The Arrival of Hinduism and Buddhism

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One of the most influential but also controversial concepts scholars use to understand this early history is the notion of Indianisation, meaning a one-sided export of culture from India towards the East via sea trade and commerce (Schulze 2015, 40–41). For a long time, Southeast Asian culture was explained by Western scholars simply as the result of India’s expansion. The so-called Indianisation of Southeast Asia was even considered to be one of India’s major legacies: Under her impact several kingdoms and temple complexes—Pagan in Burma, Angkor in Cambodia, and Borobodur in Java—came into being. And among her exports were a range of cultural systems, including writing, art, architecture, mythologies, and ritual practices as well as ideas of governance, administration, and divine kingship. As Indian rulers expanded their territories, traders and religious authorities such as Brahmins and Buddhist monks settled throughout Southeast Asia. This major impact seems to testify to the existence of a “Greater India” within the region. However, this theory is open to criticism. Is it not a one-sided perspective? What role did the people of Southeast Asia play in this process? It is perhaps more reasonable to argue that what has been referred to as Indianisation was actually a reciprocal cultural exchange, never a simple one-way movement (Kulke and Rothermund 1998, 195–206).

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In fact, Javanese shadow theatre offers an example of how Indian lore underwent some degree of Javanisation upon its arrival on the island. Both Indian epics, the Ramayana and the Mahabharata, became a central part of the Wayang Kulit repertoire: The Ramayana was adapted into Old Javanese during the reign of King Dyah Balitung (898–910), while the Mahabharata was adapted during the reign of King Dharmawangsa Teguh (991–1016).⁶ These versions, it must be stressed, were not simply copies but differed significantly from their Indian “originals” (Sears 1994).⁷ The locations, for example, were replaced with Javanese landmarks—the Indian Kingdom of Hastinapura became Ngastina, and Indraprastra became Ngamarta (Sears 1994, 97–98)—while the events reflected local history (Sears 2000, 19), politics, and heroes as well as ancient or recent kings of Java. In the process of appropriation, several of the main protagonists received different names, and some of the spellings were assimilated. Arjuna is also known as Janaka (pronounced Janoko). His elder brother Yudhistira (Skt. Yudhisthira) is primarily referred to as Puntadewa, and Bima (pronounced Bimo, Skt. Bhima) is most often identified as Werkudara or Bratasena depending on which stage he has arrived at in his life (Sudjarwo, Wiyono, and Samurai 2010).

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Throughout the centuries of rule by the Hindu-Buddhist kingdoms, local Javanese beliefs retained a place in the repertoires of Wayang Kulit. Though the largest repertoire comprises stories taken from the two great Indian epics, ancient myths such as the story of Dewi Sri, the ancestor (goddess) of rice and fertility, can also be found. Whatever name scholars choose to call this complex exchange, the result is a symbiosis and a synthesis of Indian and Indonesian cultures.

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Appropriating Hinduism not only enriched and strengthened native beliefs; it also brought political advantages to the reigning kings. The understanding of an ancestral lineage elevated their significance. By integrating Hindu ancestry into their own interpretations of the connection between the past and the present, the kings themselves became representations or incarnations of the famous heroes. To this day, popular presidents of Indonesia identify with esteemed figures such as Arjuna due to their excellent character and virtues. Indeed, identifying with a Wayang Kulit character is very common. A key aspect of Wayang Kulit performances is that by recognising themselves within the characters presented, the audience members are educated in moral conduct (Magnis-Suseno 1981, 136): “From the Wayang characters, their actions and their destinies, the Javanese read the meaning of life” (1981, 137). That is, Wayang Kulit heroes function as role models for human character.

