Islam, Migration and Jinn Spiritual Medicine in Muslim Health Management

THE MODERN MUSLIM WORLD
Islam, Migration and Jinn

Spiritual Medicine in
Muslim Health Management
Edited by
Annabelle Böttcher
Birgit Krawietz
The Modern Muslim World
Series Editor
Dietrich Jung
Centre for Contemporary Middle East Studies
University of Southern Denmark
Odense, Denmark
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Annabelle Böttcher · Birgit Krawietz
Editors
Islam, Migration
and Jinn
Spiritual Medicine in Muslim Health Management
Editors
Annabelle Böttcher Birgit Krawietz
Syddansk Universitet Institut für Islamwissenschaft
Center for Modern Middle East Freie Universität Berlin
and Muslim Studies Berlin, Germany
Odense, Denmark
The Modern Muslim World

ISBN 978-3-030-61246-7 ISBN 978-3-030-61247-4 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-61247-4
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Contents
1 Introduction 1
Annabelle Böttcher and Birgit Krawietz
2 Demonic Beings: The Friends and Foes of Humans 17

Tobias Nünlist
3 Tipping the Scales Toward an Islamic Spiritual

Medicine: Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyya on Jinn
and Epilepsy 45
Felix Wessel
4 The Physical Reality of Jinn Possession According

to Commentaries on the Quran (2:275) 65
Mudhi al-Shimmari
5 Battered Love in Contemporary Syria: Shi‘i Spiritual

Healing with Abu Ahmad 77
Edith Szanto
6 Ruqya and the Olive Branch: A Bricoleur Healer

Between Catalonia and Morocco 99
Josep Lluís Mateo Dieste
v
vi CONTENTS
7 Healing, Agency, and Life Crisis Among British

Pakistani Ruqya Patients 121
Andreas Gadeberg Nielsen
8 Contextualising Female Jinn Possession in Sexual

Trauma 151
Birte Spreckelsen
9 Jinn and Mental Suffering by Migrants in Europe:

A Review of Literature 163
Sophie Bärtlein and Nina Nissen
10 Jinn Beliefs in Western Psychiatry: A Study of Three

Cases from a Psychiatric and Cultural Perspective 185
Maria Galsgaard
11 Jinn Among Muslim Captives in Guantanamo

and the “Global War on Terrorism” 215
Annabelle Böttcher
Index 241
Contributors
Mudhi al-Shimmari Center for Dawa and Irshad, Ministry of Islamic

Affairs, Riyadh, Saudi Arabia
Sophie Bärtlein Institute for Islamic Studies, Freie Universität Berlin,
Berlin, Germany
Annabelle Böttcher Syddansk Universitet, Center for Modern Middle
East and Muslim Studies, Odense, Denmark
Maria Galsgaard Competence Centre for Transcultural Psychiatry,
Psychiatric Centre Ballerup, Ballerup, Denmark
Birgit Krawietz Institut für Islamwissenschaft, Freie Universität Berlin,
Berlin, Germany
Josep Lluís Mateo Dieste Departament d’Antropologia Social i
Cultural, Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona, Bellaterra, Spain
Andreas Gadeberg Nielsen Aarhus, Denmark
Nina Nissen REHPA—Danish Knowledge Centre for Rehabilitation
and Palliative Care, Region of Southern Denmark and University of
Southern Denmark, Odense, Denmark
Tobias Nünlist Asien-Orient Institut, Universität Zürich, Zurich,
Switzerland
vii
viii CONTRIBUTORS
Birte Spreckelsen Institute for Islamic Studies, Freie Universität Berlin,

Berlin, Germany
Edith Szanto Department of Religious Studies, The University of
Alabama, Tuscaloosa, AL, USA
Felix Wessel Institute for Islamic Studies, Freie Universität Berlin,
Berlin, Germany
List of Tables
Table 9.1 Included literature 167

Table 10.1 Patients’ attribution of phenomena to spirits 197
Table 10.2 Anthropological and psychiatric findings 201
ix
CHAPTER 1
Introduction
Annabelle Böttcher and Birgit Krawietz
Jinn are an established part of the Islamic religious and cultural heritage.
However, their ontology, characteristics, and effects are much disputed.
First Oriental Studies and later Islamic Studies—in other academic
settings, also Near and Middle Eastern Studies—and other disciplines
such as anthropology and transcultural psychiatry have been involved
in analyzing this complex and multifaceted phenomenon. As highly
mobile spiritual beings, but nota bene not mere ghosts, jinn unfold rele-
vance in a myriad of settings and have evoked an enormous amount of
research literature. However, they have hardly been studied in a system-
atic manner within a globalized world in relation to psychological and
physical challenges. That is what this edited volume is about.
On a personal level, jinn have marked the editors’ life trajectories and
experiences feeding into decades of research and discussions about various
A. Böttcher (B)
Syddansk Universitet, Center for Modern Middle East and Muslim Studies,
Odense, Denmark
e-mail: bottcher@sdu.dk
B. Krawietz
Institut für Islamwissenschaft, Freie Universität Berlin, Berlin, Germany
e-mail: birgit.krawietz@fu-berlin.de
© The Author(s) 2021 1

A. Böttcher and B. Krawietz (eds.), Islam, Migration and Jinn,
The Modern Muslim World,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-61247-4_1
2 A. BÖTTCHER AND B. KRAWIETZ
aspects of this phenomenon. Annabelle Böttcher first encountered jinn in

Syria in 1989 during Arabic language studies, when the deeply religious
Sunni environment in Damascus taught her how to integrate them into
the routines of daily life. These (spi)ritual instructions about cohabita-
tion with the world of the unseen (al-ghayb) continued throughout the
years of her Ph.D. and postdoctoral research in Sunni and Shiite global
networks in Lebanon, Syria, the USA, and Germany, where jinn were also
part of many Muslims’ everyday life. Later, as a delegate in the Interna-
tional Committee of the Red Cross, she monitored internment camps,
and places of detention all over the Middle East and met numerous
internees, captives, and detainees who felt afflicted by jinn affecting their
(mental) health to various degrees. In contrast to that, the encounters
of the co-editor and scholar of likewise non-devotional Islamic Studies
Birgit Krawietz with jinn have been restricted to the academic sphere.
They occurred during her ventures into Islamic demonology and spiritual
health based on Arabic sources, which she also read and discussed with her
university students. The public talks she gave on the topic often met with
skepticism if not alienation from parts of the predominantly non-Muslim
“Western” audience.
In May 2018, Annabelle Böttcher and her colleague Morten Sode-
mann, a Professor of Public Health and the Director of the Migrant
Clinic at Odense University Hospital, organized an academic workshop
on “Jinn, Health and the Muslim Body” at the then Center for Contem-
porary Middle East Studies at the University of Southern Denmark
(SDU) in Odense, Denmark. The objective was to better understand
the phenomena of Muslim migrants and refugees, their mental health,
and the role of jinn. The vibrant discussions unfolding among repre-
sentatives of various academic disciplines such as Sharia Studies, Islamic
Studies, Medical, Social, and Cultural Anthropology, and Psychology
from different geographic and cultural origins and migratory experi-
ences displayed the complex and controversial nature of this topic. In
the context of the workshop, controversies also arose among Muslim
academics and Muslim health professionals residing in Europe about the
value of studying jinn as an academic topic. There were concerns about
the negative image of Muslims living in Muslim-minority countries, since
jinn belief was often associated with the backwardness of Muslim culture
and society, as mentioned by Dein et al. (2008, 46). The endeavor to
dissociate oneself from what is often considered atavistic is a widespread
1 INTRODUCTION 3
narrative among Muslim health professionals, who usually feel uncomfort-

