Newsletter

Get weekly insights about our world through anthropology.

How Hearts Align in a Muslim Ritual

An important Sufi ritual brings participants together in a shared experience of trance and movement that actually synchronizes their heartbeats.

By Dimitris Xygalatas and Christopher Manoharan

15 Aug 2019

Click to open

Before the ceremony, the dervishes (Sufi devotees) eat and drink from communal tableware. Typically, they share foods such as thick soups and yogurts that coat the throat with a viscous layer of phlegm. This helps produce the deep, guttural chanting that accompanies dhikr over extended periods of time. The conversations that accompany these meals begin with simple pleasantries but often progress to matters of serious spiritual significance. Personal concerns are openly shared, with the understanding that during the dhikr devotees will invite God to confer blessings, spiritual strength, and auspicious outcomes.

As the congregation assembles in a semicircle around the shaykh, an atmosphere of anticipation is thick in the air. Most of those present have been at the lodge for several hours already; they have eaten and cleared their minds through evening prayers and ablutions. The assembly lasts for several minutes as conversations end and latecomers filter in.

Dhikr begins with slow, meditative chants that steadily give way to more energetic expressions of devotion. The repetitive, guttural chants, known as “sawing dhikr” for their likeness to the grating of a saw against wood, can be difficult to perform without sufficient practice and preparation.

Some dervishes, especially those physically near the shaykh, enter a state of ecstatic trance. Their movements become vivacious and turbulent, with hats or spectacles occasionally being loosed from their owners. An exultation of “Allah!”—both a shout and a plea—often erupts.

Roughly halfway through the ritual, a group of dervishes performs semazen, more commonly known in English as the “whirling dervish.” The whirling dervishes have become an especially iconic symbol of Turkish culture. Performers are typically slim, with pointed features and boyish faces. They begin learning the steps as children and develop a grace that produces smooth, fluid movements. In this photo, whirling dervishes hold one hand with the palm facing up toward heaven and the other facing down toward the earth.

Advanced dervishes form a ring around the shaykh for some portions of the dhikr. As the congregation chants and sings, the vibrations collectively resonate, making it hard to determine whose voice is producing which sound. This has a powerful ego-deconstructing effect. While conducting participant observation, Manoharan on some occasions believed that he had deepened his vocal range through constant dhikr practice, only to realize later that he was mistaking a nearby dervish’s voice for his own.

Our heart rate monitors showed that there was an extraordinary alignment of heart rate activity during the dhikr (right) compared to just minutes before it started (left). This chart shows how each individual’s heart rate deviates from his normal heart rate from one minute to the next (the y-axis refers to a statistical measure called standard deviation); this research has not yet been published. Physiological responses may also align during other social activities, such as playing video games. The degree of alignment is thought to be linked not just to shared physical activity, but also to shared social bonds and feelings. Next, we hope to investigate some of the factors contributing to this dramatic alignment during the dhikr, such as physical proximity to others or feelings of devotion.

Young but seasoned dervishes perform around the shaykh. Their movements, as with much of dhikr, are physically exhausting and require substantial constitution. While they are dance-like in appearance, it is sometimes considered inappropriate to refer to these and other movements in dhikr as dance. Rather, they are considered to be ritual movements.

While dhikr has a specific structure, intention is more important than strict participation. While the ritual was proceeding, this dervish told Manoharan (right) a heartfelt story of spiritual transformation. Through Sufi practice, he had glimpsed Allah through gnosis, or knowledge of the heart. A Sufi master visiting the lodge emphasized that the dhikr requires no outward action at all. The word dhikr may be primarily associated with specific ritual chants and movements, but these merely facilitate the remembrance of Allah. The true meaning of dhikr is something more ethereal. With the correct intention and maturity, the act of offering earnest spiritual testimony to a friend can be a form of dhikr.

At the end of the ritual, dervishes form an unbroken line of physical contact directly to the shaykh while reciting an especially long chant. When the leader starts to leave, the dervishes scramble to occupy space along the shaykh’s return path to his quarters, hoping to kiss his robe or graze his outstretched fingers. Such closeness to the shaykh is believed to impart desirable spiritual rewards. The ensuing melee is disorganized and intense, but bruised egos (and bodies) are usually forgiven among these de facto brothers.

While most dervishes leave the lodge immediately after the dhikr concludes, some remain to exchange stories, discuss theology, and sing songs. The dervishes pictured here educate Manoharan (center, in the white cap) about some of the subtler nuances of Sufi devotional practice. Occasionally, these conversations extend into the early morning hours. These quiet moments after the ritual are often the most effective spiritually. Gnosis is typically experienced during the ritual, but it is only afterwards that those experiences can be cross-referenced between dervishes. Dhikr is said to “polish the mirror of the heart.” As dervishes reflect upon dhikr, they also reflect their experiences onto one another.

✽

In downtown Istanbul, Turks in religious garb filter into a large, multistory building. Behind the nondescript facade lies a majestic interior, where a group of about 500 men sway their heads back and forth while uttering rough, guttural chants that sound like the grating of a saw against wood. Some enter an ecstatic state of trance. One man shouts “Allah!” in a fit of spiritual fervor, his forceful movements causing his spectacles to be thrown from his face.

