation (p. 171). Their interaction with the public in various occasions does not lead to pleasant results (pp. 172–6). Expectedly, the publications and practical guidelines released by the Diyanet as well as its ritualistic involvement are praised (pp. 177–82). Interfaith dialogue activities are applauded and

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encouraged (pp. 183–4). Overall, Tas¸ finds, through a gradation of responses, that the Diyanet’s religious guidance role is the strongest as opposed to its political and social ones (pp. 185–8). Influenced by the overshadowing state, Turkish society approaches the Diyanet with hesitation except in practical, everyday matters of religiosity. That diminishes the Diyanet’s public influence, and thus its power of mobilisation or manipulation. This outcome is in accordance with the principle of laicism as conceived in Turkey as an individualising force. Yet, it undermines the role of the Diyanet in the making of this individual. All in all, a self-contradiction of the Turkish state surfaces. Tas¸ concludes by confirming the much-repeated demand that the Diyanet should be reformed according to the changing needs and expectations of society (p. 207). That can only happen within the sensitive limits set by state ideology, so this pursuit for balance will, unsurprisingly, continue. Sevva (2003) is an intriguing discussion of the Diyanet from within. Having worked as an imam since 1986, the author is able to give an insider’s account on the everyday problems encountered by and among the Diyanet staff. They at times add up to a degree that the institution’s credibility becomes seriously questionable. Sevva’s method is far from academic, with unsupported statistical data based on empirical observation. It remains too speculative. He is also too self-critical on behalf of the Diyanet and may be failing to give an even-handed account of the flaws vis-a`-vis the merits. Nonetheless, I found his observations accurate; thanks to his sincere wish for the Diyanet’s improvement, they are not fabricated or exaggerated but objective, however disturbing or trivial they may sound. His suggested solutions, such as that the Turkish military officers should educate the Diyanet personnel on Atatu¨rk and the republican history (p. 76), can at times be too ambitious. Sevva describes the condition of the Diyanet in 2003 as being ‘bulky, narrow-minded, traditionalist, shut off to new approaches and ideas, asocial, and ostensibly progressive’ and offers his book as a suggestion for the ways of renewal (p. 5). One of Sevva’s emphasised points is that the Diyanet is not a monolithic institution; it is made up by at least two big chunks, namely, the administrative unit in Ankara and the mosque personnel spread across the country. He argues that the central administrative unit does not, but must, recognise the latter part of the Diyanet, its own staff (p. 43). A typical divergence is that as much as the central branch claims to be apolitical, the mosque personnel is political in their religious notions, and generally for the Islamist parties that point to an Islamic state in the horizon (pp. 16 – 7), or even against the very basic goals of the republic including democracy (p. 39). He again and again depicts the Turkish, even the global Muslim, religiosity in a vicious triangle of legal school – mystical sect – socio-religious formations

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(mezhep – tarikat – dini cemaat) that makes Islam unliveable (p. 53). The ruling JDP may be the only chance for reconciling political Islam and the republican regime and alleviating the ideological and sectarian strife among the Turkish Muslims (p. 18). Sevva discusses a range of subjects. He tries to prove how the Qur’anic summer schools for children are devoid of pedagogical and environmental perfection (pp. 19 – 31). He analyses the Diyanet’s vague and selfcontradictory approach to the modernist, reformist trends (p. 37). The Diyanet, which claims to set an example for the Muslim countries, cannot succeed in this aspiration by continuing to uphold constrained traditional notions and to disregard Islamic studies in the academia (p. 45).9 Bozan (2007: 72), on the contrary, shows that the fact the current executive chamber consists of academicians mainly creates a disparity in the institution between conventional and innovative poles. Sevva recommends that the Diyanet’s mindset has to undergo a serious and deep humanist revision (p. 46) and should eliminate sectarian fanaticism (mezhep taassubu) (p. 52). He claims that the Diyanet’s regular publications lack character due to targeting a complexity of readership with diverse backgrounds and interests (pp. 59 –69). This sets an example for the Diyanet’s difficulty when it comes to attempting to find a common voice. Throughout the book, Sevva addresses this failure in communication between the Diyanet staff and the public, linking it to the low sociability of imams and their narrow, isolated, uniform and unconfident personal and vocational development. Patriarchal conduct, reservation against the republican institutions, low-income upbringing, and selective prejudices against modernity are among the typical characteristics of imams listed by Sevva. Such generalisations are made elsewhere, too, portraying the Diyanet’s selfesteem high against all the civil Muslim organisations and low against secular establishments and discourses (Bozan, 2007). Sevva also gives an account of hardships encountered by the Diyanet personnel while conducting their duties. He rightfully demands more understanding and support from their superiors and the public. He puts forward funeral work, particularly corpse washing and its psychological effects, as an example (pp. 187– 8). Sevva’s contribution involves many first-hand remarks that are outcomes of the Diyanet’s overall condition within the Turkish legal system and intellectual ambit. Especially the staff-level resistance to the administrationlevel policies designates the existence of shady areas between the state and the society. The Diyanet, in conclusion, appears in a tricky position of reconciliation not only within the heterogeneous legality of state, religion and society, but also in itself where the propensities of these three conflict at a lower scale to outweigh each other.

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Kaygusuz (2004) employs the same Alevi question as Pehlivan’s (1994) study to analyse the Diyanet. He diverges from Pehlivan by defining Alevism as ‘an Islamic and philosophical creed with a special notion of God and ritual framework’ (p. 1). Consequently, his arguments centre on the theme of ‘alternative Islam’ while accusing the Diyanet of being totalitarian and distortive. He classifies important elements of the Alevis, such as pilgrimage, as idol-worship (p. 25). Unlike Bardakog˘lu’s claim that the statuses of the Diyanet and the Turkish military are equally well-defined innovations of the modern Republic as they stand outside politics (p. 87), Kaygusuz is sure that Atatu¨rk would have abolished the Diyanet had he lived longer (p. 42). Even though Kaygusuz launches his discussion via a historical account of the Alevi community, his general discourse does lack some impartiality. He writes as an insider who is justifiably, one way or another, angry at the institution, and who, like Pehlivan, is disturbed by the fact that Alevis are constantly positioned against the dominant religious cult; thus, he attacks the Diyanet with no serious consideration of the phenomena outside the Alevi presence. Kaya (1998: 196), for a counterexample, thinks that making a special Alevi reference would produce undesirable consequences, such as extreme schism, for the Diyanet’s overall service at national solidarity. Nonetheless, Kaygusuz sets a good exemplification of how Diyanet is contested at various levels, often with particularistic agendas. The ‘journalistic project’ of C¸akır and Bozan (2005) is one of the most successful pieces, in terms of maintaining a focus and objectivity, produced about the Diyanet. In line with Menski’s (2006) general legal model and President Bardakog˘lu’s (2006) metaphor, the authors examine the Diyanet in a religion-state-society (din-devlet-toplum) triangle (p. 6), rather than through an important but limited aspect of laicism (p. 106). From each corner, they bring forward a handful of arguments that sum up three alternative approaches to the Diyanet: that it should continue its existence as it is; that it should be freed from its political shackles given an autonomous public status; or that it should be dissolved and religion should be in the hands of civil organisations (p. 109). Each one of these suggestions has merits in its own right, but that is precisely missing in their analysis: the Diyanet’s profile from a holistic perspective is finely balance-oriented and solid, in spite of its appearances from the particularistic angles that show the institution as highly imbalanced and shaky. How, without dismantling the whole structure, can a seemingly rightful demand with respect to the Diyanet be met? That question is not answered. The authors admit that theirs is neither an academic nor an intellectually profound analysis, but a contribution to the betterment of policies (p. 11). So this is a useful discussion, but it does lack depth and legal analysis.

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C¸akır and Bozan included a number of revealing facts about the Diyanet. For example, quoting Tarhanlı (1993), they mention a report by the Turkish military titled ‘Laicism and Atatu¨rk’s Laicism Policy (Laiklik ve Atatu¨rk’u¨n Laiklik Politikası)’ in which the preservation of the Diyanet’s status is defended (p. 113). They also address speculative issues such as the influence of everyday politics on the Diyanet (p. 117) and interference with the Friday sermons (p. 120). In both cases, the Diyanet emerges as an institution that feels responsible to use its reserve of independence for the common good as much as possible and tolerable. Their fieldwork indicates that the regular mosque attendees hold a contrary view, that is, they believe that the Diyanet is not independent enough (p. 128). The same survey group regards the Diyanet as an indispensable institution for Turkey (p. 128); though it should be noted that the number of interviewees may not be large enough to give accurate results. All in all, a general voice of approval, with some exceptions, for the Diyanet’s accommodation within the government dominates their report, with repeated emphasis on the need for improvements. C¸akır and Bozan also touch upon the Diyanet’s overseas activities and relevance to Turkey’s accession to the European Union. Finally, they dedicate a section for the religion-and-state relationships in a choice of Muslim and nonMuslim countries for comparative purposes. Their project, which starts off by describing the Diyanet as a ‘taboo’ (p. 9), ends with clear conclusions and suggestions. They conclude that the Diyanet’s continuation is still the most realistic solution to the problems around it (p. 336). That said, it needs more dynamism (p. 335), transparency (p. 336), and inclusivity especially with respect to women as well as unofficial and non-orthodox religious groups (p. 338). Bozan (2007) later re-examined the Diyanet as a factor of democratisation, only this time with equal attention to the Imam-Preacher High Schools (I˙mam-Hatip Liseleri), the primary source of recruitment for the Diyanet. Due to the question whether their alumni can pursue higher degrees on nonreligious subjects – thus, whether conservative parents should enrol their children in them in the first place – they are also stuck between the state and society. He notes that a bill for a parliamentary act reforming the Diyanet had been finalised in 2005 (p. 90), but apparently still cannot be revealed to the public due to the sensitivity of the issue. As in his earlier work with C¸akır, he defines several challenges for the department: vacancies in the mosques (p. 82); the public image of the religious personnel, which he finds problematic due to economic and other reasons (p. 82); transparency of the Diyanet department as well as the linked Diyanet Endowment (p. 83); centralisation of prayer calls and Friday sermons via audio systems, which he regards as a sign of mistrust in the Diyanet’s own staff (pp. 83– 4); the changing nature of mosque attendees, that they are now economically and

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culturally better-off, and younger (p. 84); the timidity of the Diyanet to open itself up to a larger audience (p. 84); its male dominance (p. 85); the debates around political influence and autonomy (p. 86); the probability of abolition, partially in the face of an uncovered religious plurality (p. 86); the increasing burden of overseas activities especially in Europe (p. 87); and the Alevi question and other non-orthodox Islamic beliefs (p. 88). He concludes that a series of transformations is ahead of the Diyanet due to domestic and international urgencies (p. 92). Bozan’s book is a useful summary of the previous report with some extensions. It captures the main controversies around the Diyanet while revealing interesting legal and historical facts and observations throughout. It is also intended for policymaking. ¨ zenc
(2005) devotes a chapter to the Diyanet in his study about the O European Convention on Human Rights and the freedom of belief (2005). He uses what he believes to be the most apparent instance, the Alevi question, to measure the Diyanet’s legitimacy and captures the points listed elsewhere ¨ zenc
, the Diyanet is (Pehlivan, 1994; Kaygusuz, 2004). According to O problematic for such additional reasons as restricting other religions or secular lifestyles in Turkey (p. 131). The Diyanet’s dedication to national solidarity in practice becomes an anti-pluralist attempt and is not acceptable by the standards of democracy and laicism (p. 133). Nonetheless, relying upon the pattern followed in the decisions of the European Court of Human Rights, he concludes that the Diyanet’s position within the Turkish state cannot easily be called a violation of the Convention (p. 134). Two reasons are suggested: first, due to the absence of a universal standard; second, due to Turkey’s special condition in which the Diyanet is a shield against theocratic aspirations (p. 134). The fact that the Diyanet is sponsored from within the general budget, that is, without a religious tax policy, obscures viewing the Diyanet as contrary to the Convention (pp. 136–7). O¨zenc
concludes that whereas the Diyanet’s governmental status may not be so problematic, its operation with respect to religious diversity in Turkey, particularly to the Alevi demands for the approval of cemevi as an Islamic place of worship, will continue to cause many violations of the Convention unless the Diyanet is contracted (p. 141). The main route of reasoning behind the many criticisms of the Diyanet is now becoming clear: a perspective is chosen, and then from this the deficiencies of the department are extrapolated. But this is precisely the point the Diyanet does not want to give in to, as it claims to represent a multitude of voices and persepctives.

PART II THREE FACETS

CHAPTER 3 THE STATE'S MANAGEMENT OF RELIGION

Only with the state’s bureaucratic framework can the Diyanet exercise the norms of religion and society. The very existence of the Diyanet has been interpreted from various angles, always referring to secularism as a key issue. But although this is indeed a vital element, it still doesn’t fully explain the myriad factors and forces in play. In many ways, pluralism has neither been a concern nor even a noteworthy concept for the Turkish state. It has an officially fixed understanding of what the law means and how it works. This chapter thus offers a detailed legislative analysis from the perspective of legal positivism as to the handling of laicism and religion by the state through the Diyanet. It is expected to locate a complex pattern of legislative and judiciary action with respect to religion: supportive, condoning, suppressive, manipulative, utilising etc., depending on what it deems to be the relevant approach. Bearing society’s unceasing and natural pressure in mind, the full picture can only be explained as being an unceasing pursuit for balance, rather than through a clumsy and too narrow secular/religious dichotomy. The chapter is divided into four major parts. The first part deals with the Diyanet’s constitutional status. Scrutinising the Constitutional Court’s approach to the Diyanet is imperative for making sense of its survival within a secular framework setup. The second part contains two subsections both of which examine the statutes that indirectly yet undeniably affect the Diyanet’s position and role in Turkey. The third part analyses the Foundation Act of the Diyanet both before and after the July 2010 amendments. The fourth part explores the Diyanet’s own executive regulations. Altogether, this demonstrates and analyses the scope of official laws that surround the Diyanet’s operation. The Republic of Turkey is based on a separation of legislative, executive, and judiciary powers (Articles 6 – 8 of 1924 and 7 – 9 of 1982

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constitutions), though there are instances of collaboration as well as supplementation among them. The elected President represents national unity and, in addition to ceremonial tasks, enjoys occasional but crucial authorities in each branch of power. Legislative power belongs to the Parliament alone; customs and precedents do not count as laws, although both are alluded to in the statutory laws. Executive power is exercised by the Council of Ministers chaired by the Prime Minister. Judicial power is held by independent courts of either civilian or military nature. Civilian courts include courts of justice (hukuk mahkemeleri) and criminal courts (ceza mahkemeleri), and also administrative courts (idare mahkemeleri). The former two are overseen by Yargıtay (The Supreme Court of Cassation) and the latter by Danıs¸tay (The Council of State or The Supreme Administrative Court). The highest court of the nation is the Constitutional Court (Anayasa Mahkemesi), which can take the decision to annul any official law. Turkey’s enacted laws follow a hierarchical order in which no category may contradict a higher one either in form or spirit. The Constitution (Anayasa, literally ‘Mother Law’) takes precedent over all. The 1876 Constitution (Kanun-u Esasi) of the Ottoman State is regarded as the first step to the modern Republic. The 1921 and 1924 constitutions (Tes¸kilat-ı Esasiye Kanunu) were enacted in a transitional phase from pre- to post-Republic Turkey. The 1961 and 1982 constitutions are clearly of a new state and ideology, and also differ from the previous ones, especially in references to the Diyanet. Important amendments have been made to the 1982 Constitution; the last of which followed a referendum in September 2010 and aimed at important changes in the judiciary system. As of 2016, making groundbreaking amendments – and even enacting a totally new Constitution at some point – is being discussed. The second category consists of parliamentary acts (kanun or yasa). Codes and statutes are the prime legislations of the state; any judicial ruling must be grounded in them. A bill (kanun teklifi) is to be signed by the President and published in the Official Gazette before being put into force as law. The principle of non-retroactivity is accepted. Most laws, except those pertaining to the annual budget and emergency situations, are not subject to time restrictions. A law is valid unless it is amended or nullified by a newer one. Ansay and Wallace (2005: 6) list international treaties as a third category of statutory laws in Turkey. It is the Parliament’s duty to approve or disapprove such treaties like any other act (Article 90). Since they form an exception to the lex superior principle and their constitutionality cannot be challenged, they are to be accepted as a separate category. In case of disparity between national laws and international agreements on human rights, the latter have precedence over the former. This normally includes the case-law of the

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European Court of Human Rights, too, but in practice the Court does not have much direct effect on Turkish legality. Ordinances (kanun hu¨kmu¨nde kararnameler) are statutory decrees of the Council of Ministers on specific topics, fiscal and otherwise (Article 91). The President, the National Assembly, and the Constitutional Court are the overseers of such legislations of the executor. Regulations (tu¨zu¨kler) are issued by the Council of Ministers to elaborate on the Codes (Article 115). They are examined by Danıs¸tay and signed by the President of the Republic. Bylaws (yo¨netmelikler) may be issued by a number of ministries or a public body to regulate internal affairs (Article 124). A bylaw may be locally or nationally effective, depending on its issuer. Finally, unified decisions of the supreme courts (ictihadı birles¸tirme kararları) including Sayıs¸tay (the Supreme Council of Public Accounts) have the power of statutory laws. In addition to the above categories, the Diyanet is subject to the decisions of the Council of Ministers, circulars (genelgeler) of the Prime Ministry, and other official instructions. The administrative chamber of the Diyanet in Ankara is not only responsible for ensuring the application of higher statutory laws pertaining to the institution, but also for producing compatible specifications of them in the forms of internal regulations, bylaws, directives (yo¨nergeler), and circulars. This detailing of a fundamentally secular state’s laws is done by the Diyanet to fulfil religious services. As we can see, when all of this is put together, there forms an intricate tableau of legislation, ripe for analysis.

Turkish Laicism in Light of the Constitutions The Diyanet is about a month older than the Republic’s first 1924 Constitution which articulated religion (din) on three occasions: Article 2 had stated Islam as the state religion until 1928; Article 75 guaranteed religious and philosophical freedoms; and Article 88 defined ‘Turk’ not by religion or race, but by citizenship. Neither the removal of Islam from the Constitution in 1928 nor the insertion in 1937 of Atatu¨rk’s six principles including laicism (laiklik) into the Constitution challenged the legitimacy of the Act 429 of 1924 that had founded the Diyanet. On the contrary, six months before the crucial 1937 amendment, an act about the Diyanet’s institutional structure and obligations had been enacted for the first time in a detailed way. The said Act 2800 preserved its validity after the amendment, that is, the incorporation of laicism. Such indications of consent meant an augmented importance for the Diyanet within the Turkish Republic. Initially it was a religious body in a religious state; now it was to be stabilised as the religious body of a secular state.

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The 1961 Constitution mattered for two main reasons. It established a supreme Constitutional Court, and ratified the existing statutes about the Diyanet via Article 154. The preceding Article 153 emphasised the ‘laic character of the Republic’ and repeated the determination to uphold Atatu¨rk’s reforms such as the unification of education, the abolishment of dervish lodges and tomb-keeping, wearing of hats, enforcing civil marriages, the adoption of international numerals and a new Latin-based alphabet, and the abolition of various titles and garments. In this context, Article 154 may be seen either as an exception to or a continuation of the republican reforms, or, indeed, as it often is, both. It reads: ‘The Presidency of Religious Affairs, which is incorporated in the general administration, discharges the duties prescribed in its special law’. As a result, the 1961 Constitution had no significant effect on the Diyanet’s status other than confirming it to be at a superior level. Nevertheless, the launching of the Constitutional Court, which O¨ru¨cu¨ (2009a) defined as the protector of the regime, enabled those who objected to the Diyanet’s existence to criticise its legality more methodically.1 In 1966, the Unity Party (Birlik Partisi) was announced by a group of Alevi politicians; its flag depicted a lion (representing the I˙mam Ali) and twelve stars (representing the twelve imams). Their case against the Diyanet before the Constitutional Court proved to be more influential than their political performance, for it vividly revealed the official ideology on religion. A plea for annulment was made against Article 9 of Act 1327 (31/7/1970) which amended Article 36 of Act 657 (14/7/1965) and included ‘the division of religious services’ as a category of civil servants. The Unity Party objected to the amendment on the following grounds: (a) Turkey is a laic state (Article 2 of Constitution), which conventionally means that the affairs of state and religion are to be separate. (b) Creating clergy by the said law would imply theocracy and facilitate the return of a Sharia order. This is against Article 4 of the Constitution which acknowledges the people as the sole sovereign. (c) The State cannot guarantee equal freedom of religion and conscience to all (Article 19 of Constitution) while undertaking religious services for one particular group. (d) Even though having Article 154 in the Constitution is ‘scientifically a contradiction’ in the first place, it is nonetheless understandable due to the special socio-historical conditions of the country. However, the objected Act 1327/9 is against Article 154 too for describing religious officers as a special class. They should be under the general administration. (e) The amendment is against the Islamic fundamentals that otherwise refute clerical constructions.

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(f) Religious services are not among the government’s public responsibilities; thus regarding men of religion as civil officers is incompatible with the Constitution (Article 117). The fifth reason is noteworthy as it is not relevant to the Court’s jurisdiction. Stimulating questions arise: can a religious argument be put forward at a secular court; can it be of any interest to judges? Interestingly, it was. Technicalities aside, the Court ruled against the Unity Party in a revealing way (Decision no. 1971/76). The verdict resembles a defence made on behalf of the Diyanet, and resonates the unshakable official conviction for its necessity. The main arguments are summarised below [with my italicised emphases]: (a) Laicism is a principle that regulates the affairs of religion and the state. The state-specific and religion-specific reasons would naturally bring about unique perceptions of the term. Laicism is perceived diversely in the West too due to divergent conditions. (b) The conventional belief that laicism separates church and state is applicable to Christian nations as it resulted from the institutions that were sanctified like the papacy and the clergy. Islam does not form a clergy, nor does it regard religious employees holy. (c) The adoption of religiously disinterested laws in the late Ottoman Empire is not only a consequence of the changing political situations and social realities but also of Islam’s tolerant (hos¸go¨ru¨r) principles, such as ‘the changing of time and life conditions also changes the religion’s practical rulings.’ (d) The overriding theme and the ultimate objective of the Constitution is the constant betterment of the Turkish nation and its ascension to the level of contemporary civilisation. Turkey’s laicism and the Diyanet serve this objective. Based on historical experience, the Constitution makes a provision against the establishment of detrimental religious organisations. (e) The boundlessness of personal religious freedom remains under protection. The Diyanet does not predicate any obligation whatsoever. (f) The Constitution-maker was forced to foresee the restrictions that will be put on the public presence of religion, as it was previously misused as a justification for abuse, bigotry, betrayal to the nation, and backwardness. (g) Separation of religion and state in Turkey means that religion cannot interfere with the state, but not vice versa. The law is derived from reason, not revelation. Religion is not denied; it is left to the individuals’ consciences. (h) Islam does not only speak to the individual’s conscience about the matters of belief but also regulates social relations, state affairs, and the law. In light of

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this fact, religious freedom could endanger the laic regime. By laicism, it is not meant to give an independence or autonomy to religious buildings and their officers. Limitless, unregulated religious freedom and independent religious organisations would carry heavy risks against our nation. Therefore, the Constitution-maker regarded religious freedom that is completely outside state control in contrary terms to laicism. In brief, laicism in the Turkish Constitution signifies: (i) No influence of religion on state affairs; (ii) Equal protection of individuals’ spiritual life and religious beliefs; (iii) Restrictions on the public manifestations of religion in order to guarantee national peace and security and to prevent misuses and abuses of religion; (iv) An acknowledgement for the state’s authority to control the religious rights and freedoms for the sake of public order. As regards the Diyanet, it is not a religious but an administrative body [and thereby part of the state]. Its employees are civil servants (memur) according to its special law mentioned in Article 154. It is both natural and necessary for the Diyanet to remain in the Constitution due to religion’s magnitude as a social phenomenon. The Diyanet’s existence cannot be a reason to claim that the state is executing religious jobs; the state merely has developed a solution to the country’s circumstances that compelled the training of qualified religious staff, emancipated from fanaticism, for the nation’s spiritual discipline. The state aids the majority, who are Muslims and require such staff as well as religious buildings and their maintenance. Assisting citizens in fulfilling their religious needs, like any other social need, is in line with the Constitution. Act 633 about the Establishment and Duties of the Presidency of Religious Affairs overruled the previous laws about the Diyanet and is compatible with Article 154 by all criteria. The ‘division of religious services’ listed in Act 1327 among other civil officers is arranged as a part of the Personnel Reform and aimed at systematising the public officers’ data and vocational tracks, not creating a religious institution or a class.

The judgement of refusal was reached despite the objection of three members out of fifteen. Gu¨ru¨n, having agreed with the decision, criticised its apologetic tone and stated that the justification that alluded to the West, Christianity, Islamic law, and national prerequisites was out of place. The Diyanet’s legitimacy must have been shown via Article 154 and the meaning of laicism in the Constitution alone. Deputy Chief Justice Givda, obtaining Akar’s partial agreement, objected to the decision for various reasons. First, he noted

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that Article 154 of 1961 Constitution is older than the Diyanet’s ‘special law’ to which it had referred. It had referred to the statutes that are now obsolete by the new Diyanet Act 633 whose constitutionality has not yet been tested. The assumption that Article 154 approves such special laws without any content-related or other restriction is misguided. Secondly, the Diyanet as projected by Article 154 must ideally be a governmental department responsible for monitoring and supervising the religious activities that might potentially be hazardous. Otherwise, a department of religious service and its staff is in no way compatible with a laic state and its constitution for various reasons. Investing everybody’s taxes in one portion of the population, for example, violates Article 61.2 It breaches Article 12 as well due to its disregard for equality. Thirdly, the majority’s agreement on the nature of the state’s involvement in religion via the Diyanet was centred on ‘aid’. However, Act 633 clearly shows that the Diyanet’s legal duties involve executing, enlightening, and administering. The state therefore does not aid its people, but directly and visibly executes religious services. Such a state cannot anywhere be properly called laic. Givda’s final point, whose inclusion in the decision is meaningful, may be a phrasing of common sense. Particularly from a secularist perspective, the Diyanet’s position is bound to seem problematic. However, the state on this issue often behaves in a realistic and altruistic manner. It is realistic because the potential of Islam for political mobilisation and takeover is high, unless it is somehow hedged around notwithstanding some expenses. It is altruistic because it sacrifices certain elements from the very foundational principle and dream of laicism. Thus, in many ways, the state accepts the inclusion of elements of religion in a bid to avoid social disorder and collapse. The Court’s ruling, at a final analysis, is again an official manifesto on religion for the Turkish state.3 The effective 1982 Constitution articulated the Diyanet’s task further. Article 136 reads: ‘The Presidency of Religious Affairs, which is within the general administration, shall exercise its duties prescribed in its special law, in accordance with the principle of laicism, beyond all political views and ideologies, and aiming at the nation’s solidarity and integration’. This article may at first seem to mean an increasing restriction for the Diyanet. But in fact, it is a fortification. First of all, now its constitutionality in terms of laicism is no longer questionable. Secondly, it is more permanent than the temporal political trends. Thirdly, it is considered as a key player for the national cohesion, implying that its dissolution would not be desirable. The current constitution is, as was the previous one, enforced by a military government following a coup in 1980. The 1961 Constitution was too liberal according to some (Yu¨ru¨k, 2003: 15; Gu¨nes¸, 2006). The 1982 Constitution

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did not only shrink the boundaries of political freedom but also propounded religion as a defence mechanism against the internal schisms and the perceived threat of external influences, such as socialism. It pinned down religious education as a governmental task. By having secured the Diyanet’s status within the Constitution, which could only be amended through parliamentary acts, the Diyanet may be thought to have been left to the hands of political parties. Non-governmental organisations’, academicians’ and thinkers’, or the Diyanet’s own opinions could matter very little unless embraced by an influential political party, which is where the Political Parties Act 2820 in 1983 comes into play. Its Section 3 is titled the ‘Preservation of Atatu¨rk’s Principles and Reforms, and the Laic Character of the State’. Accordingly, Atatu¨rk’s persona and heritage is to be protected respectfully; the caliphate is declared indefensible; religion and sanctity are not to be abused; and parties are banned from showing political presence in religious gatherings. More critically, according to Article 89 of the Act, the constitutional article about the Diyanet shall not be objected to or operated against. Laicism, already an irrevocable provision of the Constitution (Article 2), is consequently united with the Diyanet via Article 89 of the Political Parties Act. Its violation provides a sufficient reason for banning political parties, though the 1995 constitutional amendments suggested more care while taking such severe legal actions. The 2001 amendments also functioned in the same way. The 2010 amendments have made further constitutional restrictions to ban political parties, without having revised the Political Parties Act. Indeed, the Diyanet had already become a reason for party dissolution much before, via Decision no. 1993/2. The Freedom and Democracy Party (O¨zgu¨rlu¨k ve Demokrasi Partisi) had included the following statement in its agenda: ‘The State shall not be involved in religious affairs; religion shall be handed over to religious communities’. Article 89 of the Political Parties Act, among others, was used against this party and led it to termination. The case (O¨ZDEP v. Turkey; App. No. 23885/94; ECHR, 1999) went on to the European Court of Human Rights and was finally decided in 1999 against the Turkish state on the ground that Turkey had violated Article 11 of the European Convention on Human Rights that guarantees freedom of association. Article 11 indeed could have been interpreted in favour of the Turkish state, referring to the special circumstances of the country – which was later in 2005 considered to justify the state’s headscarf embargo in the case of Leyla S¸ahin v. Turkey (App. No. 44774/98; ECHR, 2005). The Convention, particularly Article 9, has been read through a secularist, rather than a democratic, perspective in 2005, whereas in 1999 the Court could be seen to be more democratic than secularist. These cases together

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evidence the tension in Turkey between democratic and totalitarian propensities as well as the ECtHR’s confusion about the country’s actual stance on secularism. The Court’s rulings, especially in the case of Leyla S¸ahin v. Turkey, reveal several misconceptions about Turkish secularism that this book attempts to clarify. Turkish secularism is so convoluted that contrary rulings to those achieved in 1999 and 2005 could as well have been achieved and explained through the very same arguments of safeguarding secularism and democracy, respectively. The Court, apparently, considered the political implications of their position, navigated through various options, and doubled, rather than resolved, the contrasts of Turkish secularism. The case against the Democratic Peace Movement Party (Demokratik Barıs¸ Hareketi Partisi), which was more direct in its contention about the Diyanet, brought some moderation to the Constitutional Court’s conservatism on the subject, most likely due to national and international criticisms about party closures. The said party stated explicitly its programme that it was against the Diyanet’s status and asserted during the court hearing that they were aware of the fact that the Supreme Court will not pay attention to their arguments against ‘a constitutional article which is in conflict with the constitution’s spirit’. They claimed that Act 633 of the Diyanet was meant for Muslims only and that in practice the Diyanet represented only one type of Muslim, namely Sunni Hanafis.4 The opening of mosques in and the appointments of imams to Alevi villages by the state, especially under military governance after the 1980 coup, is brought forward as evidence of further injustices.5 In conclusion, they attacked the Diyanet for embodying the state’s violation of equidistance to all religions and philosophies. Ahmet Necdet Sezer, later the President of the Republic, then a member of the Constitutional Court, voted for its closure, probably following a literal reading of Article 89. However, the overall decision (1997/3) was otherwise. The rejection was based on the clarity of the party’s agenda for improving laicism in Turkey. Articles 10 and 11 of the European Convention on Human Rights, which has the status of an act in Turkey by Article 90 of the Constitution, were also used in favour of the party. In 1999, the Democratic Mass Party (Demokratik Kitle Partisi) was sued by the Office of the Chief Public Prosecutor of the Supreme Court of Cassation (Yargıtay Cumhuriyet Bas¸savcılıg˘ı). One of the allegations was the infringement of Article 89 on the grounds that the party included a reform proposal for the Diyanet. In summary, the party, assuming a secularist point of view, had likewise suggested that religion ought to be a matter for independent unofficial organisations. It quoted a famous traditionalist who believed that the current system will be for the benefit of Muslims, who will one day regain sovereignty. It also quoted the Diyanet’s president at the time who shared the

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point of view that religion should not be a governmental business for true laicism. In its defence, however, the party had to declare that the Diyanet’s position within the government was not questioned, but only its scope and manner of operation. It consequently was closed (1991/1) on other grounds, such as provoking disunity through ethnic and cultural propaganda. Other party closure trials at the Constitutional Court, namely, 1998/1 about the Welfare Party (Refah Partisi), 2001/2 about the Virtue Party (Fazilet Partisi), and 2008/2 about the currently ruling JDP, all of whom are rooted in the same ideological movement named the National Outlook (Milli Go¨ru¨s¸) under the leadership of Necmettin Erbakan, contained noteworthy debates relating to laicism and the Diyanet. The litigation against the pro-Kurdish Democratic Society Party (Demokratik Toplum Partisi), which led to its closure by 2009/4, also refers back to the O¨ZDEP case and argues that the ECtHR’s decision against Turkey did not target the Diyanet-protection clause in the Political Parties Act, but was due to a methodological error of the Turkish Constitutional Court in acknowledging freedom of speech.6 Through analysis of the statements from the important cases above, particularly the Unity Party’s appeal in 1966, it is becoming quite clear that the Turkish state has not simply followed the French model of segregation of state and religion, but is navigating a specific Turkish model of secularism which recognises the intrinsic, socially undeniable link between law and religion and thus empowers the state to manage this relationship for the benefit of the nation and the people. Explicit recognition of the presence and power of religion does not, however, mean that the state is willing to bow to religious diktat: religious people and ideas also become more referential to state authority, in turn. In the end, none of the elements of state, religion and society could be reasonably ignored by the others. Thus, an intricate web of power calculations and relations emerges. A general analysis of the cases that took place before the Constitutional Court and its decisions may lead us to conclude that: (a) Turkish laiklik is a semi-false cognate of French laı¨cite´. Laicism, as the present examination of Turkey exemplifies, could be analysed in contextspecific and dynamic terms. Or, where laicism is not considered to be an indispensable, undisputable supreme value, it may be replaced by a more suitable (i.e. less loaded) term, without losing its peace- and justiceseeking essence. (b) The Turkish Republic is founded upon an idiosyncratic type of laicism in which the social manifestation of Islam forces the state to be realistic about its secular vision. Secular totalitarianism would not work, nor could an Islamist one. Altruism, however unsatisfactory, is imperative upon all involved.

