This book asserts that a nuanced understanding of lived Islam, which recognises multifaceted realities and contradictory perspectives, indeed requires a thorough examination of the specific religious manifestation in its embodied form. Put differently, a genuine comprehension of the complexity of Islam as a lived religion necessitates an intimate familiarity with real people who actually practice their faith. In light of this epistemology, I set out to explore the world of living Naqshbandi Sufis in Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina.1 Drawing on textual and primarily ethnographic data, in this book I engage in a localised analysis of Sufi Muslims by evaluating intricate leadership dynamics, prominent aspects of the physical setting, certain experiences and distinct religious practices from the practitioners’ point of view. I aim to answer the question of how a particular set of Sufis in Bosnia adapt to contemporary challenges and develop practical strategies to make sense out of their everyday lives.
My focus was intentionally limited to two carefully selected communities led by different Shaikhs.2 Although each Shaikh claimed a shared Naqshbandi origin and was located in a similar traditional, cultural, linguistic and historic milieu, I identified considerable manifest dissimilarities. These included disparate pathways to obtain personal legitimization as a spiritual guide on behalf of the community, various choices regarding theological interpretation, ritual practices, and levels of social involvement. Among the possible explanations for this observable phenomenon of evident diversity, in this book I develop the argument that the central factor that accounts for this pronounced contrasting manifestation is the agency of the Shaikh. In essence, I demonstrate that the institutionally established authority bestowed upon the Shaikh within the Sufi leadership structure, resulted in the fact that universal norms, theoretical constructs and traditional principles encompassed by a common Bosnian Naqshbandi framework were ultimately subservient to the independent decisions of each Shaikh. In order to substantiate my fundamental argument, I first articulate the progressive establishment of the Shaikh’s office and the historically evolved authority in the theoretical literature, and then investigate the specific expression of this development in my concrete research context. At the heart of my conclusion, I explicitly argue that although each Shaikh continues to operate within doctrinal continuity and a broadly defined, normative framework, he remains inherently free to engender subjectively legitimate adaptations that significantly shape the contours of religious belief, and contextualise its practical application within a contemporary setting.
This study is important, because it is accomplish two things. First, it underlines the latent malleability of Sufism by advancing the recognition of the Shaikh’s cardinal importance in the selection and appropriation of inherited norms. The explicit focus on the role of the Shaikh in a specific context contributes a concrete example of how leadership operates in Sufism in general and the Naqshbandi in particular. The aim is to show the complexity and contingency of legitimization pathways, as well as the resulting extent of authority endowed upon the Shaikh by this process. I will present ample evidence that there is a direct correlation between Sufi multiformity and the agency of the Shaikh as the principal shaping mechanism for its inauguration. Moreover, this local example, in turn, sheds further light on the possibility for a wide range of Sufi expressions, even within a relatively homogeneous context. Secondly, this work is an original, in-depth empirical investigation that aims to better understand the lives of Bosnian Sufi Muslims. Consequently, it endeavours to advance grassroots studies of lived Islam, supporting the belief that ultimately the study of religion must fundamentally aspire to intimately engage with human beings.
1.1 The Study of Islam as the Study of Human Beings: “I am not a book”
Imran and I were sitting in a smoky café in downtown Sarajevo. I did not know, at the time, how much cigarette smoke was going to become a constant and unwelcomed companion during my upcoming protracted fieldwork among Bosnian Sufi practitioners. After eagerly lighting another one, he became exceedingly frustrated with me and said, “You are only going to describe the external form in your thesis. You will stop with the allegory. I am alive. I am not a book. You are not experiencing that which I have tried to explain to you. If you really want to write down the truth, you have to actually feel what I am trying to explain yourself.” (DAH#11)3 He was right, but only partially. There was a real danger of engaging in a mere top-down description of the external, empirically verifiable world of my informant and miss the internal, actual meaning of how he saw the world from his own point of view. This was exactly what I wanted to avoid, and comprised the initial reason that motivated me to attain understanding from real people in their natural environment and not merely through abstract theological and theoretical literature.
