Southeast Asian Islam: Integration and Indigenisation 9781003852179, 1003852173

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SOUTHEAST ASIAN ISLAM

This book explores Muslim communities in Southeast Asia and the integration of Islamic culture with the diverse ethnic cultures of the region, ofering a look at the practice of cultural and religious coexistence in various realms. The volume traces the origins and processes of adoption, transmission, and adaptation of Islam by diverse ethnic communities such as the Malay, Acehnese, Javanese, Sundanese, the Bugis, Batak, Betawi, and Madurese communities, among others. It examines the integration of Islam within local politics, cultural networks, law, rituals, education, art, and architecture, which engendered unique regional Muslim identities. Additionally, the book illuminates distinctive examples of cultural pluralism, cosmopolitanism, and syncretism that persisted in Islamic religious practices in the region owing to its maritime economy and reputation as a marketplace for goods, languages, cultures, and ideas. As part of the Global Islamic Cultures series that investigates integrated and indigenized Islam, this book will be of interest to students and researchers of theology and religion, Islamic studies, religious history, political Islam, cultural studies, and Southeast Asian studies. It also ofers an engaging read for general audiences interested in world religions and cultures. Nasr M. Arif is Visiting Professor at St Andrews University, UK, and Professor of Political Science at Cairo University in Egypt. He served as Professor of Islamic Studies and founding Executive Director of the Institute for Islamic World Studies at Zayed University, UAE. His works have been published in Arabic and translated into English, Spanish, Hungarian, Kurdish, Persian, and Urdu. His research concentrates on Islamic traditions and political thought, the history of Islamic cultures, political development, and comparative political systems. He received a PhD degree in political science (1995), Cairo University, Egypt, and the University of Maryland, College Park, USA. Abbas Panakkal is a historian currently afliated with the School of History, University of St Andrews, UK. He serves as a member of the advisory board for the Religious Life and Belief Centre at the University of Surrey, UK. Panakkal is presently engaged in a research project that explores the diverse processes of integration and indigenization within vernacular communities. He holds the position of Director at the Ibn Battuta International Centre of Intercultural Studies and is also Director of the International Interfaith Initiative. In the past, he was a fellow at Grifth University in Australia. His research encompasses a wide range of subjects, including language, religion, law, indigenization, integration, interreligious engagements, and intercultural cooperation.

Global Islamic Cultures Series editors: Nasr Muhammad Arif Visiting Professor, University of St Andrews, UK and Professor of political science, University of Cairo, Egypt.

The ‘Global Islamic Cultures’ series aims to provide a new perspective for the study of Muslim societies; one that focuses on the socio-cultural contexts in which they were formed through a creative interaction between the new religion and the cultural and religious heritage of each society. Through a historical survey of the formation of Muslim societies in South Asia, China, Southeast Asia, Africa and Southeast Europe, the books in this series chart the gradual historical formation of these societies and look at how they are independent. These communities in diferent regions followed diferent paths determined by the nature of the interaction between the values of the new religion on one hand and the established culture and traditions of the particular society on the other. They represent an indigenous and unique model of Islam that diverges signifcantly from the one understood and practiced in the Middle East. This series explores the diversity and pluralism as seen in art, architecture, rituals and cultural practices. It showcases the rich heritage which these societies preserve and carry forward, representing both the religious, spiritual and legal frameworks of Islam as well as the ethnic traditions of the region. This hybridity preserves the stability and continuity of these societies within the larger cultural frameworks in which they exist. South Asian Islam Spectrum of Integration Edited by Nasr M. Arif and Abbas Panakkal Southeast Asian Islam Integration and Indigenisation Edited by Nasr M. Arif and Abbas Panakkal For more information about this series, please visit: www.routledge.com/Global-IslamicCultures/book-series/GIC

SOUTHEAST ASIAN ISLAM Integration and Indigenisation

Edited by Nasr M. Arif and Abbas Panakkal

Cover image: Nur Hidaya First published 2024 by Routledge 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2024 Nasr M. Arif and Abbas Panakkal The right of Abbas Panakkal and Nasr M. Arif to be identifed as authors of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identifcation and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN: 978-1-032-45169-5 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-032-69925-7 (pbk) ISBN: 978-1-032-70290-2 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/9781032702902 Typeset in Sabon LT Pro by Apex CoVantage, LLC

CONTENTS

List of fgures List of contributors Introduction: Southeast Asian Islam – Integration and indigenisation Nasr M. Arif and Abbas Panakkal PART I

Theology, Jurisprudence, and Traditions

vii viii

1

11

1 Arrival, adoption, and adaptation: integrating Islam in maritime Southeast Asia Carool Kersten

13

2 Living sunna: scholars, community leaders, and the integration of Islam in Java Ismail Fajrie Alatas

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3 Islamic jurisprudence and adat in Southeast Asia R. Michael Feener 4 Integration of South Asia within Southeast Asian traditions Abbas Panakkal

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86

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Contents

PART II

State and Society

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5 Integration of Islam into the Malay and BugisMakassar kingdoms Muhamad Ali

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6 Muslim women’s dress in Southeast Asia: Islamic law, fashion, and national identity Euis Nurlaelawati and Nina Mariani Noor

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7 Muslim cosmopolitanism in Southeast Asia: marketplaces as sites of interaction and integration Khairudin Aljunied

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PART III

Architecture, Arts, and New Cultures

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8 Cultural adaptation and integration: Islam in Southeast Asia Anthony Reid

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9 Pondok education, public discourse, and cultural pluralism in Malaysia and Indonesia Azmil Tayeb

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10 The Islamic art of Southeast Asia Robert Hillenbrand

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11 The mosques of Southeast Asia: a narrative of representation and negotiation Tutin Aryanti

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Index

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FIGURES

6.1 6.2 11.1 11.2 11.3 11.4 11.5 11.6 11.7 11.8 11.9 11.10 11.11 11.12

Javanese wedding dress Sundanese wedding dress Tamansari Water Castle, Yogyakarta (Indonesia), built in 1758 Masjid Agung Demak in Demak (Indonesia), built in 1474 Masjid Kampung Laut, Kelantan (Malaysia), built in the eighteenth century Masjid Gedhe Kauman in Yogyakarta (Indonesia), built in 1773 Masjid Negara Malaysia, Kuala Lumpur (Malaysia), built in 1957 Masjid Istiqlal, Jakarta (Indonesia), built in 1962 Masjid Salman, Bandung (Indonesia), built in 1964 The exterior of Masjid Tajug Gede, Purwakarta (Indonesia), built in 2017 The interior of Masjid Tajug Gede, Purwakarta The exterior of Masjid al-Safar, Km 88 Cipularang (Indonesia), built in 2014 The interior of Masjid al-Safar Masjid al-Lathiif, Bandung (Indonesia), renovated in 2005

151 152 268 269 270 272 273 274 275 277 277 278 279 281

CONTRIBUTORS

Ismail Fajrie Alatas is a historian and anthropologist currently afliated with

New York University. His scholarly pursuits revolve around the study of Islam in the Indian Ocean World, with a specifc focus on the historical and contemporary connections between Southeast Asia and South Arabia. In his teaching career, Alatas imparts knowledge in diverse subjects such as the history and anthropology of Islam, Islamic law and society, Islam and politics, Sufsm, and Islam in the Indian Ocean World and Southeast Asia. His expertise in these areas allows him to provide valuable insights into the intersections of religion, society, politics, and cultural exchange in the context of Islam within the Indian Ocean region. Through his research and teaching, Ismail Fajrie Alatas contributes to the understanding of the complex dynamics and rich history of Islam in Southeast Asia and its connections with South Arabia. Muhamad Ali is the director of Middle East and Islamic Studies and an associ-

ate professor of Islamic studies in the Department for the Study of Religion and Southeast Asia: Text, Ritual, and Performance (SEATRIP), University of California, Riverside. He is an associate editor of Contemporary Islam: Dynamics of Muslim Life. His publications include Multicultural-Pluralist Theology and Islam and Colonialism: Becoming Modern in Indonesia and Malaya. He teaches courses such as comparative scripture, religious myths and rituals, Asian religions, reading the Qur’an, topics in modern Islam, transnational religions, religious public discourses in modern Islam, religions in Southeast Asia, and Islam in Southeast Asia. Khairudin Aljunied is Senior Fellow at the Alwaleed Bin Talal Center

for Muslim-Christian Understanding at the Edmund A. Walsh School of

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Foreign Service at Georgetown University, as well as an associate professor at the Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences, National University of Singapore (NUS). His book Muslim Cosmopolitanism: Southeast Asian Islam in Comparative Perspective (Edinburgh University Press, 2017) investigates the complex ways in which cosmopolitan ideals have been creatively employed and carefully adapted by Muslim individuals, societies, and institutions in Southeast Asia. Tutin Aryanti, Indonesia University of Education, was awarded the Alan K.

and Leonardo F. Laing Memorial Fellowship (2010–2012), Barbara A. Yates Award (2010), and the Fulbright Presidential Scholarship (2007–2010). Her dissertation won the American Association of University Women (AAUW) International Fellowship, the Illinois Program for Research in the Humanities (IPRH) Graduate Student Fellowship in 2011, and the Best Dissertation in Social Sciences by the International Convention of Asia Scholars (ICAS) in 2015. R. Michael Feener is a prominent scholar in the feld of Islamic studies, spe-

cializing in the history of Muslim societies in Southeast Asia and the broader Indian Ocean World. His research encompasses a wide range of topics, extending beyond legal history to include the maritime world of Islam along the Indian Ocean littoral. In 2020, Feener joined the Center for Southeast Asian Studies (CSEAS). Prior to that, he held the esteemed position of Sultan of Oman Fellow at the Oxford Centre for Islamic Studies and was a member of the History Faculty at the University of Oxford. He has also taught at Reed College and the University of California, Riverside. Additionally, he has held visiting professor positions and research fellowships at renowned institutions such as Harvard University, Kyoto University, the École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales (Paris), the University of Copenhagen, The Doris Duke Foundation for Islamic Art (Honolulu), and the International Institute for Asian Studies (IIAS) in Leiden, the Netherlands. Robert Hillenbrand was educated at the universities of Cambridge and Oxford (DPhil1974); he has been teaching in the Department of Fine Art, University of Edinburgh, since 1971, and was awarded a chair of Islamic art in 1989. Professor Hillenbrand retired in December 2007 but is currently an Honorary Professorial Fellow in the Department of Islamic and Middle Eastern Studies (IMES). He has held visiting professorships at Princeton, UCLA, Bamberg, Dartmouth College, and Groningen. He has written books on Imperial Images in Persian Painting, Islamic Architecture in North Africa (co-author), Islamic Art and Architecture, The Architecture of Ottoman Jerusalem: An Introduction, Studies in Medieval Islamic Art and Architecture (2 vols.), and the prize-winning Islamic Architecture.

x

Contributors

Carool Kersten, a renowned Dutch scholar, is an expert in Islamic studies and the Muslim world. He currently holds prestigious positions as Professor of Islamic Studies at the Catholic University Leuven in Belgium and Emeritus Reader in the Study of Islam and the Muslim World at King’s College London. With his academic background in Arab studies, Southeast Asian studies, and religious studies, Kersten focuses his research on the contemporary Muslim world, exploring intellectual and political developments within local and global contexts. His scholarly contributions extend to the publication of eleven books, covering diverse subjects such as Islamic thought, religious and political movements, and cultural expressions across Muslim societies. Kersten’s extensive work has signifcantly enhanced the feld of Islamic studies, ofering valuable insights into the intricate dynamics and transformations of the modern Muslim world. Nina Mariani Noor is a lecturer at the School of Graduate Studies, State

Islamic University Sunan Kalijaga Yogyakarta, Indonesia. She pursued her doctoral degree at the Indonesian Consortium for Religious Studies (ICRS) in Inter Religious Studies Universitas Gadjah Mada Yogyakarta. Her research interests include interreligious studies, gender, minority, interdisciplinary Islamic studies, and ethics. Euis Nurlaelawati is Professor of Islamic Law at the Faculty of Sharia and Law,

Sunan Kalijaga, State Islamic University (Universitas Islam Negeri/UIN), Jogjakarta. She obtained her PhD from Utrecht University. Her research areas include the development and application of Islamic (family) law in Indonesia, judicial practices, and gender issues. She has published books and articles, including Modernization, Tradition and Identity: The Kompilasi Hukum Islam and Legal Practices in Indonesian Religious Courts (Amsterdam University Press, 2010). Anthony Reid was a member of the ANU’s former Department of Pacifc and Asian History from 1970 to 1999, after an initial position teaching Southeast Asian history at the University of Malaya, Kuala Lumpur (1965–1970). In 1999 he became the founding director of the Center for Southeast Asian Studies at UCLA, Los Angeles, and in 2001 the founding director of the Asia Research Institute of NUS in Singapore. He was honoured with the Fukuoka Prize for Asian Culture (Academic) in 2002 and the Life Achievement Award of the Association of Asian Studies in 2011. Azmil Tayeb is an Associate Professor of Political Science at the School of Social Sciences, Universiti Sains Malaysia in Penang, Malaysia. He is also

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a Visiting Research Fellow at ISEAS-Yusof Ishak Institute in Singapore and an Adjunct Professor at Universitas Negeri Malang in East Java, Indonesia. He is the author of Islamic Education in Indonesia and Malaysia: Shaping Minds, Saving Souls (Routledge, 2018) and the co-editor of Education and Power in Contemporary Southeast Asia (Routledge, 2023)

INTRODUCTION Southeast Asian Islam – Integration and indigenisation Nasr M. Arif and Abbas Panakkal

Southeast Asia represents a unique model in the Islamic world: in addition to having the largest Muslim population, it provides a distinct model of Islam’s tolerance and acceptance of the Other. This is a region of coexistence between diferent religions and races, where diverse peoples live in peace and harmony in modern nation states that are among the most economically prosperous, politically stable, and important Islamic countries in the world. Since the advent of Islam in Southeast Asia – brought by merchants from India, China and Arabia who combined the noble Prophetic lineage, the broad-minded Shāfʿī school of thought, and the vast spiritual mysticism of Sunnī Islam – Southeast Asian Muslims have succeeded in creating a unique version of their religion. This interpretation adheres to Islam’s foundations and principles while at the same time preserving customs from the region’s traditional pre-Islamic cultural heritage, provided they do not confict with the essence of monotheism. The matriarchal societies in Minangkabau, for example, accepted Islam without abandoning traditions that place social and economic power in the hands of women; men are obliged to move to their mother-in-law’s house when they marry, children belong to their mother, and all household resources are managed by women. It could be expected that these traditions would have clashed with Islamic jurisprudence regarding inheritance, but Muslim jurists in Southeast Asia instead found an innovative solution: they classifed inherited wealth as an “endowment” which can then remain in the hands of the mother, and her clan and is transferred from woman to woman. Thus, no violation of the law occurs, and at the same time cultural traditions are preserved. This model remains in place today, many centuries after the arrival of Islam.

DOI: 10.4324/9781032702902-1

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The people of Southeast Asia also succeeding in overcoming the Padri War, the frst violent militant uprising of its kind. Over a century and a half before any similar movements appeared in the Islamic world, the Padri sought to eliminate all vestiges of pre-Islamic tradition, known as adat, and to impose their vision of Islam through violence. The Muslim community, however, overcame the Padri and managed to maintain the tradition of tolerance and openness to people of various religious and ethnic backgrounds. This unique model of Islam represents hope for contemporary Muslim societies, because it ofers a distinct historical experience – an example of how it can be possible to both adhere to religious principles and at the same time coexist with those of difering views. It is possible to be open to progress and development, to continuously adapt to the changes of a new era, and to meet its challenges by devising creative solutions through Islamic jurisprudence. Perhaps the success of this unique model is mainly because societies that embraced Islam in Southeast Asia did not wish to adopt the cultures of the groups that brought Islam to the region. Indian and Arab cultures were not transferred to Southeast Asia, so the process of Islamisation was not accompanied by Arabisation; thus, a new Islamic culture was formed that preserves the principles, values, and higher purposes of Islam without being bound by the applications and practices that were formed in other societies. This process was simple, because the nature of Islam both permits and encourages it; a similar process has been repeated in other regions such as India, China, and Africa. This has formed a historical pattern based on openness to other societies and cultures, which make it possible to integrate and form a new Islamic culture. Early Muslims believed that their new religion was a message for all of humanity, as its holy book – the Qurʾān – begins with reference to the “Lord of worlds” and ends with the “Lord of people”. They understood Islam as a system of principles, values, and divine purpose, together forming a commonality of all people. It was therefore natural to respect all cultures, civilisations, and customs, and to accept everything that was not directly in confict with the principles, values, and purpose of their faith, as well as to respect the right of others to choose not to accept Islam. This system of knowledge and values travelled from the Arabian Peninsula with the early Muslims, both through peaceful means such as trade, travel, and the popularity of mystics, or through the military eforts of the frst century A.H. (the seventh century C.E.). It presented a new vision for interaction with the Other, and led to the creation of multiple Islamic cultures rather than one that was unchanging and homogenous. Muslim civilisation, with its widespread geography and multiplicity of models for interacting with other nations and peoples, had a very diferent pattern from the Western colonisation of Asia, Africa, and South America.

Introduction

3

This model of colonialism was based on the negation of the other, imposing Western culture through the elimination of the civilisations and cultures of the colonised. Its aim was to spread Western culture and force vulnerable peoples to imitate the Western human experience, abandoning the heritage of their fathers and forefathers. Unlike the Western colonial model, the spread of Islam – from China to the borders of France, and from Moscow to the jungle of Africa and remote islands of the Pacifc Ocean – did not involve the abolition of local cultures or the import of the Arab culture that prevailed in the early days of Islam in the Arabian Peninsula. On the contrary, the ʿAbbāsid state combined a number of cultures, including Arab, Persian, and others; when it expanded farther into Asia, it did not propagate a specifc culture or civilisational model. Similarly, the early Muslims did not impose their culture in North Africa or the Indian subcontinent. In each of these processes of integration, there was a dialectic between the supreme values and moral principles of Islam and the cultures of the people who became part of its sphere of infuence, whether they embraced the new religion or continued to follow their own. This resulted in a third model, in which a new kind of culture blossomed – one developed through the creativity and choices of the local people. Throughout the Islamic world today, there is no uniformity in styles of dress or architecture, in cuisine, customs, the arts, or way of life; instead, there is multiplicity and diversity, with variations from region to region and city to city. They share an umbrella of values, yet encompass a wonderful range of human diversity. So, we fnd that in dealing with the culture of the Other, the spread of Islam created a unique model of interaction and integration, with neither culture negating the other in any way – whether existential, cognitive, or cultural. It has led to the creation of numerous Islamic cultures rather than a single Islamic culture. This model became established for two key reasons. First, the lack of an imperial cultural centre: unlike Rome, the centre of the Roman Empire that drained the resources of other regions for the sake of its own prosperity, Islamic civilisation had no “capital”. When and imperial capital exists, it grows rich and develops while other parts of the empire sink into a sea of backwardness and poverty. The Islamic system, however, did not implement centralised tax collection. Instead, every region would collect various forms of tax and zakat for its own purposes, which were then spent within that region; the centre only claimed a portion of these taxes in cases of urgent need. This meant that there were many cultural centres throughout Islamic history, and the principal cities cannot be placed in any clear hierarchy. Each could be considered a focal point at a particular historical moment, or within a particular geographical region. The second reason was the transfer of leadership between diferent peoples, and the multiplicity of the caliphate’s capitals. If we look at Islamic

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history, we see that leadership was held by diferent peoples within the framework of the ummah, from the Arabs to the Persians, from the Amazigh to the Abyssinians to other Africans, and from the Indians to the Turks, Mongols, and others. All of these peoples assumed the leadership of the ummah – or an essential part of it – at a particular historical moment, while the capitals moved from Medina to Kufa to Damascus, then to Baghdad, Cairo, Khwarazm, Kairouan, Cordoba, Fez, Timbuktu, and others. All these cities were, at diferent times, capitals and centres of Islamic civilisation. This transition, plurality, and diversity brought about a renewal in the blood of this civilisation, and at the same time led to a kind of dialectical interaction between the self and the Other. The Mongol who was once “Other” became the leader, as did the Turk, and before them the Persian, the Berber, and others. This vitality created a consolidative dialectic which was the secret of the progress and prosperity of Islamic civilisation throughout the ages. It is not an exaggeration to say that this process has not been replicated by any other civilisation throughout human history; it became a civilisation based on an idea rather than race. In such a civilisation, the separation between self and Other is naturally negated, becoming instead a connection. They become equal on the cognitive level, to the point where it becomes impossible to determine what falls within the framework of the “self” and what falls within the framework of the “Other”. The Islamic experience witnessed one of the longest and most profound processes of acculturation in human history. Since the emergence and spread of Islam, the religion has interacted with the cultural or civilisational Other, giving and taking, inheriting the legacy of previous prophecies and revealed scripts; able to absorb, preserve, purify, develop, and move forward with this cultural heritage, then presented it to humanity in a renewed form, putting it to best use in a spirit of absolute freedom. Many of the historical legacies of Islamic civilisation – such as the adaptation, development, and transfer of earlier scientifc knowledge to Europe – is the result of this process of interaction with other peoples and nations, and the integration of their cultures. Islamic civilisation was founded on the premise that wisdom is a general good that should be preserved, purifed, and passed on to future generations, and early Muslims made every efort to preserve and develop the heritage of the Greeks, Indians, Persians, and Chinese. They studied their sciences in medicine, engineering, pharmacology, optics, astronomy, and other disciplines; they purifed these sciences from superstition, magic, and sorcery; they developed and excelled in them, then transferred them on to others. The early Muslims’ interaction with the sciences refected a certain vision in dealing with the Other – interacting and achieving the highest degrees of acculturation – that has not been seen in any other culture before or since.

Introduction

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Similarly, when Muslims ruled societies with a strong existing artistic culture, such as Egypt, Iraq, Persia, India, Afghanistan, and other regions, they preserved those arts, despite the fact that many of their expressions contradicted some components of their faith. Muslims also adopted and developed some of these arts when they did not fnd anything defant to their values, for example in architecture and the decorative arts. As a result, Islamic art took varied forms, depending on the cultural heritage of each region, so that mosques in diferent parts of the world refected the artistic legacies of the local pre-Islamic tradition. In some regions, multiple styles combined to form an artistic pluralism that expressed the highest aesthetic values. The Muslim world grew through its dealings with the civilisations it encountered, following a model of openness that took the form of an expanding circle with a stable centre. If Islamic civilisation is seen as such a circle – the most complete geometric form – then its centre is an identity represented by a set of values, faculties, and purposes; the circumference is not fxed, but rather in constant expansion as part of a living, productive civilisation. At other times the circumference has shrunk and receded during periods of decline and urban decay, as the Muslim world has often experienced during certain periods of its long history. Yet its core philosophy was always based on the premise of a permanent open-ended paradigm towards the Other, from a standpoint of strength, stability, and self-confdence. It was an openness that derived from a more profound cognitive model rooted in the limits of mankind’s knowledge, based on the idea that “God knows best” – and that God bestows knowledge and wisdom as He wills. Through this model, Islamic civilisation was able to preserve its own identity and at the same time accept and incorporate the diference of the Other. The structure of this volume

Southeast Asia developed multicultural Muslim communities that integrated identities such as the Malay, Acehnese, Javanese, Sundanese, the Bugis, Batak, Betawi, Madurese, Minangkabau, Mindanao, Kadazan, and others. The central theme of this book focuses on the practices and progression of these integrated and indigenised Southeast Asian Muslim communities, which were shaped by intensive interaction with vernacular traditions and cultures. The overarching themes of this volume are structured in three distinct parts, which cover diferent aspects of the integrated Muslim communities in the region. Part I focuses on Theology, Jurisprudence, and Traditions; Part II on State and Society; and Part III on Architecture, Arts, and New Cultures. These three sections consider the tangible expressions of these evolving Muslim societies, ofering a new context to Southeast Asian Islamic history through ten chapters that together illustrate how integrated Muslim

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networks were constituted to pave the way for a unique indigenised Muslim environment in the region. Part I: Theology, Jurisprudence, and Traditions comprises four chapters. The frst chapter, written by Carool Kersten, explores the arrival, adoption, and adaptation of Islam in Southeast Asia. He tracks the integration of the eastern periphery into the wider historical Muslim world, focusing on the Malay-Indonesian Archipelago, which encompasses the Malay Peninsula, Indonesia, the southern provinces of the Philippines, Thailand, and Cambodia. The chapter sheds light on the scarcity of Muslim historiography on Southeast Asia, as a result of its geographical remoteness from the perceived “heartlands” of Islam, notwithstanding the fact that the region is home to the largest Muslim nation state in the world. Kersten addresses four key questions: (1) the time frame (when did Islam arrive?); (2) its provenance (where did Islam come from?); (3) agency (by whom was it introduced?); and (4) the motivations for the acceptance of Islam by the peoples living in the region (why did Southeast Asians convert?). He explores accounts and theories concerning the provenance and modalities of integration into the region, including the role of globally operating Suf orders, trans-regional scholarly networks, and migrant communities in the dissemination of Islamic learning and the emergence of new Muslim written cultures using regional vernaculars. Ismail Fajrie Alatas, in the second chapter entitled “Living sunna: scholars, community leaders, and the integration of Islam in Java”, examines the articulatory labour performed by Muslim scholars and community leaders at grassroots level, which enabled the social realisation of Islamic practice in Java. The chapter accentuates the prominence of the texts and their role in disseminating Prophetic teachings, and also emphasises the need to avoid falling into the trap of textual fetishism. These modes of articulatory labour posit the sunna as either living, cumulative, and culturally embedded, or as objectifed and fnal, thereby producing multiple versions of Islamic teachings and their social realisations as sunna. Indeed, this fexibility is what equipped Islam with the ability to grow deep roots in Java and across the Malay-Indonesian Archipelago. Alatas therefore makes the argument that the Islamisation of Java also required the Javanisation of Islam. In Chapter Three, under the title of “Islamic Jurisprudence and adat in Southeast Asia”, R. Michael Feener presents a gestalt of Islamic jurisprudence in Southeast Asia, illustrating the dynamic interactions of diverse systems of customary law – ʿurf and adat – across the region. Feener discusses the tensions introduced into debates on adat and sharīʿa by the more recent, purifed concept of ‘religion’ as something that needs to be purged of the polluting aspects of vernacular customs. Southeast Asia was made up of dozens of small sultanates, which kept their own distinctive traditions but were nonetheless integrated into networks that included broadly shared Islamic

Introduction

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traditions of ritual practice, cultural production, and legal norms. The canon of Shāfʿī fqh connected homegrown scholars with those from elsewhere in the Muslim world and provided the basis for emerging bodies of vernacular Islamic scholarship in the region, which enabled the development of hybrid texts with interlinear translations and the creation of new genres of legal writing in regional languages. This chapter presents the distinctive nature of localised Islamic jurisprudence, which had a profound efect on the relationship between law and society – particularly in the context of customary norms – and helped to integrate Islam into the vernacular culture of the region. Abbas Panakkal, in the fourth chapter, explores the profound integration of South Asia on the Southeast Asian traditions, delving into the impact of trade, travel, and the transmission of textual knowledge in the region. The study highlights the early history of infuence in the derivation of regional names and the establishment of scholarly networks that contributed to the integration of Southeast Asian cultures. The emergence of Islam in both regions is discussed, emphasising the role of pre-existing merchant communities and the establishment of trading enclaves in South and Southeast Asia. The Arab concept of Al-Hind further solidifed cultural connections between the two regions. The chapter also emphasises the signifcance of oral traditions and performative elements in enriching the literary heritage of Southeast Asia. Furthermore, it explores the unique example of indigenised Islam in the region, where matriarchal and matrilineal societies retained traditional practices while embracing Islamic beliefs. This analysis provides a compelling illustration of the dynamic and diverse nature of Southeast Asian Islam, showcasing the syncretic cultures that have shaped the region’s rich cultural heritage. Part II: State and Society examines how Muslim communities interacted with the states and societies of the region, and how state and societal statuses supported the indigenisation of Southeast Asian Muslim communities. Muhamad Ali, in the ffth chapter, explores how Islam was integrated into the state afairs, local politics, and cultures of the early kingdoms of Melaka (in present-day Malaysia) and Bugis-Makassar in South Sulawesi (in presentday Indonesia). The author discusses the Malay Annals (Sejarah Melayu) and the Hikayat Hang Tuah to showcase the roles played by rulers and the integrated nature of the Malay kingdom of Melaka. In the administration of the kingdom, the sultan retained the traditional Indianised organisational structure of the pre-Islamic period, where the administration of police and security, transportation, fnance, and the armed forces were not particularly religious nor distinctly Islamic. The Bugis-Makassarese Kingdom, on the other hand, had developed as a multi-ethnic port, sheltering a cosmopolitan court, foating populations of seafarers, and various diasporic communities. There Muslim rulers adopted and modifed political and cultural elements contributing to non-linear and uneven processes of indigenisation that paved the way to the national integration and multiculturalism of the region.

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Chapter Six, “Muslim women’s dress in Southeast Asia: Islamic law, fashion, and national identity”, co-authored by Euis Nurlaelawati and Nina Mariani Noor, discusses the localisation and modernisation of veiling among Muslims in Indonesia, Malaysia, and Thailand. This chapter discusses the special indigenised forms of Muslim female attire in the Southeast Asian Archipelago, and the development of the predominant styles and colours used in everyday life, for prayers, and for wedding celebrations. Distinctive forms of indigenised Islamic dress codes, incorporating modern fashion, have been widely accepted in the region. The authors argue that these evolving styles demonstrate the adaptation of vernacular lifestyles to Islamic codes of behaviour, and show that the incorporation of local expressions of style and design have also been widely accepted by Muslim communities. In Chapter Seven, Khairudin Aljunied addresses various aspects of Muslim cosmopolitanism in Southeast Asia, fnding marketplaces to be sites of interaction and integration. He asserts that Islam in Southeast Asia is characterised by its innately cosmopolitan character, which enables its adherents to integrate peoples, ideas, and other infuences into a “Muslim cosmopolitanism.” To embrace Muslim cosmopolitanism is to exhibit a high degree of receptiveness to the universal values that are embedded within customs and traditions. Aljunied uses vignettes of ethnographic encounters—as well as informative case studies from across Singapore, Malaysia, and Indonesia—to provide a panoramic view of Muslim cosmopolitan practices and outlooks, particularly in the context of marketplaces. Muslim cosmopolitanism empowers people to be comfortable with their own Islamic and cultural identities; in this chapter, the author endorses it as a path to a wider, richer understanding of Islam that also enables Muslims to maintain tolerant attitudes towards the Other. In Chapter Eight, “Cultural Adaptation and Integration: Islam in Southeast Asia,” Anthony Reid explains the important factors behind the spread of Islam ‘Below the Winds’—a historical term for Southeast Asia—as it was brought across the seas by traders of various and often hybrid ethnicities. The driving force behind Southeast Asian Islam came not with invading armies of organised polities but with successive waves of individual seaborne traders, and the author states that vernacularisation, or localisation, must have been in progress from the moment Southeast Asians began to declare themselves Muslims. Southeast Asianists have been extremely concerned to show the uniqueness of the region in terms of its diversity, its accommodation of contradictory beliefs, and its tolerance. Anthony Reid concludes his chapter with a note that the maritime character of Muslim trading diasporas, who were themselves extremely diverse, makes the Lands Below the Winds an unusually fruitful location to investigate the stresses and strains between infexible standardisation and cultural multiplicity. Southeast Asian Islam ofers a rich cultural legacy to the world through the importance accorded to women, the

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strong status of minority religions, and the acceptance of diferent linguistic and cultural understandings. Part III: Architecture, Arts and New Cultures shifts the focus of the volume to the contribution of indigenised cultures to architecture and other art forms. This section examines the rich variety created though the integration of multi-ethnic and vernacular structures, with a special focus on the diversity of the Islamic art, architecture, and cultures of the region. Azmil Tayeb, in Chapter Nine, describes the contribution of pondok- pesantreneducation to cultural pluralism in Malaysia and Indonesia. Pondok schools became an indispensable pillar of maritime Southeast Asian culture, with religious scholars attaining socio-political infuence well beyond the boundaries of their institutions. The author explores how pondok schools supported traditional cultural practices and forms of entertainment, which increased their popularity in the local community and thus assisted integration. The chapter also surveys the ways traditional schools in Indonesia overcame the challenges of both colonialism and modernity, demonstrating that traditional Islamic education can be both modern and relevant, although this was not the case in Malaysia. Robert Hillenbrand, in Chapter Ten of this volume, provides insightful sketches of the Islamic art of Southeast Asia. He reminds us that one of the most distinctive expressions of Islam throughout Southeast Asia is the inscribed tombstone, widely known by the generic term batu Aceh. Kufc script, which is the glory of medieval tombstones in other parts of the Muslim world, is scarcely represented in Southeast Asia, where the well-nigh inexhaustible variety of forms reveals the gradual evolution of a distinctive local style. The fashion for elaborate and sophisticated grave markers remained steady for centuries and spread all over Southeast Asia, from southern Thailand to southern Sulawesi; the multi-cultural fowering of funerary art, rooted in a decorative vocabulary that owed much to Buddhist and Hindu traditions, is a vibrant indigenous tradition. Turning to architecture, the climatic conditions and building materials in Southeast Asia were very diferent from those obtaining in most other parts of the Islamic world, and triggered exciting experiments in vaulting and applied ornament that have no parallels in the west. Hillenbrand argues that the art of Southeast Asia should be understood, accepted and valued for what it is—an outstanding example of the capacity of Islamic art to evolve and adapt in response to other ways of seeing. Chapter Eleven, “The Mosques of Southeast Asia: A Narrative of Representation and Negotiation” by Tutin Aryanti, discusses the unique features of Southeast Asian mosque architecture, which provides a remarkable illustration of the amalgamation of Islam and local artistic culture in the region. The author discusses diferent types of Southeast Asian mosques, including traditional mosques, which were infuenced by pre-existing Hindu and

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Buddhist traditions. She also reviews the perspectives of the common people and communities whose contributions have gone unnoticed in ordinary architectural history, which often overlooks the role of marginalised groups as historical actors. Mosques, as sites of Islamic teachings, are at the centre of numerous debates in society; often they are central to negotiations or become battlegrounds for competing discourses between authority holders, community members, and architects. The chapter concludes that Southeast Asian mosques have served as sites of cultural negotiation throughout the last eight centuries, as Islam has expanded in the region. Taken together, the chapters in this volume illustrate the diversity within Southeast Asian Muslim communities; the case studies reveal the cultural pluralism which helped towards cohesive community building. It was not a prototypical transition from multi-ethnicity to a culturally homogeneous Islam, but rather encompassed a vista of cultural diversity unique to the region. Southeast Asian Islam is a model of social cohesion and ethnic integrity; it provided a means by which communities could retain their cultural heritage while integrating faith into their mosaic of traditions. This volume reafrms that the history of Southeast Asian Islam represents hope for contemporary Muslim societies through its unique historical experience: adhering to religion while at the same time coexisting with dissenting voices, evolving with openness to progress and development, and continuous adaptation to the changes of new eras and their challenges—all achieved by devising creative solutions from within the boundaries of Islam and its multiplicity of jurisprudence.

PART I

Theology, Jurisprudence, and Traditions

1 ARRIVAL, ADOPTION, AND ADAPTATION Integrating Islam in maritime Southeast Asia Carool Kersten

This chapter explores the introduction and integration of Islam in Southeast Asia between the thirteenth and twentieth centuries C.E. It tracks the integration of this eastern periphery into the historical Muslim world through the stages of the arrival, adoption, and adaptation of the new religion in the island world of the Malay-Indonesian archipelago, which also encompasses the Malay Peninsula, as well as what are now the southern provinces of the Philippines, Thailand, and even parts of Cambodia. In making sense of the dynamics governing this process, it pays to keep in mind the suggestion of the Malaysian-Singaporean sociologist and scholar of Islam, Syed Farid Alatas, who drew attention to ideas developed by the Dutch historian Jan Romein (1893–1962) as part of his work in a subfeld of historiography, which he called “theoretical history.”1 To account for historical causality and motivating forces, periodisation, questions of continuity and change, and the way global events are interconnected, Romein proposed that historians make use of methodological and theoretical advances in the social sciences.2 The integrative history presented through this wide angle will help demonstrate that Muslim Southeast Asia is very much part of an interconnected Muslim world, a realisation that has come relatively late due to an awkward division of academic labour in studying Islamic history. The current state of academic research

The study of the history of Islam in Southeast Asia has been treated like a stepchild by scholars of both Islam and Southeast Asianists. As a result of the neglect by these two felds of academic inquiry, the history of this region’s integration into the wider Muslim world has fallen between the cracks of DOI: 10.4324/9781032702902-3

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scholarship. The reason for the cursory treatment of Southeast Asian Islam was its perceived lack of importance to both felds of study. Because of its geographical remoteness from what were perceived as the “heartlands” of Islam, Islamicists dismissed Southeast Asia as marginal to the development of Islam at large – notwithstanding the fact that the region is home to the largest Muslim nation state in the world: Indonesia. Caught between the two great Asian civilisations of India and China, Southeast Asianists tended to regard Islam as a relative “newcomer,” a thin veneer over older cultural deposits from the Brahmanic, Buddhist, and Hindu traditions. However, as one of the leading experts on the history of Southeast Asian Islam, Anthony Johns, noted: “That situation has changed with the creation of the new nation states of Indonesia and Malaysia, and the realisation by the peoples of these states that together they form numerically the largest single community in the Muslim world.”3 This excursion into the scholarship on Islam in Southeast Asia aims to show that the cultures of what are now Indonesia, Malaysia, Brunei, and the southern provinces of the Philippines and Thailand are much more frmly rooted in Islamic tradition, through sustained contact with other parts of the Muslim world, than is often recognised. It will also underscore the historicity of the often neglected “circulation of ideas” along a south-south axis.4 In drawing such a composite and integrated picture, this chapter relies on research into what now are regarded as important constituent elements of the introduction and integration of Islam in Southeast Asia. Much of the earlier scholarship on this subject had a very local focus, even to the extent of amplifying the supposed “uniqueness” of Southeast Asian Islam. The integrative historical approach advocated by Alatas, pace Romein, provides an important corrective to such an isolated and one-dimensional depiction, because it directs the attention to the parallels and interconnections between events in world history. This chapter considers the theories concerning the provenance of Southeast Asian Islam and the modalities of its integration into the region, including the role of global Suf orders, trans-regional scholarly networks, and migrant communities in the dissemination of Islamic learning and the emergence of new Muslim writing cultures using regional vernaculars alongside Arabic and Persian. By looking beyond the region and paying more attention to Southeast Asia’s interactions with other parts of the Muslim world, scholarship on the history of Islam of Southeast Asia has managed to make important advances in the past few decades. The researchers responsible are scholars who have proved willing and able to move beyond the constraints imposed by prevailing approaches in Islamic and area studies programmes. While their profciency in languages like Arabic, Malay/Indonesian, Javanese, Persian, Urdu, and others has made them conversant with the intertextuality of writing cultures from various parts of the Muslim world, these scholars have also paid

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attention to the institutional, infrastructural, ethnic, and wider intellectual dimensions of the history of Islam’s integration in Southeast Asia. The central point that must be emphasised from the outset is the enormous diversity that characterises Islam in Southeast Asia. For this reason, Johns has cautioned against associating the region’s Muslim cultures with specifc modern-day nation states, or even employing the term “Southeast Asian Islam” other than in a strict geographical sense. Such associations or equations obscure the “complex processes of the past,” suggesting a nonexistent homogeneity.5 To avoid the “generalisations and one-line theories” that obstruct an understanding of the spread of Islam in Southeast Asia, Johns suggested approaching the region with “a total scepticism towards the names by which it is currently known.”6 Beginnings: from adhesion to conversion

When discussing the introduction of Islam in Southeast Asia, four questions need to be addressed. First, the time frame – when did Islam arrive? Second, its provenance – where did it come from? Third, agency – by whom was it introduced? Fourth, the motivations for acceptance of the new religion – why did Southeast Asians convert? Finding the answers is a challenging exercise, not simply because of the earlier mentioned caution against generalising the historical process of Islam’s introduction and integration in Southeast Asia, but also because the questions are so closely interrelated: a new perspective on one, as a result of new fndings and insights, will also have an impact on responses to the others. Because early sources are so scarce, researchers have had to take recourse to conjecture, exploring the theses that were formulated by using diferent scholarly methodologies, ranging from historical-philological studies to speculative theorising informed by a sociological orientation, to the ambitious holism of the Annales School. Contextualising historical phenomena into their geographical setting and situating chronologies on a timeline accounting for what this French school of historiography calls the longue durée, this latter approach privileges structural infuences, long-range temporal trends, and “mentalities” over singular historical events and incidents.7 The frst question preoccupying students of the history of Islam in Southeast Asia is the date of its initial introduction. Due to the paucity of data for the earliest periods, a defnitive answer is still lacking. What we do know is that it came relatively late and that it was not part of the Arab conquests that brought large parts of the Middle East, North Africa, and Central and South Asia under the sway of the early caliphates. What also can be safely assumed is that, before Islam began making inroads among the indigenous populations of Southeast Asia, there had been contacts between the region and the Middle East, with Persian navigators en route to China playing a pioneering

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role. In fact, it is more than likely that these relations also predate the emergence of Islam itself.8 However, tangible indications of the presence of indigenous Muslims in Southeast Asia do not predate the late thirteenth century. This coincides with the use of the word Jāwa as a collective term in Arabic for referencing all things Southeast Asian. It indicates an awareness among geographers in the Arabic-speaking parts of the Muslim world of Java’s ascendancy in the regional balance of power, although the island had not featured in Arab or Persian itineraries for voyages to China before that time. It appears that, as well as the Malacca Straits between Sumatra and the Malay Peninsula, during this period West and South Asian Muslims also began using the Sunda Straits between Sumatra and Java to get to the South China Sea, the gateway to East Asia. Around this time, the adjective Jāwī came into use as a reference for Muslims and the Islamicate culture of maritime Southeast Asia. The Venetian traveller Marco Polo (1254–1324) reported, when visiting the port of Perlak in Northern Sumatra, that its inhabitants had recently converted to Islam. Sailing with a mixed crew of Chinese and Muslim seafarers, Polo calls the island of Sumatra Java Minora, indicative of Sumatra’s political subservience to Java proper. Half a century later, in his account of Asian riches such as lubān jāwī or benzoin, Ibn Battuta of Tangiers (1303– 1368/9) reported that Sultan al-Malik al-Zahir, the ruler of the Sumatran principality of Samudra-Pasai – part of what is now the autonomous region of Aceh – not only bore an Arabic name, but was also a pious adherent of the Shāfʿī law school.9 The discovery of tombstones of Sumatran rulers, engraved with Arabic names and Hijri dates that correspond to the 1290s C.E., has provided a tentative corroboration of these accounts. The picture of the situation in fourteenth-century Java is less conclusive, however. The oldest Muslim gravestones found in Trowulan and Troloyo, dating back to 1368/9 and 1376/7 respectively, also display the Hindu phallic symbol, the lingam, demonstrating that, at the time, the locals saw no contradiction in embracing Islam while simultaneously retaining other religious composites of Javanese culture.10 The issue of pinpointing an accurate date for the adoption of Islam by the indigenous peoples of Southeast Asia will probably never be resolved with any degree of exactitude. Of greater signifcance is what scholarship has established regarding the remaining two questions: where the doctrine Islam was introduced to the Southeast Asian region from, and who the carriers of this new religious tradition were. On the frst of these questions, regarding the provenance of Islam in Southeast Asia, the initial picture is also somewhat difuse. The Dutch Arabist and Indonesianist Hari Drewes (1899–1992) relates how, in the early 1860s, fellow Dutchmen Joannes Jacobus de Hollander (1817–1886) and George Karel Niemann (1823–1905) pointed to Arabia as the place where conversion was

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initiated. This was based on the self-evident fact that this is where Islam itself originated. Following a comparable line of reasoning, one of the earliest students of Islamic Law in the Netherlands, Salomon Keyzer (1824–1868), had already suggested Egypt as a possible point of origin, because that is where the Shāfʿī school of law, prevalent throughout Muslim Southeast Asia, was frst established. A decade later, drawing on the writings of Marco Polo and Ibn Battuta, yet another Dutch scholar, the frst professor of Malay at Leiden University, Jan Pijnappel (1822–1901), suggested that Arabs settled in Gujarat and on the Malabar Coast in India were responsible for introducing Islam to maritime Southeast Asia. However, the most prominent Dutch Orientalist of the late colonial era, Christiaan Snouck Hurgronje (1857–1936), was of the opinion that its point of origin should be sought in the southern parts of the Indian subcontinent – although he did not specify which area he had in mind. Later, the Pakistani scholar Sayyid Qudratullah Fatimi argued that Islam was imported from Bengal – basing his thesis on the Suma Oriental, a travelogue by the Portuguese Tomé Pires (c.1465–1540), presumed lost until it was published in 1944 – but he also added a second line of conversion coming to Indonesia from China via Champa.11 Apart from information derived from early travel accounts, the acceptance of India as the point of origin was also informed by the earlier mentioned discovery and description of Muslim tombstones in Northern Sumatra and in Eastern Java by the Dutch planter and amateur archaeologist Jean Pierre Moquette (1856–1927). According to Moquette, these tombstones were of Gujarati design. However, the dating of the oldest of these stones to the late thirteenth century is difcult to reconcile with the fact that Islam had only just begun to make inroads in that part of India. For that reason, and also on the basis of stylistic considerations, Fatimi maintains that the tombstones were brought from Bengal.12 Because of its geographical proximity and known existence of close trade relations with Southeast Asia, also Drewes is inclined to accept the plausibility of this Bengali connection. For the same reasons, and partly corroborated in the work of the British orientalist Thomas Walker Arnold (1864–1930), more research should be done into the possible infuence of Tamil Muslims.13 Azra notes that Arnold also indicated the Malabar Coast and Arabia as places from which Islam may have been brought to Southeast Asia.14 This brings us back to the “Arab theory” of the introduction and integration of Islam in Southeast Asia, originally proposed by the Dutch scholars previously mentioned.15 In his own research on scholarly networks across the Indian Ocean during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, Azra has extensively explored these direct links between Muslim Southeast Asia and the Arab Middle East. Both proponents of the Middle East and the Indian subcontinent as the points of origin for Islam in Southeast Asia base their arguments on the longstanding trade relations between these regions. There are some problems

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regarding the modalities of the religious conversion process, however. While scholarship has shown that connections between the Middle East and maritime Southeast Asia date back to the earliest days of Islam, and were probably already established during pre-Islamic times, what would then explain the vacuum of nearly half a millennium between the travels of the frst Muslim merchants from the seventh century onward and the frst indications of any conversions on a substantial scale between the thirteenth and sixteenth centuries? The social and economic historian Jacob Cornelis van Leur (1908– 1942), whose posthumously published Indonesian Trade and Society (1955) emphasised the importance of commerce in maritime Southeast Asia’s contact with the outside world, was also unable to ofer any explanation.16 Economic and political motivations cannot then be regarded as the prime cause for the adoption of Islam. As Farid Alatas pointedly asked: if that were the case, why had Southeast Asians never embraced Chinese religions?17 Equally unconvincing is the contention of the sociologist Bep Schrieke (1890– 1945) that the arrival of Christian Portuguese drove the Malays to Islam, as the conversion process had already commenced before any Portuguese had ever set foot on Asian shores.18 The only direct infuence exercised by the Portuguese on the role of Islam in Southeast Asia is through the conquest of the port of Melaka. The fall of Melaka stimulated the rise of alternative emporia in the western and eastern parts of maritime Southeast Asia, namely Aceh in northern Sumatra and Patani on the east coast of the Malay Peninsula (now a province of Thailand).19 Instead, Alatas and Azra side with Anthony Johns, who was the frst to elaborate the thesis that Sufsm played an important part in the acceptance of Islam in insular Southeast Asia.20 Leaving aside the question of the exact timing and origin of Islam’s initial introduction to Southeast Asia, Johns focused on fnding explanations for the apparent acceleration in the spread of Islam between the thirteenth and ffteenth centuries, a phenomenon that has led to its identifcation as a “distinctive period in Malay history.”21 Johns touches on both the question of agency (who introduced Islam in Southeast Asia) and underlying motivations for the acceptance of Islam by the peoples of Southeast Asia. In a number of publications written in the course of almost thirty-fve years of pioneering scholarly activity, he has come to an increasingly subtle reading of Islam’s integration in Southeast Asia, in which intellectual and other cultural-historical considerations feature prominently. While accepting the signifcance of the ancient trade route networks crisscrossing the Indian Ocean in the spread of religious traditions, Johns rejected the idea of traders as the chief candidates for spreading Islam. Instead, he looked for other actors travelling the same trajectories: It is not usual to think of sailors and merchants as bearers of religion. If, however, we think of certain traders belonging to Suf trade guilds,

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accompanied by their Shaikhs, there seems a more plausible basis for the spread of Islam.22 In his studies of the Islamic expansion in the Malay-Indonesian archipelago Johns has continued to explore, adjust, and revise the assumption he set out with in the early 1960s: The hypothesis I wish to elaborate then is as follows: the primary impulse behind the development of Islam among the Indonesian peoples is the preaching of the Sufs and that the Sufs, by virtue of the organisation of their orders, and their craft and guild organisation, were able to gain control of administrative units of the port cities of North-East Java.23 What makes this a plausible hypothesis, in the view of Johns, is that an increase in the rate of conversions to Islam in Southeast Asia coincides with the emergence of Suf orders (ṭarīqas) in the Middle East, North Africa, and South Asia as the main institutions holding the fabric of Muslim societies together after the fall of the ʿAbbāsid caliphate in Baghdad in 1258 as a result of Mongol invasions.24 Apart from this macro-historical development afecting the Muslim world at large and his “profling” of likely candidates for Muslim missioning eforts responsible for the introduction of Islam in Southeast Asia, Johns also emphasised the importance of urban settings for this emerging Muslim culture in Southeast Asia.25 It was here that the foundations were laid for an Islamic education system that would serve as a conduit for learning, knowledge, and ideas.26 But while recognising it as a shared feature in diferent parts of the Malay-Indonesian archipelago, Johns also notes that “the urban history of our region is freakish, disparate and abrupt,” and that the associated religious schools also operated in ways that were “autonomous” and “open to the infuence of a particular school or religious teachers.”27 Possibly in response to van Bruinessen’s challenge to this “Suf hypothesis,” in later writings Johns qualifed his early focus on Islamic mysticism – motivated by an admitted personal enthusiasm for the spiritual dimensions of Islam – by adding a stronger emphasis on the signifcance of Islam’s communal aspects and an appreciation for the importance of wider Islamic learning.28 This, in turn, led Johns to a more emphatically pronounced appreciation of the economic and political factors involved in the acceptance of Islam.29 For the rajas (rulers) of trade-based Malay chiefdoms and petty principalities located on the river mouths and estuaries of insular Southeast Asia, Islam represented a unifying factor in the face of political domination by the more powerful wet-rice-cultivating empires of continental Southeast Asia, a way to escape vassal status and avoid paying tribute to the Buddhist monarchs of the mainland farther north. Tapping into the mercantile and

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intellectual networks criss-crossing the Indian Ocean, Southeast Asian rulers saw embracing Islam as a means of forging alliances with Muslim potentates in other parts of the Indian Ocean and beyond. This would also explain the pattern of rulers accepting the new religion before their subjects did. A similar process appears to have transpired in a strip of port cities along the northern coast of Java, known as the Pasisir, the staging posts for later incursions into the island’s interior.30 Aside from the presence of fourteenthcentury tombstones, the earliest manifestations of proselytising Muslims on Java are associated with the so-called Wali Songo, the semi-legendary “Nine Saints.”31 Diferent sources give diferent lists of names for these holy men, and their biographies must be considered mythical rather than accounts of historical veracity. However, it is worth noting that many of the Wali Songo are attributed with Arab pedigrees. Farid Alatas draws attention to the fact that the legends of the Wali Songo mention their specifc Hadhrami origins.32 Emphasising that point in his article on the Ḥaḍramī diaspora, Alatas provides two corrections supporting his claim that “the Islamisation of various regions of the Indian Ocean cannot be divorced from the presence of the Ḥaḍramī trade diaspora.”33 The frst is a correction of those accounts which assume that the large-scale migrations from the Ḥaḍramawt did not commence until the eighteenth century.34 The second pertains to Johns’s “Suf hypothesis,” which does not consider the Ṭarīqa ʿAlawiyya. This order is unique among the Suf brotherhoods in the sense that “it was the only order in which nasab (descent) and ṭarīqa came together.”35 In this case, it means that descent from Imam ʿAlī, eponymous ancestor of the ʿAlid sayyids, is a requirement for membership in this brotherhood. The available information about the Wali Songo is recorded in sources of much later date, compiled and composed with the purpose of painting a particular picture of how the arrival of Islam on the island of Java came about. So, while before the end of the sixteenth century there is little or no incontestable evidence of what exactly transpired, the relevance and signifcance of the transmitted Wali Songo stories rest on what they can tell us about the outlook of Java’s Muslims towards their own past. While the initial introduction of Islam into Southeast Asia may have been peaceful, the continued integration process also involved belligerent rulers and militias composed of committed Muslims and headed by religious leaders. In their history of the early Muslim principalities of Java, de Graaf and Pigeaud have suggested that these forces may have been modelled after earlier armed groups of pious militants recruited from the expatriate Muslim merchant communities who had taken control of the Pasisir ports in the course of the fourteenth and ffteenth centuries. It suggests a twin-trajectory towards Islamic state-building on Java: the usurpation of political control by a Muslim “middle class,” and the conversion of “pagan” rulers.36

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As a fnal illustration of the idiosyncratic dynamics involved in the introduction of Islam in Southeast Asia and its occasional branching out beyond the Indonesian-Malay archipelago, an episode in seventeenth-century Cambodia is particularly pertinent. A Khmer prince decided to convert to Islam after coming to the throne through a violent palace revolution in which other members of the royal family were massacred. Trading his royal style of Reameathipadei for the title Sultan Ibrahim, to protect his position he sought an alternative support base among the expatriate Muslim communities of Malays and ethnic Cham migrants from what is now southern Vietnam. The rule of Cambodia’s only Muslim king ended after twelve years with his assassination in 1658.37 The most important consequence of this expansion of our knowledge of the history of Islam in Southeast Asia is the realisation that it was not a uniform process. The contacts of a region as large and culturally diverse as the MalayIndonesian archipelago with other parts of the Muslim world were extensive, and it is therefore not possible to formulate what Johns called a “single bigbang theory,” adding that “each centre has its own story to tell” and that, in the absence of a single answer to the question of when exactly Islam arrived in Southeast Asia, we must also look for a “variety of starting points,” and “numerous modalities for its difusion.”38 The acceptance of Islam by Southeast Asians was therefore not the result of a single act of conversion, but of a long process that is still continuing. In view of this long durée dimension, it has been suggested that its acceptance and integration in Southeast Asia should not be described using Nock’s terms of “adhesion” or “conversion” in a mutually exclusive sense, but rather by seeing that process as a combination of the two.39 Adaptation: Daʿwa in vernacular languages

With the recognition of the signifcance of communal Muslim practices such as prayer, almsgiving, and fasting, alongside Suf infuences, came a better appreciation of the importance of wider Islamic learning in Southeast Asia, including scriptural exegesis (tafsīr) and Islamic law (fqh). In spite of an “oral bias” in the earliest Islamic infuences and budding indigenous Muslim traditions in Southeast Asia, Johns discovered that as time progresses “there are some interesting examples in Malay writing of the way Islamic ideas travelled.”40 Not only did ideas “travel,” but as per Edward Said’s notion of “travelling theory” Johns concluded that “a closer study of this [Malay] mystical literature shows that the years between 1600 and 1670 were a period of change and reformulation in the conceptual framework used by the mystics.”41 In addition to mystical texts, there were also other documents “more Indonesian than specifcally Islamic which refer to the coming of Islam”42: the Javanese and Malay royal chronicles. The chronicle of the kings of Pasai on Sumatra credits the ruler of Mecca for dispatching missionaries to the

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court of Samudra, in what is now Aceh. The Sejarah Melayu, or History of Malaya, contains references to the Qurʾānic story of Alexander the Great; the conversion of the ruler of Melaka by a holy man from the West-Arabian port city of Jeddah; and the arrival of a scholar from Mecca with a book of (unspecifed) Islamic teachings.43 True to his recommendation to account for specifc local conditions, Johns emphasises the distinctions between the relatively unadorned chronicles from Sumatra and the much richer Javanese accounts.44 The Javanese chronicle traditions, textured with what Alatas calls the “fantastic,” are “of great signifcance both in themselves and as evidence of acculturation.”45 Johns tends to see that signifcance more in terms of what it tells us of the Javanese worldview and what that meant for the actual adaptation of Islam to Javanese culture and society. Such diferences illustrate the diferent modalities at work in Java and in the Malay-speaking regions along the Straits of Malacca respectively. A  further investigation of these newly emerging Muslim cultures in maritime Southeast Asia not only helps in better understanding the dynamics of the further spread and integration of Islam in the Malay-Indonesian world, but also contributes to a fuller appreciation of the role of contacts with the Middle East in this process. The formation of a newly emerging literary culture using written Malay – an adapted Arabic script called Jāwī – is closely associated with four key fgures who, after extended periods of study in Arabia, spent an important part of their careers living and working in the northern Sumatran sultanate of Aceh. This quartet consists of Hamzah Fansuri (Hamza al-Fansūrī) (d. 1527, or late 16th century)46; Shams al-Dīn al-Sumatrānī (also known a Shamsuddin of Pasai) (c.1575–1630); Nūr al-Dīn al-Rānirī (d. 1658); and ʿAbd al-Raʿūf al-Singkilī (1615–1693). One of the frst to study the writings of Hamzah Fansuri as part of his argumentation for the “Arab theory” of the origins of Islam in Southeast Asia is the Indonesian-Malaysian scholar Syed Muhammad Naguib al-Attas (1931). Based on his historical-philological analysis of Fansuri’s oeuvre, al-Attas argues that the afnities between the Arabic and Persian literary traditions and the Malay Muslim literature emerging from the sixteenth century onwards provide convincing evidence for an integration process that connects insular Southeast Asia directly with the Muslim Middle East. What al-Attas calls his “general theory of the Islamisation of the MalayIndonesian Archipelago” is based on a “history of ideas as seen through the changing concepts of key terms in the Malay language in the tenth/sixteenth and eleventh/seventeenth centuries.”47 Of crucial importance is the arrival of Islam’s revered sacred text, the Qurʿān. Its impact on Malay culture was not limited to introducing the core tenets of the faith; it also instilled an awareness of the importance of language, stimulating a tendency towards greater clarity of expression and setting in motion the transition from oral to written literary traditions.

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The formulation of this theory is further based on studying primary texts in Malay “of a literary nature in the felds of religious law and jurisprudence (sharīʿa and fqh), philosophy or rational theology and metaphysics (ʿilm al-kalām and tasawwuf).”48 Al-Attas emphasises this highly intellectual and rational religious dimension to underscore the revolutionary changes in the Malay-Indonesian worldview that these infuences triggered, contending that “the coming of Islam, seen from the perspective of modern times, was the most momentous event in the history of the archipelago,” more important than the earlier introduction of other religious traditions from India.49 It was the introduction and absorption of wider Islamic learning “that frst brought the Malay-Indonesian world in contact with ‘western’ rationalistic thinking in the form of Greek philosophy.”50 Al-Attas presents the linguistic, literary, and philosophical implications of the coming of Islam not only also as a correction of what were, in his eyes, the “manifestly erroneous” tendencies of historians and other scholars to reduce the revolutionary changes brought about by Islam to “external” phenomena such as trade, politics, and arts, but also to challenge contentions that “Islam came from India and was conveyed to the Archipelago by ‘Indians’.”51 This adamant dismissal is then qualifed, allowing that missionaries and texts may indeed have travelled via India, but the basic point remains that Islam’s propagators were of Arab or Persian origin, and that the religious content of their teachings was Middle Eastern, not Indian. According to al-Attas, the impact of Islamic philosophy and mysticism, as well as the poetics of Islamic literatures on the formation of Malay Muslim writing culture, is fully manifested in the writings of Hamzah Fansuri. Hailing him as the inventor of shaʿir as a new genre in Malay literature, al-Attas argues that Fansuri’s poetry demonstrates his familiarity with terminology derived from Arabic-Persian prosody, as well as his audience’s appreciation of the creative adaptations applied within the cultural context of the Malay world.52 As for its mystical and metaphysical contents, Fansuri’s oeuvre exemplifed the “tremendous infuence of the Shaykh al-Akbar – the Doctor Maximus among the Sufs – Muhyī al-Dīn ibn al-ʿArabī of Spain (638/1240),” and “the marked infuence of the thoughts and ideas of ʿAbdul-Karīm al-Jīlī (832/1428).”53 The impact of their theosophist views – especially the notion of the “unity of being” or waḥdat al-wujūd, so central to what is often referred to as Akbari thought – continued through the writings of the other three key fgures in this formative period of Islamic writing culture in insular Southeast Asia. Reinforced by the elaborations of the doctrine of “unity of being” by the Indian scholar Muḥammad bin Faḍl Allah al-Burhānpūrī (d. 1620) in his Al-Tuḥfa al-mursala ilā rūḥ al-nabī (“The gift addressed to the spirit of the Prophet”) of c.1590 C.E., Shams al-Dīn al-Sumatrānī and ʿAbd al-Raʿūf al-Singkili continued to propagate Ibn al-ʿArabī’s theosophy through their own writings. The Indian-born Nūr al-Dīn al-Rānirī, however,

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was vehemently opposed to it and roundly condemned the wujūdiyya doctrine. During his stay in Aceh during the 1630s and 1640s, he even directed a kind of inquisition against what he considered the heretical writings of Hamzah Fansuri and Shams al-Dīn.54 Network Islam: integrating Southeast Asia into the Muslim world

The “Arab theory” of the introduction and early dissemination of Islam in maritime Southeast Asia, as expounded by Syed Muhammad Naguib al-Attas in his historical-philological research and by Tony Johns in his “Suf hypothesis,” led the latter to characterise the Indian Ocean as an “Arabic-speaking Mediterranean.”55 Paralleling an earlier conceptualisation of the Indian Ocean by Oliver Wolters as “a vast zone of neutral water, which rulers inside and outside Southeast Asia independently and for their own interests wanted to protect,” as well as suggestions by Denys Lombard and Michael Lafan to speak of a “Southeast Asian Mediterranean” and “Jāwī ecumene,” respectively have led me to see the Indian Ocean basin as a maritime expanse for what I have called “network Islam.”56 With this I posit that Muslims from Southeast Asia were not passive recipients of Islamic knowledge but active participants in the formation of this distinct Southeast Asian, or Jāwī, Muslim culture. Generally speaking, maintaining a communal tradition of Islamic learning depends on two important factors: transmission and authorisation; an argument could be made to expand this by adding “translation.” In the case of Islam in Southeast Asia, it was contended until quite recently that “[i]t is not until the time of Abd al-Raʿūf [al-Singkili] that this line of transmission of teaching and authority is established.”57 However, the fndings of R. Michael Feener and Michael Lafan indicate that these lines of transmission and networks can actually be traced back several centuries earlier, to a Suf by the name of Abu Abdullah Masʿūd al-Jāwī who lived and worked in an Arabian port on the Red Sea. Judging by his name, he was a Muslim from Southeast Asia. Piecing together the biographical details of this religious scholar and his colleagues and students, he must have lived in the thirteenth century.58 By the sixteenth century, these networks had been massively expanded. And it should not be forgotten that these connections also extended into the political realm. The Sultanate of Aceh in the northern tip of the island of Sumatra maintained diplomatic contacts with both Mecca and Istanbul. These relations were so active that one can even speak of a military alliance between Aceh and the Ottoman Empire.59 Based on these connections with the wider Muslim world, in particular with the Arabian Peninsula and the al-Ḥaramayn al-Sharīfayn, Aceh became known as the Serambi Mekka or the “Verandah of Mecca.”60 The mapping of scholarly networks across the Indian Ocean, connecting maritime Southeast Asia with the centres of Islamic learning in the Middle

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East, has greatly benefted from the work of Azyumardi Azra and Peter Riddell. Their research also shows that the mystical tradition of tasawwuf disseminated by the trans-local Suf orders were complemented by other disciplines of Islamic learning, thus forging a coherent and integral Muslim society. Azra’s painstakingly detailed collection of data – both biographical and doctrinal – concerning the participants in these seventeenth- and eighteenthcentury scholarly networks has also greatly contributed to knowledge of the ways in which Islamic renewal, reformism, and – eventually – modernism reached insular Southeast Asia. Establishing the place of earlier mentioned fgures such as al-Rānirī and al-Singkilī in these networks indicates the signifcance of Southeast Asian Muslims within this constellation. Following the establishment of Ottoman control over Egypt and the Ḥijāz, the security situation in the Western Indian Ocean and Red Sea improved and hajj trafc intensifed. Muslims from Southeast Asia soon formed an important contingent in the increasing numbers of hajj pilgrims and expatriate students in the holy cities of Mecca and Medina, to such an extent that prominent scholars in Mecca and Medina began responding to issues that were of specifc concern to Jāwī Muslims. In 1661, for instance, in order to resolve tensions among Acehnese Muslims resulting from al-Rānirī’s attacks on Hamzah Fansuri and Shams al-Dīn al-Sumatrānī, Medina’s leading scholar of the day, Ibrahīm al-Kurānī (1614– 1690), wrote a commentary on al-Burhānpūrī’s Tuḥfa.61 Yet al-Kurānī’s signifcance extended further than that, because he was also responsible for completing ʿAbd al-Raʿuf al-Singkilī’s training in tasawwuf after the latter’s initiation into both the Shattāriyya and Qādiriyya ṭarīqāt or Suf orders by al-Kurānī’s own teacher, Aḥmad al-Qushāshī (1583–1661).62 While scholars based in the Ḥaramayn, such as al-Qushāshī and Al-Kurānī, held a central position in the seventeenth-century networks connecting insular Southeast Asia and the Middle East, research into the wanderings of ʿAbd al-Raʿuf has demonstrated that he also visited Qaṭar and spent a considerable part of his nineteen years away from Aceh at various places in Yemen, such as Bayt al-Faqīh and Zabīd.63 Moreover, al-Singkilī’s writings also show a concern with wider Islamic learning. Drawing on existing Arabic commentaries, such as Baydāwī’s Anwār al-tanzīl and the Jalālayn, he compiled the frst complete tafsīr on the Qurʾān in Malay, entitled Tarjumān al-Mustafīd.64 Another feature of these scholarly networks – and according to Azyumardi Azra the “most salient” – was the “rapprochement between the sharīʿahoriented ʿulamāʾ (more specifcally, the fuqahāʾ) and the Sufs.”65 The transfer of such ideas to Southeast Asia was sustained throughout the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries and opened the way for ideas of Islamic renewal and reformism originating elsewhere in the Muslim world to reach the MalayIndonesian archipelago during that period.66 This forms an important corrective to the general opinion held by Indonesian intellectuals and Western

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scholars alike (including Hamka and Deliar Noer, Howard Federspiel, and Cliford Geertz) that this only happened in the late nineteenth or early twentieth century.67 Moreover, in addition to those of northern Sumatra, ʿulamāʾ from Palembang in Southern Sumatra, the islands of Borneo, Java, and Sulawesi, and from Patani also began to participate in these networks. Relations between Southeast Asian Muslim scholars and the centres of Islamic learning in the Arab Middle East continued to develop throughout the nineteenth century. According to Michael Lafan, so far these more recent historical links have been even more poorly understood than the earlier ones, betraying another “weakness in Area Studies as a whole given that scholars seem disinclined to consider work done in geographic felds outside their own purview.”68 In the early nineteenth century, the West’s relationship with the archipelago was redefned, resulting in the “complete subjection of Indonesian and Malay political and administrative authority to alien rule,” but combined with a parallel increase in the communications with the “heartland of Islam.”69 Indicative of that is a changing of the guard in the opposition against European encroachment on the region. While the Java War (1825– 1830) commenced as the last rebellion led by a scion of the Javanese court aristocracy, the protracted Sumatran Padri wars (1803–1841), originally starting out as a reformist challenge of internal political structures in the Minangkabau by returning hajjīs, inspired by successes of the Wahhābī movement in Arabia, eventually pitched the ʿulamāʾ against the Dutch colonial authorities.70 In addition, technological advances arriving in tandem with the West’s political intrusions would “inadvertently serve to bind Muslims more closely together.”71 The introduction of the steamship helped increase pilgrim numbers performing hajj and thus intensify and sustain connections with the Ḥaramayn. The cultural hybridity of Southeast Asian societies was further enhanced by an explosive growth in Ḥaḍramī and Chinese migration. In spite of policies of the Dutch colonial authorities to restrict hajj participation and keep the so-called Vreemde Oosterlingen (“Foreign Orientals”) under close surveillance, both pilgrim trafc and emigration showed a remarkable resilience. At the same time, contact between diferent Muslim communities – both abroad and at home – also “fostered seemingly contradictory ideas of both local and Islamic identities,” or a sense of what Lafan has called “both Islamic communitas and Jāwī ecumenism.”72 Far from their homelands, when they encountered Muslims from all over the world during their visits to Mecca and Medina, pilgrims from Southeast Asia also had the opportunity to “merge with the kernel of the Jāwī ecumene abroad, the Muqīmūn.”73 The overall situation in the Ḥijāz was far from static, and Lafan’s research into the life and work of the Minangkabau scholar Ahmad Khatīb (1815–1915/6) demonstrates that by the end of nineteenth century, Muslim intellectuals

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with a profle that difered from the traditional ʿulamā’ were on the rise in Mecca. They were more open to the ideas that were now percolating through from another centre of Islamic learning, and hub of a new wave of Islamic reformism: Cairo.74 The emergence of this “Cairene reformism,” associated with the ideas of Islamic reformers like Jamāl al-Dīn al-Afghānī (1838–1897), Muḥammad ʿAbduh (1849–1905), and Rashīd Riḍā (1865–1935) happened in parallel with the exposure of upper-class Egyptian students to Western learning, and the similar experiences of selected native elites in what were now called the Dutch East Indies. This development was of great importance for the acceptance of ʿAbduh’s reform agenda, which envisaged that Muslims would “activate themselves through all knowledge: including ‘Western’ knowledge’.”75 Cairo’s signifcance as a hotbed of new Muslim intellectualism went beyond the reputation of its almost thousand-year-old al-Azhar university, and Southeast Asian Muslims were not merely consumers but active participants in formulating these novel Islamic discourses: In the late 1890s, then, al-Azhar was not Cairo’s only claim for attention for Hadhrami and Jāwī students. The intellectual climate in Egypt was far more open than that of the Ḥijāz. . . . [T]he Jāwā themselves were beginning to make their mark on the reformist movement under the leadership of Rashīd Ridā.76 Another technological innovation that also contributed greatly to the dissemination of reformist thought in the Muslim world was the introduction of the printing press. Publishing houses in the Middle East produced materials in Arabic, and – in Istanbul, Cairo, and, from 1885, in Mecca (where scholars from Patani played a prominent role) – were also instrumental in the printing of Jāwī texts.77 With these emerging printing presses, journalism also made its frst appearance in the Muslim world, with periodicals becoming an important conduit through which Islamic reformism and modernist ideas were spread. In insular Southeast Asia itself, Palembang, Padang, Patani, Penang, and Singapore emerged as the major centres for the publication of books and periodicals in Malay – printed both in Jāwī, but increasingly also in Rūmī, or Latin, script.78 Dozens of Arabic and Malay-language periodicals catering to the Ḥaḍramī and other expatriate Arab communities thrived in the Dutch East Indies – and Singapore – in the interwar years. In this new communications network, Singapore became a nodal point for the dissemination of Cairene reformism in Southeast Asia: “Cairo and Singapore respectively marked the Western and Eastern termini of Britain’s dominance of the Indian Ocean. British dominance not only facilitated communications, but a relatively relaxed attitude to the indigenous presses allowed new organs to fourish.”79

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Outside the cosmopolitan metropolis of Singapore, reformist ideas fell on particularly fertile soil in Sumatra’s Minangkabau area, where a division became frst visible between traditional Muslims, referred to as the kaum tua, or “old group,” and the kaum muda, or “new group,” meaning supporters of ideas advocated by fgures such as ʿAbduh and Riḍā. In the early twentieth century, the kaum muda’s cause received a boost from “emancipatory” policies towards Muslims in the Dutch East Indies, introduced at the instigation of the colonial administration’s chief adviser on Islamic afairs, Christiaan Snouck Hurgronje. This led to the kaum muda receiving “ofcial recognition as acknowledged spokesmen on Islamic issues.”80 Because of this orientation toward Cairene reformism, “the kaum muda now enjoyed almost exclusive rights to the linkage between the lands on either side of the winds.”81 While this would sustain the notion of Muslims from the Dutch East Indies as being part of a global Islamic community, or umma, the downside was that it had a negative impact on their participation in the nationalist project towards independence. While the authorities continued to clamp down on any Pan-Islamist political tendencies, a space was created that enabled Muslims of the Dutch East Indies to mobilise themselves in mass organisations such as the Sarekat Islam (1912) and Muhammadiyah (1912). The main focus of these organisations with regard to the adoption of Cairene reformism was not so much theological as in the “spheres of educational organisation.”82 In order to keep up with their reformist rivals, the traditional Muslims, or kaum tua, responded in 1926 with the formation of their own mass organisation, the Nahdlatul Ulama (NU).83 Also after independence, these Islamic mass organisations continue to exercise tremendous infuence in postcolonial Indonesia through their cultural and social impact, as well as their political mobilising force and growing assertiveness towards the wider Muslim world. Concluding remarks

In this chapter I have tried to show how knowledge of the history of Islam in Southeast Asia has been accumulated piecemeal, gradually leading to an increasingly sophisticated understanding of the complexity of this process, and an appreciation for the multi-layered diversity of Islamic cultures in this geographical expanse on the eastern periphery of the historical Muslim world, straddling both sides of the equator and inhabited by a multi-ethnic and multi-religious population. The dynamics of knowledge production about Islam in Southeast Asia mirrors the fact that this process is ongoing. Tracing it from its beginnings, tentatively dated to the late thirteenth century, through a gradual shift from adhesion to conversion, adoption, and adaptation of Islam, the contours of a newly emerging Muslim culture using regional vernaculars can be discerned from the sixteenth century onward. As its integration into the wider Muslim world became more frmly established,

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thanks to a detailed mapping of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century intellectual networks, by the nineteenth century Southeast Asian Muslims had become increasingly aware of their own cultural distinctiveness and simultaneous belonging to the global umma. Although it falls outside the immediate scope of this chapter, by way of fnal observation it is important to signal that this combination of cultural assertiveness and wider religious integration continues throughout the twentieth century and into the twenty-frst. Islam and Muslim identity have informed both the independence struggle in the colonised parts of maritime Southeast Asia and the campaigns for autonomy along its frontiers with the Buddhist mainland and the Christianised Philippine archipelago. The fnancial windfall provided by the exploitation of fossil resources to postcolonial Muslim nation states such as Indonesia, Malaysia, and Brunei, have given further traction to forging closer relations with other oil-producing states in the Middle East and elsewhere, adding an economic component to politically, culturally, and religiously informed diplomatic ties. Since the 1960s, this has led to the association of Southeast Asian nation states with international political organisations and global NGOs such as OPEC, the Muslim World League (MWL), and the Organisation of Islamic Cooperation. Aside from this formal integration, there is also the challenge of other informal infuences. These may come with potential and real hazardous efects, such as the spread of violent Islamist activism, which Muslim Southeast Asia has also had to confront. Our growing knowledge of Islam in Southeast Asia shows that this is not a recent, external, or even alien phenomenon, but that it has historical roots and is an integral part of this complex and multilayered integration process. Notes 1 Syed Farid Alatas, “Hadramaut and the Hadrami Diaspora: Problems in Theoretical History,” in Ulrike Freitag and William Clarence-Smith (eds.), Hadhrami Traders, Scholars and Statesmen in the Indian Ocean, 1750s–1960s (Leiden, New York and Köln: E.J. Brill, 1997), 20–3. 2 Jan Romein, “Theoretical History,” Journal of the History of Ideas 9:1 (1948), 53–64. 3 Anthony H. Johns, “Islam and the Malay World: An Exploratory Survey with Some Reference to Quranic Exegesis,” in Raphael Israeli and Anthony H. Johns (eds.), Islam in Asia. Volume 2: Southeast and East Asia (Boulder: Westview Press, 1984), 115. Aside from the populations of two Muslim-majority countries, the Muslim minorities in Cambodia, the Philippines, Singapore, and Thailand should also be included in these demographics. 4 Sugata Bose and Kris Manjapra, Cosmopolitan Thought Zones: South Asia and the Global Circulation of Ideas (London and New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010). 5 Anthony H. Johns, “Islam in Southeast Asia: Refections and New Directions,” Indonesia 19 (1975), 35.

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6 Anthony H. Johns, “From Coastal Settlement to Islamic School and City: Islamization in Sumatra, the Malay Peninsula and Java,” Hamdard Islamicus 4:4 (1981), 3–4. 7 A useful introduction to the Annales School is provided in Peter Burke, The French Historical Revolution: The Annales School 1929–1989 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1991). An application of the Annales School method in the study of Southeast Asian history is found in Denys Lombard, Le Carrefour Javanais: Essay d’histoire globale (Paris: Éditions de l’École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales, 1990). 8 Michael F. Lafan, “Finding Java: Muslim Nomenclature of Insular Southeast Asia from Srivijaya to Snouck Hurgronje,” in Eric Tagliacozzo (ed.), Southeast Asia and the Middle East: Islam, Movement, and the Longue Durée (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2009), 53. 9 Ibid, 35–8. 10 Merle C. Ricklefs, Mystic Synthesis in Java: A History of Islamization from the Fourteenth to the Early Nineteenth Centuries (Norwalk: East Bridge Signature Books, 2006), 12–5. 11 Gerardus Willebrordus Joannes Drewes, “New Light on the Coming of Islam to Indonesia,” Bijdragen Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 124:4 (1968), 439–47. 12 Azyumardi Azra, “The Transmission of Islamic Reformism to Indonesia; Networks of Middle Eastern and Malay-Indonesian ‘Ulamâ’ in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries,” (PhD diss., Columbia University, 1992), 28–9. 13 Drewes, “New Light,” 443–5. 14 Azra, “The Transmission of Islamic Reformism,” 31. 15 Azra, “The Transmission of Islamic Reformism,” 33. 16 Syed Farid Alatas, “Notes on Various Theories Regarding the Islamization of the Malay Archipelago,” The Muslim World 75:3–4(1985), 166–7; Azra, “The Transmission of Islamic Reformism,” 38–9. 17 Alatas, “Notes on Various Theories,” 168. 18 Bertram J.O. Schrieke, Indonesian Sociological Studies. Selected Writings of B. Schrieke. Part Two: Ruler and Realm in Early Java (The Hague: W. van Hoeve, 1957), 232–7. 19 Carool Kersten, “The Predicament of Thailand’s Southern Muslims,” American Journal of Islamic Social Sciences 24:1 (2004), 3. 20 Alatas, “Notes on Various Theories,” 170; Azra, “The Transmission of Islamic Reformism,” 40. 21 Alatas, “Notes on Various Theories,” 63. 22 Anthony H. Johns, “Muslim Mystics and Historical Writing,” in D.G.E. Hall (ed.), Historians of South East Asia (London: Oxford University Press, 1963), 40. 23 Anthony H. Johns, “The Role of Sufsm in the Spread of Islam to Malaya and Indonesia,” Journal of the Pakistan Historical Society 9 (1961), 146–7. 24 Johns, “The Role of Sufsm,” 146; Johns, “Muslim Mystics,” 39. 25 Johns, “Islam in Southeast Asia,” 37; Johns, “From Coastal Settlement to Islamic School,” 7. 26 Johns, “From Coastal Settlement to Islamic School,” 7; Johns, “Islam and the Malay World,” 118. 27 Johns, “Islam in Southeast Asia,” 37–8. 28 Van Bruinessen only challenges the “Suf hypothesis” on the grounds of lack of data for the earliest period of Islamisation: Martin van Bruinessen, “The Origins and Development of Suf Orders (Tarekat) in Southeast Asia,” Studia Islamika 1:1 (1994), 4–5. In his own writings about Suf orders in Southeast Asia, van Bruinessen stresses the Arabian connections, cf. Martin van Bruinessen, “The Origins and Development of the Naqshbandi Order in Indonesia,” Der Islam 67

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35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46

47

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(1990), 150–79; Martin van Bruinessen, “Najmuddin al-Kubra, Jumadil Kubra and Jamaluddin al-Akbar. Traces of Kubrawiyya Infuence in Early Indonesian Islam,” Bijdragen Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 150:2 (1994), 305–29. Anthony H. Johns, “Sufsm in Southeast Asia: Refections and Reconsiderations,” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 26:1 (1995), 169. Merle C. Ricklefs, “Six Centuries of Islamization in Java,” in Nehemia Levtzion (ed.), Conversion to Islam (New York: Holmes and Meier, 1979), 104–6. For a detailed account of the exploits of the Wali Songo, cf. Douwe Adolf Ronkes, Nine Saints of Java (Kuala Lumpur: Malaysian Sociological Research Institute, 1996). Alatas, “Hadramaut and the Hadrami Diaspora,” 32–3. Alatas, “Hadramaut and the Hadrami Diaspora,” 29. Sumit Kumar Mandal, “Finding Their Place: A History of Arabs on Java under Dutch Rule, 1800–1924,” (PhD diss., Columbia University, 1994), 2; Nathalie Mobini-Kesheh, The Hadrami Awakening: Community and Identity in the Netherlands East Indies, 1900–1942 (Ithaca: Southeast Asian Program Publications (SEAP), 1999), 21. Alatas, “Hadramaut and the Hadrami Diaspora,” 31. Hermanus Johannes de Graaf and Theodoor Gautier Thomas Pigeaud, De Eerste Vorstendommen op Java: Studien over de Staatkundige Geschiedenis van de 15e en 16e Eeuw (The Hague: Martinus Nijhof, 1974), 27. Cf. Carool Kersten, “Cambodia’s Muslim King: Khmer and Dutch Sources on the Conversion of King Reameathipadei I 1642–1658,” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 37:1 (2006), 1–23. Johns, “From Coastal Settlement to Islamic School,” 4–5. cf. A.D. Nock, Conversion: The Old and the New Religion from Alexander the Great to Augustine of Hippo (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1933); Nehemia Levtzion, Conversion to Islam (New York: Holmes and Meier, 1979). Johns, “Muslim Mystics,” 41. Johns, “Muslim Mystics,” 42. For “traveling theory,” cf. Edward Said, The World, the Text, and the Critic (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1983), 226–47. Johns, “The Role of Sufsm,” 147–8. Johns, “Islam in Southeast Asia,” 40–1. Johns, “Muslim Mystics,” 46; Johns, “The Role of Sufsm,” 148f. Alatas, “Hadramaut and the Hadrami Diaspora,” 32; Johns, “The Role of Sufsm,” 46. Although little is known for certain about Hamzah Fansuri’s life, the sketchy details indicate that he was a well-travelled individual. Cf. Syed Naguib al-Attas, “New Light on the Life of Hamza Fansuri,” Journal of the Malay Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society (JMBRAS) 40:1 (1967), 42–51; Lode F. Brakel, “The Birth Place of Hamza Pansuri,” JMBRAS 42:2 (1969), 206–12; Vladimir I. Braginsky, “Towards the Biography of Hamzah Fansuri. When Did Hamzah Live? Data from His Poems and Early European Accounts,” Archipel 57 (1990), 135–75. The 1999 identifcation of the name Hamza al-Fansūrī on a tombstone discovered at Mecca’s Al-Maʿlā cemetery with a date corresponding to 1527 C.E. invites a radical rereading of the biography of Hamzah Fansuri and the chronology of the formative period of this Southeast Asian Muslim culture. Cf. Claude Guillot and Ludvik Kalus, “La Stêle Funéraire de Hamzah Fansuri,” Archipel 60 (2000), 3–24; Vladimir I. Braginsky, “On the Copy of Hamza Fansuri’s Epitaph” Published by C. Guillot & L. Kalus, Archipel 62 (2001), 21–33. Syed Naguib al-Attas, Preliminary Statement on a General Theory of the Islamization of the Malay-Indonesian Archipelago (Kuala Lumpur: Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka, 1969), 1.

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48 49 50 51 52

53 54

55 56

57 58 59

60 61 62

63 64

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Al-Attas, Preliminary Statement, 1. Al-Attas, Preliminary Statement, 2. Al-Attas, Preliminary Statement, 20–1 Al-Attas, Preliminary Statement, 25. Syed Naguib al-Attas, The Origin of the Malay Sha’ir (Kuala Lumpur: Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka, 1968), 25–30; Vladimir Braginsky, “On the Qasida and Cognate Poetic Forms in the Malay-Indonesian World,” in Stefan Sperl and Christopher Shackle (eds.), Qasīda Poetry in Islamic Asia and Africa. Volume One: Classical Traditions and Modern Meanings (Leiden, New York and Köln: Brill, 1996), 385. Al-Attas, The Origin of the Malay Shaʿir, 54–5. For a detailed discussion of these debates, cf. Syed Naguib al-Attas, Raniri and the Wujudiyyah of 17th Century Acheh (Singapore: Malaysian Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society, 1966). The episode is also mentioned in Azyumardi Azra, The Origins of Islamic Reformism in Southeast Asia: Networks of Malay-Indonesian and Middle Eastern ‛Ulamā in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press and Allen  & Unwin, 2004), 63–4; Peter G. Riddell, Islam and the Malay-Indonesian World. Transmission and Responses (Hawaii: University of Hawaii Press, 2001), 119–20. Johns, “Islam in Southeast Asia,” 38. Oliver W. Wolters, History, Culture and Religion in Southeast Asian Perspectives (Ithaca: SEAP Publications at Cornell University, 1982), 39; Henri ChambertLoir, “Denys Lombard (1938–1998),” Bulletin de l’École française d’Extrême Orient 85 (1998), 17; Michael Lafan, Islamic Nationhood and Colonial Indonesia: The Umma Below the Winds (London and New York: Routledge, 2003), 11f.; Carool Kersten, A History of Islam in Indonesia: Unity in Diversity (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2017), 25–54. Johns, “Islam in Southeast Asia,” 46. R. Michael Feener and Michael F. Lafan, “Suf Scents Across the Indian Ocean: Yemeni Hagiography and the Earliest History of Southeast Asian Islapakm,” Archipel 75 (2005), 185–208; Kersten, A History of Islam in Indonesia, 19–20. Anthony Reid, An Indonesian Frontier: Acehnese and Other Histories of Sumatra (Singapore: University of Singapore Press, 2005), 68–89; Christaan Snouck Hurgronje, “Een Mekkaansch Gezantschap naar Atjeh in 1683,” in Christiaan Snouck Hurgronje (ed.), Verspreide Geschriften III (Bonn and Leipzig: Kurt Schroeder, 1923), 139–47. Peter G. Riddell, “Aceh in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries: ‘Serambi Mekkah’ and Identity,” in Anthony Reid (ed.), Verandah of Violence: The Background to the Aceh Problem (Singapore: University of Singapore Press, 2006), 38–51. Azra, The Origins of Islamic Reformism in Southeast Asia, 41–3; Riddell, Islam and the Malay-Indonesian World, 127–8. Azra, The Origins of Islamic Reformism in Southeast Asia, 75. For more on the background of this relationship, cf. Anthony H. Johns, “Friends in Grace: Ibrahim al-Kurani and ‛Abd al-Ra’uf al-Singkeli,” in S. Udin (ed.), Spectrum: Essays Presented to Sutan Takdir Alisyahbana on His Seventieth Birthday (Jakarta: Dian Rakyat, 1978), 469–85. For al-Kurānī’s and other Haramayn scholars’ Kurdish backgrounds cf. Martin van Bruinessen, “The Impact of Kurdish ‛ulama on Indonesian Islam,” Les annales de l’autre islam 5 (1998), 83–106. Azra, The Origins of Islamic Reformism in Southeast Asia, 72–7; Riddell, Islam and the Malay-Indonesian World, 125–8. Peter F. Riddell, Transferring a Tradition: ʿAbd al-Raʿūf Al-Singkilī’s Rendering into Malay of the Jalālayn Commentary (Berkeley: Centers for South and Southeast Asian Studies, University of California at Berkeley, 1990).

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65 Azra, The Origins of Islamic Reformism in Southeast Asia, 33. 66 Cf. John O. Voll, “Muḥammad Ḥayyā al-Sindī and Muḥammad Ibn ‛Abd al-Wahhab: An Analysis of an Intellectual Group in Eighteenth-Century Madīna,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies (BSOAS) 38:1 (1975), 32–9; John O. Voll, “Hadith Scholars and Tariqahs: An Ulama Group in the 18thCentury Haramayn and Their Impact in the Islamic World,” Journal of Asian and African Studies 25:3–4 (1980), 264–73. 67 Azra, The Origins of Islamic Reformism in Southeast Asia, 109–10. 68 Lafan, Islamic Nationhood and Colonial Indonesia, 9. 69 William R. Rof, “South-East Asian Islam in the Nineteenth Century,” in P.M. Holt, Ann K.S. Lambton, and Bernard Lewis (eds.), The Cambridge History of Islam. Volume 2. The Further Islamic Lands, Society and Civilization (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1970), 155. 70 For detailed accounts, cf. Kersten, A History of Islam in Indonesia, 56–79. 71 Lafan, Islamic Nationhood and Colonial Indonesia, 49. 72 Lafan, Islamic Nationhood and Colonial Indonesia, 33 and 36. 73 Lafan, Islamic Nationhood and Colonial Indonesia, 55. 74 Lafan, Islamic Nationhood and Colonial Indonesia, 103–14. 75 Lafan, Islamic Nationhood and Colonial Indonesia, 121. 76 Lafan, Islamic Nationhood and Colonial Indonesia, 131. 77 For a detailed study, cf. Virginia Matheson and M.A. Hooker, “Jāwī Literature in Patani: The Maintenance of an Islamic Tradition,” JMBRAS 61:1 (1988), 1–86. 78 Lafan, Islamic Nationhood and Colonial Indonesia, 143; cf. also Ian Proudfoot, Early Malay Printed Books: A Provisional Account of Materials Published in the Singapore-Malaysia Area Up to 1920, Noting Holdings in Major Public Collections (Kuala Lumpur: Academy of Malay Studies and The Library of the University of Malaya, 1993). 79 Lafan, Islamic Nationhood and Colonial Indonesia, 149. 80 Lafan, Islamic Nationhood and Colonial Indonesia, 174. 81 Lafan, Islamic Nationhood and Colonial Indonesia, 233. 82 Lafan, Islamic Nationhood and Colonial Indonesia, 170. 83 Kersten, A History of Islam in Indonesia, 105–22.

Bibliography Alatas, Syed Farid, “Notes on Various Theories Regarding the Islamization of the Malay Archipelago,” The Muslim World 75:3–4 (1985), 162–75. Alatas, Syed Farid, “Hadramaut and the Hadrami Diaspora: Problems in Theoretical History,” in Ulrike Freitag and William Clarence-Smith (eds.), Hadhrami Traders, Scholars and Statesmen in the Indian Ocean, 1750s–1960s (Leiden, New York and Köln: E.J. Brill, 1997), 19–38. al-Attas, Syed Naguib, Raniri and the Wujudiyyah of 17th Century Acheh, Singapore: Malaysian Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society, 1966. al-Attas, Syed Naguib, “New Light on the Life of Hamza Fansuri,” Journal of the Malay Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society (JMBRAS) 40:1 (1967), 42–51. al-Attas, Syed Naguib, The Origin of the Malay Sha’ir, Kuala Lumpur: Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka, 1968. al-Attas, Syed Naguib, Preliminary Statement on a General Theory of the Islamization of the Malay-Indonesian Archipelago, Kuala Lumpur: Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka, 1969.

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Azra, Azyumardi, The transmission of Islamic Reformism to Indonesia; Networks of Middle Eastern and Malay-Indonesian ‘Ulamâ’ in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, PhD dissertation: Columbia University, 1992. Azra, Azyumardi, The Origins of Islamic Reformism in Southeast Asia: Networks of Malay-Indonesian and Middle Eastern ‛Ulamā in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries, Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press and Allen & Unwin, 2004. Bose, Sugata, and Manjapra, Kris, Cosmopolitan Thought Zones: South Asia and the Global Circulation of Ideas, London and New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010. Braginsky, Vladimir, “Towards the Biography of Hamzah Fansuri. When Did Hamzah Live? Data from His Poems and Early European Accounts,” Archipel 57 (1990), 135–75. Braginsky, Vladimir, “On the Qasida and Cognate Poetic Forms in the MalayIndonesian World,” in Stefan Sperl and Christopher Shackle (eds.), Qasīda Poetry in Islamic Asia and Africa. Volume One: Classical Traditions and Modern Meanings (Leiden, New York and Köln: Brill, 1996), 371–78. Braginsky, Vladimir, “On the Copy of Hamza Fansuri’s Epitaph Published by C. Guillot & L. Kalus,” Archipel 62 (2001), 21–33. Brakel, Lode F., “The Birth Place of Hamza Pansuri,” JMBRAS 42:2 (1969), 206–12. Burke, Peter, The French Historical Revolution: The Annales School 1929–1989, Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1991. Chambert-Loir, Henri, “Denys Lombard (1938–1998),” Bulletin de l’École française d’Extrême Orient 85 (1998). de Graaf, Hermanus Johannes, and Pigeaud, Theodoor Gautier Thomas, De Eerste Vorstendommen op Java: Studien over de Staatkundige Geschiedenis van de 15e en 16e Eeuw, The Hague: Martinus Nijhof, 1974. Drewes, G.W.J., “New Light on the Coming of Islam to Indonesia,” Bijdragen Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 124:4 (1968), 433–59. Feener, R. Michael, and Lafan, Michael F., “Suf Scents Across the Indian Ocean: Yemeni Hagiography and the Earliest History of Southeast Asian Islam,” Archipel 75 (2005), 185–208. Guillot, Claude, and Kalus, Ludvik, “La Stêle Funéraire de Hamzah Fansuri,” Archipel 60 (2000), 3–24. Hurgronje, Christaan Snouck, “Een Mekkaansch Gezantschap naar Atjeh in 1683,” in Christiaan Snouck Hurgronje (ed.), Verspreide Geschriften III (Bonn and Leipzig: Kurt Schroeder, 1923), 139–47. Johns, Anthony H., “The Role of Sufsm in the Spread of Islam to Malaya and Indonesia,” Journal of the Pakistan Historical Society 9 (1961), 143–61. Johns, Anthony H., “Muslim Mystics and Historical Writing,” in D.G.E. Hall (ed.), Historians of South East Asia (London: Oxford University Press, 1963), 37–49. Johns, Anthony H., “Islam in Southeast Asia: Refections and New Directions,” Indonesia 19 (1975), 33–55. Johns, Anthony H., “Friends in Grace: Ibrahim al-Kurani and ʿAbd al-Raʿuf al-Singkeli,” in S. Udin (ed.), Spectrum: Essays Presented to Sutan Takdir Alisyahbana on His Seventieth Birthday (Jakarta: Dian Rakyat, 1978), 469–85. Johns, Anthony H., “From Coastal Settlement to Islamic School and City: Islamization in Sumatra, the Malay Peninsula and Java,” Hamdard Islamicus 4:4 (1981), 3–28. Johns, Anthony H., “Islam and the Malay World: An Exploratory Survey with Some Reference to Quranic Exegesis,” in Raphael Israeli and Anthony H. Johns (eds.),

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Islam in Asia. Volume 2: Southeast and East Asia (Boulder: Westview Press, 1984), 115–61. Johns, Anthony H., “Sufsm in Southeast Asia: Refections and Reconsiderations,” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 26:1 (1995), 169–83. Kersten, Carool, “The Predicament of Thailand’s Southern Muslims,” American Journal of Islamic Social Sciences 24:1 (2004), 1–29. Kersten, Carool, “Cambodia’s Muslim King: Khmer and Dutch Sources on the Conversion of King Reameathipadei I 1642–1658,” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 37:1 (2006), 1–23. Kersten, Carool, A History of Islam in Indonesia: Unity in Diversity, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2017. Kumar Mandal, Sumit, Finding their place: A history of Arabs on Java under Dutch rule, 1800–1924, PhD dissertation: Columbia University, 1994. Lafan, Michael, Islamic Nationhood and Colonia Indonesia: The Umma Below the Winds, London and New York: Routledge, 2003. Lafan, Michael F., “Finding Java: Muslim Nomenclature of Insular Southeast Asia from Srivijaya to Snouck Hurgronje,” in Eric Tagliacozzo (ed.), Southeast Asia and the Middle East: Islam, Movement, and the Longue Durée (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2009), 17–64. Levtzion, Nehemia, Conversion to Islam, New York: Holmes and Meier, 1979. Lombard, Denys, Le Carrefour Javanais: Essay d’histoire globale, Paris: Éditions de l’École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales, 1990. Matheson, Virginia, and Hooker, M.A., “Jawi Literature in Patani: The Maintenance of an Islamic Tradition,” JMBRAS 61:1 (1988), 1–86. Mobini-Kesheh, Nathalie, The Hadrami Awakening: Community and Identity in the Netherlands East Indies, 1900–1942, Ithaca: Southeast Asian Program Publications (SEAP), 1999. Nock, A.D., Conversion: The Old and the New Religion from Alexander the Great to Augustine of Hippo, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1933. Proudfoot, Ian, Early Malay Printed Books: A Provisional Account of Materials Published in the Singapore-Malaysia Area Up to 1920, Noting Holdings in Major Public Collections, Kuala Lumpur: Academy of Malay Studies and the Library of the University of Malaya, 1993. Reid, Anthony, An Indonesian Frontier: Acehnese and Other Histories of Sumatra, Singapore: University of Singapore Press, 2005. Ricklefs, Merle C., “Six Centuries of Islamization in Java,” in Nehemia Levtzion (ed.), Conversion to Islam (New York: Holmes and Meier, 1979), 100–28. Ricklefs, Merle C., Mystic Synthesis in Java: A History of Islamization from the Fourteenth to the Early Nineteenth Centuries, Norwalk, CT: East Bridge Signature Books, 2006. Riddell, Peter F., Transferring a Tradition: ʿAbd al-Raʿūf Al-Singkilī’s Rendering into Malay of the Jalālayn Commentary, Berkeley: University of California, 1990. Riddell, Peter G., Islam and the Malay-Indonesian World. Transmission and Responses, Hawaii: University of Hawaii Press, 2001. Riddell, Peter G., “Aceh in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries: ‘Serambi Mekkah’ and Identity,” in Anthony Reid (ed.), Verandah of Violence: The Background to the Aceh Problem (Singapore: University of Singapore Press, 2006), 38–51.

