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Susm as a Category in Indonesian Literature

and History

A. H. Johns

Journal of Southeast Asian History / Volume 2 / Issue 01 / March 1961, pp 10 - 23

DOI: 10.1017/S0217781100000260, Published online: 24 August 2009

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How to cite this article:

A. H. Johns (1961). Susm as a Category in Indonesian Literature and History.
Journal of Southeast Asian History, 2, pp 10-23 doi:10.1017/
S0217781100000260

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 SUFISM AS A CATEGORY IN INDONESIAN
LITERATURE AND HISTORY.
by
DR. A. H. JOHNS.
The Australian National University
It is unfortunate that historians, as a rule, do not follow the example
of social anthropologists in devoting some part of their monographs to
a discussion of the theoretical problems involved in the material they
have been handling. This is not of such importance in the history of
Europe, where much can be taken for granted on the part of the reader.
But when the European historian turns to the study of Asian history,
and writes in the same way as he would were he writing the history of
a European people, merely substituting an Asian set of names and places,
then the result frequently lacks interest, and may even be a distortion
of the general picture of the past that he wishes to relate. This holds
as well for continental S.E. Asia and the island world of Indonesia as
elsewhere. And it is not only in these countries that peoples, newly
conscious of their traditions as national traditions, are dissatisfied with
the histories written for them by foreigners. The requirements of a new
type of history are formidable, and very little work has been done on
the theoretical ground work involved. The aim of this paper then, is
to attempt to progress a little further in the elaboration of such a his-
toriography, and to apply the results to a segment of the data available
relating to Indonesia's past.
Sudjatmoko, when addressing a seminar on Indonesian history,
expressed a view with which few could take exception, when he said
that the indispensable frame of reference and point of departure for
Indonesian history is Indonesian society.1 Geertz, making the same
point, but probing somewhat deeper into its implications, remarks that
among the primary requirements for a history of Indonesia is a clear
description of the status groups, types of social organisation and the
nature of the ideologies current there during any given period, and the
development of new categories to describe and analyse them.2
Van Leur is an early pioneer in the elaboration of analytic categories
for the study and periodisation of Asian history. He takes for example,
on the one hand, the concept of trade as a constant shared by the
whole of maritime Asia, and, on the other, the opposing concepts of
agrarian civilization and commercial imperium, each implying different
forms of social structure, which he uses to characterize a fundamental
difference in type between the commercial empire of 3 Sriwijaya and the
inland agrarian state based on soccage, of Mataram.
1. Sudjatmoko: An Approach to Indonesian History. Translation Series, Modern
Indonesia Project, Cornell 1960, p. 22.
2. Indonesia, Vol. X, 1957, Nr. 1, p. 87.
3. van Leur, J. C : Indonesian Trade and Society, The Hague, 1955, pp. 104-5.

10
 SUFISM
It is, however, possible to go much further than van Leur in this
development of the principles of theoretical historiography. By this
elaboration of theoretical concepts, I do not, of course, mean the fitting.
of segments of history into vast moulds in the Marxist or Toynbean
manner. Rather, I have in mind the elucidation, within historical
periods of certain functional and typifying characteristics in terms of
which complexes of historical data can be distinguished or treated to-
gether. These characteristics or concepts must not be imposed from
without, they must be discovered and formulated from within the com-
plex itself, for the essence of a valid historiography is to look outwards
from the complex in question, not inwards from any other position.
In other words, terms of reference are to be sought within the area
studied itself, not elsewhere, and other currents of history impinging
on the area are to be analysed in terms of these.

