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Written Evidence and Its Probative Value in Islamic Law: Forgery Cases in Eighteenth-Century Ottoman Court Records

Published online by Cambridge University Press:  08 October 2026

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Ali Ekber Cinar*
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McGill University Faculty of Law , Canada
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ali.cinar@mail.mcgill.ca
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Abstract

The question of the probative value of written evidence in Islamic law has been a long-standing discussion. Muslim jurists have historically been skeptical of recognizing writing as a form of proof, which was well illustrated in doctrinal books penned in premodern Islamic legal history. While previous studies have explored this skepticism or argued for a different approach, many of them lack evidence from actual legal practice. In this article, I provide a fresh perspective on the evidentiary value of written evidence in Islamic law by examining Ottoman court records from the eighteenth century. Instead of focusing on theoretical discussions, I examine how courts and central administration responded to cases of forgery. I argue that the Ottoman legal system was indifferent to forgery of documents, unless committed by state officials, for, in alignment with the doctrinal skepticism toward writing in Islamic law, they did not attribute any evidentiary value to documents. Thus, I conclude that the Ottoman legal practice closely reflected the reluctance of Muslim jurists to recognize the probative value of written evidence in the eighteenth century, showcasing the harmony between the theory and application of Islamic law.

Keywords

Islamic lawwritten evidenceforgerydocumentsevidence lawOttoman court recordseighteenth century

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Type
Research Article
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Journal of Law and Religion , Volume 40 , Issue 3 , September 2025 , pp. 360 - 374
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This is an Open Access article, distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution licence (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0), which permits unrestricted re-use, distribution and reproduction, provided the original article is properly cited.
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© The Author(s), 2026. Published by Cambridge University Press on behalf of Center for the Study of Law and Religion at Emory University

The value of writing has long been a topic of discussion in Islamic legal historiography. Although the primary sources contain isolated references,Footnote 1 the discussion has predominantly revolved around the perspectives of Muslim jurists, who have often displayed a reluctance toward writing. For instance, Timur Kuran noted a skeptical attitude toward documents among jurists.Footnote 2 This observation is supported by legal texts from the Ḥanafī school of law, which indicate that Ḥanafī jurists regarded writing with suspicion and expressed strong reservations about its use as evidence. According to al-Sarakhsī (d. 1090), the purpose of writing was to aid memory. However, writing and seals could look alike and were susceptible to forgery.Footnote 3 Similarly, al-Kāsānī (d. 1191) stated that due to the reasons outlined by al-Sarakhsī, one should not rely on writing and seals, and he saw no difference between their existence and nonexistence.Footnote 4 Al-Zaylaʿī (d. 1343) agreed and expressed similar concerns about their reliability.Footnote 5 In the same vein, Ottoman jurist Mollā Khusraw (d. 1480) held that writing, even the records kept by a judge, could not serve as evidence unless it was clearly remembered by the person who had written it down.Footnote 6

Muslim jurists’ reluctance to ascribe probative value to documents was, however, not absolute. An exception to this reluctance arose in the context of kitāb al-qāḍī, written communications between judges in different locations. Al-Bābartī (d. 1384)Footnote 7 and al-ʿAynī (d. 1451)Footnote 8 explained that because the writing of two different individuals could look alike, a document may be forged, and thus, legal reasoning (qiyās) would suggest that kitāb al-qāḍī should not be accorded probative value.Footnote 9 Nevertheless, ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib (d. 661) permitted its use for evidentiary purposes, a permission on which Muslim jurists later reached a consensus (ijmāʿ).Footnote 10 In this regard, Wael B. Hallaq demonstrated in his study on kitāb al-qāḍī that despite the traditional requirement of two witnesses for validity in classical Sunni schools, the Mālikī legal doctrine on kitāb al-qāḍī evolved in response to practical realities. From the eleventh century onward, jurists began accepting documents authenticated solely by the judge’s handwriting, driven by the imperative of overcoming geographical barriers to ensure justice.Footnote 11 Another exception concerning the use of writing in Islamic legal practice relates to kitāb al-maḥāḍir wa-l-sijillāt, which dealt with the recording of court proceedings and judicial decisions.Footnote 12 Unlike written documents submitted as evidence, these records served primarily an archival and administrative function, preserving court proceedings and the judgments issued by judges.Footnote 13 While records of court proceedings (maḥāḍir) and judicial registers (sijillāt) demonstrate the importance of writing for record-keeping in Islamic courts, they do not directly address the evidentiary value of written documents, as their function differed from that of documents presented as evidence.

Reflecting the discussion on the value of writing, the probative value of written evidence in premodern Islamic law has been a subject of debate in the literature for many years.Footnote 14 Initially, scholars consistently emphasized the probative value of written evidence in Islamic legal practice, notwithstanding minor disagreements regarding their historical claims. For example, as early as 1945, Émile Tyan argued that despite the initial reluctance of early Muslim jurists to recognize the evidential value of documents, later jurists accepted them as valid evidence.Footnote 15 In 1964, Joseph Schacht contextualized the issue within the broader divergence between theory and practice in Islamic law, highlighting the indispensability of written documents in practice despite their neglect in legal doctrine. He argued that while “[w]ritten documents … proved so indispensable in practice that … they remained in constant use,” legal doctrine neglected their value as evidence. This incongruity, according to Schacht, demonstrates that Islamic law diverged from both the Quran and legal practice starting from the early period.Footnote 16 In his 1970 study of the Cairo Geniza, Abraham Udovitch concluded that “documents were considered to have evidential force” in legal practice from the time of the Prophet.Footnote 17As the twentieth century drew to a close, the discussion regarding the probative value of written evidence became more refined and acquired a more nuanced perspective. In 1997, Baber Johansen posited that the value of documents as evidence varied by region and over time and was contingent on the nature of the document. Ḥanafīs, for instance, considered court registers fully probative and recognized them as a valid form of evidence.Footnote 18 Johansen’s claim was shared to a great extent by Muharrem Kılıç later.Footnote 19 More recently, however, Christian Müller asserted that Islamic law “showed great reluctance to acknowledge written evidence,” and, doctrinally, written evidence could not obtain legal status.Footnote 20 On the other hand, Müller also noted that records kept by judges later became recognized as a valid form of evidence, marking a departure from earlier reluctance to acknowledge the probative value of written evidence in Islamic law.Footnote 21

The question of the probative value of written evidence has also been debated in the context of Ottoman legal history. While the majority of studies on Islamic legal theory have asserted the probative value of written evidence, as I have shown above, accounts of Ottoman legal history tend to present a different perspective. Timur Kuran, for instance, maintained that in seventeenth-century Istanbul, a written contract was rarely considered sufficient legal proof without live witnesses to corroborate its authenticity.Footnote 22 One of the most important insights was offered by Boğaç Ergene. After analyzing seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Ottoman court records, Ergene found that written evidence was infrequently used in the courts of Çankırı and Kastamonu, and when presented, documents were usually accompanied by other forms of evidence such as testimony.Footnote 23 He concluded, as a result, that documents “did not technically serve evidentiary purposes.”Footnote 24 This conclusion is reinforced by the study of Istanbul court records regarding debt assignment (ḥawāla), which I have examined elsewhere, where none of the fifty-six cases between the sixteenth and nineteenth centuries were substantiated by documents.Footnote 25

Amid these differing conclusions, the Ottoman legal system provides a valuable case for examining whether the theoretical reluctance of Muslim jurists to accept written evidence was reflected in legal practice. A systematic analysis based on Ottoman judicial practice, rather than theoretical discussions or specific cases where written documents were used as evidence, has the potential to provide fresh insights into the discussion on the probative value of written evidence in Islamic law. Examining the attitude of Ottoman courts toward forged documents can help answer a range of questions about how the Ottoman legal system viewed forgery and whether Ottoman courts relied on forged documents as evidence. For example, how did courts prosecute allegations of forgery? At what point, if ever, did courts intervene in cases of forgery? What actions were taken by the courts and central administration when an allegation of forgery was brought up before the court by one of the parties?

