= 'Legitimate' mysticism in Indonesia
=
Review of Indonesian and Malaysian Affairs, vol. 20, no. 2, 1986, pp. 76-117.
Paul Stange, Asian Studies, Murdoch University
In his essay on the Islamisation of Java Ricklefs concludes with the comment that it is still probably the Mahabharata rather than the Koran which most profoundly shapes the spiritual life of the Javanese. His assessment is consistent with the general observation that although almost ninety percent of the Indonesian population profess to be Muslim the nation is not characteristically Islamic in the way its cousins of the religion's heartlands are. The standard explanation for this, as summarised by Geertz, is that while in places like Morocco Islam made' a civilisation, in the Indonesian case it appropriated' one which had already matured in the Indic mould. Certainly the national identity, whether as popularly perceived or as implied by the constitution of the contemporary state, is not exclusively Islamic.
Within the cultural and religious spheres the limits of Islamic dominance are related to the persistence of shamanic, Brahmanic and Tantric beliefs and practices. Elements of animism remain strong not only among remote groups but also within the peasant cultures. Indic philosophies retain power within the thought world of those groups, especially but by no means only in Java, which have evolved out of court dominated polities. Within both of these traditional sectors there is generally conviction that essentially all religious systems are means to a single end, hence the outlook tends to be syncretic. Ritual life is multiform, the spirit realms are densely populated, subtle powers are noted and visionary experiences are both intense and common. The exoteric dimensions of religion are viewed as vehicles rather than ends in themselves, hence the strength of heterodoxy. It is stressed that ultimate religious knowledge is to be attained through esoteric mystical quest. In the religious sphere indigenous animism and mysticism remain the most significant counterweights to the strength of Islam in Indonesia.
Between the sixteenth and nineteenth centuries the Islam of the archipelago was also mystical. Johns noted that the introduction of the religion to the region was facilitated by the fact that it came in Sufi form and through India, making it more readily accessible to the already mystically informed islanders. It is true that the ulama as a class and the Shariah as a focus immediately generated tensions with the courts and over issues of customary law. This theme of polarity became and has remained a critical cultural issue, as we shall see. However within the Islamic literatures of Java and Sumatra mysticism occupied a central place. Debates centred not on whether the spiritual path was mystical, but on what constituted the line between orthodoxy and heterodoxy.
The interplay between the two traditions has assumed a different complexion during the past century. With the growth of Islamic modernism and Western styled secularism the status of mysticism as such has become problematic. Modernist Muslims have tended to view popular mystical practices as heterodox, associating them with the residue of syncretic pre-Islamic tradition. Though the international tarekats remain active and important in some areas, at the national level their social significance has decreased with the emergence of new educational and political movements. At the same time there has been increasing strength to the view that mysticism is intrinsically irrational, a projection of fantasy and contrary to the realities' of development and modernity. The mystical dimension has not been expunged from Indonesian Islam but popular mystical practices have been increasingly on the defensive.
In the context of nationalism and politics since independence Islam has been directly represented in political movements. Through those it has consistently maintained that the emergent national identity is implicitly and ought to be explicitly Islamic. Given the statistical preponderance of Muslims, hopes for an Islamic state did not die with victory to a secular framing of the constitution in 1945. However since then Islamic groupings have always been politically subordinated to governments under Sukarno and Suharto which may be seen as hybrids of modern secularism with mystically tinged Javanese traditionalism. Islamic parties commanded over forty percent of the votes during elections in the fifties and kept around thirty percent despite adverse circumstances in elections in the seventies. This has made Islam the clearest centre of dynamism in opposition to the New Order of President Suharto. Nevertheless in recent assessments of the place of Islam in Indonesian politics it has been pointed out that Muslims are a majority with a minority mentality' and that the faith is an outsider'.
There can be no doubt that Islam has been in a subordinate position in narrowly political terms, that this has limited its influence over major networks in the national complex of institutions, and hence its social as well as political power. However in the cultural and religious arenas the balance of power differs. As an indication we may note that Suharto himself is guarded in public reference to his own spiritual preferences, though they are well known. His government has given clear, but also distinctly limited, support to independent mystical movements of the sort that he is inclined to. But even after two decades of the New Order Indonesian mystical movements are politically vulnerable and socially defensive.
Western commentaries on the relationship between religion and politics in Indonesia have generally focussed on the latter. Even much of what is ostensibly written about religion deals only with the socio-political manifestations of it; religion as such, as an autonomous dimension, only rarely appears. In his vital corrective to this gestalt Ben Anderson has drawn attention to the fact that for many Indonesian Muslims politics is only a means toward an essentially religious end. This draws our attention to the religious view of the question of national identity and his observation invites extension. Although secular thought exists in Indonesia and its adherents are prominent the number of people who are a-religious' in this sense is very small. For most Indonesians their religious involvement is not nominal, even in the case of those whose profession of a particular religion is. Belief in God and experience of the reality' of a spiritual dimension are pervasive.
Though usually unnoticed, a natural corollary to this is that the national identity, kepribadian nasional, is experienced as a substantive and palpable, even if elusive, entity. It is not just an abstraction but also a spirit'. Insofar as people within the country experience their own identity in spiritual terms, whatever their formal religious affiliation, they also reflexively view the national process as implicitly involving a spiritual struggle. Some view it as a movement toward collective social realisation of submission to the will of Allah in Islamic terms; others see it as repetition of the endless tension between desires which link us to the material plane and spiritual impulses toward realisation of the Godhead within. These two views, one clearly Islamic the other loosely Indic and mystical, are suggestive of the major contenders in Indonesia, each asserting the right to define the spiritual identity of the evolving national entity.
In exploring the Indonesian process here my focus is on the perspective of those, mainly Javanese, who have opted to define their identity in mystical terms. The same people and groups have argued not only that the state should affirm and allow their independent existence as legitimate spiritual practices but also that they represent the spiritual heart of the Indonesian body. I am not going to deal directly with the ways in which mystical views relate to the activities of politicians or groups touched by mysticism. Instead I want to consider aspects of the struggle independent and self-consciously mystical groups have been engaged in to affirm their right to religious existence within Indonesia. By doing this I aim to make clear that even though Islam may be politically on the defensive, in the religious sphere it has been gaining ground. This can be seen through the degree to which discourse about religious issues is framed by the categories of Islam. Despite its subordination to Javanism in the political arena, in the religious context other parties respond to Islam.
To say that Islamic modes of discourse set the agenda for religious debate within Indonesia is not to suggest that Muslims there either are or ought to be satisfied in their own terms. What I mean by Islamic discourse' and what they mean by Islam' differ. This is an unavoidable disjuncture, such as arises between any two cultures, languages or religions. I may note that Indonesians could object to some Western uses of the terms mysticism' and religion', but here the language, and hence usage, is English. Similarly we should note that underlying differences between religions there is the fact that each religion' would define what it means by that term differently. In the same vein, in speaking of changes in religion over time, we should be aware that what changes is not only located in the formal structures we can identify phenomenologically, but more fundamentally in what is meant by religion'.
Among the markers of Islamic discourse we may include: a dualistic and monotheistic theology, a social referent for religious identification, and state responsibility for guidance of spiritual practice. The Indonesian state has consistently endorsed an Islamic sense of God', it has in practice required identification of its citizens with a religion Muslims can acknowledge as such, and it sees itself as having an active responsibility in the religious sphere in terms no secular Western state does. Within each of these spheres, the state role, modes of social definition, and internalised thought structures and self-legitimisation, Islamic discourses increasingly define the context of Javanese mysticism.
