The Turkish village of Tekke, close to Elmalı, does not compete with the Mediterranean coastal city of Antalya when it comes to beach vacations and the sybaritic joys of night life. Yet it, too, is a site of summer tourism and festive activities. Every year, in July, thousands of Alevi pilgrims travel from nearby areas and as far away as Iraq and Central Asia to visit this small town tucked away in lush agricultural lands about 130 kilometers inland from Antalya. The name of the village points to its major raison dâêtre, namely the presence of a tekke:1 that is, a lodge complex that often includes the shrine of a Sufi saint, residence for dervishes, and other structures and sites used for teaching and ritual practices. This shrine-village is dedicated to the fourteenth-century pir, or spiritual leader, Abdal Musa, whose tomb is the townâs major attraction (figure 12.1). A sacred site for Alevis in Turkey, it nevertheless is often overlooked in favor of the more famous shrine complex of Hacı BektaÅ Veli (d. 1271).
The tomb of Abdal Musa belongs to a larger Alevi-BektaÅi devotional landscape that during Ottoman times included more than a hundred functioning architectural complexes stretching from eastern Europe to Central Asia (Yürekli 2012). However, the abolition of the Janissaries in 1826 and the closure of Sufi brotherhoods and tekkes in 1925 resulted in a great reduction (if not complete halt) in shrine-based pietistic practices during the late Ottoman and early Republican periods. By the 1980s, however, a political and cultural awakening of Alevi identity, known as Alevi uyanıÅı, was unfolding in Turkey, Germany, and across the diaspora (Tambar 2014, 96). Members of the Alevi community have emerged as a significant presence on the global stage since the 1990s, even despite continued anxieties related to their minority status as well as occasional violent attacks â most prominently the 1993 massacre of Alevi intellectuals at a hotel in Sivas. As they have become increasingly visible in public life, Alevis have also sponsored religious sites and practices. Among others, they have engaged in the construction and restoration of cemevis (houses of ritual assembly) and have turned their attention to the teaching and performance of ritual music and dance, above all the semah (audition). They also have supported Alevi shrines, pilgrimages, and festivities, including those devoted to Abdal Musa.
The image of this saintly figure central to Alevism â a ShiÊ¿i-inclined faith system discussed in greater detail subsequently â emerges from several threads so intertwined that it proves an impossible task to parse myth from fact (O. Köprülü 1988; M.F. Köprülü 1973). Uncertainties notwithstanding, several textual sources, especially BektaÅi hagiographical accounts (menakıb, Arabic manÄqib), relate that Abdal Musa was a successor (halife, Arabic khalÄ«fa) to the Turkic Central Asian mystic Ahmet Yesevi (d. 1166) as well as a student and relative of Hacı BektaÅ (Seyirci 1992, 22; 1991, 41). Putatively hailing from Bukhara, Abdal Musa is said to have traveled to Anatolia and participated in Sultan Orhanâs conquest of Bursa in 1326, a pivotal event that transformed the city into the Ottoman capital.2 Thereafter, Abdal Musa went on to live in Manisa and Elmalı.
The date of the tekkeâs construction in the Elmalı area is not known, although it was likely built after Abdal Musaâs death during the second half of the fourteenth century (Tanman 1988; Akçay 1972). By the sixteenth century, it became a fully functioning BektaÅi institution, benefiting from rich endowments. The earliest detailed textual description of the site is provided by Evliya Ãelebi (d. 1682) in his Seyahatname (âBook of Travelsâ). The Ottoman explorer visited the shrine complex in the 1640s, recording that Abdal Musa was buried under a stone dome covered in pine wood at the center of a long garden surrounded by a mud wall. Along with the tomb, the complex also included ritual halls (meydans), mosques, a guesthouse, bathhouse, cellar, kitchen, and residential quarters housing more than three hundred dervishes who followed traditional Sunni principles and whose duties included catering to pilgrims (Akçay 1972; Yürekli 2012, 146â7; O. Köprülü 1998, 64; Aksüt 2016, 26â8). However, after the abolition of the Janissary Corps and Sufi orders, only the tomb remained extant in 1968, at which time it was repaired by the General Directorate of Foundations (Vakıflar Genel MüdürlüÄü) and opened to visitors (Tanman 1988, 65). Today, the shrineâs key sites include Abdal Musaâs tomb, that of his cook Budala Sultan, a cemetery, several sacred wells, rock formations, and a sycamore tree to which pilgrims â most of whom are Alevi â perform devotional visitation (ziyaret) and attach votive fabrics. All other structures are now long gone, having ceded their place to the siteâs rural, rocky surrounds.
Entrance, façade and green domes of the shrine of Abdal Musa
© Christiane Gruber (2018)
This essay aims to explore the shrine complex of Abdal Musa in a holistic manner, considering the architectonic spaces at the site, the icons that appear within the saintâs tomb and that are offered for sale at booths of devotional paraphernalia, and the votive practices occurring, above all, at the trees and rocks located in the sacred complex. Along with a formal and visual analysis of buildings, images, and objects, information gleaned from textual sources as well as ethnographic work allow for a more rounded and textured approach to the subject at hand. This interdisciplinary methodology is also finessed through some insights drawn from eco-critical theory to shed new light on Alevi pilgrimsâ interactions with nature, hence re-centering the earthly environment within a larger Muslim religious landscape of belief and devotional practice.
1 Alevism: a âSpecial Kindâ of ShiÊ¿ism
Although its dervishes were not considered ShiÊ¿i by Evliya Ãelebi, the Abdal Musa complex nonetheless functioned as a BektaÅi institution within the larger orbit of ShiÊ¿ism by the middle of the seventeenth century.3 In more recent decades, both the shrineâs reopening and the politico-cultural awakening of Alevi identity have endowed the site with a more pronounced ShiÊ¿i character and visitorship. Members of the Turkish and international Alevi community in turn have expanded the siteâs sacrality through a range of social and ritual practices, the donation of icons and objects, and reverential interactions with both manmade and natural elements.
Before proceeding with an exploration of the shrine complex and its constituent elements, the two interrelated questions âWho are the Alevis?â and âWhat is Alevism?â require addressing. Considered the largest religious minority in Turkey, it is estimated that Alevis comprise 15â20 % of the countryâs population (Dressler 2008). Millions-strong and stretching across the globe, Alevis embrace a diversity of traditions and beliefs, chief among them a special devotion to the Prophet Muhammadâs son-in-law and cousin Ali (hence the appellation Alevi or Alawi, meaning âofâ or âfollowingâ Ali). For these reasons, often Alevis are classified as belonging to ShiÊ¿ism, although of a âspecial kindâ (Shankland 2012, 210â11) that is substantially different from Twelver ShiÊ¿ism. At other times, they are described as Anatolian Muslim âfolk mystics,â whose non-conformist practices â including the avoidance of prayer in mosques, the performance of mixed-gender religious rituals, and the consumption of alcohol â are today at odds with what is considered ânormativeâ or âorthodoxâ Sunni Islam (Langer and Simon 2008, 282; 286). Alevis therefore have often been described as âheterodoxâ Muslims in scholarship and in public discourse; in more conflictual contexts, they also have had to explain why they should be considered Muslims at all â a query that brims with accusations of heresy stretching back to Ottoman times (Andersen 2015).