To address these questions, I examine court records from the eighteenth century, a period that falls relatively late within the Ottoman Empire’s lifespan (1299–1922) but still before the modernization of the nineteenth century—even before the nizâm-ı cedîd of Selim III (r. 1789–1807), the reforms of Mahmud II (r. 1808–1839), and the Edict of Gülhane (1839). By the eighteenth century, the Ottoman Empire had already intensified its adoption of the Ḥanafī school.Footnote 26 Consequently, its legal system mirrored Islamic legal theory without experiencing the extensive modernization witnessed in the nineteenth century, marked by the state’s growing legal authority and the adoption of European legal codes.Footnote 27 I believe, therefore, that the eighteenth century serves as a prime example for examining the practical application of Islamic legal theory in the Ottoman Empire prior to the onset of legal modernization. Specifically, I focus on Istanbul—the diverse and multicultural capital of the empire—and Diyarbakır (Amid)Footnote 28—a provincial town more than 1,000 kilometers away from the capital—as two cities with different economies, cultures, societies, and local customs. I utilize records from several courts in Istanbul (Bab Mahkemesi, Galata Mahkemesi, İstanbul Mahkemesi, Rumeli Sadâreti Mahkemesi, and Üsküdar Mahkemesi), records from the central administration in Diyarbakır (that is, ahkâm defteri, registers containing petitions sent to the central administration to report and seek help for problems as well as responses coming therefrom),Footnote 29 and one record from the Amid court. Therefore, my remarks are based on a total of seventeen records created between 1704 and 1793 from Istanbul and twenty records created between 1743 and 1768 from Diyarbakır. Given their documentary nature, the records from Istanbul illustrate the immediate response of courts to allegations of forgery, while evidence from Diyarbakır sheds light on the central administration’s reflection on such allegations.

Based on a detailed examination of these records, I find that the Ottoman legal practice was unconcerned about forgery, unless committed by state officials.Footnote 30 The records perspicuously demonstrate that as long as the perpetrators were not officials, no punishment was ever inflicted on any forger because of the forgery itself in eighteenth-century Istanbul and Diyarbakır. In most cases, forgers simply went unpunished; in the exceptional cases where they were punished, the punishment was meted out not because of the act of forgery itself, but because of the offender’s persistent harassment.Footnote 31 The nonchalance of the Ottoman courts toward forgeries evinces that they gave little to no evidentiary value to written documents, which is in line with and can be explained by the doctrinal skepticism toward written evidence espoused by early Muslim jurists.

Forged Documents in Ottoman Courts

Islamic criminal law classifies crimes into three principal categories: ḥadd, qiṣāṣ, and taʿzīr. Footnote 32 Ḥadd penalties encompass a limited set of offenses, including theft and intoxication. These penalties are prescribed and unalterable, leaving no room for interpretation or discretion by the authorities.Footnote 33 Qiṣāṣ, on the other hand, embodies the principle of retributive justice, specifically addressing cases of murder or bodily harm. It mandates proportional retaliation as a means of restoring balance and justice within society.Footnote 34 Finally, taʿzīr embodies discretionary punishment, wherein the state retains the authority to prescribe penalties for offenses not explicitly covered by ḥadd or qiṣāṣ, with forgery being an example. This discretionary power grants flexibility in addressing societal transgressions, with penalties subject to contextual and temporal considerations.Footnote 35 The Ottoman legal tradition mirrored this tripartite classification, underscoring the continuity of and adherence to Islamic legal principles within the empire.Footnote 36

A detailed examination of the records demonstrates that the Ottoman courts showed no concern about forgeries and took no action toward such allegations. Although numerous records from the eighteenth century explicitly document sentences to ḥadd, qiṣāṣ, and taʿzīr penalties, the records that I examined treat forgery not as a crime meriting punishment but rather with little to no concern.Footnote 37 The records reveal that the forgers were not held accountable and the punishment, if any, was not for the act of forgery itself but for the offender’s repeated criminal behavior.

Istanbul: The Response of Courts

The Istanbul court registers contain numerous records involving allegations of document forgery. The records encompass a wide variety of forged documents, ranging from judicial decrees to promissory notes, which demonstrates the diversity of document types involved.

The earliest record, which pertains to the settling of an estate, is from August 30, 1704. After the record was kept, subsequent examination revealed a falsification (tezvîr) related to the record. Although the specifics of the forgery and the fate of the forger remain unknown, an entry on the register indicates the cancellation procedure that was followed. Upon discovering the falsification, the sultan issued an imperial decree (fermân), presumably upon request. As per the decree, the court canceled the record, made an annotation on the register, and sealed it.Footnote 38

In a record dated September 21, 1709, two individuals, Fâtıma and Mustafa, made competing claims for trusteeship (tevliyet) of a pious endowment, waqf, founded by late Abdüsselam Bey, each submitting different copies of the waqf deed (vakfiye). After inspecting the deeds, the court ruled in favor of Fâtıma, handed the trusteeship over to her, and declared Mustafa’s deed to be forged (müzevver).Footnote 39 However, as far as the record indicates, no further action was taken against Mustafa, nor was the forgery investigated any further despite the court’s declaration that Mustafa’s deed was forged.

An interesting case from June 1, 1725, bears on Rohsandere’s harassment of Dimitraşko and his sibling who were living in the house they inherited from their mother. Rohsandere claimed that she owned the house, her husband had sold it to Dimitraşko’s mother, and she now wanted them to move out. Against her request, Dimitraşko and his sibling applied to the court and sought an imperial decree from the sultan, who in turn issued a decree ordering the Ecumenical Patriarch of Constantinople to inquire about the matter. The patriarch reported that Rohsandere’s claim was unfounded, and the sultan issued a second decree accordingly. Nevertheless, the decree did not make Rohsandere abandon her claim. This time, she submitted a document recording the deed of ownership and the contract of sale (hüccet), allegedly drawn up by the deputy judge of the Beşiktaş court, which stated that she owned the house and leased it to the mother of Dimitraşko and his sibling. Dimitraşko and his sibling again petitioned the court, this time challenging the authenticity of the document. Their petition gave rise to a third imperial decree and Rohsandere’s trial in Beşiktaş court. The court record indicates that the document presented by Rohsandere was forged and she was inflicted a corporal punishment in the court.Footnote 40 At this point, the question arises as to whether Rohsandere was punished because of her forgery or her repeated criminal behavior. In other words, would she be punished if she had not submitted insistent and harassing claims for the house? The answer lies in the question of whether forgers were punished when they did not go as far as to insist and harass in other records. The records elaborated below suggest that the punishment came to the fore in cases of insistence and irritation only, and Rohsandere’s punishment was most likely due not to her forgery but to her persistent harassment. Another salient aspect of this record is its explicit mention of punishment, which we do not notice in other records.

The record from June 21, 1726, is related to an imperial order written to the judge of Istanbul. Bakers in Gedik Paşa neighborhood submitted a petition, spelling out that when their Gedik Paşa bakery, where they were permitted to make bread, was damaged by fire, other bakeries, which were not permitted to make bread but other items such as a specific type of bun called çörek, were given temporary permission to do so until the Gedik Paşa bakery was repaired. However, the repair was delayed a few months because of the harsh winter conditions, and the other bakeries, not permitted to do so, took advantage of the opportunity. They carried on making bread even after the repair was completed and, although the court ordered them to stop, they obtained a court decision (i’lâm) “through fraud and forgery” and managed to have their status updated as permitted to make bread. The inspection carried out upon the request of Gedik Paşa bakers revealed that their claim was legitimate, and the sultan ordered that the other bakeries cease to make bread and the update in the register was canceled.Footnote 41

On March 30, 1742, Abdullah submitted a couple of temessüksFootnote 42 to the court, each of which acknowledged that Halil was indebted to Abdullah forty guruş and twenty-four guruş, respectively. The people whose names were recorded in the temessüks were present in the court. They asserted that Halil had paid an amount of twenty guruş ensuing from the first temessük and that the second temessük was forged and without seal. The court ruled that Halil should pay the remaining twenty-four guruş from the first temessük and that the second temessük was forged. The record concludes that the forged temessük was torn immediately on the spot.Footnote 43 However, there is no evidence that Abdullah was punished because of forgery despite the court’s clear ruling that the second temessük was forged.