There is a certain artificiality about any category we may formulate,

but this need not impair its validity. It should bear the same kind of
relationship to the available historical factual data as the phoneme to
the mass of phonetic data which it organises and subsumes. The
phoneme is an organising principle which can render intelligible a parti-
cular area of the sound system of a language. Through it, if it is based
on a valid analysis, all the facts are accounted for, and a feature of the
language is rendered intelligible in its own terms. There is, in fact,
room for the same type of dichotomy in historical research as that which
lies at the basis of modern linguistics, the dichotomy between the
abstraction LANGUAGE — a conceptualization standing for the sum
total of all linguistic behaviour — and SPEECH used to refer to the
concrete' facts of linguistic behaviour. History, after all, is an abstrac-
tion, it does not exist, being only a term we use to characterize the past
in the broadest sense, and thus corresponds to the concept LANGUAGE.
The mass of individual items presented by records of the past corres-
ponds to SPEECH. It is only the elucidation of concepts or categories,
in themselves abstract and non-existent, which can give coherence and
intelligibility to the given corpus of historical material. These cate-
gories cannot be valid if their sole frame of reference is the passage of
time, for this in itself tells us nothing. Such formulations then, as 'the
rise of the modern period' are of little value historically speaking, for
the time relationship implied by the term 'modern' is purely subjective,
and provides no information regarding the functional characteristics of
the period.
Any concepts developed, as we mentioned above, are bound to be
artificial. They cannot completely typify a period. Different concepts
or categories will overlap, snowing the same events under a different
light. Different authors will naturally develop different patterns of cate-
gories. In any case, the historian needs the courage to experiment in
the construction of categories, for only trial and error can indicate which
are serviceable and which are not, and even a negative conclusion has
its value.
This question of categories is closely linked with the problems involved
in the writing of an Asio-centric, or perhaps better loco-centric, history
which we referred to earlier. Asio-centric history, it should be emphasized,
does not necessarily imply the exclusion of Europeans or European acti-
11
 SUFISM
vities from the history of the area in question, any more than it implies
the exclusion of any other foreign influence; neither does it imply that
moral judgements are to be made a propos of Europeans and Asians; it
does not imply simply a differential in the weighting of the space devoted
to Asian as opposed to European topics; it does not necessarily imply
placing greater reliance on specific Asian sources rather than European
ones.
But it does mean that European sources must not be allowed to
determine the framework of the historical narrative, and that Europeans
in Asia must be studied as part of an Asian cultural complex and not
vice-versa. In the case of Indonesia, this means that we need to bring
to the fore in our narrative the continuity of Indonesian civilization,
its strength and vitality, and the links it preserved with the broader
currents of Asian history. This does not absolve the historian from the
duty of using to the full whatever European sources exist. But it is
his primary duty to study and live with the manifold Asian documents
which are available, until he understands them as they were understood
by their Asian authors. The documents available may be of a different
nature to what he might expect from working in a European context.
The areas of life which are significant for Asian writers may be different,
thus involving a different historical 'idiom', quite foreign to the west-
erner, though equally valid. The magical power of the written word
has a determining function in much Indonesian historical writing, and
the author is likewise concerned with ideas such as legitimation, the
ritual purity of the kingdom and the teleology of the concept of king-
ship, not only to be found in chronicles, but also in popular redactions
of wa/ang stories. Reality and ideal then may appear hopelessly con-
fused, allegory and factual narrative inextricably interwined — from the
European standpoint.

Javanese historiography is, in fact, a highly complex phenomenon,

and in approaching the Javanese babad ('chronicles') we have to assume
a whole series of traditional stories and myths, simultaneously present
in the author's mind: legends, moralities, patterns of valour, all of which
become prototypes and symbols of qualities and relationships in terms
of which he formulates his narrative. Thus variants in different redac-
tions of the babad may well result from the use of different sets of proto-
types, a variation of contextual colouring, to indicate the same basic facts.
Of the items given, we have to distinguish between those which are
significant, and those which are not. The comparison of different ver-
sions, then, need not be considered exclusively as a means of defining
the truth out of various possibilities, but to discover a common pattern
which is significant for the structure of socety and its value in terms
of a process of social development and acculturation. Thus, what we
may hope to establish from the study of such works as the Sedjarah
Banten and the Babad Tanah Djawi — relating to the early Muslim
period — is not so much who married whom, and when; for different
redactions may well give different sets of names. What we must hope
to establish is a significant pattern of relationships, a morphology of
events, for it is this which is significant to the Javanese author rather
than the individuals concerned. Thus it is not the fact of a marriage

12
 SUFISM

that is important, but its social and legitimizing function. The question
of categories then, is by no means a purely theoretical one. 4

SUFISM

Earlier in this paper I referred to Geertz's remark concerning the

need for a clear description of the status groups, types of social organi-
sation and the nature of the idealogies current during any given period
of Indonesian history, and the development of categories to describe
them. It is in accordance with this general framework, and the con-
siderations I have outlined above that I have tentatively chosen Sufism
as a category in the literature and history of Indonesia. For, as I under-
stand it, Sufism was a functional and typifying category in Indonesian
social life, which left clear evidence of itself in Indonesian letters be-
tween the 13th and 18th centuries. It was directly involved in the
spread of Islam to Indonesia, it played a significant part in the social
organisation of the Indonesian port towns, and it was the specific nature
of Sufism which facilitated the absorption of non-Muslim 3 communities
into the fold of Islam.

The Sufi movement was, in fact, almost identical with the Islamic
world during a period of 500 years, from the 13th to the 18th centuries,
so that it is hardly an exaggeration to speak of a Sufi period in Islamic
history.

It should not be imagined that Sufism itself was a constant during

these five centuries, or that there was only one type of Sufism existing
at any one tine. To imply that such was the case would be a con-
siderable over simplification. Yet there was, during these years, a Sufi
tradition that exemplified orthodox Islam, and was for a considerable
period — until the rise of the Wahhabi movement — identical with it.

