Piety, Politics, and Everyday Ethics in Southeast Asian Islam: Beautiful Behavior 9781350041714, 9781350041745, 9781350041721

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Piety, Politics, and Everyday Ethics in Southeast Asian Islam

Also available from Bloomsbury The Bloomsbury Companion to Islamic Studies, edited by Clinton Bennett The Composition of the Qur’an, Michel Cuypers Contemporary Muslim-Christian Encounters, edited by Paul Hedges

Piety, Politics, and Everyday Ethics in Southeast Asian Islam: Beautiful Behavior Edited by Robert Rozehnal

BLOOMSBURY ACADEMIC Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP, UK 1385 Broadway, New York, NY 10018, USA   BLOOMSBURY, BLOOMSBURY ACADEMIC and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc   First published in Great Britain 2019   published 2020 Paperback edition Copyright © Robert Rozehnal and Contributors, 2019   Robert Rozehnal has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Editor of this work.   All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers.   Bloomsbury Publishing Plc does not have any control over, or responsibility for, any third-party websites referred to or in this book. All internet addresses given in this book were correct at the time of going to press. The author and publisher regret any inconvenience caused if addresses have changed or sites have ceased to exist, but can accept no responsibility for any such changes.   A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.   Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Rozehnal, Robert Thomas, editor. | Pepinsky, Thomas B., 1979– Adab and the culture of political culture. Title: Piety, politics, and everyday ethics in Southeast Asian Islam : beautiful behavior / [edited by] Robert Rozehnal. Description: London ; New York : Bloomsbury Academic, 2018. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2018030753 | ISBN 9781350041714 (hardback) | ISBN 9781350041721 (ePDF) | ISBN 9781350041738 (eBook) Subjects: LCSH: Islam and culture–Indonesia. | Islam and culture–Malaysia. | Islamic etiquette–Indonesia. | Islamic etiquette–Malaysia. | Islamic ethics–Indonesia. | Islamic ethics–Malaysia. Classification: LCC BP63.I5 P54 2018 | DDC 297.50959–dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018030753   ISBN: HB: 978-1-3500-4171-4  PB: 978-1-3501-7012-4 ePDF: 978-1-3500-4172-1 eBook: 978-1-3500-4173-8   Typeset by Newgen KnowledgeWorks Pvt. Ltd., Chennai, India   To find out more about our authors and books visit www.bloomsbury.com and sign up for our newsletters.

This book is dedicated to the memory of our colleague, collaborator, and friend, Professor Jeffrey Hadler (1968–2017) and to Neneng Syahdati Rosmy (1975–2018), the beloved wife of our friend (and contributor to this volume), Professor Muhamad Ali.

‫إِﻧﱠﺎ ﻟِﻠّ ِﻪ َوإِﻧﱠـﺎ إِﻟَﻴْ ِﻪ َرا ِﺟ ُﻌﻮ َن‬ Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji’un “To Allah we belong, and to Him is our return” Qur’an (2:156)

Contents List of Illustrations List of Contributors Introduction: Beautiful Behavior in Practice: Expressions of Adab in Southeast Asian Islam Robert Rozehnal

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1

Part One Texts and Contexts 1

2

The Interplay between Adab and Local Ethics and Etiquette in Indonesian and Malaysian Literature Muhamad Ali

19

“Young People Are Seeking Their Blessings”: Islamic Life Courses, Explorative Authority, and the Possibilities of Worldly Adab in Rural Aceh Daniel Andrew Birchok

41

Part Two Politics and Law 3

Adab and the Culture of Political Culture Thomas Pepinsky

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4

Sharia, Adab, and the Malaysian State Timothy P. Daniels

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Part Three Piety and Authority 5

6

Women’s Adab in the Pesantren: Gendering Virtues and Contesting Normative Behaviors Nelly van Doorn-Harder

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Politicians, Pop Preachers, and Public Scandal: A Personal Politics of Adab James B. Hoesterey

123

Part Four Performance and Experience 7

Adab and Embodiment in the Process of Performance: Islamic Musical Arts in Indonesia Anne K. Rasmussen

149

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Contents

Smoke, Fire, and Rain in Muslim Southeast Asia: Environmental Ethics in the Time of Burning Anna M. Gade

Notes Bibliography Index

169 189 210 229

Illustrations 0.1 2.1 2.2 4.1 5.1 5.2 5.3 6.1 6.2 6.3 7.1 7.2 7.3

Map of Southeast Asia A member of Majelis Taklim Ansharullah, 2009 Another Member of Majelis Taklim Ansharullah, 2009 Map of Malaysia A Qur’an study group for women The meditation room in a woman’s pesantren, middle Java Female students at the Al-Biruni Babakan pesantren after a workshop discussing topics of adab and character (2015) The popular Indonesian preacher, Aa Gym Aa Gym hauls the trash wagon after delivering a sermon in Cijulang, West Java A political cartoon with Michelle Obama and Minister of Communications and Information, Tifatul Sembiring Musical instruments of the ensemble, hajir marawis Contestants at the Festival Hajir Marawis Umum, August 2014 Competition trophies for the Festival Hajir Marawis Umum

6 45 46 78 105 110 119 127 140 143 158 159 161

Contributors Muhamad Ali is Chair of the Middle Eastern and Islamic Studies Program, Associate Professor in the Religious Studies Department, and a member of the Southeast Asia:  Text, Ritual, and Performance (SEATRIP) Program at the University of California, Riverside. He earned a BA in Islamic Studies from the State Institute for Islamic Studies, Jakarta; an MSc in Middle Eastern and Islamic Studies from Edinburgh University, Scotland; and a PhD in History from the University of Hawai’i at Manoa. Ali’s publications include Islam and Colonialism: Becoming Modern in Indonesia and Malaya (2015), Bridging Islam and the West: An Indonesian View (2009), and Multicultural-Pluralist Theology (2003), as well as book chapters and journal articles on different aspects of Islam in Southeast Asia. His current projects include a manuscript on Islam and religious freedom and pluralism in Indonesia and another on Indonesian Islam. Daniel Andrew Birchok is Assistant Professor of Anthropology at the University of Michigan-Flint. He holds a PhD in Anthropology and History from the University of Michigan. He has carried out extensive ethnographic and archival research in Indonesia, especially the province of Aceh. His research interests include genealogical authority, everyday ethics, the Islamic temporal imagination, and the continuing importance of forms of Islamic practice that Indonesians widely understand as premodern. His scholarly articles have appeared in Asian Studies Review, Comparative Studies in Society and History, and the Journal of Contemporary Religion. He is currently working on a book manuscript about a Syattariyah Sufi order on Aceh’s west coast titled, The Pasts of Habib Abdurrahim: Genealogical Authority, Old Islam, and the Islamic Temporal Imagination. Timothy P. Daniels is Professor of Anthropology at Hofstra University. He holds an MA and PhD in Anthropology from the University of Illinois at UrbanaChampaign. He has conducted extensive ethnographic research in Malaysia and Indonesia. His research interests include urbanization, nationalism, globalization, performance, religion and politics, and Islamic law. Daniels is the editor of Performance, Popular Culture, and Piety in Muslim Southeast Asia (2013) and Sharia Dynamics:  Islamic Law and Sociopolitical Processes (2017).

Contributors

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He is also the author of numerous articles and three books:  Building Cultural Nationalism in Malaysia: Identity, Representation, and Citizenship (2005); Islamic Spectrum in Java (2009); and Living Sharia: Law and Practice in Malaysia (2017). Anna M. Gade is a Vilas Distinguished Achievement professor in the Gaylord Nelson Institute for Environmental Studies at the University of Wisconsin at Madison, where she teaches core courses in global environmental humanities. She holds a PhD in the History of Religions from the University of Chicago, specializing in Islam, and is author of Introduction to the Qur’an (Oxford: Oneworld, 2010). Since her first book appeared in 2004 (Perfection Makes Practice: Learning, Emotion and the Recited Qur’an in Indonesia [Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press]), Gade’s research has focused on field-based study of Muslim religion, ethics and social change in island, peninsular and mainland South East Asia, especially Indonesia. Her forthcoming book, Muslim Environmentalisms: Religious and Social Foundations, is expected to be published in 2019 by Columbia University Press. James B.  Hoesterey is Assistant Professor in the Department of Religion at Emory University. He holds a PhD in Anthropology from the University of Wisconsin-Madison and held postdoctoral fellowships at Stanford University, Lake Forest College, and University of Michigan. His research focuses broadly on Islam, media, and politics. His first book, Rebranding Islam: Piety, Prosperity, and a Self-help Guru (2016), chronicles the rise and fall of one of the world’s most popular Muslim televangelists, Abdullah Gymnastiar, and was awarded Honorable Mention (runner up) for the Clifford Geertz Book Prize by the Society for the Anthropology of Religion (2016). His current research examines public diplomacy, soft power, and the making of “moderate Islam.” Hoesterey served as Chair of the Indonesia-Timor Leste Studies Committee (2011–2015), and currently serves as Secretary for the American Institute for Indonesian Studies (AIFIS) and board member for the Commission on Visual Anthropology. Thomas Pepinsky is Associate Professor in the Department of Government at Cornell University. He specializes in comparative politics and international political economy, with a focus on emerging markets and a special interest in Southeast Asia. He is the author, most recently, of Piety and Public Opinion: Understanding Indonesian Islam (2018, with R. William Liddle and Saiful Mujani), and his work also appears in the American Journal of Political Science, International Studies Quarterly, Journal of Democracy, World Development, World Politics, and other venues. Currently, he is working on issues relating to identity,

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politics, and political economy in comparative and international politics. He is a member of the steering committee of the Association for Analytical Learning on Islam and Muslim Societies (aalims.org), and recently helped to found the Southeast Asian Research Group (seareg.org) in order to highlight the best new contemporary research on Southeast Asian politics in North America. Anne K.  Rasmussen is Professor of Ethnomusicology and Bickers Professor of Middle Eastern Studies at the College of William and Mary where she also directs the William and Mary Middle Eastern Music Ensemble. Her research encompasses music of the Middle East and Islamicate world, as well as multiculturalism in the United States. Recipient of two Fulbright Fellowships for research in Indonesia, and a Sultan Qaboos Cultural Center Fellowship for research in Oman, her award-winning publications include numerous articles and chapters, and three books:  Women’s Voices, the Recited Qur’an, and Islamic Music in Indonesia (2010); Divine Inspirations:  Music and Islam in Indonesia, coedited with David Harnish (2011); The Music of Multicultural America: Performance, Community, and Identity in the USA, coedited with Kip Lornell (1997, 2nd revised, expanded edition, 2016). She has been elected to the board of the Society for Ethnomusicology three times, including as president (2015–2017). Robert Rozehnal is Associate Professor in the Department of Religion Studies and the founding director of the Center for Global Islamic Studies at Lehigh University. He holds a PhD in Islamic Studies from Duke University and an MA in South Asian Studies from the University of Wisconsin-Madison. He has traveled widely, with extended periods of study and fieldwork in Pakistan, India, Egypt, Iran, Turkey, and Malaysia. In addition to the history and practice of Sufism in South Asia, his research and teaching interests include ritual studies, postcolonial theory, religious nationalism, digital religion, and globalization. He is the author of numerous articles and two books:  Cyber Sufis:  Virtual Expressions of the American Muslim Experience (forthcoming) and Islamic Sufism Unbound:  Politics and Piety in Twenty-First Century Pakistan (2007). He serves as the national cochair of the Islamic Mysticism program unit at the American Academy of Religion. Nelly van Doorn-Harder teaches Islamic Studies at Wake Forest University and at the Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam. She has published widely on issues concerning Indonesian Islam and Middle Eastern Christianity focusing on the rights and roles of women, interfaith, freedom of religion, and questions about

Contributors

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the application of human rights at the grassroots. She received a Fulbright grant (Indonesia, 2007)  and is a fellow at the Center for Interdisciplinary Research (Bielefeld University, 2018–2019). She is one of the Indonesia coordinators for the Oslo Coalition for Freedom of Religion, and chaired the Program Committee of the American Academy of Religion. She has authored and (co)edited ten books and numerous articles, including Women Shaping Islam:  Reading the Qur’an in Indonesia (2006); an Indonesian volume of Religious Freedom at the Grassroots (with Mega Hidayati, 2018); and Copts in Context:  Negotiating Tradition, Transition and Modernity (2017).

Introduction: Beautiful Behavior in Practice: Expressions of Adab in Southeast Asian Islam Robert Rozehnal

This volume explores the concept of “beautiful behavior” (adab) in the piety, politics, and everyday ethics of Muslim Southeast Asia. Spotlighting the interdisciplinary research of eight prominent scholars, the book traces adab’s multiple meanings and myriad applications for diverse Muslim communities in Malaysia and Indonesia. In mapping these trajectories, the authors draw on a variety of theoretical and methodological lenses from diverse academic disciplines:  cultural anthropology, history, literary studies, ethnomusicology, political science, environmental studies, and Islamic studies. Each chapter is a self-contained universe with its own unique story to tell. At the same time, the chapters are thematically intertwined. To set the stage for informed reading, this introduction offers a brief meta-analysis of the role of adab in Islamicate history and Muslim social practice. Turning to the complex cultural milieu of Southeast Asian Islam, I highlight key questions, patterns, and conclusions raised by each of the volume’s contributors.

Translating Adab: Muslim Unity in a World of Difference From its origins in seventh-century Arabia to its twenty-first-century global reach, the “Muslim world” encompasses a dizzying cultural kaleidoscope.1 Over the centuries and around the world, the evolution of Islamic civilization has been animated by two symbiotic forces: the “on the ground” dynamics of local Muslim life, coupled with the enduring ideal of a universal Muslim community. Painting in broad brushstrokes, this creative tension can be encapsulated in two

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key terms:  watan (homeland, country, or nation) and umma (the worldwide brotherhood and sisterhood of Muslim believers). The continuous push–pull interplay among the local, material, embedded, and embodied realities of watan and the powerful (if abstract) appeal of a united global umma has continuously shaped Muslim identity, piety, and social practice across a vast cultural landscape. For fourteen hundred years, Islam has survived and thrived in discrete spaces and places. Throughout its history, Islam has flowed through diverse social landscapes like water, adapting to the contours of local geographies and taking on the colors of myriad local cultures. The 1.8 billion Muslims on the planet today are the living legacy of this long and storied history. From Morocco to Indonesia, from Bethlehem (Palestine) to Bethlehem (Pennsylvania), Muslims speak different languages, eat different foods, wear different styles of clothes, carry different passports, and live and work within particular social, economic, and political ecosystems. As the pioneering work of world historian Marshall G.  S. Hodgson—and, more recently, Shahab Ahmed’s expansive comparative study—reminds us, multiplicity, diversity, and dynamism are in fact the defining hallmarks of Islamic civilization.2 Amid this world of local difference, key nodal points within Islam’s complex civilizational matrix unite Muslims across the planet with an enduring sense of collective identity, shared experience, and social cohesion. For all Muslims everywhere, a constellation of prophets, moral exemplars, and pious heroes— from Adam, Abraham, and the Prophet Muhammad to a host of scholarly and spiritual luminaries—provides a universal blueprint for Muslim subjectivity, ethical practice, and social etiquette. Paradigmatic texts—first and foremost the Qur’an, but also the hadith (traditions of the Prophet Muhammad), the canons of theology, philosophy, and law, and the teachings of Sufi masters—communicate knowledge, clarify, orient, and inspire. Prominent institutions (family and tribal affiliations, political dynasties, schools of law, Sufi orders) shape the dynamics of Muslim social relations and the contours of Islamic tradition. Ritual performances—daily prayers, Ramadan fasting, and Hajj pilgrimage—transform personal Muslim faith into embodied public practice. And the geographic centers of Islamdom—cities and sacred sites across the planet, connected by empire and conquest, commerce and trade, pilgrimage and scholarship—bind Muslims within a cosmopolitan ecumene that bridges a vast spatial, temporal, and cultural landscape. Together, the tentacles of these interlocking networks anchor Muslim memory, identity, and piety, linking past to present. In an apt summary of this complex dynamic, historian Ahmet Karamustafa defines Islam as “a sprawling civilizational edifice under continuous construction and renovation

Introduction

3

in accordance with multiple blueprints (these are the numerous Islamic cultures at local, regional, and national levels encompassing innumerable individual, familial, ethnic, racial and gender identities) all generated from a nucleus of key ideas and practices ultimately linked to the legacy of the Prophet Muhammad.”3 Beautiful behavior is a thread that weaves between and within these foundational Islamic networks. Serving as a sort of civilizational glue, this foundational concept links disparate Muslim communities throughout time and across a vast global cultural continuum. As is so often the case with the Arabic language, adab is a nuanced, multivalent term with multiple semantic registers. As Juan Campo notes, adab is often used for areas of knowledge that are today called “the humanities”—especially literature written in elegant prose.4 Embedded in the idea of literary eloquence as a marker of intellectual cultivation is a more expansive definition of adab as a comprehensive code of Islamic moral behavior and ethical practice. In that sense, adab is often translated into English via numerous cognates:  etiquette, good manners, decorum, culture, and refined behavior. As an outgrowth of self-control, self-vigilance, and selfdiscipline, beautiful behavior shapes habits of speech, bodily habitus, and personal comportment. Adab is therefore perhaps best understood as the public display of an individual’s internal moral character. As historian Barbara Daly Metcalf notes, Adab in all its uses reflects a high valuation of the employment of the will in proper discrimination of correct order, behavior and taste. It implicitly or explicitly distinguishes cultivated behavior from that deemed vulgar, often defined as pre-Islamic custom. Moral character is thus the fruit of deliberation and effort. Adab means discipline and training. It denotes as well the good breeding and refinement that results from training, so that a person who behaves badly is “without adab” (be adab). Adab is the respect or deference one properly formed and trained shows to those who deserve it.5

Like other words (beauty, quality), while adab is difficult to define, you know it when you see it—and it is most obvious in its absence. Beyond word play and theoretical abstractions, adab has tangible, practical, real-world applications. As a model of individual Muslim subjectivity and a model for social interaction, adab defines the rules of everyday personal conduct and public civility. In the context of applied ethics, adab impacts every dimension of public, social life—family relations, gender dynamics, law and politics, artistic expression, popular culture, religious piety, and mystical practice. In premodern Muslim societies, books of adab codified proper Muslim behavior for specific

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groups: kings and courtiers, religious scholars (‘ulama), judges and civil servants, tradesmen and artisans, musicians and artists. In similar fashion, popular adab manuals prescribed rules of good conduct and proper religious piety for lay Muslims. For Sufis (Muslim mystics), both past and present, the discipline of ritual performance is expressly designed to inculcate habits of ethical practice and moral virtue. A well-known Sufi adage (in Arabic) states: al-tasawwuf kullu hu adab (“Sufism resides entirely in adab”).6 For all Muslims everywhere, the Prophet Muhammad serves as the ultimate moral exemplar, the paragon of virtue, and the embodiment of beautiful behavior. Indeed, the Qur’an refers to the Prophet as a “lovely example” (uswatun hasana): “You have indeed in the Messenger of God a lovely example, for anyone whose hope is in God and the Last Day, and who engages in the frequent remembrance of God” (Qur’an 33:21). As the model of spiritual excellence, the Prophet’s exemplary behavior (sunna) offers the blueprint for ethical practice, religious piety, and Muslim identity.7 The title of this book translates adab as beautiful behavior as a shorthand for this complex, interdependent taxonomy. Throughout the volume, adab serves as a theoretical device and organizing framework. In doing so, we consciously follow in the footsteps of previous academic projects led by Barbara Daly Metcalf and Katherine P. Ewing. In 1984, Metcalf published an influential edited volume, Moral Conduct and Authority: The Place of Adab in South Asian Islam, which featured the work of fifteen prominent scholars who explored adab’s interface with Indo-Muslim history and practice.8 Four years later, Ewing published a complementary volume, Shari’at and Ambiguity in South Asian Islam, that offered different perspectives on moral values and sources of authority in South Asian Muslim texts, institutions, and social practices.9 With Metcalf and Ewing’s ground-breaking work as both a springboard and a guidepost, the present study shifts the temporal and cultural frame—spotlighting the place of adab within the pluralistic landscape of contemporary Muslim Southeast Asia.

Recentering Muslim Southeast Asia—Malaysia and Indonesia In the early decades of the twenty-first century, a tsunami of traumatic geopolitical events has focused a bright, hot spotlight on the chaos and entropy engulfing much of the Middle East and North Africa. In the West, the mainstream media coverage of these complex, interconnected events tends to be overly simplistic, essentialist, and highly sensationalized. It is heavy on description and shock value—and light on the details and nuances of social, political, and historical

Introduction

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context. Echoing old Orientalist stereotypes, media accounts often posit a monolithic Muslim Other. Faceless and undifferentiated, Muslims are portrayed as utterly different: exotic and irrational; pathologically prone toward patriarchy, misogyny, and violence; and mired in a medieval past, always and everywhere unable to adapt to changing times. Driven by the barrage of daily news headlines, global media reduces Islam’s global cultural kaleidoscope to a one-dimensional monolith. In this process, political Islam, Arab cultural practices, and jihadi terrorism become the “default software” for sound-bite news analysis. This narrative is reinforced by the constant recirculation of standard tropes and stock images of Muslims: silent, invisible women in black abayas, angry bearded men, shouting political slogans and wielding guns, and smoldering cities in distant desert lands. Such caricatures reject the capacity of individual Muslims to reinterpret their pasts, reshape their own traditions, and remake their own lives. The end result is nothing less than the erasure of Muslim history, agency, and humanity. In both Europe and North America, the mass media feedback loop has, in turn, profoundly impacted attitudes about Islam and Muslims in predictable and regrettable ways. As public opinion polls consistently affirm, while contemporary news coverage about Islam blankets global media more than ever before, most Western citizens remain alarmingly ignorant about the basic facts of Islamic history, the foundational beliefs and practices of the faith, and the everyday, lived realities of Muslims across the globe.10 With rare exception, Muslim Southeast Asia is surprisingly absent from current mainstream media coverage. To a remarkable degree, it is marginalized in contemporary Western policy debates and academic scholarship as well. These are, to say the least, glaring omissions given the demographic realities of today’s global Muslim umma. Although all Muslims everywhere look to an Arabic sacred text (the Qur’an) and an Arab prophet (Muhammad) for guidance and inspiration, Islam in the twenty-first century is above all a pan-Asian religion. Today, more than 80 percent of the global Muslim population resides outside the Arab world—and more than two-thirds of the umma lives east of Lahore, Pakistan. With more than 250 million Muslim citizens, Islamic Southeast Asia alone is roughly equal in size to all the Arabic-speaking countries combined. There are significant Muslim minority populations in many Southeast Asian nations, including Thailand, Singapore, and the Philippines—and isolated pockets of Muslims in Burma (Myanmar) and Cambodia. Brunei, Malaysia, and Indonesia each have Muslim-majority populations. Covering a vast region stretching over a 3,000-mile maritime crescent east of the Indian subcontinent,

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Figure 0.1 Map of Southeast Asia. Courtesy of the University of Texas Libraries, the University of Texas at Austin.

south of China, and north of Australia, the diverse Muslim communities of mainland, island, and peninsular Southeast Asia offer a powerful rejoinder to easy, entrenched stereotypes about a monolithic (and Arab-centric) Islam (see Figure 0.1). Islam’s eastward journey to Southeast Asia’s Muslim archipelago is a history of trade, travel, and cross-cultural and interreligious mixing.11 For centuries, Arab, west African, and South Asian merchant ships, following the annual monsoon winds, sailed across the Indian Ocean and through the Strait of

Introduction

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Malacca en route to Chinese ports via the South China Sea. Many of these traders and adventurers—especially Arabs from the Hadhramaut, and Indians from Gujarat and the western Malabar coast—were Muslims, and they were often accompanied on their travels by scholars and Sufis. By the thirteenth century, this maritime network gave rise to a panoply of local Muslim kingdoms and, over the course of the next several hundred years, the gradual spread of Islamic political, educational, and legal systems throughout Southeast Asia. As van Door Harder notes, Tombstones found on the northern coast of Sumatra dating from 1211 and 1297 are silent witnesses to the reality that Islam spread in the area between the thirteenth and sixteenth centuries. Coastal ports and kingdoms thus became part of an expanding Muslim community that linked Arabian, Indian and Chinese Muslims. The most famous early communities under Islamic rule were those of the port city of Melaka (1430s), and the kingdom of Aceh at the northern tip of Sumatra (1515) where the sultans applied Islamic law.12

The process of Islam’s transplantation into the diverse social topography of Southeast Asia blended local and global trajectories. The encounter with local Hindu, Buddhist, Chinese, and indigenous traditions gave rise to a uniquely pluralistic cultural and religious hybridity. Even so, though far removed from the Islamic heartlands of the Arab Middle East, Muslim pilgrims, Sufis, and scholars who traveled back and forth to Mecca and Medina integrated Southeast Asia into Islam’s cosmopolitan civilizational matrix. Before the imposition of British colonial rule, the Malay Peninsula comprised a constellation of states under the control of hereditary Malay Muslim sultans. In the wake of the Japanese occupation and the end of World War II, peninsular Malaysia was unified as the Malaysian Union in 1946 and restructured as the Federation of Malaya in 1948 before achieving independence in 1957. In 1963, Malaya united with North Borneo, Sarawak, and Singapore to become Malaysia; two years later, Singapore was expelled from the federation. Of a current population of approximately 32 million, today’s Malaysia remains predominantly Muslim (~61%) but religiously pluralistic (~20% Buddhist, ~10% Christian, ~6% Hindu). In the postcolonial era, Malaysia has walked a tightrope, adopting Islam as “the religion of the Federation” while officially claiming to be a secular state. Amid a fractious political environment dominated from independence until the dramatic 2018 national elections by the United Malays National Organization (UMNO), Malaysia’s constitution preserves freedom of religion for its nonMuslim citizens who are mostly Indian and Chinese.

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Islam was first introduced to the Indonesian archipelago in the thirteenth century and expanded rapidly over the next three hundred years. By the eighteenth century, the vast majority of the inhabitants of Java and Sumatra had converted. Ruled by Dutch colonial powers from the early seventeenth century until independence in 1945, Indonesia is today the world’s largest Muslimmajority nation (with more than 220 million Muslims in a total population of approximately 270  million). Situated between the Indian and Pacific Oceans, the country encompasses a sprawling archipelago of more than 17,000 islands (a third of which are inhabited). Sixty percent of the nation’s citizens live on the island of Java; another third on the larger island of Sumatra to the north. Molded by both internal and external dynamics, Indonesian Islam is a hybrid amalgam. Over the centuries, it has been shaped through interaction with hundreds of native ethnic and linguistic groups, multiple religious faiths (Hindu, Buddhist, animist, Christian, and Confucian), and a rich array of local traditions of poetry, dance, music, literature, and mysticism. At the same time, the legacy of Dutch colonialism, indigenous twentieth-century Islamic movements (such as the “reformist” Muhammadiyah and the “traditionalist” Nahdlatul Ulama), and successive political regimes—dominated by the founding president Sukarno (1945–1966) and his successor Suharto (1966–1998)—have continuously transformed Indonesia’s social and religious landscape. With attention to historical continuity and change, the following chapters employ the concept of adab (and its local correlates) to explore multiple dimensions of Islam in contemporary Malaysia and Indonesia. Focusing on foundational texts, diverse local contexts, and the shifting dynamics of everyday life, this volume seeks to reframe the standard, media-driven narrative of Islam by moving Muslim Southeast Asia from the margins of the periphery to its rightful position at the very center of the story of the twenty-first-century “Muslim world.”

Book Overview Why is an Islamicist who works in South Asia the editor for a volume on adab in Muslim Southeast Asia? My own research focuses primarily on IndoMuslim history and Sufi practice in contemporary Pakistan and India. My first monograph, Islamic Sufism Unbound: Politics and Piety in Twenty-First Century Pakistan, is a detailed study of a living Sufi community: the Chishti Sabiri order (tariqa).13 Drawing on several years of ethnographic fieldwork with Chishti

Introduction

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Sabiri teachers and devotees in Pakistan, the book examines the central role of adab in the Sufi master–disciple relationship and ritual practices. In researching that project, however, I also spent several weeks in late 2001 interviewing a group of Malaysian Chishti Sabiri disciples in the capital city, Kuala Lumpur. In recent years, I have returned to Malaysia multiple times in my role as the director of Lehigh University’s Center for Global Islamic Studies (https://cgis.cas2.lehigh. edu/). As part of the Center’s development efforts, I engaged in conversations and collaborations with Islamic Studies colleagues at the University of Technology, Malaysia (UTM) in both Johor and Kuala Lumpur. My personal interactions with UTM faculty spurred me to think about adab in new ways. Many of these scholars are themselves the students of the renowned Malaysian philosopher, Sayyid Muhammad Naguib Al-Attas (b. 1931). Perhaps best known for his pioneering work on Islamic education and the “Islamization of knowledge,” Al-Attas is a prolific scholar who has published dozens of influential books on Islamic history, Sufism, cosmology, philosophy, ethics, and Malay language and literature.14 Throughout his voluminous scholarship, Al-Attas often returns to a singular theme:  the loss of adab in contemporary Muslim societies. In his book, Islam and Secularism, he writes: As to the internal causes of the dilemma in which we find ourselves, the basic problems can  – it seems to me  – be reduced to a single evident crisis which I would simply call the loss of adab. I am here referring to the loss of discipline – the discipline of body, mind, and soul; the discipline that assures the recognition and acknowledgement of one’s proper place in relation to one’s self, society and Community; the recognition and acknowledgement of one’s proper place in relation to one’s physical, intellectual, and spiritual capacities and potentials; the recognition and acknowledgement of the fact that knowledge and being are ordered hierarchically. Since adab refers to recognition and acknowledgement of the right and proper place, station, and condition in life and to self-discipline in positive and willing participation in enacting one’s role in accordance with that recognition and acknowledgement, its occurrence in one and in society as a whole reflects the condition of justice. Loss of adab implies loss of justice, which in turn betrays confusion in knowledge. In respect to the society and community, the confusion in knowledge of Islam and the Islamic world view creates the condition which enables false leaders to emerge and to thrive causing the condition of injustice . . . All the above roots of our general dilemma are interdependent and operate in a vicious circle. But the chief cause is confusion and error in knowledge, and in order to break this vicious circle and remedy this grave problem, we must first come to grips with

10

Piety, Politics, and Everyday Ethics the problem of loss of adab, since no true knowledge can be instilled without the precondition of adab in the one who seeks it and to whom it is imparted.15

In Al-Attas’s assessment, the absence of adab is the root cause of a profound intellectual and identity crisis that plagues Muslims in the postcolonial era of global modernity. In significant ways, Al-Attas’s provocative thinking on adab was the inspiration for this volume. Though familiar with the concept’s deep influence on Indo-Muslim culture and South Asian Sufi traditions, I wondered how adab traveled across and within broader Indian Ocean networks. This basic inquiry prompted a series of more focused questions: How is adab “translated” within the complex cultural milieus of Muslim Southeast Asia? Does the Arabic term resonate on its own, or does it instead operate within local semantic fields and epistemologies? Moving from theory to practice, how exactly does the idea of beautiful behavior shape the dynamics of identity, piety, and daily social life for Muslims within the diverse cultures of both Malaysia and Indonesia? In search for answers, I  initiated conversations with a number of scholars with deep expertise in Southeast Asian Islam. Those interactions led, in turn, to a deepening collaboration—with this volume as the end result. Throughout this process, I have balanced a dual role as student and facilitator: learning from my colleagues in a spirit of interdisciplinary and cross-cultural comparison, while shepherding this edited volume to completion. This book spotlights beautiful behavior in Southeast Asian Islam. The contributors—all scholars teaching at institutions in the United States—represent a variety of academic disciplines, theoretical orientations, and methodological perspectives. Moving between textual analysis and ethnographic fieldwork, the essays engage a diverse array of texts (the literary legacy of prominent Muslim thinkers) and contexts (the everyday experiences of lay Muslims). The eight chapters offer granular case studies that examine alternative dimensions of adab’s impact on local historical memory, social institutions, political identities, gender relations, religious imaginations, and embodied practices. All these stories focus on Malaysia and Indonesia. In that sense, the book is narrow in scope and scale, and certainly not a comprehensive survey of the entire landscape of Muslim Southeast Asia. Diverse Muslim communities in Burma (Myanmar), Cambodia, Thailand, Singapore, Brunei, and the Philippines, for example, offer interesting and important variants that are absent here. Even so, the hope is that the questions, tropes, and trajectories outlined in this volume will serve as a catalyst for future research—opening up new space for scholarly

Introduction

11

inquiry from other interlocuters interested in the place of adab in Southeast Asia (and beyond).

Chapter Layout The volume is thematically divided into four parts, each containing two essays. Part One, “Texts and Contexts,” examines how adab resonates in both the literary expressions of Muslim elites and the interpretive formulations of lay Muslims. Muhamad Ali’s opening chapter, “The Interplay Between Adab and Local Ethics and Etiquette in Indonesian and Malaysian Literature,” sets the backdrop for all the essays that follow. As the title suggests, Ali argues that there is a complex symbiosis between the Arabic terms adab and akhlaq (a Qur’anic term meaning “morals” or “ethics”) and a broad semantic field of indigenized, cross-creedal cognates that define local understandings of morality, ethics, and etiquette (such as adat, a nuanced term that encompasses custom, habit, tradition, and culture).16 Moving fluidly between multiple languages and historical timeframes—from the eighteenth to twenty-first centuries—Ali’s essay traces the thread of beautiful behavior through two dozen seminal texts written by prominent political rulers, religious scholars, literary critics, social reformers, nationalist ideologues, and colonial administrators in both Indonesia and Malaysia. As an archive of local history, this literary corpus illuminates adab’s multivalent interface with social hierarchy, political power, gender boundaries, and religious identity formation in times of social upheaval and transformative change. Chapter 2, “Young People Are Seeking Their Blessings”: Islamic Life Courses, Explorative Authority, and the Possibilities of Worldly Adab in Rural Aceh,” narrows the analytical frame to explore how adab operates through both texts and local contexts. Drawing on ethnographic fieldwork in a rural farming community in Aceh’s southwest coast, Daniel Andrew Birchok examines how a local majelis taklim (“assembly of learning”)—an informal study group comprised of lay Muslims, mostly men in their sixties—reads and interprets classical Sufi texts on adab. Borrowing Shahab Ahmed’s notion of “explorative authority,” Birchok offers a trenchant critique of the entrenched models and shibboleths of the field of Islamic Studies. Through detailed descriptions of everyday practices “on the ground,” he demonstrates the ways in which the “bottom-up” personal life experiences of individual Muslims nuance, challenge,

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and ultimately reformulate “top-down” prescriptive definitions of Islamic piety, identity, and authenticity. Part Two, “Politics and Law,” surveys adab’s multidimensional impact on contemporary political ideologies and institutions. In Chapter  3, “Adab and the Culture of Political Culture,” Thomas Pepinsky charts how adab serves as a shifting signifier that is invoked and instrumentalized in various ways to diverse ends by political actors in both “democratic” Indonesia and “competitive authoritarian” Malaysia. Drawing on a range of sources—speeches by prominent political figures, online forums, the popular press—the essay examines public political discourse among both social elites and ordinary citizens. Through a comparative analysis, Pepinsky argues that rhetorical invocations of adab in contemporary Malaysia often (but not always) carry an Islamic inflection that is largely absent in the politics of postcolonial Indonesia. In his assessment, adab’s diverse definitions—as a generic word for “manners” and “civilized” behavior, a distinctly Islamic term for religiously sanctioned ethical practices, and a marker of national values—serve as a litmus test for discrete and dynamic political cultures in both countries. Chapter  4, “Sharia, Adab, and the Malaysian State,” provides a deep dive into Malaysia’s political and legal system. Highlighting a constellation of nine political organizations (secular, religious, and race-based political parties, as well as secular, liberal, Sufi, and feminist NGOs), Timothy P. Daniels charts the complex intersections between the Malaysian state and Islamic identity politics. The essay reveals how the secular (but illiberal) Malaysian state—dominated since independence by a Malay Muslim-led coalition—has sought to mute its opponents and respond to the challenges of a widespread Islamic resurgence by appropriating Islamic language and symbols, patronizing Islamic institutions (universities, banks, insurance companies, think tanks, fatwa committees), and politicizing both religion and race. Combining ethnographic fieldwork with textual analysis, Daniels illuminates how adab operates in specific sharia legal cases pertaining to family, criminal and economic law: underage marriage; child custody in conversion; apostasy and the determination of religious status; and contestations over the parameters of economic justice. The essays in the second half of the book all focus on contemporary Indonesia. Part Three, “Piety and Authority,” explores how adab informs Islamic education and religious leadership. In Chapter 5, “Women’s Adab in the Pesantren: Gendering Virtues and Contesting Normative Behaviors,” Nelly van Doorn-Harder tracks a pervasive shift in attitudes about gender in Islamic boarding schools (pesantren) and Indonesian society writ large. Her ethnographic research

Introduction

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focuses on “The Character Project” of Rumah Kitab Bersama (Our Common Home), a nongovernmental think tank based in Jakarta established in 2005 by a well-known Muslim feminist, Lies Marcoes-Natsir. Linked to the educational networks of Nahdlatul Ulama, a traditionalist Sunni movement founded in 1926, Rumah Kitab’s programs emphasize the intersections of Islamic piety and national identity. As the essay illustrates, “The Character Project” encapsulates an ongoing transformation in pesantren education that seeks to promote Islamic ethical virtues (adab, karakter) as the basis of exemplary citizenship:  moral behavior, work ethic, patriotism, democracy, and interfaith cooperation. The increasing presence and agency of Muslim women in Indonesian pesantren, van Doorn-Harder argues, has prompted critiques of misogynist classical texts and a campaign for gender justice in women’s roles in family life, educational institutions, religious leadership, and national political culture. In Chapter  6, “Politicians, Pop Preachers, and Public Scandal:  A Personal Politics of Adab,” James B.  Hoesterey juxtaposes adab “from above” in the comportment of religious and political elites who claim authority through the practical application of Islamic ethical virtues, and “from below” by ordinary, everyday Muslims who invoke adab to challenge, critique, and castigate political and religious leaders for their immorality and hypocrisy. Drawing on ethnographic fieldwork, Hoesterey charts the emergence of a new generation of Muslim celebrity preachers and self-help gurus in Indonesia whose exemplary authority depends more on the embodiment of adab than on mastery of traditional Islamic jurisprudence (fiqh). The essay spotlights the story of the rise and fall of the popular preacher, Aa Gym (Kyai Haji Abdullah Gymnastiar). As Hoesterey illustrates, at the height of his influence and fame Aa Gym’s Islamic school, television studios, and myriad training programs marketed adab as a religious commodity. When his female devotees discovered that he had secretly married a second wife, however, Aa Gym’s public image was tarnished amid a national media firestorm. The televangelist subsequently rebranded himself as a conservative ideologue, aligning with hard-line religious movements such as the “Islamic Defenders Front” whose public campaigns to combat sexual vice and immorality also traffic in claims to Islamic ethical virtue and moral probity. For Hoesterey, such moments of personal moral failure and political rupture reveal how the meaning of adab is continuously redefined in response to particular social, historical, and political contexts. The book’s final section, “Performance and Experience,” investigates adab’s impact on both artistic expression and public responses to environmental crisis. Chapter  7, “Adab and Embodiment in the Process of Performance:  Islamic

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Musical Arts in Indonesia,” offers a nuanced portrait of the role of adab in the transmigration of artistic aesthetics from the Arab world to Indonesia. With the eyes (and ears) of an ethnomusicologist, Anne K. Rasmussen deconstructs the 2014 Festival Hajir Marawis Umum, a neighborhood celebration and musical competition in a remote village south of the capital city, Jakarta. During this event, fourteen groups—comprised of local Muslim youth, both men and women—perform vocal and instrumental music, accompanied by stylized dance routines. Highlighting the subtle and symbiotic interplay of adab (Muslim etiquette) and adat (local customs and practices), the essay illustrates how these hybrid performances blend instruments, rhythmic patterns, Arabic song texts (hajir marawis), and dance moves from the Arab Gulf with local Indonesian cultural idioms and styles. With careful attention to the artists’ postures and comportment, appearance and demeanor, physical movements and entrainment, Rasmussen shows how these embodied public displays model both individual Muslim subjectivity and collective national identity. In Chapter 8, “Smoke, Fire, and Rain in Muslim Southeast Asia: Environmental Ethics in the Time of Burning,” Anna M. Gade articulates an adab of everyday practice that is firmly rooted in tradition but responsive to change, targeted to local realities but global in outlook. In 2015, the ongoing destruction of Indonesian tropical rain forests—through slash-and-burn practices to clear land for new palm oil plantations—blanketed island and peninsular Southeast Asia in a veil of smog and soot. In the face of this precarious situation, local Muslim communities turned to the sunna of the Prophet Muhammad, standing together, praying together, and petitioning God for rain to stop the raging fires and suffocating smoke caused by human greed and folly. Coupling extensive fieldwork research with a nuanced analysis of the Qur’an, classical legal and theological texts, and the work of contemporary Muslim scholars and activists, Gade describes this response to environmental devastation as a practical and communal enactment of a religious ethics of real-life urgency. In the face of chaos and crises, she argues, adab spurs action and agency, providing Muslims with a coherent, meaningful, and moral response to global environmental dangers.

Conclusion As Shahab Ahmed argues in his expansive study of Islamicate cultures, “Islam is a process, that is a process of human discursive and social activity, and that

Introduction

15

discourse is characterized by a multiplicity of voices.”17 Through eight nuanced case studies, this volume illuminates the multiplicity of Muslim experience in the daily, lived, local contexts of contemporary Malaysia and Indonesia. In a search for patterns and shared inheritances, it is readily apparent that the concept of adab informs Muslim ethical behavior across a vast spatial, temporal, and cultural landscape. Even so, the essays in this volume affirm that in Southeast Asia the form and function of adab are elastic. In everyday practice, adab’s impact on both individual Muslim subjectivity and collective identity is far from uniform. With an emphasis on dynamism, particularity, and difference, the authors map adab’s multiple meanings, interpretations, and applications. Collectively, this research demonstrates that in contrast to normative, prescriptive models of Islamic etiquette, Muslims in Indonesia and Malaysia—men and women, elites and nonelites, urban and rural—invoke and deploy adab in remarkably different ways to radically different ends. As the old saying goes: all culture is local. Shattering the myth of a monolithic Islam, this volume affirms that the same is true for the expression and experience of adab in the piety, politics, and everyday ethics of Muslim Southeast Asia.

Part One

Texts and Contexts

1

The Interplay between Adab and Local Ethics and Etiquette in Indonesian and Malaysian Literature Muhamad Ali

Introduction The concept of adab is a fundamental and pervasive code of behavior in Muslim societies. It is “a deeply embedded cultural/religious value flexibly and situationally determining the best form of action based in an ontological refinement and found in the Islamic and Islamicate cultural arena.”1 Even though adab does not exist in the primary scripture of Islam, the Qur’an, the term has become not only a pervasive concept but also a historically persistent norm, intersecting with cultural and ethicoreligious concepts in many Islamicate societies around the world. In Southeast Asia, the prevalence of adab and its meanings are shaped by both scriptural and cultural factors, as well as by Arabic and non-Arabic sources of knowledge and practice. Determining the best form of action, adab is framed within the fundamental Qur’anic concepts of akhlaq (akhlaq karima and husn al-khulq, or good morality), the English/Dutch word “etiquette/etiket,” and the Arabic and Sanskrit localized concepts of custom known as adat or adat istiadat. In the Islamicate societies in Southeast Asia, the modern Arabic-English dictionary’s description of adab as culture, refinement, good breeding, good manners, decency, propriety, humaneness, the humanities, literature, civility, and civilization intersects with a wide variety of localized terminology. This includes Sanskrit and old Javanese words such as sopan santun (politeness), budi pekerti (good character), tata krama (manners), unggah-unggah (manners); localized English words such as etiket, moralitas, and etika; as well as the equally wide variety of meanings of the Arabic terms akhlaq (disposition, nature,

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character, temper, ethics, morals, or manner) and adat (custom, habit, tradition, culture). In short, there is both interchangeability and distinction between adab and other concepts that define good manners, morality, and tradition. Together, the appropriation and localization of Arabic, Sanskrit, Dutch, and English terminology illuminates how codes of behavior operate in Malay and Indonesian Muslim societies. In this process, Arabic-Islamic and Western epistemologies intertwine within local ethnic, nationalistic, and Islamic works on ethics and etiquette. This complex interplay between Arabic, Western, and local taxonomies is evident in the various texts we will discuss in this essay.

Adab and Adat in Indonesian Local and Nationalist Literature In Indonesia, when adab is used in particular local traditions (adat), the term can mean ethics, etiquette, and sometimes literature. A volume entitled Beberapa Etika dan Etiket Jawa (Some Literature on Javanese Ethics and Etiquettes) contains a variety of serat literature (a serat means a text made of fiber and other materials) from the old eras of Javanese kingdoms which signifies the conflation of ethics and tradition. In the volume, a serat text entitled Serat Panitisastra (Manual of Wisdom), composed by different court authors during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, blends Javanese morality with some reference to Allah and the Prophet Muhammad. In this work, the Javanese word unggah-ungguh signifies manners in language and custom according to an individual’s place in society. The text contains ethical rules for the ruler and ruled, the aristocracy and the ordinary people, the students and teachers, and the parents and children. Another serat literary text that blends local Javanese moral values with the Islamic ideas of divinity, spirituality, and ethics is Serat Wulang Reh (Advice About the Way to Attain a Goal), composed by the Surakarta Muslim King Pakubuwana IV (1768–1820). This poetic text emphasizes the importance of adat (local custom) and tata krama (good manners) in both culturally Javanese and religiously Islamic terms. The book was meant to teach the court and the wider Islamized Javanese society about moral values to attain a harmonious life in this world and a contented life in the hereafter. A  passage in the text, for example, says, “knowledge (ngelmu, from Arabic ‘ilm) can be understood and mastered by the path; the path to attain it is a special one; it is by fostering character; the strong character leads one away from anger.”2 According to the text, abstaining from eating in excess, remembering one God (Tuhan Yang Maha Esa, a Sanskrit phrase which means “The One and Almighty

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God”), and the performance of the Five Pillars of Islam (proclamation of faith, prayer, fasting, charity, and the pilgrimage) are the prerequisites for living a good life in the world and success in the afterlife. An action is appropriate if it is considerate, thoughtful, and wise. A pious Muslim has to avoid any action that only benefits himself and harms others. He should avoid saying untrustworthy words (lunyu), keeping secrets, or being a hypocrite. Proper social relationships are shaped on the basis of age, position, and kinship. Parents, parents-in-laws, older brothers, teachers, and rulers each deserves respect and honor. Toward God, the believer has to serve Him and put trust (pasrah) in Him while obeying His commands and the Prophet Muhammad. All these principles are based on reciprocity, solidarity, obedience toward elders, the power of the heart, and trust in one’s fate.3 Blending local Javanese with Islamic messages, this text focuses on inner spiritual development as the prerequisite for living in multiple layers of relationship to attain a successful life in this world and the afterlife. Another adab text which accommodates adat in an Indonesian language using an Arabic script (jawi) is Kitab Adab Al-Insan (Book of Good Manners of Human Being), authored by a prominent scholar of Arab descent, Sayyid Uthman of Batavia (1882–1914), and published in 1900. Uthman was born in Batavia, the capital of the Netherlands East Indies (the present-day Indonesia). He later moved to and studied in Mecca and Hadhamaut, Yemen, and traveled to parts of Arabia. He then returned to Batavia and cooperated with Christian Snouck Hurgronje (1889–1906), the advisor for the colonial government on Arabic and Islamic affairs and a scholar of Islam and Islam in the Archipelago. Sayyid Uthman wrote and published multiple works on Islamic belief, ritual, law, and ethics, including the one mentioned earlier on good manners.4 Sayyid Uthman states the context and purpose for writing such a manual: many people in the Netherlands East Indies do not know and do not follow rules (aturan) and customary manners (adat kelakuan) and therefore are inclined toward bad behavior, both private and public. As a result, he feels the need to write an accessible pocket book one could carry while working and traveling. To that end, Sayyid Uthman chooses to use a low, vernacular Malay language (bahasa Melayu rendah) written in the Arabic script (jawi) so that the ordinary people who know jawi could understand. In this text, goodness and wisdom are believed to produce four benefits: wealth, health, spiritual satisfaction, and good reputation. In his view, it is vitally important for Muslims not to contravene agama (religion) and adat negeri (customs of the country) and not to be harmful so as not to be harmed. In his formulation, adab takes various forms: the adab of humans toward Allah (to know Allah, the God

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of mankind, and His attributes, such as the All-Knowing, All-Seeing, and AllHearing) and the adab of children toward their parents, reflecting the Qur’anic verse, “And serve Allah and do not associate Him with anything, and be kind to your parents” (Chapter 4, Al-Nisa, 36). Sayyid Uthman interprets this verse as an instruction for Muslims to listen to and show respect for their parents, to say no harsh or loud words against them, to show no unpleasant face to them, and to help them when they are in need. This is articulated in his detailed descriptions concerning the adab of children toward their parents. The other sections of the book address the proper adab between siblings; the adab between husbands and wives; the adab between neighbors; the adab between students and teachers; the adab of learning; and the adab of teaching. Sayyid Uthman asserts that wisdom (hikmah), which is beyond discursive, book knowledge (ilm), is of paramount value. In his view, a wise Muslim knows when to stop speaking, what to learn, how to teach, what knowledge is appropriate for particular audiences, and when and how to give greetings.5 This adab text in jawi indicates that proper behavior toward God and other human beings in accordance with the religious–cultural codes results in both material and spiritual gains. Beyond these religious–cultural texts, there are also “nationalisticreligious” texts that describe proper etiquette beyond particular ethnic and religious groups. Numerous local authors have written about an Indonesian etiquette that contrasts with foreign customs. These authors are typically concerned with nation building, which they feel needs clearer orientation and focused renewal in the face of crises and social change. In this genre of texts, Indonesia is imagined as belonging to the East (Timur), in opposition to the West (Barat). To be Eastern and nationalistic means to create and develop a national style of civility and civilization derived from the existing local and ethnic cultures. Nilakusuma, another local author—a female writer, a Minangkabawi from West Sumatera—published a book, Etiket Sopan Santun Pergaulan Sehari-hari (The Etiquette of Everyday Personal and Social Interactions), in 1959 during the era of President Sukarno (ruled 1945–1965). In this book, Nilakusuma uses the term adab in its derivative form:  peradaban. This term means civility or civilization, a concept that includes manners. She suggests that etiquette determines both an individual's level of civility and sense of nationhood. She contends that manners are a critical necessity for the Indonesian people from all walks of life—the educated and the general public, men and women, old and young—in order to position them to adapt to the changing environment and attain success in life. Westerners and Easterners such as Indonesians, she writes,

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have different etiquettes. For her, etiquette is one of the key characteristics of a civilized nation. Although men are “hard” and women “soft” in speaking and in character, both must work to create harmony and to act politely toward each other in a sincere way. All citizens, she maintains, need to learn and practice the appropriate ways of behaving, talking, visiting, dressing, debating, shaking hands, serving guests, offering greetings and thanks, laughing, sleeping, keeping promises, and other daily activities. By way of example, she insists that during Islamic holidays, such as after the fasting month of Ramadan, people should be considerate in the timing of their visits, avoiding the early morning hours when women are still preparing for food and drink, or the late afternoons when the hosts are likely to be resting. Nilakusuma worries that as societies progress, the sense of nationhood deteriorates. To avoid the loss of tradition and good manners, she contends, leaders and lay people—both Muslims and non-Muslims alike—are all responsible for preserving their manners and creating a national personality (kepribadian nasional). In her view, nationalism requires speaking the Indonesian language instead of foreign languages, and using local products such as clothing made in Indonesia in order to support the creation of a national style of dress (pakaian nasional).6 In this text, a distinct Indonesian national etiquette is characterized by language, slogans, clothing, and dress, as well as through moral behavior among the members of the nation—a bulwark against a lack of sense of belonging to the nation and the loss of the tradition. In a similar fashion, another local Javanese author, Oetomo Ds, in his book Tata-Krama Nasional Indonesia (Indonesian National Etiquette), published in Yogyakarta in 1963, suggests that it is crucial to create a national etiquette (tata krama nasional). In European cultures, he contends, shoes are more respectable than hats, whereas in Indonesia, the reverse is true. The text provides a host of other detailed examples. In reference to the manner of walking, the author writes:  “Westerners walk fast, Arabs walk slowly, and Indonesians walk at a moderate pace.” Regarding eating, he notes that because Indonesians eat rice, they sit and rarely eat while walking. These are some of the good manners inherited from the past, rightly preserved for future generations. In his estimation, custom (adat istiadat) constitutes a unique cultural aspect of the national identity. Without culture and its cultivation, there can be no strong and widespread sense of nationalism. The book was published to “present valuable guidelines for formulating a new code of conduct in accordance with the spirit of the Indonesian revolution.” The text frames the Indonesian Revolution as the continuation of the Indonesians’ struggle after the declaration of independence

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on August 17, 1945 to build the nation-state under the leadership of President Sukarno. The book is also considered a contribution to the creation of manners in accordance with the spirit of the state philosophy of Pancasila (the Five Pillars: Belief in One and Only God, A Just and Civilized Humanity, A Unified Indonesia, Democracy Led by the Wisdom of the Representatives of the People, Social Justice for all Indonesians) and the nation’s sense of morality.7 For the author, Indonesian etiquette is constructed and promoted to serve nationalist projects and cultivate the state’s philosophy, a compromise between the competing factions promoting an Islamic state or a secular state. In a nation-wide effort, numerous Indonesian political leaders also promoted a sense of national morality grounded on the doctrine of Pancasila. President Suharto (who ruled from 1966 to 1998)  promoted Pancasila in the form of Pancasila Moral Education (Pendidikan Moral Pancasila), a program to be taught in public schools and universities. After the fall of his New Order— an authoritarian regime characterized with rampant corruption, collusion, nepotism, and an educational culture focusing on intellectualism and materialism—Indonesian leaders and educators formulated and promoted a character-based education (pendidikan karakter) in an effort to resolve the multidimensional crises that culminated in the Asian financial crisis that ravaged the nation in the late 1990s.8 In contemporary times, Muslim educators also emphasize character education in terms of promoting adab toward Allah, adab toward oneself, and adab toward other human beings, encouraging the ethical virtues of promoting honesty, responsibility, self-confidence, compassion, charitableness, respectfulness, tolerance, and peacefulness.9 Today, this act of combining religious and nationalist frames in public education continues to be promoted by numerous Muslim leaders and sponsored by the Department of National Education and the Department of Religious Affairs, two governmental institutions in charge of national and religious education, respectively. Given this dynamic, adab may be better understood if we analyze the concept in both specific and broader contexts, covering ethnic and nationalistic traditions, codes of behavior, and ethics.