In response to incriminations of impiety, one Alevi hymn (nefes) counters that âa real Muslim does not need a mosqueâ (halis müslümanâa mescid gerekmez; Mélikoff 1992, 69). Nowadays mosques that are imposed upon Alevi villages and neighborhoods are studiously avoided, at times even protested, especially if they are perceived as forming part of larger state-sponsored attempts to bring â even sublimate â this minority community into a larger Sunni hegemony. Mosque, minaret, Quran, and imam cast aside, Alevis believe in other necessities of the faith. In lieu of the mosque stands the cemevi, which, like a masjid, they consider a âhouse of worshipâ (ibadethane) and not, per official Turkish state parlance, a mere âhouse of cultureâ (kültür evi); and instead of tall, slender minarets, Alevi villages are dotted with tombs and trees that punctuate the skies (Shankland 2012, 210â14). As for the state-appointed imam, often âhe sits aloneâ (Andersen 2015, 62) in an empty mosque, the Alevi dede instead serving as the socio-religious leader who mediates disputes, facilitates marriages, and officiates religious rites.
The Alevisâ devotion to Ali and the imams as well as their mourning of the martyrdom of Husayn and his family members at the Battle of Karbala ensconce them in a ShiÊ¿i faith system and worldview. As noted above, however, it is a special kind of ShiÊ¿ism that synthesizes manifold religious and cultural traditions, among them Sufi and folk cultures (Shankland 2012, 217). Not just a living remnant of Turkic shamanism encrusted with readily recognized Islamic motifs, Alevism today has been described as an âinclusive universal identity grounded in egalitarian humanistic idealsâ (Dressler 2008). This flexible schema of belief leaves plenty of room for divergences and convergences, most notably the display of figural icons in sacred sites and the enactment of pious acts within various natural landscapes.
2 A Saintly Confluence: the Shrineâs Iconotextual Elements
The shrine of Abdal Musa displays a range of textual and visual elements, including inscriptions and images. The former offers statements central to the ShiÊ¿i faith while the latter includes icons of ShiÊ¿i-Sufi heroes and Turkish secularism, to which the preserved relics of the saintly pir add a numinous quality. Taken altogether, these various motifs are best described as sectarian in inflection, mystical in quality, secular in outlook, and saintly in aura â thereby crafting and reflecting the overarching cultural identity and religious tenor of the architectural complex.
The main gate to the shrine complex of Abdal Musa
© Christiane Gruber (2018)
During festival season, Alevi pilgrims arrive at the holy site, itself adorned with inscriptions, a plaque, and banners hanging above and near the shrineâs main entrance gate (figure 12.2). Texts carved in stone praise Abdal Musa and his dervish lodge, or dergah. Moreover, above the entryway, a sign (made in 2018) cites a proverb attributed to Imam Ali, advising: âDie, do not take an [unconditional] oath of allegiance; die, do not retract your confessionâ (Ãl ikrar verme, öl ikrarından dönme). This ethical maxim promotes loyalty to oneâs faith rather than to a particular political or religious figure; it also reflects a larger ethical code of conduct that is especially cherished in Alevi circles. Immediately thereafter, a temporary banner extends the mayorâs love and respect to the companions of the Prophetâs family and to the followers of Abdal Musa (Ehlibeyt YoldaÅlarına, Abdal Musa GönüldaÅlarına. Sevgi ve Saygılarımla). This statement elevates the members of the Prophet Muhammadâs household and leading figureheads of ShiÊ¿ism to a prominent place at the shrineâs threshold while also employing palpably Sufi terms to describe those who follow in their path and are one of heart with the pir.
Mural painting of Abdal Musa and Kaygusuz Sultan, flanked by a marble panel providing Abdal Musaâs genealogy
© Christiane Gruber (2018)
ShiÊ¿i-Sufi motifs carry over into the holy enclosure, where the tombâs wall facing the main entrance welcomes visitors with a large-scale mural depicting a major moment in Abdal Musaâs life and career (figure 12.3). Acting as a pictorial frontispiece to his burial spot, the scene figures the saint, sitting on the left while pointing his finger to an arrow lodged in his chest, alongside his young disciple Gaybi, looking both shocked and puzzled as he kneels on the right. The pirâs white cloak is inscribed with the query: âGaybi, look hard. Is this the arrow you shot?â (Gaybi, iyi bak. AttıÄın ok bu mu?). This exchange forms the climax of a tale that is well-known in Alevi circles, which relates that Abdal Musa one day transformed into a deer. At that time, Gaybi, the son of a local nobleman, happened to be out hunting and shot the deer, which then escaped to the saintâs dergah. The ruminant animal then metamorphosed back into Abdal Musa, and Gaybi was so taken by this miraculous changeover that he decided to join the mystical order. Upon his initiation, he was given the name Gaygusuz/Kaygusuz Abdal (âWorry-Free Mysticâ), and to this day Kaygusuz Abdal remains a much beloved Sufi author of Turkish-language prose and poetry (Karamustafa 2020, 155â158; Aksüt 2016, 32â33; Güzel 1999, 106â7; Uçar 2006, 44â45). His presence on the tombâs main wall thus celebrates a holy lineage and major miracle, in particular the saintâs animal transfiguration, itself a recurring motif in Alevi and BektaÅi hagiographical traditions.4 Inching closer to the sphere of orality, the painting also personifies the stirring poetry of Kaygusuz Abdal that the Alevi faithful recite while visiting his grave in situ.
On the left, a white marble plaque flanks the figural painting, adding a distinctly ShiÊ¿i dimension to the depiction of an otherwise mystical and miraculous encounter. Below the initiatory bismillah â âIn the name of God, the Beneficent, the Mercifulâ â appear the names of the twelve imams, starting with Ali and ending with the Mahdi, who is expected to reappear as an eschatological redeemer at the End of Time. If left unaltered, this pedigree represents the line of rightful prophetic inheritance according to Twelver ShiÊ¿ism, which is espoused most prominently in Iran and India. However, in this instance the name of Pir Abdal Musa is added as the culmination of this genealogy â his descent from the Mahdi rendered in such a synoptic manner that it eschews the burden of precise explanation. In this textual matrix, Abdal Musa thus stands tall as an Anatolian saintly figure of Alid descent.
