Introduction

2The last decades have seen an increase in research on Sufism and dervish culture. However, most studies deal with aspects of Sufism within its ‘classical’, historical context (Buckley 1992, Hammarlund/Olsson/Özdalga 2000). Some of these, nevertheless, consider the outreach of historical Sufism into modern times, such as some contributions in Lifchez 1992 and Silverstein 2010. Others deal with the re-establishment of more or less ‘traditional’ or ‘classical’  Dervish order (tarikat) structures and rituals, mainly in terms of religious politics vis-à-vis movements of political Islam (Geaves 2006, Toprakyaran 2005). The new role of such forms of Sufism is analysed either in the country of origin, for example in Turkey (Atacan 1990, Neubauer 2008, on female Sufis esp. Raudvere 2002 and Neubauer 2009), or in ‘the West’ (Westerlund 2004, Malik / Hinnells 2006). Few researchers have explicitly focussed on hybrid (Hermansen 2000), transnational (Werbner 2003, Spellman 2004) transcultural/globalised (Raudvere / Stenberg 2009), or post-modern forms of Sufism and their connections to Western esoteric trends (Taji-Farouki 2009).

3It is clear that these concepts, ‘hybrid’, ‘post-modern’, ‘transcultural’ (and ‘transnational’), have to be applied with caution. Recent ritual studies’ literature suggest that ritual, as a mode of human behaviour and cultural practice, has always been dynamic, changing and receptive, be it in pre-modern or (post-)modern contexts. I use ‘hybrid’ and ‘post-modern’ here in a pragmatic way, to distinguish the practices described in this article from more localised or ‘one-tradition-centred’ forms of ritual practice, which are, out of different reasons, not as receptive of elements and participants from other cultural, religious or ethnic contexts as Oruç Güvenç and his group are. A major historical watershed is obviously the invention of modern forms of transportation and communication, which has increased the possible degrees of ‘transculturation’. In this context, the connection and relation of Western esoteric trends to Sufism addressed in this article is of especial interest to further investigation. To cite van Bruinessen (2003): “There is no strict boundary separating Sufi groups from New Age-type movements—which raises questions of conceptualization as well as sociological explanation.”

5“Transfer of ritual” refers to a shift of a ritual or ritual elements into another or a changed context. Context aspects are the media of the ritual and the geographical, spatial, ecological, cultural, religious, political, economic and social surrounding of the ritual practice. A change of context—whereby the different context aspects may influence each other—causes modifications of the internal dimensions of the ritual. As dimensions of the ritual, script, performance, performativity, aesthetics, structure, transmission, intentionality and instrumentalization, self-reflexivity, interaction, communication, functionality, mediality symbolism and meanings ascribed to the ritual can be discerned. The process of transfer of ritual is accomplished by the participants. The study of such processes, therefore, should concentrate on the interactions between the context aspects, the internal dimensions and the participants of the rituals concerned. When modification of one or more context aspects is observed, changes in the internal dimensions of a ritual are predicted by this theory. Conversely, when changes in the internal dimensions of a ritual are found, one should verify whether one or more context aspects have changed as well, which may be the triggering factor(s).

6With this model, processes of transfer of ritual through time and space may be analysed, since the context aspects and internal dimensions of rituals in their different variations, differentiations and interactions can be described.

7In short, “transfer of ritual” is a research paradigm that systematises the inter-connectedness and interdependency of ritual-imminent ‘dimensions’ with the different context factors into which such cultural performances are embedded (in our case for example geography, society, group formation etc.). Specifically, it supplies the researcher with a tool to investigate the dynamic processes, such as changing context factors leading to changes in ritual dimensions and the repercussions—conscious or unconscious—of changed ritual dimensions onto the surrounding socio-cultural fields. This concept seems to be applicable to the case of TÜMATA and to post-modern Sufism in general, too.

Ethnographic Encounter with a ‘Transcultural’ Sufi

Sources and Methods

Biographical Narrative

15His parents are of Volga Tatar background, on his mother’s side also with Kirgiz roots. Their ancestors came from the Russian Empire to Ottoman Turkey in the 19^th century. His father settled in the Western Anatolian provincial town Tavşanlı where he worked repairing watches and later as a journalist for the local newspaper. From this fact stems Oruç Güvenç’s strong interest in ethnography, as his father obviously had started collecting ethnographic objects and local folklore when he practiced as a journalist. In course of this, his father already established relations with a nearby Bektaşi village, which hosts a tomb of one of the presumed successors (halife) of Hacı Bektaş. At the age of twelve, Oruç had a dream, where a man in a long black coat gave him a violin and said, “Play!” Oruç replied, “I am not able to play.” The man then said, “Yes, you can”, and Oruç found he could play, much to his pleasure. He later got a real violin from a friend of his father and spent three years learning to play. (This widespread dream motif is common in Shamanistic vocation stories as well as in narratives of people becoming dervishes.)