Adab and Akhlaq in Indonesian Religious Literature A separate genre of religious Islamic texts addresses a broader Muslim audience, mostly written in local languages or translations of Arabic texts. This Indonesian religious literature emerged as an outcome of the broader religio-intellectual

The Interplay between Adab and Local Ethics

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networks connecting religious scholars and people between the Middle East, Southeast Asia and beyond.10 Returning from their travels abroad, Indo-Malay students and pilgrims brought with them literature from Mecca, Medina, Cairo, and other places, a number of them translating the Arabic works on adab and publishing them in their hometowns. A prominent early text on akhlaq (morals, ethics, or manners) that spotlights adab combines a Javanese translation and commentary on Imam Al-Ghazzali’s (d.1111) book, Bidayat al-Hidaya (The Beginning of Guidance), Al-Zandawaisiti’s (d.922) Rawdatul ‘Ulama (The Garden of the Scholars), and other works on Qur’anic exegesis and the foundation of Islamic jurisprudence. This is probably one of the earliest treatises in Java on Muslim ethics, a manuscript that dates back to the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, a time when Javanese society was not predominantly Islamized. The author is unknown, although he is referred to as a caliph (khalifa), a term usually used for a Sufi teacher with some background in religious education but perhaps not to the level of the preeminent teacher, or Shaykh. Some of the book’s passages may be attributed to Shaykh Malik Ibrahim, an Arab merchant and preacher responsible for the Islamization of Java; others are likely derived from other books on moral education (tahdhib al-akhlaq). This Javanese text gives a great deal of attention to the inner disposition of a Muslim and stresses the need for further religious education to cultivate Muslim ethics, following the Qur’an and the example of the Prophet. It suggests that the benefits of following the right path are simultaneously moral and spiritual: beautiful behavior garners respect from other people and, at the same time, provides blessings from God (the same favors as fell to the lot of al-Khidr, the servant of God on whom, according to the Qur’an Chapter  18, Al-Kahf, 65: “We have bestowed a mercy from Us, and whom We had taught from Our side knowledge.”).11 Another important text on Muslim ethics that focuses on good manners is Riyadh Al-Shalihin (The Garden of the Pious) by an influential Sunni jurist and hadith scholar from Damascus, Abu Zakaria Yahya ibn Sharaf Al-Nawawi (d.1277). This Arabic text has been widely taught in Islamic boarding schools (pesantren) across the Indonesian-Malay world. The first pages of the book describe sincere intention as the only true and proper motivation for an act to be accepted by God, in keeping with the Prophet’s statement, “Actions depend on their intention, and a person will get the reward according to his attention.” A  Muslim should have no other purposes beyond being close to Allah.12 The book has chapters addressing good manners, dressing, sleeping and sitting, greeting, traveling, praise and gratitude to Allah, supplications, and forgiveness.

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A  specific chapter on good manners comprises many hadiths reporting the Prophet’s sayings and deeds. One of the traditions is about a hypocrite, or munafiq, which has been translated into Malay and Indonesian as munafik. According to the text, there are three signs of a munafiq: when he speaks, he lies; when he makes promise, he breaks it; and when he is entrusted, he betrays his trust. By comparison, the Prophet is said to speak softly, to smile instead of laughing loudly, and to use his right hand in all matters: in combing his hair, putting on his shoes, and other acts.13 For Imam Al-Nawawi, sincere intention and truthfulness shape good morality and proper manners. For the Islamic modernist organization Muhammadiyah—named after Prophet Muhammad and founded in Yogyakarta, Central Java, in 1912—ethics and manners constitute an integral part of the faith and ritual of Islam. Ahmad Dahlan (d.1923), the founder of Muhammadiyah, together with his wife, founded a women’s organization named Aisyiyah (after the wife of the Prophet) in Yogyakarta in 1917. Both the Muhammadiyah and the Aisyiyah’s schools include adab in the curricula, in addition to the subjects of aqidah (pillars of faith), fiqh (jurisprudence for daily worship), and the memorization of the short chapters of the Qur’an.14 The organization published a book entitled Adab al-Mar’ah fi al-Islam (The Ethics for Women in Islam) from their congress in West Java in 1976. This text outlines adab and akhlaq derived from the Qur’an and the hadith for their members across the country. Starting with the hadith of the Prophet, “I was not sent down to the world but to improve the morality of humankind,” the book elaborates the ways that Muslim women should behave and act in relation to God, to their husbands, to their children, to neighbors, and to guests, along with details on how they should dress and act in society and in public spaces such as the arena of the arts, the court, on the streets, and in politics. A chapter in the book entitled “In the Carnivals and Street Demonstrations,” states: In principle, for their safety and dignity, Muslim women are preferred to stay at home unless for justified reasons and without contravening good manners and social ethics commanded by God and His Prophet . . . There is a hadith collected by Tabrani [the hadith in Arabic is cited and translated into Indonesian] which prohibits women from going out of their homes unless at times of the Islamic festivals concluding the fasting of Ramadan and for performing the pilgrimage, but this chain of the transmitter of this hadith is weak and unreliable because there are other hadiths [two hadiths are cited and translated] suggesting that the Prophet allowed women to go out of their homes for performing other religious obligations, for studying, and other purposes. However, when women are out of

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their homes, they should pay attention to good manners and propriety (adabadab kesopanan dan kesusilaan) as taught in Islam as follows:  a. they should not show off their jewelry and fineries [the Qur’an, Chapter 33, Al-Ahzab: 33, “And abide in your houses and do not display yourselves as was the display of the former times of ignorance,” is cited and translated]; b. they should not intermingle with men [three hadiths are cited and translated]; c. they should not use fragrances to draw attraction [a hadith is cited and translated]. In short, if the carnivals and demonstrations are for the purpose of the religion or for public good, then there should be no prohibition.15

Islamic ethics and good manners have also become an increasingly important theme in Muslim reformist publications during times of moral crisis and social change. The most prolific Muhammadiyah author was Haji Abdul Malik bin Haji Abdul Karim Amrullah (1908–1981), a towering figure from Minangkabau, West Sumatera, who was better known by the nickname Hamka (1908–1981). According to his biographer, Hamka “remained open to the new hybridities that Indonesia’s complex, evolving society might achieve with Islam as its compass.”16 Hamka was a prolific novelist, an influential activist, and renowned scholar across the Indonesian-Malay world, as well as the first chairman of the Council of Islamic Scholars (Majelis Ulama Indonesia) of the Republic of Indonesia during the era of Soeharto (1966–1998). One of his short essays published in a local newspaper during the Dutch colonial time deals with the etiquette of speaking and delivering speeches (kesopanan berpidato).17 In the postcolonial era, Hamka was especially interested in etiquette as an integral part of Islamic morality and the basis for an Islamic philosophy of life. One of his books published and circulated in postcolonial Indonesia and Malaysia entitled Falsafah Hidup (The Philosophy of Life) contains a chapter entitled “adab kesopanan” (politeness). In this chapter, Hamka asserts that reason is progressive in its development and impact on human lives, engaging not only the intellect but also, and more importantly, emotion. Emotion comprises moral qualities (budi) and an ethics of politeness (adab kesopanan), which distinguish humans from animals. For Hamka, the ethics of politeness are divided into the inner and the outer [batin and zhahir]. The inner adab takes the forms of human relationships for the purpose of protection against unethical behavior. The expressions of the outer adab, by contrast, change according to different places and times, such as customary law (hukum adat istiadat) and courtesy (resam basi). For example, according to the old Malay custom, young people were expected to sit cross-legged (bersila) in front of their elders.

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Courtesy or manners, Hamka writes, vary according to local customs, whether Minangkabawi, Javanese, Buginese, or Acehnese. Hamka maintains, however, that it is the inner form of adab that endures and requires careful cultivation and preservation. The inner courtesies (kesopanan batin) such as good intention and kind-heartedness are shared by all human beings and represent the root source of the outer adab. The inner courtesy takes two forms: one toward other humans, and the other toward the creator. Hamka explains that proper adab toward other humans includes abstaining from seeing the bad in others and avoiding worldly luxuries (perhiasan dunia) (as expressed in the Qur’an Chapter 24, An-Nur: 30–31); maintaining good social relationships (as in Chapter  49, Al-Hujurat:  11–12); respecting parents (as commanded in Chapter 31, Luqman: 14–15); and respecting the host when visiting others (as in Chapter  24, Al-Nur:  27–8). The adab toward God takes many forms, such as serving Him, following His commands, avoiding His prohibitions, fearing His anger, being anxious and hoping for His mercy, and loving and longing for Him—all of which are signs of the faith and trust in Allah.18 For Hamka, therefore, adab signifies both the fixed and enduring inner, spiritual qualities, as well as the fluid outer moral expressions. Hamka sees the external expressions of adab as being less fixed than the internal qualities of adab.19 Another Muslim group with a rural basis and even larger affiliation, the Nahdlatul Ulama (the Awakening of Islamic Scholars, NU), founded by Ahmad Dahlan’s contemporary, Hasyim Asy’ari (d.1947), has also produced texts on morality primarily based on medieval jurisprudential scholarship. Hasyim Asy’ari, who was educated in a boarding school (pesantren) in Java and then in Mecca, sought to reform Javanese Muslim society primarily through the traditional boarding schools (pesantren) and community gatherings. Given the NU’s focus on traditional schooling, one of his widely used manuals focuses on the code of conduct for teachers and students (Adab al-’Alim wa al-Muta’allim). This text outlines the primary objective of religious education:  to allow the student to reach the status of a scholar (‘alim) and a noble man as the inheritor of the prophets. The other objectives, he argues, were to translate the knowledge acquired into good action and to obtain the pleasure of Allah.20 The NU’s ethical teachings also concern women. This is constructed through their reading of the medieval Arabic works transmitted in the pesantrens and by the production of fatwas (religious opinions) in their meetings. For example, a text in Javanese using Arabic script (pegon), Al-Mar’ah al-Shalihah (The Virtuous Women), addresses the good manners of Muslim women toward their husbands, children, parents, neighbors, and guests. The text, as scholar Pieternilla has

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summarized, “consists of lists with admonitions concerning issues from gossip, foul language, and spending too much of the husband’s money to wasting the family’s money on foods that are too expensive.”21 One of the widely read and influential Arabic works in the pesantrens is Kitab Syarh ‘Uqud Al-Lujain fi Bayan Huquq Al-Zaujain (The Book of Explication of the Contracts of Silvers in the Explanation of the Rights of Husbands and Wives), compiled and composed by Shaikh Al-Nawawi al-Bantani (1813–1897), a prolific scholar from Banten, West Java, who lived, studied, taught, and wrote in Mecca. This influential text begins with a Qur’anic verse (Chapter 4, Al-Nisa:  19):  “And treat your wives in a good manner,” and another chapter (Chapter  2, Al-Baqarah:  228), emphasizing the rights of husbands and wives. A  number of hadiths are cited, including:  “the best man is the best man who treats his wives.” Yet, in the interpretation, some passages suggest a harshness in men’s attitudes toward their wives. For example, one such quote argues that “a husband is permitted to beat his wife if she refuses her husband’s request for adorning, or refuses having sex with him, or leaving home without her husband’s permission, or if she beats a child, or if she rips her husband’s shirt, or if she says to her husband: you are a sheep, a donkey, stupid, and so on, even if she says it after the husband belittles her . . . a husband is allowed to beat his wife if she does not pray after she is reminded of that.”22 These passages and others in the text are the reason why this influential treatise has been described as “gender biased” by NU scholars and activists who seek to reinterpret texts in the framework of the Qur’anic teachings on justice and the modern ideas of human rights and gender equality.23 In this context, the textual reference to men’s discriminatory attitudes toward women may be read as part of the patriarchal etiquettes that could and should change. For that reason, among NU’s scholars and activists, both men and women, there has been a mission to emphasize the more fundamental ethics of Islam, such as moderation (tawassuth), justice (adl), tolerance (tasamuh), balance (tawazun), and enjoying the good and forbidding evil (amar ma’ruf nahy al-munkar)—ideas derived from the Qur’an and the substantive values of the hadith’s message, as well as the objectives of Islamic law formulated in Muslim scholarship.24

Adab and Adat in Malaya/Malaysia In Malaya/Malaysia, the concept of adab is also associated with adat or local custom. However, in contrast to Indonesia, which has several hundreds of ethnic

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groups and local customs, authors in Malaya/Malaysia have become preoccupied with Malay customs and their integration with Islamic identity. Even so, the explicitly Islamic texts and their translations in Malaysia have more in common with Islamic texts translated and/or produced in Indonesia. Malay mannerisms and ethnic tradition have frequently been conflated, with a distinction often made—from the colonial era to the present day—between the native (bumiputera) Malays and the foreign nationals. Historically, the British colonial practice was made official in the words of the Malaysian Constitution concerning Malayness. In this logic, a Malay is “one who speaks the Malay language, professes Islam and habitually follows Malay customs.”25 An everyday but crucial aspect of the Malay adat is language (bahasa) that signifies speech, culture, or even manners. Thus, to be a Malay means to speak and behave according to Malay standards, although exactly what Malayness means varies and changes over time.26 One of the early literary works in this context is the Sejarah Melayu (Malay Annals), composed by different authors and editors, including Sultan Abdullah of Johor (1615–1623) who rewrote his own version. This text begins with some reference to Allah and the Prophet Muhammad and tells a story of the origin, rise, and fall of the Malacca Sultanate to the Portuguese in 1511. According to the text:  A Portuguese captain visited the port of Malacca and presented the Malay chief minister with a gold neck chain by passing it over his head. The people were surprised until the vizier calmed them down, saying, “Never mind! He knows not our manners.” (Biarkan! Dia ta’ tahu bahasa).27 In this passage, bahasa signifies speech and manners, which does not necessarily carry a religious connotation. Another text that shows the connection between manners and custom, particularly the way in which the use of proper language signifies good manners, is Bustan al-Katibin (The Garden of Writers) by Raja Ali Haji (ca. 1809–ca. 1873), a member of the ruling family on the island of Penyengat near Singapore, then part of British Malaya. In this text, morals and manners are said to originate from speech and only subsequently from conduct (“adab dan sopan itu daripada tutur kata juga asalnya, kemudian baharulah pada kelakuan”).28 In his Gurindam Dua Belas (Twelve Couplets, 1847), Raja Ali Haji describes Malays of good breeding in the following way:  “If you want to know someone from a good nation (berbangsa), look at his good morals and proper language (budi dan bahasa).”29 Here, Malay language, Malay manners, and Malay nationhood are interrelated. The presence of Europeans and other foreigners, and the weakening sense of Malay identity and customs, led foreign authors to also record and promote the

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Malay language and culture. Many of these authors saw etiquette as an integral part of the Malay culture, learned in religious schools and socialized in everyday life. R.  J. Wilkinson, the British administrator residing in Malaya from 1896 to 1916, wrote about Malay beliefs, observing that Malay courtesy was taught in “the old Malay Koran-classes,” in which “a boy was taught to be silent until he was addressed, to keep his eyes cast down in the presence of his superiors, to behave unobtrusively at a public meeting, and to adapt his language to the occasion on which it was used.”30 Wilkinson and later British scholars such as Mubin Sheppard, an Irish civil servant of the British colonial government in Malaya and a historian who converted to Islam, wanted to show their cultural sensitivity and respect for the Malay’s “act of politeness.”31 According to their views, Malay custom may change, whereas Malay courtesy endures:  “Some of the old customs might change as he grew up, he would probably never chew sireh quid (betel leaf) or learn to handle a kris (dagger with a serpentine blade), and he might not live in Kampong Bahagia, but of one thing he was sure, he would never abandon Malay courtesy.”32 Here adab in the sense of a Malay code of conduct is understood as being less flexible than the everyday details of the Malay customs. Other Malay authors felt the need to record and disseminate their views about the Malay code of behavior and politeness. Dato’ Muhammad Ghazzali bin Arifin, for example, came to the State of Kelantan in 1900 as a clerk to Sultan Muhammad IV and served as teacher to his son Ismail (later Sultan) before being appointed head teacher of the government vernacular school in Kota Baru and then a “visiting teacher” for the State. He saw the need for transmitting knowledge about the court and the ordinary Malays’ code of behavior to the foreigners and the locals alike. Ghazzali wrote an article in English on the court language and etiquette of the Malays in 1933 in the Journal of the Malay Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society, a publication promoting both British and Malay research. Ghazzali suggests that it is “the duty of Malay parents to teach their children how to behave before elders and superiors so that the humblest Malay may be fit to be a follower or companion of royalty and the aristocracy.” For him, even illiterate Malays would need to know court language and manners, while “education of the higher kind” was not regarded as of paramount importance.33 The Malays, he insists, are expected to follow the proper way of addressing persons by using their official titles, knowing the colors of the flag for each of the states, and adhering to court customs.34 For Ghazzali, the sultanate system, Islamic greetings, equality, and social class distinctions at the palace coexist. He writes, “The palace is open to the public

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during the two festivals . . . During the Muslim Hari Raya holidays, visitors are all treated alike; one’s own servants are received in the drawing room, where they are served with food and drinks as guests of equality. No angry words or quarrels are allowed, and whoever infringes this golden rule is looked upon as a savage or an outcaste. Brotherhood and democracy reign supreme during the two festivals.”35 Ghazzali adds, “On entering the mosque, the raja regards himself as an ordinary man. Anyone of his subjects, high or low, may stand beside him while worshipping the Creator.”36 In his view, social hierarchy and religious equality are both necessary, and manners serve as a cultural mechanism to ensure social order and political stability in Malaya. The importance of Malay language and manners as an integral part of Malay cultural identity—as well as social interactions with other cultures, particularly between Islam and the West—is a point of emphasis for Zainal Abidin Ahmad (1895–1973), also known as Za’ba. Za’ba was a literary critic of the British and the Malays alike, and he sought to modernize the classical Malay language and to preserve (and, at times, reform) the Malay code of behavior. Having studied and taught in both Malay and English-styled school systems, including the University of London’s School of Oriental and African Studies, Za’ba reasoned that the rules of social etiquette were “never properly studied or systematically set down in writing, either in English or in Malay.” Za’ba argued that every community or nation has customs and “habits of politeness.”37 He felt the need to record “the fundamental ideas” informing the codes of behavior of both the Malay royalty and ordinary citizens. During the final decades of the British presence in Malaya, he notes, Malays had been interacting with non-Muslims and non-Malay Westerners. As a result, the Malays had become educated in traditional local and modernized Western schools, and in the process had been increasingly exposed to modern ways of behavior. In addressing and greeting people, for example, a Malay, “who is always Muslim,” would meet a non-Muslim friend or superior and would use the Malay word tabek (salute), but if the Malay were educated in the other person’s language then he would give greetings in that language (such as Selamat Pagi, or “Good Morning!”).38 Having observed and experienced a mixture of cultures, Za’ba insisted that Islamic, indigenous, and Western manners are not contradictory, as people would act according to the circumstances. When a Malay invites a friend to his home, for example, sweetened tea and sweetmeats are served, but no strong (alcoholic) drinks as in the Western custom. When it comes to sexual interaction, Za’ba continues, it is “unorthodox” or “ultramodern” for a man to join women visiting other women, and for a woman to join men meeting other men in the house.

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“Sexual segregation,” he contends, “is the etiquette, with the exception that the visitor of either sex is an old and close friend of the family, or if the visitor is a lady with modern or Western education and the men of the house are likewise so educated and vice versa.”39 For Za’ba, Islamic ethics, local customs, and the Western modes of etiquette and behavior can be compatible when each is applied in their proper places and moments. After the independence of Malaya from the British in 1957, writings about ethics and manners continued to flourish. A Malay author of Arab descent, Alwi bin Sheikh AlHady (1893–n.d.), distinguished the Malay from the Western ways in two texts published in 1962 and 1965. In his assessment, Western practices had come to influence Malays who seemed to lose their own manners as a result. His first book, Adat Resam dan Adat Isti’adat Melayu (The Malay Customs and Traditions), is derived from his knowledge of the Royal Court of Rhio (part of Malaya) and the general household and village customs handed down orally through the years. The Malay traditions he outlines include the piercing of ear-lobes, circumcision, marriage customs, and funeral customs. Alwi AlHady implies that Malay customs and habits are not necessarily of Islamic origin. In a marriage ceremony, for instance, the akad (the contract between the groom and the guardian of the bride), with witnesses and a dowry, is stipulated by Islamic jurisprudence, but other rites and protocols of the wedding are shaped by Malay customs that could either persist or change.40 Alwi AlHady maintains, however, that proper etiquette carries moral judgment and social punishment. The consequences of bad manners are either hard or soft. In his assessment, the royal protocols are to be strictly observed by the royalty and the commoners when interacting with them. For example, in the section “Etiquette on Public Roads,” he notes that disobeying the proper way of paying homage to royalty (by raising the hands to the forehead even in public roads) is “a punishable offence,” except if the offender is a foreigner in which case he or she is excused but should be informed of the local custom.41 Any man, whether of royal descent or a man of rank, walking along a public road should give the right of way to any of the following people who he may happen to meet: the Sultan; the Raja Muda (Young King or Prince); the Bendahara (Chief Treasurer); the Temenggung (Chief of Security); a Tengku Besar (an Honorable Figure); womenfolk, both married or single, who are either visiting or returning from a shrine; funeral and wedding processions; persons carrying heavy loads or burdens; a blind person; children; and mad persons.42 For Alwi AlHady, Malay etiquette is to be followed by all Malays according to their social position, with special attention to those who deserve the most respect in society.

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In 1965, Alwi bin Sheikh AlHady published another book on the code of conduct concerning social relations entitled Adab-Tertib (Dalam Pergaulan dan Champoran) Chara Barat dan Chara Melayu (The Good Manners of Social Interaction: The Western Way and the Malay Way). The educated, young Malays, Alwi AlHady argues, are becoming Westernized through their education and the changing environment and, in the process, are neglecting the dictates of traditional Malay etiquette. He suggests that the Western way is neither always bad nor unworthy of learning. Instead, he presents both systems of etiquette so that readers can understand and apply each in their proper times and places. In the text, Alwi AlHady discusses such topics as proper social introductions and the rules for attending meetings, dinners, engagements, marriages, weddings, and funerals—with each topic divided into the “Western way” and the “Malay way.” For example, according to Malay customs, on introducing oneself and others, a nonmarried woman should be introduced to the married woman, unless the nonmarried woman is higher in rank; in the West, by contrast, where a woman is given the honor, it is the man who is introduced to the woman, unless the man is higher in rank. Unlike in the West, women and men are not to shake hands according to the Malay etiquette, unless the woman offers her hand first and the meeting is in her house.43 In this context, Alwi AlHady argues that the Western etiquette of introduction is neither inherently bad nor impermissible. Introducing a man to a woman and vice versa in public places is a Western custom, he insists, but it is not necessarily against Islam or Malayness.44 In other cases, Alwi AlHady notes, the Islamic norm agrees with the Western habit but disagrees with the local practices of Malays. Westerners invite others to meetings and arrive on time, whereas Malays do not attend meetings on time (thus, the epithet “Oriental punctuality”)—a practice, he argues, that contradicts the basic Islamic ethic of keeping promises. Alwi AlHady asks why the Malays imitate Western dress and lifestyle but do not follow the practices of punctuality and promise keeping. He goes on to note that, “Dancing at a party in which people dance, hug, and sing together is a Western custom,” that is “in contradiction with the Malay and Islamic custom.” But the dancing and singing of a professional dancer (biduan-penari) before the king or other people is considered customary and therefore fine.45 Alwi AlHady, therefore, admits that there are tensions between these cultural traditions (local or foreign, Eastern or Western) and then attempts to resolve the tensions between adab as etiquette and adat as cultural tradition. For Malay authors such as Ghazzali, Za’ba, and Alwi AlHady, the main objective was to record and disseminate knowledge about distinctly Malay

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customs, of which proper etiquette is a crucial part. In these writings, the compatibility or incompatibility between adab and adat is judged according to the individual author’s personal experience in the court and basic understanding of the dynamics of social relations. It is clear that for these Malay authors, while gender distinctions are significant, social class and rank are of paramount importance. The following section addresses specifically Islamic texts—works originally composed in the Malay language, as well as local translations of Arabic texts. One of the key features of this genre of Malaya religious literature is the close association of adab (etiquette) and akhlaq (ethics).

Adab and Akhlaq in Malaya/Malaysia The tension and overlap between etiquette and ethics are evident in a number of important Arabic texts circulated in Malaya and their local translations. A book, Adab Sopan Orang-orang Muda Perempuan (Manners for Young Women), a jawi translation of an Arabic book, Adāb Al-Fatāt (Manners for Young Women), published in Cairo in 1898 by an Egyptian author, Ali Efendi Fikri, asserts that adab is more fundamental and hence important than ‘aqal or rationality.46 Ali Fikri published a series of two books:  one for girls and one for boys, but the Malay translator, a woman, Badriyah Muhammad Thahir, translated the text on adab for girls only. Badriyah sought to make this particular adab known and practiced by the women of her nation in general and Muslim women in particular. It was quite unusual for a woman to translate an Arabic book at this time, but the existence of this translation indicates a female readership. Although Badriyah’s biographical details are unknown, she states her purpose in translating and commenting on the Arabic work. Above and beyond merely teaching girls about knowledge (ilmu pengetahuan), she says, the text aims to educate young women about their natural being (semula jadi), grounded on beautiful and fine behavior (perangai elok dan tingkah laku yang baiknya). “Knowledge without adab (manners) and perangai baik (good conduct) reaches no victory; some even use knowledge for making evil,” she writes. It is clear that Badriyah wanted to help Muslim girls to understand and embody ethics and rationality (beradab dan berakal), although for her the former is considered more important than the latter because ethics guide reason and not the reverse. Since the girls would become wives, mothers, and headwomen of the house, they needed to know their marital rights, their husband’s rights, and how

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best to nurture children so that they would be loved by men and blessed by God.47 Educating Muslim girls about adab and ilmu pengetahuan agama (religious knowledge), as well as household duties and other worldly skills, is the responsibility of every Muslim parent, she argues. If a Muslim girl does not follow the prescribed religious obligations, she would be punished (although the text does not specify who will punish her and how).48 Etiquette and ethics are also an important subject in Malay reformist writings, such as the work of Syed Sheikh bin Ahmad AlHadi (1867–1934). Syed AlHadi was born in Malacca of a Malay mother and a Hadrami-Arab father. AlHadi opened a madrasah (Islamic school) and worked at the Shari’a court in Johor Bahru, but he later went back to Malacca and established another madrasah there. As a pro-British advocate for modernization, he became a writer of books and articles in periodicals. In one of his works, he argues in defense of Islam as a rational religion. In the context of the Western challenge, Syed AlHadi affirms goodness and justice as the most important Islamic values. In a chapter on ethical rules in Islam, he maintains that a Muslim should speak the truth and be trustworthy, perseverant, self-controlled, forgiving, obedient to parents and the family, and compassionate toward the weak, the poor, the needy, and animals. He insists that Islam commands Muslims to respect people of other religions, their inherent dignity and fundamental rights. Muslims, he insists, can enjoy good food and nice clothing, but they should not do things that lead to enmity among people, such as drinking, gambling, and other harmful activities. In his view, Islam allows Muslims to do what is beneficial for them and others in the context of time and place, so long as it is not against the principle of tauhid (God’s unity) and human deliberation (bermufakat bersekutu).49 Here adab is interpreted as religious ethics and etiquette. In the face of Western culture and the Muslims’ pervasive lack of understanding of their own religion, AlHadi elaborates Islamic ethics in a framework that champions Islam as a rational, modern religion. One of the popular translated works in the Indonesian-Malay world is Minhaj al-Muslim (The Way of Muslims), authored by Abu Bakr Jabir Al-Jazairi (d.1999), an Algerian scholar who taught and lived in Medina. A series of jawi translations of selected chapters and parts of Al-Jazairi’s book were published in Pengasuh (The Guardian), a jawi periodical in Kelantan, Malaya, in 2001. (The Pengasuh periodical has been published in Kelantan since 1918.) The translator published sections of the Al-Jazairi’s Arabic text focusing on particular topics, including the adab of meeting, the adab of eating and drinking, the adab of clothing, the adab of visiting, and the adab of performing funerals. In the text, Al-Jazairi argues that the codes of behavior enshrined in the Qur’an and the

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hadiths are challenged by non-Islamic practices, both foreign and indigenous, and trivialized by divisions among Muslims on such nonfundamental issues as the ritualistic details on how to pray or what to pay for charity. Muslims have been more concerned about inconsequential problems that divide them, he asserts, than more fundamental issues that should have unified them, such as faith and ethics. Al-Jazairi was asked by Muslim communities he visited in Morocco to elucidate guidelines regarding the main moral and ethical dimensions of Islam. To do so, he divides the book into five chapters on distinct topics:  aqidah (belief), adab (manners), akhlaq (ethics), ibadah (worship), and mu’amalah (social interaction). The chapter on adab begins with the adab of intention and ends with the adab of sleeping. Here again, sincere intention plays a crucial role in Islamic ethics. On the manners of eating and drinking, al-Jazairi emphasizes the importance of taking the food closest to you when eating in a group; licking the fingers after finishing the meal to receive blessings (barakah); retrieving and eating food dropped from your mouth; not blowing on hot food; and not eating or drinking in excessive ways. Emphasizing the notion of divine blessing as the objective of moral acts, he cites the hadith: "one third of the stomach is for food, another third for water, and another third for air."50 On matters of proper dress, Al-Jazairi insists that Muslim men are prohibited from wearing silk, gold, or female clothing and asserts that Muslim women should not wear male clothing.51 Reading Al-Jazairi’s text as a whole, in its original and its translation, we find that the Islamic notion of adab is both fundamental and situational, alternatively generalizable and particular. For Al-Jazairi, adab is fundamental and general for actions that are “morally good.” It is situational and particular regarding the etiquette of such mundane, day-to-day activities as eating, although in his view even these small matters are ultimately reflections of the fundamental ideas of correct faith and correct action.

Conclusion In the texts we have analyzed in this essay, the formulation and defense of ethical values—which include both universalized values and everyday acts of politeness—may be differentiated on the basis of local ethnic, nationalistic, and religious identities. In the ethnic texts, the preservation of the elite–commoner hierarchy, socioeconomic class markers, and prescribed gender identity is deemed necessary to sustain proper and harmonious social relationships.

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The royal–commoner protocols are traced to the traditions of ancestors, with hierarchy deserving honor and respect. In the nationalistic texts, by contrast, morality is expected to be in line with the state’s philosophies, often influenced by mainstream religious sensibilities. In the Netherlands Indies/Indonesian context, while Javanese etiquette and Islamic ethics are not identical, many Javanese texts do blend local Javanese spirituality with Islamic identity and norms. In Malaysian constructions, Malay etiquettes and Islamic ethics are typically described as complementary if not integrated codes of behavior. In both Indonesia and Malaysia, religious nationalist authors perceive the deterioration of the sense of belonging to the nation, as well as the overarching challenges of societal progress, as precipitating the loss of the past and its traditions. And because Hindu, Buddhist, Christian, Western, and other local cultural influences have been either embedded in or recently introduced into the fabric of society, the word adab and related local terms have in effect become cosmopolitan ideas shared by Muslims and non-Muslims alike. This complex cultural interaction forms not only a “hybrid semantics” but also a sense of “cultural enrichment” that resists any overgeneralization about what constitutes correct and good behavior. In specifically Islamic adab texts, however, reformist authors tend to locate good manners firmly within the framework of global Islamic notions of divinity, prophethood, and spirituality—and the important ethical values of good morality (akhlaq karima), moderation, equality, and justice. Adab refers to the practical and situational aspects of good morality, but both Indonesian and Malaysian religious texts on etiquette conflate adab and akhlaq in ways that they often make them indistinguishable. How do we understand the context and purpose for the production of literature on adab? As Barbara Metcalf and others have suggested, in predominantly Muslim communities the loss of political power and external challenges such as the impact of Western cultures have frequently led religious elites to express concern with moral revitalization.52 In Muslim Southeast Asia, particularly the Netherlands Indies/Indonesia and British Malaya/Malaysia, these factors have profoundly influenced the call for cultural and religious reform. A  prevalent sense of a lack of conformity to the rules of an orderly and pious society significantly influenced many reformist authors to search for the teachings deemed authentic in the sources deemed authoritative. In doing so, they aimed to promote their own cultural symbols, language, and modes of behavior based on social position and identity:  age, social status, gender, ethnicity, religion, and nationality. In effect, Muslim authors sought a solution to the problems

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of widespread ignorance and bad character by inviting their fellow Muslims to return to correct knowledge and correct action. The writing and dissemination of literature on adab and related concepts of morality and etiquette can be seen as a technology of communal identity and cultural politics in times of crises and change. In these texts, questions and answers about the definitions of Islam, the differences between East and West, the distinction between nobility and commoners, the prescribed gender roles for men and women, and the rules of proper social relationships (between parents and children, between siblings, teachers and students, and so forth) are articulated and formulated in ways that ensure hierarchical but harmonious relationships. For all these authors, identity, moral crises, and change are to be dealt with a sense of purpose and cultural continuity. A persistent and widespread search for authenticity rooted in the past and promoting the good offers the reformist authors and their targeted audience a normative and practical moral compass for orienting their everyday lives. In these texts and contexts, adab functions as a balancing mechanism in the lives of both cultured Muslims and non-Muslims alike.

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“Young People Are Seeking Their Blessings”: Islamic Life Courses, Explorative Authority, and the Possibilities of Worldly Adab in Rural Aceh Daniel Andrew Birchok

Introduction This chapter addresses a central question posed by this volume, namely, how might a focus on the category adab (I.) help scholars to better understand Islamic practice in Southeast Asia?1 It does so while considering a second question, that is, how might an understanding of Islam in Southeast Asia that is inflected by such a focus serve as a basis for reconceptualizing the interdisciplinary study of Islam in the region? Glossed in this volume’s title as “beautiful behavior,” and usually indicating models of proper conduct and techniques of self-refinement appropriate to specific types of Muslims, adab (Ar., adab) has long been an important category of social and ethical life in Islamic societies.2 The category is discussed in the Malay- and Arabic-language Islamic literatures developed in early modern Southeast Asia, and it continues to inform notions of the good in the region. This is not to say that the term has been uncontested or monovalent. As this volume attests, the invocation of adab in modern Indonesian political vocabularies varies considerably from its usages in premodern Malay texts, as both these usages do from the ways contemporary Islamic revivalists in the region take up the term.3 With this in mind, this chapter turns to a specific iteration of adab in order to draw attention to a central tension inhering within it: a distinction between two different modes of authority, modes that the Islamic Studies scholar Shahab Ahmed identifies as “prescriptive” and “explorative.”4

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I argue that the tension between these modes not only characterizes the specific instances of adab described in this chapter, but is constitutive of adab as a category and is present more generally in Southeast Asian Islamic practice. Recognition of this last point demands that scholars of Southeast Asia expand the range of phenomena that they consider in their analyses of Islam in the region, and my analysis is offered in this spirit. In describing the specific iteration of adab under consideration in this chapter, I  draw on ethnography from the Indonesian province of Aceh, where I  have been carrying out fieldwork since 2006.5 Acehnese villagers whom I  describe in what follows draw on notions of adab from classic Sufi texts composed in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. These texts, and the notions of adab in them, were inscribed in a period of worldwide transformations in the circulation and content of Islamic knowledge.6 Specifically, the period saw the increasing prominence of forms of Sufi ethics and practice informed by the eleventh- and twelfth-century luminary Abu Hamid al-Ghazali (d. 505 H/1111 CE). Al-Ghazali is today remembered as a paramount intellectual figure who reconciled Islamic mysticism with various other fields of Islamic knowledge. In Southeast Asia, his influence and reputation are largely the result of scholars adapting his ethical and mystical thought into the Malay language through the aforementioned texts. By the early twentieth century, these texts, which combine Arabic-language selections with Malay-language glosses and interpretive commentaries, had become the foundation of a canon of Islamic learning mediating al-Ghazali’s thought to a Malay-reading audience.7 The Acehnese villagers whom I  describe in this chapter participate in this Malay-language tradition of Ghazalian learning. Some of them study the works of seminal eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Malay scholars. Nearly all of them take up key ethical categories drawn from these works. One field in which this is especially apparent is the pursuit of the blessings of “this world” (A., dōnja; I., dunia). Such blessings include wealth; love, sex, and marriage; and any other good experienced in this world rather than the next. These pursuits are of great concern to most Acehnese; however, they are fraught. Injunctions, drawn from a range of authoritative Islamic sources, calling on Muslims to turn away from the temptations of this world to assure happiness in “the hereafter” (I., akhirat) abound in Aceh. Indeed, the very categories of “this world” and “the hereafter,” and the contrast implied between them, are central to the Ghazalian tradition and feature prominently in its Malay iterations. To be clear, there is nothing inherently un-Islamic, or un-Ghazalian, about pursuing one’s worldly fortune.8 Al-Ghazali emphasized the importance of

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prioritizing the affairs of the hereafter over those of this world, but this does not necessarily, or even ideally, mean forsaking one’s worldly concerns.9 What is of note is that my interlocutors suggest that it may at times be necessary to sidestep the affairs of the hereafter in order to pursue the goods of this world, goods that they nonetheless consider necessary for living a fulfilling, indeed Islamic, life. They thus take up the Ghazalian categories of “this world” and “the hereafter,” but give them counterintuitive resonances by, in certain contexts, prioritizing the affairs of this world over the hereafter. How might one understand such an apparent contradiction? I argue that my interlocutors, when emphasizing the affairs of this world, take recourse to a lifecourse-contingent adab attentive to how worldly circumstances and proximity to death alter a Muslim’s ethical concerns. This adab, while often implicit, is mediated through classic Malay texts and their social history. It is anchored to broader notions of adab found in these texts and reflects interpretive engagements with the Ghazalian tradition that one might, following Shahab Ahmed, call “explorative.”10 Critiquing scholarship that assumes Islam to be constituted primarily by a “prescriptive” authority concerned with “the regulation or requirement of correct practices and the condemnation or exclusion of incorrect ones,” Ahmed argues for the importance of recognizing explorative modes of Islamic authority, ones that cultivate “the personal and social exploration of the varieties, possibilities, complexities, and contradictions of the Muslim human condition.”11 Such explorative modes have long been central to formulations of adab. Many classical adab literatures, in various languages, emphasize exploration of the self and cosmos through poetry, philosophical ethics, and speculative cosmology. Scholars have tended to argue, however, that these literatures reflect iterations of humanist values developed in Islamic societies rather than Islam per se, and to more readily identify forms of adab as properly Islamic only when such forms emphasize prescriptive modes of authority.12 In the landmark Moral Conduct and Authority: The Place of Adab in South Asian Islam, for example, Barbara Daly Metcalf turns to the Islamic legal tradition to explain what unifies otherwise diverse forms of South Asian adab into a “general” category. She argues that both the Islamic legal tradition and adab are “at core . . . attempts to codify and embody the practices of the Prophet.”13 Not only does Metcalf emphasize the prescriptive, but she finds it necessary to subsume into a singular, prescriptive system  the unruly, and at times contradictory, forms of adab delineated in different times and places for different kinds of Muslims—“princes, courtiers, legal scholars and judges, physicians, musicians, housewives, and . . . sūfi saints.”14

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This appeal to prescriptive modes as a way of making adab recognizably Islamic is reproduced elsewhere, including in analyses of Southeast Asian Islam. Anna Gade’s account of Qur’an memorization in Indonesia, for example, emphasizes adab as a process of learning and enacting prescribed norms.15 In light of this tendency to recognize adab primarily as properly Islamic by virtue of the relative dominance of prescriptive modes of authority within it, this chapter asks what might it look like to refocus attention on explorative elements of Islamic adab? The life course-contingent ethics described in what follows is not solely or even primarily prescriptive. Instead, it emphasizes explorative readings of a Muslim’s life circumstances, through which she or he intuits which life tasks are appropriate at a given moment and, thus, whether to emphasize the affairs of this world or the hereafter. This explorative life course-contingent ethics is underpinned by ideas and practices of adab that have long been part of the Southeast Asian Islamic tradition. Attention to it therefore allows for a more comprehensive accounting of adab in contemporary Southeast Asia, while simultaneously providing a ground to consider how explorative and prescriptive modes of authority interact in the lives of ordinary Muslims.

Studying the Affairs of this World and the Hereafter in Nagan Raya Aceh is a predominantly rural province at the westernmost tip of the archipelagic Indonesian nation. Long identified, in both locally and nationally circulating narratives, as having a special relationship with Islamic history and practice, the province has, since 1999, been the site of an ambitious set of Islamic legal reforms designed to cultivate the moral character of the region’s overwhelmingly majority Muslim population.16 This project has been intensified since the 2004 Indian Ocean earthquake and tsunami, in which approximately 170,000 Acehnese lost their lives, and the 2005 end of a decades-long conflict between an armed independence front and the Indonesian government.17 Nagan Raya, the regency in which the ethnography on which this chapter is based takes place, is located on Aceh’s southwest coast, not far from the epicenter of the 2004 earthquake and tsunami. The region is fertile and rice-growing, with mineral wealth and smalland large-scale palm oil plantations. It is, on a good day, approximately five hours from the provincial capital of Banda Aceh; on a bad one, six to nine. These characteristics give Nagan Raya a reputation for being both remote and wealthy, and locals, aware of this, are not shy in speaking about their worldly concerns.

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One setting in which I participate in such conversations is, ironically, marked as one of next-worldly pursuits. During field research, I  regularly participate in majelis taklim, lessons at which a religious teacher, usually the head of an Islamic boarding school, instructs adult villagers in one or more subjects, for example, the fundamentals of religion, Islamic jurisprudence, or mysticism.18 In Nagan Raya, most majelis taklim attendees have a limited religious education, and lessons tend to be segregated by gender and age. The majelis taklim that I attend most regularly, Majelis Taklim Ansharullah, is notable for how the characteristics of the group, especially the ages of its members, reflect the content of our lessons. All members of the group are men, and nearly all are over the age of sixty (see Figures 2.1 and 2.2). We tend to focus our studies on eschatological themes, reading about the spectacular ordeals of the grave and the afterlife. During a series of lessons in 2009, for example, we considered the size and weight of the mallets used by the angels Munkar and Nakir to punish the bodies of dead sinners, contemplated the razor-thin bridge Muslims will cross on the day of reckoning, and discussed at length the mysterious instruction that on the day of judgment one should remember to “turn to the right” (A. wét oeneun).

Figure 2.1 A Member of Majelis Taklim Ansharullah, 2009. Photo by the author.

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Figure  2.2 Another Member of Majelis Taklim Ansharullah, 2009. Photo by the author.

These topics arise as we study eschatological literature found in the aforementioned corpus of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Malay classics. Most majelis taklim in Nagan Raya are focused on one or more of these texts, and at Majelis Taklim Ansharullah we most frequently study Sayr as-Salikin (The Path of the Seekers).19 This work’s author, Abd as-Samad al-Falimbani (d. 1250 H/1835 CE), spent much of his life in Arabia, where he composed a number of Arabic and Malay works that became central to the circulation of al-Ghazali’s ideas in Islamic Southeast Asia.20 Sayr as-Salikin consists primarily of an adaptation of al-Ghazali’s masterwork Revival of Religious Sciences (Ihya’ ‘Ulum ad-Din), based on an abridged version of the latter, combined with other materials on ethics, Sufism, and related topics.21 Given the age of my classmates, it is perhaps not surprising that we so frequently focus our studies upon the eschatological sections of Sayr as-Salikin. For many in our group, the ordeals of the afterlife are nigh, and the lessons provide an opportunity to prepare for death, as several of my classmates admit. Not all majelis taklim in Nagan Raya cater so exclusively to this age bracket and their concerns with the hereafter. Nonetheless, in Nagan Raya it is rare for anyone under the age of forty to attend majelis taklim. Adolescents and young

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adults have been the central foci of ethnographic literature on Islamic revivalism and study circles.22 Thus, one Friday morning in 2009, as we waited for our teacher to arrive and begin the lesson, I found myself wondering about this lack of youthful involvement and offered a question to my classmates: “Why is it that most people who attend majelis taklim are old?” A short silence followed, broken moments later by soft chuckles. Pak Mudin, a classmate in his sixties, offered me the following answer:  “Actually, young people are seeking their fortune (I., rezeki). They want to get married. So they work. And they go out. We are close to death. So we think about the tortures of the grave and the day of judgment. And we guard ourselves.” Intrigued by Pak Mudin’s response, I pressed further: “But should they not also be interested in the day of judgment? Only God knows when we will die, right? If they do not watch themselves today, and they die tomorrow, will they not suffer greatly in the grave?” This question provoked a longer pause and many smiles. Finally, someone exclaimed, “He’s right!” As the room erupted in laughter, Teungku Rofik, one of only two men under the age of sixty who regularly joined our lessons, began an explanation: “It is true. If young men and women do not study about the tortures of the grave and the day of judgment, then they may not understand, and they will be tortured as a result of their sins. They should come to our lessons.” Nonetheless, he went on to observe how difficult it is for young people to join majelis taklim. “They are too busy to think about religion,” someone else explained. “They still feel the world,” Pak Mudin noted.

Majelis Taklim Ansharullah’s Reading of Ghazalian Ethics There are several points about this exchange upon which one might meditate. Note how the members of Majelis Taklim Ansharullah separate the pursuits of “this world” (dunia, dōnja)—that is, working, going out, and getting married— from their pursuit of religious knowledge, which they associate with knowledge of “the hereafter” (akhirat). This distinction resonates broadly in Islamic ethical traditions, drawing upon injunctions such as that found in Qur’an 2:86: “These are the people who buy the life of this world at the price of the hereafter: their penalty shall not be lightened nor shall they be helped.” The usual thrust of these traditions is an emphasis upon being careful to avoid becoming so enamored with this world that one forgets the hereafter, even as one strives for happiness in this life. Indeed, al-Ghazali’s most widely circulating works are well-known for such an emphasis, to the point of offering extended discussions of mundane

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details such as how to lay one’s bed for sleeping, meant to help readers ensure that the hereafter will, at all times, remain their primary motivation for acting.23 The ethical stance taken by the members of Majelis Taklim Ansharullah in this conversation clearly draws on these ideas; however, it suggests something slightly different. Note how empathetic the members of Majelis Taklim Ansharullah are toward the young people whom they describe as “too busy to think about religion.” They do not cast their description of this lack of interest in knowledge of the hereafter in disapproving tones. Further, they do not suggest that these young people should pay attention to the pursuits of the hereafter in addition to the pursuits of this world, or that the pursuits of this world are a foundation on which to turn to the pursuits of the hereafter later in life, either of which would be positions more consistent with a Ghazalian emphasis on prioritizing the pursuits of the hereafter even as one seeks happiness in this world. All of this is particularly noteworthy when one recalls that, when pushed, Majelis Taklim Ansharullah members admitted that young people should attend their lessons. Given that one does not know the time of one’s death, neglecting knowledge of the hereafter in favor of the pursuits of this world puts one at risk of hellfire. An early section of the text Sayr as-Salikin, which we were studying on the day of the aforementioned conversation, suggests as much, warning that “It brings ruin to study it (i.e., knowledge of Sufism) at an advanced age,” implying that one should not wait until one is near death to take up knowledge of the hereafter.24 Further, pursuing the affairs of this world, even in good faith and in accordance with Islamic jurisprudence, opens one to grave temptations such as greed, vanity, and sexual impropriety.25 Most seriously, it can lead to shirk (I.), failure to acknowledge the unicity of God, making one an unbeliever, especially as worldly success can lead to hubris and an inflated sense of individual agency that denies the ultimate agency of God. This is why the members of Majelis Taklim Ansharullah themselves study the affairs of the hereafter, having turned from the affairs of this world, resolving to “guard themselves” (I., menjaga diri) to assure happiness in their afterlives. And yet, to the extent that they understand themselves to have turned to the affairs of the hereafter as a result of being “close to death,” and do not seem to regard youthful pursuits of worldly affairs to be morally threatening—at least not enough to question their propriety unless prodded to do so—the members of Majelis Taklim Ansharullah appear to hold contradictory sensibilities. How might we understand this apparent contradiction? Does approaching it in terms of adab help us to do so? One way to address these questions is to focus attention on how members of Majelis Taklim Ansharullah, in describing

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the pursuits of Muslims of different ages, take up Islam in an explorative mode. At first glance, this embracing of the explorative might appear at odds with the Ghazalian tradition, but it represents instead, I argue, an iteration of adab that is consistent with, and inflected by, Ghazalian ethical categories read in an explorative mode.