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Rof, William R., “South-East Asian Islam in the Nineteenth Century,” in P.M. Holt, Ann K.S. Lambton, and Bernard Lewis (eds.), The Cambridge History of Islam: Volume 2. The Further Islamic Lands, Society and Civilization (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1970), 155–81. Romein, Jan, “Theoretical History,” Journal of the History of Ideas 9:1 (1948), 53–64. Ronkes, Douwe Adolf, Nine Saints of Java, Kuala Lumpur: Malaysian Sociological Research Institute, 1996. Said, Edward, The World, the Text, and the Critic, Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1983. Schrieke, Bertram J.O., Indonesian Sociological Studies. Selected Writings of B. Schrieke. Part Two: Ruler and Realm in Early Java, The Hague: W. van Hoeve, 1957. van Bruinessen, Martin, “Najmuddin al-Kubra, Jumadil Kubra and Jamaluddin alAkbar. Traces of Kubrawiyya Infuence in Early Indonesian Islam,” Bijdragen Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 150:2 (1994a), 305–29. van Bruinessen, Martin, “The Origins and Development of Suf Orders (Tarekat) in Southeast Asia,” Studia Islamika 1:1 (1994b), 1–23. van Bruinessen, Martin, “The Impact of Kurdish ‛ulama on Indonesian Islam,” Les annales de l’autre islam 5 (1998), 83–106. van Bruinessen, Martin, “The Origins and Development of the Naqshbandi Order in Indonesia,” Der Islam 67 (1990), 150–79. Voll, John O., “Muhammad Ḥayyā al-Sindī and Muḥammad Ibn ‛Abd al-Wahhāb: An Analysis of an Intellectual Group in Eighteenth-Century Madīna,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies (BSOAS) 38:1 (1975), 32–39. Voll, John O., “Hadith Scholars and Tariqahs: An Ulama Group in the 18th-Century Haramayn and Their Impact in the Islamic World,” Journal of Asian and African Studies 25:3–4 (1980), 264–73. Wolters, Oliver W., History, Culture and Religion in Southeast Asian Perspectives, Ithaca: SEAP Publications at Cornell University, 1982.

2 LIVING SUNNA Scholars, community leaders, and the integration of Islam in Java Ismail Fajrie Alatas

It is narrated in the Javanese court chronicles that following the establishment of the frst Islamic sultanate in Java, the wali songo – the nine saints believed to be among the earliest Muslim missionaries in Java – built a congregational mosque. Completed in 1498, the grand mosque of Demak marked the crystallisation of a new Islamic community.1 As a communal place of worship, the mosque is a site where members of the community can assemble and interact with one another. At the very least, they congregate every Friday to listen to a sermon that elaborates Prophetic teachings and pray, although ideally, they are supposed to assemble fve times a day for the obligatory prayers. A mosque also serves as an infrastructure of regimentation. While praying collectively, Muslims ought to stand behind a prayer leader and follow his lead. They are supposed to face one, and only one direction (qibla), that of the Kaʿba, the stone cube edifce at the centre of the Grand Mosque of Mecca. Thus, like any other mosque, the Demak mosque was built in a way that the miḥrāb – the semi-circular prayer niche where the imam stands as he leads the prayer – faces Mecca. Assembling a new regimented community, however, was apparently not that simple for the early Muslims of Java. A  nineteenth-century Javanese court chronicle, the Babad Jaka Tingkir, tells a story of the Demak mosque’s resistance to the saints’ attempt to orient its qibla toward Mecca: The mosque nudged to right and left swinging to and fro from north to south still never came to rest. Then did the Lord Sunan Bonang and the First Among Kings [Sunan Giri] drawing in their breaths will the world condensed DOI: 10.4324/9781032702902-4

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in a fash accomplished was the sovereign wali’s [saint] miracle Condensed the world was tiny And Mecca shone close by Allah’s Ka’bah was nigh, manifest before them To estimate its distance but three miles of it loomed The Celibate Lord did beckon Seh Malaya [an alias of Sunan Kalijaga], ware to the subtle sign Lord Sunan Kali [Jaga] rose to his feet From north he did face south One leg he did extend to side Both legs did stretch forth Long and tall, their stance astride His right foot reaching Mecca came just outside the fence of Allah’s Ka’bah there His left foot did remain behind Planted to the northwest of the mosque Allah’s Ka’bah did his right hand grasp His left hand having taken hold of the uppermost peak of the mosque Both of them he pulled Stretched out and brought to meet The Ka’bah’s roof and the peak of the mosque Realized as one being were Perfectly straight strictly on mark.2 Alluding to the historical difculty that marked Java’s conversion to Islam, this anecdote portrays the tensions inherent in the labour of assembling a community oriented toward a new religion, sacred space, and foundational past, all of which were foreign. Mitigating these tensions was the mission of saints and scholars who are portrayed as labouring to overcome various local challenges, symbolised in the anecdote by the mosque’s resistance, to socially realise Islamic teachings. Interestingly, the anecdote describes how these actors were able to surmount the mosque’s obduracy not by forcing the mosque to orient itself toward the Kaʿba, but by adjusting the position of both edifces so that the two could form a perfect alignment. The anecdote seems to argue that the Islamisation of Java requires the Javanisation of Islam. In this chapter I want to use the preceding anecdote to think about the transmission and integration of Islam in Java. Foregrounding a more complicated picture of transmission, the anecdote points to what I call articulatory labour that lies at the heart of the transmission of Islam. Articulation is an active practice of aligning two or more diferent entities so that they can become meaningfully connected.3 Insofar as the articulated entities contradict, or are in tension with, one another, articulation involves “the construction

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of nodal points which partially fx meaning” and results in a qualitative transformation of the conjoined entities.4 Thinking about the transmission of Islam as the outcome of articulatory labour accentuates the grounded work of Muslim scholars in modulating the teachings of the Prophet Muḥammad in light of local cultural assumptions that, in turn, help their social realisation as sunna – the established customs and beliefs that make up the tradition of a community. In what follows, I examine the articulatory labour performed by Muslim scholars and community leaders in the grassroots that has enabled the social realisation of Prophetic teachings in Java. I identify two diferent modes of articulatory labour, each characterised by an understanding of the sunna as either living and cumulative, or objectifed and defnitive. I exemplify these modes of articulatory labour with cases taken from three periods: the early nineteenth century, the mid- to late-nineteenth century, and the contemporary. These cases illustrate how scholars and community leaders use diferent means to articulate and socially realise Prophetic teachings in light of challenges that confront them in their own localities and historical moments. Variation in the mode of articulatory labour, in turn, generates divergent sunnas. Focusing on articulatory labour thus demonstrates how Islam becomes rooted in and modulated by distinct socio-cultural realities. Indeed, it is Islam’s capacity to accommodate and adapt to cultural particularities that had allowed it to strike deep roots in Java. Before moving on to Java, however, a few words are in order regarding the notion of sunna. Sunna: living and objectifed

The term sunna is derived from the verb sanna, meaning to institute a practice that is emulated by others, thereby becoming an established custom that makes up a community’s tradition. Today, most Muslims use the term sunna exclusively to refer to the deeds, utterances, and spoken approvals of the Prophet Muḥammad. Muslims posit the Prophetic sunna as the concrete elucidation of divine revelations enshrined in the Qurʾān, from dress codes and performance of worship to rules for war. While the Qurʾān does not contain most of the specifc theological, legal, and ethical teachings that make up Islamic norms, it repeatedly commands Muslims to “obey God and His Prophet” (Q. 8:1) and pronounces Muḥammad to be “a most goodly example” (Q. 33:21). In doing so, the Qurʾān posits the Prophet’s life as “the lens through which the holy book is interpreted and understood.”5 Prophetic sunna, however, was never written down during the Prophet’s life. Entextualisation and compilation of reports that describe the sunna – known as ḥadīths (Ar. pl. aḥādīth) – occurred “over a period of decades and even centuries” after the Prophet’s death and, as such, they “are not in themselves contemporary historical documentation of what Muḥammad said and did.”6

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In the frst two Islamic centuries the sunna was perceived as living, culturally embedded, and cumulative. The term referred to the exemplary practice instituted not only by the Prophet but also by those connected to him, who were believed to know and embody his teachings, such as the Prophet’s companions residing in diferent places.7 The sayings and practices of the Prophet were complemented by his successors, whose distinct experiences, characteristics, and memories of the Prophet blended with local cultures to form diferent regional sunnas.8 Subsequent development of Islamic legal theory, however, led to the canonisation of a methodological framework that delineates the Prophetic past, as objectifed in the ḥadīths, as the exclusive fount of sunna. Objectifcation isolated the Prophetic past as “a clearly defned and uniquely normative category,” rendering it into “an unchanging and authoritative measuring stick” that can circulate across distance and diference.9 Those skilled in authenticating and extrapolating the normative implications of ḥadīths – such as ḥadīth verifers and jurists – emerged as religious authorities. These actors have, in turn, continued to project the ḥadīths as the common and readily available transcripts of Prophetic sunna imbued with scriptural standing and universal signifcance. As text, the sunna moves across contexts, allowing Muslims living in diferent times and places to imagine a shared and disembedded normativity independent of its particular context of production and realisations. This notion of the objectifed sunna, however, is just one among several conceptions of sunna operating among Muslims. The older conception of the living sunna continues to exist, most notably among the Sufs.10 For the Sufs, a Suf master (murshid) is an exemplar (qudwa). He is believed by his followers to be genealogically connected to the Prophet, has assimilated his characteristics, and actively transmits his teachings. As a result, his personality and conduct, as well as the practices he institutes, are considered as sunna and normative for his followers. Here, the recognition of the universal regulatory force of the sunna is not accompanied by a belief in the uniformity and fnality of its content, which may be derived from Prophetic precedents corroborated by ḥadīths but may also include innovations tied to specifc contexts and challenges but nonetheless taken to essentially epitomise Prophetic teachings through the fgure of the Suf master. Sociologically, what turns a particular practice into sunna is its perceived connection – in whatever shapes or forms – to the Prophetic past, together with its ability to become a precedent. Scholars who compile and disseminate ḥadīths can be said to institute sunna precisely because they do so not simply for antiquarian reasons but to help facilitate their reenactment. Such works, however, are not sufcient to ensure the social realisation of the ḥadīths as sunna. After all, authentic ḥadīths may be compiled in books that nobody reads, let alone acts upon. They may become objects of a scholastic enterprise with limited social consequences. Instituting sunna demands that the

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instituted practice is doable, recognisably connected to the Prophetic past (even if its authenticity is uncertain), comprehensible to others through their particular cultural assumptions, and that it fulfls specifc needs. Such a process diversifes and particularises the sunna in relation to its new context of transmission and realisation. As will be shown in the following pages, both the notions of the objectifed and the living sunna have continued to exist and played signifcant roles in the transmission and integration of Islam in Java. To illustrate these dynamics, I turn to the grassroots actors responsible for articulating Prophetic teachings in Java and realising them as sunna, namely Muslim scholars and community leaders. Mystic synthesis or living sunna?

The historian M. C. Ricklefs describes the form of Islamic religiosity that historically developed in Java – particularly in the kratons (royal courts) – prior to the mid-nineteenth century as mystic synthesis. This, in his view, rested on three constitutive elements: (1) a strong sense of Islamic identity; (2) observation of the fve pillars of Islamic ritual; and (3) acceptance of the reality of local Javanese spiritual forces such as Ratu Kidul (the Goddess of the Southern Ocean), Sunan Lawu (the spirit of Mount Lawu), and other, lesser supernatural beings.11 The notion of mystic synthesis, as Ricklefs defnes it, denotes a unique combination of what some would describe as the more purifed aspects of Islam and non-Islamic elements. For Ricklefs, mystic synthesis was a historical achievement that resulted from the maintenance of Javanese philosophy and the adoption of “the outer symbols, rituals, and (rather selectively) the law” of Islam.12 Instead of using Ricklefs agglomerative term, which leaves the impression that Islam, as one of the two constituents of mystic synthesis, was already a pre-packaged entity that could sociologically exist without the other, I suggest that we retain the term sunna to denote that Javanese Islamic religiosity. As one among multiple realisations of sunna that have developed historically in diferent parts of the Muslim world, this particular sunna became increasingly seen as mystic, synthetic, or even problematic only because of the modern promotion and acceptance of a particular historically/geographically situated realisation of Islam as normative, thereby measuring other instantiations on its terms.13 When one particular – and often culturally purifed and abstracted – Islamic normativity is accepted, then other more complex and culturally bound instantiations of Islam are seen as “Islam + y,” where y points to the various elements deemed to be diferent from Islam, such as local cultures. To assume that culture is extrinsic to Islam, however, is to miss the complex and culturally situated articulatory labours that align and modulate Prophetic teachings and the community, resulting in their social realisation

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as sunna as alluded to in the anecdote with which this chapter begins. To illustrate this point, I turn to the fgure of Prince Dipanagara (d. 1855), the leader of the Java War (1825–1830) against the Dutch, who, in the words of his biographer: drew inspiration from the ancestral spirit world of the Javanese heartland just as much as from his devotion to Islam and the esoteric teachings of the Shaṭṭāriyya, precisely the type of “mystic synthesis” which Ricklefs has described as reaching its epitome in early nineteenth-century Java.14 Drawing on Dipanagara’s own memoir, together with a critical rereading of Peter Carey’s exhaustive biography of the prince, I want to focus on his articulatory labour to show how this enigmatic fgure strived to cultivate an Islamic community that revolved around a sunna that is as much Prophetic as it is Javanese. Prince Dipanagara was born in the kraton of Yogyakarta in 1785 to the second sultan of Yogyakarta. He grew up in an atmosphere of Islamic piety and devotion.15 Whilst growing up, Dipanagara mixed with the santris (pious Muslims) and studied Islamic texts under Suf scholars. He immersed himself in Islamic theology and law, Arabic grammar, Qurʾānic exegesis, Sufsm, and history, as well as edifying works including the Naṣīhat al-mulūk (Advice for princes). At the same time, he delved into pre-Islamic Javanese classics like the Serat Rama and Arjuna Wiwaha. Describing Dipanagara’s religious outlook Carey writes that “the prince seemed to be striving for the mystical unity of the Suf”.16 Like the Sufs, the prince saw the Prophet as the ultimate prototype of a mystic. Sufs posit the Prophet’s night ascension to the divine presence, the miʿrāj (as well as his descent back to the world), as their central paradigm for emulation. In their view, religious disciplines ought to be directed toward remaking the self in the image of the Prophet in the hope of attaining spiritual ascent and returning from that ascent to guide others. Suf metaphysicians have elaborated this doctrine in numerous works, including al-Tuḥfa al-mursala ilā rūh al-nabī (The Gift Addressed to the Spirit of the Prophet) of the Gujarati Shaṭṭarī scholar Muḥammad b. Faḍlallāh al-Burhānpūrī (d. 1620), which was amongst the prince’s favourite readings.17 To help achieve this spiritual state, the 20-year-old prince embarked on a spiritual wandering, or what is known in Java as lelono, akin to the Islamic conception of riḥla, or travel as a means for “seeking advanced learning in religious matters and spiritual fulflment.”18 Dipanagara began his peregrination by visiting several sacred sites and pesantrens (Islamic boarding schools). He meditated at places of crucial historical connection to his royal ancestors, including caves (like the Prophet) and graves.19 During these meditations he beheld several spiritual visions and encountered important historical

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and mythical fgures, including Sunan Kalijaga (mentioned in the anecdote of the Demak mosque) and Ratu Kidul (the Goddess of the Southern Ocean). Dipanagara’s spiritual wandering and his imaginal meetings with both the spirits of Muslim saints and pre-Islamic deities highlight an imaginal world that dynamically combines the Prophetic past as refracted through the Suf teachings of the Shaṭṭāriyya and the ancestral spirit world of Java. Such a world paradoxically contains and combines several foundational pasts, from the Prophetic past to Java’s pre-Islamic and saintly pasts, thereby opening up the possibility for a distinct articulation of the sunna. Between 1809 and 1810, Dipanagara witnessed an unprecedented colonial intrusion into his homeland. The colonial state annexed the eastern territories of the Yogyakarta Sultanate. The prince, whose vision of a normative social order had been shattered by the violent and humiliating colonial expansion, was determined to unite the diverse elements of Javanese society, including royalty and aristocrats, Muslim scholars and their students, and the peasants, under the banner of holy war (prang sabil) against the Dutch. One way to understand the enigmatic prince and his signifcant success in assembling a composite force is to see it as a project of cultivating an Islamic community that revolved around his articulation of the sunna. Dipanagara was deeply infuenced by Prophetic history, the teachings of the Shaṭṭāriyya, older Javanese imaginations, and Javanese court culture, all of which coalesced without being necessarily reconciled in his very person. This allowed the prince to articulate his own version of the sunna, one that drew on Prophetic teachings and Javanese traditions recognizable to the composite community he was cultivating. Claiming himself as the panatagama (regulator of religion) and the “caliph of the Prophet in the land of Java,” the prince was able to assemble a composite martial Islamic community that could maintain an extended war efort.20 The community he cultivated served as the site for the social realisation of his version of the sunna. In the aftermath of the Java War that concluded with the victory of the Dutch, Dipanagara was exiled to Makassar, Sulawesi, where he spent the last years of his life under house arrest. Living in solitude and stranded from most family members and followers, the exiled prince, who had witnessed more glorious days, decided to inscribe his version of the sunna into two texts, written “in a curious Javanese style with many Arabic words and phrases.”21 Their contents, according to Carey: deal with the prince’s understanding of Islam, his own religious experiences, Suf prayers used by the Naqshbandiyya and Shaṭṭāriyya mystical brotherhoods .  .  . and various meditation techniques most of which involved the control of the breath. Diagrams (daérah) for the utterance of Arabic words and breathing exercises during prayers as well as local Javanese mystical traditions (ngelmu) are frequently referred to. Indeed,

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the whole book is rather reminiscent of a Javanese divination manual or primbon.22 If Carey sees the texts as akin to a Javanese divination manual, his description seems to resonate more with what I have described as Dipanagara’s distinctive version of the sunna. Confronted by the failure to maintain an enduring community that could serve as a locus for the transmission and social realisation of this particular conception of the sunna, the aging prince turned to the pen, inscribing the sunna in textual forms, hoping that they could guide his ofspring and, perhaps, a future community. As Dipanagara was concluding his textual project, however, other kind of sunna texts had begun to proliferate in Java, brought by, among others, the increasing number of Arab migrants from the Ḥaḍramawt. Amidst such a rapid change, the Dipanagaran sunna texts became increasingly seen as “syncretic” and problematic. Indeed, they began to be perceived as “Javanese divination manuals,” or a textual expression of a Javanese “mystic synthesis,” instead of sunna texts. It is to this development that I now turn. Objectifed sunna

Langgar al-Ḥusayn is a small prayer hall situated not far from the grand congregational mosque of Pekalongan, Central Java. The langgar holds only the fve obligatory prayers usually attended by its neighbours. Every evening, following the twilight prayer, the imam of the langgar leads the congregation to recite a creedal text composed by the Ḥaḍramī scholar ʿAbdallāh b. ʿAlawī al-Ḥaddād (d. 1720). The text is written in a simple format to facilitate memorisation and is meant to be recited both individually and collectively. At the time of my feldwork (2011–2013), the late Rahman (d. 2018) was the imam of the langgar. A  pleasant and jovial man who was then in his early 60s, Rahman owned a shop selling sarongs at the local market. Rahman admitted I am not a scholar, nor do I know much about Islam although I did learn basic Islamic law [fqḥ] from one or two elementary legal abridgments [mukhtaṣars], so at least I know how to teach children how to perform ablution and pray. Observing Rahman’s daily labour of leading prayers and the recitation of al-Ḥaddād’s creedal texts made me cognizant of the langgar as an infrastructure that sustains a modest but subsisting Islamic community. Such a community is an assemblage made up of people, infrastructure, and textual technologies that come together thanks to the articulatory labour of a determined, but not necessarily highly learned, prayer leader. Textual forms like the creedal texts and abridged legal manuals, which curate and codify

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Prophetic teachings into accessible and user-friendly forms, allowed someone like Rahman, who was neither a saint, a scholar, nor a sultan, to perform the labour of articulating Prophetic teachings to others through curricular-based instruction. Such an articulatory mode opened up the possibility for the formation of new, identical, but simultaneously autonomous Islamic communities across contexts. Indeed, there are innumerable actors in Java today who perform a role similar to that of Rahman. The mode of articulatory labour that I  observed in Langgar al-Ḥusayn began to take root in Java around the mid-nineteenth century. Its success in becoming paradigmatic correlated with the pacifcation of Java’s Islamic sultanates at the hands of the Dutch colonial state following the Java War discussed in the last section. This was a time when Java’s old Islamic order was falling apart. The kraton-centred articulatory mode that produced living and culturally embedded sunna represented by the likes of Dipanagara was disintegrating. It was also, however, an era of economic prosperity for the Ḥaḍramī entrepreneurial diaspora of British Malaya and the Dutch East Indies.23 This resulted in increasing demand for scholars from the Ḥaḍramawt to take on the position of religious instructors for the wealthy Ḥaḍramī diasporic community.24 While the estates and the prayer halls of the Ḥaḍramī entrepreneurs formed the itineraries of travelling Haḍramī scholars, these sites also aforded them the ability to interact with a broader audience. After all, the Ḥaḍramīs were living in buzzing port cities like Singapore, Betawi (Jakarta), Gresik, and Surabaya, where exchanges of merchandise, commodities, and ideas took place. These travelling Ḥaḍramī scholars were infuenced by the eighteenthcentury reformist scholar ʿAbdallāh b. ʿAlawī al-Ḥaddād whose socioreligious vision was centred on reorienting the commoners (ʿawāmm) to the Prophetic sunna and eradicating what he saw as the preponderance of erroneous innovations (bidʿas).25 To realise this vision, al-Ḥaddād introduced a mode of articulatory labour that hinges on an accessible curriculum, which would allow for the social realisation of a standardised and manageable sunna common to all Muslims, notwithstanding their backgrounds. Al-Ḥaddād described this curriculum in his fnal work, Al-Daʿwa al-tāmma wa-ltadhkira al-ʿāmma (The complete call and the general reminder), completed in 1702. The curriculum is divided into doctrinal and practical knowledge. Regarding the frst, he wrote that for most Muslims: it is sufcient to learn the creeds [ʿaqīdas] composed by the imams whose knowledge, trustworthiness, and devotion have been agreed upon, like the Proof of Religion [ḥujjat al-islām] [al-Ghazālī]. His creed, written in the beginning of the chapter “Foundation of Belief” in the book Iḥyāʾ ʿulūm al-dīn [Revivifcation of Religious Sciences], is adequate and fnal for this purpose. We have also presented an abridged but thorough creed in the

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beginning of Itḥāf al-sāʾil and in the epilogue of al-Naṣāʾiḥ al-dīniyya. These are sufcient.26 As for the second branch, al-Ḥaddād maintained that: it is adequate to learn what has been conveyed by the Proof of Religion [al-Ghazālī] in Bidāyat al-hidāya [The Beginning of Guidance], except that this book does not discuss the needed knowledge pertaining to alms and hajj. Nevertheless, he [al-Ghazālī] discussed them in the Iḥyāʾ ʿulūm al-dīn. It is sufcient for the devout to learn from what has been discussed by the most learned jurist ʿAbdallāh b. ʿAbd al-Raḥmān b. al-Ḥāj Abī Faḍl in Al-Mukhtaṣar al-laṭīf [The delicate abridgment].27 As al-Ḥaddād made clear, two textual technologies were central to this articulatory mode: creedal text (ʿaqīda, Ar. Pl. ʿaqāʾid) and the legal abridgment (mukhtaṣar). By codifying Prophetic sunna into uniform and accessible theological and legal texts accessible to the commoners, al-Ḥaddād sought to assert the consistency of Islamic teachings and minimise normative indeterminacy. Such an articulatory mode projects a vision of an objectifed sunna posited to be consistent, autonomous, and purifed from the particularities of local cultures. The two textual technologies thus became the means for constituting a community of standardised belief and practice. These sunna texts work against localising forces by allowing doctrines and teachings posited to be universally applicable; to be extracted from one context and inserted into others. Concurrently, they generate asymmetrical relations by opening up a space for the emergence of actors who can explain, translate, or simply lead the recitation of these texts in diverse interactional settings. Al-Ḥaddād refers to such an actor as a shaykh al-taʿlīm (teaching master) – that is, someone who provides instruction by following an established curriculum of study.28 One does not need to be a scholar, a spiritual virtuoso, to become a shaykh al-taʿlīm. What is required is simply the ability to teach the texts. After all, the texts recommended by al-Ḥaddād are accessible and written for the most general Muslim audience. They can be taught easily by someone who has studied them with another shaykh al-taʿlīm. Al-Ḥaddād therefore invented a new but enduring pathway to constituting text-based religious authority that can reproduce itself for generations. It has done so by opening the way to the widespread participation of persons who were neither Arab nor highly literate but could nevertheless rise to become socially recognised religious authorities by mastering and transmitting these straightforward texts. The spread of these sunna texts in Java was enhanced by two forms of mobility that intersected with the aforementioned itineraries of the Ḥaḍramī scholars. These were the rise of the Javanese pilgrimage to Mecca and the

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movement of Muslim scholars away from the kratons. The increase in the number of Javanese making pilgrimage to Mecca was made possible by, among other things, the monetisation of the agricultural economy, which allowed more Javanese to aford the cost of travel to Mecca.29 By the 1850s and 1860s, an average of approximately 1,600 pilgrims were setting out from the Dutch East Indies annually, despite the colonial authority’s attempts to discourage them from going.30 In Mecca, the pilgrims were exposed to diverse scholars teaching diferent texts. By the early 1800s, the works of Abū Ḥāmid al-Ghazālī (d. 1111) and his commentators, including the Egyptian ʿAbd al-Wahhāb al-Shaʿrānī (d. 1565), which like those of al-Ḥaddād stress the dissemination of simplifed texts on legal and ethical guidance, had begun to replace the earlier Shaṭṭārī-oriented Medinese tradition of Sufsm with its emphasis on intricate metaphysical teachings.31 Indeed, the Shaṭṭārī Sufsm that was once so dear to Prince Dipanagara was becoming unfashionable in the Ḥijāz, and Javanese pilgrims began to fock to the more law-oriented Suf orders like the Sammāniyya, the Naqshbandiyya, and the QādiriyyaNaqshbandiyya. Upon returning to Java, many of these pilgrims challenged the social positions of established rural teachers – many of whom were afliated with the older Shaṭṭāriyya – and attempted to carve out their own community by teaching the texts they had learned in Mecca. The second form of mobility, that of the movement of Muslim scholars away from the kratons, was the result of the colonial state’s attempt to distance the royal courts from the scholars. During the Java War, the Dutch witnessed the devastation wreaked by the coalition of Javanese princes, Muslim scholars, and the peasantry. In its aftermath, the Dutch worked to isolate the kratons from both the masses and the infuence of Muslim scholars. One consequence of this colonial policy was the movement of Muslim scholars – many of whom were involved with Prince Dipanagara – away from the royal court into the countryside and the littoral. This movement resulted in the proliferation of new langgars (prayer halls) in the countryside, some of which gradually developed – owing to the popularity of the presiding scholar – into a pesantren, or Islamic boarding school.32 Being among the commoners meant that these scholars had to adjust to more straightforward pedagogical texts. Consequently, their educational institutions served as sites of learning where new Islamic curriculums began to take shape. Infuenced by the works of the Egyptian, Ḥijāzi, and Ḥaḍramī scholars, these emerging curriculums emphasised the dissemination of simplifed theological creeds and legal abridgments. The intersection between the two aforementioned forms of mobility and the itineraries of Ḥaḍramī scholars infuenced by al-Ḥaddād resulted in both the proliferation of Islamic communities on the one hand and their gradual standardisation on the other. By the time L.W.C. van den Berg compiled a list of ffty texts studied in the pesantrens of Java and Madura in 1887, a clear and consistent program of study was already discernible, albeit with slight

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variations from one institution to the next.33 These pesantrens had become sites of learning where simplifed creed and legal abridgment, together with several texts on Arabic linguistic sciences, made up the core elementary curriculum.34 Included in the curriculum were the texts recommended by al-Ḥaddād and absent from it were the previously popular metaphysical works like the Shaṭṭārī Tuḥfa. These pesantrens became the premier sites for producing future shaykhs al-taʿlīm. Over time an increasing number of pesantren graduates spread all over Java and beyond, cultivating new Islamic communities in diferent places. Their mastery of the creedal texts and the legal abridgments enabled them to constitute their own communities. Albeit sporadic and autonomous, these communities are aligned to a standardised notion of belief and practice as codifed in the now canonised sunna texts. Being modular and accessible renders these texts susceptible to circulation across an infnitely wide range of contexts. Their dissemination sustains a vision of an objectifed and disembedded sunna assumed to be socially realisable everywhere. Concurrently, the transmission of these texts demands actors who can articulate the sunna texts to others and whose authority is contingent solely on their mastery of these authoritative texts. These religious instructors range from graduates of pesantrens who are able to teach and explain the intricacies of the texts, to shopkeepers like Rahman, who use the texts to lead ritual recitation, help children memorise divine attributes, and teach them how to pray. While the preponderance of these sunna texts has certainly facilitated further grassroots integration of Islam in Java that continues to the present day, it does not mean, however, that the notion of the objectifed sunna that these texts help to sustain is the only conception of sunna at work. On the contrary, forms of articulatory labour informed by the notion of the living sunna can still be encountered in contemporary Java. To this dynamic I now turn. Contemporary sunna

It was 2 in the morning, and we were on the road from Surabaya to Pekalongan. Habib Luthf was sitting next to the driver, fnishing his cigarette. I was in the back seat with two of the habib’s aides. The car was moving fast. The road was empty except for two or three lorries, which we were able to overtake easily. Being in the car for nine hours provided me with the rare opportunity to converse with Habib Luthf without interruption. On that particular journey, however, everyone seemed to be too exhausted to chat. From the rear-view mirror, I could see that the habib was about to fall asleep. He covered his head with a white cotton scarf, and closed his eyes. He must have fallen asleep, I thought, and so I decided to rest my eyes. But all of a sudden, I heard him speak: In the pesantren, I learned dead knowledge [ilmu mati]. Again and again, we studied text, text, and text. When I  travelled, however, I  learned

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wisdom [ḥikma]. The scholars I encountered were not known for their textual knowledge. Yet from them, I learned living knowledge [ilmu hidup]. The knowledge of the saints is living knowledge. It took me a few months to realise what Habib Luthf meant by living knowledge. That moment of realisation presented itself one afternoon when I arrived at the habib’s house to fnd him sitting with eight recent graduates of a pesantren, all men in their early 20s. They had come to visit the habib to seek his blessing and advice. “You have learned all the necessary books in the pesantren,” Habib Luthf told them, What remains for you is to try to gain wisdom. Remember what Allāh said to the Prophet: Allāh had sent down the book [al-kitāb] and wisdom [ḥikma] [Q. 4:113]. Knowing the book without wisdom freezes your knowledge. But if you have wisdom, the knowledge of the book that you have within you will spread and move others. You learn wisdom not from the books. You learn it from the people, by being with them and understanding their culture [kultur]. I understand that you have a strong zeal [himmah yang kuat] to teach others what you have learned, especially when you see practices that go against the sunna. But you should also learn that life is complex. Do not try to make people change their habits if you want them to hear and follow you. Instead, learn from them. By understanding their habits, you will be able to attract them. The Prophet prescribed diferent things to diferent people according to their capacities. To a companion, he prescribed an invocation be repeated one thousand times. To another, he prescribed the same invocation be repeated only thirty-three times. So do not just impose one particular sunna on everyone. You should strive to act as the Prophet did. Habib Luthf’s advice to the pesantren graduates made me realise that what he meant by living knowledge is a knowledge that moves and mobilises, thereby creating a diference in the world. While the mobility of knowledge requires infrastructure, channels, and pathways, its ability to mobilise demands that the knowledge is comprehensible to others through their particular cultural assumptions and fulfls their specifc needs. For Habib Luthf, the sunna is not singular. The Prophet prescribed diferent things to diferent people because he was aware of individual variations. Thus, in the habib’s view, a one-sizefts-all religious approach will not work because of the complexity of human social life. The ways in which Prophetic teachings are selected and articulated ought to depend on the particularity of the context where those teachings are to be socially realised. Habib Luthf Bin Yahya (b. 1947) of Pekalongan (Central Java) is one of the most infuential Muslim scholars of contemporary Indonesia. Born into an Indonesian-Hadramī family that claims descent from the Prophet

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Muhammad, Habib Luthf studied under numerous scholars of Islamic law, theology, and Sufsm in Java before being appointed by one of his teachers to succeed him as a master of the Naqshabandiyya-Khālidiyya and Shādhilīyya Suf orders. As a Suf master, he worked for years to maintain and expand the Suf congregation that he inherited from his teacher. His success in expanding his congregation gradually propelled him into national prominence. In 2000, he was elected by a council of senior Suf masters as the head of the association of Suf orders in Indonesia (JATMAN), one of the autonomous bodies under the traditionalist Nahdlatul Ulama, Indonesia’s biggest Islamic organisation, claiming more than 50 million members. Considered by many of his followers as a living saint, Habib Luthf has prominently nested himself in various social networks including political, military, scholarly, and business circles. Habib Luthf was educated in the pesantren of Benda in the village of Benda Kerep, Cirebon (West Java). Traditional Javanese pesantrens like Benda concentrate on producing shaykhs al-taʿlīm who can provide Islamic theological and legal education to their fellow Muslims. Education is geared toward developing a mastery of Ashʿarite theological and Shāfʿī legal texts, particularly the ability to translate them into Javanese. After being at Benda for fve years, Habib Luthf wandered around the rural areas of Java in pursuit of knowledge. Among the teachers he studied with during his wandering days were Muhammad Bajuri (Indramayu), Said b. Armiya (Tegal), Abdullah Hadziq (Jepara), Aḥmad Bafaqih (Yogyakarta), Dimyati Kedawung (Comal), Utsman al-Ishaqi (Surabaya), Ali Bafaqih (Bali), Noer Durya (Moga), and Umar Bin Yahya (Arjawinangun). In Javanese traditionalist Muslim circles, these individuals tend to be referred to as kyai khos – from the Arabic khāṣṣ (pl. khawāṣṣ, “elect”) – meaning scholars who are known primarily for their mastery of Islamic esoteric knowledge, like Sufsm. Most kyai khos belong to a Suf order, although not all perform the role of a Suf master (murshid) who guides initiated disciples. Many did not even establish a pesantren, opting to teach a few students from the privacy of their own homes. Apart from teaching, kyai khos usually perform other roles in their localities, such as mediating village conficts, curing illnesses, exorcism, and writing amulets. In his speeches and conversations, Habib Luthf often points to how his wandering years shaped his appreciation of the dynamic and contingent relationship between the sunna and the community. Here I quote two excerpts taken from his sermons, both of which discuss some of the things he learned during his wandering years: Whenever the villagers of Balongan [Indramayu, West Java] held a slametan [thanksgiving ritual feast], they would put a cup flled with a mixture of tea and cofee at the centre of where people were sitting. They called it wedang jembawuk, and it was meant as an ofering to the ancestral spirits

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[arwah leluhur]. My teacher, Grandpa [mbah] Bajuri, did not discourage them from doing so. He was invited by the villagers to attend the slametan, and he attended without saying anything. One day, Grandpa Bajuri told the village elders that one cup is not adequate as an ofering. They should add six more cups and that each should contain diferent sweetened liquid. He himself started to put seven cups during a slametan that he held, each containing cofee, tea, Fanta, orange juice, milk, Coca Cola, and coconut water. When the villagers asked him as to the signifcance of the seven liquids, he told them that when the Prophet Muḥammad was dying, he asked for seven cups of waters taken from the seven springs of Medina. As to their sweetness, Grandpa Bajuri explained that the Prophet used to like sweet things. So today the sunna of having seven sugary liquids has persisted in Balongan and what Grandpa Bajuri did was to make what used to be an ofering to the ancestral spirits into a way to remember and emulate the Prophet. When I  was living with Grandpa Arwani in Kudus [Central Java], I  asked him, “Grandpa, why is it that in Kudus, no one slaughters a cow during the ʿĪd al-Aḍḥā [Festival of the Sacrifce]?” Grandpa Arwani explained to me how this had been the way people of Kudus practice Islam. They forbid the slaughtering of cows, although it is ḥalāl [lawful]. This rule was introduced by the Lord Sunan Kudus [one of the nine saints of Java] when he noticed that most people living in Kudus were Hindus and he did not want to ofend them by slaughtering cows. So he made a new rule that forbids the slaughtering of cows during the ʿĪd al-aḍḥā and asked his followers to slaughter water bufalos instead. This has remained the sunna of the people of Kudus. From both excerpts, one can see how Habib Luthf’s experience of living in several Javanese localities – encountering problems that arose from the messiness of social life, and seeing his teachers handling such situations – formed his sensitivity toward cultural and societal diferences that demand diferent approaches. In both cases, scholars articulated and realised localised sunna rather than imposing one version of the sunna on the local people. They were less interested in applying categorical legal concepts like ḥalāl or ḥarām, and instead were more attentive to producing new meanings out of old practices and maintaining communal harmony. Habib Luthf once told me how living in the villages made him realise how the models of Islamic societies that he learned from studying Islamic legal texts in the pesantren – most of which are taken from medieval Baghdad, Damascus, or Cairo – cannot be realised in a place like Java, where people are facing dissimilar problems. What the case of Habib Luthf accentuates is precisely how the experience of lelono/riḥla (wandering) exposes students, particularly those who were trained in scholastic settings, to the complexity

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and heterogeneity of social life. As a dialogical process, lelono/riḥla teaches a student that a productive alignment between the sunna and the community requires their mutual calibration. Such activity, however, has become increasingly rare in the Islamic educational tradition in Java. In most cases, students fnish their studies at a single pesantren. While there are still students who move from place to place, they do so only to advance from one pesantren to another.35 In many cases religious education has become even more detached from the localities, in that Islamic education in Java is concerned primarily with preparing students to go to places that are perceived to be the fount of genuine knowledge of the sunna, like the Ḥijāz, Egypt, or the Ḥaḍramawt. Consequently, what is understood as sunna becomes increasingly detached, objectifed, and estranged from the dialogical entanglements with the sociocultural particularities that make up a community. Habib Luthf’s fnal destination in his wandering days was the village of Kedungparuk, Purwokerto (Central Java), the home of the NaqshbandīKhālidī Suf master Abdul Malik b. Muhammad Ilyas (d. 1980). He spent a total of twelve years in the company of Abdul Malik and was initiated into the Naqshbandī-Khālidī-Shādhilī Suf order. Shortly before his death, Abdul Malik appointed Habib Luthf as a master of the order. From Abdul Malik, he inherited an expansive community that had been assembled and maintained for more than a century, since the days of Abdul Malik’s father. Over several decades, Habib Luthf has indefatigably preached in many and varied localities and interacted with a highly diverse audience. Such encounters have allowed Habib Luthf to be known by diferent people, and many have decided to become disciples. Being a disciple of a Suf master establishes a diferent kind of hierarchical relationship from the one taking shape between preachers and their audience. Being a disciple involves the continuous efort of maintaining connection to the master, notwithstanding the geographical distance that separates them. Modelled on the paradigmatic relationship between the Prophet Muḥammad and his companions, Sufs posit discipleship as the privileged site of religious learning and spiritual growth.36 Some of Habib Luthf’s disciples have become reputable scholars with their own followings. A number of them have succeeded in establishing their own pesantrens. Husen is one of them. One evening in 2013, I managed to sit with Husen during his visit to Pekalongan. It was Ramaḍān, and we had just broken our fast. Husen recounted his journey of seeking religious knowledge, moving from one pesantren to another before fnally becoming Habib Luthf’s disciple. After living in Pekalongan for two years, Husen was instructed by Habib Luthf to move to Solo (Central Java), where he now presides over his own pesantren. Our conversation revolved around the meaning of being a disciple of a Suf master. “I  have seen the Prophet Muḥammad in Habib Luthf,” Husen whispered to me. He explained to me how, in the beginning, God created the

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Muḥammadan Reality (ḥaqīqa muḥammadiyya). The Muḥammadan Reality refects the beauty and perfection of the divine. It then manifested itself in diverse forms and in varying intensity, including in the forms of diferent prophets and saints. The Prophet Muḥammad was its most perfect human manifestation. The Prophet is the prototype of the perfect man (al-insān al-kāmil), a human who has succeeded in adorning himself with divine names and attributes. The perfect man, Husen explained, continues to exist in different shapes and forms at diferent times. These are the inheritors of the Prophet Muḥammad and the manifestations of the Muḥammadan Reality. “Just as the companions recognized the Prophet Muḥammad as the perfect man, I too, with an absolute positive thought have come to recognize Habib Luthf as the perfect man,” Husen concluded. In making sense of his relationship with Habib Luthf, Husen unapologetically shows his indebtedness to the works of the Iraqi Suf theoretician ʿAbd al-Karīm al-Jīlī (d. 1428). Elaborating the metaphysical ideas of the great Andalusian Suf Muḥyī-l-Dīn Ibn al-ʿArabī (d. 1240), al-Jīlī’s notion of the perfect man describes a human being who has succeeded in becoming the manifestation of divine attributes and becomes the point for the community to establish contact with the divine, akin to the role of the prophets, but in post-Prophetic era. Al-Jīlī’s ideas, as Alexander Knysh suggests, refect a “gnostic-individualistic” interpretation of Islam that, whilst accepted by many Sufs, scandalised many others (Sufs and non-Sufs) who upheld the primacy of the “communal-legalistic” religious framework.37 Although the latter group did not doubt the existence of mystical experience, they did disagree over “its role in, and practical implications for, a society based on the revealed law.”38 Al-Jīlī’s notion of the perfect man has a long history in the Malay-Indonesian Archipelago. Its transmission was aided by its rendering into poetic forms by the likes of sixteenth-century Aceh’s mystical poet Hamzah Fansuri. The notion was meticulously studied in the Muslim royal courts of Java, Aceh, and Sulawesi, and was used to construct the concept of Islamic kingship as universal mystical sovereignty.39 Today, however, such a notion has been identifed as “deviant teachings” (aliran sesat). In Fansuri’s own homeland of Aceh, for instance, to describe Al-Insān al-kāmil as the main text of reference for a particular group is tantamount to calling that group heterodox.40 Husen recognised the dangerous potentials of al-Jīlī’s perfect man. Indeed, he told me that he does not discuss such an intricate concept in an open forum for fear of generating misunderstanding. The concept may give the impression of undermining Islamic law, for if humans have access to the perfect man, why do they need the law? Such a conclusion is erroneous in Husen’s view, for the perfect man does not abrogate the teachings of the Prophet Muḥammad. Rather, the perfect man is the concrete embodiment of Prophetic teachings. He is the purveyor of living sunna, and through him people can come to understand the sunna as it relates to their

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particular context. Through the perfect man, the sunna ceases to exist solely as objectifed reports of the Prophet’s life, and instead becomes a living reality to be witnessed and emulated. Husen continued: I am convinced that Habib Luthf’s words, actions, and mannerism are the concrete enactment and elaboration of the Prophet. He is a living sunna [Sunna yang hidup], a sunna that lives among us. I simply follow Habib Luthf. It is like having the Prophet guiding me in twenty-frst-century Java. So I  treat the habib just as the companions treated the Prophet. Whatever the Prophet gives you, take it. Whatever he forbids, abstain from it [Q. 59:7]. This is the essence of discipleship. Far from being a mere metaphysical conundrum, for Husen, the concept of the perfect man has practical implications and serves as a theoretical foundation for his understanding of discipleship. The concept gives grounds for the existence of Prophetic inheritors, from whom Muslims of every generation can learn. Through the perfect man, the sunna becomes a living phenomenon and Muslims can once again learn it from a living exemplar, just as the Companions once did when they lived with the Prophet. For Husen, the living sunna is not simply a replication of the Prophetic sunna as entextualised in the ḥadīths. Rather, by virtue of living in a time and place diferent from the Prophet, a purveyor of the living sunna elaborates Prophetic teachings – both pedagogically and performatively – in culturally specifc idioms and actions, thereby augmenting those teachings. Husen recognises the universal regulatory force of the sunna, without, however, assenting to the uniformity or fnality of its content. Embodied in living individuals, what is posited as sunna no longer exists on its own, but is always in motion, bundled up with and augmented by other particular qualities that make up the individual, thereby creating a surplus. Such an understanding has allowed Husen to envision the sunna as Islamic norms that is also concretely Javanese and contemporary. The notion of the Suf master as the purveyor of living sunna is one that I have repeatedly encountered in my conversations with Habib Luthf’s disciples, although not all were able to express it in a sophisticated manner as Husen did. Indeed, there is variation in how this dynamic is understood. Many disciples I  conversed with noted how being a disciple allows them to entrust their religious afairs to their master. One medical doctor from Jakarta explained that she does not have the time to think about what religious practices she needs to perform or litanies she needs to recite. Consequently, having Habib Luthf prescribing what to do helps her tremendously in practising her religion in the midst of her professional and personal life. For another disciple, having a master assists him in coming to terms with his own personal developments. “Habib always provides guidance on a case by

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case basis, he prescribes litanies and practices based on my current needs,” he explained. A lecturer from a university in Semarang, Central Java, described how having a master is like buying a suit from an experienced tailor: “Diferent from buying a ready-made suit, a suit from a tailor is made especially for me; its size and dimension fts perfectly.” Being a disciple provides many of the people I talked to with a sense of trust and certainty that what the master prescribes is the sunna curated for their particular needs. There is certainly the minimum requirement of reciting the standardised daily litany to be a disciple, which is pivotal to the maintenance of a steady master-disciple relationship. Nevertheless, having a master allows each disciple to consult and receive individualised guidance and prescriptions. The CEO of a major advertising company said, Habib Luthf knows the sunna well, he is connected to the Prophet through his silsila (chain of Suf initiation). . . . I believe he knows which sunna can be applied to me and not to others, and I trust him on that, as after all I don’t even have the time nor the capacity to dive into those voluminous ḥadīth texts. Another disciple complains about the increasingly difcult work of choosing whom to follow when “diferent scholars are saying diferent things on television and Youtube, which is why when I met Habib Luthf and felt at ease with him, I just entrusted my religion to him.” Speaking to the disciples made me realise how the increasing complexity of life and the rapid social change that have led to the fragmentation of Muslim lives have actually increased the appeal of the guidance of a Suf master. What attracts many Javanese Muslims to become Habib Luthf’s disciples is the ability of the master to provide religious guidance adapted to their individualised needs. The foregoing ethnography illustrates the capacity of the sunna to accommodate and adapt to cultural particularities, individual needs, and the vicissitudes of everyday life. Far from being simply a set of common, consistent, and disembedded norms posited to be globally applicable, the sunna may outwardly express itself equally well through diferences and even opposites. The fact that the Prophetic past as the foundation upon which the sunna rests is not objectively available means that the sunna becomes available only through contextually specifc retrospective attempts of connecting to, capturing, describing, embodying, and transforming that past into a practicable model for the present. These attempts generate a plethora of particular contents that do not simply exemplify the sunna, but struggle with it and give specifc shape and form to it. As products of articulatory labour performed by scholars like Habib Luthf, the sunna becomes locally embedded, immanent in, and modulated by cultural and individual particularities.

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Conclusion

Through a historical and ethnographic study of the Javanese grassroots I have shown how, as a sociological reality, Islam is an outcome of a historically and culturally situated articulatory labour that seeks to align a cultivated community to the normative teachings of the Prophet Muḥammad so that the former can serve as the site for the transmission and social realisation of the latter. Temporal estrangement from the Prophetic past necessitates the labour of connecting to, along with reconstructing, selecting, and representing, that past as a model for action, or sunna, to others. Diferent actors use diferent means to recover, connect to, and represent that foundational past in the face of an incessantly changing problem-space, thereby opening up multiple and selective versions and interpretations of that past. This, in turn, generates a plethora of normative teachings and practices deemed to be authoritative owing to their recognisable connection to the Prophetic past. To posit Islam as a contingent outcome of articulatory labour is to take seriously the role of human actors who perform the labour of cultivating communities and articulating Prophetic teachings for them, namely Muslim scholars and community leaders. Even when examining texts and their role in disseminating Prophetic teachings and forming Islamic communities, we need to be careful not to fall into the trap of textual fetishism. That is, we need to be cognizant of the extratextual dynamics that enable the production and circulation of texts and generate their authority. In performing articulatory labour, these human actors are informed by diferent history, tradition, and socio-religious vision. They rely on various conceptual and material infrastructures that are available to them – including, but not limited to, texts – to transmit Prophetic teachings and realise them as sunna, thereby generating multiple articulatory modes, some of which have become paradigmatic. These modes of articulatory labour posit the sunna as either living, cumulative, and culturally embedded, or as objectifed and fnal, thereby producing multiple versions of Islamic teachings and their social realisations as sunna. The absence of consistency in what is otherwise understood as the religion’s foundational source is the consequence of articulatory labour as a process that aligns, modulates, and calibrates diferent conjoined elements, including the Prophetic past, local foundational pasts, cultures, and traditions, as well as the vicissitudes of history. One may suggest that this lack of consistency is what enables Islam to be endlessly reproduced in diferent ways in disparate contexts. Indeed, it is what equipped Islam with the ability to strike deep root in Java and across the Malay-Indonesian Archipelago. Notes 1 Theodore G. Th. Pigeaud and H.J. de Graaf, Islamic States in Java 1500–1700: A Summary, Bibliography and Index (The Hague: Martinus Nijhof, 1976), 7.

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2 Nancy K. Florida, Writing the Past, Inscribing the Future: History as Prophecy in Colonial Java (Durham: Duke University Press, 1995), 167. 3 On the notion of articulation see: Louis Althusser, “The Object of Capital,” in Reading Capital: The Complete Edition (London: Verso, 2015), 215–355; Stuart Hall, “Race, Articulation and Societies Structured in Dominance,” in Sociological Theories: Race and Colonialism (Paris: UNESCO, 1980), 305–45. 4 Ernesto Laclau and Chantal Moufe, Hegemony and Socialist Strategy: Towards a Radical Democratic Politics (London: Verso, [1985] 2001), 113. 5 Jonathan A.C. Brown, Hadith: Muhammad’s Legacy in the Medieval and Modern World (Oxford: Oneworld, 2009), 3; See also Jonathan A.C. Brown, Misquoting Muhammad: The Challenge and Choices of Interpreting the Prophet’s Legacy (Oxford: Oneworld, 2014), 8. 6 Brown, Hadith, 3. 7 Zafar I. Ansari, “Islamic Juristic Terminology before Šāfʿī: A Semantic Analysis with Special Reference to Kūfa,” Arabica 19 (1972), 280; Adis Duderija, “Evolution in the Concept of Sunnah During the First Four Generations of Muslims in Relation to the Development of the Concept of an Authentic Ḥadīth as Based on Recent Western Scholarship,” Arab Law Quarterly 26 (2012), 393–437. 8 Ansari, “Islamic Juristic Terminology,” 280; Brown, Misquoting Muhammad, 24–5; Ahmed El Shamsy, The Canonization of Islamic Law: A Social and Intellectual History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 41–8. 9 El Shamsy, The Canonization of Islamic Law, 70. 10 Vincent J. Cornell, “Mystical Doctrine and Political Action in Moroccan Sufsm: The Role of the Exemplar in the Ṭārīqa al-Jazūlīyya.” Al-Qanṭara 13:1 (1992), 201–31; Amira Mittermaier, Dreams That Matter: Egyptian Landscapes of the Imagination (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2011); Robert Rozehnal, Islamic Sufsm Unbound: Politics and Piety in Twenty-First Century Pakistan (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007). 11 Ricklefs, Mystic Synthesis in Java, 187, 224. 12 Ibid, 230. 13 Shahab Ahmed, What Is Islam? The Importance of Being Islamic (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2015). 14 Peter Carey, The Power of Prophecy: Prince Dipanagara and the End of an Old Order in Java, 1785–1855 (Leiden: KITLV, 2008), 150. 15 Dipanagara, Babad Dipanagara, translated by Gunawan et al. (Yogyakarta: Narasi, 2016), 224. 16 Carey, Power of Prophecy, 111–2. 17 Ibid, 103. 18 Abderrahmane El Moudden, “The Ambivalence of Rihla: Community Integration and Self-Defnition in Moroccan Travel Accounts, 1300–1800,” in Dale F. Eickelman and James Piscatori (eds.), Muslim Travellers: Pilgrimage, Migration, and the Religious Imagination (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), 69. 19 Dipanagara, Babad Dipanegara, 224–5. 20 Carey, Power of Prophecy, 682. 21 Ibid, 745. 22 Ibid, 628. 23 Ulrike Freitag, Indian Ocean Migrants and State Formation in Hadhramaut: Reforming the Homeland (Leiden: Brill, 2003); Engseng Ho, The Graves of Tarim: Genealogy and Mobility Across the Indian Ocean (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006); William Gervase Clarence-Smith, “Entrepreneurial Strategies of Hadhrami Arabs in Southeast Asia, c. 1750s–1950s,” in Ahmed Ibrahim Abushouk and Hassan Ahmed Ibrahim (eds.), The Hadhrami Diaspora in Southeast Asia: Identity Maintenance or Assimilation? (Leiden: Brill, 2009).

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24 Ismail Fajrie Alatas, “A Ḥadramī Suf Tradition in the Indonesian Archipelago,” in R. Michael Feener and Anne M. Blackburn (eds.), Buddhist and Islamic Orders in Southern Asia: Comparative Perspectives (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2019), 20–47. 25 ʿAbdallāh b. ʿAlawī al-Ḥaddād, Al-Daʿwa al-tāmma wa-l-tadhkira al-ʿāmma (Tarim: Dar al-ḥāwī, [1702] 1994), 36. 26 Ibid, 71. 27 Ibid, 71–2. 28 ʿAbdallāh b. ʿAlawī al-Ḥaddād, Al-Nafāʾis al-ʿuluwiyya fī al-masāʾil al-ṣūfyya (Tarim: Dar al-ḥāwī, [1713] 1993), 74. 29 On the monetisation of Java’s agricultural economy see: Robert Van Niel, “Measurement of Change Under the Cultivations System in Java, 1837–1851,” Indonesia 14 (1972), 89–109. On the rise of Javanese pilgrimage to Mecca, see: Eric Tagliacozzo, The Longest Journey: Southeast Asians and the Pilgrimage to Mecca (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013), 63–82. 30 M.C. Ricklefs, “The Middle East Connection and Reform and Revival Movements among the Putihan in 19th Century Java,” in Eric Tagliacozzo (ed.), Southeast Asia and the Middle East: Islam, Movement, and the Longue Durée (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2009), 114. 31 Michael Francis Lafan, The Makings of Indonesian Islam: Orientalism and the Narration of a Suf Past (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2011), 33; Martin van Bruinessen, Kitab Kuning, pesantren dan tarekat: Tradisi-tradisi Islam di Indonesia (Bandung: Mizan, 1995), 71–87; R. Michael Feener, “ʿAbd al-Samad in Arabia: The Yemeni Years of a Shaykh from Sumatra,” Southeast Asian Studies 4:2 (2015), 259–77. 32 M.C. Ricklefs, Polarizing Javanese Society: Islamic and Other Visions, c. 1830– 1930 (Singapore: National University of Singapore Press, 2007), 52–3. 33 L.W.C. van den Berg, “Het Mohammedaansche Godsdienstonderwijs op Java en Madoera: En de Daarbij Gebruikte Arabische Boeken,” Tijdschrift voor Indische Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 31 (1887), 1–38. 34 Bruinessen, Kitab Kuning, 112–71. 35 Zamaksyari Dhofer, Tradisi Pesantren: Studi pandangan hidup kyai dan visinya mengenai masa depan Indonesia, rev. ed. (Jakarta: LP3ES, 2011). 36 Rachida Chih, “What Is a Suf Order? Revisiting the Concept Through a Case Study of the Khalwatiyya in Contemporary Egypt,” in Martin van Bruinessen and Julia Day Howell (eds.), Sufsm and the “Modern” in Islam (London: I. B. Tauris, 2007); Hugh T. Halman, Where the Two Seas Meet: The Qur'ānic Story of Al-Khiḍr and Moses in Suf Commentaries as a Model of Spiritual Guidance (Louisville: Fons Vitae, 2013); Abdellah Hammoudi, Master and Disciple: The Cultural Foundations of Moroccan Authoritarianism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1997). 37 Alexander D. Knysh, Ibn ʻArabi in the Later Islamic Tradition: The Making of a Polemical Image in Medieval Islam (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1999), 271. 38 Ibid, 272. 39 Syed Muhammad Naguib al-Attas, Rānīrī and the Wujūdiyah of 17th Century Aceh (Kuala Lumpur: Malaysian Branch Royal Asiatic Society, 1966); Lafan The Makings of Indonesian Islam, 11; Ricklefs, Mystic Synthesis, 197. 40 R. Michael Feener, Shariʿa and Social Engineering: The Implementation of Islamic Law in Contemporary Aceh, Indonesia (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 120.

Bibliography Ahmed, Shahab, What Is Islam? The Importance of Being Islamic, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2015.

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Alatas, Ismail Fajrie, “A Ḥadramī Suf Tradition in the Indonesian Archipelago,” in R. Michael Feener and Anne M. Blackburn (eds.), Buddhist and Islamic Orders in Southern Asia: Comparative Perspectives (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2019), 20–47. Althusser, Louis, “The Object of Capital,” in Reading Capital: The Complete Edition (London: Verso, 2015). al-Attas, Syed Muhammad Naguib, Rānīrī and the Wujūdiyah of 17th Century Aceh, Kuala Lumpur: Malaysian Branch Royal Asiatic Society, 1966. Ansari, Zafar I., “Islamic Juristic Terminology Before Šāfʿī: A Semantic Analysis with Special Reference to Kūfa,” Arabica 19 (1972), 255–300. Brown, Jonathan A.C., Hadith: Muhammad’s Legacy in the Medieval and Modern World, Oxford: Oneworld, 2009. Brown, Jonathan A.C., Misquoting Muhammad: The Challenge and Choices of Interpreting the Prophet’s Legacy, Oxford: Oneworld, 2014. Carey, Peter, The Power of Prophecy: Prince Dipanagara and the End of an Old Order in Java, 1785–1855, Leiden: KITLV, 2008. Chih, Rachida, “What Is a Suf Order? Revisiting the Concept Through a Case Study of the Khalwatiyya in Contemporary Egypt,” in Martin van Bruinessen and Julia Day Howell (eds.), Sufsm and the “Modern” in Islam (London: I. B. Tauris, 2007), 21–38. Clarence-Smith, William Gervase, “Entrepreneurial Strategies of Hadhrami Arabs in Southeast Asia, c. 1750s–1950s.,” in Ahmed Ibrahim Abushouk and Hassan Ahmed Ibrahim (eds.), The Hadhrami Diaspora in Southeast Asia: Identity Maintenance or Assimilation? (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 135–58. Cornell, Vincent J., “Mystical Doctrine and Political Action in Moroccan Sufsm: The Role of the Exemplar in the Ṭārīqa al-Jazūlīyya,” Al-Qanṭara 13:1 (1992), 201–31. Dhofer, Zamaksyari, Tradisi Pesantren: Studi pandangan hidup kyai dan visinya mengenai masa depan Indonesia (rev. ed.), Jakarta: LP3ES, 2011. Dipanagara, Babad Dipanagara, trans. Gunawan et al., Yogyakarta: Narasi, 2016. Duderija, Adis, “Evolution in the Concept of Sunnah During the First Four Generations of Muslims in Relation to the Development of the Concept of an Authentic Ḥadīth as Based on Recent Western Scholarship,” Arab Law Quarterly 26 (2012), 393–437. El Moudden, Abderrahmane, “The Ambivalence of Rihla: Community Integration and Self-Defnition in Moroccan Travel Accounts, 1300–1800,” in Dale F. Eickelman and James Piscatori (eds.), Muslim Travellers: Pilgrimage, Migration, and the Religious Imagination (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), 69–82. El Shamsy, Ahmed, The Canonization of Islamic Law: A Social and Intellectual History, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013. Feener, R. Michael, Shariʿa and Social Engineering: The Implementation of Islamic Law in Contemporary Aceh, Indonesia, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013. Feener, R. Michael, “ʿAbd al-Samad in Arabia: The Yemeni Years of a Shaykh from Sumatra,” Southeast Asian Studies 4:2 (2015), 259–77. Florida, Nancy K., Writing the Past, Inscribing the Future: History as Prophecy in Colonial Java, Durham: Duke University Press, 1995. Freitag, Ulrike, Indian Ocean Migrants and State Formation in Hadhramaut: Reforming the Homeland, Leiden: Brill, 2003. al-Ḥaddād, ʿAbdallāh b. ʿAlawī, Al-Nafāʾis al-ʿuluwiyya fī al-masāʾil al-ṣūfyya, Tarim: Dar al-ḥāwī, [1713] 1993.

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al-Ḥaddād, ʿAbdallāh b. ʿAlawī, Al-Daʿwa al-tāmma wa-l-tadhkira al-ʿāmma, Tarim: Dar al-ḥāwī, [1702] 1994. Hall, Stuart, “Race, Articulation and Societies Structured in Dominance,” in UNESCO (ed.), Sociological Theories: Race and Colonialism (Paris: UNESCO, 1980), 305–45. Halman, Hugh T., Where the Two Seas Meet: The Qur'ānic Story of Al-Khiḍr and Moses in Suf Commentaries as a Model of Spiritual Guidance, Louisville: Fons Vitae, 2013. Hammoudi, Abdellah, Master and Disciple: The Cultural Foundations of Moroccan Authoritarianism, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1997. Ho, Engseng, The Graves of Tarim: Genealogy and Mobility Across the Indian Ocean, Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006. Knysh, Alexander D., Ibn ʻArabi in the Later Islamic Tradition: The Making of a Polemical Image in Medieval Islam, Albany: State University of New York Press, 1999. Laclau, Ernesto Laclau, and Moufe, Chantal, Hegemony and Socialist Strategy: Towards a Radical Democratic Politics, London: Verso, [1985] 2001. Lafan, Michael Francis, The Makings of Indonesian Islam: Orientalism and the Narration of a Suf Past, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2011. Mittermaier, Amira, Dreams That Matter: Egyptian Landscapes of the Imagination, Berkeley: University of California Press, 2011. Pigeaud, Theodore G., and de Graaf, H.J., Islamic States in Java 1500–1700: A Summary, Bibliography and Index, The Hague: Martinus Nijhof, 1976. Ricklefs, M.C., “The Middle East Connection and Reform and Revival Movements among the Putihan in 19th Century Java,” in Eric Tagliacozzo (ed.), Southeast Asia and the Middle East: Islam, Movement, and the Longue Durée (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2009), 111–34. Ricklefs, M.C., Mystic Synthesis in Java: A History of Islamization from the Fourteenth to the Early Nineteenth Centuries, Norwalk: Eastbridge, 2006. Ricklefs, M.C., Polarizing Javanese Society: Islamic and Other Visions, c. 1830–1930, Singapore: National University of Singapore Press, 2007. Rozehnal, Robert, Islamic Sufsm Unbound: Politics and Piety in Twenty-First Century Pakistan, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007. Tagliacozzo, Eric, The Longest Journey: Southeast Asians and the Pilgrimage to Mecca, New York: Oxford University Press, 2013. Van Bruinessen, Martin, Kitab Kuning, pesantren dan tarekat: Tradisi-tradisi Islam di Indonesia, Bandung: Mizan, 1995. Van den Berg, L.W.C., “Het Mohammedaansche Godsdienstonderwijs op Java en Madoera: En de Daarbij Gebruikte Arabische Boeken,” Tijdschrift voor Indische Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 31 (1887), 1–38. Van Niel, Robert, “Measurement of Change Under the Cultivations System in Java, 1837–1851,” Indonesia 14 (1972), 89–109.

3 ISLAMIC JURISPRUDENCE AND ADAT IN SOUTHEAST ASIA R. Michael Feener

This chapter will present an overview of the history of Islamic jurisprudence in Southeast Asia, with a focus on its dynamic interactions with diverse systems of customary law across the region in the technical language of the Islamic religious sciences; ‘custom’ is engaged with under the Arabiclanguage terminology of ʿurf and adat. While often viewed as a particularity of Islam in the region, adat should be seen in a way that recognises the broader historical dynamics that have shaped diferent discursive frameworks of ‘custom’ in relation to fqh across the broader Muslim world.1 Understandings of the relationship between locally established custom to Islamic jurisprudence have historically been complex in the ways in which it has been “accepted as a source for how to understand the rules in specifc (local) contexts.”2 The specifc mechanisms of this varied greatly over time and the diverse cultural landscape of an expanding Muslim world, as well as across the interpretive methodologies of diferent schools of fqh. Here we will trace the history of the Shāfʿī madhhab in Southeast Asia as it was consolidated in both Arabic and vernacular-language texts, as well as ways in which conceptions of adat have developed in the region, the impact of colonial legal administration and modern projects for religious reform on the tradition, as well as the formation of new discourses on and institutional forms for the administration of both customary law and Islamic law in the post-colonial nation of Indonesia. History, religion, and culture

Despite its demographic distinction within the world of Islam, Southeast Asia is often marginalised – with assumptions about its supposed ‘exceptional’ nature and its accommodation of local traditions dominating discussion of DOI: 10.4324/9781032702902-5

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the topic in both academic discourse and popular media. This conventional wisdom, however, stands in need of some critical reconsideration. Indeed, it is rather curious that the idea of Indonesia’s Islamic bona fdes as somehow inherently compromised by local culture is one of the intriguing areas upon which both Western Orientalist and scripturalist Islamic reformists are largely in agreement. Their shared, distinctly modern imagination of a distinct and purifed sphere of ‘religion’ that needs to be purged of the polluting aspects of ‘culture’ has introduced new tensions into debates on adat and sharīʿa, or ‘custom’ and ‘Islamic law.’ Historically the Muslim lands of Southeast Asia were defned in terms of dozens of small sultanates, each with its own distinctive traditions. They were nonetheless integrated into networks of commercial and cultural circulations that included broadly shared Islamic traditions of ritual practice, cultural production, and legal norms across the broader Indian Ocean World. With the fragmentation of this interconnected maritime Muslim world driven by the expansion of European colonial interests in the region, the framing of dominant discourses on law and society shifted considerably in the modern period and took a number of diferent directions in the post-colonial nationstates that emerged across the region in the mid-twentieth century. Given the limited space for discussion in the confnes of this chapter, here the focus of modern developments will be generally on the transformation of discourses on religion, law, and society in the world’s most populous Muslim nation: Indonesia. The history of Islam in Southeast Asia is in many ways a story of connections with and gradual integration in relation to a constellation of diverse Muslim societies that has been playing out for more than a thousand years. Muslim merchants and sailors have been passing through the waters of the Indian Ocean since the early centuries of Islamic history – contributing to the boom in trans-regional commerce linking China and the Middle East. Given the seasonal nature of the monsoon cycles of the Indian Ocean and the South China Sea, they presumably sojourned on the shores of Indonesia’s islands, carrying their faith with them. Gradually, through their interactions in ports along the sea routes linking the Indian Ocean and South China Sea, Islam was introduced to the communities that hosted them. It was not, however, until the late thirteenth century that we have clear evidence for the conversion of signifcant segments of local populations and the establishment of self-identifying Muslim port polities in the region. The frst of these was at Pasai, on the north coast of Sumatra. Pasai developed a court culture in which the Arabic language held pride of place, and which maintained contacts with larger Muslim sultanates in the Middle East and South Asia.3 The fourteenth-century Maghribī traveller Ibn Baṭṭūṭa attests to the remarkable degree to which this Sumatran port-polity was connected with other parts of the global umma, noting in particular the sultanate’s adherence to the Shāfʿī school (madhhab) of Islamic jurisprudence.4

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Of the four recognised Sunni schools of fqh, Shāfʿīsm came to predominate across much of the Indian Ocean world during the centuries following the fnal destruction of the ʿAbbāsid caliphate in the thirteenth century. By the sixteenth century, an expanding number of sultanates of Southeast Asia had embraced the Shāfʿī school as a common madhhab. Mahmood Kooria has traced the historical expansion of Shāfʿīsm across the maritime world of the Indian Ocean as refected in the production of important texts of that school written in Arabic by Muslims from the coastal regions of Southern India and elsewhere.5 An evolving canon of Arabic texts on Shāfʿī fqh (as well as on Sufsm and other branches of the Islamic religious sciences) both linked local scholars to discussions current in the broader Muslim world and provided the basis for emerging bodies of vernacular Islamic scholarship. In many parts of Southeast Asia, this included both hybrid texts, in which Arabic-language works were provided with interlinear translations, and the creation of new genres of legal writing in regional languages. Pre-modern textual traditions

In the Malay-language tradition of legal digests known as undang-undang we have a diverse body of texts, often with specifc local reference to the place in which each one was produced. One important representation of this genre, the Undang-undang Melaka illustrates a pattern, common in such texts, of presenting two diferent rulings or penalties for the same ofence; these are often presented as being expressions of adat kanun and hukum Allāh, respectively. For example, in its section dealing with accusation and denial, we read: If there are two witnesses, or even one, the judge will give his ruling according to the way such cases are customarily decided by adat kanun. But according to the law of God both parties are ordered to take an oath while touching the mosque pulpit and this is considered sufcient.6 In deliberate contrast to this Islamicised form of oath taking, The adat kanun procedure detailed in that text is a trial by ordeal demanding that both parties to the dispute reach into a vat of boiling water or oil to retrieve potsherds on which a Qurʾānic verse had been written. In the Undang-undang Melaka we can thus glimpse a refection of a kind of legal pluralism (avant la lettre) providing parallel paths of judicial procedure. Not all vernacular Muslim legal texts from Southeast Asia, however, present the same openness to a choice between legal norms. For example, one of the oldest surviving Islamic religious texts in Javanese, dating to the sixteenth century, admonishes its readers that: It is unbelief when people involved in a lawsuit and invited to settle the dispute according to the law of Islam, refuse to do so and insist on taking it to an infdel judge.7

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Conventional wisdom characterising Islam in Java as ‘syncretistic’ are thus belied by statements in some of the earliest Islamic texts we have from the island. Over the centuries that followed, Javanese Islamic legal traditions developed in complex ways, displaying at diferent times both assertions of exclusivity and openness to diverse sources of authority and institutional formations. In a collection of Javanese and Malay texts compiled in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries which has come to be known as the Undhang-undhang Banten we have a digest of customary law applicable in the court of the qāḍī of Banten in West Java. This source provides a remarkable window on the ways that elements of Islamic jurisprudence were integrated into the administration of law in early modern Southeast Asia. The various sections of this text include excerpts from earlier documents that were apparently seen as useful for the administration of justice in the sultanate.8 It presents, for example, a section on inheritance law that draws on the Shāfʿī fqh traditions circulating at the same time across a range of Malay and Arabic texts, as well as another section reproducing a collection of Javanese maxims of customary law (akṣara) originating from the island’s pre-Islamic period. It also reproduces an edict that declares the sultan ʿAbū al-Mafakhir ʿAbd al-Qāḍīr (r. 1624–1651) as the sole possessor of the authority to perform ijtihād. Another section presents excerpts from a 1686 treaty with the Dutch East India Company (VOC) that include articles that deal in particular with ofences committed by VOC ofcers that would fall under the jurisdiction of the qāḍī’s court – thus revealing some of the detailed ways in which the administration of Islamic law in the region was changing in the course of expanding European power. A signifcant degree of legal pluralism thus continued to be the norm in Southeast Asia for centuries – as in fact it historically was in many parts of the Muslim world. We fnd another example of this at the court of seventeenthcentury Aceh – a powerful Muslim polity that is often regarded as one of the region’s most thoroughly Islamised states. There, Sultan Iskandar Muda (r. 1607–1636) established institutions that appear to have been modelled on Ottoman innovations in the state management of Islamic legal afairs.9 The strictness and severity of the law exercised in the policing of sexual misconduct, and the severity of corporal punishments imposed to punish, was remarked on by Muslim co-religionists from Mughal India, as well as by European visitors to Aceh.10 The accounts they have left of physical mutilations and trial by ordeal procedures, however, do not correspond to established penalties and procedures established in the textual traditions of Islamic jurisprudence.11 Indeed, the sharīʿa appears to have been only one among several sources of law in the plural legal system administered under Aceh’s sultans. We know in particular of the existence of four distinct jurisdictions operative there during the seventeenth century: a qaḍī ’s court issuing

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decisions on the basis of fqh, as well as a civil court, a criminal court, and a commercial court associated with the customhouse which incorporated various elements of adat and discretionary sanctions.12 The Islamic identity of Aceh was apparently no less pronounced for this. The patronage made possible by the prosperity of the sultanate attracted ʿulamāʾ from around the Indian Ocean world in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. One of the most prominent scholars at the court of Aceh was Nūr al-Dīn al-Rānīrī, a Gujarati Muslim of Ḥaḍramī descendant who had benefted from a rich Islamic education under the instruction of teachers connected through scholarly networks that linked the Muslim communities across the Indian Ocean during his day.13 This broader world beyond Aceh is clearly refected in his Sirāt al-mustaqīm, which presents a basic set of Shāfʿī rulings on ritual law (fqh ʿibādāt) following the standard organisation of Arabic-language works in that genre. This Malay-language Shāfʿī text, however, demonstrates little to no engagement with specifc issues immediately relevant to any distinctively local conditions of the lives of Southeast Asian Muslims. Quite the contrary, as it presents instead what amounts to a compilation of rulings from Arabic-language fqh manuals produced outside the region without, for example, reference to any of the unique fauna of the region in its discussion of hunting and permissible meat consumption. The text thus instructs its readers that the eating of camel is halāl, while girafe is harām,14 but neither of these creatures is to be found in the islands of the Indonesian archipelago. Conversely, Rānīrī apparently has nothing to say about elephants, binturong, tapirs, or pangolins. ʿAbd al-Raʾūf Singkilī’s (d. 1693)15 Mirʾāt al- ṭullāb fī tashīl maʿrifa t al-aḥkām al-sharʿiyya lil-mālik al-wahhāb was composed in Aceh just a few years after Rānīrī’s abrupt departure from Aceh, precipitated by a fall from grace at court.16 Unlike Rānīrī’s Sirāt, the Mirʾāt takes the form of a more practical manual for use by local qāḍīs (judges) and includes sections on both commercial (muʿāmalāt) and criminal (jināyāt) law, as well as ritual matters.17 Its greater degree of localisation is also clear in its extension of jurisprudential discussions to encompass eventualities that might be encountered in Southeast Asia, for example references in Malay and Acehnese to animals including mouse deer (Ml. pelanduk) and mongoose (Ac. ceurapé) included in lists of creatures permitted or forbidden to eat, respectively.18 Another surviving practical manual of Islamic legal administration from Aceh, Jalāl al-Dīn b. Muḥammad Kamāl al-Dīn al-Turasānī’s Safīnat al-ḥukkām fī takhlīsh al-khashshām survives from the eighteenth century. This text is notable for its openings to the incorporation of elements from other Sunni schools beyond that of Shāfʿī – with particular reference to Ḥanafī rules for some commercial transactions and other matters of jurisprudence.19 By the time that Turasānī was composing his work in Aceh, Malay authors elsewhere in the archipelago were producing their own works of fqh. In 1773,

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Muḥammad Arshad al-Banjārī (d. 1812) returned to his native Kalimantan after years of study in Mecca.20 At the court of the Sultan of Banjarmasin, he was commissioned to compose a work of Shāfʿī jurisprudence on ʿibādāt in a form of Malay that would be more accessible than the Sirāt. Banjārī’s Sabīl al-muhtadīn also treats a number of points in considerably more detail than does Rānīrī’s work, as for example in the matter that we have referenced earlier on the permissibility (or not) of eating certain animals.21 The Sabil al-muhtadin grew to great popularity across the region but also maintained its association with Rānīrī’s Sirāt, and to this day available print editions regularly reproduce the Sirāt printed in the margins. Al-Banjārī’s Sabīl came to be taught alongside standard works in Arabic in the curricula of Islamic schools in Southeast Asia that expanded dramatically over the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. These schools were known by a range of local names across the region (pondok, pesantren, dayah . . .) but shared a broad orientation toward traditionalist learning featuring Shāfʿī fqh as well as Sufsm and related subjects.22 One of the most prolifc authors of Malay kitāb used in this pondok curriculum was Dāūd b. ʿAbd Allāh al-Paṭānī (d. c.1845), hailing from the Malayspeaking region that is today southern Thailand. He had studied in Aceh before continuing on to Arabia, where he spent the remainder of his long life. From there, however, his prolifc writings on diverse branches of the Islamic religious sciences circulated back home and across the region. His lasting legacy includes a number of works on law and jurisprudence that helped to consolidate the canon of recognised Shāfʿī authorities in Southeast Asia. His work incorporates rulings from major Arabic-language works of that tradition including those of al-Nawāwī (d. 1277) and al-Anṣārī (d. 1520) – and his primer on ritual law (Bughyat al-ṭullāb li murīd maʿrifat al-aḥkām bi’lṣawāb) also includes a short biography of al-Shāfʿī himself, together with a brief sketch of the spread of his eponymous madhhab.23 Many of al-Fatānī’s writings were taught by his own students after they returned to Southeast Asia to establish their own pondok schools across the region. Over the course of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, pondok pesantren expanded across the Malay peninsula, the Indonesian archipelago, and even Muslim minority societies in mainland Southeast Asia, as, for example, networks extending through Kelantan and Kalimantan came to shape the teaching of fqh into Cambodia, where Jāwī (Arabic-script Malay) texts came to defne the curriculum alongside a shared canon of Arabic-language Shāfʿī texts.24 Arabic textual traditions have long been a mainstay of the pondok pesantren schools in Southeast Asia.25 While the imprint of some modern reformist trends is evident in the adoption of either classical works that compare rulings across various schools of fqh or modern publications that are explicitly anti-madhhab, the texts of Islamic jurisprudence taught in such schools remains overwhelmingly Shāfʿī.26 In most cases, those works were composed

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outside the region by scholars working in the Middle East and South Asia. There is, however, a distinct sector of the ‘library’ of Islamic legal works studied in pondok-type schools and circulating around Southeast Asia that was produced by Arab sojourners who traced their origins to the Ḥaḍramawt.27 Like al-Rānīrī in the seventeenth century – who himself had followed in the footsteps of an uncle who had travelled to Aceh as a religious teacher – a number of nineteenth-century Ḥaḍarim made signifcant contributions to the literature of Islamic law.28 Ḥaḍramī authors grew increasingly active in this feld during the nineteenth century, compiling commentaries on and abridgements of earlier works of Shāfʿī jurisprudence. One of the most important examples of this was Sālim Ibn Sumayr’s Safīnat al-najā: a short primer on fqh ʿibādāt which was composed in Arabic at Singapore in the 1840s and circulated broadly around Muslim Southeast Asia and beyond.29 This work remains commonly in print and continues to be used as a basic text in pondok-style schools across the region. Colonial-era conceptualisations of adat and Islam

In the Dutch East Indies, one of the most prominent nineteenth-century Ḥaḍramī authors chose to write many of his works in Jāwī (Arabic-script, Malay-language). In 1881 Sayyid ʿUthmān b. ʿAbd Allah b. ʿAqīl b. Yaḥya al-ʿAlawī authored a compendium on procedural aspects of Islamic courts entitled Kitāb qawānīn al-sharʿīyya li-ahl al-majālis al-ḥukumiyya bi taḥqīq al-masaʾil li-yatamayyaza lahum al-ḥaqq min al-batil which presented a practical guide for the application of Shāfʿī jurisprudence produced at the request of local court ofcers. After the Dutch had incorporated Islamic courts of Java and Madura into the colonial bureaucracy in 1882, in 1894 he published another work with a nearly identical title (Kitāb qawānīn al-sharʿīyya li-ahl al-majālis al-ḥukumiyya waʾl-iftāʾiyya), which re-addressed issues related to the administration of Islamic law in this new colonial context, including a selection of concrete cases to illustrate particular court procedures.30 Sayyid ʿUthmān’s second Kitāb qawānīn al-sharʿīyya points our attention to the complex entanglements of Ḥaḍramīs with the expanding apparatus of European colonial states in Southeast Asia during the nineteenth century. Arab elites pushed innovative transformations in local understandings and experiences of Islamic law in the region. They actively worked to marginalise indigenous Islamic legal authorities while they “continually tried to prove their utility and legitimacy to colonial authorities.”31 As Nurfadzilah Yahaya argues, through their deliberate manipulations of the shifting legal registers in their use of waqf/trusts and surat kuasa/powers of attorney, “the Arab elite played a pernicious role in extending an intrusive form of colonial law called personal law,” while also transforming the sharīʿa into a local symbol of Arab identity in colonial Southeast Asia.32

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The complex interplay of European/Common Law and Islamic/Malay legal discourses into the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries illustrates an important point for understanding the way in which ‘Islamic law’ as we know it has taken shape in the modern world. Iza Hussin has demonstrated that it was not only colonial regimes and diasporic Arabs, but also local Malay Muslim elites who “capitalised upon, negotiated, and reinterpreted the realities of colonisation” to negotiate their position within institutional frameworks of European colonialism. Their tactical decisions made to protect their own interests contributed signifcantly to transformations in understandings of the sharīʿa “as codifed law in a limited but symbolically central domain.”33 This resulted in a reifcation and fattening of Islamic law as a contested sphere of meaning and identity at the core of modern Muslim sensibilities, something which in turn has profoundly shaped the politics of Islamic law in contemporary Southeast Asia. The sharīʿa was, however, not the only signifer of a complex legal tradition that was ‘fattened’ through modernising transformations over the course of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. As in other parts of the Islamic World, local traditions conceptualised under the rubric of adat have served to shape the ways in which law was understood and experienced by Muslims in the region. Diverse local traditions were thus framed in terms of a broader overarching structure that comprises a signifcant marker of the ongoing processes of the Islamisation of social institutions in the region – and the way in which elements of earlier cultural beliefs and practices were re-framed within a new Islamic idiom. Across the Indonesian archipelago, local communities formulated axioms to express idealised relations between established custom and the law of God made known through Islam. Perhaps the most famous of these is from the Minangkabau region of West Sumatra – a cultural area in which adat and Islamic law have been pitched in some of the sharpest distinctions during the modern period: Adat basandi syarak (adat is based upon sharīʿa). The earliest surviving textual witness to this formula appears to be in the repentant memoir of Tuanku Imam Bonjol (d. 1864), written by a leader of the Padris (see later) who had earlier sought to eliminate adat as source of law governing communities in the West Sumatra Highlands: [The adat leaders] applied the law of adat basandi syarak . . . and if there was problem with adat it would be brought to the adat leaders. And if there was a problem with Islamic law, it would be brough to the four Islamic authorities.34 In 1953, a conference on Minangkabau adat held in Bukittinggi revised a previously popular symmetrical formulation in which the maxim was mirrored with syarak basandi adat to replace that second statement with another

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that asserted rather that the law of Islam was founded upon scripture (syarak basandi kitabullah).35 In neighbouring Aceh an even more elaborate idealisation is oft repeated, in which the sources of various forms of law are attributed to particular individuals who have come to be locally glossed today as stand-ins for diferent sources of authority: Adat bak Poteu Muereuhom (Adat from Iskandar Muda – i.e. the sultan) Hukom bak Syiah Kuala (Sharīʿa from ʿAbd al-Raʾūf Sinkgkel – i.e. the ʿulamāʾ) Kanun bak Putroe Phang (Codifed law from the Royal Wife – i.e. the legislature) Reusam bak Lakseumana (Tradition from ‘the Admiral’ – i.e. local authorities) While this Acehnese-language maxim is also frequently quoted today, early textual evidence for its historical origins remains elusive. It is nonetheless incorporated into the preamble to an ofcial Indonesian government clarifcation on a regional regulation on the implementation of sharīʿa from 2000 in Aceh in support of the more general assertion that “adat law is in the hands of the government and Islamic law in those of the ʿulamāʾ.”36 In a similar document for a 2007 regional regulation on the administration of adat, the same adage also appears in the preamble, but with the addition of another Acehnese sentence often quoted in such discussions: Hukum ngon adat lagee zat ngon sifeut (Sharīʿa and adat are like unto [Divine] Essence and Attributes).37 The simultaneous assertion of a strong sense of Islamic identity and the acceptance of established cultural tradition in Javanese history has been discussed by Ricklefs in terms of a ‘mystic synthesis’ which, importantly, was also characterised by “the fulflment of the fve pillars of Islamic ritual life”38 – something that would imply a signifcant knowledge of fqh ʿibādāt. This model of vernacular Islam persisted until the early nineteenth century when it was dealt a lethal blow by the conclusion of the Dutch War in Java and the surrender of Pangeran Diponegoro in 1830.39 At nearly the same time, Dutch colonial forces were becoming more entangled with conficts in West Sumatra. There a new type of reformist vision had been introduced by returning pilgrims from Mecca, who found something attractive in the scripturalist defnition of Islam being then advocated by the Wahhabis in Arabia. These reformist preachers included Tuanku Imam Bonjol (quoted earlier), and collectively they came to be known as the ‘Padris.’ The Padris challenged the authority of adat in the Minangkabau highlands and launched sometimes violent campaigns to bring about a radical transformation of religion, economy, and society.40 In the face of Padri assaults on traditionalist

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villages, customary rulers in the highlands eventually appealed to the Dutch for assistance in the face of this threat to established order, and subsequently adat came to be seen by increasing numbers of local Muslims as in alignment with the interests of European colonialism, and vice versa. Over the course of the nineteenth century, the notion of adat as being in an adversarial – rather than a complementary – relationship to the law of Islam gained prominence across expanding reaches of Muslim Southeast Asia. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, colonial scholar-administrators in the Dutch East Indies participated in an extensive project of surveying and cataloguing customary practice, or adat, throughout their colonial territories with the aim of formulating authoritative statements of custom as adatrecht. While often deployed in romanticist rhetoric as a marker of distinctive local traditions of native peoples,41 little critical attention has engaged with the fact that the term used for this localism was itself not indigenous but rather a loanword from Arabic. The incorporation of local custom as framed in terms of adat was, however, to be radically re-imagined by modern scholars.42 While the nineteenth-century Dutch Arabist L.W.C. van den Berg had argued for recognising the validity of Islamic law as binding for Muslims in the Dutch East Indies, this theory of ‘receptio in complexu’ (as it was known) was sharply criticised by both Snouck Hurgronje and by Cornelius van Vollenhoven, another Dutch scholar who came to be regarded as the ‘Father of Adat Law.’ Van Vollenhoven championed adat as the ‘living law’ of Indonesian communities while he denigrated Islamic law as ‘lifeless’ and irrelevant – arguing stridently, for example, that adat served as a critical impediment to the growing threats of “social chaos and Islam” in Aceh.43 A new ‘reception theory’ (receptie) was thus introduced by van Vollenhoven which postulated that adat should form the basis of the law applied in the Dutch East Indies, and that the only applicable laws of Islam would be those that had already been incorporated (or ‘received’) into adat.44 In 1927, the colonial government ofcially established adat as a formal component of the legal system of the Dutch East Indies. This facilitated the expansion of adatrecht as a new feld of legal studies carried forward by both other Dutch scholars and their Indonesian students.45 Adat and Islamic law in independent Indonesia

The relationship between adat and Islam as sources of law continued to be explored and interpreted by Muslim scholars through the late colonial period and even after Indonesian independence, when it was advanced by some advocates as a possible basis for the legal system of the new nation.46 As the von Benda-Beckmanns have summarised these developments, the rhetoric of ‘living law’ thus came to be deployed in ways that were rather diferent from the visions of ‘living law’ advanced by van Vollenhoven and other European

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thinkers.47 Mohammad Koesnoe, one of the leading adat law scholars of the post-independence period, brought a deep engagement with legal philosophy to his empirical feld studies of Indonesian customary law to establish a vision of adat that went beyond merely a complex of traditional practices, but rather as the expression of an ethical vision of social organisation and communal regulation.48 While the focus of Koesnoe’s work was largely on the role of adat as system of culturally embedded moral values of harmony, independence, and social justice as the foundations of ethical judgments, other Indonesian adat law scholars and judges continued to explore its possibilities as a source for positive legislation.49 One distinctive feature of Indonesian adat is the recognition of a marital estate jointly owned by both spouses.50 This has been referred to by various vernacular language names by diferent ethnic groups across the archipelago (harta bersama, hareuta sihareukat, barang perpantangan, chakkara, gonogini, guna kaya, etc.). Over the centuries, Southeast Asian scholars and jurists have explored a range of methods to rationalise or incorporate local conceptions of joint marital property in terms of Islamic jurisprudence. Today some Muslim scholars in Indonesia refer to a now apparently lost eighteenth-century work by al-Banjārī as providing a precedent for the integration of Malay conceptions of joint marital property and its accumulated wealth into fqh discourse by analogising it to a form of partnership (sharika).51 In the nineteenth century, however, when the issue was addressed by the Batavia-based Ḥaḍramī scholar Sayyid ʿUthmān, he argued that the Sundanese and Javanese traditions of joint marital property (seguna sekaya and gono-gini, respectively) did not refer to fqh defnitions of partnership. Rather, he argued that while the custom had “already become established as adat” it was not recognised by [Shāfʿī] jurisprudence, and he thereby conspicuously avoided addressing this issue of adat in terms of fqh. This nonetheless opened the door for the incorporation of this Indonesian adat institution into the administrative practice of the Islamic religious court system as it developed in Indonesia during the colonial period.52 In the early twentieth century we fnd A. Hassan (d. 1958) characterising joint marital property in Islamic jurisprudential terms as a ‘partnership of labour’ (sharikat al-abdān) in an oft-reprinted fatwa.53 The most developed, and most frequently referenced, twentieth-century discussion of adat conceptions of joint marital property in relation to Islamic law in modern Indonesia, however, is that of the Acehnese jurist Ismuha (d. 1995), who developed arguments for the legal validity of seeing it as a type of partnership (Ind. perkongsian) that went into more depth on the problematics of diferent madhhab opinions than did Hassan.54 Ismuha’s line of reasoning was later carried further by Sayuti Thalib, who took up new issues of state recognition of joint marital property as a specifc form of ‘partnership’ and added justifcations in light of public beneft considerations, including the efect of the institution on discouraging both divorce and polygamy.55

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Another common element in Indonesian adat traditions that likewise gained national prominence in independent Indonesia involved inheritance law, and in particular the allowance for estates to be passed along bilateral, and not only patrilineal, models of kinship. Reconciling such established practices with Islamic legal doctrine attracted increasing attention in the twentieth century by scholars.56 The most prominent of these was Hazairin (d. 1975), a Sumatran scholar trained in the Dutch tradition of adatrecht.57 Hazairin rose to national prominence as a strident critic of ‘reception theory,’ while simultaneously advocating for a more self-consciously Islamic approach to integrating adat into the legal system of the new nation.58 In pursuit of this, he proposed the formation of a ‘national madhhab.’59 He was, however, not alone in this, as at the same time a similar call was being made for the creation of a new ‘Madzab Indonesia’ by Hasbi Ash Shiddieqy (d. 1975). Hasbi was an Arabic-educated Acehnese author who engaged extensively with the work of modern reformists from Egypt, including ʿAbd al-Wahhāb al-Khallāf (d. 1956) and his discussion of ʿurf as a source of fqh.60 While drawing on a wide range of both modern and classical Arabic sources in his own prolifc production of Indonesian-language texts on diverse branches of the Islamic religious sciences, Hasbi was a prominent advocate for a ‘return to the Qurʾān and Sunna’ as the primary sources for Islamic Law, and authored a number of works in the feld of ḥadīth studies, as well as a full exegesis (tafsīr) of the Qurʾān in fve volumes.61 Seen together, Hazairin coming from his background in the Dutch academic tradition of adatrecht, and Hasbi channelling currents of religious reform circulating in Arabic texts, we see how distinctly Indonesia approaches to Islamic legal thought were developing in the twentieth century. The increasing prominence of such voices in national level debates also contributed to the efective marginalisation of traditionally trained ʿulamāʾ from emerging Indonesian public discourse on Islamic law and society. The next generation of Indonesian religious reformists advocating for the Islamisation of the state and the formal implementation of Islamic law at a national level were both generally dismissive of adat and notably unconcerned with fqh as an interpretive discourse with its own methodology and technical terminology. This led to what I have referred to elsewhere as the ‘eclipse of jurisprudence’ among daʿwa-oriented Indonesian activists of the second half of the twentieth century.62 Framing Islam explicitly as an ‘ideology,’ they viewed debates over matters of fqh as potentially dangerous distractions from the primary agenda of propagating the faith and advancing agendas of social engineering through the cultivation of particular models of personal piety.63 The anti-madhhab impetus of modern reformism further challenged the authority of established ʿulamāʾ across the region, contributing to major transformations in the loci of epistemic authority and institutional power of Islamic law.