The Arrival of Islam

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As noted above, the first Muslim kingdom was established in Java in the fourteenth century. Just two hundred years later, at the beginning of the sixteenth century, the Muslims conquered the last Hindu-Buddhist kingdom there, the Majapahit Empire. The remaining members of the Hindu kingdoms fled to Bali, where the tradition of Wayang Kulit is practised in a slightly different manner. Although Islam found its way into the Javanese palaces, it did not replace Hindu-Buddhism but rather was added to the existing belief system. The new ideas were absorbed for philosophical and political reasons by the reigning kings, now called sultans.⁸ Consequently, we argue that the concept of Islamisation, like that of Indianisation, needs to be understood as a complex process of adaptation and exchange rather than a one-way transfer of culture and its automatic, submissive acceptance (Schulze 2015, 43–51).

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During the sixteenth century, as the Muslim kingdoms took hold in Java, Wayang Kulit was recognised as a highly elaborated and entertaining medium of communication and therefore as an excellent means to spread the teachings of Islam. Consequently, it flourished (Katz-Harris 2010, 49). A new tradition was created, one that appropriated Sufi philosophical wisdom and ethics and eschewed the depiction of human forms. In turn, the aesthetics of the puppets were altered. While earlier figures likely resembled the human body, as suggested by the stone reliefs on Hindu-Buddhist temples and the Wayang Kulit puppets from Bali, Javanese Wayang Kulit figures became stylised and to some extent abstract (Angst 2007; Brandon 1970; Brinkgreve and Stuart-Fox 2013; Holt 1967; Irvine 2005; Katz-Harris 2010; Platz 1992; Psota 1993; Ulbricht 1970). When they are compared to Balinese figures, the differences are striking (see Fig. 1). According to Susanne Schröter (2021, 139), the continuation of this kind of theatre was justified with the theological argument that the puppets appear behind a screen so the audience does not see real figures but only their shadows—a technique that would not conflict with Islam’s prohibition against figural representations.

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The aesthetic changes that took place during this time also enhanced the figures’ symbolic meaning, a point that was emphasised in our exhibition. Features such as the angle of the forehead or the quality and size of the mouth and eyes convey a dense set of information. The different types of noses are categorised by name, as are the different shapes of mouths, eyes, and bodies (Mellema 1954). As will be explained below, these shapes correspond to specific character traits and signal whether a figure is honest, trustworthy, loud-mouthed, deceitful, brave, or timid. In order for the artisans to have enough room to depict all of these meaningful details, the figures’ necks were elongated, opening up the shoulder area and thereby creating unusual proportions. The noses, either pointy or round, are remarkably long, as are the shoulders and arms in comparison to the rest of the body, which looks unnatural. Interestingly, there is also a practical aspect to these over-exaggerated distortions: A pointy nose is easier to differentiate from a round, bulgy one, and longer arms enhance the possibility of fluid movement. As the famous puppeteer Ki Sukasman (1937–2009) explained, the abstract forms also improved the legibility of the characters at a greater distance (Mrázek 2005, 17). Such changes indicate that the artists were—and continue to be—motivated to perfect this performance art tradition.

European Colonial Powers and the Writing of History

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European traders reached Java at the beginning of the seventeenth century (Schulze 2015, 53–123), a period which saw the establishment of the Dutch East India Company (Vereenigde Oostindische Compagnie; hereafter VOC). The earliest traders showed no interest in the local art and culture, nor did they interfere in local politics. During the eighteenth century, however, disputes and wars of succession within the Muslim kingdoms caused the VOC to begin meddling. They invested financially in the factions that pledged to continue granting them trading privileges (Ricklefs 2018). These investments, as well as fraud within the Dutch leadership, drove the VOC into bankruptcy. By the end of that century, the VOC territories had become Dutch property, and would soon be handed over to the British during the Napoleonic wars.

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From 1811 to 1816, the former VOC territories in Java were administered by Sir Thomas Stamford Bingley Raffles (1781–1826). He was the first European to show a scholarly interest in the island’s cultural heritage and the art forms practised there. Soon he discovered the Indian influence within Javanese culture, and from this point on European scholars began studying Javanese art and culture (Scott-Kemball 1970). Raffles made the revolutionary claim that the world’s civilisations were not limited to Europe and the near East. Java became part of a new narrative that named Southeast Asia as another centre of civilisation (MacGregor 2012). However, he saw Java’s contribution mainly in its Buddhist and Hindu past and not in the Islamic period.