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(c) The Turkish laicism cannot afford that the state should leave religion free, hence aims at organising the religious majority by humane means of subsidy, institutionalisation, and official recognition. Harsher means could intensify social polarisations and threaten stability. (d) The Turkish state opts for a disinterested pose against other religious fractions and their activity, provided they do not possess hazardous potentials against the Republic’s founding principles, summarised as the irrevocable articles of the Constitution. This shows that the ultimate interest of the state is not belief or representing religious groups, but rather its own security. (e) The Turkish state regards Islam – which has no clergy – already as a secular religion compared to Christianity, on the one hand. On the other, Islam appears to be holistic and even anti-secular, so needs to be tailored for political ends. Turkey practises a mix-and-match of alternative worldviews and methodologies. The outcome is highly self-contradictory and eludes simplifications. Speaking from an administrative viewpoint, there seems to be a direct relationship between acknowledging and influencing religious life. Turkey’s policy of support-and-control does not divide religion and state. It pays attention to religious groups in proportion to their social and discursive weight. Alevis, for example, are overlooked mainly due to their lack of organised political potential. Similarly, the Sunni – subsequently Hanafi – majority is granted more resources not due to doctrinal but national solidarity reasons. According to this view, this is what Turkish pragmatism consists of. The issue of Turkish secularism is a battlefield of ideologies, and is often evaluated in such light, whereas ultimately what seems to overrule in the majority of cases is expediency. Following this train of analysis, it is easy to see how the Diyanet is the product of a practical mind, affected by the rivalry of multiple abstractions, one of them being the Turkish Constitution. The Diyanet cannot be grasped by a purely theoretical outlook, as the aspects of social life are more complex and intertwined than this simple approach would allow. Thus, the Diyanet, with all its merits and flaws, might be, after all, an institution fitting and reflecting its broader socio-legal context. All the contextual changes are expected to influence the Diyanet, making it more able or constrained as a state organ.

The Parliamentary Acts Turkey had experienced a gradual metamorphosis into laicism through reforms backed by law, starting from the early nineteenth century. To set and

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stabilise the ground for modern Turkey’s secular regime, religion’s high potential for socio-political counteraction had to be resolved more or less at once. Act 2 of the new Republic was the Treason Act (Hıyanet-i Vataniye Kanunu), and it included, later in 1925, politicising religion as a crime punishable by execution. The early Courts of Independence (I˙stiklal Mahkemeleri) particularly focused on the revival of caliphate campaigns after its demolition and applied penalties as heavy as capital punishment to thousands of perpetrators (Aybars, 2006). Since the state’s foundation, much legislation of such nature directed its attention to religiously related violations, most of which could never come close to criticising the Diyanet – an issue internal and secondary to the larger fact of laicism. Just like the state ideology considered the Diyanet at the service of Turkey’s laicism, the protectionism over laicism in turn shielded the Diyanet from many real and potential attacks. This is an interesting fact as the recent Islamisation of politics in Turkey also shields the Diyanet. Article 89 of 2820 Political Parties Act has been addressed above as a crucial law in favour of the Diyanet’s fixity and integral position in Turkey. It is still in force. The old Turkish Criminal Code, particularly its highly controversial Article 163, had also played an important role in securing the Diyanet’s position for decades. It translates: ‘Persons who provoke the public or group together by using religion, pious feelings or sacred things in a way that threatens state security shall be punished by temporary heavy imprisonment even if their motives and organisations are not yet observed in practice’. Above it was shown that constitutional shields around the Diyanet have harmed secularist rather than anti-secularist groups. The Criminal Code, on the other hand, aimed to exhaust any social or political movement with an unusual religious agenda in its preliminary phase. It greatly overshadowed the freedom of speech and association in Turkey, as neither violence nor an indication of advanced threat to the laic regime was required to justify imprisonment and punishment. Numerous politicians, thinkers, journalists and academicians had been put on trial based on articles like 163. A local military court claimed its unconstitutionality in 1980 before the Constitutional Court, stating that Turkey’s democracy which had allowed anti-religious propaganda should have tolerated Sharia propaganda as well; therefore, Article 163 was against the democratic and egalitarian basis of the Constitution. The Court refused the litigation (1980/48), based on the conviction that the demands of reversion (irtica) to the archaic system pose an imminent danger to the modern Republic and must be suppressed. Other articles of the Code, such as 312, which had justified President Erdog˘an’s imprisonment in 1999 due to a speech with farfetched religious

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claims, also had functioned to restrict expressions that might have held risks of causing social antagonism. In general, any debate with an ingredient of secularism had been a minefield for Turkish politicians and intellectuals. Criticisms had to fall short of elaboration and a long-term vision; or frankness often was to be faced with the Criminal Code. The arguments seldom went far enough to touch upon the Diyanet; it was regarded by most anti-secularists as merely a piece – indeed a somewhat useful and tolerable piece – within a problematic whole. And the totality, that is, the regime, was protected by strong legal precautions including the State Security Courts (Devlet Gu¨venlik Mahkemeleri), abolished in 2004. In short, in addition to the Political Parties Act, the Criminal Code acted and lasted as a distant guardian of the Diyanet. Extreme anti-secularists and secularists had been exposed to these laws for different reasons; the state was not willing to question its laic regime or its Diyanet constituent. The new Criminal Code enacted in 2004 in the course of the bid to join the European Union is for the most part free from such defects of criminalising petty talks about laicism and religion. It seems that, by now, the political culture has become somewhat adjusted to the status quo. There are countless acts relating to the Diyanet department, staff, and activities; some more directly than others. Act 657 of Civil Servants applies to more than 100,000 members of staff in the Diyanet. It is the same law that applies to most civil servants – including those whose jobs involve things that are condemned by religious orthodoxy, such as interest and alcohol. Recruitment, training, appointments, promotions, awards, penalties, salaries, office hours, vacations, dress code, records and reports, entitlements and duties of the Diyanet personnel are arranged by Act 657. It places them within the state structure in a rather secular and technical manner. What is more persistently important than the details of Act 657 is the idea that ‘religious’ employees are subject to ‘secular’ codes, indicating the clumsiness of such distinctions. The terms ‘religious’ and ‘secular’ prove rather difficult to pin down here. A significant consequence of this is the confusion of Diyanet staff whether their responsibility is to God or to the state – or perhaps to the former through the latter, completely eradicating the boundaries of ‘religious’ and ‘secular’. It is undeniable that the Diyanet, at all levels of activity, is afflicted by an identity crisis that leads in many cases to a lack of confidence: timid at times yet reckless at others, hardly giving any impression of critical selfevaluation. Admitting Islam’s weight in a laic regime by establishing the Diyanet is one legal matter, subjugating it to secular legal mentality and jurisdiction is another. Is secularised religion still religion? This is the question Turkey and the Diyanet struggles to answer. Does leading prayers hold the same

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instrumentality as, say, driving a public bus? If so, why should imams be allowed to speak ‘authoritatively’ about the supernatural, using state funds, but not others? Or, does that mean that even the supernatural can be utilised for public and political opportunism? The question of Diyanet members’ sincerity and emotional authenticity resulting from their official duties reduce their credibility and damages the very basic idea of surrounding religion for public good. The public, just like most Diyanet employees, does not regard Diyanet-religiosity as a fulfilling and reliable solution (Yavuz, 2003a). That leads one to think that the Turkish state might be better off on certain grounds by reducing, instead of increasing, the formalities around the Diyanet. That, however, would create other theoretical problems about the state’s proclaimed laic character. Based on Act 3046 of the Foundation and Duties of Ministries, a Minister of State responsible for the Diyanet may be appointed. This appointment is usually combined with other posts with strategic importance; lately involving Turkic communities and Turkish enterprises abroad. The state hereby accepts the importance of religion for cementing people. Again, an instrumentalist approach to religion is taken. According to Act 3071, requests and complaints within the Diyanet’s sphere of responsibility must be in a set petition format. This law helps keeping the Diyanet’s official activity record while it follows the regulations of official correspondence and communication as part of its governmental obligation. Article 2 of the Village Act 442 of 1924 counted ‘mosque’ among the shared properties that made up a village. A copy of this law must be made available by the village headman either in the village’s mosque or school (Article 91). Like a village teacher, the imam is also a permanent member of the village council (Article 23) and assists the headman when needed (Article 39). Section 2 is reserved for imams: an imam is appointed by the local mufti while the village association’s opinion is also asked. He must be knowledgeable in Islamic catechism, arithmetic, Turkish geography and history, Islamic history and first aid, and be able to write legibly. Imams used to be paid by and/or through the village council; now direct deposits are made to the Diyanet staff on behalf of the Ministry of Finance. Government payments to imams in distant rural areas mechanically reduce their autonomy in their localitie by ascribing to them more of a governmental liability. Roaming imams who relied upon local fundraising and charities and the villagers’ alms used to be a common occurrence. There are still unofficial ( fahri) imams offering service with that sort of income. This fact, which denotes less state influence on religious interpretation and local people, is more common in rural areas of eastern Turkey, especially where traditional

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medrese-based scholarship and Shafii jurisprudence prevail among the indigenous Kurdish populations. The critical Act 677 of 1925 banned all extraordinary spiritual titles, shut down mystics’ lodges, and aimed to obliterate means of spiritual and psychic exercises and abuse. It also ordered the shutting of shrines, many of which were adjacent to mosques, except those of Turkish heroes and those with artistic value. The permitted ones are to be managed by the Ministry of Culture. The living law says otherwise: most of the religious titles such as sheikh, dervish, disciple (mu¨rit) and successor (halife) are in frequent use. Though rare, fortune-telling, exorcism and magic are extant in various forms. Mystics’ gatherings continue, not in traditional lodges called tekke or zaviye but in houses, in partially seized and privatised mosques, or in licit associations in disguise. The permitted shrines are often maintained by endowments and associations as well. Shrine-keeping is a tradition in itself and falls outside the ambitious scope of control set by the state. Act 2596 of the Prohibition of Certain Attires prohibits wearing of religious dresses for staff of all religions, except inside places of worship. The national heads of religions, including the President of the Diyanet on behalf of Islam, are exempted. This proves that the Turkish state applies legal exertion (ictihat/ijtihad, an Islamic term still in use in modern Turkish law) in a way and admits only one type of Islamic presence as authentic. Claims for diversity are not paid attention to. Since all members of the Diyanet must follow Act 657 and other formal regulations incorporating dress codes, an imam is not distinguishable by his looks from members of the public or a mufti from other governmental unit chiefs in Turkey. Nevertheless, there are exceptions in this respect: as civil servants, the Diyanet personnel must wear ties like other civil servants, but they do not unless their superiors, muftis or governors, oblige them to do so. Civil servants in Turkey are not allowed to grow beards according to Article 5 of Bylaw 8/5105, whose Article 15 tolerates special instructions approved by the State Minister for the Diyanet. A similar exemption of headscarf is made for the Diyanet’s female personnel. As a result of these regulations, the office personnel look formal whereas the facilities personnel (i.e. imams, muezzins, Qur’anic school teachers and others) end up looking neither like members of a particular vocational class as in the Ottoman Empire nor like the other civil servants of the Republic, but like lay people. This outcome may be regarded as exciting and well-balanced: the state refrains from its firmness about religion for the Diyanet personnel and Islam’s original no-clergy principle is concretised in the area of dress code by the same laic state. Act 2949 of the Foundation and Juristic Procedures of the Constitutional Court prevents challenging the constitutionality of the abovementioned Act

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677 and Act 2596 as well as other early revolutionary acts. The list consists of Act 430 of Unification of Education, which disallows religious education except through state agency; Act 671 of Adoption of Hat, which obligates all civil servants to wear Western-style hats; Article 110 of the 1926 Civil Code which exclusively enjoins civil marriages before secular staff;7 Act 1288 of Adoption of International Numerals; Act 1353, which replaces the Arabic alphabet with a Latin-based one and forbids the former from all arenas of life from education to private publication; and finally Act 2590, which abolishes distinctive social titles including Hacı (Pilgrim), Hafız (someone who knows the Qur’an by heart), Molla (Mullah), Hoca (religious teacher), Efendi (Effendi, Master), Bey (Sir), Pas¸a (Pasha), and Hazretleri (His Excellency), and acknowledges all citizens as equal and just by their names. All these laws are for the most part, poorly implemented. Either society overrules the state’s monist ambitions in part, or the state comes to realistic and altruistic terms with society, or both. In today’s super-technological and complex world, a state simply cannot monopolise education (Act 430). Virtually nobody obeys the hat law (Act 671). Though Article 143 of the Civil Code permits the religious marriage only upon civil registration, there are many unregistered, religiously performed and socially accepted marriages that would normally result in imprisonment according to Article 230 of the Criminal Code. The state legitimises them through occasional amnesty acts (Yilmaz, 2005). Finally, most of the titles listed above are still in use, though they do not connote superiority as much as they did in the past. Hoca, for example, is almost synonymous with imam and used as much. In a word, this is the balance found between competing legal claims. The socio-religious aura that had lasted for centuries was fancied by the state to be cleansed in a few decades, during which all the revolutionary legislations were implemented rigorously. In the end, nobody’s ideals but a sensible equilibrium is attained. This is ‘living law’ in action, a pluralist construct that does not endanger or challenge the basics of overarching state control. Act 3998 of Protection of Cemeteries bestows the ownership rights of cemeteries upon municipalities and juristic personalities of villages; the Diyanet personnel appear ceremonially and possibly in their attire as a condoned exception to the regulation (18/2/1935, No: 2933) against wearing religious attires. An earlier regulation (9.8.1931, No: 1868) had already transferred the pious endowment (vakıf) cemeteries under municipal governments in contradiction with the endowment charters (vakfiye), which are inviolable according to Islamic law. In general, abidance to Islamic instructions in funerals and cemeteries is high, yet mixed with cultural and formal norms. One could deduce from a wholesome analysis of funerals that the soul is left to be handled by religion and the body by the state after death.

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In 1998, the Diyanet and Endowments Staff Union (the Diyanet-Sen, in short) was announced – then under a different name – as the first of its kind in the world, according to its website (Diyanet-Sen, 2006). Ahmet Yıldız, its founder and chairman, remarks: ‘People had either sneered or ruminated upon being told about the project’ (Yıldız, 2009: 25). Only in 2001, it gained legal recognition following the enactment of Act 4688 of Civil Servants Union which explicitly legitimated the Diyanet unions (Article 5). Another union (the Diyanet Vakıf-Sen) was announced soon after as a major rival. Both unions attempt to merge judicial discourses and attitudes with religious ones skilfully. They become inwardly and outwardly political and phenomenal while doing so. For example, whereas the Diyanet administration could not take any public stance on the 2010 constitutional referendum, the Diyanet-Sen disclosed their vote to be in the affirmative, mixing religious and political symbolisms, and praising then the Prime Minister Erdog˘an and his Imam-Preacher School background (Haber 7, 2010). The Diyanet unions, therefore, offer opportunities of selfpresentation for many Diyanet members. They, together with the Diyanet’s conventional voice, concretise the abovementioned dualism latent among Diyanet staff. Act 2893 of the Turkish Flag requires flags to be hung in public buildings and bureaus. Article 3 of the Constitution describes it with a crescent and a star on red backcloth, as inherited from the Ottoman times. Its symbolism is an amalgamation of religious sentiments like martyrdom and Turkishness. Different versions of the Ottoman flag have been unfurled in many countries up to this day. Some of them are still visible in mosques of the old Ottoman territories like Bosnia and Greece, but, interestingly, not in Turkey. Turkish mosques very rarely have flags either inside or outside on a flagpole. Occasionally it might be seen painted or carved on the interior or exterior walls. These are by choice of the neighbourhood. The fact that the Turkish state, which appoints and pays for the mosques’ personnel, does not conceive of putting up flags in them is an indication that it knows its own needs and limits. Alternatively, the absence of flags, which historically retain a religious meaning, in modern Turkish mosques may purport an estrangement between religion and state. Still, the people can reconcile them when they wish. Whether a mosque has or has not got a flag can be a way to assess its congregation’s willingness to view Islam and the state in harmonious terms. Act 2429 of National Festivals and Common Holidays divides holidays into two categories: civil and religious. The two religious festivals, Ramazan and Kurban (Sacrifice), are also national holidays, and can be extended up to nine days. Official gatherings take place on these days in the governors’ offices.

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Conversely, the weekly holiday is Sunday in compliance with the West, as opposed to Friday, the pre-Republic preference. This sometimes gives rise to efforts for many to perform their Friday prayers when they are supposed to be at work. In short, on the holiday issue too, neither the religious culture nor the presumed official ideals are totally fulfilled. Both are trimmed and secular/ religious steadiness is achieved. Act 2860 of Fundraising has been prevalent on the Diyanet, particularly its now dissolved articles 21, 22, 23 and 29/2. These articles exclusively entitled the Turkish Aeronautical Association – not the Diyanet, puzzlingly – to collect the Ramazan alms ( fitre), religiously obligatory alms from the wealthy (zekat), and skins and intestines of slaughtered animals during the Sacrifice Festival. Only 5 per cent of the revenue is granted to the Diyanet Endowment (Tu¨rkiye Diyanet Vakfı) – not the presidency but its non-governmental social service offshoot – and a big chunk to three other government-backed establishments, namely, the Aeronautical Association (55 per cent), the Red Crescent (20 per cent), and the Agency of Social Services and Child Protection (20 per cent). Unlawfully collected materials were to be confiscated and violators were to be fined and imprisoned. This implementation that had lasted for some years made citizens furious, who saw no relationship between the pious acts and aeronautics. Additionally, they raised questions regarding Islamic legitimacy of paying alms to these corporations rather than the poor. Soon they found ways around the law, such as selling skins and donating funds elsewhere. Zekat and fitre were paid to or collected by individuals and religious organisations in secret. The current version of the Act does not legalise the previous sort of intervention. Although the state ideology scrutinised above through the Constitutional Court decisions revealed that Turkish laicism tolerated the state’s meddling with religion, this last example, among many others, demonstrates ampleness in the state’s self-esteem to do so. The law’s inapplicability due to people’s irresponsiveness brought about a moderation in the end. The Turkish State, based on Act 3417 of Promotion and Utilisation of Workers Savings, applies mandatory savings to workers’ salaries and deposits the cuts with interest (nema, in this context) later on. Workers have been subjugated to interest ( faiz) as a result; and the Diyanet, on behalf of itself and other departments, finds itself in a position to resolve this itching doubt. The financial doctrine of Islam, inflation, and other considerations are brought forward to explain the dubious implementation away. According to a widely accepted fetva, nema is helal (clean, permitted) because it is always below the inflation rate; a consideration for all financial liabilities (Karaman, n.d.). Whether one has an option to participate in the scheme or to refuse the increase made on the capital is another aspect of the debate. On the whole,

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nema, as a part of a larger question of secular fiscal policies, is one of the numerous revealing instances where the religious horizon is clouded by the state’s secular and uninterested activity. The Diyanet’s deployment under provincial administrations is framed in accordance with Act 5442 of Provincial Administration. Here an old question surfaces: how does a Diyanet member, a mufti or an imam, harmonise between his religious and secular perceptions? What happens in case of a disagreement between the two, or between one’s religious view and his executive superior? The answer lies on an axis of piety and formality; and, personal dispositions will determine preferences. Individuals, imitating the Diyanet’s administrative mind, are expected to follow the paths and manners to resolution and balance accordingly. Act 3194 of Construction states that areas are to be allocated in municipal planning for places of worship according to foreseeable needs. This regulation cannot be interpreted as a state surrender; the shortage and abundance of mosques in certain areas press for such a law. Act 2863 of Preservation of Cultural and Natural Assets designates the General Directorate of Endowments responsible for mosques, shrines, caravanserais, roadhouses, medreses, public baths, hospitals, dervish lodges, water kiosks, fountains, and others that are of historical worth. Buildings listed here, some of whose activities are banned by an aforementioned statute, had been endowed, recorded and preserved by the Islamic legal and moral principles until the Republic. The split of the Diyanet and the endowments upon the start of the Republic has resulted in bizarre situations. The staff employed by the Diyanet of a currently active historical mosque, for example, cannot have repairs done on the building unless they go through a petition process at the Endowments Directorate. Another implication of this arrangement is that the state does not hesitate to prioritise the cultural and touristic value of the establishments that were built by pious motives. Finally, endowments are often attached to running sources of income that sum up to huge amounts across the nation. The Diyanet is deprived of them. Some believe that the Diyanet ought not to be a burden on the state budget but should be entitled to these endowments instead (Yavuzer, 2006). This, from the state’s perspective, might imply too much autonomy to religion, hence involves a risk. Act 4982 of Freedom of Information regulates citizens’ rights to obtain and public bodies’ duty to supply information. The Diyanet’s data and activities become even more transparent by this law. As of 23 October 2009; 26,699 requests were made electronically to the Diyanet. However, my own experience with this service has not been good.8 The Diyanet’s subjugation at the institutional and staff levels to civil, criminal, criminal procedure and other codes ought to be noted again as many

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correlations may be drawn between their larger scopes. A critical example is the abovementioned Diyanet Endowment that was founded in 1975 in line with the Civil Code. Act 5072 regulates relationships between government departments and their subsidiary establishments; in the Diyanet’s case the Presidency vis-a`-vis the Diyanet Endowment – which substantially supports financial, logistical and building needs, both for places of worship and offices. The Presidency’s needs since the inception of government allowances as an exclusive financial resource, that is, since the detachment of vakıf facilities from the Diyanet administration, had always fallen short of satisfaction. The Diyanet Endowment helps reduce the Diyanet’s shortages. A repeated example of living law regarding this legislation is the violation of its second article which outlaws the recruitment of civil servants in endowment fundraising. The Diyanet personnel out of necessity do raise money after congregational prayers, particularly on Fridays and during religious holidays. The Diyanet Endowment’s fundraising handicap discussed above was removed in 2005 via an ordinance of the cabinet. In addition to the Diyanet members’ cooperation under the Endowment, there are also associations of religious personnel (Din Go¨revlileri Derneg˘i) in many cities that are launched for intensifying intra-Diyanet interaction and solidarity, and run in accordance with Act 5253 of Associations. Last but not least, numerous other acts of the legislator are relevant to the Diyanet in one way or another. The following list hints at ideas about the issues with which the Diyanet might be faced while performing its formal tasks: Acts 2451 and 2477 regarding appointment procedures; Act 3795 of Vocational Titles of Certain Schools’ Graduates; Act 7201 of Official Communication; Act 5176 of Ethical Committees in Public Bodies; Act 5746 of Supporting Research and Development Activities; Act 2886 of Public Tender; Act 4045 of Security Investigation; Act 2946 of Public Residences; Act 3628 of Declaration of Property and Fight against Bribery and Corruption; Acts including 4483, 4455 and 5525 about the discipline matters of civil servants; Act 2531 that prohibits certain jobs upon resignation from the civil service; Acts including 2829, 3320 and 4214 facilitating social security and retired life; Act 2978 of Tax Returns; Act 5901 of Turkish Citizenship; Act 5682 of Passports; Act 2911 of Meeting and Demonstrations; Act 5187 of the Press; Act 4857 of Labour; Act 5326 of Misdemeanours; Act 7269 of Disasters; Act 5651 of the Internet; Act 5846 of Intellectual and Artistic Products; Act 5816 of Violations against Atatu¨rk’s Persona; Act 5649 of Celebrating the National Anthem and Its Poet; Act 2839 of Parliament Members; Act 2922 of Foreign Students; Act 5070 of Electronic Signature; Act 4207 of Prevention and Control of Tobacco Products’ Detriments; Acts such as 4852 and 5065 that ratify international treaties and agreements.

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The Statutory Laws of the Diyanet Act 633, effective since 1965, is the third of the Acts with identical agenda, the first being enacted in 1935 and the second in 1950. Expansive amendments had been made to the Act in 1976, but an annulment case opened against the changes by the President of the Republic was accepted by the Constitutional Court (1979/46). The rejected changes are noted below. Most of the objections to the amendments made were of procedural nature, thus devoid of ideological relevance. Act 633 may be regarded as a steering away from the secular and egalitarian ideals due to its religious specification. Having pronounced Islam as the first word, its Article 1 sets out the Diyanet’s duties: . . .

Conducting affairs related to the doctrinal, devotional, and moral foundations of the Islamic religion; Enlightening society on religion; Administering places of worship.

Article 2 that had detailed the institutional structure including an overseas branch was voided by 1979/46. Article 3 and 4 respectively appoint the president and the deputy presidents. Article 5 describes the Higher Committee of Religious Affairs consisting of 16 members (Din I˙s¸leri Yu¨ksek Kurulu) whose duties are as follows: . .

. . . . .

Making or promoting analyses and research about religious issues, and presenting them to the presidency; Determining major service policies and work principles of the Presidency for short and long term, and delivering opinions on proposals made by other subunits; Compilation and translation of religious texts, and preparation of preachment (vaaz) and sermon (hutbe) samples; Deciding on behalf of the presidency for or against the projects of printable, aural and visual publication; Forming opinion on printed, aural, and visual works whose examination is requested; Answering religious questions; Following and assessing religious and scholarly activities and publications as well as religious movements of any sort in and outside the country, and reporting findings to the presidency;

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Preparation for the Religious Council (Din S¸urası), presentation of reports and the presidency’s perspectives at the council and of the outcomes to the presidency; Providing information on other matters as requested by the presidency.

Articles 6 to 8 as well as 11 to 13 had been amended by Act 1982 and were altogether annulled by decision 1979/46. They pertained to the organisational structure and the discipline of the Diyanet personnel. A telling reason for the annulment was the requirement that the Diyanet’s subsidiary personnel, such as of the departments of information and technology, legal consultancy and health services, should demonstrate a personal condition and attitude that is acceptable by Islamic customary standards. This change was regarded as a breach of laicism (Article 2 of the Constitution) and freedom of religion (Article 19 of the Constitution) by the President of the Republic and the Constitutional Court. The duties of two departments were set forth, nonetheless; namely, inspection (Article 9) and legal consultancy (Article 10). Article 14 is particularly interesting. It informs that the fixtures and the equipments of mosques (cami) and prayer rooms (mescid) must be recorded in detail as well as those of the offices. The existence of such a regulation shows that religion’s autonomy is considered as part of the laic regime, not outside it. The same article also prohibits spending pious donations for non-religious causes; yet another sign of the state’s concern to keep religious cults intact and free from abuses. Article 15 was annulled by 1979/46. Articles 16 and 17 treat muftis and preachers (vaiz) as administrators and instructors, respectively. Instead of Islam, a generic word, din (religion), is used, which, in the Turkish political vocabulary, means cult without a profound philosophical implication. Article 18 is about the mosque personnel and is kept short by reference to a specific bylaw. Article 18/A is a recent insertion to the law. The long-awaited overseas activities arrangement was finally but only partially achieved in 2007 through Ordinance 189. It is insightful that a former version had been refused by the President of the Republic in 1979. That shows that the Diyanet, aware of its needs and the country’s political limitations, patiently waits for occasions that will tolerate its proposals. Articles 19 and 20 are about the Religious Council and the procedures of designation and appointment to the Higher Committee of Religious Affairs. It is carefully noted that their decisions (karar) are advisory (istis¸ari) in essence (mahiyet). Academicians and scholars of religion are chosen for this critical endeavour based on their reliability; yet their decisions are to remain outside the legal scope.

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Articles 21 to 24 are among the ones annulled in 1979. Article 25 strictly and totally prohibits the engagement of the Diyanet personnel in politics. The consequence of disobedience is fixed as dismissal. Articles 26 to 29 offer guidelines for appointments, promotions, and payments. Article 30 is about the registered endowment mosques and their maintenance. Their needs are to be met through collaboration between the Diyanet and the General Directorate of Endowments. This double-headed management occasionally results in problems, and causes delays in the processing of needs. Articles 31 and 32 cover practical fiscal arrangements. Article 33 allows the Diyanet to call upon and benefit from experts in religious knowledge and culture for preaching, conferences, and other activities. The Ministry of Finance is to reimburse their expenses and make payments in exchange of service. This article is deployed at various seasons throughout the year, such as during the week of celebrating the Prophet’s birth (Kutlu Dog˘um Haftası). Hundreds of university-based and freelance scholars acquire a chance to deliver public speeches via conferences and meetings in semi-doctrinal, semi-academic ways. These activities do not usually take place in mosques. Article 34 refers to a bylaw that formulates the eligibility requirements for preaching at mosques and delivering lectures in the events organised by the Diyanet. Article 35 prescribes that all mosques and prayer rooms, whether opened with or without permission, must be transferred under the Diyanet’s management. The state shall either fill vacancies therein or make further arrangements for temporary appointees whose vocational skills are to be examined beforehand. This article is one of the clearest examples of the state’s alertness that religion might be too disorderly unless some basic uniformity is reached. The religious discourse also needs to be kept within safe boundaries; hence vocational skills, which are always supposed to incorporate an awareness of socio-political sensibilities, are emphasised. As for the implementation of this article, a mosque personnel appointed by the Diyanet might have disagreements with members of the mosque association, which has erected and maintains the building. A congregation’s vis-a`-vis the local or provincial Diyanet’s demands and undertakings over the mosque might form a relationship of harmony or contestation, depending on the reception of an imam by the mosque community. In some scenarios, replacement of mosque personnel does calm down the tension; but the official representation in the mosque never ceases to continue. Article 36 to 40 classifies mosques based on their endowment status, and outlines appointments made to them accordingly. Article 41 lists and voids the previous the Diyanet legislations. An additional clause in this section

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enables the Diyanet to recruit contractual staff. The additional clause 3 permits the Diyanet to run Qur’anic schools for those who finished their mandatory education, as well as summer schools for children beyond the fifth grade. This clause was added in 1999 during intense debates around religion and secularism and a perceived threat against the regime. Previously, enrolling in a full-time Qur’anic school had been possible after the fifth grade whereas the summer schools had admitted children as young as 3 – 4 years old on the basis of endearing religion. The practice pertaining to the latter, even to the former but to a lesser extent, continues, albeit without any official record and with an increased watchfulness. The Qur’anic schools devoted to memorisation of the Qur’an traditionally accept young children who possess a fresher mind. A graduate of the eighth grade would be around 14, an unusual age to start memorising the Qur’an in a full-time schedule – or to want to start it even, as young children would normally be put into such schools mainly by their parents’ motivation. This long tradition has also been affected by the political chaos in the late 1990s that alarmed the guardians of the regime, the military and the judiciary, and led to a more restricted phase in religious education. Before the intensification of religious claims, it had been freer. Finally, there are also twelve temporary clauses that mainly deal with appointment and promotion details, and are red tape in tone and content. Act 633 of 1965 had been considered outdated and unsatisfactory by the Diyanet. Its personnel and their unions, in response to the extensive annulments listed above, argued that they had no proper foundational law. Thus, the current administration of the Diyanet undertook the preparation of a Bill of Parliament, which was ratified on 1 July 2010 as Act 6002. The entire procedure had taken years before putting the bill forward for voting, which raised speculations, such as that the reason why a new Act was somehow not passed in Parliament was because the preparations had been made in secret and without public discussion and support (Diyanet Personeli, 2009). This criticism was partly justified. In reality, the Diyanet administrators and other officials did not want the Bill, allegedly completed long before it was presented to Parliament for voting, to cause controversies which, as a result, might have a damaging effect on the department. The political atmosphere was not suitable for a change in such a delicate area of the law, and Parliament was also busy with more pressing urgencies. On this issue, the Diyanet’s caution for and prioritisation of the social harmony comes into sight again. The same attitude has influenced the new act as well. From an outsider’s perspective, a new act should have made groundbreaking changes, transforming the Diyanet into a more inclusivist and flexible organisation. The social discontent – or well-wishing to say the