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In another vein, one of the most prominent fgures in the late twentiethcentury movement for a ‘renewal’ (Ind. Pembaharuan) of Islam in modern Indonesian society was Nurcholish Madjid (d. 2005).64 Having been trained in modern-style pesantren in Java and then completing a PhD in Islamic Studies at the University of Chicago, Madjid was able to bring new interpretive methodologies to Arabic-language sources in ways that opened a door for many modern Indonesians to a new appreciation of the works of classically trained ʿulamāʾ.65 By the turn of the twenty-frst century a number of prominent traditionalist scholars became engaged with new social movements, government development policies, and the work of an expanding NGO sector in the country, and built upon this integration of analytic insights from the social sciences advanced by Pembaharuan neo-modernists into their reinvigorated discussion of fqh.66 Over the last three decades of the twentieth century, other new voices were also emerging into the conversation with a generation that introduced new elements of legal, philosophical, and social science frameworks developed in western scholarship on religion, culture, law, and society. A  short popular introduction to adat law in Indonesia published at the time, for example, included an entire chapter on adat in relation to the future of legal development. Rather than casting custom as a cultural relic of imperfect Islamisation, this text – written by a Dutchman and translated into Bahasa to introduce a new generation of Indonesian readers to the subject – situated adat as one among multiple factors contributing to the active and ongoing development of law within the framework of a modern nation state. Drawing on sources including Eugen Huber’s writings on Swiss civil law, adat was presented there as a means of framing legal change in relation to considerations of cultural ideas of justice and social order.67 Twenty-frst-century reconfgurations: the case of Aceh

After the fall of Suharto in 1998, the loosening of centralised control over local governance emerged as a major theme in another wave of projects for political and social reform (Reformasi).68 This opened the way to a furry of new attempts to promote both sharīʿa and adat as sources of law and structures of institutional authority. The 1999 Act on Local Governance set the basic terms for the devolution of some governmental powers to the district and municipality levels.69 This included considerable new space for adat to be incorporated into local governance. In May of that year, representatives from adat communities across the country and NGOs met in Jakarta and formulated a new agenda for re-invigorating Aceh in the era of Reformasi.70 Although authority over religious afairs was not among the areas devolved to district-level governments, some local leaders nevertheless interpreted the decentralisation of the Reformasi era as empowering them to implement

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regional regulations (peraturan daerah/perda) relating to morality, dress, and other aspects of life traditionally covered by Islamic law. While unable to frame these explicitly as Islamic law, many such new regional regulations were justifed on paper at least as measures to address pressing social issues and to preserve public order.71 In her survey of regional regulations passed in various parts of Indonesia at that time, Robin Bush identifed 78 pieces of legislation in 52 jurisdictions dealing with issues that are popularly perceived as ‘Islamic’ concerns, including laws on prostitution, gambling, alcohol consumption, modest dress, the administration of religious almsgiving (zakāt), and ofcial requirements of Qurʾānic literacy for obtaining marriage registrations or holding public ofce.72 These topics overlap almost seamlessly with the measures for implementing aspects of Islamic law that were advanced in Aceh over the second half of the twentieth century, and which came to defne the scope of Aceh’s Islamic legal system in the post-Suharto era. In 1999, the province of Aceh was granted special autonomy status that included the authority to enforce Islamic law in areas beyond the established jurisdictions of Sharīʿa Courts in the rest of the country. Law 44 of that year granted the provincial government the right to initiate and establish local legislation and institutions on matters of both ‘religion’ (Islam) and adat.73 Over the years that followed, an entire raft of local legislation was introduced to detail various aspects of adat governance.74 The most signifcant developments in these felds, however, came in the wake of the massive tsunami that devastated coastal regions of Aceh on 26 December 2004. The destruction caused by this natural disaster necessitated massive projects for reconstruction and had the efect of accelerating developments in the peace process to end a decades-long armed confict between the Indonesian central government and the separatist ‘Free Aceh Movement’ (Gerakan Aceh Merdeka/ GAM). The signing of the Helsinki Peace Accords in 2005 was followed by the promulgation of a new Law on Governing Aceh (LOGA) in 2006, which re-established and further defned the legislative and institutional foundations of Aceh’s Islamic legal system under the provisions of Aceh’s ‘Special Autonomy’ status.75 The 2006 law clarifed and reinforced the institutional frameworks of adat governance that had been set in motion back in 1999. Following the 2006 LOGA, adat governance was further clarifed in two new regional regulations in 2008.76 At the same time a range of NGOs working in Aceh turned to adat as a malleable resource that could be deployed in various forms of dispute resolution.77 The institutional scope and social impact of adat, however, was rather limited in comparison to those of Islamic law in contemporary Aceh.78 Over the frst years of the twenty-frst century, a new state Sharīʿa system developed slowly in Aceh. A number of new institutions were created, while some existing institutions for the state management of Islam were re-established with expanded mandates. In this system, the State Shariʿa Agency (Dinas Syariat

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Islam/DSI) performs coordinating functions in working with the other major institutions involved with the implementation of Islamic law in contemporary Aceh: the Sharīʿa Courts (Mahkamah Syariah), the ʿUlama’ Council (Majlis Permusyawaratan Ulama/MPU), and the ‘Shariʿa Police’ (Wilayatul Hisbah/WH).79 New legislation was also introduced on touchstone issues of public morality as well as on matters of ritual observance and religious symbolism. After two qanun dealing with the formation of specifc sharīʿa institutions, the frst substantive Islamic legislation of this new state sharīʿa system in Aceh signalled a new level of symbolic state engagement with the particulars of Islamic belief and practice by bringing these aspects of religious observance under the formal rubric of a regional regulation.80 In terms of formal law enforcement, however, the most signifcant pieces of Aceh’s new sharīʿa legislation have been three laws passed in 2003 on the consumption of alcohol, gambling, and the mixing of the sexes.81 Still, however, no formal sentences were executed for any of these newly defned cases before 2005. After the tsunami, Aceh’s state sharīʿa system was signifcantly energised by both a broad-based religious revival, and new social dynamics in which various agendas for a ‘total reconstruction’ of society provided opportunities for remaking Aceh in line with diverse agendas for improvement. In the specifcally legal sphere, the 2006 ‘Law on Governing Aceh’ also consolidated and expanded the Islamic legal system. This opened the way for expansion of the work of Aceh’s state sharīʿa institutions and the promulgation of new religious legislation. The most hotly contested new law was an Islamic criminal code which was promulgated by an outgoing lame-duck legislature on 14 September 2009. Though this upset many both in Aceh and beyond, and sparked heated debate well beyond the walls of the provincial assembly, it was later expanded in a new Qanun Jinayat in 2014 to even greater controversy. This version of the Islamic criminal code includes provisions regulating additional ofenses defned in terms of extramarital relations and sexual intercourse, sexual harassment, rape, and false accusations of adultery, as well as both male and female homosexuality.82 Ofences are punishable by fnes in gold, prison time, and/or defned quantities of strikes with a rattan cane (cambuk). It is remarkable, though, that for all the attention directed toward formal development of legislation, policing, court structures, and high-profle sanctions for infractions against sharīʿa morality, we fnd little in the way of new Islamic jurisprudence being formulated in contemporary Aceh. Indeed, most of what is considered ‘Islamic law’ there today does not involve what might be regarded in other contexts as ‘legal work’ of prosecution, adjudication, and sentencing. Rather, the state apparatus put in place in the service of Aceh’s sharīʿa system has, to a great extent, functioned more as a system of public pedagogy that uses the coercive apparatus of the state to steer society

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toward particular paths of reform and development.83 Through the combined means of legislation, adjudication, and the infiction of physical punishments as public spectacle, Aceh’s state sharīʿa system thus pursues ambitious agendas for the promotion of interventions into understandings and practices of Islam in line with a particular vision of modern Indonesia’s daʿwa paradigm of puritan reform, national integration, and economic development. The establishment and operations of Aceh’s contemporary Islamic legal system thus provide an important coda to the broader history of Islam in modern Indonesia. Its form and content echo the rhetoric of Islamist activists from the later twentieth century and Indonesian government policies dating back to the New Order period, in which particular forms of Islamic law and the regulation of public morality were pressed into the service of state projects of modernisation and economic development. A major turning point in this direction came in 1973, when the “Main Outlines of National Direction” (Garis-garis Besar Haluan Negara/GBHN) introduced new language that presented “law as a tool [for national development].” Instrumentalist orientations toward law have been refected in Indonesian national policies ever since.84 This had the profound efect of reversing the prime vector defning the relationship between law and society: from a descriptive refection of the actual norms active in society that could inform legislation to a prescriptive view of law that pro-actively defnes the ideals that society should be aspiring toward. In contemporary Indonesia, both Islam and adat are thus not – or at least not only – historic artefacts of the country’s past. Rather, they have taken on forms of aspirational construction providing spaces for the imagination of new futures for the world’s most populous Muslim nation. Notes 1 On ‘custom’ as a source of Islamic law, see: Gideon Libson, “On the Development of Custom as a Source of Law in Islamic Law: al-rujû`u al-urf ahadu al-qawâ`idi al-khamsi allatî yatabannâ `alayhâ al-fqhu,” Islamic Law and Society 4:2 (1997), 131–55; Haim Gerber, Islamic Law and Culture (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1999), 105– 15; Baber Johansen, “Coutumes locales et coutumes universelles aux sources de regles juridiques en droit Musulman Hanéfte,” in Contingency in a Sacred Law: Legal and Ethical Norms in the Muslim fqh (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 163–71. 2 Knut S. Vikør, Between God and the Sultan: A  History of Islamic Law (New York: Oxford University Press, 2005), 167. 3 For Pasai and its development as an early site of Islamicate civilisation in Southeast Asia, see: Claude Guillot and Ludvik Kalus, Les monuments funéraires et l’histoire du sultanat de Pasai à Sumatra, XIIIe-XVIe siecles (Paris: Association Archipel, 2008), 100–26. 4 Ibn Baṭṭūṭa, Riḥla – Tuḥfat al-nuẓẓar fī gharāʾib al-amṣār wa ajāʾib al-asfār (Beirut: Dār al-sharq al-ʿarabī, n.d.), 478–81. 5 Mahmood Kooria, “Cosmopolis of Law: Islamic Legal Ideas and Texts across the Indian Ocean and Eastern Mediterranean Worlds,” (PhD diss., Leiden University, 2016), 84–112.

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6 Liaw Yock Fang (ed.), Undang-undang Melaka: The Laws of Melaka (The Hague: Martinus Niijhof, 1976), 88/89. 7 G.W.J. Drewes (ed.), An Early Javanese Code of Muslim Ethics (The Hague: Martinus Nijhof, 1978), 37. 8 Ayang Utriza Yakin, “Undhang-Undhang Banten,” Indonesia and the Malay World 44:130 (2016), 365–88. 9 Ito Takeshi, “The World of the Adat Aceh: A Historical Study of the Sultanate of Aceh,” (PhD diss., Australian National University, 1984), 259–62. 10 Muzafar Alam and Sanjay Subrahmanyam, Writing the Mughal World: Studies on Culture and Politics (New York: Columbia University Press, 2012), 108–9. 11 As, for example, noted by François Martin in 1602 and William Dampier in 1688. See: Anthony Reid, Witnesses to Sumatra: A Traveller’s Anthology (Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press, 1995), 60, 112–3. 12 Ito Takeshi, “The World of the Adat Aceh, 157. 13 The most extensive biographical study of al-Rānīrī produced to date can be found in Paul Wormser, Le Bustan al-Salatin de Nuruddin ar-Rānīrī: Réfexions sur le role culturel d’un étranger dans le monde Malais au XVIIe siecle (Paris: Cahiers d’Archipel, 2012), 41–56. 14 Nūr al-Dīn Muḥammad Jīlānī b. ʿAlī b. Ḥasanjī b. Muḥammad b. Ḥumayd al-Rānīrī, Ṣirāṭ al-mustaqīm fī fqh madhhab al-shāfʿī (Cairo: al-Bābī al-Ḥalabī, 1937), 336. 15 Peter G. Riddell, Malay Court Religion, Culture and Language: Interpreting the Qurʾān in 17th Century Aceh (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 42–6. 16 Takeshi Ito, “Why Did Nuruddin ar-Raniri Leave Aceh in 1054 AH?” Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 134 (1978), 489–91. 17 For more on the Mirʾāt al- ṭullāb, and the Safīnat al-ḥukkām, see: Henri Chambert-Loir, “Islamic Law in 17th Century Aceh,” Archipel 94 (2017), 51–96. 18 Asy-Syeikh ‘Abdurrauf as-Singkily, Miratuth Thullab f tashiili ma’rifat ahkaamisy syar’iyati lil malikil wahhab, ed. Muliadi Kurdi and Jamaluddin Thaib (Banda Aceh: Naskah Aceh, 2017), 544. 19 Jalaluddin At-Tarusani, Safnatul Hukkam f takhlishiil khashsham, ed. Muliadi Kurdi and Jamaluddin Thaib (Banda Aceh: Naskah Aceh, 2015), 245. 20 Azra, The Origins of Islamic Reformism in Southeast Asia, 118–9. 21 Muḥammad Arshad b. ʿAbd Allāh al-Banjārī, Sabīl al-muhtadīn lil-tafaqquh fī amr al-dīn (Singapore: al-Ḥaramayn, n.d.), 2 vols. II, 256–61. 22 van Bruinessen, Kitab Kuning, 112–71. 23 For on an overview of al-Paṭānī’s writings on fqh in relation to his broader oeuvre, see: Francis R. Bradley, Forging Islamic Power and Place: The Legacy of Shaykh Dā’ūd bin ʿAbd Allāh al-Faṭānī in Mecca and Southeast Asia (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2016), 74–82. 24 Philipp Bruckmayr, Cambodia’s Muslims and the Malay World: Malay Language, Jawi Script, and Islamic Fundamentalism from the 19th Century to the Present (Leiden: Brill, 2019), 242–5, 247–9. 25 L.W.C. van den Berg, “Het Mohammedaansche godsdienstonderwijs op Java en Madoera en de daarbij gebruikte Arabische boeken,” Tijdschrift voor Indische Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 31 (1886), 519–55. 26 Martin van Bruinessen, “Kitab Kuning: Books in Arabic Script Used in the Pesantren Milieu,” Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 146:1 (1990), 244–50. 27 The technical use of the term ‘library’ here draws on the interpretive framework developed by Brinkley Messick, Sharīʿa Scripts: A Historical Anthropology (New York: Columbia University Press, 2018), 100. 28 Peter G. Riddell, “Religious Links between Hadramaut and the MalayIndonesian World, c. 1850 to c. 1950,” in U. Freitag and W.G. Clarence-Smith (eds.),

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Hadrami Traders, Scholars, and Statesmen in the Indian Ocean, 1750s–1960s (Leiden: Brill, 1997), 217–30. Sālim b. Sumayr al-Ḥaḍramī, Safīnat al-najā fī ‘uṣūl al-dīn wa’l-fqh (Banda Aceh: Putra Aceh Jaya, n.d.). Nico J.G. Kaptein, Islam, Colonialism and the Modern Age in the Netherlands East Indies: A Biography of Sayyid ʿUthman, 1822–1914 (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 86–9. Nurfadzilah Yahaya, Fluid Jurisdictions: Colonial Law and Arabs in Southeast Asia (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2020), 24. Ibid., 16, 3. Iza R. Hussin, The Politics of Islamic Law: Local Elites, Colonial Authority, and the Making of the Muslim State (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2016), 177. Jefrey Hadler, Muslims and Matriarchs: Cultural Resilience in Minangkabau Through Jihad and Colonialism (Singapore: NUS Press, 2009), 28. The symmetrical formulation is allegedly traced back to the ‘Marapalam Charter’ of 1833, though no contemporary textual sources survive to validate this. For insightful discussions of local debates on the relationship between adat and Islam in modern West Sumatran history, see: Franz and Keebet von Benda-Beckmann, Political and Legal Transformations of an Indonesian Polity: The Nagari from Colonisation to Decentralisation (Cambridge University Press, 2013). Penjelasan atas Peraturan Daerah Istimewah Aceh Nomor 5 Tahun 2000 tentang Pelaksanaan Syariat Islam. Penjelasan atas Peraturan Daerah Istimewah Aceh Nomor 7 Tahun 2000 tentang Penyelenggaraan Kehidupan Adat. M.C. Ricklefs, Polarising Javanese Society: Islamic and Other Visions, c. 1830– 1930 (Singapore: NUS Press, 2007), 5–6. Ricklefs, Mystic Synthesis in Java, 217. The most thorough contextualised treatment of the Padris remains: Christine Dobbin, Islamic Revivalism in a Changing Peasant Economy: Central Sumatra, 1784–1847 (London: Curzon Press, 1983). David Bourchier, “Positivism and Romanticism in Indonesian Legal Thought,” in Tim Lindsey (ed.), Indonesia Law and Society, 2nd ed. (Sydney: The Federation Press, 2008), 96. The modern feld of adat law studies was pioneered by Cornelius van Vollenhoven, Van Vollenhoven’s system of adatrecht is systematically laid out in the frst two volumes of his Het Adatrecht van Nederlansch-Indië (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1918–31). Selections from this lengthy and difcult work have been translated into English by J.F. Holleman and published together with a helpful introduction by H.W.J. Sonius, J.F. Holleman, and H.W.J. Sonius (eds.), Van Vollenhoven on Indonesian Adat Law (The Hague: Martinus Nijhof, 1981). Van Vollenhoven’s shorter essays on various aspects of adat law in Indonesia have also been collected and published as Miskenningen van het Adatrecht: Vier Voordrachten aan de Nederlandsche-Indische Bestuursacademie (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1909), as well as his Opstellen Over Adatrecht: 1901–31 (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1933). The term adatrecht actually originated in an article written by Snouck in 1893, and van Vollenhoven acknowledged Snouck’s role in the initial development of the study of adat law throughout his writings, perhaps most explicitly in De Ontdekking van het Adatrecht (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1928), 106–10. Although van Vollenhoven repeatedly cited Snouck’s work with enthusiastic approval, considerable diferences between the two have been highlighted in Harry J. Benda, The Crescent and the Rising Sun: Indonesian Islam Under the Japanese Occupation, 1942–1945 (The Hague: W. van Hoeve Ltd, 1958), 66–9.

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43 C. van Vollenhoven, “Aceh,” in J.F. Holleman (ed. and trans.), Van Vollenhoven on Indonesian Adat Law (The Hague: Martinus Nijhof, 1981), 122. 44 Euis Nurlaelawati, Modernization, Tradition and Identity: The Kompilasi Hukum Islam and Legal Practice in the Indonesian Religious Courts (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2010), 46–9. 45 On adat law over this period of transition, see: Ratno Lukito, Pergumulan antara Hukum Islam dan Adat di Indonesia (Jakarta: INIS, 1998). 46 M.B. Hooker, Indonesian Syariah: Defning a National School of Islamic Law (Singapore: ISEAS Press, 2008), 256; Ab Massier, The Voice of the Law in Transition: Indonesian Jurists and Their Languages, 1915–2000 (Leiden: KITLV Press, 2008), 151–3. 47 Franz and Keebet von Benda-Beckmann, “The Social Life of Living Law in Indonesia,” in Marc Hertogh (ed.), Living Law: Reconsidering Eugen Ehrlich (Oxford: Hart Publishing, 2009), 187. 48 For a sample of his work along these lines, see: Moh. Koesnoe, Musjawarah: een wijze van volksbesluitvorming volgens adatrecht (Nijmigen: Nijmigen University Press, 1969); and Moh. Koesnoe, Kapita Selekta Hukum Adat: Suatu Pemikiran Baru (Jakarta: Ikatan Hakim Indonesia, 2002). 49 R. Michael Feener, “Adat dan Idealisme dalam Pemikiran Hukum Mohammed Koesnoe,” in Joeni Arianto Kurniawan (ed.), Mohammad Koesnoe dalam Pengembaraan Gagasan Hukum Indonesia (Jakarta: Epistema Institute, 2013), 139–56. 50 Discussion of this topic here draws on the more extensive treatment of joint marital property law presented in: Mark E. Cammack and R. Michael Feener, “Joint Marital Property in Indonesian Customary, Islamic, and National Law,” in Peri Bearman, Wolfhart Heinrichs, and Bernard G. Weiss (eds.), The Law Applied: Contextualizing the Islamic Shariʿa (London: I.B. Tauris, 2008), 92–115. 51 I have not yet, however, been able to identify the specifc text of al-Banjārī in support of this assertion. 52 A somewhat more detailed discussions of the topic by Sayyid ʿUthmān, referenced to a concise compendium of proof texts, can be found in one of his lesser-known works: Masaʾil daʿwa harta antara dua laki isteri atau antara ahli-ahli warith satu sama lain (Batavia: n.1298H./1881). 53 A. Hassan, Soal-Jawab Masalah Agama, 2 vols. (Bangil: Penerbit PERSIS, 1996), I: 413–4. In his treatise on Islamic inheritance law, Hassan also similarly characterised joint marital property as a form of sharikat al-abdān. A. Hassan, Al-Faraaʾid (Jakarta: Tintamas, 1964), 127. 54 Ismuha, Adat Gono-Gini Ditinjau dari Sudut Hukum Islam (Jakarta: Bulan Bintang, 1965); Ismuha, Pencaharian Bersama Suami Isteri Ditinjau dari Sudut Undang-undang Perkawinan Tahun 1974 dan Hukum Islam (Jakarta: Bulan Bintang, 1986). 55 Sayuti Thalib, Hukum Kekeluargaan Indonesia Berlaku bagi Umat Islam (Jakarta: Penerbitan Universitas Indonesia, 1986), 79–92. 56 The modern approaches to the issue by adat law scholars including Hazairin were later critiqued for their neglect of ḥadīth studies by Al Yasa Abubakar, who later became the founding Head of Aceh’s State Sharīʿa Agency: Ahli Waris Sepertalian Darah: Kajian Perbandingan Terhadap Penalaran Hazairin dan Penalaran Fikih Mazhab (Jakarta: INIS, 1998). 57 Hazairin, Hukum Kewarisan Bilateral menurut Qur’an dan Hadith (Jakarta: Tintamas, 1958). For more on the life and work of Hazairin: R. Michael Feener, Muslim Legal Thought in Modern Indonesia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 69–79.

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58 Hazairin, Pergolakan Penjesuaian Adat kepada Hukum Islam (Jakarta: Bulan Bintang, 1951). 59 Hazairin, Hukum Kekeluargaan Nasional ditambah dengan Lembaran Kerja untuk Rancangan Undang-undang Hukum Kewarisan Nasional Republik Indonesia (Jakarta: Tintamas, 1982). 60 For more on Hasbi’s life and work: Feener, Muslim Legal Thought, 59–65. 61 Hasbi Ash Shiddieqy, Koleksi Hadis-hadis Hukum, 6 vols. (Jakarta: Yayasan Teungku Muhammad Hasbi Ash-Shiddiqi, 4th printing 1994); Problematika Hadits sebagai Dasar Pembinaan Hukum Islam (Jakarta: Bulan Bintang, 1964); Tafsir al-Qur’anul Majid (Semarang: Pustaka Rizki Putra, 1987). 62 Feener, Muslim Legal Thought, 112–4. 63 On the ‘daʿwa paradigm’, see: Feener, Shariʿa and Social Engineering, 37–47. For more on the reconfguration of classical Islamic doctrines in these modern Indonesian processes of ideologisation, see: R. Michael Feener, “Constructions of Religious Authority in Indonesian Islamism: ‘The Way and the Community’ Re-Imagined,” in Anthony Reid and Michael Gilsenan (eds.), Islamic Legitimacy in a Plural Asia (London: Routledge, 2007), 139–53. 64 On Pembaharuan: Feener, Muslim Legal Thought, 130–50. 65 As, for example, In Nurcholish Madjid, Tradisi Islam: Peran dan Fungsinya dalam Pembangunan di Indonesia (Jakarta: Paramadina, 1997). 66 On these ‘new ʿulamāʾ: Feener, Muslim Legal Thought, 151–81. 67 R. van Dijk, Pengantar Hukum Adat Indonesia, trans. A. Soehardi (Bandung: Sumur Bandung, 1979), 78–84. This evidently popular text went through at least eight editions before the end of the 1970s. 68 On the legal and political dimensions of Reformasi, see: Petra Stockmann, Indonesian Reformasi as Refected in Law: Change and Continuity in Post-Suharto Era Legislation on the Political System and Human Rights (Münster: LIT Verlag, 2004), and Harold Crouch, Political Reform in Indonesia After Soeharto (Singapore: ISEAS Press, 2010). 69 Undang Undang Republik Indonesia Nomor 22/Tahun 1999 tentang Pemerintahan Daerah. For an overview of the political restructuring mandated by this law, see: Marco Bünte, Regionale Autonomie in Indonesien: Wege zur erfolgreichen Dezentralisierung (Hamburg: IFA, 2003), 127–41. 70 Leena Avonius and Sehat Ihsan Shadiqin, “Revitalisasi Adat di Indonesia dan Aceh,” in Leena Avonius and Sehat Ihsan Shadiqin (eds.), Adat dalam Dinamika Politik Aceh (Banda Aceh: ARTI/ICAIOS, 2010), 9–11. 71 Arskal Salim, “Muslim Politics in Indonesia’s Democratisation: The Religious Majority and the Rights of Minorities in the Post-New Order Era,” in Ross McLeod and Andrew MacIntyre (eds.), Indonesia: Democracy and the Promise of Good Governance (Singapore: ISEAS Press, 2007), 115–27. 72 Robin Bush, “Regional Shariʿa Regulations in Indonesia: Anomaly or Symptom,” in Greg Fealy and Sally White (eds.), Expressing Islam: Religious Life and Politics in Indonesia (Singapore: ISEAS Press, 2008), 174–91. 73 Undang-undang Nomor 44 Tahun 1999 tentang Penyelenggaraan Keistimewaan Daerah Istimewa Aceh. 74 Peraturan Daerah Istimewah Aceh Nomor 5 Tahun 2000 tentang Pelaksanaan Syariat Islam; Peraturan Daerah Istimewah Aceh Nomor 7 Tahun 2000 tentang Penyelenggaraan Kehidupan Adat; Qanun No. 3 (2004) tentang Majelis Adat Aceh. 75 Undang-Undang Republik Indonesia Nomor 11 (2006) tentang Pemerintahan Aceh (Law on Governing Aceh/LOGA). 76 Qanun No. 9 (2008) tentang Kehidupat Adat dan Adat-Istiadat; Qanun No. 10 (2008) tentang Perlembagaan Adat.

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77 Arskal Salim, Contemporary Islamic Law in Indonesia: Sharīʿa and Legal Pluralism (Aga Khan University eCommons, 2015). https://ecommons.aku.edu/uk_ ismc_series_emc/8, 36. 78 For a more in-depth treatment of contemporary Aceh’s State Sharīʿa System, see: Feener, Shariʿa and Social Engineering. The section of this chapter that follows draws upon the fuller discussions available there. 79 Each of these institutions in treated in detail in Feener, Sharīʿa and Social Engineering: Dinas Syariat Islam, 185–218; Mahkamah Syariah, 153–84; Majlis Permusyawaratan Ulama, 93–129; Wilayatul Hisbah, 219–50. 80 Qanun Provinsi Nanggroe Aceh Darussalam Nomor 11 (2002) tentang Pelaksanaan Syariat Islam bidang Aqidah, Ibadah, dan Syi’ar Islam. 81 Qanun Provinsi Nanggroe Aceh Darussalam Nomor 12 (2003) tentang Minuman Khamar dan Sejenisnya; Qanun Provinsi Nanggroe Aceh Darussalam Nomor 13 (2003) tentang Maisir (Perjudian); Qanun Provinsi Nanggroe Aceh Darussalam Nomor 14 (2003) tentang Khalwat (Mesum). 82 Qanun Provinsi Nanggroe Aceh Darussalam Nomor 6 (2014) tentang Hukum Jinayat. 83 Feener, Sharīʿa and Social Engineering, 251–77. 84 For a contemporary statement protesting against developments in this direction see, for example: Soediman Kartohadiprodjo, Hukum Nasional: Beberapa Tjatatan (Bandung: Binatjipta, 1968).

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Ibn Baṭṭūṭa, Riḥla – Tuḥfat al-nuẓẓar fī gharāʾib al-amṣār wa ajāʾib al-asfār, Beirut: Dār al-Sharq al-ʿArabī, n.d. Ismuha, Adat Gono-Gini Ditinjau dari Sudut Hukum Islam, Jakarta: Bulan Bintang, 1965. Ismuha, Pencaharian Bersama Suami Isteri Ditinjau dari Sudut Undang-undang Perkawinan Tahun 1974 dan Hukum Islam, Jakarta: Bulan Bintang, 1986. Ito, Takeshi, “Why Did Nuruddin ar-Raniri Leave Aceh in 1054 AH?” Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 134 (1978). Ito, Takeshi, The World of the Adat Aceh: A  Historical Study of the Sultanate of Aceh, Australian National University PhD dissertation, 1984. Johansen, Baber, “Coutumes locales et coutumes universelles aux sources de regles juridiques en droit Musulman Hanéfte,” in Contingency in a Sacred Law: Legal and Ethical Norms in the Muslim fqh (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 163–71. Kaptein, Nico J.G., Islam, Colonialism and the Modern Age in the Netherlands East Indies: A Biography of Sayyid ʿUthman, 1822–1914, Leiden: Brill, 2014. Kartohadiprodjo, Soediman, Hukum Nasional: Beberapa Tjatatan, Bandung: Binatjipta, 1968. Koesnoe, M., Kapita Selekta Hukum Adat: Suatu Pemikiran Baru, Jakarta: Ikatan Hakim Indonesia, 2002. Koesnoe, M., Musjawarah: een wijze van volksbesluitvorming volgens adatrecht, Nijmigen: Nijmigen University Press, 1969. Kooria, Mahmood, Cosmopolis of Law: Islamic Legal Ideas and Texts across the Indian Ocean and Eastern Mediterranean Worlds, Leiden University PhD dissertation, 2016. Libson, Gideon, “On the Development of Custom as a Source of Law in Islamic Law: al-rujû’u al-urf ahadu al-qawâ’idi al-khamsi allatî yatabannâ ‘alayhâ al-fqhu,” Islamic Law and Society 4, no. 2 (1997), 131–55. Lukito, Ratno, Pergumulan antara Hukum Islam dan Adat di Indonesia, Jakarta: INIS, 1998. Madjid, Nurcholish, Tradisi Islam: Peran dan Fungsinya dalam Pembangunan di Indonesia, Jakarta: Paramadina, 1997. Massier, Ab, The Voice of the Law in Transition: Indonesian Jurists and Their Languages, 1915–2000, Leiden: KITLV Press, 2008. Messick, Brinkley, Sharīʿa Scripts: A Historical Anthropology, New York: Columbia University Press, 2018. Nurlaelawati, Euis, Modernization, Tradition and Identity: The Kompilasi Hukum Islam and Legal Practice in the Indonesian Religious Courts, Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2010. al-Rānīrī, Nūr al-Dīn Muḥammad Jīlānī b. ʿAlī b. Ḥasanjī b. Muḥammad b. Ḥumayd, Ṣirāṭ al-mustaqīm fī fqh madhhab al-shāfʿī, Cairo: al-Bābī al-Ḥalabī, 1937. Reid, Anthony, Witnesses to Sumatra: A  Traveller’s Anthology, Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press, 1995. Ricklefs, M.C., Mystic Synthesis in Java: A History of Islamization from the Fourteenth to the Early Nineteenth Centuries, Norwalk: EastBridge, 2006. Ricklefs, M.C., Polarising Javanese Society: Islamic and Other Visions, c. 1830–1930, Singapore: NUS Press, 2007. Riddell, Peter G., “Religious Links Between Hadramaut and the Malay-Indonesian World, c. 1850 to c. 1950,” in U. Freitag and W.G. Clarence-Smith (eds.), Ḥaḍramī

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Traders, Scholars, and Statesmen in the Indian Ocean, 1750s–1960s (Leiden: Brill, 1997), 217–30. Riddell, Peter G., Malay Court Religion, Culture and Language: Interpreting the Qurʾān in 17th Century Aceh, Leiden: Brill, 2017. Salim, Arskal, “Muslim Politics in Indonesia’s Democratisation: The Religious Majority and the Rights of Minorities in the Post-New Order Era,” in Ross McLeod and Andrew MacIntyre (eds.), Indonesia: Democracy and the Promise of Good Governance (Singapore: ISEAS Press, 2007), 115–27. Salim, Arksal, Contemporary Islamic Law in Indonesia: Sharīʿa and Legal Pluralism, Karachi: Aga Khan University eCommons, 2015. as-Singkily, Asy-Syeikh ‘Abdurrauf, Miratuth Thullab f tashiili ma’rifat ahkaamisy syar’iyati lil malikil wahhab, ed. Muliadi Kurdi and Jamaluddin Thaib, Banda Aceh: Naskah Aceh, 2017. ash-Shiddieqy, Hasbi, Problematika Hadits sebagai Dasar Pembinaan Hukum Islam, Jakarta: Bulan Bintang, 1964. ash-Shiddieqy, Hasbi, Tafsir al-Qur’anul Majid, Semarang: Pustaka Rizki Putra, 1987. ash-Shiddieqy, Hasbi, Koleksi Hadis-hadis Hukum, 6 vols, Jakarta: Yayasan Teungku Muhammad Hasbi Ash-Shiddiqi, 4th printing 1994. Stockmann, Petra, Indonesian Reformasi as Refected in Law: Change and Continuity in Post-Suharto Era Legislation on the Political System and Human Rights, Münster: LIT Verlag, 2004. at-Tarusani, Jalaluddin, Safnatul Hukkam f takhlishiil khashsham, ed. Muliadi Kurdi & Jamaluddin Thaib, Banda Aceh: Naskah Aceh, 2015. Thalib, Sayuti, Hukum Kekeluargaan Indonesia Berlaku bagi Umat Islam, Jakarta: Penerbitan Universitas Indonesia, 1986. ʿUthmān, Sayyid, Masaʾil daʿwa harta antara dua laki isteri atau antara ahli-ahli warith satu sama lain, Batavia: n.p. 1298/1881. van Bruinessen, Martin, “Kitab Kuning: Books in Arabic Script Used in the Pesantren Milieu,” Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 146, no. 1 (1990), 244–50. van Bruinessen, Martin, Kitab Kuning, Pesantren dan Tarekat: Tradisi-tradisi Islam di Indonesia, Bandung: Mizan, 1995. van den Berg, L.W.C., “Het Mohammedaansche godsdienstonderwijs op Java en Madoera en de daarbij gebruikte Arabische boeken,” Tijdschrift voor Indische Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 31 (1886), 519–55. van Dijk, R., Pengantar Hukum Adat Indonesia, trans. A. Soehardi, Bandung: Sumur Bandung, 1979. van Vollenhoven, Cornelius, Het Adatrecht van Nederlansch-Indië, Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1918–31. van Vollenhoven, Cornelius, “Aceh,” in Van Vollenhoven on Indonesian Adat Law, ed. and trans. J.F. Holleman, The Hague: Martinus Nijhof, 1981. von Benda-Beckmann, Franz and Keebet, “The Social Life of Living Law in Indonesia,” in Marc Hertogh (ed.), Living Law: Reconsidering Eugen Ehrlich (Oxford: Hart Publishing, 2009), 187. von Benda-Beckmann, Franz, and Keebet, Political and Legal Transformations of an Indonesian Polity: The Nagari from Colonisation to Decentralisation, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013.

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Vikør, Knut S., Between God and the Sultan: A History of Islamic Law, New York: Oxford University Press, 2005. Wormser, Paul, Le Bustan al-Salatin de Nuruddin ar-Rānīrī: Réfexions sur le role culturel d’un étranger dans le monde Malais au XVIIe siecle, Paris: Cahiers d’Archipel, 2012. Yahaya, Nurfadzilah, Fluid Jurisdictions: Colonial Law and Arabs in Southeast Asia, Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2020. Yakin, Ayang Utriza, “Undhang-Undhang Banten,” Indonesia and the Malay World 44, no. 130 (2016), 365–88.

4 INTEGRATION OF SOUTH ASIA WITHIN SOUTHEAST ASIAN TRADITIONS Abbas Panakkal

The integration of South Asia on Southeast Asia is evident through the impact of trade and the transmission of textual traditions in various regions. This chapter examines the specifc ways in which South Asia contributed to the integrated Southeast Asian cultures, both through early trade contacts, scholarly networks, and subsequent migrations. Prior to the advent of Islam, Southeast Asia came under the pervasive impact of South Asian culture due to sustained interactions with traders, as well as Buddhist and Hindu clerics who disseminated their religious and cultural beliefs throughout the region. During the era of long-range voyages undertaken by Greek and Arab traders to China, the ports of South and Southeast Asia served as important centers for sojourners, allowing them to wait for favorable weather conditions. The Malay Archipelago was referred to as the “Golden Chersonese” and served as a crucial nexus linking China to the broader East Asian region and facilitating maritime connections with the western waters. This appellation fnds its origins in Ptolemy’s Geography. This region played a central role in establishing hegemony over the straits of Malacca, which operated as a direct gateway to Indian Ocean trading networks. Additionally, Pliny, in his work Natural History, makes mention of Chryse as a promontory. Ptolemy’s Geography, drawing on the work of Marinus of Tyre, contains the earliest and prominent references to the Golden Chersonese, providing valuable insights into its historical geography.1 Wheatley, in the frst part of his book, narrates the consequence of the distinctive weather condition of the region like the tropical rain and fabrics like withering insects, which accelerated the speed of alluvial dump and concurrently exterminated all historical indications of mortal traces in the region.2 DOI: 10.4324/9781032702902-6

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The natural monsoon winds served as a crucial catalyst in facilitating and sustaining trading relations between South and Southeast Asia. Despite the absence of a specifc date attributing the revelation of the monsoon winds’ characteristics, trajectory, and strength, historical evidence highlights the paramount signifcance of these winds in shaping maritime trade. Arabian dhows and Chinese junks also emerged as dominant forces between South and Southeast Asian coastlines capitalizing on their profound understanding and exploitation of the winds. Notably, while the Greeks credited Hippalus with naming the winds after him, it is widely acknowledged that the brisk trade along the Indian Ocean littoral had already fourished long before Hippalus is traditionally associated with their formal recognition in Europe during the frst century.3 The monsoon season serves as a critical determinant of optimal sailing schedules, facilitating navigation in both eastward and westward directions, while accommodating various marginal adjustments and minimal amendments that acknowledge inclusive and temporally bound navigational traditions. Ibn Mājid (c. 1421–1500), a distinguished fgure in the realm of maritime exploration, extensively expounded upon the intricacies of monsoon navigation in his renowned work, Kitāb al-Fawā'id.4 Within this treatise, he provided profound insights into the experiential and technical dimensions associated with navigating during the monsoon season. The itinerary for voyages originating from Arabia and destined for South and Southeast Asia heavily relied upon the infuence of the monsoon, commonly referred to as “mawsim al-kaws.” This seasonal wind pattern typically manifested itself along the East African coast in March and gradually progressed to reach the Malabar region by late May. The practice of celestial navigation along India’s west coast would typically conclude in June, coinciding with the advent of the monsoon’s full force in July, characterized by copious rainfall, gale-force winds, and tumultuous waves.5 The identifcation of the monsoon patterns and the early indications of maritime interactions between South and Southeast Asia are discernible through the amalgamation of cultural artifacts. The existence of maritime interactions can be inferred from the reliance on and adaptation to the cyclical patterns of the winds, which provided favorable conditions for navigation and established vital economic and cultural linkages between these regions. The precise identities of those who frst comprehended the monsoon currents and their signifcance in fostering early maritime relations, however, continue to elude historical scrutiny.6 In his book, Sebastian Prange expounded the notion of “Monsoon Islam” as a fundamental concept. This perspective posits that the development of the Indian Ocean region was primarily driven by the actions of merchants rather than the authority of sultans. It underscores the profound infuence of commercial imperatives as opposed to military engagements in shaping

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the region, thereby emphasizing the lived experiences of Malabar Muslims dwelling within non-Muslim societies.7 Southeast Asia can be considered as an extension of this trade, travel, tradition, and shared cultural trajectories. Depending on the periodic temperament of the monsoon sequences of the Indian Ocean and the South China Sea, Middle Eastern sailors apparently stayed and performed the rites of their faiths on the banks of South and Southeast Asian archipelago waiting for favorable weather to continue their journey. Integrated enclaves

The advent of Islam in South and Southeast Asia has always been discussed in connection with the chronicles of royal conversions and indeed was characterized by the establishment of Muslim kingdoms in the region. It is worth mentioning that Muslim merchant communities had already established enclaves in both South and Southeast Asia, comprising traders and travelers, even before the emergence of the Muslim kingdoms in the area. This provides a better understanding of the diverse infuences and interactions that shaped the region prior to the establishment of formalized Muslim political entities in the Malay world. The introduction of Islam in Southeast Asia was a gradual process and Islam was spread in the region by merchants and Sufs, who were the driving forces behind dissemination and endorsement of indigenized Islam. The historical narratives connected to Islam in Southeast Asia also highlighted the migration of large Chinese communities to the region. These communities sought refuge during periods of insurgency in their homeland and found comfort in resettling in the locality. The Arab trading enclaves in Guangzhou were established following their formal expansion into Southeast Asian.8 The narratives of Chinese trade and travel would be incomplete without acknowledging the signifcance of the Southeast Asian coastal lines in the long-range voyage of Arabs and Greeks. This trade signifcantly stimulated local economies and played a crucial role in the growth of port cities. The preservation and subsequent analysis of this account were undertaken by Abū Zayd al-Sīrāfī, a keen observer, who meticulously documented travels to India and China.9 Abū Zayd al-Sīrāfī’s observations were supplemented by reports obtained from various sources, thereby enriching understanding of the intricate cultural interactions and dynamics that characterized this historical period.10 Arab trading enclaves in Guangzhou emerged as infuential commercial centers after their formal expansion into the Southeast Asian region. Notably, the historical accounts documenting their ascendancy followed their extensive involvement in export and import activities with the East during the nascent centuries of the Hijrah. By the mid-eighth century, the proliferation

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of Arab traders in Canton (present-day Guangzhou) served as a tangible testament to their escalating participation in commercial afairs. Signifcantly, from the tenth to the ffteenth century, Arab merchants exhibited an unparalleled mastery over East Asian trade, efectively monopolizing its conduits prior to the arrival of the Portuguese. This dominance is underscored by Chinese Annals, which, as cited by Arnold, furnish a cogent narrative detailing the leadership of an Arab chieftain in an Arab settlement situated along the western shores of Sumatra in the year 674 CE. This historical evidence further corroborates the extensive infuence and wide-ranging impact of Arab traders in the region during that era.11 In the ninth century, a period characterized by the ascendancy of the Abbasid Empire, Arab and Persian travelers, along with geographers, embarked on a scholarly endeavour of comparative exploration. Motivated by the prevailing confdence of the era, these individuals sought to meticulously examine and compare the multifaceted customs and societal norms observed in India, Southeast Asia, and even the distant trading hub of China. Within the broader context of these extensive comparative studies attributed to Sulaymān al-Tājir, they produced a signifcant account documenting the intricate travel routes spanning from the Indian Subcontinent to Southeast Asia and onward to China. One notable source, known as Akhbâr al-sîn wa’l-hind (Reports of China and India), which is believed to incorporate frst-hand information from Sulaimān at-Tājir, identifed a self-governing Muslim community in the port with the Chinese ofcial agencies recognising a qāḍī to judge issues of religious law.12 Al-Masʿūdi (896–956) narrated that there were between 120,000 and 200,000 mostly foreign Muslim merchants in Canton in the year 878 and they experienced massacres during a peasant rebellion.13 Huge groups of survivors settled near Kedah on the west coast of the Malay peninsula. As a sea-faring vessel, over the centuries, the Dhow had advanced from a volume of 100 up to a signifcant 400 tons and the largest junks could carry a cargo of 1000 tons with up to 100 cabins for passengers. The below deck was segmented into impermeable partitions to safeguard the cargo from deluging. These were operated by gigantic oars with the support of ten to ffteen workers.14 Marco Polo, in c.1292, narrated the nature of Islam in northern Sumatra, which was confned to the trading ports.15 The city of Samudra in northern Sumatra preserves the account of missionaries from the Sharif of Mecca; the local king accepted Islam and assumed the title and name al-Malik al-Salih.16 A great multitude of traders from diferent nations had settled with the liberty of following their own customs and publicly practicing their distinctive beliefs and veneration.17 Ibn Baṭṭūṭa (1304–1377 CE), who travelled from Malabar to China, through Southeast Asia depicted the nature of Malay communities in Malabar (Calicut and Barahnakâr), where he noted a mixture of Jâwa people

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among the local Muslim population. Ibn Baṭṭūṭa identifes the Jâwa as the second major group of people who frequented Calicut, immediately following the Chinese. Ibn Baṭṭūṭa’s account of his arrival in Sumatra has sparked discussions regarding his use of the name Jâwa for the island. According to Ibn Baṭṭūṭa, his mention of “jazîrat al-jâwa” can be comprehended as “the island of the Jâwa people,” specifcally referring to Sumatra as their homeland. This reinforces the understanding that Sumatra was recognized as the island associated with the Jâwa people during that period. However, indications within his narrative suggest that he was primarily using the term as an ethnonym rather than a toponym. This usage could have been infuenced by the reports of previous travelers or descriptions provided to him by Sumatrans in Malabar. Notably, when Ibn Baṭṭūṭa frst lands on Sumatra, he correctly identifes it as the source of the renowned al-lubân al-jâwî – “Jawi incense.”18 Ibn Baṭṭūṭa described the signifcant gradation to which this Sumatran port-polity was connected with other Muslim trading communities and particularly noted the sultanate’s adherence to the Shāfʿī school (madhhab) of Islamic jurisprudence.19 Zheng He (1371–1433), the leader of the Ming expedition feet, undertook seven voyages from 1405 to 1433, spanning China, Malaya, and Malabar. His feet, comprising hundreds of ships and 30,000 people, commanded a signifcant presence in the Indian Ocean. These visits left a lasting impact on South and Southeast Asia, fostering a legacy of shared cultural heritage. Zheng He embarked on his voyages with a specifc focus on Southeast Asia, where he extensively visited various locations such as Brunei, Java, Siam (Thailand), Sumatra, Malacca, and the Philippines. In Calicut, on Malabar coast, three mosques with Chinese names and the protected Chinese Shrine, Cheenadathu Maqam, adjacent to a mosque in Puthiyangadi, are noteworthy. Chinese sailors engaging with local communities in South and Southeast Asian ports led to the exchange of ideas, terminologies, and cultural practices. This interaction infuenced various aspects of life, including religion, language, cuisine, and art. The presence of Chinese settlements in these ports further contributed to the cultural exchange and the creation of multicultural environments.20 The Demak Sultanate emerged, leading to the downfall of the Majapahit kingdom and transforming it into a prominent Islamic center in Java. A number of Muslim provinces evolved out from the ruins of the Majapahit empire.21 It is often stated that Islam entered into Southeast Asia in the thirteenth century, but it was based on the popular historical notion of the religion of the kingdom, utterly neglecting the integrated Muslim enclaves of the region. Sixteenth century Portuguese writer Tomé Pires, who lived in Malacca from 1512–1515, narrated that important merchant Muslims in the coastal settlements of Java were not originally Javanese, but they were the progenies of Chinese, Persians, and Indian Muslim. The female presence in

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the trading communities also were specifed by Tomé Pires, who noted that women played a signifcant role in the markets of Malacca.22 Early Arab commercial and numerical domination, seen in sixteenth century trading stations, gave way to indigenized and integrated generations in these developing port towns.23 Sixteenth-century Javanese palm-leaf manuscripts also illustrated the indigenized Muslim communities, who were accused of following infdel ritual practices. History ofers enough proof for indigenized Muslim cultures in cosmopolitan Southeast Asia. Multi-ethnic polyglottic communities in Malacca were well versed in several languages that supported their business conversations. Arabs, Chinese, Turks, Malabaris, Bengalis, Javanese, Sumatrans, Armenians, Burmese, Okinawans, Gujeratis, and Europeans inhabited villages alongside one another and the pluralistic society engaged in trading activities, which accelerated the multi-cultural and integrated atmosphere of Southeast Asian cities.24 There were around 40,000 inhabitants in Malacca by the ffteenth century and the number rose to as many as 190,000 including foreign traders by the beginning of the sixteenth century.25 M. Edwardes explained the situation of Malacca, which had been crafted for trade and commerce in 1587 with the diversity of items bought and sold.26 Integrated Muslim communities promoted multicultural and inter-ethnic elements of coexistence in the region. There were Muslim rulers in Sumatra, the Malay Peninsula, Java, Sulawesi, and the eastern part of the archipelago.27 When ruling Maharajas accepted Islam, they left enough room for incorporation and coexistence.28 For example, Malacca retained a complex social hierarchy, including traditions of intermarriage and a web of sophisticated cultural borrowings and exchanges.29 The spread of Islam in Southeast Asia occurred over centuries through various historical processes, including trade, diplomacy, and migration. As a result, diferent parts of the region adopted Islam at diferent times and were infuenced by various Islamic traditions and practices. E.A. Lambourn highlighted that the advancement and growth of Muslim port cities and citystates along the Indian Ocean littoral were primarily ignited by the fourishing trade in the region. Trade played a crucial role in shaping the development and prosperity of these Muslim centers. In an era when travel over water was faster, safer, and more cost-efective than overland passages of transportation, the Indian Ocean served as a vital maritime route connecting various regions, fostering extensive trade networks that spanned across diferent continents. Muslim merchants, traders, and sailors actively participated in this thriving trade, establishing signifcant economic and commercial links between diverse cultures and civilizations.30 This fact also underscores the historicity of the often neglected “circulation of ideas” along a south-south axis.31 Azyumardi Azra wrote The Origins of Islamic Reformism in Southeast Asia: Networks of Malay-Indonesian and Middle Eastern ‛Ulamā in the

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Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries, focusing on the intellectual history of Southeast Asian Muslims, particularly in Indonesia. Azra examined the impact of modernity and globalization on Islamic thought and the formation of a distinct Muslim identity.32 Chiara Formichi explored the historical and contemporary aspects of Muslim communities in Asia. Formichi examined the role of Islam in shaping local politics, culture, and religious practices. This work contributes to a deeper understanding of the complex dynamics between Islam and local contexts while also highlighting the transnational connections and networks among Asian Muslims.33 Michael Lafan explored the experiences of Muslim communities during the colonial period and their engagement with nationalist movements. Lafan has emphasized the agency of Southeast Asian Muslims in shaping history and the broader narrative of Asian Islam. His scholarship highlights the interactions and connections between Southeast Asian Muslims and other Asian Muslim communities.34 The scholarly endeavors of Azyumardi Azra, Chiara Formichi, and Michael Lafan have profoundly advanced the comprehension of Southeast Asian Muslims and their contextualization within the broader framework of Asian Islam. Notwithstanding, it merits acknowledging that their investigations predominantly center around the institutionalized or royal manifestation of Islam in the region. The exploration does not extensively extend to encompass the antecedent iterations of integrated Islam, notably those manifested within the Muslim enclaves prevalent in the region during earlier epochs. Modern Southeast Asian nation states such as Indonesia, Malaysia, Brunei, the Philippines, and others are home to a wide range of indigenous cultures and ethnicities, each with distinctive customs, languages, and religious beliefs. These diverse vernacular cultural backgrounds existed before Islam’s arrival in the region. As Muslim communities interacted within these diverse cultural contexts, it led to the integration of various indigenous cultural elements and the formation of distinct regional Islamic practices and traditions. This cultural amalgamation resulted in unique expressions of Islam across the region, contributing to the richness of Southeast Asian Muslim cultures. Therefore, any attempt to oversimplify or homogenize the cultural and religious landscape of Southeast Asia by associating specifc Muslim cultures solely with certain nation states would overlook the complexity and diversity that exist within each country. It is essential to acknowledge and appreciate the cultural diversities that have shaped the regional Islam in Southeast Asia, rather than imposing a one-size-fts-all approach. Interwoven legacies: shared names in South and Southeast Asia

The concept of Al-Hind in Arab tradition encompassed not only the Indian subcontinent but also the Indianized states of Southeast Asia. However, the Persian usage of the term did not consist of the entire Indian subcontinent,

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Southeast Asia, and the Indonesian Archipelago. There is limited evidence suggesting that during the late-Sasanid times, the Malay Peninsula started to be perceived as part of India. The Arabic term “Hind,” used from the Umayyad and Abbasid periods onwards, refers to a geographical entity that includes all South Asia, including the Central Indian Ocean archipelagos, as well as mainland and island Southeast Asia. This expansion of the term by the Arabs widened its application beyond the original Persian usage.35 In the context of South India, Muslims have historically maintained strong connections with Southeast Asia. The emergence of Muslim societies in South India demonstrated cultural afnities with their counterparts in Java and Sumatra. It is interesting to observe that the geographical locations and ecologies of these two regions exhibited striking similarities. Both Kerala and Sri Lanka were distinguished from the rest of South Asia by their mountain ridges or coastal proximity. Additionally, both regions featured a tropical climate characterized by dense, evergreen rainforests and abundant rainfall. It is worth noting that these regions played a crucial role in producing high-value goods that were actively exchanged within international trade networks, facilitated by coastal entrepots situated at the mouths of rivers.36 The South Indian coastline of Malabar and Southeast Asian region, Malaya, shared the same name and identity in the earlier days, especially for outside observers. The Cosmas Indicopleustes (c. 550 CE) marked pepper country, Malabar, as “Male.”37 The name Malabar is a contribution to the coast by Arab and Persian traders, who sailed to the region even before the advent of Islam. The principal part of the name is derived from the local vernacular, in which “Mala” means hill. The afx “bar” emerged either from the Arabic word barr38 or the Persian word bar39 and this etymological derivation is very popular in the region and explained by various ancient as well as modern writers.40 When we study the etymology and descent of the names, Malay, Male were known by the same name in the earlier time. The root of the term “Java” is commonly attributed to its derivation from the Sanskrit term “Yavadvipa,” which translates to “Island of Barley.” It is believed that the term Java also derived from the Indian appellation of Śrîvijaya kingdom. Abū Zayd al-Sīrāfī specifcally identifes a toponym within Zâbaj known as Sribuza, which further strengthens the correlation between Zâbaj and the realm of Śrîvijaya. The inclusion of Sribuza as a distinct location within Zâbaj lends support to the understanding that Zâbaj encompassed or was closely connected to the expansive infuence of the Śrîvijaya kingdom. This reinforces the signifcance of Śrîvijaya as a dominant power in the region during the early tenth century and provides valuable insights into the historical dynamics of Southeast Asia.41 The fact that the Côlas referred to Malayu using its older name in their catalogue of victories, distinguishing it from Śrîvijaya, is a signifcant historical observation. This implies that

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the Côlas recognized and acknowledged the historical association of Malayu with its earlier name.42 These fndings underscore the intricate nature of interactions and interrelationships between South and Southeast Asian regions. In Ibn Khurdâdhbih’s book, Kitâb al-masâlik, Zâbaj is depicted as a kingdom that extends north towards Kra and eastward to a volcano. However, according to Tibbetts’s summary, there is a suggestion that the king mentioned as Jâbat al-Hindî (meaning “the Indian Jâba”) may be associated with Zâbaj. In his writings, Ibn Khurdâdhbih includes Zâbaj and its neighboring regions in a list of subordinate rulers in India. It is worth noting that due to their perceived cultural integration, Zâbaj and its surrounding territories were often considered part of a larger Indian zone. In the Kitâb al-masâlik, the frst mentioned sub-king, possibly referred to as “the Jâba,” is situated near a ruler known as the “king of the islands,” and another ruler who, potentially, could be interpreted as having authority over the monsoons or even as “the king of the typhoons.”43 The story of the Mahârâja of Zâbaj receiving a daily tribute of gold, as recorded by Ibn Khurdâdhbih, gained signifcant attention from later scholars. This account likely infuenced Abû Rayhân al-Bîrûnî (973–1048) to associate Zâbaj with Sumatra. Al-Bîrûnî noted that the islands known as Suwarna Dîb among the Indians at that time were widely identifed as Suvarnadvîpa, which might refer to Zâbaj.44 Al-Idrîsî states that during times of turmoil in China, merchants would actively seek shelter and be drawn to the ports of a place called Zâbaj. This indicates that Zâbaj held great importance as a secure refuge and a notable trading hub for merchants.45 The increased maritime connections between Southern China and the Abbasid port of Siraf played a crucial role in promoting the exchange of information. This, in turn, likely contributed to the spread of knowledge about Zâbaj and its related variations among diferent regions.46 Later, he speaks of the distances between Ceylon/Sri Lanka, the Andamans, and Kra (Kilah).47 Observing that the latter is a part of the kingdom of Jâba al-Hindî, which again aligns with Śrîvijayan claims. There is one fnal mention of a Jâba in the Kitâb al- masâlik, still on Sumatra, but employed as a toponym placed at a relatively short distance from Barus, on the west coast.48 The Samudera Pasai Sultanate, an Islamic polity situated along the northern littoral of Sumatra, is widely attributed to its founder Merah Silu, who underwent a conversion to Islam and assumed the appellation Malik ul Salih in the pivotal year 1267 CE. Of note, the peripatetic Italian voyager Odoric of Pordenone (c. 1286–1331) referred to Sumatra as Samudra, a toponym that engendered cognate renditions such as Sumotra, Samotra, Zamatra, and Sumatra in the works of various European chroniclers as designations for the island itself.49 The term “Samudra,” etymologically rooted in Sanskrit, conveys the semantic denotation of a “confuence of waters,” often

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emblematic of an expanse of oceanic waters. This particular lexicographical motif is discernible across diverse linguistic substrata within the South and Southeast Asian milieu. Moreover, the maritime ontology of South Indian coastal polities is perceptible in the manifest self-identifcation of their sovereigns as “Monarchs of the Ocean” or “Patrons of the Maritime Domain.” The honorifc “Zamorin,” imbued with maritime symbolism, garners attestation within the accounts of Duarte Barbosa, who denoted it as “çamidre” or “zomodri.” Similarly, in the antiquarian corpus “Tuhfat al-Mujāhidīn,” of Zayn al-Dīn al-Malaybārī, the titular nomenclature “Sāmuri” is discernible, presumably underpinned by the semantic legacy of the Sanskrit “samudra,” connoting the expansive “Ocean,” thus encapsulating the notion of a sovereign as the “master of the seas.”50 Within the annals of South India, the Arakkal Kingdom, under the governance of Muslim matrilineal dynasts in Kannur, adjoined their ruler with the honorifc “Ali Raja,” while the lady sovereign bore the epithet “Arakkal Beevi.” Noteworthy is the maritime reverberation within their titular corpus, with the eponymous “Azhi Raja,” denoting the “Lord of the Seas,” serving as a testament to their aquatic afnities.51 Importantly, the etymological lineage connecting this titular schema to the maritime domain can be traced to the syncretic interplay with seminal toponyms of Sumatra. In the South Asia, Malabar was a popular destination, and it was clearly depicted in the early writings of world-renowned travelers, who visited the region. Malabar was mentioned as “Malai” in the book Nuzhatul Mushtaq of Al-Idrisi (c. 1100–1166 CE), and historian Abul Fida (1273–1331 CE) called this region “Malabar” in his book Taqwim al Buldan.52 Yaqut al-Hamawi (1179–1229 CE),53 Rashīd al-Dīn (1247–1318 CE),54 and Marco Polo (1254–1324 CE)55 had all visited the region and introduced the area as “Malabar.” During the time of Benjamin of Tudela (c. 1130–1173 CE) and Chau Ju-Kau (1170–1228 CE), the products of the region like sandalwood, cloves, cardamoms, and elephants were in great demand both in the east and west.56 This region also preserved a unique language called Malaem,57 which was the basic vernacular of the common people of the region.58 The traditional terms for the supreme power in the Malabar and Malay regions exhibit similarities, refecting linguistic and cultural infuences. The relationships highlight historical connections between Malay and Malabar cultures. The term “Agong” or “Agung” can be translated as “Supreme Ruler” in a literal English sense. However, within the context of Malaysia, where this term is commonly employed, it assumes several meanings, including “Paramount Ruler,” “Head of State,” “Head of the Federation,” and “Head of State of the Federation.” Although the media and the general public often utilize the term “King” in reference to this position, it is important to note that “King” is not an ofcially recognized or legally endorsed title for the Yang di-Pertuan Agong. Therefore, more precise descriptions such

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as “Paramount Ruler” or other associated terms are preferable when characterizing the role held by the Yang di-Pertuan Agong within the Malaysian political framework. The British referred to the king of the kingdom of Kozhikode as Zamorin, which became widely adopted internationally. Zamorin, a hereditary monarch belonging to the Eradi dynasty of the Samantan Nair community in medieval Malabar, ruled over the kingdom. The kingdom actively promoted peaceful coexistence in the region and granted special privileges to the diverse ethnic and religious minorities, allowing them to practice their specifc customs and religious rituals. In ancient inscriptions found in palace records known as Granthavaris and in ofcial treaties with the English and the Dutch, the name Punturakkon or Punthurakon was used. The title “Kunnalakkon” is often translated as “Lord of Hills and Waves.” Interestingly, the traditional name from Malabar for “Lord” sounds similar to the contemporary name employed by Malaysians for their supreme king, known as the Agong.59 Integrated tradition of Jâwi, Mapilla, and Chulias

The use of “Jâwa” suggests a linguistic adaptation or transformation of the term “Jâba” to better align with prevailing linguistic conventions or regional variations. These linguistic changes often occur naturally over time and can be infuenced by factors such as regional dialects, linguistic shifts, cultural interactions, or political changes. The transition from “Jâba” to “Jâwa” likely refects a linguistic evolution that occurred in the region, where the modifed term gained prominence and acceptance in contemporary geographical treatises. This linguistic shift highlights the importance of understanding language and its variations in historical and geographical studies. It is essential to consider the linguistic context and examine multiple sources to gain a comprehensive understanding of the terminology used in diferent time periods and regions.60 During the Islamization of Southeast Asian courts, there was a continued practice of importing teachers from India and other regions. This mirrored the earlier pattern observed during the Indianized periods when multi-ethnic expertise was sought to establish trading centers. By the ffteenth century, wealthy Muslims in places like Gresik on Java’s north coast and Pasai had the means to import unfnished grave-markers from Gujerat. This highlights the growing economic and cultural connections between Southeast Asia and other parts of the Indian Ocean world during that time.61 Unfnished grave-markers of a similar type were discovered along the coastlines of Malabar and Coromandel, specifcally in the ancient port cities mentioned in the Qissat manuscript. These tombstones were typically loaded onto empty ships returning from Gujarat to these regions as necessary ballast for their stable journey across the Indian Ocean’s wind patterns. One such

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tombstone is currently safeguarded in the British Museum, which I had the opportunity to visit and examine in 2022, alongside Mehdrad Shokoohy and Natally Shokoohy. Generally, the specifc details about the deceased would be inscribed in the local area where the tombstone is sold and erected, while other generic carvings and decorations were typically crafted in India before their transportation. Following the conquest of Malacca, the Portuguese observed that Southeast Asians, particularly individuals from Aceh, still traveled alongside the diverse crews of Gujarati ships heading to Jeddah. This highlights the ongoing trade and diplomatic connections between Southeast Asia, Gujarat, and the larger Indian Ocean network.62 As a result of intermarriages, individuals from diverse regions had acquired the infuence of Jâwî culture, and their descendants became integrated into the broader Southeast Asian cultural milieu. This integration led to the indigenization of Jawi’s customs, practices, and beliefs by people from diferent parts of the world. Rafes held a particular perspective on the term “anak jawi,” which referred to the child of a Malay/Indian marriage, and “bahasa jawi,” which he believed to signify a mixed language.63 Anthony Reid, who referenced Rafes’ viewpoint, supports the notion that Jâwî, as both a cultural and linguistic designation, can be seen as a hybrid concept: The term Jâwî was later used, at least by the seventeenth century, to refer to the Malay language especially in its written form, or as the adjectival form of Jawa, a term Arabic-speakers used to designate Southeast Asia’s islands and Peninsula as a whole. Rafes’ view, however, was that jawi originally had the meaning of creole, notably in anak jawi, meaning the child of a Malay/Indian marriage, or bahasa jawi, which he understood to mean “mixed language,” including when “the language of one country is written in the character of another.64 Jâwî term for anything mixed or crossed, as, when the language of one country is written in the character of another it is termed B’hasa Jâwî, or mixed language; or, when a child is born of a foreign father and a Malay mother, it is called Anak Jâwî, a child of mixed race. Thus the Melayu language, being written in the Arabic character, is termed B’hasa Jâwî; the Malays, as a nation distinct from the fxed population of the eastern islands, not possessing any written character but that which they borrowed from the Arabs.65 This was much what later European travelers, as the new claimants to the intellectual heritage of Greece and Rome, expected to fnd when they came to the region. Doubtless it was an identifcation confrmed as they sailed with Muslim pilots into the seas of what was their regional Jâwa.66 A similar mixed community can be found in Malabar and Ma’bar, where they are known as the Mapillas (Moplah) of Malabar or the Chulias of Coromandel-Ma’bar. Just like these communities, the Malays also developed

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over time as distinct nations, separate from their original lineage, due to the intermingling of those who had Arabian heritage, the adoption of the Arabic language, and the practice of the Islam as their religion. This blending of infuences shaped the identity and culture of the Malays as a distinct group. The origins of the Mappila community can be traced back to Arab contacts, primarily established through the spice trade. According to local tradition, Islam reached the Malabar Coast, which includes the state of Kerala, as early as the seventh century AD. Prior to the European domination of the spice trade, the Mappilas thrived as a prosperous trading community, predominantly residing in the coastal urban centers.67 The enduring interaction between the Mappilas and the Middle East has profoundly infuenced their way of life, customs, and culture. This amalgamation has led to the development of a distinctive synthesis within the broad spectrum of vernacular culture, which is evident in various aspects such as literature, art, cuisine, language, and music. The Mappilas are considered to be the oldest settled native Muslim community in South Asia, consisting of descendants of native converts to Islam or individuals of mixed Middle Eastern (Arab or Persian) ancestry.68 Tamil Muslim trading communities from the Coromandel Coast, known as Chulia merchants, engaged in commerce with Southeast Asia, particularly Ceylon (Sri Lanka) and the Melaka Straits. The Tamil Muslim trading communities from the Coromandel Coast, including Lebbai, Rawther, Marakayyar, and Kayalar, achieved fame as Chulia merchants in Southeast Asia. These communities have also settled in Sri Lanka, Singapore, and Malaysia.69 In South Asia, a series of integrated language systems were introduced, incorporating the use of Arabic scripts for the purpose of standardizing vernacular communication. These utilitarian paradigms were specifcally developed to facilitate seamless interaction between transient individuals, who spent approximately three months in trading stations, and the local communities they encountered. Given the prevalent use of the Arabic script in early Islamic rituals, it became imperative for individuals in South and Southeast Asia to acquire profciency in this script, thereby reducing the need to learn multiple vernacular scripts that were prevalent in various regions. Consequently, a tradition emerged wherein the Arabic script was employed to transcribe a multitude of local languages such as Tamil, Kannada, Bengali, Barkuri (Badgali), Mali, Malay, and others. However, it is worth noting that these integrated writing styles, though utilizing modifed Arabic scripts, were referred to by various names in diferent regions, often associated with the respective vernacular languages. Integrated ethnicity and religiosity

Indeed, the Southeast Asian identity of integration is evident in various religious structures and cultural practices within the region. Hindu temples in

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Southeast Asia often display a unique blend of local and South Asian architectural elements. During my research visit, I observed that Hindu temples in diferent parts of Indonesia featured amalgamated dragon structures and even dragonized deities. The incorporation of dragon symbolism, which is prominent in Southeast Asian folklore and art, showcases the dynamic and harmonious blending of diverse cultural infuences in the region’s religious expressions. This fusion of local beliefs and Hindu traditions refects the region’s rich history of cultural exchange and integration. Tana Toa, also spelled Tanah Toa or Tanah Towa, is a tribal village located in the Kajang district, Bulukumba Regency, in the South Sulawesi province of Indonesia.70 The village is home to the Kajang and Konjo tribal ethnic communities. Situated amidst rainforests, Tana Toa lacks paved roads and instead relies on pebbly paths arranged in a regular pattern as road markers. The village’s remote location and natural surroundings contribute to its unique cultural and geographical characteristics. In Tana Toa and the surrounding areas, the residents speak the Konjo language, which is represented in several dialects, including Tana Toa, Konjo Hitam, and Kajang. Within the Kajang tribe, there is a subgroup known as the Inner Kajang, who follow the leadership of Ammatoa.71 The people are renowned for their indigenous way of life, which has been intricately integrated with Islamic rituals since the entire tribe embraced Islam. The village of Tana Toa remains a place of mystical signifcance, and its people continue to adhere to integrated traditional customs and rituals. The blending of their indigenous practices with Islamic beliefs has shaped a unique cultural identity, refecting the rich history and spiritual heritage of the region. The preservation of these customs and rituals highlights the deep-rooted connection of the community to their ancestral traditions and beliefs.72 The tribal group in Tana Toa strictly adheres to their ancient ethnic rituals and maintains a traditional lifestyle, consciously abstaining from modern technological advances. Despite the practical benefts that modern gadgets ofer in easing daily hardships and facilitating trade, commerce, communication, and travel, they happily reject such innovations. While identifying as Muslims, this community harmoniously balances their Islamic teachings with a deep connection to nature and their ancestors’ traditions. They perform Qur’an recitations and ceremonies, showcasing an indigenized form of Islam that coexists with their distinctive ethnic identity.73 Osman Bakar’s theoretical framework on the civilizational marriage between ethnicity and religiosity provides a lens through which to analyze the formation and dynamics of integrated community in the region.74 The seamless blending of their ethnic identity and religious practices has resulted in a cohesive social fabric that simultaneously upholds their cultural heritage and embraces their religious convictions. Through the indigenization of Islam, they have been able to retain their ethnic nature while adhering to

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Islamic etiquettes, partaking in ritual and ceremonial observances. During my visit to Tana Toa, I had the privilege of interacting with the community leader, who actively promotes the idea of integration while maintaining a steadfast commitment to tradition and abstaining from technological innovations. This approach to preserving their way of life is refected in the community’s insistence on maintaining specifc customs, including the requirement for visitors to adhere to a black dress code and traverse the traditional pathways. The community leader’s encouragement of integration while upholding these protocols underscores the delicate balance between openness to interaction and the preservation of cultural heritage that is fundamental to the identity of Tana Toa. Anthony Milner has contributed to the discourse on ethnicity and identity within the broader “Malay” context by conducting a comprehensive investigation into the origins and development of Malay identity, ethnicity, and consciousness. Milner’s analysis delves into the complex historical dynamics that shaped the formation and understanding of Malay identity. Furthermore, Milner’s work highlights the impact of colonial powers on the conceptualization of the “Malay race,” shedding light on the colonial policies and agendas that aimed to redefne and restructure ethnic and racial categories.75 Integrated textual traditions

Throughout South and Southeast Asia, the oral transmission of materials and the presence of performative traditions have played a signifcant role in complementing and enriching the integrated literatures of the region. These oral performative elements have formed a continuous matrix of interaction and exchange, adding depth and vibrancy to the existing literary traditions. In particular, religious texts that impart valuable etiquettes and teachings have been conveyed through oral traditions from generation to generation and preserved within the hearts of believers. This verbal convention has contributed to the active nature of these texts, allowing for a dynamic and interactive engagement with the religious etiquettes. Despite being considered illiterate by modern standards, many individuals in historical contexts were highly literate in their traditions. In environments where texts were recited aloud and familiar stories were performed, people developed a deep understanding of their cultural heritage. Through repeated recitation and storytelling, they memorized important passages and moral lessons, ensuring the preservation and transmission of their knowledge. This form of literacy, rooted in oral and performative traditions, connected them to their heritage and facilitated the passing on of cultural values. “One Thousand Questions” was translated into Malay, Tamil, and Javanese, accompanied by an “original” prototypical text, and circulated across the regions. Ronit Ricci has emphasized the comparative literature of cosmopolitan Islam

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and the enduring literary culture that has traversed South and Southeast Asia.76 “Muḥyī l-Dīn Mala” is a traditional vernacular poem composed by the poet Qazi Muhammad of Kozhikode in the sixteenth century dedicated to Muḥyī l-Dīn ʿAbd al-Qādir al-Gīlānī. Remarkably, this poem has transcended geographical boundaries and has been carried to other parts of the world, including Southeast Asia and even the South Pacifc, where it has taken on diferent forms. Muḥyī l-Dīn ʿAbd al-Qādir al-Gīlānī, often referred to as Sheikh Muḥyī l-Dīn, earned the title of “The Reviver of the Faith” in the Muslim world. Together with his students and associates, he laid the groundwork for a culturally enriched religious society that extended beyond geographical boundaries. The dissemination of the “Muḥyī l-Dīn Mala” poem to various regions is a testament to the enduring impact and infuence of Muḥyī l-Dīn ʿAbd al-Qādir al-Gīlānī and his teachings on a global scale. Shaykh Zayn al-Dīn I contributed to the indigenization of Islam through his poem “Adkiya,” which praised the virtues of the Suf tradition and expanded the mystical tradition in the region. It resonated with the local culture and was disseminated in Southeast Asia, promoting a deeper understanding of Sufsm and its universal spiritual teachings.77 Its dissemination extended beyond South Asia, reaching Southeast Asia and contributing to the process of cultural integration and local adaptation of Islamic traditions. The poem’s wide reach highlights its signifcance in fostering cross-cultural connections and promoting an indigenized expression of Islam in Southeast Asia. The poem employed metaphors from seafaring to explain Islamic mysticism, making it relatable to the local context of the maritime-oriented societies. As a result, “Adkiya” became an authentic text of Sufsm that fostered crosscultural relations and further strengthened the interconnectedness between South and Southeast Asia. These infuential texts, which travelled from South to Southeast Asia, continue to be used in traditional Islamic schools across the region, contributing to the preservation and propagation of Suf teachings and spiritual wisdom. The pondok pesantren schools in Southeast Asia have a distinguished reputation for their commitment to integrated textual traditions. These Islamic boarding schools have played a crucial role in safeguarding and disseminating comprehensive religious knowledge, particularly in the feld of vernacular studies. Throughout their existence, pondok pesantren schools have emphasized the study of classical Islamic texts, encompassing the Qur’an, Hadith, fqh, as well as disciplines like theology, philosophy, and spirituality. What sets these schools apart is their holistic approach to education, where diverse textual traditions are harmoniously integrated and studied in tandem. This approach exposes students to a wide range of Islamic texts from diferent historical periods and scholarly lineages, nurturing a thorough comprehension of the subject matter.

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The integration of texts in pondok pesantren schools encompasses renowned works by scholars from diverse regions like the Middle East, South Asia, and Southeast Asia itself. This inclusive approach creates a fertile intellectual atmosphere that encourages critical thinking, interpretation, and the cultivation of well-rounded scholars. Equipped with such comprehensive learning, these scholars are poised to address contemporary challenges and engage with diverse contexts in a meaningful manner. The strength of pondok pesantren schools lies in their ability to nurture scholars who are adept at navigating the complexities of Islamic scholarship and applying it efectively in the modern world. Sheikh Zayn al-Dīn al-Malaybārī II, a prominent sixteenth-century scholar and grandson of Zayn al-Dīn I, composed the text Fatḥ al-Muʿīn, which stands as a pluralistic Islamic book of law within the Shafʿī school. This infuential work has played a signifcant role in fostering intercultural and interreligious engagements in South and Southeast Asia. In Fatḥ al-Muʿīn, Malaybārī explores various approaches to situating Islamic law within specifc circumstances, drawing upon lesser-known or unknown works from jurists both within and outside the Shafʿī school. He exercises fexibility in incorporating local customs and traditions into the parameters of Sharīʿa, thereby promoting pluralism. The text has been widely used in traditional schools throughout Malaya, Indonesia, Singapore, Thailand, and the Philippines. It has also been translated into Southeast Asian languages to make it accessible to vernacular communities. Centuries after its composition, numerous copies of the text can be found in various libraries across the wider region.78 I personally observed a manuscript of this text in the Kalimantan region of Indonesia, where it was used in conventional Islamic school.79 The name “Kalimantan” is indeed connected to South Asia, as its derivation can be traced back to the Sanskrit term “Kalamanthana.” This term translates to “burning weather island” and refers to the island’s prevalent hot weather conditions. The infuence of Sanskrit in the naming of Kalimantan also refects the historical, cultural, and linguistic relation between South Asia and Southeast Asia. Islamic legal texts, which were taught in pondok schools and disseminated in vernacularized scripts, originated from early scholars with roots in the South Asia. These texts served as the cornerstone of Islamic legal education, ofering guidance and insights into the principles and application of Islamic jurisprudence. They formed the foundation upon which students in pondok schools built their understanding of Islamic law, allowing them to acquire comprehensive knowledge of the subject matter and develop expertise in legal principles and practices. These texts played a crucial role in shaping Islamic legal education within the South Asian context and beyond. Islamic schools followed the Shāfʿī legal tradition and integrated customary

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practices into their teaching of Islamic jurisprudence. By incorporating customary practices, these schools emphasized the importance of adapting legal principles to local circumstances, fostering a contextualized interpretation of Islamic law.80 During the colonial period in the Dutch East Indies, colonial administrators undertook a far-reaching efort to review and document customary practices across the various provinces of the colony. Additionally, the administrators sought to preserve and showcase the idiosyncratic regional traditions of the local residents, recognizing the importance of emotional expression in cultural and social contexts. Through their eforts, the administrators aimed to create a comprehensive understanding of local customs and traditions, both for the purposes of good governance and to preserve and appreciate the diversity of the region.81 The regional customary laws were incorporated and reframed within the context of the indigenized legal terminology of adat that refers to the traditional customs and practices of the local communities. This approach allowed understanding and application of regional customs within the colonial legal system, preserving elements of indigenous traditions while adapting to the colonial administrative structure.82 Iza Hussin presents a broader perspective that encompasses not only the colonizers and diasporic Arabs but also the selected Malay Muslims who took advantage of, negotiated, and reinterpreted Islamic law. Through strategic resolutions, they played an active role in shaping and transforming the larger understanding of Sharīʿa as codifed law. This highlights the agency and adaptability of the Malay Muslim community in navigating the colonial context while simultaneously asserting their own legal and cultural traditions. By actively engaging with Islamic law and employing it strategically, they infuenced the development and interpretation of Sharīʿa within the colonial framework, asserting their own interests and perspectives.83 The integration of law texts within traditional schools contributed to the formulation of an indigenized Islam that embraced a meaningful pluralistic nature and accommodated vernacular sensibilities. This approach recognized and respected the cosmopolitan nature of the societies in Southeast Asia, creating space for vernacular sensibilities and cultural nuances to be refected in the interpretation and application of Islamic law. As a result, an indigenized Islam emerged, fostering a more inclusive and harmonious framework that resonated with the local communities. Indigenized matrilineal Muslims

The matriarchal and matrilineal societies of South and Southeast Asia demonstrate a unique example of indigenized Islam while retaining traditional practices that empower women in social and economic spheres. In matrilineal culture, men are obligated to move to their mother-in-law’s house upon

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marriage, following the kinship system. This practice refects the importance placed on women as the central fgures in family and household afairs. Children are considered part of their mother’s lineage, and women are entrusted with managing household resources. The unique combination of matrilineal traditions and Minangkabau society challenges the notion of a fxed and uniform understanding of gender roles within communities. It exemplifes the coexistence, blending with cultural customs, allowing for the continued empowerment of women in social and economic spheres. Early travelers, including Ibn Baṭṭūṭa, observed and noted the matrilineal nature of southern India. Ibn Baṭṭūṭa specifcally mentioned that political succession in Malabar followed the mother-line, where rulers would pass their royal position to their sister’s son instead of their own children. This unique system of inheritance excluded direct patrilineal descendants from ascending to the throne, emphasizing the signifcance of the maternal lineage in the political structure of the region.84 According to historical accounts, such as those by Abd-al-Razzāq Samarqandī (1413–1482), the Persian chronicler and ambassador from Shah Rukh of Persia to Calicut in the early 1440s, the succession to the throne in Calicut was determined through matrilineal lines. The eldest son of the ruler’s sisters would be designated as the heir. This practice was not limited to Calicut alone but also extended to other matrilineal traditions in the region. This matrilineal system of inheritance played a signifcant role in shaping the political landscape of these kingdoms during that period. Indeed, matrilineal, matriarchal, and matrilocal practices are not exclusive to non-Muslim communities but can also be found among Muslim communities in South Asia, particularly in regions like Malabar, Coromandel, and Lakshadweep. These practices have played a signifcant role in the integration and indigenization of Islam within the local socio-cultural context. In these regions, where matrilineal systems prevail, descent and inheritance are traced through the female line, and women often hold infuential positions in family and community afairs. The integration of Islam into these matrilineal societies has been characterized by the adaptation and accommodation of Islamic teachings to align with existing social structures. Islamic rituals and beliefs have been integrated into the fabric of daily life, including marriage customs, family dynamics, and inheritance patterns, while still respecting and upholding matrilineal principles. The unique interplay between matrilineal practices and Islamic traditions in these regions exemplifes the ability of Islam to be infuenced by local cultural contexts. It showcases the dynamic nature of Islam, which can be practiced in diverse ways while still maintaining core religious principles. Matrilineal adat, or customary practices, continue to be vibrant and actively practiced in South and Southeast Asia, despite encountering resistance and undergoing revisions due to multiple infuences. While this paradigm

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has faced challenges and minor infltrations over time, the resilience of these practices is evident in their continued existence and adherence among local communities. Such survival points to the importance placed on maintaining cultural heritage and identity. This fexibility allows for the ongoing negotiation and reformation of matrilineal adat, ensuring its continued relevance in the face of evolving social, economic, and religious dynamics.85 In matrilineal societies women often hold land ownership rights while men primarily work on their wives’ lands or even their mothers’ lands. Matrilineal communities, known for their seafaring traditions, have established connections with various coastal regions along the Indian Ocean littoral. The matrilineal seafarers’ voyages and trade networks have facilitated the exchange of goods, ideas, and practices, leading to the blending and integration of diverse food customs and cultural traditions. This cultural difusion has enriched the culinary practices and cultural tapestry of the communities along the Indian Ocean coast. The maritime connections shaped by the matrilineal seafarers have fostered cultural exchange, economic ties, and technological advancements. Their journeys have not only facilitated trade and commerce but have also acted as conduits for the transmission of cultural practices, fostering a sense of interconnectedness and shared heritage among the coastal regions. These interactions and integrations continue to shape the diverse and dynamic cultural landscapes of the littoral areas linked by these seafaring communities.86 The preservation of matrilineal traditions in Southeast Asia, despite potential conficts with conservative interpretations of Islamic inheritance laws, can be attributed to an innovative solution devised by Muslim jurists in the region. To reconcile these two systems, inherited wealth was reclassifed as an “endowment” (waqf), allowing it to remain within the control of the mother and be transferred from woman to woman. This approach ensured compliance with Islamic jurisprudence while also safeguarding cultural traditions. This unique model, established centuries ago, continues to be practiced today in many rural villages of South and Southeast Asia. Matrilineal kinship remains a foundational structure in these communities, shaping both the social fabric and the local economy. The history of settlement and the presence of kinship-based patron-client networks further contribute to the resilience of matrilineal systems in the region. By fnding a harmonious balance between Islamic principles and matrilineal traditions, South and Southeast Asian societies have successfully maintained their cultural heritage while adhering to their religious beliefs. Scholars such as Blackwood have classifed the diverse nature of matrilineal systems found in Southeast Asia, recognizing the variations and nuances within diferent communities. This classifcation helps to understand the complexity and richness of matrilineal practices and their integration within the broader cultural and religious contexts of the regions. This ongoing coexistence of matrilineal kinship systems and Islamic

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faith exemplifes the adaptability and fexibility of both cultural and religious practices in Southeast Asia.87 In Minangkabau, a region known for its matrilineal society, a unique form of Islam developed, incorporating local customs and traditions into accepted Islamic practices. This vernacular version of Islam allowed for the integration of indigenous rituals and customs, particularly those related to matrilineal traditions. Foreign merchants, recognizing the economic and social power held by women in Minangkabau society, often sought marriages with Southeast Asian women to strengthen their business ventures. Women’s active involvement in merchandizing and their position of infuence within the community encouraged the incorporation of local traditions into business practices. This integration of vernacular customs and rituals into the Islamic context demonstrates the versatility of Islam as it interacts with local cultures. It also exemplifes how cultural exchange through intercultural marriages can shape and enrich religious practices and community dynamics.88 These indigenized social and cultural fabrics are regarded as ethically and morally signifcant, highlighting the intricate interplay between religious beliefs and local customs. The integration of traditional elements within the framework of Islam in Minangkabau exemplifes the intricate dynamics of religious and cultural identities within the context of matrilineal societies.89 In South Asia, the establishment of a stable and enduring structural foundation for matrilineal identity can be attributed to the eforts of Shaykh ʿUbayd Allāh and the legal argot that extended from the Lakshadweep Islands to the mainland of Malabar. Early researchers argued that the matrilineal identity of Malabar Muslims was exclusively linked to the Nair communities, dismissing the existence of matrilineal traditions within the tribal communities of the region. However, this perspective overlooked the broader and more diverse application of matrilineal practices among diferent groups within the region. The presence of a well-established matrilineal Islamic framework, shaped by Shaykh ʿUbayd Allāh and the legal provisions, suggests that matrilineal traditions were widespread and integral to the identity of various communities, extending beyond the Nair groups.90 This insight emphasizes the need to acknowledge and explore the multifaceted nature of matrilineal practices in the cultural and religious context of South and Southeast Asia. Movements to curb integration

This early pattern of integration was criticized by some Arab travelers and writers for not matching with Arab oriented cultural Islam. Aḥmad ibn Mājid raised concerns over the people living in Muslim-ruled Melaka. Anthony Reid in The New Cambridge History of Islam article cited Aḥmad ibn Mājid concern on the non-Arab model.91 Various eforts to curtail the integrated and indigenized Islam were continued for centuries by multiple groups. The

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Padri War of 1821–1837 was a movement against the integration and indigenization of Islam in the region. The traditionalists or adat followers, saw much value in their pre-Islamic traditions remained strongly to preserve the customs and customary laws. The Padris were Muslim “reformers” who had been infuenced during their schooling in Mecca; after their return to the homeland, they chose to initiate war in order to cancel out the integrated and indigenized nature of Islam in the region. It was basically an attempt to seize power with a shallow veneer of virtue spread very thinly across their actions.92 The Padri War forced the Minangkabau people to protect their own customs and to articulate a defence of their matrilineal society.93 The people of Southeast Asia also succeeded in overcoming the Padri insurgency, the frst violent militant uprising of its kind. The Muslim community overcame the movement against integration and managed to maintain the tradition of tolerance and openness to people of various religious and ethnic backgrounds. During British colonial rule, eforts were made to restrict matrilineal rights within Muslim families in the Malabar region of southern India. These attempts were met with necessary supports from Salafī and Wahhābī scholars. Despite the colonial laws aiming to curtail matrilineal practices, the enduring legal traditions that supported the matrilineal system of Malabar Muslims were deemed “un-Islamic.” Although some families, infuenced by Salafī ideology, restructured themselves to conform to the new concept of male dominance, other families steadfastly maintained their matrilineal practices without succumbing to the imported Arab-centric interpretation of Islam. While the colonial law limited the benefts, fnancial control, and property ownership associated with matriarchal systems, the matrifocal culture persevered. Families continued to consider the ancestral home as the foundation of family life and utilized the waqf (endowment) system to ensure its inheritance along the female line. Over time, it became evident that discarding centuriesold matrilineal traditions from the lives of Malabar Muslims through the imposition of new legislation was not easily achievable. Matrilineal practices were deeply ingrained in the region’s identity and proved resilient in the face of external infuences. The pressures of rapid globalization and urbanization are nowhere more intense than in Asia, where the precious lessons of a diverse past seem in danger of being forgotten.94 In the public domain, there was a number of questions raised against the women-centric nature and the infuence the Minangkabau Muslims in the political and educational felds.95 There was an issue of “whether Minangkabau society is properly Islamic.”96 This charge was challenged by the traditionalist assertion predicated on religious grounds that “adat is based on Islamic law” and “Islamic law is established on the Qurʾān.” Traditionalists of Minangkabau explicitly conveyed the notion of immutable source of adat.97 In the 1910s and 1920s, another nationalist movement Kaum Muda (New Group) rocked the alam of Minangkabau with

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the aim of curbing the integrated nature.98 This can be taken as re-run of the Padri eforts and the Kaum Tua, literally the “Old Group,” prevented such eforts and committed to matrilineal adat of southeast Asian Islam. The Padri War focused on illogicality of women centric societies, but adat persisted and integrated Islam thrived. Conclusion

This chapter examined the historical dynamics of trade, tradition, and the transmission of textual resources as signifcant factors in shaping the integrated cultures of Southeast Asia. The study highlighted the role of trade as a catalyst for cultural exchange, enabling the movement of people, ideas, and goods between South and Southeast Asia. It demonstrated how trade routes and networks facilitated the transmission of textual resources, leading to the enrichment of literary practices in the region. By tracing the historical paths of trade, this chapter unveiled the interconnectedness and interdependence of the cultures of South and Southeast Asia. The preservation and transmission of knowledge and traditions through oral means have contributed to the diversity and vibrancy of South and Southeast Asian cultures. These oral traditions have played a vital role in the enrichment of literary practices, enabling the fusion of local narratives, myths, and legends with imported textual resources. A  noteworthy aspect is the exploration of the unique example of indigenized Islam observed in the matriarchal and matrilineal societies of South and Southeast Asia. This highlights the dynamic and diverse nature of Muslim societies in the region, where Islamic practices adapted and blended with local customs and traditions. It showcases the capacity for religious integration and syncretism, emphasizing the fuid and evolving nature of cultural identities in South and Southeast Asia. This contributes to a deeper understanding of the historical, cultural, and religious interplay between South and Southeast Asia. The success of the Southeast Asian model of Islam can be attributed to process of cultural synthesis and adaptation that accompanied the region’s Islamization. Unlike in some other areas, Southeast Asian societies embraced Islam without fully adopting or confronting the cultural practices of the groups that brought the religion to the region. This distinctive approach fostered the development of a unique Islamic culture that managed to preserve the core principles, values, and higher purposes of Islam while remaining open to the infuences of local traditions. This process refects the remarkable fexibility and adaptability of Islam as a universalistic faith that encourages integration and the formation of new Muslim societies in diverse lands. Nevertheless, it is crucial to acknowledge the multifaceted nature of the development of Islamic cultures and societies, which are shaped by a complex interplay of historical, political, social, and economic factors. Thus,

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any comprehensive analysis of Islamic cultures must avoid sweeping generalizations and instead delve into the intricate characteristics and distinctions specifc to each region. The Southeast Asian Islam stands as a compelling illustration of the dynamic and diverse nature of Muslim societies. By striking a balance between preserving Islamic principles and engaging with local customs, Southeast Asian Muslims have created a vibrant and harmonious Islamic culture that continues to thrive and contribute to the rich tapestry of global Islamic civilization. Notes 1 G.E. Gerini, Research on Ptolemy’s geography of Eastern Asia (further India and Indo-Malay Archipelago), Asiatic Society Monographs, 1909. No. 1. Royal Asiatic Society, 77–111. 2 Paul Wheatley, The Golden Khersonese: Studies in the Historical Geography of the Malay Peninsula Before A.D. 1500. 9 (Kuala Lumpur: University of Malaya Press, 1961). 3 G.F. Hourani, Arab Seafaring in the Indian Ocean in Ancient and Early Medieval’ Times (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1951), 25. 4 Aḥmad ibn Mājid al-Saʻdī, Kitāb al-fawā'id fī maʻrifat ʻilm al-baḥr wa-al-qawāʻid, Manuscripts, Arabic, Washington DC, Library of Congress. 5 G.R. Tibbetts (ed. and trans.), Arab Navigation in the Indian Ocean Before the Coming of the Portuguese: Being a Translation of Kitāb al- Fawā‘id fī uṣl al-baḥr wa‘l-qawā‘id of Aḥmad b. Mājid al-Najdī (London: Royal Asiatic Society, 1971), 366–7. 6 G.R. Tibbetts, “Pre-Islamic Arabia and South-East Asia,” Journal of the Malayan Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society XXIX, 3 (August 1956), 182–208. 7 Sebastian R. Prange, Monsoon Islam: Trade and Faith on the Medieval Malabar Coast (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018), 30. 8 Oliver Walters, The Fall of Srîvijaya in Malay History (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1970), 39. 9 Abū Zayd al-Sīrāfī, a renowned seafarer, embarked on a journey from the Persian port-city of Siraf to Basra in 303/915–916. 10 Tim Mackintosh-Smith, “Foreword,” in Tim Mackintosh-Smith, James E. Montgomery, Philip F. Kennedy, and Shawkat M. Toorawa (eds.), Two Arabic Travel Books: Accounts of China and India and Mission to the Volga (New York: NYU Press, 2014), ix–x. 11 Thomas Walker Arnold, Preaching of Islam (London: Constacle and Co., 1913), 363–4. 12 Sulaimān at-Tājir and Abū Zayd Ḥasan al-Sīrāfī, Ancient Accounts of India and China: By Two Mohammedan Travellers- Silsilat al-Tawārīkh-, Eusebe Renaudot (London: Printed for S. Harding, 1733), 7–8. 13 George Hourani, Arab Seafaring in the Indian Ocean in Ancient and Early Medieval Times (Beirut: Khayats, 1963), 71–2. 14 H.A.R. Gibb and C.F. Beckingham, The Travels of Ibn Battuta A.D. 1325–1354, IV (London: Hakluyt Society, 1994), 813–4. 15 H. Yule, trans. and ed., revised by H. Cordier, The Book of Ser Marco Polo the Venetian Concerning the Kingdoms and Marvels of the East (New York: Scribners, 1926), II, 284.

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16 E. Lambourn, “Tombstones, Texts and Typologies: Seeing Sources for the Early History of Islam in Southeast Asia,” Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 51 (2008), 273. 17 Simon de la Loubere, A New Historical Relation of the Kingdom of Siam (Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press, 1969), 112. 18 The resin obtained from the red Gum Benjamin or red Jawi trees possesses a distinctive fragrance that is often described as balsamic, warm, and resinous. It adds a unique and enchanting scent to incense blends and perfumes, enhancing their overall aroma. 19 Ibn Baṭṭūṭa, Riḥla – Tuḥfat al-nuẓẓar fī gharāʾib al-amṣār wa ajāʾib al-asfār (Beirut: Dār al-sharq al-ʿarabī, n.d.), 478–81. 20 Abbas Panakkal, “Transformation of Admiral to the Sainthood and Sacred Stories of Chinese Sanctum Sanctorum from Malabar Coast,” in D.W. Kim (eds.), Sacred Sites and Sacred Stories Across Cultures (Palgrave Macmillan, 2021), 355–80. 21 S.M.N. al-Attas, “Indonesia,” in Encyclopaedia of Islam, III (Leiden: Brill, 1979), 1219. 22 Tomé Pires, The Suma Oriental of Tomé Pires, trans. Armando Cortesão (London: Hakluyt Society, 1944), 179, 274. 23 Willem Lodewycksz, “D’eerste boek,” in G.P. Roufaer and J.W. Ijzerman (eds.), D’eerste schipvaart der Nederlanders naar Oost-Indië onder Cornelis de Houtman, 1595–1597, vol. 1 (The Hague: Nijhof for Linschoten-Vereeniging, 1915), 99. 24 Barbara Watson Andaya and Leonard Y. Andaya, A History of Early Modern Southeast Asia, 1400–1830 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 87. 25 T.J. Newbold, Political and Statistical Account of the British Settlements in the Straits of Malacca (London: John Murray, 1839), 122; Barbara W. Andaya and Leonard Y. Andaya, A History of Malaysia (London: Macmillan, 1982), 44. 26 M. Edwardes, Ralph Fitch, an Elizabethan in the Indies (London: Faber and Faber, 1972), 129–30. 27 G. De Casparis and I.W. Mabbett, “Religion and Popular Beliefs of Southeast Asia Before c.1500,” in Nicholas Tarling (ed.), The Cambridge History of Southeast Asia, vol. 1 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 330. 28 J.H. Walker, “Autonomy, Diversity, and Dissent: Conceptions of Power and Sources of Action in the Sejarah Melayu (Rafes MS  18),” Theory and Society 33:2 (2004), 213–55. 29 O.W. Wolters, History, Culture, and Region in Southeast Asian Perspectives, revised edition (Ithaca and Singapore: SEAP and ISEAS, 1999), 27–33. 30 E.A. Lambourn, Abraham’s Luggage. A  Social Life of Things in the Medieval Indian Ocean World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018). 31 S. Bose, K. Manjapra, Cosmopolitan Thought Zones: South Asia and the Global Circulation of Ideas, London and New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010. 32 Azyumardi Azra, The Origins of Islamic Reformism in Southeast Asia: Networks of Malay-Indonesian and Middle Eastern `Ulamā in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries, Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press and Allen & Unwin, 2004. 33 Chiara Formichi, Islam and Asia: A History (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2020). 34 Michael Lafan, Islamic Nationhood and Colonial Indonesia: The Umma Below the Winds, London and New York: Routledge, 2003. 35 André Wink, Al-Hind, the Making of the Indio Islamic World- Early Medieval India and the Expansion of Islam 7th-11th Centuries, vol. 1 (Leiden: Brill, 2002), 190. 36 Wink, Al-Hind, the Making of the Indio Islamic World, 70.