The relation of Sufism, with its abundance of Neo-Plotinian and

gnostic elements, to the Islam of the Qur'an and Tradition appears at
first sight problematic. I would suggest, however, that this apparent
inconsistency can be quite readily resolved. If the Qur'an and Tradi-
tion are at pains to teach what the relation of God to the world is, and
what man must do to be saved, the purpose of the Sufis was to elucidate
how, to elaborate a theoretical explanation of the modality of the rela-
tionship holding between Creator and creation, the inner, hidden life
of the Divine Being, and the distinguishing characteristics of the saints,
the Men of God. In their elaboration of the how, the Sufis incorporated
many non-Islamic elements. Yet these borrowed, or better, absorbed
elements, were always subordinated — at least in the orthodox orders —
to the what of the Qur'anic revelation. Thus the Sufi speculative sys-

4. C. C. Berg has devoted many stimulating and controversial essays to the asalysis
of Javanese historiography, many of which appear in the Dutch periodical Indo-
nesie (van Hoeve 1947-58).
Sudjatmoko (p. 5) has drawn attention to the large number of family histories
and genealogies in private possession in Java.
5. Non-Muslim is a negative expression which, if convenient, may yet be mislead-
ing. It should never be overlooked that many of the areas in Sumatra and
Java where Islam first established itself had a highly developed form of Maha-
yanist Buddhism known in Java and Bali as the religion of Shiva-Buddha.

13
 SUFISM

tern, whilst not an explicit part of the teaching of Muhammad, cannot

properly be dismissed as an accretion so long as it remained within the
orthodox tradition: it dealt with a different segment cf the religious life.
Yet this speculative system, combined with the missionary zeal of the
Sufis, and their readiness to put to their own use elements of non-Islamic
culture, was one of the greatest single factors involved in the spread of
Islam in the Indian sub-continent and the Indonesian countries. The
simplicity of early Islam was sufficient for the Semitic peoples; but it
was not adequate for peoples with highly elaborate speculative systems,
revelling in elucidation of the how, such as the Persians, Chinese, Indians
and Indonesians.

It has often been noted that although Arab and Islamic merchants
had been visiting Indonesia regularly from the 8th century of our era,
no Islamic communities of note appear there until the 13th century.
This, I suggest, is because the Sufi orders did not become a dominant
influence in the Islamic world until the fall of Baghdad to the Mongols
in 1258. Gibb points out that after the fall of the Caliphate, the Sufis
played an increasingly important part in preserving the unity of the
Islamic world, counteracting the tendency of the territories of the Cali-
phate to fissure into Arabic, Persian and Turkish linguistic regions.

It was during these years that the Sufi orders gradually became stable
and disciplined foundations, and developed affiliations with the trade and
craft guilds or corporations (tawa'if) of which the Islamic city was com-
posed.0 The importance of these Sufi orders increased to such an extent
that by the 18th century, membership of a mystical order was practically
synonymous with the profession of Islam.7 In other words, Islam could
not and did not put down roots among the people of the Indonesian
states or win their rulers until it was preached by the Sufis, the wander-
ing derwishes, and these did not become a dominant influence in Islam
until the 13th century. The hypothesis usually put forward that Islam
was preached by sailors and merchants, involves too high a degree of
psychological improbability to be tenable. When van Leur then re-
marks — re trading ships: Among their hundreds of passengers one must
visualize tens and hundreds of traders, each one coming on board with
his bales and packs8 — then we must visualize also clambering on board
a number of Sufi Shaikhs, either to attend to the spiritual needs of the
craft or trade guild they were chaplain to, or to spread their gospel.
This theory does not exclude the influence of political considerations
during a later period, but the primary impulse behind this further
spread of Islam is provided by the labours of the Sufis.

This hypothesis is not only confirmed by Javanese and Malay works,

but these, in their turn, make it possible to set the preaching of Islam
in Indonesia in broader framework.

The records of foreign travellers, European and Asians, together

with archaeological remains can be used to establish a terminus ad quem
6. Gibb, H.A.R.: An Interpretation of Islamic History II, Muslim World XLV/2,
Jan. 1955, p. 130 et. seq.
7. Gibb & Bowan: Mimic Society and the West, O.U.P., 1957, Vol. I, pt. II,
pp. 72-79.
8. van Leur p. 86.

14
 SUFISM
for the establishment of Islam in a given locality, and to determine an
approximate date for the spread of religion in different regions. The
reports of Marco Polo, ibn Battutah and Ma Huan, together with
archaeological items, such as the tombstones discovered in Pase and
Grisek and the Trengganu stone are of value: in particular the com-
parison of Ma Huan's statement that in 1415 there were no native Java-
nese Muslims in East Java, and that of Barros indicating the existence
of Muslims harbour principalities in East Java in 1495® establishes a
fact of great importance, but these sources tell us nothing of the internal
dynamics of Islam, the forms and guises under which it was presented
to the Indonesians, or the relations holding between growing Islamic
communities and the Hindu-Javanese paramount rulers.