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least – about the department required so. The Diyanet, aware of this atmosphere, has chosen to make bureaucratic changes instead that will increase their prestige and facilitate their work in general. These amendments might well have an impact on the public opinion, but only indirectly and slowly. From a societal standpoint, the Diyanet’s philosophical outlook does not seem very much different as a result of Act 6002; its traditional track is approved and enhanced. Article 2 of Act 6002 establishes the maximum duration of Diyanet presidency as two consecutive terms, each of them lasting 5 years. This had been the case in practice already, since the Diyanet presidents’ appointment is subject to government changes. Article 3 sets the number of deputy presidents as three. Article 4 specifies the qualifications and selection process of the members of the Higher Committee of Religious Affairs. The Diyanet performed self-management reliably in these areas of work; such specifications, thus, might be interpreted as voluntary self-restrictions to guard the department more securely against flaws and intrigues. Specifications such as in Articles 5, 8, 9 and 10 require a higher standard of education and experience from the personnel whereas those as in Article 6 provide legal basis for some of the activities that have already been taking place, thanks to the vagueness of Act 633. Accordingly, the regular Diyanet tasks, such as approaching every part of society with particular goals and methods, are now official duties. Here, one may rightfully wonder if this increased formalism is essentially good or bad for the Diyanet; for it is the formality of the Diyanet that dilutes the sincerity aspect of religious service, hence the image of the department, by creating liability concerns in the minds of its staff. The amendments of Act 6002 makes the Diyanet more technical and well-defined, but not necessarily effective in terms of people’s religiosity. It symbolises the department’s recognition of and reliance on state authority to feel comfortable with its own religiosity. Beneath this symbolism might be lying a pursuit of legal protection, perhaps from the state itself. The fact that President Bardakog˘lu is also a trained lawyer might have led to this ‘positivisation’. Article 11 innovates career steps in religious service and is intended to increase personnel motivation. Accordingly, in addition to ordinary preachers and imams, there will be others like expert-preachers and chief-imams. That is also one of the areas where secular mentality is applied to religion, blurring the boundaries, if there are or should be any, between vocational and spiritual motives. What is, or could be, religion for the Diyanet staff in this case? How would they as well as the public treat those career opportunities? Does all that mean that the Diyanet is deeply secular and regards piety – of even its own staff – as a private matter, while representing the skeleton of a cult and

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possibly improving it by secular means? The Diyanet’s willingness to harmonise alternative mindsets and methodologies proves the extent of religious-and-secular fusion in Turkey. Articles such as 12 and 13 not only refine the regulation of other effective Diyanet transactions such as pilgrimage organisations and revolving funds, but also occasionally elevate their status in the hierarchy of law, signifying more legitimacy for the Islamic cult in the state structure and fortifying the marriage between religion and laicism. Article 15 exempts the Diyanet from the responsibilities of the abovementioned Act 5072. As a result, the link between the Diyanet and the Diyanet Endowment is now recognised and does not pose a violation anymore. That is, living law is now documented as legislation. Article 16 about the overseas division is also an attempt to move away from utilising minor or temporary legislation towards having a firmer and clearer basis for the Diyanet activities abroad. The Diyanet seems deliberate about creating a more integrated impression. For a telling example, the post of ‘expert of diyanet affairs’ (diyanet is¸leri uzmanı) is invented in addition to ‘expert of the Higher Council of Religious Affairs’ (Din I˙s¸leri Yu¨ksek Kurulu uzmanı). Here one should note the wording and remember the spiritual and private connotation of diyanet in view of the holistic connotation of din. There are further significant bureaucratic changes brought about by Act 6002. Transforming department headships into general directorates, for instance, implies status advancement within the governmental framework. There will still be 35 department heads working under them. Similarly, the Diyanet President is now more like a state secretary as he is placed above the General Secretary of the European Union. The ‘stepchild complex’ of Diyanet workers might be defeated upon such hierarchy- and prestige-related alterations. Religion, by means of the Diyanet, is more official, and perhaps more secular, as a result. It is definitely stronger and bigger now, especially after the opening of 7,500 more positions in the department in the year 2010. The Diyanet personnel’s salaries are also positively affected, though more so at the higher levels of the department. All in all, including the other unmentioned clauses of re-organisation, Act 6002 is a bureaucratic triumph for the Diyanet and embodies its desire to be more integrated into the state organisation, not apart from it. Or, the difficulty of removing state and religion might have been the deeper factor necessitating the reinforcement of their ties. In a separatist sense, Turkey is now less secular, whereas in a collaborationist sense, Turkish laicism is more pluralistic and realistic. Likewise, from an Islamic point of view, religion is to become more visible but in an altered form as Islam does

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not promote organising a group of paid religion officers. Putting theoretical debates and ideals aside, one has to concentrate on society and its reactions. After all, it is the state support that is both the advantage and the disadvantage of the Diyanet in the social sphere. The further bureaucratisation of the Diyanet, therefore, is anticipated to have contradictory outcomes as such. A number of cabinet decisions relate to the Diyanet services and, by doing so, reveal some other dimensions of the state’s approval for the Muslim cult. Decision 24.10.2001/3214 appoints the Diyanet as the overseer of annual ritual sacrifices. Its collaboration with the other state departments and the Diyanet Endowment is regulated, altogether proving the state’s tolerance to incorporate a religious duty into its scheme. The Diyanet’s president or his appointee chairs the committee (Article 5). The Islamic legal notion of a proxy’s slaughtering is explicitly referred to (Article 2). A decision/bylaw dated 18 May 2000 legitimates a Diyanet monopoly in pilgrimage (hac and umre) services throughout the year; travel agencies can obtain quotas upon authorisation (Article 4). The Diyanet staff involved in the pilgrimage organisation are paid for extra hours (Article 6), and provided with service passports (Article 11). Again, the Diyanet Endowment, a nongovernmental corporate, is recognised as an official collaborator, so are the government departments (Article 9). What is especially interesting is that pilgrimage is referred to as a religious obligation ( fariza) and the objective of this bylaw is set as to facilitate the citizens’ visit ‘in accordance with the honour of our state’ (Article 1). A decision dated 19 January 2002 obliges the Ministry of Finance to reimburse utility bills of the mosques and religious places (Article 3). The Decision of the Inter-ministerial Commission of Common Culture counts religious personnel among the critical international officers assigned to preserve the cultural, including religious, ties and sentiments of the Turkish population abroad (Article 1). This proves that the state’s interest and involvement in religious life is not limited by an urge to control it merely; it becomes clear that religion is eventually seen as indispensable to Turkish identity, which remains the state’s central concern. Decisions 31.10.2006/11097 and 2006/11528 arrange the recruitment and contract details of fixed-term Qur’an teachers and imams respectively. These grant an amplified educational role to the Diyanet, and reduce the possibility of the state’s short-handedness in religion. Decision 12.7.2005/9171 exempts the Diyanet Endowment from the obligation to obtain fundraising permits; another supportive gesture for the Diyanet and Islam.

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The official circumscription around the Diyanet is afforded via further statutes, including dozens of regulations that standardise everyday practicalities and services of governmental bodies. Some of them explicitly address issues of a religious sort. Regulation 11.07.2001/24459 delineates the distribution of money given to the General Directorate of Endowments for constructing and maintaining mosques. That is, the state’s assistance to religious life is not delimited by the Diyanet. Regulation 19.01.2010/27467 outlines funeral services in a technical, secular way without much religious reference, except for the requirement to provide musalla, a large-enough open area with a coffin stall for performing the Islamic funeral prayer (Article 12). In reality, all the steps explained in this regulation are exercised by or under the supervision of religious personnel, such as an imam, who may get paid by the deceased’s relatives unofficially and illegally. An important regulation (16.02.1993/4257) is about the Religious Council (Din S¸urası) that convenes every five years. The coordinator of the event is the Diyanet; the participants are selected from among the Diyanet officers, divinity school professors, several ministries and state departments, the Turkish General Staff, the Secretariat General of the National Security Council, and other relevant figures. The decisions of the Council are reached through consultation commissions and are published in a book. The Council is the official religious think-tank of the Turkish state. Its aim is to develop policies according to changing conditions. The Diyanet acquires a legal basis for its remaining activities via numerous bylaws. According to bylaw 13.02.2010/27492, the second week of April and the first week of October are scheduled for events designed to celebrate the Holy Birth of the Prophet and the Mosques and Religious Personnel, respectively. Three bylaws issued via the Official Gazette of 25.08.2004/25564 devise the recruitment and appointment procedures for fairer results. The Bylaw of In-service Training, inured on 3 November 1994, specifies the goals and levels of training provided for the Diyanet staff. A directive dated 1 August 2000 instructs the Diyanet bureaus about the ways in which they can contribute in case of natural disasters. Another directive dated 17 November 2006 allows the Diyanet to donate from its budget for appropriate causes. The office of the Diyanet’s president passes on two circulars as a means to communicate with its headquarters and provincial staff. The Internal Circular outlaws making public statements on behalf of the Diyanet while instructing to keep a vigilant eye on the press so as to respond to the Diyanet-related news promptly and in unison (Article 9). As a result, the press becomes a central dialogical instrument between the Diyanet and the public, including political and religious interest groups. The official

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correspondence guideline is useful to demonstrate the Diyanet’s standing within a bureaucratic hierarchy. The External Circular is an extensive code of conduct for the Diyanet staff, all of whom are obliged to obey the Constitution and the laws of the Republic of Turkey as citizens and civil servants: any direct or indirect act, speech, or involvement against the independence, unity, and solidarity of the country is denounced as illegal. They are required to sign an affidavit prior to embarking on their jobs in the Diyanet (Article 1). By the same token, any trace of partaking in schisms, be it political, philosophical, ideological, religious or societal, is strictly forbidden (Article 2). All the members of staff are expected to be aware of the spirit of their Diyanet affiliation and to behave in accordance with Islamic morality (Article 3). The specific emphasis put on religious morality, as opposed to legality, in articles 3 and 4 is noteworthy. This is an instance by which religious ethics is put forward in a secular package. Even though a Diyanet staff member cannot be officially sanctioned on purely Islamic grounds, his religious misconduct can well be condemned by one official regulation or another. In practice, it would not be easily possible for a Diyanet staff member to go against Islamic morals and find protection in secular norms. One ought to consider social norms and sanctions here as well. The second section titled Religious Services pays special importance to the preservation of Islamic orthodoxy, in the areas of answering religious questions and monitoring Qur’anic publications, for example. The statutory duty of ‘enlightening the public’ is reiterated when needed, with the following articulation of its scope: speeches are to strengthen the religious concord and national unity and cooperation, and stand up to destructive, divisive and detrimental movements; they are to promote moral and scholarly cultivation, and advocate universal values against particularistic motives with a clear objective of the nation’s development; a compassionate and watchful style is to be assumed so that religion can be presented in an authentic and attractive frame; and national and international political and person-oriented analyses are to be strictly avoided (Article 10). The social peace can be felt as a foremost sensitivity in these guidelines. To ensure its endurance, further refinements are made, such as the exclusion of non-Diyanet materials from the educational resources of mosques (Article 13). The Diyanet personnel are declared as the sole administrators of all mosques; no authority-sharing is to be tolerated (Article 16). Further specifications are made against various socio-religious practices. The Diyanet members are discouraged to take part in the exploitations and financial benefits surrounding funeral customs (Article 12). Also, mosques are not to be rendered for non-orthodox practices, such as the Sufi gatherings of

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God’s remembrance (zikir) (Article 16). Other customs that are deemed ‘questionable’ are dealt with throughout the circular. Whereas the second section repeatedly draws attention to the state’s sensibilities while facilitating Islamic rituals, the third section titled Educational Services focuses on the desired pious qualities for the public and vocational ones for the staff. The religious personnel are expected to enhance their awareness of the political and social conditions and to maintain the conformist attitude developed by the central branch (Article 60). The influence of the Diyanet’s publication and library services is to be increased by the personnel’s active contribution. The circular’s tone at this juncture becomes in many ways problematic: are the religious personnel supposed to undertake such services by virtue of being civil servants? If so, can these actions be really regarded as pious; or it is a question that should be overlooked? This dilemma stems from the peculiar nature of the Diyanet, which is neither purely sacred nor profane. The fifth section deals with Personnel Affairs. An increasing embracement of standardised and formally-monitored techniques for appointments attracts attention. The sixth section introduces the legal procedures at state courts to muftis and gives advice as to taking appropriate steps when required. Particularly the Legal Consultancy at the headquarters arises as the Diyanet’s route of contact with the judiciary. Its assistance may be obtained by other units. The seventh section covers fiscal matters. The Diyanet’s fixtures and inventories at the branches across the country record all the objects for office use. As noted above, this fact reflects the degree of the statutes’ permeation into the Diyanet’s operation. The Diyanet’s precision on financial transactions leads it to gather and consider fiscal statutes in a separate cluster; great attention is paid to a proper use of allotted resources. The eighth section clarifies various formalities pertaining to mosques in a concrete way, answering to the requirements of earthquake insurance, for example. The ninth section explains the rules of official correspondence, filing and archiving: documents are to be classified on scales of privacy and urgency. The tenth section instructs how to make yearly programmes and to keep activity logs. The eleventh section aims at the timeliness and accuracy of institutional statistics. The twelfth section outlines the computer and internet services to be offered by the central and provincial branches, and contains a number of legal and technical warnings. The thirteenth section aspires to ensure zero or minimum public discontent caused by the Diyanet members participating in media and publication enterprises. Finally, the fourteenth section acquaints the staff with civil protection against extraordinary circumstances. It also frames the effects of their obligation to do military service.

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In addition to the above, the Diyanet is subject to the circulars delivered by the office of the Prime Minister, which also offer elaborations on other regulations and aims to guide government employees to accurate implementation. International influences, such as those of the European Union or those related to technological innovations and human rights, are often important themes. Relying upon the higher statutes, the Diyanet circulars cover a wide range of activities to be performed in the central and provincial units. Together they show the strength of official legislation and methodology in the department. The Diyanet, as a result, is fully encompassed by the state in its organisational structure. Religious and social norms are to be observed within and via this structure.

CHAPTER 4 THE DIYANET'S INTERPRETATION OF ISLAM

Alongside claims that the Diyanet threatens the secular nature of the Turkish Republic are those which – from an Islamic standpoint – see the Diyanet as agreeing too much with the secular regime. The central question then is whether its performance is legitimate, authentic, and satisfactory by religious standards: is it ideal? These questions are unpinned by a variety of those ones: what does the Diyanet represent? How does it perceive Islam? What are its focus and priorities? What are its methods and strategies? How is it or is it not independent? What are the permanent and temporal aspects of its religious discourse? And so forth. Giving definitive answers to such questions, though, is a difficult enterprise. For, if one starts off with a comparison to the Ottoman era, the continuities and divergences one will find will be very different from those one will locate by starting off with reference to, for example, the prophetic era. Bearing this in mind, how does one go about setting up a frame of reference?

The Diyanet on Islamic Religion and Law The conviction that Islam is a holistic religion – whose focal implication defies the Diyanet’s formally subservient status to laic governance – is central to many religious criticisms against the Diyanet. Unlike secularist criticisms, these are less well-known. But according to this approach of critique, the Diyanet is understood as being illegitimate, due to its attempt to represent a form of Islam in which governmental abilities and political aspirations are curbed, and instead it has to submit to a secular government. But we should recall here the analysis presented in the previous chapter of this book, which highlighted the fact that the Turkish state is not

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religiously disinterested. A constant search for balance is going on. Influences between state and religion are not unilateral but mutual. The holistic nature of Islam is presented by many as an agreed fact (Horrie and Chippindale; 1990: 3; Husain in Jerichow and Simonsen, 1997: 96; Bayman, 2003: 125; Karam, 2004: 79). A typical understanding as such consists of all arenas of life from worship to morality, from politics to arts, from government to labour, from environment to health, from humans to inanimate objects, from major intellectual issues to minor details of action, and from spirituality to symbolism, and so on. In a way, Islam equips Muslims to leave nothing untouched or unanswered. And, it is considered unjust to follow one’s own self or other sources where Islam has a say. Associating the holistic approach with fundamentalism may be desirable to some (Mozaffari, 1996), but it does not only sound imported and foreign, but also is textually unsupported. In a religious tradition where even the Prophet’s silence is attributed a religious value, it is practically impossible to declare parts of human life ‘secular’ (i.e. a-religious) (Azami, 1977; Kamali, 2002). The Diyanet’s overall perception of Islam is as well classical and holistic. In his inaugural editorial of the Diyanet Europe Magazine in July 2003, former President Bardakog˘lu (2003a) analysed concepts of religion and religiosity in light of contemporary trends, and concludes: Religion presents for directing human life a holistic system that humanistic values cannot possibly fall outside. Hence, religiosity is an attribute that takes this whole system into account in its entirety. Our Holy Book Qur’an offers us the religion of totality while advising us a total religiosity. In February 2008, via an official public statement, Bardakog˘lu (2008a) addressed speculations abroad and in Turkey about Muslimness. He said: ‘Being Muslim means a complete consciousness that surrounds every moment of life and beautifies all conducts’. He refuted claims for increasing religiosity based on tangible changes by defining religiosity as ‘an encompassing state of consistency and awareness’. The above are not just the President’s personal views. Though Diyanet’s (DI˙B, 1998a) two-volume catechism (I˙lmihal) explains religion in terms of three main pillars, namely, faith (inanc
), worship (ibadet), and morality (ahlak), it states that Islam’s framework is completed by law and components pertaining to private and public life (p. 19). Ultimately, it is noted that deriving rulings and applicable (uygulanabilir) conclusions out of the two main sources of Islam is made possible by reason. Reserving the implications

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of ‘applicable’ for later, we may now investigate more closely how the Diyanet perceives Islam. Having defined religion (din) as ‘a complete set of rules of conduct organising man’s relations with God, other humans and creatures, and guiding his life’ (p. 1), the catechism book divides the development of Islamic religion into four Qur’anic phases (p. 2). In the early Meccan period, religion referred to divine judgement as in ‘the day of religion’. In the late Meccan period, religion meant the path that leads a human being safely to God through declaration of God’s unity (tevhid) and submission (teslimiyet). In the early Medinan period, the congregational aspect entered the definition of religion and Muslims were defined as a distinct community. In the late Medinan period, the religion of Islam became perfect and complete by a Qur’anic affirmation (5:3) and the final and only valid religion in God’s sight, voiding others as more or less distorted versions of one eternal truth (3:19, 3:85). It is in consequence of this gradual development that Islam is believed to have become a holistic religion. Islamic holism in the Muslim mind resonates with an idealised state that was once achieved when theory and practice joined together in the Prophet’s persona for all issues set before him. It is this Muslim idealism that may construct utopian and uncompromising discourses on their side and frustrations on the other. Serajul Islam’s account (in Saha and Carr, 2001: 168) is typical: From the Islamic point of view, the state is an institution for enforcing and implementing the fundamental principles of Islam. None is entitled to make laws on his own authority and none is obliged to abide by them. The Holy Qur’an says, The authority rests with none but Allah. He commands you not to surrender to any one save Him. This is the right way (12:40). They ask: have we also got some authority? Say: all authority belongs to Allah alone (3:154). Whosoever does not establish and abide by that which Allah has revealed, such are dis-believers (5:44). This view has appealed to many Muslims and aroused their political ambitions across the world including Turkey. But, is the above the only way to understand Islamic holism? Are there alternatives? Holism, in fact, relying upon the same gradual completion of religion, can also mean adaptability to circumstances in the form not of elimination but prioritisation of obligations. The Diyanet, having theoretically agreed with the former sense of the term, practises the latter. Proud, let alone apologetic, of its positioning and outlook, it claims to embody an alternative that is not only Islamically legitimate but

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also in accordance with both Western and Eastern traditions (Bardakog˘lu, 2006). In his inaugural message, Bardakog˘lu (2003b) carried away the notion of holism by listing the Presidency’s policy determinants that are ‘significant in their own rights’: fundamental sources of Islam; requisites of reason and modern sciences; and social conditions and needs. The Presidency’s objective is ‘not to have the last word on Islam, but to introduce our rich heritage in terms of understanding the religion and reflecting it onto life, to set up ties between religion and contemporary life, and to guide those who want to reinforce those ties’. In other words, the Diyanet administration aims to distribute their efforts into two subjects: distilling authentic (sahih) results out of a long tradition and stringing along with their milieu – social, political, scientific, and so on. The combination of the two brings about an institution that cannot be grasped solely by its concrete undertakings, but by its general attitude. This attitude asserts to be both Islamic and holistic, yet is different from the hightoned Islamic holism. It regards nothing outside Islam, neither the political sovereign nor the social realities, and in a way extends from a doctrinal holism to a cosmological holism – deeply an Islamic reality taking into account God’s unceasing and ultimate control over the world. Finally, it develops an alertness of balance, of both peace and discipline, that measures where, when, how, and how much to get involved. In a country where the official ideology of secularism had at times projected to divorce religion and state from each other, a religious institution is tolerated within the government and it managed to reconcile their inseparability at a level deeper and quieter than both political and religious ideologies. In this context, holism abandoned one possible implication – religious totalitarianism – and acquired another: adaptation to total reality. This adaptive attitude does not necessarily result in pure and passive receptiveness. Nevertheless, the consequence will always seem inappropriate in the face of fancied Islamic ideals, but the unification of textual theory and contextual practice under another type of holistic sensibility is regarded by the Diyanet as being in line with the Islamic spirit. Many suppose that Islam has a legal spirit at heart (Ku¨ng, 1987; Jomier, 1989: 49; Ward, 2000: 40), some having compared it in this respect to Judaism and contrasting it with Christianity (Jonsson, 2006: 185). Indeed, like doctrinal holism, legalism – the idea that Muslim piety can be demoted to such classification of deeds as obligatory ( farz/vacip), recommended (mendup/mu¨stehap), permissible (helal/caiz/mu¨bah), reprehensible (mekruh), and forbidden (haram) – can to a large extent be used to characterise Islam. Dupret, Drieskens and Moors (2008: 13), in the course of their analysis realised that ‘[w]hen looking at legal texts, it is precisely the context of their

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own production that is missing’. The Turkish Diyanet echoes this observation: it is a large and alive setting in which Islamic law can be detected, but it cannot be detected in legal terms alone. A closer observation of the subject ‘Islamic law vis-a`-vis religion’ promotes to reveal much about the Diyanet. The fact that every action has a legal aspect – that Islam may enable judging upon every case – should not mean that we merely reduce actions to their legal value. Coulson (2004: 11) called Islamic law ‘the bare formulation of Islamic ethic’ and placed in chronologically after and materially within the religious whole. Likewise, even though the entire Qur’an became referable in classical jurisprudential reasoning, the Qur’an is far from a juristic text. Its directly reglementary verses are limited. Tritton (1951: 58) explains this and the origins of Islamic law: The Koran contains some laws, e.g. on inheritance, marriage, interest, debt, and the duties of witnesses though it is obvious that the community continued to be ruled by Arab custom so long as this was not opposed to Islam . . . What divides Muslim law from other systems is the fact that it is largely not a natural growth from the life of the community but was elaborated by theorists. Weiss (2006: 10) agrees that at the embryonic stage of formulation, Islamic law was not even an exegetical enterprise. However, with developments in the social arena, concepts like Fiqh took on additional meanings. Fiqh, for example, initially meant a sound grasp of religion, and went on to acquire a more jurisprudential meaning. Standards of expertise emerged. States willing to collaborate with or manipulate scholars generated further blended views of authority as well as the law (Zubaida, 2003).1 Following the European Enlightenment, and with the aid of colonialism and emulations like the Ottoman Mecelle, Western positivism spread throughout the Muslim countries. Conceptions of kanun, whether it is derived from Islamic or other sources, secured their supremacy in ordinary mindsets as the law (Vikor, 2005: 279). Error communis facit ius, literally. Today, if it is asked of an ordinary Turkish citizen what the ‘law’ is, he/she will automatically think of the state law (kanun), for the question was constrained to pronounce the same word. It is not easily possible for the Diyanet or anybody else to conceive Islam neutrally in ‘legal’ terms under such dominant mentality; hence an imagination of political counteraction pops up when Islam and law are discussed in association. But, has Islam ever had a pure legal paradigm as such? Here, one may wonder whether the Republic’s revolutions, by secularising law and spiritualising religion, made some purification effect on

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the abovementioned shifts in conceptualising law from prophetic up to modern ages. The Diyanet seems to think so. Bardakog˘lu (2006: 10 – 11) writes: I would like to dwell upon the term diyanet (piety) that is used in the Turkish title of the presidency in a few sentences. In classical religious literature diyanet is used as an antonym of kaza, i.e. the judiciary. Kaza expresses the judiciary and the process by which legal, political and administrative relations among all people are regulated by worldly institutions through worldly sanctions, while diyanet expresses a higher value; the spiritual and moral aspects of life. In other words, kaza is a judgment made by the judiciary in the present sense and diyanet is the process by which people discuss and evaluate their own actions within their hearts and also take heed of their responsibilities before God. Sometimes the decisions of the judiciary do not satisfy people. They can go beyond the strict and normative approaches of the judiciary in their internal world. So the term diyanet signifies the consistency, integrity and spiritual piety in a person’s internal world. In that sense, the choice of the word diyanet in the Republican period, rather than simply using the term ‘religious affairs’ – din is¸leri – can be interpreted as an effort to provide for religiousness based on a moral foundation. Other interpretations can also be made, but this is the one that I favour most. In a way, after a long history of the legal aspect of the religion being professionalised due to all kinds of agendas and events (Stewart, 1998; Vikor, 2005), now it is being replaced as a matter more of conscience than doctrinal scholarship, through abstraction and common sensation – and most interestingly, under the guise not of religion, but secularism. The current Diyanet fashion of handling religion as a supreme value supervising human life corresponds with Weiss’s representation of the original spirit of Islamic law by which uncorrupted humans ‘were guided largely by their own sense of propriety and justice’ (Weiss, 2006: 10), as well as with Coulson’s (2004), who pointed out the ultimate morality of law. Schacht too, had agreed that Muslim law is ‘more an ethical norm for good behaviour than not a coherent body of laws’ (in Vikor, 2005: 13). This decided ethicality, on which the Diyanet is locked, can be fulfilled only by elasticity. Accordingly, for a judgement to be accurate, rather than the doctrinaire path of legal reasoning behind it, its compatibility with the higher objectives of Sharia (maqasid al-sharia) is to be given primary consideration. The timely question is whether the Diyanet is really

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aiming at a refinement of Muslims’ jurisprudential accumulation while doing that. Ersahin (2008) touches upon the Ottoman ruling ‘tactics’ to retain the ulema’s support and to eliminate or soften their potential oppositions. He shows how Turkish scholars had to comply with government policies, particularly with those of a secularising nature after Mahmud II. He concludes that the ruler/scholar relationship in the Ottoman era nurtured the Diyanet’s consenting attitude. Zubaida (2005: 91) agrees that the Turkish military dynasties had crystallised the duality between ‘religious laws and institutions on the one hand and government and military establishments on the other’; meanwhile, scholars and rulers mastered realist altruism and the vital art of getting along. In Zubaida’s view, a ‘Sunni realism’ had been theorised long ago by major scholars like Ghazzali and Mawardi who justified obedience to a Muslim ruler even if he is impious personally and oppressive in his rule unless he commands disobedience to God (p. 118). ‘Rebellion and insubordination were condemned as intrigue, fitna, which will divide the umma, the Muslim community, in mutual strife’ (p. 92). Even though its employees are practitioners of Islamic law in some respects, at an administrative and representative level the Diyanet’s ultimate concern is about social peace and solidarity. It would be unfair to claim that it is so because of cowardice and infidelity to Islam. It would be fair, however, to acknowledge that the Diyanet could not have survived otherwise. But the crucial point of analysis here is whether this balance-consciousness is justified by religious or secular arguments. The answer refutes such divisions. The conceptual tool of public interest (maslahat) in Islamic law is an extremely important one in the modern era (Krawietz, 1997: 186). Another principle is necessity (zaruret), which goes as ‘necessities render the prohibited permitted’ (Krawietz, 1997: 187). Shatibi agreed that maslahat, worldly and spiritual benefits, is the highest aim of Islamic law ensured by the three key considerations: necessities, needs, and improvements (Hallaq, 1997: 168). Though the Diyanet could choose to confront religious criticisms via such tools, it does not: its existence and performance affirm the fact that in practice, as opposed to theory, the separation of religion and state is often impossible. It should be noted that this solution of ethicality is a result of mutual altruisms from both the secular and the religious camps, and the Diyanet can often serve as one of their only meeting points in the Turkish polity. Adanali (2008: 232) has shown that earlier legislations in 1924, 1931, 1937, 1939 and 1950 regarded the Diyanet’s duty in a rather technical sense – so as to avoid clashes with the state’s secular ethics – but the 1965 Act enlarged the Diyanet’s responsibilities by adding teaching Islamic ethics, which is

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inevitably normative. While the Diyanet stepped back from the Islamic idealism of monopolising the law, the Turkish state ideologues had to do the same. The balance of two competing legal paradigms has been found in developing an ethically, rather than legally, coloured religious discourse.

The Diyanet on Axes of Authority The question of religious authority has, and still is, an extremely controvsersial topic both throughout Islamic countries as well as in the ‘West’. Historically, Muslims’ internal debates have been largely underlain by the same token (Abou El Fadl, 2001a and 2001b; Berkey, 2001; Crone and Hinds, 2003; Kra¨mer and Schmidtke, 2006). Unlike Shia and Sufi schools, widespread Sunni jurisprudence discouraged hanging on to some mysterious, spiritual entity for legal guidance. They projected a division between the intangible and the tangible, that is, between one’s ultimate merit before God, which is by personal devotion and heart’s alertness (takva), and one’s extroverted merit by knowledge or post. Sunnis, like the rest, while thinking about the notions of authority, developed the submissive sentiments of Muslims and reinforced following (taklit) of the ulema – grand scholars (mu¨ctehid) and their mufti spokesmen – and obedience (itaat) to the ruler (ul’il-amr). Muslim life, as a result, is subjected to a variety of sources of authority. Here the chief implication of the term ‘authority’ is one that involves power of manipulation, rather than a casual one used, say, to praise the learnedness of somebody. In this latter sense, the Diyanet obviously is an authority. But does this type of authority entail any special influence over the public? In the Islamic civilisation, generally one finds a socially significant duality between scholarly and political discourses. It resembles the Weberian division of authority and power (Kra¨mer and Schmidtke, 2006: 1) as well as Haley’s Japanese paradox of authority without power (Haley, 1991: 13). However, the particular case of the Diyanet is a phenomenon beyond such useful classifications. The relevant question is: can one be an authority in self-denial? Kra¨mer and Schmidtke (2006: 12) associate the concept of Islamic religious authority with ‘claiming the right to speak on Islam and in the name of Islam’. The Diyanet, supposedly the highest religious ‘authority’ in Turkey, deliberately abstains from such claims. So bearing this in mind, can it still be called an authority? Haley’s (1991: 12) description for the persuasive and coercive types of authority is a suitable starting point in order to attempt to understand the idea of a traditional Muslim dichotomy. The persuasive authority – of the scholar that depends upon articulation and utilisation of knowledge – is

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located against the coercive one that emanates from the ruler who is able to exert power. During much of Islamic legal history, the two were distributed to muftis and judges (kadı) respectively. Johansen (1999: 36) agrees that classical Muslim jurisprudence ‘makes a clear distinction between ethical norms which bind the forum internum of the individual believer and the legal norms which the qadis have to apply when legal conflicts are brought before them’ as matters of forum externum. In the Ottoman Empire too, these professionals, having been trained in the same institutions, represented alternative facets of Islamic law. The former was scholarly more independent, physically powerless, yet potentially influential through speech; the latter’s independence was exchanged with muscle by the state. Obedience to one was voluntary and to the other involuntary. The former typified Islam’s tolerance for legal disagreements and offered optional advice; the latter embodied state laws (kanun) and possessed enforcement faculties. Imber (1997: 58) rightfully asserts that it is a fiction that S¸eyhu¨lislam, himself being appointed by the Sultan, had the highest say in both. This quasi separation of powers was not created merely out of Islamic tenets but sustained by means of compliant religious opinions. As a result, not only was the state’s bureaucratic burden of legal matters diminished by allowing for freedom in seeking private legal solutions, but also scholarly and political authorities were twisted together. What is crucial to note at this point is that the Diyanet is an inheritor of pre-existing scholarship and civil service institutions that did not have the luxury of its own independence from the state. If so, today, should the Diyanet be accused of or praised for adaptability while continuing its old task without interruption? This is again about the question of how much acknowledgement of the projected ideals vis-a`-vis pressing realities is required in religion’s name. What is factual is that the Diyanet does not and cannot attempt to monopolise any political, coercive authority separately from the state. Below is a brief account of their lengthy and elaborate political stance (DI˙B, 1998a): The fact that the Qur’an alludes to political arrangements cannot justify interpreting politics as if it were an integral part and focus of religion . . . The Qur’an aims to form a total mentality as exemplified in Mecca and then leaves the detailing of political institutions up to circumstances and human intellect as realised in Medina, where the fusion of political leadership and the prophetic mission was a consequence of conjunctures and not a religious compulsion, though the same conjunctures had not been suitable previously for the organisation and free exercise of religion . . . The separation of religious and political authorities had to occur after the righteous caliphs who had reigned for