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In 1816, Dutch colonial rule was re-established in Java, which brought about many hardships for the people of Java. Due to the Java War (1825–1830) and their conceitedness, Dutch scholars marginalised the Muslim influence on Javanese art forms such as Wayang Kulit. Instead, they propagated the story that the “true” Javanese culture was Hindu-Buddhist (Sears 2000, 47). In both English and Dutch colonial historiography, the Buddhist and Hindu periods were highlighted as the “golden age” of Javanese history. The arrival of Islam was equated with a civilisational backslide—a typical argument in the Orientalist discourse that predominated at the time (Said 1995, 59).

Practices of Appropriation

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In the ongoing process of appropriation and reinvention, Wayang Kulit’s mythological repertoire in Java changed significantly. In its complexity, the different influences are still visible. The pantheon of ancestors in Wayang Kulit, for example, reveals how closely Javanese, Hindu-Buddhist, and Islamic ideas are entwined. In India, Vishnu, Brahma, and Shiva are conceived and interpreted as autonomous individual powers whose strengths—creation, persistence, destruction—are complementary. In Wayang Kulit, Wisnu (Skt. Vishnu) appears only as an incarnation of Kresna (Skt. Krishna); Bhatara Brahma (Bhatara being the title of an esteemed ancestor or demi-god) is one of Siwa’s (Skt. Shiva) numerous sons; and Siwa, known primarily as Bhatara Guru, is King of the Heavens—not the highest god per se but the ancestor who practises the strongest form of meditation. Siwa/Bhatara Guru’s figure has no movable arms; motionless, he sits in constant meditation with a ray of energy surrounding him. This position symbolises that he is a manifestation of great virtue. The pantheon reveals many generations preceding Bhatara Guru, all leading back to Nabi Adam as understood from the viewpoint of Islam (Sudjarwo, Wiyono, and Samurai 2010).

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Bhatara Guru has two brothers. These characters are of local Indonesian origin and do not occur in the Indian epics. Due to their mischievous behaviour, they were sent down to earth to live as servants to the noblemen and given the names Togog and Semar. Today, as several conversations during von Reumont’s field research in Java revealed, the Javanese interpret Semar as a Muslim invention. By receiving a function on earth, he builds a bridge between the invisible realm (heaven) and mankind, thereby manifesting the concept of egalitarianism. In heaven, Semar was known as Sang Huang Ismaya, who is understood to be the most revered native Javanese ancestor, the father of many heavenly or immortal sons (Moog 2013, 265). Loving, compassionate, helpful and funny, Semar is a highly esteemed figure, though he was condemned to have a most ugly physiognomy in his appearance on earth. He is respected as the wisest figure of all, exceeding even Kresna in wisdom. His role is to counsel the five Pandawa brothers—Yudhistira, Arjuna, Bima, Nakula and Sahadeva—from the Mahabharata and to help them deal with their hardships in a wise and mature manner. It is believed that without his help, the Pandawas would not have won the war. Semar’s Wayang Kulit figure displays his right hand with a pointing finger, which he constantly uses to scold the humans for their many silly failures.

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It is crucial to note that the existence of these so-called gods in heaven does not indicate a practice of polytheism.¹¹ None of them are divine beings; rather, they are ancestors who have attained immortality. They each have problems of their own and are constantly confronted with new challenges, which they are unable to solve.¹² For example, they depend on Arjuna’s help when heaven is under attack by a powerful ogre.