The Adab of Sayr as-Salikin In order to understand how this is the case, one might turn to the text that Majelis Taklim Ansharullah was studying on the day of the aforementioned exchange:  Sayr as-Salikin. A  late eighteenth-century work of the Ghazalian tradition, its opening pages begin with an extended section on adab, in particular adab related to pursuing the kinds of knowledge found on the pages that follow. While one might assume that such a text, qua Islamic text, is intended for all Muslims, it is helpful to recall that practices of adab tend to be intended for specific groups of Muslims who share certain characteristics. For whom, then, is the adab described in Sayr as-Salikin intended? Much of the section on adab in this text describes the beautiful behavior of students and teachers, for example, the most respectful ways for a pupil to approach a teacher, under what circumstances scholars are obligated to teach, and when a scholar should refuse to take on students.26 Mirroring the language of my interlocutors in Majelis Taklim Ansharullah, the text distinguishes between “scholars” (I., ulama) and “knowledge” (I., ilmu) of “this world” (dunia) and scholars and knowledge of “the hereafter” (akhirat). It identifies the former as threats to naïve students who, rather than obtaining knowledge from true men of learning, throw away their happiness in the afterlife by following teachers without the “useful knowledge” (I., ilmu yang memberi manfaat) found on the pages of texts like Sayr as-Salikin. ‘Abd as-Samad al-Falimbani was himself a key node in just such networks of students and teachers, underpinned by the commonly held understanding that proper adab in the pursuit of knowledge is a key element in making the knowledge thus pursued “useful.” While living in the Arabian Peninsula he studied and took on prominent students from around the Islamic world.27 It was from within this milieu that he wrote Sayr as-Salikin, presumably for Malay readers in similar circumstances, that is, those prepared to take up the work’s knowledge with a teacher. Subsequently, in the nineteenth century, Sayr as-Salikin became part of the afore-described corpus of Malay Islamic classics. Authored by Malay-reading

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and Malay-writing religious specialists, these texts mediated the ideas of al-Ghazali in the Malay-reading world during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, when key transformations in Islamic knowledge and networks were occurring worldwide.28 By the end of this period, the texts of this corpus were read in the system of Islamic boarding schools (I., pesantren) that had begun to take root across Islamic Southeast Asia, especially on the island of Java.29 They may also have had some readership outside these schools, perhaps being taught by independent Sufi sheiks, wandering teachers, and others.30 Despite this progressively increasing prominence and importance in boarding school networks in the nineteenth century, the prestige of these texts began to suffer at the turn of the twentieth. Arabic has always been a central language of study and knowledge production among the Islamicly educated in and from Southeast Asia.31 Al-Falimbani himself wrote in Arabic.32 However, a generation of influential scholars who came to prominence toward the turn of the twentieth century wrote more exclusively in Arabic than had al-Falimbani and other early Malay religious scholars. Further, Arabic literacy in boarding school networks, in part because of this newfound emphasis on Arabic-language scholarship, improved in this period. Progressively, Arabic works came to dominate the curriculum of these schools, helping to rapidly restandardize the boarding school tradition.33 This began to transform attitudes toward, and the usage of, Malay Islamic texts. As boarding school students of the early twentieth century shifted their attention to Arabic works, Malay texts such as Sayr as-Salikin increasingly became the purview of those who were not religious specialists. Lessons involving elderly villagers with limited religious educations studying the esoteric and eschatological knowledge found in texts such as Sayr as-Salikin appear rather frequently in Indonesia’s ethnographic record in the twentieth century, even as the available evidence suggests that religious specialists were reading such texts less often than in the past.34 Today, at the relatively small Islamic boarding school at which Majelis Taklim Ansharullah is held, only ordinary villagers study Malay works. Students and teachers at these schools never look at them, or at least never admit to looking at them, unless they are pressed into service as teachers by villagers organizing majelis taklim. These teachers describe those who study Malay texts as “ordinary people” (I., orang awam) or even “ignorant farmers” (I. and A., petani bangay), thereby emphasizing their distance from those more properly schooled in Islamic knowledge. Thus, in practice, Sayr as-Salikin has been taken up by different groups in different time periods. Once the purview of aspiring religious specialists, the

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work is now taken to more properly belong to men and women preparing to retire from the world. I  argue that this should be understood as part of the adab associated with the text, a reflection of the “practical and situational aspects of good morality” that it teaches.35 Further, this adab encourages forms of explorative reflection, especially as the text has come to be associated with Muslims of a specific life stage—namely, those who feel themselves “close to the grave”—and, therefore, questions of “the varieties, possibilities, complexities, and contradictions of the Muslim human condition.”36 Keeping this in mind helps to explain how one might understand the attendees of Majelis Taklim Ansharullah’s attitude toward the lack of youthful participation in majelis taklim. The knowledge found in Sayr as-Salikin is not meant for the young, given how this text has come to be tied to the affairs of the old and their preparations for death. One might ask if this is not at odds with the teachings of Sayr as-Salikin. Why should young people, not knowing when they will die, put off their study of the affairs of the hereafter? Sayr as-Salikin, after all, warns explicitly against waiting until old age to take up its knowledge, and Ghazalian ethics more generally recognizes that the fulfillment of ethical good in this world is conditional upon a commitment, first and foremost, to the hereafter. In order to approach these questions, one might consider the following passage, from a section of Sayr as-Salikin, about the adab of a student taking on a teacher: “And the second adab, it is to empty your heart of concerns for your children and wife, and for buying and selling, and for everything that troubles your heart so that your heart is calm in order to pursue knowledge.”37 This passage asks readers of Sayr al-Salikin to set aside the concerns of this world in order to pursue knowledge that elsewhere and repeatedly the text identifies as knowledge of the hereafter. It seems to push back against the sensibilities of members of Majelis Taklim Ansharullah, who emphasize, in certain circumstances, just such concerns vis-à-vis the pursuits of the hereafter. The sensibilities of the members of Majelis Taklim Ansharullah and other Acehnese, however, suggest ways that this passage might be read differently. None of my Acehnese friends with children or other familial obligations could do what this passage asks. This is not simply because their own senses of self are intimately wrapped up in the pursuit of “children and wife (or husband), and buying and selling,” but because if they were to forsake such pursuits midlife their angered spouses, relatives, and in-laws would rain wrath upon them for neglecting their worldly duties.38 There is more at stake here than social obligations. A recognition of the ethical complexity involved in the taking up of

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this “second adab” can serve as a ground for locating an alternative reading of the Ghazalian tradition. This reading is framed by an explorative authority made explicit in the reflections of Majelis Taklim Ansharullah. If a prescriptive reading of the “second adab” takes the “emptying of one’s heart” of worldly concerns to be a description of how a Muslim should act, and a goal toward which to strive in a process of progressive self-fashioning, an explorative reading of this passage, such as that of the members of Majelis Taklim Ansharullah, suggests instead that a Muslim should first reflect upon whether one’s life circumstances lend themselves to the “emptying of one’s heart” in this manner, or if one still has earthly concerns that might interfere with the pursuits of knowledge of the hereafter. This explorative reading of the “second adab” is consistent with the social history of who has actively taken up the study of Sayr as-Salikin: namely, boarding school students of the past and elderly villagers of the present. These groups, unlike most other rural villagers who, in the words of Pak Mudin, “still feel the world,” have been the ones best positioned to “empty their hearts” and pursue the knowledge of the hereafter found on the pages of Sayr as-Salikin.39 While in some ways unusual, one should not assume that such a reading runs too deeply against the broader Ghazalian tradition that al-Falimbani interpreted for, and circulated to, his Malay readers. Ghazalian ethics is, in fact, infused with a recognition that there are different paths for people of different situations and characteristics.40 Consider the following quotation, from al-Ghazali’s Beginning of Guidance (Bidayat al-Hidaya): If you are unable to perform the activities just mentioned (i.e., supererogatory religious ritual and study), busy yourself acquiring the necessities of life for yourself or for your family, in a way that . . . no Muslim suffers any harm . . . Should you do this, you will reach the grade of the people on the right . . . even though you fail to ascend to the grade of the high stages of those who are at the forefront.41

Elsewhere, al-Ghazali makes clear that this sensitivity to individual differences does not mean that all paths are correct, beseeching readers at the end of Beginning of Guidance in the following manner:  “If you find that your carnal soul does little in accordance with these duties . . . and sets aside this type of knowledge . . . know that . . . on the Day of Judgment, you will miss the eternal kingdom and the everlasting delight in the next.”42 Nonetheless, he maintains a sensitivity to the ethical salience of human differences in fleshing out the possible paths of a Muslim’s ethical striving.43

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In Nagan Raya, one way this sensitivity is taken up is through the life-coursecontingent ethics described in this chapter, that is, an ethics in which it is not simply allowable to pursue the goods of this world, but to do so in a manner that postpones the rigorous pursuit of the hereafter until one is close to the grave. My interlocutors see youthful pursuits of this world as proper; indeed, one might say that they are examples of beautiful behavior. This does not mean, however, that they will result in happiness in the hereafter. The inverse is also true, as one might be prepared for death, but lead a life that is, in Islamic terms, unfulfilling. A good example of this last situation is the predicament of Teungku Sum, an Islamic boarding school teacher in his early thirties who spoke with me one afternoon about his life. He found himself second guessing his decision, made a decade prior, to pursue and teach “knowledge of the hereafter” in Islamic boarding schools. While he had good reasons for having taken up his religious studies— including the fact that he had sensed that he was near the grave as a result of the, at that time, ongoing armed conflict between the Indonesian government and pro-Acehnese independence guerillas—he now found himself unable to acquire a wife, something that he took as an ethical duty of this world.44 He melancholically reflected on how, instead of pursuing worldly wealth and knowledge at university, he had decided to pursue the knowledge available in Islamic boarding schools. He was “rich in knowledge” that would ensure his happiness in the hereafter, but without the money necessary to forward a marriage proposal.45 Teungku Sum’s dilemma, especially when considered alongside the nonchalant attitude of members of Majelis Taklim Ansharullah regarding youthful disregard of the hereafter, further illustrates the explorative nature of the ways in which my Acehnese interlocutors engage the ethical categories of this world and the hereafter. Teungku Sum expressed regret that he had become distracted by the affairs of the hereafter, perhaps “emptying his heart” of the affairs of this world before the appropriate moment. Like the members of Majelis Taklim Ansharullah, he takes up his ethical tasks in a manner that is not solely, or even primarily, prescriptive, but instead oriented to the exploration of “the varieties, possibilities, complexities, and contradictions of the Muslim human condition.”46 Here, questions of arranging one’s worldly affairs with an eye to the hereafter, progressively moving from an “incomplete” or “imperfect” state to a more refined one, and other ways of conceptualizing a life well-lived as the prioritizing of the hereafter over this world give way to an explorative engagement with Ghazalian ethical categories attuned to one’s relative proximity to the grave.47 This engagement is not directed toward a more assiduous

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adherence to prescriptive norms, although in certain instances it may result in this, so much as at focusing a Muslim’s attention on the affairs of one’s life that are most pressing in a given moment given her or his life circumstances and nearness to death.

Conclusions: Explorative Authority, Adab, and Islam in Southeast Asia In concluding this chapter, I begin by noting what this argument is not: namely, a denial of the importance of prescriptive authority to the Ghazalian tradition, adab, or Islam more generally. Prescriptive authority is central to Islam, although it is not the only mode of authority in the Islamic tradition, which, following Ahmed, should be reconsidered in ways that better account for the parallel importance of explorative and other possible modes of authority.48 Nor does this chapter argue that my interlocutors always, or even usually, invoke explorative authority in their Islamic practice. Even as they sympathetically defend the lack of interest in the affairs of the hereafter by their younger counterparts, Majelis Taklim Ansharullah’s members admit that these young people “should” join the lessons attended by elderly villagers. Similarly, Teungku Sum at times stresses resignation in his struggle to find a spouse, placing his concern regarding his inability to marry within a prescriptive frame, emphasizing the pursuit of piety without attachment to the pleasures and blessings of this world. Indeed, Aceh has been the location of a series of projects for moral reform that have amplified Islam’s prescriptive character in the daily lives of Acehnese Muslims, projects that also influence the sensibilities of my interlocutors.49 What this chapter has asked, rather, is what might it look like to analytically refocus, turning attention from prescriptive to explorative modes of Islamic authority? Adab has been a useful analytic frame for addressing such a question because of the ways in which both prescriptive and explorative authority so clearly constitute it. Traditions of adab have long been associated with explorations of the self and the cosmos by means of poetry, speculative thought, and other methods, but also entail clearly prescriptive elements such as codes of conduct, techniques of self-refinement, and presentations of idealized ethical models. Whereas there has been a tendency among scholars to understand specific forms of adab as properly Islamic only to the extent that these forms emphasize prescription, the historical and ethnographic materials I  have highlighted suggest reasons to reconsider this approach. The life course-contingent adab

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that this chapter describes reveals explorative interpretive practices grounded in a social history of textual production, study, and engagement of and with texts like Sayr as-Salikin. These practices have crystallized in life course-contingent forms of beautiful behavior anchored to key ethical categories of the Ghazalian tradition. Further, this is an explorative engagement with Islamic texts and traditions by non-elites—“ignorant farmers” as their teachers sometimes call them—that, while at times contested, falls within the socially acceptable range of readings of these texts and traditions. This suggests how explorative authority permeates Islamic practices, not simply being the purview of the learned or spiritually adept.50 It is the contention of this chapter that the study of Southeast Asian Islam would gain much if more attention was paid to Islamic discourses and practices underpinned by explorative authority. Doing so might contribute to an opening of possibilities for all interlocutors involved in the conversations in which scholars in this field participate. To achieve this, scholars may need to retrain their assumptions about what constitutes Islam. I once presented some of the materials in this chapter orally to a group of colleagues consisting of anthropologists and scholars of religious studies. At the end of the presentation I  was met enthusiastically by one of these colleagues, a classically trained Islamicist (not a Southeast Asianist), who, despite liking my presentation a great deal, nonetheless found one central aspect of my argument unconvincing. He took issue with the ways in which I interpreted my interlocutors as participating in the Ghazalian tradition even when they entertained the possibility of prioritizing this world and its temptations rather than refining themselves in anticipation of the hereafter. “You do not understand Islamic ethics,” he told me. “What you are describing is local ideas, which have come to be mixed up with Islam. You should read al-Ghazali. Then you will understand Islamic ethics!” Flattered by his enthusiasm, but disgruntled at how quickly he dismissed my Acehnese interlocutors’ lively engagement with Islamic ethical traditions, I assured him that I had read al-Ghazali, but that I would do so again. It was only on the drive home that I remembered that not only had I read al-Ghazali, but that I had done so, through Sayr as-Salikin’s adaptation, with my Acehnese interlocutors in the very session of Majelis Taklim Ansharullah that I had just described in my presentation. My colleague’s response reflects a long-standing bias toward prescriptive authority in interdisciplinary Islamic studies. This bias deeply inflects the study of Islam in Southeast Asia. Ironically, it may have only been reinforced by recent responses to important criticisms of the way scholars of Southeast Asia, for

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much of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, failed to understand Islam as an authentic part of Southeast Asian histories and societies.51 Several scholars have answered these critiques with now well-known and sophisticated scholarship illustrating translocal connections between Southeast Asians, especially religious scholars, and the broader Islamic world, especially Arabic-literate people and societies.52 These studies emphasize textual transmission, translation, and intellectual lineage, and it is because of their interventions that I  have been able to offer the history of Sayr as-Salikin, and the Malay-language Ghazalian tradition of which it is a part, that I do in this chapter. Even so, they pay little attention to how such texts and lineages have been engaged outside of relatively elite circles. More ethnographically informed studies have turned to questions of reception by non-elites Muslims, but have tended to take up prescription as the sin qua non of Islam.53 This reflects, in part, the fact that a century of heavily prescriptive Islamic reformism has defined the terms of debate over what is Islam in Southeast Asian societies.54 This chapter’s exploration of a life coursecontingent ethics in contemporary Aceh, one that draws on classical notions of adab, is meant as an example of what it might look like to instead direct scholarly attention to explorative modes of Islamic authority in Southeast Asia.

Part Two

Politics and Law

3

Adab and the Culture of Political Culture Thomas Pepinsky

Introduction In this chapter, I discuss two uses of the term adab in contemporary Indonesian and Malaysian politics. Both imply a nonspecific notion of “civilized,” but one draws inspiration from Islamic understandings of proper individual behavior while the other invokes a more general notion of ethical behavior. Although the two countries share common linguistic and cultural heritage, the countries’ political systems differ markedly. Indonesia is a consolidated electoral democracy, having democratized in 1999 following three decades of hard authoritarian rule. Malaysia, by contrast, was until 2018 one of the world’s most durable “competitive authoritarian” regimes, where the opposition had historically suffered systematical disadvantages vis-à-vis the component parties of the dominant Barisan Nasional (National Front) regime.1 Despite these differences, critics of contemporary politics, both in democratic Indonesia and in authoritarian Malaysia, invoke adab as a rhetorical move in regular conversation and in broadly comparable ways. Reflecting on what the use of adab tells us about Indonesian and Malaysian politics, I propose that it reveals something essential about how Indonesians and Malaysians conceptualize politics—that political culture, either individual or collective, explains why contemporary politics is the way that it is. In making this argument, I mean to transcend the mundane observation that the word adab (from the Arabic ‫ )أَدَب‬has replaced other words for “civilized” in contemporary Indonesian and Malay, as have other loanwords like alam for nature or dunia for world (from ‫ ُدﻧْﻴﺎ‬and ‫ﻋﺎﻟَﻢ‬, respectively). Rather, I seek to establish two points. First, that the use of adab in political contexts reflects a general normative complaint about political behavior that is viewed to be venal, dirty, corrupt, coarse, and backward. Importantly, there is nothing inherently

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Islamic about adab in political discourse. As in Arabic, adab has an everyday meaning that is distinct from its religious uses. Adab and terms formed from it—beradab, peradaban, berkeadaban, kurang adab, and other terms that I define later—are frequently used to describe a nonspecific aspiration for civilized behavior in everyday life and in contemporary politics and can describe both individuals and collectives. Second, I aim to show that adab terminology as applied toward politics in contemporary Indonesia and Malaysia is useful for understanding more generally the ways in which mass publics conceptualize the nature of the politics around them. In Indonesia and Malaysia, political culture is not just a description of political practice; it is an explanation for politics. This view differs in important ways from the experiences of the West and also from the views of many contemporary political scientists, both in the United States and in Southeast Asia itself. A key issue throughout this chapter is the use of Indonesian or Malay lexicon derived from Arabic in religious versus nonreligious contexts, or what we might term religious versus nonreligious “semantic fields.” There is no simple way to distinguish the two, but it is essential to my argument that the use of a term with an Arabic etymology does not on its own imply anything religious or Islamic about the speaker or the utterance. The Indonesian and standard Malay languages (Bahasa Indonesia and Bahasa Malaysia), two closely related standardizations of a Malay regional lingua franca, contain hundreds of words of Arabic origin. Many secular or otherwise mundane concepts can only be expressed using words borrowed from Arabic: these include not only such phrases such as “natural world” (see earlier) but also “Friday” (Jumat, from ‫)اﻟ ُﺠ ْﻤﻌﺔ‬, “season” (musim, from ‫) َﻣ ْﻮ ِﺳﻢ‬, “public” (umum, from ‫) ُﻋﻤﻮم‬, and many others. In other cases, there exist roughly parallel words from Arabic and from another source: “book” may be buku (from the Dutch boek) or kitab (from ‫)ﻛِﺘﺎب‬, and here the choice of kitab almost always denotes religiosity in some way.2 Adab lies between these two cases. There is no other word for “civilization,” for example, besides peradaban, a derived form of adab that adds the nominalizing affixes per- -an. Thus, one may not infer a religious semantic field from the use of adab or its derived forms alone. And yet adab may be used in the discussion of manners, ethics, or civilized behavior in ways that imply a specifically religious meaning, which can be distinguished from semantically related words such as sopan (proper) or halus (refined) that derive from Austronesian roots. In what follows, I  rely on cues from the remainder of the document or the utterance to judge whether adab is invoked in a religious, nonreligious, or generally ambiguous context with respect to religion.

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Adab in Action: Five Examples To see how adab is used in contemporary Indonesian and Malaysian politics, it is useful to examine its use in both elite discourse and in everyday discussion. I  begin with a comment by then-candidate, now-President Joko Widodo (a.k.a. Jokowi) speaking in a talk show alongside Muhammadiyah members in Solo, Central Java, in June 2014, shortly before the July presidential election.3 Muhammadiyah is a mass organization counting tens of millions of members throughout Indonesia and, in the Indonesian context, is understood as representing a pious, modernist Islamic position. A speech to this community by Jokowi, a Muslim who is not associated with Islamist politics, might naturally burnish his credentials as a good Muslim.4 Jokowi is quoted as saying: Politik kita sekarang merupakan politik yang kurang beradab. Mestinya sama orang-orang yang berpendidikan tidak seperti itu. [Our current politics is an uncivilized politics. Of course, educated people are not like this.]

The context surrounding this comment was the so-called black campaign waged against Jokowi on social media, accusing him of being Chinese and/or Christian.5 These accusations are particularly toxic in the Indonesian context due to the common perception among Indonesians that only a Muslim could lead majority-Muslim Indonesia as president.6 In the remainder of his comments, Jokowi commented on the importance of a democratic politics that brings happiness and prosperity and meets the demands of “the people” (rakyat). A second example comes from an interview with Anwar Ibrahim, Malaysia’s erstwhile opposition leader. Anwar Ibrahim rose to national prominence in the 1970s as a member of Angkatan Belia Islam Malaysia, a Muslim youth organization once viewed as relatively hostile to Malaysia’s incumbent ruling party, the United Malays National Organisation (UMNO). Anwar later would join UMNO, rising to the rank of deputy prime minister before being sacked and subsequently twice jailed on charges of sodomy and corruption. Before his release from prison following the transformative national elections of May 2018, he was often labeled by Malaysian and foreign analysts alike as Malaysia’s “de facto opposition leader.” In summer 2012, Anwar had been acquitted by the High Court on his latest sodomy charge and was at the height of his influence in anticipation of the general elections to be held in the next year. In an interview at that time, he compared Indonesian politics to Malaysian politics.7

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Piety, Politics, and Everyday Ethics Mestinya demorasi [sic] apa tidak, jelas tidak. Indonesia jauh lebih beradab dari segi itu. Dalam hal politik kita masih lebih dewasa. Bahkan sejak zaman Soeharto, Ali Sadikin tidak pernah dituduh sodomi. Zaman sekarang, hari gini masih menggunakan tuduhan sodomi, rendah betul permainan politiknya. Terus hukum digunakan sebagai alat kekuasaan. Democracy, surely not, clearly not. Indonesia is far more civilized from that perspective. In political matters we are still young. In fact, at the time of Soeharto, Ali Sadikin [a prominent critic of the New Order] was never accused of sodomy. These days they still use accusations of sodomy [against me], really the lowest form of political manipulation. So the law is used as an instrument of power.

It is, of course, interesting to note the differences between Anwar’s view of civility in Indonesian politics and Jokowi’s view of civility in Indonesian politics. Jokowi believes that rumor-mongering and internet hoaxes reveal Indonesian politics to be uncivilized, even though Indonesia is a democracy; whereas Anwar considers this preferable to the open use of accusations of homosexuality by his Malaysian opponents, which never happened to prominent Indonesian dissenters even under the years of authoritarian rule. For a view of adab as used by ordinary Indonesians, we can look to an online forum at the news website Detik.com.8 Detik (Indonesian for “to tick” or “to flash”) is a popular Indonesian language website that hosts news content and contains numerous forums that encourage discussion of a range of issues, from sports to celebrity gossip to politics. It is one of the vast array of online media sources that is a popular site for political discussion in democratic Indonesia. Starting a thread entitled “Politik beradab & beradab politik,” user very_kaka writes Kedua frase di atas mengandung makna bahwa Politik beradab adalah caracara berpolitik dengan menjunjung tinggi nilai-nilai dan norma-norma dalam berpolitik, Sedangkan Beradab Politik adalah implementasi aktivitas politik yang dilakukan oleh para pelaku politik dengan mengedepankan sikap-sikap dan perilaku yang diharapkan menjadi contoh bagi warga negara. (February 20, 2010) The two phrases above connote that politik beradab is a way of being political / engaging in politics that respects high values and norms while engaging in politics. Beradab politik is the implementation of political activities that are done by political actors while promoting attitudes and behaviors that hopefully can become examples for citizens.

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In response, user Blunder writes Apa saja yang dilakukan pemerintah saat ini selalu salah. Benar pun dikatakan salah. Pada jamannya eyang almarhum suharto kebebasan dibungkam sehingga sindrom tambah kuat. Sekarang keran kebebasan dibuka lebar-lebar. Memaki, menghina dan memfitnah tanpa bukti kepada pejabat pun boleh. (February 20, 2010) Anything that the government does these days is always wrong. Even true things are said to be wrong. In the time of Soeharto freedom was silenced, so the syndrome got worse. Now the spigot of freedom has been fully opened. Abuses, insults, even baseless slander against officials is allowed.

We must be careful in inferring too much from a single online thread. But it is useful to contrast the two constructions of politik beradab and beradab politik, neither of which involves anything explicitly religious, and the latter of which does imagine an explicit role for politics as a way of shaping mass values. Given the context in which these quotes are found, there is no particular reason to infer that the author meant to highlight the religious foundations of mass values, although as I outline later this selection is ultimately ambiguous with respect to religion. For a second example from a nonelite context, I  look now to Malaysia. In response to online comments about the recently deceased—in this case likely a reference to the death of UMNO Member of Parliament Jamaluddin Jarjis—a commentator from the Information Department in the Ministry of Communication and Multimedia writes: Meneliti kepada komen-komen buruk di media sosial mengenai kematian seseorang terutamanya yang membabitkan tokoh atau pemimpin dari kerajaan menggambarkan bahawa kita sebenarnya sedang berhadapan dengan generasi yang semakin kehilangan adab. Apakah pendidikan kita, sama ada pendidikan keluarga mahupun pendidikan formal kehilangan roh tarbiyyahnya yang sebenar? Looking at the evil comments on social media regarding deaths, especially those involving government officials, shows that we are faced with a generation that is increasingly losing civility. Is our education at home or in school losing its true educational spirit?9

The use of the Arabic phrase roh tarbiyyah, or educational spirit, is distinctive in this passage. There is nothing otherwise religious about the discussion from which this example was drawn, and yet the use of roh tarbiyyah draws the audience toward an Islamic frame of reference—in Indonesia and Malaya, expressing such a concept using these particular Arabic terms has unmistakable religious

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connotations.10 The same might be said of the preceding example of internet commentary, in which the user Blunder employs the word fitnah, but although this term is Arabic in origin and refers to a concept in Islamic jurisprudence (‫)ﻓنت‬, it does not so immediately conjure up a religious frame of reference. That previous example is a case of religious ambiguity, when terminology drawn from Arabic lexicon might, depending on the reader’s own interpretation, be read as religious in orientation, but need not be. A final example comes from Jakob Oetomo, founder of the Indonesian national newspaper Kompas, the most widely read print newspaper in Indonesia.11 The example appeared in the first edition following the resignation of Soeharto in May 1998.12 Writing with the title Gerakan Reformasi agar Memelopori Politik Secara Adab (A Reform Movement to Pioneer a Civilized Way of Politics), Oetomo makes reference to Kontras, a civil society movement founded to advocate on behalf of victims of violence and the disappeared. Kontras adviser MM Billah is quoted as urging politicians to berpolitik secara beradab, sehingga tidak mengorbankan kepentingan rakyat banyak untuk kepentingan politik mereka masing-masing . . . moral dan etika politik harus ditegakkan oleh para pemimpin Parpol yang sekarang mulai berkampanya dengan cara kurang berkeadaban. Go about politics in a civilized way, so as not to sacrifice the interests of the people in favor of [politicians’] own interests. Political morals and ethics have to be upheld by those party leaders who now have begun to campaign in uncivilized ways.

Note here the two constructions berkeadaban and beradab. Although both might be translated as “to be civilized,” there is a slight difference between the two. Beradab connotes something active, which a politician might do, to be civilized. By contrast, berkeadaban connotes something more general and more passive, to “become in a way that is civilized” or “to be in the way of having adab.” It is usually used to describe democracy or the state, not an individual. In the previous quote, it modifies political campaigns, not political party leaders. Berkeadaban appears almost exclusively in Indonesian rather than in Malaysian and frequently modifies democracy or the state. It is not immediately clear why this is so.

Adab in Context Taken together, what do we learn from these five examples of how adab is used? The first thing to note is that when used in commentary about politics, adab can

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have religious undertones but it commonly does not. In the cited cases, in fact, it is only the fourth one that carries distinct Islamic undertones, and they are only visible as such due to the presence of distinctly Arabic lexicon elsewhere in the quote. The notion of adab as beautiful behavior in a distinctly religious semantic field does resonate in Indonesian and Malay. However, when examined in reference to contemporary political discourse in Indonesia and Malaysia, we see a form of semantic drift in which adab simply refers to civility or civilization. Can we say anything more systematic about the conditions under which one finds adab used in distinctly Islamic ways? My impression—based on my time spent discussing politics in Indonesia and Malaysia, and an admittedly incomplete review of contemporary political writing—is that invocations of adab in political contexts are more likely to carry Islamic implications in Malaysia than in Indonesia. This difference might have roots in the different social and historical foundations of modern politics in the two countries. In the Malaysian context, there is a basis for a historically grounded and fundamentally religious approach to adab, stemming from early Malay sources such as the Taj al-Salatin and the Bustan al-Salatin. Taj al-Salatin, thought to be based on an original Persian text which is today lost, dates in the Malay version to the early seventeenth century and contains a range of prescriptive recommendations about the royal courts and administration of a Muslim ruler.13 Bustan al-Salatin dates to the mid-seventeenth century and similarly describes how a proper and civilized Muslim sultan and his palace officials should rule.14 Jelani Harun, a Malaysian professor of literature and expert in classical Malay literature, has analyzed these texts as early Malay adoptions of the mirrors-for-princes genre of Islamic courtly texts.15 In this genre, Muslim rulers consider explicitly the issue of proper ethical behavior and draw directly on concepts such as adab as well as more explicitly Islamic scriptural and jurisprudential sources. There exists a thread in contemporary Malay studies that also focuses on these texts16 as well as on previous writings in the mirrors-for-princes genre from Persia and elsewhere.17 However, these do not appear to be as influential as is the literature focusing on adat—a term that describes “traditional” practices that date from pre- or non-Islamic sources—and Malay culture and history. In the Indonesian case, works such as the Kitab Adat Sopan Santoen Orang Minangkabau (Handbook of the Manners and Traditions of the Minangkabau People) from the late colonial era do exist, and they do contain some discussion of individual behavior vis-à-vis administrators and the state.18 But this, like many of the other Malay sources for mirrors-for-princes texts, originates in Sumatra, which traditionally occupied the same cultural sphere as did peninsular Malaya.

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And it is Java, not Sumatra, that provides the cultural template upon which Indonesian national politics has drawn since independence. For reasons that probably lie in the historical coevolution of Islam in Java and the Javanese court, then, adab enters the Javanese religious and political lexicon in a different way. Harlina Indijati of Indonesia’s Pusat Pembinaan dan Pengembangan Bahasa (Language Development Center) describes, for example, how discussions of Islamic ethics appear in nineteenth-century Javanese literature, but stipulates that they do not constitute a separate genre, as might parallel works such as Taj al-Salatin.19 Because contemporary Indonesian political thought draws on these Javanese traditions, adab as politics is less religious than simply civilizational.20 In this account, because contemporary Indonesian political thought does not draw on an Islamic courtly tradition, whereas Malaysia is a constitutional monarchy in which the Sultans are empowered to represent the interests of Malay Muslims, Islamic frames of reference are relatively more natural in Malaysian political discourse than in Indonesian political discourse. That Malaysia’s contemporary political order relies so fundamentally on both Malay supremacy (ketuanan Melayu, or the belief that Malaysian law and politics establishes Malay rights and privileges as foundational) and Islam as one of the three constitutive features of Malayness (together with the Malay language and Malay custom) gives even more license for the search for Islamic roots for Malay ways of being political. A second important observation from the cited examples is that adab can be used in both an individual and collective sense, both in Indonesia and in Malaysia. The individual sense of adab focuses on an individual’s proper behavior or etiquette, and simply invokes that in the political realm. This is the more traditional sense in which the mirrors-for-princes genre employs the concept of adab. In the modern context, the online commentary from very_kaka matches this use when describing politik beradab as a way of being political that is cognizant of ethical requirements. While one might argue that this comports with the notion of “beautiful behavior,” in this instance there is no invocation of Islam or religiosity. But adab is in some sense more powerful as a description of a collective state of civilization: Malaysian politics in general as lacking adab, or Indonesian society itself as striving for greater adab, or very_kaka’s beradab politik as a program that creates a more civilized politics. Whereas the individualistic perspective on adab makes it something that individuals do, perhaps drawing on Islamic ethics but in any case cognizant of some rightness of political behavior, the collective perspective on adab holds that civilization—perhaps more exactly translated as “civilized-ness”—is a feature that societies have. It is generally not made clear what exact properties a society would have that would allow someone

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to deem it civilized, but the implication is that ethically objectionable things like corruption and slander would not be present. To what extent do these two perspectives complement one another? Here the general vagueness of adab as used in contemporary Indonesian and Malaysian political discourse prevents us from delving deeply or authoritatively into this question. But one can imagine two views. In the simpler view, it could be that “societies have” adab if “individuals do” adab, if not all of them then perhaps a sufficient number of them. This is a view that holds that societal properties are merely the sum of the interactions of the actions of individuals, what a sociologist would consider a methodologically individualist conception of the relationship between individuals and social collectives.21 Such a perspective on the role of adab in society might find resonance in the common Salafi articulation of proper Islamic society as ultimately rooted in individual adherence to the ways of the Prophet Muhammad and his companions, although it need not. A more nuanced view is that Indonesian and Malaysian politics can have a property of adab that is distinct from what individual Indonesians and Malaysians do. Here, the whole is more than the sum of the parts. That could be what user_kaka has in mind with beradab politik, creating a kind of politics that is civilized rather than waiting for individuals to come around to adab in their own behavior. It also seems more naturally suited to the generic use of adab as civilization, not just civilized-ness. In this reading, adab is the property of a community or a nation, not something reducible to its constituent parts. This rhetorical use of adab in its collective sense would amount to a methodologically holist perspective on Muslim societies in Indonesia and Malaysia.

Adab as Mass Political Culture The previous discussion provides an overview of how adab is used in contemporary Indonesian and Malaysian political discourse. However, the generality of adab prevents us from outlining with any great detail what its usage entails, besides a series of tensions: Islamic and not specifically religious, individual and collective. For the remainder of this chapter, I turn to consider what the invocation of this nonspecific, frequently nonreligious, often collective concept of adab tells us about Indonesian and Malaysian and politics. My claim is that the use of adab in contemporary discourse reveals something essential about Indonesian and Malaysian political culture. Specifically, it reveals that Indonesian and Malaysian understandings of politics at both the

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elite and mass level are characterized by a belief that, normatively speaking, politics has an ethical foundation, and that contemporary politics in both countries is somehow at variance with that ethical foundation. That ethical foundation might be rooted in religion, or in a more diffuse and nonspecific idea of what constitutes ethics. Visions of how politics ought to be, therefore, invoke something more than policy change or institutional reform; they invoke a shift in mass political culture. It bears emphasizing that there is nothing unique about the invocation of ethics as part of a rhetorical exercise in contemporary politics. Americans frequently make reference to something called “American values,” for example, which is similarly vague enough that just about any political actor may argue that his or her opponent fails to respect American values. In a very different way, French politicians and citizens alike make continual reference to Republican values that are held to be not just foundational to but in fact constitutive of contemporary French politics. The “Asian values thesis” of former Singaporean Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew and others holds that there are specifically Asian understandings of culture and ethics that undergird an Asian way of organizing a society.22 That politicians and citizens alike in Indonesia and Malaysia have an analogous set of terms that admit a vague understanding of national political culture is itself hardly surprising. The critical difference between the way that Indonesians and Malaysians use adab and the invocation of, for example, “American values” is that adab frequently suggests a progressive aspiration while “American values” recall an imaginary past. American values are supposed to already exist, even if Americans disagree about what they are. French republicanism has actual historical roots, as do the ideals of liberté, égalité, fraternité. “Asian values” are held to arise from Confucian or other sources. By contrast, politik beradab does not yet exist, and particularly in its not-specifically-religious formation, it never has. It is only in the mirrors-for-princes genre in Malay literature that one might locate a historical foundation for adab as political ethics. But such a reading has precious little currency in Malaysia, and none in Indonesia. In this way, adab is used in a way that is different from concepts in Indonesian political culture such as gotong royong, a term meaning “mutual self-help” that is common in Indonesian political discourse as an invocation of “Indonesian values” but which some authors have identified as a backward projection of a cultural tradition held to have been foundational to the Indonesian people.23 It is also different from the Sumpah Pemuda, the late 1920s youth pledge made by Indonesia’s aspiring nationalists, which amounted to a concrete expression of an

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ongoing political project that expresses a coherent ideology of the Indonesian state:  one homeland, one nation, one language.24 It is furthermore different from some articulations of the ethical foundations of Malaysian politics such as 1Malaysia, which holds that Malaysia was founded on a set of values that Malaysians today ought to already possess, and which can be strengthened in the future. The official articulation of the 1Malaysia concept makes this point explicit: “These are the values that have been inculcated among Malaysians for many years. The concept should be stretched further for a more solid future. The values evolve around the culture of excellence, perseverance, humility, acceptance, loyalty, meritocracy, education and integrity.”25 There are exceptions, of course. These arise when adab is used in the strictly Islamic sense. For example, in discussions of Islam Hadhari, or civilizational Islam, a concept frequently associated with Malaysia’s former Prime Minister Abdullah Ahmad Badawi, we can find adab being invoked as a retrospective claim. Badawi’s Islam Hadhari sought out a position on contemporary Malaysian politics that denied any tension between classic Islamic politics thought and the demands of contemporary Malaysian politics. At the same time, it viewed civilizational Islam as fundamentally moderate, compatible with the conditions of a diverse, urbanizing, modernizing Malaysia. Still, though, in this case the retrospection focuses not on values of Malaysians (or Malays), but values of Islam from the time of the Prophet.26 And civilizational Islam was neither the source of Badawi’s popularity nor viewed particularly seriously by most Malaysians, Muslims or otherwise. If we can generalize from the discussion earlier, the way that adab tends to be used in contemporary Indonesia and Malaysia suggests that there exists a culture of political culture in contemporary Indonesia and Malaysia. In the same way that philosophers such as Adam Smith thought about the moral prerequisites of politics,27 and just as many social scientists study politics using terms like “civic culture,”28 elites and mass publics alike in Indonesia and Malaysia speak and act as if they believe that their beliefs and ethics lie at the heart of why their countries are ruled the way that they are. This second-order political culture in Indonesia and Malaysia does not imply that all Indonesians and Malaysians agree on what their values are or what they ought to be. Rather, it holds that the diagnosis for political problems of many forms in Indonesia and Malaysia is a failure of political culture, rather than a failure of law, policy, leadership, and/or imagination. For those who subscribe to Islam Hadhari, the solution is a return to the classical values of Islamic civilization. For others, it may imply something else altogether, perhaps

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unknown. The point is, if society itself is the source of political problems, then societal reform is the solution. Where does this culture of political culture come from? It is beyond the scope of this chapter to offer definitive conclusions, but this impulse in Indonesian and Malaysian politics has lineages that can be traced back at least back to the independence period. In the Indonesian case, for example, we may look back to Darul Islam (“House of Islam”) an armed movement founded in the 1940s that sought to establish an Islamic state in large parts of what had been the Dutch East Indies. Darul Islam leader Kartosoewirjo wrote of the necessity of “freeing the mind” from colonialism,29 an idea that suggests that political change follows from a change in mindset. More generally, the idea of a cultural and national “awakening” in which Indonesians sought to establish their own essentially Indonesian worldview has frequently been invoked in descriptions of Indonesia’s anticolonial movements.30 Exact parallels in the case of Malaysia are harder to find, however. For an illustration of just what this kind of aspiration for a better kind of political culture means, we need look no further than Jokowi’s presidency and his notion of a Revolusi Mental (Mental Revolution). According to the official government website of Revolusi Mental, Revolusi Mental adalah gerakan seluruh rakyat Indonesia bersama Pemerintah untuk memperbaiki karakter bangsa menjadi Indonesia yang lebih baik. Banyak permasalahan yang terjadi di negara kita saat ini, mulai dari rakusnya pejabat yang memperkaya diri sendiri, pelanggaran HAM, hingga perilaku sehari-hari masyarakat seperti tidak mau antre dan kurang peduli terhadap hak orang lain. Namun, perilaku bisa diubah, mental dan karakter bisa dibangun. Karena itu Revolusi Mental bukanlah pilihan, tetapi suatu keharusan, agar bangsa kita bisa berdiri sejajar dengan bangsa-bangsa lain di dunia. Kita bisa membuat Indonesia menjadi lebih baik dengan memulai Revolusi Mental dari diri sendiri, sejak saat ini. [Revolusi Mental is a movement of all Indonesians, together with the government, to improve the national character and create a better Indonesia. There are many problems today in Indonesia, from greedy officials who only enrich themselves, to human rights violations, down to everyday problems like people refusing to stand in lane and not caring about the rights of others. However, behavior can be changed, and mentality and character can be developed. For this reason, Revolusi Mental is not a choice, it is a necessity, to ensure that the Indonesian nation can stand with other nations around the world. We can make a better Indonesia beginning with Revolusi Mental, starting with ourselves, right now.]31

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For a further elaboration, consider the hand-written document entitled Impian Indonesia 2015–2085 (The Indonesian Dream, 2015–2085) that circulated in late 2015.32 Authored by Jokowi himself, it is a list of seven hopes and dreams, and expresses precisely the kind of aspirations for an ethical society that I have argued are so typical of Indonesia (and Malaysia). Particularly revealing are items two and three: 2. Masyarakat Indonesia yang menjunjung tinggi pluralisme, berbudaya, religius dan menjunjung tinggi nilai-nilai etika. 3. Indonesia menjadi pusat pendidikan, teknologi dan peradaban dunia. 2. An Indonesian society that reveres pluralism, is cultured, religious, and reveres ethical values. 3. Indonesia is a center of education, technology, and global civilization

I note that peradaban here is simply the word for civilization, and its usage here contains no Islamic undertones. But more importantly, it is hard to imagine such a list of hopes and dreams being created by a sitting executive in most countries in the global North, and certainly not one that contains this particular set of hopes and dreams. Given the task of creating such a wish list, a politician like US President Barack Obama would likely invoke notions of equality, or fairness, or opportunity, things that a government ought to provide, rather than that a society ought to be.33 Once again, I  wish to emphasize there is nothing unique about political culture being so important to Indonesian and Malaysian politics. However, the culture of political culture is probably not a general feature of all modern states and societies—and does have some interesting features, which may be politically consequential for Indonesian and Malaysian politics. The first feature to note is that when articulated as an aspiration rather than a tradition, adab is fundamentally progressive in nature. The orientation toward a more ethical kind of politics conjures an image of a body politic that is still developing, especially when paired with the belief that political culture itself is responsible for the current state of politics in Indonesia and Malaysia. Politik beradab is, in principle, something that can be achieved. Two caveats are in order to this progressive view, though. The first is that individualist, and especially religious, invocations of adab may not be progressive at all. Islam Hadhari, for example, strives to be a progressive vision for Islam in Malaysia, but other invocations of past traditions may be antiprogressive, such as a Salafi view that adab follows from individuals holding closely to the way of the Prophet Muhammad. So too would a strong reading of the Minangkabau text cited

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earlier on how people ought to engage with bureaucrats and administrators. The second caveat is that a progressive vision for a civilized politics is not necessarily an emancipatory vision. Because adab is so general, it is also open to interpretation and to authoritative statements of what is and is not adab. I return to this point later. A second notable feature of adab as used in contemporary political discourse is that the conception of political culture that it invokes is not merely descriptive, it is also causal. A politik beradab would not just reflect a different kind of ethical values, but foreshadow a different kind of political process as a result; beradab politik is explicitly an effort to change politics. An alternative view, one common among those political scientists in Southeast Asia and in the West who tend to be skeptical of political culture as a causal explanation, is that political culture is instead the observable manifestation of political behavior and discourse, something that describes politics but does not drive it.34 If culture is causal, not merely descriptive, then changing culture is a way to change politics. If culture is not causal, then changing politics requires changing something else. For students of Indonesian and Malaysian politics who work within the discipline of political science, the challenge is to distinguish between actors’ preferences and their actions, recognizing that even if political culture does explain behavior in a causal sense, culture may be invoked strategically or purposively nevertheless.35 Scholars of adab might learn from this view that the very flexibility of the concept suggests that its use in any specific circumstance is likely to be strategic in nature. However, as I  have suggested, the general tendency to use adab and what it applies about political culture reflects a shared assumption that political culture is causal. One possibility, beyond the scope of this chapter, is that the invocation of adab is a way to distract mass publics from other, perhaps more concrete problems that have more concrete— if contentious—solutions. Instead of demanding that legal systems prosecute corrupt politicians, mass publics dream of a more ethical and civilized national society in which corrupt politicians do not exist. A final critical feature of adab is that because this concept is at once vague and general but normative and progressive, adab may be martialed for exclusionary purposes as well. For an example, I  turn to contemporary Malaysian politics. The following passage, from a Malaysian newspaper, describes a conflict between UMNO’s Youth wing and Lim Kit Siang, long-time head of the social democratic and overwhelmingly non-Malay Democratic Action Party (DAP). At stake is that implementation of Islamic criminal law

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(hudud) in the Malaysian state of Kelantan, a Malaysian state governed by the Islamist opposition party who at the time was part of the same opposition coalition as the DAP. Pemuda Umno mengecam tindakan Penasihat DAP, Lim Kit Siang kerana menyanggah pelaksanaan hudud dan pada masa sama dilihat cuba mengajar rakyat Kelantan berhubung hukum itu dalam ceramah yang berlangsung Ahad lalu. Exco Pemuda Umno, Nazir Hussin Akhtar Hussin mendakwa, perbuatan Kit Siang itu jelas menunjukkan beliau sebenarnya seorang yang biadab dan tidak tahu adab. “Kit Siang bukan individu yang layak untuk memperkatakan tentang undangundang Islam, apatah [sic] lagi mengajar masyarakat perkara berkaitan hudud.” [“Kit Siang is not someone for whom it is appropriate to talk about Islamic law, much less instruct the people about hudud matters.”] [UMNO Youth is criticizing the actions of DAP Adviser Lim Kit Siang because he opposes the implementation of hudud and at the same time is seen as trying to instruct the Kelantanese people about this law in a ceramah last Sunday. UMNO Youth Exco Nazir Hussin Akhtar Hussin charges that Kit Siang’s action shows clearly that he is actually an uncivilized person who does not know manners.]36

We see here adab used in its individual sense, as an indictment of the behavior of an individual in a political setting. It is also clearly being invoked in an Islamic context, with the implication that because Kit Siang is not a Muslim, he has no standing to comment on Islamic affairs. His insistence on doing so is what demonstrates his lack of adab. The apparent contradiction here is that adab is used in an Islamic context to indict a non-Muslim for not having proper manners in matters dealing with Islam. By invoking adab in describing Kit Siang, UMNO Youth implies that there is ethical standard that ought to apply to Malaysian politicians. That standard derives at least in part from Islam itself (in this example), and that standard binds in this particular discussion of the proper role of the state in sanctioning Islamic criminal law. Kit Siang, though, is not a Muslim. On what grounds does adab regulate a non-Muslim’s political behavior? This is the exclusionary consequence of invoking adab, licensing a practice of denying Kit Siang’s very standing to comment on crucial features of Malaysian politics on the grounds that (1) only ethical behavior is appropriate and (2) commenting on Islam by non-Muslims is unethical.37

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Conclusion My reflections on the use of adab in Indonesian and Malaysian politics and political discourse are not designed to explain “what adab really means” or how it ought to be applied for contemporary politics. Its varied and frequently vague use reflects the different ways in which it has come into the lexicon in Indonesian and Malay:  as an ordinary word for manners, as an Islamic word invoking religiously sanctioned practices, as claim about what constitutes the essence of a people, and as a desire for a better society. My interest, instead, is in trying to draw some conclusions about what the use of adab in politics says about the people who use it. My core argument is that it reveals something about political culture—not any specific content to any specific culture, but a widely shared cultural assumption in Indonesia and Malaysia that political culture matters. I hesitate to draw parallels with how adab and terms like it inform our understanding of political culture outside of these two countries, but Indonesia and Malaysia are probably not unique. Nor, probably, is the cultural belief that political culture explains politics. It is in thinking through the implications of a culture of political culture that we can discern some of the interesting features of Indonesian and Malaysian politics. These include both a tendency to diagnose political problems as emerging from society rather than from politicians or institutions, and a willingness to anticipate a political future characterized by a more civilized form of politics from which other popular or societal benefits may follow. An approach to politics in either country that comes from either a scriptural/ theological perspective or a mainstream political science perspective would probably miss such features of Indonesian and Malaysian mass politics. A fruitful direction for further exploration would be to consider how a culture of political culture emerges from or interacts with other strands of political culture in the two countries, in particular with Javanese understandings of power and ethics in Indonesia38 and the resurgence of Islam in Malaysian politics. There is a risk in overemphasizing the extent to which a culture of political culture pervades Indonesian and Malaysian political life. There are many Indonesians and Malaysians who pursue a kind of politics that implicitly rejects the conclusion that political culture drives politics and hence political reform requires some change to mass culture. For them, the task for reform is not changing Indonesians and Malaysians, but instead enforcing good laws,

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changing bad laws, reforming institutions, and voting for politicians who make good policies. One of the pernicious effects of adab-minded political discourse, as the case of Kit Siang and hudud in Malaysia illustrates, is that it threatens to disempower such a politics by appealing to the propriety of politics itself.

4

Sharia, Adab, and the Malaysian State Timothy P. Daniels

Introduction The Malaysian state, since political independence in 1957, has tried to present itself as a moderate Malay Muslim-led state enacting law and politics with a sense of adab (good moral behavior).1 Deputy Prime Minister Abdul Razak bin Hussein, speaking to the Dewan Rakyat (lower house of parliament) on December 13, 1960, stated that Malaysian special forces will “perform their tasks with the finest adab and orderly procedure such that they would later be praised.”2 Rather than an officially promulgated ideology, adab is an often unspoken quality or ethical aesthetic of Malay Muslim behavior.3 In the first decade of its existence, this newly formed nation-state fostered adab in the way it formulated sharia family and criminal law codes that eschewed strict adherence to traditional Shāfiʻī jurisprudence in favor of stressing familial and social harmony and mild discretionary punishments.4 The state also promoted adab among its diverse interethnic and interreligious citizenry as it sought to instill ideas and feelings of a unified Malaysian nationality. Malaysia’s estimated 31.7  million persons comprise around 68.6  percent Bumiputera (Malays and indigenous groups), 23.4  percent Chinese, 7  percent Indians, 1  percent other groups, while 10.3 percent of the total population are non-Malaysian citizens.5 According to the Population and Housing Census of Malaysia, 2010, Muslims are 61.3  percent, Buddhists 19.8  percent, Christians 9.2  percent, and Hindus 6.3 percent of the population.6 The state has tried to universalize a form of adab to this diverse citizenry using the rhetoric of peace, harmony, and stability (Figure 4.1). Malaysian political elites attempted to manifest adab in law and politics within the secular conceptual framework and political arrangements inherited from

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Figure 4.1 Map of Malaysia. Courtesy of the University of Texas Libraries, the University of Texas at Austin.

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British colonialism that relegated sharia laws to the realm of personal and “private” matters below the more general “public” jurisdiction of English law. They also stressed the political power of civil authorities above religious scholars, specialists, and royal “heads of religion.” As the Federal Constitution delineated, sharia courts were under the administration of one of the thirteen states or federal territories of Malaysia, while the civil courts were part of a national and federal hierarchy of courts. At the time, the lowest of the civil courts held authority over the highest sharia court. In addition, state-level religious departments and councils were under the authority of the sultan or King who, in turn, was ultimately under the authority of civil political leadership of the state and federal government. Recent explorations of secularism stress the importance of discerning concepts, sensibilities, and practices of the secular and the way in which secular power works to fashion religion as an object of control and monopolizes what is properly considered within the sphere of politics.7 From this perspective, we can note that the Malaysian state, in the first decade following political independence, had not politicized religion and race the way it would in subsequent decades. Its moderate adab of these years was transformed in the context of the Islamic resurgence of the last four decades (1970s to the present) and the contestation of the domination of the UMNO (United Malays National Organization)-led National Front by cross-communal, multiethnic and multireligious political coalitions over the last two decades.8 In this chapter, I  consider adab to be shaped by sharia models and other moral models (including customary rules and principles), which are mental representations, internalized in human minds, of what is proper and improper behavior. These conceptualizations of what are good and bad actions, policies, and practices are acquired from a variety of socializing agents in Malaysian society as well as from global flows of knowledge. They are partially shared but vary across Muslim communities of practice. Moreover, non-Muslim Malaysians also express a sense of etiquette and good behavior that stems from their moral models. I do not impose the term adab on non-Muslim discourse and practice, not just because they generally use other terms, such as “tolerant/intolerant” or “regressive/progressive,” but primarily due to the grounding of their moral assessments within a different worldview. Malays use the lexical items adab, budi, sopan, and other words in various conjugations and with modifiers to refer to the ethical quality of behavior; however, it is not these terms that my study concentrates on but rather the cultural models that are partially constituted by ideas associated with these words. Similar to Metcalf, I consider adab to be based on the teachings of Islam.9 Knowledge about etiquette, ethics, and politeness

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acquired through social experiences in Muslim communities of practice forms cultural models that, in turn, shape perceptions of polite practice and direct proper moral behavior. Nevertheless, some Muslim’s sense of adab diverges from that of other Muslims and converges with non-Muslim’s sense of etiquette. Thus, there are often debates, even public controversies, over what is proper adab in regard to particular legal and political policies. Ideas and feelings about adab change over time—as do the sharia models that govern reasoning about whether certain actions or behavioral qualities indicate good manners or not. This chapter is based primarily upon ethnographic and textual research conducted in several states of peninsular Malaysia and in the Federal Territory of Kuala Lumpur from 2010 to 2012. Here, I will examine several cases and issues that pertain to sharia family and criminal laws and sharia economics, highlighting the Malaysian state’s posture on adab and legal and political morality amidst a broader field of contested positions. As exhibited in these cases, the Islamic Party of Malaysia (PAS, Parti Islam SeMalaysia) and most nongovernmental Islamic organizations push for more religion in politics, while Muslim and non-Muslim liberal rights organizations, such as Sisters in Islam (SIS), Islamic Renaissance Front (IRF), and Voice of the Malaysian People (SUARAM; Suara Rakyat Malaysia), press for less religion in politics (see Table 4.1). I demonstrate that the Malaysian state’s sharia model and concomitant adab have shifted from the early period of independence to conceptualizations and sensibilities that entail a greater politicization of religion and race. Yet, I do not argue that this shift was a move away from secularism. I agree that it is mistaken to view non-Western states, such as the Malaysian state, as only partially secular in contrast to the assumed-to-be fully secular Western states.10 However, it is also incorrect to assume that all secular states are liberal states.11 As I  think Saba Mahmood’s fine description of several legal cases in Egypt and European nations reveals, these secular states often sacrifice the liberal rights of ethnic and religious minorities in favor of recognizing what I call the “illiberal rights” of the majority. Moreover, the relative embrace of liberal concepts may fluctuate over time as once more highly liberal secular states come under the sway of more chauvinist social forces that push for the “illiberal rights” of racial, ethnic, and/ or religious majorities and vice versa. My main argument is that the Malaysian secular power, navigating a middle path between social forces demanding less or more “religion” in law and politics, produces a sense of adab in the current context by way of drawing a line between religion and politics in a manner that secures some liberal rights for women, ethnic and religious minorities, and financial markets and illiberal rights for men, Malays, and Muslims.12

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Table 4.1 Malaysian Political Organizations Name

Organization type

Ideology

Key leader(s)

United Malays Political party National Organization (UMNO)

Secular nationalist

Najib Abdul Razak Mahathir Mohamad

Islamic Party of Malaysia (PAS)

Political party

Political Abdul Hadi Awang Islamic statist Nik Abdul Aziz

People’s Justice Party (PKR)

Political party

Secular pluralist

Anwar Ibrahim Wan Azizah

Democratic Action Party (DAP)

Political party

Social democratic

Lim Kit Siang Karpal Singh

Sisters in Islam (SIS)

Nongovernmental organization

Muslim feminist

Zainah Anwar Norani Othman

Islamic Renaissance Front (IRF)

Nongovernmental organization

Liberal Muslim reformist

Ahmad Farouk Musa

Voice of the Malaysian Nongovernmental People (SUARAM) organization

Secular Kua Kia Soong human rights K. Arumugam activist

National Consciousness Movement (Aliran)

Nongovernmental organization

Secular P. Ramakrishnan human rights activist

Darul Arqam

Nongovernmental organization

Sufi movement

Ashaari Muhammad Hatijah Aam

Fatwas, Gender, and Religious Minorities Student activists, Sufi and sharia-oriented proselytizing (dakwah) movements, and the Islamic Party of Malaysia incited the Islamic resurgence and revival that spread across Malaysian society in the 1970s.13 These groups mobilized Muslims to participate in Islamic education, study groups, and religious revival meetings. In addition, they called for sharia economics, including the production of halal products and avoidance of riba (usurious interest), and for Muslims to implement more sharia in their families and personal lives. By the 1980s, the UMNO-led Malaysian state under the leadership of Prime Minister Mahathir Mohamad, aiming to maneuver in front of the increasingly popular resurgent Islamic organizations, initiated its own proselytizing movement.14

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The Malaysian state established the International Islamic University, Islamic banks, and insurance companies and institutionalized halal certification while also promoting companies producing halal products. These and other measures by the secular power entailed a redefinition of the line between religion and politics. Furthermore, the Malaysian state sought to train and absorb expanding corps of ulama (Islamic scholars) into government think tanks and institutions such as the Secretariat of the National Council of Islamic Affairs and the National Council of Islamic Affairs Fatwa Committee (Jawatankuasa Fatwa Majlis Kebangsaan Bagi Hal Ehwal Ugama Islam Malaysia), formed in 1968 and 1970, respectively. In 1997, the former was transformed into the Department of Islamic Development Malaysia (JAKIM; Jabatan Kemajuan Islam Malaysia) and moved into the prime minister’s department where it came more firmly under the control of Malay Muslim secular elites. The National Council’s fatwa committee issues fatwas (legal opinions) on a national level, and each state and the federal territories has its fatwa committee. State-level fatwa committees are paramount because the Federal Constitution lists sharia courts on the state and not federal level. The national fatwa committee consists of all the state-level and federal territories’ muftis (head jurists), nine ulama, a Muslim legal professional selected and appointed by the Council of Rulers, and a director appointed by the National Council for Islamic Affairs (Majlis Kebangsaan Bagi Hal Ehwal Ugama Islam Malaysia, MKI). The state and national fatwa councils issue rulings covering all categories of Islamic law, including akidah (religious belief), ibadah (worship), munakahat (marriage and family), jenayah (criminal offenses), and muamalat (economic matters). Unlike comparable fatwa-issuing councils in Indonesia and Egypt—the MUI (Majelis Ulama Indonesia) and the Al-Azhar Fatwa Council, respectively—the state and national fatwa councils in Malaysia issue fatwas that are published and become law in particular states or, subject to state approval, across the nation. Furthermore, the state-level sharia criminal law codes include a provision that asserts that it is against the law to disobey or dispute the directions given in a fatwa which is in force in that state or Federal Territories. Many of the government ulama and civil servants in religious departments I  interviewed expressed a commitment to more extensive implementation of sharia laws beyond that allowed under the current secular format. They were part of the generation of the Islamic resurgence and acquired sharia models from their experiences with Islamic education, religious institutions, and nongovernmental organizations both inside and outside of Malaysia. Although their ideas and affect support more inclusion of religion within politics, they

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are constrained within departments and councils under the direction of Malay political elites that determine the government position. These Malay political elites are the main forces of the secular power that utilizes the religious expertise of government ulama for legitimacy, competition with the ulama-led Islamic Party of Malaysia, and skillful navigation of a middle course—between secular and Muslim liberal rights activists and conservative Muslims—within a traditional Islamic framework.