New Order Regulation of Religions
Under the New Order the first principal of the Pancasila, that the nation is founded on belief in the one God, is read as a programme for action. While in secular Western states similar professions exist in declarations and constitutions they play a passive role thereafter, only occasionally being invoked in the course of rhetoric. In the Indonesian case the government sees itself as having the responsibility to ensure that its citizens follow an acceptable religious faith as an obligation of citizenship. In the government five year plan for 1969-1974, for example, in Chapter IX Agama' it is stated that:
... the Government of the Republic of Indonesia has the responsibility of giving guidance and assistance to facilitate the development of each religion according to its own teachings, and to maintain supervision such ...that each citizen maintains their religious practice according to their beliefs ...
This posture is underlined by the association of atheism with communism, which is illegal. Hence failure to declare and maintain belief in God is commonly seen as subversive.
Behind the New Order's stress on the necessity of religious commitment lies the social turmoil of the early and mid sixties which brought Suharto to power. In the early sixties social tensions in rural Java intensified and focussed on conflicts between supporters of the PKI, the Indonesian Communist Party, and the NU, Nahdlatul Ulama, the traditionalist Islamic party. Those peaked after the coup of late 1965 and erupted into widespread killing of presumed communist sympathisers which continued into 1966. Muslim youth groups played a leading role in the killings and elimination of the atheistic' PKI became a key rationale for Suharto's consolidation of power. Though these traumatic events are gradually receding it is still impossible to discuss them freely in Indonesia and their shadow remains--not least as continuing justification for military involvement in civil affairs. In political terms the transition created the basis for what is still an ongoing process of eliminating ideologically defined parties as the basis of politics and assertion that to be Indonesian requires faith in God, which is seen as implicitly ruling out communism as an option.
In any event now, and to a remarkable degree, Indonesians accept the first principal of the Pancasila genuinely, in the terms the government intends, even when they may be actively critical of the government on other grounds. The immediate relevance of this point is that it is also clearly assumed that to demonstrate and maintain belief in God one must participate actively in an acceptable religious structure. This view of religious freedom, obviously in marked contrast to that which pertains in the West, is essentially consistent with the Muslim view of the responsibility of the state vis-a-vis religion. Insofar as the New Order departs from that view it is in terms of what it has been willing to endorse as an acceptable religion or faith'. Together with the touchy question of whether the faith in question may be independent of a recognised religion, this has been a key religious issue of the New Order period. This is the context within which independent mystical movements have been working to assert their legitimacy.
Although the Indonesian government's concern with establishing what constitutes a legitimate religion' is a departure from the colonial pattern, one which I am arguing tacitly reflects the Islamic view, government efforts to regulate both religions and mystical movements may be seen as an extension of Dutch actions. From an early stage the Dutch recognised that independent ulama constituted a political threat, as did Islam generally as a marker of indigenous as opposed to colonial identity. While the Javanese priyayi and other social components of the traditional courts either collaborated with the Dutch or were transformed into an element of the colonial bureaucracy, Dutch policies consistently worked to contain the political potential of Islam. This, not incidentally, placed government in alliance with the more syncretic, mystical and Indic segments of the population. It continued what had already been an opposition between Islamic structures and court power in the immediate pre-colonial period, an opposition consistent again with the present tension between Islam and the New Order.
The Dutch were also sensitive to the independent danger of millenarian and mystical movements outside the sphere of orthodox Islam. These were policed through the Guru Ordinance' of 1926 and that surveillance function has been continued since independence through Pakem (Pengawas Aliran Kepercayaan Masyarakat), an agency of the Department of Justice which was established in 1954. Pakem offices in all of the major cities have organised regular meetings of representatives of different mystical groups and kept records of meetings. For each routine meeting of particular organisations, whether of a purely spiritual nature in the homes of individuals or as a major organisational session, movements pay a license fee administered by Pakem. At the same time Pakem has maintained records which in theory include all practicing healers, the dukun. Under this authority movements such as the Manunggal sect have been prosecuted. In 1968 it was banned after a court case which concluded that its leader, Romo Semana, received homage in a style which confused him with deity. In that case the movement was outlawed for maintaining a style of patronage, bapakisme', which recalled traditional Javanism focussed on gurus as incarnate deities, paguron. This pattern is officially discouraged as outmoded.
Ironically, but quite understandably, the most sensitivity focusses on movements closest in style to Suharto's own involvements. Messianic movements centring on the notion of a Ratu Adil, a Just King, have been recurrent. They are but one reflection of the fact that within traditional Javanese polities mysticism was intimately bound up with political power; increasing purity of consciousness reflexively implying potential political control. So in cases such as the violent suppression of the Mbah Suro movement in 1967, the outlawing of Pangesti (not Pangestu) in Surakarta in 1971 or the government reaction against Sawito in 1976 claims of imminent cataclysm implying a change in government are taken as serious threats and dealt with severely.
In general, and despite the pervasive interweaving of mysticism and politics in traditional terms, movements are pressured to disavow politics and emphasise consciousness of and submission to God. To the extent that they can do so comfortably, they may be public. Thus most of the high profile movements since independence have been relatively tame politically; millenarian elements, fundamental within precisely the more traditional Javanist groups, have been repressed. Here again we note that one effect of the political context of contemporary Javanese mysticism is to dampen the culturally rooted elements within it, leaving freer play to those inclinations most compatible with Islam.
A similar pressure has been exerted more explicitly through the Ministry of Religion. Like the Ministry of Justice it has maintained a separate section devoted to researching and guiding the development of mystical movements. This office, Projek Pengawas Kegiatan Keagamaan dan Aliran-aliran/Faham-faham, has been small and its work concentrated in Jakarta, within the Ministry, rather than reaching into the regions in the way that Pakem has. Nevertheless its presence has been significant as it has been generally interpreted as an indication that, until 1978, mystical movements lay within the sphere of authority of the Ministry of Religion. Within this office the objective has been to guide the adherents of mystical movements toward what for Muslims is an orthodox stance, to clarify' that mysticism originated from within Islam and that those who are mystics must also maintain the law and rituals of Islam. This objective has been consistent with the general view of Indonesian orthodoxy, that the mystical movements should be subsumed within the different religions (kembali ke agama induknya', return to the religion which gave rise to them'). This is to reaffirm in modern guise the definition of orthodox mysticism made by Al-Gazzali, which remains the position of purist Muslims within Indonesia.
The Ministry of Religion is responsible for administration of all the religious communities in Indonesia. As funds are allocated within it according to statistical registration of numbers within each religion in the census, Islam has always naturally dominated it. It has generally been a foothold within the bureaucracy for traditionalist Muslims and has been a counterweight in that regard to the Javanist dominated Ministry of Education and Culture. This characterisation applies less in the past decade than previously, but still has relevance. The dominance of Islam within the Ministry has been reflected in the way that religion' has been defined. In dealing with the definition of religion' in Indonesia, we are touching a key issue which impinges on the activities of mystics within the nation. To begin with, as one scholar has observed, many Indonesians interpreted independence and the Constitutional provision of freedom of religion as meaning freedom for Islam'.
This reflexive identification of the generic term with a particular dominant example differs little from what most communities do--only outsiders are caught off guard. As soon as the Ministry was established in 1946 it was accepted that Protestant and Catholic Christianity deserved a clear place within it. Even in the most restricted Islamic terms Christianity is seen as legitimate, as also a religion of the Book recognising the same God. However, as Howell and Geertz have shown, religions of Asian origin had to struggle for recognition and their status has remained problematic in some respects to the present. Each has had to reorganise itself to match what is essentially a Semitic sense of what constitutes religion' - they have only been seen as legitimate to the degree that they emphasise belief in one God, have a clear system of law for their following, a holy scripture and a prophet.
Theravada Buddhists still struggle over ways of phrasing their beliefs to match theistic conceptions of the ultimate. To date the official list of world religions' acceptable within Indonesia is, with one modification, that promulgated in President Sukarno's decree of 1965: Islam, Protestantism, Catholicism, Hinduism, Buddhism and Confucianism. The exception is Confucianism, which has recently fallen' into the status of Judaism, which with a few others is viewed as only the religion of a particular ethnic group (rather than being truly international', which is another criterion applied).