It is, I believe only through my hypothesis, stressing the unique

importance of the Sufi teachers in the spread of Islam to Indonesia, and
a re-examination 10of the Javanese and Malay 11chronicles, such as the2
Sedjarah Banten , the Babad Tanah Djawi , the Hikajat Radja
Pasai12 and the Sedjarah Melaju13 in the light of it, that we can for-
mulate a more satisfactory picture of the process. It then becomes
possible to see the artificial and superficial nature of theories linking the
spread of Islam with merchants, or the importance that Wertheim, for
example, gives to the incursions of the Portuguese as a major contri-
buting factor to the spread of Islam." Rather the reverse was the case.
Islam was a growing power when the Portuguese arrived, and some local
rulers attempted to check the growing power of Islam through alliances
with the Portuguese.15 Wertheim, in fact, dismisses the evidence in
the Indonesian sources regarding the spread of Islam as 'largely
legendary'.16
For our purpose, it is possible to characterize the Sufis as they pre-
sented themselves to the Indonesians as follows: they were peripatetic
preachers ranging over the whole known world, voluntarily espousing
poverty; they were frequently associated with trade or craft guilds,
according to the order (tarikah) to which they belonged; they taught a
complex syncretic theosophy largely familiar to the Indonesians, but
which was subordinate to, although an enlargement on the fundamental
dogmas of Islam; they were proficient in magic and possessed powers of
healing; and not least, consciously or unconsciously, they were prepared
to preserve continuity with the past, and to use the terms and elements
of pre-Islamic culture in an Islamic context.

The Sedjarah Banten and Babad Tanah Djawi attribute the first
introduction of Islam to Java to peripatetic teachers of the Sufi type.
These teachers, by virtue of their charismatic authority and magical
9. Stapel, F.W. (ed.). Geschiedenis van Nederlandsch Indie. Amsterdam 1938,
Vol. I, pp. 329-330.
10. Djajadiningrat, H.: Critische Beschouwing van de Sad/arah Banten. Leiden
diss. 1913.
11. Meinsma, J.J. Edition of Babad Tanah D/awi, transcribed and translated by
W. L. Olthof, The Hague, 1941.
12. Mead, J.P. ed. Hikayat Ra/a2 Pasai, JMBRAS LXVI.
13. Winstedt, ed. The Sejaiah MeJayu, JMBRAS, Vol. XVI. pt. Ill 1938.
14. Indonesia 4th yr. (1950) Nr. 1, pp. 88-89.
15. e.g. Djajadiningrat, p. 73.
16. Indonesie, loc. cit.

15
 SUFISM
power, were able to marry the daughters of Indonesian nobility, and thus
give their children the prestige of royal blood, in addition to the divine
aura of religious charisma. A few examples will suffice: 'Shaikh Dju-
madil Akbar visited China to convert the ruler to Islam, but was un-
successful. He then heard a voice saying it was a thing decreed that
the ruler of China should remain a kafir, and departed from Java on a
ship out of Grisek. . . After the departure of Shaikh Djumadilakbarr
the ruler of Java was convinced. . . of the superiority of the Muslims
over the Kafirs, and ordered his patih to look for the Shaikh. The patih
visited Siam, Sambodja (Palembang), Sanggora and Patani looking in
vain for the Shaikh.

Eventually he went back to Grisek, and embraced Islam there to-

gether with his two sons, Tjutju and Tjuntjoh. He died there, and
Tjuntjoh likewise. Tjutju, on the other hand, entered the service of
Gadjah Mada and then the king . . . Tjutju served the king in Palembang,
and was raised in rank, being17granted the title Arja Sumangsang, and
received a princess in marriage.
Again: 'There came to Champa a holy man called Arifin. He
converted the king of Champa and his people to Islam. Shortly after-
wards the king died and was succeeded by his son. Arifin married one
of the new king's sisters. His wife bore him a son named Raden RahmaL
When he was an adult, Raden Rahmat heard that there was a war in
Java. With three other youthful panditas . . . he set out for Java. The
king of Madjapahit received them with joy'.18
Further: 'On one occasion there came to Ampel a holy man named
Molana Usalan. After remaining there for some time he proceeded on
his travels. A calm forced him to land at Balambangan. The daughter
of the regent of Balambangan was at that time very ill, and the saint
was requested to help her. He gave her a pinang fruit, and on eating
it she was cured. As promised, she was given in marriage to her deliverer.
But when the regent refused the demand of his son-in-law to accept
Islam, the latter departed, leaving his wife and child. Punishment
swiftly followed. The regent received a physical deformity, and the land
was stricken with plague. The regent attributed the disaster to the still
unborn fruit of his daughter's womb, and when the child was born, he
had it placed in a box and thrown out to sea'19 — needless to say, the
box is found by the widow of a Muslim foreigner, Kodja Maksum, who-
had been a shahbander of the ruler of Madjapahit, the child saved, and
brought up as a religious teacher.

And from the Babad Tanah Djawi: 'There was a derwish from the
land above the wind called Seh Rahidin who settled in Ampel-Denta..
17. Djajadiningrat p. 21.
18. Djajadiningrat p. 23.
19. Djaiadiningrat p. 23. The Babad Tanah Djawi gives the story in'
slightly more detail, giving the holy man in question the name Seh Wali-
Lanang, and his place of origin Djuldah.
It adds that he visited Ampel-Denta to discuss Ilmu with the Sunan there.
In another version of the same story the Serat Tjabolang reads D/iddah ir»
place of D/uldah. Vid. Pigeaud Th. De Serat T/aboIang en de Serat T/entini,
Verhandeling K.B.G. LXXII, pt. 2, p. 15.