Metal finial (Ê¿alam) showing the name of Ali written in mirror script and the bifurcated blades of his sword Dhuâl-Fiqar, atop the dome of the shrine of Abdal Musa
© Christiane Gruber (2018)
This ShiÊ¿i inflection continues to unfold on the exterior of the shrine, extending to the finial or âensignâ (Ê¿alam) capping the apex of the tombâs green dome (figure 12.4). Most likely added after the 1968 restoration campaign, this large-scale metal ornament includes the name of Ali written twice in mirror script or muthanna (Akın-Kıvanç 2020). The vertical stems of both lams in the name of Ali rise upward and transform into two bifurcated swords that carry a circular medallion inscribed with the word Allah. These blades no doubt refer to Imam Aliâs sword known as Zulfiqar (also Dhuâl-Fiqar). A motif found in a variety of Ottoman arts (Yürekli 2015), this double-pointed sword is especially prominent in ShiÊ¿i iconography, including Alevi and BektaÅi circles where it is associated with notions of spiritual chivalry (Zarcone 2015). This Ê¿alam includes the names of the twelve imams inscribed within roundels encircling Aliâs doubly scripted name. Not only do the imamsâ names recall the textual genealogy affixed to the shrineâs wall, but they also seem inspired by standards used in Twelver ShiÊ¿i Muharram processions.5 Indeed, an Indian or Iranian pierced steel example dating to the sixteenth century likewise displays a bifurcated sword at its crown as well as the names of God, Muhammad, and Ali invoked doubly within the Ê¿alamâs interior field (figure 12.5). It is possible, therefore, that this modern addition to the shrineâs dome draws inspiration from processional standards that remain in use in Iran, India, and other global ShiÊ¿i spheres today.
Ceremonial finial (Ê¿alam) used in Muharram processions. Made of pierced steel. Iran or India (sixteenth century)
© Aga Khan Museum, Toronto, AKM679
Foyer of the shrine of Abdal Musa, containing the tombs of dervishes and decorated with various posters and memorabilia pasted to the walls, window frames, and pillars
© Photograph courtesy of H. Erdem Ãıpa (2018)
Poster depicting Imam Ali on the wall in the underside of an arch in the foyer of the shrine of Abdal Musa
© Christiane Gruber (2018)
The influence of Iranian ShiÊ¿i iconography is most obvious within the tombâs interior, especially in the foyer leading to the saintâs burial chamber. There, several sarcophagi dedicated to deceased local dervishes are surmounted by a miscellany of icons. They range from the calligraphic to the pictorial, and include invocations to Ali, Turkish flags, depictions of Zulfiqar, and figural representations of Imams Ali and Husayn, Abdal Musa, and Mustafa Kemal Atatürk (d. 1938), the founding father of the Turkish Republic (figures 12.6â7).6 Tellingly, the images of Ali and Husayn, with eyes dramatically lifted to the skies, appear to be â or at least highly indebted to â modern Iranian popular posters and prints, especially those made for ritual display and procession during the month of Muharram.7 These icons help construct a modern network of ShiÊ¿i imagery across the globe. Acting as âimage vehicles,â8 these representations position Alevism within a larger ShiÊ¿i discursive matrix that openly embraces the figural mode.
While ShiÊ¿i icons of saints and heroes construct circuits of artistic exchange and identity formation across nation-state borders, the images of Atatürk remain firmly rooted in a Turkish ethno-nationalist and secularist context. Several Alevi groups embrace political laicity and minority rights; consequently, they have tended to associate with and vote for the Peopleâs Republican Party (Cumhuriyet Halk Partisi or CHP), Turkeyâs leading social democratic party. The comingling of Alevi and Kemalist images within the shrine showcases a collective identity that includes ShiÊ¿i, Sufi, secular, and Turkish nationalistic elements. These various strands are tightly woven together in one poster showing Ali and Hacı BektaÅ fusing together as if the radiant moon, from which black-and-white photographic images of Atatürk radiate outward into the starry night skies (figure 12.8). A clear combinatory logic underlies this cosmic scene that was selected as a key visual to represent an Ankara-based Alevi cultural association.
Poster depicting Ali and Abdal Musa surrounded by photographic images of Atatürk, placed between two arches in the foyer of the shrine of Abdal Musa
© Christiane Gruber (2018)
As Ãlise Massicard and Kabir Tambar note, Hacı BektaÅ is often imagined as a progressive âstate-loyal figure implicated with Turkism, especially when combined with Atatürkâ (Massicard 2003, 137). Both figures in essence embody an officially sanctioned ethno-nationalist trajectory as well as a particular âiconographic dispensationâ (Tambar 2014, 136) for Alevi identity. Within the shrine proper, Hacı BektaÅâs presence as the founder of Anatolian Alevism empowers Abdal Musaâs status as a scion of the faith in his geographically expansive position as the âWatchman of the Mediterranean Coastâ (Akdenizâin gözcüsü). Combined with Ali, this triad of charismatic figures comes together to pictorialize a ShiÊ¿i-Sufi-secular matrix of religion and state (din ve devlet) for Alevism in modern-day Turkey, with a particular rootedness in its southwestern territory.9 This religio-cultural construct does not shy away from the figural mode. To the contrary, visitors to the shrine encrust its walls with votive visual representations that serve to reify and animate the communityâs most radiant âsuperstars.â
The cenotaph of Abdal Musa enclosed by a grille and surrounded by the tombs of his mother, sister, and Kaygusuz Abdal
© Christiane Gruber (2018)
Proceeding into the burial chamber, pilgrims are confronted with various tombs, including that of Abdal Musa â a larger, elevated sarcophagus or cenotaph surrounded by a brass lattice and surmounted by a black banner â as well as those of his mother, sister, and his disciple Kaygusuz Sultan (figure 12.9).10 The tombs are covered with green fabrics that visitors rub and kiss, and a conical donations box is placed in front of the saintâs sarcophagus for those wishing to make a financial contribution for the upkeep of the shrine.11 Dating to the eighteenth or nineteenth century, the railing provides a centerpiece for pious circumambulation, touching, and osculation. It is also the object of votive donation: here, ribbons and fabrics are tied to the crisscrossing metal motifs, adding a pop of color here and there. During the summer of 2018, a white male undershirt was visible lying atop the sarcophagus; it likely was dropped from above the railing by an individual who wished to offer a token of thanks for the saintâs assistance in his daily affairs or the curing of an illness.12 Taken together, the binding of ribbons and the gifting of a shirt materialize the process of asking for intercession and giving thanks, which mark both ends of the votive exchange. This type of sacred bilateral compact is enacted through artifactual intermediaries in many religious traditions, including ShiÊ¿i Islamic ones.13
The relics of Abdal Musa on display in a glass vitrine in a corner of the main chamber of the shrine
© Christiane Gruber (2018)
Besides serving as a burial chamber, the tomb of Abdal Musa also functions as a chamber of relics. In one of its corners, several objects â labeled âsacred trustsâ (kutsal emanetler) at the tombâs entrance â are displayed in a glass vitrine with accompanying labels (figure 12.10). These effects, which belonged to Abdal Musa, include a cloak (hırka, said to have belonged to the Prophet Muhammad and on display in another case), his axe (teber), his staff of allegiance (biat deÄneÄi, said to have belonged to Imam Husayn), his wooden sword (tahta kılıç), and his black stick (kara çomak). Narrative sources particularly highlight the special powers of the black stick. For example, in Kaygusuz Abdalâs hagiography of his pirâs life and deeds, Abdal Musa is said to have collected monies from Europe (Frengistan). He would throw his çomak into the waters, which would carry it to Frengistan. There, âinfidelsâ would tie money to the stick and send it back to Abdal Musa. Everyone knew about this çomak, and it is said that anyone who intercepted it and its monies would be destroyed. Additionally, we are told that, during his travels, Abdal Musa would throw his stick to his destination ahead of time and then pick it up when he got there. One time he threw his stick all the way to Rhodes to drum up interest in his cause. He then went to Rhodes to retrieve his stick and gained new disciples as a result.14 The saintâs kara çomak was thus deemed endowed with the miraculous ability to gain funds and followers, both of which were deemed necessary to enlarge his sphere of influence in and beyond the coastal areas of southwestern Anatolia.