The term religion', then, officially applies to the five specified above (Protestants are called Kristen' and distinguished from Catholics). Clearly this restricted sense of the term does not allow animism, folk spirit cults, new' religions or independent mystical practices as religious'. In fact even some academics in Indonesia with long experience in Western countries object fundamentally to the anthropological sense of the term religion' which has become commonplace for Westerners. In a biting attack on the dominant scholarship dealing with Indonesian religion Deliar Noer has argued that Western scholars have a warped view of religion, one which leads some to place anything they cannot comprehend in that category. In more sober terms within the same volume, Mukti Ali, ex-Minister of Religion in Indonesia, points out that most Western scholars have only dealt with the social and political aspects of religion. At this stage the most important point is that Indonesians generally do not see their term agama' as we see ours religion'.
Whether in scholarly debate, public discussion or government legislation the accepted definition of religion is in accord with the Islamic model of what constitutes one. This view, in fact even specifically modernist Muslim views, establishes the frame within which independent mystical movements are attempting to establish their place within the nation. Beyond this and perhaps even more critically, we may note that Islamic discourses condition the view the government has of its responsibility in the religious arena. The New Order clearly sees itself as having an active role to play in guiding citizens toward correct practice and belief. Its active sense of responsibility distinguishes New Order views of religious freedom from those held by Western liberal regimes. The New Order is not, of course, an Islamic state in the narrow sense either. Nevertheless it takes from Islam a sense that the political order carries responsibility for active guidance and intervention in the spiritual lives of citizens.
"Wahyu" - conditioned belief or revealed truth
The kebatinan movements are vitally concerned with asserting the autonomy, authority and authenticity of their practices as separate enterprises. As spiritual practices they must clarify to prospective followers and active members alike the basis of authority upon which teachings and practices rest. As they claim to bring to life practices which are independent of religious systems this aspect of their effort also links to the socio-political issue of how the groups and their members relate to religions in the national context. Here I will explore just one aspect of their internal claim to autonomy by referring to four of the major national movements. Both in the way in which the teachings arose and in the basis upon which each claims the authority to teach and act independently we see profound influences extending from Islamic idiom.
In their self definition kebatinan movements are uniformly insistent that their basis lies in direct revelation from God, wahyu, unmediated by the teachings of religious systems from outside or the past. Thus while from an outsider's perspective the groups seem to epitomise syncretism in the sense of borrowing elements from a variety of traditions, hence seeming derivative, they nevertheless insist that they owe nothing to anyone. They use the term wahyu' for the mandate and with awareness that orthodox Muslims object fundamentally to such application of the term. From the orthodox viewpoint Muhammed was the seal', the last in the line of prophets extending back to Abraham. Subsequent revelation from God cannot have the same status because the last word' has already been revealed. It can be termed ilham', or inspiration. Kebatinan groups such as Subud, Sumarah, Sapta Darma and Pangestu all internally claim the validation of wahyu equal to that of all prophets.
However, externally they increasingly defer to Islamic sensibility and refer only to ilham. The term wahyu' has a number of distinct, though related, uses in Java. In the mythology presented through Javanese shadow drama (wayang kulit) one of the most frequent themes is that of the quest for mystical power/gnosis (the two are inseparable in this context), termed wahyu' and bestowed by one or another of the high gods. Intensive spiritual practices, on the part of characters drawn mainly from Indian mythology, is geared to the attainment of wahyu' as an instrument for achievement in the worldly sphere.
Within the Javanese court cultures of Yogyakarta and Surakarta wahyu, of precisely the sort referred to in myths, was actively conceived as being the source of temporal and spiritual authority which gave the rulers (Sultans or Sunans) their power. Most of the prominent rulers, even into the twentieth century, spent periods of meditative retreat in the process of quest for wahyu. Popular gossip continues to affirm the significance of some of the power points, sacred sites, which facilitated the attainment of wahyu for particularly popular rulers--all of this within the context of a Dutch colonial regime. In contemporary political life this sense of wahyu remains active. Sukarno was said to have had his; Suharto went to specific teachers and cult centres to get recognition; and opposition to those in power is frequently cast in terms of claims to wahyu. Thus Sawito, in 1976, became the focus of criticism against the Suharto government after claiming attainment of a wahyu which implicitly voided' the claim to legitimacy of the Suharto government.
Despite the continuing association of wahyu with political power (no doubt partly because of it) the Islamic sense of wahyu, as the revelation or transmission of spiritual gnosis directly from God to chosen men, is also common. While there are usually stories, associated with Javanese mystics who are thought to have attained wahyu, of people sighting' the arrival of a ball of light', emphasis within the established contemporary mystical groups lies on the fact that wahyu' came when the teacher in question began to receive spiritual knowledge from God, usually through the true inner teacher (roh suci, the archangel Gabriel, guru sejati--in any event conceived as the inner agent for the reception of the transcendent). It is this sense of the term wahyu', not the more Indic, concrete, and politically oriented sense, that applies to the cases I want to focus on here.
This sense of the term is problematic due to the fact that Islamic doctrine holds that Muhammad was the seal' or last of the prophets--the term is reserved for those whose experiences are thought to have been of prophetic stature. While using it, even while suggesting that their experiences may be qualitatively the same as those of the prophets recognised by Islam, they use it in the context of belief that all individuals can potentially experience and ought to strive to be open to the direct contact with God that is implied. In taking this position they are either implicitly or explicitly giving priority to the mystical approach to religious life. This brings with it stress on the fact that the absolute' and transcendent' qualities of experience cannot be objectified, that it is ineffable and elusive as well as ultimate and authoritative.
Since the concept of revelation implies both source and receiver it is not surprising that it is stressed most heavily within movements which are framed ideologically by dualistic philosophy and monotheistic sense of divinity. Despite the persistence of monistic and Indic elements within the teachings of Pangestu, Sapta Darma, Subud, and Sumarah, the movements I will refer to here, the revelatory experiences of the founders of each are phrased in dualistic terms. These four movements are all nationally prominent and respectable'; each has a single founder and then later became formally organised, usually under the leadership of someone other than the spiritual founder.
Pangestu and Sapta Darma each have memberships of around one hundred thousand; Subud and Sumarah are smaller, with followings of closer to ten thousand. Pangestu has a very strong following in all levels of the Indonesian bureaucracy and army, many prominent intellectuals have belonged to it, and there is also a substantial village membership. Sapta Darma is more rural based, with strong followings in village peasant communities (in Bali as well as Java), and its leadership of urban middle-class intellectuals is independent in its attitude toward the government. Subud has had a substantial middle-class Javanese following and has been strong in some country areas, but is now more international than Indonesian in membership--its domestic following may have peaked around 1970. Sumarah has a significant following among East and Central Javanese villagers, some local Chinese members, and a leadership of urban middle-class people.
Pangestu (Paguyuban Ngesti Tunggal is the full name) became a formal organisation in 1949 but grew from the revelation of R. Soenarto Mertowardojo, generally known as Pakde Narto, in 1932. Pakde Narto was born in 1899 in a village near Boyolali, in the Surakarta region. He spent much of the time when he was growing up living with relatives who were minor officials in small towns, went to a school for civil servants in Surakarta, then lived in Surakarta and worked as a clerk in a series of government offices. After he experienced his revelation on February 14 1932, from June 1932 to January 1933, he spent long sessions together with the two friends who became his first followers and they wrote down the teachings he received through the True Teacher' (Sang Guru Sejati). These were then printed in a book of seven parts, Sasangka Jati (much later translated into English as True Light). This was to become the major text of Pangestu, serving continually as the basis for the series of introductory lecture/discussion sessions through which all prospective members are introduced to the group.