Fatwa on Underage Marriage One of the publicly debated issues that Malaysian political leaders and government ulama responded to in 2014 is the matter of underage marriages. Sharia family law enactments set minimum age for marriage at eighteen for men and sixteen for women, “except where the Syariah Judge has granted his permission in writing in certain circumstances.”15 Several publicized cases of sharia courts allowing underage Muslim girls to marry older men drew strong reactions and calls for reform from several sectors. Sisters in Islam (SIS), a Muslim feminist organization, non-Muslim women’s groups, and Democratic Action Party (DAP) members of Parliament were openly critical of underage marriage. Sisters in Islam, drawing upon Islamic teachings, produced interpretations of Qur’an and hadith (Prophetic Traditions) that stress the spirit of justice, equality, freedom, and fairness in the sacred sources. One of the group’s cofounders, Norani Othman, argued that these values are central to maqāṣid al-sharīʻah, the overarching objectives of divine law.16 DAP activists and non-Muslim women’s organizations, working within secular worldviews, also underscored the significance of justice, equality, and freedom.17 Although these groups operated with a variety of moral models—liberal Muslim and secular non-Muslim mental representations—they agreed that the government should uphold international human rights conventions, such as the Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC) and the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women (CEDAW). Moreover, they called for setting the minimum age of marriage for both men and women at eighteen, which is the requirement in Malaysian civil courts. Therefore, these groups agitate for less religion in politics. On the other hand, many political Islamic activists and supporters of Islamic nongovernmental organizations, operating with a variety of pro-sharia moral models, argue that there is no minimum age for marriage in the sacred sources for sharia, the Qur’an, and hadith, and therefore insist the state should not enforce

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such a requirement. Moreover, some of them contend that marrying at an early age is one of the best ways to avoid the major sin of zina: commission of acts of sexual intercourse outside of wedlock. They want to see stricter adherence to religious sources in the law. Thus, while Muslim and non-Muslim liberal rights activists find adab or political etiquette in totally restricting underage marriage and formulating a law that does not discriminate between men and women, sharia and dakwah-oriented Muslims find it in laws based on sacred sources that facilitate Islamic virtues. In October 2014, the Fatwa Committee of the National Council for Islamic Affairs (MKI) issued a fatwa on the topic of “Child Marriage: Investigation from the Aspect of Religion, Health and Psychology,” which was later published in a gazette and on its official electronic-fatwa (e-Fatwa) website. Based on the findings of a Universiti Teknologi Malaysia (UTM) research team, the ulama of the National Council’s Fatwa Committee decided that the marriage of children is an unhealthy practice in contemporary society and that solemnizing the marriage of children in Malaysia should only be done with consideration of their interests. They noted that these marriages have been found to bring more harm than benefit, especially for the young girls who develop many physical and mental health problems. In taking into account scientific research on the topic before making their ruling, these muftis practiced what some Muslim philosophers have recently recommended.18 The ulama of the National Council’s Fatwa Committee integrated the scientific findings of the research team into their application of traditional legal methodology of the Shāfiʻī school of jurisprudence (madhhab). They noted that there is no hadith that promotes or advises the marriage of children, and that the marriage of Prophet Muhammad to an underage ‘Āisha does not make such marriages obligatory or recommended.19 Besides, the ijma (consensus) of the Companions during the time of the Messenger of Allah was to watch out for the maṣlaḥah (interests, benefit) of children, and subsequently Shāfiʻī ulama placed several conditions that have to be fulfilled before the marriage of children can be permitted. This national council of jurists agreed that the criteria for approving underage marriage must be tightened and that sharia courts must carefully attend to the maṣlaḥah of youngsters by having the Wali Hakim (judge representing the children) realize justice through ensuring that the marriage does not damage the life and future of the children in regard to education, psychology, health, and finances and that the couple being married be of the same age group.20 The muftis, under the direction of political officials, adopted a posture on underage marriage in between disputing liberal and conservative social forces.

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They upheld the existing law that differentiates men from women and allows underage individuals to marry with the approval of the sharia court judge. However, they declared that the judges must look out for the benefits and wellbeing of the youth involved, especially the young women, and that there should not be a large age difference between the young bride and her prospective husband. This legally profound fatwa strives to protect the liberal rights of girls and young women within a framework that continues to distinguish sharia law from civil law while seeking to remove abuses from traditional practices of underage marriage. I noticed a similar pattern in many other areas of Malaysian state reform of sharia family law. For instance, ta’liq, or premarital promises made by the husband, have become a standard part of marriage contracts; valid grounds for women applying for at-fault divorce (fasakh) have been extended based on Mālikī opinions; and male applications for polygamous marriages have to undergo an extensive process of judicial review before being approved.21 Polygamous marriages contracted without court approval are subject to fines. All of these reforms reflect the way the Malaysian secular power strives to protect the liberal rights of women within an overarching traditional Islamic framework. However, in doing so, they also maintain the illiberal rights of men to contract polygamous marriages, to be the guardians of their families and children’s marriages, and to be the heads of their families that can demand the obedience of their wife or wives. The Malaysian secular power sketches a line including many traditional Islamic principles within law and politics that simultaneously defends the liberal rights of girls and women and the illiberal rights of men.

Fatwa on Child Custody in Conversion Cases In 1988, the Mahathir-led National Front government made an important amendment to the Federal Constitution for raising the status and jurisdiction of the state-level sharia courts and attempting to deal with many of the overlapping jurisdictions of civil and sharia courts. Article 121(1A) states that, “The courts referred to in Clause (1) [two High Courts] shall have no jurisdiction in respect of any matter within the jurisdiction of the Syariah courts.” Although it was supposed to establish exclusive jurisdiction for the sharia courts, many areas of conflicting jurisdiction have not been eliminated. Despite being only a slight adjustment of the secular structural arrangement, this amendment has become a principal target of liberal rights organizations protesting the unwelcome

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authority of sharia courts in conversion and child custody cases involving Muslims and non-Muslims.22 Many Malaysian liberal rights organizations and activists have been clamoring over the last decade about several highly publicized cases of child custody that involve the conversion of one of the parties to Islam. Given the extant overlapping jurisdictions of civil and sharia court cases involving non-Muslim and Muslim parties, political and police forces are faced with resolving situations in which both legal systems issue competing decisions. When a civil law marriage dissolves due to the conversion of one spouse to Islam, both court systems are implicated in resolving an interfaith child custody battle. The civil court is involved because the marriage was originally between two non-Muslims, but the sharia court also becomes involved due to one spouse’s conversion to Islam. In addition, the new Muslim convert may unilaterally convert the children to Islam or at least change the official registration of their religious status. Therefore, whether the offspring are to be legally recognized as Muslims or non-Muslims is a further complication. For instance, S.  Deepa, a Hindu woman, and Izwan Abdullah, a Muslim convert, disputed the custody of their two children, a nine-year-old girl and a six-year-old boy who Izwan converted to Islam. In 2013, Izwan received an order from the Sharia High Court of Seremban, Negeri Sembilan, awarding him custody of their son who he took from his mother to live with him. However, in April 2014, Deepa received an order from the Seremban High Court awarding her custody of both children, which was subsequently upheld in the Appeals Court. Although the civil court ordered the police to return the six-year-old son to Deepa, the Inspector-General of the police refused to side with either the civil or sharia court claiming to be caught between the two legal systems.23 In the midst of growing public attention and controversy, Prime Minister Najib Razak called on the parties in child custody cases with competing civil and sharia orders to seek judgments from the Federal Court and to accept the decision rendered by the highest civil court.24 In February 2016, the Federal Court gave custody of the daughter to Deepa and custody of the son to Izwan. While the apparent stalemate between the civil and sharia court orders indicates that Malaysian secular power was interpreting Article 121 of the Constitution to mean that the sharia courts and lower civil courts have an equivalent level of jurisdiction when Muslims and non-Muslims are involved in family law cases, the prime minister’s practice of pointing the parties toward the Federal Court declares that it has authority not only over the lower civil courts but also over the state-level sharia courts.

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The prime minister’s practice embodies a secular nationalist sharia model that contrasts with the sharia models of many of those in Islamic nongovernment organizations and in the Islamic Party of Malaysia. His perception of adab and legal and political morality reinforces the raised status of the sharia court system while also rendering it subordinate to the highest court of the land:  the civil Federal Court. This contrasts with the sharia models and adab of PAS and many Islamic nongovernmental organizations that strive to make the sharia courts the superordinate courts across the country. Nik Abdul Aziz, the spiritual leader of PAS, told me that there should be only one court system in Malaysia, the sharia court system.25 From the perspective of the Malaysian secular power, these sharia models that envision an overhauling of the secular structural arrangement constitute improper politics and an inappropriate form of politicizing religion. The standard sharia family law provision states that one of the main qualifications necessary for a mother to be entitled to child custody and for a father to be the guardian is that she or he be a Muslim. Most religious officials in sharia courts tend to favor giving custody to the Muslim parent in these cases of conversion to Islam within civil law marriages. Sharia courts recognize that the marriage has been dissolved and give custody of the converted children—or children registered as Muslim in the state religious agency—to the parent who has become Muslim. This appears to be consistent with the primary necessity of sharia (maqṣid al-sharī‘a), which according to the well-known Shāfiʻī scholar, Abū Ḥāmid Muḥammad al-Ghazālī (d.505/1111), is the preservation of religion.26 However, in April 2015, the Conference of the Perlis State Fatwa Committee, led by Mufti Mohd Asri Zainal Abidin, delivered a fatwa on the issue of “The Right of Child Custody for Parents of Different Religion” that contrasts with the standard provision across the states of Malaysia. It is important to remember that the state-level fatwa committees are theoretically independent, because sharia law is listed as state-level law rather than federal. However, the federal government effectively controls most of the state fatwa committees except in the northern state of Perlis since Mohd Asri became their mufti for the second time in 2015.27 Under his leadership, the Perlis fatwa committee decided that in these cases the right of custody should not be based on the religion of the mother or father, but rather on guaranteeing the maṣlaḥah of the child in terms of “moral and emotional growth and development.” In their opinion, the Muslim parent has the right and is obligated to introduce Islam to the child whether he or she has custody or not. Thus, the mother has custody of any breastfed child, and then custody belongs to whichever parent can best nurture the growth of the child.28

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Just as in the standard provision, after the age of mumaiyiz or discernment, which is as early as seven for boys and nine for girls, the child is given the right to select the parent to have custody. No other state fatwa committees or the National Council’s Fatwa Committee has issued a fatwa on this specific kind of custody case. Furthermore, my UMNO contacts and interlocutors in the sharia judiciary express views that discredit the mufti of Perlis, Mohd Asri Zainal Abidin, popularly known as Dr.  MAZA. My informants in UMNO labeled him as Wahabi, suggesting that his interpretations of sharia are extreme and outside of the proper bounds of Islamic jurisprudence and religious orientations in Malaysia. Their usage of Wahabi is pejorative and intended to paint Muslims with heterodox religious perspectives, in terms of Malaysia, in a negative light. Similarly, religious officials in Putrajaya have told me that he gives “weak opinions that contradict Hukum Syarak” and that “could confuse people and affect the akidah of other Muslims.” Dr. MAZA still sits on the National Council’s Fatwa Committee but my interlocutors in Putrajaya stressed that he is not allowed to give his opinions outside of the state of Perlis. Dr. MAZA does appear to declare several opinions that draw a different line between religion and politics than the Malaysian secular power. For instance, in his book Menjawab Persoalan Menjelaskan Kekeliruan (Answering Questions, Clearing Up Confusion) written in the form of a series of fatwas answering a number of questions, he violates many of the dominant Malay elite perspectives on religion and race. In this text, he provides his answers in Malay language, but presents Qur’anic verses and hadith in Arabic script with Malay translations. Prof. Madya Dato’ Dr. Mohd Asri Zainual Abidin answers the question “Does belief in ‘Ketuanan Melayu’ [Malay Supremacy] contradict Islam” by referring to Surah al-Hujurat (Q. 49:13) that declares: “Verily the most honored of you in the sight of Allah is (he who is) the most righteous of you.” He also refers to several traditions of the Prophet that assert that there is no ethnic group, race, or tribe that is superior to any other. In the final part of his answer, Dr. MAZA states: “If one race wants to be considered distinguished, it is hoped that they manifest this renown in the reality of their lives. Malays or non-Malays can become distinguished by their efforts in the direction of glory; it is not enough to just rely upon descent or the apparent racial label.”29 On the surface, the Malay political elites appear to be in agreement with the mufti of Perlis on this matter, and surely, they do not explicitly contradict the Qur’anic verses and hadith reported earlier. In fact, the deputy prime minister and UMNO deputy president, Muhyiddin bin Mohd Yassin, in a speech to

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UMNO National Conference of the women and youth delegations in October 2010, quoted Surah Al-Hujurat (Q. 49:13), stressing in his interpretation that the best of humanity are those with piety and fear of Allah and that evidence of their virtue is that they are just to everyone. However, his reference to this verse was immediately preceded by a statement expressing commitment to fighting for Malay and indigenous interests and upholding Malay culture, identity, and adab. In his words: Because of that [UMNO’s philosophy of political and economic inclusivity] we don’t need to be apologetic whenever we struggle for the rights and interests of Malays and Bumiputera. History is our witness that whenever UMNO leads it is not just Malays that get satisfied, but, rather all ethnic groups benefit. We also don’t need to be apologetic for defending Malay identity, being proud to be Malay, calling on Malay adab and morality, and defending the inheritance of Malay culture, as long as we are just to all.30

Here, the deputy prime minister makes it clear that it is fine for UMNO to cater to Malay concerns as long as they lead to a political and economic system that does not oppress and exclude people of other races and ethnic groups. Thus, they can defend Malay special rights and privileges as long as they recognize the rights of others and create a prosperous economic system and a stable and harmonious political system that all can benefit from and live in peace. He suggests that not only is it halal for Malays, the majority ethnic group, to lay stress upon their particular race in this fashion, but also that their virtue is evident in the inclusive manner in which they have led Malaysian society. Muhyiddin Yassin goes on to state that UMNO as a Malay political party will “continue to protect Malay and indigenous special rights, the position of Islam, and the sanctity of the institution of the Malay sultans.”31 Mufti Mohd Asri further elucidates his contrasting perspective on the proper way of laying stress on one’s own race and religion in his answer to the question about what is the “Law on Struggling for Racial or Ethnic Interests.” First, he emphasizes that, “Justice in Islam is blind to racial and religious difference.”32 Indeed, this principle was applied in the Perlis fatwa committee’s ruling on custody that prioritized the best interests of the child rather than religious difference. Second, it is hoped that believers of different races and ethnicities will relate to each other as a family without regard to their differences because their rights of relatedness have been determined by Allah and His Messenger. Third, he argues, it is not wrong to strive for the advancement of your own race or lineage as long as you are not cruel or hateful toward others. Although

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Islam opposes “tribalism,” it does not oppose helping your own group if there is a need for it as long as it does not lead to making enemies of other groups. Fourth, he asserts, political struggle in the name of your race, religion, political party, madhhab, or whatever sort of group, in a “fanatical” fashion that oppresses others, is “tribalism” and is forbidden.33 Members of Malaysian minority groups and liberal rights activists would assert that in the case of UMNO’s struggle for Malay and Muslim rights, they often cross over into what this mufti has described as the forbidden zone. Dr.  MAZA’s public expression of thoughts and opinions that challenge the moral models of the Malay political elites has gotten him marginalized in the judicial community. His views exude a cosmopolitan adab and moderate sharia model that does not conceptualize a perpetuation of Malay and Islamic supremacy. In contrast to efforts to protect the liberal rights of women, there are few governmental attempts to protect the liberal rights of ethnic and religious minorities through reforming sharia family laws. To the contrary, the Malaysian secular power strives to monopolize politics through upholding the illiberal rights of Malays and Muslims in conversion and custody cases.

Apostasy and Determination of Religious Status Apostasy-related cases are one of the most hotly debated subjects of sharia criminal law in Malaysia. In the Malaysian Muslim community, the topic evokes fears of large numbers of Muslims fleeing from the fold of Islam and the concomitant anxieties about Christians proselytizing to Muslims. The Islamic Party of Malaysia and some Islamic nongovernmental organizations call for stricter laws on apostasy and, at times, even for the classical Shāfiʻī punishment of death. This issue also arouses strong emotions among Malaysian non-Muslims who fear being mistaken as a Muslim convert—or having a relative secretly convert and only discovering the truth when the religious department shows up to claim the body for a Muslim funeral. Some liberal Muslim reformers and secular human rights activists have united in a movement fighting for religious freedom for Muslims and non-Muslims in Malaysia. From a variety of Muslim reformist perspectives, the Islamic Renaissance Front (IRF), Sisters in Islam (SIS), and the Malay leaders of the People’s Justice Party (PKR) have criticized the Malaysian secular power’s restrictions on the ability of Muslims to convert to other religions. IRF, an intellectual movement promoting Islamic reform (islah) and renewal (tajdid), argued that the Qur’anic

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principle of “freedom of conscience,” expressed in the well-known verse, “Let there be no compulsion in religion” (Q. 2:256), should be applied to Malays and Muslim converts. In addition, they criticized the dominant and widespread pattern of confusing Malay ethnic identity with Muslim religious identity.34 SIS and scholars in their global network have argued that the state should not intervene in individual matters of religious belief and that a Muslim’s personal relationship with God should not be an issue of public policy.35 The PKR, a multiethnic and multireligious opposition political party, campaigns for realizing a secular pluralist political system. Anwar Ibrahim, the leader of PKR, opined in a press release on the highly publicized case of Lina Joy, a Malay woman who requested government officials recognize her as a Christian convert, that “freedom of conscience” is one of the main elements of the overarching objectives of sharia, the maqāṣid al-sharīʻah.36 The sharia models and awareness of adab of these Muslim reformers indicate various forms of cognitive convergence with the moral models and related ethical perceptions of non-Muslim liberal rights activists. The Democratic Action Party (DAP), a social democratic opposition political party, and secular nongovernmental organizations, such as the National Consciousness Movement (Aliran Kesedaran Negara) and Voice of the Malaysian People (SUARAM), argue for justice, equality, and religious freedom for nonMuslims and Muslims within liberal and secular pluralist worldviews. When I interviewed P. Ramakrishnan, the president of Aliran, he stated, “Well, we are for a secular state . . . We also feel that there should be freedom of choice when you embrace a faith, and you should also have freedom of association if you want to move out. This comes into direct conflict with the sharia.” Similarly, Tan Seng, a young activist I interviewed in a SUARAM office, told me that “freedom of religion is a fundamental human right for everyone and the state should not step into personal beliefs.” SUARAM’s annual human rights reports routinely have a section on freedom of religion and matters pertaining to religion. In 2009, their conclusion of this section described what they consider the “regressive trend” of “religious intolerance” and “heightened politicization of religion.”37 For liberal Muslim reformers and secular liberal rights activists, the government has already included too many Islamic ideas about apostasy within the political sphere. Nevertheless, the Malaysian secular power has been directing sharia judges and government ulama to develop a manner of dealing with apostasy-related cases that restricts Muslims from leaving Islam while also protecting the liberal rights of non-Muslims mistakenly recognized as Muslims. Sharia court judges consider Malays and non-Malay Muslims who possess a valid line of Islamic

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descent (nasab) from their parental generation to be Muslims, and as such they are not permitted to leave Islam and become apostates (murtad). In addition, Malays are hindered from converting to another religion because the Federal Constitution defines them as Muslims. Furthermore, recent court cases of nonMalay converts who registered a valid conversion to Islam demonstrate that sharia judges also considered them as having the religious status of Muslims and therefore denied them the ability to return to their previous religion (or convert to any other). Sharia court judges have ordered such people to seek help from state religious agencies or committed them to centers for correcting religious convictions (akidah). On the other hand, sharia courts have declared the religious status of non-Malays who lack a valid line of Islamic descent from a parent or legal conversion and who never practiced Islam in their lives as nonMuslims. They were allowed to change the official registration of their religion and enjoy their liberal rights, such as marrying a non-Muslim and practicing a religion of their choice.38 Government ulama informed me that the Attorney General’s Chambers is working on a proposal to standardize laws on apostasy-related cases across the states and territories. The courts would entertain people’s petitions and try to determine their status through considering their practices and life experiences. This proposal finds a middle ground between the political Islamic activists calling for much stricter punishment of apostates and liberal Muslim reformers and secular human rights groups appealing for the elimination of any statemandated punishment in these cases. In this way, the secular power expresses an adab that forgoes the severe classical hudud punishment while also not adopting a liberal approach that would treat a person’s decision to leave Islam as a private matter outside of the purview of the state.

Sharia Economics and Justice for All Unlike sharia family and criminal law, sharia economics have not garnered a strong public opposition and sustained debate from liberal rights activists and liberal Muslim reformers. However, there are several significant and influential sharia economic models circulating in the Malaysian Muslim community. PAS and Darul Arqam (now Global Ikhwan) operationalized their sharia economic models within the broader economic system dominated by capitalist values and norms.39 The Malaysian state drew a line between religion and politics that leaves

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both of these group’s models in the realm of excessive religion and improper politics. After its electoral victory in the state of Kelantan in 1990, PAS institutionalized some aspects of their sharia model. PAS, unlike UMNO-BN, established the principle of separating state funds into halal (permitted) and nonhalal accounts based on the sources of the funds. If funds originated from interest, gambling, or alcohol, for instance, they were separated from funds made via “morally clean” sources (halal), such as agriculture and trade in permitted products. In 1991, the state government established an innovative fund called Tabung Serambi Mekah (TSM, Mecca’s Verandah Fund), which included money from halal and haram (forbidden) sources held in separate accounts used for different purposes.40 PAS ulama explained that this fund provides an opportunity for people with money from haram sources to put it to good use in support of public works. According to the deputy chief minister’s records, only halal funds were distributed to needy segments of the population—the poor and victims of natural disasters—whereas funds from haram sources were used for infrastructural projects or building non-Muslim religious institutions. These policies not only relieved pious Muslim fears that their halal money was being mixed with haram money but reaffirmed that untarnished good was being done with these funds through distribution to poor and needy Muslims. State officials and civil servants strove to embody pious Islamic ethics and adab through their moral and responsible handling of funds. During the 2010 fiscal year through October, more than RM 2.5 million was spent from the TSM fund on fixing houses, medical care, help for fire and flood victims, and other forms of assistance. The Kelantan state government stressed redistributing funds to particular needy segments of the population. PAS officials not only aimed to do this with the revenues they collected and centralized in state coffers, but also tried to encourage people to contribute some of their resources to the less fortunate. Cik Wan Azhar, a manager of a state agency, said that one of their main ideas in Kelantan is “to make money to help others.” The idea of ubudiah (service to Allah) and mas’uliah (accountability) comes in, he stated, “when Tuan Guru agreed to pay people higher wages but these people must pay zakat [the obligatory annual Islamic alms tax] and must distribute the money, and these people with high pay brackets must remember that not all the money belongs to you. Some of it belongs to others.” The government emphasizes redistributing funds to the needy, including the elderly, disabled, women and the poor, and to religious institutions, such as Islamic schools and colleges. One popular program is the

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Skim Takaful Kifaalah (Guaranteed Insurance Scheme) that distributes money to the elderly population, aged sixty and above, from all ethnic and religious backgrounds. Thus, the state leaders integrate and embody pious Islamic ethics and adab—mindful of the Hereafter and performing good works—motivating responsible acts of justice for the needy and weak into redistribution processes. This serves to make Kelantan into a sort of Islamic social welfare state. Wan Nik, the state political secretary, explained in an interview that the budget is called “compassionate” and “friendly” because it focuses upon improving the living conditions of the needy, which are the majority of people in Kelantan. Darul Arqam, a Sufi movement that developed from a religious study circle organized by Ashaari Muhammad in 1968, sought to establish an all-embracing Islamic system within the dominant market capitalist system in Malaysian society. The economic principles of “Arqamnomics,” a term found in the writings of its members, include basing the Islamic economy on taqwa (the pious awareness of Allah), human energy, natural resources, istiqamah (steadfastness), and prayer and keeping the Islamic economy free from riba (usurious interest), monopoly, haram sources, unpaid loans, fraud, and deception.41 Darul Arqam divided its economic activities into three categories: the fard kifayah (community responsibility) economy, focused on fulfilling the collective obligations such as production halal foods; the commercial economy, directed toward making moderate profits out of the recognition that gains belong to Allah; and the strategic economy, aimed at achieving the movement’s struggle such as uplifting the morale of Muslims and instilling confidence in the ability of Islam to bring prosperity.42 Darul Arqam implanted its sharia economic model into production, consumption, and distribution activities. They established an extensive network of businesses in Malaysia and abroad beginning in 1977 with sundry shops, a wholesale store and noodle factory, and producing soya sauce and chili sauce, and culminating in 1993 with the launching of the Al-Arqam Group of Companies that expanded their activities in the commercial and strategic economies of the Arqamnomics framework. Its technology company, Spectra Technology, provided services to Esso Production, Shell Oil Refinery, Petronas Group of Companies, and Tenaga Nasional.43 In addition to promoting consumption of halal goods, Darul Arqam required women to wear long hijab and robes and encouraged men to wear turbans, attire Sheikul-Arqam considered to be Islamic based on the Qur’an and hadith. They also advocated moderate consumption practices avoiding extravagance, for instance, in the context of inflationary marriage costs; their marriages usually

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only cost around RM 1,000.44 Darul Arqam’s Department of Finance collected contributions from members and sympathizers as well as revenue from economic projects and redistributed a considerable sum of these funds to fulltime members through a system called ma-ash that fulfills the basic needs of members. According to their notion of justice and equality, this ma-ash system distributes funds based on ones’ need rather than occupational status; hence, a factory worker with four children would be given more funds than a doctor with one child.45 In contrast to the PAS and Darul Arqam sharia models, the Malaysian state has emphasized infusing pious Islamic ethics and their mode of adab into an economy based on market capitalist values and norms. The Malaysian state has developed one of the most highly regulated Islamic financial systems in the world. It began to establish Islamic banks and insurance companies in the 1980s, Islamic debt securities and equity markets in the 1990s, and a commodity trading platform in the 2000s.46 Malaysia’s Central Bank, Bank Negara, regulates and supervises the sharia committees of Islamic financial institutions and, together with the sharia experts in these institutions, performs religious legal reasoning that designates financial instruments and practices as shariacompliant. The Malaysian state also promotes “proper” Islamic consumption and the regulation, production, and distribution of halal goods as part of its national and international project for development and modernity.47 The Trade Descriptions Act of 2011 and its subsidiary legislation provided a definition for halal, required certification and display of the official logo issued by government authorities, and stated penalties for individual and corporate violations. However, the Malaysian state sharia economic model articulates pious Islamic ethics and adab with liberal market capitalist values such as accumulation of wealth, maximizing profits, and responding to the demands of the market. My investigation of Islamic banks demonstrated that they charge interest at rates set by Malaysia’s Central Bank. Likewise, Laura Elder’s research demonstrates that market-driven reasoning enters into the religious interpretations of the National Bank’s Sharia Advisory Committee.48 While the secular power embraced some of the concerns of PAS about Islamic banking and Darul Arqam’s about halal products, they have deemed these groups’ emphasis on moderate consumption, redistribution of resources, and the service and worship of Allah in economic activities as excessive religion and improper politics. Instead of stressing religious values that would hinder the pursuit of profits, the Malaysian state adopts a more flexible approach to pious economic values facilitating the charging of bank interest, conspicuous consumption of goods, mixing haram and halal funds,

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and designating speculative financial measures as sharia-compliant. Many organizations and individuals within the Malaysian Muslim community are critical of the Malaysian state’s model of sharia economics, finding its policies and practices as lacking in adab. In relation to economics, the secular power strives to protect the liberal rights of the market rather than the rights of lower class and poor segments of the population for a just and moral distribution of economic resources. Its adab in sharia economics aims to stretch Islamic notions and contracts so as to create and capture the global Islamic financial market, bringing pious economic ideas into the service of market-driven goals.

Conclusion: Secularism, Dynamic Political Field, and Adab Political secularism in Malaysia has taken a different institutional and conceptual form from that in Egypt and Europe.49 The key concepts of political and civil equality, state neutrality, universal citizenship, and religious freedom are significant but muted given the postcolonial dominance of a Malay Muslim-led coalition of race-based political parties and the presence of a state-level sharia court system. In Malaysia, unlike Egypt, sharia courts have not been absorbed into the civil court system and continue to oversee sharia family and criminal laws directly drawing on Islamic legal principles. Nevertheless, similar to secular powers in Egypt and Europe, the Malaysian sovereign state has manipulated the shifting line of religion and politics and produced religious differences while stressing the inclusion of ethnic and religious minorities.50 Although the cases discussed in this chapter demonstrate some changes over time, it is also evident that shifts in politicolegal positions of the Malaysian state emerge from a moderate sharia model and style of adab. It recognizes the liberal rights of young girls, women, religious minorities, and the financial market within a flexible traditional Islamic worldview that simultaneously acknowledges the illiberal rights of men, Malays, Muslims, and Islamic norms. In short, while the Malaysian state is secular, it has not embraced a liberal conceptual framework. Amidst the intensifying political context of skirmishing social forces and ongoing Islamic resurgence, the UMNO-led Malaysian secular power appeared prepared to extend the line of politics to incorporate more religion within its purview. However, following the opposition electoral victory in the fourteenth general election on May 9, 2018, it is not yet clear how the Pakatan Harapan (Alliance of Hope) government will sketch a line between religion and politics.

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In the dynamic political field of contemporary Malaysia several changes in the parties that control the sovereign state are possible. Although the social forces in control of the state will likely continue to attempt to answer the question of where to locate the line between religion and politics, asserting itself into social life and arbitrating majority–minority relations, I do think it matters which social forces assume the mantle of power.51 As we have seen, liberal Muslim reformers, Dr. MAZA, secular human rights organizations, and political Islamic activists operate with a variety of sharia and moral models that generated senses of good behavior and adab. SIS, IRF, PKR, and SUARAM’s insistence on broadening recognition of the right of religious freedom, PAS and Darul Arqam’s emphasis on redistribution of economic resources to the needy, and Dr. MAZA’s clarity on the proper and forbidden ways of bracketing ethnic and religious differences matter—despite the paradoxes and ambiguities of secularism.

Part Three

Piety and Authority

5

Women’s Adab in the Pesantren: Gendering Virtues and Contesting Normative Behaviors Nelly van Doorn-Harder

Introduction: The Character Project In Indonesia today, the word “karakter” (character) seems to pop up in many contexts and oftentimes can be related to the concept of adab. Perusing general book stores such as the Indonesian version of the Barnes and Noble chain called Gramedia, one finds several books with the word karakter in the title.1 The word by itself conveys a multitiered register of meanings, ranging from national identity to religious ethics and morals. I will come back to this topic shortly, but first let me introduce the project I focus on in this chapter—a project involving the publishing of a book and various other sources on the topic of karakter in the context of Islamic teachings and interpretations. An Islamic think tank called Rumah Kitab (RK) launched this initiative, called the “Character Project.” Its publications and teachings alerted me to the fact that much of the information provided concerns specific rules for women’s behavior that fall under the category of adab. Specifically, it made me realize how fast interpretations of and attitudes toward these gender-specific adab rules are changing, especially within the context of the Islamic boarding schools called pesantren. In this chapter, I argue that these types of gender-neutral projects based on the Qur’an and its related sources (interpretation, jurisprudence) influence views about the expectations of women’s virtues and daily behaviors. Although I will elaborate on what is meant by adab and karakter in the Indonesian context later on, for now I will use some of Barbara Metcalf ’s basic descriptions of the term adab: “proper discrimination of correct order, behavior and taste, and the ‘personal embodiment of cultural ideals.’ ”2

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Pesantren, Madrasas, Nahdlatul Ulama, and Muhammadiyah In order to understand what a pesantren is, how it differs from a madrasa, and how it fits into the context of Indonesian Islam, a short explanation is in order. A pesantren is essentially an Islamic boarding school, and in the past its students devoted their time entirely to religious subjects. In Indonesia, these schools are traditionally run by an organization called Nahdlatul Ulama (NU) and their students are called santri. NU, one of two large Muslim organizations in Indonesia, was founded in 1926. It is often typified as “traditional” in opposition to the “modernist” or “reformist” organization of Muhammadiyah that started in 1912. Tradition here refers to the fact that NU religious leaders and teachers allow Muslims to practice a synthesis of local cultural practices and Islamic rituals and beliefs. For example, NU-minded Muslims allow visiting the graves of saints as long as songs of praise are directed to Allah and not to the saint. Furthermore, NU teachings rely on the classical Islamic sources going back to the earliest centuries of Islam.3 By contrast, madrasas in Indonesia are not boarding schools but Muslim schools run by the state or connected to Muslim organizations, such as the NU. Nowadays, many pesantren have a madrasa on their campus that serves parttime students from the surrounding community.4 Pesantren are built around a mosque that originally served as a space for worship as well as for teaching. Their leaders are called kiyai, deeply learned scholars of Islam whose intellectual genealogy links them to other great scholars in the past and the present. A  group of kiyai launched the NU. The size of a pesantren can range from a handful to thousands of students; the more famous the kiyai, the more students he will attract. Historically the students were male, but nowadays the number of women students is increasing and some pesantren are headed by a woman kiyai or niyai. The more conventional picture is that of a large pesantren that has a section for women-only with a niyai in charge. The pesantren curriculum centers around memorizing the Qur’an and studying the texts connected to its interpretation: the traditions of the Prophet (hadith), Qur’an commentaries, and Islamic jurisprudence (fiqh). The texts include teachings and commentaries reaching back to the earliest days of Islam. The increased presence of women makes pesantren gendered spaces; in most pesantren, male and female santri follow separate curriculums and in some the women follow a program that is considered to be less demanding and often includes literature written especially for women in preparation for future roles as wives and mothers.5

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In an attempt to streamline its educational system, the Indonesian government began forcing the religious organizations to integrate their schools into the national educational system in the mid-1970s. As a result, most pesantren now offer a curriculum that is a mix of religious and general topics. The pesantren used to be the centers where future leaders of Islam in Indonesia were educated. Nowadays, pesantren offer classes up to the high school level and students can continue their education in one of Indonesia’s State-sponsored Islamic universities (Universitas Islam Negeri, UIN). These universities not only receive students from the pesantren but also those educated in the schools of Muhammadiyah and other institutions where the curriculum includes extensive religious learning. Their graduates are part of the vast network of religious leaders, ranging from teachers, local imams, and judges in the religious courts, to civil servants working in institutions such as the governmental offices that regulate matters of personal status law: marriage, divorce, and child custody. Finally, we have to keep in mind that the connection between a santri and a pesantren does not necessarily stop when a student graduates into one of the Islamic or other universities. Many students will board at a pesantren where they start and end the day with several hours of Qur’an-related studies. This is an important point since many of the students participating in the RK projects belong to this group of commuters.

Rumah Kitab (RK) Rumah Kitab (RK), the acronym for Rumah Kita Bersama (Our Common Home), is a nongovernmental think tank based in Jakarta that operates within institutions connected to the organization of NU. Lies Marcoes-Natsir, a well-known Muslim feminist, launched RK in 2005. Its goal is to transform Indonesia’s Muslim society by addressing the various paradigms, moral and ethical norms, values, and teachings that have shaped current ways of thinking within society.6 Since its inception, RK researchers, all Muslim men and women alumni of the pesantren and Islamic universities, have taken on various complex questions and challenges facing Indonesian Muslims; for example, why women join and support radicalminded Muslim groups, how to alleviate poverty among divorced women, topics concerning the genealogy of current thinking patterns about jihad, and child marriage.7 Engaging in the sophisticated RK projects requires a deep knowledge of the Islamic sources. The research team has an average of eight members; all are connected to the pesantren world and several of them teach part-time in a pesantren.

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The full title of the Character Project is “Character Education Project Based on the Pesantren Tradition” (Pendidikan Karakter Berbasis Tradisi Pesantren). The project targets students, teachers, and staff members. Although, in principle, the project’s materials are general in scope, many of its most active participants are learning and working in pesantren for women where they may or may not be exposed to gendered materials. The premises of the Karakter project can be found in a book with the same name that the team created to guide those leading the workshops organized by the project.8 Although this is a gender-neutral initiative based on the Qur’an and its related sources, its teachings do influence views about the expectations of women’s virtues and daily behaviors. Specific rules about women’s adab have been taught for decades in the pesantren and continue to be preached in large parts of Indonesian society. Nowadays, more women than ever study in the pesantren. Once they reach the level of teachers, they are often changing traditional and cultural interpretations of the classical texts through their teachings. However, many of the traditional virtues and rules concerning a woman’s demeanor—such as total obedience to her husband, father, and mother and her duty to stay in the background—continue to be embedded in local cultures and are still being upheld as the ideal measure of a woman’s comportment across the archipelago. In other words, religious traditions and teachings are strongly intertwined with local, indigenous cultures, practices, and expectations. Especially in grassroots-level environments where women have little formal education, local (male) imams refer to traditional ideas when advising women about how to behave in their various roles as wives, mothers, daughters, daughters-in-law, neighbors, and so forth. Yet, this religious landscape is shifting since women alumni who graduate from pesantren have become religious leaders in their own right. A powerful reminder of this reality was the Congress of Women Ulama held in Cirebon, April 25–27, 2017. Its organizers aimed to amplify the voices of women ulama, scholars who are deeply learned in the Islamic scriptures and teachings, in the context of an urgent need to revitalize the role of religious leaders. According to the Congress’ website, the organizers desired “to promote humanity, women’s rights, and principles of nationhood” and advance “the rights of women and girls on the national and global level.”9 The Congress was an authoritative testimony to the reality that a new generation of women leaders, together with their male colleagues, has started to reinterpret the holy texts of the Qur’an and the hadith, as well as the commentaries and jurisprudence— the texts written to guide the believers. Referring to gender-neutral writings on

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Figure 5.1 One of the many women Qur’an study groups that regularly meet across Indonesia. Leaders of these groups are instrumental in conveying ideas about women’s adab. This particular picture was taking at a pesantren for women headed by a Niyai who rejected the traditional ideas but instead preached new ideas based on feminist interpretations of the Qur’an and the hadith. Photo by the author.

karakter and adab, the RK project is also scrutinizing the adab rules aimed at restricting women’s rights and freedoms. In summary, one of the goals of the karakter project is to use the maleoriented Islamic texts that guide men and women in their moral behavior and change the mindsets of millions of Muslims connected to the NU schools, men as well as women, about the rules and expectations concerning women’s behavior. Classical Islamic writings present these codes of conduct as adab while nowadays the word karakter is being used more often as it encompasses a larger range of human traits and behavior.

Adab and Karakter The premises of the RK project align with the traditional teachings in the pesantren—as well as in many localities throughout Indonesia—about adab as

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an ethic of being and behavior that can be applied to daily life.10 While adab is often seen as a code of etiquette, as an ethical concept, it also refers to “high quality of soul, good upbringing, urbanity, and courtesy, as well as moral and social upbringing, intellectual education, and entertainment.”11 Furthermore, in classical Islamic philosophical ethics, adab was not merely concerned with etiquette, but also with the discipline of the self whereby virtue becomes internal to the soul, where it transcends civility and etiquette.12 As the opening chapter by Muhamad Ali in this volume illustrates, in Indonesia, the Islamic code of behavior called adab was shaped in interaction with other religions and overlaps with Arabic and local concepts and equivalents. For example, when referring to concepts connected to the notion of adab, Javanese Muslims switch between the Arabic term akhlaq (the ethical norms of behavior), Indonesian terms such as budi pekerti (high or noble character), the Javanese concept of tata krama (codes of conduct), and the concept of adat (local rules and customs). In reference to Indonesia’s plurality of ethnicities and cultures, the premise of the RK book is that students in the pesantren study the moral treasures of the Islamic traditions in interaction with other students who come from different parts of the Archipelago, speak various local languages, and are of different ethnic backgrounds. This plurality by itself endows many pesantren with a cosmopolitan outlook that respects and highlights the diversity that is part of the Indonesian landscape. As I will explain shortly, the RK project does not provide one clear definition of the terms adab or karakter but rather breaks them down into fifteen forms of virtual behavior, ranging from love for the nation to patience. Taking together the various chapters, the RK interpretation coincides with the teachings on ethics by one of the greatest scholars of Islam, Al-Ghazali (1058–1111 ce). In his book about Al-Ghazali, Ebrahim Moosa concludes that, “It is a pedagogy that results in the cultivation of a virtue and motivates all human practices. It is both the education itself and the practical formation of norms for right and exemplary conduct. Moreover, it is the internalization of norms in order to ingrain into the psyche a certain virtue (fadīla).”13 Significantly, Al-Ghazali stressed the link between knowledge and virtuous conduct as “learning acquired for the sake of right living” and a “disposition towards knowledge.”14 While in the Indonesian context several Arabic and Indonesian terms are used to denote the concept of adab, the use of the word karakter indicates influences from recent Western research on this topic. During the past decade, the Templeton Foundation funded several research activities in this field. One such project, the Character Project, was hosted by the school where I teach, Wake

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Forest University, and aimed to address questions such as: (1) Do character traits such as honesty or compassion really exist? (2) If they do exist, how prevalent are they, and what is their underlying psychological nature? (3)  How should we, human beings, go about improving our characters and overcoming our character flaws?15 These types of projects studying the formation of personal virtues seek to fill perceived voids and to redefine lessons and expectations about certain behaviors that traditionally were transmitted in religious institutions. They aim at improving human relations, or they propose alternatives to trends that could obliterate local values and the social fabric of society. In the Indonesian context, Westernization and globalization are perceived to be such threats. In many ways, the researchers working in such projects aim to find answers to the reality of changing values, asking what it means to be a good person and live an honorable life in the twenty-first century. The RK team equally explores such values and the various terms used for them in the pesantren. The team’s assessment of the importance of character education overlaps with the idea that certain values and modes of behavior have to be taught and learned until they become internalized and applied in daily life. According to the team, “Character education is of a higher order than teaching morality because you not only teach what is right and what is wrong, but also instill a habit of doing what is right so that the student understands, feels and wants to do what is right (yang baik).”16

Definitions of Virtues In Indonesia, the RK project is not the only one on the topic of character. For example, the book Pendidikan Karakter:  Strategi mendidik Anak di Zaman Global (Character Education:  Strategies for Teaching Children in the Era of Globalization) by Catholic writer Doni Koesoema provides suggestions on how to teach character values and virtues in the public school system.17 Creating a foundation to instill such values, the writer relies on Indonesia’s history of nation-building in the face of Dutch colonial power. Among others, he mentions various influential nationalist leaders such as Ki Hadjar Dewantara (1889– 1922), who in 1922 founded the Taman Siswa educational movement, and scholar-activist Mohammad Natsir (1908–1993). Both men are engraved in the Indonesian national consciousness. As outspoken journalists and anticolonial activists, they played prominent roles in strengthening the Indonesian national

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political awareness against the Dutch colonial regime and went on to hold high positions in the postcolonial era. Dewantara founded the Taman Siswa schools to provide education for the majority of Indonesians who did not have access to the Dutch colonial system and served as Indonesia’s first Minister of National Education. Natsir was an influential scholar of Islam who cofounded Indonesia’s first national university, the Islamic University of Indonesia in Yogyakarta (1945), and served as the country’s fifth Prime Minister (1950–1951). According to Koesoma, figures such as Dewantara, Natsir, and many others “inspired us to build up the national character.”18 In reference to the early days of independence from Dutch colonial power, Koesoema quotes the teachings of Sukarno (r. 1945–1967), Indonesia’s first president under whose guidance a form of adab education called Budi Pekerti (lessons in how to achieve a high or noble character) was officially introduced as a subject in the elementary school curriculum.19 Within the Islamic context, Ema Marhumah’s Konstektualisasi Hadis Dalam Pendidikan Karakter (Contextualizing the Hadith within the Teachings of Character) is of interest to our exploration.20 Marhumah, who teaches Qur’anic exegesis and hadith at the Islamic University (UIN) in Yogyakarta, explains that the goal of her book is to present selected teachings from the hadith on topics that are related to character virtues. However, Marhumah also places this religious material within the national context by referring to the curriculum for character education as designed by Dewantara.21 Koesoema and Marhumah each represent a different agenda, one a national public school agenda, the other a religious agenda. As a result, their ideas about the concepts of character and virtues differ. However, both see religious identity intersecting with Indonesia’s national identity and aim at spotlighting the virtues of a good believer as an exemplary citizen. Both refer to the national philosophy of Pancasila that rests on the idea that all Indonesians are equal and implies that to many Indonesians, regardless of their faith, religious and national identity are intertwined.22 We can get an idea about how Koesoema and Marhumah (or other writers or projects) try to define what constitutes an Indonesian person of good character by going through their lists of foundational values. These values need to be instilled via education and/or by understanding the holy texts. When looking at the values both writers consider to be important, we see a great deal of overlap where it concerns work ethics and being a good citizen of Indonesia. According to Koesoema, public schools across Indonesia should teach the values of virtuous behavior (keutamaan); beauty (keindahan), a value that

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includes a high level of religiosity and creativity); work ethic (a virtuous person is diligent and works hard); patriotism; democracy (“social life improves and becomes more civilized (beradab) when there is freedom of thinking and expressing oneself ”); being one people (oneness in diversity); morality; and humanity.23 In the preface of her book, Marhumah lists the values she has mined from the hadith: knowledge based on faith as applied in charity, excellent work ethics, and reliance on Allah.24 According to Marhumah, the hadith provides the ideal prototype of the perfect human being. Such a person is cheerful (ceria), cares for his/her environment and for other human beings, and guards the purity of heart.25 She explains that, for example, a person of high character is not corrupt.26 Such a person prevents the degradation and destruction of the natural environment, among others, by planting trees.27 RK provides similar lists, breaking down the steps needed to reach the ultimate goal of its Character Project:  to instill practices, akhlaq (moral and ethical values), and forms of adab in the pesantren students that enable them to become builders of a society whose religions and cultures are inclusive. Inclusiveness in this context means that they do not reject the Pancasila model and respect people of other faiths or beliefs, social class, ability (the handicapped), age (children), or gender.28 As with most of the other projects entertained by RK, the underlying idea is to harness traditional Islamic teachings and values in the pesantren curriculum and use them to create an inclusive society rather than one in which violence is advocated against those deemed different or inferior (for example, by preaching messages that are exclusive of large groups of the Indonesian population). Both women and men are expected to put these positive virtues and values to work. When properly inculcated, they also protect women and children from all types of violence done to them in the name of religion. None of the project’s definitions are gender-specific; however, indirectly they can be seen as a critique of the detailed adab rules for women taught in the pesantren. As such, the materials for the project do not specifically address women’s issues or expectations about women’s role and agency. Even so, when comparing traditional pesantren materials on the rights and duties of women with the project’s interpretations of character and virtues, we see a rapidly shifting Islamic landscape filled with questions about how to be a virtuous, ethical citizen as a Muslim man or woman. At the core of the debates stands the question: What is Indonesian Islam? The answer comes in a widely colored palette that includes radical-minded voices who advocate for an Arab-minded, shari’ah-oriented, exclusive form of Islam that rejects Pancasila, as well as Muslim feminists who promote the reinterpretation

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Figure 5.2 The meditation room of a Niyai in middle Java decorated with pictures and sayings related to virtuous behavior. The sayings written on the walls include: Belajarlah karena orang tidak dilahirkan dalam keadaan memiliki ilmu, karena orang yang memilik ilmu tidak sama dengan yang bodoh (“Study because humans are not born with knowledge, [and] because a person who has studied differs from the one who remains ignorant [stupid]”) and Janganlah kamu menundah pekerjaanmu hingga besok jika kamu bisa mengerjakan hari ini (“Do not postpone until tomorrow what you can do today”). Photo by the author.

and contextualization of the holy texts and their injunctions. Whatever one’s religious worldview, the common denominator in the many competing views is the question of how to create the ideal Islamic society. Reflecting on the importance of all types of media in this process, Hoesterey and Clark found that during the past two decades “new political and religious actors emerged, all

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presenting new possibilities for a ‘glorious Islam’ in the abstract.”29 Within the processes of self-identification, issues of gender and sexuality remain the key arenas in which competing views on democracy and religion vie to win control over the moral and symbolic discourse.30 Adab rules for women have become highly politically charged. Via cell phones and the Internet, these debates and trends of diversification and Muslim self-identification have also reached the sheltered environments of the pesantren.

Applying Pesantren-based Rules of Adab The pesantren environment and education have been the ultimate place for students to practice a wide array of values and virtues that fall under the umbrella of adab. Following the teachings of the Prophet Muhammad, students as well as teachers put his example (sunna) into practice. However, carrying out such practices does not automatically translate into using them as tools to change society, for example, by working to reduce domestic and religious violence. In RK’s philosophy, there are extra steps required to make students aware of the potential benefits of practicing certain virtues. Among others, these steps include discussing specific virtues, reflecting on them, and investigating how and when they can be applied creatively—and how and why the various sections of society benefit, even improve, if they are being applied. The curriculum in contemporary NU-related pesantren consists of several basic areas of learning: religious education (ngaji), Sufi practices such as nightly chanting sessions, character development, vocational skills training, and general education.31 Most of the instructions are strictly gender segregated; most students study at an all-male or an all-female pesantren. In mixed pesantren, students follow some of the key lessons in spaces separated by a wall or a curtain. According to the RK team, this education provides a different intellectual tradition than that of other governmental or private schools by concurrently stressing “independence and communal living.”32 This specific approach makes pesantren the ideal place to practice the Indonesian paradigm of gotong royong (mutual cooperation, helping each other) as expressed by the virtues of al-ukhuwwah (comradeship), al-ta’awun (cooperation), and al-ittihad (unity). Inculcating virtues that lead to independence means practicing the ones that are based on thalab al-‘ilm (learning), al-ikhlas (dedication), al-jihad (effort), and al-tha’ah: obedience to God, the teachings of the Prophet, and the guidance of the ulama and the kiyai and other well-respected religious leaders who transmit the

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Prophet’s ideals and teachings.33 Although many of the terms have equivalents in the Indonesian language, the team uses Arabic terms to stress that these are also universal Islamic values. Discussions about education at the pesantren are saturated with references to akhlaq, adab, morals, and nilai (values).34 Since the goal of pesantren education is to foster future leaders who are well-versed not only in religion but also in forms of civic leadership, this education has traditionally been connected to the well-being of the nation. In this context the RK team highlights values such as tasamuh (tolerance), syurah or musyawarah (consultation), amanah (honesty), and cooperation (gotong royong).35 These practical virtues have to be inhabited and internalized as well as learned through practice. Using these virtues and ideals as point of departure, the RK team organizes meetings at various pesantren that discuss the Indonesian equivalents and ideals of fifteen forms of virtuous behavior:  cinta tanah air (love for the fatherland), kasih saying (affection), cinta damai (love for peacefulness), toleransi (tolerance), kesetaraan (equality), musyawarah (discussion), kerjasama (cooperation), kepedulian (caring), tanggung jawab (responsibility), penghargaan (appreciation), kemandirian (independence), kesungguhan (uprightness), kejujuran (truthfulness), rendah hati (humility), and kesabaran (patience). To express the importance of these forms of behavior to the national identity, the team uses Indonesian, not Arabic terms. Each chapter of the textbook on character covers one virtue. The basic materials provided are verses from the Qur’an, examples from the sunna of the Prophet, and teachings from the Kitab Kuning: the classical texts taught in pesantren.36 These religious sources are paired with poems and stories from real life. The goal is to encourage discussion and reflection among the students and teachers and to come to a point where they can share experiences. For example, chapter five about kesetaraan (equality) quotes a poem by the famous poet, Kiyai A. Mustofa Bisri (born 1944). Bisri heads a large pesantren in Central Java and is a nationally acclaimed poet. In his poem, Bisri reflects on the fact that all people share in being human. He brings this point home by contrasting the skin, eyes, and bodies of the Dutch colonizers and the Japanese troops who controlled Indonesia during the Second World War (1942–1945) with those of the Indonesians. He asks the Dutch and the Japanese: “Are not the color of your skins, eyes and bodies the same as our skins, eyes and bodies? Why then were you so greedy and cruel?”37 Other texts in the book discuss the fact that the Prophet Muhammad preached equality of all people,38 a reality that according to the RK team implies that all people are equal

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in the eyes of the law as well.39 The team furthermore elaborates on the fact that equality implies the abolishment of slavery and segregation.40 Reflecting on the civil rights movement in the USA, the team points out that often a brave act of a handful of local student activists can be a force to start a larger movement.41 Referring to the Prophet, the team reminds students of the basic pesantren ideals: all are equal in the eyes of God. Consequently, it is their duty to follow the Prophet’s example and to accept the consequences: “If you truly consider the Prophet of Allah to be our model, if you truly believe in him, then you have to cast off all things that destroy relationships between people.” This attitude concurs with the Indonesian state philosophy that all citizens, Muslims and non-Muslims, are the same.42 In the gender-segregated pesantren, this point of departure also implies that men and women are to be seen as equal; women can even serve as leaders.43 The team also stresses that equality equally applies to Muslim minority groups such as the Ahmadiyahs44 who are regularly attacked by extremist Muslims and whose existence is brought into question by the official board that issues fatwas (juridical opinions) in Indonesia, the Majelis Ulama Indonesia (MUI).45 In 1980 and 2005, the MUI issued fatwas (juridical opinions) declaring Ahmadiyah to be deviant and outside mainstream Islam. Radical Muslim groups interpreted this decision as a permission to openly attack Ahmadiyah communities.46 Using these reality-based examples, RK questions certain behaviors that go against the values and expectations taught in the pesantren.