In a curious case dating from March 22, 1758, Ahmed Esad, who was entrusted with the trusteeship of Gāzî Sinan Paşa Vakfı, filed a petition. In waqf records relating to Gāzî Sinan Paşa Vakfı, an addition was noticed. The addition consisted of a supplementary document in the name of es-Seyyid Mehmed, the deputy judge of Uzuncaâbâd-ı Hasköy (Haskovo in today’s Bulgaria), and declared a woman called Kerime to be the trustee of Gāzî Sinan Paşa Vakfı. Upon the petition, the sultan issued an imperial decree ordaining an inspection. The examination of the document revealed that Kerime went to the court of Uzuncaâbâd-ı Hasköy, asserted her claim to trusteeship, and secured testimony from a group of locals to substantiate her claim nine months before. After the examination, court officials interrogated Kerime. She expressed that she was not aware of the documents, had never been to Uzuncaâbâd-ı Hasköy, and did not have any claim to be asserted. They then visited the judge of Uzuncaâbâd-ı Hasköy, el-Hâc Halil Efendi, who made clear that he never appointed a deputy called es-Seyyid Mehmed over the previous two years. After that, the officials returned to the court and explained the situation. In addition, the seal in the document was compared with that of the current deputy, Bezirgânzâde Mehmed Efendi, which proved different. When asked, Bezirgânzâde Mehmed Efendi affirmed that the seal did not belong to him and that he produced no such document since he took up the post. It followed that the supplementary document was in fact forged, and the seal was fake. The court ruled that the addition in the waqf register be cancelled and Ahmed Esad serve as the trustee of Gāzî Sinan Paşa Vakfı.Footnote 44 Yet, although the court found out that the document was forged, the identity of the forger remained unknown. While we do not know what would have happened to the forger if identified, the conspicuous absence of efforts to unmask the perpetrator suggests a tacit acceptance that the forger would likely not have faced any consequences, a presumption also reinforced by the juxtaposition of this case with others. Similarly, it should be kept in mind that the court’s effort was not only determining the trustee but also correcting an inaccurate record in the waqf register.

On April 20, 1758, Osman Ağa applied to the court and submitted a temessük he had taken from the trustees of el-Hâc Ahmed Paşa Evkāfı, stating that he was to possess the tax-farm of Tomarza and its dependencies from March 1757 until February 1758. Mahmud Ağa, however, seized the land through a forged temessük he had and prevented Osman Ağa from taking its possession. After twenty days, Mahmud Ağa agreed to hand it over to Osman Ağa in exchange for 500 guruş. Now in possession of the land, Osman Ağa asked for his money back. Following Mahmud Ağa’s denial and Osman Ağa’s inability to provide evidence in support of his claim, the latter asked for an oath, which the former refused to take. As a result, the court ruled that Mahmud Ağa pay the 500 guruş that Osman Ağa claimed was wrongly obtained.Footnote 45 The court’s ruling, based on Mahmud Ağa’s refusal to take the oath,Footnote 46 betrays that it accepted Mahmud Ağa’s temessük, at least implicitly, to be forged. Nonetheless, the ruling was confined to an order to pay. This suggests that the court remained silent in the face of a forgery and did not prosecute the forger.

Two months later, on June 14, 1758, Velo sued Matatya for 205 guruş and 100 gold coins that he lent. Denying the claim, Matatya responded that Velo had asked him in the past to make a payment based on a forged temessük, they had settled the dispute for a payment of 30 guruş by Matatya, and they had discharged one another from any liability. After Matatya’s response was testified by three witnesses, the court rejected Velo’s claim, ordered him not to disturb Matatya again, and proclaimed that Velo shall be punished if he ever caused trouble.Footnote 47 The court’s verdict is significant in two respects: first, it reveals that no punishment was meted out when Velo made use of a forged temessük—probably because Matatya did not lodge a complaint as a result of the settlement—and, second, the court threatened him with a punishment if he continued to disturb people regardless of whether he forged any documents or not. When this record is considered together with Rohsandere’s case above (June 1, 1725), it suggests the conclusion that the punishment may have been due not to the forgery but to persistent harassment.

Süleyman, the trustee of the waqf founded by late Mehmed in the western province of Izmir, had come to Istanbul to apply to the court of the chief judge of Rumelia, Abdullah Efendi, claiming that the house in the possession of Emine actually had belonged to the waqf and should have been returned as per the waqf deed. Emine, in her response, had denied the claim and presented the deed of sale to substantiate her denial. After examining the deed and failure of Süleyman to offer counter-evidence, the court had held that the house was Emine’s rightful property and the waqf deed presented by Süleyman had been forged. On June 23, 1758, Emine lodged a petition with the court, requesting that an imperial decree be issued to the effect that Süleyman was injuncted from suing her for ownership of the house.Footnote 48 This record manifests that though Süleyman relied on a forged deed to support his claim, he was neither prosecuted nor punished. Furthermore, he carried on serving as the trustee of the waqf in spite of his use of the forged deed.

Mustafa Ağa had presented himself to Ali Ağa as the trustee and revenue collector (câbî) of a waqf, Çukadâr İsmail Vakfı, and showed him a temessük for an immovable from another waqf, Hürrem Çavuş Vakfı, for lending money. As a result, Ali Ağa had lent Mustafa Ağa 6000 guruş, for which Selim Ağa had stood surety. As Mustafa Ağa did not pay his debt and the temessük he showed was understood to be forged, Ali Ağa applied to the court on July 4, 1758, and demanded Selim Ağa to pay the debt as he had promised in the capacity of surety, which the latter rejected. Through the testimony of two witnesses, the court decided in favor of Ali Ağa and ordered Selim Ağa to pay the debt.Footnote 49 It is no surprise that Ali Ağa asked not the principal but his surety for the payment since Islamic law does not stipulate that the principal should be unable to pay or in default for submitting such a request,Footnote 50 yet the fact that the court took no action on Mustafa Ağa’s use of a forged document in the name of a waqf is noteworthy.

On April 2, 1766, Nikola claimed that, two years before, İbrahim had presented a forged temessük stating that Nikola had owed him 180 guruş, had it signed by Yani in the capacity of witness, and obtained 180 guruş from Nikola. Nikola asked that İbrahim refund his money before the court. İbrahim had defended himself, arguing that Nikola had indeed been indebted to him, that İbrahim had taken the money from Nikola in the court after proving his claim on the testimony of two witnesses, and that he had obtained a decision from the court in that respect. However, İbrahim had failed to substantiate his defense or provide any evidence, and the court had adjourned the hearing without pronouncing any judgment. On April 4, the parties returned to the court to announce that they had reached a settlement and to have the terms recorded by the court. According to their agreement, Nikola would discharge İbrahim from all liability once the latter paid 100 guruş within eight days.Footnote 51 In this record, Nikola might have employed a particular strategy, explored by Boğaç Ergene and James Baldwin in eighteenth-century Kastamonu and late seventeenth- and early eighteenth-century Cairo, respectively, in which plaintiffs brought their complaints to the court, without necessarily having any evidence, to force and pressure defendants to reconcile and accept a settlement.Footnote 52 At any rate, though the parties reached a settlement at the end, the court appears to have neither initiated a prosecution nor acted ex officio in any other way despite the plaintiff’s allegation of forgery.

Another interesting record bears on a dispute related to inheritance, brought before the court by Ali on May 1, 1766. Ali’s father, Hüseyin, passed away on July 4, 1765, and his assets consisted of a house and storehouse, both of which were owned by waqfs, Ferhad Paşa Vakfı and Şir Ali Paşa Vakfı, respectively, but were under the possession of Hüseyin. In his lifetime, Hüseyin had transferred the possession of a quarter of the house to his wife—and Ali’s stepmother—Sadiye upon the approval of the trustee of Ferhad Paşa Vakfı. After the passing of Hüseyin, Ali was to inherit three quarters of the house and the entire storehouse. Sadiye, on the other hand, was not happy with a quarter of the house under her possession and decided to use every trick in the book. She went to the trustee of Ferhad Paşa Vakfı and claimed that her late husband had given up the remaining three quarters of the house to her before his death. A certain Câbî Mehmed and the imam of the neighborhood, in league with Sadiye, testified on her behalf, and convinced the trustee to update his records as she claimed. Then she bribed the trustee of Şir Ali Paşa Vakfı into issuing a temessük demonstrating that her late husband had transferred the possession of a half of the storehouse nine days before his demise. Now, before the court, Ali was demanding that she return to him the properties under her possession, which, expectedly, she rejected. The inspection of the court revealed that Sadiye’s claim on both properties was unfounded: the trustee of Ferhad Paşa Vakfı communicated to the court that the shares of the house had been transferred to her on the day following Hüseyin’s death; the only witness that she had brought before the court withdrew his statement and admitted that he was bribed into perjury; and she was unable to provide any other evidence to the court. Not only did these disprove the authenticity of her documents, but also a group of eighteen people from the neighborhood testified that her documents did not reflect the truth. In consequence, the court upheld that her documents were inadmissible and the assets were to be returned to Ali.Footnote 53 Curiously, although the court established that both documents Sadiye had produced were by no means authentic, it took no action against her at all and did not go any further than to order her to return possession of the properties to Ali.