Sasangka Jati begins with a clarification of the three aspects of God, with a trinity'. These are: Suksma Kawekas (the ultimate source of life, or God the Father), Suksma Sejati (the True Teacher, messenger of God, or the Real Life which gives life to all that lives'), and Roh Suci (the Holy Spirit, the real spirit of man, that which creates the feeling of being alive). The rest of the first book' (each of the seven sections is called a book'), called Hastasila, is called the Panca Sila (five principles) and clarifies the five qualities all must cultivate if they are to properly worship God: non attachment, acceptance, truthfulness, patience, and high virtue'. The second book is a list and description of five commandments (Paliwara); the third is genesis (Gumelaring Dumadi); the fourth is the One Teaching (Tunggal Sabda); the fifth is the safe path' (Dalan Rahayu); the sixth is concerned with whence and whither' (Sangkan Paran); and the final one with prayer (Panembah). I have outlined the contents of Sasangka Jati only because even a cursory glance at them suggests how the teachings received by Pakde Narto can be related to the content and formal presentation of Muslim, Christian, and Hindu-Buddhist teachings. The doctrine of a trinity' can be related to Christianity, the structure of the scripture to both the Bible and Koran, the titles of sections to Indian (particularly Buddhist) teachings.
A more thoroughly syncretic work would be hard to find: an Islamic God, Christian Trinity, a Javanese spiritual version of Genesis, an explanation of the devic' realms resembling that of the Theosophical society, a Hindu (more than Buddhist) version of reincarnation, and a variant of the eightfold path' (the term, at least, is hastasila') the five principles' (pancasila) of Buddhism. The official Pangestu biography of Pakde Narto describes some of the spiritual teachings he had experienced prior to his revelation. In mentioning that he had followed a number of guru, listened to extremely complex (it is suggested they might have been garbled') teachings, practiced meditation in water (kungkum), and experienced no benefit from any of these endeavours.
The biography does not give a name to any of the teachings referred to, but the details described do suggest Hardopusoro, a group which several non-Pangestu informants said he had been involved in. In any case Pakde Narto lived in a Surakarta world in which virtually all men of his position were involved in a variety of spiritual practices, often simultaneously, and it would be surprising if he had not known a great deal about not only Islam, but also Christianity (in his case especially through the fact that he and his friends were connected to the Mangkunegaran, the lesser court of Surakarta, which had strong connections with the Dutch), the Theosophical Society (his house was close to it), and the Indic teachings which were so much a part of Javanese court culture.
The word wahyu' is used, but only rarely, in the Javanese language biography of Pakde Narto. There it is used interchangeably with sabda' (words or teachings) and always in conjunction with the reception of God's word through the True Teacher' (Wahjuning Pangeran tumurun lumantar Sang Guru Sedjati'). The same section of the biography states emphatically, or rather reports that God stated, that these teachings were not to be construed as a new religion. Instead they were to simply indicate what the right path of human conduct ought to be.
During the Pangestu meetings I attended in 1971 in Salatiga, and in conversation with leaders of the movement in Magelang and Surakarta, it was emphasised that Pangestu was not a religion or a mystical group but that it would be safe to call the group spiritual', so long as it is understood that it involves no relations with disembodied souls. In fact Pangestu spokespeople are vociferous in rejecting association with occultism, meditation and the ancestral spirit practices of traditional Javanese. At the same time the teachings are presented as a newly received, direct transmission from God, without the mediation of an established religious system.
Like Pangestu, Sapta Darma also displays the syncretic nature common within Javanese cults. The founder of Sapta Darma was originally named Hardjosapuro, he lived in Pare (near Kediri in East Java), and he began to experience direct contact with God in December 1952. This came in the form of automatic movements which continued for hours and then became the basis for regular spiritual practice, first for a few friends, then gradually for a large following. Particularly notable experiences continued for several years and included not only the movement he experienced physically, but also reception of teachings (some of which appeared on the wall of his home), and clarification of changes in his own name and finally of a name for the practice. In the course of several years his name was changed first to Brahmono, then to Rodjopandito, and finally to Sri Gutama--each clearly resonating with Indic Javanese imagery. As the name of the group suggests, there are seven points to the central teaching; some of them ethical imperatives, others statements of ontological conviction (such as that nothing in the world is eternal).
The practice in Sapta Darma is called sujud', which comes from Arabic and can be glossed as total surrender'. In formal practice members experience the same movements experienced spontaneously by the founder. Men sit cross legged, women with their feet tucked under them; everyone experiences an awakening of an inner energy (near the base of the spine) which then moves up the spine, in the process leading to an automatic bow until the forehead touches the floor. Women wear a white headdress and cloth - similar to but not precisely the same as those worn by Muslims. Within the movement there is an elaborate and systematic theory of the talirasa', of a network of energy points in the body, all of which are related to the pathways through which the life energy, once awakened in practice, will flow. The name, dress, and movement show signs of Islamic practice; the theory and some of the movements link it with yoga and theories of the kundalini.
Once again the resemblance of Sapta Darma names, practice, and theory with those found in Islamic and Indic religious worlds is not seen as an indication of influence from them. In fact in this case followers place emphasis very explicitly on assertion that the founder did not receive anything from previous religious teachings. In the other cases I am dealing with here the movements record their founder's experiences prior to revelation and then go on to assert that these had no relation to the revelation received. In the case of Sri Gutama it is emphasised that he had no prior experience or even exposure to religious life. It is regularly repeated in talks by Ibu Sri Pawenang, the current leader of the group, that these teachings came suddenly and unexpectedly within an environment of extraordinary spiritual awareness, and that teachings continued to flow through the founder all through the period from 1952 until his death in December 1964. Unlike the other three movements, Sapta Darma has also argued at times that it ought to be acknowledged as a religion.
Subud (the full name is Susila Buddhi Dharma) is the only Javanese movement which has become truly international, a process which began in the mid-fifties. Its origins lie in the revelation experienced by Muhammed Subuh in 1932; it became a formal organisation in 1947; and its centre has been just outside Jakarta, at Cilandak, since the fifties. Pak Subuh was born in a small town near Semarang in June 1901. He began experiencing an inner spiritual awakening spontaneously in 1925, then over a period of several years had contact with a variety of spiritual teachers and practices until experiencing his revelation. These contacts included an extended involvement with a teacher of the Nakshabandi order of Sufis, a Seh Abdurrahman from the Blora area. In J.G. Bennett's report of that connection, it is emphasised that this teacher refused to accept Pak Subuh as a normal student. So although his contacts with the group continued (several of his own first followers had previously been followers of the Seh) he was not seen as a member' of that group--certainly not in retrospect.
Like Sri Gutama and unlike Pakde Narto, Pak Subuh's reception of contact with God brought automatic movement (in this case not in a set form) and that spontaneous movement has been interpreted as the working of God's energy through people, a movement of energy which at the same time cleanses impurities and raises spiritual consciousness so that it gradually becomes continuous with everyday life. This practice is simply called practice', which is the meaning of the Indonesian latihan'. Although Subud is like Sapta Darma and Sumarah in emphasising practice rather than teachings, which are the focus in Pangestu, it is like Pangestu in having one text that has been seen as an authoritative summary of the teachings. This is titled Susila Budhi Dharma and was received through Pak Subuh in the late forties.
This text is in no way central to Subud practice, certainly not in the way Sasangka Jati is to Pangestu; nor is it associated with Pak Subuh's original revelation. Nevertheless it provides the most authoritative explanation of the thought world Muhammad Subuh's revelation is set within. The book is organised in terms of progression through the seven planes of spiritual existence. These are linked both to images of the evolution of life as a whole, as a series of emanations from God, and also to the spiritual progression experienced by individual souls (or people) on their path back to direct experience of submission to God's will. The seven levels range from the mineral, vegetable, animal, human, perfected, and compassionate, to God. In this structuring, and in the emphasis within Subud practice on total surrender to the One God, it is possible to see clear links to the Sufi tradition. These would stand out even if there were not the additional evidence that Pak Subuh did have extended contact with Sufi practices of the Javanese north coast.