able and ill-equipped when having to deal with jinn affliction in clinical
settings. In addition, Muslim religious scholars and mosque personnel
ardently debated the impact of jinn affliction on human bodies, reflecting
the politico-religious narratives of their countries of origin.
This is only a vague echo of the controversies occurring in the so-called
global Islamic world expressed in local practices that are not yet suffi-
ciently monitored and put in political perspective. Dietrich Jung, director
of the Center for Modern Middle East and Muslim Studies at SDU, has
been exploring the various levels of local and global Muslim subjectivities
in a number of publications (Jung and Sinclair 2015; Jung 2017; Jung
and Stetter 2019).
Kruk (2011), for instance, highlighted jinn as an “obvious battle
ground for the advocates of a purer Islam” due to the impact of Salafi
Islam. Hence, an increasing number of publications are raising the ques-
tion of delineating between black and white magic anew and fiercely
criticizing quacks. Saudi Arabia is a particularly fascinating example of
the instrumentalization of religion in politics. The Saudi legal system
witnessed repeated cases with charges of witchcraft, recourse to jinn,
and other related practices, such as the case of the Egyptian pharma-
cist Mustafa Ibrahim in 2007 and the Lebanese TV personality Ali
Hussain Sibat in 2010, as well as several cases involving Asian house-
maids in 2013. Some of them even led to the declaration of a death
sentence (Jacobs 2013). The Saudi Committee for the Prevention of Vice
offers anti-witchcraft training workshops to investigate black magic crimes
(Perlmutter 2013).
The Saudi Arabian scholar Mudhi al-Shimmari felt inspired by his
collaboration with the editors of this volume and organized a conference
on mental health and faith for the Institute for Imams and Preachers
in the Saudi Ministry of Islamic Affairs and Islamic Preaching and
Guidance in Riyad in December 2019. After intense debates, mental
health professionals and mosque personnel agreed that more cooperation
between biomedically and Islamically trained professionals would be most
beneficial for the afflicted individuals.
Under the conditions of enhanced global flows, the research on jinn
has to be updated. Jinn are said to have the potential to activate subjective
borders and social transformations and to shape processes of transi-
tion and exchanges resulting from worldwide processes of migration.
Their assumed material makeup and swift reactions give them limitless
capacity to cross time and space, so that jinn tend to visualize and enact
personal and collective anxieties to which the afflicted feel obliged to
respond. They provide an important lens in health- and stability-seeking
behavior and lend their voices to the unspoken or oppressed, especially
in asymmetrical gender relations (Strasser 2006). As cultural signifiers,
they function as agents of moral boundary transgression and as gate-
keepers of discursive terrains (Fartacek 2005). Hence, the flexibility and
elasticity of their fluid conceptual design makes them ideal brokers of
a worldview that struggles with notably biomedical and psychological
trajectories. Thus, jinn challenge the radical separation between body
and mind with the mind powerfully directing the body, and they express
subjectivities of pain that, to a lesser degree, are based on the credo
of the powerful individual. Jinn constitute a challenge among Muslims
globally, because there is a—dogmatically induced—widespread “con-
sensus” among Muslim theologians that jinn always share spaces with
humans, nosing around them and intervening in various ways. When
human beings move, they are followed by all sorts of jinn. However, it is
self-evident that the degree of individual Muslims’ awareness of the exis-
tence of jinn and that their strategies of managing this perpetual source
of threats depend on varying factors, such as (the degree of their religious
Islamic and other) education, their social environment, their political
and personal situation, their financial capacities, their gender, and their
physical and mental health.
Unfortunately, much of what has already been published does not
keep track of the manifold historical entanglements and cultural cross-
pollinations. The idea of “great” and “little” traditions was introduced by
the American anthropologist Robert Redfield in the middle of the twen-
tieth century and was widely embraced for all sorts of cultural settings;
the importance of such local appropriations with regard to Islam was
especially highlighted by a number of anthropologists who, however,
purported different ideas about their exact relationship (Lukens-Bull
1999). In either case, the strong connection with the great tradition set
by Quran (commentary) and Sunna needs to be taken more thoroughly
into account to explain the relevance, pervasiveness, and modified config-
urations of the belief in jinn. These creatures are in no way a marginal,
but a rather widespread, demanding, and elusive phenomenon that has
often not been taken seriously enough or that was interpreted with one
particular local or regional focus only. To understand recent cases of
jinn affliction and migration, it is first necessary to be aware of their
1 INTRODUCTION 5
multilayered historical roles over 14 centuries and the variety of their

functions.
In his book about “world society” (Die Weltgesellschaft 2000, 42),
the German sociologist Rudolf Stichweh (b. 1951) reminds us that many
societies have been ambiguous about what kind of creatures is perceived
as addresses of communication: ghosts, animals, ancestors, and many
other candidates. Such kinds of worldviews cannot simply be discarded
as anachronistic and meanwhile completely obsolete, as the selection
about jinn encroachments and their impact on human health presented
here shows. Yet, how to approach this phenomenon that is so strongly
embedded in Islamic tradition and its manifold lifeworlds up to this day
without making shortsighted erroneous assumptions is quite a challenge.
We should not equate jinn, the demons or spirits of Islam, with those
of the Bible or Greek mythology. It is also an ongoing challenge not to
fall into the trap of Orientalism—to invoke the influential programmatic
book Edward Said published in 1978. Thus, we neither want to present
jinn as an expression of the enigmatic, dangerous, and atavistic Orient
nor as the droll figures appearing in A Thousand and One Nights.
To deal with jinn in an encompassing manner, the following perspec-
tives that have been treated in secondary literature would need to be
considered: Jinn as widespread, already pre-Islamic entities; their presence
in the Bible and hence a topic of (Comparative) Religious Studies, history,
and the range of magical practices; prophetology (notably King Solomon
and the Queen of Sheba); Ancient Greek and later humoralism and its
influence on what is called Prophetic medicine; presence in old Arabic
poetry; jinn as source of inspiration for poets; cosmography; and jinn
as objects and subjects of Islamic jurisprudence, Folklore Studies, Media
Studies, Islamic popular and consumer culture, Gender Studies, diverse
anthropological approaches, especially medical anthropology, and tran-
scultural psychiatry. To roughly map the broad research landscape, a large
number of French and German publications would need to be included
that are often ignored in Jinnology. The same applies to Arabic, Persian,
Turkish, Urdu, and other publications that cannot always be perceived
as merely primary sources, but also offer secondary literature with all
sorts of further insights. However, the agenda listed above alone indi-
cates that it is beyond the scope of this short introduction to do justice
to the manifold strands of academic writings on jinn, let alone to delin-
eate the merits of individual contributions. For an overview of several of
the aforementioned approaches, the reader is advised to consult Nünlist’s
(2015) German-language monograph about jinn that assembles Arabic