16He also developed a strong interest in Turkic folk music and, later in the 1960s, he formed a music group with some friends in Istanbul. This group somehow even managed to travel to Central Asia, at that time still part of the Soviet Union. In his youth, he also experimented with hypnosis and spiritism, eventually visiting spiritistic sessions. In one of these, he met a certain Fazıl Güvey, musician and Sufi, who is supposed to be the pupil of a sheikh of Daghestani-Caucasian origin. This still happened in the town of Tavşanlı.

17Oruç moved to Istanbul to study in the 1960s. There, he met Turgut Söylemezoğlu, called Turgut Baba, who is claimed to be one of the last pupils of the last head of the Galata Mevlevihanesi (‘Mevlevi lodge’), Ahmed Celaleddin Dede. Finally, a friend brought him to Ziyadeddin Kuldur, called Ziya or Ayar Baba, who was a Sa’di dervish, but who supposedly also had the icazet (permission to function as a spiritual guide)  for the Kadiri, Rufa’i, Uşşaki, Mevlevi and Bektaşi ways. Oruç also claims to have these icazets through that connection, or at least a thorough knowledge of the respective zikir techniques. As there is no reference to other Sufi contacts in the biographical narrative—especially not to Kadiri, Uşşaki, and Bektaşi—, one can assume that Oruç obtained from Ziya Baba a kind of collective icazet. (He has contacts to one Halveti sheikh though; see below. In his house, he keeps a hırka—the ritual mantle—of one sheikh, a symbolic vestment of authority and several documents, some in Ottoman script.)

18His early life in Istanbul remains unclear in the narrative, as well as the details of his Central Asian journey. A closer investigation could shed more light on the formation of his thought and practice in this formative period, which in the written narration is overshadowed by the Sufi contacts. Additional biographical interviews of friends of his from this period would be necessary to reveal other elements in the initial formation of his thought and practice that are not mentioned in the narrative, nevertheless are identifiable in habitus and practice as stemming from a ‘life style’ of the 1960s and 1970s. I have established contacts to some of his early musical and Sufi partners from that period, who together formed a milieu interested in musical practice, especially of the Mevleviye. In the 1960s and 70s, they had contact with descendants of the Istanbul-based Mevlevi sheikhs as well as with major British scholars working on the Mevleviye, and were part of a society for Sufi music. Some of them were conservatory-educated professional musicians. I have not had the chance to conduct longer interviews. However, it is clear that several splits between former friends occurred, who especially criticise his popularisation and ‘commercialisation’ of Sufism.

19He continued his studies in clinical psychology at the Cerrahpaşa University Clinic in Istanbul, where he received his doctorate with a dissertation on ‘musical therapy in general and in Turkic cultures specifically’ in 1985. The thoughts about an ages old culture of musical therapy both in pre-Islamic, ‘shamanistic’ Turkic cultures as well as in Islamic history, he formulated in this dissertation (circulated as a Xerox copy of a German translation mainly), remain at the centre of his thinking, speech and practice until today.

20Most prominent in Güvenç’s thought is the general concept of Dervish culture being an Islamicised form of shamanism. As effective the concept was in integrating the religious history of ‘the Turks’ into the narrative of the modern nation state of Turkey by scholars such as Mehmet Fuat Köprülü (see Dressler 2010b), it is just as effective in making Sufi practice attractive to interested Westerners.

From Turkey to Germany

21How did he establish his activities in a European context? His career started in Austria in the late 1980s and shortly afterward continued on to Switzerland and Germany. Additionally, he was also active in Spain and in other European countries.

25She met Oruç Güvenç first in Austria. There, he played in a group with two other musicians, Gerhard ‘Kadir’ Tucek, who had converted to Islam before his encounter with Oruç, and Gülten Urallı, said to be also of Tatar origin like Güvenç himself. They played in a cultural centre (a former farm) in Northern Tyrol in the context of a public workshop, attended by around thirty people. My informant has actually a family connection to Islamic cultures, as her former husband was of Afghan origin, said to come from a Kabul Sufi family. As her husband had separated from her, leaving her alone with their son, she was in search of peace of mind, and the music of the group had a positive effect in this regard, as she relates. She was already a music psychotherapist at that time. She stated that Oruç Güvenç almost never did individual healing ceremonies or therapies, but instead includes people with individual problems in the collective ritual. In 1990, she invited him to her research project in psycho-oncology at Hamburg University, where he again gave a concert and a workshop. In 1991, she organised a congress on altered states of consciousness. There, Güvenç also gave a concert. Later, Gerhard Tucek invited him to Vienna where they tried to establish the “ancient oriental musical therapy” as an officially recognised therapy within the Austrian medical insurance system. In 1990 or 1991, also other academics from Marmara University were present in Vienna in that endeavour.