A group of candlemakers and their warden submitted a petition to the court on July 15, 1766, about a candlemaker by the name of Piço. They averred that Piço was claiming possession of gediksFootnote 54 held by other candlemakers, borrowing money by pawning forged temessüks and later denying it, and slandering members of the guild. They already had several verdicts against Piço and requested that he be ostracized from the guild, which was recorded and conveyed to the sultan.Footnote 55 I find this case very illustrative: The constant need for lodging a new petition against Piço, despite the existence of several verdicts, casts doubt on the gravity of punishment for his previous forgeries and betrays a weakness in the efficacy and deterrence of Ottoman criminal law vis-à-vis forged documents. Moreover, the request of candlemakers for his ostracism, which we do not know whether granted or refused, must have been considered at this time due to his persistent harassment, as was in the cases of Rohsandere (June 1, 1725) and Velo (June 14, 1758). Otherwise, one would expect him to have been adequately punished for his previous crimes, including forgeries, which would have ensured he had already put an end to his fraudulent activities or had been dealt with in another way.

A group of sixteen paçacıs, cooks specializing in a type of soup called kelle paça, applied to the court on April 1, 1779, and complained that their warden, Mustafa Usta, was a fraud and swindler. He was producing forged hüccets demonstrating that he bought gediks from their possessors and was harassing the members of the guild. Therefore, they requested that he be dismissed from his office and Hüseyin Usta be appointed as warden. The court approved the request.Footnote 56 What is important about this record, however, is that while the request of paçacıs led to the dismissal of Mustafa Usta, the allegations of forgery, surprisingly, did not lead to his prosecution. The court remained indifferent to the allegations, as far as the record indicates.

The record dating from October 30, 1791, reports a less usual incident. Ali, who had been on the battlefield, filed a lawsuit against Hadice and Hasan. He claimed that although Hadice had been his wife, she had forged a letter indicating that she had been repudiated three months before and thus got married to Hasan. Now that Ali had returned, he wanted his wife back and requested the court to annul the marriage between Hadice and Hasan. Hadice accepted the claim, and Hasan contended that he had not been aware of her being married to Ali. Hence, the court annulled the marriage and ruled that Hadice was to return to Ali.Footnote 57 This record is another example of the court taking no apparent action even though Hadice’s fabrication of the letter was proved a forgery through her acknowledgment and even enabled her to get remarried.

Upon the passing of Kostanti, his estate was inherited by his wife, Palaşa; his mother, Zoyiçe; and his sons, Nikola, Alenko, Yani, and Yorgi. On November 25, 1791, Palaşa applied to the court and asserted that although she had inherited partial ownership of the fishing weirs from her late husband, Mihalaki had approached the Galata court and obtained a forged hüccet, according to which Palaşa had purchased some of these shares from their former owner rather than inheriting them, which was not the case. She therefore requested that the hüccet not be taken into consideration.Footnote 58 The motivation for producing the forged deed of sale remains unknown. It is clear, however, that the forgery of the hüccet went unpunished.

İbrahim claimed that he had taken from Mehmed an ibtidâ, a document certifying the entitlement to ulûfe,Footnote 59 in exchange for twenty-five guruş and his pistol worth twenty-five guruş, but later found out that in fact there was no such entitlement. Accordingly, on March 4, 1793, he requested his payment and pistol back. Disputing the claim, Mehmed responded that he had received from İbrahim an amount of twenty-four guruş and a pistol worth two guruş. Because İbrahim failed to provide evidence for the remaining amount, the court upheld the payment of twenty-four guruş only.Footnote 60 It is astonishing that the court stood idly by despite the forgery of an ibtidâ, an official document tied to financial benefits from the state. This case, along with others, may thus be considered emblematic of the indifference ingrained within the Ottoman legal system regarding the forgery of documents, regardless of their official status or financial benefits.

Diyarbakır: The Response of the Central Administration

In contrast to the numerous records found from Istanbul courts, the Diyarbakır court records contain only one instance from the Amid court concerning forgery. The bulk of evidence for Diyarbakır originates from ahkâm defteri, the registers documenting petitions sent to Istanbul and the subsequent imperial decrees therefrom, providing insights into the central administration’s responses. While these records do not detail events following the receipt of imperial decrees, they unmistakably reveal the state’s disregard of forgery cases. The decrees glaringly omitted any mention of addressing forgeries as an offense or pursuing legal action against forgers, painting a clear picture of official indifference toward forgery.

The only record found in the Amid court dates back to the very first days of January 1768. Abdülhadi, the preacher of Debbâğhane Mosque, lodged a petition in which he claimed that although the former preacher had handed his position over to Abdülhadi, he later had obtained a forged document showing his own entitlement to the position and had Abdülhadi dismissed. Upon Abdülhadi’s request, the registers were reviewed, and it emerged that Abdülhadi’s claim for the position was valid, which led to the issuance of an imperial decree ordering that Abdülhadi resume his position and no one intervene. Obviously, the record does not signal that the forger was punished.Footnote 61

Regarding the records in ahkâm defteri, there are two different types of documents forged: hüccet and temessük. We are fortunate to have Yavuz Aykan’s study of temessük and hüccet specifically in eighteenth-century Amid. As noted above, a temessük was a document by which parties undertook to assume and perform obligations. The distinguishing feature of a temessük was that it was concluded before neither the court nor another notarial institution. Hüccet, on the other hand, refers to a document relating to either an individual’s status or a transaction involving property, and it was drawn up by court.Footnote 62

A record from June 1748 spells out that after Hâmide, owner of a bakery in Diyarbakır, left the city, a certain Ömer claimed that Hâmide had empowered him as her agent to represent her in the sale of her bakery. Producing a temessük by means of false witnesses, he managed to sell the bakery to Ahmed Ağa. Hâmide learned about the sale four years later and took immediate action to reclaim her bakery. Nonetheless, Hâmide’s claim was rejected by Ömer, a member of the local elite. To solicit the help of the central administration, Hâmide sent a petition to Istanbul along with a fetvâ (fatwā) from Şeyhülislâm (Shaykh al-ʾIslām). The record contains the response of the central administration, which addressed the governor of Diyarbakır and the judge of Amid and ordered the matter to be dealt with fairly and justly in Diyarbakır. The decree coming from Istanbul was silent on the forgery.Footnote 63

All of the five cases where the petitioner claimed a forgery share a similar scenario:Footnote 64 a local complained against an injustice caused by a forgery, petitioned to Istanbul for help against the forger, referred to a fetvâ in his favor,Footnote 65 and received a decree addressing local governor and judge. Notably, none of the decrees made an explicit reference to the forger or forgery.

An example involving the forgery of hüccet dates from February 1748. Mehmed claimed that his nephew, Ebubekir, had obtained a forged hüccet from the deputy judge of the Mahmudpaşa court, indicating that Mehmed had sold his mill and farm to Ebubekir, while no such purchase had taken place. Thus, Mehmed petitioned Istanbul to solicit help. The response of the central administration, similarly, consisted of a decree ordering the local governor and judge to deal with the issue with fairness and justice without any reference to the forgery,Footnote 66 which becomes even more striking when we consider that hüccets were drawn up by an official institution, namely the court.