The “Religious” Aspects of Wayang Kulit

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Before we take a closer look at whether Wayang Kulit can or cannot be regarded as an agent of religion in Java, we need to examine how Islam is understood in Indonesia, where the vast majority of the population is Muslim. It is largely accepted that Islam in Southeast Asia differs from the Islam practised in the Middle East or on the Arabian Peninsula. Indonesian Islam, it has been argued, is by its nature tolerant and inclusive. One of the first Western anthropologists to analyse Islamic beliefs and practices in Indonesia was Clifford Geertz. In The Religion of Java, first published in 1960, he singles out three different worldviews, which he refers to as subtypes, subvariants, or subtraditions of the one all-inclusive Javanese worldview or “religion”, as the title of his book implies. This analysis was criticised by Indonesian scholars such as the anthropologist Parsudi Suparlan and the historian Taufik Abdullah (Firdausi 2006). Geertz had in fact focused his research on one particular region, and the details he describes may not apply to Java as a whole. Additionally, since local variations of social structures develop and evolve constantly, the boundaries between the different practices can be seen as fluid. Therefore, Geertz’s statements may not fully correspond to the situation that exists today. Nevertheless, his insights do have some bearing on our argument.

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Geertz characterised the first of the three subtypes as a grand syncretism, a “rich mixture of Islamic, Hindu-Buddhist, and native spirits, deities, and culture heroes… Hindu goddesses rub elbows with Islamic prophets and both of these with local [guardian spirits]; and there is little sign that any of them are surprised at the others’ presence” (1976, 40). He refers to this worldview as informal and “barely conceptualised” (1976, 127–30). The next subtype more closely resembles what we mean when we talk about Islam in Indonesia. Geertz writes, “[I]n almost every village and town in Java there was a group, often living in a separate neighbourhood, commonly made up of petty traders and richer peasants to whom Islam was no longer another mystic science among many but a unique, exclusivist, universalist religion, demanding total surrender to a distant God and dedicated to an eternal struggle against the unbeliever” (1976, 126). Geertz distinguishes these first two subtypes in terms of a concern with doctrine as opposed to ritual, absolute truth in contrast to relativism, and an emphasis on the wider community as opposed to the household unit. The third subtype he considers a gentrified variant of the Javanese religion. This variant is concerned with “etiquette, art, and mysticism” (1976, 238). The mysticism concerns the ultimate experience of oneself as a manifestation of God, an experience which is achieved through abstinence and meditation.¹³ In Javanese Wayang Kulit this phenomenon is described, for example, in a story about Bima, called “Dewa Ruci.” It is very popular and therefore performed regularly. Due to its philosophical nature, it has also received international attention (Arps 2016). Geertz distinguishes the first subtype from the third one as follows: “Mystic practices tend to turn into curing practices; a vague and abstract pantheism gives way to a vivid and concrete [animism]; a concern for individual religious experience is replaced by a concern for group religious reciprocity” (Geertz 1976, 234–35). These thoughts strongly coincide with the worldview represented by Javanese Wayang Kulit, in which characters modelling decent and moral behaviour play a decisive part in every performance.

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According to these distinctions, Wayang Kulit in Java belongs more to the gentrified type of Islam. However, just as the boundaries between these diverse Javanese worldviews are fluid, the widespread popularity of Wayang Kulit goes beyond specific groups of people or social strata. Geertz, too, realised this and therefore defined Wayang Kulit as both a classical art and as something that goes beyond a specific audience. It is part of ritualised courtly art as well as of popular culture.

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Uncertainty about the religious quality of Javanese Wayang Kulit continues to exist. It is well documented that a shadow theatre master (dhalang) initially functioned as a priest; from this original capacity he continues to follow rituals and ascetic practices such as fasting and making sacrifices, which go beyond a simple theatre performance (Pink-Wilpert 1976, 67–75). In Bali, Wayang Kulit’s ritual nature is far more evident,¹⁴ while in Java the relationship between ritual behaviour and performative practice are more ambiguous. Public performances of rituals can be understood by some people as religious acts and by others as theatrical entertainment. It seems that in Java today, attending a Wayang Kulit performance is not automatically perceived as a religious practice. Performances are attended because the audience appreciates the virtuosity, knowledge, and humour of the puppeteer, the beautiful aesthetics, the enchanting music, the philosophy, moral education and entertainment. From our European perspective, it came as a surprise to realise that most of the puppeteers, singers, musicians, and sponsors of Javanese Wayang Kulit as well as most of the individuals in the audience are Muslim and not Hindus. It therefore seems biased to categorise the telling of Indian stories as Hinduism. Using or listening to myths of Hindu origin does not transform people into Hindus.

