Fruits of Landreform and Religious Umbrella

With the opposition within the empire subdued and his power solidified, Mehmet turned his attention to a challenge that could not be quelled by the strength of arms alone—the growing internal strife among the empire's vast and diverse Muslim population. Despite his military successes and sweeping reforms, Mehmet was aware that the greatest threat to the empire's stability could come from within, driven by religious tensions and resistance to modernization.

The empire, stretching from the Balkans to the Arabian Peninsula, was home to a mosaic of cultures, languages, and sects of Islam. While Mehmet had brought about reforms that sought to unite these diverse groups under a common Ottoman identity, the religious fabric of the empire was fraying. Conservative Sunni clerics in the heartlands of Anatolia denounced his secular reforms, while Sufi orders and Shiite groups in the far reaches of Mesopotamia and Persia were wary of his growing centralization of power.

But Abdulmaceid I had an asset no other leader in the Muslim world possessed: the title of Caliph. As the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire, he was also the Caliph, the spiritual leader of the Muslim world, a position that carried immense authority over the faithful. Now, Mehmet realized, it was time to invoke that authority, not just as a ruler of men but as a leader of the Muslim ummah.

Mehmet's strategy was twofold. First, he would use the Caliphate's religious authority to pacify the conservative clerics and assure them that his reforms did not violate Islamic principles. Second, he would unite the various Islamic sects under a broader, more inclusive banner of Islamic unity, using religious rhetoric to emphasize the importance of a strong, united empire in the face of foreign threats, especially from the Christian powers of Europe.

In a public address at the Blue Mosque in Istanbul, the first of its kind in years, Mehmet, dressed in traditional Ottoman robes, delivered a speech that would resonate across the empire. Flanked by Sheikh al-Islam and other key religious figures, Mehmet invoked the glory of the Caliphs of old, calling for unity and faith in the empire's future.

"My brothers," he began, his voice steady but commanding, "we stand at the precipice of a new age, an age where the Ottoman Empire, our great protector, has risen again to its rightful place in the world. But we are not merely an empire of men—we are the defenders of the faith, the standard-bearers of Islam, the heirs to the Caliphate. It is by our strength, under the guidance of Allah, that the Muslim world stands firm against the threats of the infidels."

His words echoed through the mosque, reaching the ears of clerics, officials, and ordinary citizens. Mehmet was no longer speaking as just a ruler; he was speaking as the Caliph, the guardian of the faithful. He knew that by appealing to religious sentiment, he could sway even the most conservative elements within the empire to his cause.

"Some say that our ways have changed," Mehmet continued, addressing the criticism that had come from the more conservative clerics. "But know this: Islam teaches us to seek knowledge, to strengthen the ummah, to defend our lands with all the tools Allah has given us. What we build today, what we invent, what we strengthen—it is all in service of Islam, so that we may protect our faith, our lands, and our people from those who wish to destroy us."

By invoking the spirit of ijtihad—the Islamic principle of independent reasoning in the face of new circumstances—Mehmet framed his modernization as a religious duty. He had legal scholars in his service, like the influential Sheikh al-Islam, issue fatwas (religious rulings) supporting his reforms, declaring that his advances in military technology and governance were not only permissible but praiseworthy in the eyes of Islam, as they were designed to protect and expand the empire.

The speech sent ripples across the empire. In the conservative heartlands, where religious leaders had previously questioned Mehmet's secular reforms, many now reconsidered their stance. After all, who were they to challenge the Caliph's judgment, especially when it was framed as a divine mandate? Slowly, opposition from religious factions began to dissolve, and many clerics who had once resisted Mehmet's changes found themselves pacified by his religious legitimacy.

But Mehmet's efforts did not stop with Sunni clerics. He understood that true unity required reaching out to the marginalized Shiite communities and Sufi orders in the eastern provinces. While the Ottomans had historically been at odds with the Safavid Empire and other Shiite powers, Mehmet saw an opportunity to bridge the gap. He sent emissaries to the Shia clerics of Najaf and Karbala, framing the struggle against foreign powers as a common cause that transcended sectarian divisions. The emissaries carried with them gifts, promises of protection, and assurances that the new Ottoman state would respect their practices and religious rights.

To the Sufi orders, who had often been wary of Ottoman centralization, Mehmet extended a hand of cooperation. He framed their spiritual teachings as a vital part of the empire's soul, integrating some of their leaders into the empire's growing bureaucracy. By doing so, he neutralized their potential as centers of resistance and transformed them into allies in his greater project.

As Mehmet moved to pacify internal divisions, his Caliphate authority became a vital political tool. He used it to implement a comprehensive land reform program, one of his most ambitious projects yet. The old feudal landowners, many of whom had been the backbone of opposition to his economic policies, were forced to cede large portions of their land to the state, which was then redistributed to small farmers, the very people who formed the backbone of the empire's economy. He framed this move as an Islamic duty, a fair redistribution of wealth in accordance with Islamic teachings on the treatment of land and its stewards.

The empire's rich resources, which had long been underexploited, now came under state control, with Mehmet's central authority directing the extraction and management of oil, coal, and other vital minerals. Using the quantum machine's knowledge stored in his mind, he identified key sites for oil and coal mining in the Arabian Peninsula, Mesopotamia, and Anatolia. New mines and refineries sprang up, employing thousands and filling the empire's coffers with wealth that would be used to fuel its military and industrial growth.

The discovery of oil, in particular, was a game changer. Mehmet, aware of the importance this resource would hold in the future, prioritized its extraction and exportation, securing lucrative trade agreements with France and Britain, who were eager to access this black gold. As Ottoman coffers swelled with new wealth, the empire took on a new vitality, one that was beginning to rival the industrial powers of Europe.

The creation of a stock exchange, along with the founding of an Ottoman Central Bank, also played a significant role in his vision for the economy. Mehmet, fully aware of the potential dangers of an unregulated financial system, established strict regulations on stock trading, ensuring that only those with government approval could participate. The central bank, meanwhile, offered interest-free loans to farmers and small businesses, empowering ordinary citizens to invest in the empire's future without falling into the grip of usury, a concept forbidden by Islamic law.

With the Caliph's authority behind him, Mehmet was now the uncontested ruler of an empire that was growing stronger by the day. He had neutralized internal divisions, set the empire on the path to economic prosperity, and strengthened his alliances with Europe's great powers. But in doing so, he had also laid the groundwork for the next phase of his plan—one that would see the Ottoman Empire rise to unprecedented heights on the global stage.