Can we interpret the silence of these records as evidence for the indifference of the Ottoman legal system to forgery cases in toto? One potential objection could be based on the lack of detail in the records regarding the rest of the story, especially considering other cases with a similar storyline (involving a petition sent to Istanbul against a forgery and, in response, a decree addressing local governor and judge),Footnote 67 where the veracity of the forgery remained unproven—or, better put, neither proven nor disproven. However, the cases involving tımar, grant of lands by the sultan, draw a clearly different picture. In four such cases out of five,Footnote 68 the response of the central administration included cadastral details of tımar lands,Footnote 69 which enables us to discern whether a hüccet was indeed forged. These cases undeniably highlight both the existence of forgery and the authorities’ indifference toward it.

In April 1757, for instance, Lalaoğulları and Zaza seized Salih’s tımar through a forged hüccet. The inspection of the registers kept in Istanbul confirmed the validity of Salih’s claim, and an imperial decree was issued, ordering that no one ever seize Salih’s tımar. Furthermore, the court gave a hüccet to Salih. Nevertheless, Lalaoğulları and Zaza did not give up and were still trying to seize Salih’s tımar. This record, from May 1759, is related to Salih’s request that a new imperial decree be issued in the same respect as two years before.Footnote 70 Strikingly, neither the former decree (1757) nor the court’s new record (1759) seemingly contained any reference to any aspect of the forgery or any punishment associated with it. Not only did the forgers remain unpunished, but they also dared to seize Salih’s tımar once again.

One could reasonably anticipate a reference, implicit or indirect at least, were the court or the central administration to take any action in that regard. However, the records conspicuously illustrate that notwithstanding the prevalence of forgeries, including the forgery of official documents such as hüccets, the authorities did not prosecute the perpetrators. Hence, the lack of punishment for forged documents indicates the indifference within the Ottoman legal system toward their use, even for illegal and illegitimate purposes, in eighteenth-century Diyarbakır.

Conclusion

Although the cases of forgery in the eighteenth century are not limited to those from Istanbul and Diyarbakır examined above, the records from these two cities provide new insights into the probative value of written evidence in Ottoman courts.

While forgeries committed by state officials were not present in the records that I have examined, the records from Istanbul and Diyarbakır demonstrate that forgeries committed by lay people were not met with any action from the courts or central administration, respectively. No prosecution or punishment was inflicted solely for the act of forgery. Punishments were meted out only in situations, as seen in Rohsandere’s case, where the perpetrator had repeatedly and persistently engaged in the same conduct, indicating that persistent harassment, rather than forgery itself, was the main cause for punishment.

The indifference of the Ottoman courts and central administration toward forgery reveals that they placed little to no value on written evidence. Since they did not attach any evidentiary value to documents, they were unconcerned about forgeries and falsifications. Their disregard aligns with the theoretical skepticism of Muslim jurists such as al-Sarakhsī, al-Kāsānī, al-Zaylaʿī, and Mollā Khusraw about the probative value of writing. Had the Ottoman legal system placed any evidentiary value on documents, they would have pursued prosecution and punishment for forgers. This is all too obvious when compared to the value placed on other forms of evidence.Footnote 71 As Ottomans did not deem documents to carry any evidentiary weight, they did not consider forgery an act deserving punishment.

My findings echo Boğaç Ergene’s observation on seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Çankırı and Kastamonu and point to the insignificance of writing as a kind of proof in eighteenth-century Istanbul and Diyarbakır. They also call into question Joseph Schacht’s claim of divergence between the theory and practice of Islamic law in that context. Furthermore, they highlight the consistency of Ottoman legal practice with the doctrinal reluctance of Muslim jurists to attribute probative value to written evidence in particular and with Islamic legal doctrine in the eighteenth century in general.

Acknowledgments and Citation Guide

I thank Thomas Kuehn, Sedat Bingöl, Elyse Semerdjian, Richard Antaramian, Roy Marom, Amaan Merali, Julian Weideman, Fatih Çiçek, and the anonymous reviewers for the Journal of Law and Religion for their helpful comments on an earlier draft of this article. I have no competing interests to declare. The article is cited following Chicago Manual of Style, 17th edition.

References

1 One such example is the Quranic verse commonly referred to as the “verse of loan” or “verse of mudāyana” (Quran 2:282). On this verse, see Aḥmad b. ʿAlī al-Rāzī al-Jaṣṣās, Aḥkām al-Qurʾān [The rulings of the Quran], ed. Muḥammad Ṣādiq al-Qamḥāwī, vol. 2 (Beirut: Dār Iḥyāʾ al-Turāth al-ʿArabī, 1405), 205–58; Muḥammad ʿAlī al-Ṣābūnī, Ṣafwat al-Tafāsīr [The choicest of exegeses], vol. 1 (Cairo: Dār al-Ṣābūnī li-l-Ṭibāʿa wa-l-Nashr wa-l-Tawzīʿ, 1997), 161; Burhan Baltacı, “Bakara Suresi 282. Ayetin Genel Özellikleri ve Fıkhî Kavramları” [General characteristics and fiqh concepts of verse 282 of Sūrat al-Baqara], Çukurova Üniversitesi İlahiyat Fakültesi Dergisi 8, no. 1 (2008): 147–77. Nonetheless, to the best of my knowledge, the primary sources do not contain any specific reference to forgery of written documents.

2 Timur Kuran, The Long Divergence: How Islamic Law Held Back the Middle East (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2011), 237.

3 Muḥammad b. Aḥmad al-Sarakhsī, Al-Mabsūṭ [The comprehensive book], 30 vols. (Beirut: Dār al-Maʿrifa, 1414), 16:92.

4 ʿAlāʾ al-Dīn Abū Bakr al-Kāsānī, Badāʾiʿ al-Ṣanāʾiʿ fī Tartīb al-Sharāʾiʿ [The marvels of crafts in the arrangement of the laws], 2nd ed., 7 vols. (Dār al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, 1406), 6:273.

5 ʿUthmān b. ʿAlī al-Zaylaʿī, Tabyīn al-Ḥaqāʾiq Sharḥ al-Kanz al-Daqāʾiq wa-Ḥāshiyat al-Shalabī [Clarification of the truths: A commentary on Kanz al-Daqāʾiq and al-Shalabī’s gloss], vol. 4 (Bulaq: Al-Maṭbaʿat al-Kubrā al-Amīriyya, 1313), 214.

6 Muḥammad b. Ferāmurz Molla Khusraw, Durar al-Ḥukkām Sharḥu Ghurar al-Aḥkām [Pearls of the judges: A commentary on Ghurar al-Aḥkām], vol. 2 (Dār Iḥyāʾ al-Kutub al-ʿArabīyya, n.d.), 374.

7 Akmal al-Dīn Muhammad b. Muḥammad al-Bābartī, Al-ʿInāya Sharḥ al-Hidāyā [The care: A commentary on al-Hidāya], 10 vols. (Dār al-Fikr, n.d.), 7:285.

8 Badr al-Dīn Abū Muḥammad al-ʿAynī, Al-Bināya Sharḥ al-Hidāyā [The structure: A commentary on al-Hidāya], vol. 9 (Beirut: Dār al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, 1420), 35.

9 For more on legal reasoning in Islamic law, see Wael B. Hallaq, Sharīʻa: Theory, Practice, Transformations (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 100–10.

10 For more on consensus in Islamic law, see Hallaq, Sharīʻa, 98–100; Bilal Aybakan, Fıkıh İlminin Oluşum Sürecinde İcmâ [Consensus in the formation process of the science of fiqh] (İstanbul: İz Yayıncılık, 2003).

11 Wael B. Hallaq, “Qāḍīs Communicating: Legal Change and the Law of Documentary Evidence,” Al-Qanṭara 20, no. 2 (1999): 437–66. For kitāb al-qāḍī in the Ottoman city of Bursa, see generally, Halil Sahillioğlu, “Bursa Kadı Sicillerinde İç ve Dış Ödemeler Aracı Olarak ‘Kitâbü’l-Kadı’ ve ‘Süftece’ler” [Kitāb al-qāḍī and suftajas as instruments of domestic and foreign payments in the Bursa court registers], in Türkiye İktisat Tarihi Semineri: Metinler/Tartışmalar [Seminar on the economic history of Turkey: Texts and discussions], ed. Osman Akyar (Ankara: Mars Matbaası, 1975), 103–44.