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37 Literally means Cosmas Who Sailed to India (Paris: Migne Press, 1864), He was an Alexandrian merchant and a sixth-century traveler, who made several voyages to India during the reign of emperor Justinian the Great (c. 482–565 CE). 38 This Arabic word means “land.” 39 The Persian word denotes coast or country. 40 William Logan stresses this etymology of the word Malabar to Persian mentioning that Malabar is a combination of mali, Malayalm word meaning hill, and the Persian word bar, means country, “Hill Country”. W Logan, Malabar Manual (Madras: Government Press, 1887), 36. 41 Abû Zayd, by Langlés (Paris: Silsilat al-tawârîkh, 1811), Relation des voyages faits par les Arabes et les Persans dans l’Inde et a la Chine dans le IXe siecle de l’ere chrétienne, 2 vols. Paris: Imprimerie Royale, 1848. 42 Oliver Wolters, The Fall of Srîvijaya in Malay History, Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1970, 45. 43 Ibn Khurdâdhbih, Kitâb al-masâlik Wa Al-Mamâlik, 16–7. 44 Edward Sachau (ed.), Alberuni’s India (London: Trübner and Co., 1887), 103. 45 Abî `Abd Allâh Muhammad bin Muhammad `Abd Allâh b. Idrîs al-Hamûdî al-Hasanî (al-Idrîsî), Opus Geographicum (Kitâb nuzhat al-mushtâq fî ikhtirâq al-âfâq), E. Cerulli et. al. (eds.), 2 vols. Rome, 1970, I, 62. 46 G.R. Tibbetts, A Study of the Arabic Texts Containing Material on South-East Asia. (Leiden, Brill). 47 Ibn Khurdâdhbih, Kitâb al-masâlik, 66, Andrew Dalby, Dangerous Tastes: The Story of Spices, (Berkley: University of California Press, 2000), 65. 48 Tibbetts, A Study of the Arabic Texts Containing Material on South-East Asia, (Leiden: Brill, 1979), 28–9; Vladimir I. Braginsky, “Two Eastern Christian Sources on Medieval Nusantara,” BKI 154–3 (1998), 367–96. 49 William Marsden, The History of Sumatra Containing an Account of Government, Law, Customs and Manners of Native Inhabitants etc (London: Black Horse Court, 1811), 10. 50 Zayn al-Dīn al-Malaybārī Tuhfat al-Mujāhidīn: Muhammad Husayn Nainar, (edit), (Madras: University of Madras, 1942), Barbosa, Duarte, The Book of Duarte Barbosa (London: Hakluyt Society, 1918). 51 Binu John Mailaparambil, Lords of the Sea: The Ali Rajas of Cannanore and the Political Economy of Malabar (1663–1723) (Leiden: Brill, 2012). 52 Abū al-Fidâ’, Taqwim al-Buldan (Leiden: Brill, 1990), 84. 53 Yaqut al Hamawi, is well known for his encyclopedic book, Mu’jam al-Buldan, Dictionary of Countries, which he started writing in 1224 and fnished in 1228, one year before he died. 54 Rashīd al-Dīn,  Persian statesman and historian, was the author of the famous book, Jami’al-tawarikh, Compendium of Chronicles. 55 Marco Polo, an Italian merchant traveler from Venice, recorded in his ‘Book of the Marvels of the World’ (Livres des merveilles du monde), better illustrations on Malabar Coast, its King and various communities. 56 Benjamin of Tudela, The Itinerary of Benjamin of Tudela: Travels in the Middle Ages (Joseph Simon/Pangloss Press, 1993), Chau Ju-Kua, His Work on Chinese and Arab Trade in Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries, Entitled Chu Fan Chi (St. Petersburg: Printing ofce of the Imperial Academy of Science, 1911). 57 Malabari latter known as Malayalam, is a language designated a  classical language in 2013. It is spoken by approximately 33 million people. 58 Abbas Panakkal, Madhymam Weekly, 2018, From the studies on Ethno Cultural Moorings of Malabar the author could fnd ethnic Malabar tribes living in South Pacifc had introduced their oral language tradition.

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59 “Agong” (Agung in standard Malay) means “supreme” leader of the country. The King who carries the title Yang di-Pertuan Agong – paramount ruler – and who is elected from among nine hereditary states rules for a fve-year term. 60 Tibbetts, Arabic Texts, 114. 61 Elizabeth Lambourn, “From Cambay to Samudera-Pasai and Gresik: The Export of Gujerati Grave Memorials to Sumatra and Java in the Fifteenth Century C.E.,” Indonesia and the Malay World XXXI:90 (July 2003), 221–89. 62 Anthony Reid, “Sixteenth Century Turkish Infuence in Western Indonesia,” Journal of Southeast Asian History 10–3 (1969), 395–414; Charles Boxer, “A Note on Portuguese Reactions to the Revival of the Red Sea Spice Trade and the Rise of Atjeh, 1540–1600,” Journal of Southeast Asian History 10–3 (1969), 415–28. 63 Sophia Rafes (ed.), Memoir of the Life and Public Services of Sir Thomas Stamford Rafes (London: James Duncan, 1835), 40–1. 64 Anthony Reid, Hybrid Identities in the Fifteenth Century Straits, Asia Research Institute, (Singapore: National University of Singapore, 2006), 9. 65 T.S. Rafes, “On the Melayu Nation, with a Translation of Its Maritime Institutions,” Asiatick Researches 12 (1818), 102–58, 127–8. 66 Tomé Armando Cortesão (trans. and ed.), The Suma Oriental of Tomé Pires (London: Hakluyt Society, 1944), lxxxi. 67 Abbas Panakkal, Islam in Malabar (1460–1600): A Socio-Cultural Study (Kuala Lumpur: International Islamic University Malaysia, 2016). 68 Roland E. Miller, Mappila Muslim Culture (New York: State University of New York Press, 2015), xi. 69 During my personal interviews with the communities, I discovered that the new generation fully integrated the regional culture, language, and dress code. They embraced the local customs and practices, adapting to the societal norms of the regions they reside in. 70 The name Tana Toa, derived from local language, means the oldest land in the world and villagers still keep the customary belief. 71 Ammatoa or Amma Toa is a Konjo word for Old Father, which means that the Kajang tribe is led by a Ammatoa -Tribal chief. 72 Richard Anderson Sutton, Calling Back the Spirit: Music, Dance, and Cultural Politics in Lowland South Sulawesi (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 74–81. 73 Thomas Gibson, And the Sun Pursued the Moon: Symbolic Knowledge and Traditional Authority among the Makassar (Hawaii: University of Hawai’i Press, 2005), 1–17. 74 Osman Bakar, “Islam and Malay Civilizational Identity: Tension and Harmony Between Ethnicity and Religiosity,” in John Donohue and John Esposito (eds.), Islam in Transition: Muslim Perspectives (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 480–7. 75 Anthony Milnor, The Malays, (West Sussex: Willey- Blackwell,2011) 76 Ronit Ricci, Islam Translated: Literature, Conversion and the Arabic Cosmopolis in South and Southeast Asia (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 2011), 33. 77 Hidayatul Adkiya Ila Tariq al-Auliya – Guidance of the Intelligent towards the way of Awliya. 78 Zayn al-Din ibn ‘Abd al-‘Aziz Malibari, As’ad, Aliy, Terjemahan Fat-hul mu’in (Selangor: Klang Book Centre, 1988). 79 Kalimantan is the Indonesian portion of the island of Borneo, which constitutes more than 70 percent of the island’s area. The non-Indonesian parts of Borneo are Brunei and East Malaysia.

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80 Martin van Bruinessen, “Kitab Kuning: Books in Arabic Script used in the Pesantren Milieu,” Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 146:1 (1990), 244–50. 81 David Bourchier, “Positivism and Romanticism in Indonesian Legal Thought,” in Tim Lindsey (ed.), Indonesia Law and Society, 2nd ed. (Sydney: The Federation Press, 2008), 96. 82 Harry J. Benda, The Crescent and the Rising Sun: Indonesian Islam under the Japanese Occupation, 1942–1945 (The Hague: W. van Hoeve, 1958), 66–9. 83 Iza R. Hussin, The Politics of Islamic Law: Local Elites, Colonial Authority, and the Making of the Muslim State Chicago: (University of Chicago Press, 2016). 84 Ibn Battuta, The Travels of Ibn Battuta, 76. 85 Jefrey Hadler, Muslims and Matriarchs: Cultural Resilience in Indonesia Through Jihad and Colonialism (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 2008). 86 Craig A. Lockard, Southeast Asia in World History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 15. 87 Evelyn Blackwood, “Not Your Average Housewife: Minangkabau Women Rice Farmers in West Sumatra,” in F. Michele and L. Parker (eds.), Women and Work in Indonesia (London and New York: Routledge, 2008), 22. 88 Anthony Reid, Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce, Vol. I: The Lands Below the Winds (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1988), 162–6. 89 Gregory M. Simon, Caged in on the Outside: Moral Subjectivity, Selfhood, and Islam in Minangkabau, Indonesia (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2014), 79. 90 Abbas Panakkal, Cultural and Social Integrations in Matrilineal, Matriarchal, Matrifocal Muslim Communities of South India, Abbas Panakkal, Nasr M. Arif, Matrilineal, Matriarchal, and Matrifocal Islam: The World of Women-Centric Islam, (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2024). 91 Anthony Reid, “Islam in South-East Asia and the Indian Ocean Littoral, 1500– 1800: Expansion, Polarisation, Synthesis,” in The New Cambridge History of Islam, vol. III (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 430. 92 Dobbin, Islamic Revivalism in a Changing Peasant Economy; Taufk Abdullah, Schools and Politics: The Kaum Muda Movement in West Sumatra (Ithaca: Cornell University Modern Indonesia Project, 1971); Elizabeth E. Graves, The Minangkabau Response to Dutch Colonial Rule in the Nineteenth Century (Ithaca: Cornell University). 93 Jefrey Hadler, Muslims and Matriarchs: Cultural Resilience in Indonesia through Jihad and Colonialism, (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2013), 180. 94 Anthony Reid and Michael Gilsenan, Islamic Legitimacy in a Plural Asia (London and New York: Routledge, 2007), 1. 95 Franz and Kebeet von Benda-Beckmann, “Ambivalent Identities: Decentralization and Minangkabau Political Communities,” in H. Schulte-Nordholt and G. van Klinken (eds.), Renegotiating Boundaries: Local Politics in Post-Suharto Indonesia (Leiden: KITLV Press, 2007), 417–42. 96 Gregory M. Simon, Caged in on the Outside: Moral Subjectivity, Selfhood, and Islam in Minangkabau, Indonesia, (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press 2014), 50. 97 Gregory M. Simon, Caged in on the Outside: Moral Subjectivity, Selfhood, and Islam in Minangkabau, Indonesia, (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press 2014), 51. 98 Hadler, Muslims and Matriarchs, 20, 56; Franz and Kebeet von BendaBeckmann, “Transformation and Change in Minangkabau,” in Lynn L. Thomas and Franz Von Benda-Beckmann (eds.), Change and Continuity in Minangkabau: Local, Regional, and Historical Perspectives on West Sumatra (Athens: Ohio University Center for International Studies, 1985), 235–78.

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Logan, W., Malabar Manual, Madras: Government Press, 1887. la Loubere, Simon de, A New Historical Relation of the Kingdom of Siam, 1693; reprinted Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press, 1969. Malibari, Zayn al-Din ibn ‘Abd al-’Aziz As’ad, Aliy, Terjemahan Fat-hul mu’in, Selangor: Klang Book Centre, 1988. Miller, Roland E., Mappila Muslim Culture, New York: State University of New York Press, 2015. Milnor, Anthony, The Malays, West Sussex: Willey-Blackwell, 2011. Panakkal, Abbas, Islam in Malabar (1460–1600): A  Socio-Cultural Study, Kuala Lumpur: International Islamic University Malaysia, 2016. Panakkal Abbas, “Transformation of Admiral to the Sainthood and Sacred Stories of Chinese Sanctum Sanctorum from Malabar Coast,” in D.W. Kim (eds.), Sacred Sites and Sacred Stories Across Cultures, London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2021, 355–80. Pires, Tomé, “Uusing ‘Moorish Charts’, Called the Eastern Islands of Indonesia ‘the Javas’,” in Armando Cortesão (trans. and ed.), The Suma Oriental of Tomé Pires, London: Hakluyt Society, 1944a. Pires, Tomé, The Suma Oriental of Tomé Pires, trans. Armando Cortesão, London: Hakluyt Society, 1944b. Prange, Sebastian R., Monsoon Islam: Trade and Faith on the Medieval Malabar Coast, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018. Rafes, Sophia (ed.), Memoir of the Life and Public Services of Sir Thomas Stamford Rafes, London: James Duncan, 1835. Rafes, T.S., “On the Melayu Nation, with a Translation of Its Maritime Institutions,” Asiatick Researches 12 (1818): 102–58, 127–8. Reid, Anthony, “Sixteenth Century Turkish Infuence in Western Indonesia,” Journal of Southeast Asian History 10–3 (1969). Reid, Anthony, Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce, Vol. I: The Lands Below the Winds, New Haven: Yale University Press, 1988. Reid, Anthony, Hybrid Identities in the Fifteenth Century Straits, Asia Research Institute, Singapore: National University of Singapore, 2006. Reid, Anthony, “Islam in South-East Asia and the Indian Ocean Littoral, 1500–1800: Expansion, Polarisation, Synthesis,” in The New Cambridge History of Islam, Vol. III, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010. Reid, Anthony, and Gilsenan, Michael, Islamic Legitimacy in a Plural Asia, London and New York: Routledge, 2007. Ricci, Ronit, Islam Translated: Literature, Conversion and the Arabic Cosmopolis in South and Southeast Asia, Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 2011. Sachau, Edward (ed.), Alberuni’s India, London: Trübner and Co., 1887. Simon, Gregory M., Caged in on the Outside: Moral Subjectivity, Selfhood, and Islam in Minangkabau, Indonesia, Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2014. al-Sīrāfī, Sulaimān at-Tājir, and Abū Zayd Ḥasan, Ancient Accounts of India and China: By Two Mohammedan Travellers-Silsilat al-Tawārīkh-, Eusebe Renaudot, London: Printed for S. Harding, 1733. Sutton, Richard Anderson, Calling Back the Spirit: Music, Dance, and Cultural Politics in Lowland South Sulawesi, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002.

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Tibbetts, G.R. (ed. and trans.), Arab Navigation in the Indian Ocean before the Coming of the Portuguese: Being a Translation of Kitāb al- Fawā‘id fī uṣl al-baḥr wa‘lqawā‘id of Aḥmad b. Mājid al-Najdī, London: Royal Asiatic Society, 1971. Tibbetts, G.R., “Pre-Islamic Arabia and South-East Asia,” Journal of the Malayan Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society XXIX, no. 3 (August 1956). Tibbetts, G.R., A Study of the Arabic Texts Containing Material on South-East Asia, Leiden: Brill, 1979. Tim, Mackintosh-Smith, “Foreword,” in Tim Mackintosh-Smith, James E. Montgomery, Philip F. Kennedy, and Shawkat M. Toorawa (eds.), Two Arabic Travel Books: Accounts of China and India and Mission to the Volga, New York: NYU Press, 2014. Walker, J.H., “Autonomy, Diversity, and Dissent: Conceptions of Power and Sources of Action in the Sejarah Melayu (Rafes MS 18),” Theory and Society 33, no. 2 (2004). Wheatley, Paul, The Golden Khersonese: Studies in the Historical Geography of the Malay Peninsula Before A.D. 1500, Kuala Lumpur: University of Malaya Press, 1961. Wink, André, Al-Hind, the Making of the Indio Islamic World-Early Medieval India and the Expansion of Islam 7th-11th Centuries, vol.1, Leiden: Brill, 2002. Wolters, Oliver, The Fall of Srîvijaya in Malay History, Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1970. Wolters, O.W., History, Culture, and Region in Southeast Asian Perspectives, Ithaca and Singapore: SEAP and ISEAS, 1999. Wüstenfeld, F. (ed.), Jacut’s Geographisches Wörterbuch, 6 vols, Leipzig: F.A. Brockhaus, 1866–73. Yule, H., trans. and ed., revised by H. Cordier, The Book of Ser Marco Polo the Venetian concerning the Kingdoms and Marvels of the East, 3rd ed., New York: Scribners, 1926.

PART II

State and Society

5 INTEGRATION OF ISLAM INTO THE MALAY AND BUGIS-MAKASSAR KINGDOMS Muhamad Ali

This chapter explores the way in which Islam was integrated into the local politics and cultures of the early kingdoms of Melaka, in present-day Malaysia, and of those of Bugis-Makassar in South Sulawesi, in present-day Indonesia. For centuries, Islam connected diverse ethnic groups and their cultures with wider commercial, political, religious, and cultural networks when embraced by peoples and their rulers.1 Traders, Suf mystics, religious scholars, and local people all played a role in Islamisation, as well as the localisation of Islam.2 When the early Hindu and Buddhist kingdoms became ofcially Islamic, they borrowed and modifed various political and cultural elements as they saw ft, thus contributing to the non-linear and uneven processes of integration and multiculturalism. The diferent stories about the rulers and kingdoms in Melaka and South Sulawesi reveal the roles that Islam played in the integration of diverse peoples and cultures – within local areas and from further afeld – for centuries before the arrival of Europeans and colonialism. Islam in Melaka: conversion and integration

In Southeast Asia, kingship or kerajaan originally emerged from the “Hinduising” or “Indianising” process. According to the Indian concept of raja, a king was believed to be a descendant of god or gods, sent down to Earth for people to obey. A devaraja, or divine king, demonstrated their power through the building of great temples and stupas, the carving of inscriptions, and support for Brahmanical royal cults.3 The Buddhist concept of boddhisattva, a human being who postpones his own enlightenment in order to descend to the earth to help others become enlightened, also appealed to the DOI: 10.4324/9781032702902-8

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early rulers of Southeast Asia. The Hindu concept of devaraja and the Buddhist concept of boddhisattva, having no fxed territorial boundaries, shifted to the kerajaan, which signifed a form of rule with a throne located in a specifc territory, country, or negeri.4 These universal but territorial-based claims prevailed and were manifested in mandalas, or circles of kings – as in the kingdoms of Sriwijaya, Majapahit, Angkor, and Ayudhya – that claimed personal and communal hegemony over their subjects, as well as expanding it to other peoples as allies and vassals, or in some cases as enemies. The decline of the Indianised kingdoms, particularly from the fourteenth century, collided with the eforts of Islamic proselytisation (daʿwa) made by traders, scholars, and preachers – including Suf mystics – who penetrated many parts of island Southeast Asia. Muslim rulers in existing kingdoms emerged in Sumatra, the Malay peninsula, Java, Sulawesi, and the eastern part of the archipelago.5 These Muslim rulers acculturated to the centripetal infuence of the Sriwijaya court, where local headmen adopted the style of courtly hierarchy. Melaka, for example, retained this hierarchical culture – expressed through the concept of loyalty and the structure of the court – that was both reinforced and modifed by the profession of Islam and by Malaylanguage and literature, as well as intermarriages and cultural borrowings and exchanges.6 In many cases, the Maharaja’s shift from devaraja and boddhisattva to Muslim sultan, meaning ruler or authority, subsumed and coexisted with, rather than replaced, Hindu-Buddhist ideals and organisation.7 Although there was a shift from Hindu and Buddhist to Islamic terminology, the connection of religion and kingship continued. Before the adoption of Islam, Melaka was already multi-ethnic and multireligious. It had natural advantages, as a port city where merchants from India, Burma, China, Arabia, Java, Sumatra, Sulawesi, and other places settled, visited, and traded their goods and services. According to most estimates, Melaka had around 40,000 inhabitants by the ffteenth century, although the number rose to as many as 190,000 – including foreign traders – by the beginning of the sixteenth century.8 As described in the Sejarah Melayu or Malay Annals, Melaka boasted an increasingly cosmopolitan culture: Sanskrit, Persian, Tamil, Javanese, Arabic, Chinese, and Siamese.9 A census from 1826 shows the racial diversity of the recorded 37,000 residents: Europeans (English, Dutch, Portuguese, and native converts), other Christians, Malays, Chinese, Siamese, Africans, Arabs, Bengalis, and Javanese.10 There were also Peguus, Bengalas, Malabares, Guzarates, Persians, Lequios (inhabitants of the Ryu-Kyu archipelago), Lucoes (from Luzon, in the Philippines), and other “Orientals,” who were, according to one writer, “all trading such riches of East and West, that the town seemed a centre where all the natural produce of the earth and all human manufactures were assembled.”11 In this multiethnic and religious society, Melaka became what can be regarded as an “Islamic city” in terms of its Muslim rule and landscape: its palace, markets,

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mosques, and places of Islamic learning.12 As a result of its strategic location and power, Melaka became the model for other Malay sultanates in Johor, Perak, Pahang, and others, not only in its literature and style of government, but also in its music, dance, dress, games, titles, and even poems (pantun).13 According to a conversion story from the Malay Annals, the third king, Sri Maharaja (r. 1424–44), had a dream in which he saw the Prophet Muḥammad, who told him that a ship from Jeddah with Sayyid ʿAbdul Azīz on board would come to the shores of Melaka at the time of the afternoon prayer; he then awoke to fnd that he had been circumcised. According to the story, the prophecy came true. The bendahara and high dignitaries followed Sri Maharaja and embraced Islam, and he commanded the people, whether of high or low degree, to do likewise. Sri Maharaja took the title of Sultan Muhammad Shah – a mixture of Persian, Turkish, and Arabic – in 1436.14 According to local tradition, he converted to Islam because of the possibility of marrying the daughters of Tamil Muslims, but scholars have also mentioned other reasons: creating a more favourable climate for trade through facilitating regulations to attract more Muslim traders to the newly built port; a greater political legitimacy in the face of rivals such as the Siamese on the mainland; and to follow the king of Pasai in Sumatra, who had already converted to Islam.15 The honorifc titles that the raja of Melaka and other rulers in Southeast Asia had adopted, such as caliph, khalifah, and sultan, were reinforced by divine qualities, principally the idea of “the shadow of God on Earth” (ẓill Allāh fī-l-arḍ). This custom continued as late as the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. The Sunnī-Shāfʿī scholar Daud bin Abdullah Fatani (1763–1845), for example, in the Jāwī book Munyat al-Musallī, described the Malay sultan in these terms. He cited a hadith: “Respect the sultan and honour him, because he is the honour of God and the shadow of Him on Earth if he acts justly,” and another emphasising that only an honest sultan will go to Heaven. Other rulers in Kedah, Trengganu, and Johor used this title, and others such as “the helper of the world and the religion” (nāshir al-dunya wa-l-dīn).16 The title shah indicates the infuence of the Persian concept of rulership, and ideas drawn from Persian Sufsm also strengthened important elements of the concept of kerajaan. In addition, the idea of the “perfect man,” or insān kāmil – a concept that Malay rulers, as well as the sultans of Aceh, Gowa, and Tallo, amongst others, sought to embody – was taken from Suf beliefs about spiritual qualities, helping rulers hold power over their subjects and expand their authority to other kingdoms.17 This appropriation of religio-political and moral ideas did not mean abandoning the older Hindu-Buddhist Sriwijaya’s past and tradition. As described in the Malay Annals, rulers traced their lineage to Palembang and Sumatra to support their cultural and political legitimacy, obtained through origin myths; one, for example, claimed descent from the Palembang prince of Bukit

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Si Guntang, and through him to Raja Iskandar Zulkarnain, or Alexander of the Two Horns. The term Melayu was then used for those descended from Palembang forebears who came to rule in Melaka. In the Malay Annals and the Hikayat Hang Tuah chronicle, Melayu is associated with Sumatra. In the early sixteenth-century account, “the land of the Malays” is identifed with an area near Palembang.18 Sriwijaya’s language and culture thus continued to establish standards among areas formerly under Sriwijaya’s infuence, including Melaka.19 Not only did the Melaka sultans reinvent the past for their present needs, they also rebuilt connections with global empires. The kingdom sought to strengthen its relationship with the Chinese Empire and sent ambassadors, partly to build an alliance against rivals such as the Kingdom of Siam.20 And when Chinese admiral Cheng-ho’s ships docked at Melaka, the Chinese Muslim author of the Ying-yai Sheng-lan recorded that the king and people were “all Mahommedans and they carefully observed the tenets of this religion,”21 although we cannot take this literally. The Malay Annals describe stories, moments, and practices that suggest the tension and integration of Islam and Malay traditions. Through the rulers’ association with Islam, as promoted by earlier kingdoms such as Pasai, the new religion became so closely identifed with Malay society that in later colonial and nationalist formulations to become Muslim was to enter the fold of the Melayu. Nonetheless, if we read the Malay Annals closely, the views on Islam and motivations for conversion are diverse. The roles of Malay kings were sometimes “contested by regional identities, local lineages, kinship obligations, concerns for personal honour and autonomy, as well as Islam.”22 Thus we see an amalgamation of multiple elements – religious and political, Islamic and non-Islamic, past and present, and local and global – that is already discernible in Melaka’s sultanate. The integration of the religious and the political, and the divine and the temporal, could have led to absolutism – but Islamic norms such as justice and deliberation acted as a balance. Administration of justice and consultation

One of the key characteristics of the sultan’s administration of justice was the close relationship between Islamic law or sara (sharīʿa) and customary law or adat. Sultan Muḥammad Shah began to codify the Laws of Melaka, or Undang-undang Melaka, which Sultan Muzafar Shah (r. 1445–58) completed. The Laws of Melaka were related to the law of the land, infuenced by Indian and Islamic elements, particularly the Shāfʿī legal school, and the law of the sea, Undang-undang laut, which also included both Hindu-Buddhist and Islamic infuences.23 The Laws of Melaka proper contained the prevailing adat, in conjunction with some aspects of Islamic law concerning domestic and commercial issues – such as marriage, divorce, sale, and debt – that

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Muslim judges or kadhis could refer to when they were called upon to settle disputes. For example, one article states that killing the paramour of one’s wife, if found trespassing on one’s property, is forgiven, but then goes on to say that according to Islamic law a killer should be killed. Another article stipulates that a man found guilty of rape should be fned and made to marry the woman had had attacked, but that according to the law of God the ofender should either be stoned to death if he is married, or given eighty lashes if unmarried. There is some Shāfʿī legal thought that may have been borrowed from succinct Arabic texts such as Abū Shūja’s Al-Taqrib or its commentary, Ibn al-Qāsim al-Ghazzi’s Fath al-Qarīb. There were cases in which sara and adat were integrated, without it being understood which part was sara and which adat. There were matters in which sara and adat were not at odds, and some cases in which sara and adat operated separately. The latter was related to court etiquette or customary law, when there was no relevant guidance in the sara. For instance, the sultan passed a decree prohibiting the use of yellow robes, yellow umbrellas and the use of certain words, which he kept for his own personal prerogatives, and outlined the duties of various high dignitaries.24 There was also some tension between the ruler’s absolutism, given that he embodied divine authority, and his role as a law-giver. The sultan sought to maintain his paramount position over his subjects, including the dignitaries and economic elites, or orang kaya.25 The sultan’s power was not necessarily absolute, however. He gave orders, but often consulted with the authorities to reach a consensus (mufakat). Malay texts contain decrees and advice concerning shura, or consultation, as we read in the Qurʾān 3:159: It is out of Allāh’s mercy that you, O Prophet, have been lenient with them. Had you been cruel or hard-hearted, they would have certainly abandoned you. So pardon them, ask Allāh’s forgiveness for them, and consult with them in conducting matters. Once you make a decision, put your trust in Allāh. Surely Allāh loves those who trust in Him. In the Tāj al-Salaṭīn (The crown of kings), there is encouragement to act justly: “An unjust king is the shadow of Iblis upon Earth, and virtue in a king is a greater ornament than a golden kris.” The text also suggests respect for the learned and the pious, and recognises the forces of pen and sword.26 According to Islamic legal theory, justice had to be upheld towards all parties, regardless of religion, ethnicity, or economic status. It is written in the Malay Annals that the ruler should consult with ministers and nobles for the sake of wellbeing and justice: “Rulers are like fre and the ministers are like the wood; fre will not be fre without the wood.” The rulers worked with the nobles whose status derived from the territories they owned, or their privileged association with the royal family. The rulers

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held meetings with them in a form of council or assembly in order to reach a consensus (mufakat) through discussion.27 Rulers were urged to treat their subjects justly, because, according to the Malay Annals, the subjects are like roots and the rulers are like trees, and trees cannot stand without roots. If you fnd any Malays who have committed grave sins, you should not kill them except according to the proper law of God; if you kill them [unlawfully] your kingdom will perish.28 The prohibition of unjust treatment of the ruler’s subjects is emphasised strongly. This kind of contract does not conform the assumption of monarchic absolutism that demands blind loyalty to the ruler, with any disobedience regarded as treason or derhaka. The authority of the sultan prevailed only as long as he exercised it justly, and in the interests of the subjects. For example, the sultan is described as preferring to stay in Melaka rather than going hunting, so that he could hear cases concerning the abuses and tyrannies which were rife in the city on account of its powerful position and supremacy in trade.29 Another part of the text goes to say, If any ruler puts a single one of his subjects to shame, that shall be a sign that his kingdom will be destroyed by Almighty God. Similarly, it has been granted by Almighty God to Malay subjects that they shall never be disloyal or treacherous to their rulers, even if their rulers behave evilly or infict injustice upon them.30 The Malay Annals indicates some degree of reciprocity of obligations between rulers and subjects. Rulers who behave unjustly will also be punished, but the source of their punishment will be divine. As described in the Malay Annals, a Malay sultan before his death wrote a will (wasiat) advising his heirs on the certainty of death, the importance of faith and worship, the prohibition on violating the rights of others, and the obligation of the rulers to protect the ruled (rakyat) and act justly, citing the hadith that states: “Each of you is a leader and will be responsible for your leadership.”31 The sultan worked to ensure the safety of traders from India, Arabia, China, the eastern archipelago, and other regions. As one scholar recently put it, “far from representing royal absolutism, the text portrays the ruler engaged in dialogue and negotiation with his courtiers, subject even to rebuke.”32 In the administration of the kingdom, the sultan retained the old tradition from the Indianised organisational structure that remained applicable and efective. One could say the administration of police and security, transportation, fnance, and the armed forces was not particularly religious nor distinctly Islamic. There was a council of principal ministers, ministers of

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middle rank, and those of lower rank. The head of the council was the bendahara, or Chief Minister, who dictated policies to the sultan; he was also in charge of relations with foreigners, and skilled in securing the good will of the people. Another member of the council, the tumenggung, or Chief of Police, was in charge of law and order and in control of weights and measures. Matters relating to the port were dealt with by shahbandars from the Gujarati, Indian, Burmese, Javanese, Champa, Chinese, and other communities, who handled shipping and took care of the warehouse facilities, fees, and custom duties, in addition to representing their communities to the sultan in all matters.33 Another minister, the laksamana, served as the military administrator of land and sea, the navy. The army was composed largely of Javanese mercenaries, many of whom had also converted to Islam.34 Ethnic languages and communities

Another characteristic of Melaka was the prevalence of Malay as a recognised lingua franca of trade and diplomacy. Melaka’s Islamic court cultures played a signifcant role in spreading the use of Malay as the language of numerous courts ranging from Aceh in the west to Ternate in the east. A  sixteenthcentury Portuguese observer remarked, “Though the heathens [on Sumatra’s east coast] difer from one another in their languages, almost all of them speak Malayo de Malaca [Melakan Malay].”35The word bahasa means not only language but also proper behaviour and etiquette. As described in the Malay Annals, a Portuguese captain visited Melaka and presented the Malay Chief Minister with a gold neck chain by passing it over his head. The people were surprised until the Minister calmed them down, saying, “Never mind! He knows not our manners (Biarkan! Dia ta’ tahu bahasa)”.36 Yet Arabic and other languages were also in use. As the language of the Prophet, the Qurʾān, and scholarship, Arabic was important for many and used in Arabic names, titles, and more. Arabic, Malay, and non-Arabic languages were integrated through commercial and social interaction between Arab peoples, Malays, and other non-Arabs. As a result of long and deep assimilation, Arabic political and legal terms and concepts were borrowed to become part of Malay vocabulary, for example hukm and hakim (hukum, hakīm), adl (ʿadil), rakyat (raʿīyya), qadha (qaḍi), shura (mushāwarat), sara (sharīʿa), adat (adāt, the Arabic word for customary law), and many others. Other Arabic words, used in religious contexts, included Rasūl Allāh, Islām, farḍ, jumaʿa, and laʿana.37 Arabic work was transmitted and popularised by scholars and preachers such as Maulana Abu Bakar, Qadi Yusuf, and Qadi Menawar Syah, who advised the court on Islamic matters. Islamic books were read and taught, such as Durr al-Manzūm by Abū Ishāq al-Shirāzī, al-Insān al-Kāmil by ʿAbdul Karīm al-Jīlī, and Ihya ʿUlūm al-Dīn by Al-Ghazali,Hikayat Amir Hamzah, andHikayatMuḥammadAl-Hanafyyah.38

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The Arabic words used in the Malay language were supplemented by Sanskrit words used by Muslims and non-Muslims alike in the Malay peninsula and archipelago: dewata mulia raya for the Arabic expression Allāh taʿāla, neraka for hell, shurga for heaven, tuhan for god, agama for religion, puasa for fasting, and many more. Arabic, Malay, Sanskrit, Persian, and other languages in Melaka were integrated through conversation, transmission, and interaction. The Malay Annals, for example, retells the story of the glory of Melaka. In one episode, the nobles request the sultan to tell Hikayat Muhammad Hanafyyah, the story of the military courage of an early Islamic hero composed in the fourteenth century, originally in Persian, and translated into Malay in the Arabic script (Jāwī).39 The Indian population grew in Melaka as well as other Malay states; many were Muslim traders from the Coromandel Coast. There are cases of intermarriages, for example one Indian trader who had a wife in India and another in Perak. The rulers liked to incorporate these traders into the courts, often serving in intermediary tasks such as interpreting. In Kedah, the Indian community became a powerful group whose interests were not always in accordance with those of the ruler. The Arabs, particularly those from the Ḥaḍramawt in Yemen, were infuential fgures because of their claim to being the descendants of the Prophet. They conducted their trade across the Malay peninsula and in the archipelago. Other immigrants came from China and their numbers grew larger thanks to the economic opportunities in Malay states. When circumstances allowed, the Chinese intermarried with Malays, creating an ethnically mixed society. Other groups, such as the Minangkabau from Sumatra and Bugis from Sulawesi, also populated Melaka and other Malay kingdoms. Marriages, political alliances, and commercial networks were not uncommon between individuals of diferent ethnicities. In addition to immigrants there were also the sea people, or orang laut, and indigenous people, or orang asli, who were incorporated into the Malay system as far as possible.40 Having discussed the conversion of Melaka to Islam, including the way the new religion was integrated, the management of justice, and ethnic languages and communities, we now turn to the question of the Bugis-Makassars’ conversion to Islam, and Islamic integration in local politics and cultures, which did not become ofcial until two centuries later. Islam in the Bugis-Makassar kingdoms: conversion and integration

Makassar, on the southwest peninsula of Sulawesi, was a major port and political centre for the kingdoms of Gowa and Tallo, Wajo, Bone, and others. Since at least the early sixteenth century, Sulawesi had developed as a multi-ethnic port, sheltering a cosmopolitan court, foating populations of

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seafarers, and various diaspora communities. Among the Malays visiting and residing in Makassar and other parts of Sulawesi, being Malay was a signifcant element in both self-defnition and ascribed status, rooted in the cultural and commercial traditions of Melaka and Islam. The resulting Malay immigrant communities could draw upon both a collective commercial technique and their Islamic credentials.41 The Malays from Melaka had come to South Sulawesi from at least the mid-ffteenth century, to trade, to travel and wander (merantau), to preach Islam, and to distance themselves from the colonising Portuguese in Melaka. The success of the Melaka Malays in South Sulawesi attracted other Malays from Johor, Minangkabau, Champa, Pahang, and Pattani. These immigrant Malays integrated with local peoples; some married the daughters of local nobles or commoners and became part of the Bugis and Makassar people.42 Their main language for Islamic teaching was Malay, which was then translated into local vernaculars. The Makassar and Bugis peoples became part of the wider Islamic community and networks.43 Islam became an instrument of reform and power, although the rulers and people of South Sulawesi adapted its language and culture to suit local needs and circumstances.44 When Muslim traders, preachers, teachers, and Sufs arrived in Sulawesi, there was a prevalent local belief in the supernatural origins of the kingdoms and peoples described in I La Galigo – a local, but not Hindu-Buddhist, story. This epic tale describes divine couples, living in heaven and in the underworld, who sent their ofspring – along with their servants – to the island, becoming the ancestors of the nobility and commoners.45 They believed in the tumanurung, a god or gods who descended to Earth, giving mandates to local leaders (matoa) as their descendants.46 They also believed in a cycle centred around a great teacher, or karaeng-lowé, who grants happiness and sadness, life and death.47 The population was animistic and shamanistic, with belief systems that took diferent forms, such as Toani Tolotang, Patuntung, and Aluk Todolo.48 The stories of conversion and the integration of Islam in South Sulawesi are no less complex than those of Melaka and the Malay peninsula. The frst ofcial conversion of a king to Islam occurred in 1605 or around that year, when the ruler of the Makassar kingdom of Gowa and Tallo, Karaeng Matowaya Tumamenaga Ri Agamanna, converted to Islam and adopted a new name, Sultan Alauddin (r. 1593–1639). His conversion was related to the coming of three ʿulamāʾ – Dato Tallua, Dato ri Bandang, and Dato ri Pattimang (Dato Sulaiman) – from Minangkabau, Sumatra, at the instruction of an Acehnese king, in an efort to integrate Islam into the traditional order. Dato ri Bandang entered Gowa with Karaeng Matowaya to convert the population. He instructed people to build a mosque and taught them to pray fve times a day, in addition to the importance of Friday prayers, reciting the Qurʾān, aspects of mysticism (taṣawwuf), logic (manṭiq), and

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contact with God (munājā). Dato ri Bandang also taught rituals of purifcation (istinjā ʾ), the profession of faith (shahāda), and other recommended rituals such as tarawīḥ (the evening prayer during the month of Ramaḍān), and the prayer of the niṣf shaʿbān (recited in the middle of the month of Shaʿbān).49 Belief in one God, however, was transmitted by means of situating it within the existing local belief system. According to episodes in I La Galigo, Dato Sulaiman taught the doctrine of tawḥīd, or the oneness of God, by reinterpreting the Bugis beliefs about the one god known as déwata séuwaé and Sawérigading.50 Displaying certain symbols, building sacred sites, and performing certain practices were markers of the conversion of rulers and the people to Islam. A mosque believed to be the earliest in South Sulawesi was erected in Gowa in 1603 C.E., a year still inscribed in the wall of the current mosque. Many believe that Sultan Alauddin founded the mosque, and others believe that his Chief Minister, Mangkubumi Karaeng Matowaya, ordered it to be built. There were other mosques believed to have been constructed in the seventeenth century, such as the Great Mosque in the village of Sinjai, Masjid Raya Nur Balangnipa, constructed by an anonymous Arab in 1660, and Masjid al-Falah in Pamboang, Majene, in 1665. Another prayer house (langgar), named Masjid al-Mujahidin, was built by Ismail, the second kadhi in Bone.51 Around the same time, there are various other examples of Islamic practices. The frst recorded Friday prayer in Tallo was performed in 1607. In 1618, another ruler was circumcised. In 1627 an Islamic wedding took place, and in 1631 interest on loans was forbidden. In 1632 tobacco was banned, as it was seen as interfering with sobriety, a Muslim went on pilgrimage to Mecca, and people were instructed to come to the mosque for the Friday prayer and sermon. Other cases include instances of giving an Arabic name to a newborn child, the construction of a royal mosque, and the birth of a Suf teacher known as I Tuang ri Dama who was famous in Makassar in the 1680s and ’90s. All of these emphasise the association of the Gowa-Tallo kingdoms with Islam. Among the Bugis and the Makassar rulers and people, Islam quickly became not only the dominant religion but also an essential element of their civilisation.52 From the seventeenth century onwards, South Sulawesi witnessed the rise of a cosmopolitan Islam in a multi-ethnic society, both in the ports and the islands’ interior.53 In one conversion myth we read how the traditional Bugis leader of Wajo knew of Muslim practices, with reluctance, but did not convert until years later. It reads: When he had been on the throne three years, he related his experience: Out of the west a tremendous thing would come, called “Islam,” also known as “sara.” There were also “alms,” or donating gifts. There was also something called “sembahyang” (or salat in Arabic): everybody

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repeatedly bending over with their posteriors sticking up. And all women wear veils. Moreover, they refused to eat pigs, dogs, rats, frogs, snakes, crocodiles, and lizards. Arung Parigi and Arung Botto replied that they were not built for such exercises and neither they were willing to refrain from the types of meat named. To Udama predicted that the time would come when they would accept all this – but only three years after his death. “In his heart, they would say, he was already a Muslim. He reigned forty years, and during all that time the rice thrived.”54 Like the Malay rulers, Makassar and Bugis rulers adopted the title of God’s shadow on Earth (ẓill Allāh fī-l-arḍ). The Gowa ruler Sultan Alauddin saw himself as the representative of God on Earth (khalīfat-ullāh fī-l-arḍ), which he believed gave him a mandate to convert everyone within his reach; he therefore decided to wage war (musu’seleng) against the rulers of Bone, Soppeng, and Wajo who had not converted to Islam.55 Sultan Alauddin sought to embody an Islamic view of kingship in order to assert his authority over the adat system which prevailed among his subjects. He also invited other rulers to convert, and when refused used force.56 The other ruler of Gowa, Sultan Hasanuddin (r. 1653–69), was known for being an important fgure in one of the Suf orders. The Dutch forces in the war believed that Sultan Hasanuddin was a religious man because he was always surrounded by ʿulamāʾ. Defeating Gowa, Arung Palakka La Tenritatta became the ruler of the Bugis kingdom of Bone (r. 1672–96) and was regarded as “the heroic ruler of the Suf.” Their alliance with Islam helped them challenge the adat leaders who still maintained their authority over the population.57 The conversion of the ruler of Gowa, Sultan Alauddin, did not mean that the people converted to Islam immediately; instead, there was some degree of tension and resistance. A European account tells how a brother of the ruler of Gowa opposed his conversion, for example, and on the eve of the frst Friday prayer service slaughtered pigs inside the mosque, smearing their blood on the walls and doors.58 The leaders of the gaukang communities, the guardians of the customary law or adat, held that conversion to Islam would challenge their position and strengthen the converted rulers. When the ruler of Bone became Muslim he was condemned by his people, who opposed the forcible imposition of a foreign religion. Only after three years of war did the other major kingdoms in South Sulawesi fnally submit to Gowa and Islam.59 The penetration of the Islamic belief in God, as well as other Islamic concepts and fgures, modifed existing animistic beliefs without eliminating them entirely. For instance, local people would use Islamic utterances to strengthen the spell when invoking the name of the tree spirit. A woodcutter was instructed to call on the “inhabitants of the forest”: “Hello spirit, give me your wood. I want to make it a house post.” The instructions continued:

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“Then utter salam (peace be with you). When you proceed to fell the timber, call out ‘My name is Adam, the tree is called Ali, Allāh ta’ala (God is sublime)’.”60 There was a belief in the sacredness of objects such as royal regalia and the Qurʾān, and community banners were smeared with blood to strengthen them.61 Indigenous ritual specialists, or bissu, served as advisors to the rulers and keepers of the regalia.62 During the process of integration, both Islamic teachers and bissu were often in the ruler’s presence. At royal weddings, for example, Islamic teachers played their role in blessing the bride and groom while the bissu performed a fertility ritual.63 In other cases, a ritual specialist known as panrita bola was called in, for example to bless the construction of a house. The religious fgure of the village served as the panrita bola and would recite a hybrid of Islamic and local spells (mantera).64 When one person did not combine both functions, the village imam would ask advice from the traditional ritual specialist in daily afairs.65 In the late seventeenth century, Syeikh Yusuf (1626–99) of Makassar attempted to purify the Islam of South Sulawesi of pagan infuence and what he considered to be improper behaviour.66 He preached the idea of the perfect human, or insān kāmil, who embodies the power, knowledge, and wisdom best exemplifed in the Prophet Muḥammad. In Suf terms, the insān kāmil springs from the light of Muḥammad in his natural and human dimension as well as refecting his divine qualities, and can be gained through spiritual discipline and dedication to God.67 In the Makassar story of Syeikh Yusuf, the writer says: “Whoever from the ummat of Nabī Muḥammad who after me can listen to the stories of Tusalamaka [Syeikh Yusuf], whether they read it, store it in their house, of frmly believe it in their heart, clearly all their sins will be forgiven.”68 Beyond the Makassar and Bugis kingdoms, Islam had penetrated the eastern part of the archipelago by the fourteenth century at the latest, and those of Arab descent, called sayyids, played a part in local religious life. Some were known to have converted local rulers and nobility to Islam. In the early seventeenth century, for example, a Shīʿī Suf, Sayyid Jalaluddin al-Aidit, came to Cikoang from Aceh, through Banjarmasin in Kalimantan. Sayyid Jalaluddin al-Aidit found that the local people had formally become Muslim in the villages of Laikang, Lengkoso, Bajeng, Bangkala, and Binamu. Al-Aidit converted the ruler of Laikang and married his daughter, leading the people of Cikoang to adopt the Shīʿī tradition of Islam. They began to celebrate the birthday of the Prophet Muḥammad (maulud Nabi) with rituals particular to Shīʿism.69 His sons, Sayyid Umar and Sayyid Sahabuddin, resided in Cikoang and married local women, and a grandson, Sayyid Sirajuddin, married the daughter of the king of Laikang. Another, Sayyid Muḥammad Ja’far Shadiq, later became the king of Laikang. Their ofspring usually used the family name Aidit, derived from Muḥammad Wahid bin Abu Bakar al-Aidid. They

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made an alliance between the sayyids and the nobles (karaeng), also called karaeng ma’nguru or karaeng sayyid.70 This exemplifes the integration of Arabs and local peoples through intermarriage, commercial bonds, and political alliances. Administration of justice and consultation

The I La Galigo’s social hierarchy consisted of ana matola (ruling court), ara arung (nobility) – who were sometimes called datu – the maradeka (freemen), and the slaves.71 As mentioned earlier, during the I La Galigo period, kings were seen as the descendants and representatives of God on Earth, and wielded absolute power over the ruled. Tumanurung, believed to be the descendant of God, had a moral responsibility to protect the people in times of chaos. With the infuence of Islam, rulership became modifed. According to Dato ri Bandang, the nobility are the representatives of God on Earth and must be just and pious, and pray on Fridays.72 For example, Karaeng Matoaya of the Gowa-Tallo kingdom told his son Karaeng Pattingalloang that a ruler should have six qualities: grace, humanity, courage, caution, courtesy, and consideration. In another text, Karaeng Pattingalloang taught about the fve causes of the fall of a kingdom: when its ruler wants no advice; when no more intellectuals are found; when judges are corrupt; when calamities become commonplace; and when the ruler does not love his subjects.73 With the advent of Islam, rulers served as both political and Islamic religious leaders. In the Kingdom of Wajo, for example, there was a saying: “The council’s decision prevails over the ruler’s; the leader of the people’s decision prevails over the council’s; the people’s decision prevails over the leader of the people’s.” A  source states that: “The people of Wajo are free (maradeka); their only master is adat (customary law).”74 The voice of the people and the importance of law were closely related. The ruler instituted two ofces: one that related to adat, and another for matters that related to Islamic law and practice, the sara ofce. Closely related to the sara was the role of kadhi, a Muslim ofcial in charge of religious afairs. In Luwu and Wajo, for example, Dato Sulaiman taught the fundamental obligations of Islam and belief, and designated six religious functionaries: two imams or khatibs, who led the prayer and gave sermons, two bilals, who performed the call to prayer, one panghulu, in charge of matters of marriage and divorce, and one amil, in charge of collecting and distributing alms. In some cases, one person held two ofces; Dato ri Bandang served as both kadhi and amil. The kadhi administered the religious court, resolving matters of marriage, divorce, inheritance, religious endowments, and other religious disputes. In the council where the sara and the adat ofcials met, there was consultation (mushawarat) in order to fnd solutions or

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deal with wars, conficts, treaties, and other problems pertaining to the court and the people. In cases of confict between local custom and Islamic law, the sultan, also serving as “the shaykh al-Islām” – the great teacher of Islam – often served as an arbiter.75 In South Sulawesi, the integration of Islam with the local legal and cultural system is exemplifed in the system called pangade’reng, which consisted of diferent ofces and domains: the council of pa’ bicara or arung ma ‘bicara (deliberating lords, or judicial norms), an expert in the customary system (pangade’reng) which combined ade (local custom), rappang (oral tradition, law), sara (Islamic law), and ade pura onro (precedents). There was also wariq or leadership protocols. Messengers had the task of communicating the ruling from the higher to the lower levels of the arung, and a number of subordinate ofcials were in charge of diferent afairs such as household management, garments, and family rituals. All these ofcers, including the kadhi, were often nobility, and some were women, but all communicated and interacted with the common people.76 In this multi-layered cultural system, it is also important to note a motivating element known as siri, broadly defned as dignity (harga diri) and social shame (malu) which existed both before and after the penetration of Islam. Many local people say: “It is better die in defence of siri than to have no siri at all.”77 Dignity also was a moral factor in their confict with forceful colonial powers. When the Dutch colonisers sought to control the kingdoms and peoples of South Sulawesi, they resisted. Such resistance is described in the poem “Shair Perang Makassar,” written in Malay and composed by Enchi Ambun, the secretary to Sultan Hasanuddin. The poem begins with praises to Allāh the Most Merciful and the Most Compassionate, and to the Prophet Muḥammad. It then describes the people’s spirit of resistance against the Dutch colonial powers, using Islamic terminology such as shaithan, kafr, iblis, and murtad.78 The writing system also became an important characteristic of Islamic integration into the Bugis and Makassarese culture. The Malay language written in Arabic script was known as Jāwī, while Makassar written in Arabic script was called Aksara Serang. Books on Islam and histories were written in palm-leaf manuscripts called lontara. Thus, Arabic and local concepts and materials were integrated, ofering eclectic and hybrid meanings, interpretations, and practices of Muslim politics and culture in island Southeast Asia. Conclusion

As a global missionary religion, Islam became integrated into the local politics and cultures of non-Arab rulers and peoples around the world, in Melaka and the Malay peninsula from the ffteenth century, and in South Sulawesi from the seventeenth century.

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Islam played an important role in the commercial, political, religious, and cultural networks of the diverse ethnic groups and cultures, and transformed the forms and characteristics of the local kingdoms: royal names, titles, and ceremonies; the administrative and legal systems; the languages and cultures. In Melaka, for various reasons – commercial as well as spiritual – the Muslim rulers, adopting the new title of “sultan,” retained much of the HinduBuddhist notion of kerajaan while modifying it in ways that combined the religious and the political, the Islamic and the non-Islamic, the past and the present, and the local and the global. In South Sulawesi, the sultans preserved the indigenous beliefs in their supernatural origins but reinterpreted them in Islamic ways, styling themselves “God’s shadow on Earth” or “the representative of God on Earth,” gaining both political and religious legitimacy over their subjects and also other kingdoms within their reach. Administratively, the old court system was little changed by the inclusion of ofcials in charge of aspects of Islamic law (sara, or sharīʿa) particularly concerning domestic and commercial matters. In the codifed laws of Melaka, monarchic absolutism was balanced by consultation with the nobility, and also just treatment of the citizens and others visiting or residing in the kingdoms. In South Sulawesi, court chronicles describe the ideal ruler as one who was just and who consulted with others. The two ofces of sara and adat ensured the court and people’s loyalty through periods of tension, resistance, and confict. In Melaka and the larger Malay peninsula, the integration of Islam and Malay became stronger in the colonial times. In the post-colonial period, Malaysia’s Federal Constitution states that a Malay is a person who professes the Muslim religion, habitually speaks the Malay language, and conforms to Malay custom. An Indian is thus also a Malay if he professes the Muslim religion, habitually speaks Malay, and conforms to Malay custom. Conversely, a true Malay is not considered so if he is not a Muslim, according to the Constitution.79 Today, Malaysian Muslims have underscored the importance of early Malay sultans and kingdoms – particularly that of Melaka, which embraced Islam and implemented aspects of Islamic law – and have promoted the sovereignty of Islam and Malay identity in a multicultural nation and society. Malaysian secular nationalists, on the other hand, have linked the sultanate of Melaka to the model of “a harmonious Malaysian nation led by sovereign Malays with diverse groups of assimilating citizens.”80 Secular Indonesians have stressed the legacies of the Hindu-Buddhist kingdoms such as Sriwijaya and Majapahit, which preceded the Muslim sultanates of Aceh, Demak, Gowa, Tallo, and many others, to showcase the nationalist slogan bhineka tunggal ika or diversity in unity, while certain Muslim groups have stressed the supremacy of the Islamic sultanates to underscore the importance of the Muslim contribution to nation-building.81 In both cases, however, Islam

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remains a crucial factor in shaping the contemporary imaginations and projects of national integration and multiculturalism. Notes 1 Wolters, History, Culture, and Region. 2 A.B. Shamsul, “Making Sense of the Plural-Religious Past and the ModernSecular Present of the Islamic Malay World and Malaysia,” Asian Journal of Social Science 33:3 (2005), 449–72. 3 G. Coedes, Indianized States of Southeast Asia (Honolulu: University Press of Hawaii, 1968), 15–6; Wolters, History, Culture, and Region, 23. 4 Anthony Milner, The Malays (West Sussex: Wiley-Blackwell, 2008), 59. 5 De Casparis and Mabbett, “Religion and Popular Beliefs of Southeast Asia.” 6 Wolters, History, Culture, and Region, 27–33. 7 Walker, “Autonomy, Diversity, and Dissent.” 8 Andaya and Andaya, A History of Malaysia, 44; Newbold, Political and Statistical Account, 122. 9 Sir Richard Winstedt, “A History of Classical Malay Literature,” Journal of the Malayan Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 31:3 (1958), 130–1. 10 T.J. Newbold, Political and Statistical Account, 136. 11 P.E. De Josselin De Jong and H.L.A. Van Wijk, “The Malacca Sultanate,” Journal of Southeast Asian History 1:2 (1960), 20–9. 12 J. Kathirithamby-Wells, “The Islamic City: Melaka to Jogjakarta, c. 1500–1800,” Modern Asian Studies 20:2 (1986), 333–51. 13 Andaya and Andaya, A History of Malaysia, 54. 14 Russell Jones, “Ten Conversion Myths from Indonesia,” in Nehemia Levtzion (ed.), Conversion to Islam (New York and London: Holmes & Meier Publishers, 1979), 136–7. 15 Azra, “The Transmission of Islamic Reformism,” 16–45. 16 Mohd. Nor Bin Ngah, Kitab Jawi: Islamic Thought of the Malay Muslim Scholars (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 1983), 40–1. 17 A.C. Milner, “Islam and the Muslim State,” in M.B. Hooker (ed.), Islam in SouthEast Asia (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1983), 34–49; A.C. Milner, “Islam and Malay Kingship,” in Ahmad Ibrahim, Sharon Siddique, and Yasmin Hussain (eds.), Readings on Islam in Southeast Asia (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 1985), 25–31. 18 Andaya and Andaya, A History of Malaysia, 44–5. 19 Andaya and Andaya, A History of Malaysia, 55. 20 SarDesai, Southeast Asia: Past and Present (New Delhi: Vikas, 1983), 74–6; Sir Richard Winstedt, “Malay Chronicles from Sumatera and Malaya,” in D.G.E. Hall (ed.), Historians of South East Asia (New York: Oxford University Press, 1961), 25; Christopher H. Wake, “Malacca’s Early Kings and the Reception of Islam,” Journal of Southeast Asian History 5:2 (1964), 104–28; Wang Gungwu, “The First Three Rulers of Malacca,” Journal of the Malaysian Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 41:1 (1968), 11–22. 21 Christopher H. Wake, “Malacca’s Early Kings and the Reception of Islam,” Journal of Southeast Asian History 5:2 (1964), 119. 22 Walker, “Autonomy, Diversity, and Dissent,” 245. 23 Over ffty manuscripts are known, many containing local variants of the code from Aceh, Kedah, Pattani and Johor. Abdul Rahman Abdullah, Sejarah dan Tamadun Asia Tenggara: Sebelum dan Sesudah Pengaruh Islam (Kuala Lumpur: Utusan, 2000), 353.

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24 Liaw Yock Fang, Undang-undang Melaka: The Laws of Melaka (The Hague: Martinus Nijhof, 1976), 31–6. 25 Jajat Burhanudin, “The Triumph of Ruler: Islam and Statecraft in Pre-Colonial Malay Archipelago,” Al-Jami’ah: Journal of Islamic Studies 55:1 (2017), 211–40. 26 Sir Richard Winstedt, A History of Classical Muslim Literature, 116. 27 Andaya and Andaya, A History of Malaysia, 44–7. 28 Sejarah Melayu, “The Text of Rafes MS no. 18, in R.O. Winstedt, The Malay Annals of Sejarah Melayu,” Journal of the Malayan Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 16:3 (1938), 150. 29 Andaya and Andaya, A History of Malaysia, 42. 30 Andaya and Andaya, A History of Malaysia, 44–7. 31 Sejarah Melayu, “The Text of Rafes MS no. 18, In R.O. Winstedt, The Malay Annals of Sejarah Melayu,” 150. 32 Walker, “Autonomy, Diversity, and Dissent,” 239. 33 Andaya and Andaya, 44–8. 34 SarDesai, South-East Asia, 76. 35 Andaya and Andaya, A History of Malaysia, 54. 36 Zainal Abidin Ahmad Za’ba, “Malay Manners and Etiquette,” Journal of the Malayan Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 23:3, (1950), 43–74; Muhamad Ali, “The Interplay Between Adab and Local Ethics and Etiquette in Indonesian and Malay Literature,” in Robert Rozehnal (ed.), Piety, Politics, and Everyday Ethics in Southeast Asian Islam (London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2019), 30. 37 Winstedt, “A History of Classical Malay Literature,” 7–8. 38 Abdullah, Sejarah dan Tamadun Asia Tenggara, 353–54. 39 Hikayat Muhammad Hanafah, British Library, MSS Malay B.6.f.1v-2r. 40 Andaya and Andaya, A History of Malaysia, 93. 41 Heather Sutherland, “The Makassar Malays: Adaptation and Identity, c. 1660– 1790,” The Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 32:3 (2001), 397–421. 42 Muhlis Hadrawi, “The Arrival and Integration of the Malays in South Sulawesi Around the 15th – 17th Centuries Based on Lontara Sources’, (PhD diss., Universitas Kebangsaan Malaysia, 2015). www.manassa.id/2017/11/the-arrival-andintegration-of-malays.html 43 Henry Chamber-Loir, “Dato ri Bandang. Legendes de l’Islamisation de la region de Celebes-Sud,” Archipel 29 (1985), 137–63. 44 Philip D. Curtin, Cross-Cultural Trade in World History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), 162. 45 Christian Pelras, “Religion, Tradition, and the Dynamics of Islamization of South Sulawesi,” Archipel 29 (Paris: Association Archipel, 1985), 108. 46 Mattulada, “Sulawesi Selatan Pra Islam,” Bulleting Yaperna 12:III (March 1976), 76–95. 47 Waldemar Stohr and Piet Zoetmulder, Les Religions d’Indonesia (Paris: Payot, 1968), 116–7. 48 Tim Penulis, Sejarah Kebudayaan Sulawesi (Jakarta: Departemen Pendidikan dan Kebudayaan, 1995), 30–5. 49 Henry Chamber-Loir, “Dato ri Bandang,” 143–50. 50 Leonard Y. Andaya, The Heritage of Arung Palakka: A History of South Sulawesi (Celebes) in the Seventeenth Century (The Hague: Martinus Nijhof, 1981), 117, 120. 51 Abdul Baqir Zein, Masjid-masjid Bersejarah di Indonesia (Jakarta: Gema Insani Press, 1999), 340, 343–5, 349; Hasanuddin AF, Profl Pesantren Ma’had Haditz di Bone: Satu Studi tentang Integrasi Sistem Pendidikan Pesantren dan Madrazah, microfche no. 08291981, KITLV, Laporan Penelitian Pusat Latihan Penelitian Ilmu-ilmu Sosial Ujung Pandang, 1978), 22.

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52 R.A. Kern, “The Propagation of Islam in the Indonesian-Malay Archipelago,” in Alijah Gordon (ed.), The Propagation of Islam in the Malay Archipelago (Kuala Lumpur: Malaysian Sociological Research Institute, 2001), 72–80; Chamber-Loir, “Dato ri Bandang,” 155. 53 Thomas Gibson, Islamic Narrative and Authority in Southeast Asia: From the 16th to the 21st Century (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007), 55–6. 54 J. Noorduyn, Een Achtiende-Eeuwse Kroniek van Wadjo’, Buginese Historiografe (The Hague: Martinus Nijhof, 1955), 104–6. quoted in Russel Jones, “Ten Conversion Myths from Indonesia,” in Nehemia Levtzion (ed.), Conversion to Islam (New York and London: Holmes & Meier Publishers, 1979), 151–2. 55 Andaya, The Heritage of Arung Palakka, 33–5. 56 Leonard Y. Andaya, “Kingship-Adat Rivalry and the Role of Islam in South Sulawesi,” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 15:1, 1984, 40–1. 57 Andaya, “Kingship-Adat Rivalry and the Role of Islam in South Sulawesi,” 40–1. 58 William Cummings, “Islam, Empire and Makassarese Historiography in the Reign of Sultan Ala’uddin (1593–1639),” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 38:2 (2007), 197–214. 59 Andaya, “Kingship-Adat Rivalry and the Role of Islam in South Sulawesi,” 37. 60 Kathryn Robinson, “Traditions of House-Building in South Sulawesi,” in Kathryn Robinson and Mukhlis Paeni (eds.), Living Through Histories: Culture, History, and Social Life in South Sulawesi (Canberra: The Australian National University and the National Archives of Indonesia, 1998), 180. 61 Ibid. 62 Leonard Y. Andaya, “The Bissu: Study of A Third Gender in Indonesia,” in Barbara W. Andaya (ed.), Other Pasts: Women, Gender, and History in Early Modern Southeast Asia (Honolulu: Center for Southeast Asian Studies, University of Hawaii at Manoa, 2000), 36–7. 63 Andaya, “The Bissu,” 43. 64 Ahmad Saransi, Tradisi Masyarakat Islam di Sulawesi Selatan (Makassar: Lamacca Press, 2005), 39. 65 Snouck Hurgronje, “Islam di Hindia Belanda,” 1913, Kumpulan Karangan Snouck Hurgronje, X (Jakarta: INIS, 1994), 144. 66 A.Qadir Gassing, “Tuangta Salamaka Syekh Yusuf Tajul Khalwati,” in Andi Rasdiyanah Amir (ed.), Bugis-Makassar dalam Peta Islamisasi Indonesia (Ujung Pandang: IAIN Alauddin, 1982), 39–48; Syed Muhammad Naquib Al-Attas, Raniri and the Wujudiyyah of 17th Century Aceh (Singapore: Malaysia Printers, 1966), 18–56. 67 Abu Hamid, Syeikh Yusuf Makassar: Seorang Ulama, Suf dan Pejuang (Jakarta: Yayasan Obor Indonesia, 2005), 198–204. 68 Kathryn Robinson, “Traditions of House-Building in South Sulawesi.” 69 A. Makarausu Amansjah, “Mazhab Sji’ah di Tjikowang,” Bingkisan 11 (1969), 27–39; Suriadi Mappangara and Irwan Abbas, Sejarah Islam di Sulawesi Selatan (Makassar: Biro KAPP Setda Sulsel and Lamacca Press, 2003), 77. 70 Saransi, Tradisi Masyarakat Islam di Sulawesi Selatan, 47–51; M. Idrus Nurdin, Ridwan Borahima, and A. Kadir Manyambeang, Laporan Penelitian tentang Maulid Cikoang sebagai Salah satu Bentuk Kebudayaan Spesifk Tradisional di Sulawesi Selatan (Ujung Pandang: Proyek Penelitian Universitas Hasanuddin, 1977/78), 19–20. 71 Christian Perlas, “Hierarchie et pouvoir traditionnels en pay Wadjo’ (Celebessud),” in Christian Pelras (ed.), Explorations dans l’Universe des Bugis: Un Choix de Trente-trois Rencontres (Paris: Cahiers d’Archipel, 2010), 25–57. 72 Chamber-Loir, “Dato ri Bandang,” 143–50. 73 Mappangara and Abbas, Sejarah Islam di Sulawesi Selatan, 150–2.

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74 Christian Pelras, “Bugis Culture: A  Tradition of Modernity,” Christian Pelras, Explorations dans l’Universe des Bugis: Un Choix de Trente-trois Rencontres (Paris: Cahiers d’Archipel, 2010), 373. 75 Abu Hamid, “Sistem Nilai Islam dalam Budaya Bugis-Makassar,” in Aswab Mahasin et al. (eds.), Ruh Islam dalam Budaya Bangsa: Aneka Budaya Nusantara (Jakarta: Yayasan Festival Istiqlal, 1996), 171–2; Mappangara and Abbas, Sejarah Islam di Sulawesi Selatan, 155. 76 Christian Pelras, “From Domains and Kingdoms to Desa and Kabupaten: SocioPolitical Structures of the Bugis Country (Sulawesi Selatan),” in Christian Pelras (ed.), Explorations dans l’Universe des Bugis: Un Choix de Trente-trois Rencontres (Paris: Cahiers d’Archipel, 2010), 236–7. 77 See Andaya, The Heritage of Arung Palakka, 15–7; Andi Moein Mg, Menggali Nilai-nilai Budaya Bugis-Makassar dan Sirik Na Pacce (Makassar: Yayasan Mapress, 1988); Mukhlis Hadrawi, “Landasan Kultural dalam Pranata Sosial Bugis-Makassar,” in Mukhlis Hadrawi (ed.), Dinamika Bugis-Makassar (Makassar: Pusat Latihan Penelitian Ilmu-ilmu Sosial, 1986), 1–41. 78 “The Conquest of Mangkasar for Macapat by the united forces of the Hollanders of Bugis, under the command of Admiral Cornelis Speelman and Raja Palaka in the year of 1667: A Poem in the Malayan language by Inchi Ambun,” School of Oriental  & African Studies London, Mappangara and Abbas, Sejarah Islam di Sulawesi Selatan, 159–62. 79 Sharon Siddique, “Some Aspects of Malay-Muslim Ethnicity in Peninsular Malaysia,” Contemporary Southeast Asia 3:1 (1981), 76–87. 80 Timothy P. Daniels, Living Sharia: Law and Practice in Malaysia (Seattle and London: University of Washington Press, 2017), 25–26. 81 Noriyuki Segawa, “Malaysia’s 1996 Education Act: The Impact of a Multiculturalism-Type Approach to National Integration,” Sojourn: Journal of Social Issues in Southeast Asia 22:1 (2007), 30–56; Shamsul Amri Baharuddin (ed.), Modul Hubungan Etnik (Kuala Lumpur: Kementerian Pengajian Tinggi Malaysia dan Maskha Sdn. Bhd., 2008), 24–5; Asep Saifudin Jahar et al., Penguatan Civic Values di Pesantren (Jakarta: Pusat Pengkajian Islam dan Masyarakat (PPIM) UIN Jakarta, 2009), 34–7.

Bibliography Abdullah, Abdul Rahman, Sejarah dan Tamadun Asia Tenggara: Sebelum dan Sesudah Pengaruh Islam, Kuala Lumpur: Utusan, 2000. Ali, Muhamad, “The Interplay Between Adab and Local Ethics and Etiquette in Indonesian and Malay Literature,” in Robert Rozehnal (ed.), Piety, Politics, and Everyday Ethics in Southeast Asian Islam (London et al: Bloomsbury Academic, 2019), 19–39. Amansjah, A. Makarausu, “Mazhab Sji’ah di Tjikowang,” Bingkisan 11 (1969), 27–39. Ambun, Inchi, The Conquest of Mangkasar for Macapat by the United Forces of the Hollanders and Bugis, Under the Command of Admiral Cornelis Speelman and Raja Palaka in the Year of 1667: A Poem in the Malayan Language, London: School of Oriental & African Studies, n.d. Andaya, Leonard Y., The Heritage of Arung Palakka: A History of South Sulawesi (Celebes) in the Seventeenth Century, The Hague: Martinus Nijhof, 1981. Andaya, Leonard Y., “Kingship-Adat Rivalry and the Role of Islam in South Sulawesi,” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 15:1, 1984, 22–42.

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Andaya, Leonard Y., “The Bissu: Study of a Third Gender in Indonesia,” in Barbara W. Andaya (ed.), Other Pasts: Women, Gender, and History in Early Modern Southeast Asia (Honolulu: Center for Southeast Asian Studies, University of Hawaii at Manoa, 2000), 27–47. Andayam, Barbara W., and Andaya, Leonard Y., A History of Malaysia, London: Macmillan, 1982. Al-Attas, Syed Muḥammad Naquib, Raniri and the Wujudiyyah of 17th Century Aceh, Singapore: Malaysia Printers, 1966. Azra, Azyumardi, “The Transmission of Islamic Reformism to Indonesia: Networks of Middle Eastern and Malay-Indonesian ‘ulamāʾ in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Century,” PhD dissertation: Columbia University, 1992. Baharuddin, Shamsul Amri, “Making Sense of the Plural-Religious Past and the Modern-Secular Present of the Islamic Malay World and Malaysia,” Asian Journal of Social Science 33:3, 2005, 449–72. Baharuddin, Shamsul Amri, Modul Hubungan Etnik, Kuala Lumpur: Kementerian Pengajian Tinggi Malaysia dan Maskha Sdn. Bhd., 2008. Bin Ngah, Mohd. Nor, Kitab Jāwī: Islamic Thought of the Malay Muslim Scholars, Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 1983. Brakel, L.F., The Hikayat Muhammad Hanafyyah: A  Medieval Muslim-Malay (Romance, Berlin: Springer-Science-Business Media, B.V., 1975). Burhanudin, Jajat, “The Triumph of Ruler: Islam and Statecraft in Pre-Colonial Malay Archipelago,” Al-Jami’ah: Journal of Islamic Studies 55:1, 2017, 211–40. Chamber-Loir, Henry, “Dato ri Bandang. Legendes de l’Islamisation de la region de Celebes-Sud,” Archipel 29, 1985, 137–63. Coedes, G., Indianized States of Southeast Asia, Honolulu: University Press of Hawaii, 1968. Cummings, William, “Islam, Empire and Makassarese Historiography in the Reign of Sultan Ala’uddin (1593–1639),” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 38:2, 2007, 197–214. Curtin, Philip D., Cross-Cultural Trade in World History, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984. Daniels, Timothy P., Living Sharia: Law and Practice in Malaysia, Seattle and London: University of Washington Press, 2017. De Casparis, G., and Mabbett, I.W., “Religion and Popular Beliefs of Southeast Asia Before c.1500,” in Nicholas Tarling (ed.), The Cambridge History of Southeast Asia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 276–339. de Josselin-de Jong, P.E., and van Wijk, H.L.A., “The Malacca Sultanate,” Journal of Southeast Asian History 1:2, 1960, 20–29. Fang, Liaw Yock, Undang-undang Melaka: The Laws of Melaka, The Hague: Martinus Nijhof, 1976. Gassing, A. Qadir, “Tuangta Salamaka Syekh Yusuf Tajul Khalwati,” in Andi Rasdiyanah Amir (ed.), Bugis-Makassar dalam Peta Islamisasi Indonesia (Ujung Pandang: IAIN Alauddin, 1982). Gibson, Thomas, Islamic Narrative and Authority in Southeast Asia: From the 16th to the 21st Century, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007. Gungwu, Wang, “The First Three Rulers of Malacca,” Journal of the Malaysian Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 41:1, 1969, 11–22.

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Hadrawi, Mukhlis, “Landasan Kultural dalam Pranata Sosial Bugis-Makassar,” in Mukhlis Hadrawi (ed.), Dinamika Bugis-Makassar (Makassar: Pusat Latihan Penelitian Ilmu-ilmu Sosial, 1986). Hadrawi, Muhlis, “The Arrival and Integration of the Malays in South Sulawesi Around the 15th – 17th Centuries Based on Lontara Sources’, PhD dissertation: Universitas Kebangsaan Malaysia, 2015. Hamid, Abu, “Sistem Nilai Islam dalam Budaya Bugis-Makassar,” in Aswab Mahasin et al. (ed.), Ruh Islam dalam Budaya Bangsa: Aneka Budaya Nusantara (Jakarta: Yayasan Festival Istiqlal, 1996). Hamid, Abu, Syeikh Yusuf Makassar: Seorang ʿulamāʾ, Suf dan Pejuang, Jakarta: Yayasan Obor Indonesia, 2005. Hasanuddin, A.F., Profl Pesantren Ma’had Hadits di Bone: Satu Studi tentang Integrasi Sistem Pendidikan Pesantren dan Madrazah, microfche no. 08291981, KITLV, Laporan Penelitian Pusat Latihan Penelitian Ilmu-ilmu Sosial Ujung Pandang, 1978. Hurgronje, Snouck, “Islam di Hindia Belanda (1913),” in Kumpulan Karangan Snouck Hurgronje, vol. 10, Jakarta: INIS, 1994. Jahar, Asep Saifudin et al. Penguatan Civic Values di Pesantren, Jakarta: Pusat Pengkajian Islam dan Masyarakat (PPIM) UIN Jakarta, 2009. Jones, Russell, “Ten Conversion Myths from Indonesia,” in Nehemia Levtzion (ed.), Conversion to Islam (New York and London: Holmes & Meier Publishers, 1979), 129–58. Kathirithamby-Wells, J., “The Islamic City: Melaka to Jogjakarta, c. 1500–1800,” Modern Asian Studies 20:2, 1986, 333–51. Kern, R.A., “The Propagation of Islam in the Indonesian-Malay Archipelago,” in Alijah Gordon (ed.), The Propagation of Islam in the Malay Archipelago (Kuala Lumpur: Malaysian Sociological Research Institute, 2001), 23–124. Mappangara, Suriadi, and Abbas, Irwan, Sejarah Islam di Sulawesi Selatan, Makassar: Biro KAPP Setda Sulsel and Lamacca Press, 2003. Mattulada, “Sulawesi Selatan Pra Islam,” Bulleting Yaperna 12, 1976, 76–95. Milner, Anthony C., “Islam and the Muslim State,” in M.B. Hooker (ed.), Islam in South-East Asia (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1983), 34–49. Milner, Anthony C., “Islam and Malay Kingship,” in Ahmad Ibrahim, Sharon Siddique, and Yasmin Hussain (eds.), Readings on Islam in Southeast Asia (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 1985), 25–35. Milner, Anthony C., The Malays, West Sussex: Wiley-Blackwell, 2008. Moein Mg, Andi, Menggali Nilai-nilai Budaya Bugis-Makassar dan Sirik Na Pacce, Makassar: Yayasan Mapress, 1988. Newbold, T.J., Political and Statistical Account of the British Settlements in the Straits of Malacca, London: John Murray, 1839. Nurdin, M. Idrus, Borahima, Ridwan, and Kadir Manyambeang, A., Laporan Penelitian tentang Maulid Cikoang sebagai Salah satu Bentuk Kebudayaan Spesifk Tradisional di Sulawesi Selatan, Ujung Pandang: Proyek Penelitian Universitas Hasanuddin, 1977/78. Pelras, Christian, “Religion, Tradition, and the Dynamics of Islamization of South Sulawesi,” Archipel 29, 1985, 107–35. Pelras, Christian, “Bugis Culture: A  Tradition of Modernity,” in Christian Pelras (ed.), Explorations dans l’Universe des Bugis: Un Choix de Trente-trois Rencontres (Paris: Cahiers d’Archipel, 2010a), 369–73.

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Pelras, Christian, “From Domains and Kingdoms to Desa and Kabupaten: SocioPolitical Structures of the Bugis Country (Sulawesi Selatan),” in Christian Pelras (ed.), Explorations dans l’Universe des Bugis: Un Choix de Trente-trois Rencontres (Paris: Cahiers d’Archipel, 2010b), 231–48. Pelras, Christian, “Hierarchie et pouvoir traditionnels en pay Wadjo’ (Celebes-sud),” in Christian Pelras (ed.), Explorations dans l’Universe des Bugis: Un Choix de Trente-trois Rencontres (Paris: Cahiers d’Archipel, 2010c), 25–57. Penulis, Tim, Sejarah Kebudayaan Sulawesi, Jakarta: Departemen Pendidikan dan Kebudayaan, 1995. Robinson, Kathryn, “Traditions of House-Building in South Sulawesi,” in Kathryn Robinson and Mukhlis Paeni (eds.), Living Through Histories: Culture, History, and Social Life in South Sulawesi (Canberra: The Australian National University and the National Archives of Indonesia, 1998), 168–95. Saransi, Ahmad, Tradisi Masyarakat Islam di Sulawesi Selatan, Makassar: Lamacca Press, 2005. SarDesai, Southeast Asia: Past and Present, New Delhi: Vikas, 1983. Segawa, Noriyuki, “Malaysia’s 1996 Education Act: The Impact of a MulticulturalismType Approach to National Integration,” Sojourn: Journal of Social Issues in Southeast Asia 22:1, 2007, 30–56. Siddique, Sharon, “Some Aspects of Malay-Muslim Ethnicity in Peninsular Malaysia,” Contemporary Southeast Asia 3:1, 1981, 76–87. Stohr, Waldemar, and Zoetmulder, Piet, Les Religions d’Indonesia, Paris: Payot, 1968. Sutherland, Heather, “The Makassar Malays: Adaptation and Identity, c. 1660– 1790,” The Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 32:3, 2001, 397–421. Wake, Christopher H., “Malacca’s Early Kings and the Reception of Islam,” Journal of Southeast Asian History 5:2, 1964, 104–28. Walker, J.H., “Autonomy, Diversity, and Dissent: Conceptions of Power and Sources of Action in the Sejarah Melayu (Rafes MS 18),” Theory and Society 33:2, 2004, 213–55. Winstedt, Richard, “The Malay Annals of Sejarah Melayu,” Journal of the Malayan Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 16:3, 1938, 1–226. Winstedt, Richard, “A History of Classical Malay Literature,” Journal of the Malayan Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 31:3, 1958, 3–259. Winstedt, Richard, “Malay Chronicles from Sumatra and Malaya,” in D.G.E. Hall (ed.), Historians of South East Asia (New York: Oxford University Press, 1961), 24–28. Wolters, O.W., History, Culture, and Region in Southeast Asian Perspectives, revised edition (Ithaca: SEAP and ISEAS, 1999). Za’ba, Zainal Abidin Ahmad, “Malay Manners and Etiquette,” Journal of the Malayan Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 23:3, 1950, 43–74. Zein, Abdul Baqir, Masjid-masjid Bersejarah di Indonesia, Jakarta: Gema Insani Press, 1999.

6 MUSLIM WOMEN’S DRESS IN SOUTHEAST ASIA Islamic law, fashion, and national identity Euis Nurlaelawati and Nina Mariani Noor

Introduction

Awra is an Arabic word which means “embarrassment or disgrace,” and which in Islamic law (fqh) refers to parts of the body that must be covered. Veiling is a particularly signifcant aspect of awra and has been widely discussed by Muslims and scholars of Islamic law. In Southeast Asia, in countries such as Indonesia, Malaysia, and Thailand, two kinds of veil, described together as telekung – the kerudung (headscarf) and mukena (robe for prayers) – have developed to cover the awra of female Muslims, incorporating the local clothing style particular to Southeast Asians. Mukena is worn specifcally for prayers, while kerudung – also described as jilbab or hijab – is worn to cover women’s awra in their daily lives. As veiling becomes more widely observed in the twenty-frst century, it has also become integrated into local and national dress for wedding celebrations. Muslims in Southeast Asia have assimilated Islamic values into their socioreligious life, without completely eliminating pre-Islamic cultures rooted in Hinduism, Buddhism, and animism.1 Many forms of assimilation and adjustment have been made in order to bring this earlier cultural heritage into line with Islamic values, particularly in areas such as ritual practices, architecture, and clothing. The Muslim populations of Indonesia, Malaysia, and Thailand have brilliantly adapted their original pre-Islamic dress into a form of clothing that accords with Islamic laws concerning awra; the distinctive characteristics of this clothing, adorned with the colourful and attractive designs popular in tropical regions, are incorporated into a form of women’s dress that covers all body parts except the face and hands.

DOI: 10.4324/9781032702902-9

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The issue of veiling or covering awra for Muslim women has become an important feld of scholarly research. Debate on this topic includes the Qurʾānic exegesis on verses related to the jilbab or hijab, the development of hijab, and the increasing interest among Muslim women in wearing it and in modifying the style. Tantowi, for example, scrutinises the development of veiling in Indonesia from a chronological and socio-political perspective.2 The requirements of proper women’s attire and guidelines on how to wear it also concern researchers studying the teachings of the Qurʾān related to hijab, and how commentaries understand the requirements for its length, looseness, and coverage.3 The difering opinions on the precise meaning of the Qurʾānic verse about jilbab have also interested scholars, as these varying interpretations have led to a diversity of modes of dress among Muslim women of diferent backgrounds, including those of Indonesia. Smith-Hefner4 and Brenner,5 for example, carried out research on the practice of veiling among Javanese women and found that they practised it in a modest way. In Malaysia, however, although they have a similar attitude toward veiling, Muslim women have more varied styles and preferences in wearing jilbab.6 Shah, Tabassum, and Ali Brohi7 found that female Muslim academics in Malaysia generally wear modest dress in their daily lives, and young Muslim women choose veiling styles that are comfortable and easy to wear.8 Other researchers assert that the decision of Muslim women to wear the veil is not only a sign of obedience as Muslims, but also an expression of integrating modernisation with their local traditions.9 Similarly, the assimilation of Islamic culture into local practice, particularly in Southeast Asia, has become an important feld of study10; it has been argued that social and political conditions have infuenced the forming of a “local Islam” in Southeast Asia, and that Islam in Southeast Asia is distinct and particular in the way in which it accommodates local values.11 Many have devoted their discussions to the issue of Islamic attire and the incorporation of local heritage in observations of Islamic teaching concerning awra. Shioya12 has studied the trend of modest dress in Indonesia and argues that it refects the tendency of Muslim women to dress both fashionably and ‘correctly.’ Other researchers, such as Dewi and Puspitasari,13 and Zainuddin et al.,14 agree that Muslims in Southeast Asia also adjust wedding dresses to bring them in line with Islamic law on covering awra and therefore incorporate the veil into their traditional wedding dresses. Although many have written about Muslim clothing in relation to its adjustment to local values, however, there has not yet been a study focusing on the legal arguments relating to localised forms of Islamic clothing in Southeast Asia and modern versions of this form of dress, or explorations of why Islamic veiling is currently gaining popularity. Nor have any existing studies touched upon the openness of Southeast Asian societies, particularly

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Indonesia, to varying ideas on religion and its observation, allowing Muslim groups with difering ideologies to propagate their ideas. In this study we will address these specifc issues, making a signifcant contribution to scholarship on the subject. We will discuss female Muslim dress in Southeast Asia as part of daily life, for special occasions such as weddings, and for prayers. The study traces the initial invention of the local design of headscarf (kerudung) for both everyday wear and for weddings, as well as that of the prayer robe (mukena), and traces the development of these two forms of dress as they incorporate modern designs, with interviews with women in the region illustrating how they have been received. It discusses the reception of these garments by female Muslims in particular, and, more generally, by various Muslim groups, both in the past and more recently. We will include the whole region of Southeast Asia, with a particular focus on Indonesia, and attempt to uncover relevant Islamic legal arguments in addition to other discourses on veiling. This qualitative study was conducted through desk research and feld investigations involving interviews and observation. We interviewed twelve lay Muslim women from Indonesia and Malaysia – some who wear hijab and some who do not, as well as others who sell hijab. Interviews were also conducted with eight male and female religious authorities or ʿulamāʾ, the majority of whom came from Indonesia. We questioned these participants about their views on awra and their knowledge of legal arguments surrounding localised and modernised Islamic dress. The concept of awra and veiling in Islam

Awra and veiling are two strongly correlated terms in Islamic discourse. Awra means disgrace or humiliation, and must therefore be covered or guarded.15 It is not permissible for Muslims to show or expose their ‘disgrace.’ The Qurʾān clearly states the necessity of covering the awra which, according to sharīʿa, refers to certain parts of the human body to be guarded from the gaze of others who are not permitted to see them. The necessity of guarding the awra is, according to Muslim scholars such as al-Qurthubi, based on the idea that Muslims are not allowed to expose what is considered shameful. This relates to parts of human anatomy, for both men and women; there has been much debate about this among Muslim scholars,16 although the discussion related to women is much wider and more detailed.17 Essentially, both men and women are required by the Qurʾān to avoid committing the harm that results from exposing their awra; yet veiling, for women, is a more profound and complex issue.18 Men are obliged to lower their gaze and guard their eyes from looking at women’s beauty, but the

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Qurʾānic obligation for women to cover their awra is more detailed. Since other Qurʾānic verses stress that the beauty of women’s bodies amounts to a source of temptation and potential strife (ftna), veiling becomes an integral discourse within Islamic thought, and its importance goes beyond avoiding any harm related to sexual misconduct.19 The invention of local style in Muslim Southeast Asia

Southeast Asia constitutes a region or zone that consists of eleven countries, falling into “mainland” and “island” zones. The mainland includes Burma, Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam. Island or maritime Southeast Asia includes Malaysia, Singapore, Indonesia, the Philippines, Brunei, and the new nation of East Timor (formerly part of Indonesia). Islam arrived in the region around the thirteenth century C.E. and prominently featured members of Indian and ‘creole’ Arab communities – mainly Ḥaḍramī – who travelled the Indian Ocean trade routes between the Middle East and China.20 From at least the tenth century, many foreigners trading in Southeast Asia were Muslims. However, although the Indian Ocean became the vector through which Islam impacted Southeast Asia, local practices of Islam were infuenced by the Middle East due to the ongoing connections between the two regions.21 Muslims can be found in all mainland countries in Southeast Asia, particularly southern Thailand and western Burma (Arakan).22 Southern Muslims number approximately 1.4 million – 18% of the total Thai Muslim population. Meanwhile, in Singapore and the southern Philippines, there is only a small Muslim minority.23 Muslims are also widespread in Malaysia and Brunei, where Islam is the state religion, while in Indonesia Muslims make up 85% of the overall population of over 234 million, outnumbering any other Muslim country in the world. Nevertheless, unlike Malaysia and Brunei, in Indonesia Islam is not the ofcial state religion. Islam has a unique relationship with people in Southeast Asia, particularly in the Malay world – which includes Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand, and Brunei – and has become profoundly localised as well as remaining closely connected to Arab culture. For Muslims in these countries, Islam plays an integral role in everyday life. They hear the adhān (call to prayer) and pray fve times a day, while the governments of Indonesia and Malaysia fund the construction of mosques and Islamic educational institutions so that Muslims can easily carry out their religious obligations.24 Azra25 argued that Southeast Asian Islam has long adopted the Islamic paradigm of the “middle path,” best exemplifed in the three nations of Indonesia, Malaysia, and Thailand. In Indonesia, the middle path of Islam can be clearly seen in the adoption of Pancasila (“fve pillars”) as the national ideology. Malaysia has made Islam their ofcial state religion and the source

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of their national law,26 but it is considered an accommodating and moderate country; this, too, is an example of the “middle path.” The adoption of this expression of Islam in these countries correlates with the pluralism found in the region in terms of ethnic, linguistic, cultural, and religious diversity. The Indonesian archipelago, for example, consists of more than 17,800 islands, isles, and islets, and over 525 languages and dialects are spoken across a range of diferent ethnic groups. Malaysia, which consists of several regions, also contains a number of ethnic groups and various dialects of the Malay language, while Thailand embraces a similar level of diversity.27 Scholars have pointed out “the existence of the so-called ‘folk Islam,’ a kind of animistic amalgam or ‘hybrid’ of both monotheistic doctrines of Islam and indigenous beliefs in various supranatural beings and/or spirits.”28 It is safe to say that Islam penetrated Southeast Asia primarily through a process that Azra and other historians describe as ‘localisation,’ meaning that Islamic teachings were often adapted in ways that harmonised with existing values and customs. In the context of Indonesia, for example, Hoadley has noted that Indonesians in Sulawesi continued practising older traditions after converting to Islam.29 To him, these traditions should not be seen as oppositional to Islamic values, but as their local colour. Rather than speaking in terms of ‘Islamic’ and ‘non-Islamic,’ he considers Islam to be the ‘new tradition’ which coexists with the old tradition of indigenous practices. This explains how certain cultural practices – such as visiting the graves of local heroes, cockfghting, and gambling – have been allowed to continue.30 The same phenomenon has infuenced the ways in which Southeast Asian Muslims, including women, observe Islamic teachings, including veiling. Rich in local tradition, Southeast Asian indigenous values have been incorporated into Islamic culture. When it comes to clothing, the distinctiveness of local expression – in style, colour, and design – is refected in traditional dress. In Indonesia, this varies considerably by region; most Indonesian women in Java in the early twentieth century, for example, did not cover their heads except during prayer or when they attended religious gatherings. This was probably a result of the early infuence of Sufsm, which is generally accommodating of local beliefs and practices.31 However, while head coverings in Java are generally tight, other regions – such as Sumatra – adopted a looser style such as the baju kurung. In Malaysia, the style is more similar to that of Sumatra, while in Thailand women use tighter forms. Malaysia is a multi-ethnic, multi-religious society, made up of Chinese, Indians, and indigenous tribes as well as the majority Malay population. Since the country adopted Islam as its ofcial religion, it has had a signifcant impact on local culture, including dress. Most Malay women wear outfts that cover their entire bodies, apart from the face and hands.32 The baju kurung – a long-sleeved shirt worn over a full-length sarong – was originally the traditional costume. Malay people, both men and women, usually wear the baju

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kurung teluk belanga, said to have been developed in the early 1800s in an area known as Teluk Belanga in Singapore. This baju kurung is a tunic that falls below the knees, with a round neckline. It is worn paired with a sarong. Another type of modifed baju kurung, invented after the teluk belanga, is known as the baju kurung cekak musang. This baju has a 4-centimetre collar and three pockets, and is worn with a pair of trousers and sarong.33 When the people of Southeast Asia converted to Islam and chose to observe Islamic teachings on covering the awra, they managed to do this through adapting the existing clothing style, colours, and design. Those who understood awra to include the hair used a locally designed covering called telekung, which was composed of the kerudung and mukena. Telekung has become the principal form of dress for Muslim women in Indonesia and Malaysia – as well as other Southeast Asian countries including Brunei, the Philippines, and Thailand – signifying their identities as Muslims. Kerudung is designed to be short, covering the hair to the neck; the mukena, on the other hand, is longer, covering the head and falling to the knees to cover the entire body. This design was meant to accommodate those who wore shorter, tighter dresses – such as kebaya, a long-sleeved dress, or long blouse – and could be worn on top. The design of the mukena is simple, covering the whole body from the top of the head to the knees. The modernisation and commercialisation of Islamic dress

The wearing of kerudung (jilbab or hijab) has recently become a common phenomenon throughout Southeast Asia, particularly Indonesia, not only among women but also for young girls. Even when not ofcially required, elementary students wear kerudung. In line with this growing trend for wearing kerudung in daily life, a variety of brands have appeared on the Indonesian market, including Rabbani, Shafra, Elzatta, Jenahara, Meccanism, Hijab Alila, and Zoya, ofering kerudung in various styles and colours.34 The telekung worn for prayers, including the mukena, has also been developed in a number of designs and colours; the following discussion examines these new brands of kerudung and mukena. Numerous brands of kerudung have been developed in Indonesia, with popular modern designs that are often costly. These brands provide alternative clothing choices for the middle-class Muslim community. One brand, called Philosophy, designs collections of “light and colourful” fashion that coordinate easily, incorporating a variety of designs and colours for both everyday wear and special occasions. Its elegant styling promises comfort and a feeling of confdence for women. They have developed their products to include kerudung suitable for school, inner as well as outer dress, pashminas that complement the style, bandanas, and accessories. Famous artists promote their designs, while they also incorporate religious discourses into

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their advertising, gaining halal certifcation from the government and using slogans such as “Cantik, Nyaman, Halal” (beautiful, comfortable, lawful).35 Such advertising demonstrates that they intend to send a double message to consumers of both physical comfort and religious correctness. Interestingly, some advertisements even explicitly stress the necessity of lawful Islamic dress for good and pious Muslims, often including reference to the material used as well as the size, colour, and style of the jilbab. Researchers have understood this kind of promotion as a way of commodifying religion and values that attracts customers.36 This is clearly a successful approach in a society in which people wish to prioritise religion in their lives, yet many have criticised the use of halal certifcation as a way of selling products. Many brands selling mukena have also fourished, and there are new trends in mukena styles in Indonesia every year. One design of 2013 that became the ‘must-have’ item for Muslim women in the region became known as the ‘mukena Bali.’37 Made from rayon fabrics that are cool and comfortable to wear, and often patterned with fowers, this style is inexpensive and remains in demand. Nowadays, the mukena has become a fashion item as well as a necessary way of covering awra for prayers. In earlier times, mukena worn for prayers were always white, while now they can be found in various colours, as well as with patterns ranging from polka dots to fowered prints. The mukena used to be a one-piece garment but is now designed in a number of styles including two-piece variations, in numerous fabrics from cotton to silk. There are even mukena designed for travel, usually made of parachute fabric that are light and can be packed easily into a small bag. One Islamic fashion company in Yogyakarta created a version that folds smaller than any other design and means that Muslim women can always have a mukena for prayers that they can carry when travelling.38 In Malaysia, the widespread growth of brands selling modest clothing has led to a new climate of ‘elite hijab.’ Several designers launched a range of luxury hijab styles that cater to afuent Muslim women, particularly millennial middle-class Malays. This, according to Hassim,39 is a strategy to counter unfavourable perceptions of veiling associated with elderly, unfashionable Malay Muslim makciks (aunties). One famous brand selling mukena, Siti Khadijah Telekung, has become a leader in prayer apparel for Muslim women in Malaysia, and has expanded its sales to Indonesia and the UK. This premium mukena brand ofers four unique designs to suit diferent facial shapes.40 While it previously ofered only white mukena as a sign of elegance and exclusivity, it has now begun to market them in a variety of colours from pastel to black, with simple decorations such as lace. Siti Khadijah Telekung is popular in Indonesia as well as Malaysia and has been imitated by other companies in the clothing industry.41

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Islamic wedding dress: emerging trends in Indonesia, Malaysia, and Thailand

At weddings in Southeast Asia, couples wear traditional dress made from the best quality materials. The couple is seen as ‘king and queen’ for a day, leading to the tradition of wearing the golden yellow colour of royalty, according to Condra.42 With the advent of Islam, wedding dress, like everyday clothing, also adapted to refect the values of the new religion. As previously discussed, Indonesians have been brilliantly creative both in blending pre-Islamic and Islamic styles, and in maintaining their traditional heritage in the face of the pressures of modernisations – including their choice of dress for wedding celebrations. Indonesia, with over a thousand ethnic and sub-ethnic groups, boasts a wide variety of traditional wedding attire; each group has its own unique wedding customs and styles, but most include a head covering accessorised with decorative elements. The Javanese, comprising 42% of the population, are the largest ethnic group with the most signifcant infuence on national dress. The kebaya, a long-sleeved dress adorned with lace and embroidery, originates in Java.43 The phenomenon of Javanese-Islamic wedding dresses emerged in the frst decade of the twenty-frst century, particularly in urban centres such as Surabaya and Jakarta. According to Meyraswati,44 the transformation from purely traditional Javanese bridal costume to an Islamic style is popular among the majority of Indonesians: the bride and groom usually wish to uphold Javanese customs and also to obey the Islamic requirement to cover the awra. This Javanese-Islamic style has developed as a major wedding fashion trend, and bridal fashion and make-up artists (pemaes) have played a signifcant role in promoting its popularity. Their function, as well as that of the Javanese-Islamic wedding dress, according to Mayrasyawati, refects a unity that cannot be separated from the concept of the bridal fashion. In Javanese traditional wedding dress, accessories such as sanggul, kembang goyang, melati tiba dada, jarik, and kebaya symbolise Javanese values. For the sake of respecting Islamic values on covering the awra, these accessories are now blended with kerpus – a traditional men’s hat, similar to the Muslim prayer cap – and kerudung. The kebaya, which used to be semitransparent, showing skin, has also been modifed to follow Islamic guidance on modesty. Over time, some symbols and rituals in the Javanese wedding that were specifcally related to Hinduism and animism have been eliminated, making the Javanese Muslim ceremony simpler and more modern than the traditional form.45 Traditional wedding dress among Malays in Sumatra and Kalimantan has also incorporated Islamic guidance on modest attire. Women’s blouses, or baju kurung, are loose and do not show the shape of the body, while men’s suits, or baju teluk belanga, are worn with a sarong. On the island of

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FIGURE 6.1

Javanese wedding dress

(Source: personal collection)

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FIGURE 6.2

Sundanese wedding dress

(Source: personal collection)

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Sulawesi, the Buginese have adapted wedding style by including kerudung as part of the bride’s costume. Kerudung has also become part of modern aesthetics in Gorontaloese wedding dress, although today there is a growing trend for brides to choose a more close-ftting dress.46 Malay wedding dress styles have also derived from the national dress, baju kurung, with fve styles worn by Malay brides during wedding ceremonies: baju kurung teluk belanga, baju kebaya, baju kebaya modern, baju kurung modern, and contemporary baju kebaya.47 In the past, these were limited to baju kurung teluk belanga and baju kebaya, and today these are still the most popular styles. Wedding dresses are usually in two pieces; the top part is the baju kurung, while the lower part is the skirt. The bridal baju kurung teluk belanga is loose, with a pocket at the front. The sleeves are from shoulder to wrist, and loose. It is not difcult to observe Islamic rules on modest clothing for wedding designers – it simply requires the addition of a veil to cover the bride’s hair. In Thailand, there has been considerable debate about changing styles of wedding dress. There are two main Muslim groups in Thailand – the ‘native Muslims’ or Malays residing in the southern provinces, and the ‘settled’ or ‘naturalised’ Muslims of diferent ethnic backgrounds who are found across the country – and as a result there is wide linguistic, cultural and political variety within the Muslim community. Yet both groups share similar attitudes to Muslims in Malaysia when it comes to wedding dress. As in Malaysia, most men wear a suit of baju teluk belanga, while women wear a white gown.48 Aspects of veiling in Southeast Asia: Islamic correctness, fashion, and identity

The preceding discussion on the localisation and modernisation of Muslim dress in Southeast Asia has shown that embracing Islam has not entailed the elimination of previous cultural encounters. Islamic cultures and local cultures were engaged in interaction and dialogue to produce a form that Woodward describes as “local Islam.” Muslims in Southeast Asia wish to follow Islamic law and also to maintain their traditional culture, since both form a part of their identity. Styles of dress in everyday life and at wedding celebrations are a clear illustration of this kind of assimilation, and strengthens scholarly arguments on “local Islam.” Overall, Muslims in Southeast Asia are multi-cultural and accept diversity in dress provided it remains in line with Islamic teachings on awra. It is therefore interesting to refect on the key elements involved in the process of localisation and modernisation of dress and veiling. We identifed three elements, already observed in earlier research, which were discussed by the Muslim women we interviewed: Islamic correctness, fashion, and a sense of national identity.