16
 SUFISM
After some time he set out again. On his death he was buried in>
Pemalang'.20
These wandering derwishes visited the interior in addition to the
port towns, and the accounts mention Sunan Bonang, among others,,
traversing the Javanese countryside to convert the adjars (Shiva-Buddha
ascetics).21
The Malay chronicle, the 22Hikajat Radja2 Pasai, and the parallel
account in the Sedjarah Melaju give accounts of the spread of Islam
to Pasai which exhibit the same general features. The ruler of Mecca,
on the basis of an alleged prophecy of Muhammad sends a ship with
the regalia of royalty to Samudra under the command of Shaikh Isma'il.
On the way the ship calls at Ma'abri. The ruler there abdicates his
throne in favour of his son, dons the dress of a fakir (i.e. a peripatetic
Sufi ascetic) and boards the ship, bent also to sail for Samudra. They
visit various plaices where the inhabitants embrace Islam — Fansuri,
Lamiri and Haru — before reaching Samudra. It is only in Samudra
that the king, the day following his conversion, is able to recite from a
Qur'an opened before him by the fakir. The importance of the story
for our purpose lies in the agency of the fakir in affecting the conversions,
and the number of places he visits.

From the evidence of the local chronicles then, our hypothesis

regarding the importance of the Sufi teachers seems to find sufficient
support. The Muslim missionaries are wandering 'adepts' who traverse
the world, and in the interior of Java, face the Shiva-Buddha mystics on
equal terms as mystics to mystic, to teach the supremacy of the new
religion.
These teachers came from China, Champa, India and Arabia, and
are thus of various nationalities — although nationality is probably a
misleading word in this context. Earlier we mentioned that the deve-
lopment of our hypothesis would make it possible to fit the spread of
Islam to Indonesia into a broader framework, and in this context the
part visitors from China and Champa play in the preaching of Islam
to the Javanese is significant.
ISLAM IN CHINA
Islam gained a position of considerable importance in China under
the Mongols, and for several centuries prior to this, there had been
Muslim contact with China, both overland via the silk route to Kansu,
and by the sea via Indonesia to the South China ports, such as Canton.
One of the standard works of Chinese Islam, compiled by the Mis-
sion d'Ollone (1911)23 mentions that at the time of their visit, Chinese
pilgrims to Mecca, whether travelling from Canton or Tonkin would
receive hospitality from fellow Muslims at the mosques of Hanoi, Singa-
pore and Colombo.
20. Meinsma, p. 21.
21. Djajadiningrat, p. 26. Also pp. 31-32.
22. Winstedt, pp. 70-72.
23. Mission d'Ollone: Recherches sur les Musulmans Chinois. Paris, 1911.

17
 SUFISM
The same work also notes a number of Turks and Arabs coming
every year to eastern Szechwan, travelling to China by the sea-route,
and then sailing up the Yangtse, wherever they stopped being accepted
as the guests of the Chinese Muslims. These unusual travellers — the
work adds — who do not engage in any trade — serve to link the
Muslims of Szechwan with the exterior, and as the Yunnan is on a
different tributary of the sane river, the absence of communication be-
tween the two areas is to be doubted.24

In regard to the Muslims of Songpat'ing, a region situated on the

Tibetan border at the junction of Kansu, Szechwan, and of Shensi the
work adds: 'These Muslims monopolise the tea trade with the Barbares,
Tibetans and Mongols. This privilege was granted about 150 years ago
(i.e. circa 1750) to a certain Ma Yu-Min . . . whose family had long
carried on this commerce which gave life to the region. Today, the de-
scendants of Ma Yu-min have granted part of their monopoly to four
of their co-religionists, and the caravans on the routes between China
and the Barbarian countries are exclusively in their hands.25 However,
even more important for our argument is the number of Persian MSS
on Sufi themes discovered in Kansu by the Mission d'Ollone, including
an 18th century copy of Nur al-Din Djami's Lawa'ih and a work expound-
ing the theosophy of ibn al-'Arabi IdjSb al-gharbi fi rail mushkiht Muhya'l-
Din ibn al-'Arabi28 — works handling the same type of material as we are
familiar with from numerous Indonesian MSS. The general conclusions
are clear: the Islamic communities founded in China in the wake of the
Mongols remained in close contact with each other, and sensitive to the
currents of thought prevailing in the main body of the Muslim world,
thanks to the efforts of these same Sufi Shaikhs. It is well known that
the Khans became Muslims whereas the Mongol rulers of China did not.
Thus, there is nothing inherently improbable in a Sufi Shaikh presenting
Islam to the Imperial court, and the polite disinclination of the emperor
to accept his teaching.

At the time of. the visit of the Mission d'Ollone, the power of the
confraternities was apparently extinct in the Yunnan, but still alive in
Kansu and Szechwan. The Mission relates the story of a Turk of 80 years
of age who in March 1907, passed through Chienchang coming from
Burma via Ta-li. He was received everywhere with great honour by the
Muslims, and at Ningyenfu, the whole community turned out to meet
him."