Besides the inscriptions, icons, and relics present at the shrine all year long, the complex truly comes to life during the yearly festival (tören). On July 19, 2018, I attended the festival, observed visitation and prayer practices, and interviewed attendees; I also visited the fair surrounding the site, which included booths selling food, drinks, and memorabilia. Much like the festival held annually at the shrine of Hacı BektaŠin August (Massicard 2003; Norton 1992), this Alevi tören is best described as a summer festival-cum-fair. It combines ritual with recreation, generating plenty of opportunities to spend time indoors and out, among family and friends, and in the saintly presence of Abdal Musa. For many Alevis, the festival is a boon and a blessing; for others, however, the creolization of sacred and mundane spheres causes concern about the transformation of Alevi religious practice into cultural entertainment (Tambar 2014, 104).
Magnets and votive kerchiefs (dilek yazmaları) offered for sale at the festival booths around the Abdal Musa shrine complex
© Christiane Gruber (2018)
Anxieties notwithstanding, the memorabilia girdling the sacred site interweave some of the major strands of Turkish Alevi identity today. Most objects for sale are relatively cheap, catering to a middle- and lower-income consumership. Most popular among them are banners, t-shirts, head caps, key chains, magnets, and votive kerchiefs (dilek yazmaları) that pilgrims wishfully tie to trees and grilles in and around the tomb of Abdal Musa (figure 12.11). The magnets capture the siteâs rich mosaic of cultural and religious influences. For instance, they display figural images of Ali, either in bust format or seated with his namesake lion (Haydar); they reproduce the shrineâs structure and its mural painting of Abdal Musa seated with Kaygusuz Abdal; and they depict a range of apotropaic devices, among them the five-digit hand (hamsa) and flowering trees covered in blue evil-eye averting beads (nazar boncuÄu).15 Besides lauding Antalya as a regional center of natural plenty, these magnets commemorate ShiÊ¿i and Sufi saintly heroes while also offering pilgrims affordable keepsakes whose protective powers multiply thanks to their proximity to and association with the Alevi holy site.
Banners and t-shirts of Ali and Atatürk on sale at the Abdal Musa shrine complex
© Christiane Gruber (2018)
Other items actively construct a ShiÊ¿i-Kemalist synthesis, which, as discussed previously, is discernible in the various icons ornamenting the shrineâs interior walls. For instance, banners and t-shirts enable their bearers and wearers to show national pride in the Turkish Republic through its crescent-moon emblem; additionally, they elevate Ali and Atatürk as icons of religion and state (figure 12.12). Not mutually exclusive, these two cynosures capture a larger Alevi belief in freedom of religion at the personal level along with the promotion of secularism in political life â the latter issue made even more pressing in light of recent Sunni-Islamist endeavors undertaken by the ruling Justice and Development Party (Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi, or AKP). Among such pressures can be counted the encroachment of a Sunni âmosque cultureâ and other attempts at bringing Alevi religious culture into a larger Sunni fold.16 Resisting such pressures, Alevis proudly carry banners and posters that invoke Ali for his help and succor (medet ya Ali!). This slogan calling upon the imam for strength and endurance in times of pain and difficulty is uttered by ShiÊ¿i devotees to boost both individual and group morale. In ShiÊ¿i spheres, it comprises a meritorious form of seeking a saintly figureâs help and intercession in oneâs worldly affairs. This oral practice places itself in direct opposition to the more trenchant Sunni view that such petitionary prayers should be classified as polytheism (shirk) and hence prohibited as disbelief (kufr). Collectively, the shrineâs structure, iconotextual elements, festive commodities, and ritual acts effectively skirt the limits of Sunni dogmatism to espouse a more dynamic and interactional kind of Islam under the aegis of the Turkish Alevi community today (Dressler 2012, 216â36). And this more âopen-endedâ Islamic praxis embraces, rather than shuns, materially enacted forms of devotion.
3 Wishing Trees and Whirling Rocks
In its rural Alevi manifestations, Islamic praxis is conceptualized and implemented in noticeably expansive and imaginative ways. Oftentimes it is riveted not just to a saint and his shrine but also to a natural environment; as a result, this type of rural Sufism has as one of its primary goals the âsettling of uninhabited landsâ (Ocak 2021, 246) The surroundings of the Abdal Musa complex offer a case in point: they are lush and green, and largely comprise agricultural lands punctuated with rocky outcrops and fresh water. These formations and resources are in turn associated with and rendered sacred via narratives associated with the saint. For example, it is said that Abdal Musa ordered a mountain to move and attack a local grandee (bey) who opposed him, that he survived an ordeal by fire, and that he made water flow by striking the ground. The latter miracle helps explain the origins of a waterfall, spring, and lake all located in Elmalıâs vicinity,17 around which devotees hike and picnic as part of their pilgrimage route to and from the shrine. This type of practiced religion in and with nature, one might argue, comes together to construct an Islamic form of ecotourism, sustaining the human spirit as it journeys through a consecrated land of plenty. It also extends devotional materiality into the ecological domain.
Many trees and rocks also are devoted to Abdal Musa in the Antalya area and beyond. Many of these serve as sites of pious visitation (ziyaret) as well as places of votive offerings (adak yerleri), expanding the religious footprint of the shrine complex well beyond its manmade walls. As a matter of course, Alevi pilgrims amble beyond the architectural complex to reach a rocky slope where a large sycamore stands tall as hundreds â even thousands â of votive fabrics attached to its trunk and branches flutter in the wind (figures 12.13â14). This sycamore tree is said to be the same age as Abdal Musa and the area around it is called Uluçınar Meydanı (The Open Space of the Great Sycamore; Åener 1991, 34).