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only 30 years following the Prophet. Thereafter, the caliphate has been emblematic and not always commendable. Since caliphate essentially means governance, it is comprised in the republic. Pakistani thinker Muhammed I˙kbal agreed that ‘by the exertion of Turkish nation (Tu¨rk milletinin ic
tihadı), caliph may be appointed as a parliamentary body’ . . . Islamically, the state’s duties are to uphold social order and to protect religion. Turkey fulfils both through legislation and execution . . . State authorities may not prefer one devotion-related interpretation (ic
tihad) over another; but when they do so in a socio-legal matter their preference becomes religiously binding over the population. Therefore, by religion, the school (mezhep) to follow in public socio-legal matters is the state, and in worship and personal life is the mufti and catechism. It is arguable whether a state can dictate a particular version of religion upon its population but traditionally Turkish religious practice has been guided by the Hanafi School . . . Alteration of authority structures and labels ought to be regarded within one obedience (itaat) paradigm, not as degeneration . . . Louis Massignon asserts ‘Islam is a laic and egalitarian theocracy.’ Comparable efforts to understand Islam’s political model indicate in agreement that Islam conveys ample space for human reasoning and enterprise to make sense of Qur’anic principles, historical processes and social conditions . . . Judiciary does not endure by ‘good laws’ but ‘good judges’. Legality in any Muslim society depends upon the Qur’an and the Sunna on the one hand, and the political authority on the other . . . In conclusion, Islam establishes general principles and objectives and enables human beings to form their own political structures based on those principles and objectives as well as the circumstances . . . Defending or attacking any system, such as democracy, by Islamic arguments is equally meaningless . . . Everybody either knows, or perceives without affirmation, that it is God who, by his will and omnipotence, is the absolute authority over the universe. Within this metaphysical and ontological supremacy shall the people have political authority that is not to be granted to anyone on congenital or theological grounds. Shias aside, the mainstream classical Islamic political theory has always been in this direction. [My translation; from v. 2, p. 21] The Diyanet’s stance matches with Sardar’s (2009: 15) who asserts that ‘[t]he idea of an ‘Islamic state’ is totally un-Islamic and has no precedence in Islamic history’ because Islam’s universal nature together with the state’s parochial one produce a self-contradiction. Again, one ought to be reminded that the Diyanet’s deliberations are not derived from such Islamic thoughts in the first

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place. Rather their textual as well as contextual rationalism calls for an appropriate and balanced theorisation. It was more or less the same scholarship and compromising attitude that had complied with the religious claims of the Ottoman Empire. Thus, the theory depends upon the rational praxis, not vice versa. Having corralled Muslims under state control in order to ensure social obedience (itaat), the Diyanet might be thought to have retained scholarly authority via the use of the jurisprudential tool of following (taklit), by which almost all Muslims abide today.2 A paradox is that in this sphere of Islamic law, authority is a fluid notion. Attempts to limit dissent (ihtilaf) have so far not succeeded in elimating the propensity towards pluralism that can be found in Islam. Johansen explains (1999: 38 –9): This formula, [Everyone who exerts his own personal and fallible reasoning does the right thing (kullu mujtahid musib)], which was never accepted in theology, resumes an essential aspect of the fiqh’s support of normative pluralism: as long as the premise is accepted that norms have to be derived from the texts of the revelation, the interpretation of these texts through fallible human reasoning cannot be restricted . . . The legitimacy of contingent interpretation cannot be put into doubt . . . [I]t legitimises the normative pluralism within and between schools of fiqh, thus legitimises the co-existence of various doctrines and normative systems; it allows the peaceful (occasional local outbursts of violence notwithstanding) co-existence of the groups of scholars who sustain these different doctrines and normative systems; last but not least, it serves to shield off the judiciary against ethical and cognitive criticism. Mutually consented dissent is an idiosyncratic feature of Islamic law. Supposing its implementation, one may too hurriedly, and mistakenly, deduce a liberal legal dialogue among Turkish Muslims without an authoritative figure. Plus, the Diyanet could be believed to function as the moderator of such an atmosphere. In reality, however, the non-existence of Islamic legal authority in Turkey is not due to a respect for the justified normative dissent. The absence of such persuasive authority has other reasons. First of all, the Diyanet is not a forum of muftis or a facilitator of Muslim pluralism in Turkey. How could it be one in the face of the fact that all the muftis are graduates of one set of divinity schools affiliated to state universities administered by the Council of Higher Education and of the Diyanet’s own vocational centres, whereas the few remaining classical schools (medrese) continue to offer archaic curricula under official covers of elementary Qur’anic schools? Most imams at best qualify to be more learned imitators (mukallit)

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than laypeople; to a large extent, many are intellectually not able to discuss legal theories and practices in depth. Those with calibre and intellectual freedom can be found in academia whose direct contact with the public is limited. As a result, one could characterise the Diyanet as one giant mufti whose fetvas and interpretations are based on prevailing Hanafi jurisprudence and Maturidi theology. Their experts in the Shafii School are not idle, but merely supplementary. This, however, does not generate problems for the majority of the population. The Alevi objections to the Diyanet’s Islamic representation are encountered not by religious evidences (delil) but by denial. That is, the Diyanet feels obliged to withdraw from such confrontations. This is because an authority claim sharply categorising Muslims like Alevi and Sunni would jeopardise its status in the government. Within Sunnis, Shafiis, most of whom are of Kurdish origin, constitute a large minority. Their relationships with Hanafis are as described above; and dissent is for the most part, tolerated within theoretical boundaries. In practice, the appointment of Hanafi imams, ignorant in Shafii/Kurdish custom, leads to problems big enough to discourage the local community from following the imam (Sevva, 2003: 54). There are also circumstances where the two groups have to overlap at one location, creating minor clashes. For example, the conditions of Friday prayer vary in each school. A Hanafi imam in a Kurdish village appointed by the Diyanet may at first want to lead Friday prayer provided that there is a congregation of at least three people. The minimum requirement of Shafiis is 40. Such disagreement may be resolved without much hassle. But when it comes to the cities, more complex problems tend to arise. Hanafis may perform Friday prayers at a number of mosques within one city, whereas according to Shafiis performance in all the mosques, except the one which must have started earlier, is void. Therefore, Shafiis would and indeed do repeat the noon prayer additionally so as to ensure fulfilment of their obligation. Daily prayer times are also carried out differently in each school. The Diyanet sends out calendars with timetables to each region. The congregation times for morning, afternoon and night prayers are based on Hanafi views even in areas with dense Shafii populations. Even though the Diyanet is willing to include other legal schools’ perspectives in publications, there are numerous minor instances such as carrying on the Ottoman Hanafi customs. The point of discussing the dominance of the Hanafi school in Turkey is to highlight that the unlikelihood of the Diyanet’s becoming a religious authority is not merely due to the idea of harmonious dissent developed within Islamic law. On the contrary, the Diyanet, although it could have been more imaginative about managing the internal Muslim pluralities,

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surprisingly borrows from the state’s monist legal spirit and employs uniformity in many instances. This is a peculiar transfer of legal mentality between two unalike bodies. But the core question is still unanswered: is the Diyanet a religious authority? Does it have any power beyond state support, gained purely by religious arguments? Though Masud, Messick, and Powers (1996) present muftis, private or appointed, throughout Muslim history as authorities, they rightfully do so in terms of scholarship, having noted that their influence has been contingent upon the acceptance of their audience, be they officials or laypeople. This is dissimilar to judges’ status. In a traditional sense, muftis are free scholars who are able to draw conclusions out of texts and contexts, as emphatically or lightly as they wish. A mufti cannot be held accountable for not considering what other muftis might say on a particular issue; he is an authority in its own realm of consultation. In the case of the Diyanet, which as noted is a sort of giant Mufti, its imaginably authoritative scholarly discourse is inhibited ab initio by the large legal ambit, which is defined in part by the state. Affirmations so strong and persuasive over the public might challenge the positive laws. Unity or uniformity of the Muslim populace through the Diyanet could mean, to an ambitiously unitary state with a secular outlook, a societal disunity based on religion. As a precaution, therefore, the Diyanet does not have the potential to mobilise in an effective way. Instead, its public tone is more reserved, and its opinions function as advice. Tas¸’s (2002: 162) survey proved that the Diyanet is seen credible in religious matters by 81 per cent of the participants, a rather high number considering ethno-cultural diversities. Seventy-five per cent found the Diyanet’s fetvas convincing (p. 163) – though, one should bear in mind the apolitical nature and scope of these fetvas (O¨cal, 2008). On the other hand, 73 per cent agreed that the Diyanet’s work for enlightening the public is unsatisfactory; 35 per cent ticked ‘completely ineffective’ and 38 per cent ‘ineffective’ when it came to its influence over the public (Tas¸, 2008: 165). Another interesting result is that there is a sharply inverse relationship between satisfaction with the Diyanet and one’s self-judgement for religiosity (p. 153). The aggregate data from this survey, whose findings might have undergone changes under the recent government and departmental administration, indicates that the Diyanet is a credited institution in certain ways, and definitely an authority in scholarship to some – in the sense of being respected and listened to – but the element of being an active power within daily life is deficient. One may find this emphasis put on the elements of social manipulation and mobilisation unneeded for understanding the Diyanet’s positioning in Turkey, but it is required so as to illustrate the Diyanet’s diversion from other systems such as the Catholic papacy and Shia ayatollahs, who possess binding

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persuasive powers, or from Egyptian or Greek muftis who are equipped with some jurisdictional and/or representative entitlements.3 Furthermore, holding or claiming authority with power would not be favourable to the Diyanet itself, unlike some other religious movements and organisations. It is often claimed that Turkey’s Diyanet cannot but avoid sounding authoritative or privileged, and the public is at liberty whether to take it or any other entity seriously in religious issues. Non-Diyanet scholars are, in fact, often recognised as charismatic alternatives or epistemological authorities in religion, while plainly reconciling with the Diyanet services as and when needed. Like other conceptual tools, such as maslahat and zaruret, Muslims’ autonomy for individual choice – from among the existing authentic views, as put by the Sunni orthodoxy – is built into the system – the secular system, indeed – without going through classical legal justifications like ihtilaf/ikhtilaf. All in all, the Diyanet appears to be a responsive service department with credible scholarship in devotional matters but without any ground, claim or interest for public leadership. Within the state, it is merely a subsection, one that makes a public image for Islam. Its authority claims on a religious facet, on the other hand, would be invalid and declined for both religious and political reasons. Consequently, the Diyanet in Turkey emerges as one religious discourse, albeit with some publicity advantages, among others, such as academics and civil organisations. Although it is not one, it seems like an authority in charge for its structuring of the religious customs and services within the frameworks developed as extensions to the government. The resultant psychological effects may be big enough to hinder the reality that the Diyanet’s influence on the individual’s religiosity in Turkey is neither superior to any other religious organisation nor parallel to its own undeniably important public functionality and widespread appearance. Nonetheless, alternative viewings of the Diyanet, especially those directed at the lower strata of the institution and of society, can reveal further important facts about its positioning in terms of normative pluralism.

Islam and the Diyanet in the Socio-Legal Sphere It is by now clear that the Diyanet’s general orientation is both towards the religious and the socio-political context; it represents Islamic normativity in moral rather than juristic terms; it takes care to adopt a modest, vigilant and non-authoritarian tone in its statements; and it, while often looking vulnerable in the face of pro-religious idealisms, contains a large amount of pragmatism in its everyday functioning within the state structures. So far in this solution, the Diyanet may have given the impression of a somewhat

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symbolic cushion between the state and the masses. Though in a way this is so at a national, public representation level, this construction seemingly advantageous to the state is endured by a counterbalancing reality at the grassroots level where actual pluralism takes place. Whereas legal pluralism is an excellent descriptive tool for understanding on the ground realities, it easily falls into traps of overemphasising certain notions and methods for defining what law is (Tamanaha, 2000). In contrast to widespread Muslim and non-Muslim aspirations, Islamic law, that is, the normative facet of Islamic religion cannot be merely explained by positivist approaches – or to anthropological instrumentalism. Menski’s (2007b) account for Hindu vyavahara (legal procedure) is also an example in which this is found to be the case. Accordingly, each and every stage along a process that begins in an individual’s mind and conscience, then may or may not transpire in the form of consultation, then may or may not continue via unofficial community transactions such as dispute settlements, and finally may or may not reach to the point of litigation. All of this is to be called legal in a proper Hindu sense; for a natural law, unlike positive laws, is not about formal proceedings alone. Islamic law in Turkey and elsewhere involves stages more or less similar to these, though, of course, with a different spirit or intensity. Reale (1968) and McKeon (1968) both discussed the ways in which the definition of man as an individual, who is entirely free to bind himself unless violating his exterior, has developed in the West alongside the formation of law as a political personification of social contract. On the other side, Fazlur Rahman (1968: 219) explains the permeation of Islamic law into the individual through the notion of takva: This dynamic movement of taqwa presupposes a transcendent norm of judgment, an absolute point of reference, which is God himself. It is well known that the function of God in Islam is that of a judge – indeed, one might say that the central teaching of Islam about God is that he is the sole generator of norms of judgment. Man must attempt to discover these norms within his soul and endeavour to conform to them; he cannot make or unmake these norms. Rahman (1968) then goes on to count limitations to and interventions in an individual’s discovery of the law, noting that liability is never removed from him. What needs to be further examined separately are the manners and extent of Islam’s and the Diyanet’s – preferably vis-a`-vis official and cultural norms – contribution to an individual’s conscience. Unfortunately, the present study can touch solely and slightly on the Diyanet part of this enormous subject.

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Kaya (1998) shows how the Diyanet has for the most part tackled the fluctuations of its political surroundings since its foundation. As a result, it could not orient itself more to the needs of common people than to the state’s demands. Secondly, it is an institution for the recruitment of trained personnel, not for a regular and primary training of them or the public (Kaya, 1998: 184). The type of religious education commonly available is the Religious Culture and Morality (Din Ku¨ltu¨ru¨ ve Ahlak Bilgisi) course, mandatory by the 1982 Constitution in schools under the Ministry of National Education. The summer schools at mosques for Qur’an recitation and catechistic basics had been until recently restricted to adolescents since the political turmoil of the late 1990s (Cizre and C¸ınar, 2003). The Diyanet, in short, does not have a system and allowed access to people’s spiritual development. Mosques, which are likewise more worship than education centres, enter into lives of people if they at all opt for them.4 The individual’s religiosity in Turkey is largely influenced by the cultural legacy of religion in the region, and its countless reinterpretations in subjective private and sectarian forms. Nonetheless, its importance to personal judgements remains superior to official law, which is on the most part, disinterested in the conscience of an individual. But if we take for granted the idea that fear of state law is much weaker than fears disseminated by community and by religion – including sanctions bound up with the concepts of shame and honour – then the state appears to have very little in the way of authority when it comes to matters of the conscience. There is of course a problem of immeasurability, however, when it comes to the psychological contribution of religion to socio-legal order. Is it feasible to prove correlation between religious conscience and one’s sense of responsibility before the state? How does it affect compliance with or breach of the state law? There are instances where official laws may be preventive of misbehaviour when cultural norms fail to do so, just as there are instances where they are quite meaningless if moral and cultural norms are ignored. Because it proves hardly possible to sort out and separate the religious and cultural inputs in to Turkey’s socio-legal order, we are to move on to the second category after reemphasising the fact of legal pluralism’s depth. Under a surface of premeditated inattention between state and religion in Turkey runs the consultation aspect of Muslim law in parallel to official jurisdiction, and that significantly disburdens the official load of legal work both directly, by providing alternative resolutions, and indirectly, by shaping our society’s normative behaviour. Whereas imams answer, insomuch as they feel comfortable to do so, a number of questions per day posed by the members of their congregations, muftis actually are required to act as jurists in the traditional sense on top of their administrative duties. They receive

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inquiries from people in person or group in their government offices, also via phone, fax, post and email, on TV and radio programmes, or even as they walk on the street. There are no designated office hours or places for those seeking advice and religious opinion on virtually all subjects of life. The Diyanet statistics regarding the quantity of religious questions directed at muftis in a year numbered 144,962 across the country (DI˙B, 2008b: 125). This number is way below the total activity for two reasons. First, tracking of the data is not an established policy and a complete survey has yet to be carried out. Secondly, muftis may receive questions anywhere including their homes, with almost no time restrictions, causing difficulty to keep count of such a daily activity. In addition to muftis at standard provincial branches are other units like the developing Family Guidance and Counselling Bureau, which received 2,803 legal and other inquiries during 2007 in six cities (DI˙B, 2008c: 127). This brings religious law and morals into people’s lives. The Higher Council of Religious Affairs and its subdivisions in Ankara responded to 52,173 questions in 2008, excluding nearly 300 phone calls per day made to its special unit for answering more usual ones (DI˙B, 2008d). As of 12 December 2009, the number stated on sorusor.diyanet.gov.tr was 180,069.5 Overall, the Diyanet personnel’s attendance to mostly legal, in an Islamic sense, as well as ethical and intellectual queries reaches millions per year, gathering together its communication via various means with the domestic population as well as Turkish citizens abroad. This is an enormous participation in the socio-legal reality of Turkey by the Diyanet, not to mention other Islamic involvements. Its staff members, a number which stands at over 90,000, are trained at state high schools and universities and are paid from the government budget. We can see that, bearing these sorts of statistics in mind, it is hardly possible to maintain the opinion that Turkey’s secular character is equitable to that of France (Kuru, 2007). Azak’s (2008) perception of the Turkish secularism as a search for ‘vernacular Islam’ is instead more accurate. By contrasting the Diyanet’s legal activity with the formal judiciary in Turkey, we can gain further insight into the working of the Diyanet within Turkish society. Other judicial staff aside, there are about 5,000 prosecutors and less than 10,000 judges in criminal, civil and administrative courts, and about 1,000 cases per judge per year (AB, 2016). These numbers, compared to European averages, denote both over-litigation and staff shortages. The Diyanet, too, has thousands of vacancies for the mosque, Qur’anic school and office personnel. Still, a simple comparison between the Diyanet and the Ministry of Justice based on the numbers of staff and cases tried will tell about the proximity of religious and secular legal activities in the country. Both are funded in roughly identical amounts in every fiscal year. As for crucial

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dissimilarities, litigation in court involves many formalities and delays, draws on statutory laws, and is costly but determinative and ultimately binding on public and private bodies and individuals. The Diyanet’s jurisdiction is optional, case-specific, instantaneous, and advisory to persons. Each follows a separate doctrine and works on special areas of social phenomena. They may seemingly stand apart, overlap, collaborate or conflict with one another depending on the issue at stake, but ultimately, they make up the country’s socio-psychological and legal ambit together with customary and communal legal forms. Categorisation on the Diyanet website of inquiries made on religious issues can effectively reflect the substance of its normative involvement. Accordingly, as of November 2009, 10 per cent of the questions addressed matters of creed about which no tangible and direct correlation to the state law may be observed. The same is valid for another 4 per cent that concerns pure research such as biography of the Prophet and history of Islamic schools. Three per cent of the questions relate to votives and oaths, and are often personal but also embedded in cultural sentiments. Legal parallels start with matters of pious deeds (ibadet) which make up 40 per cent of questions. Examples are plentiful. The loud calls (ezan) to daily prayers (namaz), though in extremely rare cases, may be opposed by members of the public. Its silencing is unthinkable because no matter what secular and egalitarian argument is brought forward, the social support and cultural symbolism behind this religious practice remains indestructible, so much so that even Atatu¨rk attempted to utilise it for nationalistic purposes by obligating it to take place in Turkish. Ezan, as asserted in the national anthem, is a confirmation of religious foundation of the land. The agreement between the state and its religious department was simple: the state did not conceive of removing ezan in the name of secularism; the department agreed with its preferred version in turn. Ultimately, however, the social fondness for the Arabic version prevailed. An unalike expression of cultural fondness took place on major historical mosques of Istanbul in October 2009. Massive lighted cords (mahya) on their roofs read phrases like ‘Motherland first’, ‘We are indebted to our Army’, ‘National unity is fundamental’, and Atatu¨rk’s ‘Happy is the one who says ‘I am a Turk!’’. Mahya is a routine decoration since Ottoman times on mosques during Ramadan and holy nights, and has always been devotional in content. The recent practice, however, at first sight means an embracement of state values in addition to cultural ones into a religious venue, on the occasion of celebrating the eighty-sixth anniversary of Istanbul’s independence. It was clarified by the Diyanet officials, who were uninformed about the latest mahya contents, that their installation rested with the General

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Directorate of Endowments, not them. The state, as a result, as in many other cases, appears to be a protective user of mosques. The notions of protection and use with regard to religious legacy arise due to the state’s secularist claim. A more important issue is that of Friday congregations and sermons (hutbe). Hooker (2008: 292– 3) explains how in Indonesia Islamic syariah values – incorporated in Friday sermons in a way that prohibits distinguishing law from values – can be used to fulfil the psychological demands of the community, where the secular legal system is based on an empirical rationality. This sort of phenomenon can be seen to be at play in Turkey as well. Friday sermons have followed an erratic path throughout the course of Muslim history and have included either more or less devotional or political messages as social and political realities have changed (Hoiberg and Ramchandani, 2000: 236). Inclusion of a ruler’s name, not just the caliph’s, in the sermon has been a confirmation of his political authority and carried immense symbolic influence. The fact that Selim II was recognised as the caliph in sermons after his conquest of Egypt and Arabia in 1517 is still regarded as the major support for the Ottoman caliphate (Alkan, 1997: 86). Presently in Turkey, no regular reference of acknowledgement is made to the state or the government. Combining the two aspects given so far, we may conclude that the Friday sermons are not only an exposition of legal pluralism in Turkey, but are also a yardstick by which we can measure the nature of the relationship between the state and society at any one time. To do so, the contents of the hutbe should be analysed. Friday prayers attract up to 30 per cent of the whole population (MAK, 2016), nearly 60 per cent of all males. Part of them come to congregation only on Fridays, and with subjective expectations that may make them feel closer to or farther from the mosque in the end. Having tried various precautions to the risks of being harshly judged by the public, the Diyanet has almost finalised its decision to require having sermons scripted beforehand. Not every single imam could author a sermon on his own either; texts are distributed from above through a monthly Diyanet magazine and at mufti offices. Uniformity is acquired at national or local levels as a result, bringing about principle-based contestations yet peace of mind in practice. In the hutbe texts, the same exit of morality discourse is often used – which is undoubtedly of religious essence and is politically safer. A selection of sermon topics in the emblematic Kocatepe mosque of Ankara is as follows: one’s self-evaluation, Islam and justice, wasting and saving energy, loyalty to ties and promises, backbiting and slander, alcohol and gambling, interpersonal conduct, moderation in weddings, mosques and religious personnel, respect, fellowship, natural environment, discipline and so forth. Formerly politically denounced but now cherished celebrations of Nevruz – a

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springtime festival for the New Year that is rather associated in Turkey with the Kurdish population – has been included as a sermon title as a response to the changing socio-political atmosphere. After the peace process with the Kurds failed, Nevruz has lost its popularity as a socio-religious theme. Indeed, the Diyanet’s selection of broad, abstract, ethical, and individually relevant subjects is an indication of its vigilance, let alone irresponsiveness. Hardly any disagreement can emerge out of such mediocrity; neither can a special enthusiasm to listen. Sevva (2003: 120– 1), based on the manners and contents of preaching (vaaz) made before Friday prayers and on other occasions, severely criticises his institution for its retirement into its shell and lagging behind the expectations imposed on them by the time’s and people’s spirit. His point in substance is valid for the shorter and compulsory hutbe part of Friday prayers, too. Still, the underlying thesis of this study ought to be intermixed with his: it is not simply a matter of training and ability of imams whether the sermons are intriguing; presentations – thus the audience reactions – are products of an encompassing consideration of the Diyanet for politics, religion, and society. Balance, the prerequisite of peace, which is of highest importance to all three, can, it seems, be reached by expressional flatness in the Turkish milieu. The Diyanet’s primary concern is to avoid meddling with politics in Friday sermons – which had been in the past politicised to sovereigns’ advantage and agreed to be so – despite the fact that the obligation pertaining to Friday prayer has an undeniable political implication that stems from the idea of the land’s nature in terms of governance, that is, whether it counts as a Muslim or non-Muslim land (dar ul-I˙slam vs. dar ul-harb).6 The confusion becomes further convoluted at this juncture. If Turkey is under Muslim rule, then Friday prayer is obligatory for all mature men, and the state would not obstruct it by announcing Friday a work day, but would promote it. If it is not, then Friday prayers are not obligatory, and why should Muslims not be told so, so that they feel at ease? Such discussions exist in Turkey in small circles but the dominant voice is the voice of the Diyanet, and is one that for the most part takes the form of silence. The reason for silence in such scenarios is all too often an overriding sense of the importance of a pragmatic approach: if conditions cannot be altered reasonably, then conditions are to be respected as a legislator. Similar dilemmas occurred time after time across the world due to migration or change of hands over the land. British Indian Hanafi scholars, for example, had also maintained the view that ‘if Friday and the religious holidays can be observed, the land is dar al-Islam’ in spite of a fixed lack of willingness to declare so at first (Masud, 1990: 40). The Diyanet, too, acknowledges the classical division of land when it comes to Muslim inheritance law

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(Yazıcı, 1999),7 yet teaches Friday prayer as individually obligatory ( farz-ı ayn) (DI˙B, 1998a). How can this reconciliation be attained, if at all? Furthermore, the Diyanet’s catechism notes that the Hanafi requirement for the presence of the ruler at the Friday congregation was softened by other schools and the mere permission from the government was later regarded sufficient for a valid worship (DI˙B, 1998a). It is rather uneasy for each Muslim individual in Turkey under such complexity and conflict of laws to know what to do, so they are required to be legal agents in their own right, ruling over their own individual practices. There are in fact scholarly solutions to all the problems addressed above, but again they are more indirectly acquired in the course of events than directly utilised. To name one, the Shafii’s concept of land of treaty (dar al-ahd) is often used, as it can shed light on more opaque areas of law where exact actions are not prescribed (Salmi, Majul and Tanham, 1998: 72). The target of the present study, however, is not to seek justifications for one type of legality or another, but to demonstrate the fact that laws are all interwoven, fluid, circumstantially formed, and subject to negotiation and balance. Civil servants’ attendance at Friday prayers, among others like working hours during Ramadan, was already addressed as a subject of interaction and circumstantial negotiation between religious and statutory laws (see 5.2.2). Annual pilgrimages (hac) and occasional visits (umre) to Mecca and Medina also become settings for cooperation between the state institutions, the Diyanet and the Ministry of Health, for example, on a religious matter. At the same time as the annual pilgrimage, the sacrifice festival (Kurban Bayramı) takes place, which had demonstrated the odd but legalised incidents of state confiscation of skins and other remains of sacrificed animals. On the other hand, when the cultural customs for slaughtering animals do not comply with the health and safety regulations, the Diyanet’s help is asked to guide the public about propriety. Another practice that enables us to examine these issues closely is that of zekat (obligatory alms). During the time of the Prophet alms were collected from the wealthy, based on special calculations, out of their trade and agriculture goods, properties, commercial assets, jewelleries, livestock, and so forth. The task continued to be undertaken by the Muslim state after the Prophet and the collected amount was distributed amongst the needy and to the acceptable enterprises such as mosque and school construction projects, or even to non-Muslims. The sum constituted a part of state budget (bayt al-mal). In Turkey, the state’s policy for zekat collection, which excluded the Diyanet for many decades from participation but instead entitled the Turkish Aeronautical Association, has, for the most part, been encountered unfavourably by the public. This reaction cannot necessarily be read as one

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which supports the Diyanet, as it cannot collect zekat anyhow, but can be seen to be a sign of disagreement with the state’s involvement. The Diyanet’s role consists of answering questions as to whether a particular person is obliged to give or is eligible to take zekat, as well as offering calculation guidelines. This is a typical case where the Diyanet’s scholarly credibility brings no authority benefits to itself, as its job begins and ends with consultation. Zekat, potentially a taxation business backed by government sanctions, is here a matter of personal responsibility and choice. Individuals act as independent legal agents, and pay their alms either freely or through civil religious organisations they might consider trustworthy. In addition to this normative parallel to the state’s tax-collection, a further parallel can be observed: in some parts of Turkey, primarily in the eastern Kurdish/Shafii regions, local residents often pay their alms collectively to their elected imams who undertake religious services in lieu of or in addition to the government-appointed imams. Zekat thus emerges as a legal issue in several contexts: as a subject of official regulation; as an issue of juristic consultation; as an indication of the Diyanet’s deprivation from religious authority; as a subtle protestation against the state; and ultimately as a matter of individual interpretation. Family law is also an area where the concept of legal pluralism can be seen to be at play in Turkey. Yilmaz (2005: 99–101) presents the Diyanet as a manifestation of ‘state Islam’, positioned against the Muslim local law, and analyses the legal pluralism of family laws through a social lens. He does so, relying upon the testimonies for Turkey’s secularist assertion (Starr, 1992; Shankland, 1999). The present study shows that laicism is a discursive instrument in Turkey that circumscribes the public vision of religious freedom. Accordingly, the Diyanet does not stand apart from the socio-legal plurality simply due to being a state department. Instead, it is a participant in it, able to both influence and be influenced by state policies. The role of the Diyanet cannot be said to be predominatly involved with the state or with society, as it is a bridge between the two. It is both the state’s religious and legal agent upon the society and the society’s reactionary, and even challenging, answer to the state.8 Yilmaz (2005: 117) continues to elucidate the other aspects of family law in Turkish legal pluralism such as the age of marriage, polygamy, and divorce. In the Turkish reconstruction of religious law against the secular legal claims, the Diyanet again plays a most crucial role as a unit of consultation. This pluralism is grounded in cultural and communal norms, but is often approved via the Diyanet members’ opinions. Depending on the case at hand, the Diyanet can serve as supplementations to as well as violation of the state laws. Or, Islam can impose completely disengaged rules such as those concerning

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the marriage of foster siblings who are breast-fed by a single woman. The Civil Code brings no regulation as such, while the Islamic prohibition is followed by the public. The Civil Code is a characteristic area of legal plurality in Turkey. On scores of issues from family headship to shares of wealth, from adoption to adultery, from child care to last will, there are Islamic norms as well as strong cultural practices which interact with the Code. Inheritance law is a good example: Article 495 of the Code recognises all the children as equal inheritors. Islamic law as a general rule grants female children half of the male share (The Qur’an, 4:11). But customary practices can go as far as depriving the female children completely of their inheritance. Cases follow their own path to solution depending on each side’s appeal to a chosen ground of law. Muftis remain a source of consultation and their advice may at times be persuasive enough to lessen the effects of, often male, injustices. Six per cent of the questions on the Diyanet website are about commercial uncertainties. Interest, bank credits, insurance, trade partnerships, stock market and financial establishments are popular subjects. The Turkish economical system has more flexible moral boundaries than the Islamic one, and citizens concerned about their religious responsibilities direct questions at the Diyanet staff to acquire clarity. The Diyanet obviously cannot speak against the state’s fiscal policies, or talk to the public about them, but when asked specific questions, it does not hesitate to point to the irreligious market conditions and to enlighten questioners about the Islamic premises. The irony is that the Diyanet institution is a part of this highly interest-oriented economic system, whereas individuals are discouraged to partake in some economic enterprises. The Diyanet confesses that their solutions are individually-based and morally-shaped. Approving certain transactions or dismissing them simply as interest would cause unease. Solutions at a larger scale can only be achieved through the support of positive law. Many questions sent via the Diyanet website are aimed at learning Islamic permissions and prohibitions regarding food, drinks, clothing, arts, sports, entertainments, sexuality, and customary practices and beliefs such as tombsanctifying, evil eye, and so on. The Diyanet’s scholarly discipline and freedom become more visible in these subjects. The legal implication is again the same: Islamic law is found in interaction with customary and official laws in various forms from contradiction to collaboration. In sum, the Diyanet continues to be an actor of Turkey’s legal scene through its responsive but widespread attendance to Muslim citizens’ inquiries. The Diyanet’s role in legal processes can be greater than mere consultation. Tayyar Altıkulac
, the Diyanet President in the 1980s in the aftermath of a military coup, states that during his term the military government asked their

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opinion as to the policies involving interest, the issue of the headscarf, and organ transplantation (Du¨ndar, 2005). On these subjects, the Diyanet’s responses have always been consistent and for the most part are not aimed at pleasing the government: circumstantial solutions and advice of caution regarding interest; confirmation of the Islamic enjoinment and the cultural norms regarding the headscarf; and encouragement of organ transplantation. The Diyanet’s situation-specific realism does produce diverse results. The Diyanet’s view on interest is ineffective, except maybe on an individual basis. The headscarf view creates a total internal contradiction between the state departments: the Diyanet states that Muslim women are obliged to cover their heads whereas the Constitutional Court ruled against veiling at public buildings. The organ transplantation view has become a major support for the state’s appeal to the public on this matter, as the Diyanet is the primary source of guidance for a substantial part of the population on debates within the scientific community that stoke an element of controversy, such as cosmetic surgery or IVF procedures. Therefore, the Diyanet’s view may be sought not only by the public but also by state officials. Its scholarly credibility and freedom of speech are acknowledged by the state. It can contradict state policies despite working under the government, but its judgements cannot constitute any justification for legislation. This is a feature of Turkish laicism by which the religion’s academic and the state’s executive liberties are guaranteed against each other. Its reflection on the public is such that the people are presented with both religious and secular options, and in case of their conflict are expected to make their own choices. The evidence of the Diyanet’s scholarly freedom is rich and abundant. Having agreed that the prayer calls could be in Turkish, the Diyanet since 1926 has upon each public argumentation formally refuted the idea that prayers could have been performed in Turkish. Atatu¨rk had respected its decision (DI˙B, 1997/4/12). The Diyanet regards a woman’s testimony as equal to that of a man’s, in contrast to the general traditional belief, but maintains the classical division of inheritance in the context of peripheral religious arrangements, such as the groom’s premarital mandatory gift to the bride (mehir) and post-marital obligation for maintenance (nafaka) (DI˙B, 2003/6/2). That is to say that its academic independence is not only against the state but also against diverse social expectations. Bardakog˘lu notes that the Diyanet’s opinion is requested by countless entities including government departments, and its opinions should not be thought of as fetva, an authoritative scholarly statement (Net Haber, 2007): It is our constitutional obligation to enlighten the society on topics within our responsibility. This should not always be perceived as fetva.