and Persian sources up to the beginning of the sixteenth century CE
and a huge amount of secondary literature—or to turn to his condensed
English summary in the beginning of this volume.
However, a number of explicitly health-related publications have paved
the way for the workshop and this edited volume, namely an encom-
passing historical study of the concept(s) of madness (Dols 1992); love as
madness as an important topic in poetry (Khairallah 1980); Islamic (faith)
healing, Prophetic medicine, and ruqya practices (Habeeb 2003; Perho
1995; Sündermann 2006); amulets as a protection against jinn affliction
(Hentschel 1997; Kriss and Kriss-Heinrich 1960–1962; Littlewood and
Dein 2013); modern mediatization of trance practices (Zillinger 2011);
gender studies in Muslim patriarchal societies (Rothenberg 2004); migra-
tion studies (Gerritsen et al. 2016; Rytter 2014), which are closely related
to forced migration studies and war (Sar et al. 2007) and transcultural
psychiatry (Guzder 2007; Islam et al. 2015; Johnsdotter et al. 2011; Khan
and Sanober 2016; Kuittinnen et al. 2017; Lim et al. 2015); ethnopsychi-
atry (Ascoli et al. 2014; Bragazzi and Del Puente 2012); and other health
sciences (Hassan et al. 2016).
Jinn have been a particularly popular topic in cultural, visual, and
medical anthropology dealing with the interface of Islamic culture, belief
in jinn, mental health, and healing, but usually focused on ethno-religious
group of Muslims in a specific geographic location. Dein, a British psychi-
atrist, described a number of cases of jinn possession of Muslim patients
in transcultural psychiatry in England (Dein et al. 2008, Dein and Little-
wood 2013). Suhr, a visual anthropologist, documented transcultural
psychiatry in Denmark, among other things, in his movie “Descending
with Angels,” which is part of his PhD thesis and other publications (Suhr
2013, 2015, 2019). One recent publication by Pandolfo (2018) focuses
on an ethnographic journey drawing on in-depth historical research and
testimonies from contemporary patients and therapists in Morocco. It
combines psychoanalysis and a first introduction to Islamic theological-
medical reasoning by an American medical practitioner and medical
anthropologist. Another interesting book addressing various aspects of
mental disorders in Islamic culture is Rassool (2018), with a faith-based
Salafi account of the Evil Eye and the problem of spirit possession, though
scolding the notion of “witchcraft.” The scope of this edited volume is
much broader inasmuch as it presents jinn as markers for the complexity
of often painful negotiation processes that male and female Muslims are
1 INTRODUCTION 7
involved in their quest for well-being in a globalized world of shifting

landscapes. Affordable portable communication devices and access to
social media and communication tools such as WhatsApp, Skype, and
Twitter are vital components of these shifts (Rothenberg 2011).
The contributions in this volume reveal a myopic rigidity of biomed-
ically trained (Muslim and non-Muslim) health professionals when they
take up the challenge of mental illness and demonic affliction. Their lack
of adjusted training and creative improvisation leave them insufficiently
equipped in an increasingly complex world with shifting borders allowing
for multiplied cultural influences and conceptualizations of health and
illness. Here, the overlap among stress, PTSD, and jinn is to be noted.
This problem is exacerbated by manifold forms of increased migration
with a wide range of forced and voluntary movements of populations
related to neoliberal economic globalization, climate change, war, and
conflict-related violence, the most extreme being the rendition of Muslim
detainees during the US-led Global War on Terrorism since 2003, as well
as the largest refugee and internal displacements in our time caused by
the Syrian war since 2011.
Individuals from diverse religious, ethnic, and socioeconomic back-
grounds and with different life stories and aspirations bring with them
all sorts of personal memories, biomedical experiences, emotional affini-
ties, and fragments of knowledge about traditional Arabic and Islamic
medicine. Those with experience in armed conflicts have lived through
emotional, relational, and material losses. The number of those tortured
and raped, especially by the Syrian regime, is not known (Leigh 2014).
The social fabric of society and families is disrupted, causing feelings of
alienation, idealization of the lost home(land), and a search for a new
identity. Discrimination against Muslims and refugees often contributes to
stress and may exacerbate preexisting mental disorders. Emotional mani-
festations include a wide range of cognitive, physical, behavioral, and
social problems, including the use of alcohol and (synthetic) drugs such as
fenethylline (Captagon) and conflating symptoms of posttraumatic stress
disorder (PTSD) or clinical depression with distress.
Muslims, even those from economically underdeveloped areas with
little exposure to biomedical infrastructure and philosophy, usually
approve of sophisticated biomedical services and health professionals. This
also applies to Muslim faith healers and Muslim scholars of Islam. This
curious coexistence of Islamic faith healing with biomedical approaches
has not been sufficiently addressed by the biomedical disciplines, except
intercultural psychiatry. The increased discursive employment of jinn

narratives and healing practices reveals certain deficiencies, lack of time,
and personal dedication, if not the arrogance of biomedical health care
systems. Anticipating a lack of respect and often confronted with commu-
nication barriers from biomedical (Muslim and non-Muslim) health
professionals in dealing with faith-based phenomena, Muslims, especially
those consulting biomedical services in Muslim-minority countries, tend
to hesitate to share their concerns and anxieties about jinn. Apart from
a lack of mutual familiarity with mental health terminology and concepts
for an accurate assessment (Hassan et al. 2016, 134), some patients fear
that they will be perceived as insane, backward, and uneducated if they
elaborate their concerns about jinn. It is high time to create and offer
jinn-sensitive bioethics and psychology on a wider scale.
This edited volume assembles chapters based on Arabic and other
sources (pre-modern and modern), as well as empirical data on demons,
jinn affliction, and health or psychological care in Islamic contexts in the
Middle East or in a migratory setting. To our knowledge, this volume is
the first systematic attempt of jinn research uniting philological, histor-
ical, anthropological, and psychiatric perspectives. The first three chapters
systematically set the stage for the main group of case-based studies. They
explore the background needed for a deeper understanding of the intrica-
cies of the following contemporary, mainly anthropological, takes on jinn.
As such, they turn from a wide overview of the doctrinal history of jinn
to the more health-related issue of how jinn affliction was conceptualized
in the history of Islam up to the very specific debate on how they enter
the human being and take hold of body and mind.
In “Demonic Beings: The Friends and Foes of Humans,” Tobias
Nünlist starts out with a broad-scale and longue-durée historical intro-
duction to the development and spread of jinn narratives in Arabic and
Persian sources up to the fifteenth century. He not only traces the genesis
of jinn belief, but also covers the main discourses about jinn in the core
territory of Islam in the classical phase and in the Middle Period, i.e., the
early eleventh–sixteenth centuries CE. Nünlist provides an overview of
the discussion of the (in)visibility of jinn, their particular bodily features,
and their different categories. He also deconstructs the notion of jinn
as intrinsically bad demons and elaborates on their moral agency and
access to knowledge. Nünlist also describes their precarious power rela-
tions to mankind due to jinn’s mobility patterns, persistence in time, and
1 INTRODUCTION 9
unpredictable and easily irritated, often vengeful and fickle character. The
chapter also indicates how to manage jinn.
In “Tipping the Scales Toward an Islamic Spiritual Medicine: Ibn
Qayyim al-Jawziyya on Jinn and Epilepsy,” Felix Wessel draws atten-
tion to the important role of Greek humoral pathology that understands
health as a certain equilibrium of bodily fluids. It decisively affected
the genesis of the later Islamic genre of spiritual healing known as
Prophetic Medicine, and some of its assumptions have persisted among
spiritual healers until today, as expressed in pertinent publications. He
demonstrates that a certain Hanbali theologian of the fourteenth century
rhetorically exploited the inability of biomedically trained doctors to cure
epilepsy as a means to unfold the idea of another variant of this illness, an
“epilepsy of the souls.” The proto-Salafi author Ibn al-Qayyim (d. 1350)
subsumes under the latter version of epilepsy the ailment of overall erratic,
norm-transgressing behavior that can be successfully treated only by reli-
gious scholars of Islam. Wessel also demonstrates why and how flaring,
excessive emotions were attributed to jinn and that the poisoning glance
of the Evil Eye can emanate even from jinn.
In his record of pre-modern and modern Arabic Quran commentaries,
Mudhi al-Shimmari offers a faith-based perspective. He looks through
the very specific lens of the dogmatical questions if and how jinn can enter
the human body. His focus is on Chapter 2, verse 275 of the holy book of
Islam, which allows him to ponder the health and mental impacts of such
an intrusion. In so doing, he vehemently blames early Muslim critics who
tried to rationally relativize such incidents. According to him, the majority
of scholars have agreed on physical jinn intrusion and the possibility that
they can overpower humans and strike them to the ground, so that the
latter lose self-control and their health.
Framing or, as Edith Szanto calls it, “veiling” a certain illness, discom-
fort, or misfortune as being caused by jinn allows people to perceive
and discuss their particular problem as an external intrusion that may
be averted or removed. In her anthropological study “Battered Love
in Contemporary Syria: Shi‘i Spiritual Healing with Abu Ahmad,” she
observes an Iraqi self-made spiritual healer in Sayyida Zaynab, a Shi‘i
enclave in Syria. His repertoire of strategies includes sharia-compliant
incantation (ruqya), as opposed to illicit black magic (sih.r), and it
comprises also protective measures, such as the use of talismans. His
activities are related to the under-researched genre of Medicine of the
Imams (the Shi‘i equivalent of the Sunni Prophetic Medicine) in its
contemporary application. Szanto’s case study traces the double scenario