âUluçınar Meydanıâ (âThe Open Space of the Great Sycamore Treeâ), with the sycamore of Abdal Musa adorned with thousands of votive fabrics and kerchiefs
© Christiane Gruber (2018)
Votive fabrics and kerchiefs adorning the Great Sycamore Tree of Abdal Musa
© Christiane Gruber (2018)
The meydan and its arboreal centerpiece comprise a major destination for pilgrims. Once there, they piously circumambulate the sycamore while uttering votive prayers (adak duası), whereupon they tie rags and strings to the majestic tree to symbolically âtie up the prayerâ (Tapper 1990, 248). Today, the attached items largely comprise the purpose-made votive kerchiefs (dilek yazmaları) available for sale at the temporary festival stalls erected on site. However, threads, ribbons, rags, undershirts, gloves, wet wipes, and the occasional water bottle label also appear among the mélange of offerings. In past years, this material miscellany proved less normalized (via commercial endeavors) and even more intimate: for instance, writing in 1998, Irène Mélikoff also recorded strands of human hair attached to the great sycamore tree (1998, 86). As protein exuviae, hairs metaphorically bind devotee and tree, in the process establishing a human-vegetal relational ontology predicated on mutual provision and respect.18
The votive-encrusted sycamore of Abdal Musa forms part of a larger nexus of humans acting with and through trees in both Islamic and non-Islamic lands. Starting in the vicinity of the shrine, there also exists another tree â known as âThe Poplar of the Saintâ (Eren KavaÄı) â that is considered sacred by Alevis, while, further afield, close to the city of Sivas, a grove dedicated to Abdal Musa is likewise visited by Alevis today (Aksüt 2016, 58, 61). At the âmotherâ hearth of Hacı BektaÅ, moreover, several other trees are of paramount importance to Alevi and BektaÅi devotees: for example, a mulberry is considered to bear curative properties while a medlar is thought particularly effective in addressing womenâs complaints. During the annual pilgrimage to the shrine complex, pilgrims festoon both trees with strips of cloth and clothing, themselves material instantiations of vows and requests made, or token of thanks offered, to Hacı BektaÅ Veli (Norton 1992, 191; Massicard 2003, 138). The city of Birgi (ancient Pyrgion), located in the western province of Izmir, is also stippled by a memorial tree (anıt aÄacı) that provides the center of devotional visitation to the sacred site (makam) of Seyyid Ali Sultan-Kızıldeli, another saintly figure of the BektaÅi line (Åahin 2009). These few examples among many reveal the extent to which trees â including also pine, beech, olive, fir, amber, and oleander â form an essential component of Alevi-BektaÅi devotional beliefs and practices stretching to the present day (KahyaoÄlu 2000).
A number of scholars have explored the various ways in which Alevi-BektaÅi religious traditions involve cults of nature (tabiat kültleri) â otherwise referred to as a cult of soil-and-water (yer-su kültü) â wherein trees, rocks, caves, and springs hold a preeminent place in the construction of the sacred (Eröz 1997, 73â94; Ocak 1983, 362â76). The importance accorded to these natural elements is often explained as a persistence of pre-Islamic Turkic beliefs and motifs in Muslim Sufi cultures, including Alevi-BektaÅi ones.19 While such natural elements undoubtedly have deep roots, exploring their presence as a mere âshamanistic substrate from Central Asiaâ (Mélikoff 1998, 65â66) risks diminishing their complex meanings in Islamic registers as well. More precariously perhaps, this scholarly approach may posit a tree or spring as anathema in Islam, thus inadvertently hypostatizing faith from place.
For its part, the tree cannot be tethered to one particular tradition or location. In many religious cultures across the globe, trees are believed to avert illness and evil, and to combat barrenness in women (Frese and Gray 1986, 27, 32). They may represent life or knowledge, embody the spirit of deities and ancestors, and, indeed, be closely associated with druids, shamans, and saints. In pre-Islamic Arabia, the pagan goddess al-Uzza was thought to frequent three sacred trees in Nakhla, which were cut down in early Islamic times to eradicate this âshe-devilâ (Ibn al-Kalbi 1952, 21â22). Stretching well into the eighteenth century, some tribes in the Arabian Peninsula continued to worship trees as if intercessory spirits: such was the case for a male palm tree at Bulaydat al-Fida in the Najd area, to which both men and women sacrificed camels and sheep. Sources narrate that unmarried women would visit and hug the tree, exclaiming: âO male of all males! I want a husband before the year is over!â (Noyes 2013, 68). The trunk of the male tree was thus clenched by female desire, its staunch verticality acting as an arboreal allegory for virile fertility.
As Michael Marder proposes in his philosophical study of âplant-thinking,â the tree, like man, is conceptualized as a vertical being, a kind of vegetal guardian spirit or daemon (2013, 10â11). In the human imaginary, trees â as the tallest and most upright of plant forms â suggest a higher vitality and embody life and its developmental phases of germination, birth, fruition, decay, and death. Whether we admit to it or not, âvegetal life is coextensive with a distinct subjectivity with which we might engage, and which engages with us more frequently than we imagineâ (Marder 2013, 8). When it comes to finding a place for plants in the realm of meaning-making in Islamic contexts, it thus may prove more productive to sidestep the interpretative tendency to stress that trees embody shamanistic spirits and pagan deities. Although they have indeed served in such capacities, within Islamic spheres trees likewise offer sites of meaning-making via phyto-phylic religious engagements (Marder 2013, xiii). Ergo, they cannot and must not be omitted from our frameworks of inquiry, especially those exploring materialized forms of piety.
In Islamic lands, trees regularly add an ecological pendant to saintsâ graves. There, they prove co-constitutive elements in the creation of devotional practice as it unfolds on the ground. When Muslim pilgrims visit shrines that include natural elements, they often engage in behaviors whose ultimate goal includes securing a âbalm of reliefâ (Olson 1994, 213) from illness, suffering, and pain. Rags tied to sacred trees in the Holy Land reify this type of transactional exchange, acting as a vestige of the self, a request for cure, and a token of thanks to a particular saint (Dafni 2002, 315, 321). As a grand testament to this practice, in rural Israel there exists a grove filled with rag-covered trees known in Arabic as Mother of Rags (Umm al-Sharayat), which is believed especially efficacious for matchmaking and childbirth (Dafni 2002, 320). These many bedecked trees, like the one epitomizing Abdal Musa at his shrine complex, thus bring attention to nature-oriented forms of worship, whose origins surely antedate the arrival of Islam in the Middle East.20 However, they simultaneously point in the direction of the present â to an ongoing and unbroken human bond with nature that allows for an eco-material flexing of the contours of Islam.
Indeed, the Islamic faith is malleable and capacious enough to involve devoteesâ ecological engagements, especially if these unfold in a rural context like that of Elmalı. However, an agrarian context need not be a precondition for the presence of trees and rocks as central elements in Muslim religious practice. Two examples dispel such a notion: first, the famous date palm tree in the courtyard of the Prophet Muhammadâs house-mosque in Medina and, second, the black stone (al-hajar al-aswad) lodged into the eastern corner of the Kaaba in Mecca (figure 12.15). In these two holiest of sites of Islam, both a tree and a stone take pride of place within urban architectural complexes dedicated to God and His Messenger. As for the black stone in Mecca: meteor-like in appearance, it is said to be a fragment of Godâs celestial temple on Earth, and it is for this reason that pilgrims attempt to unleash its blessings (baraka) by rubbing and kissing it as they circumambulate the cubic structure during hajj season. Despite the widespread popularity of this practice, anxieties about the continuance of pre-Islamic Arabian stone worship nonetheless press on today, in both Saudi Arabia and beyond.21
Double-page painting of Mecca and Medina from DalÄʾil al-KhayrÄt (Proofs of Good Deeds) by the fifteenth-century Moroccan Sufi, Muhammad al-Jazuli (d. 1465 in Marrakesh). In the painting of Medina (left), a date palm tree can be seen in the center of the mosque and rays of light are depicted, radiating from the Green Dome adorning the Prophet Muhammadâs grave.