In the Subud case the connections with Islam are clear and there are few suggestions of strong influence from Indian or Christian traditions. Many Subud members, including Westerners, become Muslim. Yet Subud carries within it a negative feeling toward Sufism (which has a bad name in Indonesia for reasons which have little to do with Sufism itself) and vigorously denies both that it could be considered Sufi and that its practice needs to be associated with any particular religion. Instead it is presented as an adjunct to the fulfilment of ritual obligations within whatever religion a member may belong to.
The experience Pak Subuh had in 1932, or rather beginning then and continuing to his death, is seen within Subud as marking the beginning of a new level of direct contact between God and human conscious experience. It is seen as something qualitatively new in human experience, perhaps as fulfilment of a stage of spiritual life which had been foreshadowed, but not as something which could be attributed to past traditions or experience. Although new in these senses, it is not seen as being the basis for a new religion, but rather as providing a practical tool, the latihan', through which people can fulfil the obligations of religious life.
Sumarah is similar to Subud in some respects, though the histories of the two movements have diverged--Subud becoming international and continuing a practice which usually involves movement; Sumarah remaining woven into Indonesian life, yet experiencing substantial changes in practice. The founders of the two were at least indirectly connected, through common friends in Yogyakarta, during the thirties and there are naturally several interpretations of their connection. Some members within each movement hold the view that the other was originally a splinter group. Pak Subuh's revelation was earlier, in 1932, while Sukinohartono's experiences began in 1935, but it is not clear what the pattern of their contact was. Whether both received teachings from a third person, or Sukino received them from a follower of Subuh is incidental in this context. What is significant is that the connection is problematic, illustrating that the issue of separate' or new' revelation arises as much within mystical circles as between mystics and formalised religions.
In any event Sukinohartono, usually called Pak Kino or just Sukino, became the founder of a movement called Sumarah', which does have its own identity and which sees itself, like each of the others mentioned have, as stemming from a revelation which then becomes the basis for a practice. Sukino was born in December 1897 in a village near Yogyakarta and lived in that city from the time he was a teenager until his death in March 1971. Like Pakde Narto and Pak Subuh his social origins lie in the lower reaches of the priyayi class, the class of lower officialdom; like the others he had distant associations with a royal court, became Dutch educated, and worked as a clerk. Like Pakde Narto he had been a member of Hardopusoro and experimented with many guru before experiencing his own revelation. Like all of those mentioned here he experienced his revelation not in the course of practices he had learned from others, but while relaxing at home.
In his case the experience of a spiritual revelation was tied to the depth of his personal preoccupation with achievement of Indonesian independence--certainly this is given strong emphasis in the way both Sukino and others in Sumarah describe the experience. Sukino later described his revelatory experiences in detail to Sumarah meetings in the fifties. As in the other cases I have touched on, his experiences had a clear and powerful beginning, then reoccurred, or came in different form later in his life. The initial series of experiences began in August 1935 and continued until they overshadowed his doubt and reluctance to act on them--which was two years from the time of his first revelation. The experiences came at a point in his life when he felt that the practices he had been exposed to had led him into a void. He described feeling intense guilt and shame when he arrived at the point of doubting the existence of God. As a result of increasing dissatisfaction he spent long periods meditating in the garden at his home.
This introspection led to growing clarity (not described as a sudden experience) of his own inner contact with what he called Hakiki'. Hakiki', or the word at least, is from the Arabic khak' which simply means Truth in the absolute sense. As a result of Sukino's experiences the term has been used within Sumarah as a reference to the same principle, the True Teacher, voice of silence, or still small voice', which in the wayang is imaged as Dewaruci' and in Pangestu is called Sang Guru Sejati. As Sukino experienced it, his reception of Hakiki indicated that he had reached the spiritual stage at which teachings and gnosis come directly into individual consciousness rather than via books, guru, or the mediation of a religious structure.
In Sukino's terms the experience of Hakiki was to become routine and did not necessarily imply wahyu', or revelation. Nevertheless reception of Hakiki prepared the ground' for revelation in his case. Through dialogue' with Hakiki Sukino reviewed every phase of his life, feeling in the process that he understood what he had been through with clarity for the first time. At first he doubted the authenticity of the answers he received, questioning whether they might have come from lower spiritual beings. But his trust increased when he checked his reliving' of experiences in the womb with his father, who was able to confirm them. Then Sukino experienced a judgement and cleansing (this was on June 29, 1936). He saw the good and bad elements of his life weighed on scales, and that the scales tipped to the left, indicating that his sins outweighed his merits. Then he felt himself being sawn in three and the parts were burned to ashes before he was brought back to life. Despite this cleansing' experience he continued to feel tremendous guilt at the weight of his sins and he remained convinced that he was destined for hell.
After this he described being told to follow whatever guidance came to him, through Hakiki, from the archangel Gabriel. He did and was taken in sequence through nine spiritual realms or planes. First he experienced a realm of lower spirits and a temptation from the forces of Nyai Loro Kidul, the goddess of the South Sea. Then he entered a realm of plants, then one of animals. He described each transition as involving passage through a screen of light. Then he momentarily returned to the realm of normal consciousness. He then saw another dimension of spirits, this time appearing to be in a peaceful realm of faith. At the same time he began to hear the voices of relatives and friends, all asking him to help them, but he felt incapable. The next two realms were of increasingly higher spirits and each time it seemed that the crowd following him multiplied.
The seventh was a dimension of pure white light with only a few pure souls present in it. At this point he experienced transcendence of both guilt and pity, the weight of those following disappeared, and he felt total surrender to God. In the eighth realm there was only cool, clear, and delightful space; in the final one he knew it was the sphere of saints, but it was beyond any description. Shortly afterwards he experienced what he called the tremendous power of God's light and a white light ushered in the robed figure of the prophet Muhammad. He also saw Christ, surrounded by his followers.
The symbolic, rather than purely literal, interpretation of these experiences is stressed within Sumarah. In the Sumarah history, which includes an adaptation of Sukino's own narrative, it is explained that all of the description related to subtle spiritual planes, that none of it is comprehensible in literal physical terms. Later Sukino described an experience of union with God. As he described it he was still feeling inadequate and so he resisted, but he was compelled to experience it. It was only at this point that his reluctance to share his experiences with others broke. As he understood it, after this experience it finally became clear to him that he was not the teacher, that all he would be doing would be to serve as a screen, as warana', so that God's will could be projected onto it for others to experience more clearly. His own sense of his subsequent spiritual mission is that he had been given the duty of guiding others toward total and absolute surrender to God--which is roughly what the term sumarah' means in Javanese.
At the point when Sukino was on the verge of sharing his experience he repeatedly felt inadequate and suggested that the task' should fall on other shoulders, or that he could only do it if he received help. Pakde Narto and Sri Gutama also found that their revelations only began to have meaning for others when they came to work closely with one or two special followers, in each case someone they had been connected to previously or were to meet through divine guidance. All of the founders I am referring to have emphasised that they have been ordinary human beings, that the only thing extraordinary about them is that they were to become active vehicles of a spiritual gnosis or experience which they could share and which came directly from God. In the case of Pakde Narto's teaching and Sri Gutama's movement, their followers were later to model their own progress on the pattern of the founder's revelation. In the case of Subud and Sumarah it is harder to identify, at any form' level, a patterning of experience through which the revelations of founders could become models. In these movements the progression of individual experience for members is extremely varied.