Sufism is the mystical component of Islam. It is a meditative and highly devout form of Islamic worship that emphasizes a heart-based knowledge of God’s oneness: a gnosis that Sufis call marifat. Sufi mystics seek knowledge of Allah through direct experience, often mediated through rituals, music, and dreams. Their largest and most important ritual is the dhikr, translated literally as “remembrance.” The dhikr is a communal recollection of Allah’s attributes: Over the course of several hours, Sufi devotees engage in a meal, deep meditation or ecstatic trance, and sacred melodies and movements, including the whirling dervish.

Each Thursday night in the Kasımpaşa neighborhood of downtown Istanbul, a Sufi Muslim congregation called the Uşşaki order gathers for their weekly dhikr ritual, led by Shaykh Fatih Nurullah Efendi. This order (tariqa) developed during the reign of the Ottoman Empire and continues to operate in modern Turkey more than 400 years later.

As anthropologists who study religion and ritual, we had the opportunity to investigate the Uşşaki order in-depth. One of us, Christopher Manoharan, has been conducting ethnographic research with this community since 2018 and was invited to participate in the dhikr. As an experimental anthropologist, Dimitris Xygalatas took the unusual step of monitoring the participants’ heart rates with portable heart monitors discreetly worn by 20 individuals under their garments.

Sufis often refer to the dhikr as “the way of the heart”: Participants’ hearts are said to beat as one, rejoicing in remembrance of Allah. We were curious to see whether this notion would be supported by biological data.

Similar studies elsewhere have shown that those who are emotionally and socially connected may experience the alignment of physiological responses. For example, researchers have demonstrated synchronous heart rate patterns between fire-walkers and socially related spectators, as well as between romantic partners. Interestingly, Sufis at the lodge are often addressed by their shaykh as aşıklar, or “lovers.”

Our recent (not yet published) research shows that their quest to unify hearts in celebration of God does go beyond metaphor: Their hearts really do beat as one.

Sufi orders have been less visible since the foundation of the Republic of Turkey in the 1920s, largely due to government reforms that made it more difficult for them to congregate. However, Turkish Sufis in recent years have begun to abandon their reclusive inclinations and instead engage in programs of public outreach and education. Tech savvy and energetic, these contemporary Sufis strive to teach others about Sufism by broadcasting their lectures and rituals.

It was as part of this outreach that we were given access to the Uşşaki lodge in Istanbul—an exceptional honor for a pair of foreigners. We hope that by examining the Sufi approach to God and spirituality, anthropologists like us can help understand the unique qualities of Sufi practice and philosophy.

Dimitris Xygalatas

Dimitris Xygalatas is an anthropologist at the University of Connecticut, where he directs the Experimental Anthropology Lab. He has previously held positions at Princeton University, Aarhus University in Denmark, and Masaryk University in the Czech Republic, where he served as the director of the Laboratory for the Experimental Research of Religion. His research focuses on some of the things that make us human, such as ritual, sports, music, and group membership, which he studies through a combination of ethnographic and experimental methods. Xygalatas has conducted several years of ethnographic fieldwork in Southern Europe and Mauritius. He is the author of Ritual: How Seemingly Senseless Acts Make Life Worth Living and over 100 articles published in journals and volumes across several disciplines. Follow him on Twitter @xygalatas, Facebook @xygalatas, and Instagram @xygalatas.

Christopher Manoharan

Christopher Manoharan is a Ph.D. candidate in anthropology at the University of Connecticut. His research focuses on religion, musical performance, and mystical experience. His publications and conference presentations include works on Sufism, romantic love, morality, and anthropological methodology. Manoharan studied music and history at the State University of New York, New Paltz, and anthropology at Queen’s University Belfast in Northern Ireland. He is currently a graduate researcher affiliated with the Department of Islamic Arts and Music at Istanbul University in Turkey. His field research in Istanbul is supported by a Fulbright scholarship. Follow him on Instagram @chriskulivan.

Are People Projecting Racist Stereotypes Onto Squirrels?

Tackling the Impossibility—and Necessity—of Counting the World’s Languages

Gathering Firewood—and Redefining Land Stewardship—at Bears Ears

Harvest Song

How Water Insecurity Impacts Women’s Health

Unraveling a “Ghost” Neanderthal Lineage

Playing Rock, Paper, Scissors Across the Red-Blue Divide

Revisiting the Spiritual Violence of BS Jobs

The Distant Origins of a Stonehenge Stone

Do You Want to Write for SAPIENS?

People Are Not Peas—Why Genetics Education Needs an Overhaul

Archived Haints

Gaza’s Deaf Community in the Face of Genocide

Protecting Ancestral Waters Through Collaborative Stewardship

Digging Into an Ancient Apocalypse Controversy From a Hopi Perspective

The Land of Dreams

Finding Our Way Forward—by Remembering

Speaking Truth to Israel Requires More Than Academic Freedom

Payangko, or Echidna (Zaglossus attenboroughi)

Inside Amazon’s Union-Busting Tactics

Fighting for Reproductive Rights in Retirement

Can Ancient DNA Support Indigenous Histories?

Can Embracing Copies Help With Museum Restitution Cases?

Can Art Save the “Post-Apocalyptic” Salton Sea?

How Allocating Work Aided Our Evolutionary Success

Bringing Back the World’s Most Endangered Cat

The Shortcomings of Height in Politics

Griko’s Poetic Whisper

Cuando una aplicación de mensajería se convirtió en prueba de terrorismo

When a Message App Became Evidence of Terrorism

The Rise of Aunties in Pakistani Politics

For Families of Missing Loved Ones, Forensic Investigations Don’t Always Bring Closure

How Hearts Align in a Muslim Ritual