On the basis of the evidence then, it seems safe to construct a

picture of the pattern of travel of these Sufi Shaikhs either by ship via
the Indian Ocean or caravan along the silk route. From the Middle
East they would travel overland to China through Central Asia, by river
down to Canton, and then by ship to Champa, Malaya, Java and
Sumatra, back to Mecca via Colombo and the Gujerat. At various points
on the way they might stay two years or even longer. The journey could
be made in either direction and both routes are very ancient, as witness

24. Mission D'Ollone. p. 5.

25. Mission D'Ollone. p. 223.
26. Mission D'Ollone. pp. 284-293.
27. Mission D'Ollone. pp. 206-207.

18
 SUFISM
the numerous Chinese pilgrims who used it to visit the Holy Land of
Buddhism between A.D. 400 and 700. Just as the Indonesians parti-
cipated in the Buddhist pilgrim cycle (witness the Nalanda vihara founded
by Balaputra in the 9th century, and the 11th century Nagapatam vihara
founded by the Srivijaya ruler Sri Chulamanivarmadeva)28, so later they
participated in the international Muslim pilgrim cycle, establishing
Indonesian communities in Mecca, and at various ports along the sea
route. Clearly, in any discussion of Indonesan Islam it is perilous to
disregard the concept of continuity, or to treat it without reference to
the spread of Islam in the neighbouring areas of which, in terms of our
investigation, Indonesia is geographically and culturally a part.

As we have already noted, a characteristic of the Sufi Apostolate was

a readiness to build on the past and to enroll elements of local belief
and custom into the service of Islam. A striking feature of the 14th
century Trengganu stone, for example, is the use of the Sanskirt term
Dewata Mulia Ra/a in an Islamic inscription where one would rather
expect the Arabic Allah Ta'ala. This use of an older and indeed alien
terminology is quite intelligible when taken in the context of the general
pattern of Sufi missionary activity. In addition to this, we can also
adduce the rich Sufi Islamic 29parabolic interpretation given to the differ-
ent types of Wajang theatre. And we should also note that Hasanud-
din, after winning control of Banten, sent Muslim ad/ars to dwell on
Gunong Pulasari, for, were the mountain to become uninhabited, this
would signify Java's impending downfall.30 This process need not have
been altogether conscious and deliberate, and there is the further caution
that the authors of the Javanese chronicles were probably at pains to
give Islam and its function a legitimation within the Javanese Weltans-
chaung. This, too, need not have been an entirely conscious process,
the chronicler looking at Islam through Javanese eyes would naturally
give it a place within the Javanese cosmos. On the other hand, it can
be fairly asserted that an Islam of the Wahhabi type would have made
little impact on Java for the same reasons as the modernist Masjumi
party, spiritual descendant of the Wahhabis, has been a comparative
failure there.
We have already remarked that the Sufi teachers associated them-
selves with the charisma of royal power. Other types of structural legiti-
mation are also discernible, however, among them incest. In the Sedjarah
Banten we read that Djumadilkubra, son of Djapar Sidik, had two
children, a son and a daughter — He had lost his wife. By the decree
of the Almighty, he was by his daughter's beauty, brought to incest.
The child, when born, was laid in a forest and found by a poor man
who later had him study with Djumadilkubra. Djumadilkubra gave
him the name Sjamsu Tabriz, and wished to marry him to his daughter
(i.e. Sjamsu's own mother). The relationship was discovered in time,
his mother died of grief, and he led a penitential life of wandering,
staying at Madldewa31 (or Mandewa) in Ram (?), then at Pasai, Pulo Upih
and finally Demak. The story illustrates the tension between the two
types of religious outlook: the supernatural rank exemplified by the incest
28. Hall. D.G.E.: A History ot South East Asia. pp. 51-52.
29. Rinkes: De heiligen van Java V, T.B.G. 54, p. 145, et seq.
30. Djajadiningrat, p. 33.
31. Djajadiningrat, pp. 26-27.

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 SUFISM
on the Javanese side, and the horror and revulsion from the crime on
the part of Islam and might almost be interpreted as an attempt to have
the best of both worlds.
Totemism also has a part to play in the legitimation of a Muslim
Tuler. Of Djaka Tingkir, later to become Sultan of Padjang, we read
-that his father was a crocodile-man, who was discovered in his crocodile
form and killed. His mother bore him and then died. He was taken
and brought up by a widow of Tingkir. As a boy his' work was to care
for buffaloes. He liked to lay privations upon himself and led the life
of an ascetic. One day he met a spirit who told him that he was to
go to enter service at Demak.32
A striking example of another type of legitimation is to be found
in the narrative of the conversion of Djaka Said, later Sunan Kali Djaga.
Djaka Said was a gambler who recouped his losses by indulging in high-
way robbery. One day he held up Sunan Bonang who ordered him to
wait for three days and to hold up a man he described. Djaka Said did
so; the man was Sunan Bonang himself, who, when attacked, became
fourfold (dados sekawan).33 Berg interprets this as meaning: Sunan
Bonang revealed himself as the rourheaded, i.e. Brahma. Djaka Said
repents and does penance for two years under the supervision of Sunan
Bonang regarding him as his spiritual father.34 It is not difficult to see
the Ken Arok-Brahma pattern in the Kali Djaga (Djaka Said) — Sunan
Bonang relationship.