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Islamic correctness

The question of the Islamic correctness in clothing is of growing importance to Muslim women today, and there are a variety of diferent views on the evolution of clothing style in relation to religious guidance on modesty. One of our interviewees, identifed as IS, a housewife and mother, said that she began to wear jilbab as an expression of her Muslim identity and for the sake of Islamic correctness. Previously, she had felt excluded from the Muslim community in her area, where most women wear jilbab. DV, a cadari49 woman, told us that she wore jilbab to show her Islamic credentials, and that wearing cadar perfects her religious practice. She said she would love to wear a colourful cadar, however, and accepts that many Muslim women prefer to wear local kerudung in contemporary styles. She also wears mukena when saying prayers, although since her veil covers her whole body – including her face – she is already dressed suitably without the need for additional covering. She associates wearing mukena with purity, however, and sees it as a more spiritual form of dress appropriate for prayer. She also warned that other Muslim women should not wear colourful and fashionable mukenas, since it would disrupt the concentration of others. Another cadari woman, HR, also expressed the belief that mukena is a purer kind of dress to wear while praying and said that she was not interested in wearing more colourful kerudung; she prefers to wear black, with minimal decoration. Interestingly, both these women stressed the idea of purity, and mentioned that they support the practice of labelling items of Islamic clothing to certify them as halal.50 The development of wedding dress styles shows that, today, wearing jilbab is considered Islamically correct. Before the early 2000s, Muslim women did not wear an Islamic style of dress on their wedding day, while today it is considered normal. One Indonesian woman, AT, said that she was glad to live now and to have married at a time when Islamic values had been integrated into wedding style. This view also holds true for women in Malaysia and Thailand, who have been quick to adopt the style for more Islamic bridal attire. Wedding dress traditions are modifed over time. Muslim women in Indonesia, Malaysia, and Thailand have continued to wear traditional clothes, with all their ritual symbolism, but also adopted kerudung to cover their hair and to serve as a marker of religiosity. The combination of kerudung with traditional costume signifes their identity as Muslims as well as Southeast Asians and demonstrates their piety. The middle class now prefer to wear modern wedding dress that is in line with Islamic dress codes – usually simpler, looser styles that hide the bride’s skin and fgure. Most men choose to wear a suit, which fts with whatever the bride is wearing. This all supports the arguments of Shioya and Suciati, who have discussed the trend for

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middle-class Muslims today to think carefully about the Islamic correctness of their dress and try to comply to Islamic guidance on awra.51 Fashion

Muslim women who wear kerudung in their daily lives, and others who wear it only on certain occasions, contribute interesting perspectives on the reception of Islamic dress codes and their development in Indonesia. Those who wear it on a daily basis argue that covering awra does not mean being unfashionable, and most adapt their style based on changing designs. Women who choose to wear it only for special occasions strengthen the idea that kerudung is considered fashionable, as well as an expression of religious beliefs, as indicated by many researchers such as Turmudi, Beta, and Ingham and Dirgantoro.52 MN, a non-hijabi woman, sees local kerudung as a positive development, demonstrating the element of fashion in veiling. For her, as for others, it is easier to adapt when she feels the need to wear it for a special occasion. In a similar way, RS noted that kerudung is something new in Southeast Asia and can be perfectly adapted to existing culture. To them, it is a fashion that can be deliberately chosen and worn on the appropriate occasions. While they feel that wearing skirts and clothes without hijab is in accordance with Islam, they agree that it is important to wear it at certain times. They mentioned that when they go to an Islamic gathering, or pengajian, they adapt their clothing to a more Islamic form, and kerudung is an important part of this. This is particularly the case when it comes to mukena. Many women in Indonesia still prefer not to wear kerudung in daily life, but still perform Islamic obligations such as prayer and pilgrimage; at these times, they wear mukena. Women who work in Islamic clothing sales particularly stressed the role of kerudung in fashion and approved of the evolution in its style and design. They spoke of wearing hijab as obligatory, but fashion as an important aspect of it, and accepted changes in design and colour. One woman, MNJ, said that she would never criticise another Muslim’s choice of colour or design, and believed that contemporary Indonesia ofers veiling fashions that would be favoured by God. Her sentiments are echoed by wedding make-up artists, who also believe that beautiful expressions of Islamic dress are preferred by God and think that, since a woman is a bride only once in her lifetime, her beauty should be emphasised on that occasion. One, TS, said that developing and refning the wedding dress is even an Islamic necessity. Her argument refects the views of one Muslim scholar who said that, in the context of weddings, luxury is a necessity (taḥsinīyyāt), and fashion is raised to the level of obligation (hājjīyāt.) In the same way, AW and AR stressed that Islamic correctness and fashion go hand in hand.

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Nevertheless, it is also true that some Muslims in these three countries, particularly Indonesia and Malaysia, resist the moderate and modernised forms of Islamic headscarves. Some shops only sell Islamic clothing that adheres to an extremely strict defnition of Islamic dress codes in terms of colour, design, and material. One group of Muslims in Makassar, for example, believe that more modern Islamic clothing does not cover the awra in a way that is religiously correct.53 Nevertheless, they do not resist the changing trends violently, but through themselves acting as models for what they consider to be religious correctness, and practising the style of veiling they see as Islamic. National identity

In recent years, Muslims in Southeast Asia have become more assertive in defning their own uniqueness. As Mansoor Moaddel has argued, this shows the dynamic nature of their religiosity, which is both embedded in the local context and also inspired by Islamic paradigms.54 An emphasis on openness and pluralism, Moaddel continued, has paved the way for wider dialogue between nations and cultures. Muhammad Ali has also stressed that ‘localisation’ signifes a process of selective appropriation to make sense of something that was originally ‘foreign,’ rendering it familiar and valuable.55 However, Ali then reminds us that local cultural systems change with the localisation of foreign concepts, as is the case in Indonesia after the arrival of Islam. This argument is particularly relevant in a discussion of Islamic veiling in Southeast Asia as a refection of national identity. NN validates Ali’s theory with her opinion that the localisation and modernisation of kerudung is specifc to Southeast Asia, and is perfectly acceptable, contrasting it with the phenomenon of Arabisation embraced by a minority of Muslim groups in the region. She stressed that veiling is related to national identity, pointing out that kerudung has been adopted by female authority fgures such as Zakiyah Darajat, and the wives of leaders of the two Islamic movements – NU (Nahdlatul Ulama) and Muhammadiyah – including Sinta Nuriyah. She went further, saying that colourful dress and diferent designs could be of value to wearers, particularly when involved in crowded religious events such as hajj, and observed that the style of kerudung or mukena worn by women of Indonesia, Malaysia, and Thailand meant that they could be easily recognised. Indonesian, Malaysian, and Thai Muslims often adopt a distinctive local ‘uniform’ when making the pilgrimage, usually made of local fabrics such as batik, and wear mukena and kerudung of the same colour and pattern so that they can easily identify each other in a group.56 NN described experiencing this during her own pilgrimage and explained what a great advantage it was. At the same time, she felt proud to be immediately identifable as Southeast Asian as a result of her dress. It is particularly interesting to note

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that governments and institutions are responsible for managing pilgrimage services and have adopted the practice of using these local ‘uniforms,’ thus integrating religion and national identity on an ofcial level. Islamic legal arguments on the localisation and modernisation of women’s dress

The majority of Muslims in Southeast Asia have been receptive to local forms of Islamic dress and believe that wearing telekung is an appropriate way to cover their awra. Moreover, this view is supported by Muslim authorities, both in the past and today. It is to their legal arguments that we now turn. Sheikh Abdul Rauf al-Fansuri, a notable seventeenth-century scholar, mentioned the development of a localised form of Islamic headscarf and wrote that telekung was a correct form of dress for everyday wear, meeting the criteria for hijab outlined in the sharīʿa.57 He specifed that hijab should be long and loose-ftting, like telekung, and also mentioned that another form of headscarf, the selendang, was considered proper for older Muslim women. Selendang is similar to a shawl, is smaller than telekung, and is a widespread form of dress among Malays.58 Another Muslim scholar of the nineteenth century, Hamka, also provided convincing arguments on the legal appropriateness of telekung, and argued that Muslims around the world could fnd ways of adapting Islamic clothing to local cultures while observing religious values.59 These early texts show that moderation in Islamic teaching had already become part of the culture of Southeast Asia. It is also instructive to understand more recent legal arguments surrounding the development of telekung (both kerudung and mukena). Scholars have debated the exact meaning of awra, particularly concerning covering women’s hair, and this issue has become part of the discourse on the modernisation of telekung. This is particularly relevant in light of the increasing polarisation of Muslim groups in the region, as it illustrates their understandings of Islam. In Indonesia, for example, Muslims are conventionally divided into traditionalists and Wahhabi-infuenced modernists. For much of the twentieth century, the former group was represented by the NU (Nahdlatul Ulama), a traditionalist conservative movement based in rural Java, and the latter by the Muhammadiyah, a more modernist and innovative group centred in urban Java and the outer islands. In Malaysia, although the situation is very diferent, a similar polarisation has emerged.60 The diversity of Muslim groups in Southeast Asia indicates that Islam has been understood in a dynamic way, while veiling is one of the issues that clearly shows the implementation of Islamic teaching in the context of the local context and modernisation. The modifcation of the jilbab, including a variety of colours and styles, has always been perceived as normal and in line with the development of knowledge, technology, and art. Based on our

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interviews with Muslim authorities from various Islamic organisations, we found that telekung is generally considered correct attire for both daily activities and prayers among scholars from both the NU and Muhammadiyah. One female Muslim authority fgure, NN, told us that she saw kerudung – with all its changes in style – as a suitable form of Islamic hijab. She said that Indonesia had its own distinct local tradition and that Indonesian Muslims have a good knowledge of Islamic observance, including veiling. She also stated that accommodating local values does not mean contradicting those of Islam. WG, an activist from Muhammadiyah, held the same opinion, arguing that it was good to wear jilbab to cover the awra, regardless of what form that covering may take. What is signifcant is the intention to guard the awra from the gaze of others. A number of Muslim scholars we spoke to proposed instructive arguments on colour and design. NN, an activist from the NU, saw colourful jilbab as acceptable, since colour does not contradict Islamic teachings on veiling; it is simply a personal choice, like the style and design. AW, a member of Muhammadiyah, agreed. Another young Muslim member of the NU, Kodir, felt that there was no specifc religious text directing Muslim women to wear a particular colour or style of veil, while Anti, an authority from the PKS (Partai Keadilan Sejahtera, or Prosperity and Justice Party, a conservative Islamic movement61), also argued that colour and style were a matter of fashion and variation was perfectly acceptable. For her, the key issue was to cover the awra, so she stressed that the material should not be too thin; the length, looseness, and thickness of the garments were the most important points to consider. Moreover, all these respondents believed that the local style of kerudung conveyed the specifc nature of religious observance in Southeast Asia. Kodir, for example, mentioned the difering cultural norms in Muslim countries around the world, and felt that the Indonesian style was both culturally and religiously appropriate. He argued that the modernisation of veiling style was not only acceptable but a necessity, saying that while the key Islamic teachings were universal their implementation was fexible and could vary at a local level. He added that, in his opinion, the localisation of religious teaching was Islamically correct. NN made a similar argument, saying that Islamic dress did not mean imitating Arabic styles, echoing Shioya’s understanding of Islamic “correctness.”62 Anti, the member of the PKS, also told us that localising and modernising Islamic teaching on covering the awra was religiously correct, since it supported religious observance while also showing the distinct national identity of the wearers. Two women we spoke to in Malaysia, FSY and TN, shared the same views, believing that local styles were compatible with Islamic teaching and stressing the importance of appropriate kerudung. Another Malaysian scholar also agreed that the development of Islamic styles was correct, while noting that in some cases modern styles and the materials used could fail to meet the

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requirement of covering the awra. Overall, however, he believed that local styles of hijab have enabled Muslim women to conform to Islamic teachings, basing his opinion on the legal maxim “mā lā yudraku kulluhu, lā yudrak kulluh”: “what cannot be performed perfectly should still be performed as far as possible.”63 All these arguments refect what Hassim has called the “negotiation of Malayness” in the new economy of veiling which, she says, relies on “the desire for young Malay-Muslims to remain ethnically dominant within a changing community of imported fads and trends, particularly [the] Islamisation and Arabisation of the nation state which now in its coercion reassures ‘others’ that hijab is no [longer] backward.”64 In choosing a form of dress which is both Islamically correct and rooted in the local heritage, Malay women are reclaiming adat and establishing themselves as “bourgeois,” struggling to maintain their traditions and at the same time integrate their self-image with contemporary forms of Islam. Conclusion

Our research led us to four main conclusions. Firstly, Muslims in Southeast Asia have succeeded in incorporating local traditions into their dress style while observing the Islamic teaching of veiling, wearing telekung to cover the awra both in daily life, for prayers, and for special occasions such as weddings. Secondly, the development of these local styles and people’s understanding of covering the awra has a distinct local nature. Thirdly, the modifcation of these local styles that has emerged with modernisation has conformed to Islamic legal requirements, as Muslims with varying ideologies agree; all of our respondents argued that the adaptation of the Muslim veil to suit the local context was correct, and they supported the modernisation of kerudung styles. Finally, veiling has more functions than simply meeting the requirement of covering the awra. It is also a fashion; this is clearly demonstrated by the fact that many Muslim women in Indonesia choose to wear kerudung only for special occasions, such as their wedding day. Expressions of Islamic veiling change with the modernisation of clothing styles, and the acceptance of these changes shows that – for Muslims in Indonesia, Malaysia, and Thailand – there is no contradiction between religiosity, local identity, and the desire to follow fashion. Notes 1 Mohd. bin Haji Ishak Shuhaimi and Osman Chuah Abdullah, “Islam and the Malay World: An Insight into the Assimilation of Islamic Values,” World Journal of Islamic History and Civilization 2:2 (2012), 58–65. 2 Ali Tantowi, “The Quest of Indonesian Muslim Identity: Debates on Veiling from the 1920s to 1940s,” Journal Of Indonesian Islam 4:1 (2010), 62–90.

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3 Anggraini Binti Ramli and Radwan Jamal Elatrash, “A  Refection on Women Attire in Quran; A  Study of Sheikh Abdurrauf al-Fansury’s Views on Ayat al-Hijab,” Mazahib 16:2 (2017), 125–34. 4 Nancy J. Smith-Hefner, “Javanese Women and the Veil in Post-Soeharto Indonesia,” The Journal of Asian Studies 66:2 (2007), 389–420. 5 Suzanne Brenner, “Reconstructing Self and Society: Javanese Muslim Women and ‘the Veil,’ ” American Ethnologist 23:4 (1996), 673–97. 6 Saniah Ahmad and Zairul Anuar Md Dawam, “Revolusi Bentuk, Fungsi Dan Trend Pemakaian Tudung Di Malaysia: Revolution of Form, Function and Trends in the Application of ‘Tudung’ in Malaysia,” Jurnal Gendang Alam (GA) 10 (2020), 121–42. Yuyun Sunesti, “Veiling: Between Social Imaginary and the Politic of Multiculturalism In Indonesia and Malaysia,” Musãwa Jurnal Studi Gender Dan Islam 15:2 (2016), 145. Nurzihan Hassim, “Glocalizing’ the Hijab: A Malaysian Perspective,” SHS Web of Conferences 33 (2017). 7 Madeeha Shah, Naima Tabassum, and Ahmed Ali Brohi, “The Patterns of Veiling Articles among Female Academicians of Three Universities of Malaysia,” Asia Pacifc, Research Journal 34 (2016), 106–22. 8 Amily Fikry and Mohd Rozi Ahmad, “Malaysian’s Young Consumer Preferences of Hijab,” Journal of Reviews on Global Economics 8 (2019), 916–24. 9 Aethiqah Suraya Binti Abdul Halim, “Veiling: Not Just About ‘Women and Religion’ Among Malay Women in Malaysia,” 1st International Conference on New Approaches in Social Science and Humanities (Atalya: ICSER-International Center of Social Science & Education Research, 2018). Sandra Hochel, “To Veil or Not to Veil: Voices of Malaysian Muslim Women,” Intercultural Communication Studies XXII:2 (2013), 40–57. Elizabeth M. Bucar, Pious Fashion: How Muslim Women Dress (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2017), 171–2. 10 Ikuya Tokoro, Tōkyō Gaikokugo Daigaku, and Ajia Afurika Gengo Bunka Kenkyūjo, in Islam and Cultural Diversity in Southeast Asia (Tokyo: Research Institute for Languages and Cultures of Asia and Africa (ILCAA), Tokyo University of Foreign Studies, 2018), 1–14. Shuhaimi and Abdullah, “Islam and the Malay World: An Insight into the Assimilation of Islamic Values.” 11 Deny Hamdani, “The Quest for Indonesian Islam: Contestation and Consensus Concerning Veiling,” (PhD diss., Australian National University, 2001). Imtiyaz Yusuf, “Faces of Islam in Southern Thailand,” East-West Center Washington Working Paper 7 (March 2007), 51. 12 Momo Shioya, “The Wedding Ceremony as an Expression of Modern Muslim Identity – A Case Study of Central Java,” in Ikuyu Tokoro et al. (eds.), Islam and Cultural Diversity in Southeast Asia (Tokyo: Tokyo University of Foreign Studies, 2015), 22. 13 Mayang Tresna Dewi and Citra Puspitasari, “Penerapan Konsep Syar’i Modern Pada Desain Busana Pengantin Muslimah,” Atrat: Jurnal Seni Rupa 6:3 (2018), 235–41. 14 Nasa’ie Zainuddin et al., “The Evolution of Malay Bride’s Traditional Wedding Attire in Peninsular Malaysia,” Environment-Behaviour Proceedings Journal 5 (2020), 239–47. 15 Abu Abdillah ibn Ahmad al-Anshari Al-Qurthubi, Al-Jāmi‟ Li Ahkāmi Al-Qur‟ān, vol. 6 (Beirut: Dār al-Kutub al-‘Ilmiyyah, 2004), 182. 16 Binti Ramli and Elatrash, “A Refection on Women Attire in Quran; A Study of Sheikh Abdurrauf al-Fansury’s Views on Ayat al-Hijab.” 17 It is important to note that hijab signifes a partition or screen, and relates not only to the veil but also to sight. Women’s awra is discussed in more detail in the Qurʾān and regulated more closely, since women are believed to carry the potential to cause ftna and harm Muslim men. Verse eighteen in the Qurʾān states that

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men must lower their gaze to protect their eyes from women’s awra, meaning that they too are responsible for preventing potential harm. According to many scholars, such as Zamakhsyari, hijab is obligatory for both men and women, and both play an equal role in preventing any harm from occurring as a result of revealing the awra. See: Salam al-Mahadin, “The Social Semiotics of Hijab: Negotiating the Body Politics of Veiled Women,” Journal of Arab and Muslim Media Research 6:1 (2013), 3–18. Al-Qurthubi, Al-Jāmi‟ Li Ahkāmi Al-Qur‟ān, 6:183. See also Muhammad Quraish Shihab, Wawasan al-Quran tafsir tematik atas pelbagai persoalan umat (Bandung: Mizan, 2013), 205–7. Peter G. Riddell, Islam and the Malay-Indonesian World: Transmission and Responses (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2001), 41–3, 56–9. Christopher M. Joll, Muslim Merit-Making in Thailand’s Far-South, 1st ed., Muslims in Global Societies Series 4 (New York: Springer, 2012), 220. Meuleman, “The History of Islam in Southeast Asia: Some Questions and Debates.” A.B. Shamsul, “Islam Embedded: ‘Moderate’ Political Islam and Governance in Teh Malay World,” in Islam in Southeast Asia: Political, Social and Strategic Challenges for 21st Century (Singapore: ISEAS Publishing, 2005), 103–20. Hanisa Hassan, “A  Study on the Development of Baju Kurung Design in the Context of Cultural Changes in Modern Malaysia,” Wacana Seni Journal of Arts Discourse 15 (2016), 63–94. Azyumardi Azra, “Pluralism, Co-Existence and Religious Harmony: Indonesian Experience in the ‘Middle Path’,” in Abdul Aziz Said, Mohammed Abu-Nimer, and Meena Sharify-Funk (eds.), Contemporary Islam: Dynamic, not Static (London: Routledge, 2006). Azyumardi Azra, “Islamic Thought: Theory, Concepts, and Doctrines in the Context of Southeast Asian Islam,” in Islam in Southeast Asia: Political, Social, and Strategic Challenges for the 21st Century (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2005), 3–21. Tokoro, Tōkyō Gaikokugo Daigaku, and Ajia Afurika Gengo Bunka Kenkyūjo, Islam and Cultural Diversity in Southeast Asia, 5–6. Ernest Gellner, Muslim Society, 1993, 4–5; see also Tokoro, Tōkyō Gaikokugo Daigaku, and Ajia Afurika Gengo Bunka Kenkyūjo, 1–14. Mason C. Hoadley, “Continuity and Change in Javanese Legal Tradition: The Evidence of the Jayapattra,” Indonesia 11 (1971), 95–110. Cliford Geertz, The Religion of Java (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2006), 4–6. See also: Amanah Nurish, Agama Jawa: Setengah Abad Pasca Clifford Geertz (Yogyakarta: LKiS, 2019), 49. Mark R. Woodward, Islam in Java: Normative Piety and Mysticism in Sultanate of Yogakarta (Tucson: The University of Arizona Press, 1989), 52. Tantowi, “The Quest of Indonesian Muslim Identity.” Jill Condra (ed.), Encyclopedia of National Dress: Traditional Clothing Around the World (Santa Barbara: ABC-CLIO, 2013), 462. Ibid, 464. “10 Merek Jilbab Ternama Di Indonesia,” Jurnal Bumi, https://jurnalbumi.com/ top/merek-jilbab-ternama-di-indonesia/ (accessed October 25, 2020). Siti Maemonah, “Pengaruh Merek Dan Labelisasi Halal Terhadap Keputusan Pembelian Produk Jilbab Zoya : Studi Kasus Pada Konsumen Di Outlet Produk Jilbab Zoya Pamularsih Semarang” (Undergraduate diss., UIN Walisongo, 2017). Idi Subandy Ibrahim and Bachruddin Ali Akhmad, Komunikasi dan komodifkasi: mengkaji media dan budaya dalam dinamika globalisasi (Jakarta: Yayasan Obor Indonesia, 2014), 23. See also Yusar Muljadji, Bintarsih Sekarningrum, and

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R.A. Tachya Muhammad, “The Commodifcation of Religious Clothes Through the Social Media: The Identity Crisis on Youth Muslim Female in Urban Indonesia,” Revista Româna de Jurnalism Si Comunicare 12:2–3 (2017), 53–65. Warta Ekonomi, “Mukena Bali Laris Manis,” Warta Ekonomi, June 18, 2016, www.wartaekonomi.co.id/read103776/mukena-bali-laris-manis. “Mukena Lipatan Terkecil Masuk Muri,” March 11, 2007, www.nu.or.id/post/ read/8394/mukena-lipatan-terkecil-masuk-muri. Hassim, “Glocalizing’ the Hijab.” Dilip S. Mutum and Ezlika M. Ghazali, “Can Siti Khadijah Telekung Overcome Cultural Diferences in the UK?,” in Ezlika M. Ghazali et  al. (eds.), Management of Shari’ah Compliant Businesses, Management for Professionals (Cham: Springer International Publishing, 2019), 171–6. antvklik.com, “Antvklik,” ANTV, April  5, 2019, www.antvklik.com/headline/ telekung-siti-khadijah-berawal-dari-keinginan-membantu-suami. Condra, Encyclopedia of National Dress, 468. Condra, Encyclopedia of National Dress, 337. Dewi Meyrasyawati, “Fesyen Dan Identitas: Simbolisasi Budaya Dan Agama Dalam Busana Pengantin Jawa Muslim Di Surabaya,” Makara Human Behavior Studies in Asia 17:2 (2013), 99–108. Shioya, “The Wedding Ceremony as an Expression of Modern Muslim Identity – A Case Study of Central Java.” Hariana Hariana et al., “Aspects Underlying the Modifcation of Bridal Costume in Gorontalo at the Wedding Reception,” Jurnal Kawistara 7:3 (2018), 297. Zainuddin et al., “The Evolution of Malay Bride’s Traditional Wedding Attire in Peninsular Malaysia.” Yusuf, “Faces of Islam in Southern Thailand.” The cadar is a light veil that covers the face. Juri Lestari and Kamila Adnani, “Resepsi Komodifkasi Halal Pada Iklan Jilbab Zoya,” Academic Journal of Da’wa and Communication 1:1 (2020); Maemonah, “Pengaruh Merek Dan Labelisasi Halal Terhadap Keputusan Pembelian Produk Jilbab Zoya”. Momo Shioya, “Increasing Interest in Islamic Clothes and ‘Correctness’ in Indonesia,” in Ikuyu Tokoro et al. (eds.), Islam and Cultural Diversity in Southeast Asia (Tokyo: Tokyo University of Foreign Studies, 2015), 59–75; Suciati, Ethics and Aesthetic Appearance of Kebaya Indonesia, n.d. Endang Turmudi, “The Passion of Jilbab: Socio-Cultural Transformation of Indonesian Muslim Women” 6:5 (2016); Annisa R. Beta, “Hijabers: How Young Urban Muslim Women Redefne Themselves in Indonesia,” International Communication Gazette 76:4 (2014), 377–89; Sue Ingham and Wulandani Dirgantoro, “Identity, Religion, Repression, Or Fashion? The Indonesian Jilbab,” Broadsheet 25 (2007). Hassim, “Glocalizing’ the Hijab.” Mansoor Moaddel, “The Study of Islamic Culture and Politics: An Overview and Assessment,” Annual Review of Sociology 28:1 (2002), 370. Muhammad Ali, “Muslim Diversity: Islam and Local Tradition in Java and Sulawesi, Indonesia,” Indonesian Journal of Islam and Muslim Societies 11 (2011). “Jemaah Haji Indonesia Akan Kenakan Mukena Seragam – ANTARA News,” www.antaranews.com/berita/392358/jemaah-haji-indonesia-akan-kenakan-mukenaseragam (accessed January 9, 2021). Syeikh Abdul Rauf Ali Jawi al-Fansuri, Turjuman al-mustafd (Kuala Lumpur: Khazanah Fathaniyah, 2014), 81. Binti Ramli and Elatrash, “A Refection on Women Attire in Quran; a Study of Sheikh Abdurrauf al-Fansury’s Views on Ayat al-Hijab,” 131.

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59 Ali Muhtarom, The Concept of Satrul ‘Aurah According to Hamka’s Interpretation in Al-Azhar and M. Quraish Shihab’s Interpretation in Al-Miṣbāḥ (Comparative Study) (Semarang: State Islamic University Walisongo, 2015), 81. 60 Azra, “Islamic Thought: Theory, Concepts, and Doctrines in the Context of Southeast Asian Islam.” See also Meuleman, “The History of Islam in Southeast Asia: Some Questions and Debates.” 61 Ahmad-Norma Permata, “Ideology, Institutions, Political Actions: Prosperous Justice Party (Pks) in Indonesia,” Asien 109 (2008), 22–36. 62 Shioya, “Increasing Interest in Islamic Clothes and ‘Correctness’ in Indonesia.” 63 Firda Anisa, Trend Fashion Muslimah Perspektif Mahasiswi Syari’ah Universitas Sains Islam Malaysia Dan Syari’ah Universitas Islam Indonesia (Yogyakarta: Universitas Islam Indonesia, 2018), 58. 64 Hassim, “Glocalizing’ the Hijab.”

Bibliography Abdul Halim, Aethiqah Suraya Binti, Veiling: Not Just About ‘Women and Religion’ Among Malay Women in Malaysia, Atalya: ICSER-International Center of Social Science & Education Research, 2018. Ahmad, Saniah, and Zairul Anuar Md Dawam, “Revolusi Bentuk, Fungsi Dan Trend Pemakaian Tudung di Malaysia: Revolution of Form, Function and Trends in the Application of ‘Tudung’ in Malaysia,” Jurnal Gendang Alam (GA) 10 (2020), 121–42. Ali, Muhammad, “Muslim Diversity: Islam and Local Tradition in Java and Sulawesi, Indonesia,” Indonesian Journal of Islam and Muslim Societies 1:1 (2011), 1. Anisa, Firda, “Trend Fashion Muslimah Perspektif Mahasiswi Syari’ah Universitas Sains Islam Malaysia dan Syari’ah Universitas Islam Indonesia,” Bachelor’s dissertation, Universitas Islam Indonesia, 2018. Antara News, “Jemaah Haji Indonesia Akan Kenakan Mukena Seragam,” www. antaranews.com/berita/392358/jemaah-haji-indonesia-akan-kenakan-mukenaseragam (accessed January 9, 2021). antvklik.com, “Antvklik,” ANTV, April 5, 2019, www.antvklik.com/headline/telekungsiti-khadijah-berawal-dari-keinginan-membantu-suami (accessed December 12, 2020). Azra, Azyumardi, “Islamic Thought: Theory, Concepts, and Doctrines in the Context of Southeast Asian Islam,” in K.S. Nathan and Muhammad Hashim Kamali (eds.), Islam in Southeast Asia: Political, Social, and Strategic Challenges for the 21st Century (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2005), 3–21. Azra, Azyumardi, “Pluralism, Co-Existence and Religious Harmony: Indonesian Experience in the ‘Middle Path,’ ” in Abdul Aziz Said, Mohammed Abu-Nimer, and Meena Sharify-Funk (eds.), Contemporary Islam: Dynamic, Not Static, London: Routledge, 2006. Beta, Annisa R., “Hijabers: How Young Urban Muslim Women Redefne Themselves in Indonesia,” International Communication Gazette 76:4 (2014), 377–89. Binti Ramli, Anggraini, and Radwan Jamal Elatrash, “A Refection on Women’s Attire in Qurʾān; a Study of Sheikh Abdurrauf al-Fansury’s Views on Ayat al-Hijab,” Mazahib 16:2 (2017), 125–34. Brenner, Suzanne, “Reconstructing Self and Society: Javanese Muslim Women and ‘the Veil,’ ” American Ethnologist 23:4 (1996), 673–97.

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Bucar, Elizabeth M., Pious Fashion: How Muslim Women Dress, Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2017. Condra, Jill (ed.), Encyclopedia of National Dress: Traditional Clothing Around the World, Santa Barbara: ABC-CLIO, 2013. Dewi, Mayang Tresna, and Citra Puspitasari, “Penerapan Konsep Syar’i Modern Pada Desain Busana Pengantin Muslimah,” Atrat: Jurnal Seni Rupa 6:3 (2018), 235–41. Al-Fansuri, Syeikh Abdul Rauf Ali Jawi, Turjuman al-mustafd, Kuala Lumpur: Khazanah Fathaniyah, 2014. Fikry, Amily, and Mohd Rozi Ahmad, “Malaysian’s Young Consumer Preferences of Hijab,” Journal of Reviews on Global Economics 8 (2019), 916–24. Geertz, Cliford, The Religion of Java, Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2006. Gellner, Ernest, Muslim Society, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993. Hamdani, Deny, “The Quest for Indonesian Islam: Contestation and Consensus Concerning Veiling,” PhD dissertation, Australian National University, 2001. Hariana, H., G. Simatupang, T. Haryono, and S. Gustami, “Aspects Underlying the Modifcation of Bridal Costume in Gorontalo at the Wedding Reception,” Jurnal Kawistara 7:3 (2018), 297. Hassan, Hanisa, “A Study on the Development of Baju Kurung Design in the Context of Cultural Changes in Modern Malaysia,” Wacana Seni Journal of Arts Discourse 15 (2016), 63–94. Hassim, Nurzihan, “Glocalizing’ the Hijab: A Malaysian Perspective,” in SHS Web of Conferences, vol. 33 (Kuala Lumpur: EDP Sciences, 2017). Hoadley, Mason C., “Continuity and Change in Javanese Legal Tradition: The Evidence of the Jayapattra,” Indonesia 11 (1971), 95–110. Hochel, Sandra, “To Veil or Not to Veil: Voices of Malaysian Muslim Women,” Intercultural Communication Studies 22:2 (2013), 40–57. Ibrahim, Idi Subandy, and Ali Akhmad Bachruddin, Komunikasi dan komodifkasi: mengkaji media dan budaya dalam dinamika globalisasi, Jakarta: Yayasan Obor Indonesia, 2014. Ingham, Sue, and Wulandani Dirgantoro, “Identity, Religion, Repression, or Fashion? The Indonesian Jilbab,” Broadsheet 25, 2007. Joll, Christopher M., Muslim Merit-Making in Thailand’s Far-South, New York: Springer, 2012. Jurnal, Bumi, “10 Merek Jilbab Ternama Di Indonesia,” https://jurnalbumi.com/top/ merek-jilbab-ternama-di-indonesia/ (accessed October 25, 2020). Lestari, Juri, and Kamila Adnani, “Resepsi Komodifkasi Halal Pada Iklan Jilbab Zoya,” Academic Journal of Da’wa and Communication 1:1 (2020). Maemonah, Siti, Pengaruh Merek Dan Labelisasi Halal Terhadap Keputusan Pembelian Produk Jilbab Zoya: Studi Kasus Pada Konsumen di Outlet Produk Jilbab Zoya Pamularsih Semarang,” Undergraduate dissertation, UIN Walisongo, 2017. Al-Mahadin, Salam, “The Social Semiotics of Hijab: Negotiating the Body Politics of Veiled Women,” Journal of Arab and Muslim Media Research 6:1 (2013), 3–18. Meuleman, Johan H., “The History of Islam in Southeast Asia: Some Questions and Debates,” in K.S. Nathan and Mohammad Hashim Kamali (eds.), Islam in Southeast Asia: Political, Social and Strategic Challenges for 21st Century (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2005), 22–44.

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Meyrasyawati, Dewi, “Fesyen dan Identitas: Simbolisasi Budaya dan Agama Dalam Busana Pengantin Jawa Muslim di Surabaya,” Makara Human Behavior Studies in Asia 17:2 (2013), 99. Moaddel, Mansoor, “The Study of Islamic Culture and Politics: An Overview and Assessment,” Annual Review of Sociology 28:1 (2002), 359–86. Muhtarom, Ali, “The Concept of Satrul ‘Awra According to Hamka’s Interpretation in Al-Azhar and M. Quraish Shihab’s Interpretation in Al-Miṣbāḥ: Comparative Study,” Undergraduate (S1) Thesis, Universitas Islam Negeri, State Islamic University Walisongo, Semarang, 2015. Muljadji, Yusar, Bintarsih Sekarningrum, and R.A. Tachya Muhammad, “The Commodifcation of Religious Clothes Through the Social Media: The Identity Crisis on Youth Muslim Female in Urban Indonesia,” Revista Româna de Jurnalism Si Comunicare 12:2 (2017), 53–65. Mutum, Dilip S., and Ezlika M. Ghazali, “Can Siti Khadijah Telekung Overcome Cultural Diferences in the UK?,” in Ezlika M. Ghazali, Dilip S. Mutum, Mamunur Rashid, and Jashim U. Ahmed (eds.), Management of Shari’ah Compliant Businesses (Cham: Springer International Publishing, 2019), 171–6. NU Online, “Mukena Lipatan Terkecil Masuk Muri,” March 11, 2007, www.nu.or. id/post/read/8394/mukena-lipatan-terkecil-masuk-muri (accessed September  21, 2020). Nurish, Amanah, Agama Jawa: Setengah Abad Pasca Cliford Geertz, Yogyakarta: LKiS, 2019. Permata, Ahmad-Norma, “Ideology, Institutions, Political Actions: Prosperous Justice Party (Pks) in Indonesia,” Asien 109 (2008), 22–36. Al-Qurthubi, Abu Abdillah ibn Ahmad al-Anshari, Al-Jāmi‟ Li Ahkāmi Al-Qur‟ān, vol. 6, Beirut: Dār al-Kutub al-‘Ilmiyyah, 2004. Riddell, Peter G., Islam and the Malay-Indonesian World: Transmission and Responses, Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2001. Shah, Madeeha, Naima Tabassum, and Ahmed Ali Brohi, “The Patterns of Veiling Articles among Female Academicians of Three Universities of Malaysia,” Asia Pacifc Research Journal 34 (2016), 106–22. Shamsul, A.B., “Islam Embedded: ‘Moderate’ Political Islam and Governance in the Malay World,” in K. S. Nathan and Mohammad Hashim Kamali (eds.), Islam in Southeast Asia: Political, Social and Strategic Challenges for 21st Century (Singapore: ISEAS Publishing, 2005), 103–20. Shihab, Muhammad Quraish, Wawasan al-Qurʾān tafsir tematik atas pelbagai persoalan umat, Bandung: Mizan, 2013. Shioya, Momo, “Increasing Interest in Islamic Clothes and ‘Correctness’ in Indonesia,” in Ikuyu Tokoro et al. (eds.), Islam and Cultural Diversity in Southeast Asia (Tokyo: Tokyo University of Foreign Studies, 2015a), 59–75. Shioya, Momo, “The Wedding Ceremony as an Expression of Modern Muslim Identity – A  Case Study of Central Java,” in Ikuyu Tokoro et  al. (eds.), Islam and Cultural Diversity in Southeast Asia (Tokyo: Tokyo University of Foreign Studies, 2015b), 22. Shuhaimi, Mohd. bin Haji Ishak, and Osman Chuah Abdullah, “Islam and the Malay World: An Insight into the Assimilation of Islamic Values,” World Journal of Islamic History and Civilization 2:2 (2012), 58–65. Smith-Hefner, Nancy J., “Javanese Women and the Veil in Post-Soeharto Indonesia,” The Journal of Asian Studies 66:2 (2007), 389–420.

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Suciati, “Ethics and Aesthetic Appearance of Kebaya Indonesia,” in Advances in Social Science, Education and Humanities Research, vol. 406, Open Access, Atlantis Press, 2020. Sunesti, Yuyun, “Veiling: Between Social Imaginary and the Politic of Multiculturalism in Indonesia and Malaysia,” Musãwa Jurnal Studi Gender Dan Islam 15:2 (2016), 145.Tantowi, Ali, “The Quest of Indonesian Muslim Identity: Debates on Veiling from the 1920s to 1940s,” Journal of Indonesian Islam 4:1 (2010), 62–90. Tokoro, Ikuya, Tōkyō Gaikokugo Daigaku, and Ajia Afurika Gengo Bunka Kenkyūjo, Islam and Cultural Diversity in Southeast Asia, Tokyo: Research Institute for Languages and Cultures of Asia and Africa (ILCAA), Tokyo University of Foreign Studies, 2018, 1–14. Turmudi, Endang, “The Passion of Jilbab: Socio-Cultural Transformation of Indonesian Muslim Women,” International Journal of Scientifc and Research Publications 6:5 (2016), 287–292. Warta Ekonomi, “Mukena Bali Laris Manis,” Warta Ekonomi, June 18, 2016, www. wartaekonomi.co.id/read103776/mukena-bali-laris-manis (accessed September 21, 2020). Woodward, Mark R., Islam in Java: Normative Piety and Mysticism in Sultanate of Yogyakarta, Tucson: The University of Arizona Press, 1989. Yusuf, Imtiyaz, “Faces of Islam in Southern Thailand,” East-West Center Washington Working Paper 7 (March 2007), 97–121. Zainuddin, Nasa’ie, Asliza Aris, Najua Tulos, and Muhammad Hisyam Zakaria, “The Evolution of Malay Bride’s Traditional Wedding Attire in Peninsular Malaysia,” Environment-Behaviour Proceedings Journal 5:1 (2020), 239–47.

7 MUSLIM COSMOPOLITANISM IN SOUTHEAST ASIA Marketplaces as sites of interaction and integration Khairudin Aljunied

A quick Google search for the latest works on Islam in Southeast Asia yields some very interesting results – yet also reveals an unfortunate trend. Among scholars, analysts, and pundits working on the region, attention has largely been centred on developments in political and radical Islam, now popularly termed “Islamism”: the Islamic resurgence in Southeast Asia that began in earnest in the 1970s. The literature on political and radical Islam developed rapidly in the wake of the September 11 attacks on New York City and in the midst of persistent threats posed by extremists in the following years. One major line of argument discernible in this strand of scholarship is that Islam in Southeast Asia was more inclusive and embracing prior to the advent of revivalist pulses from South Asia and the Middle East. The increasing number of women wearing hijab (the Muslim headscarf), the establishment of Islamically compliant institutions, the growth of assertive Islamic movements, and calls for the establishment of ḥudūd (Islamic criminal law) and sharīʿa (the Islamic ethical and religious code), as scholars working on political Islam have it, are indications that Muslims in Southeast Asia are set on the path of conservatism and confict with non-Muslims.1 It can be taken for granted that radicalism, fundamentalism, and various forms of religious assertiveness do exist among a minority. Yet the overwhelming scholarly focus on this minority only partially refects the actual realities of Islam and Muslims in region. Here, I argue that Islam in Southeast Asia is still characterised by its innately cosmopolitan character which enables its adherents to integrate peoples, ideas, and other infuences easily. I call this “Muslim cosmopolitanism.” I do not claim to have coined this term or to be the frst to draw attention to it. My thinking about this aspect of Southeast Asian Muslim life is primarily inspired by the work of Bruce Lawrence, DOI: 10.4324/9781032702902-10

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who calls for an unbiased, global, and comparative historical approach to Muslim societies in order to uncover enduring cosmopolitan sensibilities. He urges scholars to move beyond the sensational headlines of the contemporary media about the Islamic threat to look at the passionate interactions between Muslims and non-Muslims in history, especially in cities and urban areas. These connections have transcended religious afliations and were kept alive for a millennium, because “Islam is radically cosmopolitan in its origins.” To Lawrence, “Muslim cosmopolitanism . . . is nothing less than the urban, trans-cultural arc of an Islam inspired engagement with our common humanity.”2 Pace Lawrence, in this chapter I ofer my own defnition of the term “Muslim cosmopolitanism.” To put it succinctly, Muslim cosmopolitanism in Southeast Asia is a style of thought, a habit of seeing the world, and a way of living that is rooted in the central tenet of Islam, which is that all men are part of a common humanity accountable to God and that we are morally responsible for one another. To embrace Muslim cosmopolitanism is to exhibit a high degree of receptiveness to universal values that are embedded within one’s own customs and traditions (adat). Internalising Muslim cosmopolitanism enables a person to be at ease with his or her own Islamic and cultural identities, promoting these identities as a means to enrich public understanding about Islam and Muslims while embracing a tolerant attitude towards people from other backgrounds. It follows then that Muslim cosmopolitans adopt varied ways – all open-hearted and empowering – of thinking about Islam and life on the path of faith, ensuring that they are protecting the beliefs, heritage, culture, property, and rights of all groups and individuals in society. As living embodiments of Muslim cosmopolitanism, they are committed to a set of practices and actions that are aimed at enlivening the spirit of compassion (raḥma), justice (ʿadil), and consensus (mushāwara) in order to safeguard public interest (maṣlaḥa). Nowhere can Muslim cosmopolitanism be seen more vividly than in the marketplaces. In what follows, I  use edifying vignettes – ethnographic encounters as well as informative case studies from across Singapore, Malaysia, and Indonesia – to provide a panoramic view of Muslim cosmopolitan practices and outlooks in marketplaces. My angle of vision is centred primarily on Singapore, Malaysia, and Indonesia because these countries have been my archive, the primary sites of my enquiry, and the places that I have been most exposed to throughout my scholarly career. Forming the bulk of Muslim Southeast Asia, the combined population of Singapore, Malaysia, and Indonesia is estimated to be close to 280 million. Muslims are a minority in modern-day Singapore (15% of the total population) and are majorities in Malaysia (60% of the total population) and Indonesia (close to 90% of the total population).3 I begin by taking a historical view and explore how Southeast Asia developed the reputation of being a region of trading hubs

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and settlements for diverse communities. Such historical legacies, along with the built character of marketplaces in Penang and Kelantan, for example, set the stage for fuid interactions between businessmen, traders, and customers, and between Muslims and non-Muslims, each learning the subtleties of their respective cultures while appreciating one another’s diferences and commonalities alike. It will become obvious that Muslim cosmopolitanism must, above all, be analysed through the perspective of the marketplace, for these are “contact zones”4 where Southeast Asians from all religious faiths and persuasions interact and integrate with each other. The force of history

Visitors to the Tanah Abang area in Jakarta are often amazed by the vast, lavish green building that houses the largest textile market in Southeast Asia. Built in the image of the Islamic monuments of the medieval ArabTurkish and Persian cities, the Tanah Abang textile mall covers 160,000 square metres, including a mosque within it that can accommodate more than a thousand worshippers. The shops in this iconic mall are sites where bargaining and other commercial exchanges take place daily. Muslim clothing such as long gowns, headscarves, and tunic tops are sold there, alongside shoes and batik products. What is most amusing about this much discussed mega-mall is the pervasive presence of Chinese businessmen. This has not, however, dissuaded the majority Muslims in Southeast Asia from joining the droves of daily shoppers there.5 Tanah Abang is not the only modern market (also known as pasar in Malay) in Indonesia where such Muslim cosmopolitanism coexists seamlessly with the presence of all kinds of people, including the criminals and undesirables of the Jakarta area.6 The tenor of afable inter-religious and inter-communal exchanges is obvious at Tanah Abang, Senen, Pasar Baru, Glodok, Mangga Dua, Cempaka Mas, and Jatinegara in Indonesia. Elsewhere in Southeast Asia, such a scene is most vividly evident at the Geylang Serai market in the eastern part of Singapore. Known as “The Malay Emporium of Singapore,”7 the presence of diverse communities can be strongly felt at the market. To be sure, Malays in Singapore are fond of buying basic necessities and foodstufs, clothes, and other household products from shops in the area, whether owned by Muslims or non-Muslims. While English is the working language for most Singaporeans today due to the government’s policy of connecting Singapore with a globalising world and diferentiating the country from the rest of Muslim Southeast Asia, where the dominant language is Malay-Indonesian, in Geylang the more common mode of communication is Melayu Pasar (Market Malay), a mixture of Malay and English used by businessmen and their Muslim patrons as they haggle over the best deals of the day. Such linguistic cosmopolitanism is not entirely exclusive to

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Geylang, however. It is a common feature of many port cities in the AsiaPacifc region where diferent cultures encounter one another, thus bringing about the creation of creole languages in an interactional setting.8 Both Tanah Abang and Geylang markets are, to use the words of social theorist Gerard Delanty, “cosmopolitan places [where] new dynamics, interactive moments, and conficting principles and orientations”9 between Muslims and non-Muslims are constructed and negotiated. But this raises fundamental questions: how did these Muslim cosmopolitan spaces emerge, and why do their cosmopolitan outlooks endure till this very day? To answer these questions, we need to go as far back as the pre-colonial and colonial periods. I  will then explain the various factors that have ensured the continued vitality of Muslim cosmopolitanism in these spaces. The following pages will explain the role of interactions, the demographic makeup of these markets, and the spatial dynamics that provided the necessary conditions for Muslim cosmopolitanism to fourish. We can only fully comprehend the actualisation of these cosmopolitan spaces by looking back, deep into the pre-colonial past. Anthony Reid and Leonard Andaya, in their masterly works on early modern Southeast Asia, have painstakingly documented the existence of cosmopolitan port cities where Muslims and non-Muslims congregated to trade, inter-marry, and persuade one another to accept their respective beliefs, languages, and cultures.10 This was the “Age of Commerce (1400–1650),” a watershed period of the Malay World, one that witnessed gradual transformations of all aspects of Southeast Asian life. Among such transformations was the creation of hybridised Islamic cultures and cosmopolitan marketplaces across the region. Melaka, Grisek, and Makasar, Anthony Reid observes, “developed from little more than villages to cosmopolitan cities with populations of ffty thousand or more within a century. Aceh, Banten, Patani and Ayudhya also grew to great conurbations.”11 Meanwhile, the kingdom of Aceh, according to Leonard Andaya: demonstrated its Islamic cosmopolitanism by adhering to the latest religious and secular fashions from the Islamic world. Scholars, traders, and foreign envoys from Muslim lands brought their wares, tracts, and ideas to Aceh. They enticed the ruler and the people to institute changes that would update their society in the image of their illustrious coreligionists in the Ottoman, Safavid, and Mughal Empires. As was characteristic of Southeast Asia, Aceh only selected those aspects that were compatible with the society.12 The port-city of Melaka was an archetype of this new development. Under the reign of Sri Maharaja Muhammad (r. 1425–1445), Melaka developed into a hub of international trade that was facilitated primarily by a Muslim

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sultanate. The Chinese settled in the city and were allowed to practise their cultural traditions without fear. In 1436, a scholar who was among the feet commanded by the legendary Admiral Cheng Ho wrote: “Pork was eaten by the Chinese who live in Melaka. They lived in a hotel, the chief of which always sends female slaves to serve them and sends their food and drink morning and evening.”13 Ḥaḍramī Arabs, Chinese, Turks, Malabaris, Bengalis, Javanese, Sumatrans, Armenians, Burmese, Okinawans, Gujeratis, and Europeans lived alongside one another in the villages near the river as they engaged in trading activities there. The crowds that thronged the Melakan streets were said to have used eighty-four languages in their day-to-day conversations, although Melayu (the Malay language) was the lingua franca for trade and diplomacy. Although hyperbolic, this claim “does convey the idea of the multi-cultural, cosmopolitan atmosphere typical of Southeast Asian towns.”14 The famed Portuguese traveller Tomé Pires noted that women played a signifcant role in the markets of Melaka and “sold in every street.”15 And the same hustle and bustle of business among peoples of varied backgrounds could easily be seen in other Muslim marketplaces, such as Pahang, Johor, and Brunei. Melaka was the standard for Muslim cosmopolitanism in other parts of Muslim Southeast Asia. The coming of European colonialism in the sixteenth century changed the general character of these cosmopolitan marketplaces. New regulations were put in place to serve the capitalist and colonising ends of the Portuguese, the Dutch, the Spanish and, later on, the British and the American trading companies. More defned town-plans were enacted. Traders from Europe and elsewhere came to visit and settle in Southeast Asian port-cities, displacing many local traders with foreign ones. The city of Banten in Indonesia in the seventeenth century, as a case in point, was once a trading hub in Southeast Asia but became “a home only for the wretches” under Dutch rule.16 The trading dominance of the Arabs across the Southeast Asian region was also broken by the Western powers. Fully integrated into the local community by this time, however, the Arabs continued to spread Islam across the region through the medium of Suf brotherhoods and by brokering power and favours with local rulers.17 European colonialism left other lasting legacies. Another layer of cosmopolitanism was grafted onto the existing ones. Peter van der Veer terms it “colonial cosmopolitanism,” which connotes liberal and evangelical values as well as lifestyles that were disseminated in the colonies and, in many cases, imposed upon the local population.18 This variant of cosmopolitanism refashioned the Muslim cosmopolitanism that was already rooted across Southeast Asia. European-style buildings, churches, missionary societies, schools, and other recreational clubs and societies were founded, and locals were encouraged to join these institutions and integrate their worldviews, decorum, and languages. And that was not all. The colonial powers also opened up new

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markets that were soon populated, yet again, by Muslim traders and businessmen alongside peoples of other backgrounds. These entrepreneurial Muslims, although disliked by the Europeans, were in many instances seen as indispensable for the colonial states to ensure the exuberance of the markets that they had taken over from the local rulers. The famed “founder” of Singapore, Sir Thomas Stamford Rafes, paradoxically wrote that trade would be reduced to less than one-third of even what it is at present, for it is only through the stimulus which they (the Arabs) give to the industry of the country that its resources are to be developed: but let their trade be regulated; and above all, let them not be left in the enjoyment of immunities.19 In planning for the development of the municipal area of what would eventually become the prosperous port-city of Singapore, Rafes ensured that one of the business districts in Singapore – the Kampung Glam area – was reserved solely for Muslim entrepreneurs and traders.20 He was acutely cognizant that the rapid growth of the island’s economy depended upon the agency of Muslim cosmopolitans. Two other signifcant examples pointing to the emergence of a new form of cosmopolitanism built upon encounters with European colonialism are the Tanah Abang market and the Pasar Kampung Ampel in Surabaya. A Dutchman, Justinus Vinck, established the Tanah Abang Market in 1733. He envisioned it as becoming the mother of all markets in Java and a conduit for businessmen from varying backgrounds. To achieve this, Justinus called upon Arab and Chinese businessmen to settle in the area. Flows of migrants from China, the Arab world, and South Asia entered into Tanah Abang Market until the early twentieth century. In 1926, the Dutch approved the construction of the Masjid Al-Makmur near the market to attract more Muslim traders to frequent the area. Jitneys were introduced in the area in the 1930s, running parallel with the trams to improve transport from the market to other parts of Jakarta.21 Three decades after Indonesia’s independence in 1949, Tanah Abang had turned into a Muslim economic hub. The Ḥaḍramī Arabs from Yemen, with assistance from the local population, in turn, founded Pasar Kampung Ampel as early as the mid-ffteenth century. These diasporic Arabs came to the area to spread Islam to the local population while engaging in trade. They soon married into the families of the local Javanese aristocracy and contributed to the creation of a creole community, termed muwallad by the people of Ḥaḍramawt.22 The muwallad developed Pasar Kampung Ampel into a formidable marketplace where products of all sorts, ranging from food and textiles to household items, were imported and sold to the locals. By the late nineteenth century, the Dutch anticipated that the market could potentially develop into a conduit

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where anti-colonial movements would eventually germinate. The Ḥaḍramī Arabs were therefore segregated from the other local, European, Indian, and Chinese people who were brought into the area.23 This did not, however, prevent the market from developing into a cosmopolitan site where peoples of diferent races communicated easily as they engaged in commercial activities. Indeed, so cosmopolitan was Pasar Kampung Ampel during the colonial period and thereafter that it is now recognised as one of the must-go places for anyone who would like to see the cultural diversity of Indonesian life with a slice of Arab-Muslim culture and religiosity.24 These broad strokes of history provide evidence that Muslim cosmopolitanism in Southeast Asia has survived the various radical changes in the region. Muslim cosmopolitanism was most palpable in the markets where multicultural and inter-ethnic elements coexisted. The continued survival of Muslim cosmopolitanism, and the easy interactions between Muslims from varying backgrounds and between Muslims and non-Muslims, were made possible by the tolerance and openness of these diverse communities. Southeast Asian Muslims, unlike many Muslims in other parts of the world, have been fortunate to have been spared the problem of mass displacement and exodus of communities from marketplaces. This, along with other factors that will be discussed later, has made Muslim cosmopolitanism in Southeast Asia a living reality. The power of fuid interactions

Fluid interactions – the ability to speak and communicate in an open, calm, and warm manner – constitute part of the everyday form of Muslim cosmopolitanism in Southeast Asian markets. Indeed, more than any other space, the market is the place where such fuid interactions between diverse groups are carried out, both spontaneously and regularly with those who live in close proximity to them. People in these markets who are absorbed in these interactions may not necessarily be conscious that they are producing and reproducing cosmopolitanism in their own environments. This lack of consciousness is not necessarily problematic. Rather, the fact that people take this condition for granted indicates how normalised this everyday cosmopolitanism has become, and means that it often leads to the creation of purposeful networks.25 Andrew Causey, in an incisive ethnography of Samosir Island in North Sumatra, observes that marketplaces were “neutral spaces” where both local Batak traders and foreign visitors communicated in ways that would otherwise be constrained by their own unique cultures, traditions, and ways of life.26 The marketplace is thus an arena where personal biases, cultural barriers, social inhibitions, and ideological diferences are cast aside, albeit momentarily. When doing business with non-Muslim customers or merchants, or with Muslims of diferent origins, any ordinary Muslim would have to suspend his or her biases or judgements and instead

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focus on meaningful talk that would lead to the convergence of interests that are centred upon buying and selling. There are several types of fuid interactions that manifest in these markets. Taken together, these interactions form the “social life of the market.”27 The frst and most basic form of interaction involves “fostering interest.” Potential customers come to browse in the shops, admiring all the fascinating items on display. Here they encounter active sellers who eagerly tell them about their products, from detailed descriptions to prices, in order to convince the shoppers to buy them. If such explanations are in line with the customers’ demands and needs, the second form of interaction comes into play: “sealing the deal.” Both sellers and customers come to an agreement about which product would satisfy their respective needs, and agree upon a price. At this stage, they reach a mutual understanding. While interactions would usually end at this stage, when sellers sell their products and customers pay and then leave the shop altogether, there are moments when a more sustained interaction takes place. I call this type of interaction “the production of market acquaintances.” Sellers and customers become close to one another, until they develop long-term ties that may extend beyond buying and selling. They develop familiarity with one another to such an extent that the customers soon become regular patrons at these markets, and the sellers give them discounts and perks to maintain their “loyalty.” Through this process of interactions, cosmopolitan tendencies are sustained regardless of the backgrounds of the sellers and customers. These interactions also result in a fusion of cultural horizons between shoppers and merchants: the cosmopolitan tastes, desires, and aspirations of both groups overlap, fostering a sustained relationship. The interactions in these cosmopolitan markets are also made fuid through the activities of women. Linda J. Seligmann notes that women are efective communicators and agents of economic exchange because they are able to “interweave household economic dynamics with those of a market economy. In particular, women traders in many areas incorporate reciprocity as a primary aspect of their transactions rather than reducing all exchanges to the law of supply and demand.”28 Put diferently, women act as intermediaries in the selling and trading of goods and services, just as they are purveyors of the cultures of the societies to which they belong. Other studies have shown that Muslim women in Southeast Asia have superior capabilities in connecting with people in the marketplaces and beyond while sharing, albeit subtly, the religious beliefs and customs that come with them. They also have been able to tap into their own networks and links to generate business within a particular marketplace and ensure that the interactions between sellers and customers, Muslims and non-Muslims, are often lively. This is evidenced in the markets of Islamic Ambon and in West Java where women played major roles as mediators between sellers and customers.29

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The active participation of women in market economies has been going on since the pre-colonial period. The British administrator Rafes went as far as to stress that, in Java, “women alone attend the markets and conduct all the business of buying and selling.”30 This statement corroborates a lengthy historical study done by Barbara Andaya, who showed how Southeast Asian women, both Muslims and non-Muslims, established a reputation of enabling and expanding trade and commerce in the region prior to the coming of the European trading companies. Their participation in the marketplace also occasioned inter-marriages between peoples of varying backgrounds and the birth of people of mixed ethnic ancestry.31 Markets in Kelantan are excellent illustrations of women’s contributions to interactions in markets and the expansion of Muslim cosmopolitanism. Female participation in the markets has been particularly intense for more than a century. The Siti Khadijah Market, more specifcally, has been a place where women played active roles in selling goods and also conversing freely with customers of varying ages, genders, and cultural backgrounds. Women dominated in sales of “textiles, clothing, cosmetics, and jewellery, and also in the songket and batik trade.”32 A study of the female traders in Kota Bahru in the late 1980s found that, of a total of 200 respondents, 21% could speak languages other than Malay. More than half of that percentage could speak English, and some could speak Chinese.33 My own feldwork in Kelantan in 2014 suggests that the majority of women active in the market can converse in English, albeit at a basic conversational level, but just enough to interact with customers if not convince them to purchase their products. The wide participation of women in the Kelantanese economy is not seen as a source of shame on the part of local men, nor are they anxious about the interactions between their wives and strangers in the market. When I asked a local civil servant and researcher, Asri Yussof, why this is the case, he responded in Malay that: It has been like that for many generations now. Women in Kelantan are very hardworking and resourceful. They don’t depend on men. They do well in business because of the strong connections that they wield among the womenfolk. They learnt the languages of the market to promote their goods. The men support their wives and render help only when they are asked to. Usually, that is not the case because women have for so long been given the freedom to seek their own income for the well-being of their family. As this suggests, the participation of women in the markets is celebrated and encouraged. The ascendancy of women in the markets and their interactive skills have turned Kelantan into a popular tourist destination for Malays in

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the region, particularly Muslim women in search of high-quality textiles and clothes at reasonable prices.34 Most interesting about the Siti Khadijah market is the presence of nonMuslims, who are not only shoppers but also entrepreneurs doing business alongside the Muslims. Many scholars have described Kelantan as a state that is conservative and rule-bound, in terms of Islamic law, as a result of the dominance of the Islamic party, Parti Islam Semalaysia (PAS), and the religious clerics who have been active in politics over the last fve decades.35 However, the realities on the ground are somewhat diferent. At the Siti Khadijah market, Muslim cosmopolitanism fourishes, and Muslims and non-Muslims interact easily with one another. A recent study has provided evidence of the existence of a substantial number of Chinese and Siamese female vendors at the market, who donned traditional Malay dresses without necessarily wearing a headscarf. Most, if not all, of the non-Muslim businesspeople can converse in market Malay.36 But there are more absorbing details about the Siti Khadijah market that should be explicated here. Despite the conservatism that has existed in Kelantanese society for many decades, the marketplaces have remained fairly immune to the policies of the Islamic polity. Why is this so? The simple reason has to do with the fact that even the most conservative of governments such as the PAS saw the importance of these markets to the economy of the state. PAS leaders and clerics have also been sensitive to the fact that these sites could function as spaces where the universality of Islam could be displayed to non-Muslims. Anyone who visits the Siti Khadijah market will notice the non-Muslims (usually Chinese) eating with their hands in the Malay style, and interacting with Muslims in ways that make them part and parcel of the larger Muslim landscape. Thus, political Islam does not necessarily infuence the shape of Muslim cosmopolitanism in the marketplace. The cosmopolitan interactions visible in the Kelantanese markets have their equivalents in the south, in the heart of Kuala Lumpur. Ziauddin Sardar, in his insightful study of the city, has observed that Kuala Lumpur is a hub for malls, markets, and bazaars, both permanent and transient. “If Petaling Street is the most famous night market, then Bangsar used to be the most famous all-night congress of hawker stalls.”37 Because the city was the administrative centre of British Malaya, and because Kuala Lumpur has for many generations been a site of internal and foreign migration, a multicultural, multilingual, and multi-religious landscape characterises much of Kuala Lumpur today. One particular area that is a hallmark of the city’s cosmopolitanism is Jalan Masjid India (Indian Mosque Street). Located at the heart of the city’s Indian district, the street is constantly flled with tourists and travellers looking and bargaining for cheap deals. It is reminiscent of the streets of Madras in India, with Muslims dominating the trade and business,

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and non-Muslims as business counterparts earning their daily bread. But there is much more, as Greg Sheridan informs us: Now there are many more Malays and plenty of Chinese too, but the area retains its Indian favour, especially through the shops. This is typically KL (Kuala Lumpur), shopping areas with particular ethnic associations are not enclaves of exclusion but an ofering which all Malaysians can enjoy.38 Paul Gilroy argues that “cosmopolitan conviviality” is built, in part, by fuid interactions between diferent groups in society.39 Furthering this point, Duruz, Luckman, and Bishop conceptualise markets as “hybrid spaces within postcolonial cities where diferent ethnic groups come into contact through everyday activity” and where cosmopolitan conviviality is actually lived rather than theorised.40 The examples of selected markets in Muslim Southeast Asia buttress the observations of Gilroy and his interlocutors. These are places where antagonisms and biases between peoples of difering backgrounds and origins are suspended and sometimes forgotten, to give way to forms of talk that can and have brought mutual beneft between buyers and sellers as well as between locals and strangers. Fluid interactions in markets not only ensure the well-being of cosmopolitanism: the conversations that take place between peoples in these markets challenge and even subvert commonly held ways of being “religious,” or for that matter, of being “Muslim.” A chauvinistic Muslim may choose to be anti-social and unfriendly towards anyone aside from his co-religionists. But in the markets, where the rules of sociability are seldom congruent with one’s religious orientation, compromises and adjustments have to be made if he wishes to interact with the people around him. Even the most jingoistic Muslim must therefore become a Muslim cosmopolitan, even if only temporarily, if he wishes to engage in fuid and proftable interactions in the marketplace. Demographic composition of markets

Fluid interactions in the markets would not be possible without the existence of a polyglot of communities within these spaces. The existence of such diversity aided in the making of Muslim cosmopolitanism in Southeast Asia. Still, the fact that Muslims and non-Muslims co-existed within specifc social spaces does not necessarily imply that they would willingly accept each other’s presence – or even communicate with each other. That said, one essential diference about Muslims in Southeast Asia who populate these markets is that they have adhered largely to a syncretic, pluralistic, and Suf interpretation of Islam. It is a variant of the religion that encourages openness to others, and the acceptance of strangers – welcoming rather than excluding them, and being unintimidated by the practices and beliefs of any foreigners

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who enter Southeast Asia.41 This understanding of Islam – inclusivist rather than exclusivist, universalist rather than particularist – structured the ways in which Southeast Asians in these marketplaces dealt with non-Muslims, and also with other Muslims of diferent religious and ideological persuasions. The legacies of this inclusive version of Islam have developed since the pre-colonial period and live on in the present day. A recent survey found that the majority of Indonesian Muslims are open to having non-Muslims as their neighbours, and are willing to interact and trade with them in markets. The study concluded that this has much to do with the texture of Islam in Indonesia that celebrates diversity, peace, and respect for people from all faiths and beliefs.42 A related demographic factor that is relevant here is the existence of immigrants in Southeast Asian markets. The coming of the Chinese, Indians, and Arabs into many parts of Muslim Southeast Asia since the thirteenth century gave rise to creole communities in many port cities in the region.43 The marriages between Arabs, Indians, and Malays gave rise to the Arab Peranakan and Jāwī Peranakan communities who were active in business and trading, especially in the markets of Singapore, Melaka, and Penang. In Penang, the interchanges and marriages between Arabs, Indians, and Malays cultivated the birth of mixed languages (bahasa kacukan) that are usually used in the markets by persons of mixed blood.44 The same can still be seen today at the Arab Street area in Singapore. In this street, businesses are owned and run by persons of mixed backgrounds. In many parts of Indonesia and Malaysia, local Malay-speaking Chine communities developed, more commonly known as the Baba Chinese Peranakan communities, who were dynamic in trade and commerce. By virtue of their ability to speak a few languages – Malay, English, Arabic, South Asian dialects, and East Asian dialects – and their higher educational status, these creole communities served as arbitrators between local businesspeople and other foreigners who came to Southeast Asia. Indeed, in Singapore today the creole Arab and Indian communities are visible in many markets, acting as bridges between migrants from the Middle East and South Asia in dealing and trading with the local communities.45 Creoles, in this sense, are both catalysts and builders of Muslim cosmopolitanism in Southeast Asian marketplaces. The expansion of global tourism in recent decades is closely linked to the functions of creoles in trade. The Singaporean, Malaysian, and Indonesian states have invested millions of dollars per year to encourage tourists to visit and boost the countries’ Gross Domestic Product (GDP) and to diversify their economies. By virtue of their status as Muslim-majority countries, both Malaysia and Indonesia have gone all-out to attract tourists from around the Muslim world, especially those from oil-rich Arab countries, by positioning themselves as a hub for halal and sharīʿa-compliant tourism.46 Capitalising on the Muslim tourist market, Singapore has many Muslim amenities and

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halal restaurants, and has upgraded many of its Muslim heritage sites in its successful bid to become “the most Muslim-friendly destination among non-Muslim countries.”47 Both Muslim and non-Muslim tourists visit these countries in large numbers every year. From January to March 2015, Malaysia welcomed 6,482,696 tourist arrivals, Singapore 3,241,65, and Indonesia 671,211. The opening up of these countries to as many visitors as possible annually has infuenced the changing demography of Southeast Asian markets. In Singapore, Kuala Lumpur, and Jakarta, it is common to see European, East Asian, and Arab visitors shopping and sightseeing. Joan C. Henderson describes this well: The aftermath of the terrorist strikes in the United States in 2001 incited fears of a backlash against Muslims and practical barriers to their travel in the West, redirecting some tourism and prompting a doubling of Malaysia’s Arab tourists that year and again in 2002. The capital Kuala Lumpur with its numerous shopping malls attracts eager shoppers; coastal resorts Langkawi and Penang are also popular. Arabs are reported to be lavish spenders (averaging as much as RM10,000 or US$2,800 per person), and stay almost twice as long as other tourists, frequently journeying in large family parties.48 The same holds true for other remote parts of Malaysia and Indonesia that have attracted travellers who are absorbed in ecotourism, heritage tourism, cultural tourism, and the like. The widespread availability of halal food in Singapore, Malaysia, and Indonesia means that these countries are especially friendly to Arab visitors.49 These tourists are expanding the frontiers of Muslim cosmopolitanism, exposing Muslims in the region to peoples from new places which they had not previously encountered. Conclusion

Markets are cosmopolitan places where societal actors from diferent backgrounds interact as they exchange all sorts of products and services. In the marketplaces, Muslims and non-Muslims talked, traded, and bargained with each other, laying the groundwork for peaceful relationships and the trading of cultural practices. We may couch such a phenomenon in the manner of Adam Smith, who called it “commercial cosmopolitanism.” According to Smith, the shared need for things brings diverse peoples together in given moments and spaces. Politics, ideologies, ethnicities, and other diferences are pushed aside, to give way to goodwill and conversations about who gets what, and for what price.50 In other words, commercial cosmopolitanism has transformed markets into contact zones for peoples of many diferent backgrounds, each of whom has encountered familiar faces and strangers,

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looking at and speaking with them when necessary, and learning to accept “others” as they are. Markets are, of course, not the only places where Muslim cosmopolitanism has been nurtured and sustained throughout Muslim Southeast Asia. Other sites of sociability, such as cofee-shops, cafés, cinemas, recreational parks, and other hangouts at the heart of communities in the region have flled similar functions. Seen in that light, we need to sensitise ourselves to those neglected areas where the common people act out their cosmopolitan visions and, at the same time, bring to the fore their strategies of adapting to the presence of strangers in their midst. By focusing our eyes on these neglected sites where Muslim cosmopolitanism has been kept alive, our understanding of Muslim and non-Muslim relations that has evolved from and within these places can be deepened, enabling us to recover the “small voices of history.”51 Notes 1 There are too many examples to be cited here. One of the most infuential works is by Gordon Means, Political Islam in Southeast Asia (Kuala Lumpur: SIRD, 2009). 2 Bruce Lawrence, “Muslim Cosmopolitanism,” Critical Muslim 2 (2012), 19–20. 3 Max L. Gross, A Muslim Archipelago: Islam and Politics in Southeast Asia (Washington: Center for Strategic Intelligence Research, 2007), 1. 4 Mary Louise Pratt, Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation (London: Routledge, 1992), 7. 5 P.J. Leo, “Bargains galore at Tanah Abang,” The Jakarta Post, June  1, 2011, www.thejakartapost.com/news/2011/06/01/bargains-galore-tanah-abang.html (accessed November 20, 2020). 6 Ian Douglas Wilson, The Politics of Protection Rackets in Post-New Order Indonesia (London: Routledge, 2012), 67–85. 7 Rahil Ismail, “Di waktu petang di Geylang Serai’ Geylang Serai: Maintaining Identity in a Globalised World’, in Rahil Ismail, Brian J. Shaw, and Ooi Giok Ling (eds.), Heritage in a Globalising World: Diverging Identities in a Dynamic Region (Surrey: Ashgate 2009), 23. 8 Alastair Pennycook and Emi Otsuji, Metrolingualism: Language in the City (London: Routledge, 2015), 145. 9 Gerard Delanty, The Cosmopolitan Imagination: The Renewal of Critical Social Theory (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 15. 10 See Reid, Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce. 11 Anthony Reid, Charting the Shape of Early Modern Southeast Asia (Chiang Mai: Silkworm Books, 1999), 23. 12 Leonard Y. Andaya, Leaves of the Same Tree: Trade and Ethnicity in the Straits of Melaka (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2008), 124. 13 Kernial Singh Sandhu, “Chinese Colonization of Malacca, 1500 to 1957 AD,” Journal of Tropical Geography 15 (1961), 3. 14 Andaya and Andaya, A History of Early Modern Southeast Asia, 87. 15 Tome Pires, The Suma Oriental of Tome Pires, trans. Armando Cortesao (London: Hakluyt Society, 1944), 274. 16 Quoted in Lockard, Southeast Asia in World History, 100.

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17 Mohammad Redzuan Othman, “The Origins and Contributions of Early Arabs in Malaya,” in Eric Tagliacozzo (ed.), Southeast Asia and the Middle Easy: Islam, Movement and the Longue Duree (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2009), 86. 18 Peter van der Veer, “Colonial Cosmopolitanism,” in Robin Cohen and Steve Vertovec (eds.), Conceiving Cosmopolitanism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 165–80. 19 Thomas Stamford Rafes, The History of Java, vol. I (London: John Murray, 1817), 228. 20 Ellen C. Cangi, “Civilizing the People of Southeast Asia: Sir Thomas Stamford Rafes’ Town Plan for Singapore 1819–1832,” Planning Perspectives 8:2 (1993), 166–87, and Hadijah Rahmat, “Portraits of a Nation: The British Legacy for Malay Settlement in Singapore,” Indonesia and the Malay World 36 (2008), 359–74. 21 Howard W. Dick, “Urban Public Transport: Jakarta, Surabaya and Malang,” Bulletin of Indonesian Economic Studies 17:1 (1981), 66–82. 22 Frode F. Jacobsen, Hadrami Arabs in Present-Day Indonesia (London: Routledge, 2009), 23. 23 Nasution, Ekonomi Surabaya pada masa colonial, 1830–1930 (Surabaya: Pustaka Intelektual, 2006), 19. 24 “Pasar Kampung Ampel (2014),” www.youtube.com/watch?v=I9ViAfA-WLw (accessed October  26, 2020) and Tri Joko Sri Haryono, “Integrasi Etnis Arab dengan Jawa dan Madura di Kampung Ampel Surabaya,” Biokultur 2:1 (2013), 13–26. 25 Jenny Onyx et al., “Scaling Up Connections: Everyday Cosmopolitanism, Complexity Theory and Social Capital,” Cosmopolitan Civil Societies Journal 3:3 (2011), 37–67. 26 Andrew Causey, Hard Bargaining in Sumatra: Western Travellers and Toba Batak in the Marketplace of Souvenirs (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2003). 27 Rachel E. Black, Porta Palazzo: The Anthropology of an Italian Market (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2002), 23. 28 Linda J. Seligmann, “Introduction: Mediating Identities and Marketing Wares,” in Linda J. Seligmann (ed.), Women Traders in Cross-Cultural Perspective: Mediating Identities, Marketing Wares (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2002), 6. 29 Keeber von Benda-Beckmann, “Joint Brokerage of Spouses in Islamic Ambon,” in Sita van Bemelen, Madelon Djajadiningrat-Nieuwenhuis, Elsbeth LocherScholten, and Elly Touwen-Bouwsma (eds.), Women and Mediation in Indonesia (Leiden: KITLV Press, 1992), 13–32. 30 Rafes, History of Java, vol. 1, 353. 31 Barbara Andaya, The Flaming Womb: Repositioning Women in Early Modern Southeast Asia (Honolulu, 2006), 133. 32 Nor Aini Haji Idris and Faridah Shahadan, “The Role of Muslim in Kelantan,” in Mohamed Arif (ed.), The Muslim Private Sector in Southeast Asia (Singapore: ISEAS, 1991), 127. 33 Nor Aini and Faridah, “The Role of Muslim Women Traders in Kelantan,” 131. 34 Siti Fatihah Awang, “Pasar Siti Khadijah berwajah baru,” February  22, 2014, www.sinarharian.com.my/edisi/kelantan/pasar-siti-khadijah-berwajah-baru-1. 253370, (accessed September 22, 2020). 35 Joseph C. Liow, Piety and Politics: Islamism in Contemporary Malaysia (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 102–5. 36 M. Ahmad, M.N. Md. Hussain, R. Palil, and N.H. Dolah, “The Islamic Image of a Marketplace in Malaysia: A Case Study Presentation,” Southeast East Asian Journal Contemporary Business, Economics and Law 2:1 (2013), 86–8.

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37 Ziauddin Sardar, The Consumption of Kuala Lumpur (London: Reaktion Books, 2000), 94. 38 Greg Sheridan, Cities of the Hot Zone: A  Southeast Asian Adventure (Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 2003), 19. 39 Paul Gilroy, After Empire: Melancholia or Convivial Culture? (London: Routledge, 2004), xi. 40 Jean Duruz, Susan Luckman, and Peter Bishop, “Bazaar Encounters: Food, Markets, Belonging and Citizenship in a Cosmopolitan City,” Continuum: Journal of Media and Communication Studies 25:5 (2011), 601. 41 On Suf Islam in Southeast Asia, see: Johns, “Sufsm in Southeast Asia, 169–83. 42 Saiful Mujani, “Civil Society and Tolerance in Indonesia,” in Azra Aryumardi and Wayne Hudson (eds.), Islam Beyond Confict: Indonesian Islam and Western Political Theory (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2008), 183. 43 Engseng Ho, “Before Parochialization: Diasporic Arabs cast in Creole Waters,” in Huub de Jonge and Nico Kaptein (eds.), Transcending Borders: Arabs, Politics, Trade and Islam in Southeast Asia (Leiden: KITLV Press, 2002), 11–35. 44 Noriah Mohamed, “Malay Language (Bahasa Melayu): Its Early History and Variation in Penang,” in Muhammad Haji Salleh (ed.), Early History of Penang (Pulau Pinang: Penerbit USM, 2012), 74–6. 45 Rahil Ismail, “Ramadan and Bussorah Street: The Spirit of Place,” GeoJournal 66:3 (2006), 243–56. 46 Ibrahim Nafee, “Malaysia’s Halal Tourism Attracts Muslims from All Over the World,” May  28, 2014, www.arabnews.com/news/577851 (accessed November 7, 2020), and Lily B. Libo-On, “Indonesia Targets UAE, Middle East as Potential Tourism Markets,” May 29, 2009, www.khaleejtimes.com/article/20090528/ ARTICLE/305289919/1002 (accessed November 7, 2020). 47 Melissa Lin, “Singapore named the Most Muslim-Friendly Destination among Non-Muslim Countries,” The Straits Times, March 4, 2015. 48 Joan C. Henderson, “Islam and Tourism: Brunei, Indonesia, Malaysia and Singapore,” in Noel Scott and Jafar Jafari (eds.), Tourism in the Muslim World (Bingley: Emerald, 2010), 82. 49 Johan Fischer, Islam, Standards, and Technoscience: In Global Halal Zones (London: Routledge, 2016), 33. 50 Fonna Forman-Barzilai, Adam Smith and the Circle of Sympathy: Cosmopolitanism and Moral Theory (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 215. 51 Ranajit Guha, “The Small Voice of History,” in Shahid Amin and Dipesh Chakrabarty (eds.), Subaltern Studies: Writings on South Asian History and Society 9 (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1996), 1–12.

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Awang, Siti Fatihah, “Pasar Siti Khadijah berwajah baru”, 22 February 2014, www. sinarharian.com.my/edisi/kelantan/pasar-siti-khadijah-berwajah-baru-1.253370 (accessed 22 September 2020). Black, Rachel E., Porta Palazzo: The Anthropology of an Italian Market (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2002). Cangi, Ellen C., “Civilizing the People of Southeast Asia: Sir Thomas Stamford Raffes’ Town Plan for Singapore. 1819–1832,” Planning Perspectives 8:2 (1993), 166–87. Causey, Andrew, Hard Bargaining in Sumatra: Western Travellers and Toba Batak in the Marketplace of Souvenirs (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2003). Delanty, Gerard, The Cosmopolitan Imagination: The Renewal of Critical Social Theory (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009). Dick, Howard W., “Urban Public Transport: Jakarta, Surabaya and Malang,” Bulletin of Indonesian Economic Studies 17:1 (1981), 66–82. Duruz, Jean, Luckman, Susan, and Bishop, Peter, “Bazaar Encounters: Food, Markets, Belonging and Citizenship in a Cosmopolitan City,” Continuum: Journal of Media and Communication Studies 25:5 (2011), 599–604. Fischer, Johan, Islam, Standards, and Technoscience: In Global Halal Zones (London: Routledge, 2016). Forman-Barzilai, Fonna, Adam Smith and the Circle of Sympathy: Cosmopolitanism and Moral Theory (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010). Gilroy, Paul, After Empire: Melancholia or Convivial Culture? (London: Routledge, 2004). Gross, Max L., A Muslim Archipelago: Islam and Politics in Southeast Asia (Washington: Center for Strategic Intelligence Research, 2007). Guha, Ranajit, “The Small Voice of History,” in Shahid Amin and Dipesh Chakrabarty (eds.), Subaltern Studies: Writings on South Asian History and Society 9 (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1996), 1–12. Henderson, Joan C., “Islam and Tourism: Brunei, Indonesia, Malaysia and Singapore,” in Noel Scott and Jafar Jafari (eds.), Tourism in the Muslim World (Bingley: Emerald, 2010), 75–89. Ho, Engseng, “Before Parochialization: Diasporic Arabs Cast in Creole Waters,” in Huub de Jonge and Nico Kaptein (eds.), Transcending Borders: Arabs, Politics, Trade and Islam in Southeast Asia (Leiden: KITLV Press, 2002), 11–35. Idris, Nor Aini Haji and Shahadan, Faridah, “The Role of Muslim in Kelantan,” in Mohamed Arif (ed.), The Muslim Private Sector in Southeast Asia (Singapore: ISEAS, 1991), 122–51. Ismail, Rahil, “Ramadan and Bussorah Street: The Spirit of Place,” GeoJournal 66:3 (2006), 243–56. Ismail, Rahil, “Di waktu petang di Geylang Serai: Maintaining Identity in a Globalised World”, in Rahil Ismail,” in Brian J. Shaw and Ooi Giok Ling (eds.), Heritage in a Globalising World: Diverging Identities in a Dynamic Region (Surrey: Ashgate, 2009), 19–42. Jacobsen, Frode F., Hadrami Arabs in Present-Day Indonesia (London: Routledge, 2009). Johns, Anthony H., “Sufsm in Southeast Asia: Refections and Reconsiderations,” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 26:1 (1995), 169–83. Lawrence, Bruce, “Muslim Cosmopolitanism,” Critical Muslim 2 (2012), 18–38.

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Leo, P.J., “Bargains Galore at Tanah Abang,” The Jakarta Post, 1 June 2011, www. thejakartapost.com/news/2011/06/01/bargains-galore-tanah-abang.html (accessed 20 November 2020). Libo-on, Lily B., “Indonesia Targets UAE, Middle East as Potential Tourism Markets,” Khaleej Times, 29 May  2009, www.khaleejtimes.com/article/20090528/ ARTICLE/305289919/1002 (accessed 7 November 2020). Lin, Melissa, “Singapore Named the Most Muslim-Friendly Destination among NonMuslim Countries,” The Straits Times, 4 March 2015, https://www.straitstimes. com/singapore/singapore-named-most-muslim-friendly-destination-among-nonmuslim-countries. Liow, Joseph C., Piety and Politics: Islamism in Contemporary Malaysia (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009). Lockard, Craig A., Southeast Asia in World History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009). Means, Gordon, Political Islam in Southeast Asia (Kuala Lumpur: SIRD, 2009). Mujani, Saiful, “Civil Society and Tolerance in Indonesia,” in Azra Aryumardi and Wayne Hudson (eds.), Islam Beyond Confict: Indonesian Islam and Western Political Theory (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2008), 181–210. Nafee, Ibrahim, “Malaysia’s Halal Tourism Attracts Muslims From All Over the World”, 28 May 2014, www.arabnews.com/news/577851 (accessed 7 November 2020). Nasution, Ekonomi Surabaya Pada Masa Colonial, 1830–1930 (Surabaya: Pustaka Intelektual, 2006). Noriah, Mohamed, “Malay Language (Bahasa Melayu): Its Early History and Variation in Penang,” in Muhammad Haji Salleh (ed.), Early History of Penang (Pulau Pinang: Penerbit USM, 2012), 50–80. Onyx, Jenny, Ho, Christine, Edwards, Melissa, Burridge, Nina, and Yerbury, Hilary, “Scaling Uup Connections: Everyday Cosmopolitanism, Complexity Theory and Social Capital,” Cosmopolitan Civil Societies Journal 3:3 (2011), 37–67. “Pasar Kampung Ampel (2014)”, YouTube, www.youtube.com/watch?v=I9ViAfA-WLw (accessed 26 October 2020). Pennycook, Alastair and Otsuji, Emi, Metrolingualism: Language in the City (London: Routledge, 2015). Pires, Tome, The Suma Oriental of Tome Pires (translated by Armando Cortesao) (London: Hakluyt Society, 1944). Pratt, Mary Louise, Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation (London: Routledge, 1992). Rafes, Thomas Stamford, The History of Java, vol. I (London: John Murray, 1817). Rahmat, Hadijah, “Portraits of a Nation: The British Legacy for Malay Settlement in Singapore,” Indonesia and the Malay World 36:106 (2008), 359–74. Redzuan Othman, Mohammad, “The Origins and Contributions of Early Arabs in Malaya,” in Eric Tagliacozzo (ed.), Southeast Asia and the Middle Easy: Islam, Movement and the Longue Duree (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2009), 83–107. Reid, Anthony, Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce, vol. 1 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1988). Reid, Anthony, Charting the Shape of Early Modern Southeast Asia (Chiang Mai: Silkworm Books, 1999).

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Sandhu, Kernial Singh, “Chinese Colonization of Melaka, 1500 to 1957 AD,” Journal of Tropical Geography 15 (1961), 1–26. Sardar, Ziauddin, The Consumption of Kuala Lumpur (London: Reaktion Books, 2000). Seligmann, Linda J., “Introduction: Mediating Identities and Marketing Wares,” in Linda J. Seligmann (ed.), Women Traders in Cross-Cultural Perspective: Mediating Identities, Marketing Wares (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2002), 1–24. Sheridan, Greg, Cities of the Hot Zone: A Southeast Asian Adventure (Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 2003). Sri Haryono, Tri Joko, “Integrasi Etnis Arab dengan Jawa dan Madura di Kampung Ampel Surabaya,” Biokultur 2:1 (2013), 13–26. van der Veer, Peter, “Colonial Cosmopolitanism,” in Robin Cohen and Steve Vertovec (eds.), Conceiving Cosmopolitanism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 165–80. von Benda-Beckmann, Keeber, “Joint Brokerage of Spouses in Islamic Ambon,” in Sita van Bemelen, Madelon Djajadiningrat-Nieuwenhuis, Elsbeth Locher-Scholten, and Elly Touwen-Bouwsma (eds.), Women and Mediation in Indonesia (Leiden: KITLV Press, 1992), 13–32. Wilson, Ian Douglas, The Politics of Protection Rackets in post-New Order Indonesia (London: Routledge, 2012).