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We do not decide how people shall act; we transmit authentic religious knowledge. The Diyanet’s elucidations on a religious subject, or on a popular one from religious perspective, cannot be called fetva. We strengthen the welfare, unity, and peace of the people by making religious information available. It is this attitude which guarantees the Diyanet’s own freedom. By accepting and emphasising that it does not have coercive or persuasive authority, it can issue opinions without any appeasement to any interest group.9 As the Diyanet considers society at large, it advises individuals to act independently towards fetvas. The Diyanet monthly magazine’s November 2008 issue was devoted to individualism. Deputy President Aydın contributed with a controversial article titled ‘Improving the ability of an individual to form its own religiosity’. Aydın (2008a: 23) portrays a mufti as an external viewer and emphasises the Prophetic saying ‘Having listened to the muftis, obtain fetva from your heart’. The individual has an obligation to self-regulate, first of all. Therefore, mufti opinions should be of assistance, rather than inhibitory, to individual reasoning. The Diyanet, in this context, is presented again as a service department for religious needs of the public, not a group of indisputable experts, certainly not a clergy. Aydın’s account matches with the Diyanet’s legal and religious discourse. It is not only aimed at securing the Diyanet’s mission within and/or against the state ideologies, but also in the long run can serve to weaken potential religious organisations that depend on mobilising and manipulating individuals. Furthermore, the Diyanet’s individualist suggestions can easily be categorised as authentic – in the face of social habits and obsession to follow one authority figure or another – since many classical scholars such as Ibn Hazm (d. 1064) had declared that the religious authority, and even the discretion of ijtihad, ultimately lies in the individual (Adang, 2006: 45). Whether the Diyanet’s answers to religious questions could be named fetva is a relevant discussion: they are not fetva if one holds an Ottoman sense in mind, in which S¸eyhu¨lislam would approve or disapprove a state transaction. Yet, they are fetva in a more neutral, vocational sense of opinion derivation. The former connotation of the term is a discouragement for the Diyanet to use ¨ cal (2008: 232) analyses the characteristics of the the word publicly. O Diyanet’s fetva business and discourse as well as the public responses; noting the latest improvements on both sides, while the Diyanet has become more adventurous in deciding to tackle delicate issues as opposed to choosing the silent route. This being an example, one can observe that, though the concern for balance is constant, the Diyanet’s pursuit for it had been facilitated until a few years ago by a broader liberalist tendency in the state units, supported

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by the bid to gain membership of the European Union. After 2013, the Diyanet’s confidence became more inward-looking as the Turkish state has begun to move away from the goal of European integration and assert its independence. As can be seen from such fluctuations, the Diyanet’s religious style and authority are contingent upon the role given to it by the broader political context.

CHAPTER 5 THE DIYANET AND SOCIETY

Society is perhaps the least regular but most powerful source of law. Being situated within the Turkish state via statutory laws, the Diyanet, particularly its administrative chamber, exercises a faintly legalistic Islamic vision that is determined to remain at peace not only with the official state ideology but also various domestic and international communities and interest groups. The operation of communal normativity indeed can be simplified only to a limited degree by means of religious minorities, civil organisations, opinion-groups and other forces such as the media and the military. There are pressures from every direction, varying in degree and form. It processes their spoken and unspoken, conservative and progressive demands continuously. The Diyanet’s domestic social affairs within Turkey can be classified into four groupings: non-Muslims, Muslims, groups of an areligious nature, and ‘loose’ interactions. The non-Muslim group consists of Christians and Jews; members of others religions and atheists are also touched upon. The Muslim group has various classifications in Turkey that help survey the boundaries of the Diyanet’s socio-religious discourse. The heterogeneity of society poses difficult questions for the Diyanet: is Alevi identity a religious or an ethnocultural one? Can its cultural variations be said to be in denial of Islam, or even religion altogether? How far does Alevism overlap with the Diyanet’s field of responsibility? How does the Diyanet deal with the Kurdish population that holds on to Shafii, instead of Hanafi, interpretations of jurisprudence? What about the other Muslim organisations formed upon Sufi, charitable, political and other causes? The remaining interest groups whose religious identification would be either uneasy or simplistic, the media and the Army, for example, come third. In the fourth place is examined the Diyanet’s engagement with society from various other angles; namely, socioeconomic classes, traditions such as patriarchy, and customary laws with or without religious input.

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At the end of this chapter the Diyanet’s international reach is explained in its three facets: the West, the Turkic world, and the wider Muslim world. Despite the fact that the Diyanet services almost everywhere are aimed at Turkish populations in the first place, its symbolic and ideological claims go beyond these services and propose alternative ways of understanding and living Islam as a religion as well as fitting it within political structures. The categorisation made above may not possibly be a rigid one in the face of a tangible interconnectedness between, and the multiple orientations of, the communities and interest groups addressed. Nonetheless, the discussion below can shed light on the Diyanet’s role in society and help one judge if it maintains a realistic and altruistic approach observed in the state and religion corners of Menski’s (2006) triangle.

Interactions with non-Muslim Minorities The Diyanet, as a governmental unit, had to partake in the Turkish state’s early aspiration for a monolithic population. In the minds of the founders of Turkey, a reason for the collapse of the Ottoman Empire was its chaotic legal and cultural pluralism. Its decentralising tools including the remnants of the millet system that had granted jurisdiction to religious minorities were to be dissolved. For a Muslim nation that forsook the seat of the caliphate for the sake of nation-building, there could be no motivation to retain Christian religious offices, most of which were Ottoman creations anyway, that did not only create societal and legal heterogeneity but also had led nationalistic and separatist campaigns against the Turks. The Turkish side attended the Lausanne meetings after the victory in the War of Independence with a plain wish to evict the Greek Orthodox Church from Istanbul, where it prolonged a Greco-Roman legacy (Alkan, 1999: 41) and maintained a megali idea, the great aim to revive the Byzantine Empire in some plausible form. Historically, the Greek Patriarchate embodied a uniquely Hellenised version of Christianity, and was also the headquarters for a number of other churches such as those of Bulgaria and Serbia. Having combined historical and strategic calculations, the Greek delegates during the peace negotiations opposed Turkey’s demand and managed to mobilise British, French and American support (Alkan, 1999: 55). Reconciliation was proposed to be possible by terminating the political and administrative character of the Patriarchate and transforming it into a purely spiritual institution (Alkan, 1999: 59). The matter was resolved in 1923 under this premise without explicitly referring to the Patriarchate in the Treaty of Lausanne (Articles 38– 43) – which still provides the sole legal definition of a ‘minority’ in Turkey – and only after a national election upon which more

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lenient members were elected to the Turkish parliament. Appeasement was required on both sides. In the meantime, significant population exchanges between Turkey and Greece were launched. Only those settled in Western Thrace and Istanbul, respectively, were exempted; each group had numbered around 100,000 in 1923 (Pitman, 1988: 113). The Greek population in Turkey continued to shrink in the following decades of population exchange. Presently, the Patriarchate is subject to domestic laws, whose status has been controversial in a fashion similar to the Diyanet’s, whether it should be further tolerated, restricted or preserved as it stands (Alkan, 1999: 71). The key problem lies in whether to recognise it as the global leader of all Orthodox Christians or a religious facility for Turkish Orthodox Christians alone (Alkan, 1999:76; Berkes, 2002). Here, the Diyanet is completely out of the equation. Neither the Diyanet nor the Patriarchate contemplates or would take interest in working side-by-side under or within a larger religious department within the state. The Greeks form today a tiny religious minority that keenly retains its church, possibly as a reflection of the nationalistic ideologies promulgated by both the Greek and Turkish nation-states (O¨zkırımlı and Sofos, 2008). The other minorities, such as the Armenians (Orthodox or Catholic), the Jacobites (Syrian Orthodox), and the Jews (mostly Sephardic, but also Ashkenazi, and Greek-speaking Karaites) are even smaller (Pitman, 1988: 114) and lack an establishment as rooted and pervasive as the Orthodox Greeks. They do not demand any official religious representation, either within an augmented Diyanet, which could mean more subjugation to their disadvantage, or beside it, for which the state would have no incentive. However, the Diyanet is for the most part a remote institution and does not pose an immediate problem for the non-Muslim minorities of Turkey in view of many more legal issues which take priority. The Sevres syndrome, in Oran’s (2007: 52) words – named after the partition-imposing peace project prior to the Treaty of Lausanne that would transform Turkey into a Balkan-like mosaic – leads the Turkish state to be oversensitive and sceptical about minority activities. Minorities are pressured to go along with the unitary vision of the state at the expense of their cultural differences. Many members of such communities have secured asylum in Western countries, accusing Turkey of unfair treatment. The 20 articles in the special Diyanet issue of the Muslim World almost universally overlook non-Muslims as a potentially important area of discussion. Okumus¸ (2008) generalises Turkish religious life by the term ‘Turkish Muslimness’. Only Yel (2008) touches upon the recent positive developments that have led to the establishment of the Directorate of Interreligious Dialogue within the Diyanet, whose initiatives have been more

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on inter-clergy and theoretical levels so far. The Vatican emerged as a closer conversation partner than the local, historical communities. Regional meetings and ‘faith tourism’ events are also organised in Turkey with the participation of non-Muslim religious leaders (White, 2006). Did the Diyanet’s protracted hesitation to engage in a direct and practical communication with non-Muslims of Turkey result from its legally delimited responsibility, or from the non-Muslims’ tendency for seclusion from the strictly monist state that they cannot repose trust in? The answer must be a combination of both. It improved along with the transparency effect of not only globalisation but also the neoliberal direction in Turkey in the 1980s ¨ zal that has come to characterise the majority under Prime Minister Turgut O of economic politicies in this period (Yavuz, 2003b: 1 – 2; Yalman, 2009: 8) and is taken up again under the religiously-toned ruling JDP government (Grigoriadis, 2009a: 155– 6). Despite some positive developments, the core problem continues to be the implementation of egalitarianism. As mentioned before, considering that Turkey opts for neither a clear-cut state-and-religion separation nor an Indianstyle solution of equidistance to various religions (Bader, 2010), the Turkish state hampers the public expression of religion for all in an attempt to find a reasonably enforceable common ground. Within this context, the Diyanet’s vested opportunities for interreligious activism are also constrained by the perceived risks of diversity. Against the blows of uniformity, the minorities sustain their religious and social foundations by not asking for too much, let alone demanding either of the two kinds of secularism given above, whereas the majority’s Diyanet is too preoccupied with the Muslims’ internal dynamics and too restricted by law to reach out to the needs of other religious groups. At this point, it is necessary to mention the Turks with no religious affiliation, such as atheists and agnostics. How does the secular state look on this matter from the viewpoint of the Diyanet, which enjoys scholarly privileges in its duty of enlightening the public about Islam. The Diyanet publications offer some insight: Altuntas¸ (2008) analyses the concept of religious freedom in two sections, namely, interreligious and intra-Muslim, and tackles the relevance of classical Islamic doctrine that is tolerant for the People of the Book, yet harsher on ‘disbelievers’ and at times on negligent Muslims. Topalog˘lu (2004) contains criticism of atheism and attempts to show the inconsistencies and weaknesses of its various forms. Similarly, Gu¨c (2002) denounces the Satanist cult that drew some attention in the late 1990s. Cilacı (2005) is a work of counter-campaign against Christian missionary work in Turkey. Gu¨ndu¨z (2006) presents an edited compilation on world religions. It has a descriptive character and is designed for internationally active Turks,

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particularly religious officers. A translation of Bucaille’s (1984) comparative analysis of the Torah, the Gospels, and the Qur’an from a scientific perspective is also among the Diyanet publications that aim to cover a wide span of subjects. An overall examination of the above and other books reveals that the Diyanet is involved in Turkish religious life clearly for the benefit and on the side of Islam against any potentially diluting impact. This attitude would be perceived as normal, were the Diyanet not part of the government. However, as it stands, its place within the positivist power structures challenges the conventional conceptualisations of secularism and signals the unavoidability of religion’s discursive power, in proportion with its communal and cultural power. From this perspective, the religious minorities are indeed peripheral and the Diyanet preserves a low-profile level of interaction either way.

Interactions with Muslim Communities The Diyanet’s intra-Muslim praxis comes into sight with the three important questions of Alevi and Kurdish/Shafii populations as well as the civil Muslim organisations often formed around charismatic leaderships. The former two have been subject to procrastination due to the state’s suppression of divisive communal demands, which indeed made the Diyanet’s job easier through conformism, whereas the latter is an area of religious policy where a number of discourses take place at once in contradictory and complementary forms. To recapitulate the principal concomitants of Alevis vis-a`-vis Diyanet, the Alevi population, identity, and ideological leanings are so diverse and dispersed that the Diyanet cannot possibly either embrace them all or find a truly representative group.1 The Alevi theology may be found to have applied gnostic, monotheistic, pantheistic, deistic, humanistic, and alternative idioms on historically Muslim personalities, or taking agnostic or atheistic routes altogether and turning Alevism into an ethno-cultural marker of identity, irrespective of faith.2 Due to long-standing harassment, the Alevi community has gone underground, except when they could surface either as rebels or in harmonious terms with the state, the Islamic orthodoxy, or their social environment. Zelyut (1992: 11) notes that covering-up (takıyye) has been a principal Alevi strategy against the Sunnis for many centuries. The individual attempts to unravel the Alevi mysteries do not attract a visible and joint communal support from among the Alevis. It could be seen as a form of ‘internal migration’, a strategic seclusion from the mainstream. The Diyanet’s involvement in the process of searching for an authentic Alevism has consequently been met with suspicion and regarded as an attempt to ‘Sunnify’ them (Pehlivan, 1994). Recent initiatives such as publishing Alevi-Bektashi classics, training staff about Alevism, and

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coordinating with Alevi leaders (Kutlu, 2008: 259) have not been met with approval by many Alevis. Diyanet spokesmen, on the other hand, argue that the Diyanet is an overarching Islamic body without any sectarian character or discourse, and could stretch beyond its conventional trail only to a limited degree. Alevism, or any other denomination including the Sufi and charitable organisations, should not demand special treatment for this simple reason. According to the leadership of the Diyanet, attempting to transform the institution into a federation would not be fruitful in the face of the fluid and private nature of religious characterisations, hence would merely confuse matters more (DI˙B, 2008e). There are three interlinked factors behind the amorphousness of Alevis. First, the dede (literally, grandpa; the leader of an Alevi community) tradition is weakened by urbanisation and modernisation. Second, Alevis, holding on to a largely oral and non-dogmatic belief system, incorporated scores of foreign elements to the extent of overshadowing their religious roots. Third, due to diversifying factors, such as ethnic origin and political orientation, they form a behavioural mosaic that consists of mutually irreconcilable pieces. Pro- to anti-state variants, among others, illustrate this fact well: for Turkish-speaking Alevis, a pure laicism envisaged for the state that is embraced along with Atatu¨rk’s celebrated persona is a sought-after haven (Shankland, 1999: 152), whereas for Kurdish-speaking Alevis the Diyanet may emerge as a double threat, or as irrelevant as a nationalistic state. Similarly, there are three major reasons why the Diyanet has not been able to accept the Alevi phenomenon. The first is their disunity and amorphous state that is not only theologically diverse but also often beyond religious identifications. Vergin (in C¸akır and Bozan, 2005: 322) states that speaking with a hundred Alevis means hearing of a hundred Alevisms. Second, the Diyanet is a unit of a monist state. Unless the whole national agenda becomes more inclusive and pluralist, the Diyanet will continue to speak a monolithic language that is a reflection of this. It cannot take an initiative on its own against an unrequested desegregation. In other words, even if the Alevis formed a uniform community or a single cult, the same problem of recognition could persist. By the same token, if Turkey moves to a more pluralist direction, which seems to be the case (Bayındır, 2009), the Diyanet will not have an option to resist despite the following obstacle, which is the third reason for exclusion: The Diyanet does not have an eclectic religious style, owing to its Ottoman legacy, which had ignored the Alevis, so as not to exterminate the outspokenly deviant ones on accusations of Islamic heresy. These three reasons mesh as the social, political, and religious causes of Alevi alienation.

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One may enter the Alevis-and-Diyanet discussion from a purely Islamic vantage. A preliminary question in this regard is whether Alevism is a branch of Shiism. The answer is, however, in the negative. First of all, Alevis refute any ancient or modern ties with Iran that might put an additional political stain on their name. Secondly, the Iranian and Iraqi Shias reject Alevis as heretics as well (Pitman, 1988: 126); so they agree upon their divergence. Finally, had they been a native version of Shiism, the Diyanet could have made space for Alevis more easily – as it is proved by its lenient treatment in eastern border provinces, such as Kars, to Twelver Shias (Caferi/Jafari) who are permitted in Diyanet-governed mosques to preserve their version of Islam. Egyptian authorities recently announced the Jafari jurisprudence as the fifth valid legal school in Islam; the Diyanet could follow this example. Kutlu (2008: 259– 60) portrays a better dialogue between the Diyanet and the Jafari, compared to the Alevis, though the Diyanet’s one-size-fits-all legal background causes dissatisfaction among them, too. The Alevis constitute a complex subject. Their historical roots can be found in political theology: the early caliphate collision between the followers of Ali and his sons, and the others. The uncompromising Alevi theology that challenges almost every mainstream belief and practice cannot simply be infused into the Diyanet’s apolitical yet traditionalist religious thread. Straddling the most widespread version of Alevism, successfully encapsulated by Zelyut (1992), with the Diyanet is neither foreseeable nor feasible for plain doctrinal reasons. Diyanet staff cannot plausibly call people to prayer from the minarets and teach them the insignificance of daily prayers once they are inside the mosque – to name one problem in a great many issues of divergence. However, it is not only the Alevis’ attitude that obstructs dialogue. One needs not a great deal of scrutiny to figure out that Diyanet employees are not full-fledged intellectuals. Due to the absence of sufficiently intensive and open-minded vocational schools, most imams’ training only slightly exceeds catechism and is highly technical and dogmatic. The Alevi theology, on the other hand, is esoteric, and deals with invigorating issues, most of which do exist in extra-legal Sunni scholarship too and in similar veins, such as sainthood (velayet) and the elevated status of women (see Zelyut, 1992: 59– 63). As much as the Alevi worldview is embedded in vernacular culture, the Sunni formulations of creational harmony and humanism are buried in philosophical works that the Diyanet does not take much interest in, due to an acquired conformism, short-sightedness or excessive self-esteem. Getting involved with Alevi patterns of religiosity would certainly upset the Diyanet’s straightforwardly legalist and domineering disposition as it would require a painful process of self-criticism and a deeper internalisation of established teachings.

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To conclude, Alevis pose an enormous question for the Diyanet, not because they actively demand recognition in or by the state’s religious organ – there are scepticisms about such attempts at any rate – or not because they collectively and rigorously push for its abolition, but primarily because they draw noteworthy academic attention as a means to test the Diyanet’s inclusivity and Turkey’s laicism. The non-inclusion of Alevis into the Diyanet’s framework stems from a number of factors and cannot be attributed to one side alone. The overarching longing of the state to see the nation standardised seems to have played a greater role. At the end of the day, the remarkably diverse Alevi populace is brought into sight as though they comprise a homogeneous community on the one hand, and sets a monumental enigma that demonstrates the Diyanet’s failure to develop an allencompassing institutional philosophy on the other. Kutlu (2008: 260) acknowledges the Diyanet’s need for reorganisation, but calls for realistic demands. Here, too, altruism is to prove a key value, if a middle ground within and between diverse opinion groups is desired. Then comes the Kurdish/Shafii exigency, which has a paradoxical nature. When it is tackled within a larger Kurdish question, it is trickier than that of the Alevis, for the Kurds’ ideological spectrum extends from wholehearted integration volunteers to perilous separatists pioneered by the terrorist PKK (Kurdistan Workers Party) based in northern Iraq. Nachmani (2003: 33) argues that the Turkish state, which had refuted the existence of Kurds by the phrase ‘Mountain Turks’, began in 1991 to take the demands of this huge group more seriously, given that it comprises about 20 per cent of the nation’s population. The hypersensitivity of the subject and the state’s nationalistic conservatism has been determining the Diyanet’s Kurdish policies to a large extent. Conversely, when this very same question is tackled as a matter of jurisprudential divergence between the Diyanet’s covertly dominant Hanafism and the Kurds’ doctrinally equally valid preference for Shafii jurisprudence, the problem appears as a trivial one compared to that of the Alevis. Then, the Shafiis principally set a milder issue of management and communication for the Diyanet, not an ethno-political one. Still, everyday challenges for the Diyanet emanating from culture are anticipated to persist in this case as well, since certain practical issues are beyond ideological claims and excuses. According to Bes¸ikc i (1992), the socio-political structure of the East (i.e. eastern Turkey) boiled down to s¸eyhlik (religious leadership) and ag˘alık (tribal leadership) until recently. This merger of feudality and theocracy was purposefully supported by the Ottoman and modern Turkish ruling classes to reinforce their sovereignty in the capital and to facilitate the administration of Kurds (p. 33) – who had a higher and warmer regard for their

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long-established normative institutions than any distant authority in Istanbul or Ankara could have enjoyed. Such a course of action resulted in economic constraints, poverty, isolation, illiteracy, hierarchical interdependence and excessive pressure within the community, preservation of belligerent tribal laws and customs next to famously cordial ones, and an overall remoteness from the upshots of modernisation. Both religious and tribal leaderships are weaker of late, but not completely dissolved. The Kurdish movements, be it the leftist PKK or the PDP (People’s Democratic Party) in the Turkish parliament, prioritise secular nationalism over such traditional institutions. The fading away of tribal connections has been an inevitable consequence of urbanisation, schooling, and so on, but religion has outlasted the sociopolitical fluctuations in a special way. Religion has been at the core and remains a major justifier of the Kurds’ cultural conservatism. It is fostered by conventionally, meticulously and unofficially trained scholars (s¸eyh, molla, mele etc.) that depend upon local fundraising, and/or government salary if they accomplish the formal vocational track as well. The latter option is preferred for its regular financial benefits, but the government accreditation is not viewed as necessary for a medrese-trained imam, but actually as a check on his autonomy or a sign of cleverness in case of disloyalty. A purely government-trained imam may be frowned upon on several accounts. First of all, he would not possibly be as well-versed in Islamic sciences as a medrese graduate who will often be an Arabic linguist with knowledge of dozens of classical works by heart. An Imam-Preacher School graduate will have learned the basics of religion, whereas the new generation of divinity school graduates may be perplexed by critical and Western thoughts. Secondly, government training is tailored for religious officers who are to suit the state’s expectations. For this reason, they are often referred to as imams of the Republic (Cumhuriyet imamı) in the region. Thirdly, the government schools, however problematic they may be from secular viewpoints, radiate a relatively liberal religious attitude. Growing beards and abstaining from wearing short-sleeved shirts are certainly seen as praiseworthy by conservative Kurds. In short, Kurds have observably developed ways to dissociate themselves from Diyanet-religiosity, more so in rural and less mixed areas, though this proves to be a peaceful disengagement worked out by local politics. The Diyanet’s handling of the Kurds displays one of its inconsistencies vividly. As explained in the previous chapter, Diyanet policymakers opt for an ethical in lieu of a legalistic perspective as a more approrpriate representation of Islam for the Turkish milieu. Their allusion to Hanafi jurisprudence is thus moderate and more discernible in a few juristic publications than in most others – evidently more so than in public statements and press releases.

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However, turning one’s attention to the Diyanet’s inner circles and constituent units, one notices a rise in Hanafi idioms and implementations. This is obviously justifiable to one degree or another considering the fact that most Turks follow the Hanafi School. Though I have come across popular pro-Hanafi claims, such as that it is the school with the highest appreciation for human reason, its penetration into Shafii-dominated areas should not lead one to imagine a tense inter-sectarian societal competition, but does indicate a mere imposition of taste. As in the Alevi question, the Diyanet has stood detached from the grassroots Kurdish realities and demands, not realising that it is not the transmission of governmental ability to wield power over the people, but the people’s acceptance and affinity that ultimately defines the Diyanet’s actual service.3 The Diyanet’s former President Mehmet Nuri Yılmaz (1992– 2003) had ‘informed the National Security Council (the supreme military-dominated, policymaking agency) that because of the shortage of religious personnel’, some 11,000 mosques are defenceless against radical propaganda, including Kurdish nationalism in the east where locally elected imams blend religious, cultural and ethnic differences in a discordant discourse (Howe, 2000: 39). Since about 90 per cent of Kurds do not demand independence but want to live in Turkey as Kurds, having their existence and rights duly acknowledged (Howe, 2009: 232), certain approaches to the Kurdish/Shafii question that undermine their socio-cultural and religious institutions may be viewed as bursts of opportunism. The Diyanet simply knows the diplomatic way to request allotment for recruitment. The overall picture is as follows: the Shafii Kurds lack truly representative religious personnel who would communicate with them through their customs; their rightful demands are contaminated by the secular nationalist propaganda of the Kurds as well as the Turks; the Diyanet is caught between the options to serve their needs or to attempt to mould these needs. Such an outcome is destined for by the Turkish state in a way, so is the Diyanet’s compliance with its integrationist vision. What is more is that the Diyanet’s central branch has over decades gained a reputation of nationalist leaning, which makes it all the more venerable in a political and bureaucratic surrounding of the same sort, unlike its massive body of employees in the country where Islamic political undertones are persistent and often outweighs the top-down managerial aspirations. In the Kurdish case, this disparity is simply sharper. Likewise, it is quieter: thus there is often a silence of these matters, both for the sake of inter-community relations and in terms of intra-Diyanet politics. Turkish society at large presents a conglomeration of religious propensities and communities which includes all sorts and combinations: political,

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apolitical, philanthropic, Sufi, revolutionary, literary, artistic, nationalist, globalist, progressive, ascetic and the like. Most plainly, the role of the Diyanet is to please none, and yet all at the same time. White (2002: ix– x) questions the nature of Islamist participation in Turkey and suggests that the term ‘vernacular politics’ captures the phenomenon better than the notions of civil society, since there is little evidence of formal civic organisations. A similar observation can be made with respect to apolitical religious groups. They often gather on private premises without official or institutional roles, or with them in order to increase mobility within the law. They run youth clubs, schools, dormitories, charity houses, and so on. The motives behind their construction should be sought in religious outlooks in the first place and in social conditions in the second. A substantial bulk and the essence of non-Diyanet Islamic activism in Turkey lie in a zone outside the mosque and the law, though there are contacts with both: within the mosque, as much as religion and sociability requires; and within the law, in order to ensure security and expediency. The alliance between Islamic scholarship and the laic state maintained by the Diyanet, the sole official manager of mosques, can and does result in various reactions among Muslim groups – empathy, appreciation, objection, and protest – but in any case the mosque’s religious and supra-political status is preserved. A middle ground between religious and secular politics, between society and state, can therefore be found through meaningful silences. The prevailing profile of Diyanet administrators so far indicates that scholars with either intense Islamist backgrounds or exaggerated secularist admiration are not favoured for such critical posts. One is looking for skilled cultural and legal navigators who are aware of the deeply plural context within which the Diyanet of necessity operates. A typical Turkish mosque is a place of worship, not social gathering: people pray and leave. Generally, people do not chat, have long scholarly debates, eat or sleep there as in some other Muslim communities in the East or the West. The social aspect of religion starts in the courtyard and grows into teahouses, cafes, houses, centres and branches of national organisations, lecture halls, and radio and television stations, and so on. Preachers may refer to sacred values inside the mosque, such as the nation and the homeland, or pray for forefathers including Atatu¨rk, but a political statement or implication either for or against the status quo or a political group occurs only rarely and it may even be subject to social and legal sanctions. Outside the mosque, conversely, it is hardly possible to encounter a Turk who is apolitical about religion or the state (C¸akır, 1991; Yavuz, 2009). Yavuz (2003a) draws attention to two movements that have proved significant for Islamic political identity in Turkey: the Naks¸bendi Sufi order

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and the Nur movement. The Naks¸bendi branch of Sufism is widespread across the Muslim world and is particularly strong and entrenched in Turkey with its various branches. The National Outlook (Milli Go¨ru¨s¸) movement, the backbone of Islamist electoral politics, whose life-time leader Erbakan managed to become the Prime Minister in 1996 after a quarter century of campaigning, was given its embryonic form in a Naks¸bendi circle. Another member of the same circle, O¨zal, drew a more successful electoral profile due to his loyalty to liberal principles and discourses. The currently ruling JDP has had a rather erratic track: its leading team were disciples of Erbakan until the soft military intervention in 1997, but clung to the O¨zal legacy afterwards. During the first years of their rule they embraced a liberal and democratic discourse but after feeling confident enough to survive independently they developed a mixture of nationalist and traditionalist ideology that reminds one of the famous Turkish-Islamic synthesis. The Nur movement, which is divided into various fractions, has for the past decade been experiencing interesting shifts between gaining and losing power. Gu¨len, the leader of the most influential and active fraction, had been accused in the early 1990s of taking side against the coalition of Muslim organisations and being a puppet in a global plot titled ‘Moderate Islam’ and led by the CIA. Accordingly, Gu¨len was seen suitable for appointment to the Diyanet as its president (C¸akır, 1991: 107). Gu¨len had to flee the country after the 1997 coup like Cos¸an, the successor to a widespread Naks¸bendi fraction; but this time due to the allegations of preparing for a deep wave of Islamic revolution (Yavuz, 2003a). During the earlier years of the JDP rule the Gu¨len movement became so influential within the state structure that they were commonly referred to as ‘the parallel state’. Recently, however, Gu¨len’s followers are accused of corruption and dissolving the state to facilitate a coup from within, and they are purged. The political discourse of the JDP now goes as far as naming them terrorists, especially after the attempt at a military coup on 15 July 2016. The fluctuating history of Islamist politics in Turkey teaches us that groups that fall far from the Diyanet’s commitment to be a balance between state and religion do not have much chance of success, even if they happen to be elected or able to gather social support. The conservatives within the state are not willing to tolerate such a social disorientation. In this regard, the Diyanet serves as a yardstick of the limits of religious claims. Concurrently, Diyanetlike conformism with the status quo is frowned upon by many Muslim groups. Thus, an Islamic organisation is subject to opposite pressures and expectations of the state and the society, and is motivated to be ‘reasonably different’ from the Diyanet in order to survive with minimum impediments.

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At the end of the day, each religious movement is expected to pursue unofficial and official approvals in various forms. It is a fact that groups that are radically different from or critical of the Diyanet have little chance of being on good terms with the state – a fact that affects their social appearance as well. Some opt for underground formations or blatant and self-destructive propaganda whereas others specialise in politically neutral activities. In the end, we come to see three main categories of behaviour across Muslim groups in terms of religious politics.4 Those who are uncomplimentary about the state’s religious policy and the Diyanet often engage themselves in society through a reactive sense of ‘wrong order’. Their engagement forms a parallel sphere to the Diyanet’s, though they cannot but comply with the Diyanet’s management on mosque premises. Diyanet-centred religious politics, on the other hand, is based on a sense of ‘right order’. It is not provocative, but preservation-oriented. Its participants are civil servants and loyal supporters of the state. The third behavioural group indicates no single pattern of reformism or conformism and can be influenced by both. The Diyanet does not take special interest in this third group but offers them services as usual. They rather are the targets of the inter-group competition of Muslim associations and organisations. The Diyanet’s constrained look against those vibrant communities dilutes its social image and creates stereotypes; but its legal underpinnings strengthen it in return as the boss of mosques, the common ground for all. Here one should note that individual Diyanet members may and frequently do belong to the first and third groups. In fact, Diyanet members, including its administrators and former presidents, who are self-critical about the department’s performance one way or another are an overwhelming majority (C¸akır and Bozan, 2005). Their displeasure is in part an outcome of the official policies and laws that they could not possibly amend. At the grassroots level, this leads the mosque personnel to diffidence and passivity, or even to some bitterness; it clearly also results in communication problems with the public. Whereas it is a handicap for Diyanet members to attune to the socio-political context through developing corresponding religious notions in themselves, alternative religious organisations maintain informal, moving and transformative dialogues with the public. Even where they are inaccurate in scholarship, small-minded in their concentration and sentimental in their motives, they enjoy unique appreciation and devout attendance. The Diyanet’s penetration into such circles is weak, and is further weakened by the fact that it is a male-dominated body of paid civil servants. Yıldırım (1999) analyses Turkish religious life in terms of authority struggle and interprets its manifestations as a sequence of symbols, discourses and ambitions. He particularly draws attention to the financial aspect of religiosity.

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All systematic Diyanet and non-Diyanet services rely upon funding. The paradox is that continuous state funding for the Diyanet discolours its autonomy and vivacity, whereas its absence in the case of alternative civil formations amplifies their confidence and financial opportunities. Money, and not just power and religion, therefore, surfaces as a central factor behind the Diyanet’s unsatisfactory social prestige and influence. The mosque personnel’s career is not ultimately contingent upon the mosque attendees’ feedback, but upon their superiors, and that often informs their motivations and actions. Another demoralising factor is that Diyanet personnel on average are paid less than their equivalents in other state departments. Struggling with financial hardships, some seek additional ways of increasing their income. This illicit activity rarely turns into litigation but affects their congregation’s perception about and interactions with them. The civil religious organisations, on the other hand, employ promotion know-how to utilise volunteerism to appeal to individuals and to mobilise physical and logistical support. In brief, the Diyanet’s operation prioritises national spirit over individual or communal feelings, is embedded in a conformist mentality, and is disinterested and scholarly in nature. The civil religious organisations in Turkey, conversely, aim to grow by fascinating individuals, point at the ‘wrongs’ and urgencies, and are more emotional and stimulating. They are closer to society, whereas the Diyanet is closer to the state – in fact, it is part of the state machinery. The Diyanet is guaranteed funding in advance whereas the various civil religious organisations raise money through campaigns. The Diyanet and its middle-of-the-road attitude are protected by the state, while the latter are subject to its caution and closer, constant scrutiny. Together, they make up the public face of the religious life in Turkey as cooperative competitors, turning mosques into peaceful yet non-indicative venues as to how people feel about religion.