Although I was never able to fully experience or feel things as Imran, I genuinely wanted to comprehend what he valued and why. How did Imran discern the world and what role did Islam play in his perception? Mandaville offers the following astute insight, “In this sense there is only one Islam, but this does not necessarily have any direct correlation with the lived experience of being (or making oneself to be) a Muslim” (2003: 56). My own experience of sharing life with my Muslim friends taught me that Islam was not a universal category with sufficient explanatory power to elucidate the diversity of opinions and practices that I encountered on the ground. Relevant literature confirmed my observation, stating that the multiple, localised forms of Islam necessitated a holistic investigation of those people who put theoretical tenets into practice (Kreinath 2011: 18). I realised that in order to understand Islam, I first needed to understand people like Imran. This strategy provided an important and necessary alternative starting point where one begins with human beings, who draw from their traditional religious framework and apply it to their own context.
The understanding that the study of religion necessarily ought to encompass the people who apply its tenets in their everyday life was further strengthened during one of my conversations with Rusmir Mahmutćehajić, a widely respected Bosnian intellectual. After questioning me in a surprisingly forceful manner regarding the exact time that Islam supposedly came to Bosnia, and I consistently failed in picking the right historic date, he emphatically exclaimed the following “Islam never came to Bosnia. Never. Muslims did. For Islam cannot walk, because Islam does not have legs.” (DAOI#13)4 Pondering his comment for a number of weeks afterward, I increasingly realised its deep profundity. A religion can only “travel” or “arrive” somewhere if it is embodied through actual human beings. Religion fundamentally requires a concrete manifestation in the form of real people. Other scholars corroborate this acuity, saying for instance, “Islam does not brush its teeth. Islam does not take a shower. Islam eats nothing. And perhaps most importantly for our consideration, Islam says nothing. Muslims do” (Safi 2011: 22).5 This realisation sparked my interest to search out living voices, go beyond texts, and investigate in more detail what in fact Muslims say.
In consultation with other scholars, it continued to become increasingly evident that to study Islam as an abstract monolith was inherently insufficient. El-Zein rightly noted that, “Neither Islam nor the notion of religion exists as a fixed and autonomous form referring to positive content which can be reduced to universal and unchanging characteristics. Religion becomes an arbitrary category, which as a unified and bounded form has no necessary existence. ‘Islam’ as an analytical category dissolves as well” (1977: 252). A more nuanced and helpful way forward is to view Islam as a lived religion that is performed by individuals in specific localities, best understood by studying their practices and how these inform experiences and meanings of Muslim everyday lives.
This hermeneutic requires an empirical approach that strategically pursues both a doctrinal interpretation in light of the specific application of religious normatives, and a comprehensive understanding of the experiences and perspective of believers themselves, since “Islam is best seen as a set of interpretive resources and practices” (Bowen 2012: 3). Moosa supports the usefulness of this intended approach, saying:
For, whatever Islam is, the closest we can come to what ‘it’ is or is not, is through its embodiment in concrete forms, practices, beliefs, traditions, values, prejudices, tastes, forms of power that emanate from human beings who profess and claim to be Muslim or profess belonging to a community that calls itself Muslim (2011: 114).
This process does not derogate the importance of understanding doctrine, for it is vital in shaping religious practices, but it highlights that the reverse is also true. Practice and doctrine mutually inform and transform one another. As a result, it is necessary to contribute to a fuller understanding of how Muslims put their religious beliefs into practice and what it means to them. There are good reasons for this deliberate approach that primarily focuses on religious actors, while simultaneously not omitting the importance of doctrine and text.
First, it is crucial to avoid a simplistic, one-dimensional view of a complex reality, and not present Muslims as passive agents whose actions, moral concerns, experiences and narratives about the world are strictly shaped by a theologically “unified system” (Ahmad 2012: xiii). This perspective is particularly true among recent studies of Islam in Europe, which I will discuss in more detail shortly. While Islam provides a general umbrella for proper “Islamic” behaviour, theology, identity and belonging, the reality is far more complex. Religion in general and Islam in particular are more helpfully conceptualized as extending far beyond an immovable system of principles, formal doctrines and community affiliation. There simply is no monolith Islamic community, but rather an intricate variety and plural expression under the general umbrella of a universal religious system. Simply put, Islam is a remarkably diverse, mosaic of contradictory interpretations and discrepant applications, prohibiting one-dimensional demarcations and narrow definitive representations.