12 For example, see Burhān al-Dīn al-Bukhārī, Al-Muḥīṭ al-Burhānī [The demonstrative ocean], vol. 9 (Beirut: Dār al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, 2004), 491–533.

13 Ahmed Akgündüz, “Shari’ah Courts and Shari’ah Records: The Application of Islamic Law in the Ottoman State,” Islamic Law and Society 16, no. 2 (2009): 202–30, at 206–08; Wael B. Hallaq, “The qāḍī’s dīwān (sijill) before the Ottomans,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 61, no. 3 (1998): 415–36, at 420–21.

14 While outside the scope of this article, it is worth noting Brinkley Messick’s research on the probative value of written evidence in modern Yemen and the Zaydī school of law. See Brinkley M. Messick, The Calligraphic State: Textual Domination and History in a Muslim Society (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), 221–22; Brinkley M. Messick, “Evidence: From Memory to Archive,” Islamic Law and Society 9, no. 2 (2002): 231–70, at 261–66. For a more detailed review of the literature on written evidence in Islamic legal historiography, see Jessica M. Marglin, “Written and Oral in Islamic Law: Documentary Evidence and Non-Muslims in Moroccan Shari‘a Courts,” Comparative Studies in Society and History 59, no. 4 (2017): 884–911, at 888–92.

15 Émile Tyan, Le notariat et le régime de la preuve par écrit dans la pratique du droit musulman [Notarial practice and the system of written evidence in the practice of Muslim law] (Harissa: Imprimerie St. Paul, 1945).

16 Joseph Schacht, An Introduction to Islamic Law (New York: Oxford University Press, 1982), 82, 193. For the criticisms prompted by Schacht’s argument, see Marglin, “Written and Oral in Islamic Law,” 888–92.

17 Abraham L. Udovitch, Partnership and Profit in Medieval Islam (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1970), 86–87.

18 Baber Johansen, “Formes de langage et fonctions publiques: Stéréotypes, témoins et offices dans la preuve par l’écrit en droit musulman” [Forms of language and public functions: Stereotypes, witnesses, and offices in documentary evidence in Islamic law], Arabica 44, no. 3 (1997): 333–76, especially 357–72.

19 Muharrem Kılıç, “Muhakeme Hukukunun Biçimsel Rasyonalitesi Bağlamında Osmanlı Hukukunda Belge Tanzimi: Kadı Ebussuûd’un Sak Risalesi” [Document preparation in Ottoman law within the context of the formal rationality of procedural law: Judge Ebussuud’s treatise on ṣakk], Türk Hukuk Tarihi Araştırmaları, no. 5 (2008): 45–63, at 49–50.

20 Christian Müller, “Écrire pour établir la preuve orale en Islam: La pratique d’un tribunal à Jérusalem au XIVe siècle” [Writing to establish oral proof in Islam: The practice of a court in Jerusalem in the fourteenth century], in Les outils de la pensée: Étude historique et comparative des “textes” [The tools of thought: A historical and comparative study of “texts”], ed. Akira Saito and Yusuke Nakamura (Paris: Éditions de la Maison des sciences de l’homme, 2010), 63–97, at 63–64.

21 Christian Müller, “The Power of the Pen: Cadis and Their Archives,” in Manuscripts and Archives, ed. Alessandro Bausi et al. (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2018), 361–86, at 381.

22 Kuran, The Long Divergence, 237. Moreover, Kuran extended his findings on the limited value of written evidence to “the rest of the Muslim-governed Eastern Mediterranean” during the seventeenth century. Kuran, 246; but compare Marglin, “Written and Oral in Islamic Law,” 886.

23 Boğaç A. Ergene, “Evidence in Ottoman Courts: Oral and Written Documentation in Early-Modern Courts of Islamic Law,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 124, no. 3 (2004): 471–91, at 473–74.

24 Ergene, “Evidence in Ottoman Courts,” 487.

25 Ali Ekber Cinar, Hanefi Mezhebi Bağlamında İslâm Hukukunda Havâle Sözleşmesi ve Osmanlı Uygulaması [Debt assignment in Islamic law with specific reference to Ḥanafī school of law and Ottoman legal practice] (İstanbul: On İki Levha Yayıncılık, 2024), 126–27.

26 For the adoption of the Ḥanafī school in the Ottoman Empire, see Rudolph Peters, “What Does It Mean to Be an Official Madhhab? Hanafism and the Ottoman Empire,” in The Islamic School of Law: Evolution, Devolution, and Progress, ed. Peri Bearman, Rudolph Peters, and Frank Vogel (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005), 147–58; Mehmet Akif Aydın, “İslam Hukuku’nun Osmanlı Devleti’nde Kanun Hukukuna Doğru Geçirdiği Evrim” [The evolution of Islamic law toward statutory law in the Ottoman Empire], Türk Hukuk Tarihi Araştırmaları, no. 1 (2006): 11–21; Guy Burak, The Second Formation of Islamic Law: The Hanafi School in the Early Modern Ottoman Empire (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2015); Ahmet Kılınç, “The Influence of the Ottoman State on Islamic Law,” Yıldırım Beyazıt Hukuk Dergisi 2022, no. 2 (2022): 547–80, at 558–60.

27 Zafer Toprak, “From Plurality to Unity: Codification and Jurisprudence in the Late Ottoman Empire,” in Ways to Modernity in Greece and Turkey: Encounters with Europe, 1850–1950, ed. Anna Frangoudaki and Çağlar Keyder (London: I. B. Tauris, 2007), 26–39; Avi Rubin, Ottoman Nizamiye Courts: Law and Modernity (New York: Palgrave, 2011; Kent F. Schull, Prisons in the Late Ottoman Empire: Microcosms of Modernity (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2014), 17–41; Ruth A. Miller, Legislating Authority: Sin and Crime in the Ottoman Empire and Turkey (New York: Routledge, 2020); Hatice Kübra Kahya, “İstibdal Uygulamaları Işığında Osmanlı Vakıf Hukukunun Dönüşümü” [The transformation of Ottoman waqf law in light of istibdāl practices] (PhD diss., Istanbul University, 2021); Ali Ekber Cinar, “19. Yüzyıl Osmanlı Hukukunda Modernleşme, İktibas ve Dönüşüm: Konkordatonun Türk Hukukuna Girişi” [Modernity, reception, and transformation in nineteenth-century Ottoman law: Transplantation of concordat into Turkish legal history], İstanbul Hukuk Mecmuası 82, no. 1 (2024): 1–46. More specifically, the nineteenth century would also witness changes in the probative value of written documents. Starting in 1879, official documents were deemed valid and enforceable without the requirement of witnesses to their contents. Mustafa Oğuz and Ahmet Akgündüz, s.v. “Hüccet,” in Türkiye Diyanet Vakfı İslâm ansiklopedisi [The Türkiye Diyanet Foundation encyclopedia of Islam], 44 vols. (İstanbul: TDV Yayınları, 1988–2013), 18:446–50, at 449.

28 Diyarbakır, a city in the southeastern Anatolia region of modern-day Turkey, has gone by different names, including Amid, throughout its history. In this article, I use the names Diyarbakır and Amid interchangeably.

29 Halil Sahillioğlu, s.v. “Ahkâm Defteri,” in Türkiye Diyanet Vakfı İslâm ansiklopedisi 1:551; Ramazan Günay, “Osmanlı Arşiv Kaynakları İçerisinde Ahkâm Defterleri: Gelişim Seyri, Muhtevası ve Önemi” [Ahkâm registers among Ottoman archival sources: Their development, content, and significance], Süleyman Demirel Üniversitesi Sosyal Bilimler Enstitüsü Dergisi, no. 17 (2013): 9–29.