© Christiane Gruber (2018)
King Kayumarth on his rocky primeval throne surrounded by members of his court. Shahnama (âBook of Kingsâ) made for Shah Tahmasp
© Christiane Gruber (2018)
Like trees, in many religious cultures, stones are conceptualized as hierophanies â that is, as concrete and visible manifestations of divinity on Earth. They are prime matter that can be used unaltered and left in situ, or else chiseled into shape and transported elsewhere. For rulers and saints, a rocky terrain may serve as a chair of honor, as can be seen in a sixteenth-century Persian painting of King Kayumarth seated on his primeval throne within a landscape filled with lush vegetation and populated by members of his court (figure 12.16). In this open-air audience scene, the monarchâs soaring cathedra and backrest â his real and symbolic bedrock â frame and reinforce a notion of kingship, which Kayumarth himself is credited with having introduced to the lands of Iran.
Abdal Musaâs rock-throne surrounded by a metal grille to which pilgrims attach votive fabrics, kerchiefs, and other objects
© Christiane Gruber (2018)
Muslim mystics and saints had symbolic thrones as well. For his part, Abdal Musa is credited with having used the rocky landscape surrounding his shrine as his own seat of honor en plein air. The spot includes what is believed to be a base and backrest; as an equally sacred spot close to the sycamore tree, this lapidary formation is surrounded by a metal grille that is encrusted with votive rags and fabrics, especially during festival season (figure 12.17). Pilgrims circumambulate this enclosure while uttering wishes, and they also enter its inner precinct to light votive candles whose melted wax run-off coats the ragged formation with a glaze that is as lustrous as it is slippery (figure 12.18). The opalescent coating emits a metallic sheen thanks to the tin containers embedded in this votive conglomerate. In addition, here the wax ex-votos involve a âheuristic of plasticityâ (Didi-Huberman 2007, 11) reminiscent of human flesh as it withers away and binds with the bedrock. This urge to fuse with the earth â to return dust to dust â is a human one; indeed, it is not particularly Islamic, ShiÊ¿i, or Alevi in character.
Abdal Musaâs rock-throne covered in the wax run-off of votive candles
© Christiane Gruber (2018)
âRocks-in-a-cradleâ are votive offerings attached to the metal grille surrounding Abdal Musaâs rock-throne
© Christiane Gruber (2018)
Today, as Alevis embark on their own via sacra up the hewed slope, they piously touch revered rocks and allegorically rivet themselves to a blessed tree. They also carry stones and pebbles with them, nestling them into cradle-like hangings tied to the grille surrounding Abdal Musaâs rock-throne (figure 12.19).22 Based on interviews I conducted at the rock-throne in the summer of 2018, it became clear that female visitors offer these votives as part of their prayerful requests for children, the diminutive stones acting as mineral surrogates for infants resting in their cribs. This practice occurs at other Alevi sacred sites in Turkey as well. For example, individuals who visit the shrine of Battal Gazi, an eighth-century Muslim mystic and warrior saint, carry âwish stonesâ (dilek taÅı) that represent their desire for children (Küçükcan 2000, 104), while, in the Balıkesir area, childless pilgrims make cradle-shaped votives out of fabric and attach them to various sacred sites, including trees (Ayhan 2000, 129). In these various Alevi contexts, the pebble appears to symbolize an embryo or fetus poised for growth. The concept of germination is even better captured by the wheat-shaped grains that are swallowed by women wishing for offspring while they visit the shrine of Hacı BektaÅ (Norton 1992, 192).
Rocks provide important hagiographical and ritual markers at these Alevi-BektaÅi shrines. They tell tales of saintly miracles, including a mysticâs ability to make mountains move and to petrify into stone. According to Evliya Ãelebi, Abdal Musa is said to have asked the nearby mountain to give up 12,000 stones for laying the ground outside of the lodge complex. He prayed to God and held hands and chanted with his dervishes; thereafter, lightning struck, and winds blew so powerfully that, upon waking up the next morning, they found that the complex had gained 3,000 feet worth of stone flooring (kaldırım) outside of it, which permitted devotees to visit the shrine without muddying their shoes during inclement weather (Seyirci 1992, 44). Hacı BektaÅ, too, is said to have made rocks come to life and stand in service (Mélikoff 2000). At his shrine, numerous stone formations are said to bear testament to his miraculous deeds, including, for example, the âHorse Rockâ (Atkaya), which moved like a horse to help the mystical saint fight off an enemy on lion-back; the âFive Stonesâ (BeÅtaÅ), which were five large boulders that cried out in support of Hacı BektaÅ and today cater to those suffering from lumbago; the âBack Rockâ (Kulunç Kaya), which likewise is believed effective against back pain and ailments; and, last but not least, the âCushion Rockâ (Minder Kaya), considered a convenient seat for anyone (Norton 1992, 191â4; Mélikoff 1998, 89â90). Whether providing a pedestal, pavement, or primeval stallion, such rock formations dotting the Alevi and BektaÅi shrine complexes of Anatolia furnish versatile prima materia to construct wondrous naturescapes redolent with thaumaturgic powers.
Returning to Elmalı, Alevi pilgrims proceed from the sycamore tree and rock-throne onward up the rocky hill to the shrine of Budala Sultan, Abdal Musaâs cook at his dergah. The position of cook was a lofty one: a member of the lodgeâs key personnel (hizmetkar), which included the conventâs manager (zaviyedar), the imam, and the baker, the cook acted as master of the kitchen tasked with ensuring proper food provisions, which in turn ensured the subsistence of dervishes and pilgrims at the site (Faroqhi 1981, 84; Ocak 2021, 247). Located 150 meters west of Abdal Musaâs shrine, Budala Sultanâs tomb is a centrally planned funerary edifice, built (recently, it appears) of cement and covered in green paint (figure 12.20). Its interior is rather unadorned: a simple space, it includes the cookâs sarcophagus, a few carpets strewn on the ground, and a handful of posters â containing ShiÊ¿i or Alevi statements and iconographies â pasted helter-skelter to the structureâs white-washed walls.