A vast array of beliefs, localised particularities and different emphases of practising the faith evidently characterizes Islam. Rasanayagam writes, “A living tradition in good order does not imply that all those located within it share identical interpretations of history, present circumstances, or even ends worth pursuing” (2013: 115). Consequently, generalising complex realities is inherently reductionistic, lacking methodological rigor and accurate explanatory categories. While the proclivity toward macro approaches to the study of religion helps the design of succinct definitions, safely contained within strict boundaries, it ultimately fails in achieving real understanding. Even though doctrinally prescribed obligations remain generally the same across the global spectrum of Islam, local varieties and a wide range of individual applications continue to highlight its complexity. In other words, a more refined comprehension of diversity requires engagement at the grassroots local level.
Among the fundamental questions that I address in this book, are the following: Who or what shapes Islam? How are everyday habits and religious performances adapted within an Islamic paradigm? What are the underlying factors that can help explain Islam’s evident diversity? Although scholars have attempted to provide answers to these questions, the responses often lack focused specificity, which is why this book aims to contribute an additional perspective. To illustrate my point, Nancy Ammerman, for instance, explains Islamic diversity where, “religious traditions and autonomous individual choosers have created a dynamic religious culture in which official religious views and practices are shaped into everyday strategies of action” (2007: 12). Although she affirms the inherent, natural dynamism within religion, she does not provide explanatory particularity regarding the mechanism behind its inauguration. Following her reasoning, if creative individuals are actively adapting a religious blueprint for their own context, how is that possible in the confines of a supposedly uniform, traditional system, and what are the resulting implications? By what authority do these agents transform and contextualise Islam without trespassing normative boundaries? These underlying questions are precisely why this study concentrated its objective on identifying the main shaping mechanism behind the empirically verifiable multiple contrasts. However, in order to address these questions more appropriately, it is imperative to situate them in a localised and narrowly defined context.
The second reason why it is crucial to search for understanding through a grassroots approach that concentrates its objective on people, is the fundamental nature of religion as a system that goes beyond the cognitive perimeter. In addition to the theological and doctrinal dimension that are indeed rationally conceptualized, religion in general and Islam in particular is principally about morals, decency, personal and communal experience, identity, and especially meaning making practices (Pedersen 2014). Kraft insightfully argues that belief is far more defined by practices than theological creeds (2013: 40). This is an important point, for the sole examination of Islam as a dogmatic religious system with unchanging characteristics and rigid rituals becomes an arbitrary category, utterly reductionist and inadequate for any real understanding. Or as Gellner aptly stated that it would be a “grievous mistake to argue back from what the texts say to what ordinary people think and believe” (1999: 38). Simply put, religion is essentially comprised of people, and in order to understand religion one must understand people. Shepard offers the following helpful comment:
Religion and culture exist only in the people who practice and participate in them. Apart from people they are abstractions. Because the people commit themselves with varying degrees of conviction and consistency and with diverse interpretations, there is enormous diversity at the personal level. We can almost say that there are as many ‘Islams’ as there are Muslims (2014: 3).
Moreover, an easily overlooked paradoxical reality is that subjective moral and experiential legitimization can sometimes even override theological norms.
Being a Muslim might require certain Islamic practices, but it also may suffice to believe that one belongs to a traditional community without much practice at all. Translating normative doctrine into practice is further complicated, when even loosely based “Islamic practices” are considered Islamic, as long as practitioners themselves believe that they are (Ibrahimpasic 2012: 229). I will provide salient examples of this reality and its local appropriation throughout the course of this book. In essence, it is crucial to understand the subjective dimension of individual believers, who define what they consider “Islamic” in order to understand why certain practices are included under the rubric of Islam and why others are not. I suggest that by suspending, while not abolishing, Islam as a universal category and focusing on human agents in their local context who are applying religious norms and making sense of their everyday world through an Islamic lens, a more nuanced picture ought to emerge. Coleman puts it well, “The rendering both immanent and unbound of Islam helps us to disrupt the ultimately static assumptions about the workings of culture that lies behind the notion of Islam as ‘blueprint for social life’” (2013: 251).
In summary, the complexity and multidimensionality of Islam and the diverseness of its manifestation in a range of contextual environments, challenges an exclusive approach that focuses on written documents and neglects the living texts comprised of human beings. My position is that there is a definitive need for investigating the entire cosmology of Muslims, and not only written records or top-down phenomena. Precisely for this reason, this study intentionally focuses on Muslims, their individual voices, their genuine application of doctrine, and their true lived experiences, rather than the conceptual rubric called Islam. I agree with Leaman, for, “it might look more sensible to investigate those ways of behaving as opposed to the official list of beliefs f...