30 There is sufficient evidence indicating that the Ottoman Empire undertook active measures to combat instances of forgery perpetrated by officials, albeit predating the eighteenth century. First and foremost, the Ottoman dynastic codes consistently incorporated explicit prohibitions against forgery by state officials, a feature absent in provisions targeting laypersons. For specific prohibitions against the forgery of documents by officials in late sixteenth- and early seventeenth-century Ottoman dynastic codes, see, respectively, Ahmed Akgündüz, Osmanlı Kanunnâmeleri ve Hukuki Tahlilleri [Ottoman legal codes and their legal analyses], vol. 8 (İstanbul: Osmanlı Araştırmaları Vakfı Yayınları, 1994), 115; Ahmed Akgündüz, Osmanlı Kanunnâmeleri ve Hukuki Tahlilleri [Ottoman legal codes and their legal analyses], vol. 9 (İstanbul: Osmanlı Araştırmaları Vakfı Yayınları, 1996), 529. Moreover, while I did not encounter any examples of forgery by state officials in the registers I examined, other studies in the literature document instances where officials who committed forgery were punished. See, for instance, Bilgin Aydın and İshak Keskin, “Osmanlı Bürokrasisinde Evrak Sahteciliği, Diplomatik ve Diplomatika Eğitimi” [Forgery of documents, diplomatic, and diplomatics education in the Ottoman bureaucracy], Osmanlı Araştırmaları, no. 31 (2008): 197–228; Ekrem Buğra Ekinci, “Osmanlı Hukukunda Mahkeme Kararlarının Kontrolü (Klasik Devir)” [Control of court decisions in Ottoman law (classical period)], Belleten 65, no. 244 (2001): 959–1005, at 969n24. Similarly, evidence found by Feriha Karadeniz also suggests the central administration’s interest in prosecuting officials engaged in forgery. Feriha Karadeniz, “Complaints against the Kadis and Abuses of Their Authority” (Master’s thesis, Bilkent University, 1996), 46–47, 89–90. For a study on the nineteenth century, see M. Yasin Taşkesenlioğlu, “Osmanlı Diplomatiğinde Mühür ve Bir Vaka Olarak Sahte Mühür Kullanımı” [The seal in Ottoman diplomatics and the use of a forged seal as a case study], History Studies 9, no. 4 (2017): 183–202. While conclusive claims would require further study beyond the scope of this article, I propose that the differential treatment of forgery, penalized for state officials but not for laypeople, may be attributable to the dual social strata within Ottoman society: the ruling elite (askerî) and the laypeople (reâyâ). As Suraiya Faroqhi contended, the Ottoman Empire consistently endeavored to safeguard the laypeople from the oppression of the ruling elite, which was perceived to inherently oppress them. Suraiya Faroqhi, “Political Activity among Ottoman Taxpayers and the Problem of Sultanic Legitimation (1570–1650),” Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 35, no. 1 (1992): 1–39. For more on this social distinction, see Halil Inalcik, “Ottoman Methods of Conquest,” Studia Islamica, no. 2 (1954): 112–22; Norman Itzkowitz, Ottoman Empire and Islamic Tradition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980), 40; Yunus Koç, “Osmanlı Örfî Hukukunda Standartlaşma (16.Yüzyıl)” [Standardization in Ottoman customary law (16th century)], Hacettepe Üniversitesi Türkiyat Araştırmaları, no. 2 (2005): 139–40, at 144–45; Guclu Tuluveli, “State and Classes in the Ottoman Empire: Local Notables in Historical Perspective,” Journal of Mediterranean Studies 15, no. 1 (2005): 121–47.

31 As the punishments inflicted on forgers discussed in this article appear to have been imposed because of the perpetrators’ persistent harassment, the same explanation likely applies to the punishments inflicted on forgers in the sixteenth century mentioned by Ekrem Buğra Ekinci and Muharrem Midilli. See Ekrem Buğra Ekinci, “Osmanlı Hukukunda Mahkeme Kararlarının Kontrolü (Klasik Devir),” 993n106; Muharrem Midilli, “Hanefi Geleneğinden Klasik Osmanlı Kanunlarına Had-Kısas Dışı Ağır Ceza Formülü” [A severe punishment formula outside the categories of ḥadd and qiṣāṣ, from the Ḥanafī tradition to classical Ottoman laws], Darulfunun Ilahiyat 30, no. 1 (2019): 25–48, at 42. See also Mehmet Koç, “Osmanlı Ceza Hukukunda Hile (Aldatma-Dolandırıcılık) Suçları ve Cezaları” [Fraud (deception-swindling) crimes and punishments in Ottoman criminal law], Çukurova Üniversitesi İlahiyat Fakültesi Dergisi 19, no. 1 (2019): 119–39.

32 Abū al-Ḥasan Burhān al-Dīn ʿAlī al-Marghīnānī, Al-Hidāya fī Sharḥi Bidāyat al-Mubtadī [The guidance in the commentary on Bidāyat al-Mubtadīʾ], ed. Ṭalāl Yūsuf, 4 vols. (Beirut: Dār al-Iḥyāʾ al-Turāth al-ʿArabī, n.d.), 2:339; ʿUbayd Allah b. Masʿūd al-Maḥbūbī Ṣadr al-Sharīʿa, Sharḥ al-Wiqāya [A commentary on al-Wiqāya], ed. Ṣāliḥ Muḥammad Abū al-Ḥajj, 5 vols. (Amman: Dār al-Warrāq, 2006), 3:198.

33 Al-Marghīnānī, Al-Hidāya, 2:339–77; Ṣadr al-Sharīʿa, Sharḥ al-Wiqāya, 3:198–239.

34 Al-Marghīnānī, Al-Hidāya, 4:442–512; Ṣadr al-Sharīʿa, Sharḥ al-Wiqāya, 5:143–91.

35 On taʿzīr, see al-Kāsānī, Badāʾiʿ al-Ṣanāʾiʿ, 7:58; Kamāl al-Dīn Muḥammad Ibn al-Humām, Fatḥ al-Qadīr [The opening of the all-powerful], vol. 5 (Dār al-Fikr, n.d.), 345; Zayn al-Dīn b. Ibrāhīm b. Muḥammad Ibn Nujaym, Baḥr al-Rāʾiq fī Sharḥi Kanz al-Daqāʾiq [The pure sea: A commentary on Kanz al-Daqāʾiq], 2nd ed., vol. 5 (Dār al-Kitāb al-Islāmī, n.d.), 44; Recep Çiğdem, “The Concept of Ta‘zir (Discretionary Punishment) in Theory and in Practice,” Selçuk Üniversitesi Hukuk Fakültesi Dergisi 12, nos. 1–2 (2004): 167–85.

36 On Ottoman criminal law in general, see Uriel Heyd, Studies in Old Ottoman Criminal Law, ed. Victor Louis Ménage (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1973); Haim Gerber, State, Society, and Law in Islam: Ottoman Law in Comparative Perspective (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1994).

37 For a record from 1766 involving sentencing to ḥadd punishment, see Coşkun Yılmaz, ed., İKS İstanbul Mahkemesi 25 Numaralı Sicil (H. 1179–1180/M. 1765–1767) (İstanbul: İBB Kültür A. Ş. Yayınları, 2019), 298. For a record from 1740 involving sentencing to qiṣāṣ punishment, see Coşkun Yılmaz, ed., İKS Bâb Mahkemesi 172 Numaralı Sicil (H. 1152–1153/M. 1740) (İstanbul: İBB Kültür A. Ş. Yayınları, 2019), 423. For a record from 1731 involving sentencing to taʿzīr punishment, see Coşkun Yılmaz, ed., İKS Bâb Mahkemesi 151 Numaralı Sicil (H. 1143–1144/M. 1731) (İstanbul: İBB Kültür A. Ş. Yayınları, 2019), 296.

38 Coşkun Yılmaz, ed., İKS Rumeli Sadâreti Mahkemesi 161 Numaralı Sicil (H.1115–1116/M. 1704) (İstanbul: İBB Kültür A. Ş. Yayınları, 2019), 62.

39 Coşkun Yılmaz, ed., İKS Bâb Mahkemesi 92 Numaralı Sicil (H. 1120–1121/M. 1709) (İstanbul: İBB Kültür A. Ş. Yayınları, 2019), 519.

40 Coşkun Yılmaz, ed., İKS Galata Mahkemesi 259 Numaralı Sicil (H. 1137–1138/M. 1724–1725) (İstanbul: İBB Kültür A. Ş. Yayınları, 2019), 391.

41 Coşkun Yılmaz, ed., İKS İstanbul Mahkemesi 24 Numaralı Sicil (H. 1138–1151/M. 1726–1738) (İstanbul: İSAM Yayınları, 2010), 109.