Women, Pesantren, and the Rules of Adab While the specific virtues and modes of comportment taught in the pesantren apply to all students, there are a few texts that specifically address the duties of women. Although the general body of research on Muslim women’s agency and roles in the mosque, at home, and in the community is growing rapidly, there is a paucity of information on the virtues, practices, and rules of comportment that madrasas and pesantren teach their female students. Yet they form a crucial part of the curriculum. Based on her research in modernist madrasas for girls in India, Mareike Winkelmann observes that, “Introducing the students to and grooming them in the rules laid out by the community’s understanding of adab appeared to be pivotal for the madrasa’s primary educational aim of bringing about ‘the islah (reform) of the ikhlaq (morality) and amal (actions)’, as stated in the admission papers.”47 One of the key texts used in Indian madrasas is the Bihishti Zewar (Heavenly Ornaments). It was written in the late nineteenth

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century with a goal to instruct Muslim women about their roles as wives, mothers, and family members.48 In Indonesian pesantren, we also find such standard texts and the two that are widely used are:  Al-Mar’a al-Salihah (The Virtuous Woman)49 and another that Indonesians call the Kitab ‘Uqūd al-Lujjain. This title is short for Kitāb Syarh ‘Uqūd al-Lujjain fī Bayān Huqūq al-Zawjain (The Book of Explanations About the Tight Contract Concerning the Clarification of the Rights of Spouses). These texts and similar ones remain popular in the pesantren where male students memorize them to know what to expect from their future spouses, and what to teach their daughters and female members of their future audiences. When working as religious leaders, they will quote them in sermons and Qur’an studies. Muslim feminists consider both texts to be the product of an amalgam of misogynist Arabic, Islamic, and Javanese culture and ideals. Classical Javanese texts written at the royal courts portray women as weak and submissive. They “serve in the back” (konco wingking) and their salvation depends on the husband’s spirituality. These ideas are backed by teachings about a woman’s essential or innate nature: her kodrat.50 According to Muslim feminist scholar Faqihuddin Abdul Kodir, in Javanese culture: “Women’s virtue was judged entirely by how much pleasure they brought to their husbands’ lives…a woman belongs to her husband. She must surrender her entire life to her husband’s desires.”51 The undated booklet called Al-Mar’a al-Salihah was written sometime during the twentieth century by Masruhan al-Maghfuri, a kiyai at a small pesantren in Demak. The text is meant to serve as reference for Muslim leaders, and especially provides married Javanese Muslim women with advice about expected behavior. The text spells out the religious and domestic duties of a Muslim woman and her desired behavior in relation to her husband, children, parents, neighbors, and guests. It foregrounds her obedience to the husband and is filled with long lists that cover issues ranging from gossip, foul language, spending habits, to how to be polite and knowing how to behave and speak within the strict Javanese hierarchy.52 Some examples from the list of “do’s and don’ts” for women are: Never lie, neither about small, nor about big things. Being envious is never allowed. Never be too impertinent to husband, parents, parents-in-law, teachers, and leaders. Remember that cleanliness is half the soul of religion, which means that it has to be observed seriously. Wash hands before going to sleep. Don’t bite your lips.53

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The Kitab ‘Uqūd al-Lujjain was written during the nineteenth century by Indonesian scholar and kiyai, Muhammad bin ‘Umar Nawawi al-Jawi al-Bantani al-Sharfi’i (1813–1898)—a prolific author of commentaries on the Qur’an, who at the age of fifteen moved to Mecca. Since Indonesia did not have any institutes for advanced Islamic learning, aspiring scholars traveled to Mecca and other places in the Middle East for further religious studies. Nawawi Banten occasionally returned to Java, but spent most of his time in Mecca where he had an illustrious career teaching Indonesian students who sought him out for his erudition and his resistance against the Dutch colonizers. Some of his students went on to become influential leaders of Islam, for example, the famous Kiyai Hasyim Asy’ari (1875–1947) who was the moving force behind the foundation of the NU organization. Imam Nawawi Banten’s commentaries on the Qur’an are read throughout Southeast Asia and in many pesantren today he is still held in great honor.54 Nawawi Banten composed the Kitab ‘Uqūd in Arabic based on the teachings about women he found in a total of nine classical Islamic books. Little is known about what motivated him to write a text detailing the expectations about a woman’s behavior. According to common lore, he wrote the text to keep his much younger wife under control whom he married as his second wife or shortly after the death of his first wife.55 This text became part of the pesantren curriculum to prepare the male santri for their own marriages and to help them with their future teaching and preaching. Although created in Mecca, the text coincides with Javanese teachings about the comportment and virtues expected from a woman. It mainly concerns itself with the duties of a wife toward her husband and holds men to be the standard for everything. Differences between men and women are interpreted in such terms that women can never reach that male standard and fully fulfill his sexual desires. Man’s status both in this world and in the next is above women’s status, and “it is as if one man equals two women.”56 Urged by the reality that these texts are still studied by santri across the Archipelago, several Indonesian Muslim leaders, men and women, have started to write and speak about them. For example, during the 1990s, the well-respected NU leader and scholar, Kiyai Masdar Mas’udi, started to analyze the main forces behind their enduring popularity. In his opinion, one of the main problems remaining in traditional Islamic jurisprudence texts (fiqh) is that they continue to use as a point of departure a woman’s weakness, the fact that her intimate parts (aurat) should be covered, and that she should remain invisible.57 Furthermore, popular hadith traditions stress the point that a woman should submit to her husband, which leads to rules such as that she is not allowed to leave the house

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without his permission.58 To Mas’udi challenging these perceptions is especially difficult since they have become enshrined in books such as the Kitab ‘Uqūd. Since the hadith plays a formative role in perpetuating certain ideas about women’s rights and agency, scholars such as Faqihuddin Abdul Kodir have analyzed teachings based on the hadith within the contemporary context.59 For example, in his book Hadith and Gender Justice:  Understanding the Prophetic Traditions, he sums up the most prevalent ideas that are based on the Kitab ‘Uqūd: A righteous woman (mar’ah sālihah) is the woman who obeys her husband, does her household duties, protects her own and her husband’s dignity, keeps her husband’s secrets, and looks after and preserves his health. A wife should be shy in the presence of her husband and she should never challenge him. She is always expected to bow her head and control eye contact in front of her husband. She is also required to be silent when her husband is speaking, stand up to show respect when her husband approaches, and to go and do things to please and satisfy her husband. The husband’s position is so superior, according to Nawawī of Banten (d. 1314 H/1897 AD), that without his permission the wife is forbidden from performing optional worship, or sunnah. Likewise, she should not give alms nor is she allowed to spend her own wealth without his permission. In the case of disobedience, she bears the sin while the husband is rewarded.60

Abdul Koder’s goal is to interrogate the terms that are used, showing the original context in which the Prophet used them and tracing how their interpretation changed over time. For example, the term “righteous woman,” according to Abdul Koder, is only partially understood and remains situated in a preindustrial society when the role of men and women were different from today.61 This type of modern, feminist critique could give the impression that currentday santri can easily be convinced to consider texts such as the Kitab ‘Uqūd as part of another era long past. That is not the case, however; texts written by religious authorities such as Nawawi Banten have become part of the pesantren tradition and over time acquired an aura of sacredness. Furthermore, while the reality of women’s education is changing, they still serve a goal that seems to be quite similar to that of the Bihishti Zewar. According to Barbara Metcalf, the Bihisti Zewar conveys “a concept of appropriate hierarchy in every domain,” allowing Muslims “to know their place in relation to God and in relation to one another.”62 Santris today, similar to their colleagues in the nineteenth century, seek to know the will of God, especially when it concerns important relationships such

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as those in marriage. Guided by their kiyai, they continue to turn to texts such as the Kitab ‘Uqūd. Being taught by a kiyai who rejects such texts and has stopped using them is not a guarantee that his students will not one day refer to them. As recently as the time of this writing, a website called santrionline featured a blog post called “A woman’s duty towards her husband that we seldom hear about.”63 Addressing newlywed santri, the author of the blog discusses the Kitab ‘Uqūd as well as the Al-Mar’a al-Salihah. He seems to have studied these texts recently and is of the opinion that nowadays women’s rights within a marriage are quite strong:  “It should not be forgotten that within a household, it is not just the husband who has duties towards his wife, but a wife also has duties towards the husband.” The author of the blog then proceeds to provide a rendition of nearly the full text of the Kitab ‘Uqūd in Indonesian. Several santri commented with enthusiasm, thanking the writer for sharing this information.

Reconstructing the Rules of Women’s Adab Throughout the fifth chapter of the book written for the Character Project, a chapter about equality, the themes of equality between people, religions, and cultures—including gender inequality—are connected to the teaching of the Prophet, the curriculum, and life in the pesantren. In this context, the RK team stresses that:  “In the area of knowledge, women have the same intellectual capacities as men.”64 This remark is followed by the example of the Prophet’s second wife, Aisyah, who, among others, was a specialist of law. Although the majority of legal experts prohibit women from roles of leadership (over men), the team observes that Aisyah’s precedent should allow women to serve as judges and hold positions of leadership in other areas of life as well.65 Developing the theme of women in capacities of leadership, the RK team comments that in the pesantren more and more women are taking on such roles. To back up this observation, the team quotes, among others, Ibu Mutmainah who heads the Institute for Gender Studies at the Syaichona Moch Cholil Bangkalan pesantren in Madura. Ibu Mutmainah quotes a pesantren teacher who is convinced that women even have certain advantages over men: Women have a certain excellence when they become leaders. Because they are more sensitive and they have better survival skills when facing problems. At times, their weakness can become their strength. For example, men cannot yet serve as a single parent. A woman can exceed a man when simultaneously

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playing the role of mother and father. Thus, if a woman is capable to do what for example Ibu Sri Mulyani [Minister of Finance, 2005–2010 and Managing Director of the World Bank Group] does, she can hold any high position in this country.66

According to another female pesantren leader: “The ultimate goal of the Islamic law (Shari’ah) is to liberate women from the shackles of tradition that entrap women.”67 These observations seem to confirm Robert Logan Sparks’ observations concerning his research on adab in interreligious contexts in Turkey. According to him, adab “cannot be defined so much as recognized.”68 He furthermore found that, “When a form of adab is fully absorbed it becomes a form of appropriate action and being that, eventually, requires no thought. It is automatic.”69 Sparks’ article concerns the forms of adab encountered at holy sites visited by Muslims and Christians in Turkey. He concludes that the normative conventions about such forms can change quite quickly, at times due to unforeseen circumstances or even pedestrian events. Philosopher Kwame Anthony Appiah came to the same conclusion when studying moral revolutions. In his view, a rapid transformation in moral behavior is needed to bring about such revolutions, not just moral sentiments. In the end, people will say “What were we thinking?” “How did we do that for all those years?”70 Already during the 1990s, I interviewed female leaders in the pesantren who refused to read misogynist Islamic texts with their female students—or they would insert their own interpretations of the Qur’an and the hadith when going through these materials. This was during the time when Muslim feminists had just started to become aware of such texts and the projects of reinterpreting them were still in the stage of workshops and discussions. The books publishing the results of their revisions had not yet appeared.71 However, these female leaders already realized that these texts no longer taught appropriate actions that would result in automatic behavior. Thus, they started to apply their knowledge of the Qur’an and hadith to counter the adab rules for women. Not only were they motivated by moral outrage when reading the particular rules, they also observed that the reality of Muslim women’s lives was changing rapidly. Professional women were present across Indonesian society, holding positions of power and influence, serving as judges in Islamic courts, as deans in universities, and as politicians. Reality no longer agreed with certain texts read in the pesantren. In fact, this reality can be observed in other Indonesian Muslim circles as well. For example, the Muhammadiyah organization and its women’s branches

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have been discussing the position of a woman within the family and her rights and duties vis-à-vis the husband since the 1930s. During the 1970s the organization published these discussions and the consecutive decisions made by its leadership in an edited volume with the telling title of Adabul Mar’ah fil Islam (Women’s Adab in Islam).72 In principle, the decisions protect Muhammadiyah women against practices such as hasty divorce or polygamy. Overall, the book provides a picture that, according to Muhammadiyah-related Muslim feminist Siti Ruhaini Dzuhayatin, comes down to “a contestation between emancipation and restriction.”73 It represents the overall attitude of conservative-leaning Muhammadiyah members. This is not just the case with this organization; many Indonesian Muslim leaders do not consider women to be on equal footing with men. And yet, inevitably, among contemporary Muhammadiyah members, thinking about the adab rules for women is changing as well. In fact, while discussions about appropriate behavior, women’s rights and duties continue, its leaders have started to avoid the concept of adab entirely, referring instead to “women’s fiqh issues.”74 Muhammadiyah leadership (men and women) also fully rejects child marriage and has raised the minimum age of marriage within their circles to eighteen. They furthermore discuss questions such as:  Can

Figure  5.3 Female students at the Al-Biruni Babakan pesantren after a workshop discussing topics of adab and character (2015). Photo by the author.

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a women lead mixed prayers? Can she become the nation’s president? And, should Muhammadiyah members be forbidden to take a second wife once and for all (although the Holy Qur’an accepts the practice of polygyny)?75 In other words, Muhammadiyah leaders not only tried to address contemporary issues concerning the position and role of women, they also attempted to avoid using the older, misogynist sources, references, and language.

Conclusion In spite of setbacks such as the blog on the santrionline site, we can observe significant changes in the expectations concerning women’s adab in the pesantren, as well as in the rest of Indonesian society. After several decades of Women Studies programs, gender awareness training, and Muslim feminist publications, the views about the expected adab behaviors of women in traditional texts in the pesantren world are changing. I already noticed the beginning of these winds of change two decades ago when spending time in a pesantren for women in and around Yogyakarta. One female leader refused outright to study the misogynist texts with her female students while another one only introduced them briefly during the month of Ramadan.76 In the meantime, the outrageous nature of certain texts and their impact on thinking about women’s roles, positions, rights, and duties moved a team of NU-related scholars called Forum Kajian Kitab Kuning (FK3) to produce an annotated edition of Kitab ‘Uqūd.77 The edition questions the validity of several hadith traditions that form the basis of some of the most misogynist texts, criticizes such teachings, and explains the environment during the end of the nineteenth century, the time they were written. Nowadays, more pesantren have opened their doors to women, and as a result a career in religious leadership has become an option for female students. Upon graduation, women santri go on to be teachers of religion in middle and high schools, study to become professors at one of the many Islamic universities, or join one of the many Islamic think tanks in Indonesia that work on issues of gender justice and human rights. Some join the ranks of pesantren teachers and wrestle with the traditional expectations concerning women’s virtues and behavior. The RK is one of the think tanks that addresses the gap in understanding that has been growing over the past two decades and steps into the malleability of modern-day expectations for women. In 2015, when several alumni of the

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Character course gathered on the campus of Al-Biruni Babakan Pesantren in Cirebon, some of the participants reflected on how the RK book and course had helped them to see the world around them. They no longer defined situations in terms of “halal” and “haram,” but realized that, for example, many particular teachings of the Prophet Muhammad were meant to serve as a reminder and to improve human behavior.78 Participants shared that they had realized the importance of having an open mind toward issues of gender, people of other faiths, and other groups within Islam. They stressed the importance of forming their own, independent opinions. And they also observed that the notion of the basic equality between people, regardless of culture, nationality, or gender, was inherent to the Qur’anic teachings. “These values,” one of the participants remarked, “should be documented and internalized. We need to teach them to all levels of schooling so that our youth understand the importance of heeding the universal values of Islamic teachings.” Slowly but steadily the mindset of these future Muslim leaders is changing where it concerns the traditional adab rules for women.

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Politicians, Pop Preachers, and Public Scandal: A Personal Politics of Adab James B. Hoesterey

Introduction This chapter examines how ideas about Islamic moral comportment (adab) shape the moral language of national public debate in Indonesia, both in terms of those religious and political elite who proudly claim to embody the ideals of moral, sexual, and interpersonal comportment and their lay detractors who challenge the veracity of such lofty claims to personal piety, arguing instead that Islamic public ethics has become little more than the vulgar politicization of the noble ideals of Islam. In what has become an important volume on moral comportment (adab) and authority in South Asia, Barbara Daly Metcalf notes that, “Adab in all its uses reflects a high valuation of the employment of the will in proper discrimination of correct order, behavior, and taste. It implicitly or explicitly distinguishes cultivated behavior from that deemed vulgar.”1 Following Metcalf ’s attention to adab through its implicit immoral underside, I am interested in the flipside of adab, moments when those who trade on their personal piety wander from the righteous path and fall from grace. To better understand the religiopolitical formations of adab, I  join other scholars who approach the study of pious comportment through a careful study of moments of moral failure and political rupture.2 Much of the scholarly literature in classical Islamic studies has approached religious authority in terms of erudition in Islamic sciences and jurisprudence (fiqh) and understood adab in terms of Arabic and Persian “mirror-of-princes” genres that set out to articulate proper ethical conduct for the ruling elite and those religious elite who legitimate and, at times, protest the moral authority of the state.3 Analogous to Machiavelli’s The Prince in Western traditions, Islamic manuals of moral comportment both prescribed and proscribed

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certain behaviors according to the extent to which they reflected cultivated, even civilized, behavior. In this chapter, I prefer to examine how Muslims can also claim religious authority not through mastery of jurisprudence, but rather through knowledge of the everyday, practical application of religious teachings and the cultivation of moral dispositions.4 I want to explore adab from above, in terms of the comportment of religious and political elites, as well as from below, from the perspective of those lay Muslims who challenge the authority, sincerity, and authenticity of those who publicly proclaim their personal piety. Derived from Arabic, adab has itself become the vernacular Indonesian term for this sense of proper moral conduct (as well as its other grammatical forms that would be translated as “civilized” or “civilization”). Though certainly not restricted to Muslims, adab nonetheless retains for many a sense of the embodied virtues and ethical dispositions emulated by the Prophet Muhammad and elaborated upon in the Qur’an. Interestingly, in Indonesia the term adab can be invoked to simultaneously summon Islamic authority as well as the morality of the nation (moral bangsa). This is not to say that adab has somehow become secularized. Instead, the study of adab in Indonesia provides an opportunity to better understand how Islamic ideals of public ethics unfold in the wider religiopolitical context of national politics. As we will see, public claims to personal piety can lend a certain religious authority to the quest for political power. At the same time, however, those religious and political elite who trade on their adab run the risk of being cast as hypocrites and charlatans. The power of adab thus cuts both ways, providing a sort of exemplary authority for many religious and political elite, while also being invoked critically by the lower classes suspicious of public claims to personal piety. In the case of Indonesia, a new generation of celebrity preachers have promoted themselves as the embodiment of everyday Islamic virtue. The narrative arcs of their life histories—in which Islam often saved them from lives of secular indulgence—attest to their pious perseverance, ethical redemption, and mastery of moral comportment (adab). For this generation of Muslim celebrity preachers and self-help gurus, their public image as being among those who beradab (literally “to possess” adab) becomes evidence for the efficacy of their religious slogans and formulas for success. In this chapter, I describe how popular preachers in Indonesia have garnered a form of exemplary authority that depends more on the performed embodiment of moral comportment and beautiful behavior (adab) than on erudition in Islamic jurisprudence (fiqh). Further, whereas much of the literature on adab focuses on behavior manuals and genres of advice literature of the “mirror for princes” variety, I  am more

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interested in “everyday adab” from below as it is invoked, constituted, and contested in the national public sphere. Importantly, in contemporary Indonesia adab is not a mirror for princes alone, but also for a burgeoning urban middle class in pursuit of both piety and prosperity, material success, and religious redemption. Drawing from several case studies, I discuss how a generation of popular preachers have managed to promote their own exemplary adab as a means to garner religious (and at times political) authority. In turn, I am also interested in the precarity and ephemerality of this particular form of authority that—unlike more orthodox forms of religious authority—is subject to criticism and public outcry when preachers’ (and politicians’) personal vices are revealed and publicly derided as inconsistent with their brand image of personal piety. With a particular focus on Indonesia’s most (in)famous celebrity preacher, Kyai Haji Abdullah Gymnastiar, I describe how his dénouement was marked by a significant shift from a popular theology of adab and emphasis on tolerance toward a decidedly more conservative focus on jurisprudence, accompanied by a more candid and transparent role in national religious politics. I consider Gymnastiar’s rise and fall alongside similar fates of several politicians and popular preachers whose political capital and religious authority rested on their claims to personal piety. The role of adab in the Indonesian public and political spheres is always unfolding, unwavering in its perceived ethical importance, yet  also redefined with each public instance of its vulgar violations. This attention to adab provides an important opportunity to understand political Islam beyond Islamist parties and electoral politics, opening up a space to better understand adab from below, where ordinary, everyday Muslims challenge the religious and political authority of those who claim the moral high ground. At the same time, this ethnographic approach on the everyday offers an alternative to a more classical Islamic studies approach that focuses on elite leaders and the comportment manuals of medieval Islam. This is not to dismiss the translation and circulation of such texts among political elite; instead, it is to insist that ordinary everyday Muslims do not rely on such manuals when taking aim at the self-professed pious elite as they forge a personal politics of adab in the public sphere.

Ustad Seleb: Authenticity, Authority, and the Adab of Muslim Masculinity The rise of Indonesia’s Muslim televangelists and self-help gurus (spiritual teachers) must be understood against the historical and political backdrop of the

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nation’s transition from the authoritarian rule of Suharto’s New Order regime (1965–1998). During his rule of over three decades, Suharto carefully managed his balance of power. He maintained a tight grip on state media and anything that might be construed as a political Islam that might challenge his authority. In the latter years of his rule, however, he provided state support for expressions of what he considered the cultural expression of Islam. In the early 1990s, he even allowed the first national (and private) Islamic newspaper and sponsored the first Islamic bank in Indonesia. Thus, in the latter years of Suharto’s rule, Islam in Indonesia experienced a cultural revival. Upon Suharto’s resignation in 1998, religious leaders and secular politicians were eager to capitalize on the newfound public role of Islam as well as the reform process in Indonesia. In the wake of Suharto’s downfall, the processes of democratization and reformasi (reform) did not occur simply in the halls of parliament and the presidential palace. The spirit of reformasi—however short-lived and overromanticized it may have been—was marked by a new hope, a forwardlooking and aspirational optimism that melded religion, economy, and nation. These shared hopes, however, were also demarcated by different anxieties. During the transition to democratic rule, Indonesians of Chinese descent were once again the targets of mob vengeance and sexual violence. Further still, diverse religious minorities worried about what the future might bring now that the symbolic and political potency of Islam was no longer kept in check by a military dictator. Seen from this perspective, in the early 2000s the appeal of nascent public figures like TV preacher Abdullah Gymnastiar—known across the archipelago as elder brother, or “Aa” Gym—was that they presented themselves on national television as “moderate” Muslims more concerned with moral comportment (adab) and universal ethics (akhlak) than imposing sharia law or seeking an Islamic state. Aa Gym preached a theology of adab that was Islamic, yet strongly laden with notions of a civic, nationalist virtue that transcended Islam (Figure 6.1). Aa Gym had little formal religious education, but nonetheless rose to fame with his message of “Heart Management” (Manajemen Qolbu), a hybrid Islamic self-help psychology whose content was heavily influenced by Sufi models of psychology in which the heart is understood as a moral organ that opens and attunes the self to God.5 Although he had spent short periods at a couple of Islamic schools in West Java, Aa Gym was careful to never accept the title of ulama (religious scholar) and often publicly gave deference to formal ulama. Aa Gym’s message of Heart Management resonated with the religious and political times. After the fall of Suharto in 1998, the newly democratic government eased Suharto’s state media restrictions, and what was once a virtual

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state monopoly of a few channels became a vast marketplace of privately owned national and local television stations. Islamic television, in the form of televised sermons, soap operas, and even animated shows, began to gain traction with viewers. In the process, a new generation of Muslim televangelists emerged who became both religious icons and national symbols. Especially during Ramadhan, Muslim celebrity preachers became part of the sensory landscape of the fasting month. Islamic pop songs played in urban shopping malls, religious soap opera miniseries aired throughout the month, and each television station featured a different televangelist for a sevenminute sermon prior to the breaking of the fast (kuliah tujuh menit, kultum). M. Arifin Ilham held live, two-hour “National Dzikir” television specials in the mega-mosques across the archipelago (often appearing alongside conservative politicians). The late Ustad Jefry Albuchori, popularly known as the “hip preacher” (ustad gaul), targeted adolescents and young adults with his use of slang and his trendy Islamic clothing line. Ustad Yusuf Mansur became famous with his “Power of Giving” seminars, built on his own life story about a lifechanging moment when he was serving time in jail for unsettled debts. As the

Figure  6.1 During Aa Gym’s sermons, he often performed the emotional ethics about which he preached. Aa Gym’s admirers consistently responded that his sermons “touched their hearts” or “cooled their hearts.” Photo by the author.

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story goes, he fed crumbs of the only bread he received to the hungry ants in his cell, resulting in a conversion of sorts in which his mission was to spread God’s word—and promises—about how sharing one’s wealth only makes one holier, and possibly even richer. As Julia Day Howell has observed, the religious authority of these popular preachers often rests on personal conversion narratives in which, through life’s trials and tribulations, preachers shed their uncivilized and vulgar ways and begin to cultivate, and embody, a particular moral comportment and disposition (adab) on the path to God.6 During the early 2000s, Aa Gym enjoyed a popularity unparalleled by these other preachers.7 In the wake of revelations about mass state violence during Suharto’s rule (1965–1998), popular preachers like Aa Gym embodied the sort of universal ethical ideal that Indonesians could, once again, seek to emulate. With Suharto behind them, Indonesians wanted to believe that public ethics, economic prosperity, and governance for the common good were indeed compatible and attainable. Popular preachers like Aa Gym served as both hope and proof. In this respect, celebrity preachers’ forms of religious authority were based more on the acuity of their ethical discernment and the authenticity of their everyday comportment than their erudition in Islamic sciences and jurisprudence.8 However, authority that relies on displays of public piety is more ephemeral and precarious than more orthodox sorts of religious authority that rely on erudition in jurisprudence and a mastery of classical Islamic scholars. As we will see, the exemplary authority of “one with adab” cuts both ways. Celebrity preachers rely on their personal adab for authority, yet remain susceptible to critiques of insincerity and inauthenticity. By 2000, Aa Gym had his own television show on privately owned SCTV, broadcast from the national Istiqlal mosque. Aa Gym’s self-help psychology of Manajemen Qolbu (Heart Management) soothed the religious anxieties and kindled the economic aspirations of Indonesia’s increasingly urban and media-savvy Muslim middle class, and his own rags-to-riches story of a college dropout-turned-millionaire championed his entrepreneurial acumen. On the family front, his beautiful, pious wife Ninih Mutmainnah (voted Mrs. Indonesia 2006) and “harmonious family” (keluarga sakinah) fueled his reputation as an ideal family man, loving husband, and romantic lover. On the national stage during the difficult early years of reform, Aa Gym played the role of the nation’s “therapist-in-chief,” even preaching in churches in the wake of interreligious strife that threatened to destabilize parts of Sulawesi and eastern Indonesia. Subsequently, his popularity transcended confessional divides.

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Manajemen Qolbu, trademarked as MQ, was a hybrid popular psychology, with theological roots in teachings of Sufi psychology, especially the notion of the heart (Arabic:  qalb; Indonesian:  qolbu, kalbu) as a moral organ that uses reason and well-intentioned affect to overcome the immoral demands of the base self (Arabic:  nafs; Indonesian:  nafsu) through the more enlightened and actualized moral discernment of a pure heart.9 This Islamic psychology appealed to female followers seeking to manage stress and the emotional demands of the modern “career woman,” as well as to aspiring entrepreneurs eager to learn the secrets of Aa Gym’s success.10 Aa Gym carefully crafted a personal brand that focused on, as he describes it, the “how-to” of Islamic teachings. As Volpi and Turner have astutely observed with regard to the dispersion of religious knowledge, this knowledge of the “how-to” has important implications for scholarly understandings of religious authority:  “to interpret from original sources . . . requires not only a theoretical knowledge of the text but also a practical knowledge of its mode of application in different circumstances.”11 For his consumer-devotees, Aa Gym’s personal life and self-help slogans became their “how-to” manual for being Muslims with adab. Here I would also note that to “have adab” (beradab) could be interchangeably used here with the Indonesian (yet also Islam-inflected) term bermartabat, “to have prestige.” In this sense, the word refers to a certain kind of moral prestige. As an example, in 2005 Aa Gym worked alongside the governor of the city of Bandung to promote the program “Bandung Bermartabat.” However, the shades of meaning among various Indonesian and Arabic-inflected words frequently overlap. The Indonesian language is also known for its creative use of acronyms. In Aa Gym’s moral imagination of self-help slogans, bermartabat could also be broken down into:  bersih (physically clean, spiritually pure), makmur (prosperous), taat (disciplined, obedient), and bersahabat (to have or be close friends). More recently in a newspaper article, Aa Gym even broke down the word makmur into his “3-Urs”:  jujur (honest), akur (agreeable), and syukur (to give praise).12 These examples make clear the linguistic complexities and overlapping hybridities among diverse Arabic and Indonesian-derived words, religious ethics, national identities, and self-help psychologies. Moral comportment is thus not simply about interior ethical decisions or emotional states of heartfelt moral purity. Comportment had become a public conversation, a national story during a time of political uncertainty, reflecting the anxieties and aspirations of middle-class  Indonesians. Aa Gym created his niche through such an exemplary sort of authority in which followers

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believed he embodied the very moral and affective discernment he preached. Important here was the belief that Aa Gym’s self-mastery was authentic, and that his emotional style of preaching (which consistently ended in crescendos of repentant tears and sobbing) was indeed sincere (ikhlas). Central to the concept of adab, however, is also its opposite—the specific lack of adab that emerges through inauthentic and insincere showing off of one’s own piety (riya’). Aa Gym’s exemplary expressions of authority do not represent a challenge to traditional religious scholars (ulama) who typically would have formal certification to account for several years of religious training at one of Indonesia’s 40,000 Islamic schools or from institutions of religious learning in the Middle East, Central Asia, or North Africa. Instead, Aa Gym positions himself as one who calls people to faith (dai), and whose sermons should be understood as an introduction to the more learned Indonesian scholars of Islam. It is also interesting to note that Aa Gym, like many relatively new public figures making claims on religious authority, does not claim membership or allegiance to either of the two largest modern Muslim organizations in Indonesia (the traditionalists, Nahdlatul Ulama, and the modernists, Muhammadiyah). Not infrequently, Aa Gym ceded questions of Islamic law (sharia), jurisprudence (fiqh), and the idea of the caliphate to ulama. “I’m not yet a religious scholar (ulama), I’m still just an ‘Aa’ (elder brother),” Aa Gym quipped in his video autobiography “Aa Gym, Just as He is: A Qolbu-graphy.” Sold across Indonesia in cheaper VCD form for about $4, Aa Gym’s video autobiography shows how his “heart management” serves to promote the preacher and to marketize morality. Aa Gym’s stardom served to transform adab into a religious commodity in Indonesia’s marketplace of modernity. And, with the help of MQ Training, one could now learn to become one “with adab” (for a price, of course). Through Manajemen Qolbu Training, spiritual tourists and corporate trainees alike could pursue moral comportment and ethical discernment. Each weekend, Aa Gym’s Islamic school, television studios, and training complex (Daarut Tauhiid) overflowed with visitors from near and far—some women’s Qur’anic study groups often traveling by bus for several days for a short two-day visit, part of the “MQ Spiritual Tourism” package. In this context, adab is not a mirror for princes alone, but also for a burgeoning urban middle class in search of piety and prosperity. During these weekly MQ Training programs (which ranged from informal tourist packages for one to two days to corporate training seminars lasting a week), Aa Gym and a cohort of spiritual “trainers” led interactive seminars that focused on the basics of Manajemen Qolbu.13 Aa Gym’s sermons and self-help

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books offered flashy (yet theologically grounded) formulas for personal and business success (including the “3 Ms” for personal transformation, the “7 Bs” for business success, and the “5-AS” for dealing with problems). In each case, ethics and moral comportment were presented as essential dimensions of success—in this world and the hereafter. For example, the “5-AS” for business success (in this case, the “AS” denotes the last two letters of the Indonesian words) includes personal and moral qualities such as sincerity in one’s labor (ikhlas), which also implied a need for thoroughness (tuntas) and hard work (kerja keras). Adab thus can refer to inner qualities and moral comportment, yet at the same time adab takes on a public role. As I explore in the next section, personal ethical cultivation is not simply about the self, but rather is believed by Aa Gym to be homologous with national political and moral reform. To purify the self is also to reform “national morality,” or moral bangsa.

The Adab of Political Culture Aa Gym circulated among diverse groups of religious, political, and military elite. Over the course of two years of fieldwork (2005–2007) and several return visits as recently as 2017, I have observed Aa Gym navigate through intricately connected worlds of business enterprises, religious convictions, and political campaigns. In 2004, Aa Gym launched a nationwide “Moral Movement to Raise the Conscience of the Nation” (Gerakan Membangun Nurani Bangsa, known by its acronym Gema Nusa). With provincial offices across the archipelago and a loyal national television audience, Aa Gym focused his “heart management” message on both moral comportment (adab) and personal ethics (akhlak). With no formal allegiance to Indonesia’s most popular Islamic organizations Nahdlatul Ulama (NU) and Muhammadiyah, or any explicit links with political parties (at that time), Aa Gym created a network of religiopolitical solidarity that transcended the historical divides in Indonesian Islam (e.g., among traditionalists and modernists, Sufis and Salafis) that had previously stifled the convergence of various Islamic political agendas over the last century.14 When Aa Gym declared Gema Nusa on the steps of the national monument in August of 2004, he lauded each member of his executive advisory council who ranged from progressives like Columbia University-trained historian, former rector of Indonesia’s flagship Islamic university, and prominent public intellectual, Dr. Azyumardi Azra, to more overtly political figures such as Din Syamsuddin, then-chair of Muhammadiyah as well as Indonesia’s Council

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of Ulama (MUI). Also among the advisory board were conservative Islamist politicians such as Hidayat Nur Wahid, then-chair of PKS, the “Prosperous Justice Party” (Partai Keadilan Sejahtera, a Muslim Brotherhood-inspired Islamic political party that had gained traction in several universities), as well as other Islamic business figures such as spiritual trainer and motivator Jamil Azzaini, who had sympathies to groups such as Indonesia’s branch of Hizbut Tahrir (a transnational organization seeking the implementation of an Islamic state). Azzaini earned his management degree at the Bogor Institute for Agriculture, known as a prominent campus for Hizbut Tahrir recruitment. Anindya Bakrie, the son of wealthy business tycoon, Aburizal Bakrie, served on the executive advisory board and helped to fund Aa Gym’s moral movement with profits from his cellular service company. Also among the advisors was Anas Urbaningrum, former president of a prestigious Muslim university student association and at that time a rising star in the Democrat Party.15 Aa Gym invited prominent nonMuslim religious leaders to serve on the advisory board as well. He consciously promoted Gema Nusa as an Indonesian moral movement, not an Islamic one. Indeed, the volunteer uniforms were the red and white of the national flag, decidedly not the color green that would have signaled an Islamic framing. Adab can thus simultaneously be both Indonesian and Islamic, secular and sacred. This diverse group of religious and political leaders who serve on Aa Gym’s executive advisory council, and represent such disparate theological and political convictions, makes more sense when we understand that Aa Gym rose to public fame through an emphasis on ethics and emotion, mercy and compassion. Like other televangelists, Aa Gym did not claim allegiance or descent from any of the typical Islamic organizations, Sufi brotherhoods, or schools of theology. Instead, he preferred what one of his close advisors referred to as “merangkul” politics, or the purposeful “bringing into one’s sphere” diverse figures with different domains of expertise and utility from across the political spectrum. Aa Gym’s public pursuit to cultivate “national morality” (nurani bangsa) was able to go national precisely because he did not threaten the theological or political authority of established religious leaders. As such, Aa Gym is a product of the proliferation, not simply the fragmentation, of religious authority that was occurring across Muslim societies over the previous several decades.16 In line with his theology of the heart, Aa Gym also refused to publicly endorse political candidates, finding it much more advantageous to have friends and allies across diverse religious and political organizations. His campaigns for public morality targeted issues such as sexual vice and pornography. In January 2006, members of the aforementioned Islamist

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“Prosperous Justice Party,” as well as other nationalist and religious political parties, were already drafting an antipornography bill when Playboy magazine announced it would soon publish its inaugural Indonesian version. Allied with other conservative religious leaders, Aa Gym used his television pulpit to urge Indonesians to carry themselves with the ethical and embodied comportment that would steer them away from the temptations of the base self that could lead one to pornography, adultery, and other sexual vice. In his televised sermons, congressional testimonies, and public rallies, Aa Gym advocated for an everyday form of what we could refer to as a sort of “visual adab” in which one’s ability to avert the sexual gaze could protect them from the temptations of Satan. Drawing from the Qur’an, hadith, and the writings of medieval Islamic scholar Abu Hamid Al-Ghazali (d.1111), Aa Gym admonished audiences that viewing pornography was a form of visual fornication. In this respect, adab is not simply a form of rational discernment, but an affective disposition linking the heart and the senses. By the time the antipornography bill was finally signed into law in 2008, however, Aa Gym had suffered a dramatic fall from public grace. When his female devotees learned that he had secretly married a second wife, everything turned upside down. Although polygyny is largely considered permissible in Islam, it ran counter to Aa Gym’s public image of doting husband and committed family man. Feeling a deep sense of betrayal by what they perceived as Aa Gym’s inauthenticity and insincerity, his female followers took to the streets in protest, angrily shredding photographs of their once-beloved guru. Television executives canceled his contracts, corporations pulled their sponsorship, and his self-help empire began to crumble. Aa Gym’s religious authority rested on the brand narrative that he truly embodied the virtues of MQ. In the process, Aa Gym’s more inclusive political style of gathering others into his sphere gave way to a decidedly more conservative religious rhetoric, accompanied by an associational preference for those Muslim leaders who had come to his defense during his polygyny debacle. In the wake of this public fallout that played out live on gossip television shows, Aa Gym began to reconsider his commitment to an apolitical preaching about adab and akhlak. In his version of the public backlash, he was a victim of a double standard in which Indonesians purportedly devoted themselves to God, yet somehow still condemned something permissible in the Qur’an and rooted in the tradition of the Prophet. His female followers, on the other hand, adamantly maintained they were not challenging the Qur’an, rather they were objecting to the insincerity and inauthenticity of Aa Gym’s public persona. Even Aa Gym wondered to what

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extent his fame was merely the result of showing off of his piety (Indonesian; riya; Arabic: riya’). As these events transpired, Aa Gym noted which friends abandoned him and who came to his defense. Indonesia’s President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono, who was quite chummy with Aa Gym in front of the cameras during the campaign season, responded to the polygyny debacle by publicly ordering a review of the national polygamy law. Yudhoyono summoned the Minister of Women’s Empowerment and a senior official from the Department of Religion to a meeting, then posed for a photo-op for the morning papers. Not everyone abandoned him, though. Fellow celebrity preacher Yusuf Mansur helped Aa Gym financially, keeping some of his enterprises afloat while Aa Gym managed his comeback campaign. In addition, Din Syamsuddin and Hidayat Nur Wahid (board members of Aa Gym’s moral movement, Gema Nusa) made several public statements in Aa Gym’s defense, wondering why a preacher was being villainized for polygyny while unlawful sexual vice ran rampant. During this reckoning of fame and (dis)loyalty, Aa Gym began to question his approach to soliciting broad support from diverse social, religious, and political interest groups. Seeking refuge in the Qur’anic passages permitting polygyny, Aa Gym moved to strengthen his allegiances with more conservative religious leaders and politicians. As he told his closest friends and advisors, “Previously we focused on universal ethics (akhlak), but it turns out people worshipped the celebrity figure of Aa Gym, not God. From now on, we will focus on aqidah and not be afraid or timid to carry the green banner of Islam.”17 Regretting his primary emphasis on an adab of inclusivity and universality, Aa Gym now underscored the theological importance and political priority of jurisprudence (fiqh) and the articles of faith (aqidah). As he explained to me, “a homiletic focus on ethics is important, but concerns merely the fruit of a tree. The oneness of God (tawhid), however, those are the roots, the real foundation that allows the blossoming of ethics and a truly God-centered life.”18 For a celebrity preacher who rose to fame despite his lack of formal religious education, this was a surprising shift from the spirit of Islamic law to its letter. Aa Gym remained steadfast in an adherence to public moral comportment, but that form of adab was now embedded within a decidedly more conservative emphasis on jurisprudence, in addition to a more strident public image as a defender of Islam. A few years after the polygamy debacle, Aa Gym had returned to public life, his business ventures flourished again, and he had even returned to television (although his celebrity stature had still yet to fully recover). In this new public persona, he relentlessly supported political candidates who, by his measure,

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were the real “defenders” of Islam. In the run-up to the 2014 presidential election, for example, Aa Gym backed Prabowo Subianto, the son-in-law of the former dictator Suharto, who has been accused of massive human rights violations during his tenure as commander of the military’s special forces. On the morning Prabowo and his running mate, Hatta Rajasa, would submit their official candidacy to the national election commission, Aa Gym stood side by side with the candidates in supplication at the mosque next door, beckoning God to bless these “defenders” of righteousness, and disavowing the pluralist and liberal viewpoints of Prabowo’s critics. In perhaps the most visible (if ironic) sign that Aa Gym had finally returned to the national scene by 2014, liberal public intellectual Wimar Witoelar posted an online image titled “Gallery of Rogues” above images of smiling Islamic and political leaders (many of dubious moral character) who supported Prabowo for president, ranging from Aa Gym to business tycoon Aburizal Bakrie and Habib Rizieq Shihab of the vigilante “Islamic Defenders Front” (FPI).19 During the height of Aa Gym’s popularity, he once told me during an interview that he could not condemn some of the violence carried out by groups whose aim was to “defend Islam.”20 Jokingly playing with a Qur’anic injunction to “enjoin the good and forbid the vice,” Aa Gym noted there was simply a division of labor:  he played the softer role of enjoining the good, while figures like Habib Rizieq Shihab (who frequently raided sites of purported immorality) took care of the latter injunction to forbid vice. As I  discuss in the next section, these two strands of theology and politics would eventually converge in 2016 when Habib Rizieq Shihab, Aa Gym, and hundreds of thousands of others took to the streets to demand the blasphemy trial of then-governor of Jakarta, Basuki Tjahaja Purnama (commonly referred to as Ahok).

Blasphemy and the Defenders of Islam: The Adab of Protest and Public Critique Ahok previously served as Vice Governor and ascended to the governorship when Jakarta’s governor at that time, Joko Widodo (known as Jokowi), became President of Indonesia after a long and contentious campaign in 2014 that was occasionally waged along religious and ethnic fault lines. As a Christian of Chinese ethnic descent, Ahok was a double minority. Dutch colonial rule relied upon Chinese Indonesians as economic middlemen.

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During postindependence Indonesia, the Chinese continued to be scapegoated and were occasionally the target of political violence. During his tenure as governor, however, Ahok became known not only for improving the efficiency of government services and reducing bureaucratic corruption, but also for his candid demeanor and, occasionally, his direct and coarse language. Culturally, Ahok’s direct mannerisms and language were at odds with the Javanese emphases on refined language and masking anger. Many of his political opponents had already begun to preach to Jakarta’s Muslims that it was “un-Islamic” to vote for a non-Muslim (citing the Qur’anic verse, Al-Maidah: 51), and they were waiting for Ahok to slip up so that they could cast him as someone against Islam. Then, on the campaign trail for Jakarta’s 2017 gubernatorial election, Ahok told an audience that they should not be duped by religious scholars who misinterpreted the Qur’an ostensibly for political gain when they admonished Muslims that they are forbidden from voting for non-Muslims. When a heavily edited version of this exchange went viral, Muslim leaders across the theological and political spectrum responded with a massive public outcry, demanding Ahok be put on trial for blasphemy. A series of “Defend Islam” rallies attracted hundreds of thousands of protestors to the national Istiqlal mosque in central Jakarta. By the time of this blasphemy controversy, Aa Gym had turned around his finances, returned to his weekly television show, and, once again, circulated among the religious and political elite. Much like the antipornography campaign a decade earlier, the blasphemy controversy became an opportunity to amplify his voice and parlay his public pulpit into political capital. As evidence of his (modest) comeback, Aa Gym was among a handful of panelists on the national Sunday evening TV program “Indonesia Lawyers Club,” discussing the November 4 (411) protest to “defend Islam.”21 Other guests included:  Indonesia’s chief of police, Tito Karnavian; Gatot Nurmantyo, the military commander with political aspirations; Yenny Wahid, the prominent daughter of former president and pluralist reformer of NU, Abdurrahman Wahid; Zainut Tauhid Sa’adi, vice-chair of Indonesian Council of Ulama (MUI); Hadhramut leader Ahmad Al Kaff; and former Muhammadiyah chairman Syafi’i Maarif, who at this time was being heavily criticized for defending Ahok and testifying in court that Ahok’s statement did not, in fact, constitute blasphemy. In social media and television interviews, Aa Gym and many other religious leaders had sharply criticized Syafi’i Maarif, itself part of a strategy to rally popular support for what became an even greater show of Islamic mobilization the following month when on December 12, 2016 approximately 400,000

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Muslims gathered in the area around the national mosque Istiqlal to “defend Islam.” In terms of adab, I would emphasize that Aa Gym’s critique of Syafi’i Maarif on the “Indonesia’s Lawyer Club” program still maintained an edge of polite decorum, in which his humor, indirect speech, and calm tone of voice made him appear more affable. The moderator of the program even introduced Aa Gym in terms of personal disposition: “Earlier, we stressed the need for coolheadedness, so I  looked for someone cool-headed (sejuk), Aa Gym.” During his allotted time, Aa Gym began by wondering exactly what was able to bring together so many people in public protest: “I reckon there is no political party capable, no public figure capable of it . . . Then, why? What pushed them? I’ve even asked myself that question. Those who gathered paid for their own fare, food, etc. For me, it’s a matter of the heart, a feeling. And those who don’t feel it won’t understand.” In this exchange, Aa Gym speaks in general terms of the heart, a particular affective and civic disposition that calls one to action. Continuing, he says, “let me share a simple example. It’s as if religious scholars tell people not to eat pork, citing surah Al-Maidah 3. Then, someone comes up to her at the market and says, ‘hey don’t be fooled by Al-Maidah, go ahead and eat pork.’ Why use Al-Maidah, when it’s not his territory? Why even say that someone is duped by the Qur’an?” At this point, the camera cuts to the police chief Tito Karnavian, who appears politely skeptical. Karnavian was portrayed by some as unsympathetic to the feelings of the Muslim masses who came out to protest. Conversely, many religious leaders believed that military commander Gatot Nurmantyo was much more dedicated to the concerns of religious leaders and the Muslim community (umma). Then, directing his gaze at chief of national police Karnavian, Aa Gym continues, “So Pak (Sir), for me it’s simple.” In what appeared to be directed at Karnavian, with the tone of voice of a teacher scolding a student, as if to see if he is really listening, Aa Gym raised his voice an octave and asked, “Halo, Pak?” The crowd laughed, the moderator chuckled nervously, and the police chief smiled widely while glaring at Aa Gym. In this sequence, Aa Gym maintained a light and humorous comportment, even while providing an indirect, yet clearly understood, rebuke of the national police chief. As Aa Gym once shared with me, “especially when scolding students or publicly disagreeing with government officials or religious leaders, one must always try to emulate the calm adab of the Prophet Muhammad. Do not reprimand someone just to satisfy the impulses of anger.”22 At least in terms of public perception among many Muslim conservatives, the lines had been drawn. President Jokowi and Karnavian had

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sided with the liberals, secularists, and minorities, whereas military commander Gatot Nurmantyo remained steadfast among the “defenders of Islam.” Further into the segment, Aa Gym urged Indonesians to come together with the spirit of civic unity and not consider each other enemies. Joking about the public backlash against religious scholar Syafi’i Maarif (especially an onslaught of social media insults), Aa Gym once again roused laughter when he teased Maarif, “So, Buya (honorific title for Maarif), don’t worry about the text messages I sent, just delete them.” With this linguistic finesse, Aa Gym critiques without really critiquing. Moving on to the topic of President Jokowi, Aa Gym reminded the audience that, “no single figure can claim to be so amazing. Just apologize. [If I  were President Jokowi], just say ‘I’m sorry I  was too slow to respond to this situation. I’m sorry I did not receive those who requested to meet with me [referencing Islamic hardliners who requested a formal meeting]. I’m sorry, this was my mistake.’ ” Aa Gym continued his exercise in hypotheticals, now as if he were the chief of national police (who was still looking on dubiously), “ ‘Yes, I apologize in the event that our officers,’ and so on. Religious scholars can also ask forgiveness for the unfortunate actions of a few, and so on.” Turning once again to humor, “No one here is too amazing (to apologize). We will all die someday, and our government representatives will also change. What do we gain when we only fight for our egos, our names? Why?” Then, turning to the national police chief, Aa Gym chaffed, “and some of us will even be retiring soon anyway, right?” Once again, this exchange demonstrates what we might understand a particular adab of political critique that is at once respectful but firm, indirect but clear. In this respect, adab could also be understood in terms of civil incivility. In his response to Aa Gym, Syafi’i Maarif agreed that the November 4, 2016 rally was an amazing demonstration of mass solidarity. “We should accept the decision of the courts, and Ahok will, too. I’m not some know-it-all about religious issues. However, the theological argument [in this specific blasphemy accusation] is not sturdy. This needs to be discussed. I know many experts in Qur’anic exegesis who have not spoken publicly. Let us discuss this. So, what has been said about the opinions of religious scholars as necessarily true: No. No. No. Maybe true, maybe true!” Through this exchange on national television, we can better understand the contours among adab, ethics, and politics. As part of an anniversary special in 2017, TV One sponsored a similar program about the state of the nation and the future of religious pluralism in Indonesia, titled “Mending the Nation.”23 Once again, Aa Gym joined a roundtable panel of political and religious elite, with dozens of other elite

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politicians and businesspeople in the audience. During his segment, Aa Gym launched once again into familiar “Heart Management” rhetoric relating political harmony with the restraint of emotion: “I’m not worried about the problems of this nation. I am worried about our inability to understand the problems. Earlier [in program], this notion that there is inter-religious conflict. True, I was part of the various demonstrations.” Turning toward nationally known Jesuit priest Father Franz Magnus Suseno across the table, Aa Gym continued, “You saw it, Father, demonstrators around the cathedral who, with happy hearts, opened a safe path for a Christian wedding procession. So, I disagree with those who say it’s an inter-religious problem. No, it’s a feeling that something is not just.” Aa Gym wondered aloud whether Indonesians, himself included, wanted to be part of the problem or part of the solution. “Actually, part of the problem is everyday ethics (akhlak).” Next, Aa Gym returned to the topic of ethics through an indirect critique of the female TV host’s kebaya dress that revealed her shoulders and upper part of her chest:  “It’s the same with TV presenters, do you want to be part of the solution, or . . .? Since earlier, I’ve been sitting here, but looking that way (to avoid eye contact).” The audience erupted into laughter at Aa Gym’s implication about the difficulty of averting his gaze away from the beautiful female presenters in revealing clothes. Trying to lessen the female presenters’ embarrassment, Aa Gym turned briefly toward the female presenters and apologized, “Sorry, ladies.” Then looking across the table to the speaker of Indonesia’s lower parliament, Aa Gym insisted jokingly, “Look over here, Sir. Be careful about your gaze (jaga pandangan)!” Next, looking to the Minister of Religion who was sitting beside the parliament speaker, Aa Gym said jokingly, “Mr. Minister of Religious Affairs, look over this way.” Embarrassed but smiling, the TV host nervously glanced toward one of the producers for stage direction and redirected the conversation. What is important here is the way in which adab, as a sense of deliberative and disciplinary decorum, is believed to serve as the necessary (if insufficient) condition for religious deliberation and public debate. In Aa Gym’s rhetorical style, sharp critiques are delivered with a joke and a smile. Aa Gym does not view this in terms of cultural ideals of emotional expression, but rather in terms of the adab of public deliberation, religious leadership styles, and state governance. On the other hand, Aa Gym’s critics, and those who dare to defend Ahok and advocate for minority rights, are belittled as overly emotional. In this respect, Aa Gym’s political and oratory maneuvering has an adab of its own. During each of the demonstrations to “defend Islam,” Aa Gym and his entourage continued their tradition at public protests of placing themselves at the rear and bringing

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brooms and dustpans to clean up the trash afterward (Figure 6.2). As the saying goes, “cleanliness is part of faith” (kebersihan sebagian dari iman). During the protests in Jakarta, Aa Gym did not appear on stage with hardliners; instead, he remained with his congregation, broom in hand. Aa Gym thus performed protest with decorum and propriety. This is an adab of politics inasmuch as it is the politics of adab. Over the last several years, Aa Gym has led an effective comeback campaign, managing once again to carve his own niche within the national political scene. Contrary to his prescandal anxieties about whether taking political stands would cause him to lose followers, the rebranded version of Aa Gym now seems to benefit from his overtly conservative position. As one observer told me, hardliners like Habib Rizieq Shihab were glad to “give the stage” (kasih panggung) to figures like Aa Gym, whose reputation as a moderate who “possesses adab” helped to mainstream, if not normalize, vigilante hardliners like Rizieq Shihab and the FPI.24 Thus, Aa Gym’s association with Shihab offers a certain civilizing effect for hardliners seeking a national political stage.25

Figure 6.2 Aa Gym hauls the trash wagon after delivering a sermon in Cijulang, West Java. Photo by the author.

