Following recent developments, the concept of “state reason” (devlet aklı), once again brought to the fore by Mümtaz’er Türköne, has reignited debate. The question of whether Turkey still possesses a functioning state intellect—or whether it ever did—remains contentious. Let me begin with this: even a madman has some form of reasoning. Clearly, there is a kind of mind behind everything unfolding in Turkey today, and it is a fact that this mind has taken control of the state apparatus. But what kind of mind is this? Those who read this article carefully will find the answer.
In the Ottoman Empire, the character of the relationship between religion and politics is best captured by the phrase hikmet-i hükümet—a Turkish rendering of Machiavelli’s raison d’État, meaning “reason of state.” It refers to the rationale presumed to operate independently even of the sultan himself, and which defines the state’s purpose for existing. According to this logic, the mission of the Ottoman government was to preserve and spread Islam. For this to be achieved, the state was essential. The state existed, in a sense, to serve religion. Yet the logic subtly prioritized the state, for without the state, religion too would not endure. Thus, the state was always positioned one step ahead.
In this framework, religion and state in the Ottoman model were like twin brothers. But the state, as the elder sibling born just moments earlier, assumed the role of protector. As such, it took upon itself the duty of guarding its younger brother, religion, along with its laws and moral code. This doctrine of hikmet-i hükümet did not result in a dualistic division between religion and state, but rather forged a unified conception: religion and state as an inseparable blend.
If we take this historical framework as a basis, then the forces that shaped Ottoman state reason must have been Islam and the Qur’an. Was the Ottoman state intellect truly Qur’an-based? I cannot wholeheartedly say yes—but neither can I say that it was devoid of the Qur’an. After all, evaluating a six-century empire through a single lens is nearly impossible.
States, like individuals, have multiple faculties. Just as a person is composed of body and soul, so too are states built on both material and spiritual structures. The soul is the law of the body; when it departs, the body begins to decay. No doctor has ever succeeded in restoring a soul once it has left. Likewise, society is the body, and the state is the law that gives it life. Just as the human body can function only through the program of the soul, the state can only function through a legal and constitutional program. This program manifests itself through the constitution and laws. The state materializes through constitutional institutions.
Human beings have three fundamental faculties: intellect (‘aql), desire (shahwa), and anger (ghadab). Each of these faculties can be expressed in excess (ifrat), in deficiency (tafrīt), or in balance (wasat). When balance is achieved, justice is realized—what in Islamic ethics is referred to as ṣirāṭ al-mustaqīm, the straight path.
Corresponding to these three faculties in the human being, the state too has three constitutional branches. The legislative branch—the parliament—represents reason. The executive branch—government—represents desire. The judiciary—independent courts—represents anger.
It is the role of the intellect (i.e., parliament) to define the limits of desire and anger, ensuring that neither overreaches nor underperforms. But the intellect itself also requires a higher intellect—a Universal Intellect—to guide it toward balance. In the Islamic worldview, that higher intellect is the Qur’an. If it is not the Qur’an, then it becomes a political ideology: a liberal parliament produces liberal reason, a socialist one, socialist reason. A Muslim parliament should be expected to function with Qur’anic reasoning. The intellectual foundation that nourishes reason also defines the character of state reason.
Parliament fails by deficiency when it ceases to legislate—when it remains indifferent to the changing times and conditions, and refuses to make appropriate rulings. This vacuum is then filled arbitrarily by other forces, creating a breeding ground for excess and shamelessness. Parliament fails by excess when it produces overly harsh laws—ones so rigid they criminalize even the innocent—thus paving the way for government abuse.
Justice is found in balance—in wise and prudent legislation. If God wills goodness for a people, He grants them a parliament capable of making wise laws.
The executive branch, which corresponds to desire (shahwa), is like a passionate yet honorable woman who gives birth to good deeds. When it fails by deficiency, it loses interest in the public good, leading to stagnation across all sectors. Officials become obsessed with gratifying their own desires. Education, finance, administration, and military affairs all suffer. The state loses its dignity.
Excess in the executive is just as dangerous. The government consolidates all power and imposes its will on every domain. In this state of tyranny, it violates the dignity and rights of the people. This leads to ṭughyān—arrogant transgression. The executive becomes a false god unto itself. All other institutions are subordinated to the executive’s desires. Reason and justice become its tools, merely serving its indulgence. The state begins to collapse.
Balance in the executive is chastity—acting within the bounds of law and honor. When this is achieved, the nation gives birth to legitimate, rightful offspring—citizens and policies that move the country forward.
Anger (ghadab), as a state faculty, is represented by the judiciary. Courts are the nation’s mechanism of righteous wrath. When the judiciary fails by deficiency, it becomes cowardly. Judges behave like anxious men, making decisions based on personal interest. Some are bribed, others act out of fear. They fail to apply the law, and criminals walk free. Petty crime spreads unchecked.
Excess in the judiciary manifests as fury—a state where judges fear no one and recognize no law. This leads to despotism and cruelty. The result is an increase in terror and chaos. The balanced state of the judiciary is courage—the willingness to sacrifice for truth, yet never at the expense of even a single innocent life.
In summary, justice is when parliament determines right from wrong, the government channels energy toward what is good, and the judiciary prevents wrongdoing. Justice produces goodness. And goodness results in a state that provides for its citizens as a moral obligation. Without justice, shamelessness and depravity set in. These then spread through society, and ultimately lead to baghy—armed rebellion and terror.
Just as justice prevents terrorism, terrorism flourishes wherever justice is absent. Issues like liberty, equality, and fundamental rights are directly tied to justice. Where justice is firmly established, these issues are resolved by default.
So yes, there is indeed a state reason in Turkey today. The real question is: what is nourishing that reason? And what kind of reason is it?
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