of one successful and one failed instance of love magic as managed by
the spiritual entrepreneur Abu Ahmad. She provides an insight into his
self-fashioning, diagnosis, and overall communication strategies of making
inquiries into the life situations of his clients in a context dominated by
Shi‘i refugees from Iraq in a Sunni Muslim-majority country.
The Maghreb’s long tradition of spiritual magic is illustrated in
a transnational ethnographic study taking in the Moroccan Tetouan-
Tangiers region and Catalonia in Spain. In his “Ruqya and the Olive
Branch: A Bricoleur Healer between Catalonia and Morocco,” Josep
Lluís Mateo Dieste describes the spiritual healing “career” of a
Moroccan migrant in Spain. His main protagonist Rachid detected his
natural ability to conduct spiritual medicine practices (ruqya) when he
moved to Europe. His success is part of a wider global surge of commer-
cialized and mediatized Prophetic and Islamic medicine in the last two
decades, increasingly using also modern communication tools. Mateo
Dieste describes his central character as combining various influences and
thus acting as a true bricoleur who sensitively deals with delicate issues,
such as gender and sexuality, and who even counsels non-Muslims.
The medical anthropology study “Healing, Agency and Life Crisis
among British Pakistani Ruqya Patients” by Andreas Gadeberg Nielsen
deals with spiritual emancipation processes of young male British Pakistani
migrants in West Yorkshire. Gadeberg analyzes ruqya as a powerful
Islamized and meanwhile global form of counseling in life crisis situa-
tions. Among the many attitudes he encountered toward Islamic spiritual
healing, for young men in Great Britain it has become a revitalized
cultural reservoir to set them apart from the syncretic, but rudimen-
tary traditional South Asian interpretation of Islam of their parents and
their outdated life trajectories. These men find a source of knowledge
and inspiration in what seems like sharia-conforming ruqya that helps
them include spiritual dimensions and moral virtues and consolidate the
challenges of a modern Muslim-minority society with the rituals and
traditions of their parents. These young people are thereby familiar-
ized with emotional self-fashioning devices that are better adaptable to
their British lifeworld—without being forced to completely give up their
religio-cultural roots.
The other contributions in this collection, with the exception of
Böttcher, Galsgaard-Hansen, and Szanto, only scratch the gender dimen-
sion, but Birte Spreckelsen highlights the relevance of jinn for certain
1 INTRODUCTION 11
Muslim women in her contribution on “Contextualizing Female Jinn

Possession in Sexual Trauma.” Women who fail to comply with pre-
designed patriarchal gender roles approved by the concept of male
guardianship in Islam are often confronted with the reproach of madness
due to their natural inferiority and to the prejudice that women are
inclined to hysteria. Taking the secondary, mostly anthropological liter-
ature about women in Egypt as a case in point, Spreckelsen mentions
some important contributions, but singles out a very problematic one by
El Kholy (2004) for closer, critical inspection. The nineteenth century
saw the rise of female healers from sub-Saharan Africa who established
themselves as spiritual brokers predominantly for women in various coun-
tries, mainly in North Africa. Spreckelsen reproaches El Kholy for lacking
a feminist perspective because she discards the accounts of women she
recorded in lower-income Cairo quarters as “ambiguous,” thus omitting
traumatic experiences of rape and domestic violence, notably marital rape.
Western social science literature about jinn displays a variety of
approaches to the interface of migration, the biomedical treatment of
mental illnesses, and spiritual Islamic medicine. In “Jinn and Mental
Suffering by Immigrants in Europe: A Review of Literature,” Sophie
Bärtlein and Nina Nissen analyze nine articles from a number of
English- and German-language peer-reviewed journals, a corpus taken
as representative of state-of-the-art investigation of the topic. While the
terminology differs in different migratory settings, it becomes evident that
people under social and power constrains exhibit a stronger propensity
for explanations that engage the supernatural and tend to seek spiritual
help for psychological problems. There seems to be a gender and age
dimension to the perceptibility of jinn, as well. Furthermore, their study
shows that combining practices taken from Islamic healing with biomed-
ical healthcare is quite widespread, and it is often not individuals but
families who agree on whom to contact for medical advice.
In her contribution on “Jinn Beliefs in Western Psychiatry: A Study
of Three Cases from a Psychiatric and Cultural Perspective,” Maria
Michaela Galsgaard-Hansen presents examples from her work as a
clinical psychologist in the Danish Kompetence center for Transkul-
tural Psykiatrie in Copenhagen. She analyzes the cultural encounter
between different conceptualizations of distress in Western psychiatry,
where Muslim patients are treated by mental health professionals who do
not understand the role of religious belief in mental health. Her findings
accentuate a conflict of interpretations based not only on misunder-

standing, but also on divergent ontological positions. A clinician working
in general psychiatry should have basic cultural knowledge to avoid the
risk of misdiagnosis and subsequent inadequate treatment. Interpreting
beliefs in jinn possession exclusively in terms of an idiom of distress can
lead to disregarding severe psychopathology. Jinn beliefs offer a language
and a treatment for a range of symptoms in countries where psychiatric
understandings and treatment are often limited.
In her contribution on “Jinn among Muslim Captives in Guantanamo
and the ‘Global War on Terrorism’,” Annabelle Böttcher analyzes the
opaque role of the jinn phenomenon in the highly politicized context of
the “Global War on Terrorism.” Based on publicly accessible, censored
documents, she traces various forms of jinn affliction, including posses-
sion, of male Muslim captives in the Guantanamo Bay Detention Facility
(GTMO) in Cuba. The censored diaries of Abu Zubayda offer an idea of
(sexualized) narratives of jinn among Arab foreign fighters in Afghanistan
and Pakistan. All of the captives in GTMO were forcefully migrated, often
kidnapped, and sold to the USA, underwent prolonged periods of torture
in various subcontracted locations, and some of them were even held as
“ghost detainees” in Black Sites. They perceive jinn as threats and even
as manipulated by (contracted) American interrogators. The dubious role
of biomedically trained health professionals from the USA during the
interrogation and torture of these captives remains to be explored.
Acknowledgements This book is the outcome of a process to which many