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In the distant past, Wayang Kulit might have been seen as a ritual to protect against evil spirits and as part of ancestor worship. However, this religious aspect has almost been forgotten in contemporary Java (Horsten 1966, 165). Some voices still promote Wayang Kulit as an ideal way to propagate Islam in Java. Ferdi Arifin, for example, states that the values of Javanese Wayang Kulit are “basically in line with Islamic values” (2017, 101). He concludes, “In [the] Wayang play, tolerance, nationalism, and respecting human’s dignity are strongly emphasised in all its characters” (2017, 110). And Indrawan Jatmika explains that not only are the teaching of egalitarian values in Islam identical to the content of Javanese Wayang Kulit, but the faces of the figures were intentionally shaped like Arabic letters (Jatmika 2017, 10). Whether the identification of the puppets facial features with Arabic letters is correct or not, this kind of argumentation reveals how successful and inclusive the appropriation of Wayang Kulit by Javanese scholars, activists, politicians, and artists has been. Its content and values are seen as being in line with Islamic teaching.

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Wayang Kulit may be rejected as un-Islamic by some Muslim extremist groups, but in general, it is an uncontested and integral part of Java’s national cultural heritage, which is multi-religious and based on the principles of Pancasila. Wayang Kulit is claimed to be native to Indonesia, and to Java in particular. It is even argued that this theatre existed centuries before Hinduism reached the island. Though a substantial number of the stories are adapted from the Ramayana and the Mahabharata, they have undergone many changes. They are undeniably Indonesian.¹⁵ Although some Muslim believers seem to question this view, the large majority is not ready to give up this important part of Javanese cultural identity.

The Hidden Meanings Behind the Puppets’ Appearances

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The goal of the exhibition was to enable the audience to appreciate and study the puppets, and to go beyond their immediate aesthetic impressions. Each of the 150–250 characters within a set of puppets have an individual, recognisable appearance that expresses their character traits. Some figures can be used interchangeably to represent several people with a similar character, but these are usually less important roles: a distant cousin or uncle, a local or foreign king, and so on. To prevent misunderstandings, the puppeteer introduces all the characters that will appear in the story by name at the beginning of the performance. The protagonists, such as the five Pandawa brothers and their rivals, the Kaurawas, are well known to the audience and need no introduction. Arjuna, Semar, Kresna, and Bima, to name just a few, can be found throughout Java in advertisements, shop displays, and graphic art. To those who know them, they are easily recognisable. But there are always newcomers to Wayang Kulit; they will have heard the stories of the heroes during their childhood and need to learn what they look like as Wayang Kulit figures.

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To deepen the museum visitors’ understanding of the characters, we had to convey the moral structure and layout of a typical Wayang Kulit architecture, where there is a strict differentiation between those on the ‘left’ and those on the ‘right’. In each story the characters are divided into two opposing groups: On the left, we find the puppets who do not listen to advice and who primarily act out of selfish reasons (e.g. the Kaurawa family); on the right are the puppets who try to act wisely and righteously (e.g. the Pandawa family). Placing the figures in groups with opposing characters helps the audience understand the figures’ behaviour, the motivation behind their actions, and the consequences of their intentional or unintentional mistakes. Every performance conveys the same essential message: All actions have consequences, for oneself and for others. The viewer may suspect the Indian concept of karma, the law of cause and effect, to lie behind this message. However, from a Javanese perspective it is all about the ethics of good behaviour and fulfilling the two laws of harmony: avoiding conflict and showing respect (Magnis-Suseno 1981, 37–62). Good, harmonious behaviour is referred to as halus, which in Indonesian means “fine,” “soft,” “smooth.” Its opposite is kasar, which means “rough,” “coarse,” “unfitting” and describes disrespectful behaviour. What makes the moralising stories of Javanese Wayang Kulit interesting is that nothing is portrayed as only black or white. Rather, the terms halus and kasar are understood as a spectrum of greys, full of nuances between the extremes of excellence and stupidity (or ruthlessness). Most bad deeds are not done on purpose (as when Yudistira loses his kingdom through gambling), and very few are done with evil intent (as when Sengkuni schemes to get the Pandawa brothers killed). To act righteously is a challenge, even for those with good intentions.