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“Those Who Think They Are So Pious”: Adab, Scandal, and the Perils of Public Piety Civility, however, is decidedly not the public image Shihab had cultivated over the last two decades. Shihab and the “Islamic Defenders Front” (FPI) became (in)famous for their campaigns of intimidation and violence in which they raided bars, brothels, and other places of supposed ill-repute (referred to in Indonesian as “sweeping”) as part of a public campaign to combat sexual vice and immorality (maksiat). Other targets of violence and intimidation continue to include Islamic groups deemed heretical, LGBTQ groups, and academic gatherings even remotely related to Karl Marx or communism.26 Whereas one wing of the FPI allegedly prides itself on religious erudition, the more militant wing carries out much of the violence and extortion rackets in Jakarta and elsewhere.27 As noted earlier, Shihab and the FPI claim their legitimacy from the Qur’anic injunction to enjoin virtue and combat vice. Indeed, this was the theological defense for violence targeted at Playboy magazine’s office in 2006; a 2008 public rally at the national monument to defend the constitutional rights of Muslim minorities; and numerous bars and brothels during the run-up to Ramadan each year. During the anti-Ahok demonstrations in Jakarta in late 2016, Shihab proved adept at linking the idea of combating vice with the notion of “defending Islam,” which became the slogan of the protests. In the process, Shihab managed to rehabilitate, somewhat, his image from firebrand provocateur to nationalist defender of Islam. His followers even declared Shihab the leader (grand mufti) of a hypothetical council of Indonesian ulama that did not actually exist. All to say, the several rallies to “defend Islam” provided Shihab the opportunity to claim political legitimacy on the national stage. By the time Ahok was convicted of blasphemy and sentenced to two years in prison, however, Shihab had a serious legal problem of his own. In late January 2016, Shihab was summoned for questioning by police for an alleged violation of the antipornography law after a sexually explicit WhatsApp text and photo exchange between Shihab and his alleged mistress, Firza Husein, went viral on social media. In what many Indonesians have rejoiced as an ironic twist of fate, Shihab was slapped by the very pornography bill for which he had lobbied so hard. Shortly after the law went into effect, Shihab even gloated when celebrity rock star Nazril “Ariel” Irham was sentenced to prison when someone circulated a sex video between Ariel and his girlfriend. Now facing a similar legal case, Shihab fled to the Middle East—alternating between Saudi Arabia

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and Yemen—after refusing to appear before several police summons. Despite diplomatic efforts, he has yet to return to Indonesia to face trial. Senior officials of prominent Islamist political parties, especially the “Prosperous Justice Party” (PKS), have also suffered moral scandals over the last several years. PKS had modeled itself after the Muslim Brotherhood, and members took a special pride in their reputation as pious and clean from scandals of sex and corruption. Like Aa Gym and Shihab, PKS leaders purported to embody the noble virtues they espoused. PKS leaders publicly proclaimed that their organization and members were “clean” (bersih), both spiritually and with regard to corruption. PKS offered an Islamic moral compass to democratic politics and, early on while their ranks were familiar, they were relatively successful in fulfilling this aspiration.28 As they sought to increase electoral gains and fund their campaigns, however, PKS leaders opted to widen the circle of membership (even beyond Muslims in order to contend in gubernatorial elections in far-flung, yet resource-rich, provinces like West Papua).29 Soon thereafter, PKS party leaders, as well as those who had advanced to ministerial positions, became entangled in corruption, scandal, and duplicity. As previously noted, the antipornography campaign during 2006–2008 provided an opportunity for preachers, politicians, and political parties to lament the “moral crisis” confronting the nation and to flaunt their self-proclaimed piety on the public stage. The late Yoyoh Yusroh, the PKS member who was on the parliamentary special committee for pornography legislation, championed PKS as an exemplary party with the moral courage to stand up to pornography and defend what many refer to as the “national morality” (moral bangsa). Against this religiopolitical backdrop, party leadership was greatly embarrassed when a press photographer captured party member Arifinto actually watching pornography in the halls of parliament. Online critics created memes that reinscribed the acronym of the Islamist political party PKS with unflattering but humorous alternatives such as “The Sex Works Party” (Partai Karya Seks). In a similar fashion, former PKS chair Tifatul Sembiring, who as Minister of Communications and Information had helped to implement the pornography law by blocking online access to pornographic materials, was later discovered to be following the Twitter feed of a soft-core porn actress. Sembiring claimed that he “accidentally” followed the actress.30 In 2010, Sembiring was mocked on social media after he giddily shook hands with Michelle Obama during a state visit to Indonesia. For years, Sembiring had refused to shake women’s hands, citing an adab of gendered and sexual comportment in Islam. Prominent female journalist Uni Lubis chided Sembiring for his apparent double standard. Taking to Twitter,

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she asked: “How is it that Tifatul [Sembiring] can shake Michelle Obama’s hand, but he doesn’t want to shake the hands of [Indonesian] women?”31 Sembiring, among the many politicians who have cultivated quite a following on Twitter (with over one million followers), tweeted his defense, blaming the “inadvertent” contact on Michelle Obama: “I was holding back my two hands, but then Michelle placed her hands way in front and [my hand] was inadvertently touched. [then] @unilubis got all bent out of shape. ☺.”32 The evidence against Sembiring soon appeared on YouTube, and the controversy went viral, serving as satirical fodder for Indonesian political cartoonists (Figure 6.3) and even the American comedy news show The Colbert Report.33 What was at stake was not only a disagreement among Muslims about gendered comportment and avoidance of physical contact between men and women who are not related. Equally important to a broader, more inclusive concept of adab, the backlash on social media was rooted in an angst about the moral duplicity of politicians like Sembiring who traded on their public images of moral comportment and sexual ethics.

Figure  6.3 In this political cartoon by Fonda Lapod, Sembiring grasps Michelle Obama’s hand, to which she replies, “Hey, I’m not muhrim,” a word play on mahram, the Islamic designation for someone of relation with whom one could not marry. Image courtesy of Fonda Lapod.

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In addition to these sexualized transgressions, PKS leadership became embroiled in scandal once again in 2013 when then-PKS chair, Luthfi Hasan Ishaaq, was indicted and imprisoned for a beef import scandal that involved the Ministry of Agriculture and contributed millions of dollars to both personal and party coffers. Digital critics once again created entertaining memes that reworked the PKS acronym: “The Beef Corruption Party” (Partai Korupsi Sapi) and the “Prosperous Corruption Party” (Partai Korupsi Sejahtera). As Karen Strassler has observed, “Political communications thus travel from medium to medium in a complex traffic, taking on, at each remediation, distinctive forms of address, authority, and authorship. Unruly processes of reception and reinvention . . . have thus become an integral feature of contemporary Indonesian political communication.”34 Whether images promote one’s own piety or reveal another’s hypocrisy, issues of sincerity and authenticity are thus intimately connected to the moral and political imaginaries related to adab. As I discuss in the final section, adab is thus not only correct moral dispositions embodied by elite rulers, but also an ethical imaginary through which subjects can hold religious leaders and state officials accountable through online shaming.

Conclusion In the digital landscape of popular Islam, preachers and politicians are especially vulnerable to being cast as charlatans and hypocrites. Mediated forms of public protest—whether against Aa Gym, Rizieq Shihab, or PKS—relish in revealing sin and scandal among the self-proclaimed righteous, to whom Indonesians refer with the pejorative term sok suci, “those who think they are so pious.” In each of the examples considered in this chapter, Indonesians rejoiced in the mediated moral folly of holier-than-thou figures who fall from public grace. For many, it exposed that such figures were not sincerely concerned about adab, but rather were merely interested in “showing off their piety” (riya) for the sake of public praise, political capital, and financial gain. Scholars of Indonesia offer an excellent and expanding body of scholarship that explores similar crises of authenticity through the neologism aspal (loosely translated as “the authentic fake”), derived from combining asli (genuine/ original) and palsu (fake).35 The cultural politics of adab and the specter of the aspal have given rise to a new generation of online puppeteers—digital dalang— who challenge proclamations of personal piety, relish in religious scandals, and revel in insincere sincerity.36 Seen from this vantage point, adab is not simply a

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moral category to define civilized comportment, but a rhetorical and political strategy to highlight moral failings—lust, greed, and the desire to publicly appear more pious than one’s actions suggest.37 Indeed, public talk about adab often implies the specter of the uncivilized, those immoral religious figures who, despite their public posturing, are perceived to be insincere and duplicitous.38 Finally, it is important to note that those citizens and laypeople who castigated Aa Gym, Shihab, and PKS for their insincere piety seldom appealed to Islamic law inscribed in medieval legal treatises or manuals about the proper comportment of rulers. This anthropological emphasis reveals, perhaps, an unfortunate fault line between classical Islamic studies and more textualist approaches with those social scientists and area studies scholars who approach adab in terms of a lived religion in which the meaning of adab, and its uncivilized others, is always being redefined in particular social, historical, and political contexts. Viewed from this perspective, the task of the Islamicist is not simply to find, translate, and interpret texts and treatises written by elite religious scholars. As I have tried to demonstrate, scholars of Islam would do well to also attend to the ways in which ordinary Muslims understand adab, play with its various shades of meaning, and critique the religious authority of those who wield adab more as a path to power than a habit of the heart.

Part Four

Performance and Experience

7

Adab and Embodiment in the Process of Performance: Islamic Musical Arts in Indonesia1 Anne K. Rasmussen

Introduction I study Islamic musical arts in Indonesia, beginning with the culture of Quranic recitation among women and men and boys and girls in various regions of this vast archipelago. I  am interested in the transmigration of artistic aesthetics, performance practice, and social ideologies around the Indian Ocean and particularly from the Arab world to Indonesia, the country with the world’s largest Muslim population. I focus primarily on musical expression, including vocal artistry and its application to Quranic recitation and other Arabic texts, and to religious song and other kinds of Indonesian Islamic music. I also study text, movement, material culture, discourse, and media-based production. As a musician and a specialist in Arab musical practices, I often participate in or share performance through rehearsals and public presentations with practitioners in Indonesia. With its focus on women, music and Islam, my work has been a bit of a “mythbuster.”2 Beginning in the late 1990s, I  have had the opportunity to work with women and girls of all ages who pursue Quranic studies, including the practice of the melodic style of recitation, called mujawwad. My methodology includes attending classes at the women’s college for Quranic studies (the Institut Ilmu al-Qur’an or IIQ, as it is known) in south Jakarta— the Indonesian capital city of more than 14  million people—shadowing its most prominent faculty member and administrator, Hajjah Maria Ulfah, at a wide variety of events and activities, and visiting institutions and communities

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throughout the Indonesian archipelago where the intersection of Islam and the performing arts is acknowledged and nurtured. Such experiences have given me a rich and textured perspective on the culture of Quranic recitation and on Islamic musical arts (seni musik Islam) in Indonesia. My monograph and another coedited volume, among several other publications, introduce and investigate music and Islam in Indonesia, a rich world of performance where women, men, boys, and girls participate in the creative expression of religion through music. In the course of my fieldwork in Indonesia among people in the “business of religion,” I  have been struck by the normative adjudication of types of performance usually associated with ritual contexts. In my earlier publications, I  describe and analyze numerous contests, from village and neighborhood festivals of religious song, to international competitions in Quranic recitation (which also incorporate various styles of religious music). Such competitions that involve spiritually infused performance, I  argue, contribute to the “festivalization of religion” in contemporary Indonesia. I propose, furthermore, that the development of this realm of religious life serves the strategic purpose of nation building on the part of the government and its actors and, for its participants, is a civic duty.3 Competitions in the recitation of the Qur’an, the call to prayer, and an array of Islamic musical arts, which are known by many different genre names (for example, qasidah rebana, terbang jidor, banjari, hadrah, and hajir marawis) have in common a number of criteria that measure physical accomplishments, various performance techniques involving voice and body, the treatment of language, and creativity in matters of arrangement and staging.4 Surprisingly, in these kinds of competitions there are no criteria to measure intent, feeling, sincerity, authenticity, or spirituality, with the exception of perhaps the one category of adjudication that is consistent across the board: adab. In the contexts I describe, adab is understood to relate to physical comportment, good manners, or etiquette in relation to Islamic activity. Islamic adab is marked in contradistinction to a nonpious, nondisciplined, non-Muslim-appropriate behavior. Adab may also be opposed to behavior and related epistemologies that are made manifest through adat: traditional, pre-Islamic, or localized practices. In the case study I explore in this chapter, I am going to suggest that although adab, as both reflexive and generative of agama Islam (the Muslim religion), may be conveniently juxtaposed with adat, the two concepts form a dialectic that is dynamically activated through processes that result in relationships of dominance, displacement, blend, and becoming.5

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Categories of Adjudication The following two sets of criteria are those published and followed by adjudicators for competitions in the performance of the call to prayer (Lomba Azan) and for the recitation of the Qur’an (Musabaqah Tilawatil Qur’an or MTQ). Both kinds of competitions are commonly found in Indonesia, with the MTQ being the most widespread. The judges for such contests, competitions, and festivals are usually respected practitioners and educators and sometimes local government officials or community leaders who have experience and expertise in the performance practice that is being evaluated. 1. Call to Prayer: Criteria for Adjudication Voice (Suara) Timing, rhythm, tempo, style (Irama) Regulation and control of breath (Pengaturan nafas) The rules dealing with the sectioning and treatment of the text (Tajwid) Eloquence, fluency (Fasohah) Comportment, good manners, etiquette (Adab) 2. Recitation of the Quran: Criteria for Adjudication Voice (Suara) The total number of melodies or Arabic modes (maqamat, s. maqam) sung/chanted/applied (Jumlah lagu) The choice of opening and closing melody or maqam (Lagu pertama dan tenutup) Transitions and the totality of the tempo of the tune (Peralihan, keutuhan dan tempo lagu) Styles and variations in rhythm and timing (Irama, gaya, dan variasi) Regulation and control of breath (Pengaturan nafas) Comportment, good manners, etiquette (Adab) The event, Festival Hajir Marawis Umum (public festival of Hajir Marawis), that transpired in August 2014 and which serves as my case study, published a more extensive set of criteria for adjudication, along with the guidelines for the contestants (see Appendix). The category adab includes several subcriteria, all of them related to appearance, demeanor, and the public presentation of self. 3. Festival Hajir Marawis: Criteria for Adjudication a. The Vocal Area (Bidang Vokal) fluency (fashohah) ●

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mastery of the song (penguasaan lagu) vocal technique (teknik vocal), full understanding, comprehension, experience (penghayatan) compactness of the choir (kekompakan koor) b. The Arrangement Area (Bidang Aransement) drumming technique (pukulan) compactness of the drumming (kekompakan pukulan) dynamics and harmonization tempo volume of the percussion c. The Area of Comportment/Behavior, Etiquette (Bidang Adab) costumes and makeup mastery of the presentation (pentas/show) formation and blocking approaching and departing the stage ● ● ● ●

● ● ● ● ●

● ● ● ●

In evaluating the goals of such competitions and the motivation of those involved, I suggest that for festival participants—along with their trainers, judges, and the supporting audience and patrons—the assumption seems to be that if all of the criteria are met—if they do it all right—contestants will not only win a prize, but also be prepared to animate social and religious rituals in real, nonfestival situations, and will set an example, for their peers and the public, of exemplary (Muslim) character and behavior. It is not clear whether religious experience is meant to unfold in the moment of competition; however, as in the pursuit of recitation, it is always possible for participants, patrons and audience included, to attain blessing (baraka) or good karma (pahala) by pursuing, supporting, or even just witnessing such activities. Furthermore, all of these competitions, with their various participants and stakeholders, are manifestations of dakwa, the term that comes from the Arabic da‘wah and connotes bringing people to (or intensifying) the Muslim faith. My ethnographic research suggests that although not specifically adjudicated, spiritual expression and the collective transformation of community does happen during competitions as is often indicated by audience reception and reaction. However, the strict protocol governing the entire process, itself a part of what I will call macro-adab, works to both encourage and regulate the dynamics of the collective through the rules of space, time, and content. In this chapter, I focus on the Festival Hajir Marawis Umum, which I attended in 2014, in order to explore ideas and processes of repetition, practice, embodiment, and physical entrainment as they are enacted toward individual

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and collective expressions of a Muslim self. My interpretation of this event is informed by dozens of other competitions I have experienced, beginning in 1996, and countless conversations with participants over the course of ethnographic fieldwork in Indonesia. For the purposes of this volume, however, I  explore the manifestation of adab as it was activated “in the course of performance” by 14 competing hajir marawis groups comprised of male and female youth who, through the combination of vocal and instrumental music and dance (or stylized body movement), conveyed “their take” on Islamic performance.6

Finding Adab Unlike countless utilitarian vocabulary words in the national language, Bahasa Indonesia, that derive from Arabic, most Indonesians recognize adab as a word that comes from Arabic and, by association, something that is associated with Islam. Surprisingly, official definitions of adab in both Arabic and Indonesian are tinged only slightly with a sense of piety.7 Hans Wehr’s Arabic-English dictionary registers the term adab, as opposed to its common translation as “literature,” as the morality or ethics of Islam and one of many kinds of “culture, refinement, good breeding or manners, decorum, comportment, etiquette.” This Arabic-language sense of the term seems to prevail in the Indonesian context. For example, it is clear from discussing adab as a criterion in the various competitions I describe that a Muslim self must be performed in matters of manners, decorum, and etiquette, as manifest in specific qualities of dress, comportment, entering and exiting the stage, sitting, standing, walking, facial demeanor and gaze, and for Quranic recitation, holding and touching the Qur’an. One need only to try, as I do, to blend into the many religious contexts that characterize the daily routine in Indonesia to realize the many ways in which adab is expected. For me, the way I sit, dress, speak, and move becomes infused with at least a modicum of localized comportment and etiquette. Following anthropologist Edward Hall, ethnomusicologist Tom Turino explores concepts of social synchrony as key to participatory music events. In Turino’s words: In his book Beyond Culture, Hall emphasizes that in everyday life all harmonious interaction is grounded on synchrony of movement and body language . . . when locked in conversation, people will often imitate each other’s stance and hand positions . . . or gesture in an interlocking fashion that mirrors the alternating interlocking of their words. [Further] Hall has documented [the ways] people will move together in a culturally appropriate pace and rhythm – in sync.8

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Like most ethnographers, I have endeavored to understand the rules of recitation and the motivation of young women, mothers, and professionals for pursuing the life of an accomplished or professional reciter of the Qur’an (qori’ah, f; qori’, m.) through the research methodology of discourse—talking to people and listening to them talk to each other. But I also learn physically, through what Marcel Mauss would call “techniques of the body,” including through aural cognition.9 As I write of my participation with a group of women who study Quranic recitation: The challenges of tajwid, the system that governs the pronunciation and sectioning of the text was my great weakness, however, by mimicking my teachers (students included) I became more and more aware of the nuances of pronunciation, articulation, duration and effects of timbre, like nasality, that are employed in the course of language performance. I  was able to “go with the flow,” as in Turino’s explication of “flow” where skill level is balanced with the inherent challenges of recitation (2008: 4). I sat close to the women around me, close enough to feel the vibration of their breath and the warmth of their bodies, and absorbed their demeanor, breathing with them and vocalizing with them, trying to share the sensation as they physically enacted, through practice and repetition, the sacred and challenging text.10

Through various forms of mimicry, mimesis, entrainment and presentation of self, I try to perform adab in Muslim Indonesia.

Adab and the Body The idea of adab in the context of South Asia has been explored and explained as integral to the Muslim self. In the introduction to her volume on various studies of adab in South Asia, Barbara Metcalf asserts that adab, while integrally related to reason (‘aql) and will (nafs), is manifested in the body through behavior.11 “Adab means discipline and training,” she writes, “the term adab directed us toward consideration of codes of behavior and values as well as of methods of personal formation . . . Adab is the personal embodiment of cultural ideals.”12 Expanding on these ideas, Metcalf states: The central metaphor for personal development is that of habit or malaka through which outer action transforms or colors the soul. Actions reflect true knowledge and actions create that truth. . . . for moral choices create a pattern that ultimately, if repeated often enough, ideally makes it possible to act correctly without even the process of reflection.13

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In the case of the youth who practice hajir marawis, along with a number of other performing arts referred to as seni bernafaskan Islam (arts that breathe or are infused with Islam), it is the repetition, rehearsal, and perfection of pious performance that eventually, in Metcalf ’s words, “ideally makes it possible to act correctly without even the process of reflection.”14

Adab and Adat To consider one local view on adab and adat, I introduce Hajjah Maria Ulfah, arguably the most important female qori’ah (reciter of the Qur’an) in Indonesia. She is a performer, educator, teacher, and administrator at the college where I did research, the Institut Ilmu al-Qur’an, or IIQ, and she is known internationally. I have been fortunate to have her as friend and colleague, and her activities and impact on the business of religion in Indonesian society—particularly among girls and women—feature prominently in my book and other writings.15 Maria Ulfah travels abroad regularly to perform and educate Muslim and non-Muslim communities about the recited Qur’an, and I have arranged tours for her in the United States on two occasions, in 1999 and in 2016, when we have traveled and presented our work together.16 When I  return to Indonesia, her family insists that their home is my “base camp.” In May 2017, when I was staying at her home in south Jakarta, Maria Ulfah and her family took the occasion of Nisf al-Shabaan—a holiday during the month preceding the holy month of Ramadan, when, it is believed, fortunes are decided— as an opportunity to fulfill their obligation of aqiqah: the animal sacrifice that is required in Arab, Islamic culture on the occasion of the birth of a child. Although her three children are now adults, the family had not had the opportunity to perform this animal sacrifice at the time of two of their sons’ birth, already ages 28 and 32 at the time of this writing. I was with Maria Ulfah as she arranged for the procurement of two live goats for this aqiqah and, once the two goats were tied up outside in the yard, I took the opportunity to clarify the overlapping categories of ritual performance that continuously comprise the world of this eminent Quranic reciter and educator. Here I reproduce her tutorial, presented to me as the duo of bleating goats enriched our soundscape. In this transcription, I  preserve the Indonesian terms (in italics) that are key to the conversation. “Aqiqah is wajib,” Maria Ulfah explained. “You have to do it. Well, you should do it. Adab is hampir sama (almost the same). Adat is kebudayaan se tempat,

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(the culture of a certain place). In terms of the MTQ (Qur’an competition), adab includes busana rapi (neat clothes), memangan al-quran dengan baik (carrying and holding the Qur’an correctly). Certain Arabs, for example Wahabis from Saudi Arabia, and Malaysians, and perhaps others as well, just dangle the Qur’an from their arm, they don’t hold it folded into the chest as is correct. Dulu, in the olden days, you should also kiss the Qur’an.” “Also,” she continued, “your expression should cocok (fit) the particular ayat (verse) you are reading. If the passage is gembira (happy) use maqam Rast ‘ala nawa (one of the commonly-used Arab melodic modes). For something siksa (tormented, disturbing), you should also use the correct maqam. Also you should wash first (harus wudu dulu) and for these things you will dapat pahala (attain reward) or dapat baroqoh (attain blessings). You should be clean. “Here is another way to think about it,” she continued. “Wajib: this means if you do it you get pahala (reward) – if you don’t do it, it is dosa (a sin, also translated as transgression, crime, offense, wickedness). Adab: If you do it – you dapat pahala (get reward). If you don’t do it, it is not a sin. Like sunna (the ways and teachings of the Prophet Muhammad) – there are lots of clarifications in the Qur’an about this.” To punctuate her explanation, she stated: “Adat: This is just the culture of a place.”17

With this explanation, Maria Ulfah puts the tradition of animal sacrifice on the occasion of the birth of a male child into context by giving examples of what is required of a good Muslim (wajib), what is considered appropriate behavior and respectful comportment (adab), and adat, “the culture of a place” (kebudayaan se tempat).18

The Material and Technical Roots of Hajir Marawis Beyond language and religion, connections between Indonesia and particular regions in the Arab world are manifest in the Islamic song traditions called shollawat and tawashih; in popular music genres like gambus, dangdut, Melayu, and nashid; and in various styles of Islamic music known as qasidah, and qasidah rebana, which I argue elsewhere is the most uniquely Indonesian among these myriad genres of Islamic musical arts or seni musik Islam.19 Whereas Indonesians established post-Independence contact with Egypt and the Eastern Mediterranean Arab world (the mashriq) through the technologies of the modern age (e.g., steamship and air travel, and modern mass media), relationships of exchange with the Arabian Peninsula were part and parcel of the circum-Indian Ocean maritime culture that has connected these two regions for centuries. The

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musical genre hajir marawis exemplifies this longue durée cultural transmission between Island Southeast Asia and the Arabian Peninsula. Hadrami seafarers, that is, people from the Hadramaut region of what is now Yemen, were the most active in the exchange of goods and information.20 As this exchange of materials and ideas developed, Indonesians, now adherents of the new religion of Islam, also began to travel to the Arabian Peninsula for pilgrimage, education, marriage, and business. The historic connection between Arabia and Indonesia remains dynamic and contemporary through continuous trade, travel, religious pilgrimage, and intermarriage. This flow, as Michael Feener reminds us, goes in both directions: For decades, processes of Islamization in Southeast Asia have been discussed in terms of “networks” of various kinds, particularly Muslim merchant diasporas and Sufi orders. Despite such talk of networks, however, the assumptions underlying most existing histories of Islamization unfortunately end up looking more like supply chains, with “Islam” as a commodity, that for some reason, always moves eastward towards apparently receptive markets in Southeast Asia with little or no discussion of what might have been carried in the other direction, or of the impact that such contacts and encounters might have had on Muslims living in South Asia or further west.21

In spite of the multidirectional flow of influence and exchange around the Indian Ocean, the dominant mass media and economic patronage of powerful, petrol-rich nations—of the Negara-negara telok (oil countries of the Gulf) with, not surprisingly, Saudi Arabia leading the brigade—result in sociopolitical and economic developments that have fascinating and significant musical repercussions.22 With more religious tourists who undertake the Hajj (the annual pilgrimage) or Umrah (lesser pilgrimage) to Saudi Arabia annually than any other nation, Indonesians invest significantly in that Gulf nation’s economy. And while Indonesians wait for more significant investments in non-Islamic infrastructure from this giant, big brother of the region, Saudi Arabia’s mounting influence through building institutions of religious conservatism is visible and audible throughout the county.23 Islam keras (hardline Islam) and Islam radikal (radically conservative Islam)—both of which refer to modernist, textualist, Wahabi-influenced ideologies considered to emanate from sources external to Indonesia, particularly Saudi Arabia—appeal only to a minority of Indonesia’s Muslim population. Even so, Arabization in the form of material culture and cultural practice, born on the airwaves of contemporary global “technoscapes, mediascapes, and financespaces” to adapt Appadurai’s terminology, is testament

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not only to the religious authority of Saudi Arabia but also to soft power in the forms of cultural capital that emanate from anywhere in the Arab world.24 Among these instruments of soft power is hajir marawis. This Indonesian musical genre takes its name from two instruments:  the hajir (hajar, mahjar) and the mirwas or marawis (pl.), the names for two drums prominent in the Gulf and particularly in the coastal areas of Yemen and Oman. The instrumentation for hajir marawis generally includes 8–16 singers who all play the small doubleheaded, laced, hand-held, mirwas drum. In modern groups such as the ones pictured in Figure 7.1, the singers move in stylized and rehearsed choreographed formation, along with three performers who, while seated, play:  (1) the vaseshaped Arab dumbek (also called tabla) (2)  cymbals and/or tambourine (markiss) usually mounted on a stand, and (3) the double-headed hajir drum. This type of ensemble consistently gained momentum during the late 1990s and the first decade of the twenty-first century, particularly among teenage boys and girls, eventually eclipsing gambus, another prominent Arab-Indonesian popular music (Figure  7.2).25 During my visits to Indonesia between 2000 and 2010, and most recently in 2014 and 2017, hajir marawis was flourishing, particularly in greater Jakarta, also known as JABOTABEK, an abbreviation

Figure 7.1 Instruments of the ensemble, hajir marawis. The hajir is pictured in the bottom right corner. The mawawis are the small double-headed laced drums in the center of the photo. Also seen are various sizes of dumbeks (left) and markiss symbols (right). Photo by the author.

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or singkatan combining the names of the cities JAkarta, BOgor, TAnggerang, and BEKasi. Wawan, one of the drum manufacturers I  interviewed in Spring 2017, reported that 90 percent of the schools have some kind of hajir marawis program for students.26 A quick search on YouTube for any of the various genres of Islamic music that I am introducing in this article brings up dozens of videos of performances, many of them recorded in the context of public events and competitions. Not surprisingly, there are dozens and dozens of video clips of hajir marawis festivals and competitions also posted to YouTube.27 The texts of hajir marawis are often sung with maqam-based modality: Arab scales in the Egyptian/Eastern Mediterranean style. But the social formation of this ensemble, the playing techniques employed, and the resulting musical texture are strikingly different from the Eastern Arab musical aesthetics of Egypt and the mashriq heard in Quranic recitation and many kinds of Islamic music, such as the collective singing of shallawat or the solo stylings of wellknown Islamic singing stars, like Hadad Alwi or Emha Ainun Nadjib. Both the nomenclature and the rhythmic patterns themselves emanate from the Southern Gulf, and related practices of music and dance performance may also be seen in places like Yemen and Oman.28 To create the rhythmic grooves called sharh,

Figure  7.2 Contestants at the Festival Hajir Marawis Umum, August 2014. The performers seated play cymbal and tambourine (markiss) fixed on a stand, and the cylindrical hajir drum. The standing performers all play marawis, the small doubleheaded laced drum. Photo by the author.

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zapin, and zahife, interlocking patterns are played forcefully and in dialogue by two to three individuals or subgroups of an ensemble at rapid speeds that require acute coordination. When produced collectively these rhythmic grooves, which accompany the dance style called zapin, also produce polyrhythms, a performance practice that is largely absent either in the music of the Arab mashriq or in the courtly Gamelan music of Southeast Asia. Today, among practitioners that I have interviewed, hajir marawis and related Arab-derived music and dance styles, gambus and zafin, are recognized as being performed both in the Coastal Arabian Peninsula and in Island Southeast Asia for at least a century, particularly among communities of descendants from the Hadramaut.29 Based on my comparative research in Yemen and Oman, the connection between these two Indian Ocean axes is further solidified by the shared repertoire of song texts and melodies (sometimes just referred to with the words of the common choral refrain, “dana dana”); instrument types (hajar or mahjar and mirwas, pl. marawis) the names and practices of rhythmic grooves mentioned earlier; and the dance style, zapin. Zapin, also known as zafin or jepin in Indonesia, involves pairs of men who, dancing side by side, independently but in synchrony, gracefully process toward the musicians and back again, usually within the perimeter of a rectangular area. Called bar‘a in Oman and jambia in Yemen (the name for the dagger that is held overhead), this dance exists in Indonesia and elsewhere in Southeast Asia as recreation, ritual, and, in the words of Malaysian scholar Anis Md. Nor, “performative Sufism.”30 This particular event, Festival Hajir Marawis Umum, a public festival of hajir marawis groups, was a celebration (aqiqah) of the first birthday of the first son of Awaludin and Riska Rachmati and grandson of Ibu Mutiyah and Bapak Molyono, held on August 12, 2014. The parents and grandparents of the celebrated child were listed and pictured on the spanduk (banner) that announced the occasion. Another spanduk, pictured in the top right corner of Figure 7.3, advertised the sermons (pidato or khotbah) of two clerics from the Assegaf family, one of the largest ethnically Arab families in Indonesia.31 The celebration, in a rather remote village of Depok, was about a threehour drive south of south Jakarta, with no access by jalan raya (highway). When I arrived at the event after dark, the streets were filled with people and preparations were underway for the formal meal and ceremony that was to occur the following day. Like an all-night performance of Javanese shadow puppet theater (wayang kulit) accompanied by the large gong-chime ensemble known as gamelan, this Festival Hajir Marawis attracted seemingly everyone within

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Figure 7.3 In the foreground are trophies for the competition, in the middle of the photo is the table set for the adjudicators with bottles of water and snacks. Children and participants are gathered in anticipation of the performances. Behind the crowd standing in the street is the family’s house. In the upper right corner, one of the banners advertising the speeches to occur on the following day is visible. Photo by the author.

earshot, along with the support teams for the twelve groups from the greater Jakarta region, JABOTABEK, that were performing that evening (Figure  7.3). After an enthusiastic welcome by the patrons of the event, I settled into the buggy grass near the table of adjudicators and tried to figure out the event’s “rules of engagement.” Fortunately, the judges shared with me handouts that included not only the criteria for adjudication, but also the Festival Guidelines (Tata Tertip, see Appendix). In general, such rules and regulations reflect the very kinds of things that a community has decided or is deciding about itself and this example is no exception. I have discovered that such rules and guidelines are especially valuable since they are among the few written documents about traditions that are otherwise transmitted orally and physically. Groups were announced with great pomp; those waiting in the wings were warned to be ready to ascend the stage. Coaches for each group attended to lastminute details and costume adjustments. While some of the groups remained seated for their performance, others had prepared choreography. Several groups were comprised of all males, but at least two were all female and one male group had a lead singer who was female. Gender complementarity is an expected

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feature of this and other Islamic music festivals, something that distinguishes Indonesian Islamic expressive culture.

From Adat to Adab Why patronize hajir marawis? Why a festival? Why a competition with prizes? Why on the occasion of a child’s first birthday, presented in and for an apparently modest village neighborhood (kampung)? And why produce an explicitly Muslim-themed set of activities for this family’s private rite of passage? To answer these questions, we turn to the activation of adat, in Maria Ulfah’s words, “the culture of a place,” and its interplay with adab, the embodiment of Arab, Islamic etiquette. First, there is a great deal of prestige that comes with throwing a multiday party for the whole neighborhood, and with this prestige comes extra baraka or pahala (blessings or rewards) for the celebrated child and his family. We might see this event as akin to the slametan or communal meal, central to traditional Javanese Muslim culture as described by Clifford Geertz in his now-classic ethnography Religion of Java, originally published in 1960.32 The addition of the festival of Islamic arts, along with the sermons by speakers from the renowned Assegef family, further confers a religious character (ahlak) upon the tuan rumah (head of household) and his people. The festival plays the role that might have in the recent past, or in communities less effected by religious reformism, been fulfilled by Javanese shadow puppetry (wayang) or another local performance style—cultural practices that are now considered by many to be too closely associated with adat, traditional beliefs and practices. This is one of many situations in contemporary Indonesia where traditional events are celebrated with Arab content, a phenomenon we might interpret as the Arabization of adat, where local customs and practices are subplanted and reinterpreted and, through repetition, completely normalized. In their Introduction to Divine Inspirations:  Music and Islam in Indonesia, Harnish and Rasmussen flag adat as a dynamic node in the complementary process of the Islamization of Indonesia and the Indonesianization of Islam.33 Rather than to delineate the streamlining and exclusionary effects of the world religions that were adopted and adapted in Indonesia, the authors emphasize the synthesis and syncretism that manifested as a result of the confluence of Buddhism, Hinduism, and Islam. Nevertheless, as Indonesians embraced religious ideologies and practices from outside the archipelago, this came at the

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expense of local practice (adat), what Maria Ulfah refers to as “the culture of a place.” While myriad manifestations of adat throughout the archipelago have not been entirely eclipsed, the authors posit: The customs, traditions and etiquette associated with adat, in fact, continue in most areas of Indonesia today; however, such beliefs have been diluted or transformed either in response to the increasing conservatism of world religions over recent centuries or because of the forces of postmodern globalization. Depending on the ethnic group, practices connected to adat are often folded into Islamic practice or vice versa; however, since many modernists judge or legislate religious practice, adat has come under attack by leaders who label it as non-Muslim and as a reflection of the impurities in Indonesian Islam . . . Such declarations have had an impact on the performance of traditional music, theatre, and dance, particularly when a performance is part of a ceremony associated with adat, syncretism, or heterodoxy.34

Harnish’s long involvement at the juncture of religion, politics, and performance in Lombok has revealed that the primary fault line of contention is the duality between agama and adat, two opposing systems of epistemology and praxis at once coexisting and competing. Harnish follows Hefner who asserts “agama is divinely revealed religion while adat is humanly generated custom or tradition.”35 In the context of contemporary Lombok, and certainly elsewhere in Indonesia, agama is provided by God, and adat by mere humans. Furthermore, there is the sense that where adat is associated with rural, uneducated backwardness, agama is the domain of the educated, enlightened elite. It is true that many indigenous Indonesian performing arts, that is, traditions of song, dance, and instrumental music, themselves sometimes performed for supplication, worship, healing, or exorcism, have been seen as antithetical to Islam, even in some cases associated with animism and paganism. For example, Uwe Pätzold cites Yahya Khisbiyah of the Muslim organization Muhamadiyyah, whom I have also interviewed in the course of my fieldwork. Khisbiyah writes, “The self-esteem of the Muhammadiyah community toward the arts culture rather gives reverence toward Arab culture, which is supposed to be the culture of Islam, than towards local culture, which is supposed to dishonor the ‘Purity of Islam’ through the prolongation of animism and paganism.”36 Hajir marawis is at the end of a long tradition of music and dance styles that are considered to be in line with enlightened, disciplined, and modern activity for youth, a performance art that is infused with religious content, spirit, and purpose. With its instruments, rhythmic patterns, dance

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moves from the Arab Gulf, and Arabic song texts, hajir marawis, a completely naturalized Indonesian manifestation of Islamic performance, is also perceived to be very Arab in character.

Practical and Permissible Beyond the rationale presented earlier, I suggest that there are several additional reasons for the popularity of hajir marawis. The recreational athleticism of hajir marawis, which requires only a variety of drums, is great fun, and creative choreography can include a range of moves that derive from pencak silat (traditional martial arts) to global hip hop. With only percussion and voice, hajir marawis does not require finding and learning more demanding and expensive melodic instruments like the Arab lute called ‘ud or gambus, violin, flute (suling), or keyboard. Furthermore, a connection to the ethnic Arab communities in Indonesia, who play gambus, is not a prerequisite for affiliation with the hajir marawis scene. So, one can be authentically religious, without being authentically, ethnically Arab. Furthermore, much of the song repertoire that is well known from other forms of Islamic musical arts—for example, musical genres known as shollawat, gambus, and qasida-rebana—may be adapted to the hajir marawis ensemble and performance practice. Another possible reason for the rise in the popularity of hajir marawais is that without melody instruments, hajir marawis is unobjectionable as a form of Islamic music, which putatively eschews the use of melodic instruments (e.g. ‘ud, violin, keyboard synthesizer). Finally, like earlier styles of qasida-rebana, where all-women groups sing qasa‘id (s. qasida) and play the frame drum (rebana), usually with choreography, hajir marawis provides a safe space and creative outlet for girls. The aforementioned qualities ensure the acceptability and popularity of hajir marawis as a recreational manifestation of contemporary Islamic culture with its powerful, conservative tendencies toward reform. After all, the instruments, rhythms, and song texts originate in the Arab world. What could be more Muslim? Its resonance with Arab, Islamic culture notwithstanding, I would like to suggest a few reasons why we might also see hajir marawis as clearly linked to concepts and practices considered more indigenously Indonesian, perhaps closer to “the culture of a place” (adat). First, lively traditions of the disciplined, martial arts movement called pencak silat have long been a part of life at the pondonk pesantren, the Islamic boarding schools that are a ubiquitous and important part of Muslim culture and experience in Indonesia. Uwe Pätzold speculates the

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practice existed simultaneously as entertainment and enlightenment, making religious life more enjoyable. Pätzold writes: In West Java, music and movement arts are permissible and useful in certain Muslim institutions, as long as they provide a means for an embodied experience of ideas and perceptions based on the teachings of the Qur’an. The resulting spiritual experience is created through the nurturing of inner power (batin). Pencak silat involves action strategies, tactics, and body aesthetics . . . elmu Asrol [sic. Sundanese]: knowledge regarding the power of physical activity as a catalyst for approaching union with Allah.37

Performing the interlocking rhythms of the small mirwas drums (pl. marawis) is necessarily aerobic, even at a moderate pace, and adding standing choreography to the mix compounds the athleticism of a performance. More stayed movement and seated dance, both with dramatic upper body choreography as opposed to fancy footwork, is another very special feature of Indonesian Islamic performance arts, with related styles proliferating around the Indian Ocean basin.38 In fact, many of the pageants that I have witnessed at opening and closing ceremonies of various civic and religious events involve the choreographed movement of sometimes hundreds of bodies moving slowly and deliberately, or seated in formation and then swaying their upper bodies and arms in concert, moving like a school of fish or a flock of birds. Such styles are said to imitate the arabesque of calligraphy and in some cases the Arabic letters and words of the Qur’an.39 These kinds of choreographies reinscribe the collective, consensus-minded nature of Indonesian society, where, when one part is absent, the whole is not quite complete. These ways of moving, cultural “flow” to recall Turino and Hall’s use of the term, are deeply rooted in Indonesian ways—albeit Muslim, Indonesian ways. Second, the acceptance or inclusion of women in these frames of public bodies on display also deserves a word of interpretation. In my studies of Islamic performance culture, women’s activities as students, reciters, teachers, and judges were repeatedly pointed out to me by my interlocutors and marked as distinct from Islamic practice in the Arab world. I have suggested in my writing on the culture of the Qur’an in performance that recitation is not particularly gendered. Both men and women are channeling an archetype and as such women’s voices are as loud, strident, and virtuosic as are men’s. While men are probably more emotionally demonstrative, women are trained to easily extend their tessitura two and a half octaves and more, without breaking into a head voice, and women’s use of a strident, and loud chest-voice, a nasal vocal timbre,

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the embroidery of the melodic line, and the expert treatment of vowels and consonants, according to the rules of tajwid, can be every bit as accomplished as that of their male counterparts.40 In my writing on women in the business of religion, I  point out the “historically prominent female performer type in Indonesia” as a precedent for the prominence of women as public figures in the physical and sonic performance of religion—not only as reciters but also as instrumentalists, singers, choreographers, and dancers in a wide variety of pious performances, from pageantry to pop Islami.41 I would like to suggest here that as is the case with Quranic recitation, performances of hajir marawis are also somewhat degendered.42 While performances by male groups may be somewhat louder, faster, and more aggressive, I  do not see or hear young women striving for embodied, idealized models of femininity (as they do in many styles of classical and popular dance) any more than men strive to be hypermasculine. When we widen the lens to look at the realm of dance all over Indonesia we must acknowledge that a broad spectrum of gender identities and ideals are danced by both men and women as the fantastic ethnographic work by ethnomusicologists Christina Sunardi and Henry Spiller attests. Although discussions of propriety, dance, and women’s bodies could extend this study significantly, suffice it to say that in Indonesia women dance in a variety of ways in a variety of contexts, and thus their staged choreography here is hardly exceptional and a completely acceptable demonstration of bodies that are beradab (with adab).43

Conclusion: Dominance, Displacement, Blend, and Becoming At the level of macro-adab, the Festival Marawis promotes pious activity for participants who then inscribe and perform adab with their bodies (microadab). While allegedly opposed to old-fashioned adat, the Festival and the way that it functions in terms of the larger rite of passage and social ritual actually exhibit many traces of adat on both macro- and micro levels. In other words, many aspects of the content and function of Indonesian traditional adat also seem to be evident in these newish manifestations of macro- and micro-adab. Although it is true, as some of the case studies in this volume demonstrate, that adab trumps adat with praxis and epistemologies that dominate and displace those that are thought to be older, more local, pre-Islamic, or “unenlightened,”

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what I see is the ways in which Islamic expressive arts (seni bernafaskan Islam) blend in with and become manifestations of localized adat. The fact that this circum-Indian Ocean adaptation of Arab expressive culture becomes the articulation of an Indonesian Muslim self presents a bit of a conundrum when situated comparatively with similar practices in Yemen and Oman, the Southern Arabian Gulf, where we find the probable roots of hajir marawis. First, while the two practices are not exactly the same, the drums, in name and construction, the names and execution of particular rhythmic grooves, some of the dance styles, and the song repertoire are directly correlative. Yet this music and dance, when practiced in the Arab Gulf, are not at all associated with religion. If it ever was, it has—at least in the case of Oman—been desacralized in the march toward ecumenical nationhood. Second, although thought to be authentically Arab in Indonesia, Gulf Arabs themselves do not actually sing and dance; they chant poetry and sway. Music making, and especially the playing of instruments, is instead the domain of an ethnic and racial minority who are not members of the tribal elite. In the context of the coastal Arabian Gulf countries of Yemen and Oman, the community of musicians and dancers who specialize in these allied genres involving the hajir and marawis drums includes men and women who descended from slaves brought from East and Central Africa and their music making reflects the social organization and resulting musical organization of African culture.44 Liberated from the frames of class, race, and power that delineate the components of this music culture in the Gulf, hajir marawis along with all of its attributes, leads a new, pious life in Indonesia. In this example, one that I  believe exemplifies larger trends, what would have been served by traditional culture (adat) has been eclipsed and replaced by cultural content and processes that seem to reside in the more Arab and Islamically correct realm of adab. At that same time, the practice of physical and mental entrainment and embodiment required for hajir marawis, what I  call micro-adab, and the purposes served on the level of macro-adab by its festivalization combine to ensure that patterns are created that if repeated often enough, as Metcalf explains, ultimately “make it possible to act correctly without even the process of reflection.”45 This kind of repetition, embodiment, and entrainment, over time, has the potential to become just like adat, in Maria Ulfah’s words, “the culture of a place.” The initiative to meramaikan (liven up) the family’s celebration of a child’s birthday by bestowing arts patronage in which the public can participate in a reaffirmation of communal piety is, in fact, a very traditional practice.

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Appendix: Translation of Tata Tertip Festival Hajir Marawis Tahun, 2014 “Regulations of the Hajir Marawis Festival 2014” 1. Contestants come from the public. 2. Contestants must present their applications to the committee no later than August 9, 2014 with the fee of 100.000 (Indonesian Rupiah) per team. 3. Contestants must attend the technical meeting on August (9 or send in their technical requirements??). 4. Each group must bring their own instruments, particularly their own mawaris (non elektronik). 5. Contestants must be present ten minutes before the start of the program. 6. If contestants are called three times and they don’t show up and then they arrive after the next group—5 points will be taken off their score up to three times. 7. The duration of the performance is ten minutes counting the opening and closing greeting. 0–8 minutes—green lamp; 8–9 minutes (yellow lamp); 9–10 minutes (red lamp); 10 minutes and beyond (all lamps). If the group goes beyond the specified time they will get 5 points off (by each judge). 8. Contestants may prepare 1 song: Sholawat irama bebas (song of praise, any style). 9. During the time of blocking, contestants may not go behind the judges and there will be deduction of 10 points, particularly from the judge of adab. 10. The ranking will be determined by The Vocal Area: fluency (fashohah), mastery of the song (penguasaan lagu), vocal technique (teknik vokal), full understanding, comprehension, experience (penghayatan), compactness of the choir (kekompakan koor). The Arrangement Area: drumming technique (pukulan), compactness of the drumming (kekompakan pukulan), dynamics and harmonization, tempo, volume of the percussion. The Area of Comportment/Behavior, Etiquette (Adab): costumes and makeup, mastery of the presentation/show (pentas), formation and blocking, approaching and departing the stage. 11. The decisions of the judges are absolute (mutlak) and will not be criticized (disturbed, challenged).

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Smoke, Fire, and Rain in Muslim Southeast Asia: Environmental Ethics in the Time of Burning Anna M. Gade

Introduction In 1984, an edited volume called Moral Conduct and Authority:  The Place of Adab in South Asian Islam was published by historian of South Asia, Barbara Metcalf. It was based on a conference sponsored by the Social Science Research Council (SSRC) that participants later referred to among themselves as “Adab One.” A  second conference followed (nicknamed, “Adab Two”), and another volume appeared in 1988: Katherine Ewing’s Shari‘at and Ambiguity in South Asian Islam. These collaborative conversations, remembered for their focus on adab (as well as for being among the most successful of SSRC’s projects), opened a way for North American academics to approach Asian Islam beyond the frameworks of Near Eastern Studies.1 This happened at the heyday of regional studies under the funding of US “Title VI” and as “area studies” had come to shape the study of the Muslim-majority world in universities across the country. Anticipating the “practice”-focused trend to consider first the “ethical” (in the 1990s) and then the “everyday” (in the past decade), this comparative work on adab in Asia laid the groundwork for the study of a situated Islam, and Muslim models of connecting an authoritative past to a culturally inflected present. This chapter analyzes immediate responses to the peat forest fires in Indonesia in 2015 as well as the smoke that covered much of that nation, the Malaysian peninsula, and other parts of Southeast Asia both as such an adab and, by extension, as global environmental ethics.

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Smoke and Fire A system of fires burned uncontrolled across Southeast Asia in 2015, as they had annually for many years prior to that. More than a decade ago, in 2005, I myself returned to my home in Kuala Lumpur after a few weeks of research in Cambodia to discover that a thick layer of black grime had settled on every white tiled surface of my apartment on the grounds of the University of Malaya. That was the first year of burning on such a scale, and many on campus were as puzzled by it as I was. I asked neighbors, why did they think that the washing I had left out on the line had turned dark and dirty when I was away on a trip? They answered, “That’s Indonesia.” The burning has been an expected, annual occurrence since then, affecting Kuala Lumpur and cities across the region with severe transboundary haze smoke. The worst year on record was 2015. This environmental problem was often identified regionally not by the fires per se, but rather by the core immediate effects of the choking smoke. This spread widely from what were cast internationally—by news media outlets as well as by the general public across the ASEAN region—as “Indonesian” fires. By contrast, some commentators in Indonesia identified them as “Malaysian” fires, surmising this nation to be the corporate home of the palm oil companies who should be held responsible. In fact, these fires were caused by the burning of peat forest in areas of Sumatra, Kalimantan, and elsewhere extending as far east as the eastern province of Moluku; the western province of Riau was especially affected by the smoke. The clearing of the tropical rain forest, a global crisis, affects Southeast Asia at a rate that is now said to have overtaken that of Brazil, and, just as in the Amazon, it occurs predominantly through practices of slash-and-burn. In peninsular and island Southeast Asia, the burning takes place to clear land for new palm oil plantations, concessions that are either registered or unregistered, legal or illegal. The fires, however, may also be the result of the clearing of palm trees already planted, or even the destruction of a rival’s plantation in a land grab. No matter how they started, once the fires catch underground in the peat forest, they are extremely difficult to extinguish. They can catch, spread, and smolder underground for days upon days before they start to burn out. In 2015, El Niño drought conditions meant that the fires burned out of control across a great deal of the region where they had been set. In September 2015, they could not be extinguished, not even through massive water drops from helicopters arranged by the Indonesian government and aided internationally.

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The fires, mostly in Indonesia, and the resultant smoke that choked the entire region in 2015 were called a catastrophic environmental disaster by observers the world over. The burning of the peat forests released greenhouse gases into the atmosphere at a rate in 2015 that was said to be the equivalent of the emissions of the entire nation of Germany for the same year. Burning permanently destroys vital, biodiverse species and resources as well. Meanwhile, nations and communities struggled with the immediate effects of transboundary haze smoke, which became an immediate and life-threatening public health crisis. The public health impact of the fires in 2015 was such that a state of emergency was declared in six provinces of Indonesia in September of that year. By late October, the pollutant standards index (PSI, a measure of air quality) for Central Kalimantan had reached 1,801; over 100 is usually what is considered “unhealthy,” and above 300 “hazardous.” Tens of millions were directly affected in Indonesia alone, with many thousands of deaths later blamed on associated respiratory illnesses. The impact spread across the ASEAN region, affecting Singapore, Malaysia, and Brunei, with significant effects as far away as Cambodia and Vietnam on the mainland. The PSI registered over 200 in Singapore in September and was recorded at even higher levels in some areas of the city-state, while schools were closed across Malaysia for many days.2 These nations blamed Indonesia for the transboundary haze smoke, but Indonesian authorities at the time claimed not to know who was responsible for setting the fires associated with undocumented concessions. Many of the companies suspected to be involved were international. In Southeast Asia in 2015, fires that were set for a purpose came to burn out of control, in part due to the nature of the combustion of peat soil. The Indonesian government was at a loss to put them out. There came a point in October when all that could stop an “act of God” (the fire) and an ongoing regional and global crisis was another “act of God”:  rain. The solution to an uncontrolled environmental problem was thus another uncontrollable environmental agent, and therefore the most rational recourse was to petition God for rain. In Indonesia in 2015, Muslims all across the country enacted the sunna (model) of the Prophet Muhammad self-consciously and communally in “praying for rain” in order to stop the spreading smoke and fire. The widespread cultural response to these environmental conditions was to pray for rain, enacting a centuries-old environmental adab for Muslims. It is viewed here as a religious environmental ethics of real-life urgency. For many Muslims across the region all there was to do was to pray for rain as the situationally specific religious response to the burning in Indonesia. In

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the Qur’an, rain revives and even resurrects the dead and dry earth, and this is an often-repeated fundamental “sign” of God in the text. This response to environmental conditions represents an adab of standing together in extreme environmental circumstances like smoke and fires and, if prayers are answered, flood. As a study in environmental ethics, this even shows how human and biological, physical and atmospheric, as well as moral systems connect to environmental degradation and climate impacts of the burning. Recognizing these all to be dimensions of Muslim adab, this chapter focuses on how in connected worlds that are conditioned by precarity and unpredictability but are nevertheless certain in their outcomes, rain can stop the smoke and fire in ways that are both real and imagined. Thus, adab is here a knowledgeable and ethical Muslim response to circumstances that are out of control, enacting norms of community that may overcome overwhelming conditions themselves, if not in the present then at last in the final accounting of justice.