It lies outside the scope of this paper to enter into any discussion
of the rise of Islamic political power in Java, except that it may once
again be useful to find an analogy with China. In regard to the place
of Islam in China, the following general observation is significant: 'It
should not be forgotten that the first historical knowledge of Islam in
China is of Muslims arriving there to assist the dethroned emperor;
that a large number of their descendants have rendered great services,
and that, especially since the Mongol dynasty, they have been seen to
occupy brilliantly the highest offices; that they have traditionally been
the faithful and courageous defenders of the Empire . . . Also, that
as much by recognition of this as by fear of throwing them into the
ranks of its enemies, the court has granted them positions of high civil
and military authority.'35 Thus, it is not surprising that we find Muslims
accepting positions in the court of Madjapahit, or that, in the Sedjarah
Banten we read that Raden Rahmat, offspring of a Champa princess
and a wandering holy man, Arifin, went to Java together with three other
pandiras to assist the king of Madjapahit who was engaged in a wai.se
In their respective domains, the Chinese emperor and the ruler of Mad-
japahit enjoyed a similar prestige. In China, however, the Muslims
never became strong enough to seize political power, despite a series of
unsuccessful revolts. In Java, however, the vitality of Madjapahit dimi-
nished, and the Muslims were able to gain political power in various
32. Djajadiningrat. p. 28.
33. Meinsma, op. cit. p. 22.
34. Bere. C.C.: De wee van oud-naar nieuw Mataram. Indonesie 10th yr. No. 5,
p. 414.
35. Mission d'Ollone, p. 18.
36. Djajadiningrat, p. 23.

20
 SUFISM
of its dependencies, sometimes by peaceful means, at other times by
force. Eventually Madjapahit itself succumbed — in all probability not
defeated in a pitched battle of epic proportions, but through lack of
contact with the outside world.
SUFISM IN THE PORTS
Of more direct relevance to our theme is the function of the Sufi
orders in the social organisation of the Indonesian port cities. Here,
unfortunately, we move into the realm of hypothesis, with only incidental
information and analogies drawn from town organisation in the Levant
to guide us. Several writers refer in passing to the existence of guilds
in the ancient Indonesian port town without giving much detailed infor-
mation or useful references.87 On the other hand, it seems established
that the Indonesian town was divided into quarters on the basis of trade,
craft or race.38 A craft might be the prerogative of a particular people
— this seems the implication of the statement that d'Albuquerque took
60 Javanese carpenters with their wives and children to Cochin — who
subsequently rose in rebellion, captured the junk and escaped to Pasai.39
Compare this with Gibb's remarks concerning the Islamic city of the
Levant which 'was not in any respect an organic unity. The social
organisation, as it had been built up under political and economic pres-
sure, and re-worked and vitalized by religious influences, was one of
dislocated, self-contained and almost self-governing groups, subject only
to the over-riding authority of the temperal and spiritual powers repre-
sented by governors, police officers and kadis. Its characteristic feature
•was the corporation (ta'ifa). Not only the artisans and merchants, but
all who were engaged in any occupation were members of a corporation.
The social functions of the corporations was enhanced (not in all, but
in most, especially of the craft corporations) by their religious affiliation,
usually to one of the great religious orders. This religious affiliation
gave a religious personality to these craft corporations, and it was largely
thanks to it that the Muslim artisans were well-known for their honesty
and sobriety'.40 When we recall that the presence of the Kadiriyya,
Nakshabandi, Shattariyya and Suhrawardiyya orders in Indonesia is
•definitely established, and that the presence of other and more extreme
orders is highly likely, then it seems reasonable that the analogy we have
drawn with the towns of the Levant is valid. Eiut we should not over-
look the probability that the Sufi affiliation with the trade and craft
guilds was a successor to an earlier type of affiliation between liturgical
and secular guilds in Hindu-Indonesia. One thing is clear, however: the
Sufi orders, in Indonesia as elsewhere, were very much sophisticated
urban phenomenon, having a specific part to play in the international
centres of Muslim trade — at least until the end of the 18th century.
The present day assessment of them as other worldly and escapist institu-
tions, representing Islam in decline, is certainly not true of the earlier
period.

37. e.g. Schrieke: Indonesian Sociological Studies II, The Hague, 1957, p. 291.
Wertheim: Indonesian Society in Transition. The Hague, 1957, p. 168.
38. e.g. see Winstedt on Malacca, R. O. Winstedt; A History of Malaya, JMBRAS
XII, pt. 1, 1935.
39. Winstedt, p. 70.
40. Gibb & Bowen, pp. 277-278.