Interactions with ‘Secular’ Groups The Diyanet is not in contact with religiously-definable parties and the state only. Within as well as outside the above categories one comes across a mass of irreligious parties, in the sense of either opposing conventional views or not showing categorical interest in religious subjects. This part deals with ‘neutral’ establishments, such as the military, media, universities, corporate associations, unions, and so on – granted, of course, that nothing is really ever ‘neutral’. Being a state department, the Diyanet cooperates with other state departments when needed. Even though the military is positioned under the prime minister, its role has been unique in Turkish history and politics.

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Especially the ‘secularist’ label attached to it can create curiosity as to how the Diyanet co-exists with the military under the same governmental scheme. Does their connection take place through government channels or is there a more direct communication between them? As the secular and the religious facets of Turkey, are they at odds or on good terms with each other? To start with, we need to remember the commonalities between the two departments, such as that they were founded by the same parliamentary act in 1924 as modified replacements of their Ottoman equivalents. Atatu¨rk had aspired to separate both religious and military personnel from politics and to put them firmly at the service of the state. He had appointed a religious and loyal general, Fevzi C¸akmak, as the head of the Army who retired in 1944, and a wholehearted supporter of the new regime, Rıfat Bo¨rekc i, the former Mufti of Ankara, as the head of the Diyanet who remained in that office until 1941. He had envisaged harmonious governance with the support of these two departments, which he believed held a high social and political potential and had caused troubles to the Ottomans for different reasons. Accordingly, he opted for circumscribing their potentials and carving them according to the Republic’s vision. Before moving on to the one-to-one relations between the Diyanet and the military, the Diyanet’s condition within electoral politics needs to be raised. Ahmad (1993) divides the Republic’s short history as follows: the uncompromisingly centralist formative phase of the new Turkey (1923–45), the multi-party conundrum (1945– 60), and three decades under the military’s shadow following the coups of 1960, 1971 and 1980. The military intervention in 1997 should also be added to that list. A conclusion readily drawn from this chronology is when discussing the Diyanet’s operation as a state department, one should bear in mind that the governments mostly had to function within the social and political parameters set by the military. There have been a few exceptional terms that defy some generalisations suggested below, the recent period of time under the JDP rule being one of them. The JDP years have witnessed several soft and hard attempts of the military to overturn the government but all of them failed. Karaman (in C¸akır and Bozan, 2005: 316) argues that apart from the early presidents of the Diyanet whose principal merit was exceptional scholarship, Diyanet presidents assumed a visibly subservient role before the elected governments until Tayyar Altıkulac ’s term (1978– 86). Kara (in C¸akır and Bozan, 2005: 118) shows that many Diyanet officers including presidents got involved in party politics after their religious career came to an end. This observation corroborates the fact that the Diyanet’s status is not liberated or segregated from everyday politics, but the amount of direct or indirect influence depends on governments’ as well as the Diyanet’s attitudes at any

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particular time. Overall, Diyanet administrators follow the political situation of the nation and the government, as well as having to bear in mind the more abstract guiding principles of the Turkish republic. Whilst in office, it is important for them not to voice explicity their political opinions, but instead to make known their agreement with the ruling party’s programme, as it is a prerequisite and a default presumption for their appointment. The Diyanet’s historically confirmed success in maintaining reasonable relations with the respective ruling parties has sheilded it from serious attacks, and awarded it a politicians’ consent not to be so critical about it. From the Diyanet’s institutional perspective, parties come and go, but the foundations of the Republic that validated its existence are there to last. Of course Islam, in whatever internally plural form, is a firm and critically important constant, too. From more permanent bureaucrats in its central branch to its appointed president and vice presidents, to politicians of different orientation, most actors are aware of such stabilising entities and are motivated by a spirit of compromise and empathy when the Diyanet is the subject matter. In this sense, it properly fulfils the key role assigned to it by Atatu¨rk: not to let religion turn into a social nuisance. This is a point on which the Diyanet agrees with the military again: both institutions have a sense of permanent and temporal determinant of the country’s socio-legal ground. The secondary role imposed upon religion, partaking in the creation of a new Turk, has of course been met with a series of social reactions. Society’s resistance to the Republic’s agenda to individualise, nationalise and secularise Islam has repeatedly taken forms of opposition against the state (S¸ehidog˘lu, 1973). The military fully enters the scene right at this point in two consecutive steps: ideologically, and potentially armed. Ideologically, the military claims to follow the footsteps of Atatu¨rk who sought to emancipate the individual from social norms, the Act of Unification of Education enacted on the same day as the Diyanet’s and the General Staff’s foundation being amongst a whole raft of examples towards this end (Mardin, 2001: 73). In line with this basic goal, Muslim culture’s public, political and legal manifestations are to be restrained and ‘Turkified’, while its private continuation is not only to be tolerated but also promoted, along with sentiments that cement the nation. Hence, the military continues to be the guardian of laicism, though it is far from anti-Islamic. At times, its strategies resemble those found in the Islamic conceptualisation of governance under the title of siyasa shariya. Shankland (1999: 9) explains: It is widely held in the West that the army is simply, or unambiguously, anti-religious. This is not the case at all. The army abhors fanaticism, and views religion’s rise within the political arena with the greatest

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suspicion. Nevertheless, the army regards its ultimate task to preserve the Republic and its borders. This means that, if necessary, it is fully prepared to use orthodox Islam as a bulwark against Communism, or as a means to achieving harmony in the community. There are several occasions when the army has shown this, perhaps most notably when it presided over a substantial increase in funding for Islam after their coup in 1980. The Turkish military is thus stigmatised by discontented Islamists on the one side and indulged by secularist fanatics on the other. Its resultant national and international image, which has been intensified by various officers’ acts and statements, does not reflect the total state of affairs, such as facts as simple as that all military staff are born and raised in a Muslim society and a laic state concurrently. Their motivation is often not secular, but their way of operation always is. Here one should take into account the diversity and dynamics within the military, noting some self-appointed commanders’ temptation to have a say in the country’s management. The interactions between highranking military officers and society that directly impact on electoral politics and governments have been shaped by a number of socio-cultural factors and is clearly a power struggle (Ahmad, 1993). Islamist mobilisation (White, 2002) – rather than Islam as a whole – is merely one angle of it. After all, Turkish social history has always had a military element (Jacoby, 2004); thus democratisation and liberalisation are challenges before the nation regardless of religion. The existing notions about the Turkish military, therefore, can be enhanced via this question: could or would the military approve of abandoning Islam or the Diyanet? Above it was explained how the Diyanet and the military started off on the same purposeful footing that had inhibited their presumed full potential, which each respectively might have jeopardised the new Republic’s programme. This indicates that these two forces actually have to work together, and this was part of Atatu¨rk’s vision for the country. A later President of the Diyanet (1947– 51) Ahmet Hamdi Akseki wrote a book titled Religious Lessons for the Soldier (1925), upon the request of Fevzi C¸akmak, which continued to be a major textbook in the military schools for many decades to follow (Yavuz, 2003a). This is an early sign of a deeply symbiotic relationship between these two bodies. Still, there is a striking divergence between them, too. The Diyanet’s devotion to self-adjustment allows us to speak of a conformist course of action. The military’s prioritisation of securing the Republic’s survival and innovations, on the contrary, wrenched it from its initially second-rate position and erected it against the uproars of various fractions in the community. Hence, while both institutions wield power, they

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do so with very different mentalities, but for the same ultimate aim – the higher public interest of the nation. S¸en (1996) explains the Turkish military’s history through transformations that can fall into two related categories: those in the roles of the military and those in social perceptions about the military. He shows how the military became more and more rigid out of necessity after each extremist and anarchist social wave, and eventually turned into an ideological gadget. This change was triggered by democratic elections in part, that is, by people’s rejection of the new imposed culture and support for mainstream or even radical parties. Therefore, speaking from a social realities viewpoint, the ultra-progressive early republican culture was gradually pushed to integrate an ultra-conservative tone. Eventually, the military, initially just an arm of state ideology, became its banner-bearer along with its helpers within the bureaucracy. Heper (1985: 154) argues that ‘[t]he post-Atatu¨rk bureaucratic intelligentsia, despite their claim on the contrary, distorted, rather than maintained, the essential elements of Atatu¨rkist thought. By converting Atatu¨rkist thought into a political manifesto they proved themselves less ‘democratic’ than Atatu¨rk’. This manifesto gave voice to a ‘coercive modernist conservatism’ that has been celebrated primarily by the military and the judiciary as superintendents of the parliamentary system. Quoting a 1937 military publication, S¸en (p. 183) notes that every citizen – among many similar duties – was expected to stand up upon seeing a military team passing by and to salute its commander. Such motivations of embracement and appreciation of the military in a postwar era did not take long to be established as political etiquette. Only recently, the military is more openly questioned by intellectuals from several angles in the name of liberalism, democracy, human rights, civil society, and the like. In a sense, the military and the Diyanet resemble each other in terms of falling apart from the evolving and increasingly self-assertive side of social conditions. Both institutions are asked for and slowly undergo alterations, having to revise their self-images. Each look into the mirror of society to figure out how they should react to the constant challenges and how any fine-tuning of policies should be managed. The most striking similarity between the Diyanet and the military at a more grassroots level is part of the society’s heartfelt desire for their improvement – which goes hand in hand with Turkish culture’s exceptional regard for religious and patriotic sentiments. This regard causes many respectful silences and nurtures the unproductive cycles of social mumbling and intra-departmental conventionalism. In such a setup, the venerated notions of ‘military nation’ (asker millet), Muslim nation and the ‘Papa State’ (devlet baba) intermix, leaving society torn between its heart and its mind, conscience and will. The elected parties are

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forced to embody this perplexing inclusivity and have to care for the status quo. Urges to keep the society intact in an existing political order – due to holding peace and solidarity as higher values – as well as the subtle contact zone between the respective awes of religion and military result ultimately in an intimate relationship between the Diyanet and the military. Their collaboration, behind the scenes, has always been a fact, again covered in many meaningful silences. S¸en (1996) examines a number of incidents: a 1934 military school book (Askerin Ders Kitabı) encourages ‘every Turk and Muslim’ to donate their alms to the Aeroplane Society (Tayyare Cemiyeti), stating that supporting the deterrence factor of owning many jets is ‘an act of worship before God’ (p. 83).5 The Diyanet’s fetva that defined such donations as appropriate and necessary (s¸er’an caiz ve vacip) is also cited in the military’s book (p. 85). A 1981 military publication quotes the Qur’anic verse 4:59 that enjoins obedience to Allah, the Prophet, and ‘those charged with authority among you’ (p. 86) [Abdullah Yusuf Ali’s translation]. The book endorses many legal concepts, such as control of tax evasion, by religious arguments and warns the citizens against a double punishment, here and in the hereafter. Islam is presented as being neutral about government structures, yet in favour of democratic order (p. 88). It is apparently perceived in favour of what Stammler (1925) called ‘the right law’. On freedom of conscience, the Chapter of Non-Believers in the Qur’an is excerpted. Its final verse is: ‘To you be your way, and to me mine’. On laicism, a hadith is put forward: the Prophet, on a farming technicality, told ‘You know your worldly affairs better than I do; do as you know’. Ercu¨ment Demirer, a preacher, interprets this hadith as the Prophet’s avoidance of the possibility that religion might be dulled by temporal concerns (p. 92). The military takes this as a proof of recognition of laicism in Islam, to be presented before the Muslim populace. Does such an attempt mean that the Turkish form of laicism is a superstructure of Islam or is it a particular branch of Islamic thought? Or, is it just a communicative tool to appeal to Muslims, hence a confession of their power? In any case, it causes a contradictory appearance whereas, in reality, it evidences Turkey’s and Turks’ willingness to find an appropriate balance between religion and secularism, rather than dismissing one for the other. Indeed this is part of the Turkish collective search for the right path beyond ideological labels. S¸en (pp. 85– 6), presenting other pertinent examples and demonstrating the subtle and obvious contradictions of the whole setup and discourse, identifies the relationship between religion and the military in three ways: firstly as an attempt to create a monitored religious space – hence the absence of laicism that leads everything to be ‘religious’ or religiously coloured; secondly, the Diyanet’s pursuit of legitimacy before the state – which might

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seem to indicate a bowing of religion before the power of positivism and the state machinery; thirdly, as a matter of continuous policy – which implies that religion and law can be managed together and that secularism is not antireligious but selects specific religious idioms. The result of this policy has been such that the Turkish society ceased to show a strong tendency towards religious rule but also disowned the state’s religious device, the Diyanet. The military, therefore, is the guardian of a laic conceptualisation that regards religion in instrumentalist terms, rather than cultivating laic ideals (p. 95), which would be following the French model too closely. The Diyanet’s support for the causes that benefit the military through fetvas or by maintaining an encouraging public language is now becoming clearer. In order to facilitate the communication between each other, a military retiree is recruited by the Diyanet under a trivial post in the headquarters and acts as a go-between. This communication has always been kept alive. What is most noteworthy in this state of affairs is not the cooperation of two strategically important state departments, not even their search for legitimacy from each other’s field of influence – for Turkish laicism is by now shown to embrace such interactions – but the military’s self-perception as being the overseer of the nation and endorsement from a level above all state departments. Apparently, the legislative, judiciary and executive branches of the state are not trusted to sustain a constitutional order; invoking a feel of the military’s potential intervention is seen to be an obligation. So is the Diyanet’s submission to this atmosphere of political culture. It is not possible to deduce simply from the above that the Diyanet is promilitary. It can be argued that instead, the Diyanet entertains no fixed ideological preference, and according to the leaders of the institution, it strives to be merely a function of the state, with the nation’s solidarity as its priority. In order to evaluate this aim, we need to embark upon an analysis of the current situation with regards to state-society relations. Hence, the roots of the Diyanet’s covert but consistent alliance with the military should be sought in the realms of Turkish culture that alternates between bottom-up democracy demands and top-down, paternalistic attitudes. It is not that the military is patronising the people despite their clear refusal; the people, too, including intellectuals, academics, voters and politicians, journalists and so forth, do occasionally affiliate themselves with forms and feelings of a military nature. They are often quick to call upon the military when they are unhappy about a particular government, expecting the military to protect the nation, not only against outside aggression but against internal self-destruction. The overthrow of the Islamist government of Erbakan in 1997 due to his party’s zealous militarist references to groundbreaking plans is another sign that the remnants of a military culture is alive in the society. The military’s

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efforts to exterminate such counter-revolutionary or merely critical acts and discourses for the sake of the democratic republic prove in some observers’ eyes to amount to nothing more than self-denial (Turgut, 1998). Ahmad (1993: 1) questions if Turks ultimately make a military society. Heeker (2002: 185) names it ‘a tiered state society’ whose beginnings are embedded in the Ottoman Empire’s imperial bureaucratic structure, in which armed forces played a leading role. Heper (1985: 153) also explaining modern occurrences with Ottoman legacy, points at the nation’s need for internalising democracy and the difficulty of doing so under the military’s repeated impositions of ‘controlled conditions’ to bring out ‘moderate instrumentalism’. The Diyanet, as a concretisation of moderate instrumentalism by which religion and laicism are reconciled in a pragmatist way, is a department that for the most part understands what is expected of it and gains the military’s continuing appreciation. Being circumscribed by numerous determinants of the country’s socio-politics, the Diyanet’s every move to any direction in this respect is contingent upon change in the political climate and the cultural sphere. Turning back to the electoral scene, one can detect an element of selfcriticism in Turkish politics. As mentioned above, the ruling JDP won the 2002 elections, partly thanks to its leader Erdog˘an’s and his friends’ disavowal of their past statements against laicism (Go¨le, 2002: 190). In other words, Diyanet-track politics seems to work also elsewhere: a party could or perhaps should – to be successful – present a religious side (the society aspect), and it should be lenient, if not eager, about laicism (the state aspect). Therefore, the argument could be made that the Diyanet is politically savvier and more experienced and socially more realistic compared to both hard-line Islamists and secularists, thanks to its close attention to total circumstances rather than particularistic utopias. Its subtle strategy of pluralist navigation seems to serve today as a role model for political forces. If and only if a political player – such as the JDP – becomes powerful enough to change the regime, only then the Diyanet’s reconciliatory path could be abandoned. That would actually mean that the Diyanet is to be re-defined as well. Under Erdog˘an’s presidency of the Republic, one could get hints of a change in that direction but this is not yet strongly uttered in the political sphere. The Diyanet’s contact with the country’s power centres is not limited to cabinets or the military. The ideological hub of the state includes the judiciary, whose basic opinion about Diyanet was briefly analysed by means of political party cases before the Constitutional Court, and the universities. The universities in Turkey operate under the surveillance of the Council of Higher Education, which, like the judiciary, could never afford to be apolitical. The contingencies of the secularist/Islamist polarisation affect its interference

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with the university regulations, the headscarf ban being a prime example. The Diyanet, in such instances, can be seen to be acting in a professional manner and, combining religious and official expectations, issues an independent religious statement and adjourns to its usual work without making recommendations either to the people or state departments. However, when the political atmosphere is more conducive towards religion, then the Diyanet seizes opportunity to advocate its official stance. What is particularly noteworthy with regard to academia is the divinity schools. The earlier generations of Diyanet staff were Ottoman-style medresetrained scholars. The common and specialised education requirements under the Republic have changed over time. Until recently, a vocational ImamPreacher School graduate was eligible to become an imam, whereas today, due to boosted numbers of eligible candidates, even most divinity school graduates have difficulty being appointed to such positions. More and more people undertake masters and doctoral degrees among the lower ranks, while for higher positions in the central, provincial and overseas bureaus university professors are now considered. In a few decades, a different profile of Diyanet staff is anticipated. Conventionalism persists on another ground, though, such as regarding international, both Eastern and Western, as well as nontheological degrees, as irrelevant to their vocational conduct – which indicates the Diyanet’s deficient self-assessment as regards the significance of the staff’s tasks. As some divinity school training is becoming a prerequisite for Diyanet employees, the differences between these two institutions’ visions necessitate a closer analysis. Divinity schools vary across the country in terms of their departmental traditions, strengths and priorities. The courses taught in each school may differ somewhat, but the core courses such as the methods of Islamic sciences, Islamic and modern republican histories, introductory philosophy, sociology and psychology, are more or less the same.6 When it comes to the background of students, one finds an entrenched fact: due to prevailing placement procedures, virtually all divinity school students are I˙mam-Hatip alumni. Here a dilemma occurs: at I˙mam-Hatip, male and female students are taught technical subjects of Islamic religious profession – which are not adequately substantial, nonetheless sufficient to raise them above lay people’s level – in addition to compulsory coursework, whereas the primary objective of divinity schools is not necessarily to train religious personnel (U¨nsu¨r, 1995). Such departments resemble religious studies departments in the west rather than Christian seminaries. They do offer vocational instruction, as a matter of acknowledging their students’ job prospects, but their expertise is more intellectual than technical. The critical element is that they combine practical experience and exposure with

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theoretical coverage. The theoretical subjects offered at divinity schools manipulate junior practitioners from their narrow doctrinal aisle into a broader and more critical and analytical field. Since a four-year university education is barely enough to introduce them to theological subjects, many students graduate more perplexed than matured about Islamic religion and their mission. This situation may be in line with such ideas as that there is not supposed to be a clergy in Islam and that university campuses are not spiritual zones. However, this very same condition of divinity school alumni eventually falls short of satisfying the Diyanet. Consequently, the Diyanet inducts its future staff, such as muftis and preachers, into its own higher vocational centres where theory and practice are tailored and harmonised for more specific ends. The snapshot given above suffices to propose that Diyanet and divinity schools represent the technicalities of Islamic religious service and a more general theological research, respectively. Where research falls outside the scope of Islamic sciences – though specialisation in those sciences is not a regular occurrence – it does not pose an immediate rivalry of the Diyanet’s praxis. The professional enterprises of Islamic academic experts, such as lecturing, publishing, and organising on-campus and off-campus seminars, also do form a separate sphere because Diyanet services mostly appeal to nonprofessionals. However, the contact of university scholars and Diyanet staff on an everyday level can occur in alternative ways. There is a great deal of collaboration as well as competition. In case of collaboration, academics often adopt the Diyanet’s seasoned middle-of-the-road tone. In case of competition, non-Diyanet scholars’ freelance or provocative statements immediately spark the public’s attention and transfer their bewilderment over to Diyanet officers. Howe (2000: 41) shares her interview with Professor Hayrettin Karaman who, being a trainer of muftis in Islamic jurisprudence, is consulted with more confidence. Karaman points at the question of religious authority in which the Diyanet is just one player. Howe (2000: 42) also shares her exchange with the late Professor Yas¸ar Nuri O¨ztu¨rk, undoubtedly the most controversial of Diyanet-challengers, who frequently appeared on TV until his death and enjoyed secularists’ acclamation in particular. He was said to be a nationalist follower of Atatu¨rk and a defender of Qur’anisation, as opposed to Arabisation, of religious tradition. He questioned most elements of Muslim traditions in a scholarly manner and pushed traditional-type religious people into the Diyanet’s arms for re-assurance. He (as indicated in Howe, 2000) believed that activities and brotherhoods with mystic dimensions should be ‘halted or circumscribed’ as intended by Atatu¨rk due to their abusive nature – a gesture which would have reinforced the Diyanet’s public presence and influence – and that daily prayers could be performed in Turkish, contrary to

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the Diyanet’s fetva and Muslims’ universal practice. He disagreed with the headscarf ban as ‘it will only benefit political Islam’. Howe (2000: 42) presents O¨ztu¨rk’s opinions as ‘the basis of official thinking on Islam (particularly among the military)’. If that is the case, where should the Diyanet, a thoroughly legal and official department, be located? The fact is that the so-called official thinking on Islam is rejected by the majority of people, hence the Diyanet occupies a middle ground between the remote poles of secularist dreamers and traditionalist demanders: the former regard the Diyanet as an appeasement while the latter ask for more and seek religious satisfaction beyond the state services. Such scholarly discussions that arise in specialised circles could possibly be tackled therein. What distracts the Diyanet’s concentration most is media involvement. For many decades until the 1990s, there had been a state monopoly over television and radio broadcasting in the country. The written press was the only means to refer to the Diyanet, under a stronger presence of the status quo. In the last two decades, it has become more the centre of attention as the mass media became privatised and liberalised, and has included the internet. From the media’s viewpoint, the Diyanet, among all state departments, is a soft target and an eye-catching subject. The implications of its decisions, initiatives and policies are analysed inductively so as to assess the nation’s direction between religiosity and secularity. On this spectrum, the media companies are dispersed just like the society and target specific audiences. However, even the very raising of the issue and the manner in which it is done hint at the Diyanet’s social status in various ways. For example, the Diyanet is considered to have an innate institutional tradition of reasoning and action and can be grouped with the military, the higher judiciary and the Council of Higher Education in this sense, rather than the plain service departments, say, the Ministry of Health or of Labour. However, whereas the last decade’s media coverage about the military and the judiciary has undergone serious transformation, approaches to the Diyanet do not change substantially. The Ergenekon and Balyoz dossier – concerning an underground militarily-captained organisation formed to take over the country’s rule with well-established civil and bureaucratic connections – had put many individuals under the spotlight at first; and the criticisms were directed at the state departments only at later stages. The discourse about the Diyanet is the opposite: individuals are rarely singled out; rather, the department is personified. Though news from the Diyanet’s provincial branches regularly appear in the press, these are either of neutral and informative nature or used as stepping stones to achieve comprehensive institutional representations. Such representations are within the Diyanet’s immediate interest and its central

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branch meticulously archives news in the media. In response, spokespersons may interfere or remain silent; in both cases, a desire to keep the department’s national image intact is detectable. Hence, the personification of the Diyanet in the media is not unfair; it is assisted by the Diyanet’s care to communicate with the nation in mono. This contradicts and covers up both the society’s and Diyanet’s internal pluralities, but clearly resembles the Turkish state’s preferences. The Diyanet is greatly aware of such pluralities and takes them into account in an inactive manner without regularly emphasising diversity as a social value. This confirms that in certain circles in Turkey, too, pluralism is a dirty word. The Diyanet’s easy-going and law-abiding personnel do not create a cacophony of religious opinions in the country, which, again, intensifies the media’s urges to deduce big implications out of small steps. Diyanet and media relations hold promise to grow in importance in the near future. The men of religious services in Turkey are being exposed to marketing realities and begin to learn strategies to gain more public fondness. The partial shift in the setting of religious communication from mosques to media can grant the Diyanet opportunities to make up its meek image through advantages of being an official and non-partisan body. The success of such an enterprise is contingent upon other state authorities’ tacit approval, the secularist public’s tolerance, and overall the Diyanet’s talent to be adequately rhetorical and cautiously proactive. Otherwise, the Diyanet’s social influence is bound to melt down in the face of booming Muslim communities, many of which own TV channels, radio stations, newspapers and magazines. Whether religious life will be flavoured more by Diyanet or non-Diyanet actors as well as the legal future of the Diyanet are closely connected to the accumulating inputs in the media. ¨ zal The popular media in Turkey has visibly changed hands, again after O and the 1990s, from journalists to businessmen whose ties with government are pragmatic rather than ideological. The ideologically-oriented ‘Islamic media’, too, which has become particularly prosperous during Erdog˘an’s terms, maintains a pragmatist relation with the ruling party upon an agreed moral premise. The economic heart of these relations brings the Diyanet into indirect contact with issues of money, by way of frequent comments and suggestions about government policies. TU¨SI˙AD (Turkish Industrialists’ and Businessmen’s Association) and its conservative rival MU¨SI˙AD (The Independent Industrialists’ and Businessmen’s Association) are two noteworthy establishments with such potential. Additionally, in view of the fact that the Diyanet’s budget is mostly used for staff salaries, most initiatives require fundraising whose target is the wealthy. Those who benefit from the Diyanet’s everyday services are, conversely and generally, at the lower and middle economic layers of the society. Hereby, the nature and aim of the

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Diyanet’s dialogue with different socio-economic classes varies across its own organisational hierarchy. Even in more common services and in terms of community relations, how well-off or influential one is seems to have an impact on the Diyanet’s perception and attitude towards that person. This, too, confirms that the Diyanet surely is not a purely pious foundation; it is entrenched in social constructs rather firmly. The reasonableness of slight deviations from religious ideals, such as that the poor and the rich are to be treated with the same moral principles of integrity, ought to be tested individually in every single case.

Features of Society and the Diyanet The Diyanet’s performance is shaped by a number of social factors in addition to those given above. These can be examined in two categories; namely, the customary practices that co-exist with the religious ones, and major social variables such as gender and education level. The customary laws and practices in Turkey can be either religious or nonreligious and either tolerable or reprehensible from the Diyanet’s religious perspective. The interaction between religious doctrine and social habits may fortify or challenge one another, rendering the Diyanet’s behaviours as an area of scrutiny. In parts of Turkey, 21 March has been celebrated as the beginning of New Year, called Nevruz, which is now more about cultural symbolism than agriculture, and was also the first month of a peasant’s calendar. The second month of this calendar, Hıdrellez, which starts on 6 May, is derived from Khidr – the enigmatic figure believed to be referred to in the Qur’an as a possessor of esoteric knowledge and miraculous abilities who travels with and instructs Moses for some time – and Ilyas, the Prophet Elijah. The folk belief is that Hıdrellez is the annual day of meeting for these two undying figures who are devoted to help the needy and the wishful. This important day, which is celebrated with fasting, offerings and sign-seeking is counted among the Diyanet’s superstition list, which often causes difficult encounters between vernacular and scholarly versions of Islam. The Diyanet’s list includes the following headings: family, good and ill luck, funerals, healing, shrines, Hıdrellez, changing one’s fate, prayers, evil eye, supplication, oblations, visitors, festivals, magic and fortune-telling, amulets, and solar and lunar eclipses (Net Habercilik, 2008). The large selection of superstitions under each heading can lead an observer or analyst to two conclusions. First, due to the high number of superstitions, religious authenticity and ideals must seriously face a risk of distortion and the Diyanet’s scholarly intervention is an appropriate step towards emancipating

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the public by enlightening it about the essence, principles and higher values of Islam. Second, the Diyanet, in doing so, may be taking a wholesale and hasty approach to dismiss many traditional practices solely based on modern notions and interpretations of religious texts. Superstitions do not have to be haphazard constructs; they intangibly rely upon fine emotional considerations (Vyse, 1997). What potentially makes them detrimental for people is the blind and illiberal assumption of their validity. The Diyanet, while attacking the lore and habitual practices, is being somewhat puritanical and seems to engage in social engineering. For example, believing that handing over a knife brings bad luck is regarded as a superstition. Such a regard equals irrationality with superstition and is rather positivistic. It is not difficult to imagine the emotional difference between handing over a flower and handing over a knife. Human psychology is subtle and responsive. Not every action has to be defined in legal terms. Likewise, the Prophet’s practice of not cutting nails at night is linked by the Diyanet to old time life conditions where there was not much light, so is no more relevant today. This opinion is also superficial. It is a scientific fact that light increases the body pH of most organisms from basicity to acidity, creating observable hormonal and emotional effects (Petheram, 2003). Dismissing or critiquing the folk declination to cut nails at night on a straightforward and one-sided account is intended to alter the people’s norms on a quick and authoritarian notice. In short, the Diyanet’s tackling of many widespread everyday beliefs and conducts is certainly needed but its existing legalistic attitude is not always the best choice. A more careful, flexible, attentive and pedagogical style could be assumed, if it wants to save people’s minds from burdensome calculations and etiquettes without being too dismissive and consequently isolated from social idioms. The fact that society forms and maintains a separate religious discourse on these issues is sufficient evidence to show the Diyanet’s shortcoming in penetrating into it through appealing communicative methods. What is more interesting is that, while being criticised for its reluctance to act on many serious issues, the Diyanet aspires to have excessive control over trivial everyday subjects. This may support the claim that the Diyanet is not accommodating at heart, but of necessity. That much of positivisation is not really needed; people can decide for themselves. The Diyanet appears to fall into such mistakes due to the fuzziness of the line between positivism and self-controlled ordering (Menski, 2006). In return, the Diyanet could also be manipulated by society and its religious perceptions. For example, an important practice of agricultural society is the ritual prayer for rain that is often led by a man of religion. Though rain prayer is a simple Muslim ritual – which might be

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problematised theologically – the preparation, performance and aftermath of these rituals in Turkey are enriched with many cultural inputs such as the alleged requirements of the prayer’s acceptance, animal sacrifice and the prayer feast. A religious personnel’s role in these de´cors is essential but minimal. Balaman (1983: 58) shares his experience where impatient villagers started whispering about the leading imam who apparently lacked the pertinacious weeping thought to be necessary for success. They also criticised themselves for not being proper believers. Balaman’s experience reveals an ethereal aspect of communal religiosity, particularly in the villages. Imams’ focal communal position and religious tag makes them an easy target for gossiping. They may be victimised more often than not, for being human but nothing above, or may be misrepresented to have superior qualities. Exaggerated and contradictory social expectations from Diyanet personnel are also a hindrance to smooth exchanges between them and their communities. Imams are cornered in reserved moods while members of the public seek to emotionalise their cult in alternative, even sinful ways. Gossip is such an instrument. Communication difficulties between the Diyanet and society occur on other occasions including funerals. In most provinces, death is announced from the minarets after an Arabic hymn called sala. A sala contains greeting to the Prophet and is followed by a short announcement about the deceased. Sala is sung by muezzin, and the number of mosques from which sala is sung for a particular person is parallel to his/her wealth or social status. This practice can turn mosques into instruments of affirming one’s prestige. In the late 1990s, in the city of Turhal at Tokat province, I observed the attempt of the city’s mufti to overcome the sala debate by reducing the number of sala for each deceased person to one, and entrusting the announcement part to the municipality’s announcement services. This attempt of ‘secularising’ the cult pleased those who were annoyed by the showing-off involved in obituary notices and made others furious because the mufti was allegedly destroying the religion. A group of imams and muezzins who were famous for their singing abilities and were paid for their service also became unhappy about the new regulation. In fact, funeral services from washing the corpse to reciting the entire Qur’an to his/her soul, from the singing of mevlu¨t to commemorating the deceased on the fortieth and/or fifty-second days of his/her death through religious ceremonies do involve generous payments to some Diyanet staff that add up to a substantial extra income. Here again, one sees how economics interlink in such processes as well. Often a small minority of imams and muezzins regularly attend to these services and build a mixed reputation owing to their skills as well as breach of the integrity expected of them by religion and law. The funeral customs in Turkey offer a example of how difficult it is to draw any clear line between religion and custom and how their interaction is