I have not probed the interconnections among these four Javanese movements, nor explored the relationship between each and their socio-cultural origins. The convergence between the four cases is striking and there is more than serendipity in the fact that three of the four were born at the turn of the century, experienced their revelations in the mid-thirties, and became founders of national movements in the late forties. The elements that I have emphasised have been presented simply to raise the question of how revelation' relates to the context it may arise within. The issue is especially relevant here because the claims of independent revelation at once reflect Islamic discourse and serve to back up the claim to autonomy from Islam. In each of these cases an agnostic historian or sceptical non-member cannot help but see the practice or teaching as derivative of cultural and social forces influencing the founders through the history of their lives. For this reason orthodox Muslims see the movements as derivative. Yet in each case both the founders and their followers see something distinctive and new, calling it revelation'. The claim that something is new' seems to run counter to evidence of derivation.
There are many other ways in which choices of terminology within the groups also reflect either deference to or increasing alignment with Islamic modes of religious discourse. In reference to their practice, the term panembah, (prayer), is preferred by the Pangestu group. They actively reject terms such as semadi (meditation) because they argue that it implies Buddhist senses of a void rather than theistic deity. Despite the fact that Pangestu holds as an item of faith that the essence of all religions is the same, implicitly it only fully accredits Islam and Christianity. Its meetings emphasise lecture/discussion of written teachings and, though the teachings are thoroughly syncretic and Javanist, the style of practice is itself scriptural' - here within what we must still call a mystical movement. Sumarah and Sapta Darma generally speak of their practice as sujud' (surrender), which is an Islamic term and clearly linked to a dualistic philosophy.
Islamic also sets the frame for understanding within the movements of how to relate to spirit realms. Almost universally members accept the reality and significance of diplomacy between the human and ancestral spirit realms. However, in the formal teachings of the movements emphasis is always on God rather than spirits, reflecting clear effort to avoid accusations of occultism. In a very profound sense, that of innermost spiritual orientation toward God and life, movements such as Subud and Sumarah are directly concerned with fostering islam, submission to God, which is after all what that religion is directed toward. Though this emphasis would make these groups sufi' in the extremely broad sense of the term, as used by Idries Shah, it does not mean that the movements themselves accept Islamic identification. They deny it and affirm it simultaneously. They deny it through the fact that they assert autonomy and see their practice as equally relevant to people of any religion; they affirm it in that most argue that their practice lies at the heart of and increases members' awareness of the essence of Islam.
In presenting this apparent contradiction my suggestion is that the issue lies at the root of every religious experience and highlights the significance of the distinction between the core and forms of religious experience. To any outsider, whether simply a neutral intellectual or a believer' viewing claims from the vantage point of a different spiritual framework, the authority claimed by religious movements appears to rest on slight of hand. The claim that something is new' seems to run counter to evidence of derivation. This issue is certainly raised in the context of understanding the links between Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. The same issue can be raised, and often is, in the context of diffusionist' arguments about connections between Sufism and the world of Indian mystical practices.
There are escape routes, even logically intelligible ones, from the reductionist conclusion often implicit in historical and diffusionist explanations. The resolution need not rest on attempts to establish criteria for measuring' or evaluating the truth qualities of religious claims--in other words they do not need to be themselves statements of religious nature. What I am proposing is that we simply take the structure of claims to revelatory experience as data. Focusing on the structure of the claim does not imply arguments about its truth'.
If we do that, thinking here of the four cases I have introduced, the resolution that presents itself is to conclude that the forms of each experience are derivative and that what is meant, when founders or followers claim a new revelation, is that the authenticity and authority for the practice lies in the fact that the forms are no more than vehicles for something beyond themselves. That something can only be ineffable, beyond identification with any form.
In fact within each of these movements the reference to direct contact with God is understood as a reference to an unnameable' and indescribable dimension of unity. The paradox we are dealing with only remains that so long as we identify language and forms with the core experience. If we can begin by distinguishing between symbol and referrant then we have a key to understanding what founders mean when they assert that their experience is qualitatively new'.
Many mystics', as well as observers of mystical movements, confuse union' and transcendence' with the annihilation of existing forms. Doing so implies an expectation that in so far as something may be new' it must manifest itself in forms of expression that cannot be connected to those of the past. Normal socialised consciousness is an awareness shaped by forms, by the phenomenal levels of being. The experiences I have been reviewing suggest that what changes in the experience of union or revelation, what is new' through that experience, is not identified with any of those forms. Instead what is new is that all forms are experienced as passageways for something beyond any form--in these cases the people in question gave that the name God.
The universal, in so far as it may be perceived, received, experienced, or expressed, appears then to use all of the forms which are subject to the laws of historical causation. Revelation' and newness' refer, for those who experience (or believe they experience) it, to transmutation rather than elimination of existing forms. At the phenomenal levels all our arguments about historical causation and continuity still apply, but we can hardly carry those laws, grounded as they are in analysis of phenomenal structures, into the dimension conceived as transcendent of form. Derivative as the forms of revelatory expression may be, arguments based on that observation cannot lead to judgement that the experience is.
Umbrella Movements for Recognition of Mysticism
The political efforts of Javanese mystics within the New Order have centred on organising and lobbying to effect legislative changes which would make their practices legitimate independently of their members' involvement with a recognised religion. This effort began as soon as independence was attained, but it was only in the seventies that it brought some gains. Now in the eighties there are signs of retreat. So far I have been concentrating on the constraints relating to discourse about religion generally rather than on the perspective and efforts of the mystics. Now we can focus on the organisational efforts of mystical groups to improve their status within the nation.
Kebatinan movements, and I will use this term even though it is problematic, have been noted and debated ever since independence. It is appropriate to speak of them as Javanese mystical movements', so long as we note that by mystical' we mean that they emphasise experiential realisation of the Absolute within individual consciousness. They may be characterised as Javanese' not only because the people involved in them belong mainly to that ethnic group, but also because they stress their independence, seeing their practices as rooted in an ageless indigenous tradition of spiritual wisdom which predated even Indian influences. This is to report their view rather than to debate historical fact. It is relevant here to note that the question of historical origin is a point of major disagreement between Islam and kebatinan, but we do not need to resolve it.
I use the term "mystical" advisedly. As I understand it the term mysticism' refers either to the inner, spiritual and esoteric dimension within all religious experience or to the beliefs, practices and movements which define themselves by their focus on individual realisation of the Absolute. In these terms it should be clear that although psychic phenomena and the occult may be related, they are not essentially part of what we call mystical'. It is necessary to labour this point as in Indonesian terms the cognate mistik' almost always means the occult and magical and this unfortunately results in misunderstanding. Even Koentjaraningrat, Indonesia's leading anthropologist, has misinterpreted Western use of the term because of its Indonesian associations, in his comments on Mulder's analysis he implies a very narrow view of what Mulder intended by mysticism'. With this note in mind it is appropriate to use the term mystical' when speaking in English of most Javanese and a few other Indonesian movements.
There are literally hundreds of identifiable movements. Subagya listed 288 in 1973; the inventory project of the Direktorat Pembinaan Penghayat Kepercayaan registered 160 in 1980; but there can be no definitive listing. Many of the movements are small, local and ephemeral, never even meriting note by Pakem. Many are purely informal meetings of friends. Some of the movements listed are in fact more like study clubs than contexts for mystical practice--most of the lists which have been made are not very discriminating. I would exclude the tarekats, the Sufi movements, even though they are clearly mystical, because in their case the affiliation with Islam is intrinsic and my focus here is on movements which are not defined by their relation to a specific religion.
There are several dozen major movements with Java wide and, in a few cases, genuinely Indonesian membership. These include organisations such as Pangestu, Subud, Sapta Darma, Ilmu Sejati, Sumarah and Hardopusoro. A few claim memberships reaching one hundred thousand but even most of the major groups only have several thousand core members. In the case of the movements I know best, it is clear that membership statistics are normally of marginal concern and are only loosely kept, though they are by no means entirely unreliable. Mulder estimated that three to five percent of the Javanese population were actively committed to kebatinan practices. His estimate is conservative and clearly much more of the population empathises with the spiritual style of the movements, even if it is true that only a small percentage are actively engaged in practice within a recognised group.