Adab as an Academic Framework Adab has been developed as a theoretical device for some time in the study of Islam, drawing on its history in Islamic sources that extends back to the earliest centuries. For the collaborations in conjunction with the SSRC mentioned above, for example, the notion of adab was significant to a reconceptualization of the study of Islam in (South) Asian Studies that has lasted for three decades. In hindsight, this also represented a key moment in the “anthropological turn” in the study of the global religion of Islam among North American scholars, a project carried out mostly on the part of historians and scholars in Religious Studies before a more widespread promotion among others. For example, by 1999 and with some inspiration from the scholar Franz Rosenthal, my own fieldwork-based study of Qur’an memorization in Southeast Asia cited as its theoretical framework notions of adab in classical Islamic educational theory and practice.3 Adab was a natural fit for theory and practice of Qur’anic teaching and learning since it was first developed in these contexts—even though I never once did hear my informants in Arabic-language education and performance in Indonesia actually use the term in this way. The presumed normative applications of “adab,” idealistic to presentist, occupationally specific to sociologically generalized, and even in this case relating to environmental ethics, all capture the fundamental interrelation of ‘ilm (knowledge) and ‘amal (action) that are the foundation of any ethical system,

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and which are also always at the heart of social expectations for an Islamic adab. This analysis uses the term as a theoretical representation, building on the following propositions from the “classical” theory: 1. Adab as ‘amal (action) is responsive to situations, regulates behavior, and can be applied to many areas, if not any area. Tradition does not restrict fields for Muslim adab; in fact, the expectation in classical sources is that practically all skilled or occupational areas, from crafts and government to art and Sufism, will be governed by acquired knowledge (‘ilm) in the form of a cultivated “know-how” (this follows, for example, from the academic presentation of Rosenthal). 2. In modern usage, adab carries generalized meanings as “manners” and “knowledge,” but also has connotations of an overall ethics. It conditions responses to global conditions (like secularism, as in modern Muslim social theory, discussed below). 3. In academic usage in the American tradition in which I stand, adab is a lens for looking at Muslim action especially in response to questions of ambiguity, uncertainty, or changing conditions, such as gender relations (e.g., original research presented by Metcalf and Ewing), particularly in light of ideal constructions like shari’a and other expressions of cultural tradition. It is in light of all of the above that I view adab as an expression of environmental ethics with respect to the Southeast Asian smoke and fires of 2015. As a comparative framework, adab is on the one hand extremely flexible in terms of its fields of application, to the degree that it may even be readily abstracted out of traditionally vocational and educative contexts. It can come to signify structures like those called, in another theoretical frame, the “habitus” by Pierre Bordieu, or like what Michel Foucault meant as a “technology of the self ”— albeit in a communal, not individual, register.4 On the other hand, the concept will always be grounded within an ideal and an ethics inflected by authorities and institutions that are self-consciously Islamic. These are the powerful dialectics of the term as applied by, and to, contemporary Muslim thought and practices in academic theory. These features are only enhanced when the term is actually in construction or circulation in Muslim social systems, such as in modern southern Asian vernaculars. The present study considers how adab shapes environmental ethics, and in so doing it goes beyond the areas traditionally inscribed as having an adab, like Qur’anic education. Such a move is not unique, whether inside or outside of Islamic Studies today. For example, the same combination of normative Islam

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and supremely practical ethics that characterizes “classical” Muslim tradition, explicitly in education, is essentialized as a kind of modern social theory in global critiques made by the modern Indonesian-Malaysian scholar, Syed Muhammad Naguib Al-Attas. Al-Attas is an intellectual of the latter twentieth century, famous for his work on wujudiyya (monist doctrine, as in the mysticism of the sixteenth-century Malay figure, Hamzah Fansuri) as well as participation in the movement for the “Islamicization of knowledge” as popularized also by Ismail Faruqi (1921–1986) and others.5 His conceptual approach is typical of contemporary peri-academic usage of the term, academic and popular, that reinscribes adab as an analytic category within new areas of revitalized ethical application in the era of nation-states. Al-Attas has been a prominent Malay social theorist, recognized for works like his book in the 1970s that was titled Islam and Secularism.6 Later in this decade, Al-Attas applied adab widely as a theoretical construct first in terms of “Islamic education” with statements such as “The fundamental element inherent in the concept of education in Islam is the inculcation of adab (ta‘dib), for it is adab in the all-inclusive sense I mean, as encompassing the spiritual and material life of a man that instills the quality of goodness that is sought after.”7 Typical of a mainstream intellectual in the later 1970s, just before a global trend to more self-conscious cultural “Islamization” took hold in Southeast Asia and elsewhere in the Muslim-majority world, Al-Attas extended the discussion to a general criticism about the “loss of adab” under conditions like the modern secular nation-state. With these parameters and in the spirit of the key dialectics outlined earlier— real-life conditions, problems, and practices versus established authority and comportment—I would like to suggest how a notion of adab expresses an ethical alternative to a dominant Anglocentric framework of “environmentalism” within a Malay- and Indonesian-speaking context. Adab allows for direct engagement with conditions that are simultaneously moral, social, and “environmental.” In this chapter, it draws together tangible and symbolic dimensions, both of which are essential to environmental ethics, especially when moral awakening or action is viewed as the only meaningful response to crisis.

Environmental Ethics: A Religious Studies Perspective Environmental ethics is not a classical area of Islamic adab, although there is much material in Muslim legal, humanistic, and scientific literature about the

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management of relations with the natural world, its creatures, and its resources. This would now be called “environmental ethics” without objection by scholars in fields of Religious Studies. In addition, adab brings together aspects of both the seen and unseen as practical responses to lived conditions, which is critical to environmental ethics from any theoretical or practical perspective. The case here demonstrates how Muslim ethics conditioned a response to environmental situations that were out of control. In the environmental humanities, these are considered to be features that characterize our time as the epoch of “Anthropocene,” the period in which human actions are said to dominate planetary conditions. In this same era, ironically, humans are also said to be subjected to increasingly fragile circumstances of precarity.8 Postcolonial criticism of the concept of the “Anthropocene” offers sound critique that the global effects of “Anthropocene” are disparate, not uniform extensions of European and white-settler consciousness with respect to notions like “globalization” or “industrialization.” From the viewpoint of environmental justice, those affected most by environmental risk and degradation are also those who have disproportionately not been the ones who are historically responsible for causing them, and who are additionally rendered relatively powerless to address enduring structural inequities like environmental racism directly. In the environmental case considered here, Muslim adab such as “standing in the rain” indicates in a religious register what humans can do in the face of environmental landscapes of overpowering and increasing uncertainty. The subjects who are affected by the smoke, and confront the effects of the burning by standing together, thereby resort to an adab which here represents an environmental ethics. Possibly the greatest environmental disaster of our lifetime, and almost certainly in the lifetime of our children, is the burning of the planet’s tropical rain forests. This is a significant environmental feature of today’s Muslimmajority world such as Indonesia and Malaysia. The adab of the Muslim religious response to the burning in Southeast Asia, unlike many environmental ethics that presume agency, demonstrates living with the precarious uncertainty and lack of control even with conditions that are humanly caused. Only an “act of God,” rain, can extinguish what is ultimately an “act of God,” uncontrolled smoke and fire. The framework of Muslim adab highlights how environmental ethics of everyday catastrophe are a practice of community, such as by praying for rain in Indonesia, and then withstanding together the floods that ensue when at last the rains come down. This may be theorized on the same order as concepts like “nature,” “sustainability,” and “Anthropocene” in environmental humanities.

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I have been studying Islamic responses to environmental change across Muslim Southeast Asia for about a decade, carrying out fieldwork on topics ranging from legal rulings like fatwas (juridical opinions) to institutions of Islamic education (madrasas, called pesantren) to esoteric and popular Muslim piety in Sufi-inflected religious observances known as dhikr.9 This research supports advancing with confidence the claim made here: that Muslims in Asia share an assumption with global environmentalists, including those here in North America, which is to consider environmental crisis to be inherently a moral crisis. It makes sense to many, including even secular environmentalists in the global mainstream, to address environmental messages through religious registers such as to seek environmental ethics in the “greening” of religious theory and practice. This explains the promotion of “Islam and the environment” by nongovernmental organizations such as the WWF in Asia and elsewhere, which is mirrored by these same organizations’ global projects across other “world religions” such as “Buddhism and the environment,” “Christianity and the environment,” and so forth.10 In specific initiatives, whether developing sustainable agriculture or promoting symbolic performance (Theravada Buddhist tree ordination in Thailand is a famous example from Southeast Asia),11 resources from religious traditions (such as “ritual”) are distilled and adapted in order to produce messages that provide authority for environmental projects (such as conservation). In this way, “religion” is intentionally operationalized among those of “faith” and across the boundaries of faith communities. The rationale behind this approach in mainstream global environmentalism is rooted in the forms that the “environmental movement” first took in the Anglophone world of the late 1960s. For example, the influential article by historian of science, Lynn White, Jr., “The Historical Roots of Our Ecologic Crisis” (appearing in the journal, Science, in 1967)  is still cited in practically every English-language publication on “religion and environment.” A premise of the article is that while religious ideology may have justified environmental degradation in premodern European history, and by extension to the global present, religious teachings may also be refitted to serve environmental ends. Lynn White proposes, for example, that the Christian figure, St. Francis of Assisi, be considered a “patron saint” for environmentalists. In fact, The Alliance of Religion and Conservation enabled this notion when cosponsoring the landmark interfaith statement, “The Assisi Declarations on Nature,” in 1986.12 In 2015, under Pope Francis of the Roman Catholic Church, a leader who has taken as his namesake St. Francis himself, the Vatican released the papal

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encyclical, Laudato Si’ (Our Common Home).13 This pronouncement on environmental ethics and responsibility draws on science, strains of Latin American liberation theology, practical ethics, and church doctrine. The document seeks contemporary “environmentalist” teaching in the authority of age-old religious thought and practice. However, the declaration represents more than the standard attempt to enroll religion in an environmentalist practice or ideology. It also grounds systematic and well-defined environmental ethics within a praxis of Christian faith and in terms of real-world crises and challenges, including an imperative to environmental justice. Like the critique of Al-Attas with respect to adab, the papal document blends religious tradition and authority, committed social ethics, and empirical investigation of scientific and material realities. Laudato Si’ opens with a discussion of science. In doing this, the Vatican’s statement evidences how a notion of “the environment” in dominant Christian and post-Christian discourse may be expanded out from a nineteenth-century Euro-American romantic view of “nature” or a sublime “wilderness.” These norms are familiar to us here in North America, enshrined in revered nature writing like that of Henry David Thoreau and John Muir, and they still echo in environmental humanities by way of eco-criticism embedded in Anglophone literature and American environmental history. The perspective of Laudato Si’, however, while it is tradition-specific, nevertheless expresses an ideal human– world interaction that is inclusive of a multicreature religious ontology. This approach, like Muslim adab, supports environmental ethics that draws on an alternative soteriology to a message like Biblically derived “stewardship.” The case considered here is from the world’s most populous Muslim-majority nation, in the region of the world in which about one-fifth of the world’s population of Muslims presently reside, and presents a practical and communal Islamic adab as a coherent and meaningful response to global environmental danger.

Islamic Environmental Ethics Religious, and particularly Islamic, ethical material can reshape a fundamental humanistic understanding of what “The Environment” is as conceptualized in today’s environmental humanities. This has already long been recognized to be the case with indigenous environmental knowledges and Environmental Studies.14 A reason for maintaining some Muslim exceptionalism in this regard— at least from the perspective of the history of the disciplines of Environmental

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Sciences—is that, from a historical perspective, much of the biological and natural sciences that make up this academic area were first developed in Muslimmajority systems prior to Europe’s regional “renaissance,” albeit with an Islamic humanism that was altered over the process of its reception under Christianmajority regimes. Many scholars have followed the path-breaking lead of Sayyid Hossein Nasr to consider such overall themes of “Islam and Nature” in the context of this intellectual history.15 However, to complete a genealogical intervention in the ideas “from the west,” humanistic notions of “the environment” in Islamic thought should also be further connected to a Qur’anic-scientific framework. For example, the prevailing paradigm of “nature,” while certainly recast in Nasr’s cosmological frameworks, still corresponds closely to the template of nineteenth-century American transcendentalism. Muslim environmentalisms relate to, but nevertheless differ significantly from, Anglocentric models. For example, the Qur’anic worldviews that influence global Muslims are strongly apocalyptic, and thus link the experience of a transformed world to emphatic ethical reorientation in the present. Throughout the text, the Qur’an describes the natural world and appropriate responses to it, including wonder at its “signs.” Much of these phenomena are also presented as being in a state of eruptive formation or destructive transformation. About one-fifth of the Qur’an actually describes the end of the world vividly, portraying the experience of human individuals and groups at that time that they realize the consequences of their actions in the past. This affirms the commitment of contemporary Muslim environmentalists to care for creation with the mercy that they hope to receive from the Creator Himself on the Day of Judgment.16 Although a message of responsibility is clearly directed at humanity in the Qur’anic framework (as in the notion of khilafa or “stewardship”), humans’ ontological categorization in the Qur’an renders anthropocentric doctrines, including environmental “stewardship” as it is commonly presented in Anglophone environmental ethics, less than cognate. The work of contemporary Muslim eco-theologians like the American scholar of the Qur’an and Arabic literature Sara Tlili, for example, emphasizes that humans worship God as one creature among many, and take as their model, not their object, the created world in this respect.17 This viewpoint, when carried forward logically, significantly disrupts the core theorization of the present-day environmental humanities, such as the detachment of human agency from unseen horizons of justice and consequence—ontologically, ethically, and ecologically. Islamic notions that would render a modern sense of “the environment” have long emphasized relational and place-based aspects of the idea, both

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as a field of study and as a lifeworld. Such concerns also happen to be the academic trend within some approaches of mainstream environmental ethics and humanities today. Central to apprehending varied Muslim answers to the question, “What is the environment?,” is the Qur’anic idea that human beings, and even nonsentient creations, are “creatures,” defined relationally with respect to their common Creator as well as among one another. Environmental adab is a means of thought and action of relating situationally to the nonhuman. This also constitutes a world that is ultimately out of direct human control, but which humans shape and within which they participate actively, being one type of “creature” (makhluq) among many such biotic and nonbiotic “creatures.” Temporally, these environmental ethics span creation as well. The case of smoke, fire, and rain explored here is an account of responses to a crisis that is directly environmentally catastrophic in the present (with transboundary haze smoke, for example) and also with meaningful, unseen horizons in the future (i.e., climate change affecting both ours and future generations). Along with the Qur’an, classical Islamic writings that conceptualize “the environment” in legal and theological material represent the foundation of ‘ilm (knowledge) for the environmental ethics, and practices of adab, presented here. This understanding of “environment” differs from the “nature” concept inherited in environmental humanities from both Euro-American positivism and romanticism. It also includes fire as a defining environmental feature in this world as well as the next. For example, as quoted at length by the contemporary scholar and expert in the history of Islamic jurisprudence, Mawal Izzi Dien, in his book, The Environmental Dimensions of Islam, the great Hanbali jurist (who is still read today), Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyya (d.1310, follower of the influential reformer Ibn Taymiyya [d.1263]), uses many valences of terms for “habitation” to define what could be said to be “the environment.” He also highlights the phenomena of smoke, fire, and water. Al-Jawziyya draws on the Qur’an as well as the fields of study like biology, chemistry, and earth sciences which are now taught in universities as “Environmental Sciences” in ways that are compatible with contemporary Muslim understandings of “the environment” in global environmental humanities. This represents a different approach to the topic of “Islam and the environment” than that which is determined more popularly by search results for the “environmental verses” from scripture. Both are “Qur’anic,” but differ significantly. While highly productive, the latter often take the form of key words and concepts cognate to Anglophone environmentalism. For example, the idea of “balance,” integral to presentations of Islam in “religion and ecology,” actually appears only once in the text of the Qur’an (Q. 55:  7–8). Further, there is a

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difference of emphasis as the “scales” of Judgment are not conceptually the same as what the academic literature calls the holistic “religious environmentalist paradigm” of a post-Christian field of Religion and Ecology.18 In discussing the characteristics and management of environmental features, Al-Jawziyya suggests a coherent and accountable Muslim environmental ethics of relating to the biosphere, if not an Islamic adab of the environment. In his work, Miftah Dar Al-Sa‘ada (Key to the Gate of Happiness), Al-Jawziyya presents the “earth,” or environment, as a collection of biodiverse habitats. He demonstrates a strongly Qur’anic framework, as in the following passage translated by Izzi Dien: The earth was spread out and made large enough to give space for habitations, masakin, of humans and animals that includes cultivatable land, pastures land, orchards, and vegetable gardens. If someone asked what was the wisdom of making empty desert and barren land [a key concern of Islamic law of environmental management, along with water], he should be made aware that it contains the environments, ma‘ayish, for a number of beasts and animals that cannot be counted save by God. Their livelihood depends on this land, in it they run, and they live there in homes and cities like humans. In it there is the ample space, majal, they need, and where they can spend their summers and winters.19

Continuing in this vein and maintaining the Qur’anic ethos, Al-Jawziyya explains that the notion of environment—which as described earlier constitutes a “habitation” for many creatures—is also further defined (now in gendered terms) by the quality of ample provision of resources within this system of habitats. These are represented by the elements: The wisdom of God made the earth like a mother that carries inside its womb different kinds of children. It acts for them as a container, kifata, that supports the living and hides the dead [a direct Qur’anic reference] . . . Observe the great wisdom of God who has made plenty of what His creatures need. The more they need a thing, the more was made available by God . . . The best examples are the four basic elements, al-usul al-arba’a [dust, water, fire and air].20

At this point, and consistent with fields of natural history and sciences that Muslims developed from Greek paradigms, Al-Jawziyya next discusses each of these elements within the larger framework of environment, specifically as a place for creatures to live and thrive.21 Significantly, at least three of the elements (water, air, and fire) that are foundational to Al-Jawziyya’s presentation of “the environment” comprise the

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case study here, as in:  the catastrophic fires humans set in order destroy the rain forest; the atmospheric smoke and haze that covered much of the Muslim Southeast Asia as a result; and related projected climate change impacts for all others from every species on earth. For example, there is a great deal to be said about water in the Qur’an and Islamic traditions, and Al-Jawziyya is no exception to this. Many studies of “Islam and the environment” in fact emphasize water as a principal environmental paradigm in Islam. Al-Jawziyya’s discussion of these elements not only points to a Muslim environmentalism of smoke and fire, as well as the rain that can end them, but indicates also an environmental ethics as a dialectical adab in terms of both ‘ilm (thought) and ‘amal (action). Consistent with Al-Jawziyya’s point of view on “the environment,” the atmosphere is a life support system, and a protection from stifling conditions like the overheating of the world. Here are Al-Jawziyya’s words on smoke, noxious emissions, and the atmosphere, as translated by Izzi Dien:  “The air, hawa’, is made available for every living creature, and without it the entire world could suffocate from smoke and steam.”22 Next in his text, al-Jawziyya identifies smoke to be a deadly condition of the atmosphere, which only through God’s help drifts up and away on the wind to a place where it no longer threatens creatures’ lives on earth: “Smoke is caused by God’s wisdom to rise up in the air by the effect of the wind to protect his creatures from it. No one can prevent the danger of these substances but God, and if He so wished He could stop the wind from taking them away so every creature would perish.”23 Such also were the conditions that Southeast Asians encountered directly at the time of the burning, as transboundary haze smoke blanketed the region in 2015. Al-Jawziyya next turns to fire. He writes at some length on fire’s nature precisely not to be naturally plentiful, a positive quality that characterized his previous discussion of open space to occupy as environmental “habitation,” and a characteristic of the elements, water and air. In contrast, Al-Jawziyya presents fire as being “hidden” only until needed for some instrumental purpose by humans. In Miftah dar al-sa’ada, as translated by Izzi Dien, Al-Jawziyya explains: The earth is made with plenty of space so that cities, awtan, can be extended. The same applies to water. God made it plentiful so that it can fulfill the needs of all people, animals, birds, and wild beasts. God’s wisdom made [the land and the water] in plenty so that the strong will not prevent the weak from [using] it and cause great harm and disasters, baliyya. Fire, however, was made, by God’s wisdom, to be hidden until needed as we have stated before.24

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Discussing fire in even more detail, Al-Jawziyya explains that fire is limited because it is actually extremely dangerous: It is made hidden to prevent setting the world ablaze. However it was not completely hidden in order that it could be utilized and benefitted from . . . It was only given to man, because it is only he who needs it, and as we are speaking of fire we should mention the extra value of light derived from it.25

Humans alone may derive benefit from fire, Al-Jawziyya explains (such as for light at night by which to study in order to gain knowledge and wisdom). Thus, fire is available and beneficial on the one hand, but also not plentiful and potentially threatening on the other. Humans also have exclusive use as it is “only given to men,” while the excerpt above also implies that the danger of fire, in this life, is that fire can burn out of control, as in his words, “to set the world ablaze.” When it comes to fire in Al-Jawziyya’s Islamic approach, just as in contemporary climate change ethics, the frameworks for understanding cause, effect, and responsibility readily move from this world to the imaginal one that comes next. In the religious case, this has Qur’anic expression with “Al-Nar,” connoting the punishing fire, such as in numerous verses that convey a meaning like, “Do not think that the disbelievers can elude God on earth; their abode will be the Fire, and how wretched a home!” (Q. 24:  57). Religious and secular systems thus both incorporate into their environmental imaginaries the dystopian “hell” of an uninhabitable landscape to be apprehended as signs that are already present in this world, verifying the anticipation of a transformed world to come. Both an Islamic scholar and a climate change ethicist would likely agree that these conditions would be direct outcomes of a kind of moral test for humans, and for no other creatures. For climate change, part of the social “test” is in fact the certainty of consequences of present action and accepting clear enduring “signs.” As in the Qur’anic depictions, impacts also represent conditions for which there is no clear human responsibility or control—but for which there is a clear cause. In this case, the apparent phenomenon is fire that releases massive stores of carbon and, further, destroys the natural carbon sinks of the planet’s forests. The term frequently used in the Qur’an for degradation and destruction on earth, acts of environmental or moral “corruption,” is fasad. The Qur’an usually pairs the term with the word for “earth” or “land” (al-ard), as in the muchrepeated phrase, “to corrupt the earth.” In the text, the expression indicates an explicit transgression of the “limits” (hudud) set by God in the Qur’an and carries explicit punishment.26 Mawal Izzi Dien demonstrates that it is fire, the burning of the landscape, that is a definitional aspect of the typical presentation

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of fasad in Islamic scholarly tradition, including on the part of central figures in classical Qur’anic tradition like the great Qur’an interpreter from Iran, Al-Baydawi (d.c.1286), and the widely influential Syrian religious scholar, Ibn Kathir (d.1373). In his book, The Environmental Dimensions of Islam, Mawal Izzi Dien explains: In modern terms fasad can be taken to mean the different forms of environmental damage, such as soil erosion or land and marine pollution. . . . According to Baydawi the meaning of fasad is “dryness of the land, many fires, and many drowned and a reduction in the blessings of God.” While Ibn Kathir states that fasad will result in “reducing the amount of crops in both food plants and fruits.”27

For many in Southeast Asia in the time of uncontrolled burning, such effects were not hypothetical but immediate, and neither vaguely remote nor acutely localized, but ubiquitously widespread in terms of smoke and haze that blanketed the region. These were the real-life environmental circumstances to which adab was a response when Muslims sought recourse in religion from the smoke and fire in this life, if not also in the next. For many of those Muslims immediately affected, but without any power to put out the flames or clear the smoke themselves, knowledge and action based on the power and protection of religion was the only reasonable response.

Praying for the Rain Islamic legal traditions address both general and specific environmental conditions with detailed guidelines on resource access and management. In the area of ritual law (‘ibadat), for example, certain environmental events may trigger required or recommended acts of worship. In the case of prayers for rain, salat prostrations that are called salat al-istisqa’ (“salat for rain”) are based on hadith reports that the Prophet Muhammad himself conducted the practice; thus, to pray for rain carries the authoritative and prescriptive designation of sunna. The practice is governed by stipulations derived from these same traditions; these include a combination of du’as (prayer formulas) and rak’at (prostrations), just like those that are performed in the daily canonical act of worship known as salat. Classical books of fiqh (Islamic jurisprudence, including both ritual and transactional law) treat salat al-istisqa’ within a class of required salats that

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transpire on the occasion of unpredictable yet inevitable events, like funerals, along with salat in the event of natural “signs” such as eclipses and earthquakes. The difference between salat al-istisqa’ and other salats in this grouping is that the prayer for rain occurs before, not after, the event. It is also communal and public, as with norms for the midday prayer on Friday. Contemporary scholars of the academic study of religion would feel at ease calling this practice “environmental” since it is a religious response to climate disturbance (i.e., drought). There are many examples of collective prayers for rain performed in the Muslim-majority and Muslim-minority world in recent years, including more than one in 2015 around my own hometown in Northern California, USA, during a period of severe drought. In response to the crisis in Southeast Asia in 2015, the rain that was petitioned was for the intended purpose of putting out the uncontrolled peat forest fires. Prayers were conducted in major population centers as well as around smaller settlements under the worst effects of the smoke, such as in Riau and on Kalimantan. Half-way around the world, well-known religious leaders (like the international reciters of Qur’an) in the symbolic ritual center of “the Muslim world,” Mecca, led salat al-istisqa’ with the express intent of petitioning rain for Indonesia. Held on November 5, the prayers were on the order of the King of Saudi Arabia at the time, Salman bin Abdulaziz Al Saud, who attended them personally.28 By November, the rains did come to Southeast Asia, and the fires stopped until their anticipated annual time was to come again in the following year. Environmental ethics, including climate change ethics, often focuses on prevention rather than adaptation to existing “problems” or ongoing crises. But if we are really living in the “Anthropocene” of such conditions and their inevitable climate change effects, if the fires are not prevented in years to come, then humanity stands together waiting for relief, like rain. This Asian example then suggests a Muslim adab of responding to environmental impacts that are out of direct human control. This represents an environmental ethics of being subject to the test of the fire, in this life now, and perhaps also in a life that is to come according to the Qur’an’s description of hell’s fire. These real-world conditions, to which the response is religions action, point to the adab of continually negotiating environmental circumstances as a community. Prayers for rain have been convened frequently in recent years on Java, as changing climate conditions produce unpredictable and severe local conditions of drought. There is a great deal of lore, both old and new, that circulates about prayers for rain actually working—even bringing too much rain. In one wry

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regional joke I  read in a Jakarta newspaper in July, 2015, for example, salat al-istisqa’ in drought-stricken West Java was acknowledged as effective when rain fell, but then blamed for having caused flooding in nearby Jakarta. The article’s author kindly requested the people of outlying Bogor and Bandung please to stop praying for rain now that it had come to them and Jakarta was now under water. Annual floods in Jakarta are in fact a major urban disaster each year, brought on by increasingly severe weather events, and exacerbated by conditions of a sinking city, poor land management in upslope development, and related “king tides” associated with projected sea level rise. The environmental ethics of standing for, and in, the rain as both a metaphor and a reality means an environmental ethics of holding on together, even when the flood comes. There is an adab for that, too.

Conclusion: To Stand in the Rain-Environmental Ethics in the Time of Burning The Qur’an expresses its warning of impending change to this world with a rhetoric of the immediacy of moral self-realization on the scale of individual and communal consequences. Expressing these eschatological themes could be said to represent about one-fifth of the Book’s total content. For example, the forty-fourth chapter, Al-Dukhan (“Smoke,” a sura found within the heavily eschatological “hawamim” [“H.M.”] series) contains the apocalyptic message as well as the image of an engulfing smoke from which earth’s inhabitants beg relief. Qur’an 49:  10–13 reads in interpretation, “Watch for the day when the skies are full of visible smoke / Enveloping the people, a painful torment / They will say ‘O Lord, lift this punishment from us; we are believers.’ ” Just as with much related material in the Qur’an, the sura “Smoke” emphasizes recognition and response in the present to the inevitability of smoke and burning. The chapter ends with a verse that carries a sense of shared suspension and an experience of the unknown in the face of certain change, with words that mean, “Wait then. Lo! They are also waiting” (Q. 44: 59). Islamic environmental ethics diverge here from the questions that come out of mainstream theorizing about the “Anthropocene” within the Anglocentric environmental humanities, such as in its academic centers in Australia and New Zealand, the United Kingdom, North America, and elsewhere. In Qur’anic legal and ethical systems, humans are responsible, clearly punishable, for the “corruption” (fasad) that they wreak on earth and, from one kind of Muslim

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perspective on the case of the Southeast Asian fires, also for their failure to “command the good and forbid the evil.” A  more universal question thus applies in the religious framework beyond those driven by an anthropocentric mission to “save” the earth, or the modernist faith in a notion of humans’ moral or technological heroic potential. These Muslim environmental ethics do not present any struggle to “hope” for a world that is already “too late” to save, the dominant sentimental theme of much mainstream and post-Christian climate change ethics.29 The Qur’an teaches more modestly how to walk with humility and accountability upon the earth (al-ard), a shared habitation of creatures (Q. 25: 63). In the Qur’an, the earth is herself a creature (makhluq), and a creation of God in the Qur’an, who the words of the text indicate vividly will be animated to testify and to “tell her story” for herself when the Time comes (Q. 99). In times when the rains come down, such an adab of environmental ethics could be said to follow the Prophet’s sunna by way of “standing in the rain,” as a creature among others. This, too, is recounted to be an action of the Prophet Muhammad. According to widely accepted account of the Prophet Muhammad’s actions, narrated in hadith: [‘Anas b. Malik reported:] We were with Allah’s Messenger [Muhammad] when rain fell upon us. Allah’s Messenger opened up his garment a bit so that the rain could touch his skin. We asked: “O Messenger of Allah, why do you do this?” He replied: “Because it just recently came from its Lord.”

The experience of the rain, which as above, comes with immediacy only from God Himself, is shared as a communal practice of knowledge and action by “standing in the rain.” This environmental adab on the direct model and authority of the Prophet himself emphasizes an active response on the basis of the knowledge of the status of being a creature in relation to His power. Many environmental activists in Indonesia whom I interviewed over the past decade derive a Qur’anic environmental ethics not from an ideology of sublime “nature,” but instead from the Qur’anic paradigm of holding together to the “rope of God” (hablun min Allah), by grasping the bond that connects community, and even humanity, together (hablun min al-nas, after Q. 3: 102 and 3: 112).30 In the environmental moment of smoke and fire in Indonesia, Muslims stand together for the sake of rain, and stand in the rain for their own and others’ sake too, and then together hold on as the waters rise. The burning in 2015 was often presented as a local action about which there could not be any possible knowledge or responsibility on the part of state authorities. For those few who did have the power over the setting of fires,

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there are avenues to follow like the rule of law, or policy and guidance such as the international Center for International Forestry Research (CIFOR) “zero deforestation” agreement. Since 2016, more recent measures have been put in place on the part of the Indonesian government to enforce accountability with respect to illegal oil palm concessions. For others not involved with policy or enforcement there are other forms of political action available, such as popularization of “sustainable” product choices under market capitalism. Not all who are directly or most closely affected have resources to speak the political language of global consumption, however. Intervention to stop the burning can take a privileged form of normative Islam as well, and for over a decade it has been a matter of unenforced but authoritative shari’a in Indonesia. Specifically, the MUI (Majelis Ulama Indonesia, or Indonesian Council of Religious Scholars) of Kalimantan issued fatwas to prohibit “forest burning and haze smoke” in 2006.31 This ruling is a formal published pronouncement, however, not a situation-responsive action like the adab of standing in the smoke, or the rain. For tens of millions of people in September and October of 2015, the more immediate environmental and religious issues were how to respond meaningfully and communally through knowledge, action, and justice to confront the daily reality that it was not possible to breathe the air, as the sky darkened and people fell sick due to an environment that was burning out of control. The everyday “know-how” for Muslims to live with the burning required withstanding fire, smoke, and even flood. For many of those affected by the peat forest burning and resulting widespread haze smoke, the response was to turn to Islamic knowledge and action-directed prayer in supplication and petition, and in worship or in penance, for the earth’s corruption. This adab exercises agency to the full extent afforded in this situation; it is also realistic about the environmental problem being the need for rain, a matter which rests only in God’s hands. Standing for the coming of rain is also thus like standing for the justice of those who suffer the fire’s effects. In a similarly encompassing statement of adab’s ethical scope as a situational ethics, Al-Attas has also connected adab to ideals of social justice in a modern context. In his words: Since adab refers to recognition and acknowledgement of the right and proper place, station, and condition in life and to self-discipline in positive and willing participation in enacting one’s role in accordance with that recognition and acknowledgement, its occurrence in one and in society as a whole reflects the

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condition of justice. Loss of adab implies loss of justice, which in turn betrays confusion in knowledge.32

Whether listening to leading Islamic thinkers of today or following thinkers and teachings of the past, environmental justice will discipline how at last—and to the very last—to live as creatures among others. According to Islamic ontologies that extend the consequences of cause and effect to unseen “environments” beyond the phenomenal world, the ultimate criterion for determining these landscapes, and relations among creatures, is the justice of the Fire. The environmental adab suggested here, the ethics of the time of burning and at the moment at which rain is all that can stop the smoke and the fire, challenges the Anglocentric notion of a merely personal environmental “responsibility.” It also disrupts the prevailing theory of the “Anthropocene” insofar as that viewpoint amplifies the tendency to anthropocentrism in its human-centered ethics. The adab of “standing in the rain” indicates an alternative ethics of environmental response that calls communities to stand for the sake of connection itself, for the state of the present world as well as consequential justice in the world to come. When it is too late, when the fires cannot be put out and the waters no longer recede, this knowledge and action may be all that there is left. After 2015, it represents an environmental adab to stay connected as a community of diverse creatures while being tested by smoke, and after the fires have burned, to learn to stand together when next falls the hard rain.

Notes Introduction: Beautiful Behavior in Practice: Expressions of Adab in Southeast Asian Islam 1 On the history (and limitations) of the concept, “the Muslim world,” see Aydin (2017). 2 Hodgson (1974) and Ahmed (2017). For a trenchant analysis of Hodgson’s neologism, “Islamicate,” and its enduring importance for the study of Islamic civilizational history, see Lawrence (2015). 3 Karamustafa (2003: 108). 4 Campo (2009: 11). 5 Metcalf (1984a: 2–3). 6 Chiabotti et al. (2017: 2). The essays in this edited volume provide insightful comparative studies on the place of adab in Sufi history, piety, and practice. For a more focused study on the place of Sufi traditions in Indonesian Islam, see Laffan (2011). 7 For an introduction to Prophet Muhammad’s life and legacy, see Safi (2009). 8 Metcalf (1984b). 9 Ewing (1988). 10 Drawing on the scholarship of postcolonial studies, media studies, and digital religion, I offer a more expansive analysis of contemporary media coverage of Islam and Muslims in a forthcoming book: Cyber Sufis. 11 A comprehensive account of the history of Islam in Southeast Asia is well beyond the purview of this introductory essay, or this volume as a whole. Each chapter contains a select bibliography that provides detailed resources for further reading. For readers interested in a broader overview, see also Daniels (2013); Gade and Feener (2004); Hooker (1995); Lawrence (1999); van Doorn-Harder (2008). 12 van Doorn-Harder (2008: 104). 13 Rozehnal (2007). For details on the history of the Chishti Sufi order and the importance of adab in South Asian Sufi traditions, see also Ernst and Lawrence (2002). 14 As Gade notes in this volume, the “Islamization of knowledge” movement has multiple iterations and adherents around the world. In the United States, it was popularized by Palestinian-American philosopher Ismail al-Faruqi (1921–1986) who taught for many years at Temple University and founded the International Institute of Islamic Thought, now headquartered in Herndon, Virginia.

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15 Al-Attas (1993 [1978]: 105–106). Gade excerpts part of this same quotation in her essay in this volume. 16 For details on adat, see Abdullah (1995). 17 Ahmed (2017: 297).

1 The Interplay between Adab and Local Ethics and Etiquette in Indonesian and Malaysian Literature 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

14 15 16 17 18 19

20 21

Sparks (2015: 196–7). Nurhayati (2010: 43). Kartodirdjo, Sudewa, and Hatmosuprobo (1987/88: 4, 27–33, 78–82). See Nico J. G. Kaptein (2014). Uthman (1900: 1–32). Nilakusuma (1962 [1959]: 2, 40, 74, 137). Oetomo (1963). See for example, Kusuma (2007), Hidayat (2008). Nurdin (2015: 159). See Azra (2004). Drewes (1978: 1–11). Woodward (1993: 571). Imam Al-Nawawi produced other popular works that are widely read in the Islamic boarding schools (pesantrens), such as Forty Hadith, The Book of Supplications of the Prophet, and The Garden of the Wise. Some of his works, particularly the Garden of the Pious, are required texts for a transnational Salafi Islamic group, Tabligh Jama’ati (The Organization of the Mission), which originated in India but has established a presence in Southeast Asia. Mansur ([n.d.]: 25). Muhammadiyah (2010). Rush (2016: 198). Hamka (1932). Hamka (1964: 130–90). In this sense, Hamka’s interpretation of reformist spiritualism—an idea expressed in the title of his earlier book, “tasauf moderen” [Modern Sufism]—seems to be in line with some Sufi interpretations of adab that focus on inner dimensions of piety and substantive values such as intention and kindness. Hamka (1955). Masyharuddin (2010: 159–60). van Doorn-Harder (2006: 187). The text was written by local Javanese and NU author, Masruhan Al-Maghfuri.

Notes 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35

36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49

50 51 52

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Al-Bantani (n.d.), Kitab ‘Uqud al-Lujain. See van Doorn-Harder (2006: 189–200); Muhammad (2001: 234–237). Nahdlatul Ulama ([n.d]: 10–20). Andaya, Barbara and Leonard Andaya (1982: 302). Barnard (2005). Za’ba (1950: 72–3). Cited in Putten (2002: 418). Ibid. Wilkinson (1957 [1906]: 48–9). Sheppard (1956: 9). Ibid., 39. Ghazzali (1933: 273). Ibid., 282. Ibid. There are two main religious festivals for Muslims around the world, including the Malays: Eid al- Fitr (known locally as Hari Raya) which marks the end of the fasting month of Ramadan, and Eid al-Adha (the Festival of the Sacrifice) which takes place at the conclusion of the Hajj pilgrimage and commemorates the Prophet Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son in obedience to God’s command. Ibid. Za’ba (1950: 45). Ibid., 45–7. Ibid., 48. AlHady (1962: 30). Ibid., 67. Ibid., 67–8. AlHady (1965: vii–viii, 1–2). Ibid., 6. Ibid., 9–12. Muhammad Thahir (1925: 1). Ibid., 2–9. Ibid., 9. AlHadi (1965 [1931]: 56–60). Syed AlHadi studied Arabic and Islamic knowledge in the Madrasah of Raja Ali Haji who wrote the text, Garden of Writers, mentioned earlier. After traveling and studying in Mecca, Beirut, and Cairo, he became an active social reformer in the line of the Egyptian reformers Muhammad Abduh and Muhammad Rashid Rida. Al-Jazairi (2001: 29–34). Ibid., 40–1. Metcalf (1984: 4–5).

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2 “Young People Are Seeking Their Blessings”: Islamic Life Courses, Explorative Authority, and the Possibilities of Worldly Adab in Rural Aceh

1

2 3

4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

For comments on the initial draft of this chapter, I thank the participants of “Expressions of ‘Adab’ in Southeast Asian Islam,” Center for Global Islamic Studies, Lehigh University, April 18–20, 2016. Ismail Alatas, R. Michael Feener, Nancy Florida, Mulaika Hijjas, and Hélène Njoto-Feillard offered critical insights on a later draft. Robert Rozehnal’s comments on the penultimate version greatly improved the chapter. All errors and shortcomings are, of course, my own. I distinguish Indonesian and Acehnese terms, both of which most ethnic Acehnese use fluently, by marking them with “I.” or “A.”; however, I only indicate the language of a term the first time it is mentioned. Modern Indonesian is a dialect of Malay, a language with a long history in the Southeast Asian Islamic world. In the course of this article, I discuss Malay-language Islamic texts that were authored before the advent of modern Indonesian, but are studied in the present. In such cases, I refer to the language of these texts as “Malay,” but identify it parenthetically with “I.” This is to make clear the relative mutual intelligibility of these earlier forms of Malay and modern Indonesian. Because the Arabic terms discussed in this chapter are also found in Malay, and the ethnographic interlocutors that I describe encounter them in Malay texts and Indonesian contexts, I mark them as Indonesian and use their standard Indonesian orthographies. On occasion, when distinguishing the Arabic term is analytically relevant, I include an Arabic equivalent, marked “Ar.” Ali in this volume; Gade (2004: 76–81); Metcalf (1984). At the conference that serves as the inspiration for this volume, the contributions by Muhammad Ali (included in this volume), Ramli Awang, and Kamaruzaman bin Yusoff emphasized the premodern importance of adab as a category of Islamic knowledge and practice. Thomas Pepinsky’s contribution (included in this volume) discussed the use of adab in modern Indonesian political vocabularies. Gade (2004) and Hoesterey (2016) both offer accounts of contemporary Indonesian revivalist movements in which adab features prominently. Ahmed (2016: 270–95). My research in Aceh includes two years spread over visits in 2006, 2007–2009, and 2015. Feener (2015); Laffan (2011: 25–39); van Bruinessen (1994: 135); van Bruinessen (1995: 71–87). Dhofier (1999); van Bruinessen (1990). Deeb (2006); Smith-Hefner (2005). Lapidus (1984: 46–56); Sherif (1975). Ahmed (2016: 283–4). Ibid., 283 (emphasis in original).

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12 Dabashi (2013); Hodgson (1974: 238–40). See also the discussion in Ahmed (2016: 197–211, 229–30, 234–8, 279). 13 Metcalf (1984: 9). 14 Ibid., 4. 15 Gade (2004: 76–81). 16 Bowen (1989); Feener (2011). 17 Feener (2014); Feener, Kloos, and Samuels (2015). 18 In Indonesia, the term majelis taklim (I., assembly for learning) indicates a range of educational and devotional practices involving relatively nonspecialist Islamic practitioners. For examples, see Gade (2004: 33–7); Millie (2008); Winn (2012). 19 al-Falimbani (1372/1953). In citing from Sayr as-Salikin, I use a Romanized version of its first volume, Departemen Pendidikan dan Kebudayaan, Direkturat Jenderal Kebudayaan, and Museum Negeri Aceh (1985). 20 Feener (2015). 21 Azra (2004: 131–2); Chambert-Loir (1985); van Bruinessen (1995: 63). 22 Brenner (1996); Hirschkind (2006); Janson (2010); Mahmood (2005). 23 Quasem (1979: 54–7). 24 Departemen Pendidikan dan Kebudayaan, Direkturat Jenderal Kebudayaan, and Museum Negeri Aceh (1985: 16). Another possible reading of this line would be “It is forbidden to study it at an advanced age[…].” 25 See also Kloos (2017). 26 Departemen Pendidikan dan Kebudayaan, Direkturat Jenderal Kebudayaan, and Museum Negeri Aceh (1985: 27–33). 27 Feener (2015). 28 Ibid.; Laffan (2011: 25–39); van Bruinessen (1994: 135); van Bruinessen (1995: 71–87). 29 Dhofier (1999); van Bruinessen (1995). For parallel developments in Aceh, see Feener (2014: 62–4). 30 Steenbrink (1984: 152–3). The “readership” of these texts may have also extended beyond boarding school networks and religious specialists, especially to the extent that modes of oral literacy in island and peninsular Southeast Asia have long entailed practices of reading through listening in on others as they read aloud. See Florida (1995: 10–17); Sweeney (1987). 31 van den Berg (1886). 32 Feener (2015: 262–3). 33 van Bruinessen (1990: 236–9). 34 Dhofier (1999: 261, 272); Geertz (1960: 182–4); Howell (2001: 715–18); Peacock (1978: 84–5); van Bruinessen (1990: 236–9). 35 Ali, in this volume (emphasis in original). See also Gade (2004: 76–81). 36 Ahmed (2016: 284). 37 Departemen Pendidikan dan Kebudayaan, Direkturat Jenderal Kebudayaan, and Museum Negeri Aceh (1985: 29).

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38 Ibid. 39 Here one is reminded of the sixteenth-century Punjabi Sufi Shāh Hussayn. Shāh Hussayn’s reading of Qur’an 6:32, “The life of the world is nothing but play and pleasurable distraction,” emphasized the pursuits of this world as a path to God, in contradistinction to readings that take the verse as a warning against the frivolousness and risks of this world. See Kugle (2007: 181–220). I thank Ismail Alatas for suggesting the relevance of this reference to this chapter. 40 Ahmed (2016: 283). 41 Quasem (1975: 47–8). 42 Ibid.: 109–10. 43 See Agrama (2010) for an exploration of just such a sensibility in the context of everyday fatwa-giving in contemporary Cairo. 44 On the conflict, see Aspinall (2009). 45 For an extended discussion of Teungku Sum, see Birchok (in progress). 46 Ahmed (2016: 283–4). 47 On Acehnese Muslims seeing their ethical lives in terms of “incompleteness” and “imperfection,” see Kloos (2017). 48 Ahmed (2016). 49 Feener (2014); Feener, Kloos, and Samuels (2015); Kloos (2017); Siegel (2000). 50 Ahmed’s account of explorative authority rests heavily on elite discourses and practices, especially esoteric Sufi and literary traditions. See Ahmed (2016: 97–101, 157–75, 368–97, 405–24). 51 Florida (1997); Roff (1985). 52 Azra (2004); Feener (2015); Laffan (2011). 53 Brenner (1996); Gade (2004); George (2010); Hoesterey (2016); Kloos (2017); Rudynyckyj (2010); Winn (2012). 54 Bowen (1993); Gade (2004: 77).

3 Adab and the Culture of Political Culture I owe special thanks to Richard Bensel, Chiara Formichi, Jim Hoesterey, Murad Idris, and Rob Rozehnal for helpful conversations and useful pointers on the topics covered in this chapter. Thanks as well to the organizers and participants in the conference Expressions of Adab in Southeast Asian Islam at Lehigh University, April 18–20, 2016. I am responsible for all remaining errors. 1 Levitsky and Way (2010). 2 In other cases, there are parallel Arabic and Austronesian words that are roughly synonyms, yet the use of the Arabic item does not imply any religious function; for example, tubuh and badan (from ‫ )نَدَب‬for body.

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3 F. Fikri, “Jokowi: Politik kita sekarang kurang beradab,” Merdeka, June 20, 2014. A related but slightly different quote is found in Ananda T., “Jokowi: Politik Indonesia Kurang Beradab,” Tempo, June 20, 2014. 4 Jung (2014). 5 Fionna and Njoto-Feillard (2015: 147). 6 Moreover, the vast majority of Chinese Indonesians are not Muslims. 7 Islahudin, “Politik Malaysia rendahan dan tidak beradab,” Merdeka, August 31, 2012. 8 http://forum.detik.com/politik-beradab-beradab-politik-t144637.html. 9 “Politik kebencian lahirkan generasi tidak beradab,” http://pmr.penerangan.gov. my/index.php/component/content/article/524-kolumnis-akhbar/19314-politikkebencian-lahirkan-generasi-tidak-beradab.html. 10 To express this without religious connotations, one would use a phrase such as semangat berpendikikan or semangat belajar. 11 See Media Kit Kompas 2016, https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B-8imLEOUr_ rOEhpNDZleWNsTzg/view (accessed September 11, 2017). 12 The column is reproduced in Oetama (2001: 52–4). 13 Marrison (1955). 14 Jelani (2004). 15 Jelani (2003, 2004). 16 See for example, Muhd Norizam and Shaiful Bahri (2013) and Mohd Taib (2006). For a more general articulation not directly tied to the mirrors-for-princes texts, see Mohd Zaini and Mohd Sani (2012). 17 See, for example, the discussion of adab and Imam al-Ghazali’s Nasihat al-Muluk by Aziz Jamaludin Mhd Tahir, “Politik beradab demi kemaslahatan rakyat,” Utusan Online, January 1, 2012. 18 See B. Dt. Seri Maharadja (1922: 71–6). 19 Harlina (2003: 421). 20 In an earlier version of this chapter, I suggested that the mirrors-for-princes genre simply has no analog in Java. Nancy Florida has helpfully corrected me, bringing to my attention the Wulang Rèh of Pakubuwana IV of Surakarta, and noting that according to Pakubuwana XI, a Javanese translation of the Taj al-Salatin is “the only text that is absolutely wajib reading for all Javanese kings” (Nancy Florida, personal communication). For a discussion of Islamic morals in the works of Pakubuwana IV, see Muslich (2006). 21 For a discussion of this conception of individualism and social collectives, see Udehn (2002: 487–90). 22 For an important postmortem on this Asian values debate, see Thompson (2001). 23 See Bowen (1986). 24 See Foulcher (2000). The Sumpah Pemuda in full reads as follows Kami Pemuda-Pemuda Indonesia dengan ini bersumpah bahwa:

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27 28 29 30 31 32 33

34 35 36 37

Notes Kami Putra-Putri Indonesia mengakui satu tanah air, tanah air Indonesia. Kami putra-putri Indonesia mengakui satu bangsa bangsa Indonesia. Kami putra-putri Indonesia mengakui satu bahasa, bahasa Indonesia. We, the youth of Indonesia, hereby pledge that: We sons and daughters of Indonesia recognize one homeland, Indonesia. We sons and daughters of Indonesia recognize one nation, the Indonesian nation. We sons and daughters of Indonesia recognize one language, the Indonesian language. See http://www.1malaysia.com.my/en/the-story-of-1malaysia. The Malay version of this website only finds the word adab employed twice, in describing the proper personal values for Malaysians as “adab sopan” (civilized and proper). See, for example, http://www.1malaysia.com.my/affiliates/ usaha-merakyatkan-perlembagaan-0. Writes Muhammad Haniff Hassan, “Islam Hadhari was neither a new religion nor a new mazhab (denomination), but an effort to bring the Ummah (Islamic community) back to the fundamentals of the Quran and the Hadith—the Traditions of the Prophet Muhammad—which formed the foundation of Islamic civilization” (Muhammad Haniff 2004). For a practical example of how adab appears in Islam Hadhari, see the website of the Institute for Islam Hadhari at the National University of Malaysia: http://www.ukm.my/hadhari/ (accessed September 7, 2017). For an overview of different Enlightenment perspectives on this question, see Shapiro (2003). See Almond and Verba (1963); Inglehart (1988). I thank Chiara Formichi for suggesting this example. On Kartosoewirjo’s life and political thought, see Formichi (2012). See, for example, McVey (1967). http://revolusimental.go.id/. Nethy D. S., “Jokowi’s time capsule praised,” The Jakarta Post, December 30, 2015. For such language from Obama, we can consult Obama’s November 7, 2007 speech on the “American Dream,” http://www.cnn.com/2007/POLITICS/12/21/obama. trans.americandream/ (accessed September 7, 2017). One useful summary of the skeptics’ critiques of political culture is Duffield (1999: 772–4). Laitin (1988). No author, “Kit Siang tiada adab, tak layak pertikai hudud,” Sinar Harian, May 15, 2015. This passage also contains the interesting word biadab. Most Indonesian and Malay translations give a meaning for biadab that is equivalent to uncivil or unmannered, but biadab is also used to describe actions such as rape or murder that are best translated as barbarous or savage. For examples and discussions, see Siegel

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(2000: 108–9); Anderson (1987: 110). An example using biadab in contemporary Malay is Md Shukri Shuib, “UMNO, PAS mesti bersatu demi Islam,” Berita Harian, September 24, 2012, which describes the controversial anti-Muslim film the Innocence of Muslims as biadab and urges unity between the Islamist opposition party PAS and the ruling Malay party UMNO for the sake of defending Islam. 38 See Anderson (1972); Magnis-Suseno (1985).