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 SUFISM
We have referred to Sufism as an active element in the spread of
Islam in Indonesia, pointing out that the Sufis represented a type of
teacher and taught a pattern of doctrine with which the Indonesians
were familiar. We should not, however, lose sight of the fact that the
Sufis representing the orthodox body of the Islamic community had the
same moral fervour as the early Muslims. They were willing to accept
and use elements of Indonesian culture, but they still held fast to the
moral exhortation: to encourage good and to restrain from evil. Thus,,
some Muslims refused to serve non-Muslim rulers, and apparently none
disowned the principle of the Holy War when it appeared necessary
and a victorious outcome was reasonably certain.41 Even when political
victory had been won, however, the representatives of orthodox Sufism
had to preserve their doctrines against continual erosion by the powerful
selective and syncretic qualities of the Javanese genius, which — to para-
phrase Schrieke — associated merely the terms of Arabo-Persian mysticism
with the ecstatic sense of unity which was for them the highest saving
secret of life.42 'J a v a r ri s m ' was, in fact, as much bent on absorbing and
subordinating Islam to itself, as the Muslim preachers were bent on
propagating Islam. This is43the background to the execution of Siti
Djenar and Sunan Panggung and the condemnation of Shaikh Tjebolek
by the powers of 45orthodoxy,44 and the secret mystical teaching to be
found in Tjentini. We should also note the type of teaching to be
found in the secret doctrine of Sunan Bonang,46 and the remarkable
retelling of the Bimasutji story in the form of the Suluk Seh Malaja,4T
where the Javanese doctrine remains the same, but the characters are
given Muslim names.

The rise of the Wahhabi movement in the 18th century, and of

modernism in the 19th, with the consequent puritanical onslaught on
the accretions and innovations of centuries marked the end of the domi-
nant position of the Sufis in the Islamic world, and with it, the end
of an era in Islamic history; it marked likewise the end of a pattern
of Islamic development in Indonesia. Whereas the Sufis were prepared
to use imagery drawn from the Wa/'ang theatre to present the Islamic
doctrine of God, and His relation to the world, the modernists con-
demned the Javanese orchestra, the Wajang theatre and the dance, and
in several areas appeared the enemies of Indonesian traditional patterns
of life. The study and analysis of the struggle between the traditionalists
and reformists is a vast field in its own right, for which abundant Indo
nesian sources are available.
Almost any investigation into Indonesian history, inevitably places
the scholar at the centre of an expanding universe. At this point then
it seems as well to present some of the conclusions to be drawn from
this use of Sufism as a category in Indonesian history. Some new ideas
41. Djajadiningrat, pp. 34-35 and 39.
42. Schrieke, B.J.O.: Indonesian Sociological Studies, The Hague, 1955, Vol. 1,
p. 237.
43. Rinkes: De Heiligen van /ava II, T.B.G. 53 p. 18 et seq. and V, TBG. 54r
p. 139 et seq.
44. Purbarjaraka: Dewa-Rut/i, Djawa Vol. XX, No. 1, p. 7.
45. Zochnulder, P.: Pantheisme en Monisme in de Javaansche Suluk-Litteratuurr
Leidem diss. 1935, p. 242-247.
46. Purbatjaraka: De Geheime Leer van Sunan Bonang, Djawa, Vol. 18, pp. 145-181.
47. Suluk Sih Mala/a, Keluarga Bratakesawa, Jogjakarta, 1956.

22
 SUFISM
are presented, and some of the theories of Schrieke and van Leur receive
additional support.
i. Islam did not take root in Indonesia until the rise of the Sufi
orders, and the quickening tempo of the development of Indo-
nesian Islam subsequent to the 13th century is in the main
due to the labours of the Sufi missionaries.
ii. The Sufi teachers visiting Indonesia were of various nationalities,
being participants in a vast circular pattern of religious pere-
grination, a pattern in which the Indonesians themselves soon
took part. The Indonesian sources are reliable in this respect.
The comment then, that Java was converted from Malacca
needs considerable qualification.
iii. These religious teachers found in the Indonesian countries
people with much the same level of spiritual and material cul-
ture as themselves.
iv. The Sufis were prepared to base their teaching on the cultural
forms and traditions already existing in Indonesia, albeit ex-
cluding or re-interpreting what was incompatible with the basic
doctrines of Islam.
v. The Sufi Muslims, affiliated to the various mystical orders and
under the direction of their Shaikhs during this early period
of Islamic development in Java constituted an important ele-
ment in the economic and political structure of the city.
It should at least be clear that this type of approach to Indonesian
history, attempting to elucidate, significant idealogical patterns, and to
illustrate tensions and developments within Indonesian society does con-
stitute an effective instrument for examining and interpreting Indonesian
history in its own terms. The opposition — Sufistic Islam — Shiva
Buddha religion provides a focal point of tremendous value; the opposi-
tions Wahhabism—Sufistic Islam, Modernism — traditional Islam,
Srovide further foci of religious and social tension and change. It is
le study of patterns such as these, which by-pass as it were, the colonial
issue, which offers a new vision of and approach to Indonesian history.

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