26In the 1990s, Oruç Güvenç and his group were active on many occasions in Western Europe, sometimes invited by the aforementioned psychotherapist from Heidelberg. She mentioned also that he “initiated” her (as she terms it) around 1998 with a special ritual conducted in Frankfurt. I have not participated in such an initiation ritual yet, however according to her description, it is a rather short ritual without the group taking part.

28Her activities in inviting and staging Oruç Güvenç and his group are exemplary for his network in Western Europe, which stretches not only into therapeutic circles, but also into other Sufi contexts (e.g. the Sufi Centre “Gayanshala” in Mannheim). A more thorough research on his activities would need to map his entire network in many different countries such as Spain, Switzerland and Austria among others. With more material, it would probably be possible to classify certain categories for his success in and adaptability to differing audiences, be it people seeking for healing, cultural practice, spiritual guidance, identity, etc.

Activities in Turkey

30Besides ‘Sufi Journeys’ organised by TÜMATA for Western and urban Turkish persons, Oruç Güvenç and his wife organise smaller tours with Turkish followers. If there is an opportunity, they stage TÜMATA for a concert in local contexts such as town halls or recreation centres. At religiously significant places, such as türbes, Oruç Güvenç not only holds concerts together with his followers but also alternatively sometimes switches into the role of an ethnographic researcher, collecting interviews with local people in order to research historic ‘healing practices’ at the locations. I assume that, besides his academic training, he follows to some extend the role of his father, who has worked for a local newspaper as a journalist and as an amateur ethnographer. (As I was told, he contributed to the establishment of the local museum in Tavşanlı or at least to parts of its collection.)

Transfer of Ritual – Examples from a “Sema Night” in Germany

33Oruç Güvenç gave a short introduction and a kind of ‘crash course’ in sema, translated from the French by his wife Azize sitting next to him. This was illustrated by one of his ‘disciples’, who showed the basic moves and postures, from ‘prostration’ (niyaz) and kissing the meydan up to how to start the whirling, with closed arms first and then unfolding, one palm up the other down, until ending the ritual dance by ‘greeting’ the ritual leader and again doing niyaz. He also advised all the participants to take part in the zikir by singing along the songs when they are not dancing. It was interesting that Azize usually translated “Allah” as ‘die Göttlichkeit’, ‘the divinity’, which is a gender-neutral expression in German. Altogether, this introductory part took around twenty minutes.

34Güvenç started the ritual proper by pronouncing the fatiha, the first surah of the Qur’an. He advised the participants to pronounce the prayer, verse by verse, by repeating his words, which most of them did. Those participants demonstrating their ‘Muslim-ness’ or being ‘overcorrect’ in mimesis towards the ritual leader additionally held their hands in the usual Muslim prayer gesture (palms up, raf’ al-yadayn) like Oruç Güvenç and his disciples did. Following the fatiha, he initiated a first kind of zikir with the repeated expression “estağfirullah”, which he calls “a mantra”. It is the common Islamic formula for repentance, pronounced rhythmically on two pitches by moving the head from right to left for several minutes. In an effective way, this zikir brought the group in a common mood of bodily and audio-visual perception. Güvenç ended this rite by pronouncing “estağfirullah” in a higher pitch.

36The hymns are by no means all classical zikir hymns or ilahis (hymns in the praise of god), let alone typical Mevleviye pieces for the sema. To the contrary, the repertoire, like in his concerts, is composed of songs in the style of classical Turkish music as well as folk songs, which are in key, mode and melody more adjustable to Western culturally modelled audio perception. However, the texts in the majority show God related, ‘religious’ topics and verses and usually are in Turkish, with occasional exceptions in German. It is noteworthy that songs with texts dominate the repertoire of Oruç Güvenç for accompanying sema dance. Actually, almost the complete TÜMATA repertoire consists of songs with vocal singing whereas more contemplative solely instrumental parts, as in other Sufi contexts (including Mevlevi), are missing. In this context, we can observe transference from other Sufi and Islamic contexts (sung zikir hymns, ilahis) into the Mevlevi sema, which then mainly is realised by the whirling, but not in other ‘traditional’ forms such as classical Mevlevi music, singing, specific instruments of the Mevlevi orchestra, or dress.