PART III

Architecture, Arts, and New Cultures

8 CULTURAL ADAPTATION AND INTEGRATION Islam in Southeast Asia Anthony Reid

The key factor about the spread of Islam ‘Below the Winds’ (in Southeast Asia) is that it came by sea, brought by traders of various and often hybrid ethnicities. Islam was carried not by invading armies of organised polities but by successive waves of individual seaborne traders – armed, wealthy, and powerful to be sure, but not organised as states. Though often seen as a gradual process over a millennium, Islamisation can be more helpfully understood as a long but uneven interaction, whereby a foreign-inspired, more literal understanding made rapid advances in some periods – particularly when allied with expanding ‘gunpowder states’ based on the wealth of ports – whereas others were marked by digestion or ‘vernacularisation.’ These periods of militant advance, justifed by Islamic expansion, also caused bitter division, giving rise to equally novel and hybrid upland identities defning themselves as rejecters of Islam. Other periods, such as the eighteenth century, may be seen as times of vernacularisation, an adjustment to local habits and beliefs and greater inclusiveness eventually productive of national cultures. Enclave communities: the ninth to thirteenth centuries

During the frst centuries of Islam, individual male traders carried their faith and their written and legal cultures from the Arab and Persian ports into all the ports of the Indian Ocean. For a time, during the simultaneous ninthcentury fourishing of the ʿAbbāsid empire in the west and the Tang empire in China, the lateen-rigged vessels of the Persian Gulf travelled as far as southern China. In 851 C.E., the traveller Sulayman noted a self-governing Muslim community in the port of Guangzhou (Canton), with the Chinese authorities DOI: 10.4324/9781032702902-12

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recognising a qāḍī to judge matters of religious law among them.1 These long-distance traders had to await a change of monsoon wind at some port in Southeast Asia before travelling on to Guangzhou. Although Southeast Asian sources are much less rich than Chinese ones, we know that these ports would have included those later identifed with Sriwijaya (Chinese Zabaj or San-fo-qi) in the Straits of Malacca region and Champa in today’s central Vietnamese coast. These and other polities also featured in Chinese chronicles for about a century from 960 C.E. as sending ‘tribute missions’ to the Chinese court, in association with each other and often with envoys of the Arab lands (Da-shi). Geof Wade has identifed many of these envoys as Muslims, mostly Shīʿa given ‘surnames’ of Ali and Abu found in the Chinese records.2 What this means is that Muslim commercial communities were becoming established as trading minorities in Southeast Asian cities engaged in the China trade. Java, northern Sumatra, and northern Borneo also sometimes appeared in the Chinese records as sending envoys with Muslim names. The only way trade to China could be conducted legally was in the guise of such ‘tribute,’ so that traders whenever possible sought to persuade local rulers to give them the seals that were accepted in China as coming from recognised polities. The same vessel might carry several such ‘tribute missions’ comprising chiefy Muslim merchants from diferent ports along the trade route to China. The earliest surviving Muslim gravestones in Southeast Asia, from the eleventh to thirteenth centuries, also derive from this phase of Muslim prominence in the trade to China. In the eleventh century there was a marked disruption of the pattern of trade and ‘tribute,’ perhaps caused by raiding expeditions against major Southeast Asian port-polities by the Cola of South India in 1017 and 1025. For the next two centuries Quanzhou (the ‘Zaitun’ of Marco Polo and Ibn Baṭṭūṭa, in southern Fujian) became the great maritime gateway to China, where foreign traders brought their religions. Shīʿa Muslims appear to have been the most prominent, with several mosques and great wealth and power in the city. The Mongol conquest of southern China in the 1270s was facilitated by an alliance with some of the leaders of this group, who thereby became even more powerful. Their defeated rivals, including many Sunnīs, took refuge among their trading partners in Southeast Asia. The same appears to have happened on an even greater scale in the turbulent 1360s, when Shīʿī-led ‘Persian’ rebels sought to take over the whole of south Fujian. They were defeated in 1366, and a ferce crackdown ensued on the once-dominant Quanzhou Muslims in general. Muslim merchants fed on a large scale, with their ships, to the closest Southeast Asian ports with which they had traded. In the last third of the fourteenth century a major fow of more or less Sinifed Muslim refugees from Quanzhou made a major impact

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in ports such as Ayutthaya, Patani, Palembang, Brunei, and the Java ports of Demak, Japara, and Gresik (Surabaya). The Ming nativist dynasty that took over in 1368 was hostile to all international trade that was not ‘tribute,’ and especially punitive towards Quanzhou, which ceased to be a leading international port. Any Muslims who remained there took care to blend in to the more Sinifed (hui) pattern seen in other parts of China.3 Muslim trading settlements during these centuries, from the ninth to the fourteenth, might be classifed as ‘enclaves’ within states ruled by others. As in the best-documented Chinese cases, the most established of such communities were aforded a degree of self-government and could use Islamic law and the sacredness of Muslim contracts to provide the necessary trust between merchants. Other commercial diasporas in the Indian Ocean, like the Armenians, Jews, Nestorians, or a variety of Hindu commercial castes (Chettiars notable among them) also based the sacredness of their commercial contracts on a religious bond, but had a narrower base for doing so than the multinational Muslims. By the fourteenth century, the dominant commercial minorities in the highly plural trading ports tended to be Muslims and Chinese, who also used their clan associations and temples as the foundation of a system of trust. For most of the century after the 1360s, the most wealthy and numerous commercial minorities were probably a ‘Quanzhou diaspora’ who were both Chinese (more or less) and Muslim. The early Portuguese writers of the sixteenth century were told by Javanese that at least the ruling class of merchant Muslims in the new commercial settlements of Java’s north coast were “not Javanese of long standing, but they are descended from Chinese, from Parsees [Persians] and Kling [Muslim Indians].”4 Pires, Barros, and even the frst Dutch reports a century later, related, “When the Javanese themselves are asked about it, they say that they have their origin from China, from where they came to establish a colony in the island of Java.”5 In some frontiers they established little port-states under Muslim rule, but the larger settlements were in cities ruled by followers of diferent paths (not yet labelled Hindus, Buddhists, Zoroastrians, or animists). The religiously plural nature of commercial centres in the Indian Ocean and Southeast Asia was partly a simple necessity of commerce. Yet it was also a pattern compatible with the religious ideas of many rulers in the Indic and Southeast Asian traditions – in contrast with the singular scriptural revelations of the Abrahamic faiths. Neither the Indic pattern of Buddhism amid many Vedic-based cults, nor the pragmatically experimental pattern of indigenous systems that I have typecast as ‘Southeast Asian religion,’ were exclusive.6 In pre-Islamic Java there were ideological justifcations for sustaining the worship of Buddha, Shiva, and the indigenous cosmology of the environment in the one state.7 Islam (and Christianity) long co-existed within this

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pattern. In Mughal India even centuries of Muslim rule seldom disrupted a harmonious pattern of multiple forms of worship. Abdullah Saeed has shown how Muslim jurists and scholars, notably of the Shāfʿī school dominant in the Indian Ocean, justifed Muslims living under non-Muslim rule.8 Muslim writers such as Ibn Baṭṭūṭa in the fourteenth century and ʿAbd al-Razzāq in the ffteenth were lavish in praise of the Hindu rulers of the great spice port of Calicut (Kozhikode) in today’s Kerala. They were just and treated every visiting vessel equally regardless of the religion of its owner.9 The assumption of religious diversity continued well into the seventeenth century. Siam (modern Thailand) provided a well-documented model of this pluralist assumption long after less tolerant ideas were already circulating elsewhere. King Narai expressed puzzlement at the concern of missionary envoys of France’s Louis XIV that he should adopt their Christian religion, when reality showed that God himself rejoiced in diversity. “Ought not one to think that the true God takes as great pleasure to be honoured by diferent worships and ceremonies, as to be glorifed by a prodigious number of creatures.”10 In his port-capital, Ayutthaya, “a great multitude of strangers of diferent nations . . . settled there with the liberty of living according to their own customs, and of publicly exercising their several ways of worship.”11 The pre-colonial Southeast Asian pattern of marriage, with high female autonomy, and normative monogamy but easy divorce, favoured a pattern of ‘temporary wives’ for visiting male traders, including Muslims from the west. “The women were very good at trade, so the traders who came here all tended to marry a local woman to help them with their trading.”12 The children of such unions with Muslim traders, if not the wives themselves, often accepted a formal Islamic identity even while continuing many of the rituals of their mothers, especially those connected with the cycles of life and of agriculture. Of course, this pattern bothered some Arab visitors, like the famous pilot Aḥmad ibn Mājid, whose 1462 text complained of even Muslim-ruled Melaka: “The infdel marries Muslim women while the Muslim takes pagans to wife. You do not know whether they are Muslim or not. . . . They drink wine in the markets and do not treat divorce as a religious act.”13 The frst Muslim states

Greater numbers and greater ease of contact between West and East Asian ports ensured that from at least the fourteenth century there were also some self-regulating Muslim resident communities, which used aspects of Islamic law to unite and establish trust between traders of difering ethnic backgrounds. A remarkable Javanese palm-leaf manuscript of the sixteenth century sought to police the boundaries of this kind of infant Islamic community

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in a fuid and plural religious world, thereby demonstrating the prevalent merging of practices. Anyone making open avowal of heathen devotional practices, or practices resembling those of the ascetic hermits (tapa ning yogi), is an infdel. . . . It is unbelief when people involved in a lawsuit and invited to settle the dispute according to the law of Islam, refuse to do so and insist on taking it to an infdel judge. . . . It is unbelief when one makes a vow thinking that an idol in one’s possession will prove powerful.14 That this text was translating Islamic concepts into Javanese already marked a new stage of creative response to their spread beyond the enclave. Writing in Malay at a similar period in northern Sumatra, Hamzah Fansuri makes explicit that he chooses that language for his text “in order that all servants of God who do not understand the Arabic and Persian languages may discourse upon it.”15 As early as the 1290s, gravestones in northern Sumatra bore witness to Muslim communities that declared themselves states, either by converting or replacing an older ruler, or by the greater complexity of a trading settlement requiring state forms. In the ffteenth century both Pasai (Sumatra) and Melaka (Peninsula) were important sultanates, cosmopolitan ports, and hubs of Indian Ocean commerce, and the Malay language was being developed in them as the major literary vehicle of Islam ‘Below the Winds.’ The creative task of fnding a distinctive Southeast Asian Islam (Jāwī, in the Muslim expression of the time) had begun. The more divisive period of militant expansion, roughly 1520–1650, was one when the Portuguese armed intrusion into the Indian Ocean and the Ottoman response encouraged a kind of polarisation between Portugalbacked militant Christianity and Turkey-backed militant Islam. Beginning with Aceh around 1520, followed by Demak, Banten, Ternate, and Brunei, states prepared to resist the Portuguese in the name of Islam attracted the support of Islamic traders, notably the wealthy Gujarati Muslims who had dominated trade between South and Southeast Asia in the last stage before the Portuguese advent. Strengthened by trade wealth, improved gunpowder technology, and a religious justifcation for militant expansion, these ‘gunpowder states’ fourished for a century.16 In the process many of them came under the infuence of international ʿulamāʾ with more legalistic interpretations of the faith, and adopted a ghāzi or jihād mentality in their relations with the non-Muslim hinterland. As early as the mid-fourteenth century, Ibn Baṭṭūṭa recorded that the King of Pasai (Sumatra), the only Islamic ruler he encountered in the Lands Below the Winds, described himself as a ghāzi warring for the faith. Expansion of Islamic power was rapid, but resistance was a natural consequence. Internally there was a reaction towards more localised and mystical understandings, so

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that we can consider the ‘long eighteenth century’ a period in which the local or vernacular qualities of Islam became more pronounced. Externally, some specifcally anti-Muslim identities were formed – like Balinese, Batak, and Toraja. Hybrid identities

These historical processes involved not only adaptation, but also the creation of new identities and languages written in Arabic script. To take an early case, the northern coast of Sumatra was described by Marco Polo and Ibn Baṭṭūṭa as comprising numerous kingdoms each with their own language. Pasai was one of them and appears to have become one of the early crucibles for a Southeast Asian Islam expressed in the Malay language and written in an Arabic-derived script. The intrusion of the Portuguese caused disruption to at least two of the small states of the coast, Pasai and Pidië, in the 1510s. The Gujarati and other Muslim merchants who sufered most from the attacks of their Portuguese rivals supported a rising ruler, Sultan Ali Mughayat Shah of Aceh, who seemed willing and able to take the fght to the Portuguese. In the 1520s, he conquered Pasai, Pidië, and other small states; expelled the Portuguese; and gradually established a state that consistently opposed Portugal and supported Turkish eforts in the Indian Ocean in the name of Islam. Though its harbour remained a cosmopolitan place of many nationalities, an Acehnese identity and language frmly anchored in Islam became during the sixteenth century the unifer of the north coast, enduring strongly to the present. To a lesser extent the inhabitants of other port-states that rose quickly in what I call ‘the Age of Commerce,’ strengthened by trade, guns, and Islam, also defned new hybrid identities considered inseparable from Islam. Banten, Banjar, Brunei, and Banda each proved able to incorporate migrant traders from China, India, and Southeast Asia into a new form of local identity. Islam was the key to such incorporation. Melayu, anglicised as Malay, is the most important example of hybrid Islamic identity, the language of that name having become the national language of four countries. Like its closest counterpart, Swahili in Africa, it became both the native language of many and the lingua franca of whole countries. Melayu occurred as a place name in Sumatra well before Islam, and an ‘Old Malay’ language is used in some pre-Islamic inscriptions in Sumatra, though not called by that term. Only with the rise of the great Melaka port-state in the late sixteenth century does Melayu come to be used for “the minority of the Melaka population who had lived there long enough to accept its religion of Sunnī Islam, to speak Malay as its frst language and to identify with the Sultan as his loyal people.”17 When Melaka fell to the Portuguese in 1511 and its wealthier Muslim traders dispersed to other cities,

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Melayu became a diasporic group united by Islam and “the ways of Melaka” (cara Melayu in the earliest Portuguese word-list). They were wealthy and literate, and they supported a growing Islamic literature written in Malay with an Arabic-based script. By the eighteenth century, the term Melayu began to be used also for a broader category, earlier labelled Jāwī by both Portuguese and Arab sources.18 These were the Muslim commercial elite of Sumatra’s eastern coast, seen by Barros as “foreigners who came for reasons of commerce and began to settle and populate the maritime region, multiplying so quickly that in less than 150 years they had become lords and began to call themselves kings.”19 As Melaka rose, dominating the trade of the Sumatran coast opposite to it, and then spread its diaspora around the region after 1511, this Malay-speaking population began also to be seen as Melayu. It became an identity much broader than any state. In most parts of Southeast Asia Islam became the gateway and the boundary-marker of this new hybrid identity. When a nonMuslim accepted Islam he was said to ‘enter Malayness’ (masuk Melayu). The Islamisation of sacred traditions

People may embrace a new faith either by appreciating its novel diference from what went before, or by being reassured that it is not fundamentally diferent. Clearly there are times and places when one of these factors is more important than the other. I  have argued that the ‘Age of Commerce,’ and particularly its peak in 1570–1630, was a time of change in Southeast Asia, when many had the foundations of their world so changed that they looked for a new source of meaning, a real ‘conversion.’20 But reassurance was necessary even for them, while for a probably larger group who merely accepted what was required by their ruler or patron, it was essential that the new faith confrmed the already known spiritual universe rather than destroying it. The very act of translating Muslim concepts into a local language involved a creative addition of meaning to established concepts. Most central is the very concept of a monotheist God. English readers familiar with the slide from many ‘gods’ of the Anglo-Saxon world to a single ‘God,’ and from ‘my (human) lord’ to ‘my (divine) Lord’ should not be surprised at similar adaptations in Southeast Asia. The distinguishing device of a written capital letter, important in English to clerics rather than the preliterate masses, was not available in Arabic or Asian scripts. Muslim preachers (and many Christian ones) insisted on Arabic Allāh when explicit contrasts with pagan gods were being made. But the Malay concept tuhan (Lord) was widely used to convey adequately into Malay the devotion and obedience to God expected of the Muslim.21 The insertion of an h into tuan (lord) may be considered initially a sophistry important to literate clerics, comparable to English capitalisation. The centrality of the master-servant or

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patron-client bond in Southeast Asian societies, however, provided a range of comforting associations with the deference of man to God.22 Other older words relating to religious activity were brought into use to translate Islam into understandable local terms. The indigenous term for the veneration of spirits, sembahyang, became and remains the general word for pray/prayer in Islam, alongside Arabic-derived solat for the obligatory fvetimes-a-day prayers, and indigenous doa for prayers of diverse sorts requesting supernatural favours. Indigenous ngaji (or kaji, mengaji) used for highly ritualised prayer to the ancestors became adapted to the equally ritualised recitation of the Qurʾān.23 The older ‘Southeast Asian religion’ sacralised many places as having abundant spiritual potency (kesaktian), whether through particular natural phenomena, the graves of the ‘potent dead,’24 or association with ancient Hindu-Buddhist shrines or meditative ascetics (tapa or rusi). We noted earlier how Muslim reverence for the latter was denounced by the author of a sixteenth century Javanese code of Muslim ethics. Even more telling was the description of tapa around 1515 by Tomé Pires. There are about ffty thousand of these in Java. There are three or four orders of them. Some of them do not eat rice nor drink wine: they are all virgins, they do not know women. They wear a certain headdress which is full a yard long. . . . And these men are also worshipped by the Moors [Muslims], and they believe in them greatly; they also give them alms; they rejoice when such men come to their houses.25 In Java particularly, sacred hills and other sites associated with exceptional ascetic saints of the old tradition remained centres of spiritual power through the transition to Islam. Sacred hills such as Giri (the hill above Gresik) and Sendang Duwur in coastal East Java, and Tembayat and Kajoran in Central Java appear to have been places of pilgrimage, meditation, and asceticism since before the sixteenth-century success of Islam. Their architecture incorporates the ornamented gateways of pre-Muslim Java (still seen in Hindu Bali). We can devise their history, however, only through the legends of the wonder-working saints associated with their conversion to Islam, sometimes through winning a contest of supernatural powers with the previous saint. It appeared very important to Mataram’s claim to rule Java in the seventeenth century that it incorporated these sites and gained their legitimacy.26 A striking mark of the incorporation rather than destruction of these spiritually powerful sites is that the madrasa or religious schools of global Islam are in Java still known as pesantren, and their students as santri. These words hark back to the sacred places of pre-Muslim times and the travelling adepts and scholars who frequented them.

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Vernacularisation of Islam

Vernacularisation, or localisation, must also have been in progress from the moment Southeast Asians began to declare themselves Muslims. But it became state policy at various times and places in the seventeenth century. I  frst set out this seventeenth-century transition as an end to the Southeast Asian ‘Age of Commerce’ in terms that were unnecessarily perceived as a setback or decline.27 More recently, I  sought to portray this shift as dividing in cultural terms two phases of the more globally accepted Early Modern Period. In Southeast Asia, and maritime Asia more generally, the ‘long sixteenth century’ was the initial phase of high curiosity, innovation, and mutual borrowing equating to my ‘Age of Commerce,’ while the ‘long eighteenth century’ (around 1660–1820) was more generally one of reaction against the foreign models in their more extreme forms. This period marked a process of vernacularisation or consolidation which largely established the political and cultural identities that would face the following onslaught of full modernity.28 A dramatic and relatively well-documented instance of how this shift played out Below the Winds occurred in Aceh between the reigns of Sultan Iskandar Thani (r. 1637–41) and his widow, Sultanah Safyyat al-Din Shah (r. 1641–75). Iskandar Thani was a foreigner, a prince of Johor permitted to marry the daughter of the tyrannical Sultan Iskandar Muda, Aceh’s mightiest ruler, and then to succeed him. Lacking Acehnese dynastic credentials, he sought authority through a strict adherence to the sharīʿa, already being applied through a functioning sharīʿa court in the previous reign. He appointed as Sheikh al-Islam the most stern adherent of sharīʿa and opponent of the popular wujūdīyya mysticism, the Gujarat-born Nur al-Din al-Raniri. The sultan backed al-Raniri to the extent of having the popular Sheikh Jamal-al-Din and many of his followers executed for apostasy when they refused to renounce their previous views. Al-Raniri’s short period of dominance marked a dramatic climax to a period when applying a systematic but divisive ‘international’ Islamic legalism in Southeast Asia had supporters. It provoked a reaction after the death of Sultan Iskandar Thani in 1641. The leading fgures in the capital arranged the succession of the dead king’s widow and his predecessor’s daughter as Sultanah Taj al-Alam Safyyat al-Din, in itself an explicit rejection of legalist arguments against female rule. When a prominent student of the executed Jamal-al-Din, Sayf al-Alam, returned from exile in Mecca in 1643, he “held debates with us over the matters which had been discussed before. . . . His words prevail, and many people return to the wrong belief,” as al-Raniri himself put it. He was obliged to return to Gujarat, and Sayf al-Alam became the queen’s Sheikh al-Islam. She herself was careful not to impose her own views until the confict had been popularly resolved in favour of a more

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accommodating Islamic regime, tactfully insisting that as a woman she had no authority in religious matters.29 The following half-century restored the port of Aceh as a cosmopolitan place open to all; showed a preference for female rule to continue the accommodating style of Safyyat al-Din through three further queens; and installed the immensely popular Aceh-born Abd al-Rauf as qāḍī and chief religious authority. His massive output of didactic work in Malay and Arabic set a pattern of orthodoxy throughout the archipelago, avoiding extremes of both mysticism and legalism. The economic foundation of this mid-seventeenth century cultural and religious transition is easy to demonstrate. I have argued that Southeast Asia (and maritime Asia more broadly) sufered a multi-dimensional ‘general crisis’ in the mid-seventeenth century, of which climatic and commercial factors are the easiest to quantify.30 The crisis in international trade left only the Dutch Company, the VOC, as a winner, after establishing its monopolies over vital aspects of the spice trade. The direct trade between Aceh and the Muslim ports of the Red Sea and Arabian Sea had peaked in the period 1560–1630, not only bringing many prominent international ʿulamāʾ to Aceh but also establishing, at least in the Aceh court, a memory of Ottoman protection and suzerainty over this distant sultanate. But by the end of Iskandar Muda’s reign these direct contacts had ceased, and even pilgrims making the hajj to Mecca usually travelled on Dutch or English ships. Another explicit seventeenth-century shift occurred in the kingdom of Mataram, which unifed the Javanese-speaking areas of two thirds of the island. The king who became known as Sultan Agung (r. 1613–46) began his reign as a warrior king, expanding his power in the name of Islam like his father and grandfather before him. After a setback before Dutch Batavia in 1629, however, he focused on integrating the supernatural power of preIslamic kings within national boundaries set by Islam as state religion. He created what Merle Ricklefs has called the “mystic synthesis” of the next two centuries in Java.31 While Islam became the proudly enforced boundarymarker against Europeans, Chinese, and Balinese, the king claimed mastery also of the older spiritual forces of Java through “his ritual couplings with the tsunami-inspired Queen of the South Seas (Ratu Kidul) and rituals to the spirits of the volcanoes.”32 He created a unique Javanese Saka calendar integrating the seven-day weeks and lunar months of Islam with the fve-day week and solar years of Indic Javanese tradition. The beloved stories of the Mahabharata and Ramayana continued to be enjoyed in all manner of theatrical forms, but especially through shadow puppetry (wayang kulit) thought to have developed in deference to Islamic prohibition on representing the human form. The power of spirits, including those of the recently dead, to cause good or harm to the living was fundamental to the age-old religious ideas of the region. It is one of the great blessings of Islam and other scriptural

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monotheisms to have to greater or lesser extents liberated Southeast Asians from constant fear of annoying malevolent spirits by breaking a taboo or failing in ritual activity. Disease and death, especially mental illness, accidents, crop failures, infertility, and the outcome of battles had always been attributed to these spirits and continue to be so at a popular level despite centuries of what Weber called the “rationalisation of religion.” Islam brought a consistent moral code of how to please God and obtain happiness, in contrast to the unpredictable capriciousness of the spirits. But the spirits could not be ignored. Even in modern times few Indonesians deny their existence. Muslims in Banten (West Java) explained to a seventeenth-century English trader that they continued to devote most of their ritual activity to appeasing the spirits, because while God was good and would not harm them, the spirits were constantly wreaking havoc.33 While Islam quickly succeeded in imposing its pattern of rapid and simple burials, popular belief could not readily let go of the idea that the dead remained infuential with the living. The Suf orders (Arabic ṭarīqa; Malay tarekat) became the principal means of spreading Islam in the period of vernacularisation, after the eclipse of the ‘gunpowder kings’ of the Age of Commerce. At a popular level the spiritual power (Arabic baraka; Malay berkat) of the founders, local apostles, and saints of these orders remained available to the living, especially through pilgrimage, meditation, and chanting at their sacred tombs (keramat). Southeast Asians took very readily to the widespread popular Muslim practice of returning to the gravesite of their recently dead, on the third, seventh, fortieth, and hundredth day, and to feast there ensuring that portions were put aside for the dead. In Indonesia, ancestors are especially remembered before and after the Muslim fasting month, as if the feasting of these periods must be shared with the dead. The Islamic month of Shaʿbān, before Ramaḍān, was known in Java as ruwah, the month of spirits, derived from ruh, an Islamic term equated Below the Winds with the ancient Malay idea of semangat, the spirit that animates all beings living and dead. The spirits were honoured throughout this month, but especially in its last week of feasts for the spirits (selamatan).34 This fnal week was known to Javanese as nyadran, a term traceable back as far as fourteenth century Hindu-Buddhist ceremony for the dead.35 The autonomy and infuence of women

There was a considerable gulf between the older gender patterns of Southeast Asian and the expectations of the Muslim male ʿulamāʾ and traders arriving from West Asia (or indeed of Christian, Buddhist, and Confucian religious specialists from elsewhere). Southeast Asian women enjoyed a high degree of economic autonomy and agency, playing roles in the economy distinct from

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but as rewarding as those of men. ‘Southeast Asian religion’ was comparatively balanced, with female supernatural forces of the underworld, the earth, and the moon balancing male ones of the upperworld, metals, and the sun. Women were spiritually prominent as mediums, healers, ancestral fgures, and ritual specialists. While male spiritual leaders of the old religion could transfer their skills to the new, it was not easy for women to do so. Hence, there was documented resistance by female religious specialists to Islam.36 More frequently, however, women appear to have continued in their old ritual roles while men attended to the new requirements of Islam. In the early stages of Islamisation, many couples appear to have tolerated a kind of dualism, with mosque attendance and Qurʾānic learning being the business of the husband, while attendance to the needs of the spirit world, and to agricultural and life-stage rituals, remained the sphere of the wife. The latter sphere was rendered more acceptable by being labelled as the Arabic adat (custom), seen as complementary rather than competitive with the sphere of religion (agama) occupied by Islam. Several of the most important Muslim port-states, leaders in the building of an Islamic civilisation Below the Winds, chose deliberately to place female rulers on their thrones. This phenomenon, unique in the world, may be explained only in part by the absence of ideological objections to female rule in Austronesian societies. The fact that Pasai – with two successive female rulers – and Patani and Aceh, each with four, in addition to Japara and Banten, all placed women on the throne at times of their greatest openness to international trade from all quarters also suggests that women, the traditional managers of business and partners of foreign traders, were seen as better able to manage plural societies fairly and inclusively.37 As we saw in Aceh, Sultanah Safyyat al-Din consciously used her gender as a device for declining to enforce sharīʿa in the literal way her husband had done as ruler – a step, perhaps, towards the separation of religious and secular power that underlies modern democracies. From the period I am calling Vernacular (c. 1650–1820), when Suf tarekat played the strongest role in extending a coherently local Islamic society Below the Winds, women could again fnd a prominent place in religious life. Until recently, their role as Sufs has been routinely overlooked by both Islamic scholars and Southeast Asianists. Oman Fathurahman, who has begun to document the presence of women in Suf silsila, points out “the lack of a discourse on female Sufs in Indonesia is apparently part of the larger picture of the general marginalisation of Islamic Studies in Southeast Asia and of the scant appreciation of local Islamic texts.”38 He identifed several women Sufs of the Vernacular period in Suf silsila from Aceh, Cirebon, and especially Yogyakarta. In the 1990s, Martin van Bruinessen had already pointed to a pattern he identifed in twentieth-century Madura of women becoming not only murid (students) of mysticism but murshid (spiritual guides), ofering

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guidance to thousands of female members of the Naqshbandiya tarekat. He believed this phenomenon may have been unique in the Muslim world.39 It is not clear how far back this pattern goes into pre-modernity. The existence of Islamic religious schools (pesantren, in Java) for women, either as a wing of established male pesantren or specifc female-led institutions like the famous Diniyah Putri of West Sumatra (1923), has only been documented since the early twentieth century.40 My own argument, that modernity in both Islamic and European-colonial forms tended to marginalise rather than enhance the roles of Southeast Asian women, suggests that women would earlier have been more rather than less prominent in Islam Below the Winds.41 In the older indigenous writing systems, both before and alongside the Arabic script adopted through Qurʾān recitation, female literacy in Southeast Asia had been unusually high in global terms. The pioneer Dutch scholar of Bugis literature, Matthes, reported: “In general the native women, especially the female chiefs, are much more expert in Bugis literature than the men.”42 At least in Yogyakarta it has been shown that elite women continued to play a notable role as authors of chronicles and mystical texts in the Islamic tradition. Ricklefs documented the exceptional infuence of the writings of Ratu Pakubuwana in the 1720s, while Oman Fathurahman showed that Kangjeng Ratu Kadipaten (d. 1803) was not only a female member of the Shaṭṭārīyya tarekat but an infuential writer on mystical topics.43 Ann Kumar enlightened us about a female writer and royal guard, whose diary is the best source for the Islamic ritual of Mangkunegoro I in the 1780s and ’90s, centring on the ruler’s ritual attendance at the mosque when Friday coincided with the Javanese day Kliwon, always followed by a selamatan: He performed the Friday prayer again, worshipping for the 139th time, on Friday Kliwon, the seventh of Rabingulakir. There were 39 tumpeng [large cones of rice] and the purpose of the slametan, was the welfare of the Pangeran Dipati and of all his sons and grandsons, and of all his army. Those at the prayer numbered 450.44 The independent Indonesian Government inherited many pesantren and other religious schools of diverse sorts, but very little by way of tertiary Islamic teaching. In 1960, it was able to incorporate what there was into a unique state-sponsored system of Institut Agama Islam Negeri (State Islamic Institutes – IAIN). This provided a popular, modern tertiary education to those who had learned Arabic in the religious school system. In this century most of them were upgraded to Islamic Universities (UIN). Male and female students were ofcially equal in this co-educational system, which graduated large numbers of women. By 2000, they were becoming professors and

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senior bureaucrats both within and beyond the Islamic system, many with degrees from abroad. New options opened up for them. In our own globalised times, Indonesia’s female Islamic teachers and scholars have tentatively begun to play the internationally important roles for which their history should have prepared them. In April 2017, they sponsored what claimed to be a world frst congress of female Islamic scholars (Kongres Ulama Perempuan Indonesia) in Ceribon. The Indonesian Minister of Religious Afairs provided government approval by giving the closing speech. Among the key speakers were the Indonesian woman then heading the Independent Human Rights Commission of the Organisation of Islamic Co-operation (IOC), and a representative of the Malaysia-based women-led Musawah, a “global movement for justice and equity in the Muslim family.”45 Islam and the state Below the Winds

In the political area, a key problem Islam confronted in Southeast Asia was the pattern of religious and political pluralism. The Hindu-Buddhist kings had left inscriptions equating themselves with divinity but had little military or bureaucratic power to enforce their will. The Islamic gunpowder portstates that expanded quickly in the Age of Commerce had only temporary and qualifed success in overriding local particularity. The undoubted power of the most aggressive conquering kings, Sultan Iskandar Muda in Aceh and Sultan Agung in Java, barely outlasted their persons. The Dutch conqueror of Makassar, the strongest kingdom east of Java yet internally balanced between Goa and Tallo’, was bafed by the complexities he had inherited. “The kings of Tallo’ and Goa cannot make one false step once outside their own gates.”46 These briefy powerful gunpowder kings passed from the scene in the seventeenth century, no longer buttressed by controlling a lucrative international trade. Even the strongest, like Aceh and Mataram, became decentralised and fragmented in the Vernacular period. The major language groupings that remained were held together by Islamic tarekats and pilgrimage sites, by shared performance culture, by kinship and marketing networks and reciprocities. These conditions could promote commonalities of cultural patterns in Islamic belief and practice, but they could not enforce state power over religion. Diversity and reciprocity continued to fourish. Meanwhile, the major international ports where religious pluralism was essential were in European hands – notably Dutch in Batavia, Melaka (1641– 1824), Makassar, Ambon, and Padang, and British in Penang (1786) and Singapore (1819). As religious minorities themselves, eager to attract the trade of all Asia to their eastern ports, the Europeans naturally created secular governance where all religions could co-exist. As these European ports expanded their control of territory in the nineteenth century, becoming efective modern states (but not nations) by 1910, their modern secular model of governance

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became the norm. Urban Muslims in these states, the precursors of Indonesia and Malaysia, became accustomed to governing themselves through Suf orders and waqf trusts. They lived alongside other religions, and with profound diferences among themselves, especially around the modernist/traditionalist, kaum muda/kaum tua, Muhammadiyah/Nahdlatul Ulama dichotomies. The creation of nations out of the colonial states involved another type of adaptation to this secular modernity as mediated through a period of foreign rule. Nowhere in Southeast Asia did Muslims, either as majority or minority, demand initially that the imperially drawn boundaries should be redrawn to allow for separate Muslim-majority states as the Muslim League did in South Asia. The anti-imperial nationalist enthusiasm of the 1930s and 1940s swept both minorities and majorities headlong into the ideal of a common citizenship. What followed, however, is the concern of later chapters. Conclusion

We Southeast Asianists ourselves may have been excessively concerned to show the uniqueness of our subject in its diversity, its accommodation of contradictory beliefs, and its tolerance. In reality, the adaptations and integrations described earlier could be replicated in many parts of the Islamic world where faith has spread from one cultural context to another. The maritime character of the Muslim trading diasporas, however, themselves internally extremely diverse, has made the Lands Below the Winds an unusually fruitful site to explore the tensions between dogmatic uniformity and cultural diversity. There were internal conquerors in the name of Islam, certainly, but no outside ruler or state has ever succeeded in imposing an alien model in these tropical lands. The prominence of women, the legally strong position of minority religions, and the acceptance of diferent linguistic and cultural understandings of Islam ofer a rich legacy to the world. Notes 1 Geof Wade, “Early Muslim Expansion in South-East Asia, Eighth to Fifteenth Centuries,” in The New Cambridge History of Islam, vol. III (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 368. 2 Wade, “Early Muslim Expansion in South-East Asia,” 368–79. 3 Anthony Reid, “Hybrid Identities in the Fifteenth Century Straits,” Asia Research Institute Working Paper no. 67 (2006), 13–8; Wade, “Early Muslim Expansion in South-East Asia,” 386–90; Billy So, Prosperity, Region and Institutions in Maritime China: The South Fukien Pattern, 946–1368 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2000), 108–12. 4 Tomé Pires, The Suma Oriental of Tomé Pires, trans. Armando Cortesão (London: Hakluyt Society, 1944), 179. 5 Willem Lodewycksz, “D’eerste boek,” in G.P. Roufaer and J.W. Ijzerman (eds.), Deeerste schipvaart der Nederlanders naar Oost-Indië onder Cornelis de

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Houtman, 1595–1597, vol. 1 (The Hague: Nijhof for Linschoten-Vereeniging, 1915), 99. Also Reid, “Hybrid Identities in the Fifteenth Century Straits,” 14–17. Anthony Reid, Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce, Vol. II: Expansion and Crisis (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993). Anthony Reid, “Introduction: Muslims and Power in a Plural Asia,” in A. Reid and M. Gilsenan (eds.), Islamic Legitimacy in a Plural Asia (Abingdon: Routledge, 2007), 1–5. Abdullah Saeed, “Muslims Under Non-Muslim Rule: Evolution of a Discourse,” in A. Reid and M. Gilsenan (eds.), Islamic Legitimacy in a Plural Asia (Abingdon: Routledge, 2007), 14–27. Reid, “Introduction: Muslims and Power in a Plural Asia,” 5–6. Cited in Guy Tachard, A Relation of the Voyage to Siam, Performed by Six Jesuits (London: A. Churchill, 1688; reprinted Bangkok, 1981), 223–4. Simon de la Loubere, A New Historical Relation of the Kingdom of Siam (1693; reprinted Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press, 1969), 112. Da Shan 1699, cited in Anthony Reid, A History of Southeast Asia: Critical Crossroads (Oxford and New York: Wiley/Blackwell, 2015), 25; also Reid, Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce, 162–6. Cited in Reid, “Islam in South-East Asia and the Indian Ocean Littoral, 1500–1800.” Drewes, An Early Javanese Code of Muslim Ethics, 34–7. Cited in Reid, Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce, Vol. II, 233. Reid, A History of Southeast Asia: Critical Crossroads, 106–19, 139–41. Anthony Reid, Imperial Alchemy: Nationalism and Political Identity in Southeast Asia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 82. Michael Lafan, Finding Java: Muslim Nomenclature of Insular Southeast Asia from Srîvijaya to Snouck Hurgronje, Asia Research Institute Working Paper Series no. 52, 2005; Reid, “Islam in South-East Asia and the Indian Ocean Littoral, 1500–1800,” 85–7. João de Barros, Da Asia (Lisbon: Regia Ofcina, 1777; reprint Lisbon, 1973), decada 3, livro 5: 508. Reid, Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce, vol. 2, 132–51. William Marsden, A Dictionary of the Malayan Language, 2 vols (1812; reprinted Singapore: Oxford University Press, 1984), 92–3. Reid, Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce, vol. I, 120–1, 129–36. Reid, Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce, vol. 2, 168. Henri Chambert-Loir and Anthony Reid, The Potent Dead: The Cult of Saints, Ancestors and Heroes in Modern Indonesia (Sydney: Allen & Unwin for ASAA, and Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2002). Pires, The Suma Oriental of Tomé Pires, 177. Claude Guillot, “The Tembayat Hill: Clergy and Royal Power in Central Java from the 15th to the 17th Century,” in Chambert-Loir and Reid (eds.), The Potent Dead, 141–59; M.C. Ricklefs, The Seen and Unseen Worlds in Java, 1726–1749 (Sydney: Allen & Unwin for ASAA/Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1998), 37–40; H.J de Graaf and T.G.Th. Pigeaud, De eerste moslimse vorstendommen op Java: Studiën over de staatkundige geschiedenis van de 15de en 16de eeuw (The Hague: KITLV, 1974), 137–55. Reid, Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce, vol. 2, 267–325. Reid, A History of Southeast Asia: Critical Crossroads, 142–76; Anthony Reid, “Early Modernity as Cosmopolis: Some Suggestions from Southeast Asia,” in Sven Trakulhun and Ralph Weber (eds.), Delimiting Modernities: Conceptual Challenges and Regional Responses (London: Rowman  & Littlefeld, 2015), 138–9.

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29 Azra Azyumardi, The Origins of Islamic Reformism in South – East Asia: Networks of Malay-Indonesian and Middle Eastern ‘ʿulamāʾ in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries (Sydney: Allen  & Unwin, 2004), 60–1; Sher Banu A.L. Khan, Sovereign Women in a Muslim Kingdom: The Sultanahs of Aceh, 1641– 1699 (Singapore: NUS Press, 2017), 188–91; Reid, “Islam in South-East Asia and the Indian Ocean Littoral, 1500–1800,” 459–62. 30 Reid, Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce, vol. 2, 267–311; Anthony Reid, “The ‘Seventeenth Century Crisis’ as an Approach to Southeast Asian History,” Modern Asian Studies 24:4 (1990). 31 Ricklefs, Mystic Synthesis in Java. 32 Reid, A History of Southeast Asia: Critical Crossroads, 162. 33 Reid, Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce, vol. 2, 164. 34 Cliford Geertz, The Religion of Java (Glencoe: The Free Press, 1960), 71–2, 78. 35 Reid, Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce, vol. 2, 164–8. 36 Reid, Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce, vol. 2, 161–3. 37 Khan, Sovereign Women in a Muslim Kingdom (2018); Anthony Reid, “Charismatic Queens of Southern Asia,” History Today 53 (2003); Reid, Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce, vol. 1, 169–72. 38 Oman Fathurahman, “Female Indonesian Sufs: Shattariya Murids in the 18th and 19th Centuries in Java,” Kyoto Bulletin of Islamic Area Studies 11 (2018), 49. 39 van Bruinessen 1992 and 1995, cited in Fathurahman, “Female Indonesian Sufs” (2018), 44. 40 Eka Srimulyani, Women from Traditional Islamic Educational Institutions in Indonesia: Negotiating Public Spaces (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2012), 38–42 and passim. 41 Reid, A History of Southeast Asia: Critical Crossroads, 268–72. 42 Cited in Reid, Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce, vol. I, 219. 43 Ricklefs, The Seen and Unseen Worlds in Java (28–126; Fathurahman, “Female Indonesian Sufs” (2018), 54–7. 44 Ann Kumar, “Javanese Court Society and Politics in the Late Eighteenth Century: The Record of a Lady Soldier,” Indonesia 29–30 (1980), 13–14. 45 Kathryn Robinson, “Female Ulama Voice a Vision for Indonesia’s Future,” New Mandala, May 30, 2017. 46 Cited in Reid, Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce, vol. 2, 253.

Bibliography Azyumardi Azra, The Origins of Islamic Reformism in South – East Asia: Networks of Malay-Indonesian and Middle Eastern ‘ʿulamāʾ in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries, Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 2004. Chambert-Loir, Henri and Reid, Anthony, The Potent Dead: The Cult of Saints, Ancestors and Heroes in Modern Indonesia, Sydney: Allen & Unwin for ASAA, and Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2002. de Barros, João, Da Asia, Lisbon: Regia Ofcina, 1777; reprint Lisbon, 1973. de Graaf, H.J., and Pigeaud, Theodore G.Th., De eerste moslimse vorstendommen op Java: Studiën over de staatkundige geschiedenis van de 15de en 16de eeuw, The Hague: KITLV, 1974. de la Loubere, Simon, A New Historical Relation of the Kingdom of Siam, 1693; reprinted Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press, 1969. Drewes, G.W.J. (ed.), An Early Javanese Code of Muslim Ethics, The Hague: Nijhof for KITLV, 1978.

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Fathurahman, Oman, “Female Indonesian Sufs: Shattariya Murids in the 18th and 19th Centuries in Java”, Kyoto Bulletin of Islamic Area Studies 11 (2018), 40–67. Geertz, Cliford, The Religion of Java, Glencoe: The Free Press, 1960. Guillot, Claude, “The Tembayat Hill: Clergy and Royal Power in Central Java from the 15th to the 17th Century,” in Henri Chambert-Loir and Anthony Reid (eds.), The Potent Dead: the Cult of Saints, Ancestors and Heroes in Modern Indonesia (Sydney: Allen & Unwin for ASAA, and Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2002), 141–59. Khan, Sher Banu A.L., Sovereign Women in a Muslim Kingdom: The Sultanahs of Aceh, 1641–1699, Singapore: NUS Press, 2017. Kumar, Ann, “Javanese Court Society and Politics in the Late Eighteenth Century: The Record of a Lady Soldier,” Indonesia 29–30 (1980). Lafan, Michael, Finding Java: Muslim nomenclature of insular Southeast Asia from Srîvijaya to Snouck Hurgronje, Asia Research Institute Working Paper Series No. 52, 2005. Lodewycksz, Willem, “D’eerste boek,” in G.P. Roufaer and J.W. Ijzerman (eds.), De eerste schipvaart der Nederlanders naar Oost-Indië onder Cornelis de Houtman 1595–1597, vol. 1 (The Hague: Nijhof for Linschoten-Vereeniging, 1915). Marsden, William, A Dictionary of the Malayan Language, 2 vols., 1812; reprinted Singapore: Oxford University Press, 1984. Pires, Tomé, The Suma Oriental of Tomé Pires, trans. Armando Cortesão, London: Hakluyt Society, 1944. Reid, Anthony, Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce, Vol. I: The Lands Below the Winds, New Haven: Yale University Press, 1988. Reid, Anthony, “The ‘Seventeenth Century Crisis’ as an Approach to Southeast Asian History,” Modern Asian Studies 24:4 (1990), 639–59. Reid, Anthony, Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce, Vol. II: Expansion and Crisis, New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993. Reid, Anthony, “Charismatic Queens of Southern Asia,” History Today 53 (2003), 30–35. Reid, Anthony, “Hybrid Identities in the Fifteenth Century Straits,” Asia Research Institute Working Paper no. 67 (2006). Reid, Anthony, “Introduction: Muslims and Power in a Plural Asia,” in A. Reid and M. Gilsenan (eds.), Islamic Legitimacy in a Plural Asia (Abingdon: Routledge, 2007), 1–13. Reid, Anthony, “Islam in South-East Asia and the Indian Ocean Littoral, 1500–1800: Expansion, Polarisation, Synthesis,” in The New Cambridge History of Islam, vol. III (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010a). Reid, Anthony, Imperial Alchemy: Nationalism and Political Identity in Southeast Asia, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010b. Reid, Anthony, A History of Southeast Asia: Critical Crossroads, Oxford and New York: Wiley/Blackwell, 2015a. Reid, Anthony, “Early Modernity as Cosmopolis: Some Suggestions from Southeast Asia,” in Sven Trakulhun and Ralph Weber (eds.), Delimiting Modernities: Conceptual Challenges and Regional Responses (London: Rowman & Littlefeld, 2015b), 123–41. Ricklefs, M.C., The Seen and Unseen Worlds in Java, 1726–1749, Sydney: Allen & Unwin for ASAA/Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1998.

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Ricklefs, M.C., Mystic Synthesis in Java: A History of Islamization from the Fourteenth to Early Nineteenth Centuries, Norwalk: Eastbridge, 2006. Robinson, Kathryn, “Female Ulama Voice a Vision for Indonesia’s Future,” New Mandala, 30 May 2017, https://www.newmandala.org/female-ulama Saeed, Abdullah, “Muslims Under Non-Muslim Rule: Evolution of a Discourse,” in A. Reid and M. Gilsenan (eds.), Islamic Legitimacy in a Plural Asia (Abingdon: Routledge, 2007), 14–27. So, Billy, Prosperity, Region and Institutions in Maritime China: The South Fukien Pattern, 946–1368, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2000. Srimulyani, Eka, Women from Traditional Islamic Educational Institutions in Indonesia: Negotiating Public Spaces, Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2012. Tachard, Guy, A Relation of the Voyage to Siam, Performed by Six Jesuits, London: A. Churchill, 1688; reprinted Bangkok, 1981. Wade, Geof, “Early Muslim Expansion in South-East Asia, Eighth to Fifteenth Centuries,” in The New Cambridge History of Islam, vol. III (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 366–408.

9 PONDOK EDUCATION, PUBLIC DISCOURSE, AND CULTURAL PLURALISM IN MALAYSIA AND INDONESIA Azmil Tayeb

Introduction

Islamic education makes up an important component of the national education system in Malaysia and Indonesia, both Muslim-majority countries, and students in non-Islamic public schools as well as the tens of thousands of religious schools all take Islamic Studies. For many Muslim parents in Malaysia and Indonesia it is imperative that the national education system incorporates a degree of Islamic learning for their children, be it through the rudimentary Islamic Studies courses or the more advanced religious subjects taught in Islamic schools. Chapter  10, Paragraph ffty of the 1996 Education Act in Malaysia mandates that any school within the national education system that has a minimum of fve Muslim students must ofer Islamic Studies. Similarly, in Indonesia, according to Article 12(1) of the 2003 Law on National Education System (Undang-Undang Sistem Pendidikan Nasional), national schools are required to provide religious instruction to students, taught by teachers of similar faith. Simply put, Islamic Studies subject is mandatory in all public schools in Malaysia and Indonesia. There are also Muslim parents who want their children to receive more in-depth religious learning and choose to send them to Islamic schools, which can be public or private. In Malaysia, there are currently 3,874 Islamic schools, including 193 pondok and 704 tahfz schools for students who are only interested in studying religious subjects.1 Most of these Islamic schools receive funding from the Malaysian Ministry of Education, which subjects them to close monitoring and control.2 In addition, the Malaysian Department of Islamic Development (Jabatan Kemajuan Islam Malaysia, JAKIM), the well-funded federal authority on Islamic afairs that also includes Islamic DOI: 10.4324/9781032702902-13

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education, wields a formidable sway to dictate the character of Islamic education; this will be discussed in detail later in this chapter.3 One type of Islamic school currently gaining popularity among Muslim middle-class in Malaysia is the private Sekolah Islam Integrasi, predominantly established by urbanbased daʿwa organisations. The overarching objective of these schools is to “Islamise knowledge” through fusing general subjects such as science and mathematics with Islamic precepts.4 In comparison, Islamic schools in Indonesia vastly outnumber Islamic schools in Malaysia. The most recent ofcial statistics from the Ministry of Religious Afairs (MORA) indicate that there are 76,551 madrasas and 9,010,576 students.5 Interestingly, 95 percent of these madrasa are private, which means that they have a high degree of autonomy despite being registered with the ministry.6 There are also more than 1,000 private Sekolah Islam (literally “Islamic Schools”) that fall under the purview of the Ministry of Education and Culture (MOEC), mainly established by urban-based daʿwa organisations and catering to the growing afuence of the Muslim middle class.7 Sekolah Islam in Indonesia shares many similar characteristics with the aforementioned Sekolah Islam Integrasi in Malaysia, particularly when it comes to the curriculum and the type of Islamic organisations that establish these schools. As we can see, Islamic education in its various iterations assumes a signifcant place in the national education system in both Malaysia and Indonesia. However, this is where the similarity ends. The nature of Islamic education in both countries could not be any more diferent: in Malaysia it is centralised and discursively narrow, while in Indonesia it is decentralised and discursively open. This chapter focuses specifcally on pondok education, which is part of the age-old tradition of Islamic learning in both countries, and argues that while pondok education in Malaysia and Indonesia share a common traditional Islamic pedagogical style and traditions found throughout the Islamic world, the character of pondok education in both countries has taken on divergent trajectories, heavily shaped by the forces of history and politics.8 This chapter contends that the public discourse, particularly when it comes to diversity of religious ideas and practices, is a major factor in determining the vigour and viability of pondok education. The more open and multifaceted public discourse in Indonesia has allowed pondok education to adapt, diversify, and prosper, while the more circumscribed public discourse in Malaysia has resulted in the serious decline of pondok education over the years, so much so that it is at a risk of becoming obsolete. The chapter begins with an overview of pondok education in Malaysia and Indonesia by looking at its long-standing presence in the history of the region, its unique pedagogy, and the ways it has confronted the challenges of colonialism, the nationalist project, and the forces of modernisation. It is then followed by a discussion on the wave of Islamic resurgence that swept

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the region in the late 1970s and the varied ways in which the governments of Malaysia and Indonesia dealt with the phenomenon, which in turn shaped the nature of public discourse and pondok education in both countries. In the fnal section, the chapter delves into the ways pondok schools in Malaysia and Indonesia engage and co-exist with pre-existing local cultures and the creeping infuence of Arabisation. This illustrates the diferent ways public discourse shapes the countries’ respective pondok schools, particularly on how they deal with the domineering Islamic orthodoxy in Malaysia and the weaker Islamic orthodoxy as seen in Indonesia. Overview of pondok education in Malaysia and Indonesia: pondok pedagogy

The term pondok most likely originates from its two most viscerally defning features: funduq, which means dormitory or hotel in Arabic, and pondok, which refers to a wooden hut in Malay.9 Pondok schools are in essence Islamic boarding schools that comprise of wooden huts used for both residence and classrooms. It is an enduring image of pondok schools recognised throughout the region, although nowadays most pondok schools are, like regular schools, built with the ubiquitous brick and mortar. Another characteristic of pondok schools is that they are mostly located in rural and semirural areas. One reason for this is the fact that pondok schools are scholar (ʿulamāʾ)-centric. Many of these ʿulamāʾ, who are known by various names – such as Kiyai in Java, Tengku in Aceh, and Tok Guru in Malaysia and southern Thailand – are rural landowners who establish pondok schools on their own land or land donated by others in the community (waqf). The unique position of these religious scholars provides them socio-political infuence that extends beyond the boundary of their pondok schools.10 When it comes to the pedagogical style of pondok education, there is barely any diference from the traditional Islamic learning practiced throughout the Islamic world.11 As previously mentioned, pondok education is centred on individual ʿālim (singular of ʿulamāʾ). The ʿālim is the owner of the pondok school, whether he or she establishes the school on his or her own or acquires it through inheritance. An individual ʿālim is an expert on a specifc branch of Islamic knowledge, through which he or she gains a reputation that in turn attracts students to come and study. For instance, ʿālim A  is known for his deep knowledge of Islamic jurisprudence, while ʿālim B is an expert in Arabic linguistic and literature. Students can spend a few years studying with the former and then move to the pondok school owned by the latter in order to gain expertise in several branches of Islamic knowledge. This learning practice results in the “wandering scholars” tradition, as intellectually curious students travel far and wide looking to attain new knowledge from famous ʿulamāʾ. Closely related to the “wandering scholars” tradition is the

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concept of sanad, or intellectual genealogy. An ʿālim’s fame and reputation rest not only on his or her area of expertise but also from the source of that knowledge. Some famous ʿulamāʾ even claim sanad that reaches all the way back to Prophet Muhammad, who is seen as the ultimate symbol of religious authority and the pinnacle of Islamic knowledge.12 The learning style in pondok schools places heavy emphasis on rote memorisation and recitation of seminal texts (known in Indonesia as kitab kuning). Because of this learning style, pondok education is often mischaracterised as backward and lacking critical thinking. In fact, rote memorisation only constitutes the beginning of a student’s learning experience, while students are taught to memorise sentences and their meanings from selected texts. Only when the students have a frm grasp of the texts does learning graduate to a more discussion-oriented style. This takes place in a seminar-style class where students discuss and debate with the ʿālim on assigned questions of the day, referring to specifc points in the texts from memory to buttress their arguments. The objective of this learning style is to frmly ground students in the Islamic philological culture, upon which they build their faculty of critical thinking.13 Finally, there are no regular examinations, fxed curriculum, or schooling term in a traditional pondok education. These educational features only made their frst appearance in the early 1900s when Reformist ideas swept through the Islamic world, fuelled by the teachings of Jamal al-Din al-Afghani, Muhammad Abduh, and Rashid Rida, and by modernised traditional Islamic education. Pondok education, as we already know, is dependent on the highly specialised knowledge of the ʿālim; it is up to him or her to decide whether individual students are ready to move on to the next stage of learning. In other words, the learning experience is intimately personalised. The students can also choose how long they want to stay at the pondok school, as there is no mandatory school term. They can study at a particular pondok school for a few weeks or a few years, depending on their needs and circumstances. Moreover, the ʿālim has the discretion to turn away prospective students for whatever reason, but typically to maintain smaller class sizes for a more efective teaching and learning experience. Modernising pondok education in the early twentieth century

The opening of Suez Canal in 1869 greatly reduced the journey time between Southeast Asia and the Middle East, particularly Egypt, as ships no longer had to sail the treacherous waters around the Cape of Good Hope on the southern tip of Africa. The faster voyage allowed more Muslim students from Indonesia and Malaysia to further their studies in the Middle East, namely at the renowned Sunni learning institution of Al-Azhar University in Cairo. This was also where many of these students were exposed to the reformist

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ideas of Jamal al-Din al-Afghani, Muhammad Abduh, and Rashid Rida, and later, brimming with zeal and idealism, sought to implement these ideas in their own countries. These reformist ʿulamāʾ were known as the Kaum Muda (literally “Young People”), who set about dismantling the entrenched traditional socio-religious structure implemented by the Kaum Tua (literally “Old People”); Islamic education became the fashpoint in this acrimonious generational and ideological confict.14 The thrust of reformist ideas was the need for Muslim society to embrace modernism and rid itself of traditional practices deemed to be kolot (backward) and jumud (stagnant), which were holding Muslims back and leaving them vulnerable to the dominating forces of Western colonialism. According to the reformist ʿulamāʾ it was imperative for Muslims to adopt positive aspects of Western civilisation such as science, technology, and modern education in order to defeat the Western colonial powers at their own game. The eforts of the reformist ʿulamāʾ (Kaum Muda) to introduce and implement these ideas were met with stif resistance from the traditional ʿulamāʾ (Kaum Tua), who were deeply averse to upending the status quo. Nevertheless, reformist ideas persisted and prospered, particularly when it came to establishing a modern Islamic education system. The frst four decades of the twentieth century witnessed the rapid growth of madrasa (modern Islamic schools) in Malaysia and Indonesia. In Malaysia, the impetus to reform traditional Islamic education was spearheaded by two reformist ʿulamāʾ, Syeikh Muhammad Tahir Jalaluddin and Syed Syeikh Al-Hadi, whose Madrasah Al-Mashoor in Penang, built in 1916, still stands and remains fully operational as a national Islamic school. In Indonesia, Islamic educational reforms were carried out by ʿulamāʾ who formed the frst Muslim organisation in 1912: Muhammadiyah.15 The reformist movement in Indonesia found traction mainly in urban areas on the islands of Java and Sumatra, where adherents established their own madrasa in an efort to supplant the existing traditional pondok schools. The reformist ʿulamāʾ launched a serious challenge against the monopoly that traditional ʿulamāʾ wielded on Islamic education, and for the frst time Muslims in the Nusantara archipelago were presented with choices on how to pursue their religious education. It was a pivotal moment of “adapt or perish” for pondok schools. The fate of pondok education was closely intertwined with the rising fortune of madrasa education. In other words, the viability of pondok schools depended on how they reacted to the modernisation of Islamic education that took place at the time. There were two factors that contributed to the expansion of madrasa education during the pre-World War Two period: frst, it was a response to the vernacular education introduced by the British and the Dutch to the native population; second, there was increased demand from Muslim parents who wanted a balance of general and religious education for their children in order to strengthen their future job prospects. The colonial

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economy and administration were growing fast and needed to employ educated local people for low-level administrative positions, which then necessitated the introduction of mass education in the colonies.16 It was in the midst of this epoch of change that pondok education in Malaysia and Indonesia took on diametrically divergent paths, one that led to near obsolescence and the other to rejuvenation. Despite the competition from the rising number of madrasas in the early twentieth century, many pondok schools in Malaysia did not feel the urgency to change and reconstitute themselves to the newly confgured educational landscape. Their rigidity soon caught up with them as they found that students preferred to acquire a general education alongside a religious one. The Kelantan State Islamic Council (Majlis Agama Islam Kelantan, MAIK), established in 1915, sensed the pressing need to modernise Islamic education as a response to the demands of the economy and colonial administration, and swiftly embarked on madrasa-building projects.17 The state of Kelantan also happened to be the hotbed for traditional pondok learning, which was severely afected by the expansion of modern Islamic education, so much so that many pondok schools simply closed down or converted to People’s Islamic Schools (Sekolah Agama Rakyat), which are community-established Islamic schools that also ofer general education.18 Until today, pondok schools in Kelantan and other states in Malaysia have never quite recovered from the seismic shift that shook up Islamic education in the early parts of the twentieth century. Meanwhile, in Indonesia, the sea change that swept pondok education in Malaysia into near irrelevancy did not have a similar deleterious impact. As previously mentioned, one of the main purposes for the establishment of Nahdlatul Ulama, the traditional Muslim organisation, was to preserve traditional Islamic learning. Unlike its counterparts in Malaysia, Nahdlatul Ulama rightly thought the only way to preserve the traditional pondok education was to be fexible enough to adapt to the educational needs of the time, even if it means incorporating some portion of general education into its hitherto purely religious learning. Many pondok pesantren in Java therefore incorporated madrasa education as part of their schools, so their students could be exposed to non-religious in addition to religious knowledge.19 After Indonesia achieved its independence in 1945, pondok schools played a crucial role in cultivating a deep abiding sense of nationhood among its students, seeing themselves as an indispensable partner in shaping and guiding the new country. The following excerpt aptly encapsulates the malleable and open character of pondok education, despite its roots in traditionalism: “The [pondok] system’s most striking feature is not radicalism but the willingness of Muslim educators to adapt their educational programs to the ideals of Indonesian nationhood and the Muslim public’s demand for marketable skills and general education.”20 The eforts to make itself relevant, namely by

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modernising its pedagogy and closely identifying with the post-independence nation-building project, has allowed the pondok school system in Indonesia to survive and prosper until the present day, with many graduates going on to study at top tertiary institutions at home or abroad, becoming political leaders and white-collar professionals.21 Pondok education, public discourse, and religious pluralism in Malaysia and Indonesia

How freely a country allows numerous faiths and their variations to co-exist relatively peacefully and without fear for their well-being characterises the openness of public discourse and the practice of religious pluralism. At the heart of public discourse on religious matters is often an institution of orthodoxy that regulates what is religiously permissible and what is not. Talal Asad defnes it as not merely a body of opinions but a distinctive relationship – a relationship of power. Wherever Muslims have the power to uphold, regulate, require, or adjust correct practices, and to condemn, exclude, undermine, or replace incorrect ones, there is the domain of orthodoxy.22 In other words, it is incumbent upon us to view orthodoxy in the context of power dynamics: whoever holds the levers of power gets to defne what orthodoxy is, and thus shapes the public discourse. One defning characteristic of orthodoxy is that its raison d’être is couched within the legal-bureaucratic framework, from which it draws the authority to impose “institutionalised ideology” on the population, buttressed by the coercive apparatuses of the state.23 In a country such as Malaysia, where the orthodoxy is strong and virtually unassailable, the public discourse on Islamic matters is narrowly delimited and only ideas and practices that do not run afoul of the “institutionalised ideology” are permitted space. In Indonesia, on the other hand, the orthodoxy is feeble at best, which in turn allows public discussion on Islamic matters to fourish with spiritedness and diversity, competing in an essentially open marketplace of ideas.24 It is in relation to these two contrasting types of public discourse that pluralism and pondok education will be discussed later in this chapter. The wave of Islamic resurgence that swept across much of the Muslim world in the late 1970s and early 1980s afected Malaysia and Indonesia diferently, which in turn, led to starkly opposite forms of public discursive space, as mentioned earlier. In particular, the way in which the governments of Malaysia and Indonesia responded to the heightened Islamic presence in politics and society at the time determined the nature of public discourse on Islam in both countries. One palpable impact of the Islamic resurgence

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was the struggle to reframe public discourse in a purely Islamic context. The government’s performance was thus judged and challenged on the grounds of Islamic precepts. This was seen as a grave threat to the legitimacy and longevity of the government of the day, and was dealt with accordingly. The varied ways in which the governments of Malaysia and Indonesia attempted to neutralise the formidable political challenge stemming from the Islamic resurgence is the focus of this section. The central aspect of the period of Islamic resurgence in Malaysia, starting from the late 1970s, was the bitter political rivalry between the Malay nationalist party, United Malay National Organisation (UMNO), and the Pan-Malaysia Islamic Party (Parti Islam Se-Malaysia, PAS). UMNO had been a member of the ruling coalition since the frst election was held in 1955 and had commanded strong support among the Malay electorate until the late 1970s. PAS and other Islamic civil society groups began to pose serious challenge to the legitimacy of the UMNO-led government, buoyed by the success of the Iranian revolution that toppled the Shah. The secular-oriented policies of the UMNO-led government were seen as a failure in solving major socio-economic crises such as rural poverty among the Malays. The panacea was, of course, to persuade the government to adopt a more Islamic form of governance, exemplifed by the popular rallying cry at the time: “Islam is the solution!” When Mahathir Mohamad became the Prime Minister in 1981, instead of suppressing the political threat posed by the Islamists, he chose to engage with the movement and co-opt some of its leading elements – most signifcantly by luring the then-Islamist frebrand, Anwar Ibrahim, into the UMNO-led government.25 Anwar saw it as prime opportunity to instil Islamic values in the government from within, while employing the government’s resources to increase religiosity among Muslims in Malaysia. Simply put, he was the main architect of the Islamisation process in the 1980s and 1990s.26 Meanwhile, UMNO and PAS were engaging in a political competition to “out-Islamise” each other in an efort to become the sole champion of Islam, which invariably pushed the Islamic discourse into taking on a more conservative and restrictive tenor. The deepening conservatism produced an equally conservative orthodoxy, with the overarching objective of shaping the Islamic discourse in favour of the UMNO-led government,27 while public discourse provided hardly any room for pluralism and non-orthodox views. This is the discursive space in which Islamic education, including pondok schools, found itself. One way to incorporate orthodox values into Islamic discourse is through the Islamic education sector, which constitutes an important component of the national education system. The UMNO-led government, via the Ministry of Education and JAKIM, designed the curriculum for the subject of Islamic Studies (Pendidikan Islam) to conform to the values propagated by the orthodoxy, or the “institutionalised ideology.” For instance, the curriculum lists

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a plethora of Islamic groups that are deemed “deviant,” including Shiʿism. It also promotes conservative values such as polygamy, nusyuz, and blind obedience to rulers.28 Pluralism is seen as of-limits, as are the ideas of liberal democracy, gender equality, and other so-called Western values and practices. Another way for the UMNO-led government to infuence Islamic education in its favour was to absorb as many Islamic schools under its aegis as possible and supersede the states’ constitutional right to manage Islamic afairs in their respective territories.29 This was possible through the sheer fnancial might of the federal government that took advantage of the resource-starved Islamic schools. Many Islamic schools that had been administered by their own state, as well as those that were privately or communally owned, have been gradually “federalised” over the last four decades, so much so that now most Islamic schools in the national education system in Malaysia are owned or managed by the Ministry of Education – the opposite of the dynamic we see in Indonesia, which will be discussed next. While pondok schools are not part of the national education system, they were not immune from the long tentacles of federal government control. Many of the poor pondok schools, especially in the states governed by the opposition PAS, do receive fnancial assistance from the federal government as a way to garner their support come election time.30 The efective ability of the federal government to inculcate and enforce orthodox values through Islamic education means that there is a strict uniformity in the way the Islamic schools operate in Malaysia, a stark contrast to what we shall see in Indonesia. Indonesia also experienced a similar wave of Islamic resurgence to Malaysia, but Suharto’s New Order regime, which was in power at the time, did not have to contend with a challenge to its legitimacy by Islamist political activists, since this legitimacy did not depend on controlling the political discourse on Islam. It was simply unnecessary, as major opponents of the regime had already been vanquished or emasculated in the previous decade. Only the regime-approved Islamic party, the United Development Party (Partai Persatuan Pembangunan, PPP), was allowed to compete in highly rigged elections that heavily favoured the regime’s party, Golkar. In short, there was no credible threat from political Islam that could potentially compel the New Order regime to respond in kind.31 Islamic resurgence in Indonesia instead made its presence felt in the socio-cultural sphere, which the New Order regime saw as non-threatening and did not feel the need to keep in check. Muslims were free to practice and display their newfound piety in public, as long as they did not cross the forbidden red line into political activism that challenged the regime.32 The non-political public discourse on Islam was receptive to most Islamic practices, with Indonesia’s two largest Muslim organisations, Nahdlatul Ulama and Muhammadiyah, as the moderating centre of debate. No one Islamic group was (or is) able to claim to be the sole arbiter of Islam in the country. The public sphere functions as a free marketplace of ideas,

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where numerous Islamic groups across the ideological spectrum co-exist and compete with each other for support among the Muslim population. It is this public sphere that creates the type of religious pluralism and moderation seen in the Islamic education sector, in particular pondok schools, in Indonesia.33 The open and diverse public discourse on Islam in Indonesia is aptly captured in the curriculum for Islamic Studies (Pendidikan Agama Islam, PAI), a subject which is mandatory for all Muslim students in public schools. Compared to the Malaysian orthodox examples illustrated earlier, the content of PAI subject in Indonesia promotes tolerance and acceptance of multiple interpretations in Islam. For instance, in the aqidah (faith) section of the PAI textbook, the students are taught that freedom of religion and religious pluralism as human rights, and an essential part of the country’s motto Bhineka Tunggal Eka (Unity in Diversity). The textbook draws from the Qurʾān – namely Sūrat al-Kahf verse 29 and Sūrat al-Baqarah verse 256 – to justify its stance on pluralism and acceptance of diferences in interpretations: “In dealing with the diferences in faith and religious practices, Muslims and non-Muslims must have the freedom of religion and to conduct the teachings of their religions, and cannot interfere in each other’s afairs. Islam forbids compulsion in religion.” The same textbook also mentions: “We have to realise that the words of God are very broad and multi-interpretive, so much so that we have to be aware of and respect the existence of many streams within a religion.”34 If there is an Islamic orthodoxy in Indonesia, pluralism and open public discourse are undoubtedly its defning features. Lastly, unlike Malaysia, where there is almost seamless ideological cohesion across the horizontal and vertical axes of governance, the state institutions in Indonesia are ideologically fragmented and do not share common core clarity when it comes to promoting the Islamisation of society.35 In fact, it is not even the prerogative of the state. The two ministries that are in charge of Islamic education, the Ministry of Religious Afairs (MORA) and the Ministry of Education and Culture (MOEC), simply do not see eye to eye on how to manage it. At the centre of this inter-institutional tension is the idea of a “single roof education system” (sistem pendidikan satu atap), which basically means that the aims and ideals of national education can be best achieved if all schools, including Islamic ones, are administered under a single bureaucracy, namely the MOEC. The “single roof education system” proposal was seen by Muslim organisations as an afront to their autonomy and a blunt attempt to dilute the Islamic education component in the national education by the secularists and Pancasilaists in the MOEC, which they stridently opposed.36 The 1999 decentralisation laws further broadened the gulf between MORA and MOEC. The laws devolved the management of national education to the provincial and sub-provincial levels (Dinas Pendidikan or MOEC local ofces) while Islamic afairs, including Islamic education, remained centralised under the ambit of the MORA. This has created

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funding disputes, as some Dinas Pendidikan use the decentralisation laws as an excuse not to provide fnancial assistance to madrasas and pesantren, which are under the sole responsibility of the MORA. Further complicating the matter, the Minister of Home Afairs issued a directive disallowing Dinas Pendidikan from providing funds to schools under MORA.37 The MORA is simply too fnancially stretched to fund the tens of thousands of madrasas and pesantren across the country. This funding dispute results in the widening of the institutional fragmentation seen in previous decades during the “single roof education system” fasco. Institutional fragmentation means a lack of ideological cohesion that pre-empts the emergence of an orthodoxy, the result of which is the open and diverse public discourse on Islam. This is the form of Islamic public sphere that is conducive to the eforts of pondok education in Indonesia, reconstituting and reinventing itself with the changing times. When modernity meets traditions

Pondok education went through a metamorphosis from the early 1900s, forced by pressure from the reformists and their madrasa system and the need to make pondok graduates competitive in the job market. Pondok schools had to adapt to these socio-economic changes, as was the case in Indonesia, or risk being consigned into obscurity and irrelevancy, as in Malaysia. The developmentalist state in the 1970s–1980s further brought the urgent need to modernise to bear on pondok schools, as the booming economies of Malaysia and Indonesia needed educated human capital to keep up with the blistering growth rate. The New Order regime sought to realise the virtually untapped potential of Islamic schools’ graduates as human capital by standardising madrasa education so as to allow its alumni to continue their studies at nonreligious public universities, an avenue which had previously been closed to them.38 Many pesantren which had already incorporated madrasa education in the preceding decades found themselves having to adjust to the demands of the changing times yet again, and many did just that. Teungku T. Wildan, the head of the Dayah Raudhatun Najah, a modern pondok school in Langsa, East Aceh, noted that from the 1970s pondok schools in Aceh began to adapt to modern changes, spurred on by the then Minister of Religious Afairs, Mukti Ali.39 The 1989 Law on National Education System later elevated the status of madrasa to that of non-religious public schools by explicitly defning a madrasa’s status as “a public school with Islamic characteristics.”40 Meanwhile, in Malaysia no such policy or legislative efort was undertaken by the government. In fact, according to the 1956 report by the Committee to Consider Financial Aids to Non-Government Islamic Religious Schools and the 1960 Rahman Talib Report, Islamic schools were in woeful shape, severely lacking in the necessary fnance, infrastructure, and qualifed

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teaching staf to adapt to modern education.41 Many of these schools had to be shut as there was barely any assistance given by the government. From the early 1980s onward, the Malaysian Ministry of Education started to actively bring Islamic schools under its control – not primarily because the country was in desperate need of human capital, as was the case in Indonesia, but due to the UMNO-led government’s attempt to gain an upper hand in the country’s Islamic public discourse, as previously mentioned. Most madrasas in Malaysia therefore became public and federally managed, unlike in Indonesia where only 5 percent of the madrasas are public. The handful of privately owned pondok schools left in Malaysia remain steadfast in their pedagogic traditions and have managed to survive mainly because of the persistence of demand from the small slices of society that value Islamic knowledge above general education and thus do not feel the need to fnd employment outside of the religious milieu. Pondok schools have also become a popular destination of “last resort” for parents to set their wayward children straight, thanks to pondok schools’ rigid and austere religious environment.42 Many pondok schools in Malaysia also provide safe havens for divorced women escaping social stigma, as well as senior citizens who want to spend their twilight years preparing for the afterlife.43 There have also been eforts by the federal and state governments in recent years to promote pondok schools as destinations for Islamic tourism by likening the residential-style pondok schools to homestays where Muslim tourists can experience frst-hand the pondok lifestyle and culture.44 More importantly, pondok schools are generally an organic part of the community within which they reside, and for that reason their teachers and students often perform Islamic rituals for the locals such as leading the Friday and funeral prayers, Qurʾānic recitation classes, and other religious services. Pondok schools, in fact, are enmeshed in a symbiotic relationship with their surrounding communities.45 In short, the present remnants of pondok schools have been able to stay afoat and relevant by catering to specifc sections of society, despite remaining outside of the national education system. Pondok schools, local culture, and Arabisation

The diference in the nature of public discourse on Islam discussed earlier shapes the way pondok schools in Indonesia and Malaysia interact with culture, be it local or Arabic. The debate on the Arabisation of local Islamic practices is particularly acrimonious in both countries, and again we see that pondok schools in Indonesia and Malaysia have taken divergent approaches when dealing with the creeping infuence of “non-indigenous” Islamic culture. Due to the lack of a dominant Islamic orthodoxy and the wide-open discursive landscape in Indonesia, pondok schools tend to be more accommodative to syncretic practices imbued with local culture. The late Abdurrahman

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Wahid, afectionately known as Gus Dur – the former President of Indonesia and grandson of the founder of Nahdlatul Ulama – states in a speech: Islam in Indonesia emerges from a cultural basis. If that basis is gone, then there are two possibilities: frst, culture will die; and second, Islam will be destroyed. My message is [for us] to be critical thinkers.46 In contrast, pondok schools in Malaysia tend to adopt a puritanical, less accommodating view that cracks down on “un-Islamic” elements in local culture.47 The debate on what constitutes as “authentic” Islamic culture is not new in Indonesia and Malaysia; it dates back to the confict between Kaum Muda and Kaum Tua at the turn of the twentieth century, as I have noted earlier in this chapter. Back then, the contention revolved around the ideas of “modern” versus “traditional” in shaping local Islamic practices. In Indonesia, these conficting worldviews led to the establishment of the modernist organisation Muhammadiyah and the traditionalist Nahdlatul Ulama, neither of which has managed to gain the upper hand. The modernists (Kaum Muda), however, were not as successful in Malaysia at that time, but the wave of Islamic resurgence in the late 1970s brought their puritanical transnational ideas back to the forefront of Islamic discourse, in particular after the former fery Muslim activist Anwar Ibrahim joined the federal government in 1982 and PAS re-took control of the state government in Kelantan in 1990. In Indonesia, being accommodative does not mean that pondok schools support the syncretic local traditions that are often deemed “un-Islamic.” Tolerating “un-Islamic” cultural practices through harmonious co-existence is a means for pondok schools to carry out daʿwa eforts in a peaceful manner. The common view of pondok schools is that practitioners and believers of these predominantly animistic beliefs have yet to see and experience the true blessings of the Islamic faith, and it is the pondok schools’ mission to make that happen in a way that does not create bad faith and hostility against Islam. When asked about belief in dukun (traditional healer or witchdoctor), gendruwo (a malevolent mythical beast), intuk (a spirit believed to help its owner to gain wealth), and all sorts of traditional Javanese religious concepts, Kiyai Tahrir, the head of a pondok school in Tegalsari, East Java notes: Of course such belief are un-Islamic. But should I condemn them for this? It is wrong even to say or to tell them that they have done something which is prohibited by Islam. No, no, this is unwise. Tell them what Islam is; tell them what they should believe in. I do not want to create popular resentment to Islam, but, frst of all, sympathy.48 The traditionalist roots of many pondok schools means that they are organically embedded within the society in which they reside. In other words,

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pondok schools are also a contributing member of their respective communities and not islands unto themselves. Teachers and students of pondok schools provide liturgical services to their communities such as Friday prayer sermons, the tahlil ritual (remembrance of the dead), selawatan (recitations of prayers accompanied by a musical ensemble), and others. It is in the best interest of pondok schools to be on good terms with their local communities and, by extension, local “un-Islamic” cultural practices, as part of their daʿwa eforts. Gus Dur emphasises the importance of this symbiotic relationship between pondok schools and their local culture by saying, “One of the obligations of pondok schools is to sustain local culture. Pondok schools can also be sustained by adhering to local culture.”49 The pervasive infuence of Sufsm within traditionalist Islam in Indonesia also opens up many pondok schools to becoming more receptive to “un-Islamic” local cultural practices. Sufsm’s focus on deep spirituality and mysticism leads it to see local syncretic practices, which typically share a similar focus, in a positive, non-judgmental light. After all, it was Sufsm that greatly helped the frst spread of Islam in Java in the ffteenth century. Sufsm’s inclusive approach has helped traditionalists and their pondok schools to attract people to Islam, be they non-believers or non-practising Muslims.50 The traditionalist Islamic mass organisation, Nahdlatul Ulama, holds the view that Sufsm and its attendant tarekat (orders of Sufsm) are compatible with the Islamic faith, provided adherents conform to the fve major tenets of Islam.51 There is, of course, a fne line between Islamic mysticism and heretical cultural practices, and oftentimes it is not clear. Nevertheless, some kiyais are willing to take that risk, primarily driven by the need to get as close to the people in the community as possible. K.H. Masrur Ahmad is one such person. He is the owner of a pondok school in Sleman, a regency in Central Java and a supporter of abangan (Javanese mysticism) arts as a daʿwa vehicle, in particular jaranan (horse dance). Practitioners of jaranan would be induced into a trance, which K.H. Masrur likens to dhikr ritual in Sufsm, in which Sufs chant repetitively and fall into a state of trance or what they call fanāʾ, a mystic loss of self.52 Sufsm, in short, is the proverbial bridge that connects traditionalist-oriented pondok schools with the local culture of their surrounding communities. Another example of Indonesian pondok schools’ cultural adaptability can be seen in Christian-majority province of Nusa Tenggara Timur (NTT) in the eastern reaches of the archipelagos. In order to thrive in an area where Muslims constitute a minuscule minority, pondok schools in NTT have been open to infuences from local culture that transcends religious division. For instance, there are pondok schools in NTT that employ Christian teachers, a practice that is almost unheard of in other parts of Indonesia; these pondok schools prefer Christian teachers who are indigenous to NTT and as such well-versed in local culture, which is known for its tolerance and diversity.

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There is a widely held perception that Muslim teachers from the islands of Java and Sumatra tend to be more conservative and less tolerant, and therefore not culturally suitable to teach at pondok schools in NTT.53 Only in an open Islamic discursive environment, such as that found in Indonesia, could this kind of hiring practice take place at pondok schools. It is an unthinkable phenomenon in Malaysia. In the Malaysian context, the state of Kelantan can serve as a microcosm in which we can observe the ways pondok schools and their surrounding communities have conformed to the puritanical pressure of the Islamist government for the past three decades. When PAS wrested back control of the Kelantan state government in 1990, local traditions such as wayang kulit (shadow play), dikir barat (a type of group musical performance), mak yong, and main puteri (types of dances) became the focus of Islamic regulation. The PAS state government deemed these traditional performances un-Islamic, since they contained elements of idolatry (syirik) and superstitions (khurafat) – and, in the case of dikir barat, vulgarities – and sought to “purify” these practices by making them sharīʿa-compliant. While many pondok schools were against these forms of traditional entertainment before 1990, they generally tolerated them due to their popularity with the local community. Some heads of pondok schools even partook in these performances. Ustaz Wan Ji Wan Hussin, a well-known preacher and a pondok school alumnus, recalled his late grandfather, Ustaz Wan Hasan, who was the head of a pondok school in Gertak Kecupu village in Kota Bharu, as an afcionado of these traditional practices who certainly did not see it as a religious transgression.54 However, after 1990 these cultural performances became the object of control by the PAS state government in Kelantan. Public performance of mak yong was banned in 1991 until the state government allowed it to be performed again in 2019 after the performers agreed to comply with sharīʿa codes.55 Wayang kulit also sufered a similar fate until 2003, when it was again permitted to be performed in public after the performers satisfed the sharīʿa requirements set by the Kelantan state government.56 Pondok schools, being staunch supporters of PAS, concurred with the regulation of these cultural practices. Teachers at one pondok school remarked: These cultural practices are in essence haram. But the smart and culturally sensitive leadership of Tuan Guru Nik Aziz Nik Mat [the late former Chief Minister of Kelantan] compelled some of these practices to adhere to the sharīʿa codes. Now there are no more syirik and khurafat elements in wayang kulit and raunchy lyrics in dikir barat. Instead, they are used to spread Islamic teaching and thus continue to be relevant.57 Meanwhile, the pervasive infuence of Arabic culture on local Islamic practices is generally acceptable and has not become a contentious debate, as it

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is in Indonesia, where there is a strong pushback by the two largest Muslim organisations, Nahdlatul Ulama and Muhammadiyah, to reassert the primacy of the more tolerant localised Islam over the more hard-line Arabic variant.58 Pondok schools regard Arabic culture as a natural component of Islamic practice, since Islam originated in the Arabian Peninsula, and many pondok ʿulamāʾ studied in the Middle East. It is common to see pondok students and teachers dress in long fowing robes and turbans, and address each other with Arabic pronouns such as anta, anti, and antum, instead of the Malay language equivalent of saya and kamu. One pondok teacher elaborately explained why Arabic culture and Islamic precepts are inseparable: Take for example the issue of wearing purdah [veil]. Arabic culture has been acculturated [dibudayakan] with purdah practice while our [Malay] culture has not. In actuality, we have to evaluate whether wearing purdah is a part of [the pre-Islamic] Arabic culture or Arabic culture that has been acculturated by Islam. We have to see it from that context. It means that we can say that wearing purdah is Arabic culture per se and not wearing purdah is Malay culture, because we need to know whether wearing purdah is Arabic culture or a religious duty. I am of the opinion that Muslim women must wear more than purdah to cover themselves because it is what stated in many fqh texts. So yes, it means that as long as the Arabic culture conforms to Islamic precepts then we will copy and follow. It means that they [Arabs] have long incorporated Islamic precepts in their culture and we [Malays] are still lagging behind in acculturating Islamic precepts in our culture.59 In short, the Arabisation of Islamic practice in pondok schools is not seen as something threatening; in fact, it is welcomed, as Arabic culture represents “authentic” transnational Islam because the region is seen as the cradle of Muslim civilisation. Transnational Islam is seen as immensely benefcial to the Malays, as it uplifts Malay culture to the international stage as part of the “global ummah.” By latching on to transnational Islam and foregoing local parochialism, Malay culture also gains the dignity of being part of an age-old illustrious “Islamic civilisation.”60 As such, the lively debate on the incompatibility of the Arabic variant of Islam and localised Islam – Islam Nusantara or Islam Berkemajuan – as we are witnessing in Indonesia today, is almost non-existent in Malaysia. Only in an open public discourse such debate can occur; this is why it is seen in Indonesia, but not Malaysia. Conclusion

For hundreds of years pondok schools have been an indispensable mainstay of Southeast Asian culture and history. They were the only source of

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education for Muslims before the advent of mass education in the late nineteenth century and remained so thereafter due to the inaccessibility of modern education to large swaths of the population. But in order to maintain their relevance, pondok schools needed to be creative and adaptive, as they were in Indonesia, or risked obsolescence as in Malaysia. What allows pondok schools in Indonesia to keep abreast with the challenges posed by colonialism, modernity, and the nation-building project is the open public discursive space on Islamic matters in which there is no hegemonic orthodoxy to restrict the ability of these pondok schools to reconstitute themselves without losing their traditional core, unlike the developments in Malaysia. As such, we see the growth of pondok schools in Indonesia while in Malaysia the number has been steadily declining as they remain ossifed in time. Pondok schools in Indonesia are a testament that traditional Islamic education can be modern and relevant at the same time, a fate not shared by their Malaysian counterparts. Notes 1 Pondok and tahfz schools are typically privately owned and not part of the national education system. These schools are registered with and monitored by the State Islamic Council (Majlis Agama Islam Negeri) in the respective states where the schools are located (Jabatan Kemajuan Islam Malaysia [Malaysian Department of Islamic Development]: https://simpeni.islam.gov.my/simpeniv2/ index.php?pages=statistik (accessed September 1, 2020). The informal status of pondok schools makes it difcult to account for their actual number. Another source puts their number at 215 schools as of 2020 (No author, Ijtimak Pondok Malaysia, Pondok Pasir Tumboh, Kota Bharu, Kelantan, March 7, 2020). 2 The Malaysian Ministry of Education uses its fnancial prowess as a way to absorb many private Islamic schools into its orbit and keep them in line. (“Education Ministry Largest 2020 Budget Recipient with RM64.1b [NSTTV],” New Straits Times, October  11, 2019. www.nst.com.my/news/government-publicpolicy/2019/10/528981/education-ministry-largest-2020-budget-recipient-rm641b (accessed September  1, 2020). Currently, there are 10,220 national primary and secondary schools and 4,779,270 students in Malaysia. (Statistik Bilangan Sekolah, Murid & Guru, Kementerian Pendidikan Malaysia. www.moe.gov.my/ en/statistik-menu/statistik-bilangan-sekolah-murid-guru (accessed September  1, 2020). 3 “Jakim Pleased with RM1.3bil Allocation for Islamic Afairs,” The Star, October 12, 2019. www.thestar.com.my/news/nation/2019/10/12/jakim-pleased-withrm13bil-allocation-for-islamic-afairs (accessed September 1, 2020). 4 Azmil Tayeb, Islamic Education in Indonesia and Malaysia: Shaping Minds, Saving Souls (Abingdon and New York: Routledge, 2018), 197–215. 5 Buku Saku Statistik Pendidikan Islam Tahun 2014/2015, Direktorat Jenderal Pendidikan Islam, Kementerian Agama Republik Indonesia. http://pendis. kemenag.go.id/ebook/ebook20142015/mobile/index.html(accessedSeptember1,2020). In comparison, there are 217,270 non-religious public schools that enrol 44,644,261 students across the country. (Jendela Pendidikan dan Kebudayaan, Kementerian Pendidikan dan Kebudayaan RI. http://jendela.data.kemdikbud. go.id/jendela/# (accessed September 1, 2020).

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6 One reason for the high percentage of private madrasa in Indonesia is Kemenag’s dearth of resources to turn these madrasa public despite Kemenag’s Rp 64 triliun (USD4.3 billion) budget in 2020. “Menag Minta Anggaran 2021 Ditambah, Totalnya Jadi Rp 70,51 Triliun,” Kompas, June 25, 2020. https://nasional. kompas.com/read/2020/06/25/18013371/menag-minta-anggaran-2021-ditambahtotalnya-jadi-rp-7051-triliun (accessed September 1, 2020). See also Madrasah@ Indonesia (Jakarta: Direktorat Jenderal Pendidikan Islam, Kementerian Agama RI, 2015), 14. 7 Noorhaidi Hasan, “Education, Young Islamists and Integrated Islamic Schools in Indonesia,” Studia Islamika 19.1 (2012), 77–112. See also Tayeb, Islamic Education in Indonesia and Malaysia, 183–95. 8 This chapter uses pondok education as a catch-all term for traditional Islamic learning in Southeast Asia. Pondok schools go by diferent names across the Nusantara world: they are known as pesantren in Java, dayah in Aceh, surau in West Sumatra, while Malaysia and southern Thailand retain the term pondok. 9 Zamakhsyari Dhofer, The Pesantren Tradition: The Role of Kyai in the Maintenance of Traditional Islam in Java (Tempe: Monograph Series Press, Program for Southeast Asian Studies, Arizona State University, 1999), 2. See also Rosnani Hashim, Saheed Ahmad Rufai, and Mohd Roslan Mohd Nor, “Traditional Islamic Education in Asia and Africa: A Comparative Study of Malaysia’s Pondok, Indonesia’s Pesantren and Nigeria’s Traditional Madrasah,” World Journal of Islamic History and Civilization 1:2 (2011), 94–107. 10 Cliford Geertz, “The Javanese Kijaji: The Changing Role of a Cultural Broker,” Comparative Studies in Society and History 2:2 (January 1960), 228–49. 11 For an overview of traditional Islamic learning, see Jonathan Berkey, “Madrasas Medieval and Modern: Politics, Education, and the Problem of Muslim Identity,” in Robert Hefner and Muhammad Qasim Zaman (eds.), Schooling Islam: The Culture and Politics of Modern Muslim Education (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2007), 40–58. For traditional Islamic learning in various Islamic countries such as Yemen, see Brinkley Messick, The Calligraphic State: Textual Domination and History in a Muslim Society (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992), 75–98; for Morocco, see Dale Eickelman, Knowledge and Power in Morocco (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1985); for Indonesia, see Zamakhsyari Dhofer, The Pesantren Tradition: The Role of Kyai in the Maintenance of Traditional Islam in Java (Tempe: Monograph Series Press, Program for Southeast Asian Studies, Arizona State University, 1999), 1–13; Karel Steenbrink, Pesantren, Madrasah dan Sekolah (Jakarta: LP3ES, 1986); and Azyumardi Azra, Surau: Pendidikan Islam Tradisional dalam Transisi dan Modernisasi (Jakarta: Logos, 2003), 97–106; and Malaysia, see William Rof, “Pondoks, Madrasahs and the Production of ‘Ulama’ in Malaysia,” in William Rof, Studies on Islam and Society in Southeast Asia (Singapore: National University of Singapore Press, 2009) and Rosnani Hashim, Educational Dualism in Malaysia: Implications for Theory and Practice (Kuala Lumpur: The Other Press, 2004), 21–8. 12 Dhofer, The Pesantren Tradition, 57–61. 13 Ibid., 11–13. 14 For detailed account of the Kaum Muda versus Kaum Tua confict in the early 1900s in Malaysia and Indonesia, refer to Taufk Abdullah, Schools and Politics: The Kaum Muda Movement in West Sumatra, 1927–1933 (Singapore: Equinox Publishing, 2009) and William R. Rof, “Kaum Muda – Kaum Tua: Innovation and Reaction Amongst the Malays, 1900–1941,” in K.G. Tregonning (ed.), Papers on Malayan History (Singapore: Journal of Southeast Asian History, 1962). 15 As a response to the challenge by the reformist ʿulamāʾ and Muhammadiyah, the traditional ʿulamāʾ established their own organisation in 1926, Nahdlatul Ulama,

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the purpose of which was to preserve and protect traditional Islamic culture and practices, including pondok education. See Faisal Ismail, “The Nahdlatul Ulama: Its Early History and Contribution to the Establishment of Indonesian State,” Journal of Indonesian Islam 5:2 (December 2011), 247–82. For instance, by 1938 the British colonial administration had employed 1,742 Malays in Federated Malays States in low-level administrative work from the total of 4,938 employees. William Rof, The Origin of Malay Nationalism (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1967), 120. Expanded bureaucratisation of Islamic administration in the state of Kelantan was also a major contributing factor in the growing number of madrasa. See Khoo Kay Kim, Malay Society: Transformation and Democratisation (Subang Jaya: Pelanduk Publications, 1991), 135 and Rof, Pondoks, Madrasahs, 124. For a detailed discussion of Islamic education in Kelantan, see Tayeb, Islamic Education in Indonesia and Malaysia, 111–31. Adaptability and openness to modern changes remain a hallmark of many pondok schools in present-day Indonesia. Interviews with Ustadz Yunizar Ramadhani, Pondok Pesantren Darul Hijrah Putri, Martapura, South Kalimantan, September 17, 2020 and Teungku T. Wildan, Dayah Raudhatun Najah, Langsa, Aceh, September 30, 2020. Azyumardi Azra, Dina Afrianty, and Robert Hefner, “Pesantren and Madrasa: Muslim Schools and National Ideals in Indonesia,” in Robert Hefner and Muhammad Qasim Zaman (eds.), Schooling Islam: The Culture and Politics of Modern Muslim Education (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2007), 173. See also Irfan Abubakar and Idris Hemay, “Pesantren Resilience: The Path to Prevent Radicalism and Violent Extremism,” Studia Islamika 27:2 (2020), 397–404. Similar preservation of pondok education vis-a-vis communal identity can also be observed in southern Thailand where pondok schools still remain relevant due to their utility as a symbol of resistance for the Muslim minority against the hegemony of the majority Buddhist culture. See Joseph Liow, Islam, Education and Reform in Southern Thailand: Tradition and Transformation (Singapore: NUS Press, 2009). Talal Asad, The Idea of an Anthropology of Islam (Washington: Center for Contemporary Arab Studies, Georgetown University, 1986), 15. George Zito, “Toward a Sociology of Heresy,” Sociological Analysis 44:2 (1983), 124. For a more detailed comparison of Islamic orthodoxy (or lack thereof) between Malaysia and Indonesia, refer to Azmil Tayeb, “State Islamic Orthodoxies and Islamic Education in Malaysia and Indonesia,” Kajian Malaysia 35:2 (2017), 1–20. Anwar Ibrahim was the president of Malaysian Muslim Youth Movement (Angkatan Belia Islam Malaysia, ABIM) and was a vociferous critic of the UMNO-led government. After joining UMNO, Anwar quickly rose to become the Deputy Prime Minister before Mahathir unceremoniously sacked him in 1998. He was later imprisoned on sodomy charges. Jomo Kwame Sundaram and Ahmad Shabery Cheek, “The Politics of Malaysia’s Islamic Resurgence,” Third World Quarterly 10.2 (April 1988), 843–68; Judith Nagata, Refowering of Islam: Modern Religious Radicals and Their Roots (Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 1984); Chandra Muzafar, Islamic Resurgence in Malaysia (Kuala Lumpur: Fajar Bakti, 1987), 79–80; and Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid, “Patterns of State Interaction with Islamic Movements in Malaysia During the Formative Years of Islamic Resurgence,” Southeast Asian Studies 44.4 (March 2007), 457–61. Farish Noor, “Blood, Sweat and Jihad: The Radicalization of the Political Discourse of PAS from 1982 Onwards,” Contemporary Southeast Asia 25.2 (2003),

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200–32; Joseph Liow, Piety and Politics: Islamism in Contemporary Malaysia (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009); Joseph Liow, “Political Islam in Malaysia: problematising discourse and practice in the UMNO-PAS ‘Islamisation race’.” Commonwealth and Comparative Politics 42.2 (2004), 184–205; and Maznah Mohamad, “Legal-Bureaucratic Islam in Malaysia: Homogenizing and Ring-fencing the Muslim Subject” in Hui Yew-Foong, ed., Encountering Islam: The Politics of Religious Identities in Southeast Asia (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2013). Nusyuz entails the right of a husband to hit his “disobedient” wife under certain conditions. Tayeb, State Islamic Orthodoxies, 12–15. Article 3(2) of the Malaysian constitution states that the sultan has the right to manage Islamic afairs in his state, which also includes Islamic schools. “Najib Hands Out RM80m for Religious Schools,” Malaysiakini, April 25, 2017. www.malaysiakini.com/news/380235 (accessed September 1, 2020). There were sporadic impotent threats from the fringe Islamic groups such as Darul Islam but in the main the regime did not have to worry about an Islamic challenge to its legitimacy. For details on the New Order regime’s engagement with Islam, see Bahtiar Efendy, Islam and the State in Indonesia (Athens: Ohio University Press, 2004); William Liddle, “The Islamic Turn in Indonesia: A Political Explanation.” Journal of Asian Studies 55.3 (August 1996), 613–34; Abdul Azis Thaba, Islam dan Negara Dalam Politik Orde Baru (Jakarta: Gema Insani Press, 1996); and Robert Hefner, Civil Islam: Muslims and Democratization in Indonesia (Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2000). Pro-regime Islamic political groups such as the Indonesian Islamic Propagation Council (Dewan Da’wah Islamiyah Indonesia, DDII) were permitted and even encouraged to operate since their orientation was directed outward to conficts in other Muslim countries. Hefner, Civil Islam. See also Aswab Mahasin, “The Santri Middle Class: An Insider View,” in Richard Tanter and Kenneth Young (eds.), The Politics of Middle Class Indonesia (Clayton: Monash University Centre of Southeast Asian Studies, 1990), 8–12. CONVEY Indonesia, CSRC UIN Jakarta – PPIM UIN Jakarta, “Resiliensi Komunitas Pesantren Terhadap Radikalisme: Social Bonding, Social Bridging, Social Linking,” CONVEY Report 3:4 (2020), 1–74. The translation from Bahasa Indonesia to English is mine. Tayeb, State Islamic Orthodoxies, 12–3. In 1985, the UMNO-led government introduced the Policy on the Inculcation of Islamic Values in Administration (Dasar Penerapan Nilai-Nilai Islam Dalam Pentadbiran) as part of the Islamisation efort with the aim of making Malay civil servants better Muslims. As the reasoning goes, a devout Muslim is also a productive and honest worker. See No Author, Garis Panduan Bagi Mengadakan Ceramah Penerapan Nilai-Nilai Islam Dalam Perkhidmatan Awam: Pekeliling Am Bil. 2 Tahun 2001 (Putrajaya: Jabatan Perdana Menteri, 2001), iii. Pancasilaist is a term referring to a person who believes in the supremacy of the state ideology Pancasila (fve principles) above all else and wants to place its ideals at the centre of all public afairs, including national education. For more details on the turf battle between MORA and MOEC, see Moch Nur Ichwan, “Ofcial Reform of Islam: State Islam and the Ministry of Religious Afairs in Contemporary Indonesia, 1966–2004,” (PhD diss., University of Tilberg, 2006). Risti Permani, “Educational Challenges with Special Reference to Islamic Schooling,” in Chris Manning and Sudarno Sumarto (eds.), Employment, Living Standards and Poverty in Contemporary Indonesia (Singapore: ISEAS Publishing, 2011). Some provinces and districts known for their strong Islamic identity defed the directive and continued to fund pondok schools in their jurisdictions. Asrori

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Karni, Etos Studi Kaum Santri: Wajah Baru Pendidikan Islam (Bandung: Mizan, 2009). The 1975 Surat Keputusan Bersama (SKB) Tiga Menteri (Three Ministers’ Joint Decision Letter) stated that the new standard ratio for madrasa was 70 percent general content and 30  percent religious content. R. Murray Thomas, “The Islamic Revival and Indonesian Education.” Asian Survey 28:9 (September 1988), 903. Interview with Teungku T. Wildan, Dayah Raudhatun Najah, Langsa, Aceh, September 30, 2020. Ichwan, Ofcial Reform of Islam, 143–4. Tayeb, Islamic Education in Indonesia and Malaysia, 71–3. By accepting students with known disciplinary problems from their previous schools, most of whom do not want to be sent there in the frst place, pondok schools face serious difculty since neither the schools nor their teachers are equipped to deal with ill-disciplined students. There is a popular albeit misguided belief that pondok schools’ deeply religious milieu and strict learning culture, to the extent that some schools even allow for corporal punishments, can bring these ill-disciplined teenagers back to the righteous path. Interview with the Ustaz Abu Bakar Osman, Pondok Pasir Tumboh, Kota Bharu, Kelantan, August 6, 2020. Yoshihiro Tsubouchi and Reiko Tsubouchi, “The Pondok as a place of refuge: Changes in a Pondok in Kelantan, 1971–1992,” Southeast Asian Studies 31:2 (September 1993), 89–103. See also Salma Ishak and Fuziah Shafe, Pondok Sebagai Satu Pilihan Tempat Tinggal di Kalangan Orang Tua (Sintok: Penerbit Universiti Utara Malaysia, 1998). Rahayu Mustafa, “Sekolah pondok diangkat sebagai produk pelancongan Islam,” Sinar Harian, April  15, 2019. www.sinarharian.com.my/article/23595/ EDISI/Terengganu/Sekolah-pondok-diangkat-sebagai-produk-pelancongan-Islam (accessed January 11, 2021). Mohd Izzudin Ramli and Mohamad Zaini Abu Bakar, “Kearifan Tempatan dalam Institusi Sekolah Pondok di Malaysia,” in Salasiah Che Lah and Norizan Esa (eds.), Ilmu, Tradisi dan Kelestarian Dalam Kearifan Tempatan (Penang: Penerbit Universiti Sains Malaysia, 2015). Original Bahasa Indonesia quote: “Islam di Indonesia itu timbul dari basis kebudayaan. Jika itu dihilangkan, maka kemungkinannya ada dua, yaitu pertama, kebudayaan akan mati, dan kedua, Islam akan hancur. Pesan saya, jadilah pemikir yang sehat.” “Islam Indonesia Berbasis pada Kebudayaan,” NU Online. http:// nahdlatululama.id/blog/2017/05/04/islam-indonesia-berbasis-pada-kebudayaan/ (accessed January 11, 2021). In Kelantan, big pondok schools with long-standing reputations and charismatic to’ guru are able to exert their infuence on the surrounding communities to stamp out what they deem as “un-Islamic” traditional practices. Smaller, less dominant pondok schools, on the other hand, are not able to force their will on the surrounding communities, which then leads to a mutually exclusive co-existence. Robert Winzeler, “Traditional Islamic Schools in Kelantan,” Journal of the Malaysian Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 48:1 (1975), 95–6. Quoted in Dhofer, The Pesantren Tradition, 132. Original Bahasa Indonesia quote: “Tugas Pondok Pesantren salah satunya adalah melestarikan budaya daerah. Begitu pula Pondok Pesantren bisa lestari karena mengikuti budaya setempat.” “Gus Dur: Hubungan Pesantren dan Budaya Lokal Harus Dijaga,”NU Online, September 14, 2004. www.nu.or.id/post/read/2048/gusdur-hubungan-pesantren-dan-budaya-lokal-harus-dijaga (accessed January 11, 2021).