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As noted above, an immense catalogue of eyes, noses, mouths, and bodies were created to express the array of different character traits, ranging from noble (halus) to coarse (kasar). Generally, those of noble character have long pointy noses, thin almond-shaped eyes, and small, elegant mouths. Figures of this character type tend to be well behaved, quiet, and calm; they focus on having good, honest thoughts and caring not only about themselves but about others as well. Those of rough character have round noses, round bulging eyes, and open mouths with big lips and exposed teeth (Fig. 4). In the Indonesian language, to have a big mouth (mulut besar) means to be rude and obnoxious. The angle of the forehead, whether it points humbly to the ground or upwards, is also significant, as is the position of the legs: Legs that are parallel and close together signal halus while those that are astride signal kasar (Fig. 3). Skin colour matters, too, whether it is gold (worth a lot, but of neutral meaning), white (sincere, pure, devoted, honest), black (concentrated energy, the ability to think first and control one’s emotions), or red (quick-tempered). The smaller the figure, the more noble his or her character. Larger figures are rougher and more likely to use brute force to resolve an argument.

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Because there is no simple and absolute distinction between good and bad in Javanese Wayang Kulit, halus and kasar appearances overlap. A figure of virtuous and noble character may also have certain traits that can be considered rough: being stubborn, holding an opinion too firmly, showing too little humility, becoming heated or angry quickly, making hasty decisions, or using force to overcome challenges. These are rough behaviours that all people can display, despite their good intentions. Similarly, a figure who is fighting for an unworthy or immoral cause may exhibit virtues such as loyalty, patience, devotion, and respect towards elders.

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Bima and his son Gatotkaca (Fig. 5) are a good example of this combination.¹⁷ Their noses and eyes are round and their bodies large, but their mouths are small and closed and their heads face downwards. Gatotkaca has a black face, while Bima often has his whole body painted black. Both Bima and Gatotkaca are deeply loyal and honest so that many Indonesians like to identify themselves with one or the other. Karna (Fig. 6), on the other hand, poses an excellent example of a noble character fighting for the wrong side. His physiognomy is almost identical to that of Kresna (Fig. 6), though Karna is slightly bigger. Both figures express a high level of virtue: small bodies, parallel legs, thin waists, pointy noses, almond-shaped eyes, smooth foreheads. But their faces are thrust forward, meaning they speak their opinion in a straightforward and frank manner, which is not particularly elegant (halus). Arjuna (Fig. 6), in contrast, bows his head down low; he also does not wear any jewellery.

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At the entrance to the exhibition space, we presented the two most important figures: Semar (Fig. 7) and the Gunungan (Fig. 8). The Gunungan does not depict humanity; rather, it symbolises the universe in all its dimensions, the four elements, natural disasters, and death. It is the most precious figure, the most expensive to create, and the only one that is painted differently on its reverse. The front shows the tree of life with many animals, reflecting the purity of nature before humans came along. The back displays red flames and sometimes the face of Kala, representing time and destruction. In this display we did not force an interpretation of a specific Hindu or Islamic worldview onto the visitor. Instead, the visual impression of these two figures, the accompanying descriptions of their symbolism, and the acoustic background music clearly opened up and revealed the enchanting, authentic honesty of these works of art. In this way, the meaningful and even philosophical character of Javanese shadow theatre became visible.