37However, even more obvious transfer processes take place when one Austrian disciple introduces German Language ilahis. Some are obviously translated from Turkish, when the style of the music remains ‘oriental’. Some are in German with a consciously pronounced Austrian accent in the style of Austrian folk songs, but having Islamic texts (with refrains such as “Allah hu” or “la ilahe illa’llah”), especially one praising the prophet Muhammad and another one for “Mevlana” (i. e. the patron of the Mevlevi order, Celaluddin Rumi). Some of these songs are completely “Western” except for the Islamic texts and the fact that they are played on an oud; however, even the oud then is played like a Western folk guitar. Despite this fact, startling to the observer, the participants continued their whirling or zikir moves without much irritation (although there is some laugh towards the unconsciously comical appearance of an Islamic Austrian folk song; mainly the organiser seems to be a little bit annoyed). To the contrary, the fact of ‘Austrian ilahis’ seems to contribute to the adaptability of the ‘strange’, ‘alien’ ritual. Generally, even ‘oriental’ songs are realised in many cases in a more ‘Westernised’ style concerning melody, intervals, and harmony, especially when ‘polyphony’ (or rather homophony, in the sense of chordal singing, versus monophony)—normally unknown to classical oriental music—is introduced, mainly by the realisation of the same melody in different pitches by different singers. In the concrete case observed, it was usually a major third interval, which is known not from classical European music but from ‘old-European’ folk music, such as Celtic music. This shows an acquaintance of some of the musicians with other musical forms related to contemporary Western esotericism. This fact enables a strong participation by people socialised into the Western musical system in the ritual by singing along ‘familiar’ melodies and keys without problems. The kind of zikir hymns often used by TÜMATA is possibly influenced by styles established by early introducers of Sufi music and Sufism into the West, mainly from Indian origin, such as Inayat Khan.

38Turkish novices might be attracted by the utilisation of standard sing-along Turkish folk songs such as “Üsküdar’a Gider İken”. Interestingly, during the ritual night a much more ‘Sufi-like’ atmosphere and ‘tuning’ is brought in by the German Turkish Sufi musician from the Mannheim Sufi Centre “Gayanshala”, when he steps in later at night with his ney and later with oud and voice. He is inter alia singing a deyiş (religious hymn, literally ‘saying’) with a text from Nesimi, a 15^th century poet, whose texts are much esteemed and sung by Anatolian Alevis. An additional transference is the introduction of a round dance style sema, which is clearly derived from recently much publicised and mediatised Anatolian Alevi ritual. It is realised with expressive breathing sounds in the rhythm of the dance steps, which is not known from standard Alevi ritual. It has to be noted that Oruç Güvenç has a mainstream Sunni background (albeit with Sufi specification) without any explicitly documented contacts to Alevi circles to my knowledge. (However, he surely is aware of the ‘Alevi revival’; there is actually—looking at this material and comparing it to modern Alevi rituals by the Alevi CEM Vakfı organisation that include Mevlevi  semas and Mevlevi dervishes—a competition over Sufi forms, especially over the Mevlevi sema. Large public Alevi cem rituals with the participation of Mevlevis dancing sema were organised by the CEM Vakfı for example in İstanbul, Ankara or Malatya during the last years.)

39In any case, it is remarkable how the group, led by Oruç Güvenç, keeps up a kind of flow the whole night. This is due to his ability to adapt and realise very different styles and modes on a variety of instruments. Additionally, he has obviously established a kind of standard repertoire and sufficient basic abilities in playing, singing and dancing within the core group of his disciples responsible for the uninterrupted conduction of the ritual event. This helps to get over the inevitable moments of tiredness and boredom during the long hours of the night. Although some participants fall asleep, there are always enough people actively participating so that no real breakup of the ritual occurs. Oruç Güvenç closes the ritual by initiating a joint “hu” and a long prayer of plea and blessing, in French, with some core terms that he leaves in Turkish, translated by his wife into German. Then, he leads the ritual community in praying the fatiha together. At the very end, he shakes hands with the musicians sitting next to him and advises them to repeat this handshake of reconciliation with all the members of the ritual community. Lastly, the organiser, who announces the communal breakfast following the ritual, gives a speech of gratitude and announces a following workshop by Oruç Güvenç. Whereas the concert had a (moderate) fee, the whirling night was free; however, donations were expected. The main income for the ‘professional’ musicians therefore possibly is the fee for workshops, usually held during the days before or after the sema rituals or a concert, where paying pupils are educated in oriental instruments and ritual dance techniques.

Conclusion

40The flexibility to react to very different circumstances and audiences in ‘Western’ as well as ‘Oriental’ contexts shows Oruç Güvenç‘s ability as a musical performer, knowing how to design a program for an event, to select appropriate pieces and to improvise; an ability also demonstrated by some of his followers. This is an interactive process, however. There are some standard core practices and canonical musical pieces in his rituals. This fact gives the somewhat individualistic and of course eclectic and syncretistic practice of Oruç Güvenç a certain continuity and establishes a tradition of a fluctuating group, centred on him and his German wife Andrea Azize.