contributed. First and foremost, we would like to thank the authors for
entrusting their contributions to us and involving us in a stimulating learning
process. This book, the workshop on jinn, and other activities during Annabelle
Böttcher’s two-year research stay were generously funded by the Welfare Inno-
vation Fund of the University of Southern Denmark (SDU) in Odense. The
Center for Modern Middle East and Muslim Studies and its colleagues offered
a stimulating space to explore and experiment. We would like to particularly
thank Dietrich Jung, the Director of the Center for Contemporary Middle
East Studies at SDU, for his continuous and enthusiastic support. We are also
indebted to Professor Martin Rheinheimer, Head of Department of the Institute
for History at SDU, the colleagues, and the staff, especially Kirsten Digge Larsen,
Annette Groenbæk, and Helle Kildebæk Raun. Furthermore, we are grateful to
the students of the Institute for Islamic Studies at the Freie Universität Berlin,
Anna Steffen, and especially Farid El-Ghawaby and Maren Krause for preparing
the chapters for editing and struggling with the Arabic terminology and various
1 INTRODUCTION 13
dialect expressions, and to Mitch Cohen for his language editing. We also thank
our anonymous reviewers for their time and patience and hope to have integrated
most of their comments.
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CHAPTER 2
Demonic Beings: The Friends and Foes

of Humans
Tobias Nünlist
Introduction
In Christianity, demonic and satanic beings are bad by definition, and
angels are good. In the Muslim cultural area, the situation is different.
Here too, angels (mal ak, pl. malā ika) are mostly good. But they do
not act by their own will. They are rather Allah’s obedient policemen
and execute his orders without questioning them (Meier 1979, 581).
Demonic beings, usually called jinn throughout the Muslim world, are
different.1 They are morally open; they are neither good nor bad, but
can develop in either direction. They often assist humans; they do so,
e.g., by showing a person his way when he is lost or by helping him in
battles. Their role in the inspiration of poets is particularly fascinating.
Their potentially positive functions distinguish the jinn from their Chris-
tian counterparts. But, in Islam too, they mostly disturb humans, who
fear their presence everywhere and at any time.
T. Nünlist (B)
Asien-Orient Institut, Universität Zürich, Zurich, Switzerland
e-mail: tobias.nuenlist@aoi.uzh.ch

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-61247-4_2
18 T. NÜNLIST
This article is based mostly on pre-modern written sources.2 But the

convictions shared by broad segments of the population in the contem-
porary Muslim world do not substantially differ from these older ideas
about demons. This continuity is due, partially at least, to the fact that
the Quran and the sunna confirm the existence of the jinn. The Islamic
revelation repeatedly mentions them. Although the titles of the Suras do
not form part of the revealed text, but were added later, it is telling that
Sura 72 is generally referred to as Sūrat al-jinn. The sunna of the Prophet
mentions them even more frequently. Denying the real existence of the
jinn is considered an act of unbelief (kufr). According to the sharı̄ a,
theoretically at least, the blood of whomever does so may be lawfully
shed.
Debating the Existence of Demonic Beings

Among the various Muslim scholars defending the real existence of the
jinn, the H . anbalı̄ theologian Ibn Taymiyya (d. 728/1328) does so in
particularly clear terms.3 He mentions the existence of the jinn together
with such basic principles of Islam as the belief in the unity of Allah
(tawh.ı̄d), the mission of the Prophet Muh.ammad (risālat an-nabı̄), the
existence of the angels (malā ika), and the bodily resurrection on the
Last Day (ma ād al-abdān) (Ibn Taymiyya 1343/1924, 99.5–101.2).
Shiblı̄ (d. 768/1367), the author of the first monographic work dealing
with the jinn in the Muslim world, takes up Ibn Taymiyya’s ideas.4
In the introduction, Shiblı̄ criticizes the position of those scholars who
deny the existence of the jinn; he explains his point of view in the first
chapter of his work (Fı̄ bayān ithbāt wujūd al-jinn wa-l-khilāf fı̄-hi)
(2017, 6–22). Later authors such as Suyūt.ı̄ (d. 911/1505)5 and H . alabı̄
(d. 1044/1634)6 directly depend on Shiblı̄’s text and share his point of
view. Damı̄rı̄ (d. 808/1405), the author of a well-known work on living
beings, insists on the existence of the jinn too.7
Because of their often strange nature, demons are frequently
mentioned in the mirabilia literature.8 Qazwı̄nı̄ (d. 682/1283), the
most famous author of this genre, elaborates on them in his Ajā ib al-
makhlūqāt.9 And so does Hamadānı̄-T.ūsı̄, an earlier representative of this
genre, in about 1180.10 He concludes his account with the remark that
he has dealt with the jinn because the Quran mentions them. Otherwise,
it would not be appropriate to deal with them at all.11 Hamadānı̄-T.ūsı̄
finally condemns as an unbeliever (kāfir) whomever denies their existence;
2 DEMONIC BEINGS: THE FRIENDS AND FOES OF HUMANS 19
he does this by citing Sura (55:15): “He created man of a clay like the
potter’s, and He created the jinn of a smokeless fire.”12
Although the passage just discussed confirms the existence of the jinn,
it contains first hints that Hamadānı̄-T.ūsı̄, and with him other scholars,
did not feel at ease when dealing with this issue. Significantly, he merely
cites from the Quran to confirm his point of view. Goldziher underlined
that, notwithstanding the statements in the Quran and the sunna to the
contrary, critiques against the existence of demons were often formulated
in the Muslim world (1896, 109). These critics based their point of view
on logical arguments and dismissed all stories dealing with the jinn as
belonging to the world of fairy tales. The early critics include authors such
as Jāh.iz. (d. 255/868),13 Masūdı̄ (d. 345/956),14 and Niz.āmı̄ (12th
c.).15 Their explanations insist mainly on the psychological dimensions
of demonic activity.
Masūdı̄, the author of the Murūj adh-dhahab, openly criticizes those
scholars who accept the existence of the jinn. Before presenting his own
point of view, he insists on his scientific duties. As an objective writer, he
feels obliged to present the respective ideas impartially (Masūdı̄ 1965,
vol. 2, 293.12–294.2). He opens his reflections by stating that the posi-
tions defended and the descriptions presented by the specialists of the
sharı̄ a (ahl ash-shar ) regarding the jinn are possible and cannot be
excluded a priori. But their ideas are not irrefutable. Most scholars who
dealt with this topic from a rational point of view did not accept these
descriptions (Masūdı̄ 1965, vol. 2, 293.11).
Masūdı̄ expounds his point of view by discussing the convictions
of a group of people (farı̄q) who underline that Arabs live mostly in
isolation (1965, vol. 2, 295.6–296.2). When passing through desolate
landscapes, they are frightened. Their fear easily causes illusions, giving
birth to tormenting delusions and unfounded dark premonitions. This
environment, Masūdı̄ writes, favors the perception of hidden voices.
These sensory disorders are due to a wrong way of thinking (sū at-
tafkı̄r). When humans live in an unstructured environment, they are often
affected by ideas generally met with in Islamic demonology.
Masūdı̄ is by far not the only scholar to attack the positions defended
by the Quran and the sunna. Jāh.iz., the author of the famous Kitāb
al-H. ayawān, too, questions the existence of the jinn in more moderate
terms and insists that delusions and perceptual disorders favor the belief
in demonic beings (1356–1377/1938–1958, vol. 4, 249.1–7). He bases
his critique on reflections formulated by the Mutazilı̄ scholar Abū Ish.āq
20 T. NÜNLIST
an-Naz.z.ām (d. ca. 221/836).16 In his view, feelings of wah.sha (lone-