Addressing Religion in a Western Public Art Museum

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Museums that own objects with religious connotations face a challenge: how to deal with their religious significance and identities. Curators must decide, for example, whether to display nakedness or show objects that might hurt or offend some believers. There has even been an interesting and far-reaching discussion as to whether museums may be perceived as “holy shrines” that orchestrate certain degrees of sacredness when displaying these kinds of objects (Beltz 2013, 2019; Bräunlein 2008; Klassen 2017). Among the most difficult tasks is how to explain the multiple significations and meanings that such objects have accrued across time and space. The museum as an institution is widely respected as a source of a truthful, neutral, academically sound, and well-balanced scholarship and expertise.¹⁸ As a public art museum, the Museum Rietberg in particular enjoys the trust of its audiences and therefore assumes the responsibility of providing simple and correct answers to complex questions. Curating thus involves translating complex realities into simpler, consumable formats and illustrating contradictory histories through selected and meaningful objects. But how do curators communicate nuances, multifaceted socio-cultural developments, or fluid concepts to an audience that has neither the time nor the interest in reading long and highly academic narratives?

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For the Rietberg’s exhibition on Javanese Wayang Kulit, we considered it important to address the following questions: Can this shadow theatre be labelled as Hindu or Muslim? How have the characters, many of which originated from a Hindu source, developed under the influence of Indonesian Islam? How do we describe this art form without imposing incorrect religious contours or promoting fundamentalist identities? We decided to use film as a medium of communication. We therefore produced several videos (published on the museum’s website) to inform our audiences throughout the entire period of the exhibition.¹⁹ To start off, we invited Professor Susanne Schröter, director of the Frankfurt Research Centre on Global Islam, to talk about the blending of Hindu and local religious currents with Islam on the island of Java (Museum Rietberg Zürich 2020).

Giving Voice to Contemporary Javanese Stakeholders

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We then contacted Martha Setyowati of Surakarta, Central Java, to produce a series of short films.²⁰ Women and men of all ages were to have their say, as well as puppeteers, musicians, and audience members. The series aimed to find out why Wayang Kulit is still so popular in Java today, why it is part of everyday culture, and why it is constantly evolving. The first film focuses on the most important person in a theatre performance: the dhalang, or shadow theatre master (Setyowati 2020a). It showcases Ki Catur Benyek Kuncoro, who is internationally renowned for his creation of a contemporary Wayang Hip Hop repertoire (Varela 2014). In the second film, young Indonesians are interviewed about their personal relationship to Wayang Kulit (Setyowati 2020b). The third film introduces two shadow theatre masters of the younger generation who share their personal views on Wayang Kulit (Setyowati 2020c). The fourth and last film examines the art of creating the hand-crafted and decorated figures (Setyowati 2020d).

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Our most significant source of input on the religious questions is the second film, in which young adults from Java speak openly about their thoughts on the relationship between Wayang Kulit and Islam. These interviews demonstrate first-hand that young Muslims consider Wayang Kulit to be an integral part of their cultural and religious identity. Yogi Pradana (age 28, entrepreneur), for example, said that Wayang Kulit is part of Java’s history and therefore of his own history: “If we look back at history, it shows that the Wayang that exists today emerged in the post-Hindu period. So, the form of the puppet figure and the stories developed specifically after the Majapahit Era. That is what the experts say, and I agree with them. We must note that Wayang was modified by the Wali, the Nine Saints who spread Islamic teachings in Java [during the fifteenth century]” (Setyowati 2020b). Yogi Pradana sees no contradiction between Javanese Wayang Kulit and Islam since the teachings of the latter are integrated. Aldhi Wayhu Pratama (age 23, recent college graduate), too, states that “Wayang was used as a medium to spread Islam in Java.” While acknowledging that “in Islamic belief, if you depict a living creature, you basically create a living creature,” he argues that “if we take a look at the puppet, the shape is totally different to human morphology. The bodies are disproportional and mostly have long arms” (Setyowati 2020b). Statements like these are very common. From a Muslim point of view, it is important to declare that the figures used in Javanese Wayang Kulit are artistic creations and do not resemble the human form. They merely refer to humans on a strictly symbolic level.