The âsacred site of the fortyâ (kırklar makamı), a round open-air area studded with rocks, adjacent to the tomb of Budala Sultan
© Christiane Gruber (2018)
Pilgrims uttering prayers and piously rubbing the rocks while circumambulating the kırklar makamı
© Christiane Gruber (2018)
The âwish stonesâ (dilek taÅı) offered to the rocks at the kırklar makamı
© Christiane Gruber (2018)
Its exterior area proves of greatest interest to visitors. Known as the âsacred site of the fortyâ (kırklar makamı), the open-air area adjacent to the tomb is demarcated by large stones arranged in a circular formation. Pilgrims perform a series of circumrotations on the outer perimeter of these stones, often with bated breath to make their wishes come true (Aksüt 2016, 54â55; Seyirci 1992, 50). Besides tying votive fabrics to a small shrub marking the beginning of the devotional roundabout, visitors also stop and rub each one of the stones; at times they also place stones or pebbles on top of them (figures 12.21â22). Alongside the cradled offerings strung at Abdal Musaâs rock-throne, these lapidary âwish stonesâ (dilek taÅı) represent an entire world of hopes and desires â of dreams uttered while ambling among trees and rocks.23
This large ring of stones is related to another miraculous tale associated with Abdal Musa. Sources narrate that Kaygusuz Abdalâs father became angry after his son joined the saintâs order. He dispatched a retinue of soldiers to the dergah, where they prepared a fire in which to burn Abdal Musa. Rather than avoid the blaze, the pir and his followers jumped into the fire and performed semah; the surrounding rocks and trees followed in their steps, extinguishing the flames. The dervishes thus were saved in a miraculous example of nature coming to the rescue (Uçar 2006, 44â45, 52; Güzel 1999, 105â6, 108; Åener 1991, 51â52). The rocks commemorate this momentous event, appearing as if petrified dervishes performing a semah in perpetuity.
A major religious and cultural component of Alevi identity, the semah is a circular, ecstatic dance performed by men and women together. Their corporeal positions and gestures imitate cranes in flight, creating a âprayer that is expressed with bodily movementsâ (Mélikoff 1998, 214) that mimic the parade of this wading and migratory bird (Zarcone 2017). Although the crane (turna) acts as an avian allegory of seasonal transhumance, it appears in Alevi hymns as a sacred bird often associated with both God and Ali (Arnaud-Demir 2002). In addition, several mystics, including those of the Yesevi and BektaÅi traditions, are said to take on gruiform qualities and/or are believed capable of metamorphosis into birds with the ability to fly.24 This transmigration of souls from human to animal also includes the deer, as was the case for Abdal Musa.
The large rocks next to Budala Sultanâs shrine in essence outline a round, open-air semahane (audition hall) for the performance of this religious dance whose origins Alevis trace to the Prophet Muhammadâs celestial ascension (miraç, Arabic miÊ¿rÄj).25 Alevi tales and poems state that, upon his celestial ascent, Muhammad joined thirty-nine saints and prophets led by Ali, a reunion that has come to be known as the âassembly,â âgathering,â and âforumâ of the forty (kırklar cemi, kırklar meclisi, and kırklar meydanı). This assembly is reenacted in the religious performance of the cem â that is, the ritual gathering â that is central to the Alevi faith. Although today both the semah and cem have taken a cultural turn as folklorized performances (Tambar 2014, 101, 104), they remain nevertheless a key component of Alevi worship and ritual. In the end, the stones that construct the âsacred site of the fortyâ (kırklar makamı) next to Budala Sultanâs shrine offer a testament and arena for the enactment of the Alevi cem, which includes hymns and poems in honor of Ali and the imams as well as elegies mourning the martyrs of the Battle of Karbala. These ShiÊ¿i motifs permeate the soundscape of the rite, the latter calcified yet energized by the wreath of pebble-piled rocks studding the geological apogee of the Abdal Musa shrine complex.
4 Alevi Eco-Islam in the Age of Man
In scholarship, Alevis often are said to be a special kind of ShiÊ¿i identity community â as âShiÊ¿i but â¦â (Dressler 2015, 447), the latter a qualifying clause stressing their purported departure from ânormativeâ thought and practice as constructed by both Sunni and ShiÊ¿i consensus. As this study has shown, Alevis indeed show a distinctive deference to Ali and nature and hence can be described with some qualifiers: in this case, as belonging to a supra-confessional form of ShiÊ¿ism that incorporates eco-material forms of devotional behavior and practice. Their practiced Islam is not mosque-centered and aniconic but rather undertaken in prayer halls and shrines packed with images and artifacts. In outdoor forums and more rural areas, Alevis also pay devotional visitation and offer votive offerings to springs, rocks, and trees, which represent the rooting and dispersal of saintly presence and power on Earth. At the very core, these environmentally rooted, pietistic acts shed light on humansâ aesthetic and spiritual enjoyment in and with nature, stripping the material world to its very essence. What is more, they are considered as falling within the acceptable parameters of the Islamic faith, itself expansive enough to include tales of trees miraculously prostrating to the Prophet Muhammad and pebbles singing his and Godâs praises (Al-Yahsubi 1991, 169â170).
Alevi posters opposing the naming of the Yavuz Sultan Bridge and supporting environmental protectionism and pluralistic democracy. Taksim Square, Istanbul
© Christiane Gruber (2013)
On the one hand, Alevi forms of geopiety have deep roots in the soil, bespeaking to an age-old, earth-oriented form of spirituality predicated on the notions of rootedness and territoriality (Tuan 1976). On the other, they also cultivate an Islamic religious terrain that is rich in possibilities for both the present and the future. Concerned with the here and now, members of the Alevi community tend to dovetail with political environmentalists by equating a lack of minority rights with the decimation of nature in Turkey today. This alignment was clearly visible during the Gezi demonstrations of 2013, at which time the Greens demonstrated against the building of a third bridge in Istanbul named after the Ottoman Sultan Selim, The Grim (Yavuz, r. 1512â20), who is infamous for having massacred Alevis. Like the newly built airport, the bridge is considered an impending environmental disaster for the city. Alevi posters depicting Imam Ali opposed the name of the third bridge while also supporting both environmental protection and a pluralistic democracy (figure 12.23). Other banners warned that âYavuz Sultan killed 40,000 Alevis. The Yavuz Sultan Bridge will kill one million treesâ (figure 12.24). These figural images and inscribed caveats uncover a larger nexus of contestation in Turkey today, in which trees are subjected to violent acts of deracination that are equated, per Alevi thought and rhetoric, to a subjugation and eradication of the countryâs religious minorities.
Banner reads âYavuz Sultan [Selim] killed 40,000 Alevis [and] the Yavuz Sultan Bridge will kill one million trees.â Taksim Square, Istanbul
© Christiane Gruber (2013)
In the age of the Anthropocene, the future of humankind hangs in the balance. Now more than ever, we are acutely aware that we are not detached from nature but entirely dependent on it for our own survival as a species. Individuals throughout the Middle East â where climate change has caused havoc via the dwindling of natural resources and the desiccation of formerly fertile lands â have been hit hard and thus have been prompted to creatively reconceptualize the Muslim faith to address pressing issues, above all preserving the Earth and thus life itself. Such conservationist urges have yielded eco-friendly movements, including âGreen Deenâ and âMuslim environmentalismâ (Abdul-Matin 2010; Gade 2019). In some areas of the Muslim world, mosques now must be outfitted (or retrofitted) with solar panels to serve as powerhouses of both raw energy and spiritual enlightenment. While these mosques will grow as an Islamic form of sacred eco-architecture, Alevis, for their part, will surely continue to return to nature â to water, trees, rocks, and the soil itself â tilling a rich eco-material terrain of belief and practice ripe for continued scholarly study.