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blurred and wanted to be clarified at the same time by Diyanet members. Part of the Diyanet is embedded in the vernacular culture which may contradict religious principles, and another part fights such contradictions. Mevlu¨t (literally, birth) is a fifteenth-century Turkish poem by Suleyman Chelebi praising the Prophet. It is an integral piece of cult for the Turkish and Balkan Muslims who do not understand the Qur’an in Arabic and instead incline towards the beautiful stories and melodies contained in the mevlu¨t. This addition to the fundamental and universal rituals of Islam frequently replaces the ‘authentic’ deeds of worship, thus ensues controversy. Mevlu¨t is sung for the newborn, for the dead, at weddings and other celebrations, and during religious festivals and holy nights and days. Many people, even those whose religiosity seems to be limited to creed and spirituality, enjoy and venerate it dearly. Again, the mevlu¨t ceremonies are led by men of religion who work for the Diyanet, indicating another instance of society’s power over decisive religious texts and the lurking role of economics. Ja¨schke (1972) explains how elaborate religious chanting arts are in Turkey, which creates an unbreakable bond between the men of religion and religious folklore. The Diyanet is unable to challenge these practices strongly for obvious reasons. The Diyanet is not able to challenge the state either, thanks to its immediate legal potentials. However, as indicated above, more inconsequential and unregulated beliefs and conducts are easily labelled as superstition. These three observations together draw our attention to the Diyanet’s varying tone about its surroundings vis-a`-vis their power and implications. It does not appear to be fully disinterested and objective in its scholarly approach, but is also calculative and intuitive. Another important social alternative to scholarly Diyanet-religiosity is the cult of saints. The Diyanet aspires to maintain the medrese-style religious methodologies which also comply with the Atatu¨rkist goal to treat the dead as dead and direct people’s attention for guidance from mystics to science and contemporary developments. The social psyche resists the positivist alliance of state and religious laws and continues to fabricate inscrutable tales and narratives about people who are believed to be holy (Ocak, 1983a). The jargon around their lives, tombs, miracles, descendants and so on, constitutes a cult stronger than the official wishes as to how religious life should be. These numbing and stupefying aspects of fallacious religiosity, in Atatu¨rk’s words (Ja¨schke, 1972: 36), still persist in Turkey and win hearts. The fact that shrines are under the administration of the General Directorate of Endowments and mystics’ lodges are not officially operative somewhat inhibits the Diyanet’s intervention in the cult of the dead. At a larger ground, the present situation can be linked to the Diyanet’s failure in being adequately emotional. The legal positivism of the Diyanet at grassroots levels of the society

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is a reason why it is perceived to be dry and unattractive. Nonetheless, it should be noted that the Diyanet’s current discourse is a useful one to keep the department’s communication common and conveyable. Utilising arousing, rather than academic idioms in order to enhance social acceptance, could create discord on other grounds. Still, a more harmonious result is possible. Other examples include that of male circumcision (su¨nnet). Su¨nnet, literally, is the Turkish cognate for sunna, the Prophet’s conducts and advices. Being a religious duty, it is often accompanied by a large celebration by well-off families in some regions. Crowds of people are invited, gifts are presented, an orchestra might perform, and a city tour with a convoy might follow, and so forth. The patriarchal culture transmutes a religious obligation into an opportunity for socialisation, elation, pride and status. Though not required, a man of religion also attends and reads a short prayer for the circumcised child. Another important occasion for celebration is the drafting seasons for mandatory military service. This is a highly emotional and proud time for young males and their families, friends and relatives. Anxieties and excitement mingle together, as do patriotic and religious feelings. Balaman (1983: 103) shares his observation of drafting season in a Turkish village where people believed that ‘the world endures by prayer, so everything must be done by prayer’. In that village, like most others, religious rhetoric experiences a peak in drafting seasons. Being a martyr or veteran is said to grant one a spiritual status nearly as supreme as the prophets. Without such beliefs, the sincere motivation and public support for military service could not be maintained by merely nationalistic arguments. Hence, a more hesitant and sceptical obedience to the drafting law can be observed among those who are not on best terms with the state policies of nationalism and secularism. Still, in many regions, the society’s spiritualisation and sanctification of military service is so strong that it defies both the military’s and Diyanet’s ordinary postures. This spiritualisation is often halted upon entering military quarters, and resumed in case of martyrdom in an attempt to alleviate the pain of the bereaved families. Here, society is left alone in its religious sentimentality by the state and is not provided with a clear and consistent method of coping with the loss of a loved person. The sensible contradictions of the state and the impacts of modernity urge some to seek ways around the military obligation through health reports and service by payment. Another instance where society’s religiosity surpasses the Diyanet’s attendance is pilgrimage customs. Though offered and/or overseen by the Diyanet, the pilgrimage season from pre-departure to post-arrival is a period of customary interactions in which the Diyanet’s legal role is restricted to the state and religious laws. Due to the belief that pilgrimage signifies ultimate

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repentance, many Turks postpone this duty until they grow old. And many male pilgrims grow a beard upon return as a sign of purification and cutting ties with worldly affairs. The holy status acquired in the eyes of the public is confirmed by the title Hacı (Pilgrim) which is used as a forename by many. Departing for such a significant journey is preceded by visits accepted at the future pilgrim’s house and a mass farewell ceremony. Hymns, prayers, wishes and prayer requests are offered to the travellers to Mecca and Medina. The reception of pilgrims is also a big day at airports and bus terminals. Pilgrims serve dates and zemzem water and distribute small tokens and gifts, all of which are considered precious, while accepting congratulations in their houses, on which sometimes a Turkish flag is hung, a sign which can be taken to demonstrate Turks’ holistic embracement of the sacred. The entrance may also be decorated with Qur’anic calligraphy and pictures of the holy cities. Social expectations from the pilgrims thereafter change. The intensive symbolic atmosphere of pilgrimage is largely cultural and emotional whereas the Diyanet’s role is more doctrinal and operational. Even though the Diyanet is much praised for its coordinative success during the pilgrimage season, many pilgrims enjoy non-Diyanet services due to their religious narratives embellished with tales and touching stories. The pilgrimage customs are alive and slowly change over time, enabling individuals to be more independent in their moves and beliefs – a shift that is tangent to the Diyanet’s wishes. The Diyanet’s attempts to fine-tune those customs and lighten the social burdens caused by them are not, for the most part, very successful. Mehmet Nuri Yılmaz, a former president of the Diyanet, once protested against the hacı tradition arguing that there is no point in bestowing a title upon fulfilling a pious deed. The hacı tradition is weakened, however, by socio-economic and other cultural dynamics. The two religious holidays, Ramadan and Kurban (Sacrifice), are also settings of cultural celebration. The former is called by some as S¸eker (Candy) Feast and marked with no religious significance despite its explicit timing according to the lunar calendar and implication to be a reward time after one month’s fast. The latter is seen as a period of carnivorism, from which the poor and charities also benefit. Both of them used to be holidays for family gatherings whereas in recent years, especially in big cities, they have become opportunities to run away from the stresses of professional life. Such perceptions and changes are not in the Diyanet’s hands; all it can do is to deliver advice once people are in mosques or through the media. The paramount occasion of culture vis-a`-vis religion is of marriage. The religious requirements for marriage are simple and consist of the pronouncement of agreement and its conditions and the presence of two witnesses. The Prophet’s recommendations do not complicate the scene much.

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Cultural requirements, on the other hand, vary across the country to a great extent specifying many conditions and customs, and override many religious morals such as prudence. The common practice to have a religiously-shaped marriage (imam nikahı) not only ensues violations of the state’s legal expectation, but also shows the society’s power to give religious codes a particular form. The Diyanet’s involvement in marriages is limited to this initial stage, and to guidance thereafter in case questions might arise about the religion’s view on the rights and duties of the couples, divorce, inheritance and the like. The dynamics of society that hold religious implications are larger and more complex than the various occasions discussed above. In an entirely interconnected social matrix, the Diyanet undergoes tangible and intangible transformations in various ways: over the state or at first hand, in terms of official regulations or institutional mentality, and as a product or producer of social relations. Alternatively, it sometimes resists undergoing transformations and adheres to archaism against or along with the society. The following are the key phenomena whose impacts on the Diyanet’s social configuration are perceived or anticipated. The end of the Cold War and the escalation of globalisation, hence exposure to the international community, has meant that many nations now have multidimensional perspectives from which to tackle their social variables along with an intricate appreciation of plurality. Turkey, too, has been undergoing a crisis of policy between uniformity and plurality. Kutlu’s (2008: 249) claim, that the Diyanet’s objectivity and unbiased approach was undisputed until the 1960s, is not evidence of its success, rather the society’s lack of self-awareness and – confidence in the face of an overpowering state. As society, instead of the state, is being held as an ultimate focus of attention, the Diyanet’s true position surfaces and is being contested more openly. At one level, the Diyanet and the state have no choice but to be more inclusive. At another level, the society requests not mere inclusion but an augmented freedom that stretches beyond the officially-regulated zone. Hence, developing a discursive and operational strategy as regards its priorities and interests on a unity/diversity spectrum is an immediate task before the Diyanet. The monopoly bestowed by law to enlighten the public on Islam is not a realistic one anymore.7 Re-defining its stance on a state/society spectrum is also a consistent urgency for the Diyanet as the Turkish state strives to forge a path between engineering and facilitating social structures. The public opinion in favour of the state as an idea and a trusted father figure, though against most of its bureaucratic units and individual policies (Heper, 1983: 106), is likely to alter, as society feels more and more confident to put its claims forward.

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In the religious arena, many rival voices are already available to the members of the public. The Diyanet may need to contract and intensify its expertise on a few issues so as to offer the highest quality service. While doing so, it may also be obliged to declare its concentration and goals more clearly to save itself from criticisms arising from the gap between state and society and the latent or obvious miscommunication therein. Exposure to a greater world through television, internet, labour and travelling has particularly complicated Turkish values and increased the weight of economic concerns on top of or in lieu of religious ones. The socioeconomic structure of Turkish society has been constantly deconstructed and reconstructed by a number of factors, domestic and overseas migration and urbanisation being two principal ones. The imbalance of wealth distribution between eastern and Western Turkey and between villages and cities resulted in what Tugac (in Magnarella, 1998: 147) calls ‘the culture of discontent’ and has triggered massive population shifts from rural/eastern to urban/ Western regions. Cities, in turn, have become battlegrounds for traditions and modernity. Each generation seems to develop sets of hybrid cultures and lifestyles and destroys the means and standards of evaluation as to what is acceptable, tolerable, venerable, or otherwise, and to what degree. This bottom-up rise of relativism, the erosion of ideological clans and the increasing atomisation of individuals necessitate a carefully tailored religious outlook and language for the Diyanet, more so than the unofficial religious groups that target specific types of people, as it cannot afford to be outspokenly partial, interventionist, or authoritarian. The department already moves towards socio-legal realism and gives signs of becoming more fluid, liberal, situation-specific, and moral, as opposed to legalistic. There are some chronic ills, however. The underrepresentation of women in the Diyanet is an extension of political and patriarchal culture. Tekeli (1995: viii) strongly refuses the paternalistic and ethnocentric claims of Western researchers that the culpable condition of women in the ‘Orient’, and those of German scholars about immigrant Turkish women, is due to Islamic tradition. The Diyanet could have been a zone proving such uneducated expressions wrong, but it is not. With its nearly 95 per cent male employees – not surprisingly, since prayers are to be led by men – women seem to hold inferior importance. Or, is it due to their inability and/or disinterestedness to pose a threat to the state? A gendered view of the Diyanet reveals that culture, once again, overrules what would be religious common sense. The Diyanet gives in to patriarchal tenets upon which state and society seem to agree, though improvements have been made on this matter recently, such as appointing female deputy muftis for the first time ever and opening up family consultation units. Karaman (2008: 287) draws attention to the rise of honour killings and

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suicide among young girls, which he connects to perverse traditions and customs, and notes that the Diyanet ‘works very hard to overcome its delay in reaching out to women’. Arrangements have been made in thousands of mosques to ease women’s use of them, and 67 family guidance bureaus are opened across the country to attend to the needs of women. The education level of the public is also a significant aspect of Diyanet social relations. The use of Arabic script, the low level of literacy, and the prevalence of religious sciences in the schooling system at the outset of the Republic and the Diyanet enabled men of religion to wield a great influence on society. An imam, which literally means ‘leader’, was a pioneer figure in his community due to his ability to tell God’s opinion and by virtue of his unparalleled erudition. The increased and widespread availability of secular education has not only nurtured critical approaches to religion and its representatives, but also created a sense that men of religion constitute a vocational class like any other (Demirkol, 1996). This perception is solidified by the law declaring religious services as a type of public service. The overturn of an archaic communicative hierarchy between religious scholars and society has ended up in confusion as to codes of conduct between religious staff and the public. What is the proper manner to lead a religious dialogue; religion being extraordinary by nature and its conductors being ordinary by training? Hence, Diyanet members’ treatment of the public is almost definitively shaped by their perception of their audience with respect to educational background. The national publications and statements of the Diyanet aim to find a medium that seems to speak to an invisible audience whereas one-toone interactions display a wide range of behaviours. Autodidacts of religious thought, but not necessarily technicalities, and undertakers of alternative paths of religious learning happen to edge out inefficient employees of the Diyanet anywhere in the country. As the above examples indicate, all the social variables have direct or indirect impacts on the Diyanet’s institutional mindset and everyday activities. Society is a vast and interlinked sphere of interactions and norms in which religion is also a determinant that creates effects and is constantly being re-created. Within the religious field, the Diyanet is just a tiny contributor despite its power to keep control over almost all the nation’s mosques. In conclusion, much of the Diyanet’s social relevance appears to be non-legal in nature, though this relevance could not be modified significantly without legal action. Despite being rather keen to attend to society’s needs and demands, the Diyanet’s mobility to do so is subject to changes in the state mentality which has always been sensitive about matters of religion and secularism. The Diyanet, as it stands today, embodies the fracture and mistrust between the Turkish state and society.

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The Diyanet’s International Relevance Whereas the Diyanet’s domestic role emerges between state and society, its international involvements are today more perceivably of the Turkish state and its evolving foreign affairs. Turkey is frequently described by commentators through its secular regime in which the interplay of religion and politics is a prime characteristic (Mayo, 1997; Kaylan, 2005). Its Muslim and secular features position it against the West and the Muslim world, respectively. The very same features also grant it channels of dialogue across contesting cultures. The foundation of the Turkish Republic took place in a reactionary atmosphere. An element of distrust towards other Muslim nations as well as towards the West left Turkey in a curious position vis-a`-vis both. Despite the voluntary adoption of Western codes out of a sense of realism and necessity in order to align with international standards and developments, Turkey assumed a passive and isolationist foreign policy for many decades. The Cold War years had marked a rapprochement for Turkey with the United States, the former supplying military and strategic support and the latter economic subsidies. Now there is a crucial trend of activism in Turkey, and religion is a key factor in defining Turkey’s international future. The reorinentation of Turkey towards a more internationalist foreign policy can be seen in three chief policy areas: the Western, Muslim, and Turkic worlds. Relations with the West comprise the attempts to acquire accession to the European Union, the American alliance that sets decisive symbolic and active tasks for Turkey in the Middle East (O¨zcan, 2008), and Turkish immigrants in Western countries whose number approximates five million (Erdog˘an, 2009). Relations with the Muslim world are defined by Turkey’s early and substantial exposure to Europe, its geographical and cultural state, its Ottoman past, and its religious characteristics and implementations. More recently the Syrian refugees, whose number is estimated as being as high as three million in Turkey, have become the main policy area in this respect. Relations with the Turkic world are often challenged by the role of Russia in this domain, whose post-Soviet influence is strong. In all these three areas, religion holds a high promise of contribution. Turkey’s ground-level engagement in these regions cannot be completed without the Diyanet. Likewise, the Diyanet’s participation is a means to analyse and anticipate the foreign policy trends of Turkey. This certainly involves African and other streams of communication as well, though in a relatively minor degree. The Diyanet’s overseas branch has nearly 2,000 employees. Germany occupies half the staff allocation. It is followed by France and the Netherlands

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with about 150 in each. Most of the rest also work in Europe, preceded by the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus, the United States and Canada. This distribution matches with the settlement of Turkish immigrants outside Turkey. An evident conclusion is that the Diyanet’s involvement in Europe has been triggered and largely defined by expatriate Turks, not by a sense of intercultural or interfaith exchange. The fact that the Diyanet is able to appoint imams for the Turkish communities abroad through its usual official channel confirms that Islam is seen as an indispensable feature of the Turkish nationstate. As noted by Mango (1994: 78) the application of the early secularist reforms has become much more flexible despite their irrevocable status in the constitution. The Turkish-Islamic synthesis (Tu¨rk-I˙slam sentezi) has seemed to secure its place in the state next to laicism. The preservation of the Turkishness of Turks abroad, which partially depends upon religious conservatism, holds strategic importance for Turkey, which does not want to completely lose this group, but instead retain their ties to the Turkish state. These attempts, which have surfaced more visibly after the immediate infrastructural needs were met, seem to clash with, say, the German agenda to acculturate and ‘Germanise’ the former Gastarbeiter (Suzuki, 1981). The Diyanet’s immediate reaction for overseas communities is to replicate its domestic services; but as seen above, the Diyanet’s social influence is already weakened by the Turkish state factor.8 The German state’s handling of religion can positively or negatively develop perceptions about the Diyanet among the Turks, who have a high regard for the idea of their home state, if not for its policies. In other words, the Diyanet might propose itself to German Turks as their connection to their state and religious roots. Alternatively, a German approval to back up the Diyanet’s increased role, like a higher council of religious traditions, due to their inclinations towards organised religion, would create a situation in Germany similar to Turkey’s: some uniformity and public adaptability that the state wishes to see, and an underlying diversity and deviation from the state that the society will inevitably create. What Ehrlich called ‘living law’ (1936), hence, could be deemed as an unavoidable natural law of social relations. The fear that the Diyanet’s involvement, as an extension of the Turkish government, might inhibit the Germanisation process is in many ways legitimate. However, its total exclusion from the scene is not foreseeable either, since, without Turkish aid, by means of cultural history and religion, the ‘Turkish’ heading might be radically vernacular, dispersed and contested – as it is for the Alevis in Turkey – for Germany to decide on legal policies to address the immigrant communities. The trans-state dynamics between Germany and Turkey (Østergaard-Nielsen, 2003) is a determining

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factor here, so are the secular vs. religious preferences which seem to be more utilisable for Germany and Turkey, respectively. Still a further dimension is ethno-cultural variables: a significant proportion of Turks in Germany are actually Kurds and/or Alevis whose priorities may and do differ from those of the ethnically Turkish Sunnis. Thus, with Germany setting the prime example, the main focus of the Diyanet’s activities in the West is on the Turkish migrants. How Turkey’s affairs with the West develop, particularly with respect to the European Union, is contingent upon how Islam and Muslims are perceived among Western people in the face of secularism debates. The notions of secularism are constantly being revised in Europe as the religious focus shifts from Christianity and its tradition of a formalised hierarchy of clergy to Islam and Muslim cultures that are distinctly open to politicisation with legal claims. Though the theme of laicism is a Western import in Turkey, Western countries are often blind when it comes to understanding the ways in which secularism impacts upon non-Christians. In can be argued that theirs is a post-Christian secularism, not a universal phenomenon (Smith, 2008). Not only Muslim but also Hindu and other Asian and African newcomers have vividly disclosed the partiality of their know-how, so do treatments and exceptions made to Jews across Europe. Islam, owing to its robust legal and counter-legal potential, is a central concern (Huxley, 2002). The Diyanet shows an awareness of Europe’s abovementioned intellectual surrounding yet gives ambivalent signals. On the one hand, it acts timidly due to Turkey’s depdendent position before the European Union. Its timidity is doubled by widespread readings of Turkey that deem its laicism unauthentic, the Diyanet being considered as one of its shortcomings. On the other hand, the Diyanet is waking up to itself as a long-established embodiment of co-existence of secularism and Muslims, which Europe continues to debate and seeks to sort out. It is eager to enter into dialogue with the West on this vein, to share its experiences and fine-tune its own setup. This progress took a clear step in a 2006 symposium held by the Diyanet-affiliated Centre for Islamic Studies in Istanbul that concentrated on the state and religion relations in Europe in three ways: the legal system, religious education, and religious affairs (Ku¨cu¨kcan and Ko¨se, 2006). Opening up research centres in Western capitals such as Brussels, London and Washington, D.C. has also been considered. Karlsson, former Swedish consul general in Istanbul, claims that Europeans do not know how the Diyanet and Turkish laicism work (Today’s Zaman, 2007). Ug˘ur and Canefe (2004) also count religion as the most decisive aspect of Turkey’s accession to the EU among three others. Grigoriadis (2009a) analyses Turkish secularism in the same context with a considerable weight of political Islam, rather than the

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Diyanet. The actual modus operandi of Turkish laicism remains unknown, and is often obscured by a few other popular subjects. In order to fill a gap of understanding and to mitigate the Western biases and stereotypes about Muslims as a political and legal issue, the Diyanet’s increasing activities hold promises of fruitful exchange. As in the case of Turkish migrants, this aspect of the Diyanet’s involvement, too, seems to serve socio-political purposes by way of religion, rather than spiritual ones at first-hand. When it comes to the Islamic world, the immediate scope of Turkey’s Islamic interest lies across the Middle East and North Africa, mainly in the post-Ottoman countries, on the one hand, and on the post-Soviet Turkic states in Central Asia on the other. Whereas some major Muslim countries such as Pakistan, Bangladesh, Indonesia and Malaysia have not risen in the Diyanet’s horizon yet, a perceivable shift has been taking place with respect to interactions with the Arabs and the Balkan populations. Iran, despite its religious claims and assertions against the United States and Israel, is unable to play a leading role in the region. Turkish-Iranian relations are also nonreligious; the respectful distance between the two countries has only recently been revised after Turkey’s call to the Western world for fairer treatment of Iran. A regular Shia-Sunni exchange is not imminent; the parties seem happy by the very absence of sectarian contestation that caused many traumas over the course of history. And yet one watches carefully, all the time, what goes on at the other side of the border. Turkey’s relationships with the Arab countries are more complicated and multileveled. At one level, Turks are portrayed as deficient Muslims by Arabs for two reasons (Lewis, 2001). First, they are not native speakers of Arabic, the language of the Qur’an and the Prophet, so their religious competence is bound to be limited. Second, they have undergone a systematic secularisation which must have Westernised and de-Islamised them. At another level, Turks are watched with close attention. Even though Arab governments resist viewing Turkey as a ‘big brother’ in modernisation and secularisation, its alleged achievements are not altogether overlooked. Secondly, the fourcentury-long Ottoman caliphate imprinted not only negative but also positive connotations of Turkish leadership on the Arabs. The changes in Turkey are interpreted in the shadow of the past. The Diyanet’s relations with the Arabs had been negligible for these two simple reasons: the differences in everyday religious perceptions and Turkey’s overall lack of interest in the Arab countries. Iraq and Syria made small exceptions when Turkish pilgrims used to travel by land. Saudi Arabia is a bigger exception still, again mostly due to pilgrimage organisations. For a minority of Turks, non-secularised Islamic training opportunities in Syria and Egypt were a reason for attraction. However now both of these countries are

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regarded with suspicion, Syria due to ISIL and Egypt due to Sisi’s coup against democratically elected Mohamed Morsi. The Diyanet still employs Turkish graduates from these countries, subject to their acquisition of certificates of recognition from the Turkish higher education authority – which a while ago declared those certificates invalid due to fear of Islamism and losing control over religious teachings. Many graduates of the prestigious Azhar University in Cairo had to consent to lower positions in the Diyanet or resign. Educational background in Iran could pose a disadvantage to work for the Diyanet as well; even in society, it is frequently associated with radicalism, whereas religious training acquired in Arab countries can be considered as meritorious and authentic. After all, the Diyanet, by virtue of partaking in a nationstate project, has well-defined boundaries for its homemade Islamic version. Its reference for classical scholarship is historical (i.e. Ottoman) and self-sufficient. For modern day developments, the Diyanet can be identified with a Western orientation. Its annual programmes exclusively state that ‘presenting accurate information to the Western public’ is one of its fundamental objectives (DI˙B, 2010a). While the doctrinal communication between the Diyanet and its Arab equivalents had been faint for many decades, with the recent launch of foreign policy activism in Turkey, religion has come forward as the most convenient way of accelerating rapprochement. This is, again, a strategic role cast upon the Diyanet. Even though this shift is not yet mature, clues about the future can be gathered. Nevertheless, the Diyanet refrains from direct references to Arabs, who are thought by a part of the Turkish public to stand at the opposite end of secularism. Instead, the term Eurasia is used to include a larger area. Whereas the first meeting of the Eurasian Islamic Council in Ankara in 1995 had a more Balkan, Caucasian and Turkic weight, the 2007 meeting in Istanbul increased its African input (Dere, 2008). The 27 countries of the African continent that are members of the Organisation of the Islamic Conference draw the Diyanet’s interest in it for cooperation, too.9 The Diyanet is now more active compared to the past in coordinating similar organisations and hosting representatives from Muslim countries. Such international gatherings offer opportunities of exchange at institutional level and have little direct effect on the actual religiosity of participatory states. The fact that these activities are not regarded as a violation of laicism in Turkey confirms that the core of Turkish laicism is about safeguarding the Republic against counter-revolutionary agendas, not deconstructing or dismissing the religious character of the population. Still, a more proactive involvement for the Diyanet in the Muslim world is contingent upon the settlement of the Islamist/secularist clash on a reasonable and realistic medium.

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Although the Turkic world overlaps with the Muslim world to a large extent, from Turkey’s viewpoint, it has a special status. Turkey with Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan are considered as brother states based on ethnic origins. Such regions under Russian control as Bashkortostan, Chuvash, and Dagestan, and the Altai, Balkar, Yakut, Karachay, Tatar and Tuvan communities are also added to the big picture, along with the Uyghur in China. Turkic communities in Central Asia are torn between following and abandoning the Russian legacy and the continuing impact of socialist propaganda against religion. Turkey aspires to re-connect with these communities but the cultural fissure between them is not small. Larrabee and Lesser (2003: 102) notes that ‘the elites of Central Asia remain highly Russified’; ‘at the summit of ‘Turkish-speaking states’ in Istanbul in April 2001, for example, most of the heads of state spoke Russian not Turkish’. In fact, other than Azeri, most Anatolian Turks are not able to follow the other dialects spoken in the region. On the other hand, there is a sincere effort from the Turkish side to revive links with these republics. Upon the collapse of the Soviet Union, Turkey’s ¨ zal took interest in the region and the project of an President Turgut O extended Turkic collaboration. Immediately after, followers of Fethullah Gu¨len started opening schools in the Turkic republics; there are now hundreds of them. In fact, Gu¨len schools and followers have spread until recently a version of Turkish Islam across the world in a rather systematic and continuous way with state support, whereas the Diyanet’s legal and financial limitations hampered the Diyanet’s own engagement on a larger scale. Nevertheless, the Diyanet works through religious sites and with a more direct and transparent reference to Islam through public events and translated publications (DI˙B, 2013b). Overall, the Diyanet’s participation in establishing bonds between Turkey and Central Asia is crucial as, without re-inventing a common culture, mere ethnicity is not a sufficient incentive for collaboration. In this respect, Central Asia is a zone in which the Diyanet understands its duties to involve the teaching of religion and the creation of a certain type of religiosity. The Diyanet’s other international activities, be it with Turks in Europe, non-Muslim Turks, or non-Muslims, do not involve dawa or tabligh (the spreading of Islam) significantly. It does not advocate a sense of umma (Muslim nation) in principle, either. It aims to send staff, train native scholars and imams for their own countries in Turkey, or support the centres and faculties opened there. A common religious language is hoped to be expected across the Turkish-related world. Thousands of students are accepted to Turkish universities to that end from the Turkic republics; and an ‘International Theology Project’ was launched by the Diyanet that encapsulated European students as well (Dere, 2008: 298). The Diyanet’s

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operation in the Balkans, too, is similar to Central Asia, where again historical commonalities are highlighted. Balkan Muslims associate themselves with an Ottoman past and resemble Turkey in their religious mindset. The Diyanet’s support in this region also ranges from staff exchange, training, financial support to sending publications. In conclusion, the Diyanet’s international relevance emerges in a highly interconnected state of affairs where religion is important either in itself or for other reasons such as political and strategic considerations. Whereas religious services can be undertaken by civil Muslim groups, especially in Europe where a plethora of them exists, the strategic weight of Islam for the Turkish state backs up the Diyanet’s increasing global interest and relevance.