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Following this line of thought, Imam Prakoso (age 28, postgraduate student in linguistics) underscores that “[W]e should keep in mind that Wayang was once used as a medium to spread Islam[ic] teachings.” He further explains: “Islam itself explicitly never teaches Wayang. [In fact,] Wayang is excluded from Islam-based doctrine values. [. . .] So, when some people think that Wayang is considered as idolatry, I guess this is just a misinterpretation. Because we never worship Wayang [figures], or put Wayang and God in the same position” (Setyowati 2020b). These words make perfectly clear that Javanese Wayang Kulit plays no part in idol worship or polytheism, which are great sins in Islam. No one worships the figures, nor does anyone consider them divine. In other words, people who appreciate Wayang Kulit cannot be called sinners because they neither adore nor worship the puppets. Wayang Kulit is human theatre and not service of the divine. Imam Prakoso is not alone in this judgement. Arum Ngesti Palupi (age 29, writer) confirms: “I do not think Wayang is idolatry in Islam. Because Wayang is part of [Indonesia’s] culture. I think it’s unwise if then Wayang [is] associated with someone’s faith. Because faith is [a] personal relationship with God” (Setyowati 2020b). In the same interview, the speaker made the following remark (not captured in the film): “It is unwise to mix these two entities without seeing the historical perspective.” Wayang Kulit is celebrated by these young Indonesians as a form of art and culture, and not as a religious belief or practice.²¹

Leaving Javanese Wayang Kulit Religiously Unlabled

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Javanese Wayang Kulit’s significance clearly surpasses religious boundaries or ritual behaviour. We should perceive this theatre tradition as a performative practice that is not automatically associated with any particular religion. At the core of this art form are its entertainment value and artistic dimensions—the immense knowledge of the dhalang, the delightful voices of the singers, the enchanting sounds of the Gamelan orchestra, and much more—not the religious content.²² Over time, Javanese Wayang Kulit became accepted as a cultural practice with no immediate or exclusive religious connotation. Today it is even a source of social capital: Politicians identify purposely with mythical heroes like Bima (MacGregor 2012, 623). It also provides a platform to criticise politicians, corruption, or bad politics. Even those Javanese who do not care much about Wayang Kulit continue to refer to it as a form of entertainment that is “uniquely meaningful or, as they put it, ‘full’” (Keeler 1987, 14).

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It is worth noting that the shadow theatre tradition in Thailand, known as Nang Talung, is also not perceived as something Hindu or Buddhist, or even pre-Buddhist. There, the Ramayana has become the Ramakian, today an essential part of Thailand’s national culture (Noack 2015, 86; Krämer 2015, 128). The same perception applies in other geographic regions. Shadow theatre, as a storytelling tradition, has been performed in cosmopolitan and multi-religious Turkey and Egypt for centuries. As Nina Frankenhauser and Annette Krämer explain, Arabic shadow theatre is appreciated above all as a fantastic form of entertainment. People love to watch stories about villains, sex, and crime that feature jokes, heroic fights, battle scenes, and even critiques of society and politics. Love and spicy eroticism, with even homoerotic or lewd connotations, make these performances so popular (Frankenhauser and Krämer 2015, 21). The fact that this performance art involves human-like figures does not seem to have caused problems in these Muslim societies. This theatre was popular in the Ottoman and Turkish empires and was tolerated in Islamic teaching (Frankenhauser and Krämer 2015; Guenther 2015; Immoos 1979).

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With all this in mind, we considered it important to present Javanese Wayang Kulit in our exhibition as neither Hindu nor Muslim in its nature or origin. Javanese Wayang Kulit is above all Javanese, just as Balinese Wayang Kulit is above all Balinese. Our decision to leave the objects religiously unlabelled corresponds to the logic of the Javanese people themselves. After all, the tradition and its symbolic systems reflect the individuals who enact and give life to them.

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Exploring religious categories in the context of Javanese Wayang Kulit caused us to reflect on our own perceptions. The labels ‘Hindu’ and ‘Muslim’ have traditionally been used in museums to imply conflict or to uphold differences among seemingly clearly distinguishable faith-based communities. However, these are modern preoccupations that may undermine modes of cooperation and even unity. They ignore the fact that both groups might peacefully coexist. It was our ambition to allow visitors to our exhibition to go beyond these categories during their exploration of the manifold dynamics and contexts in which Javanese Wayang Kulit exists.