42 Temessük refers to the document delivered to the other party in such cases as credit, payment, delivery, and receipt. See Mübahat S. Kütükoğlu, s.v. “Temessük,” in Türkiye Diyanet Vakfı İslâm ansiklopedisi, 40:413–14.

43 Coşkun Yılmaz, ed., İKS Üsküdar Mahkemesi 403 Numaralı Sicil (H. 1154–1155/M. 1740–1742) (İstanbul: İBB Kültür A. Ş. Yayınları, 2019), 158.

44 Coşkun Yılmaz, ed., İKS Rumeli Sadâreti Mahkemesi 272 Numaralı Sicil (H. 1171–1172/M. 1758) (İstanbul: İBB Kültür A. Ş. Yayınları, 2019), 93.

45 Yılmaz, İKS Rumeli Sadâreti Mahkemesi 272 Numaralı Sicil (H. 1171–1172/M. 1758), 149.

46 Islamic law maintains the legal principle that adverse inference is drawn against the party declining to take an oath. Al-Bābartī, Al-ʿInāya, 8:176–77; Al-Sarakhsī, Al-Mabsūṭ, vol. 17, 17:34; Ali Bardakoğlu, s.v. “Beyyine (Fıkıh),” in Türkiye Diyanet Vakfı İslâm ansiklopedisi, 6:97–98, at 97. For the application of this principle under Ottoman law, see Yılmaz Yurtseven and Naci Çevik, “İslam Muhakeme Hukuku ve Klasik Dönem Osmanlı Uygulamasında Yemin Müessesesi” [The institution of oath in Islamic procedural law and classical Ottoman practice], Antalya Bilim Üniversitesi Hukuk Fakültesi Dergisi 8, no. 15 (2020): 1–24.

47 Yılmaz, İKS Rumeli Sadâreti Mahkemesi 272 Numaralı Sicil (H. 1171–1172/M. 1758), 235.

48 Yılmaz, 220.

49 Yılmaz, 236.

50 ʿAbd al-Raḥmān b. Muḥammad Shaykhīzāda, Majmaʿ al-Anhur fī Sharḥi Multaqā al-Abḥur [The confluence of rivers: A commentary on Multaqā al-Abḥur] (Beirut: Dār Iḥyāʾ al-Turāth al-ʿArabī, 1980), 183; Molla Khusraw, Durar, 2:301–02.

51 Yılmaz, İKS İstanbul Mahkemesi 25 Numaralı Sicil (H. 1179–1180/M. 1765–1767), 414.

52 Boǧaç A. Ergene, “Why Did Ümmü Gülsüm Go to Court? Ottoman Legal Practice between History and Anthropology,” Islamic Law and Society 17, no. 2 (2010): 215–44; James E. Baldwin, Islamic Law and Empire in Ottoman Cairo (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2016), 124–28.

53 Yılmaz, İKS İstanbul Mahkemesi 25 Numaralı Sicil (H. 1179–1180/M. 1765–1767), 113.

54 Gedik usually refers to a specific entitlement to practice a given trade or craft. For gedik, see Seven Ağır and Onur Yıldırım, “Gedik: What’s in a Name?,” in Bread from the Lion’s Mouth: Artisans Struggling for a Livelihood in Ottoman Cities, ed. Suraiya Faroqhi (New York: Berghahn, 2015), 217–20; Engin Deniz Akarlı, “Gedik: A Bundle of Rights and Obligations for Istanbul Artisans and Traders, 1750–1840,” in Law, Anthropology, and the Constitution of the Social: Making Persons and Things, ed. Alain Pottage and Martha Mundy (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 175–76.

55 Yılmaz, İKS İstanbul Mahkemesi 25 Numaralı Sicil (H. 1179–1180/M. 1765–1767), 221.

56 Coşkun Yılmaz, ed., İKS İstanbul Mahkemesi 44 Numaralı Sicil (H. 1193–1194/M. 1779–1780) (İstanbul: İBB Kültür A. Ş. Yayınları, 2019), 56.

57 Coşkun Yılmaz, ed., İKS Üsküdar Mahkemesi 531 Numaralı Sicil (H. 1204–1207/M. 1790–1793) (İstanbul: İBB Kültür A. Ş. Yayınları, 2019), 606.

58 Yılmaz, İKS Üsküdar Mahkemesi 531 Numaralı Sicil (H. 1204–1207/M. 1790–1793), 617.

59 Ulûfe was the stipend paid to janissaries once every three months in the Ottoman Empire. See Mehmet Mert Sunar, s.v. “Ulûfe,” in Türkiye Diyanet Vakfı İslâm ansiklopedisi, 42:124–26.

60 Yılmaz, İKS Üsküdar Mahkemesi 531 Numaralı Sicil (H. 1204–1207/M. 1790–1793), 958.

61 Ahmet Zeki İzgöer, ed., Diyarbekir Şer‘iyye Sicilleri: Âmid Mahkemesi [Diyarbekir court registers: The Amid court], vol. 5 (Diyarbakır: Dicle Üniversitesi İlahiyat Fakültesi Yayınları, 2015), 21.

62 For a more detailed account of temessük and hüccet in eighteenth-century Amid, see Yavuz Aykan, Rendre la justice à Amid: Procedures, acteurs et doctrines dans le contexte Ottoman du XVIIIème siècle [Delivering justice in Amid: Procedures, actors, and doctrines in the eighteenth-century Ottoman context] (Leiden: Brill, 2016), 93–129 and 129–61, respectively. On hüccet, see also Oğuz and Akgündüz, “Hüccet.”

63 Ahmet Zeki İzgöer, ed., Divan-ı Hümâyûn Sicilleri: Diyarbekir Ahkâm Defterleri [Registers of the Imperial Council: Diyarbekir registers of decrees], 3 vols. (Diyarbakır: Dicle Üniversitesi İlahiyat Fakültesi Yayınları, 2016), 366.

64 İzgöer, Divan-ı Hümâyûn Sicilleri, 1:366, 658; 2:21, 248, 253.

65 The submission of fetvâs to the court in support of a claim was a prevalent practice in the Ottoman legal system. For other examples, see Burak, The Second Formation of Islamic Law, 169–72; Judith E. Tucker, In the House of the Law: Gender and Islamic Law in Ottoman Syria and Palestine (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998), 20–22; Ali Yaycıoğlu, “Ottoman Fatwā: An Essay on Legal Consultation in the Ottoman Empire” (Master’s thesis, Bilkent University, 1997), 103–42; Gerber, State, Society, and Law in Islam, 79–112.

66 İzgöer, Divan-ı Hümâyûn Sicilleri, 1:337.

67 İzgöer, 1:60, 282, 337, 364, 386, 391, 396, 441; 2:504.

68 İzgöer 1:367, 515; 2:212, 366, 389.

69 For tımar, see Halil İnalcık, s.v. “Timar,” in Türkiye Diyanet Vakfı İslâm ansiklopedisi, 41:168–73.

70 İzgöer, Divan-ı Hümâyûn Sicilleri, 2:366.

71 For false testimony, for instance, see Hallaq, Sharīʻa, 351; Tuncay Başoğlu, s.v. “Tezkiye,” in Türkiye Diyanet Vakfı İslâm ansiklopedisi, 41:77–79; Ahmet Kılınç, “Klasik Dönem Osmanlı Devletinde Teşhir Cezası” [Public shaming as a punishment in the classical period of the Ottoman Empire], International Journal of Sport Culture and Science 3, special issue 4 (2015): 447–56, at 450–51; Veysel Gürhan, “18. Yüzyıl Osmanlı Toplumunda Kadın ve Hukuk: Amid Mahkemesi’nde Kadınların Hak Arama Süreçlerine Dair Bazı Değerlendirmeler” [Women and law in eighteenth-century Ottoman society: Some observations on women’s pursuit of legal rights in the Amid court], İnsan ve Toplum Bilimleri Araştırmaları Dergisi 6, no. 3 (2017): 1644–64, at 1655, Yasemin Kurtoğlu, “Tanzimat Dönemi Osmanlı hukukunda ispat vasıtaları” [Means of proof in Ottoman law during the Tanzimat period] (PhD diss., Bursa Uludag University, 2022), 71–75, 360–65.