Acknowledgments
Fieldwork research for this chapter was carried out at the shrine of Abdal Musa during summer 2018. The author wishes to thank the History of Art Department at the University of Michigan for financially supporting her research in Turkey at that time. She is also grateful to Angela Andersen for having read and provided helpful feedback on an earlier draft of the essay.
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Unless otherwise stated, transliterations and translations of non-English words in this chapter are provided from the modern Turkish.
Abdal Musaâs identity and his participation in the conquest of Bursa is the subject of debate; see Ali Aksüt (2016, 18â19).
For a discussion of the 1668â1669 dispute over the right to govern the site and its endowments, which reveals a sectarian rift, see Zeynep Yürekli (2012, 158).
On saintly metempsychosis/transmigration of souls (tanasukh/tenasuh) into animals, see Dressler (2013, 207); YaÅar Ocak (2000, 206â26); and Mélikoff (1994, 68).
On ShiÊ¿i processional standards, see Calmard and Allan (2011); Newid (2006); and DâSouza (1998).
In the seventeenth century, another inscription in the tekke carried a clear ShiÊ¿i patina through the laudation of the âpeople of the cloakâ (al-i aba). Today, the al-i aba â i. e., the five members of the Ahl al-Bayt â are depicted in a printed icon in the tombâs foyer. On the premodern inscription, see Ä°lhan Akçay (1972, 364).
For comparative Iranian posters of Ali and Husayn, see, for example, Flaskerud (2012, fig. 47) and Newid (2006, 233, fig. G16).
This term is borrowed from Aby Warburg and his theory of âimage vehiclesâ (Bilderfahrzeuge); see Michaud (2004).
On Ali and Atatürk as Alevi charismatic figures, see Mélikoff (1998, 275). However, it should be noted that today images of Atatürk are being excised from ritual display in other locales as he is not a religious figure in Alevism (Tambar 2014, 126). In summer 2018, when fieldwork was carried out for this essay, icons of Atatürk remained on display in the shrine of Abdal Musa, possibly because the cem, or ritual assembly, is not carried out within the sepulchral structure per se.
The black banner (kara sancak) is said to have belonged to the Prophet Muhammad, but the original is no longer extant; Musa Seyirci (1992, 49â50); Ramazan Uçar (2006, 56).
An inventory drawn up during the reign of Mahmud II (r. 1808â39) notes that Abdal Musaâs tomb had a stone ornament and that it included gold and silver tomb covers (türbe puÅidesi); see Suraiya Faroqhi (1981, 97).
Cemal Åener (1991, 45â46) describes how devotees visit Abdal Musaâs shrine. He reports that âit is entered by crawling on the kneesâ and that individuals circumambulate his cenotaph âwith love and respect.â Some kiss it and cry, while others rub their faces against it. Some stick their arms into a hole located at the foot end of Abdal Musaâs cenotaph and, after making a wish, they remove a bit of sacred soil (cöher), place it in a handkerchief, and tie it up. This sacred earthen substance can be eaten and is considered effective against aches and pains.
On votive objects and traditions, see Weinryb (2018; 2016); and on Iranian Shiʿi votive practices, see Gruber (2016).
Similar ways of gaining adherents are recorded for Ahmet Yesevi (Ahmad Yasawi) and other Sufi saints. For example, it is said that Ahmet Yesevi once threw a mistletoe to Anatolia. It was caught by a certain Sultan Hoca Fakih in Konya, who planted it in front of his cell. It then grew into a tree and bore fruits (Uçar 2006, 53).
For a general discussion of blue evil-eye averting beads in Turkey, see Marchese (2005, 99â125); and on the beadsâ increasing Islamization in contemporary Turkey, see Gruber (2020).
On Sunni âmosque culture,â see Angela Andersen (2015, 58); and on the 2013 failed attempt by AKP and Gülenist actors to construct a mosque-cemevi complex in Ankara, see Andersen (2019, 293â305).
See, Aksüt (2016, 33â37). The waterfall, spring, and lake are Uçarsu (âFalling Waterâ), Gelin Pınarı (âBrideâs Springâ), and YeÅilgöl (âGreen Lakeâ), respectively. For a further description of Abdal Musaâs water, milk, wine, stone, and fire miracles, see Güzel (1999).
On protein exuviae (hairs and nail clippings) in Islamic devotional practice and art, see Flood (2014, 468); and on human-vegetal relational ontology as a kind of âbinding,â see Marder (2013, 184).
For example, the juniper is considered a shamanic tree and cosmic axis; see Mélikoff (1998, 85).
In the Prophet Muhammadâs time, pagan Arabs living in Mecca had a tree called Dhat Anwat (âtree to hang things onâ), to which they attached weapons, garments, ostrich eggs, and other objects (Dafni 2002, 321).
For a discussion of the topic, see Gruber (2019). In addition to extremist calls to destroy the Kaaba and its black stone, the shrines of Muslim Uighurs, which typically consist of votive-encrusted branches, were recently razed to the ground by the Chinese government; on these shrines, see Ross (2013); and on their destruction (along with Uighur mosques), see Kuo (2019).
According to Evliya Ãelebi, already in the seventeenth century visitors to Abdal Musaâs shrine came as far as Samarqand, Bukhara, and Khurasan, carrying with them a variety of offerings, including palheng (âthick ropeâ), nefir (âwind instrument made of hornâ), keÅkül (âbeggarâs bowlâ), and sapan (âslingshotâ). See Aksüt (1972, 16; 2016, 16); Munis ArmaÄan (2009, 31); and Seyirci (1992, 43).
Pebbles are also offered at the tomb of Battal Gazi (Küçükcan 2000, 107), while a grave dedicated to Abdal Musa in the village of Emirören, close to Zile, is made of collected rocks to which nearby villagers perform their sacrifices and offerings (Seyirci 1992, 32). Relatedly, there exist eighty erected stones (dikili taÅ) called âÊ¿Abdal Musaâs Stonesâ and/or âÊ¿Abdal Musaâs Soldiersâ located in the Sivas area (Aksüt 2016, 61; Seyirci 1992, 33).
For some scholars, the bird-in-flight metamorphosis as found in Turkish Islamic mysticism retains elements of Central Asian pre-Islamic shamanism. This âremnants theory,â however, is problematic as it carries a theological bias with regards to what constitutes a normative or âorthodoxâ form of Islam, with an emphasis on the dogmatic and legalist frameworks articulated by religious elites (Dressler 2012, 213, 226).
For an in-depth discussion of the Alevi semah, see, inter alia, Erseven (1990); Erol (2010); and Tambar (2010).