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50 Robert Pringle, Understanding Islam in Indonesia: Politics and Diversity (Singapore: Editions Didier Millet, 2010), 129–30. 51 Giora Eliraz, “Indonesia’s Nahdlatul Ulama: A  Tolerant, Inclusive Message to the Arab Middle East,” Middle East Institute, October 14, 2016. www.mei.edu/ publications/indonesias-nahdlatul-ulama-tolerant-inclusive-message-arab-middleeast (accessed January 11, 2021). 52 M.C. Ricklefs, Islamisation and Its Opponents in Java, c. 1930 to the Present (Singapore: NUS Press, 2012), 383. 53 Tayeb, Islamic Education in Indonesia and Malaysia, 148. 54 Interview with Ustaz Wan Ji Wan Hussin, Kuala Lumpur, July 20, 2020. 55 “Mak Yong muncul semula di Kelantan selepas 28 tahun,” Astro Awani, September 22, 2019. www.astroawani.com/berita-malaysia/mak-yong-muncul-semula-dikelantan-selepas-28-tahun-218147 (accessed September 15, 2020). 56 Even when the ban was in efect, people were still performing Mak Yong and Wayang Kulit in rural villages scattered across the state, defying the regulation. Main Puteri, a dance performance that engages with the spirit world and deemed to be syirik and khurafat, was in fact permitted since it was a form of traditional healing for certain types of sickness. The PAS state government could not aford to come down hard on these cultural practices because it needed electoral support from these rural constituencies. (Interview with Ustaz Imran Hussain, Pondok Haji Yaakub Samba, Pasir Puteh, Kelantan, August 9, 2020). 57 Interview with Ustaz Amizu Muhammad and Ustazah Kamariah @ Yah Abdul Ghoni, Madrasah Rahmaniah, Pasir Mas, Kelantan, August 5, 2020. 58 Nahdlatul Ulama calls it “Islam Nusantara,” while Muhammadiyah terms it “Islam Berkemajuan.” 59 Interview with Ustaz Nik Nazimuddin Nik Ibrahim, Madrasah Khairu Ummah, Pasir Puteh, Kelantan, August 9, 2020. 60 Rahimin Afandi Abdul Rahim, Ruzman Md Noor, Norhidayah Yusof, Muhammad ‘Izzudin Helmi Dzulkifi, “Institusi Pondok Tradisional Sebagai Model Kearifan Melayu-Islam: Antara Tradisi dan Harapan,” in Salasiah Che Lah and Norizan Esa (eds.), Ilmu, Tradisi dan Kelestarian Dalam Kearifan Tempatan (Penang: Penerbit Universiti Sains Malaysia, 2015).

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“Islam Indonesia Berbasis pada Kebudayaan,” NU Online, http://nahdlatululama. id/blog/2017/05/04/islam-indonesia-berbasis-pada-kebudayaan/ (accessed 11 January 2021). Ismail, Faisal, “The Nahdlatul Ulama: Its Early History and Contribution to the Establishment of Indonesian State,” Journal of Indonesian Islam 5:2 (2011), 247–82. Jabatan Kemajuan Islam Malaysia [Malaysian Department of Islamic Development], https://simpeni.islam.gov.my/simpeniv2/index.php?pages=statistik (accessed 1 September 2020). “Jakim Pleased with RM1.3bil Allocation for Islamic Afairs,” The Star, 12 October 2019, www.thestar.com.my/news/nation/2019/10/12/jakim-pleased-with-rm13bilallocation-for-islamic-afairs (accessed 1 September 2020). Jendela Pendidikan dan Kebudayaan, Kementerian Pendidikan dan Kebudayaan RI, http://jendela.data.kemdikbud.go.id/jendela/# (accessed on 1 September, 2020). Karni, Asrori, Etos Studi Kaum Santri: Wajah Baru Pendidikan Islam, Bandung: Mizan, 2009. Khoo, Kay Kim, Malay Society: Transformation and Democratisation, Subang Jaya: Pelanduk Publications, 1991. Liddle, William, “The Islamic Turn in Indonesia: A Political Explanation,” Journal of Asian Studies 55:3 (1996), 613–34. Liow, Joseph, “Political Islam in Malaysia: Problematising Discourse and Practice in the UMNO-PAS ‘Islamisation Race’,” Commonwealth and Comparative Politics 42:2 (2004), 184–205. Liow, Joseph, Piety and Politics: Islamism in Contemporary Malaysia, New York: Oxford University Press, 2009a. Liow, Joseph, Islam, Education and Reform in Southern Thailand: Tradition and Transformation, Singapore: NUS Press, 2009b. Madrasah@Indonesia, Jakarta: Direktorat Jenderal Pendidikan Islam, Kementerian Agama RI, 2015. “Mak Yong muncul semula di Kelantan selepas 28 tahun,” Astro Awani, 22 September, 2019, www.astroawani.com/berita-malaysia/mak-yong-muncul-semula-dikelantan-selepas-28-tahun-218147 (accessed 15 October 2021). Mahasin, Aswab, “The Santri Middle Class: An Insider View,” in Richard Tanter and Kenneth Young (eds.), The Politics of Middle Class Indonesia, Clayton: Monash University Centre of Southeast Asian Studies, 1990. “Menag Minta Anggaran 2021 Ditambah, Totalnya Jadi Rp 70,51 Triliun,” Kompas, 25 June  2020, https://nasional.kompas.com/read/2020/06/25/18013371/menagminta-anggaran-2021-ditambah-totalnya-jadi-rp-7051-triliun (accessed 1 September 2020). Messick, Brinkley, The Calligraphic State: Textual Domination and History in a Muslim Society, Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992. Mohamad, Maznah, “Legal-Bureaucratic Islam in Malaysia: Homogenizing and Ring-Fencing the Muslim Subject,” in Hui Yew-Foong (ed.), Encountering Islam: The Politics of Religious Identities in Southeast Asia, Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2013. Mustafa, Rahayu Mustafa, “Sekolah pondok diangkat sebagai produk pelancongan Islam,” Sinar Harian, 15 April  2019, www.sinarharian.com.my/article/23595/ EDISI/Terengganu/Sekolah-pondok-diangkat-sebagai-produk-pelancongan-Islam (accessed 11 January 2021).

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Muzafar, Chandra, Islamic Resurgence in Malaysia, Kuala Lumpur: Fajar Bakti, 1987. Nagata, Judith, Refowering of Islam: Modern Religious Radicals and Their Roots, Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 1984. “Najib Hands Out RM80m for Religious Schools,” Malaysiakini, 25 April  2017, www.malaysiakini.com/news/380235 (accessed 15 October 2021). No Author, Garis Panduan Bagi Mengadakan Ceramah Penerapan Nilai-Nilai Islam Dalam Perkhidmatan Awam: Pekeliling Am Bil. 2 Tahun 2001, Putrajaya: Jabatan Perdana Menteri, 2001. No Author, Ijtimak Pondok Malaysia, Kelantan: Pondok Pasir Tumboh, Kota Bharu, 2020. Noor, Farish, “Blood, Sweat and Jihad: The Radicalization of the Political Discourse of PAS from 1982 Onwards,” Contemporary Southeast Asia 25:2 (2003), 200–32. Permani, Risti, “Educational Challenges with Special Reference to Islamic Schooling,” in Chris Manning and Sudarno Sumarto (eds.), Employment, Living Standards and Poverty in Contemporary Indonesia, Singapore: ISEAS Publishing, 2011. Pringle, Robert, Understanding Islam in Indonesia: Politics and Diversity, Singapore: Editions Didier Millet, 2010. Ramli, Mohd Izzudin and Mohamad Zaini Abu Bakar, “Kearifan Tempatan dalam Institusi Sekolah Pondok di Malaysia,” in Salasiah Che Lah and Norizan Esa (eds.), Ilmu, Tradisi dan Kelestarian Dalam Kearifan Tempatan, Penang: Penerbit Universiti Sains Malaysia, 2015. Ricklefs, M.C., Islamisation and Its Opponents in Java, c. 1930 to the Present, Singapore: NUS Press, 2012. Rof, William, “Kaum Muda – Kaum Tua: Innovation and Reaction Amongst the Malays, 1900–1941,” in K.G. Tregonning (ed.), Papers on Malayan History, Singapore: Journal of Southeast Asian History, 1962. Rof, William, The Origin of Malay Nationalism, New Haven: Yale University Press, 1967. Rof, William, “Pondoks, Madrasahs and the Production of ‘Ulama’ in Malaysia,” in William Rof (ed.), Studies on Islam and Society in Southeast Asia, Singapore: National University of Singapore Press, 2009. Statistik Bilangan Sekolah, Murid & Guru, Kementerian Pendidikan Malaysia, www. moe.gov.my/en/statistik-menu/statistik-bilangan-sekolah-murid-guru (accessed 1 September 2020). Steenbrink, Karel, Pesantren, Madrasah dan Sekolah, Jakarta: LP3ES, 1986. Sundaram, Jomo Kwame and Ahmad Shabery Cheek, “The Politics of Malaysia’s Islamic Resurgence,” Third World Quarterly 10:2 (April 1988), 843–68. Tayeb, Azmil, “State Islamic Orthodoxies and Islamic Education in Malaysia and Indonesia,” Kajian Malaysia 35:2 (2017), 1–20. Tayeb, Azmil, Islamic Education in Indonesia and Malaysia: Shaping Minds, Saving Souls, Abingdon and New York: Routledge, 2018. Thaba, Abdul Azis, Islam dan Negara Dalam Politik Orde Baru, Jakarta: Gema Insani Press, 1996. Thomas, R. Murray, “The Islamic Revival and Indonesian Education,” Asian Survey 28:9 (1988), 897–915. Tsubouchi, Yoshihiro, and Reiko Tsubouchi, “The Pondok as a Place of Refuge: Changes in a Pondok in Kelantan, 1971–1992,” Southeast Asian Studies 31:2 (1993), 89–103.

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Winzeler, Robert, “Traditional Islamic Schools in Kelantan,” Journal of the Malaysian Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 48:1 (1975), 91–103. Zito, George, “Toward a Sociology of Heresy,” Sociological Analysis 44:2 (1983), 123–30.

Interviews Ustaz Wan Ji Wan Hussin, Kuala Lumpur, 20 July 2020. Ustaz Amizu Muhammad, Madrasah Rahmaniah, Pasir Mas, Kelantan, 5 August 2020. Ustazah Kamariah @ Yah Abdul Ghoni, Madrasah Rahmaniah, Pasir Mas, Kelantan, 5 August 2020. Ustaz Abu Bakar Osman, Pondok Pasir Tumboh, Kota Bharu, Kelantan, 6 August 2020. Ustaz Nik Nazimuddin Nik Ibrahim, Madrasah Khairu Ummah, Pasir Puteh, Kelantan, 9 August 2020. Ustaz Imran Hussain, Pondok Haji Yaakub Samba, Pasir Puteh, Kelantan, 9 August 2020. Ustaz Yunizar Ramadhani, Pondok Pesantren Darul Hijrah Putri, Martapura, South Kalimantan, 17 September 2020. Teungku T. Wildan, Dayah Raudhatun Najah, Langsa, Aceh, 30 September 2020.

10 THE ISLAMIC ART OF SOUTHEAST ASIA Robert Hillenbrand

For Dzul Haimi b. Muhammad Zain: student, scholar, colleague, friend

The state of the feld

Indonesia, with a population of some 273  million, is the world’s largest Muslim-majority state and the dominant power in Southeast Asia. Yet the Islamic art of that entire region is remarkably – and regrettably – unfamiliar not just to the general public but even to specialists in Islamic art. Indeed, it has traditionally been relegated to minor status, and in today’s interconnected world that has unmistakable political implications. Out of sight, out of mind. Until very recent times this art has simply not fgured in general arthistorical surveys to any signifcant degree,1 if at all.2 And the same is true, with even less justifcation, of the major handbooks of Islamic art published from c.1990 to c.2000. This means, in plain language, that the Islamic art of Southeast Asia has not been integrated into the wider narrative of Islamic art history.3 It is only recently that surveys of this feld have begun to be written, and the fullest of these, that of Zakaria Ali, ends in 1570, which ensures that the majority of surviving pre-twentieth-century work is not included.4 The reasons behind the neglect

It is worth considering why this should be so. Admittedly the area is somewhat of the beaten track for tourists eager to acquaint themselves with the riches of medieval and early modern Islamic architecture, for example. Nor are distance and remoteness, with the accompanying practical costs in time DOI: 10.4324/9781032702902-14

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and money, the only drawbacks. The buildings themselves are often not easy of access, for they are widely scattered rather than being heavily concentrated in a very few places. And while it is Java that has most of the signifcant examples of Southeast Asian architecture, important specimens are to be found in dozens of the islands that comprise the Indonesian state. So, negotiating the practicalities of travel creates a major barrier to research. More to the point, the region can boast nothing to match what the imperial cities of the Ottomans, Safavids and Mughals – the three superpowers which carved up most of the Islamic world between them in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries – have to ofer. Southeast Asia lacked the wealth, the political clout, the streamlined bureaucracies and the deeply embedded experience of architectural display embodied in such cities as Cairo, Istanbul, Isfahan, Lahore, Delhi and Agra with their scores of fne and sometimes spectacular monuments. A single one of those cities can provide enough material to satisfy the most industrious of scholars for many years. So, the rich legacy of these superpowers has understandably monopolised the attention of scholars, to the detriment of the study of Southeast Asian architecture, which seems by comparison reduced in scale, complexity, variety, decoration and sheer panache. Most of what survives that is of pre-twentieth-century date, for example in the form of architecture or of luxury Qurʾāns, also falls within a time frame that has traditionally been under-researched by Islamic art historians, namely the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, though that is now changing. So, the general neglect of Southeast Asia in the wider perspective of Islamic art history is compounded by the relatively late date of most surviving work. Tombstones are the single major exception to this melancholy generalisation. And what is true of architecture applies to those other media cultivated in the region, notably luxury Qurʾāns and textiles, while yet other techniques did not advance beyond the artisanal level, for example glass, carpets, and carving in ivory and jade. Seals and coins have survived abundantly and, quite apart from their historical signifcance, which is of course paramount,5 shed light on the development of epigraphy. Coins are also sometimes of iconographical interest, notably those with fgural designs, a feature which underlines their departure from Islamic numismatic norms.6 Masterpieces of woodwork are not rare but are insufciently studied.7 Textiles are well known as a jewel in the crown of Southeast Asian art, thanks to two types in particular, namely batik and ikat. But textiles securely datable before 1800 are rare,8 though textual references highlight their importance in earlier centuries.9 Metalwork is represented principally by the ceremonial dagger or keris with a long straight or wavy steel blade; those made with iron from a meteorite that fell in Central Java in 1749 are widely believed to have strong magical powers. Many blades are intricately damascened and laminated into thirty-two, sixty-four or even more than 100 layers, and the vegetal and foral

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motifs they bear are invested with symbolic signifcance. They are used in ceremonial and ritual contexts.10 Other arts that deserve mention here include basketwork and musical instruments. But book painting, one of the glories of the three superpowers, is scarcely represented.11 The gaps noted earlier seriously impoverish the scope of Southeast Asian Islamic art and architecture and go far to explain why it has garnered less scholarly and public interest than the art of many other parts of the Islamic world. One fnal aspect of the region’s art, briefy mentioned already, deserves further emphasis here, since it has contributed substantially to its neglect in the scholarly literature on Islamic art: its timeline. Islam took time to establish itself, and its earliest sustained, as distinct from spasmodic, expression in the visual arts dates to the ffteenth century. Yet the regions between the Indian subcontinent and Muslim Spain can point to seven or eight centuries of artistic output before that time. Accordingly, Southeast Asian Islamic art arrived very late on the scene and so there is much less of it than in other regions of the Muslim world. Conversely, this same region produced a steady stream of high-quality carved tombstones of a very distinctive character, and in the realm of folk art it is distinguished for the puppets used for shadow plays (wayang), a genre for which, despite its Hindu origin, medieval Arabic and later Turkish parallels suggest themselves. But any attempt to tell the story of Southeast Asian Islamic art must take account of these dips in the landscape. This chapter has a deliberate focus on the earlier manifestations of Southeast Asian art, for the rate of survival grows exponentially after about 1800 and if this later material were taken into account it could easily overshadow what came before. So apart from brief remarks on illuminated Qurʾāns, the period after 1800 will not fgure in this account. Finally, the meagre total of serious scholarship devoted to the Islamic art and architecture of the region – though this situation is now changing very rapidly – creates perhaps the single major obstacle to a better understanding of this undeservedly neglected area. And while the work of local scholars is indispensable in so young a feld of study, that work tends to be very localised, to the detriment of developing a synthetic appreciation embracing the entire region and including a full range of the monuments that were erected.12 There is a further danger that the wider horizons of the Islamic art of Southeast Asia, in other words its place on the grand canvas of Islamic art in general, have sometimes been obscured as a result of the close focus on relatively little-known material. Yet the importance of long-distance trade in this region suggests that such perspectives are well worth exploring. The impact of geography

So much for the practical difculties that impede a clear understanding of the visual arts in this region. And any attempt to see this material as a whole

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must take account of its geographical and historical context. These two factors often interact. Geographically, the Indonesian archipelago, comprising more than 17,000 islands (some 6,000 of them inhabited) that extend some 3,000 miles along the equator, forms a natural barrier between the Pacifc and Indian oceans. The climate is tropical, with abundant rainfall, and subject to both monsoons. The volcanic soil of the coastal plains permits a rich agricultural yield. The presence of vast timberlands and rain forests with many species of hardwood goes far to explain why so many buildings are of wood rather than stone or brick. Malayan and Papuan groups account for most of the population, with countless sub-divisions, but the essentially island culture helps to explain why more than 250 mutually unintelligible languages have developed up to modern times. These are factors that help to explain the co-existence of numerous independent local traditions in the arts and crafts, though, of course, the dominant culture was that of the fve major islands, of which Java and Sumatra have been historically by far the most important. The history of Southeast Asia: a brief sketch

The history of the region over the past two millennia must now be briefy sketched. Before the arrival of Islam, indeed from the beginning of the Christian era onwards, the region fell increasingly under the sway of Indian culture through the activity of Indian traders and Buddhist and Hindu monks who planted their faiths throughout the region. Thus, by the seventh to eighth centuries, kingdoms closely connected to India had developed in Sumatra and Java. The gigantic and spectacular Buddhist stupa of Borobudur, built in the ninth century by the Shailendras of Sumatra in central Java, with its three platforms above the seven terraces encircling the truncated central pyramid, and festooned with stone carvings representing the episodes of the Buddha’s life, speaks volumes for the strength of this connection. So too does the impact of Sanskrit on the languages of the region, and of Indian scripts on how they were written before the sixteenth century. Sumatra was the seat of the longlived Buddhist kingdom of Sri Vijaya which ruled from the seventh to the thirteenth century; the Shailendras were for a time the ruling family in this dynasty. There followed two centuries of rule (1293–c.1527) by the Hindu kingdom of Majapahit based in central Java; it extended its sway across the entire Indonesian archipelago to New Guinea and the south-western Philippines, together with much of the Malay peninsula and southern Thailand. This kingdom was brought down in 883/1478 and from its ruins rose the Demak sultanate, which became a major Islamic centre in Java.13 The major mosque of this sultanate, completed in 894/1488, still stands. Smaller Muslim states arose from the ruins of the Majapahit realm. Their constant conficts made them an easy prey for European interlopers, frst the

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Portuguese (who captured Malacca in 1511), and then for a brief period the English, who were ousted by the Dutch by 1623. The Dutch East Company thereafter expanded its control over the entire area until its liquidation in 1799, when the Dutch government took over control of its territories almost continuously until Indonesian independence was proclaimed in 1949. How Southeast Asia became Islamic

The establishment of Islam in Southeast Asia was a gradual process,14 in which the islands of Java and Sumatra take centre stage. It is often asserted that Islam frst reached Southeast Asia in the thirteenth century, but this is not so. There is a Chinese report of an Arab leader settling in east Sumatra in 674. Muslim merchants had established themselves in Canton in southern China in the course of the eighth century, and it is likely that they had established outposts along the route through Southeast Asia.15 Al-Masʿūdi reports that in 878 in Canton between 120,000 and 200,000 foreign traders, mostly Muslims, were massacred in the course of a peasant rebellion. Large numbers of survivors fed west to settle near Kedah on the west coast of the Malay peninsula – which then replaced Canton as the entrepot of choice for the China trade – and in Palembang. Kufc inscriptions on a pillar and gravestone from the Champa kingdom of central and south Vietnam have survived, and bear the dates 427/1035 and 431/1039.16 A tombstone for Putri Makhdarah bint ‘Ali in Brunei is dated 440/1048.17 An inscription near Gresik in east Java, on the Leran tombstone dated 495/1102, is the earliest material indication of a Muslim presence on the island.18 The Achehnese chronicles attribute the introduction of Islam into Indonesia to a certain Shaikh ʿAbdallāh ʿĀrif who was active in northern Sumatra around 506/1112.19 In the year 601/1204–5, Juhan Shah was installed as the frst sultan. He is said to have come from the west, to have proselytised vigorously and to have married a local woman; he bore the half-Sanskrit, half-Arabic title of Sri Paduka Sultan. It is likely enough that, as Marco Polo reports c.1292, Islam in northern Sumatra was confned to the ports where the merchants plied their trade.20 Merchants would perforce have to remain for months in the monsoon season and if they took a local wife she would have to become a Muslim. The religion would thus spread to her family and tribe, helped by the prestige that attached to the exotic, well-travelled Muslim stranger. Other chronicles in their account of the city of Samudra in Sumatra tell how soon after 1300 missionaries sent by the Sharif of Mecca and led by a certain Shaikh Ismaʿīl made landfall at Pasuri and from there worked their way round the island, ending at Samudra, whose king they persuaded to embrace Islam under the name of al-Malik al-Salih.21 He founded the Muslim city and kingdom of Pasei.22 Ibn Baṭṭūta describes the court of al-Malik al-Zahir, probably his son, in 1345 and describes him as a zealous Muslim, fond of discussions

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with the ʿulamāʾ, some of whom had come from Iran. Ma Huan, a Chinese traveller who visited Sumatra in 1413, encountered several Muslim communities.23 Islam also spread to the mainland and to other islands, as revealed by inscriptions dated Rajab 702/February 1303 in Trengganu (in the northeast of the Malay peninsula)24 and 710/1310 in the island of Jolo in Sulu, which had its own sultanate before 1400; more importantly, the ruler of Malacca had adopted Islam in 812/1409.25 During that century both Pasai and Malacca became centres of Islamic learning for the entire archipelago, and Sufsm was crucial in this endeavour.26 In Java, too, the faith of Islam entered at the ports. Principalities on the north coast of Java that were more or less independent of Majapahit and that were centres of trade included Japara, Tuban, Gresik and Surabaya. In the course of the sixteenth century the greater part of Java turned to the Islamic faith, and Islam had spread to most of the archipelago. Both Buddhism, and to a large degree Hinduism, which had co-existed peacefully for centuries, were replaced by Islam, but animism in various forms (involving for example taboos, a belief in omens and in the spirits inhabiting trees and stones) and ancestor worship did not die out completely. Southeast Asians had a strong belief in the spirits they believed to inhabit trees, water and mountains, and could infuence human life for good or ill depending on the respect in which they were held. Both Buddhism and Hinduism incorporated some of these spirits, such as the earth goddess, into their faiths. The general picture that emerges is that conversion to Islam was a process that varied from the quick to the slow from one island to the next, though it was mostly gradual. Trade and intermarriage between foreigners and local women were more signifcant factors than political expediency. There was often competition for converts between Islam and Christianity, in which concepts of jihad and holy war were at work. Finally, the moral ethic of Islam had a powerful allure, as did the Suf brotherhoods and the spirit of personal devotion that they fostered. It is important to emphasise that Islam was not spread by the sword in Southeast Asia but by persuasion; here merchants and Sufs, many of them active missionaries for their faith, were crucial. In Southeast Asia, as in Africa, Islam spread along the trade routes, and the ethical code and rule of law that were part of the Islamic faith attracted many local merchants. The legal provision that a man could have up to four wives, and the social acceptance of concubinage, meant that wealthy Muslims often had a great many children and ran large households whose members had to be Muslims too. That included servants and slaves (slavery was on the rise in this period along with growing prosperity). In this way Islam spread very rapidly and by 1500 it was the major faith in maritime Southeast Asia, adapting itself to the existing culture and gradually evolving its own local expressions there. The Muslims of the region have long been famous for their eagerness to perform

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the hajj, and this festival has been of crucial importance in the integration of Southeast Asian Islam with the practice of the religion in other Islamic regions. The importance of trade

The connection between trade and Islam in the region had signifcant implications for the visual arts and therefore demands closer examination. Southeast Asia was an integral part of the world’s richest maritime trading network from about 1200, when the growing prosperity of Asian, European and African states sparked an expansion of trade. With trade came a variety of religions accompanied by a parallel variety of artistic traditions, and this goes far to explain the multiple strands in the Islamic art of Southeast Asia. The geographical location of the Malaysian peninsula, Sumatra and Java at a major choke point in the sea lanes that linked China and the rest of East Asia to the worlds of the west gave the powers that controlled the straits of Malacca, the favoured entry point into the Indian Ocean, a most decided trading advantage. Luxury goods such as jewels and precious metals, silks and other fne textiles, and above all spices, had long been traded via such entrepots as Malacca. But bigger ships were now built, and they could transport much larger cargoes including food grains, cotton, timber, horses – and slaves. The collapse of the Mongol empire in the fourteenth century disrupted overland trade to such an extent that maritime routes far to the south frst complemented and then gradually supplanted the age-old overland silk roads. Thus, Southeast Asia became the crucial corridor linking east and west. Not only items of trade but also works of art, ideas, motifs, craft techniques and art forms travelled in both directions. Taking advantage of the monsoon winds, frst Arabian dhows and then junks developed in China, which dominated sea travel in the Bay of Bengal and the South China Sea, would sail westwards from December to March and eastwards from April to August. Typically, these journeys were made in two separate voyages to and from Indian ports. Over the three centuries from c.1200 to c.1500, the dhow developed from a capacity of 100 up to a remarkable 400 tons, while the largest junks, with up to twelve bamboo sails and a crew of a thousand men, could carry a cargo of 1,000 tons with up to a hundred cabins for passengers. The space below deck was subdivided into watertight compartments to protect the cargo from fooding. At need they were propelled by oars as large as masts, each worked by ten to ffteen men.27 By the ffteenth century, such ships were being built in Southeast Asia and were manned by local crews. Trade, both local and international, was controlled by merchants, not by governments. The major political entity of the region in the late medieval period was the Majapahit empire, but it was powerless to halt the gradual

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spread of Islam. Malacca/Melaka, located at the narrowest part of the strait between Sumatra and the Malay peninsula, rose to prominence by a series of astute alliances and, thanks to the security and low taxes which it ofered, became a magnet for merchants. With the conversion of its ruler to Islam, trade with Gujarati and other Indian merchants opened up dramatically. Indian textiles found a ready market in Indonesia, which provided spices in return, much of them for onward transmission to Europe. “Spices” is a term that requires some explanation. The fourteenth-century handbook of the Italian merchant Pegolotti lists 288 items under that name, including eleven kinds of sugar, many kinds of waxes and gums, glue and of course the items of greatest value, all from the East. The most important of these were the condiments that gave much-needed favour to the cuisine of faraway Europe: black and white pepper (the best came from Sumatra), cinnamon, ginger, galangale, nutmeg, mace, cloves. This was a trade of global import. As the Portuguese apothecary Tomé Pires notes, “Whoever is lord of Malacca has his hand on the throat of Venice . . . this place is made for merchandise!” He spoke from experience – he lived in Malacca from 1512–1515, when it was the greatest entrepot of East Asian trade, surpassing Kilwa on the Swahili coast, Aden at the door of the Red Sea and the Malabar ports of western India.28 The development of these ports and city-states (all of them Muslim) along the borders of the Indian Ocean was triggered by the exponential expansion of trade after c.1200.29 In Malacca itself people from Egypt, Ethiopia, East Africa, Yemen, Armenia, Turkey, Central Asia, Iran, Gujarat and Bengal made their living,30 and eighty-four languages were spoken. Even the parrots were trained to be multi-lingual. This commerce was regulated by four ofcials, each of whom administered one of the major communities, namely the Gujaratis; the Indians and Burmese; the Southeast Asians; and the Chinese and Japanese. Tolerance of cultural diversity was a natural byproduct of this multi-racial and multi-confessional society. The world of the Indian Ocean

The Indian Ocean was a crucial element not just in the creation of this mercantile wealth – for globally speaking it was the most important and richest trading area on the planet. It was the great open highway that directly connected the most far-fung lands – Africa, Arabia, Iran and India – with Southeast Asia, which in turn looked eastwards to China and Japan. That great oceanic highway facilitated the spread of Islam in Southeast Asia just as it did in Africa. The spread of Muslim culture brought social changes, for example in the position of women, as well as a rise in literacy (frst in Arabic but later in local languages too) and in the growth of centres of higher education which favoured not only religious learning but also science, mathematics and medicine. Malacca played an important role in this process.

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Tombstones: general considerations

There is no doubt that one of the most distinctive expressions of Islam throughout Southeast Asia is the inscribed tombstone, widely known by the generic term batu Aceh (“Aceh stones”).31 Localised studies have cast a food of light on the forms that it took and also its wider context, whether in the Malay peninsula32 or in specifc Indonesian sites that are particularly rich in surviving tombstones.33 It is no exaggeration to assert that this genre of funerary monument has a greater importance in Southeast Asia than anywhere else in the Islamic world. Indeed, it has a good claim to be the principal expression of the Islamic visual arts in Southeast Asia before 1900. And while there are indeed examples of tombstones that long postdate the person they commemorate, this is an art form that is to all intents and purposes free from later restoration, repair and more radical transformation, which is the fate of most architecture in the region erected before c.1900. For that reason, this chapter will concentrate more on batu Aceh than on religious architecture or illuminated Qurʾāns. The importance of batu Aceh has much to do with the sheer number of examples – though medieval Egypt has more, with a total running into several thousands.34 Obviously, the rich decoration of those grave markers produced for royal, aristocratic or wealthy merchant clients is a further important factor, though in this respect the marble tombstones of medieval India, or those of Iran, have a wider range of ornamental motifs, the latter drawing alike on the quintessentially Islamic arabesque and elements of Chinese origin. Moreover, the Kufc script which is the glory of medieval tombstones in so many areas of the Muslim world, beginning in Arabia, is scarcely represented in Southeast Asia.35 But perhaps what is most striking is the well-nigh inexhaustible variety of forms, which reveals the gradual evolution of a distinctive local style, prodigal in its imagination, whose decorative repertoire is only gradually being documented and explained. It is also remarkable that this fashion for elaborate and sophisticated grave markers remained steady for centuries and spread all over Southeast Asia from southern Thailand to southern Sulawesi. The patchy survival of tombstones

While many hundreds of these grave memorials survive, their documentation by scholars has been patchy. Of particular importance is the feldwork of Othman Yatim which, though limited to the Malay peninsula, has inescapable implications for Indonesia as well. He has demonstrated conclusively that even within living memory a great many specimens have been lost to periodic fooding, to the rapid expansion of many settlements and the gradual disappearance of others, to neglect and to wilful damage or re-use as building material. And one must also take account of how the moist climate of the

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region has ravaged the legacy of the past. The Islamic buildings which formed the wider context of these funerary memorials, and which were of much greater contemporary importance – the mosques, madrasas and shrines – were constructed of wood, and most of them have gone. Not so the grave markers executed in more durable materials, from marble to sandstone. In their own time these tombstones took their natural place in the Islamic society which they served, and their erection was part of the ceremonies surrounding death and burial.36 Those erected over the burial places of saints were known as keramat and visited by the faithful who uttered prayers there; others still visit batu Aceh out of respect for their ancestors.37 And much simpler grave markers of stone or hardwood were commonplace. So batu Aceh did not have the rarity value that attaches itself to them today because of the accidents of survival. Nowadays they have acquired a greater signifcance than they probably had in their own day. A parallel may be drawn with the task of an archaeologist forced to reconstruct a long-vanished society on almost the sole basis of the abundant sherds of pottery that time has spared. The serious study of the tombstones which are the glory of the visual culture of Southeast Asia, and which – after a lull in the later eighteenth and nineteenth centuries – are still being erected in certain areas, is little more than a century old. Archives of photographs of this material assembled principally by Dutch scholars before World War I are now divided between Leiden and Jakarta. Many have been lost since then, often as a result of local foods, and the tsunami of 2004 wreaked further damage in this precious legacy from the past, which by virtue of its names, dates and other information serves to fesh out the information in the chronicles. The surviving material of this kind is concentrated in three areas: North Sumatra (principally in Pasai, Barus, Lamuri, Pidië, Aceh and Aru), the Malay peninsula (here the state of Johor takes pride of place, followed by the state of Melaka and by Patani in southern Thailand), and in Brunei.38 But their distribution, though erratic, is very much wider than this,39 and the full recording of this material is a work in progress. The major locations of tombstones

As noted, the earliest dated Southeast Asian tombstone currently known dates from 440/1048, and there are several from both the early and the late thirteenth century. But the earliest substantial group of such grave markers dates back no earlier than the beginning of the ffteenth century in the Pasai sultanate, which lasted from 1280 to 1523.40 In fact this area has a rich heritage of Islamic epigraphy, entirely funerary in character and found at 150 gravesites dating between the thirteenth and the sixteenth centuries, and located especially at Gendong Kuta Kareueng, Lubok Tuwé and Minye Tujuh. The frst of these is easily the most important since it has fve-sixths

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of the total, all associated with the royal family – further evidence of the clustering of funerary memorials. The residue of tombstones is associated with people of lesser status.41 The fashion for erecting tombstones gathered pace throughout the sixteenth century in western Indonesia, though it took longer to establish itself in the Malay peninsula, where the earliest dated tombstone is from the year 880/1475.42 A  good test case is provided by a trio of headstones of superb quality produced in succession for three members of the royal family of the sultans of Malacca. These were the seventh sultan, Mansur Shah (r. 1459–77)43; his son, Sultan ‘Ala’ al-Din Ri’ayat Shah (r. 1477–88), and the latter’s daughter-in-law, Tun Teja, the queen of the deposed Sultan of Malacca, Sultan Mahmud Shah (r. 1488–1511). As the earliest surviving royal examples of this genre, they merit special attention. The tombstone of Mansur Shah uses the word rauda (literally “garden”) for his tomb, which is qualifed as “illumined” (munawwara).44 On the Malay peninsula there is a marked concentration of tombstones to the west, in Johor, which accounts for roughly half of the total of 450 which the most recent survey has registered.45 Perhaps the largest such site in Indonesia proper is the Kandang Aceh (“the Aceh cemetery”) in the village of Kampung Pande outside the city of Banda Aceh, the capital of Aceh province in Sumatra. Here are to be found some 200 tombstones of a bewildering variety of types and sizes dating principally from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The most privileged site appears to be that of Kandang XII nearby, where ‘Ali Mughayat Shah, the frst sultan of the Acehnese sultanate, and four of his successors, were laid to rest, with dates falling between 1530 and 1570. There are only twelve graves in this cemetery, which suggests that to be buried here was clearly a mark of prestige. Parallels in other parts of the world abound, such as Aswan, where fghters for the faith on the Nubian border were interred, Ahlat in eastern Anatolia, or Makli Hill outside Karachi. Mausolea too were built in such clusters, for example the Marinid tombs in Fez, the huge Mamluk cemetery on the outskirts of medieval Cairo, and similar concentrations at Amul in Iran and the Shah-i Zinda in Samarqand. The inscriptions of tombstones

By degrees these grave markers became more elaborate both in their design and in their content, which could include not only the name and date of death of the person thus commemorated but also their rank, quotations from the Qurʾān, prayers and even poetry, sometimes of a sententious kind, such as the rhyming couplet: “The world is but transitory; the world has no permanence; the world is but as a house made by a spider”,46

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or “Death is the door which leads to sorrow and the grave is the casket (in which) to endure sufering”, or “Death is a door which all men must enter”, and “Death is a cup and all men drink thereof”.47 The language of these tombstones is almost uniformly Arabic even though Malay was the lingua franca of the region; this is, of course, a common feature of Islamic inscriptions produced outside the arabophone world, as the inscriptions of not only Turkey, Iran and India, but also West Africa48 and China,49 to cite yet other territories even more remote from the Arab heartlands, prove. Since sandstone is soft, the weathering imposed by the local climate has rendered many inscriptions illegible even though they are sometimes touched up with black or gold paint to make the letters stand out. The script is almost always cursive and at its best can approach but not rival the great masterpieces of Indian epigraphy in the tughra script produced in Bengal in the late ffteenth century.50 Indeed it is just possible that craftsmen from that area contributed to this tradition. The style in both lands has the same hugely exaggerated and crowded forest of shafts ending in arrow-points and the same fanciful, sinuous interlacing and interpenetration of letters around the baseline, creating a pleasing contrast between mobility and immobility. This ductus can maintain its stateliness even when it accommodates itself to cramped, ogival or heartshaped spaces with undulating or semi-circular baselines.51 The heyday of these tombstones was the sixteenth century, a period which saw the defnitive victory of Islam over the other faiths and practices across most of the region, and that is scarcely coincidence. These tombstones are not victory monuments as such, but they are proud public afrmations of faith, substantial in scale, festooned with striking decoration and bearing inscriptions which often include Qurʾānic quotations.52 A round hole in some tombstones was used for inserting the arm of a person taking a solemn oath; if the oath was taken falsely, it was believed that the stone would tighten around the arm.53 While the more elaborate examples are almost always inscribed, this is by no means standard practice for the genre as a whole; indeed, in the Malay peninsula almost half of the batu Aceh bear no inscriptions at all.54 The epigraphic grave markers, however, proclaim the piety of the people that they commemorate and could thus also be seen as instruments of missionary activity continued beyond the grave. Not surprisingly, the more sophisticated types were erected for the elite: sultans, notables, wealthy merchants and important representatives of the faith: khwajas, shaikhs, qāḍīs and so on. The origins of the Southeast Asian tombstone

While the idea of commemorating the dead by means of a tombstone clearly came with the arrival of Islam, the origins of the forms that they take has

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occasioned lively debate. Connections with the pre-Islamic architecture of Java and with funerary monuments in Thailand have been proposed, and there is clearly a strong link with the tombstones that were a speciality of Cambay in Gujarat,55 which were exported far afeld.56 Perhaps the most spectacular example of the long reach of this very specialised art is to be found in the mosque of Fakhr al-Din in Mogadishu, Somalia, which is datable to the thirteenth to fourteenth centuries.57 Indeed, the impact of the Cambay style can be recognised in some of the early grave markers in Southeast Asia. Not just the style but also the material – white marble from western India – made its way into Southeast Asia.58 North-eastern Sumatra (Pasai) and north-eastern Java (Gresik) were sites especially rich in such imports.59 The form and decoration of tombstones

Once established there, the form and ornament of these tombstones quickly developed numerous local characteristics. A  basic division can be made between upright slabs and freestanding rectangular structures, prisms, lantern shapes or pillars, but these two types can also be combined, in that – for example – an oblong box has an upright slab at one end.60 The upright rectangular type can be seen as a simplifed human body with a head, a trunk and feet. The winged “arms” taken over from Gujarati prototypes developed upward curls, and the upper part of the marker also took on a multi-stepped or multi-lobed profle. It is common for both the front and the back of slabs to be inscribed, and in the case of many markers of rectangular type all four sides bear inscriptions, and sometimes the plinth (which may be stepped) as well. It was standard for grave markers to be used in pairs. Several scholars have attempted to reduce the bewildering variety of forms into recognisably distinct categories, all of them generating further subdivisions. Guillot and Kalus, working on the material from Pasai, have identifed six types, of which only one, the ogival, is clearly derived from foreign models, namely tombstones from the port city of Cambay in Gujarat; as Pires says, “The Cambay merchants make Malacca their chief trading centre”.61 The other fve they describe as accolade, accolade with wings, decorated with spirals, pyramidal and a miscellaneous group, all with further subdivisions.62 A division into fve types, clarifed by simplifed drawings, is proposed by Perret and Ab.63 Yatim, in his admirably thorough doctoral thesis, worked out a more detailed typology involving fourteen categories for the grave markers in the Malay peninsula.64 The decorative motifs that he identifed include the lotus (of Buddhist and Hindu origin), ladder (created by several superposed epigraphic panels separated by the rungs of the ladder), rosette, vine, vase (water had a funerary signifcance65), spider’s web, framed panels for the text, geometric patterns and curly shoulders.66 There are references to natural features such as mountains, and a wide range of indigenous fowers is depicted.67

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Their symbolic signifcance has been analysed briefy by Dhuhri,68 and at greater length by Yatim.69 Southeast Asian architecture: general considerations

The virtual absence of standing medieval architecture in Southeast Asia – as distinct from ruins and excavated ground plans – badly skews current understanding of what the built Islamic environment of the region in, say, the sixteenth century, when Islam had spread widely across the archipelago, might have looked like. Buildings large and small alike were largely constructed of wood;70 this style is seen to best advantage in the Menangkabau houses of Sumatra, borne on carved and decorated wooden pillars while the facades display foral ornament in white, black and red. The roofs are of saddle-back type with an inward-sloping ridge, and high gables at each end decorated with bufalo horns. Their stylish sweeping curvilinearity, ending in dramatically staggered serried peaks, generates a powerful rhythm,71 and certain mosques, such as the Masjid Kampong Kling in Melaka, develop this theme.72 The idiom is diferent, but there is a certain afnity with medieval Norwegian stave churches: in both cases wood is made to yield a startling monumentality. The standard village mosque would be on stilts and would have a tiered roof (tajuq or crown) covering the central open pavilion or pendopo, a serambi (an outer porch, gallery, or much extended verandah) and a mihrab extension; similar buildings had been used in pre-Islamic times for ancestor worship, which adds yet another strand to the complex history of Indonesian mosques. Early examples of such small mosques survive at Leihitu on Ambon in eastern Indonesia (allegedly built in 1414) and at Kampung Laut in Kelantan State in Malaysia.73 Their structure refects the climate of the region and its vast forests, so these buildings essentially feature pillars rather than vaulting as supports, and in this respect they follow the pattern of the very earliest mosques in the Islamic world. Given that most public buildings were of wood, their chances of survival in good condition for more than a century or two were vanishingly small, in view of the dangers of fre, food, insect damage, alluvium and rot. The sheer volume of rain in a land that experiences monsoons has ensured that the very structure of these buildings has a limited lifespan. In the words of Raja Bahrin à propos the Malay peninsula: “No organic materials survive for more than a few years and even masonry tends to disintegrate in decades rather than in centuries”.74 The problem of dating

Moreover, when mosques fell into disrepair, they were repaired, restored, rebuilt – and whatever word one uses, the reality is that the original conception becomes increasingly difcult to detect as the years pass. As in China,

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where pagodas are constantly rebuilt along broadly similar lines to their predecessors, this ongoing process has made accurate dating difcult. Concentrated feldwork and laboratory examination of key samples will help to improve this situation over time. A typical case is the Great Mosque of Palembang, begun in 1748 but dogged by a melancholy history of destruction and constantly interrupted rebuilding. Its two minarets, one of broadly Ottoman type and the other, older, one taking the form of a multi-tiered Chinese pagoda, epitomise its conficted history. The seventeenth-century mosque of Indrapuri, the oldest extant mosque in Sumatra, has also undergone signifcant changes. Even more interesting is the case of the Agung Mosque in Demak,75 and that may be taken as a paradigm for a process that is almost universal in the region.76 An engraving of this mosque, perhaps the oldest to survive in Indonesia (founded in 1477–9), looks very diferent in an engraving of 1810 than it does today, and an archival interwar photograph presents yet another intermediate stage of its evolution.77 The lofty, compact adjoining structure shown in the photograph (but missing in the engraving) has been replaced by much more extensive and also lower structure, again covered by a sloping roof. The engraving presents a building whose centrepiece is a square covered by three stepped sloping roofs each supported by multiple pillars, and with ample space between each of them. Today the pillars have either become much more slender or they have disappeared altogether, while the middle roof now overlaps the lower one. So, the sense of even spatial differentiation between the three levels has gone and the elevation is much more compressed. But the central idea of an open square pavilion (pendopo) at the core of the mosque is clearly there. The importance of pre-Islamic traditions

Demak also illustrates another major theme in the evolution of the mosque in Southeast Asia, namely its relationship to pre-Islamic traditions, principally Hindu (via the pendopo, perhaps originating in temple or palatial architecture)78 and Buddhist.79 Arab traditions spread by merchants also left their mark on this constantly evolving architecture during the decline and eventual collapse of the Magapahit empire.80 The key features of concentric plans and tall, open halls with tiered roofs can be shown to have been borrowed from earlier traditions.81 Sometimes mosques were built on Hindu or Buddhist sacred sites,82 in much the same way as Zoroastrian fre temples, Jain temples or Christian churches could become places of Muslim worship in other parts of the Islamic world. This should not be understood without further ado as an oppressive, triumphant, even militant gesture, for the chosen site was often regarded as possessing a spiritual aura which made it a natural choice for Muslim prayer. The earliest surviving mosques in the Malay peninsula, those of Patani in southern Thailand, such as the mosque of Surau Aur,

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seem to have adopted and adapted features from local Buddhist architecture, specifcally the monastery or wat.83 In a parallel development, ffteenth- to sixteenth-century mosques in Java re-use Hindu sculpture, for example on the entrance threshold of the mosque of Sendang Duwar, which depicts a deity, probably Shiva, with a fy-whisk.84 From Ghazna to Cairo, items of religious signifcance taken from the temples of other faiths were used in this way so that Muslims could tread on them when entering a mosque. The doors of the main entrance at Demak mark an important departure from Islamic orthodoxy, for alongside the familiar vegetal forms and vases there appears an open-mouthed animal head, said to be a manifestation of thunder. This is not an isolated phenomenon; the complex of Sunan Giri, comprising a mosque and tomb, at Gresik celebrates one of the early Muslim missionaries to Java. The choice of a hilltop site refects Hindu and Buddhist precedent in the region. Indeed, several early Indonesian mosques have forms that reference the cosmic mountain (Mt. Meru) in Hindu and Buddhist cosmology.85 At Gresik the entrance to the sacred enclosure is protected by wooden fgures representing a hybrid dragon-snake (naga), and the gateway to the stairway leading to the burial ground has similar apotropaic fgures in stone. Such creatures – the makara, a kind of sea-dragon, is especially popular, but there are many others – derive partly from local pre-Islamic architectural decoration but also draw inspiration from elsewhere in the region, creating a truly syncretic style. Clearly the reluctance, so evident in other Islamic cultures, to introduce depictions of living beings into religious architecture was not as marked in Indonesia.86 The minbar of the Demak mosque takes the form of a Hindu chariot, yet another example of the pervasive non-Islamic borrowings that mark the earliest mosques.87 Its interior walls are sheathed in ceramic tiles; this feature may refect the impact of Iranian models, though the tiles themselves are from Vietnam. The four huge pillars that carry the topmost roof dominate the interior; they are framed by a further square of twelve pillars carrying the middle roof and the lowest roof, which projects over the masonry wall and covers serambi, is supported by a further group of columns, now braced with tie-beams, but they are spaced well apart, so that the interior is spacious and fooded with light. China has been cited as the source of both the tiled roof and the brick walls,88 and some have proposed that the mosques of Melaka in the eighteenth century were erected by Chinese builders.89 Key features of the typical Southeast Asian mosque erected before c.1800

The square, open, pillared pavilion can be regarded as a key distinctive indigenous expression of mosque architecture. Equally distinctive is the preference for tiered, shingle-tiled, steeply sloping roofs90 with elaborate fnials.91 Once

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again, both features have their roots in Buddhist and Hindu monuments in Java, as does the standard formula of courtyards, masonry bases and split gates. Such buildings are represented in ninth- to tenth-century central Javanese as well as twelfth- to fourteenth-century east Javanese temple reliefs.92 But it is the roofng solution that defnes the Indonesian mosque. It is frmly in place in the more ambitious mosques that have survived from the sixteenth century, such as the examples at Cirebon in West Java and the royal mosques at Baubau on the island of Buton in the Sulawesi Sea93 and Banten on the north coast of Java, notable for its gigantic tapering octagonal minaret with a marked batter and its richly articulated balconied upper part.94 Minarets are relatively rare and are usually to be found attached only to the largest mosques. The tiers of the roof can number up to seven in the cases of Ambon and Giri,95 and presuppose a long tradition of monumental carpentry.96 Such buildings embody the idea of a lofty centralised superstructure of religious and symbolic signifcance for which Indian parallels, such as the gopuram, abound. They also express the notion of a vertical hierarchy which is pervasive in domestic architecture, and in which the uppermost, middle and lower elements of the structure are associated respectively with the ancestors; the inhabitants of the building; and animals and misanthropic spirits.97 In the last century this distinctive roofng system has given way to onion domes in metal rather than wood which derive from Indian models, as do the brick towers fanking the arched gateway in the Kudus mosque (a favoured destination for pilgrims) with its series of courtyards. Indonesia has no lack of stone that would be suitable for construction purposes: black lava-stone (for this is a region of intense volcanic activity), sandstone and limestone among many other types – but its easy availability did not dislodge the traditional preference for wood as the basic material for public and domestic buildings alike. Thus, the monumental red-brick Kudus minaret, whose bulky, multi-tiered and somewhat ungainly elevation draws on Hindu and Buddhist traditions, is exceptional.98 It may originally have supported a drum (bedug), used to call people to prayer or other assemblies. But a muezzin (locally called bilal in deference to the earliest holder of that ofce) standing on the roof of the mosque is the standard way of making the adhan. Indonesian mosques built before c.1800 serve not only as places of worship but also as community centres, as in many other Islamic countries. Large congregations assemble not only in Friday mosques but also for the two ʿīds. It is standard for mosques to have entrance pavilions to the east and for women to be restricted to the southern side. The serambi serves as a courthouse for the hearing of legal cases, usually on Thursdays – again following standard Islamic practice elsewhere – by the mosque’s chief ofcial, the panghulu.99 Indonesia had its own distinctive form of madrasa, which – as in early Islamic times elsewhere – could be in the teacher’s house or the mosque or in

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a building dedicated to that purpose. This may be divided down the middle by a passage with cells for sleeping or study on both sides. These institutions are often made waqf. The other widely popular type of building with a religious purpose erected before c.1800 was the shrine of a venerated saint or wāli, often a goal of pilgrimage. Here the Qurʾān was recited, vows made, animals sacrifced or feasts held.100 The burial places of Arab missionaries were also treated with honour.101 Illuminated Qurʾāns

It is ftting to end this chapter with an overview of the illuminated Qurʾāns produced in multiple sites throughout the region, though these overwhelmingly postdate 1800.102 Given the pre-1800 focus of this chapter, these remarks must be brief. That this material has come to public attention in the last couple of decades is due above all to the devoted labours of Annabel Teh Gallup, who has laid the foundations for future research in her extensive publications.103 Production was concentrated for the most part in a few centres including principally Java,104 Aceh itself, the east coast states of the Malay peninsula and the area of Brunei and the southern Philippines.105 Such centres tended to develop a strong sense of regional identity while at the same time sharing certain features that, when considered together, form a unique Southeast Asian style.106 Among the most distinctive characteristics of that style are circular aya markers, austere framed sūra headings in red, marginal ornaments so varied that they never repeat themselves in a given manuscript, ruled frames for the text and – above all – lavishly ornamented double frames which mark the beginning, middle and end of the sacred text.107 This is a feature well established in Safavid Qurʾāns and may indeed derive from that model.108 But that is only one among several possible sources of inspiration, including Chinese Qurʾāns.109 In the case of a Javanese Qurʾān copied in 1798–9 such frames occur at the beginning of each juzʾ.110 No close ready parallel in the long history of Qurʾānic illumination presents itself for these endlessly varied double-page spreads in which the text is enclosed like a sacred relic by multiple frames in bright colours (lapis, gold, silver, vermilion, yellow, midnight blue, scarlet, bright green and many more), whose intricate ornament is always threatening to burst its bounds. These frames serve to guide the eye towards what they protect and exalt, the holy text itself. They also evoke a two-leaved door that so to speak opens wide to usher the reader into the text.111 The pervasive knotting of these frames may also have apotropaic intent, protecting the holy book at both ends. They are often intrinsically architectural, sprouting little domes, gables, corbels and fnials, but also stars and clumps of fowers, with lateral central triangular projections of the type common in Persian manuscript illumination, for example in Timurid manuscripts.112 Such elaborate triangles, often

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lobed, also project from the centre point of the base of the frame. Many such frames are essentially volumetric, with lobed and imbricated curvilinear forms. Their lateral projections may be spiky or swelling; or the entire text block may be garlanded with fowers. An innate sense of interval controls the balance between spaces that are full and empty, solid and void. The riotous growth of the ornament is disciplined by the clarity of the underlying design. Each such double-page spread is a feast for the eye. It is a style that, once seen, is never forgotten and that is wielded with supreme confdence by generations of illuminators. The history of the collecting, study and use of these Qurʾāns, for example in the administering of oaths – which explains the betel-nut stains left by those who have kissed the book’s cover113 – highlights how much work remains to be done in unlocking their social context. This treasury of nineteenth-century illuminated Qurʾāns is unparalleled for its variety in the Islamic world at that time. This style can also be recognised in non-sacred texts such as a 1764 copy of the Miʾrat al- Ṭullāb in the British Library (Or. 16053), or an eighteenth- to nineteenth-century copy of Mawlid sharaf al-anam with remarkable images of the holy cities of Mecca and Medina.114 Conclusion

It is high time that the art of Southeast Asia should be understood, accepted and valued for what it is – an outstanding example of the capacity of Islamic art to evolve and adapt in response to other ways of seeing and other cultural expressions. In the case of architecture, both the climatic conditions and the building materials at hand were very diferent from those obtained in most other parts of the Islamic world, and triggered exciting experiments in vaulting and applied ornament that have no parallels to the west. In the case of tombstones, a vibrant indigenous tradition, rooted in a decorative vocabulary that owed much to Buddhist and Hindu sources, merged seamlessly with the memorial headstones of the long-established Islamic traditions of India and the Iranian world to produce a unique and endlessly inventive multi-cultural fowering of funerary art. In the case of Qurʾāns, the urge to embellish the holy text moved from the script itself to ever more complex framing devices that served to sanctify its content. The fantastic profusion of this ornament, with its fourishes, fretwork and curlicues, developed a visual language all of its own, rejoicing in kaleidoscopic variety and rainbow hues. The ample literary sources prove beyond any doubt that the best Southeast Asian textiles were highly prized in foreign markets, and future research may enable scholars to identify examples which, thanks to local climatic conditions, have not survived in the regions where they were produced. Future research is likely to enlarge the tiny corpus of portable objects in wood, lacquer and metalwork that can be dated to the period before 1700. Here, then,

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at the very end of many centuries of experiment in one medium after another, can be recognised once again that perennial ability to adapt diferent styles and traditions so as to fashion an art that is essentially, and comfortably, both Islamic and Southeast Asian. Notes 1 It rates two paragraphs with a total of 109 words in perhaps the single most popular art history textbook in the Western world: M. Stokstad and M.W. Cothren, Art History, 5th ed. (Boston: Pearson, 2014), 1198 pp., 789. 2 It is not mentioned at all in H. de la Croix, R.G. Tansey and D. Kirkpatrick, Gardner’s Art Through the Ages (Orlando: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1991), 1135 pp. And yet this compendious volume proclaims its pretentions to global art history. 3 For a bold and considered attempt to bring Southeast Asia into the pale of Islamic art history see Imran bin Tajudeen, “Trade, Politics and Suf Synthesis in the Formation of Southeast Asian Islamic Architecture,” in F.B. Flood and G. Necipoğlu (eds.), A Companion to Islamic Art and Architecture (Hoboken and Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2017), II, 996–1022, especially 998–9. This remarkably erudite, original, thorough and challenging study takes the history of Southeast Asian architecture to a new level of sophistication. 4 Z. Ali, Islamic art in Southeast Asia 830 A.D.-1570 A.D. (Kuala Lumpur: Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka, 1994). While this book is indeed valuable because of the huge quantity of material that it contains, the arrangement of its contents by district militates against the author presenting an overall view of the evolution of any single medium. 5 Here the work of Annabel Teh Gallop is of central signifcance, notably her magisterial three-volume analysis and catalogue of 1,600 seals in the British Library: “Malay Seal Inscriptions: A Study in Islamic Epigraphy from Southeast Asia (doctoral thesis, SOAS, University of London, 2002), subsequently complemented by a host of other publications on the subject, principally on the Qurʿāns of the region. 6 For example, Ali, Islamic Art, 366–9 and pls. 163–4 (coins from Brunei, possibly of early ffteenth-century date, one depicting a two-humped camel, the other a composite image representing both a dragon and a bird). 7 Thus, the examples given in H. Tan, “Qur’anic Inscriptions on Woodcarvings from the Malay Peninsula,” in F. Suleman (ed.), Word of God, Art of Man. The Qur’an and Its Creative Expressions (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 205–16 are all of the nineteenth and twentieth century. 8 It is signifcant that the chapters on the fabrics of Malaysia and Indonesia in J. Gillow’s wide-ranging survey of Islamic textiles (Textiles of the Islamic World [London, 2010], 272–5 and 276–89 respectively) do not mention or illustrate a single specimen for which even an approximate date is given. Southeast Asia is absent from virtually all the standard surveys of historic, as distinct from modern, Islamic textiles. 9 M. Gittinger, “Indonesia V. 4: Textiles,” in J.S. Turner (ed.), The Dictionary of Art (London and New York: Grove, 1996), 15, 790 and 792. The fact that the double-ikat silk textiles known as patola (made in Gujarat and Sumatra) were so highly prized in the seventeenth century that each was worth half a ton of cloves (ibid., 794) gives some idea of the importance of such textiles as portable wealth. 10 L.G. Hill, “Indonesia VIII. 10: Weapons,” in Turner (ed.), Dictionary, 15, 817–8. 11 B. Arps, “Indonesia VII. Painting and Drawing,” in Turner (ed.), Dictionary, 15, 804–6.

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12 Cf. Imran bin Tajudeen, “Architecture,” 999–1000 and 1007–8. 13 S.M.N. al-Attas, “Indonesia,” in Encyclopaedia of Islam2, III (Leiden: Brill, 1979), 1219. 14 See T.W. Arnold, The Preaching of Islam (2nd ed. [London, 1913], repr. Lahore: Ashraf Publication, 1963), 367–412, for a detailed and clear narrative of this complex process. 15 Ibid., 297–300. 16 Ali, Islamic Art, 22–6 and pls. 6–7; P. Ravaisse, “Deux inscriptions coufques de Čampa,” Journal Asiatique, 11 série, XX/2 (1922), 247–89. 17 Ali, Islamic Art, 369–72 and pls. 165–6. 18 P. Ravaisse, “L’inscription coufque de Léran a Java,” Tijdschrift voor Indische Taal- Land- en Volkenkunde LXV (1925), 668–703. See Ali, Islamic Art, 335–7 and pl.151; he mistakenly gives the date as 1082 but it is, as he himself notes, 7 Rajab 495, and that is the equivalent of April 27, 1102. 19 Arnold, Preaching, 370. 20 H. Yule, trans. and ed., revised by H. Cordier, The Book of Ser Marco Polo the Venetian concerning the Kingdoms and Marvels of the East, 3rd ed. (New York: Scribners, 1926), II, 284. 21 For a redating of his grave marker to the late ffteenth or early sixteenth century, see E. Lambourn, “Tombstones, Texts and Typologies: Seeing Sources for the Early History of Islam in Southeast Asia,” Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 51 (2008), 273. 22 Yule/Cordier, II, 285, 288–9. 23 Arnold, Preaching, 372. 24 Ali, Islamic Art, 49–57 and pls. 12–16. 25 Al-Attash, “Indonesia,” 1218. 26 Ibid. 27 H.A.R. Gibb and C.F. Beckingham, The Travels of Ibn Battuta A.D. 1325–1354 IV (London: Hakluyt Society, 1994), 813–4. 28 Edwardes, Ralph Fitch, an Elizabethan in the Indies (describing the situation in 1587, with a detailed list of the items traded). 29 Lambourn, Abraham’s Luggage. 30 R.R. Di Meglio, “Arab Trade with Indonesia and the Malay Peninsula,” in D.S. Richards (ed.), Islam and the Trade of Asia. A Colloquium (Oxford and University Park: Pennsylvania University Press, 1970), 120–1. 31 For an overview, see D. Perret, “Some Refections on Ancient Islamic Tombstones Known as Batu Aceh in the Malay World,” Indonesia and the Malay World 35:103 (2007), 313–40. 32 O.B.M. Yatim, “Batu Aceh: A Study of 15th-19th Century Islamic Gravestones in Peninsular Malaysia,” (PhD thesis, University of Durham, 1985). I am most grateful to Professor Andrew Peacock for providing me with a pdf of this key text. See also O.M. Yatim, Batu Aceh. Early Islamic Gravestones in Peninsular Malaysia (Kuala Lumpur: Museum Association of Malaysia, 1988). 33 E. Lambourn, “The Formation of the Batu Aceh Tradition in Fifteenth-Century Samudera-Pasai,” Indonesia and the Malay World 32:93 (2004), 211–48. This is also an excellent introduction to the entire genre of batu Aceh. 34 For a frst attempt at tackling this vast body of material, see H. Hawary and H. Rached, Catalogue Général du Musée Arabe du Caire: Steles Funéraires, I (Cairo, 1932) and III (Cairo, 1939), continued by G. Wiet, II and IV-X (Cairo, 1936–1942). A comparable publication of Southeast Asian tombstones is long overdue. This is perhaps the most important task for future scholarship on Southeast Asian art. 35 For two exceptions, see Yatim, Batu Aceh, 487, pl. 14 (a) and (b). For inscriptions that could be termed transitional between Kufc and cursive, see ibid., 487, pl. 14 (c) and 489, pl. 16 (see Yatim, Early Islamic, 174–6).

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36 Yatim, Batu Aceh, 55 (see Yatim, Early Islamic, 21–2). 37 Ibid., 57–8 (see Yatim, Early Islamic, 22–3). 38 D. van der Meij, review of C. Guillot and L. Kalus, Les monuments funéraires et l’histoire du Sultanat de Pasai à Sumatra (Paris, 2008), Studia Islamika. Indonesian Journal of Islamic Studies 17:1 (2010), 187. See also L. Kalus and C. Guillot, “Les inscriptions funéraires islamiques de Brunei (premiere partie),” Bulletin de l’École française d’Extrême-Orient 90–91(2003–2004), 229–72; and Kalus and Guillot, “Les inscriptions funéraires islamiques de Brunei (deuxieme partie),” BEFEO 93 (2006), 139–81. Note on 144 the remarkable combination of square Kufc and tughra script (what Faris and Miles term “the Indian tughra character”) on Faces II and IV of stele 26. 39 Yatim, Batu Aceh, 104, table 3 shows the distribution of tombstones across the archipelago (see Yatim, Early Islamic, xxxiii). 40 E.g. the headstone of Teungku Sareh (d. 834/1430–1); see Leiden University Library, Legatum Warnerianum, Or.23.481, photograph 380. 41 Van der Meij, 188. 42 Yatim, Batu Aceh, ii. This is the gravestone of Sultan Muhammad Shah I (d.1475) (see Yatim, Early Islamic, pl.1). 43 For the text, see J.P. Moquette, trans. R.O. Winstedt, “The Grave-Stone of Sultan Mansur Shah of Malacca (1458–1477 A.D.),” Journal of the Straits Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 85 (1922), 1–3 and pls. 1–3; see also Yatim, Early Islamic, 65–6. 44 These tombstones were discussed in a paper by H. Hassanein and N.I. Rusli of the Islamic Arts Museum, Malaysia delivered at a conference on Inscriptions of the Islamic World held in Cairo on September 6–8, 2019. 45 D. Perret and K. Ab. Razak, “Un nouvel essai de classifcation des batu Aceh de la péninsule malaise,” Archipel 66 (2003), 32–3. 46 Moquette, trans. Winstedt, “The Grave-Stone of Sultan Mansur Shah of Malacca,” 3. 47 Yatim, Batu Aceh, 175–6; see also Yatim, Early Islamic, 96–7. 48 P.F. de Moraes Farias, Arabic Medieval Inscriptions from the Republic of Mali. Epigraphy, Chronicles, and Songhay-Tuareg History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 3–210 and especially pls. 1–5; J. Sauvaget, “Notes préliminaires sur les epitaphs royales de Gao,” Revue des Études Islamiques (1948), 5–12. 49 Chen Dasheng, Islamic Inscriptions in Quanzhou (Zaitun), trans. Chen Enming (Fujian: Fujian People’s Publishing Society, 1984). 50 Notably the huge poetical building inscription from Gaur dated 871/1466–7 in the name of Barbak Shah now in the University Museum, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia (N.A. Faris and G.C. Miles, “An Inscription of Barbak Shah of Bengal,” Ars Islamica VII (1940), 141–6; see the commentary on it in R. Ettinghausen, “Arabic Epigraphy: Communication or Symbolic Afrmation,” in D.K. Kouymjian (ed.), Near Eastern Numismatics, Iconography, Epigraphy and History. Studies in Honor of George C. Miles (Beirut: American University of Beirut, 1974), 311–3. For further examples of tughra inscriptions from Bengal, see Faris and Miles, “Inscription,” fgs.4–6. 51 Yatim, Batu Aceh, 477, pl. 4 (a) and (b); 483, pl. 10 (a) and (b);491, pl. 18 (a); 492, pl. 19 (a);495, pl.22; 497, pl. 24; 500, pl. 27 (d) and (e); 510, pl. 37(a) (headstone of Sultan ‘Ala’ al-Din Ri’ayat Shah (d.1488); 521, pl.48 (b); 525, pl. 52; 527, pl. 54 and 550, pl. 77(b) (Yatim, Early Islamic, 164, 170, 178–9, 182, 184, 187, 197, 208, 212, 214 and 238). 52 Yatim, Batu Aceh, 151–4 lists twelve quotations identifed in his survey of the batu Aceh in the Malay peninsula. These are 2:255; 3:17–19; 3:25–27; 3:185; 9:128–129; 10:62; 20:55; 21:35; 28:88; 29:57; 55:26–28; and 59:21–24. The absence of suras in the band 60–114 is noticeable (Yatim, Early Islamic, 76–80).

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53 Moquette, 1, note by R.O. Winstedt. 54 Ibid., 3. 55 E. Lambourn, “From Cambay to Samudera-Pasai and Gresik – The Export of Gujarati Grave Memorials to Sumatra and Java in the Fifteenth Century C.E.,” Indonesia and the Malay World 31:90 (2003), 221–89. The case she presents is watertight: compare pl. 24 (a Cambay tomb) with the material in Indonesia (pls. 23, 31 and 36). 56 E.g., to take a single example, a ffteenth-century marble gravestone in the British Museum (accession no. 1840,0302.1), which found its way to Aden, 3,000 km away, where it may have been personalised for a certain Abu-l-Hasan ʿAlī b. ʿUthmān. For the wider context of such interchange, see E. Lambourn, “India from Aden – Khutba and Muslim Urban Networks in Late Thirteenth Century India,” in K.R. Hall (ed.), Secondary Cities and Urban Networking in the Indian Ocean Realm, c.1400–1800 (Lanham: Lexington, 2008), 55–97 and R.E. Margariti, Aden and the Indian Ocean Trade: 150  Years in the Life of a Medieval Arabian Port (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2007). 57 E. Lambourn, “The Decoration of the Fakhr al-Din Mosque in Mogadishu and Other Pieces of Gujarati Marble Carving on the East African Coast,” Azania XXXIV (1999), 61–80, pls.1–3, 13 and 15. 58 E. Lambourn, “La production de marbre sculpté a Cambaye au Gujarat et son exportation dans l’Océan Indien (XIIIe -XVe s. ap. J.C.,” in J.M. dos Santos C. Guillot Alves and R. Ptak (eds.), Mirabilia Asiatica. Produits rares dans le commerce maritime (Wiesbaden and Lisbon: Harrassowitz, 2003), 209–35. Plan 1 after 235 is a map plotting the remarkably wide difusion of marble from Cambay from the thirteenth to the ffteenth century across the Indian Ocean littoral, helpfully subdivided chronologically. Lambourn illustrates examples found in Kilwa in Tanzania (pl. 9), Lar in southern Iran (pl. 11) and Trincomalee in Sri Lanka (pl. 13), as well as numerous examples in Southeast Asia (pls. 7, 8, 14, 15, 18 and 20). See too her account of three gravestones from Dhofar in southern Oman, now in the Victoria and Albert Museum in London, which highlights their origin in Cambay: “Carving and Recarving: Three Rasulid Gravestones Revisited,” in G.R. Smith, J.R. Smart, and B.R. Pridham (eds.), New Arabian Studies 6 (Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 2004), 10–29. 59 Lambourn, “From Cambay to Samudera-Pasai and Gresik,” especially fgs. 1, 3 and 4. For the wider context, see eadem, “Carving and Communities: Marble Carving for Muslim Communities at Khambat and Around the Indian Ocean Rim (late 13th-mid-15th Centuries C.E.),” Ars Orientalis 34 (2004), 101–35. 60 Yatim, Batu Aceh, 478, pl.5 (Yatim, Early Islamic, 165). 61 Di Meglio, “Arab Trade,” 120. 62 Guillot and Kalus, Monuments funéraires. 63 Perret and Ab. Razak, “Essai,” 39–41. 64 Yatim, Batu Aceh, 66 and 108–18 (Yatim, Early Islamic, 26 and 52–8). For images of the gravestones, see 475–552, pls. 2–79 (Yatim, Early Islamic, 162–240). 65 Yatim, Batu Aceh, 50–1 and 58 (Yatim, Early Islamic, 19–20 and 23). 66 Yatim, Batu Aceh, 158, fg. 5 plots the location of most of these elements on a prototypical example of batu Aceh, while the variations of the individual components of the design are recorded on 159–65, 169 and 180 on fgs. 6–14 (Yatim, Early Islamic, 83–91 and 100). 67 Yatim, Batu Aceh, 168 and 169, fg. 13 (Yatim, Early Islamic, 91). 68 S. Dhuhri, “From Pasee to Southeast Asian Islam: An archaeological semiotic study of shared symbols among Malays,” Proceedings ARICIS I (2016), 377–81. 69 Yatim, Batu Aceh, 157–82 considers the issue of symbolism in detail and admits cautiously that the pre-Islamic signifcance of certain motifs, such as the lotus,

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73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81

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might have had some degree of traction in Southeast Asian Islam (Yatim, Early Islamic, 82–99). For the argument that masonry has been unfairly neglected, see Imran bin Tajudeen, “Trade, Politics and Suf Synthesis,” 1007–8 and 1014–16. V.T. King, “Indonesia, II, 4 (ii): Domestic Architecture: Sumatra,” in Turner (ed.), Dictionary, 15, 770–2. H. O’Neill, “South-East Asia,” in M. Frishman and H. Khan (eds.), The Mosque. History, Architectural Development & Regional Diversity (London: Thames and Hudson, 1994), 239. Its fnial recalls the idea of the cosmic mountain borrowed from Hindu tradition and surviving in Balinese structures. O’Neill, “South-East Asia,” 233; for Kampung Laut see also A. Bruce, “Notes on Early Mosques of the Malaysian Peninsula,” Journal of the Malaysian Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 69:2 (271) (1996), 74, fg.3 and 78. Raja Bahrin, The Terengganu Timber House (Kuala Lumpur, 1988), 2, cited in Bruce, “Early mosques,” 75. Ali, Islamic Art, 279–97. O’Neill, “South-East Asia,” 233–4, with a discussion of the role of wālis in its foundation and construction; Imran bin Tajudeen, “Architecture,” 1001–2 and 1014. By G.F.J. Bley, now in the Tropenmuseum, Amsterdam. O’Neill, “South-East Asia,” 225. This whole question is treated at length in H. Njoto, “À propos des origines de la mosquée javanaise,” Bulletin de l’Ecole française d’Extrême-Orient 100 (2014), 11–47. A. Wahby, The Architecture of the Early Mosques and Shrines of Java: Infuences of rhe Arab Merchants in the 15th and 16th Centuries (doctoral thesis, OttoFriedrich-Universität, Bamberg, 2007). Njoto, “Origines,” 36–7, citing as a trio of early examples the mosques of Demak, Kudus and Sendang Duwar. This predominantly Hindu tradition made its way to Melaka in the ffteenth century and from there spread across the Malay peninsula (Bruce, “Early mosques,” 71). Cf. C. Guillot, “La symbolique de la mosquée javanaise: a propos de la ‘Petite mosquée de Jatinom’,” Archipel 30, 18; and Njoto, “Origines,” 19 and n. 23. W.A.L. Bougas, “Surau Aur: Patani’s Oldest Mosque,” Archipel 43 (1992), 103– 8; for the mosque itself, see 93, fgs. 2–3. For other mosques of this type see 100–02, and for the details of the process of whereby the Islamic faith established itself, see 108–9. Njoto, “Origines,” 15 and fg. 6. For further examples of cosmic symbolism see Imran bin Tajudeen, “Trade, Politics and Suf Synthesis,” 1012–14. H. Njoto, “Mythical Feline Figures in Java’s Early Islamisation Period (Fifteenth to the Early Seventeenth Centuries): Sinitic and Vietnamese Imprints in Pasisir Art,” Ars Asiatiques 73 (2018), 41–60. For other contexts in which such images functioned, see Imran bin Tajudeen, “Architecture,” 1017. F.M. Denny, “Indonesia I, 3 (iv). Religion, Iconography and Subject Matter: Islamic,” in Turner (ed.), Dictionary, 15, 757–8. Bruce, “Early Mosques,” 77. Ibid., 79. Imran bin Tajudeen, “Architecture,” 1001–3. For the symbolic signifcance of these fnials see ibid., 1003 and fg. 38.2. U. Tjandrasasmita, “Le rôle de l’architecture et des arts decoratifs dans l’islamisation de l’Indonésie,” Archipel 29 (1985), 203–11. Imran bin Tajudeen, “Architecture,” 1011.

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94 Ibid., 1005; O’Neill, “South-East Asia,” 234–5. 95 Bruce, “Early Mosques,” 77. 96 J. Dumarçay, “La charpenterie de la mosque javanaise,” Archipel 30 (1986), 21–30. 97 O’Neill, “South-East Asia,” 228. 98 Ibid., 235–6; Imran bin Tajudeen, “Architecture,” 1015–16. 99 A.W. Nieuwenhuis, “Indies,” in Encyclopaedia of Islam1, III (Leiden: Brill, 1916), 498. 100 Ibid., 499. 101 Arnold, Preaching, 380. 102 A.T. Gallop, “The art of the Qur’an in Southeast Asia” (2007) notes that of the more than 200 recorded examples of illuminated Southeast Asian Qurʾāns or Qurʾān fragments known, the earliest complete Qurʾān is dated 1694 “and relatively few others can be dated to the eighteenth century” (191–2, 204). More recently she has documented c.750 complete Southeast Asian Qurʾāns held in collections worldwide (though she does not say whether these are all illuminated); see A.T. Gallop, “The Appreciation and Study of Qurʾān Manuscripts from Southeast Asia: Past, Present, and Future,” in Heritage of Nusantara. International Journal of Religious Literature and Heritage 4:2 (2015), 207. Clearly this is a feld full of possibilities for future research. 103 See Gallop, “Art of the Qur’an,” 191–204; eadem, “Islamic Manuscript Art of Southeast Asia,” in J.Bennett (ed.), Crescent Moon: Islamic Art & Civilisation in Southeast Asia/Bulan sabit: seni dan peradaban Islam di Asia Tenggara (Adelaide: National Gallery of Australia, 2005), 158–83; for a short survey see S. Blair, Islamic Calligraphy (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2006), 561–3. 104 A.T. Gallop, “The art of the Qur’an in Java,” Suhuf 5:2 (2012), 215. 105 Gallop, “Art of the Qur’an,” 191–2. 106 A.T. Gallop, “From Caucasia to Southeast Asia: Daghistani Qur’ans and the Islamic Manuscript Tradition in Brunei and the Southern Philippines,” Manuscripta Orientalia 14/1 (2008), 32. 107 Gallop, “Art of the Qur’an,” 192–203. 108 D.H.B.M. Zain, “Safavid Qur’ans: Style and Illumination,” (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Edinburgh, 1997). The same feature is found in Indian Qurʾāns, just as the Southeast Asian naskh script shares certain features with the Indian bihari script (Blair, Calligraphy, 562–3). 109 A.T. Gallop, “Was the Mousedeer Perankan? In Search of Chinese Islamic Infuences on Malay Manuscript Art,” in J. van der Putten and M.K. Cody (eds.), Lost Times and Untold Tales from the Malay World (Singapore: University of Singapore Press, 2009), 319–38. 110 A.H. Johns, “In the Language of the Divine: The Contribution of Arabic,” in A. Kumar and J.H. McGlynn (eds.), Illuminations. The Writing Traditions of Indonesia: Featuring Manuscripts from the National Library of Indonesia (New York: Weatherhill, 1996), 35. 111 This was an idea almost a millennium old, as seen in the Ibn al-Bawwāb Qurʾān (D.S. Rice, The Unique Ibn al-Bawwab Manuscript in the Chester Beatty Library [Dublin, 1955], pls. III and IV). 112 B. Gray, Persian Painting (Geneva: Skira, 1961), 71. 113 Gallop, “Appreciation,” 205. 114 Gallop, “Mousedeer,” 323–4 and fg. 4 (Perpustakaan Nasional Republik Indonesia, A.70, p. 284).

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Networking in the Indian Ocean Realm, c.1400–1800 (Lanham: Lexington Books, 2008b), 55–97. Lambourn, Elizabeth A., Abraham’s Luggage. A Social Life of Things in the Medieval Indian Ocean World, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018. Margariti, Roxani Eleni, Aden and the Indian Ocean Trade: 150 Years in the Life of a Medieval Arabian Port, Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2007. Moquette, J.P., tr. Winstedt, R.O., “The Grave-Stone of Sultan Mansur Shah of Malacca (1458–1477 A.D.),” Journal of the Straits Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 85 (1922), 1–3. Nieuwenhuis, A.W., “Indies,” in Encyclopaedia of Islam1, vol. 3 (Leiden: Brill, 1916), 498. Njoto, Hélene, “À propos des origines de la mosquée javanaise,” Bulletin de l’Ecole française d’Extrême-Orient 100 (2014), 11–47. Njoto, Hélene, “Mythical Feline Figures in Java’s Early Islamisation Period (Fifteenth to the Early Seventeenth Centuries): Sinitic and Vietnamese Imprints in Pasisir Art,” Ars Asiatiques 73 (2018), 41–60. O’Neill, H., “South-East Asia,” in Martin Frishman and Hassan-Uddin Khan (eds.), The Mosque. History, Architectural Development & Regional Diversity (London: Thames and Hudson, 1994). Perret, Daniel, “Some Refections on Ancient Islamic Tombstones Known as Batu Aceh in the Malay World,” Indonesia and the Malay World 35:103 (2007), 313–40. Perret, Daniel, and Ab. Razak, Kamarudin, “Un nouvel essai de classifcation des batu Aceh de la péninsule malaise,” Archipel 66 (2003), 29–45. Ravaisse, Paul, “Deux Inscriptions coufques de Čampa,” Journal Asiatique, 11 série, 20:2 (1922), 247–89. Ravaisse, Paul, “L’inscription coufque de Léran a Java,” Tijdschrift voor Indische Taal- Land- en Volkenkunde 65 (1925), 668–703. Rice, D.S., The Unique Ibn al-Bawwab Manuscript in the Chester Beatty Library, Dublin: Emery Walker, 1955. Sauvaget, J., “Notes préliminaires sur les epitaphs royales de Gao,” Revue des Études Islamiques (1948), 5–12. Stokstad, Marilyn, and Cothren, Michael Watt, Art History, 5th ed., Boston: Pearson, 2014. Tajudeen, Imran B., “Trade, Politics and Suf Synthesis in the Formation of Southeast Asian Islamic Architecture,” in F.B. Flood and G. Necipoğlu (eds.), A Companion to Islamic Art and Architecture, vol. 2 (Hoboken and Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2017), 996–1022. Tan, Huism, “Qur’anic Inscriptions on Woodcarvings from the Malay Peninsula,” in Fahmida Suleman (ed.), Word of God, Art of Man. The Qur’an and Its Creative Expressions (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 205–17. Tjandrasasmita, Uka, “Le rôle de l’architecture et des arts decoratifs dans l’islamisation de l’Indonésie,” Archipel 29 (1985), 203–11. van der Meij, Dick, “Review of Claude Guillot and Ludvik Kalus, Les monuments funéraires et l’histoire du Sultanat de Pasai à Sumatra (Paris, 2008), Studia Islamika,” Indonesian Journal of Islamic Studies 17:1 (2010), 187. Wahby, A., The Architecture of the Early Mosques and Shrines of Java: Infuences of rhe Arab Merchants in the 15th and 16th Centuries, PhD thesis, Otto-FriedrichUniversität, Bamberg, 2007.

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Yatim, O.B.M., Batu Aceh: A  Study of 15th-19th Century Islamic Gravestones in Peninsular Malaysia, PhD thesis, University of Durham, 1985. Yatim, O.M., Batu Aceh. Early Islamic Gravestones in Peninsular Malaysia, Kuala Lumpur: Museum Association of Malaysia, 1988. Yule, Henry, ed. and trans., revised by Cordier, Henri, The Book of Ser Marco Polo the Venetian Concerning the Kingdoms and Marvels of the East, 3rd ed., New York: Scribners, 1926. Zain, D.H.B.M., Safavid Qur’ans: Style and Illumination, PhD thesis, University of Edinburgh, 1997.

11 THE MOSQUES OF SOUTHEAST ASIA A narrative of representation and negotiation Tutin Aryanti

Introduction

Southeast Asia is the world’s most populous Muslim region. Nevertheless, scholars have given little attention to its Islamic architecture. Existing studies are often focused on North Africa, the Middle East, and the Mediterranean, where Islam frst fourished in the seventh century C.E. In most books that refer to Islamic architectural history – see, for example, K.A.C. Creswell,1 George Michell,2 Robert Hillenbrand,3 and John Hoag4 – architecture in Southeast Asia is excluded. Michell begins his book with an impressive map of the “Islamic heartlands” to capture readers’ attention and provide a quick overview of how widely Islam has spread across the globe.5 Unfortunately, however, this overview does not include Southeast Asia. The key monuments in what Michell calls “the Islamic world” encompass countries in the Middle East, Central Asia, the Mediterranean, and East and West Africa. Michell acknowledges that the poor documentation of Islamic architecture in China and Southeast Asia is “probably because Islamic architecture in these areas did not adopt distinctive forms, techniques, and decoration,”6 yet his argument seems to rest on the understanding of the unifying characteristics that he and the other writers found in “the Islamic heartlands,” which are not applicable to the architecture produced by Muslims in Southeast Asia.7 The need to study Islamic architecture in Southeast Asia, as Imran bin Tajudeen8 asserts, pertains to the self-critical study of Islamic art as proposed by Oleg Grabar: in the land where the Islamic ruler is not the one that conquers, Islamic art creates a symbiosis between the “local and pan-Islamic modes” of expressions.9 Tajudeen argues that the locally rooted architectural culture of the Asian region exemplifes the formation of Islamic art DOI: 10.4324/9781032702902-15

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and architecture in the lands beyond where Islam frst fourished. In-depth research from within is needed to challenge the dominance of the Western narrative of Islamic architecture.10 Therefore, by examining Islamic architecture in Southeast Asia, this chapter complements the panoramic picture of Islamic architecture in various parts of the world as it has expanded over the centuries by adding social and cultural perspectives to the discussion. Of the few studies on Southeast Asian Islamic architecture that exist, most have focused on expressions of the amalgamation of Islam and local artistic culture in the region.11 These studies provide the foundation for the development of research on Islamic architecture. However, as is the case in other parts of the Islamic world,12 Islam in Southeast Asia has undergone dynamic development, and discourses and interpretations of Islamic law are far from monolithic.13 Mosques, as venues where Islamic teachings take place, are at the centre of debate; oftentimes, they become sites of negotiation or become battlegrounds for the competing discourses held by those in authority, community members, and, later on, architects. This chapter explores the dynamic development of Southeast Asian mosques as sites of discourse contestation among these stakeholders. While the architectural elements of mosques might contain signs and symbols to observers, as former scholars have demonstrated, I  see mosques as living monuments; as such, I believe that the meanings delivered through their architecture are not permanent. Instead, these meanings are constantly changing and negotiated as refections of current social, cultural, and political factors. The study of visual culture – comprehending the meanings behind objects – has allowed us to move from examining works of art to examining “the humans who produced, received, and interpreted it,” and how they shape the discourse around architectural works.14 Using this approach, we must examine both the object itself and the systems of knowledge that produce it. The meanings of mosque architecture are thus investigated within a complex system of cultural, political, and economic situations. In this study, the history of the visual is explained based not on the importance of visuality but instead on its use of the cultural framework. Studies on Southeast Asian mosques mostly focus on buildings that were built by princely patronage, or historic mosques where Islamic teachings were given and organised by the sultanates during the early establishment of Islam. In this chapter, I intend to include the perspectives of lay people and communities, whose voices have gone unnoticed in ordinary architectural history. Architectural history often overlooks marginalised groups and lay people as actors, aggregating major events by selecting a small number of facts and listening to only a handful of informants, ignoring the majority of people when speaking about human conditions.15 As this chapter will show, the contesting discourse of representation is circulating not only top-down from the patrons of the mosque but also within the grassroots community.

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While this chapter focuses on the Southeast Asia region, the massive Indonesian archipelago and the Malaysian peninsula are central to the discussion and will inevitably be part of it. Indonesia is the world’s largest Muslim country, with approximately 229 million Muslim inhabitants who make up 87.2% of the country’s population. Malaysia possesses the world’s twenty-fourth-largest Muslim population (around 16.3  million people, corresponding to 61.3% of the country’s population). Indonesia and Malaysia contain 12.7% and 1.1% of the world’s Muslim population respectively.16 The establishment of Islam in Southeast Asia

Comprehending the history of Islam in Southeast Asia is vital to the understanding of the peculiarities of Islamic architecture in the region, as the way Islam was disseminated has infuenced the distinct characteristics of local Islamic architecture. Unlike other parts of the world, where Islam was introduced through military conquest, the new religion spread through Southeast Asia mostly through social interactions and the conversion of elites. Islam’s triumph on the archipelago, as Snouck Hurgronje pointed out, was due not to suppression of earlier religions but rather the “peaceful expansion” of Islam.17 Instead of being conquerors, the spreaders were “family builders” who introduced Islam to local inhabitants through marriage and other social interactions.18 This kind of cultural assimilation was also practised in other Indonesian islands. From the end of the nineteenth century to the middle of the twentieth century, Islam in Asia served as a “unifying ideology” behind the rise of nationalist movements.19 The establishment of Islam in Java, the main island of Indonesia, is historically attributed to the legendary Wali Songo (the Nine Saints), who lived during the ffteenth and sixteenth centuries and taught Islam by incorporating pre-existing local customs into the newly introduced religion. Serving as the sultan’s religious advisers, they played a signifcant role in proselytising Islam to the Javanese people, most of whom were adherents of Kejawen, which is a traditional mystical Javanese belief system derived from HinduBuddhist ethical and spiritual values.20 According to Ricklefs, early Islam in Java was “mystical, unorthodox by modern standards, and probably not so very diferent from Hindu-Javanese practices.”21 For example, the preIslamic tradition of the slametan, a communal feast to ask for God’s blessings, was adopted and transformed by Sunan Kalijaga, the famous legendary saint, into the tahlilan, a communal feast held upon a person’s death that was preceded by reciting the Qurʾān or chanting the Islamic sentence that declares the oneness of God (tahlīl). Javanese culture is therefore unique in that it contains a blend of the cultural and religious ethics of Buddhism, Hinduism, and Islam.22

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Defning Islamic architecture in Southeast Asia

Before Islamic architecture in Southeast Asia is discussed, the fundamental idea of Islamic architecture itself must be defned. Such a defnition shows how Southeast Asian architecture can be included within wider Islamic architectural history. For example, it answers the question of whether the term “Islamic architecture” refers to all structures that are produced by Muslim communities or only those that are built to accommodate Islamic religious functions. The Encyclopaedia Britannica and George Michell defne Islamic architecture as architecture, structures, and the built environment produced by Muslims in the Middle East and elsewhere from the seventh century C.E. and beyond.23 These structures include palaces, citadels, fortifcations, markets, caravanserais, and houses. While all types of buildings are included in this defnition, Islamic architecture is best represented by religious buildings such as mosques and madrasas (Islamic schools). Ernst Grube’s broad defnition suggests that Islamic architecture should be defned not only by its forms but also by its expressions and intentions. Specifcally, the interpretation of . . . [Islamic architecture] as a whole as well as the understanding of its specifc parts can only be successful and meaningful if seen against the background of Islam as a cultural, religious and political phenomenon, and only in the precise relation to the specifc circumstances that led to its creation.24 Islamic values provide cultural background, as they are embedded in Muslims’ daily lives. Islamic architecture should thus be seen as more than merely the architecture built by Muslims, as such architecture is built to facilitate worshipping God.25 As Spahic Omer specifcally states, “Islamic architecture enshrines the facilities and, at the same time, a physical locus of the actualisation of the Islamic messages.”26 The mosque is a “culture-bound place of worship” that represents both local and regional architectural traditions. Across the Islamic world, the mosque is the type of building that most vibrantly refects local interpretations of Islamic law. The mosque therefore helps us to understand Muslim communities and how they represent their identities through visual culture.27 Renata Holod and Hasanuddin Khan’s statement aligns with Grabar’s argument that Islam is intertwined with the cultures of the local communities who embrace it, which results in an “overlay.”28 As has happened throughout history, Islam infuences cultures that are already in place; conversely, Islam itself is permeated and coloured by local cultures. Instead of thinking of a mosque as a self-contained Islamic cultural product, it is therefore necessary to consider the broader culture that surrounds it.29

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The architecture of Southeast Asian mosques refects the characteristics of Islam in this region. When Islam was introduced in Southeast Asia in the thirteenth century, it did not substitute the prevailing architecture of Hindu and Buddhist temples and shrines, nor did it reject their style. Instead, a hybrid style, which Suha Özkan identifed as a form of “regionalism,” emerged as the incorporation of the pre-existing Hindu-Buddhist forms and newly introduced Islamic religious functions.30 Regionalism was born as a reaction to the rise of internationalism during the age of modern architecture from the 1910s to the 1960s. Internationalism promoted universality and made no reference to either history or local vernacular as aspects that contribute to the style of buildings. Özkan observed that regionalist approaches represented either “vernacularism” or “Modernregionalism.”31 The term “vernacularism” refers to architecture produced by a society that follows traditions of building design that are based on climate, technology, culture, and symbolism, and that have persisted over time.32 Such architecture is unique because it is geographically bound. Regionalism rejects internationalism but not Modernism. Regionalism is aligned with Modernism in terms of the functional aspect of buildings and the consistency of form, function, and material. Thus Modern-regionalist buildings show respect for local forms of expression while also providing the possibility to explore forms that depart from traditional architecture.33 Scholars who have studied North Africa, the Middle East, and the Mediterranean have identifed features that characterise mosque architecture. These features include a hypostyle foor plan; a prayer hall containing a ṣaḥn (an open courtyard) surrounded by a U-shaped arcade at the front; an ablution fountain; a qibla wall (the farthest wall, which indicates the orientation of prayer toward Mecca); and a miḥrāb (the prayer leader’s niche), which usually occupies the centre of the qibla wall. However, not all of these features are found in all Southeast Asian mosques. As opposed to the classic hypostyle Arab mosque, which consists of one massive building with four arcades (riwāqs) that form an open inner courtyard in front of the main sanctuary, the traditional Javanese mosque has front and/or side courtyards that are contained within an enclosure (cepuri); this form was possibly derived from a Sanskrit puri to constitute territoriality.34 This adoption of Hindu/Buddhist spatial tradition was also found under the Islamic kingdoms of the late ffteenth century to the mid-twentieth century in the traditional urban layout in Java. The sultan reserved a spot along the mystical axis that connected the two sacred sites – the mountain to the north, and the sea to the south – to establish his power through an architectural constellation that consisted of his palace, the sultanate state square, the sultanate mosque, and the marketplace.35 Scholars who study Islamic architecture outside Southeast Asia also recognise the four-part garden (called the chahar bagh) as an important feature

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of the Islamic architectural landscape. This feature is often found in secular buildings, such as palaces and tombs, to symbolise the imagined Paradise.36 However, the chahar bagh is not found in gardens in Southeast Asia. One example of such architecture is the Tamansari Water Castle of Yogyakarta (1758–1765), a royal garden owned by the Yogyakarta Islamic Sultanate (Figure 11.1). The complex consisted of artifcial lakes (now dry), a mosque, a bathing complex, and a complex of pavilions and pools for the sultan and his concubines. Although a small part of the complex was divided into four divisions by walkways, this layout does not match the chahar bagh layout that can be found in the Javanese sultanate gardens. Rather than representing the idea of Paradise, the “garden of pleasure” in Southeast Asia symbolises the mountain and the sea, which represent the dualism of the sacred and profane space in the Hindu tradition.37 Another example can be seen in saints’ tombs: small cisterns can be found at the entrances to saints’ tomb complexes (for example in the Menara Kudus Mosque and Tomb complex and the Masjid Sunan Ampel complex) to provide visitors with water for ablution. The absence of chahar bagh in Southeast Asian gardens and tombs might be a result of the tropical nature of the region, as water is abundant and plants and fowers easily grow and thrive under plentiful sunlight and rainwater. Southeast Asian gardens (taman) thus display what Grabar has described as an “overlay”38 of Islamic tradition and pre-Islamic symbolism and spiritual practices.39 The purpose of Islamic gardens in Southeast Asia may not,

FIGURE 11.1

Tamansari Water Castle, Yogyakarta (Indonesia), built in 1758

Source: (Photo: Aryanti and Muhlis)

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therefore, be to help the environment bloom through Islamic landscaping, as Ruggles suggests,40 but to serve as a reminder of the cosmological system that surrounds us. Traditional mosques and the representation of cultural syncretism

The oldest Southeast Asian mosques demonstrated the cultural syncretism of Islam, as well as the Hindu and Buddhist spatial traditions that were already in place. These mosques were mostly built by Muslim rulers as they established their Islamic kingdoms. Masjid Agung Demak (Figure 11.2), erected as the state mosque of Demak Sultanate (1478–1549), is one of the oldest surviving mosques in Southeast Asia and the great congregational mosque of the city of Demak today. Founded by the Nine Saints, who proselytised Islam on the island, the mosque marked the visual embodiment of the religious and cultural syncretism of the early years of the establishment of Islam in Java. Being a tangible monument that serves as a “sacred site of power” (as cited in the Jaka Tingkir Chronicle),41 this majestic mosque was meant to be an “enduring legacy of kingship” in Java.42 More importantly, its construction also marked the change of Javanese spiritual orientation

FIGURE 11.2

Masjid Agung Demak in Demak (Indonesia), built in 1474

Source: (Photo: Aryanti)

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from a mountain – believed by Hindus to be a sacred site – to Mecca, where Islamic prayer is oriented; this was done by aligning the building along the prescribed qibla orientation.43 A mythical story found in the Chronicle of Joko Tingkir reveals that the mosque refused to be oriented toward Mecca until the saints asked it to do so. This refusal should be seen as more than a mere issue of direction and spatial orientation, but as a display of disobedience to the newly Islamic ideological power that had begun to penetrate Java and incrementally replace the pre-existing Hindu tradition.44 The construction of Masjid Agung Demak as part of the Demak Sultanate’s centre of authority became an important archetype for mosques that were subsequently built by other Javanese sultanates and communities, as well as in Malaysia later on. The early mosques constructed in eighteenth-century Malaysia, such as Kampung Laut Mosque (Figure 11.3) and Kampung Tuan Mosque, were built of timber, using two- or three-tiered pyramidal roofs. The architecture is similar to that of traditional Javanese mosques, perhaps owing to the migration of many Javanese to the peninsula and their social interactions with Malaysian locals in the eighteenth century. The Malay vernacular mosques were heavily

FIGURE 11.3

Masjid Kampung Laut, Kelantan (Malaysia), built in the eighteenth century

Source: (Photo: Asrol Afandi, licensed under CC 2.0)

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infuenced by Malay houses, refecting the traditional way of life, as well as the local climate, social culture, and the current building technology.45 The early Javanese mosques in Indonesia have a distinct architecture characterised by a square plan, a veranda, a raised platform, an enclosed courtyard, and a multi-tiered pyramidal roof, all of which can also be seen in the pre-Islamic Hindu religious architectural tradition in the region.46 Most mosques were also characterised by the inclusion of a women’s prayer room (pawestren/pangwadonan/pedokan) positioned to the side of the main prayer hall.47 The Javanese mosque style was probably derived from the pre-existing religious architecture that was familiar to the local people. The early Javanese mosque architecture resembles the Hindu-Javanese temples in terms of its spatial sequence, foor levelling, forms, and ornaments.48 The representation of the sultan as the highest authority in the sultanate was evident in the spatial confguration of the capital, where the state mosque, the city square, and the sultan’s palace were all essential parts. Such a confguration is widely found in many Indonesian traditional cities.49 Additionally, in many sultanate state mosques (such as Masjid Gedhe Kauman of Yogyakarta and Masjid Agung Surakarta), annual celebrations of the Prophet Muhammad’s birthday are held by the authorities. During this event, the sultan walks from his palace to the mosque, accompanied by his brothers and soldiers. The most striking sign of the sultan’s ownership of the mosque is the maqsura, a box reserved for the sultan’s prayer that is placed on the front prayer row inside the main hall. The mosque also has a serambi (verandah) in front of the main prayer hall. In Masjid Gedhe Kauman (Figure 11.4), the serambi was known as “Mahkamah al-Kabirah” (the Grand Court), where the sultanate court was held in the past.50 The sultanate mosques also remind observers of Islamic values through their architecture. The sultanate’s chief religious ofcial explained that the three-tiered roof of Masjid Gedhe Kauman symbolises the three stages of achieving perfection in Islam: hakikat (truth), syariat (law), and marifat (knowledge). The metal crown on the top of the roof assumes the shape of a mace and a pineapple surrounded by green jackfruit leaves. The mace symbolises God’s oneness. The pineapple, or nanas in Javanese, is linguistically similar to the Arabic word for humankind (an-naas), while the leaves of the jackfruit (in Javanese: kluwih) symbolise privilege (linuwih). Together, these symbols represent the privileged human (in Javanese: manungsa kang linuwih). Research shows that these embedded values were taught unquestionably by word of mouth from generation to generation.51 In this sense, the sultanate mosques were not only a place of worship that accommodated the vertical relationship between humans and God but also social places that facilitated relationships between humans. They also proselytised Islamic values. Most importantly, they represented the sultan’s religious authority as a ruler of an Islamic kingdom.