4 Sharia, Adab, and the Malaysian State 1 My research for this project was funded by the Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research and Hofstra University. I thank Meryem Zaman, David Banks, Patricia Hardwick, and Rob Rozehnal for their helpful comments on an earlier draft of this chapter. 2 National Archives of Malaysia (1975: 183). 3 Wan Norhasniah Wan Husin (2016) argued that budi-Islam (Islamic conduct and character) was exemplified in the leadership style of Malaysia’s first prime minister, Tunku Abdul Rahman, as he compromised and exhibited gentle manners, tolerance, respect, and patience with various political forces. 4 Sharia (Ar. Sharī‘a) refers to Islamic law and ethical norms sent by God in the Qur’an and exemplified in the practices of Prophet Muhammad. The Shāfiʻī school of jurisprudence (madhhab) is one of the four extant systematic approaches of Sunni law, which is based on the legal theory of Muhammad b. Idris al- Shāfiʻī (d.820 CE). This madhhab came to predominate in Malaysia. 5 Department of Statistics Malaysia (2016). https://www.dosm.gov.my/v1/index. php?r=column/cthemeByCat&cat=155&bul_id=OWlxdEVoYlJCS0hUZzJyRUcvZE YxZz09&menu_id=L0pheU43NWJwRWVSZklWdzQ4TlhUUT09 6 Department of Statistics Malaysia (2011). 7 See Asad (2003, 2011); Hirschkind (2011); Agrama (2010, 2012); Mahmood (2016). I use “secular power” in the singular to refer to the political authority that establishes secularism’s normative standards and fashions “religion as an object of continual management and intervention” (Agrama, 2012: 24). 8 The National Front (Barisan Nasional), formerly called the Alliance Party, is a multiethnic coalition consisting of UMNO, MCA (Malaysian Chinese Association), MIC (Malaysian Indian Congress), and several other parties in East and West Malaysia. It led the federal government from political independence in 1957 until its first general election defeat in 2018. 9 Metcalf (1984: 9). 10 See Agrama (2012) and Mahmood (2016). 11 Political scientist Meredith Weiss describes the Malaysian state as an “illiberal democratic” state that “maintains control not just by restrictions on civil liberties

198

12 13 14

15

16 17 18 19

20 21 22 23 24

25

26

27

28 29 30

Notes and brute force but also by sustaining a degree of ideological hegemony and skillful co-optation of interests” (2006: 34). Cf. Agrama (2012: 105). See Nagata (1980); Banks (1990); Jomo and Ahmad (1992); Kamarulnizam (2003). Mahathir Mohamad was the fourth prime minister of Malaysia holding the office from 1981 to 2003, the longest-serving occupant of this post. He returned to political life, led the opposition Pakatan Harapan (Alliance of Hope) to electoral victory, and was sworn in as Malaysia’s seventh prime minister on May 10, 2018. In Pakistan, the minimum ages are the same as in Malaysia but there are penal sanctions for contracting child marriages. Brunei and many other Muslim societies have not specified any minimum age for marriage. See Black, Esmaeili, and Hosen (2013: 117). Norani Othman (2005: 9). Liew Chin Tong (2009: 4). See Auda (2008) and Ramadan (2009). ‘Āisha bint Abu Bakr was the daughter of two companions of Prophet Muhammad. They were wed when ‘Āisha was six and consummated their marriage when she was nine. She was the third and youngest wife of the prophet. ‘Āisha narrated over two thousand hadiths and is considered to be a scholar on many topics. Jabatan Kemajuan Islam Malaysia (2015: 167–9). The Mālikī school of jurisprudence is another systematic approach to Islamic law. See Martinez (2008) and Moustafa (2013). Malay Mail Online (2014). http://www.themalaymailonline.com/malaysia/article/ by-ignoring-custody-orders-igp-liable-for-contempt-of-court-bar-council-say. Malaysiakini, 2014. www.malaysiakini.com/news/265546. Najib bin Abdul Razak, the son of Abdul Razak bin Hussein, the second prime minister, became the sixth prime minister of Malaysia in 2009. See Daniels (2017: 44). Nik Abdul Aziz was an Islamic scholar, trained in Pakistan and Egypt, who served as the governor of the state of Kelantan from 1990 to 2013 and spiritual leader of the Islamic Party of Malaysia until he died in 2015. Muḥammad al-Ghazālī taught Shāfiʻī law in late eleventh-century Baghdad and later embraced Sufi ideals and became a reclusive traveler. He wrote numerous texts including his major work The Revival of Religious Sciences. Mohd Asri, a controversial figure in Malaysia, studied in Jordan and at the International Islamic University, Malaysia, and spent time as a fellow at Oxford University. Jabatan Kemajuan Islam Malaysia and Jabatan Mufti Negeri-Negeri (2015). www. e-fatwa.gov.my. Mohd Asri (2015: 36). Muhyiddin Yassin (2010: 14–15).

Notes 31 32 33 34 35 36

37 38 39

40

41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51

199

Ibid., 17. Mohd Asri (2015: 416). Ibid., 420–1. Islamic Renaissance Front (2012). Shanon Shah (2007: 15). Anwar Ibrahim (2007). Anwar Ibrahim was the former deputy prime minister of Malaysia until 1998 when he was sacked by Prime Minister Mahathir Mohamad and charged with corruption and sodomy. He later became a charismatic leader of the People’s Justice Party (PKR) and head of the opposition coalition. Pakatan Rakyat (People’s Alliance), which was succeeded by Pakatan Harapan (Alliance of Hope), the victor in the fourteenth general election of May 2018. After the Pakatan Harapan electoral victory, Anwar Ibrahim was release from prison and pardoned by the Malaysian king and is presumed to become Malaysia’s eighth prime minister within two years of this full royal pardon. SUARAM (2009: 127). For more detailed discussion of several relevant sharia court cases, see Daniels (2017: 100–8). In 1994, the Fatwa Committee of the National Council for Islamic Affairs issued a fatwa declaring Darul Arqam a deviant movement and banned it. The group’s founder, Ustaz Ashaari Muhammad, was held in detention for ten years. Its numerous economic enterprises were prohibited from using any words connected with Islam. When I met and held discussions with some of the movement’s followers in 2009, they were going by the name Global Ikhwan and still operating many businesses. See Daniels (2017: 125–8). The name of this fund indexes the historical imagination of Kelantanese who often envision themselves as more directly connected to the Muslim heartland in the Middle East and thereby morally superior to other Malaysians. See Johnson (2012: 3–5). Kamarulnizam (2003: 104–5). Ibid., 105; Muhammad Syukri (1994: 44–5). Muhammad Syukri (1994: 44–5) and Kamarulnizam (2003: 106). Idid., 43. RM 1,000 is approximately USD 330. Ibid., 46; Kamarulnizam (2003: 109). This is referring to the text by Muhammad Syukri in note #42 and #43 Rudnyckyj (2013). Fischer (2008) and Lever (2016). Elder (2017). See Agrama (2012) and Mahmood (2016). See Mahmood (2016). Agrama (2012: 234–5) and Mahmood (2016: 212–13).

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5 Women’s Adab in the Pesantren: Gendering Virtues and Contesting Normative Behaviors 1 2 3 4 5 6

7

8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Some titles are Koesoma (2007); Marhumah (2013); Octavia et al. (2014). Metcalf (1983: 2–3). van Doorn-Harder (2006: 50–6). See Azra, Afrianty, and Hefner (2007). van Doorn-Harder (2006: 180–202). On the website http://rumahkitab.com/en/, Rumah Kitab states as its mission: ● To develop resource center in creating inquisitive minds about Indonesia’s Islamic aspects as well as social changes for marginal society based on text studies from the Yellow Books (traditional Islamic books containing lessons from Arabic grammar to social and community knowledge), transformative researches, and their advocacy to decision makers. ● To develop community-based pesantren boarding schools as mean of learning and think tank of critical Islamic minds as agents of change. ● To perform regenerations of Islamic critical minds based on [the] repertory of classical intellection [heritage] or the Yellow Books. ● Based on various studies analyzing Islam in Indonesia since the fall of Suharto (1998). ● Organizing campaigns for public education and dissemination of Islamic thoughts that support the marginalized in society. ● To develop the organizational and institutional capacity of Rumah KitaB as a learning organization in managing knowledge and develop critical minds [that are] ready to face change. Lies Marcoes-Natsir and Lanny Octavia (2014); Ali, Gunawan, Mohammad, and Hilmi (2015); and Abshar (2017). Also see van Doorn-Harder (2016). For more titles, see: http://rumahkitab.com/project-list/works/. For an analysis of their project concerning child brides, see van Doorn-Harder (2016). Octavia et al. (2014). https://kupi-cirebon.net/international-forum-women-ulama/ Jouili (2015: 51). Kilpatrick (1998). Yasien Muhammed (2015: 65–88). Moosa (2005: 209). Ibid., 210. http://www.thecharacterproject.com/. For more titles, see: http://www. pendidikankarakter.org/Penditer/educationconsulting/dkaprofile.html. Octavia et al. (2014: 15). Koesoema (2007: 46).

Notes 18 19 20 21 22

23 24 25 26 27 28 29

30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45

46 47 48 49

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Ibid., 46. Ibid., 47. Marhumah, Yogyakarta (2013). Ibid., viii. The word Pancasila consists of two words: panca means “five” and sila “principles.” These are: belief in one God, humanitarianism, democracy, national unity, and social justice for all. Koesoema (2007: 209–11). Marhumah (2013: viii). Ibid., ix. Ibid., 105–25. Ibid., 173–184 Octavia et al. (2014: 6–18). Hoesterey and Clark (2012: 223). According to Philip Kitley, after the fall of Suharto in 1998, lifting censorship of the media allowed for an explosion of new media and outlets for Muslim self-identification (2008: 88–9). See, among others, Brenner (2011) and Smith-Hefner (2005, 2006). Lukens-Bull (2005: 18). Octavia et al. (2014: 7). Ibid., 7. Ibid., 10. Ibid., 11. van Bruinessen (1995: 17) and also see van Bruinessen (1994) Octavia et al. (2014: 115–16). Ibid., 116–18. Ibid., 119. Ibid., 123–4. Ibid., 125. Ibid. Ibid., 126. Ibid., 128–33. Nobody knows exactly how many members the Ahmadiyah movement in Indonesia has. Estimates range from half a million (as claimed by Ahmadiyah leaders) to 80,000 members (the number given by Indonesia’s Ministry of Religion). See Platzdasch (2013: 220). An estimate from 2008 places the number of Ahmadiyah branches across Indonesia as around 300 (Platzdasch, 2013: 224). Platzdasch (2013: 224–6). Winkelmann (2007: 94–5). See Metcalf (1990). Masruhan al-Maghfuri (n.d).

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50 van Doorn-Harder (2006: 41–2). 51 Ibid., 108–9. Faqihuddin Abdul Kodir teaches at the Islamic University in Cirebon and is one of the founders of the Fahmina Institute, an Indonesian NGO working on gender, democracy, and pluralism from an Islamic perspective. For more information, see the interview of Abdul Kodir with the Berkley Center at Georgetown University: https://berkleycenter.georgetown.edu/people/faqihuddin-abdul-kodir 52 See van Doorn-Harder (2006: 187). 53 Ibid., 188. 54 For his influence on Southeast Asian Muslims see Riddell (2001: 193–7); Forum Kajian Kitab Kuning, ed. (2001: ix). 55 van Doorn-Harder (2006: 191). This information is based on Forum Kajian Kitab Kuning, ed. (2001: 207–9). For a biography of Nawawi Banten see Riddell (2001: 193–7). 56 Van Bruinessen (1995: 172). I use this particular quote in my book, Women Shaping Islam (2006: 195). 57 Mas’udi (1999: 245). 58 Ibid., 245. 59 Abdul Kodir (2007). 60 Ibid., 109. 61 Ibid., 113. 62 Metcalf (1990: 23). 63 Abdul Wahab, “Inilah Kewajiban Seorang Istri Pada Suami Yang Jarang Diketahui (Kitab Mar’atus Shalihah).” January 28, 2018, http://www.santrionline.net/2018/01/ inilah-kewajiban-seorang-istri-pada-suami-yang-jarang-diketahui-kitab-maratusshalihah.html (accessed February 2, 2018). 64 Octavia et al. (2014: 121). 65 Ibid. 66 Ibid., 126. 67 Ibid., 127. 68 Sparks (2015: 221). 69 Ibid., 209. 70 Appiah (2010: xi–xii). 71 Forum Kajian Kitab Kuning, ed. (2001); Abdul Kodir (2007). 72 See Majelis Tarjih PP Muhammadiyah (1972). 73 Dzuhayatin (2015: 204). 74 Muhammadiyah, Majelis Tarjih (2010). 75 Dzuhayatin (2015: 200). 76 van Doorn-Harder (2006: 199–200). 77 Forum Kajian Kitab Kuning, ed. (2001). 78 Meeting focus group in Babakan, June 1, 2015.

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6 Politicians, Pop Preachers, and Public Scandal: A Personal Politics of Adab 1 Metcalf (1984: 2–3). 2 Beekers and Kloos (2017) offer an especially insightful analysis of how moral failure operates in religious discourse and practice. 3 Böwering (1984). 4 Volpi and Turner (2007). 5 Kugle (2007). 6 Howell (2008). 7 Hoesterey (2016). 8 Although TV preachers are relatively new, Berkey (2003) correctly observes that multiple appeals to religious authority among formal religious scholars and popular preachers have a long history in Islam. 9 Kugle (2007). 10 See Jones (2010) for a discussion of feminine anxieties and desires. 11 Volpi and Turner (2007: 12). 12 http://khazanah.republika.co.id/berita/dunia-islam/islam-nusantara/17/01/30/ okjyuh377-menjadikan-indonesia-bangsa-yang-bermartabat (accessed February 22, 2018). 13 See Rudnyckyj (2010) for an excellent analysis of spiritual trainers in Indonesia. 14 Muhammadiyah and Nahdlatul Ulama (NU) are Indonesia’s most prominent modern Muslim organizations, boasting approximately 25 million and 45 million members, respectively. 15 Urbaningrum has subsequently been imprisoned on corruption charges. 16 See also Eickelman and Anderson (2003/1999) for discussion of fragmentation of religious authority in the context of new media. 17 Field notes from an executive meeting at Daarut Tauhiid. January 27, 2007. 18 Although he expressed this sentiment on several occasions, his most recent iteration was during a discussion on July 8, 2017 prior to his sermon at Istiqlal mosque in Jakarta. 19 https://news.detik.com/berita/2613138/soal-gallery-of-rogue-yang-diunggahwimar-ini-kata-fpi (accessed August 18, 2017). 20 Interview with Aa Gym conducted on November 4, 2005. Garut, Indonesia. 21 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Qx9zcUcXso (accessed August 18, 2017). The program was originally broadcast on November 8, 2016. 22 Interview with Aa Gym conducted on March 4, 2006. Bandung, Indonesia. 23 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e33rjG3uWJw (accessed August 17, 2017). 24 Anonymous interview conducted on May 8, 2017. Jakarta, Indonesia.

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25 I have developed this insight about Aa Gym’s role in the “mainstreaming” of Rizieq Shihab through conversations with Emory doctoral candidate Sarah Muwahidah, who has observed a similar phenomenon from the vantage point of her own research on the persecution of religious minorities in Indonesia. 26 The FPI’s anxiety about communism is the result of the supposed attempted communist coup in 1965 that led to the widespread killing of leftists and those accused of being communist sympathizers. Hardliner groups such as the FPI have been instrumental in sustaining the political paranoia about communism in contemporary Indonesia. 27 Wilson (2008). 28 See Buehler (2012) and Tomsa (2012) for different accounts of PKS in Jakarta and beyond. 29 Fealy (2010). 30 https://nasional.tempo.co/read/563257/follow-akun-porno-tifatul-sembiring-dibully (accessed August 17, 2017). 31 https://tekno.tempo.co/read/291094/tifatul-curhat-soal-salaman-di-twitter (accessed November 26, 2015. 32 https://twitter.com/tifsembiring/status/1943870539563009. November 9, 2010 (accessed February 26, 2018). Importantly, in the original Indonesian version, Sembiring chooses a specific passive grammatical form (kena deh) to suggest that the handshake was something that happened to him: Sdh ditahan 2 tangan, eh bu michele nya nyodorin tangannya maju banget…kena deh. @unilubis jadi tersungging. ☺; emoticon in original. 33 http://www.cc.com/video-clips/r8nn6k/the-colbert-report-michelle-obama-sembarrassing-handshake (accessed December 17, 2014). 34 Strassler (2009: 95). 35 Bubandt (2014); Jones (2010); Lindsey (2001); Siegel (1998). 36 Dalang is the Indonesian word for the (often Javanese) shadow puppeteers who told the stories of the great Hindu epics, often simultaneously providing commentary about contemporary politics. 37 Beekers and Kloos (2017). 38 Pepinsky (this volume) makes a similar point with respect to President Jokowi’s invocation of a political world that lacks proper adab.

7 Adab and Embodiment in the Process of Performance: Islamic Musical Arts in Indonesia 1 This chapter was originally presented as a paper at the invitational conference, “Expressions of Adab in Southeast Asian Islam,” Lehigh University, Center for Global Islamic Studies, Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, April 18–20, 2016. I am grateful

Notes

2

3 4

5 6 7

8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

17

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to conference convener and host, Robert Rozehnal, for bringing together an interdisciplinary group of scholars and for his general leadership and specific feedback in the process of turning the fruits of the conference into a publication. I presented aspects of this paper at the international one-day conference: “Art, Religion, and Adab” (Seminar Internasional: Seni, Agama, dan Peradaban. Program Pascasarjana, Institut Seni Indonesia (ISI) Surakarta). The paper presented was entitled, “Between Adat and Adab: Islamic Music as Social Praxis and as a Manifestation of Da‘wa” (Antar Adat dan Adab: Musik Islami seperti Praktek Sosial dan Manifestasi Dakwa.) May 16, 2017. https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=YyW53GUEOoA. I am indebted to Professors Azyumardi Azra and Masykuri Abdillah of the State Islamic University of Jakarta who were sponsors for Fulbright senior scholar grants that I held in 1999 and 2017. I take the term “mythbuster” from the title of the popular science television program broadcast on the Discovery Channel that tests, and often proves impossible, the scientific plausibility of feats seen in action films and programs, for example, the James Bond or the Fast and the Furious series. See Rasmussen (2001, 2010) and Harnish and Rasmussen (2011). Many genres of Indonesian Islamic performing arts are named for the prominent instruments of the genre. Rebana, terbang, jidor, hajar, and marawis all refer to percussion instruments, while gambus is the stringed lute, now synonymous with the Arab ‘ud. Poetic genres (qasidah) or rhythmic patterns and dance styles that characterize a performance practice can also serve as the name of a performance style as is the case with zapin. Ethnomusicologist John Blacking discusses music as both reflexive and generative (1995: 223–42). See Nettl and Russel (1998). Examples of Indonesian words that derive from Arabic but that do not exclusively reference religion include: makna (Ar. ma‘na), “meaning”; menghafal (Ar. hafatha), “memorize”; dunia (Ar. dunia), “world.” See Turino (2008: 41–2). Mauss (1979 [1936]). Rasmussen (2016: 202–3). Metcalf (1984: 10). Ibid., 3. Ibid., 10. Ibid. Rasmussen (2010). For an archived video of one of our presentations see the website of Maydan at George Mason University, where we were invited in November 2016. https://www. themaydan.com/2016/12/art-reciting-quran-hajjah-maria-ulfah/ Maria Ulfah, personal communication, May 11, 2017.

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18 See my chapter “The Muslim Sisterhood: Ritual Performance, Transnational Feminism(s), and the Particularity of Indonesia” for further discussion of adat as it relates both to women and to practices that some consider to be pre-Islamic (Rasmussen 2010: 114, 117). 19 Rasmussen (2010: Chapter 5). 20 For examples of historical accounts of circum-Indian Ocean travel and exchange between peoples of the Arabian Gulf and Southeast Asia, see works by Alatas, F. I. (2011), Bose (2006), Ho (2006), Kaplan (2010), Tagliacozzo (2013), and Van den Berg (1886). 21 Feener (2009: xvi). 22 For example, although the Meccan styles of recitation were largely eclipsed in the last half-century by the widely disseminated and institutionalized practices of Egyptian reciters, recitation styles from Saudi Arabia have made an audible comeback due in part to the broadcast of religious ritual from Mecca, especially during Ramadan. Broadcasts from Saudi Arabia’s religious pilgrimage sites seem to be ever-present on Indonesia’s television. 23 For accounts of the Indonesian experience of the Hajj see works by Darmadi (2013), Snouck Hurgronje (2006), and Tagliacozzo (2013). For a glimpse of the issues surrounding the contemporary influence of Saudi Arabia in Indonesia as highlighted by the visit of Saudi Arabia’s King Salman, see the 2017 article by Varagur. 24 Appadurai (1990). 25 See works by Berg (2011), Capwell (1995), Hilarian (2010), and Barendregt (2013). 26 JABOTABEK is a singkatan (abbreviation) for Jakarta, Bogor, Tangerang, Depok, and Bekasi. Like all singkatans, the word is a combination of syllables and letters from each word. Hajir marawis groups from all of these areas were inscribed for the 2014 Festival Marawis I analyze for this chapter. 27 As I mentioned at the outset of this article, I often perform in public in Indonesia, and even my performances are frequently and almost immediately posted to YouTube by either people who are hosting the events I attend or, more often, someone in the audience. See for example: https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=JBw0ZQsiPmA&t=271s. I am grateful to the group Ar-Rahman and its lead singer, Joendy, in East Jakarta (July 2004) for an invitation to their rehearsal and to two hajir marawis groups (one all male, one all female) associated with the Institut Ilmu al-Qur’an that performed at an exhibition of Islamic Arts organized in my honor in January 2010. I interviewed Wawan and Khoiril of Kerajinan Alat Musik Arab in East Jakarta in May 2017. In East Java, I visited the home industry of H. Nasihan Sanusi and his wife, proprietors of Pengusaha Alat Gambus, Gresik, founded in 1958. In addition to supplying drums for myriad groups throughout Indonesia, Sanusi, who inherited this business from his father, reported a recent commission of 6,000 instruments from schools in Malaysia.

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28 Rasmussen (2012). 29 For more on the Indonesian music and dance styles gambus and zafin (also zapin) and their roots in the Arab Gulf, see works by Alatas, S. F. (2010), Berg, Capwell (1995), Hilarian (2010), Musmal (2010), Nor, and Van den Berg (1886). For other types of Islamic performance see also edited collections by Harnish and Rasmussen (2011), Weintraub (2011), and Daniels (2010). 30 Nor (2013). When he uses the term “performative Sufism” in reference to the dance Zapin, the manifestations of which he studies primarily in Malaysia, Nor references the great variety of body movement styles that are associated with Sufi ritual. From rhythmic breathing to the famous “Whirling Dervishes” of the Turkish order of Mevlevi Sufis, collective movement, along with chant, song, drumming, and sometimes instrumental music are part of a package of communal, performative, ritual practices that access and move individuals closer to the divine. The retention of spiritual elements or intention is possible, even when such performances exist for presentation or recreation. See also Al Harthy for a discussion of the secularization of sacred performance. For an example of the dance zapin (also zafin, jepin) accompanied by a full gambus orchestra with several players of marawis, see https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5uVJjmFR-88&playnext=1&list= PLE176DAEBA6C8E1E0&feature=results_main (accessed April 7, 2018). 31 While Indonesians of all regions and ethnicities are involved in the business of religion, there seems to be a general consensus that families who immigrated to Indonesia from the Arab Gulf countries are somehow more authentically close to the Arabic language and other manifestations of Arab culture that are important to the understanding and practice of a Muslim life. See works by Berg (2011), Alatas, F. I. (2011) Alatas, S. F. (2010) and Ho (2006). 32 Geertz’ classic ethnography, Religion in Java, is well known in Indonesia as well, where it is read in translation. 33 Harnish and Ramsussen (2011: 13). 34 Ibid. 35 Harnish (2011: 82–3), quoting Hefner (1999: 212–13). 36 See Pätzold (2011: 166, 171 and footnote 20). One symptom of this skepticism about the arts in Indonesia has led to the embrace of performance practices from the Arab world and even from the West, as is the case with akapella and nasheed. 37 Pätzold (2011: 166). 38 In Indonesia, musical and cultural resonance with the Gulf is found not only in the instrumental ensembles and their musical organization but also in the seated dance, mueseukat, described by Kartomi (2011), which likely derives its name from the city of Muscat, as do Indonesian families, originally from Oman who call themselves Muscati. The hadrah of East Java, zikr zaman of Lombok, and Omani malid may be counted as examples of performative Sufism that are distinctive for their seated choreography.

208

Notes

39 40 41 42

Rasmussen (2001: 50); Rasmussen (2011: 119); Pätzhold (2011: 170). See Rasmussen (2011). Rasmussen (2010: 40–1). A kind of androgynous performance aesthetic may be more the case for hajir marawis than for qasidah rebana, an Islamic musical art that involves more women than men. See Rasmussen (2005, 2010). 43 See works by Sunardi (2015) and Spiller (2010). 44 See Al Harthy (2012); Rasmussen (2012); Urkevich (2015). 45 Metcalf (1984: 10).

8 Smoke, Fire, and Rain in Muslim Southeast Asia: Environmental Ethics in the Time of Burning 1 Metcalf (1984) and Ewing (1988). 2 For representative international reporting on the environmental crisis, see Balch (2015) and McDonnell (2015). 3 See Rosenthal (2006 [1970]) and Gade (2004), especially chapter 2 on hifdh (memorization) of the Qur’an. 4 Bourdieu (1977) and Foucault (1988). 5 See, for example, the American Journal of the Islamic Social Sciences (1984–present), associated with the International Institute of Islamic Thought and Faruqi’s legacy. 6 Al-Attas (1978a). 7 Al-Attas (1978b). 8 For an overview of the concept and its implications for environmental humanities from the perspective of an historian, see, for example, Davies (2016). Discussion relevant to the presentation here would be the work of postcolonial scholar Chakrabharty (2009: 197–222). 9 Gade (2017). 10 For example, see World Wildlife Fund’s webpage, “Sacred Earth: Faiths for Conservation” (n.d.). 11 For example, see Darlington (2013). 12 White (1967) and “Assisi Declarations on Nature” (1986). 13 Laudato Si’: Our Common Home (2015). 14 For discussion, see the seminal work by Berkes (2012) on “Traditional Environmental Knowledge” (TEK). 15 The lectures of the eminent scholar of Islamic philosophy, Sayyed Hossein Nasr, were published in 1968 as Man and Nature: The Spiritual Crisis in Modern Man, and were delivered at the University of Chicago just before the publication of Lynn

Notes

16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26

27 28

29 30 31

32

209

White Jr.’s article, “Historical Roots.” For the past fifty years, Nasr has published extensively on Islam and the “environmental crisis.” This is presented at length in Gade (2012 and 2017). Tlili (2012). See discussion in Kalland (2005). Al-Jawziyya, Miftah dar al-sa’ada, translated and quoted in Izzi Dien (2000): 26–27. Parenthetical note added. Ibid., 27. See, for example, entries for various physical and biological sciences in the twovolume work, Kalin (2014). Izzi Dien (2000: 27). Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. In fact, the strongest and most general Islamic fatwa on the environment (issued on the authority of Nadlatul Ulama, 1994) hinges on hudud punishments for fasad. See presentation and discussion in Gade (2015). Izzi Dien (2000: 53), citing the source, M.A. Sabuni, Sawfat al-tafasir (Beirut, 1980). International coverage of the event includes “Arab Saudi Gelar Salat Istisqa, Doakan Indonesia Bebas Kabut Asap,” 2015. http://m.timesindonesia.co.id/baca/107705/20151105/104439/ arab-saudi-gelar-salat-istisqa-doakan-indonesia-bebas-kabut-asap/. See Gade (2017) and also the author’s collection of original short videos that draws on this fieldwork, “Green Islam in Indonesia,” www.vimeo.com/hijau (2011–2014). For further consideration, see Gade (2012). “Fatwa MUI tentang Pembakaran Hutan dan Kabut Asap,” 2006. http:// agamadanekologi.blogspot.com/2007/08/fatwa-mui-tentang-pembakaran-hutandan.html. Al-Attas (1978a: 105–6).

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McDonnell, Tim (2015), “This Could Be the Worst Climate Crisis in the World Right Now,” Mother Jones, http://www.motherjones.com/environment/2015/10/indonesiaclimate-change-fires-palm-oil-el-nino (accessed April 3, 2016). Metcalf, Barbara, ed. (1984), Moral Conduct and Authority: The Place of Adab in South Asian Islam, Berkeley : University of California Press. Nasr, Sayyed Hossein (2007 [1968]), Man and Nature: The Spiritual Crisis in Modern Man, Chicago: Kazi Publications. Rosenthal, Franz (2006 [1970]), Knowledge Triumphant: The Concept of Knowledge in Medieval Islam, Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill. Tlili, Sara (2012), Animals in the Qur’an, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. White Jr., Lynn (1967), “The Historical Roots of Our Ecologic Crisis,” Science 155: 1203–7. World Wildlife Fund (n.d.), “Sacred Earth: Faiths for Conservation” https://www. worldwildlife.org/initiatives/sacred-earth-faiths-for-conservation (accessed December 2, 2017).

Index 1Malaysia 69 Aam, Hatijah 81 Abidin, Mohd Asri Zainal (Dr. MAZA) 87–90, 97, 198 n.27 Aceh 42, 54 explorative authority 54–6 Majelis Taklim Ansharullah’s reading of Ghazalian ethics 47–9 Sayr as-Salikin, adab of 49–54 this world and the hereafter in Nagan Raya 44–7 adab (beautiful behavior, etiquette) as academic framework 172–4 and adat (see adat) and akhlaq (see akhlaq) Al-Attas on 8–9 as ‘amal (action) 173 as beautiful behavior 1, 3, 4, 10, 11, 25, 41, 49, 53, 55, 65, 66, 124 and body 154–5 books of 3–4 as civility or civilization 65 collective sense of 66–7 conception of political culture 72 concept of 19 in context 64–7 cultural politics of 144 definitions of 3, 153–4 dictionary description 19 environmental adab 179, 188 of environmental ethics 186 for exclusionary purposes 72–3 explorative authority 51, 54–6 as expression of environmental ethics 173 form and function of 15 Hamka on 27–8 individual sense of 66–7, 73 inner form 28 invocation of 12–13, 15, 41, 59, 60, 72, 73 and Islamic education 174 and karakter 105–7

as knowledge 173 life-course-contingent ethics 44, 54–5 macro-adab 152, 166, 167 as manners 173 manuals 4 as mass political culture 67–74 micro-adab 166–7 outer form 27–8 pesantren-based rules of 111–12 of political culture 131–5 as political etiquette 84 progressive nature of 71–2 of protest and public critique 135–40 real-world application 3–4 rules of women’s adab (see rules of women’s adab) of Sayr as-Salikin 49–54 second adab 51–2 semantics 60 and social justice 187–8 toward God 28 universalization 77 Uthman on 21–2 Adāb Al-Fatāt (Manners for Young Women) 35 Adab al-Mar’ah fi al-Islam (The Ethics for Women in Islam) 26–7 adab kesopanan (ethics of politeness) 27 Adab Sopan Orang-orang Muda Perempuan (Manners for Young Women) 35 Adab-Tertib (Dalam Pergaulan dan Champoran) Chara Barat dan Chara Melayu (The Good Manners of Social Interaction: The Western Way and the Malay Way) 34 Adabul Mar’ah fil Islam (Women’s Adab in Islam) 119 adat (local custom and practices) 14, 106, 166 and adab 155–6, 162–4 in Indonesia 20–4

230

Index

in Malay/Malaysia 29–35 adat istiadat (custom) 23 adat kelakuan (customary manners) 21 adatnegeri (customs of the country) 21 Adat Resam dan Adat Isti’adat Melayu (The Malay Customs and Traditions) 33 agama (religion) 21, 163 Ahmadiyahs 113, 201 n.45 Ahmad, Zainal Abidin (Za’ba) 32–3 Ahmed, Shahab 2, 14, 41, 43, 194 n.50 ‘Āisha bint Abu Bakr 198 n.19 Aisyiyah (organization) 26 akhlaq (moral, ethics) 19–20, 106 in Indonesia 24–9 in Malaya/Malaysia 35–7 Albuchori, Ustad Jefry 127 AlHadi, Syed Sheikh bin Ahmad 36, 191 n.49 AlHady, Alwi bin Sheikh 33–4 Al Kaff, Ahmad 136 Al Saud, Salman bin Abdulaziz 184 Alwi, Hadad 159 ‘amal (action) 172–3 amanah (honesty) 112 American values 68 Amrullah, Haji Abdul Malik bin Haji Abdul Karim (known as Hamka) 27–8 interpretation of reformist spiritualism 190 n.19 animism 163 Anthropocene 175, 184–5, 188 anticolonial movements 70 Anwar, Zainah 81 apostasy, and sharia 90–2 Appadurai, Arjun 157 Appiah, Kwame Anthony 118 aqidah (faith) 134 Arifin, Muhammad Ghazzali bin 31–2 Al-Arqam Group of Companies 94 Arqamnomics 94 Arumugam, K. 81 Asian values thesis 68 aspal (authentic fake) 144 Asy’ari, Hasyim 28, 115 Al-Attas, Muhammad Naguib 8–10, 174, 177, 187 aturan (rules) 21 Awang, Abdul Hadi 81 Azhar, Cik Wan 93

Al-Azhar Fatwa Council 82 Azizah, Wan 81 Azra, Azyumardi 131 Azzaini, Jamil 132 Badawi, Abdullah Ahmad 69 Bahasa Indonesia 153 Bakrie, Aburizal 135 al-Bantani al-Sharfi’i, Muhammad bin ‘Umar Nawawi al-Jawi 115 al-Bantani, Shaikh Al-Nawawi 29 Barisan Nasional (National Front) 59, 79, 85, 197 n.8 Al-Baydawi 183 beautiful behavior 1, 3–4, 10–11, 25, 41, 49, 53, 65–6, 124 life-course-contingent forms of 44, 54–5 Beberapa Etika dan Etiket Jawa (Some Literature on Javanese Ethics and Etiquettes) 20 Beekers, Daan 203 n.2 beradab (with adab) 64, 166 beradab politik (ethical politics) 63, 67, 72 berkeadaban (civilized) 64 Berkey, Jonathan P. 203 n.8 bermartabat (to have prestige) 129 biadab (uncivil) 196–7 n.37 Bidayat al-Hidaya (The Beginning of Guidance) 25, 52 Bihishti Zewar (Heavenly Ornaments) 113–14, 116 Bisri, A. Mustofa 112 Blacking, John 205 n.5 blasphemy 135–41 boarding schools, see pesantren (boarding school) body, adab and 154–5 budi (moral qualities) 27 budi pekerti (good character) 106, 108 Bustan al-Katibin (The Garden of Writers) 30 Campo, Juan 3 celebrity preachers 13, 124–5, 127, 134 forms of religious authority 128 character education 24, 104, 107–8 Chishti Sabiri 8–9 civic duty 150 civilizational Islam 69

Index civilized behavior 12, 59–60, 124 Clark, Marshall 110 climate change 179, 181–2, 184, 186 codes of behavior 19–20, 24, 31–2, 36–7, 38, 106, 154 collective identity 2, 15 competitions in Quranic recitation, see recitation of the Qur’an adjudication categories 151–3 Congress of Women Ulama (2017) 104 Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women (CEDAW) 83 Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC) 83 court language and etiquette, of Malays 31 cultural models 79–80 Dahlan, Ahmad 26 dalang (puppeteers) 144, 204 n.36 dangdut (music genre) 156 Darul Arqam (Global Ikhwan) 81, 94–5, 199 n.39 ma-ash system 95 sharia economic model 92, 94 Darul Islam (“House of Islam”) 70 defenders of Islam 135–40 Democratic Action Party (DAP) 72–3, 81, 83, 91 Department of Islamic Development Malaysia (JAKIM; Jabatan Kemajuan Islam Malaysia) 82 Detik.com 62–3 Dewantara, Ki Hadjar 107–8 dhikr (remembrance) 176 dress, dressing 23, 26, 34, 37, 139 du’as (petitionary prayers) 183 Al-Dukhan 185 Dzuhayatin, Siti Ruhaini 119 economic resources, redistribution of 97 Eid al-Adha (the Festival of Sacrifice) 191 n.35 Eid al-Fitr (end of the fasting month of Ramadan) 191 n.35 Elder, Laura 95 emotion, and moral qualities 27 Environmental Dimensions of Islam, The 179, 183

231

environmental ethics 174–7, 184 Islamic 177–83 equality 112–13, 121 gender equality 29, 119 ethical foundation, of politics 68 ethnic texts 37–8 Etiket Sopan Santun Pergaulan Sehari-hari (The Etiquette of Everyday Personal and Social Interactions) 22–3 etiquettes 19, 20, 22–4, 27, 29, 31, 33–4, 36, 79, 84 Europe 5, 23, 96, 178 Ewing, Katherine P. 4, 169 explorative authority 43, 49, 52, 54–6 al-Falimbani, ‘Abd as-Samad 46, 49–50, 52 Falsafah Hidup (The Philosophy of Life) 27 al-Faruqi, Ismail 174, 189 n.14 fasad (corruption) 182–3, 185, 209 n.26 fasakh (at-fault divorce) 85 Fatwa Committee of the National Council for Islamic Affairs (MKI) 84 fatwas (juridical opinions) 28, 81–83, 113, 176, 187 on child custody in conversion cases 85–90 on underage marriage 83–5 Federal Court, control over state-level sharia courts 86 Feener, Michael 157 Festival Hajir Marawis Umum 151–2, 166, see also hajir marawis regulations of 2014 event 168 Fikri, Ali Efendi 35 fiqh (Islamic jurisprudence) 115, 123–4, 128, 183 fire 181–3, 186, see also peat forest fires in Indonesia (2015) fitnah (sedition) 64 Florida, Nancy 195 n.20 Forum Kajian Kitab Kuning (FK3) 120 FPI, see Islamic Defenders Front (FPI) French Republican values 68 Gade, Anna 44 gambus (music genre) 156, 160 Geertz, Clifford 162 gender and sexuality 111

232

Index

gender-segregated pesantren 113 al-Ghazālī, Abū Ḥāmid Muḥammad 25, 42–3, 47–9, 52, 87, 106, 133, 198 n.26 global environmentalism 176 globalization 107 good manners 25–6, 27 goodness 36 gotong royong (cooperation) 68, 111, 112 Gurindam Dua Belas (Twelve Couplets) 30 Gymnastiar, Kyai Haji Abdullah (known as Aa Gym) 125, 126–35, 204 n.25 antipornography campaign 132–3 and blasphemy controversy 136–7 fall of 133 Gema Nusa 131–2 and political organizations 132–3 polygyny debacle 133 return to public life 134–5 Hadith and Gender Justice: Understanding the Prophetic Traditions 116 hadiths (traditions of Prophet Muhammad) 26, 29, 37, 84, 109, 115–16, 133, 186 Haji, Raja Ali 30 hajir (hajar, mahjar) (music genre) 158 hajir marawis (music genre) 155 adat and adab 162–4 choreographies 165 material and technical roots of 156–62 practicality and permissibility 164–6 probable roots of 167 Hajj 157, 206 n.23 halal (permissible) funds 93, 95 halal (permissible) products 81–2, 94, 95 Hall, Edward 153 haram (forbidden) funds 93, 94–5 Harder, van Door 7 Harnish, David D. 162–3 Harun, Jelani 65 Hasan Ishaaq, Luthfi 144 Hassan, Muhammad Haniff 196 n.26 Heart Management (Manajemen Qolbu) 126, 128–31 hikmah (wisdom) 22 Hodgson, Marshall G. S. 2 Hoesterey, James B. 110 Howell, Julia Day 128 hudud (punishments) 75

Husin, Wan Norhasniah Wan 197 n.3 Hussayn, Shāh 194 n.39 Hussein, Abdul Razakbin 77 Ibrahim, Anwar 61–2, 81, 91, 199 n.36 Ibrahim, Shaykh Malik 25 Ilham, M. Arifin 127 illiberal rights 80, 85, 96 ‘ilm (knowledge) 22, 172 Impian Indonesia 2015–2085 (The Indonesian Dream, 2015–2085) 71 Indijati, Harlina 66 Indonesian Revolution 23–4 IRF, see Islamic Renaissance Front (IRF) Islam and Secularism 174 Islamdom 2 Islam Hadhari 69, 71, 196 n.26 Islamic banking 95 Islamic civilization 1–2, 69 Islamic Defenders Front (FPI) 141, 204 n.26 Islamic education, and adab 174 Islamic environmental ethics 177–83, 185–6 Islamic nongovernmental organizations 83, 87, 90 Islamic Party of Malaysia (PAS, Parti Islam SeMalaysia) 80–1, 90, 95 sharia economic models 92–3 Islamic reformism 56, 90, 126, 162 Islamic Renaissance Front (IRF) 80, 81, 90–1, 97 Islamic television 127 Islam keras (hardline Islam) 157 Islam radikal (radically conservative Islam) 157 al-ittihad (unity) 111 Izzi Dien, Mawal 179, 182, 183 JABOTABEK 158–9, 161, 206 n.26 Jakarta 158–9 JAKIM, see Department of Islamic Development Malaysia (JAKIM; Jabatan Kemajuan Islam Malaysia) Jarjis, Jamaluddin 63–4 Javanese Muslim women 114–15 al-Jawziyya, Ibn Qayyim 179, 180–1 Al-Jazairi, Abu Bakr Jabir 36–7

Index Joko Widodo (known as Jokowi) 61, 70–1, 135, 137, 138 Journal of the Malay Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 31 justice 36 karakter (character) 24, 101, 104–8 Karamustafa, Ahmet 2 Karnavian, Tito 136–7 Kartomi, Margaret 207 n.38 Kartosoewirjo 70 Kathir, Ibn 183 Kelantan 93–4 keluarga sakinah (harmonious family) 128 kepribadian nasional (national personality) 23 kesopanan batin (inner courtesies) 28 Khisbiyah, Yahya 163 Kia Soong, Kua 81 Kitab Adab Al-Insan 21 Kitab Adat Sopan Santoen Orang Minangkabau (Handbook of the Manners and Traditions of the Minangkabau People) 65–6 Kitab Kuning 112 Kitāb Syarh ‘Uqūd al-Lujjain fī Bayān Huqūq al-Zawjain (The Book of Explanations About the Tight Contract Concerning the Clarification of the Rights of Spouses) 29, 114–17, 120 Kitley, Philip 201 n.29 Kit Siang, Lim 72–3, 75, 81 kiyai (male pesantren leader) 102 Kloos, David 203 n.2 knowledge movement, Islamization of 189 n.14 Kodir, Faqihuddin Abdul 114, 116, 202 n.51 Koesoema, Doni 107–9 Konstektualisasi Hadis Dalam Pendidikan Karakter (Contextualizing the Hadith within the Teachings of Character) 108 Kontras 64 Laudato Si’ (Our Common Home) 177 Lee Kuan Yew 68 liberal rights 80, 85, 92, 96

233

life-course-contingent ethics 44, 54–5 Lubis, Uni 142 Maarif, Syafi’i 136, 138 madrasas (Muslim schools run by state) 102, 113, see also pesantren (boarding school) Mahmood, Saba 80 al-Maghfuri, Masruhan 114 majelis taklim (assembly of learning) 45, 193 n.18 lack of youthful participation in 46–7, 48, 51–3, 55 Majelis Taklim Ansharullah 45–6, 54 reading of Ghazalian ethics 47–9 Majelis Ulama Indonesia (MUI) 82, 113, 187 Manajemen Qolbu, see Heart Management (Manajemen Qolbu) manners 32 and custom, Malaysian 30 of eating and drinking 37 Mansur, Ustad Yusuf 127–8, 134 maqāṣid al-shari‘ah (necessity of sharia) 83, 87, 91 Al-Mar’a al-Salihah (The Virtuous Woman) 28–29, 114, 117 Marcoes-Natsir, Lies 13, 103 Marhumah, Ema 108–9 Maria Ulfah, Hajjah 149, 155–6, 163, 167 mass politics 67–73, 74 Mas’udi, Masdar 115–16 mas’uliah (accountability) 93 Mauss, Marcel 154 media, portrayal of Muslims 5 Melayu (music genre) 156 Menjawab Persoalan Menjelaskan Kekeliruan (Answering Questions, Clearing Up Confusion) 88 Metcalf, Barbara Daly 3–4, 38, 43, 101, 116, 123, 154, 167, 169 Miftah dar al-sa‘ada (Key to the Gate of Happiness) 180–1 Minhaj al-Muslim (The Way of Muslims) 36 mirrors-for-princes genre 68, 295 n.20 mirwas, marawis (drum) 158, 165 Mohamad, Mahathir 81, 85, 198 n.13 Moosa, Ebrahim 106

234

Index

moral bangsa (national morality) 124, 131, 132, 142 moral comportment 123–4, 126, 128–31, 134, 143 Moral Conduct and Authority: The Place of Adab in South Asian Islam 43, 169 moral models 79, 83, 90–1, 97 moral revolutions 118 Muhammad, Ashaari 81, 94 Muhammadiyah 26, 61, 102, 118–20, 203 n.14 Muhammad, Ustaz Ashaari 199 n.38 MUI, see Majelis Ulama Indonesia (MUI) Muir, John 177 mujawwad (melodic style of recitation) 149 munafiq (hypocrite) 26 Musa, Ahmad Farouk 81 Muslim converts 86, 90–1 Muslim feminists 114, 118 Muslim reformist, see Islamic reformism Muslim Southeast Asia 5–8, 38 Muslim world 1 musyawarah (consultation) 112 al-Muta’allim, Adab al-’Alim wa 28 Mutmainah, Ibu 117–18 Mutmainnah, Ninih 128 Muwahidah, Sarah 204 n.25 Nadjib, Emha Ainun 159 Nagan Raya 53 study of “this world” and “the hereafter” in 44–7 Nahdlatul Ulama (the Awakening of Islamic Scholars, NU) 28–9, 102, 203 n.14 nashid (chant) 156 Nasr, Sayyid Hossein 178 National Consciousness Movement (Aliran Kesedaran Negara) 81, 91 National Council of Islamic Affairs 82 Fatwa Committee 82 national fatwa committee 82 national identity 13, 14, 23, 101, 108, 112 nationalism 23–4 nationalistic-religious texts 22 nationalistic texts 38 Natsir, Mohammad 107–8 nature 175, 177–9, 186 Al-Nawawi, Abu Zakaria Yahya ibn Sharaf 25–6, 190 n.13

neologism 144, 189 n.2 Nik Abdul Aziz 81, 87 Nik, Wan 94 Nilakusuma, S. 22–3 niyai (female pesantren leader) 102 Nor, Anis Md. 160 North America 5 Nurmantyo, Gatot 136–8 Obama, Barack 71 Oetomo Ds 23 Oetomo, Jakob 64 Othman, Norani 81, 83 paganism 163 pakaian nasional (national style of dress) 23 Pakubuwana IV, Surakarta Muslim King 20 pan-Asian religion, Islam as 5–6 Pancasila (Five Pillars) 24, 109, 201 n.22 Pancasila Moral Education (Pendidikan Moral Pancasila) 24 PAS, see Islamic Party of Malaysia (PAS, Parti Islam SeMalaysia) Pätzold, Uwe 163, 164–5 peat forest fires in Indonesia (2015) 169, 186–7 impact of 171 prayer for rain 171–2, 184–5 smoke and fire 170–2 pencak silat (traditional martial arts) 164 pendidikan karakter (character-based education) 24 Pendidikan Karakter: Strategi mendidik Anak di Zaman Global (Character Education: Strategies for Teaching Children in the Era of Globalization) 107 Pengasuh (The Guardian) 36 People’s Justice Party (PKR) 81, 90–1, 97 peradaban (etiquette) 22, 60, 71 performance of call to prayer (Lomba Azan) 151 performance culture, involvement of women in 165–6 performing arts, performances 149–50, 166–7 and adab, see adab adjudication categories 151–3

Index competitions, see competitions hajir marawis, see hajir marawis Perlis fatwa committee 87, 89 pesantren (boarding school) 28–9, 50, 101, 102, 106, 164, see also madrasas Arabic literacy in 50 -based rules of adab 111–12 curriculum 102–3, 109, 115 definition of 102 gender-segregated 113 and RK projects 103–4 women in 120 physical comportment 150 piety 124, 141–4 PKR, see People’s Justice Party (PKR) PKS, see Prosperous Justice Party (PKS) politeness 19, 27, 31–2, 79 political culture 59–60, 74 causal and descriptive sense of 72 culture of 71, 74 second-order 69 politik beradab (ethical politics) 63, 66, 68, 71, 72 polygamy 85, 133–4 pop Islami 166 pornography 132–3, 136, 141–2 prescriptive authority 43–4, 54–5 proselytizing (dakwah) movements 81, 90 Prosperous Justice Party (PKS) 142, 144 public education, religion and nationalism in 24 public piety, perils of 141–4 Purnama, Basuki Tjahaja (Ahok) 141 blasphemy trial of 135–40 qasidah (poetic genre) 156 qasidah rebana (music style) 156 Rahman, Tunku Abdul 197 n.3 rain 186 praying for 183–5 Rajasa, Hatta 135 rak’at (prostrations) 183 Ramakrishnan, P. 81, 91 Rasmussen, Anne K. 162 Rawdatul ‘Ulama (The Garden of the Scholars) 25 Razak, Najib Abdul 81, 86 recitation of the Qur’an (in Musabaqah Tilawatil Qur’an or MTQ) 151, 154

235

reformasi (reformation) 126 religion, freedom of 90–1 Religion of Java, The 162 religious authority 128, 203 n.8 religious education 28 religious and political elites 124 religious reformism 56, 90, 126, 162 Revival of Religious Sciences, The (Ihya’ ‘Ulum ad-Din) 46 Revolusi Mental (Mental Revolution) 70 riba (usurious interest), avoidance of 81 ritual performances 2 Riyadh Al-Shalihin (The Garden of the Pious) 25–6 RK, see Rumah Kitab (RK) roh tarbiyyah (educational spirit) 63–4 Rosenthal, Franz 172 rules of women’s adab 113–17 reconstructing 117–20 Rumah Kitab (RK) 101, 103–5, 120–1 Character Project 13, 101–4, 106–7, 109, 117 foundational values 109 mission of 200 n.6 Sa’adi, Zainut Tauhid 136 St. Francis of Assisi 176–7 salat al-istisqa’ (prayer for rain) 183–5 al-Salatin, Bustan 65 santri (pesantren student) 102, 116–17 santrionline (website) 117, 120 Saudi Arabia 141, 157–8, 184, 206 nn.22, 23 Sayr as-Salikin (The Path of the Seekers) 46, 48, 55 adab of 49–54 scandal 141–4 secularism 79–80, 90, 96 Sejarah Melayu (Malay Annals) 30 Seleb, Ustad 125–31 self-help gurus 124–31 Sembiring, Tifatul 142–3, 204 n.32 Seng, Tan 91 seni bernafaskan Islam (arts infused with Islam) 155, 167 seni musik Islam (musical art) 156 Serat Panitisastra (Manual of Wisdom) 20 Serat Wulang Reh (Advice About the Way to Attain a Goal) 20–1 sexual ethics 143

236 shallawat (singing art) 159 shared experience 2 sharh (rhythmic groove) 159 sharia (Islamic law) 77, 79, 81–3, 96–7, 173, 187, 197 n.4 Fatwa on Child Custody in Conversion Cases 85–90 sharia courts 86–7, 96 sharia criminal law and apostasy 90–2 sharia economics 92–6 sharia family law underage marriage 83–5 Shari’at and Ambiguity in South Asian Islam 4, 169 Sheppard, Mubin 31 Shihab, Habib Rizieq 135, 140–2, 204 n.25 shollawat (Islamic song tradition) 156 Singh, Karpal 81 Sisters in Islam (SIS) 80–1, 83, 90, 97 Skim Takaful Kifaalah (Guaranteed Insurance Scheme) 94 Smith, Adam 69 smoke 181, 185, 186 Snouck Hurgronje, Christiaan 21 social cohesion 2 social synchrony 153 Soekarna 108 soft power 158 South Asia 154 Sparks, Robert Logan 118 Spiller, Henry 166 state-level fatwa committees 82 state-level sharia court system 96 state-level sharia criminal law codes 82 Strassler, Karen 144 SUARAM, see Voice of the Malaysian People (Suara Rakyat Malaysia) Subianto, Prabowo 135 Sufism 4, 42, 126 performative Sufism 160, 207 n.30, 38 Suharto 24, 126 Sultan Abdullah of Johor 30 Sumpah Pemuda 68–9 Sum, Teungku 53–4 Sunardi, Christina 166 Suseno, Franz Magnus 139 Syamsuddin, Din 131, 134 syurah (consultation) 112

Index al-ta’awun (cooperation) 111 Tabung Serambi Mekah (TSM, Mecca’s Verandah Fund) 93 Taj al-Salatin 65–6 ta’liq (premarital promises) 85 Taman Siswa schools 108 tasamuh (tolerance) 112 tata krama (codes of conduct, good manners) 20, 106 tata krama nasional (national etiquette) 23 Tata-Krama Nasional Indonesia (Indonesian National Etiquette) 23–4 tawashih (Islamic song tradition) 156 tawhid (oneness of God) 134 televangelists 125–31, 127 Templeton Foundation 106 Thahir, Badriyah Muhammad 35–6 Thoreau, Henry David 177 Tlili, Sara 178 Trade Descriptions Act of 2011, Malaysia 95 TSM, see Tabung Serambi Mekah (TSM, Mecca’s Verandah Fund) Turino, Tom 153 Turkey 118 Turner, Bryan S. 129 ubudiah (service to Allah) 93 al-ukhuwwah (comradeship) 111 umma (community) 2, 5 UMNO, see United Malays National Organization (UMNO) unggah-ungguh (manners) 20 United Malays National Organization (UMNO) 7, 79, 81, 89 youth wing and Lim Kit Siang, conflict between 72–3 Urbaningrum, Anas 132, 203 n.15 Uthman, Sayyid 21–2 values 68, 108–9 virtues, definitions of 107–11 Voice of the Malaysian People (SUARAM; Suara Rakyat Malaysia) 80, 81, 91, 97 Volpi, Frederic 129 Wahid, Abdurrahman 136 Wahid, Hidayat Nur 132, 134 Wahid, Yenny 136 watan (homeland) 2 water 37, 179, 181

Index Wehr, Hans 153 Weiss, Meredith 197–8 n.11 Western etiquette 33–4 Westernization 107 White, Lynn, Jr. 176 Wilkinson, R. J. 31 Winkelmann, Mareike 113 Witoelar, Wimar 135 women leadership capacities 117 in pesantren 104, 113–17, 120 position within the family 119 professionals 118 righteous woman 116 rights and duties 119

rules of women’s adab (see rules of women’s adab) santri 120 World Wildlife Fund (WWF) 176 wujudiyya (monist doctrine) 174 Yassin, Muhyiddin bin Mohd 88–9 Yudhoyono, Susilo Bambang 134 Yusroh, Yoyoh 142 zafin (dance style) 160 zahife (rhythmic groove) 160 Al-Zandawaisiti 25 zapin (rhythmic groove) 160 zina (unlawful sexual intercourse) 84

237