CONCLUSION

This book, using the Diyanet through which to examine the history and current state of the relationship between the state, society and religion in Turkey, has highlighted the interdependence of these three elements. What comes into sight as a prime theme is that of ‘impurity’, that every aspect of the broadly legal subject in hand is complicated by a multifaceted pattern of ideas, agendas, regulations, and attitudes. Applying Moore’s (1978) concept of ‘semi-autonomous social fields’ here, what transpires is the importance in practice of how this plural condition of affairs is to be managed, that is, how much of acceptance vis-a`-vis rejection of social realities – thereby, legislative recognition vis-a`-vis imposition – is to be implemented by the state. Neither of the choices is free from problems: in case of acceptance, the state ideology – the biased, incomplete yet sweeping representations of social reality – faces challenges; in case of resistance, the enforcement of ideological idioms continues upsetting the social psyche, and eventually turn the state and its laws into a mockery by triggering bottom-up counter-rejections. Hence, considerations about the gap between state and society, along with the clashes between ideology and reality, emerge as the core concern. Pointing at this core issue comes to explain the Diyanet’s struggle between integration and autonomy against the forces of state, religion, and society. The Diyanet cannot afford to fully please one party at the expense of displeasing others. Such a conclusion falls in line with the axiom that the positivist and supercentralist approaches to law create a series of problems, the communication breakdown between political institutions and people taking the lead. The attempts analysed throughout this book to bridge state and society via realist acknowledgements – having once separated them by presenting ‘ideological ideals’ – have confirmed the hypothesis of the book that the Diyanet seems to be a flawed and weak institution on the one hand, and yet thriving and indispensable on the other. That is, it is subject to both failure

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and success at the same time, depending on idealistic and realistic perspectives respectively. And that is not only about political idealisms; religious and communitarian idealisms are to be tested by counter-realities as well. In light of the above, it is easy to notice that both the Diyanet’s deficiencies and capabilities are rooted in and caused by the very same set of socio-legal facts and circumstances; hence, attempts to rectify any shortcomings might even be detrimental to the institution as a whole. The interdependence, convolutions and appearances of ‘fair’ and ‘unfair’ make it extremely difficult to propose any changes regarding the Diyanet. That is why in this book, I have frequently opted for a descriptive methodology aiming at a deeper and broader understanding of what takes place in Turkey’s socio-legal arena, rather than a directly prescriptive one. In the Turkish context, religion has been the most manifest area of miscommunication in terms of both top-down and bottom-up discourses. What does the state want? This question begets two sets of implications. Above all, why should the state be in a position of demand rather than supply? What does such an authoritative, as opposed to facilitatory, conception of the state imply? Is this conception, along with that of law, a sign of an ultimately transnational behavioural code that is universally acknowledged as legal positivism? What is ‘a people’ according to the Turkish version of this paternalistic legal behaviour? An answer established for this question can be found in the fact that the founders of the Turkish state envisaged a country founded upon the idea of a uniform nation with the aid of Western thought, manners and institutions. Ignoring, and even in some cases attempting to suppress, society’s diversity has not produced the seamless results expected, however; rather, it has resulted in underground and unofficial resistance. The Diyanet, in this respect, is part of an unfinished project, and ongoing search for that ever-illusive concept of ‘the right law’. In many ways, Turkish society has not complied with the state’s attempted project. The cause for this ‘failure’ has nothing to do with the validity or invalidity of the philosophical leaning of the founders of the Republic, but is embedded in the rejectionist idealism that has afflicted them and their followers. By rejectionist idealism, I refer to a political mentality that lacks the prerequisites of fruitful developments in any society – such as disinterestedly defining its realities in the first place. One major reality for Turkey, and for most other countries, is that they are not and will never be uniform; thus, projects aiming at a uniform social profile have no option other than failure. The other half of the utopian dream, Westernisation, was also responded to in contradictory ways; namely, by approval, scepticism and disapproval. Secularism and its institutional form – laicism – viewed by many to be a

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legal epitome of Turkey’s Westernisation, is still an enigma after eight decades. It is a vicious circle: Turkey’s theoretical inspiration is French, whereas its model certainly is not; if it is a false cognate, then how and by whom is this word to be contextualised and re-defined? What does laicism mean? What criteria should be applied in this semantic pursuit? Can it remain meaningful at all upon opening the table for a cacophony of criteria and definitions? Can it be replaced by another term? The Turkish constitution forbids any attempts to do so. Does that make it a dogma, then? Laicism, in this sense, was designed as a form of alternative religion and a contemporary substitution to Turks’ traditional religiosity in which the men of religion had held the keys to Islamic texts, meanings, symbols and discourses. The dominance of secularist idealism in modern Turkish political discourse is not so different from the equally protective yet fragile discourse adopted by the late Ottomans when changing social and intellectual conditions had doomed Islamism to collapse – again, regardless of its epistemological value, but simply due to the incompatibility between the state’s aspirations and the movements on the social ground. Lately, even the very guardians of laicism have being undergoing transformations; so pragmatic and realist moves seem inevitable. The utter ‘meaninglessness’ or ‘meaningfulness’ of laicism still suggests a silence that may prolong a latent practice: that it is to be preserved and yielded to political events. It has to be worked out and subject to continuous evolution. The Diyanet has been shown here to be an embodiment of this mentality – and is one that creates unexpected results. One way to resolve this is to face the reality at a legislative level and promulgate reconciliatory laws. That is the situation already, however, under discursive rigidities of the state. Another way, therefore, might be to drop out self-rejection and erase the confusing elements. The Diyanet’s management strategy to compensate for the defects of statutory laws in rightfully acknowledging society uncovers that even within the Diyanet, there is an underground track of mindset that often overshadows its achievements in upholding peace and solidarity. This is not the entire picture, however. The following question offers an example: has the secularist idealism been a complete disaster? Far from it; it soon stood among the nation’s notable forces. Not only is the state in contemporary Turkey secular, but also it is difficult to describe Turkish society as exclusively religious. At one level, most Turks are believers and declare faith in the very basics of Islam, emphasising its moral and spiritual overtones, if not the legal and intellectual implications. At another level, excluding in-group interactions, the public language and manners are not religious, that is, one cannot detect a concerted and publically endorsed movement which either espouse exclusively pro-religious or anti-religious

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sentiments. The fanatical Islamists or anti-secularists as well as the fanatical secularists or anti-Islamists form tiny minorities on the edges of society; the vast majority of people are Muslim and secular in their own ways. The Muslim/secular clash in Turkey, as elsewhere, often does not arise due to extreme essential dissimilarities but discursive and representational preferences that invoke disrespect for the other. This is not to say that it is a homogeneous society, but to argue that the actual and potential problems which Turkish society might encounter do not result from heterogeneity. Instead, in many ways, the problem can be defined as an ethical one. The secular regime’s aim is to guarantee that a set of secular ethics should be independently enforced aside from the variety of Islamic traditions and beliefs found amongst the Turkish people. The stated reason for this is that illiberal interferences should be prevented and freedom of religion and conscience be sustained. However, the imposition of secular, or any other, ethics disfigures the social sphere as the key requirement for a free and healthy society is that all can participate in it peacefully through their own tolerant ethicality. The Diyanet, in this respect, does not have a strong philosophical foundation but an intuitively political one. In fact, the system-friendly manners of the men of religion are not a novelty brought about by the Republic; it is as old as the Ottomans and even the Seljuks (Ers¸ahin, 2008). It can even be seen to be a variant of a global and historical Sunni realism that demands ulema-umera (scholars-rulers) collaboration (Zubaida, 2005). The level of secularity achieved by most Christian nations after the Reformation and the Enlightenment is thus an embedded feature of Islamic cultures which may not be visible because life altogether was explained in ‘religious’ terms. In Islamic cultures, the very raising of secularism against religion – whose foundation is of tawhid, unification – hence divorcing them, can be considered a problem whereas practising them separately became customary long ago. It is not the secular ideas themselves that produce opposition in Muslims, but instead it is the idea that the secular and the religious should stand in complete opposition to each other that creates the resistance to a particularly Western, Christian understanding of secularism. Secularism and the debates which surround it, both in and about Turkey, stem from two interconnected facts: first, that the term was imported from the West; and second, that its cultural underpinnings were ignored in this process. Turkey’s practical approach to religion, however, which happened to be called laik, can be viewed as an open-minded pluralist solution. It is a realist one since Turkey could never afford or manage to discard its Muslim spirit, while aspiring to free itself from what the founders of the Republic deemed to be the burdens posed by certain Islamic traditions. This approach

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is first and foremost a pragmatic one, since it established the Diyanet as a religious-bureaucratic channel between state and society. It thus reflects cooption of state and religion, not their separation. The Turkish model is therefore not encumbered by a fence of separation of religion and secularism, but is instead a balance-oriented model; it manages a situation of interlegality, as Santos (1987) would call it. Europe – the birthplace of secular ethics and laic systems – has lurched from misuse of religion undertaken by the church to misuse against religion through vague standards of secular liberties or liberalisms. Freedoms of press and speech and the alleged detachment of laws from religious norms frequently result in unfair and disrespectful treatment to people of various religious affiliations (Menski and Shah, 2006). The common pattern of making exceptions in presumably egalitarian societies and legal systems discriminates on the basis of criteria which are never fully laid open. The Turkish version of laicism converges with the European models in that it is also designed against abuses and misuses of religion – a universal problem, indeed. The difference, however, is that unlike in clerical organisations, abuses of religion among Muslim populations are unsystematic. On the contrary, abuses against religion had been a norm in Turkey for many years. Religion’s potential of exploitation, manipulation, intimidation, discrimination, harassment, anarchist mobilisation, schism, suppression of ‘the other’ and similar unwanted social ills still continue to exist in a variety of cultures and contexts. Only a moderate version of secularism can be employed to prevent such potential uses and misuses of religion. Extreme secularism is none other than a misuse as well. While the term ‘laicism’ confuses many, the term itself may be regarded as trivial in the face of an imminent need to monitor religiously-oriented discourses and agendas. Laicism, in this sense, is not in contradiction with religion, but actually complements it by facilitating free choice. The short-lived fanaticism in Turkey against Islamic legacy proved futile, so did fanaticism against laicism. Both the ‘laic’ state and ‘Muslim’ society seem to have come to an agreement that they must co-exist and watch and oversee each other. The official pronouncement of laicism is complemented by an unofficial adherence to Islam. If Turkey must be defined in secular and/or Islamic terms, the right word would be ‘Islamo-secular’. This is not only a realistic, but also an idealistic, if somewhat theoretical, middle ground. Today, Turkey carries on a needless confusion while supposedly setting an example for the Muslim world. When the Turkish solution to religion in the public sphere is presented to other Muslim countries by Western academics, it is sometimes done with the misconception that Turkey has secularised itself in a Western sense. It is true that Turkey’s secular flexibility can be instructive

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for Muslim nations – though they do not have to pronounce themselves ‘secular’ or ‘laic’ if their peoples are not willing for it – as much as its religious flexibility can be for the secular and Western ones. Again, at a theoretical level, recognising the ultimate interconnectedness of social and religious phenomena and attempting to transform this recognition into the language of law transcend both religious and secular particularisms. Chiba (1986) clearly emphasised that laws are always linked to values. In the present context, this means that there is no way out except through recognising the need for a balance between secular and religious values. The mindset that allows a reconciliatory institution like the Diyanet needs not be timid but should advocate peace-making abilities at the expense of selfcentred agendas. Turks of exclusive secular or religious propensities, as well as Muslim and non-Muslim nations could ponder on the underlying message delivered by Turkey’s realism and the Diyanet’s plurality-conscious continuation. The message of Turkey involves two kinds of realism: sociolegal and political. The former is society-focused, and the latter is powerfocused. These two realisms together accept and highlight society as the chief determinant of the legality of state laws. However, the very practicalities of this theoretical achievement do not always follow smoothly due to reasons beyond religion and secularity. One set of criticisms against the Diyanet’s performance and social relations actually point at the whole state tradition. In many ways, the Turkish state attempted to ignore the myriad communities, minorities, interest groups and intellectual parties that constituted the nation. They have often been merely recognised as initiators of disruption, and eventually ignored, suppressed or even penalised. For the most part, the Diyanet found itself as part of the uniforming mission of the state, and that is where it must fail in one way or another as long as the state insists on its monist presuppositions. If the Diyanet resisted this mission, it would fail as a bureaucratic department and would not survive. But similarily, if it merely complied with it, it would fail socially. Diyanet had to choose the latter and has been a main player of attempting to project and develop a common cultural and religious identity amongst the Turkish population. Thereby, if the general criticisms against the Diyanet can be divided into two categories – namely, those against its positioning between laicism and Islam and those against its operation – it is difficult to see how the former can be justified, whereas it is easy to see how the latter are. While the Diyanet has remained in line with the state ideology to make and see the nation as a monolithic body, the contradictory facts repelled the state, which is gradually coming to recognise social subunits, as well as the Diyanet, which has not had the ability to permeate into individual

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religiosities, despite its power in almost all the nation’s mosques. As Turkey’s political propensity towards singularity is being shaken and the state is gradually impelled towards post-modern plurality-conscious policies, the Diyanet is also motivated to revise its social role. Resisting communal demands and diversity would cost the state as well as the Diyanet a great deal of influence. On the other hand, radically re-shaping the Diyanet’s departmental structure according to the plural realities of society would break it apart. One of the major tasks awaiting the Diyanet in years to come, again along with the state, is to find a sustainable middle way between unity and diversity. Doing so necessitates a double transformation of its mentality: first, a reorientation towards society along with the whole body of the state; second, exchanging its authoritative privileges with the role of a moderator. Both changes are to close the gap between state and society. At this point, one revision ought to be made. Even though this study had initially presumed that the Diyanet strives to maintain an equilibrium between three evenly important sources of law, namely, state, society and religion, the state comes into prominence as the chief generator of advantages and disadvantages for the Diyanet. The Diyanet’s governmental positioning grants it some immunity from the competitions of civil religious organisations, but also displaces it from the large fields of vernacular religiosity. Being official allows the Diyanet to speak as a scholarly authority, but this often takes a drier and more stilted form of communication that curbs its effect. It is still not possible to say whether state, religion or society is more powerful than the other two. Their natural harmony, their connectivity, clearly generates the highest power and benefits all. The state may hold imminent potentials and enforcement mechanisms, but religion relies upon a universal and long-standing constant that outpaced hundreds of states and regimes in the course of history across the Muslim world. Hence, the state’s plan to control religion is a confession of its weakness before it. The Turkish state had to take such a route while it was merely a project in the making, not an achieved state of being. By the same token, the claims that Islam is merely being controlled in Turkey by means of the Diyanet should be refuted because it is also being acknowledged and supported. The Turkish state has paid for its early over-laicist inclinations. It is the fluctuations in the state’s policies and laicism-related implementations that make the present outcome look peculiar. Non-Diyanet state actors also have swung between attacking and exalting Islam, yet the Diyanet has survived throughout. The Diyanet’s adjustment abilities have granted it superior and inferior images from the perspectives of state and society. The image problem the Diyanet faces today for residing in an inconsistent state is an enormous

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one and cannot be resolved unless a realistic, objective and profound assessment of Turkish religiosity is made and reflected in the state’s secular profile. Laicism should be a means to set a theoretical formulation to moderate the country’s evolving religiosity. It is not needed to reveal how people practise or feel about religion, rather how they want to be treated by the state on religious matters. Without undergoing a transformation from doctrineoriented laicism to people-oriented laicism, Turkey has no prospect of settling the debates, nor can the Diyanet polish its public image, thus its influence and success. Who is going to facilitate this transformation? The black-letter lawyers are protectors and loyal practitioners of an undulating laicism whose objectives are discernable by now, but whose means have not always been agreeable in democratic standards. The political parties are banner-bearers of ideologies, each of them downplaying its rivals. Their partiality does not allow them to lead consensus campaigns. As for the Diyanet, it may potentially feel eligible to assume some responsibility in clarifying the country’s laic perspective through a pioneering, rather than manipulated and apologetic, role. This aspect is not found in the Diyanet’s current vision. Again, it is the Diyanet which should be fine-tuning and describing everyday laicism in Turkey, not the military or the judiciary; unless an armed counter-revolution or a relevant legal case is launched extraordinarily. The Diyanet Act promulgated in 2010 could have held some promise towards this direction but there are reasons for not being so optimistic. Firstly, the Diyanet’s positivism is not restricted to its subjugation to state positivism; it is also coloured by religious positivism. Diyanet officers are scholars of religion engaged more in texts than in plain everyday facts outside a limited scope. Their pursuit for authenticity leads them to a smallcircle conventionalism that overlaps with only a part of the populace. The Diyanet forms a particular sphere of religiosity in an otherwise diversely religious society. Can it develop a ‘secular’ discourse? Can it be metareligious? These crucial questions are not asked by the Diyanet due to excessive traditionalism in scholarship, which is irrelevant or trivial to the huge bulk of the population. Presently, Diyanet’s habituated approach to issues from within the developed Islamic tradition negates the core Islamic claim that it is a holistic religion that can be situation-specific and can speak to any member of society in ways they can relate to. Traditional Islamic scholarship was entrenched in a traditional Muslim society, which modern Turkey does not host. Modern society necessitates unique ways of communicating about religion, sometimes without explicit reference to it. The Diyanet’s ability to show non-patronising and non-manipulative empathy for irreligious people is constantly tested in

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modern Turkey. Its inadequacy in this respect is not negligible. This book has consistently highlighted that Islam and secularism are strongly interwoven in Turkey. Attempts to create two separate universes do not help but result in legal and cognitive crises between state and people. This is normalised to a large extent, and, from a more pessimistic perspective, the Diyanet would seem like an agent of maladaptation. A second and joint reason for doubting the Diyanet’s prospect to open itself up to the entire nation is its dualistic nature and tacit positioning on one side of the argument. The old division of sciences in Ottoman medreses as of revelation (nakil) and reason (akıl) seems to endure in a different format. The Diyanet insists that Islamic scholarship could attune to a secular regime, but they are not equally able to defend the state’s laicism in a common-sense form. Hence, it becomes largely responsive, whereas there is a potential for activism. The requirement of such activism is that the Diyanet has to abandon its vocational conservatism, become more interdisciplinary and consider factors and facts outside the perceived orthodoxy. The fact that the Diyanet’s operational image goes back and forth between two understandings of the role of religion – that religion is a part and the whole of life at the same time – makes Islam appear institutionally under and paradigmatically above the state. The Diyanet, likewise, seems to be under the state’s pressures on the one hand, and on top of that as a blemish on laic ideals. As a result, its public image is tainted on both religious and laic grounds. The Diyanet’s national discourse has already been moving from a doctrineoriented reading of people to a people-oriented reading of doctrine. This change, thanks to laicism, from religious legalism to morality is not unfortunately maintained at lower levels of practice, or even in subunits of the very same headquarters. Legalism quickly returns to dominate religion. The ultimate relationship between Islamic religion and law stands in front of Diyanet staff as a huge unresolved enigma. Again, the human factor comes in, and the culture of most Diyanet personnel dictates that contested phenomena have to be interpreted in terms of their legal value. However, there must be an ethical convergence between religion and secularism. There must be a supreme communicative setting in which pro-religious and secularist people can work towards the same ends by feeling truly religious and secular, respectively. The appeasement mentality disturbs the appeasers, be they religious or secular, and bears no fruits in the end. Hence, the current balanced outcome represented by the Diyanet is an opportunity to deepen the positive and sincere sentiments about co-existence.

NOTES

Introduction

Turkey: Confusing and Confused

1. Diyanet I˙s¸leri Bas¸kanlıg˘ı, in Turkish. Alternative translations such as the Directorate of Religious Affairs and the Religious Affairs Department/Chairmanship are also in rare use. 2. As of 31 December 2015 (DI˙B, 2016a). Also as of 31 December 2015, there were 86,762 mosques and 17,560 (15,611 active) Qur’an schools across the country (DI˙B, 2016a). 3. A budget of approximately 6.5 billion Turkish liras was allocated for the Diyanet in 2016, which is larger than the budget of many ministries including those of internal affairs, foreign affairs, health, science and industry, environment and urbanisation, culture and tourism, economy, energy, development, customs and trade, and the European Union. 4. Interestingly, this triangular model coincides with the former Diyanet President Bardakog˘lu’s (2006: 12) representation of the Diyanet. 5. Santos (1987: 288) introduces interlegality as such: ‘. . . socio-legal life is constituted by different legal spaces operating simultaneously on different scales and from different interpretive standpoints. So much is this so that in phenomenological terms and as a result of interaction and intersection among legal spaces one cannot properly speak of law and legality but of interlaw and interlegality.’ 6. See bibliography for a diverse list of publications on Turkish secularism. 7. The term ‘interlegality’ can suitably be replaced by ‘internormativity’. The former is more in line with the semantic arguments of legal pluralism theories; whereas the latter may also be employed to broaden the communicative zone between pluralistic and positivistic approaches to the meanings and functions of ‘law’. 8. See Parla and Davison (2004: 14 and 118) for an attempt to distinguish between ‘secularism’ and ‘laicism’ in the Turkish context. 9. See Jan (1998) for Pakistan, Salim (2008) and Elson (2010) for Indonesia, and Ruedy (1998) for North Africa. For a more general discussion of secularism and Muslim life and thought, see Stauth and No¨kel (2005), Diab (2009) and Hashemi (2009). 10. Phar (2009) suggests that Malaysia, too, is in search of a super-structure of Islamic interpretation that does not allow specifics to downplay maqasid al-sharia, the higher objectives of Islamic law. 11. The term ‘cult’ is employed in a neutral sense of religious beliefs and rituals.

190

NOTES TO PAGES 16 – 42

Chapter 1 A General Interlegal Background 1. For Europeanisation aspirations and insertions to this end, see Renda and Kortepeter (1986). 2. U¨cok, Mumcu and Bozkurt (1996) start their histories by evaluating various sources, among which the Chinese ones take the lead. They examine the legal worlds of Hun, Go¨ktu¨rk (552 – 747) and Uyghur (745– 840) states through a strict public and private law division – an indication of modernist reading. 3. O¨zkan (2009) traces this particular myth, Ergenekon, back to ancient Chinese sources. Ergenekon was also claimed to be the name of an underground military-dominated society planning a coup d’e´tat against the currently ruling post-Islamist JDP (U¨nver, 2009). 4. The Nine Principles (Dokuz Umde), accepted in early 1923 and considered to be the basis of the Republican Party (Smith, 1959; Zu¨rcher, 2004: 195), had no reference whatsoever to religion. Today, laicism still seems to be the most sensitive issue for the party. 5. Fortna (2002) produces counterexamples, but from the very final decades of the Empire. 6. The ruling JDP has at first tried to pioneer both modernist and traditionalist worldviews but has been raising its traditionalist voice for some time as it gains confidence after a series of electoral victories. 7. One should note that the Kurdish unease with the new Republic was not only due to ethnicity alone. The Sheikh Said Revolt of 1925 was a Kurdish movement based on Islamic motives (see Kalafat, 1992; Ug˘urlu, 2006). 8. The word ‘Kemalizm’ is often avoided in the official platforms in Turkey, though in English it is the one that is generally used in lieu of both terms. 9. This indeed was the case until quite recently, when Ergenekon and Balyoz investigations about secret military aims and organisations began to impair and reverse the military’s political influence. Under the JDP rule, the military adapted to its new reflexive role dayby-day, despite its deep-rooted habits of political activism. An outburst of activisim took place on 15 July 2016 in the form of a coup attempt that quickly failed and weakened the military even more. 10. Recent statistical data showing religious affiliations is not available. The one given here should not be taken at face value, as ‘Islam’ is by default typed on national identity cards, unless stated otherwise. Denominational and philosophical varieties within Islam would not be reflected on them. 11. For an introduction to minority groups and rights in Turkey, see MRG (2007) and Bayir (2010). 12. Bozgeyik (1993) positions Nursi and Atatu¨rk against each other. Kuru and Kuru (2008) claim that the Islamic interpretation of Nursi is faith-based and apolitical. Kuru (2009), furthermore, portrays Atatu¨rk’s creation of Turkish laicism as simply being assertive. Both observations are one-dimensional and accurate only in limited scopes, thus bound to produce divergent results if extended along other dimensions. 13. Controversies around Gu¨len as a global actor have spread into the US, too. The Gu¨lenrelated literature is predominantly divided into two chunks: those promoting his legacy [e.g. Carroll (2007), Hunt and Aslandogan (2007), Kalyoncu (2008), Ergene (2008), Sevindi and Abu-Rabi (2008), Maimul Ahsan (2010)] and those dismissing him as a dangerous cult leader in disguise [e.g. Sharon-Krespin (2009), Mizell (2010)]. 14. For example, the aforementioned I˙skenderpas¸a group historically stems from the same Naks¸bendi root as Menzilciler and I˙smailag˘a. 15. See Uzunc ars¸ılı (1965) for an account of Ottoman ilmiye. 16. The question of ijtihad (independent legal exertion) unsurprisingly occupied notable space in the scholarly debates during and about the Ottoman Empire. See Gerber (1999) and Vikor (2005).

NOTES TO PAGES 44 –72

191

17. McDowall’s (2000) claim that ‘Kurd’ in earlier times referred to a socio-economic group rather than a race, which could be of Semitic origin, is farfetched. Morony (1984) claims that Kurds are a non-Persian yet Iranian people. Donzel (1994), among others, agrees with this view. 18. A Diyanet officer commented thus, during one of my visits to the department’s centre in Ankara: ‘The majority of the Diyanet employees are children of poor villagers [ fakir ko¨ylu¨ ocug c ˘ u ]. As Imam Ali said, one cannot expect great intellectual or professional achievements from those whose main concern has had to be about finances.’ 19. One of the most noteworthy projects to that end was schooling at the ‘village institutes’ from 1937 to 1946. See Yalc ın and Kamacıog˘lu (2009).

Chapter 2

Introducing the Diyanet: Structure, Discourse and Criticisms

1. The first five publications consisted of Lessons in Morality (Akseki, 1924); Religious Lessons for the Soldier (Akseki, 1925); Friday Sermons in Turkish (DI˙B, 1927); Translation of Sahih al-Bukhari, an authoritative collection of prophetic traditions (Babanzade, 1928); and The Religion of Truth – The Language of the Qur’an, a Turkish translation and commentary of the Qur’an (Yazır, 1938). 2. The Act 6002 explicitly declares the existence of a state ministry in between as optional. The Diyanet president’s status is now akin to that of an undersecretary. It also raised the status of several department chairmanships (Daire Bas¸kanlıg˘ı) to general directorate (Genel Mu¨du¨rlu¨k). This is another significant bureaucratic change that implies promotion for the Diyanet. The office of prime ministry will be abolished in 2019 according to the results of constitutional referendum that took place on 16 April 2017. The Act 6002 of 2010 explicitly declares the existence of a state ministry above the Diyanet as optional. It also raised the status of several department chairmanships (Daire Bas¸kanlıg˘ı) to general directorate (Genel Mu¨du¨rlu¨k). Recently there are such significant changes that imply promotion for the Diyanet. The Diyanet President’s current bureaucratic status is higher than an undersecretary. He is ranked tenth in the state protocol, positioned just after the heads of higher judiciary organs and before state ministers. 3. By realist-altruism, a general behaviour of relinquishing particularistic struggle due to having more comprehensive considerations is meant. Such a relinquishment is necessitated by realism, thus may or may not be based on goodwill. For this reason, the Diyanet solution of Turkey can well be one of realist altruism. 4. I was unable to find any direct ideological reference to the Diyanet by Atatu¨rk, a prolific aphorist otherwise. His silence on the subject must be a meaningful one. His positive testimonies about the Prophet and Islam are well-documented; so are his criticisms against certain aspects of Muslim culture. See Gu¨rtas¸ (1983), Perinc ek (1999), Sarıkoyuncu (2002), Filiz (2008), and Kılıc (2009). 5. These views are later elaborated upon in Bardakog˘lu (2010). 6. She later published a revised version under Go¨zaydın (2009b). 7. Numerous works have been produced on the subject since then, such as Shindeldecker (1998), Clarke (1999), Shankland (2003), White and Jongerden (2003), Erdemir (2004) and Markussen (2005). 8. From this angle, the state’s service to the Alevis and other minorities may indeed be lying in its very restriction of the Diyanet. 9. Arguments such as this may be reflecting specific timeframes, thus outdated and inaccurate for other periods. They are, nonetheless, retained to shed light on the evolution of the department.

192

NOTES TO PAGES 82 –135

Chapter 3 The State’s Management of Religion 1. The Constitutional Court website contains a database of cases. See http://www.anayasa.gov.tr/ 2. In response to such accusations, former President Bardakog˘lu said: ‘Not everybody uses public transport, but everybody’s tax is spent on it, too’ (C¸akır and Bozan, 2005). 3. On an interesting note, the Diyanet Act 633 of 1965 was prepared during Mehmet Tevfik Gerc eker’s presidency of the department, who was an expert on both classical Islamic and modern secular laws and had happened to be the first Deputy Chief Justice of the Constitutional Court in 1962. This is evidence of the Diyanet’s reception among the rest of the state departments. 4. This allegation is not unjustified. The Diyanet has made some progress to be more inclusive, for example, it has recently published a Jafari catechism book (Keskin, 2010). 5. An example can be presented from the C¸anakkale province. The mosque opened in an Alevi village in early 2007 by the Diyanet President Bardakog˘lu has had no attendance since then. The villagers report that they were not consulted before the construction and would have preferred to have a cemevi (Alevi community house) instead of a mosque (Haberler, 2010). ¨ ru¨cu¨ (2003) for more detail on the dissolution of political parties in 6. See Koc ak and O Turkey. 7. Article 143 of the 2002 Civil Code permits religious marriage only after formal, registered marriage and does not accord it any legal bearing. 8. I have not received any response to my inquiries. The officers are required by law to respond in some form and explain the reasons of failure or rejection when they cannot provide the requested information.

Chapter 4

The Diyanet’s Interpretation of Islam

1. The Diyanet is a typical occurrence in a sense. In another, it is unique because now it is ‘a secular’ state which is at stake. 2. See Hallaq (1983) for discussions about the closing of the gates of ijtihad. 3. For Greece, see Bahcheli (1987: 115– 16); for an Egyptian example, see Pink (2003). 4. Regular attendance at mosques does not surpass 3 per cent of local populations nationwide (DI˙B, 2008c: 51). 5. As of 17 December 2010, the number of questions received in 2010 is 237,822. This website was later replaced by fetva.diyanet.gov.tr which is not not active as of December 2016. The statistical data is not as accessible as before under the current administration of the Diyanet. 6. Ramadan (2005: 72– 7) proposes a revisit to this categorisation. 7. Accordingly, inheritance between family members living in opposite types of lands, hence under Islamic vis-a`-vis non-Islamic regimes, could be disallowed by Islamic law. 8. The state unswervingly encourages the public to register marriages officially. This policy is also supported by the ECtHR. See S¸erife Yig˘it v Turkey (App. No. 3976/05; ECHR, 2010). 9. When Prime Minister Erdog˘an suggested that the Diyanet must be consulted about the headscarf ban, Bardakog˘lu replied: ‘The Diyanet already clarified the religious status of the headscarf. The rest is the politicians’ task. Our further involvement would breach laicism’ (Radikal, 2010). In the years to follow, the headscarf ban has been gradually lifted at almost all state institutions. Currently not only students but also state officers including policewomen, university professors and members of the judiciary can freely wear a headscarf.

NOTES TO PAGES 141 –175

Chapter 5

193

The Diyanet and Society

1. See Shankland (1999: 132– 68) for a successful account of the Alevi emergence in Turkey. 2. Alevis mainly are of Turkic and Kurdish origin. Pitman (1988: 126) also notes the existence of a relatively small number of Arab Alevis. 3. Only recently, there are some moves towards appreciating this simple wisdom, such as the recruitment of the Kurds’ local religious scholars (mele or molla) in the Diyanet. 4. See C¸akır (1991: 12) for a similar classification. 5. A natural lawyer could call this an appeal to Aquinian lex divina to fortify lex humana. 6. Some of those schools, such as Ankara, Istanbul and Marmara universities’ divinity schools, broaden their scope by non-conventional curricula. Programmes taught in English, international degrees, and student exchange opportunities are becoming more common. 7. There are now cyber muftis as even national boundaries are turning more porous when it comes to communication. See Kort (2005). 8. DI˙TI˙B (Turkish-Islamic Union for Religious Affairs) should be noted here as the Diyanet’s German-adapted federation of mosque associations. 9. Such developments may be correlated to emerging business links as well. See Togan (2010).

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INDEX

Alawi, 36 Alevi, 36, 44, 48, 54, 61, 66–8, 73, 75, 82, 87, 89, 122, 137, 141–6, 172, 173, 191–3 Arab, 17, 20, 22, 36, 45, 55, 56, 94, 115, 129, 159, 174, 175, 193 Arabic, 20, 36, 94, 128, 145, 164, 165, 170, 174 Armenian, 35, 45, 139 Atatu¨rk, Mustafa Kemal, 11, 19, 20, 22, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 38, 40, 45, 50, 58, 60, 67, 69, 71, 73, 74, 81, 82, 86, 98, 128, 134, 142, 147, 151, 152, 153, 154, 159, 165, 190, 191

Erbakan, Necmettin, 34, 37, 38, 88, 148, 156 Erdog˘an, Recep Tayyip, 38, 90, 95, 157, 161, 192 European Convention on Human Rights, 66, 75, 86, 87 European Court of Human Rights, 75, 81, 86, 192 European Union, 9, 25, 29, 34, 62, 74, 91, 104, 109, 136, 171, 173, 189

Bardakog˘lu, Ali, 5, 57, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63, 73, 103, 112, 114, 116, 134, 189, 191, 192 Bo¨rekc i, Rıfat, 50, 151

Go¨kalp, Ziya, 15, 62 Greek, 35, 45, 124, 138, 139 Gu¨len, Fethullah, 38, 39, 176

Caliphate, 1, 16, 20, 22, 40, 49, 86, 90, 120, 129, 138, 143, 174 catechism, 54, 92, 112, 113, 120, 131, 143, 192 Constitution, 1, 2, 7, 12, 23, 24, 27, 28, 29, 33, 34, 36, 40, 43, 51, 52, 53, 54, 65, 67, 79 –100, 107, 126, 134, 156, 157, 172, 181, 191, 192 Constitutional Court, 12, 79, 80, 81, 82, 87, 88, 90, 93, 96, 99, 100, 134, 157, 192 Cos¸an, Esad, 37 coup, 1, 19, 24, 25, 27, 33, 34, 39, 52, 53, 54, 56, 85, 87, 133, 148, 151, 153, 175, 190 Democrat Party, 52

fetva (fatwa), 50, 54, 62, 70, 96, 122, 123, 134, 135, 155, 156, 160, 192

Hanafi, 42, 44, 54, 87, 89, 120, 122, 130, 131, 137, 144– 6 Hanafism, 144 headscarf, 61, 86, 93, 134, 158, 160, 192 ijtihad, 61, 93, 121, 135, 190, 192 I˙mam-Hatip, 42, 43, 74, 158 interlegality, 4, 8, 10, 11, 50, 55, 183, 189 Iran, 17, 22, 36, 40, 44, 54, 143, 174, 175, 191 Islamism, 20, 22, 24, 27, 175, 181 Islamo-secular, 2, 183 Jafari, 36, 143, 192 Jew, 16, 24, 35, 36, 137, 139, 173 Judaism, 35, 114

224

SECULARISM AND STATE RELIGION IN MODERN TURKEY

Justice and Development Party (JDP), 11, 25, 34, 38, 39, 43, 47, 54, 58, 72, 88, 140, 148, 151, 157, 190 kanun, 80, 81, 90, 115, 119 Kemalism, 21, 22, 24, 29, 32 –4, 39 kurban, 95, 131, 167 Kurdish, 9, 24, 25, 30, 34, 36, 38, 44, 68, 88, 93, 122, 130, 132, 137, 141– 6, 190, 193 Kurdistan, 44, 144 laicism, 8, 11, 12, 23, 25, 28, 32, 33, 51, 52, 53, 56, 64 – 104, 132, 134, 142, 144, 152–7, 172– 5, 180– 92 legal mentality, 35, 91, 123 legal pluralism, 4, 5, 6, 125, 126, 129, 132, 189 legal positivism, 3, 4, 6, 8, 79, 165, 180 liberalism, 135, 153, 154, 160, 183 Mecelle, 26, 115 medrese, 41, 42, 49, 93, 97, 121, 145, 158, 165, 187 Menski, Werner, 3, 18, 73, 125, 138, 163 Naqshbandi, 22, 37, 40, 147, 148, 190 National Assembly, 1, 49, 81 Nevruz, 129, 130, 162 Nursi, Said, 38

pilgrimage, 56, 73, 94, 104, 105, 131, 166, 167, 174 PKK (Kurdistan Workers Party), 144, 145 Political Parties Act, 2, 86, 88, 90, 91 prayer, 36, 40, 51, 55, 57, 58, 64, 67, 74, 91, 96, 98, 100, 101, 106, 122, 128– 31, 134, 143, 159, 162– 9 religious authority, 49, 50, 55, 56, 65, 118, 122, 123, 132, 135, 159 Republican People’s Party, 19, 22, 36, 47, 190 S¸eyhu¨lislam, 41, 49, 62, 119, 135 Shafii, 44, 54, 93, 122, 131, 137, 141, 144, 146 Sharia, 21, 64, 65, 82, 90, 116, 129, 152, 189 Shia/Shiite, 36, 118, 120, 123, 143, 174 Sufi, 35, 37, 40, 107, 118, 137, 142, 147, 148 Su¨leymancı, 39 Tanzimat, 18, 26, 27, 42 Turkish identity, 15, 16, 19, 20, 21, 24, 28, 29, 58, 105 Turkish nationalism, 19 – 24, 27, 28, 31 Turkish secularism, 1, 23, 24, 87, 89, 127, 173, 189 Turkism, 15, 20, 21, 24

Ottoman Empire, 2, 15, 22, 25, 27, 45, 49, 60, 83, 93, 119, 121, 138, 157, 190 Ottomanism, 20 O¨zal, Turgut, 37, 140, 148, 161, 176

ulema, 22, 41, 60, 62, 69, 117, 118, 182 umma, 117, 176

Patriarchate, 35, 138, 139

Yezidi, 36

Westernisation, 22, 29 – 37, 64, 180