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FIGURE 11.4

Masjid Gedhe Kauman in Yogyakarta (Indonesia), built in 1773

Source: (Photo: Aryanti and Muhlis)

Mosques in the post-independence era: in search of the nation’s image

Mosques are central to the formation of national identity in postcolonial Southeast Asia, particularly Malaysia and Indonesia, symbolising independence from colonial power. The Masjid Negara of Malaysia (1957–1965) was designed by Baharuddin Abu Kassim and built following the Islamic Republic’s independence in 1957 (Figure 11.5). StarTV (2016) notes that the mosque is “truly Malaysian” since it does not have a domed roof.52 Although the country is a self-declared Islamic nation, the defnition of Islamic identity was disputed, and Malaysian muftis at the time debated which Islamic practices and representations should be displayed throughout the country.53 Accommodating roughly 3,000 worshippers in the prayer hall and with an overfow capacity of about 5,000, Masjid Negara Malaysia was the largest mosque in Southeast Asia when it was built. The mosque is situated in the heart of Kuala Lumpur, the nation’s capital, and is marked by a 73-metre-tall minaret that sounds the call to prayer fve times a day. The umbrella-shaped roof is made of a folded concrete plate covered with tiles to express the unity of the thirteen states under the federation.54 The choice of an umbrella form instead of a dome represents a modifcation of the traditional tajug roof that has long been recognised in Malaysia. The selection of this form refects

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FIGURE 11.5

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Masjid Negara Malaysia, Kuala Lumpur (Malaysia), built in 1957

Source: (Photo: Dekoelie, licensed under CC 2.0)

the country’s return to its traditional root amidst the tensions between panIslamic modernism and Islamic traditionalism. Visually, the roof is the central element of a mosque, so it is unsurprising that the roof is the key element that encapsulates the overall architectural style. Unlike Masjid Negara Malaysia, where a dome was avoided, Masjid Istiqlal, the Indonesian state mosque, did include a dome (Figure 11.6). The design was selected through an open national competition won by F. Silaban, whose plan was based around the concept of divinity. Sukarno (in ofce from 1945 to 1966), the frst president of Indonesia and the initiator of the project, clearly mentioned in his speech following the announcement of the competition that the mosque should express the nation’s greatness, and added that the state mosque should not resemble Demak Great Mosque with the splendour of its timber structure. The state mosque would be built in a new time, and Sukarno believed that a mosque made of concrete would best express modernity and the image of a modern nation. Sukarno’s decision to hold an open competition and his selection of the design submitted by F. Silaban – a Christian architect – refects his vision of a country with diverse socio-cultural backgrounds. Sukarno’s political agenda and negotiation of values were manifested not only in the use of the dome but also in the mosque’s spatial arrangement. The mosque follows the Islamic orientation toward Mecca. Such an axis not only helps worshippers direct their prayers but also maximises the use of space for prayer. Interestingly, the corridors surrounding the front courtyard

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FIGURE 11.6

Masjid Istiqlal, Jakarta (Indonesia), built in 1962

Source: (Photo: Muhammad Faiz Hilmi, licensed under CC 2.0)

are oriented toward Monumen Nasional (the National Monument), which stands on Medan Merdeka Square to the southwest of Masjid Istiqlal. The National Monument (constructed between 1961 and 1975) was built by Sukarno to represent the nation’s image as a great nation. The selected location of Medan Merdeka Square, which has signifcant historical meaning, and the spatial arrangement (which includes Masjid Istiqlal on the southeast side of the square and Merdeka) embodies Sukarno’s claim of public legitimacy. The spatial layout is common in traditional Indonesian cities, where the city square is located in the city centre and is surrounded by the palace, the sultanate state mosque, and the market. This arrangement represents the four essential aspects supporting a sultanate: the government, democracy (symbolised by the city square), religion, and the economy.55 Thus the inclusion of both the Mecca axis and the Monumen Nasional axis in Masjid Istiqlal shows Sukarno’s intention to subtly incorporate his own power – in addition to Islam – in the architectural representation. Outside the sphere of national governance, architects in the postcolonial era began to think about how mosques should be designed. They referred to Qurʾānic verses to reformulate the very essence of mosque architecture. Achmad Noe’man (1926–2016), a well-known Indonesian mosque architect, asserted that domes were not a necessary element of mosques, arguing that mosque architecture should follow Islamic values and should not contradict the Qurʾān and ḥadīth. Noe’man highlighted the importance of ijtihād – an Islamic legal term that refers to the use of independent reasoning to resolve issues that are not covered by the Qurʾān and ḥadīth56 – and emphasised that

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inefciency is a fundamental problem that should be avoided when designing a mosque. Achmad Noe’man was the frst Indonesian architect to design a modern mosque with neither a dome nor a tajug roof. Infuenced by Modernism, he designed Masjid Salman (Figure 11.7), the frst Southeast Asian campus mosque, which was opened to the public in 1964.57 The roof resembles a canoe and was made of prestressed concrete. Based on his understanding through ijtihād that the prayer lines should not be interrupted by columns, Noe’man created a wide hall under a domeless roof. The mosque was named and launched by President Sukarno, though it subtly challenged the president’s choice of architectural style represented by the then-under-construction Masjid Istiqlal. Under the presidency of Suharto (who was in ofce from 1966 to 1998 as the second president of Indonesia), the state developed a replica of Masjid Agung Demak with a “standardised” style as a typological model of Indonesian mosques across the country. The president’s attempt to replace the previously embraced star and crescent symbol with a pentagonal frame enclosing the Arabic inscription Allāh on the top of the mosque was a way to incorporate Islam with the fve national principles of Pancasila.58 Many people, however, saw the revival of the Javanese mosque as part of Suharto’s political agenda to subtly promote his own party, the Golongan Karya, whose emblem contains a banyan tree enclosed within a pentagonal frame.

FIGURE 11.7

Masjid Salman, Bandung (Indonesia), built in 1964

Source: (Photo: Aryanti)

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Community mosques and the tension between the imagined Islam and Islam Nusantara

The downfall of Suharto in 1998 marked the beginning of the reformation era in Indonesia. This era celebrated political and religious freedom after the prolonged suppression sufered under the Suharto regime. The newly practised democracy has provided more space for political parties, particularly Islamic ones, to grow and gain votes. Outside of the political stage, the democratic atmosphere has favoured more diversity among religious groups, both radical and liberal, in addition to the pre-existing moderate majority.59 Islam is no longer confned within the religious domain and now extends into daily life and the public sphere.60 The rise of Islamic radicalism and liberalism has ignited various reactions within the Muslim community, as Islamic scholars have debated which kind of Islamic interpretation should be practised in daily life in diferent countries. The contestation of literal vis a vis liberal Islam was found widely in both Malaysia and Indonesia, the two most prominent Muslim countries in Southeast Asia.61 In 2016, the Nahdlatul Ulama (NU), which is the largest Islamic organisation in Indonesia, formed Islam Nusantara (or Islam of the archipelago) in response to the prevalence of radicalism across the country. Islam Nusantara was proposed as a negotiation between the radical Araboriented Islam and the local expression of Islam in the Indonesian context.62 To some, Islam Nusantara was considered impure and was seen as a form of Islamic syncretism; in West Sumatra, for example, the tension between those who support and others who oppose Islam Nusantara has grown through social media.63 At the national level, the idea of Islam Nusantara was confronted by Hizbut Tahrir Indonesia – one of the recently banned leading radical Islamic organisations in Indonesia – through textual contestation.64 While the return to locality might be seen as a negotiation of imported Islam and the local culture, the discourse of mosque architecture in Nusantara continues to advance. Following the increasingly heated discourse surrounding Islam Nusantara, Masjid Tajug Gede was built in Purwakarta, Indonesia, in 2017 (Figure 11.8). The mosque was patronised by Dedi Mulyadi, the regent of the town, to refect the concept of Islam Nusantara. The two-storey building combines a three-tiered tajug roof (borrowed from traditional Indonesian mosques) with arches, arabesques, and four minarets at the mosque’s corners, which are obvious imitations of the Middle Eastern Islamic tradition. The mosque also has nine drums (bedug), which are hit before the recitation of the calls to prayer. The drum is a traditional instrument that one can fnd in most traditional Indonesian mosques. Dedi Mulyadi has stated that these drums symbolise the Wali Songo (Nine Saints) who disseminated Islam on the island. There are obvious reminders of nationality and love for the Indonesian homeland in the prayer hall. The hall is covered with carpets (Figure 11.9).

The mosques of Southeast Asia

FIGURE 11.8

The exterior of Masjid Tajug Gede, Purwakarta (Indonesia), built in 2017

Source: (Photo: Aryanti and Muhlis)

FIGURE 11.9

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The interior of Masjid Tajug Gede, Purwakarta

Source: (Photo: Aryanti)

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Cloths of red and white (the colours of the Indonesian fag) wrap the columns inside the main prayer hall and are placed where worshippers prostrate and lower their foreheads. In Islamic tradition, prostrating is an essential part of prayer that shows one’s submission and gratitude to God. Prostration is central in Islamic religious ritual to show humility and obedience.65 Prostrating on the red and white carpet can therefore be seen as submission to God while at the same time showing one’s love for Indonesia as a homeland. Inevitably, the discourse includes the roof style of the mosque. One group prefers the tajug roof to the dome roof, as they believe it preserves the local Indonesian identity. Another sees the dome as essential to a mosque’s identity. However, the debate about representation is more complex than a simple debate comparing the dome and the tajug roof, as young architects often explore their creativity by developing various possible mosque designs. In 2019, there was a heated debate about the use of triangles in Masjid al-Safar (built in 2014), a mosque located at Rest Area 88 of Cipularang Highway, which connects the Indonesian cities of Bandung and Jakarta. The mosque was designed by Ridwan Kamil and his architectural bureau, Urbane. The mosque has an irregular form, as its shape imitates the rocks that are abundant in the surrounding environment (Figure  11.10). As one enters the main prayer hall, one encounters a massive triangle-shaped miḥrāb with a circle of Arabic calligraphy circle from a top corner (Figure 11.11). Some people have criticised the architecture of the mosque for using a triangle with a circle, claiming that it imitates the symbol of the Illuminati. The

FIGURE 11.10

The exterior of Masjid al-Safar, Km 88 Cipularang (Indonesia), built in 2014

Source: (Photo: Aryanti and Muhlis)

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FIGURE 11.11

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The interior of Masjid al-Safar

Source: (Photo: Aryanti)

Illuminati is believed to be an old secret society that aims to bring chaos and eventually occupy the world. Although it could be argued that this critique is politically charged due to Ridwan Kamil’s position as the governor of West Java, this example shows that mosque architecture carries symbolism that is open to interpretation. Kamil himself has defended the structure by arguing that his design was simply the result of creative exploration, and the triangle was inspired by the faceted stones to build up a stable construction in the mosque. Aside from the debate related to the architecture of al-Safar, the triangle shape can be found in the architecture of traditional Southeast Asian mosques, particularly those across the Indonesia archipelago and along the Malaysia peninsula. The tajug (tiered pyramidal) roof, inherited from the Hindu tradition, was commonly used in religious architecture to symbolise spiritual transcendence.66 However, some cases have indicated that not all triangles were readily accepted by communities. In designing Masjid Kopeng, which mimicked the slope of Mount Merapi (2011) in Yogyakarta, Ridwan Kamil proposed a sharply pointed triangle roof. The mosque was built in a village that had been damaged by the eruption of Mount Merapi in 2010, and the project itself was a form of community service funded by a national

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Islamic bank. The local inhabitants made use of the abundant volcanic sand and ash to make bricks and ventilation blocks for the building. When the architect presented the design, neither the funding partner nor the community agreed on the form. The replacement of a dome with a sharply pointed roof caused concern that the mosque could be mistakenly perceived as a church. After some negotiation, the architect proposed a modifed form that combined the frst proposal with the tiered tajug roof. Another of Kamil’s mosques in Jakarta, Masjid Darussalam (2012), was also rejected by the community at frst because of its similarity to a church: instead of being covered by a pyramidal roof or a dome, the mosque therefore has a gable roof. The triangle shape dominates the main prayer hall, as the sloping sides serve as walls as they extend to the foor. Here, the architecture of the mosque challenges the typological model of the tajug as a common mosque roof type. The design was fnally accepted after negotiation with the community. While domes are absent from most of his mosques, Ridwan Kamil designed the striking Ninety-Nine Kubah Asmaul Husna Mosque, built in 2017, which has ninety-nine domes. The number ninety-nine is special in Islamic tradition because it symbolises God’s ninety-nine beautiful names. This mosque is located on the shore of the Makassar Strait, South Sulawesi, and is intended to serve as a landmark. Kamil also modifed the use of domes in his other recently designed mosques, such as Masjid Al Jabbar (Bandung, under construction), Masjid Gaza (Palestine, proposal), and Masjid Sevilla (Spain, proposal). In these designs, Kamil intends to show that the dome is optional. Neglecting or modifying the dome is popular among contemporary Southeast Asian architects. For example, Masjid al-Lathiif previously used an onionshaped dome in Bandung. The community, advocated by a group of architects, decided to remove the dome in the 2005 renovation and replace it with a traditional tajug roof to return to the local image and spirit of the mosque (Figure 11.12). Additionally, the architects also applied bricks as ornaments on the minarets – reminding people of the legendary minaret of Masjid Menara Kudus, built in 1549 in Central Java. Although some people in the community believe that the dome is an essential feature of a mosque, the architects were assured that the use of the tajug roof would provide a more powerful image of the mosque as a culture-bound house of worship. The architects were part of the community, which may have contributed to their success in persuading the local population of the appropriateness of the traditional roof. The mosque was selected as nominated for the Aga Khan Award in 2006. Some tension has arisen between architects and community members regarding the mosque form. Like Achmad Noe’man, a number of architects have attempted to explore new forms for the mosques that they design. Doing so not only showcases their creativity but also educates the community about the possibility of designs, since neither the Qurʾān nor the ḥadīth ofers any

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FIGURE 11.12

281

Masjid al-Lathiif, Bandung (Indonesia), renovated in 2005

Source: (Photo: Aryanti)

advice regarding mosque architecture. Architects like Achmad Noe’man and Ridwan Kamil tend to resist using a dome to show that this feature is not a necessary part of a mosque. The trend of using domes to project an Islamic image is based on the period of colonial rule from the eighteenth to the mid-twentieth centuries.67 In Malaysia, the British colonial power defned its imagined Islamic architecture in the country by introducing Moorish styles; the mosques were designed using classical columns, pilasters, pediments, pointed arches, and domes.68 This form of Islamic style continues to be applied in the newly founded Putrajaya city to project the image of an Islamic city and to circulate the vision of “high Islam” as a way of strengthening Malaysia’s national identity.69 The application of the dome in Masjid Penyengat, Aceh (built from 1832–1844) refects the Dutch colonists’ orientalist perspective in defning their own imagined Islamic architecture in the Southeast Asian world. The selection of a dome over a traditional tajug roof represented the Dutch colonists’ attempt to eradicate the image of the Eastern world’s backwardness.70 Such perspectives continue to be embraced in the postcolonial era. Under Sukarno, the image of modernity is represented through the urban-scaled mosque that could not have been constructed using the traditional timber used to build mosques in Indonesia.71 The appearance of the giant dome in Masjid Istiqlal, the Indonesian state mosque, strengthened the image of Indonesia as the modern world’s most populated Muslim country. Even today, when mosque design excludes a dome, it is common for clients to request that the architects add a dome, even if only a small one. Here, the dome and

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the long-embraced star and crescent symbol are perceived as essential signifers of a mosque.72 The dome, then, is a popular mosque element in Southeast Asia. Domestic industries produce cheap zinc domes to be sold on the streets so that people can easily add a dome to their mosque. In many villages where communities have limited funds, mosques are built from simple and often recycled materials. Since cement domes are not fnancially feasible, the community will buy and implement a zinc dome simply to show that the building is a mosque. Conclusion

Southeast Asia is often excluded from discussions of Islamic architecture. This exclusion could stem from the defnition of the mosque generated from Middle East-centred research, while Southeast Asian mosques are uniquely infuenced by the pre-existing Hindu and Buddhist traditions. Architecture in Southeast Asia developed rapidly in the second half of the twentieth century as countries in the region gained their independence. Using Özkan’s concept of Regionalism, Southeast Asian mosques follow both Vernacularism – by using the traditional mosque as their inspiration – and Modern-regionalism, by openly exploring architectural form and style to respond to the local climate, technology, and socio-cultural factors.73 The mosque has come to represent Muslim communities while also instigating cultural negotiations within these communities. The forms of mosques and the architectural elements that they contain are embedded with meanings that the community can understand and appreciate. Traditional mosques represented the sultan as the holder of religious authority, while mosques built during the post-independence era were used by state leaders to obtain international recognition for their countries either as modern Islamic countries or modern countries that are predominantly populated by Muslims. The mosque continues to be a topic of identity contestation. Debates of this nature revolve around the architectural styles that best represent both global and local Islam. The cases discussed in this work demonstrate that while architects form concepts and actualise them with their designs, they do not have full control over what their designs represent. The users and the surrounding community have a signifcant efect on the meanings portrayed by a mosque. Notes 1 K.A.C. Creswell, A Short Account of Early Muslim Architecture (Cairo: The American University in Cairo Press, 1989). 2 G. Michell, ed. Architecture of the Islamic World: Its History and Social Meaning (London: Thames and Hudson, 1978). 3 Robert Hillenbrand, Islamic Art and Architecture (London: Thames and Hudson, 1999).

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4 J.D. Hoag, Islamic Architecture: History of World Architecture (Phaidon Press, 2004). 5 Michell, Architecture of the Islamic World, 8–9. 6 Ibid., 279. 7 Ibid., 8–9. 8 Imran bin Tajudeen, “Trade, Politics, and Suf Synthesis in the Formation of Southeast Asian Islamic Architecture,” in F.B. Flood and G. Necipoğlu (eds.), A Companion to Islamic Art and Architecture (Hoboken: John Wiley  & Sons, 2017), 996–8. 9 Oleg Grabar, The Formation of Islamic Art (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1987), 2. 10 Robert Hillenbrand, “Studying Islamic Architecture: Challenges and Perspectives,” Architectural History 46 (2003). 11 Ismudiyanto and Parmono Atmadi, Demak, Kudus, and Jepara Mosques: A Study of Architectural Syncretism (Yogyakarta: Department of Architecture, Gadjah Mada University, 1987); Hugh O’Neill, “South-East Asia,” in Martin Frishman and Hasan-Uddin Khan (eds.), The Mosque (London: Thames and Hudson, 1994), 225–39; G.F. Pijper, “The Minaret in Java,” in F.D.K. Bosch et  al. (eds.), India Antiqua: A Volume of Oriental Studies Presented by His Friends and Pupils to Jean Philippe Vogel (Ö) (Leiden: Brill, Kern Institute, 1947), 274–83; Bagoes Wiryomartono, Seni Bangunan Dan Seni Binakota Di Indonesia [the Art of Building and Urban Design in Indonesia] (Jakarta: Gramedia, 1995), 7–15; “Postcard from the Field: A Historical View of Mosque Architecture in Indonesia,” The Asia Pacifc Journal of Anthropology 10:1 (2009), 33–45. 12 Mehran Kamrava (ed.), The New Voices of Islam: Rethinking Politics and Modernity (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2006), 1–28. 13 Norshahril Saat (ed.), Islam in Southeast Asia: Negotiating Modernity (Singapore: ISEAS – Yusof Ishak Institute, 2018), 1–10. 14 Dianne Harris and D. Fairchild Ruggles, “Landscape and Vision,” in Dianne Harris and D. Fairchild Ruggles (eds.), Site Unseen: Landscape and Vision (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2007), 7. 15 Henry Glassie, “History,” in Material Culture (Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1999), 5–39. 16 World Population Review, “Muslim Population by Country 2020,” (Walnut, 2020). 17 G.W.J. Drewes, “Snouck Hurgronje and the Study of Islam. (Met Portret),” Bijdragen tot de taal-, land- en volkenkunde/Journal of the Humanities and Social Sciences of Southeast Asia 113 (1957), 1–15. 18 C.C. Berg, “The Islamisation of Java,” Studia Islamica 4 (1955), 111. 19 Mark R. Woodward, “Islam: Asia,” in James D. Wright (ed.), International Encyclopedia of the Social & Behavioral Sciences, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Elsevier, 2015), 728. 20 Islam in Java: Normative Piety and Mysticism in the Sultanate of Yogyakarta (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1989). 21 Merle Calvin Ricklefs, Jogjakarta under Sultan Mangkubumi 1749–1792: A History of the Division of Java (London: Oxford University Press, 1974), 6. 22 Franz Magnis-Suseno, Etika Jawa: Sebuah Analisa Falsaf Tentang Kebijaksanaan Hidup Jawa [Javanese Ethics: A  Philosophical Analysis on Javanese] (Jakarta: Kanisius, 1993). 23 “Islamic Architecture,” in The Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica (ed.), Britannica (Encyclopaedia Britannica, 2023); Michell, Architecture of the Islamic World, 7.

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24 Ernst Grube, “Introduction: What Is Islamic Architecture,” in George Michell (ed.), Architecture of the Islamic World: Its History and Social Meaning (London: Thames and Hudson, 1978), 14. 25 Spahic Omer, “Towards Understanding Islamic Architecture,” Islamic Studies 47:4 (2008), 483–510. 26 Ibid., 484. 27 Renata Holod and Hasan-Uddin Khan, The Mosque and the Modern World: Architects, Patrons and Designs Since the 1950s (London: Thames and Hudson, 1997), 10. 28 Grabar, The Formation of Islamic Art, 2. 29 Ismaïl Serageldin, “Architecture and Society,” in Ismaïl Serageldin (ed.), Space for Freedom (London: Butterworth Architecture, 1989), 75–87. 30 Süha Özkan, “Regionalism within Modernism,” ibid., 279–92. 31 Ibid., 279. 32 B. Rudofsky, Architecture without Architects: A  Short Introduction to NonPedigreed Architecture (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1987). 33 Özkan, “Regionalism within Modernism,” 281–2. 34 Wiryomartono, Seni Bangunan Dan Seni Binakota Di Indonesia [the Art of Building and Urban Design in Indonesia], 40. 35 Ibid., 35–45. 36 Hoag, Islamic Architecture: History of World Architecture (London: Phaidon Press), 7–13; D. Fairchild Ruggles, Islamic Gardens and Landscapes (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2008), 3–12. 37 Martijn Eyckhof, “Denys Lombard, Gardens in Java. Translated by John M. Miksic. Jakarta: École Française D’extrême-Orient, 2010, 86 Pp. [Originally Pusblished as Jardins À Java, Paris: Maisonneuve, 1969.] Isbn 978–285–5394–81–7 (Soft Cover),” Wacana, Journal of the Humanities of Indonesia 13 (2011), 365; D. Lombard, Jardins À Java (Maisonneuve, 1969), 135–83. 38 Grabar, The Formation of Islamic Art, 2. 39 Tajudeen, “Trade, Politics, and Suf Synthesis in the Formation of Southeast Asian Islamic Architecture,” 1011–13. 40 Ruggles, Islamic Gardens and Landscapes, 13–20. 41 Babad Jaka Tingkir: Babad Pajang [the Chronicle of Jaka Tingkir: The Chronicle of Pajang], ed. Moelyono Sastronaryatmo (Jakarta: Departemen Pendidikan dan Kebudayaan, 1981); Babad Jaka Tingkir [the Chronicle of Jaka Tingkir], SMP KS 78 vols., vol. MS.SP 214 Ca, Kupiya Iber Warni-Warni Sampeyan-Dalem Kaping Vi (Surakarta: 79verso-152recto, ca. 1849). 42 Florida, Writing the Past, Inscribing the Future, 321. 43 Ibid, 332–37; Ricklefs, Mystic Synthesis in Java, 11–20. 44 Achmad Fawaid, Zamroni Zamroni, and Hasan Baharun, “Contesting Sacred Architecture: Politics of ‘Nation-State’ in the Battles of Mosques in Java,” QIJIS (Qudus International Journal of Islamic Studies) 7 (2019), 129; Abidin Kusno, “ ‘The Reality of One-Which-Is-Two’, Mosque Battles, and Other Stories: Architecture, Religion and Politics in the Javanese World,” Journal of Architectural Education 57 (2003), 57–67. 45 A Ghafar Ahmad, “The Architectural Styles of Mosques in Malaysia: From Vernacular to Modern Structures,” Proceedings of the symposium on Mosque architecture: the historic and urban developments of Mosque architecture 2 (1999), 70–7. 46 Pijper, “The Minaret in Java,” 274–83. 47 Tutin Aryanti, “The Center vs. the Periphery in Central-Javanese Mosque Architecture,” Dimensi Teknik Arsitektur 34:2 (2007), 73–80; Bambang Setia Budi, “A Study on the History and Development of the Javanese Mosque Part 2: The

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48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56

57

58 59 60 61 62 63

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Historical Setting and Role of the Javanese Mosque Under the Sultanates,” Journal of Asian Architecture and Building Engineering 4 (2005), 1–8; G.F. Pijper, Fragmenta Islamica: Studien Over Het Islamisme in Nederlandsch-Indie [Fragmenta Islamica: Some Studies on Islam in the Colonial Indonesia] (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1934); Wiryomartono, Seni Bangunan Dan Seni Binakota Di Indonesia [the Art of Building and Urban Design in Indonesia], 7–25. Ismudiyanto and Atmadi, “Demak, Kudus, and Jepara Mosques: A  Study of Architectura”l Syncretism,” 5–15. Wiryomartono, Seni Bangunan Dan Seni Binakota Di Indonesia [the Art of Building and Urban Design in Indonesia], 35–45. Tutin Aryanti, “Breaking the Wall, Preserving the Barrier: Gender, Space, and Power in Contemporary Mosque Architecture in Yogyakarta, Indonesia” (University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, 2013), 80–3. Ibid., 28–9. “Mosques of South-East Asia,” Straits Times, www.straitstimes.com/asia/se-asia/ mosques-of-south-east (26 June 2016). Norshahril Saat, “Competing Discourses among Malaysian Muftis: Still a Case of Arabization?,” in Islam in Southeast Asia: Negotiating Modernity (Singapore: ISEAS – Yusof Ishak Institute, 2018), 35–62. Holod and Khan, The Mosque and the Modern World: Architects, Patrons and Designs Since the 1950s, 68–70. Wiryomartono, Seni Bangunan Dan Seni Binakota Di Indonesia [the Art of Building and Urban Design in Indonesia], 35–45. Agus S. Ekomadyo, “Islam, Indonesianity, and Modernity in Architecture of Achmad Noe’man: Representing Modern Islamic Movement Narration Beyond the Modern Islamic Architecture Heritage in Indonesia,” International Symposium of modern Asian Architecture Network III (2003), 1–13; A. Holik and Tutin Aryanti, “The Salman Mosque: Achmad Noe’man’s Critique of Indonesian Conventional Mosque Architecture,” IOP Conference Series: Materials Science and Engineering 180 (2017), 1–5. “The Salman Mosque: Achmad Noe’man’s Critique of Indonesian Conventional Mosque Architecture,” 1–5; Ekomadyo, “Islam, Indonesianity, and Modernity in Architecture of Achmad Noe’man: Representing Modern Islamic Movement Narration Beyond the Modern Islamic Architecture Heritage in Indonesia,” 1–13; Dhini Dewiyanti and Bambang Setia Budi, “The Salman Mosque: The Pioneer of the Mosque Design Idea, the Driving Force Behind the Coinage of the Term ‘Campus Mosque’ in Indonesia,” Journal of Islamic Architecture 3:4 (2015), 143–53. Kusno, “ ‘The Reality of One-Which-Is-Two’, Mosque Battles, and Other Stories: Architecture, Religion and Politics in the Javanese World,” 57–67. Hamid Zarkasyi, “The Rise of Islamic Religious-Political Movements in Indonesia: The Background, Present Situation and Future,” Journal of Indonesian Islam 2 (2008), 336. Syahrir Karim, Samsu Mamat, and Bayu Possumah, “Islamism and Democratization in Indonesia Post-Reformation Era: Socio-Political Analysis,” International Journal of Islamic Thought 6 (2014), 79–80. Ibid., 79–86; Saat, “Competing Discourses among Malaysian Muftis: Still a Case of Arabization?,” 35–62. Alexander Raymond Arifanto, “Islam Nusantara: Nu’s Bid to Promote “Moderate Indonesian Islam,” RSiS Commentary, no. 114 (2016), 1–2. Benny Ridwan et al., “Islam Nusantara, Ulemas, and Social Media: Understanding the Pros and Cons of Islam Nusantara among Ulemas of West Sumatera,” Indonesian Journal of Islam and Muslim Societies 9:2 (2019), 26.

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64 Dini Saftri, “Rhetoric Debate on Islam Nusantara Discourse,” KnE Social Sciences 3 (2018), 151. 65 Andrew C. Smith, “Prostration as Discourse: A Comparative Literary, Semiotic, and Ritual Analysis of the Action in the Qur’an and Hebrew Bible” (The Claremont Graduate University, 2016), 276–93; Roberto Tottoli, “Muslim Attitudes Towards Prostration (Sujūd): I. Arabs and Prostration at the Beginning of Islam and in the Qur’ān,” Studia Islamica, no. 88 (1998), 5–34. 66 O’Neill, “South-East Asia,” 225–39. 67 Kemas Ridwan Kurniawan and Ratu Arum Kusumawardhani, “The Infuence of 19th Century Dutch Colonial Orientalism in Spreading Kubah (Islamic Dome) and Middle-Eastern Architectural Styles for Mosques in Sumatra,” Journal of Design and Built Environment 11:1 (2012), 1–13. 68 Ahmad, “The Architectural Styles of Mosques in Malaysia: From Vernacular to Modern Structures,” 70–7. 69 Sarah Moser, “Circulating Visions of ‘High Islam’: The Adoption of Fantasy Middle Eastern Architecture in Constructing Malaysian National Identity,” Urban Studies 49:13 (2012), 2913–35. 70 Kurniawan and Kusumawardhani, “The Infuence of 19th Century Dutch Colonial Orientalism in Spreading Kubah (Islamic Dome) and Middle-Eastern Architectural Styles for Mosques in Sumatra,” 1–13. 71 Bagoes Wiryomartono, “The Politics of Development in Indonesia: The Aesthetic Culture and Power Play in Architecture and Urban Design,” International Journal of Urban Sciences 16:2 (2012), 203–33. 72 H.E.E. Hayes, “The Crescent as Symbol of Islam,” The Muslim World 9:2 (1919), 149–55. 73 Özkan, “Regionalism within Modernism,” 279–92.

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Saftri, Dini, “Rhetoric Debate on Islam Nusantara Discourse,” KnE Social Sciences 3 (2018). Serageldin, Ismaïl, “Architecture and Society,” in Ismaïl Serageldin (ed.), Space for Freedom (London: Butterworth Architecture, 1989), 75–87. Smith, Andrew C., “Prostration as Discourse: A Comparative Literary, Semiotic, and Ritual Analysis of the Action in the Qur’an and Hebrew Bible,” PhD dissertation, The Claremont Graduate University, 2016. Tajudeen, Imran Bin, “Trade, Politics, and Suf Synthesis in the Formation of Southeast Asian Islamic Architecture,” in F.B. Flood and G. Necipoğlu (eds.), A Companion to Islamic Art and Architecture (Hoboken: John Wiley  & Sons, 2017), 996–1022. Tottoli, Roberto, “Muslim Attitudes Towards Prostration (Sujūd): I. Arabs and Prostration at the Beginning of Islam and in the Qur’ān,” Studia Islamica 88 (1998), 5–34. Wiryomartono, Bagoes, Seni Bangunan Dan Seni Binakota Di Indonesia [the Art of Building and Urban Design in Indonesia], Jakarta: Gramedia, 1995. Wiryomartono, Bagoes, “Postcard from the Field: A  Historical View of Mosque Architecture in Indonesia,” The Asia Pacifc Journal of Anthropology 10:1 (2009), 33–45. Wiryomartono, Bagoes, “The Politics of Development in Indonesia: The Aesthetic Culture and Power Play in Architecture and Urban Design,” International Journal of Urban Sciences 16:2 (2012), 203–23. Woodward, Mark R., Islam in Java: Normative Piety and Mysticism in the Sultanate of Yogyakarta, Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1989. Woodward, Mark R., “Islam: Asia,” in James D. Wright (ed.), International Encyclopedia of the Social & Behavioral Sciences (2nd ed.) (Oxford: Elsevier, 2015), 727–30. World Population Review, “Muslim Population by Country 2020,” Walnut, CA, 2020, Retrieved from https://worldpopulationreview.com/country-rankings/muslimpopulation-by-country 7 November 2020 Zarkasyi, Hamid, “The Rise of Islamic Religious-Political Movements in Indonesia: The Background, Present Situation and Future,” Journal of Indonesian Islam 2 (2008), 336.

INDEX

Note: Page numbers in italics indicate fgures. ʿAbbāsid empire 3, 19, 89, 189 ʿAbd al-Raʿūf al-Singkilī 22–5, 65, 198 Abd-al-Razzāq Samarqandī 104, 192 ʿAbd al-Wahhāb al-Khallāf 72 ʿAbd al-Wahhāb al-Shaʿrānī 47 ʿAbdul Karīm al-Jīlī 23, 127 Abdul Malik b. Muhammad Ilyas 52 Abdul Rauf al-Fansuri 157 Ab. Razak, Kamarudin 246 Abu Abdullah Masʿūd al-Jāwī 24 ʿAbū al-Mafakhir ʿAbd al-Qāḍīr 64 Abubakar, Al Yasa 79n56 Abū Ḥāmid al-Ghazālī 47 Abul Fida 95 Abû Rayhân al-Bîrûnî 94 Abū Shūja 125 Abû Zayd 93 Aceh: adat (customary law) and 69, 74; alliance with the Ottoman Empire 24; diplomatic relations with Mecca 24; female rulers in 200; illuminated Qurʾān production 251; Islamic law in 65, 69, 74–6, 197–8; Islamic learning in 22, 24–5; Islamisation in 194; legal pluralism in 64–5; maritime trading culture and 18; Masjid Penyengat 281; Muslim cosmopolitanism in 170, 198; Muslim scholars and 67; resistance to

Portuguese 193; Shāfʿī school of law and 16; special autonomy status 74; state Sharīʿa system in 74–6, 81n78; ʿulamāʾ in 65, 69, 198 adat (customary law): colonial administration and 70, 72, 103; cultural ideas of justice and 71, 73; ḥadīth studies 79n56; Islamic jurisprudence and 6, 61–2, 68–74, 78n35, 108, 125; joint marital property in 71, 79n50; living law 70–1; local governance and 73–4; Malay and Javanese texts 64; matrilineal culture and 104, 108; Minangkabau 68–9; modern scholarship and 70, 78n42; Muslim women dress and 159; Padri challenges to 69–70; religious court system 71; symmetrical formulations 68–9, 78n35 al-Afghani, Jamal al-Din 27, 211–12 Agung, Sultan 198, 202 Agung Mosque 248 Aḥmad ibn Mājid 106, 192 al-Aidid, Muḥammad Wahid bin Abu Bakar 132 al-Aidit, Sayyid Jalaluddin 132 al-Aidit, Sayyid Muḥammad Ja’far Shadiq 132

Index

al-Aidit, Sayyid Sahabuddin 132 al-Aidit, Sayyid Sirajuddin 132 al-Aidit, Sayyid Umar 132 ‘Ala’ al-Din Ri’ayat Shah 244 Alatas, Ismail Fajrie 6, 37 Alatas, Syed Farid 13–14, 18, 20 Alauddin, Sultan 129, 131 Al-Azhar University 211 Alexander the Great 22 Al-Hind 7, 92–3 Ali, Muhamad 7, 121 Ali, Muhammad 156 Ali, Mukti 218 ʿAli ibn Abi Talib 20 ʿAlid sayyids 20 ʿAli Mughayat Shah 194, 244 Aljunied, Khairudin 8, 167 Ammatoa people 99, 112n71 Andaya, Barbara 175 Andaya, Leonard 170 Annales School 15, 30n7 al-Anṣārī 66 Arabisation: Indonesia and 210, 219; Islamic practices and 219, 222–3; Islamisation and 2; Malaysia and 159, 210, 219; Muslim groups and 156; pondok education and 219, 223 Arab Peranakan communities 178 Arabs: Al-Hind concept 7, 92–3; colonial state and 67–8; expatriate communities 27; indigenized Muslim communities 91, 106–7, 122, 132–3, 178; introduction of Islam to Southeast Asia 17–18, 20, 22–4, 30n28, 238; Islamic law (sharīʿa) and 103; tourist market and 179; trading enclaves in Guangzhou 88–9, 189–90; trading networks and 2, 86–9, 98, 128, 171–2, 189–91, 198; Wahhābī movement and 26, 69; see also Ḥaḍramīs; Middle East Arakkal Kingdom 95 architectural history: Arab traditions 248; cultural discourse and 264; internationalism and 267; marginalised groups and 9, 264; neglect of Islamic Southeast Asian 234–6; pre-Islamic traditions 246, 248–9, 271; regionalism and 267; vernacularisation and 267; vertical hierarchy in 250; see also Islamic architecture; mosques Arnold, Thomas Walker 17, 89

291

articulatory labour: accessible curriculum 45–8; divergent sunnas 39; Islamic practice and 6, 38–9, 42, 56; kraton-centred 45; Muslim scholars and community leaders 6, 39, 44–8, 56; Prophetic teachings and 39, 42–8, 56; textual technologies 46; transmission of Islam and 38–9 Arung Palakka La Tenritatta 131 Aryanti, Tutin 9, 263 Asad, Talal 214 Ash Shiddieqy, Hasbi 72 al-Attas, Syed Muhammad Naguib 22–4 awra: fashion and 155, 158–9; integration of local traditions 143–4, 147–8, 153, 156–9; Islamic discourse and 145–6, 153, 158; men’s responsibilities 145, 161n17, 161n18; modernisation of 157; mukena and 149, 157; telekung 143, 148, 157–9; veiling in 143–4, 147–8, 157–9, 161n18; wedding attire and 150 Azra, Azyumardi 17–18, 25, 91–2, 146–7 Baba Chinese Peranakan communities 178 Babad Jaka Tingkir 37 Baharuddin Abu Kassim 272 Bahrin, Raja 247 baju kebaya 153 baju kurung 147–8, 150, 153 baju kurung cekak musang 148 baju kurung teluk belanga 148, 153 baju teluk belanga 150 Bakar, Osman 99 Bandung, Indonesia 275, 278, 281 al-Banjārī, Muḥammad Arshad 66, 71, 79n51 Barros, João de 195 Batavia 71, 198, 202 batu Aceh (inscribed tombstones): Cambay style 246, 256n58; composition of 243; form and decoration of 246–7, 256n66, 256n69; inscriptions of 244–5; Islamic faith and 9, 235, 242–6; keramat 243; locations of 243–4, 255n39; origins of 245–6; preIslamic 245–6; surviving examples of 242–3

292

Index

Benda, Harry J. 78n42 Benjamin of Tudela 95, 111n56 Beta, Annisa R. 155 Bishop, Peter Blackwood, Evelyn 105 Borneo 26, 113n79, 190 4Brohi, Ahmed Ali 144 Brunei 14, 113n79, 146, 148, 243, 251 Buddhism: boddhisattva 121–2; Borobudur 237; funerary art 9, 246; infuence on mosque architecture 9, 248–50, 269; in Java 239, 265; meditative ascetics 196; in Sumatra 237; in Thailand 226n21 Bugis 128–31; see also BugisMakassarese Kingdom Bugis-Makassarese Kingdom: adat (customary law) and 133; animism/ shamanism in 129, 131–2; indigenous ritual specialists (bissu) 132; Islamic law and 133–4; Islamisation in 7, 121, 128–34; kadhi (Muslim ofcial) 133; mosques built in 130–1; as a multi-ethnic port 7; Muslim rulers in 131–4; perfect human idea 132; writing systems and 134 al-Burhānpūrī, Muḥammad b. Faḍlallāh 25, 42 Burke, Peter 30n7 Burma 146 Bush, Robin 74 Cairene reformism 27–8 Cambodia 21, 29n3, 66 Cammack, Mark E. 79n50 Carey, Peter 42–4 Causey, Andrew 173 Chau Ju-Kau 95 Cheng Ho 124, 171 China: Arab trade with 86, 88–9, 94, 189–90; Arab trading enclaves in 88–9, 191, 238; connections with Melaka 124; Greek traders 86–8; Islamic architecture in 263; migrations from 26, 88, 128, 178; Ming dynasty 191; Mongol conquest of 190; Muslim communities in 189–90; peasant rebellion in 89, 238; Quanzhou 190–1; refuge in Zâbaj 94, 190; regional trade and 87, 90; Tang empire 189; tribute missions to 190

Cipularang, Indonesia 278, 278 colonialism: annexation of sultanates 43, 45; cosmopolitanism and 171–2; emancipatory policies towards Muslims 28; employment of local people 213, 226n16; impact on cosmopolitan marketplaces 171; impact on Malay culture 100; imposition of Western culture 2–3; Islamic law and 26, 67–8; isolation of kratons 47; legal administration 61, 67–8; Muslim communities and 92; Muslim elites and 68, 70; Muslim merchants and 172; Portuguese armed intrusion 193–4; religious court system 71; resistance to 134; restriction of hajj participation 26, 47; review of adatrecht 70, 72, 78n42, 103; secular governance 202–3 Condra, Jill 150 Coromandel 96–8, 104, 128 Cosmas Indicopleustes 93, 111n377 cosmopolitanism: colonial 171–2; commercial 179; conviviality and 177; linguistic 169–70; port cities and 91, 93, 170–2, 178, 191, 193; see also Muslim cosmopolitanism Creswell, K.A.C. 263 cultural pluralism: indigenized Islam and 102–3, 147; legal system and 64; marketplaces and 177; national identity and 156; pondok education and 8, 214, 219–23; public discourse and 215–17; Southeast Asian Muslims and 9; trading networks and 91, 191; women and 200 Darajat, Zakiyah 156 Darul Islam 227n31 Dato ri Bandang 129–30, 133 Dato ri Pattimang (Dato Sulaiman) 129–30, 133 Dato Tallua 129 Dayah Raudhatun Najah 218 de Graaf, Hermanus Johannes 20 Delanty, Gerard 170 Demak sultanate 90, 237, 269–70 Dewi, Mayang Tresna 144 Dhofer, Zamakhsyari 161n18 Dhuhri, Saifuddin 247 al-Dīn al-Sumatrānī (Shamsuddin of Pasai) 22–3, 25

Index

Dipanagara, Prince 42–5, 47, 69 Dirgantoro, Wulandani 155 Drewes, Hari 16–17 Dur, Gus 221 Duruz, Jean 177 Dutch: colonial administration and 26, 28, 45, 47, 67, 72, 238; holy war against 43; isolation of kratons 47; Java War and 42–3, 45, 47, 69; resistance to 134; ʿulamāʾ against 26 Dutch East India Company (VOC) 64, 198, 238 Edwardes, M. 91 Egypt: Al-Azhar University 211; batu Aceh (inscribed tombstones) in 242; Cairene reformism 27–8; Muslim control of 5; Muslim intellectualism in 27, 47; Ottoman control of 25; reformism and 72; Shāfʿī school of law in 17; sunna in 52 al-Faṭānī, Dāūd b. ʿAbd Allāh 66, 123 Fathurahman, Oman 200–1 Fatimi, Sayyid Qudratullah 17 Federspiel, Howard 26 Feener, R. Michael 6, 24, 61, 79n50, 80n63, 81n78 Formichi, Chiara 92 Free Aceh Movement (Gerakan Aceh Merdeka/GAM) 74 funerary art: Buddhist traditions 9; clustering of memorials 244; Gujarati design 17; Hindu traditions 9, 16; inscribed tombstones (batu Aceh) 9, 235, 242–6; Islamic buildings and 243; Islamic epigraphy 243, 255n50; Muslim practices 199; Muslim tombstones 16–17, 193; pre-Islamic 245–6; unfnished grave markers 96–7, 246; see also batu Aceh (inscribed tombstones) Gallop, Annabel Teh 253n5, 258n102 Geertz, Cliford 26 Al-Ghazali 127 Gillow, J. 253n8 Gilroy, Paul 177 Golden Chersonese 86 Grabar, Oleg 263, 268 Great Mosque of Palembang 248 Grube, Ernst 266 Guillot, Claude 246

293

Gujarati Muslims 193–4, 241 al-Ḥaddād, ʿAbdallāh b. ʿAlawī 44–8 Ḥaḍramawt: Islamic legal texts and 67; migrations from 20, 44; muwallad 172; scholars from 44–5, 67; sunna in 52; trading networks and 1, 128, 146, 171–2 Ḥaḍramīs: colonial administration and 67; diaspora 20, 26–7, 45, 172; economic prosperity and 45; Islamic law and 67, 71; Islamic learning and 27, 65; Islamisation in Southeast Asia 146; Jāwī texts 67; Pasar Kampung Ampel 172–3; traveling scholars 44–7, 65, 71 Hamka 26, 157 Hamzah Fansuri (Hamza al-Fansūrī) 22–3, 25, 31n46, 53, 193 Ḥaramayn 25–6 Hasanuddin, Sultan 131 Hassan, A. 71, 79n53 Hassim, Nurzihan 144, 154s Hazairin 70, 77n56s Henderson, Joan C. 179 hijab: baju kurung 147; commercialisation of 149; daily use of 143; increased use of 167; Islamic law and 144, 157; local expression of 147–8; luxury styles 149; modernisation of 148–9, 158; obligatory use of 161n18; veiling and 160n17; see also kerudung (headscarf) Ḥijāz 25–6, 47, 52 Hikayat Hang Tuah 7, 124 Hillenbrand, Robert 9, 234, 263 Hinduism: devaraja (divine king) 121–2; funerary art 9, 16, 246; Indonesian temples 99; infuence on mosque architecture 9, 248–50, 269–71; in Java 237, 239, 265, 271; meditative ascetics 196 historiography 13, 15, 30n7 Hizbut Tahrir Indonesia 276 Hoadley, Mason C. 147 Hoag, John 263 Hollander, Joannes Jacobus de 16 Holleman, J.F. 78n42 Holod, Renata 266 Huber, Eugen 73 ḥudūd (Islamic criminal law) 167 Hussin, Iza 68, 103

294

Index

I Tuang ri Dama 130 Ibn al-ʿArabī 23, 53 Ibn al-Qāsim al-Ghazzi 125 Ibn Baṭṭūṭa: on Arab communities in Southeast Asia 16–17; Chinese travel 190; on court of al-Malik al-Zahir 16, 238–9; on ghāzi mentality of rulers 193; on Hindu rulers 192; on Malay communities in Malabar 89–90; on maritime symbolism of sovereigns 95; on matrilineal cultures 103; on Sumatran coastal culture 62, 194 Ibn Khurdâdhbih 94 Ibn Mājid 87 Ibn Sumayr, Sālim 67 Ibrahim, Anwar 215, 220, 226n25 Al-Idrîsî 94 Imam Bonjol, Tuanku 68–9 Imran bin Tajudeen 253n3, 263 India: British colonialism and 107; connections with Southeast Asia 93; introduction of Islam to Southeast Asia 1, 17–18; Malabar Coast 17, 107; Muslim communities in 93; Muslim rulers in 192; religious diversity in 192; unfnished grave markers from 96–7 Indian Ocean: British colonialism and 27; Islamisation around 20, 24, 62, 65, 241; monsoon winds 62, 87–8, 190, 237–8, 240, 247; Muslim merchants and 62, 91; Portuguese in 193; scholarly networks across 17, 20, 24–5; Shāfʿīsm around 63, 192; trading networks and 18, 62, 86–8, 90, 97, 105, 146, 241; Turkish eforts in 193–4 Indonesia: adat (customary law) and 73–4; Arabisation and 210, 219; creole communities in 172, 178; independence of 213, 238; instrumentalist law orientations 76; Islamic conversion in 16–17, 238; Islamic education in 208–9, 212, 217–18; Islamic orthodoxy and 214, 226n24; Islamic resurgence in 214–17; Islamic tradition in 14; Kaum Muda in 108, 203, 225n14; Kaum Tua in 108, 203, 225n14; Law on National Education System 208, 218; local cultural systems in 156, 158; madrasas in 212; middle

path of Islam 146; Ministry of Education and Culture (MOEC) 209; Ministry of Religious Afairs (MORA) 209; mosques in 250–1, 271–6, 278, 280–1; multi-ethnicity in 150; Muslim cosmopolitanism in 8, 168–9; Muslim ideologies in 145, 157; Muslim population in 62, 168, 234, 265, 281; Muslim tourist market 178–9; New Order regime 216, 218, 227n31; Pancasila (“fve pillars”) 146; pondok education in 8, 208–10, 213–14, 216, 219–22, 226n19; private madrasas 209, 225n6; public discourse in 214–22, 224, 227n31; public education in 224n5; reformation era in 73–4, 276; Sekolah Islam 209; Sufsm in 221; veiling in 7, 143–5, 148, 156, 158; wedding dress in 150, 154; see also Aceh; Java; Sulawesi; Sumatra; Yogyakarta Indonesian Islamic Propagation Council (Dewan Da’wah Islamiyah Indonesia, DDII) 227n32 Ingham, Sue 155 Institut Agama Islam Negeri (IAIN) 201 Iskandar Muda, Sultan 64, 197–8, 202 Iskandar Thani, Sultan 197 Islam: communal aspects of 19; comparative literature of 101; folk Islam 147; gnostic-individualistic interpretation of 53; Javanisation of 6, 16, 38, 265; literal vis a vis liberal 276; localisation of 147, 153, 266; maritime cultures 16–19, 22, 24, 29, 62–3; Muslim/non-Muslim interactions 88, 167–70, 173–80; mysticism and 265; orthodoxy and 214–16, 226n24, 227n28; Other and 1, 3–5, 8; radicalism and 167, 276; reformism and 25, 27–8, 69–70, 72, 211; Shīʿī tradition 132; Suf inclusivism 177–8 Islamic architecture: defning 266; fourpart garden (chahar bagh) in 267–8; intentions of worship 266; local cultural systems in 266–7; madrasas 266; mosques 266–7; saints’ tombs 268; scholarship on 263–4 Islamic architecture, Southeast Asian: absence of chahar bagh 268; colonial perspectives in 281; cultural

Index

negotiation and 9, 264, 267; HinduBuddhist forms 267, 269–71, 282; in Java 235; Moorish styles in 281; mosque architecture 9, 247–51, 257n72, 257n81, 257n83, 263–5, 267, 269–76, 278–82; neglect in scholarship on 236, 263; postcolonial era 272–4; pre-Islamic traditions 248–50; problems in dating 247–8; regionalism and 267; representation of sultan’s authority in 271; spatial arrangement 271, 273–4; studies of 253n3; vernacularisation and 267, 270–1; Western narrative of 264; wooden structures 243, 247–50, 270–1; see also mosques Islamic art, Southeast Asian: book painting 236; coins 235, 253n6; illuminated Qurʾāns 235–6, 242, 251–2, 258n102; impact of geography 235–7; inscribed tombstones (batu Aceh) 9, 235, 242–6; metalwork 235–6; neglect in scholarship on 234–6, 253n1, 253n2; pre-Islamic traditions 252; seals 235, 253n5; self-critical study of 263; textiles 235, 252, 253n8, 253n9; timeline of 236; see also batu Aceh (inscribed tombstones); funerary art Islamic cultures: arts and 5; cosmopolitanism and 130, 170; creation of diverse 3–5, 15, 28, 109; infuence of non-indigenous 219–21; local synthesis and adaptation 108, 144, 147, 153, 170; religious architecture and 249, 266; sciences and 4; traditional 220, 226n15; transfer of leadership 3–4 Islamic education: Arabisation and 222–3; colonial administration and 212–13, 226n16; government funding of 146, 209, 216, 218–19; ideological confict in 212–13, 225n14; Indonesian national education system 208–9, 217–18; Islamic Studies in 208–9, 215–17; madrasas 196, 209, 212–13, 225n6; Malaysian national education system 208–9, 216, 224n2, 227n29; modernisation of 212–13; orthodox values and 215–16; Pancasilaists and 217, 227n36; pedagogical style of

295

210; public discourse and 214–19; Sekolah Agama Rakyat 213; Sekolah Islam 209; Sekolah Islam Integrasi 209; socio-economic change and 218; sunna in 52; tahfz schools 208, 224n1; ʿulamāʾ and 210–12, 226n15; urban settings and 19, 209; see also Islamic schools (pesantrens); pondok education Islamic jurisprudence (fqh): adat (customary law) and 6, 61, 68–74, 78n35, 108, 125; daʿwa-oriented 72, 80n63; ḥadīth studies 72, 79n56; inheritance law 64, 67, 72, 105; joint marital property in 71, 79n53; langgar community and 44; Malay texts 65–6; matrilineal culture and 103; Shāfʿī 6, 62–3, 65–7, 102; Southeast Asian 21, 23; symmetrical formulations 68–9, 78n35; ʿurf as a source of 72; vernacular legal texts and 63–4 Islamic law (sharīʿa): adat (customary law) and 61–2, 76n1; Arabic texts and 125, 136n23; Arab identity and 67; awra in 143–5; colonial law and 67–8; contemporary Southeast Asia 68; dissemination of 21; Ḥaḍramī scholars 67; legal pluralism and 64–5; legal texts and 102–3; national level 72; Qurʿān and 72; sunna and 72 Islamic learning: authorisation and 24; Cairene reformism 27–8; communal aspects of 19, 21, 24; dissemination of 6, 14, 24; Islamic law (fqh) 21; Malay writing and 21–5, 31n46; mystical texts 25; mystic synthesis in 41–2, 44; scholarly networks 24–6; scriptural exegesis (tafsīr) 21; tasawwuf 23, 25; theosophist views in 23; translation and 24; ʿulamāʾ and 25–7, 72–3 Islamic mysticism 19, 41, 101, 221 Islamic practices: Arabisation of 219, 222–3; articulatory labour and 6, 38–9, 56; community use of mosques 250–1; display of Islamic identity 272; gravesite visits 199; integration of local traditions 92, 106, 108; Islamic conversion and 130; modernisation of 220; public discourse and 216

296

Index

Islamic schools (pesantrens): Arabic textual traditions in 66–7; government funding of 218; Habib Luthf and 50; integrated textual traditions 101–2; Islamic legal texts and 51, 66, 102–3; in Java 47–50, 52; langgars (prayer halls) and 47; madrasa education and 218; pre-Muslim times and 196; Prince Dipanagara and 42; Shāfʿī fqh in 66; simplifed curriculum in 47–8; sunna in 48–9; see also Islamic education; pondok education Islamic Universities (UIN) 201 Islamisation: academic research in 13–15; Arabisation and 2, 219, 222–3; Arab theory and 17–18, 20, 22–4, 30n28; articulatory labour 38–9, 42; conversion of elites 238, 265; diverse cultural contexts 92; eforts to curtail indigenized 106–7; Indian origins of 1, 17–18; Indian teachers in 96; indigenization of 7, 101–9; literary culture and 21–2, 31n46, 101–3; localisation of 197, 265; longue durée 21; provenance of 14, 16–20; of sacred traditions 195–6, 198–9; Shāfʿī school of law and 16–17; social interactions and 238, 265; in South Asia 88–9; in Southeast Asia 1–2, 13–26, 28–9, 61–2, 88–92, 96, 122, 146, 193–7, 238–40, 265; Sufs and 19–20, 24, 30n28, 88, 221; Tamil Muslim infuence 17; technological innovations and 26–7; trading networks and 7, 16–19, 62, 91, 146, 189, 240–1; urban settings and 19; vernacularisation and 189, 193–4, 197–203; women and 199–200 Islamism 167 Islam Nusantara 276 Ismuha 71 Jâbat al-Hindî 94 Jakarta: Masjid Darussalam 280; Masjid Istiqlal 264, 274, 274, 275; Medan Merdeka Square 274; mosques in 264, 274–5, 280; Tanah Abang textile mall 169–70; tourist market in 179 Jamal-al-Din, Sheikh 197

Java: abangan (mysticism) 221; agricultural economy in 47, 58n29; articulatory labour in 44–6; ascetic saints in 196; Buddhism in 239, 266; colonial state and 42–3, 45, 47; connections with India 237; Demak mosque in 37–8, 43, 249; Demak sultanate 90; Dipanagaran sunna texts 43–4; hijab in 147; Hinduism in 16, 237, 265, 270–1; illuminated Qurʾān production 251; Islamic architecture in 235; Islamic learning in 21–2; Islamic legal traditions 64, 69; Islamic religiosity in 41–2; Islamic statebuilding in 20, 43; Islamic wedding dresses 150, 151; Islamisation in 1, 6, 16, 20, 37–9, 41, 90, 238, 265, 269–70; jaranan (horse dance) 221; langgar community and 44–5; lelono (spiritual wandering) 42–3; madrasas in 212–13; Majapahit empire 90; marketplaces in 172, 175; mosque architecture 271; Muslim communities in 90–1, 93; Muslim rulers in 91, 122; Muslim scholars and community leaders in 39, 41, 43–52; mystic synthesis in 41–2, 44, 198; national dress in 150; pesantrens of 47–50, 52, 213; pilgrimage to Mecca 46–7, 58n29; pondok education in 220; pre-Islamic architecture 246; reformism and 212; regional balance of power and 16; religious diversity in 191; royal chronicles 21–2; sacred traditions and 198; Sufsm in 221; Sundanese wedding dress 152; sunna texts in 46–7; Undhang-undhang Banten texts 64; unfnished grave markers 246; Wali Songo in 37, 265, 269 Java Minora 16 Java War (1825–1830) 26, 42–3, 45, 47, 69 Jâwa 16, 89–90, 96–7 Jāwī Muslims: commercial elite 195; hajj pilgrimage 25–6, 46–7; intermarriages and 97; Islamic culture and 16, 24, 26; Islamic discourses and 27; Islamic legal texts and 67; Islamic reformism and 27–8; mobilisation of 28; Muqīmūn and 26; written Malay 22

Index

Jāwī Peranakan communities 178 jilbab: colour and 158; daily use of 143; Islamic correctness and 154, 158; modernisation of 148–9, 157; Muslim identity and 154; Qurʾānic exegesis on 144; see also kerudung (headscarf) al-Jīlī, ʿAbd al-Karīm 53 Johns, Anthony 14–15, 18–22, 24 Juhan Shah 238 Kadipaten, Kangjeng Ratu 201 Kalimantan 102, 113n79, 150 Kalus, Ludvik 246 Kamāl al-Dīn al-Turasānī, Jalāl al-Dīn b. Muḥammad 65 Kamil, Ridwan 278–81 Kampung Tuan Mosque 270 Karaeng Matoaya 133 Karaeng Matowaya Tumamenaga Ri Agamanna 129 Karaeng Pattingalloang 133 Kaum Muda (New Group) 108, 212, 220, 225n14 Kaum Tua (Old Group) 108, 212, 220, 225n14 kebaya 148, 150, 153 Kelantan: Islamic administration in 226n17; Islamic ban on traditional entertainment 222, 229n56; madrasas in 226n17; Masjid Kampung Laut 270, 270; Muslim cosmopolitanism in 176; political Islam in 176; pondok education in 213, 222, 226n18, 228n47; Siti Khadijah Market in 169, 175–6; women traders in 175–6 Kelantan State Islamic Council 213 Kerala 93, 98, 192 Kersten, Carool 5–6, 13 kerudung (headscarf): commercialisation of 148–9; daily use of 143, 145, 155; fashion and 155–6; Islamic correctness and 158–9; localisation of 148, 156, 158–9; modernisation of 145, 154, 156–7, 159; wedding celebrations and 150, 153; see also hijab; jilbab; Muslim women’s dress Keyzer, Salomon 17 Khan, Hasanuddin 266 Khatib, Ahmad 26 Knysh, Alexander 53 Koesnoe, Mohammad 71

297

Konjo language 99 Kooria, Mahmood 63 Kuala Lumpur 176–7, 179, 272–3 Kumar, Ann 201 al-Kurani, Ibrahim 25 Lafan, Michael 24, 26, 92 Lakshadweep 104 Lambourn, Elizabeth A. 91, 256n58 Langgar al-Ḥusayn 44–5 Law on Governing Aceh (LOGA) 74–5 Lawrence, Bruce 167–8 Leur, Jacob Cornelis van 18 Libson, Gideon 76n1 Logan, William 111n40 Lombard, Denys 30n7 longue durée 15, 21 Luckman, Susan 177 Madjid, Nurcholish 73 madrasa education: expansion of 212–13; federal control of 219; government funding of 218–19; impact on pondok schools 212–13; Indonesian 209, 212, 218–19, 225n6; Malaysian 218–19; privately owned 209, 219, 225n6; public and federally controlled 219; religious content in 218, 228n38; spiritually powerful sites and 196; standardisation of 218 Mahathir bin Mohamad 215, 226n25 Mahmud Shah 244 Ma Huan 239 Majapahit empire 90 Makassar: Arabic script in 134; awra and 156; as cosmopolitan port city 128–9; gunpowder kings 202; Islamisation in 130–2; Prince Dipanagara and 43; religious pluralism in 202; see also BugisMakassarese Kingdom Malabar: British colonialism and 107; connections with Malay regions 95–6; Islamisation and 98; Malayalam language 95, 111n57; Malay communities in 90; Mapillas of 97–8; matrilineal culture in 104, 106–7; monsoon winds 87; Muslim communities in 17, 88, 90, 106; oral traditions 95, 112n58; Persian etymology of 111n40; Samantan

298

Index

Nair community in 96, 106; trading networks and 90, 93, 95; travelers to 90–1, 95; unfnished grave markers 96 Malacca 90–1, 97, 239, 241 Malay Annals (Sejarah Melayu) 7, 122–4, 126, 128 Malay-Indonesian Archipelago: colonial policies and 28; connections with Malabar 95–6; cultural pluralism in 147; as Golden Chersonese 86; Islamic expansion in 19–20; Islamic learning in 21–2, 24–5; Islamisation and 5–6, 13, 22–3, 88, 146; locations in 13; Malay chiefdoms 19; maritime trading culture and 86; Muslim rulers in 122; perfect man notion in 53–4, 123 Malay language: Arabic terms in 127–8; court cultures and 127; dialects of 147; hybrid identity and 194–5; Islamic literature in 193–5; legal digests (undang-undang) 63; as lingua franca 127, 171, 176, 194, 245; in Melaka 127–8; Sanskrit terms in 128; Shāfʿī texts 65–6 Malay Peninsula: damage to structures in 247; illuminated Qurʾān production 251; inscribed tombstones (batu Aceh) in 243–4, 246; Islamisation in 13, 134–5; mosque architecture in 248; Muslim rulers in 91, 122 Malays: Arabic language and 97, 127; employment by colonial administration 213, 226n16; identity and 100; immigration to Makassar 129; impact of colonialism on 100; intermarriages and 128, 178; Islamic dress and 157; Islamic law and 103; Islamisation and 18, 103, 223; luxury hijab styles 149; in Melaka 122, 124, 129, 135; mixed communities of 97–8, 128; Muslim communities 21; religiosity and 100; rural poverty and 215; in Singapore 169; in Thailand 153; tourism in Kelantan 175–6; wedding dress and 150 Malaysia: Agong (king) in 96, 112n59; Arabisation and 210; baju kurung in 147–8; creole communities in 178; cultural pluralism in 147; Education

Act (1996) 208; Indian population in 128; Islam as ofcial state religion 146–7; Islamic architecture in 281; Islamic education in 208–9, 212, 215–16, 218–19, 224n2; Islamic orthodoxy and 214–16, 226n24; Islamic resurgence in 214–16, 220, 227n35; Kaum Muda in 203, 225n14; Kaum Tua in 203, 225n14; madrasas in 212; middle path of Islam 146–7; mosques in 270–4, 281; Muslim communities in 14, 18, 135, 146; Muslim cosmopolitanism in 8, 168; Muslim groups in 157; Muslim population in 168, 265; Muslim tourist market 178–9; pondok education in 8, 208–10, 213, 215–16, 220, 222–3; public discourse in 214–16, 219, 222–4; Rahman Talib Report (1960) 218; tahfz schools 208; Tamil Muslims in 98; veiling in 7, 143–4, 147–8, 156, 158; wedding dress in 150, 153–4 Malaysian Department of Islamic Development 208 Malaysian Ministry of Education 224n2 Malaysian Muslim Youth Movement (Angkatan Belia Islam Malaysia, ABIM) 226n25 Malay texts: Arabic-Persian literary traditions in 22–3; customary law 64; impact of Qurʿān on 22–3, 25; Islamic ideas in 21–6; Islamic jurisprudence (fqh) 65–6; legal digests (undang-undang) 63–4; mystical texts 21, 23; royal chronicles 21–2; shaʿir in 23; theosophist views in 23 al-Malik al-Salih 89, 94, 238 al-Malik al-Zahir 16, 238–9 Mangkubumi Karaeng Matowaya 130 Mangkunegoro I 201 Mansur Shah 244 Mapillas 97–8 Marapalam Charter 78n35 Marinus of Tyre 86 maritime culture: commerce and 18, 195; expansion of Shāfʿī school 63; Islamic mysticism and 101; Islamisation and 8, 16–17, 24, 239; matrilineal seafarers and 105; Muslim interconnectedness 62–3; Muslim trade networks 8, 16–17,

Index

62, 91; pondok education 8; shared Islamic practices 62; South and Southeast Asian interactions 87; spread of knowledge in 94; see also trading networks marketplaces: colonial administration and 171–3; cosmopolitan port cities 91, 170–1; creole communities and 178; demographic composition of 177–8; fuid interactions in 173–7; Geylang Serai market 169–70; immigrants in 178; intercommunal exchange in 169–70; Kelantan 169, 175–6; Kuala Lumpur 176–7; linguistic cosmopolitanism 169–70; market Malay in 169, 171, 176; Masjid Al-Makmur 172; multi-ethnicity in 177–8; Muslim cosmopolitanism in 168–80; Muslim/ non-Muslim interactions 176–80; as neutral places 173–4; Pasar Kampung Ampel 172–3; Penang 169; Siti Khadijah Market 175–6; Tanah Abang Market 169–70, 172; women traders in 91, 171, 174–6 Masjid Agung Demak 269, 269, 270, 275 Masjid Al Jabbar 280 Masjid al-Lathiif 280, 281 Masjid al-Safar 278, 278, 279, 279 Masjid Darussalam 280 Masjid Gaza 280 Masjid Gedhe Kauman 271, 272 Masjid Istiqlal 273–4, 274, 275 Masjid Kampung Laut 270, 270 Masjid Kopeng 279 Masjid Menara Kudus 280 Masjid Negara Malaysia 272–3, 273 Masjid Penyengat 281 Masjid Salman 275, 275 Masjid Sevilla 280 Masjid Tajug Gede 276, 277 Masrur Ahmad, K.H. 221 Al-Masʿūdi 89, 238 Mataram 198 matrilineal culture: adat (customary law) 104, 108; colonial attempts to curtail 107; inherited wealth (waqf) 105; Islamic tradition in 104–7; land ownership rights 105; Malabar 104, 106–7; Minangkabau 106–7; South Asian 95, 103–6, 108; Southeast Asian 7, 103–6, 108; trading networks and 105–6

299

Matthes, B.F. 201 Maulana Abu Bakar 127 Melaka, Malaysia: adat (customary law) and 125; Arabic language in 127–8; Chinese immigrants in 128, 171; conquest of 18; cosmopolitan culture in 122, 124; court system in 135; honorifc titles of rulers 123–4; Indian population in 128; Islamic law (sharīʿa) in 124–7, 135; Islamisation in 7, 121–8, 134–5; kingship (kerajaan) in 122–7, 135; Laws of Melaka 124–6, 136n23; Malay language in 127–8, 194–5; multiethnicity in 122, 128, 171; Muslim rulers in 106, 123–4, 135, 171, 193; Muslim trade networks 123, 128; organisational structure in 126–7; Portuguese in 129, 194; religious pluralism in 202; trading networks and 170–1, 195 Merah Silu 94 Meyrasyawati, Dewi 150 Michell, George 263, 266 Middle East: Arab conquests in 15; contacts with Sumatra 62; further education in 211; Mapillas and 98; Muslim Southeast Asia and 17–18; scholarly networks with Southeast Asia 24–6; Suf orders (ṭarīqas) in 19; trading networks and 15–16, 62, 86–9, 94, 146; Wahhābī movement 26, 69; see also Arabs; Ḥaḍramawt Milner, Anthony 100 Minangkabau: adat (customary law) and 108; Islam in 1, 106–8; matriarchal societies in 1, 104; matrilineal culture in 106–7; in Melaka 128; Padri War and 107; ʿulamāʾ from 129–30 Ministry of Education and Culture (MOEC) 209, 217, 227n36 Ministry of Religious Afairs (MORA) 209, 217–18, 227n36 Moaddel, Mansoor 156 Moquette, Jean Pierre 17 mosques: Arab traditions 248; Buddhist traditions 9, 248–50, 269, 282; characteristics of 267, 271–3, 276, 278; Chinese infuences 249; as community centers 250–1; cosmic symbolism 249, 257n85; cultural framework for 264;

300

Index

cultural syncretism 267, 269–70; domes in 250, 272–5, 278, 280–2; four-part garden (chahar bagh) in 267–8; grassroots community and 264–5, 276, 278–82; Hindu traditions 9, 248–50, 257n81, 269–71, 282; identity contestation 264, 276, 282; ijtihād and 274; Islamic imagery 281–2; Islamic teaching in 264; Islamic values in 271, 274–6, 278; key features of 249–50; Modernism and 275, 281; Muslim rulers and 269–70; national identity and 272; new forms for 280–1; orientation to Mecca 270, 273–4; rebuilding of 247–8; role of wālis in construction 248, 257n76; roof styles 247–50, 270–3, 275–6, 278–80; shrines of saints 251; as sites of discourse contestation 264; spatial arrangement 273–4; spiritual orientation 269–70; sultanate states 271; symbolism in 278–9; triangle shapes in 279; women’s prayer room in 271; wooden structures 247–50, 270–1 Muḥammad, Prophet: Muḥammadan Reality 53; mysticism and 42; sanad (intellectual genealogy) 211; Shīʿī tradition 132; sunna 39–40, 42, 54, 56 Muhammad, Sri Maharaja 170 Muḥammad ʿAbduh 27–8, 211–12 Muḥammad bin Faḍl Allah alBurhānpūrī 23 Muhammadiyah: Arabisation and 223, 229n58; Cairene reformism and 28; Islamic education and 212, 216; modernist Islam and 157, 220, 225n15; veiling and 156, 158 Muhammad Shah, Sultan 123–4, 255n42 Muḥyī l-Dīn 101 mukena: commercialisation of 148–9; design of 148; modern designs and 145, 149, 157; national identity and 156; worn for prayers 143, 145, 149, 154–5; see also Muslim women’s dress Mulyadi, Dedi 276 Musawah 202 Muslim cosmopolitanism: Aceh 170; creole communities and 178; defning 168; economic prosperity

and 172; fuid interactions in 173–4; global tourism and 178–9; linguistic cosmopolitanism 169–70; marketplaces and 168–80; sociability and 180; Southeast Asian 8, 167–8; Suf Islam and 177–8 Muslim League 203 Muslim scholars: articulatory labour and 6, 39, 44–8, 56; Islamic jurisprudence and 66–7; Javanese holy war and 43; kyai khos 50; lelono (spiritual wandering) 43, 50–2; movement from kratons 47; pesantrens of 47–50, 52; Prophetic teachings and 41, 44–53; relations with Arab Middle East 24–6; simplifed curriculums 45–8 Muslim traders: Chinese enclaves 88–9, 191, 238; colonial states and 172; Coromandel Coast and 98, 128; diasporas 8, 203; Islamisation and 146; local marriages 192; marketplaces and 171–2; in Melaka 194; Southeast Asian 8, 146; in Sulawesi 129; in Sumatra 90; Tamil communities 98, 123, 128 Muslim women: Islamic gatherings (pengajian) 155; Islamic Universities (UIN) 201–2; literary culture and 201; marketplaces and 174–6; national identity and 156–7; as Sufs 200; teachers and scholars 202 Muslim women’s dress: awra and 143–6, 160n17; fashion and 155–6, 159; Islamic correctness in 154–9; local expressions of 7, 147–8; modernisation of 148–9, 153; telekung 148; veiling and 7, 143–7, 155–9, 161n18; wedding dress 150, 153; see also veiling Muzafar Shah, Sultan 124 Nahdlatul Ulama (NU): Arabisation and 223, 229n58; founding of 220; Islam Nusantara 276; Kaum Tua (Old Group) and 28; public discourse and 216; Sufsm and 50, 221; traditional Islamic learning 213; traditionalism and 157, 220–1, 225n15; veiling and 156, 158 Naqshabandiyya-Khālidiyya 50, 52 Naqshbandiyya 47 al-Nawāwī 66

Index

Niemann, George Karel 16 Ninety-Nine Kubah Asmaul Husna Mosque 280 Nock, A.D. 21 Noe’man, Achmad 274–5, 280–1 Noer, Deliar 26 Noor, Nina Mariani 7, 143 North Africa 15, 19, 263, 267 Northern Sumatra: gravestones in 193; Islamic conversion in 16–18, 238; literary culture and 22, 193; Muslim commercial communities 89, 190; Muslim tombstones in 17; ʿulamāʾ 26; see also Aceh Nuriyah, Sinta 156 Nurlaelawati, Euis 7, 143 Nusa Tenggara Timur (NTT) 221–2 Odoric of Pordenone 94 Omer, Spahic 266 oral traditions 7, 100, 108, 134 Organisation of Islamic Co-operation (IOC) 202 Other 1, 3–5, 8 Özkan, Suha 267 Padri movement 2, 69–70, 107–8 Paduka Sultan, Sri 238 Pakubuwana, Ratu 201 Panakkal, Abbas 6, 86 Pancasila (“fve pillars”) 146 Pancasilaists 217, 227n36, 275 Partai Keadilan Sejahtera (PKS) 158 Parti Islam Semalaysia (PAS) 176, 215–16, 220, 222, 229n56 Pasai: cosmopolitanism and 193–4; female rulers in 200; inscribed tombstones (batu Aceh) in 243; Islamic conversion in 21, 76n3, 94, 123–4; Islamic learning in 239; Muslim port polities in 62; unfnished grave markers 96, 246 Pasisir 20 Penang 27, 169, 178–9, 202, 212 People’s Islamic Schools (Sekolah Agama Rakyat) 213 Perret, Daniel 246 pesantrens see Islamic schools (pesantrens) Philippines: Hindu rule in 237; illuminated Qurʾān production 251; indigenous cultures in 92; Islamic law and 102; Islamic tradition in 14;

301

Muslim communities in 5, 13, 29n3, 146; Muslim women’s dress in 148 Pigeaud, Theodoor Gautier Thomas 20 Pijnappel, Jan 17 Pires, Tomé 17, 90–1, 112n66, 171, 196, 241, 246 Pliny 86 Polo, Marco 16–17, 89, 95, 111n55, 194, 238 pondok education: adaptability in 226n19; Arabic culture and 66–7, 210, 222–3; communal identity and 226n21; cultural pluralism and 8, 214, 219–23; expansion of madrasas 212–13; federal control of 216–19, 227n29; further education in the Middle East 211–12; government funding of 216, 218–19, 227n37; individual ʿālim and 210–12, 226n15; infuence on un-Islamic culture 220–1, 228n47; integrated textual traditions 101–2; Islamic legal texts and 66–7, 102–3; kitab kuning 211; local cultural systems and 219–22, 228n47, 229n56; Malay kitāb in 66; modernisation of 211–14, 218–19, 226n19; Muslim tourist market 219; national identity and 213; pedagogical style of 210–11, 215–17; private ownership of 224n1; public discourse and 209–10, 214–24; reformism and 212; rural nature of 210; students with disciplinary problems 219, 228n42; traditional entertainment in 221–2, 229n56; traditional Islamic learning 8, 208–10, 225n8; traditionalist roots of 213, 220–1; see also Islamic education; Islamic schools (pesantrens) Prange, Sebastian 87 Ptolemy 86 Purwakarta, Indonesia 276, 277 Puspitasari, Citra 144 Putri Makhdarah bint ‘Ali 238 Qadi Menawar Syah 127 Qādiriyya-Naqshbandiyya. 47 Qadi Yusuf 127 Qazi Muhammad of Kozhikode 101 Quanzhou 190–1 Qurʾān: Chinese 251; on covering the awra 144–6, 160n17; early Muslims

302

Index

and 2; illuminated 235–6, 242, 251–2, 258n102; impact on Malay culture 22–3, 25; Prophetic sunna in 39; Safavid 251 al-Qurthubi 145 al-Qushāshī, Aḥmad 25 Rafes, Thomas Stamford 97, 172, 175 Raja Iskandar Zulkarnain (Alexander of the Two Horns) 124 al-Rānirī, Nūr al-Dīn 22–5, 65–7, 77n13, 197 Rashīd al-Dīn 95, 111n54 Rashīd Riḍā 27–8, 211–12 Reid, Anthony 8, 97, 106, 170, 189 religiosity: ethnicity and 98–100; gender and 200; Islamisation of 156, 195–6, 198–9; Javanese Islamic 41; meditative ascetics 196; national identity and 156; orthodoxy and 214; Other and 4; pluralism in 202, 214; power of spirits 198–9; public discourse and 214; South Asian infuences 98–9; Southeast Asian infuences 99; spiritual potency (kesaktian) 196 Ricci, Ronit 100 Ricklefs, M.C. 41–2, 69, 198, 265 Riddell, Peter 25 Romein, Jan 13–14 Ronkes, Douwe Adolf 31n31 Ruggles, D. Fairchild 268 Saeed, Abdullah 192 Safyyat al-Din Shah, Sultanah 197–8, 200 Said, Edward 21 Salafī 107 Sammāniyya 47 Samudra-Pasai 16 Sardar, Ziauddin 176 Sarekat Islam 28 sarongs 147–8 Sayf al-Alam 197 Sayyid ʿAbdul Azīz 123 Schrieke, Bep 18 scriptural exegesis (tafsīr) 21 Sejarah Melayu (History of Malaya) 22 Sekolah Islam Integrasi 209 selendang 157 Seligmann, Linda J. 174 Shādhilīyya 50 Shāfʿī school of law: Ḥaḍramī scholars 67; Islamic cultures and 1, 6; Laws of

Melaka and 124–5; Malay-language 66; maritime expansion of 63; Muslim Southeast Asia and 16–17, 63; non-Muslim rule and 192; pondok education and 66–7, 103; ritual law 65; Sumatran sultanates and 62 Shah, Madeeha 144 Shaikh ʿAbdallāh ʿĀrif 238 Shaikh Ismaʿīl 238 sharīʿa see Islamic law (sharīʿa) Sharif of Mecca 238 Sheridan, Greg 177 Shioya, Momo 144, 154, 158 al-Shirāzī, Abū Ishāq 127 Shokoohy, Mehdrad 97 Shokoohy, Natally 97 Silaban, F. 273 Singapore: baju kurung in 148; creole communities in 178; Geylang Serai market 169–70; Islamic legal texts and 67; Muslim cosmopolitanism in 8, 168; Muslim minority in 29n3, 146, 168; Muslim tourist market 178–9; planning for 172; religious pluralism in 202; Tamil Muslims in 98; Teluk Belanga 148 al-Sīrāfī, Abū Zayd 88, 109n9 Siti Khadijah Market 175–6 Smith, Adam 179 Smith-Hefner, Nancy J. 144 Snouck Hurgronje, Christiaan 17, 28, 70, 78n42, 265 Sonius, H.W.J. 78n42 South Asia: Arab conquests in 15; integrated language systems in 98; integration in Southeast Asia 86, 93–6, 98–100, 108; Islamisation in 88–9; matriarchal societies in 103–4, 108; matrilineal culture in 95, 103–6, 108; Muslim communities in 97–8; Muslim League in 203; Muslim merchants in 88; oral traditions 100–1, 108; religiosity in 98–100; Southeast Asian trade and 86–8, 95, 97; Suf orders (ṭarīqas) in 19; trading networks and 90 Southeast Asia: age of commerce in 191, 193–5, 197, 199, 202; AlHind concept 92–3; animism/ shamanism in 239; anti-Muslim identities 194; Arabisation and 156, 159; colonial state and 62; creole

Index

communities in 146, 170, 172, 178; cultural pluralism in 8–9, 26, 153; gunpowder kings 202; history of 237–8; independence struggles 28–9; international political ties 29; Islamic jurisprudence in 6, 63–4; Islamisation in 13–29, 61–2, 88–92, 96, 122, 146, 193–7, 238–40, 265; kingship (kerajaan) in 121–3; legal pluralism in 64; local Islam in 143–4, 147, 153; maritime culture 16–19, 29, 62; marriage pattern in 192; matriarchal societies in 103–4, 108; matrilineal culture in 7, 103–6, 108; Muslim communities in 1–10, 15–16, 62, 192–3; Muslim intellectual history 92; Muslim merchant communities in 20, 62, 88, 90–1; oral traditions 7, 100–1, 108; pesantrens of 66; Portuguese in 18; regions in 146; scholarly networks with the Middle East 24–6; South Asian culture and 86, 93–6, 98–100, 108; South Asian religiosity 98–100; South Asian trade and 86–8, 95, 99; syncretic traditions of 6–7; trading networks and 90, 170–1; women’s agency in 199–200 South Sulawesi: cosmopolitan Islam in 130; Gowa mosque 130–1; Islamic law and 135; Islamisation in 7, 121, 129–31, 134–5; Melaka Malays in 129; multi-ethnicity in 130, 134; Muslim rulers in 129, 135; pangade’reng system 134; resistance to colonialism 134; siri in 134; Sumatran ʿulamāʾ in 129–30; see also Bugis-Makassarese Kingdom; Sulawesi Sri Lanka 93, 98 Sriwijaya 122–4 State Islamic Council 224n1 Suciati 154 Sufsm: dhikr ritual 221; inclusivity and 178; infuence of Shaykh al-Akbar 23; Islamic conversion and 18–20, 24, 30n28, 88; kingship (kerajaan) concept and 123; kyai khos 50; laworiented orders 47, 53; living sunna 40, 54–5; local syncretic practices and 221; master-disciple relationship 54–5; Muslim cosmopolitanism and 177–8; mysticism and 42,

303

221; Naqshabandiyya-Khālidiyya 50, 52; Naqshbandiyya 47; perfect man notion in 123, 132; Persian 123; Qādiriyya-Naqshbandiyya. 47; Sammāniyya 47; Shādhilīyya 50; Shaṭṭāriyya 43, 47–8; Ṭarīqa ʿAlawiyya 20; trade guilds 18–19; ʿulamāʾ and 25–6; vernacularisation of Islam 199 Suharto 73–4, 216, 275–6 Sukarno 273–5, 281 Sulawesi: animism/shamanism in 129, 131–2; Arab sayyids in 132; Bugis in 128–9; cosmopolitan Islam in 130; I La Galigo tale 129–30, 133; inscribed tombstones (batu Aceh) 9; intermarriages and 132–3; Islamisation in 128–33; localisation of Islam 147; Makassar people in 128–9; Melaka Malays in 129; mosques built in 130; multi-ethnicity in 128–30, 134; Muslim rulers in 91, 122, 129, 132–3; Muslim trade networks 129; siri in 134; social hierarchy in 133; wedding celebrations and 153; see also Makassar; South Sulawesi Sulayman 189 Sulaymān al-Tājir 89 Suma Oriental 17 Sumatra: adat (customary law) and 68–9; Arab settlements in 89; baju kurung in 147; Buddhism in 237; chronicles from 22; connections with India 237; hybrid identities in 194; inscribed tombstones (batu Aceh) in 243; Islamic conversion in 16, 62, 89; Islamic reformism in 28; Islamisation in 1, 238; Jāwa people in 90; madrasas in 212; Melayu and 124; Muslim communities in 93, 193, 195; Muslim merchants and 238; Muslim rulers in 91, 122, 193; reformism and 212; Samudera Pasai Sultanate 94; Shāfʿī school of law and 62; Shailendras of 237; toponyms of 94–5; wedding celebrations and 150 Sumatran Padri wars (1803–1841) 26 sunna: articulatory labour and 39, 42, 44–8; creedal texts 46, 48; cultural hybridity in 40, 55; Dipanagaran texts 43–5; ḥadīths 39–40; Javanese

304

Index

Islamic religiosity 41–2; legal abridgment (mukhtaṣar) 46; living and cumulative 39–41, 48–9, 53–4; Muslim scholars and community leaders 44–9; objectifed and defnitive 39–41, 44, 48; Prophetic teachings and 39–40, 42–9, 53–5; Suf master as 54–5 Sunni Islam 1, 63, 65, 190, 194, 211 Surabaya 172 Syed Syeikh Al-Hadi 212 Tabassum, Naima 144 Tagliacozzo, Eric 58n29 tahfz schools 208, 224n1 Tahir Jalaluddin, Syeikh Muhammad 212 Tahrir, Kiyai 220 Taj al-Alam Safyyat al-Din, Sultanah 197 Tamansari Water Castle 268, 268 Tamil Muslims 17, 98, 123 Tana Toa 99–100, 112n70 Tantowi, Ali 144 Ṭarīqa ʿAlawiyya 20 Tayeb, Azmil 8, 208 telekung 143, 148, 157–9; see also kerudung (headscarf); mukena Thailand: Buddhist culture in 226n21; cultural pluralism in 147; funerary monuments in 246; inscribed tombstones (batu Aceh) 9, 243; Islamisation in 14, 146; middle path of Islam 146–7; mosque architecture in 248; Muslim communities in 153; Muslim minority in 29n3, 226n21; pondok education in 226n21; religious diversity in 192; veiling in 7, 143, 148; wedding dress in 153–4 Thalib, Sayuti 71 trading networks: Arabs and 2, 86–9, 98, 128, 171–2, 189–91, 198; Chinese and 88–9, 190–1; cosmopolitan port cities and 91, 93, 170–1, 178, 191, 193; creole communities and 146, 172, 178; cultural exchange and 105, 108, 241; Dutch East India Company (VOC) and 198; global tourism and 178; Greeks and 86–8; Gujarati Muslims 193–4, 241; gunpowder kings 202; Ḥaḍramī trade diaspora 20, 128, 146; hybrid identities in 194–5;

India and 17; integration of cultures 86, 97; Islamisation and 7, 16–19, 62, 91, 146, 189, 240–1; Malay immigrants 129; Malay language in 127, 171; matrilineal seafarers and 105; monsoon season and 62, 87–8, 190, 238; Muslim merchants and 90–1, 98, 129, 146, 172, 189–91, 238; religious pluralism in 202; spice trade 98, 198, 241; Straits of Malacca and 86, 190; women and 174–6, 192; see also maritime culture Tun Teja 244 Turmudi, Endang 155 ʿUbayd Allāh 106 ʿulamāʾ: in Aceh 65, 69, 198; on awra 145; gender expectations 199; Islamic conversion and 129, 131; Islamic law and 69, 193; Kaum Muda 212; pondok schools and 210–11, 226n15; reformism and 72, 212, 225n15; resistance to Dutch colonialism 26; sanad (intellectual genealogy) 211; scholarly networks and 25–6, 73 Undang-undang Melaka 63 Undhang-undhang Banten 64 United Development Party (Partai Persatuan Pembangunan, PPP) 216 United Malay National Organisation (UMNO) 215–16, 226n25, 227n35 Urbane 278 Ustaz Wan Hasan 222 Ustaz Wan Ji Wan Hussin 222 ʿUthmān, Sayyid 67, 71, 79n52 van Bruinessen, Martin 19, 30n28, 200 Van den Berg, L.W.C. 47, 70 van der Veer, Peter 171 Van Niel, Robert 58n29 Van Vollenhoven, Cornelius 70, 78n42 veiling: awra and 143–4; baju kebaya 153; baju kurung 147–8, 150, 153; baju kurung cekak musang 148; baju kurung teluk belanga 148, 153; baju teluk belanga 150; cadari 154, 162n49; fashion and 155–6, 159; hajj pilgrimage 156–7; integration of local traditions 144; Islamic correctness and 154–7; Islamic discourse and 145–6; kebaya 148,

Index

150, 153; kerudung (headscarf) 143, 145, 148, 154–5, 158–9; local expressions of 7, 147–8, 153, 156–9; Malayness in 159; modernisation of 7, 148–9, 153, 156–8; mukena 143, 145, 148, 154–5; national identity and 156; sarongs 147–8; selendang 157; telekung 143, 148; wedding celebrations and 143–5, 150, 151, 152, 153–4; see also Muslim women’s dress Vinck, Justinus 172 von Benda-Beckmann, Franz 70, 78n35 von Benda-Beckmann, Keebet 70, 78n35 Wade, Geof 190 Wahhābī movement 26, 69, 107, 157 Wahid, Abdurrahman 220 Wali Songo 20, 31n31, 37, 265, 269, 276 Weber, Ralph 199 wedding celebrations: fashion and 155; Islamic correctness and 154–5, 159; Javanese-Islamic wedding dresses 150, 151, 152; jilbab and 154; kerudung (headscarf) 150, 153–4; Sundanese dress 152; traditional dress in 150, 153–4; veiling and 143–5, 159 Wheatley, Paul 86 Wildan, Teungku T. 218 women: economic autonomy and 199–200; Islamisation and 199–200; literacy and 201; marketplaces

305

and 91, 171, 174–6; mysticism and 200–1; as rulers 197–8, 200; Southeast Asian religion and 200–1; as Sufs 200; trading networks and 174–6, 192; see also matrilineal culture; Muslim women Woodward, Mark R. 153 Wormser, Paul 77n13 Yahaya, Nurfadzilah 67 Yahya, Habib Luthf Bin 48–55 Yang di-Pertuan Agong 95, 112n59 Yaqut al-Hamawi 95, 111n53 Yatim, Othman 242, 246–7 Yogyakarta: colonial annexation of 43; elite women authors in 201; Masjid Gedhe Kauman 271, 272; Masjid Kopeng 279; Mount Merapi 279; mukena fashion in 149; Prince Dipanagara and 42–3; Tamansari Water Castle 268, 268; women Sufs from 200 Yussof, Asri 175 Yusuf, Syeikh 132 Zâbaj 93–4, 190 Zainuddin, Nasa’ie 144 Zakaria Ali 234, 253n4 Zamorin 96 Zayn al-Din al-Malaybari 95 Zayn al-Dīn al-Malaybārī II 102 Zayn al-Dīn I 101–2 Zheng He 90