While kebatinan groups existed within the colonial framework they were often secretive. They came more fully into public view during the revolutionary fighting of the late 1940's, in the process of which membership also expanded greatly. Then, parallelling the organising process of the 1950s through all sectors of Indonesian society, the major movements adopted formal patterns of modern social organisation, with elected officers, minutes, conferences and all. This process was in part spontaneous, in part a response to the new demand for records of membership and meetings on the part of government agencies. During the early fifties a number of movements argued that they deserved recognition as separate religions, suggesting that in the context of national independence it would be an anomaly if only imported religions received government approval. Some movements, such as Sapta Darma, have maintained roughly that argument into the seventies, but most accepted quite early that in practical terms they were unlikely to get recognition as religions, as Islamic reaction would preclude it.
The millenarian strand of Javanese thought has been a strong undercurrent within most of the movements. There are a number of major components within it but the one that needs mention, as it indicates how Javanese mystics situate themselves in their own cultural history, is the Sabdo Palon myth. Here I will only refer to the conclusion of it, which is that as a consequence of the Indonesian revolution Javanese culture is about to be reestablished on its own terms. Kebatinan people generally, well beyond the sphere of those who are distinctly millenarian, think of themselves as embodying for the present age the essence of autonomous Javanese culture. Although this is a Java-centric vision they also see their cultural struggle in terms which need to be battled out separately within the context of other cultures in the archipelago.
Within the Indonesian context the movements are officially termed kepercayaan', which simply means beliefs'. Other designations, most still current, include: kebatinan, from the Arabic root batin' and somewhat awkwardly translating as the science of the inner'; kejawen, or Javanism'; kejiwaan or kerohanian, the first from a Sanskrit root the second from Arabic and both meaning spiritual'; or kawruh kasunyataan, roughly knowledge of Truth'. Depending on the context each term may have a different resonance and meaning and individual movements express clear preferences for one or another. Whatever the choice there is always a disavowal of the association with klenik, black magic and occultism, which critics of the movements associate with them.
In opting for the designation kepercayaan' for official usage the movements were self-consciously staking a claim to legitimacy within the provisions of the 1945 Constitution. That was readopted by Sukarno in 1959 and has remained sacred, together with the Pancasila, the five principals which express the essence of the national political philosophy, under Suharto. During the hasty sessions in which the provisional l945 Constitution was drafted discussion of paragraph 29 of part XI, Agama' (religion) was extended. The paragraph reads:
1. The nation is based on faith in God (Ketuhanan Yang Maha Esa).
2. The nation guarantees each citizen the freedom to choose their own religion and to pray according to his own religion or faith (... beribadat menurut agamanya dan kepercayaannya itu).
For independent minded mystics the key was inclusion of the term kepercayaan', as it could at least be read as legitimising practices outside religion' so long as those were also directed toward the one God.
Inclusion of the term kepercayaan' may be credited to Wongsonegoro, who was the father of political mystical movements during the fifties. He participated in the relevant subcommittee discussion. At first point two was being typed without reference to beliefs', but Wongsonegoro protested that the sense of the discussion had been that kebatinan' movements were also guaranteed. Pringgodigdo appears to have felt that direct reference to kebatinan would have been too strong, but he agreed with Wongsonegoro's interpretation of the sense of the meeting. They settled on the more neutral term kepercayaan'. When the typed manuscript was approved by the full session on the next day events were moving so quickly there was no time for close scrutiny, so the wording was enshrined and has since been seen as the clearest constitutional basis for independent mystical practices.
During the fifties and sixties the most common generic term for the movements was kebatinan', as is reflected by the naming of the umbrella organisation founded in 1955 by Wongsonegoro, the BKKI (Badan Kongres Kebatinan Indonesia. However at a conference in Yogyakarta in December 1970 the successor organisation was named the SKK (Sekretariat Kerjasama Kepercayaan). While the shift certainly made the connection with the constitution clearer, it also sidestepped different problems within the mystical sphere, as many movements preferred not to use the term kebatinan' in any case. The problems of settling on a generic name underlines the extent to which movements have been sensitive to their public image.
The strongest indication that kebatinan movements have had to respond to an essentially Islamic framing of discourse about religion lies in the extent of public discussion focussing on the relationship between Islam and kebatinan'. The relationship has been problematised from the earliest days of the Republic, not only in the formal context of working toward legal clarification of what is implied by the national commitment to belief in God, but also in the press and down to the village level in relations between branches of mystical movements and local authorities.
The Islamic community has consistently argued against the religious legitimacy of independent mysticism and that has called for a level of external diplomacy on the part of kebatinan which would otherwise have been unnecessary. It should be noted that only a minority of kebatinan people, (from particular movements), have been deeply engaged with the national discourse about the status of their practices. Most have been simply involved with teachings and practices which have no direct relationship with the politics of their context--the issue has been pervasive at the external level, of diplomacy', but not consuming internally.
Umbrella organisations began to emerge in the fifties and from the start until 1970 the leading national spokesperson for kebatinan was Wongsonegoro. As an ex-Minister involved with the central government he was also effectively the leading representative of kebatinan within politics. Discussion of kebatinan was initiated while the government was still in Yogyakarta during the revolution. Then Wongsonegoro convened discussions in Jakarta in the early fifties and in 1955 he was selected as head of the newly formed BKKI, Badan Kongres Kebatinan Indonesia (Congress of Indonesian Mystics), at its first meeting in Semarang on the 21st of August. Seventy organisations were represented and in the second congress in Surakarta in 1956 two thousand representatives attended, claiming to stand for two million members nationally. In 1957 leaders of the movement presented a letter to Sukarno asking that its status be equal to that of the religions.
At the 1958 congress in Jakarta the BKKI responded to growing Islamic pressure to illegalise klenik, black magic, by clarifying that kebatinan was not magic even though essentially the same power was involved. In 1959 the first national seminar of the BKKI was held in Jakarta in November, focussing on the relationship between spirituality and education. The fourth BKKI congress in Malang in July 1960 stressed that kebatinan and religion differed only in emphasis, as it focussed on perfecting the individual spirit while the latter emphasised prayer to God. In 1961 the second seminar considered the relationship between kebatinan and Sukarno's political philosophy; in 1962 the third stressed the relationship between spiritual practice, national struggle and world peace. As social stresses increased in the early sixties the BKKI's role receded.
In BKKI meetings one of the clear objectives was to clarify to the public that kebatinan represented an indigenous spiritual tradition of high standing, that it was not, as many Muslims argued, simply a jumble of outmoded superstition and magic. It is clear in the record of its meetings that participants felt there ought to be national recognition of a special relationship between kebatinan and the national identity. In the second congress it was argued that kebatinan itself was the source of the first principal of the Pancasila, that the foundation of the nation's belief in God lay in the strength of kebatinan within it. In 1958 it was held that the 'essential characteristic of the Indonesian national identity lies in emphasis on life of the spirit (pengutamaan kehidupan kebathinan)'.
During the mid-sixties the activities of the BKKI subsided. In part this was due to general turmoil, but it was also a reflection of the fact that politics within the movement had become problematic. Members within some organisations were sympathetic to the PKI, though on the whole the kebatinan people were much more likely to identify with the PNI, the Nationalist Party. Toward 1965 it was government initiatives rather than BKKI planning which led to meetings focused on the problem of Klenik, or black magic. That issue came to the fore not only because Muslims were pre-occupied with it, but also because it related closely to the power oriented practices of Javanist movements, practices which tended to spill over into political activism which the government was concerned with containing. After the coup many kebatinan groups were subjected to intense scrutiny, as they were suspected of harbouring ex-PKI members. In some cases it was true that an increased membership could be explained by an influx of communist sympathisers. In the Mbah Suro case this was clearly so; in the case of Manunggal partly so. In any event the movements became more prominent.