liness, alienation) seize the people who cross deserted regions (bilād
al-wah.sh). Because of their prolonged stay far away from other human
beings, these travelers feel frightened (istawh.asha). In their loneliness
(wah.da), people succumb to wishful ideas (munya) and fanciful spec-
ulations (tafkı̄r). While lost in their thoughts, they are exposed to
temptations (waswasa) and consider small things to be great. Their
rational capacities (dhihn) begin to dissolve and their humors (Latin
humores ) decay. They therefore see and hear things that have no objective
reality (Jāh.iz. 1356–1377/1938–1958, vol. 6, 250.2–4).
In their estrangement, humans even compose poems on these
phenomena and transmit these experiences from generation to gener-
ation. Young people growing up in such an environment become
acquainted with these ideas. When, later in life, they cross a desert in
a pitch-black new-moon night, they remember these stories. At every owl
cry, at every echo, they imagine they see things without real existence
(tawah.h.ama). If such a person is a liar and loves boasting, he composes
poems on his imagined encounters. Later, he even goes a step further and
says: ‘I have killed the ghūl.’ And then, he takes a further step and says:
‘I became friends with her’. And if he advances one step more, he says: ‘I
married her.’” Jāh.iz. concludes that only Bedouins and uneducated people
accept this kind of stories (1356–1377/1938–1958, vol. 6, 251.10–13).
Niz.āmı̄ is another author who explains the activities of demons from
a psychological point of view. His Māhān story in the Haft Paykar, at
first glance, describes an event taking place on an external level. But
using expressions such as play (bāzı̄), imagination (khiyāl ), or khiyāl-bāzı̄,
he insists on the psychological dimensions of Islamic demonology and
considers demonic beings as deluding products of the human mind.17
The interpretations just mentioned underline that doubts formulated
about the existence of demonic beings are quite frequent. While the
scholars criticizing this belief prove their point of view by advancing
a sophisticated argumentation, their opponents, traditionally oriented
theologians, have recourse to the text of the Islamic revelation. Meier18
underlines the dilemma of Islamic orthodoxy by stating: “The advocates
of the jinn apparently cannot advance any other argument [in favor
of their existence] than the text of the Islamic revelation” (Nachlass
zur Dämonologie, folder 1, s.v. Aufklärung, fol. 38). This helpless-
ness of Muslim orthodoxy finds its echo in an ambivalent treatment
of demonology. It is telling that the most famous Quran commenta-

tors, such as T.abarı̄,19 Zamakhsharı̄ (d. 538/1144), and Bayd.āwı̄ (d.
about 1300), even in their explanations of Sura 72 (Sūrat al-jinn), treat
this topic only reluctantly. Their position is rooted in the inner tension
between the existence of demonic beings, on the one hand, and the
belief in a strict monotheism (tawh.ı̄d), on the other. Whoever believes
in demons is at least theoretically liable to believe in polytheism (shirk),
as he associates other beings to Allah.
Non-Quranic sources repeatedly underline that the jinn were created
before Adam and can be considered a pre-Adamite race. H . alabı̄ even gives
the date of their creation as Thursday 2000 years before Adam (approx.
1408/1988, 28.15f; Shiblı̄ 2017, 23.5). According to other sources, the
jinn lived on earth for 40 years before the creation of Adam (Shiblı̄ 2017,
24.6). T.abarı̄ mentions that God created the angels on a Wednesday,
the jinn on a Thursday, and Adam on a Friday—these three days being
separated from each other by several thousand years.20
Already in the tenth century, the Rasā il Ikhwān as.-S.afā , written by
the Ikhwān as.-S.afā, states that the jinn were living on earth before
humans.21 A wise man informs his king that the jinn are present every-
where; they populate the sea, the mainland, the plains, and the mountains.
While initially the jinn and humans were on good terms, their rela-
tions soon deteriorated. The writers discuss the hostility between humans
and the jinn in a longer chapter (1405/1985, II.228.1–232.24): After
a period of good conduct, the demons disregarded the laws of their
prophets, ruined the people, and were responsible for general bloodshed.
When the earth complained about their misdoings, God sent down the
angels to chase away the jinn to the outmost borders of the world (ilā
at.rāf al-ard.). This hostility is also based on the jinn’s claim that their
seniority in creation makes them superior to humans.
The Ikhwān as.-S.afā explain this innate hostility between humans (ins )
and the jinn with the figure of Iblı̄s in particularly explicit terms. They
underline that, during their battle against the jinn, the angels took pris-
oners. A small boy called Azāzı̄l-Iblı̄s figured among them (Ikhwān
as.-S.afā 1405/1985, II.228.12–16). He grew up among the angels,
acquired their knowledge, and imitated them. As he led a pious life, he
even became a leader (ra ı̄s ) among them. At this point, the Ikhwān as.-
S.afā add the story, also mentioned in the Quran, that God intended to
install Adam as his vice-regent (khalı̄fa) on earth.22 When God informed
the angels of His decision, they implored Him not to do so. Humans,
22 T. NÜNLIST
too, would spill blood on earth, as the jinn did. God, however, ignored
their warnings. After the creation of Adam, Allah ordered the angels to
bow to him. All but Azāzı̄l-Iblı̄s obeyed God’s command.23
The Ikhwān as.-S.afā explain this refusal by Iblı̄s’s inner nature. After
all, he was a jinnı̄ and grew up among the angels erroneously. As Iblı̄s
could not accept Adam’s preeminence, he provoked Adam and Eve’s
expulsion from Paradise. But according to the Ikhwān as.-S.afā, the rela-
tions between humans and the jinn do not end with Adam’s downfall.
In a first step, their contacts remain friendly for a longer period. The
jinn even teach humans cultural techniques such as plowing, planting,
and constructing.24 Humans, however, never forget the disadvantages
inflicted on their ancestors by Iblı̄s. When Cain kills his brother Abel,
the relations between humans and the jinn worsen again. Abel’s succes-
sors surmise that the jinn incited Cain to commit this crime. Humans
invented numerous means of protection against the demons, including
incantations ( azı̄ma), magic spells (ruqya), fumigations (dakhn), the use
of naphta (nift.) and sulfur (kibrı̄t ), and locking the demons up in bottles.
Even though cohabitation between humans and jinn is generally friendly,
this atmosphere can deteriorate when provoked by even the smallest inci-
dent. According to the wise advisor of the jinn in the Rasā il Ikhwān
as.-S.afā , his fellows should avoid offending humans, lest they again awake
the innate hostility between them (1405/1985, vol. 2, 232.20–233.2).
The Jinn and Other Classes of Spiritual Beings

