What is Istanbul? Can it be defined as the place of the past, the center of power, the trove of treasures, one of the holy places of the world? Can it be defined as the focus of study, the tourist destination, the mecca of cultures, the political mediator? Is it the city to come, the place to watch, the destination for lost souls, the ultimate urban architectural construct?
Past, present, and future, Istanbul is characterized by some vitality that lends itself to the fulfillment of each of these destinies. No one can define it for certain. If they were able to, Istanbul’s power could easily be replicated the world over. It could stem from one of many things, or owe its identity in part to each of them.
It is perhaps the weighty length of human history in one place that is most compelling here. Perhaps the geography of the particular waterways, or its placement just at the line between East and West are more involved in its identity. I prefer to think, however, that the main defining factor of Istanbul is its people. People are the creators of culture, which in turn drives each aspect of architecture and space creation, and so it must be the people of a place who make it what it is.
Istanbul’s people are quite diverse. It is my theory that each individual human operates on his highest level of understanding or consciousness, sometimes limited by the finite quality of collective human knowledge, sometimes by his unwillingness or inability to transcend his own situation. The people in Istanbul are diverse because they operate on so many levels of reality. Here I generalize. The Simit seller’s daily thoughts are concerned with sufficient income, with family to feed, with survival. The hotel concierge smokes cigarette after cigarette, talks to people, puts his life on hold for the “one day” dreams. The disillusioned businessman is concerned with moving up the ranks, perhaps family or children, acquaintances, appearances, enjoyment. The Imam strives constantly to be closer to God.
Although these phases of humanity are perhaps echoed in each city and walk of life, in Istanbul they seem such a defining factor because they are all intrinsically united. It is the Mescit, the Cami, the Mosque, which (at least historically) mediates the levels of operation of diverse peoples. The Cami is the threshold of equality, of transcendence, of material illumination of the soul. And while people may experience Istanbul Mosques differently, I find one the most appealing. Mihrimah Sultan Mosque, a work of Mimar Sinan, seemed the most spiritual. It will take an exploration into myself to discover why I feel so strongly about it. All of Sinan’s mosques held a pull for me, of course, from Rustem Paşa, the tile mosque, with its wonderful courtyard, so much a part of the urban fabric, and Sokullu, rough and exquisite at the same time, to Süleymaniye, large, overwhelming, enveloping.
Perhaps I experienced the deepest sense of the divine in Mihrimah because it was the last mosque we visited, and my self-understanding, knowledge of the world, devotion to this higher energy which was so intrinsic to Istanbul had all increased exponentially up to that point. I stepped inside, and I had to bend my head in obesiance to the emotion of place. It represented all the çay, drunk in so many small glasses, each bead of sweat glistening on my skin in the humid air, every faint breath of wind off the Bosphorus against my face. There was the touch of a few days before, smiles I had responded to in kind, the emotion in many pairs of eyes, assessing, understanding. It held each of my thoughts, hopes and desires. It humbled me to the daily toil of the Simit seller, and lifted me to the devotion of the Imam. My pale love for Istanbul, my sad understanding of its people and customs, my deep desire to learn, together in this place of worship enveloped me tightly, and for a moment, my soul came undone.