A new phase of activism began in 1970. Before that the BK5I had been formed under the sponsorship of Golkar, the government's functional' non-party grouping. The BK51 was only a temporary working group which laid the basis for the foundation of the SKK (Sekretariat Kerjasama Kepercayaan) at the end of 1970. Two significant meetings were held in Yogyakarta: the Symposium Nasional Kepercayaan from the 7th to 9th of November and the Musyawarah Nasional Kepercayaan from the 27th to 30th of December. Pringgodigdo addressed the Symposium and publicly clarified that the intention, during drafting of the 1945 Constitution, had been to guarantee freedom of practice for kebatinan. With this in mind the two meetings not only laid the basis for the SKK's activities during the following decade, but also concluded and argued that the mystical movements had been wrongly deprived of their rights, that their status and legitimacy was equal to that of the religions.
The new series of representations to government, now addressed to a government under Suharto with inclinations favourable to the kebatinan movements, contributed to two key legislative changes. In 1973, in the Garis Besar Haluan Negara, kepercayaan' was explicitly recognised as an independent but legitimate option within the terms of the Pancasila. This meant that technically it became legal for citizens to list a mystical movement instead of a religion on their identity cards (kartu penduduk). At least this is the interpretation which became current within the SKK. I say technically' because in practice most local authorities still view it as subversive to even broadcast this element of legislation, even years after the event. When the national census took place in 1980 HPK people naturally assumed there would be a column for kepercayaan' alongside religions, however no record of mystical affiliation was registered.
Within the kebatinan sphere itself there remains serious disagreement over how to interpret the relationship between mysticism and religion. In 1979 the Subud organisation, which had been hesitant to join the SKK anyway, withdrew in protest. It objected to the fact that the East Javanese leader of the SKK (as it still was) was pressuring members to list only their mystical affiliation on official forms. Part of his motive, as with HPK hopes that the census would show a large number of adherents, lay in the desire to establish the statistical significance of the movements. But many movements, not just Subud, in principal see their practice only as complementary to religion and hence object to the strategy some kebatinan activists pushed.
The same issue has surfaced more recently, in different form, within the Direktorat Pembinaan Penghayat Kepercayaan. Legislation for its establishment was passed in 1978 and the office was established in 1979 with Drs. Arymurthy as its first director. Arymurthy was then the leader of Sumarah and had been active as a leader of the SKK from its inception. At its meeting in Tawangmangu in 1979 the SKK changed its name to HPK (Himpunan Penghayat Kepercayaan) to align itself clearly with the new directorat. The significance of the new office was that it was the first clear locus within the bureaucracy responsible for kebatinan on its own terms--previous offices had all had the aspect of supervising' kebatinan from outside'.
In the second place, as it was located in the Ministry of Education and Culture, its establishment ended the implied subordination of kebatinan to religion. Funds have been limited, the new office is only staffed in Jakarta, but some significant work has been done. Under Arymurthy a preliminary inventory of movements was taken, a significant collection of documentation on various movements has been published, and preliminary contacts have been made between Javanese and non-Javanese movements. Arymurthy resigned in early 1984 and the current director is Permadi.
The change within the Directorat from Arymurthy to Permadi coincides with what appears to have been a shift in government thinking about the relationship between kebatinan and religion. During the seventies it seemed possible for SKK/HPK activists to argue that identification with a respectable kebatinan movement was in itself sufficient to demonstrate fulfilment of the government's requirement that each citizen pursue their belief in God through a recognised channel. During the last several years the interpretation of legislation that was passed in the seventies became more narrow. Now the government position is that affiliation with mystical movements is separate from the question of religious membership - which is still essential. Participation within the mystical movements is held to be separate from the issue of religion in the same way that education or sports are.
Thus the pendulum has swung back toward the position of the late sixties. At this stage participation within the mystical movements is no longer itself problematic, but the pressure for members of those movements to also claim and maintain religious identification is again increasing. At the same time the impetus behind the umbrella movements of the seventies has waned and in this respect the external diplomacy' of kebatinan has lost ground.
The Islamisation of Spiritual Discourses
There are indications that monotheistic senses of the spiritual, deriving essentially from islam, have penetrated profoundly into popular consciousness. Even if, as Ricklefs suggests, the wayang mythology remains a more active frame of discourse than the Koran, I am suggesting that the first and primary pillar of the faith has taken very firm hold. In my experience folk healers, the dukun, now invariably assert that their power to heal comes from the one God, even if it may be mediated by a powerful spirit. A common refrain among mediums, prewangan, was that they remained conscious even when transmitting messages from spirits, in this bowing to an Islamic distaste for practices of possession. Perhaps we should review the emblematic imagery of Kalijaga's conversion and conclude not that nothing fundamentally changed, but rather that what did change, and the change the Javanese have considered fundamental, was in his reorientation on the inner plane.
Of course there is an extremely strong social pressure behind the growth of a literalist monotheism. While orthodox Muslims may have felt frustrated in efforts to turn Indonesia toward Islamic statehood in their terms, the first principle of the Pancasila is an underscoring of the profession of faith in one God (though omitting reference to Muhammad) in Islamic terms. Islam may not have established itself as the' religion of Indonesia, but there is no doubt that its sense of religion' defines, shapes and constrains all discourse about religion and spiritual life. This pressure, very effectively conveyed through the government bureaucracy has deeply influenced private practice as well as public expression of religious life. Within the kebatinan sphere there have been a variety of ways in which Islam, even specifically the modern forms of it, have limited discourse.
There is even irony implied by use of the term kebatinan'for mysticism. The root, "batin", is Arabic and of course came through Sufi Islam. Thus we could suggest that the very sphere of inner life which kebatinan people take as their primary referent was marked out' only with the arrival of Islam. This is the sort of point Muslims use to argue the derivative nature of kebatinan. My intent is not to support their argument, only to suggest the degree to which even the terms the mystics use can be turned against them. As we see, Kebatinan adherents speak of wahyu when asserting their authenticity as independent practices - again their term is Muslim, even if their intent in using it is to deny derivation from Islam.
At the social level we notice that in response to Islamic pressure, which has been intended to bring recalcitrant believers into the fold, kebatinan movements have defined themselves increasingly in social terms. In this respect to the degree that mystical organisers succeed in establishing a separation between religious and spiritual commitments as formal identification they may be winning a Pyrrhic victory. If members of mystical movements firmly gain separate social recognition of their mystical involvement, then to that degree their involvement also approximates the Islamic model of religious participation. In this sense they are caught in a double bind.
Fundamentally the struggle Javanese mystics see themselves as engaged in is still located in the effort to preserve and foster an environment for activation of spiritual consciousness. From that perspective it matters little whether the tools of discourse at the cultural level, of symbols, or the social level, which mediate human relations, are especially Islamic. What does matter in these terms is whether the structures point toward and draw human experience into the deepest levels of its potential. The mystics are now drawn increasingly into what has the flavour of a rear-guard defensive action, rationalising and justifying their systems of practice and tending to use Islamic terms as they do.
But even within their own circles the mystical expansion of consciousness may be threatened. There is growing force not only to Semitic structures of religious discourse, but to emphasis on an increasingly restricted range of dimensions. The modern process of religious change leads Indonesian Muslims, like some of the Westerners who they are critical of, to define the religious dimension increasingly in terms of its socio-cultural dimensions, themselves losing sight of the fact that religion and spirituality are not only mediated and expressed through human symbols and actions but also exist as a sphere in themselves.
New: 24 October, 2021 | Now: 24 October, 2021
This page incorporates material from Garry Gillard's Freotopia website, that he started in 2014 and the contents of which he donated to Wikimedia Australia in 2024. The content was originally hosted at freotopia.org/people/paulstange/legitimate.html, and has been edited since it was imported here (see page history). The donated data is also preserved in the Internet Archive's collection.