Before presenting the different classes of demons, it is worth mentioning
that Islam knows other kinds of spiritual beings, but the differentia-
tion between them is far from clear. Shiblı̄ cites a prophetic tradition
going back to Abū Hurayra. According to this h.adı̄th, Allah created
four classes (s.inf, pl. as.nāf ) of beings (Shiblı̄ 2017, 28.12–29.7), namely
angels (malā ika, sing. mal ak), satans (shayāt.ı̄n, sing. shayt.ān), jinn, and
humans (ins ). The proportion between these different species is 900
(malā ika)—90 (shayāt.ı̄n)—9 (jinn)—1 (ins ). The number of jinn is
therefore nine times greater than that of humans. It is often not easy
to distinguish between these three classes of spiritual beings.
According to Fahd,25 the jinn can be traced mostly to the pre-
Islamic polytheistic milieu, whereas angels and satanic beings are related
to monotheistic convictions (Judaism, Christianity) known in the Arab
world only with the revelation of the Quran. Certain authors main-
tain that the angels were first known in Iran and then introduced into
Judaism and Christianity (Petzold 1999, 14). In pre-Islamic Arab belief,
jinn constitute the oldest layer of spiritual beings. Jinn were the only
demonic or spiritual beings known on the Arabian Peninsula before the
advent of Islam (jāhiliyya), and some of them were even revered as deities
before the revelation of the Quran.
It is often difficult to distinguish between these different classes of
spiritual beings because ideas originating in polytheistic and monothe-
istic milieus soon intermingled. The distinction between jinn and satanic
beings is particularly difficult. We can observe a hierarchization among
the different kinds of beings. Traditionally oriented sources distinguish
between angels, satanic beings, and jinn, in this descending order. Jinn
soon lose their initial superiority to the angels and partially to the satanic
beings. Humankind is part of this order, which cannot be explained solely
by the alleged earlier creation of the jinn. The decisive factor in the
distinction between the spiritual beings and humankind is that they were
created from different substances. This idea is addressed in the Quran as
well as in the writings of the later Islamic tradition.
Most Islamic theologians insist that fire (nār) is the basic substance
from which angels, satanic beings, and jinn were created. Humans,
however, were created from clay (t.ı̄n), which is of inferior purity. Qazwı̄nı̄
explains that Allah created the angels from the light of fire, the jinn from
its flame, and the satanic beings from its smoke (1346/1956, 211.25;
1848–1849, 368.4f.). The hierarchical order is based on the descending
purity of these substances. While the details of the authors’ descriptions
of their origin differ, they essentially follow the Quran, which states that
God created the jānn before humans from nār as-samūm (15:27) or from
mārij min nār (55:15). Humans, however, were created from clay (t.ı̄n)
(7:12). Iblı̄s, by the way, refused to bow to Adam because of this: Iblı̄s
was not willing to revere a being created from a substance of less subtlety
than his own.
In these debates, the unclear affiliation of Iblı̄s again plays a crucial role.
T.abarı̄ cites a h.adı̄th reported by Ibn Abbās, according to which Iblı̄s
belongs to a group of angels called jinn. While this group was created
from smokeless flame, all the other angels were formed from light (nūr)
(T.abarı̄ 1879–1965, vol. 1, 81.10–14). Iblı̄s’s affiliation was often a topic
of heated debates among Muslim scholars. The question whether Iblı̄s
was a fallen angel or rather a jinnı̄ was additionally complicated by Allah’s
24 T. NÜNLIST
intention to install Adam as his vice-regent (khalı̄fa) on earth (Q 2:30).

Adam’s creation leads to Iblı̄s’s refusal to bow to him. These debates go
back to the Quran, where the confusion about Iblı̄s’s affiliation figures in
mutually contradictory passages. Sura 18:50 plays a central role in these
debates: “And when We said to the angels, ‘Bow yourselves to Adam’; so
they bowed themselves, save Iblis; he was one of the jinn, and committed
ungodliness against his Lord’s command.”26 Western research has often
discussed the consequences of Iblı̄s’s refusal (Meier 1992, 629–631). The
confusion about Iblı̄s is rooted in the fact that, according to the wording
of the Quran, God addressed his command to the angels (malā ika),
among whom Iblı̄s was present. And angels, by their very nature, do not
oppose God’s orders. On the other hand, Sura 18:50 mentions that Iblı̄s
belonged to the jinn. This contradiction is inherent in the Quranic text
and cannot be explained away with logical arguments. Although Iblı̄s’s
affiliation with the jinn does not justify his disobedience of God’s order,
it at least explains it.
Another aspect, however, allows us to decide the question of Iblı̄s’s
affiliation. Fahd and Meier insist that Iblı̄s is not a fallen angel, but
a jinnı̄. The determining point is that Iblı̄s had children, whereas
angels, per definitionem, cannot beget any offspring.27 In this context,
Ibshı̄hı̄ (d. 848/1446) explains that, after the creation of Adam and his
confrontation with God, Iblı̄s withdrew to the all-encompassing Ocean
(al-bah.r al-muh.ı̄t.), where he felt the intense desire for sexual inter-
course (1419/1999, vol. 2, 218.16f.). He, however, had no procreative
capacity. He (sic) was rather fertilized in the way the birds are and laid
eggs and his descendants hatched out of them. According to Ibshı̄hı̄,
60,000 devils (shayt.ān) hatched out of each egg. His children attacked
the other beings on earth, particularly the humans. Iblı̄s appreciated the
most reprehensible devils.
According to this story, Iblı̄s belongs to the jinn rather than to the
angels. But at the same time, these stories underline that the boundaries
between Iblı̄s, the satanic beings (shayāt.ı̄n), Satan (ash-Shayt.ān), and the
jinn are ambiguous. Generally, the distinction between the jinn and the
satanic beings is blurred. Some sources, on the one hand, call Iblı̄s the
father of the jinn (abū al-jinn) (Damı̄rı̄ 1356/1937, vol. 1, 210.26f.;
Shiblı̄ 2017, 379.3f.; Suyūt.ı̄ 1991, § 237, 93.3–7, and §§ 537–538,
248.8–12; H . alabı̄ approx. 1408/1988, 219.14). Other authors, however,
say that malevolent satanic beings (shayāt.ı̄n) hatched out of Iblı̄s’s eggs.
Information concerning the jinn is often indiscriminately applied to the
satanic beings and vice versa. Shiblı̄, for example, dedicates an important
number of the chapters of his monographic study of demons to the satanic
beings.28
Western research, too, has insisted on these blurred boundaries
between the jinn and the satanic beings. On the situation in the Quran,
T. Fahd states, “Un examen de l’ensemble des données coraniques révèle
à maintes reprises une identité certaine entre shayt.ān – surtout le pluriel
shayâtîn – et djinn.”29 As early as 1896, I. Goldziher underlined the
identity of jinn and shayt.ān (1896, 106). M. Dols, for his part, accepts
the statements advanced by T. Fahd (1992, 213–214). D. de Smet
is perhaps most explicit when concluding: “Pour autant que le terme
šayt.ān revêt généralement un sens péjoratif, la littérature musulmane
l’emploie volontiers comme synonyme du ǧinn maléfique” (2001, 62).
K. Hentschel (1997, 27–32), M. Schöller (2001, 40: footnote 30), and
G. Fartacek (2002, 472–473) arrive at the same conclusions about the
situation in contemporary sources. Shiblı̄ perhaps best summarizes the
general opinion found in pre-modern sources: when discussing the rela-
tions between Iblı̄s, the jinn, and the shayāt.ı̄n, he concludes that the
shayāt.ı̄n are the disobedient ones among the jinn (al- us.āt min al-
jinn). He calls these rebellious jinn Iblı̄s’s children and helpers (Shiblı̄
2017, 17.1). Suyūt.ı̄ repeats Shiblı̄’s point of view in nearly identical terms
(Suyūt.ı̄ 1991, 6.1f.).
Further pre-modern sources insist on the existence of different cate-
gories of spiritual beings. As there is no generally accepted list of the
demonic beings; each author develops his own system. Qazwı̄nı̄ explains
that, when God subjugated them to Solomon, 420 groups (sing. firqa)
of jinn and satanic beings assembled in front of this mighty ruler
(Qazwı̄nı̄ 1346/1956, 215.21–216.1; 1848–1849, 372; 1905, 20). In
the secondary literature, information on the different classes of demonic
beings is sparse, too. Wieland drew up a list containing the ten classes of
demonic beings most often met with.30 Her overview underlines that a
great number of demonic beings are subsumed under the generic term
jinn.31
The consulted sources frequently identify the good jinn with the
believing ones. Bad demons, however, are mostly unbelievers. This termi-
nology underlines that jinn have a religion (Nünlist 2015, 69–99). The
Quran shares this conviction; Sura 51:56 states: “I have not created jinn
and mankind except to serve Me.”32 Ideally, the religion of the jinn is
Islam, but there are also Jewish jinn. Later authors accept this point
26 T. NÜNLIST
of view, like Jafar-i Badakhshı̄ (d. ca. 797/1395), who states: “Every
religion existing among mankind can be found among the jinn too.”33
The Physical Appearance of Jinn

The sources often describe the physical appearance of demonic beings
and thereby imply that, at least theoretically, demons can be seen. The
authors, however, controversially discussed the question of their visibility.
Ibn Taymiyya and Shiblı̄, for example, mention that a human can see
the jinn in Paradise, while he remains invisible to them. This situation
is inversed in this world, where demonic beings are often considered
invisible.
Wellhausen insisted that the activities of jinn are usually mysterious
and invisible (1961, 154–155). While humans are aware of the conse-
quences of their action, they are unable to identify the actor. Henninger,
too, describes jinn as invisible beings (1963, 286). Meier states that
the jinn are usually, but by far not always, invisible (1992, 621). And
Westermarck mentions that in popular Islam it is possible for a human
to hear jinn, but not to see them (1973, 6). Meier, although insisting
that the actual etymology of the term jinn has not yet been satisfacto-
rily explained, prefers the interpretation of jinn as “covered, hidden, and
invisible beings.” This explanation goes back to Wellhausen and various
Arabic sources, among them the dictionary Lisān al- Arab.34
Wieland mentions the heated debates on the visibility of jinn among
later transmitters and scholars. She insists on the key Quranic verse on the
visibility of the jinn (7:27)35 and refers to different passages in Sura 72.
Badeen and Krawietz also underline that it is nearly impossible to prove
the existence of jinn by means of human sensory perception. Jinn can see
everything humans do and try to exploit their weaknesses (Krawietz and
Badeen 2003, 99). Although various authors have discussed the corpore-
ality of the jinn, their visibility is the exceptional standpoint, rather than
the norm.
Notwithstanding the controversies about their visibility, the consulted
sources repeatedly contain descriptions of the physical appearance of
demonic beings. Wellhausen underlines that jinn become visible to
humans primarily in their metamorphoses (1961, 151). Wieland insists
that jinn are not able to change their shape on their own. God alone
enables them to do so (1994, 20). Pielow assumes that, if they present
themselves to humans, jinn do so in a modified shape.36 In a longer
passage, Shiblı̄ discusses the ability of the jinn to change their phys-
ical shape (2017, 43–46; 47–55; Nünlist 2015, 112). First, he insists
that they can change their shape only with God’s permission. Later, he
clarifies that jinn do not actually change their shape, but are able to
appear as fantastic creatures (takhayyul ). They frequently provoke erro-
neous impressions (tawahhum). Under these circumstances, a human sees
an angel (malak) or a satanic being (shayt.ān). But all these apparitions
are nothing else than phantasmagorias (khayālāt ) and invalid convictions
(i tiqādāt ). So Shiblı̄ insists that a real transformation is impossible for
them (Shiblı̄ 2017, 52.5–10).
Apart from such debates on the transformative abilities of the jinn, the
pre-modern sources often present a tripartite categorization of demonic
beings, which Shiblı̄ presents in particularly clear terms (2017, 44.1–
45.4). Other sources differ in the details, but tend to follow a similar
system with three categories (Nünlist 2015, 113–114): 1. jinn in the
shape of animals: zoomorphic manifestations; 2. jinn in the shape of
human beings: anthropomorphic manifestations; 3. jinn in the form of
whirlwinds. For the sake of simplicity, further manifestations of the jinn
in natural phenomena and in vegetal form are subsumed under this third
category, which is explained in some detail below.
Jinn mostly appear to humans in zoomorphic form. In fact, Muslim
demonology is at the same time a zoology (Wellhausen 1961, 151).
Henninger also underlines that, although usually invisible, jinn appear to
humans mostly as animals (1963, 286–287; 299). They manifest them-
selves in the form of wild, rather than of domestic animals. Demons have
a particular predilection to appear in the shape of snakes, scorpions, and
lizards, as well as dogs, cats, camels, owls, asses, and goats, to name the
most important preferred species (Nünlist 2015, 114–144).
The following explanations focus on jinn living together with humans,
generally known as āmir (pl. ummār).37 These ummār most often
manifest themselves as snakes. When one discovers a snake in the
house, one should grant it a period of three days to leave the place.
If it does not obey, one can lawfully kill it. The disobedience of the
animal underlines that it is a satanic being and not a pious jinnı̄.38
Henninger, inter alia, discusses these house spirits (1963, 301). And
Meier speaks of “house jinn” (jinān al-buyūt ), as well.39 Jāh.iz. (d.
255/868–69) already mentions their existence (1356–1377/1938–1958,
Vol. 6, 190.4). According to him, the ummār are jinn living together
28 T. NÜNLIST
with humans. Later sources repeat this definition with slight modifica-
tions. Suyūt.ı̄, for example, adds that the expression ummār is synony-
mous with sukkān (sing. sākin: “dweller, inhabitant”) (1991, 7.4). This
category of demons is often interpreted as a kind of “companion demon”
(“Begleitdämon”).
Jinn, however, manifest themselves not only in the shape of animals,
but also in anthropomorphic form.40 Wellhausen mentions that, in the
nineteenth century, the Arabs often believed that many jinn were living
in the shape of humans among the humans (1961, 329). In their human
form, the jinn also acquire personal traits. This contradicts the general
statement that demonic beings in Islam do not have a clearly established
personality.41 In addition, there is a trend that devils manifest themselves
as males (Iblı̄s, shayt.ān), whereas females prefer certain demonic forms.42
As already mentioned, Arabic and Persian sources often insist on the
close relation between demonology and zoology. This becomes particu-
larly clear in the case of mixed creatures with both human and animal
traits. The sources mention some examples of mixed creatures, but there
are also categories of mixed beings, among them the shiqq, the nasnās,
and the ghūl.
The expression shiqq, meaning “half,” designates a class of demonic
beings that can be considered halflings. They appear in the form of
half a man to lone travelers and often kill them.43 A second class of
mixed creatures, the nasnās, often cannot be distinguished from the shiqq.
The ghūl (pl. ghı̄lān, aghwāl )44 form a third important class of mixed
beings. Masūdı̄ states that the ghūl resemble both humans and wild
beasts (1965–1979, vol. 3, 316.5–8). Qazwı̄nı̄ defends the same point of
view. Dimashqı̄ (d. 727/1327) thinks that, in their physical appearance,
the ghūl have to be situated between jānn, animals, and humans (1923,
92.13–15; 1874, 111–112). When they appear to humans, they can do so
in the form of any animal, but with a human voice or in human shape, and
they devour their victims. The existence of ghūl was often doubted. The
term ghūl does not figure in the Quran, but it is repeatedly mentioned in
the sunna (Wensinck 1936–1988, s.v. ghūl ). The Prophet seems to have
rejected the existence of the ghūl, but various sources insist that it can take
all kind of shapes, such as that of a beautiful woman. Its foot, however,
always remains the foot of an ass (Jāh.iz. 1356–1377/1938–1958, vol. 6,
220.10–12; Hamadānı̄-T.ūsı̄ 1375/1996, 224.17). One h.adı̄th indirectly
confirms the existence of the ghūl by stating that lonely travelers can
escape their attacks by constantly repeating the call to prayer (ādhān).45
The ghūl, generally speaking, ambush the lonely traveler. The pre-modern
sources mostly situate this class of demonic beings in the deserts.46
The gender of the ghūl tends to be female; but there are also male
ghūls. The female ones mislead their male victims, and also kill and devour
them. Masūdı̄ mentions that the ghūls block the paths of travelers in
the desert (1965–1979, vol. 3, 18.2–5). They can be female or male.
Niz.āmı̄ (12th c.) also mentions the existence of male and female ghūls
(1387/2008, § 36, 274, vv. 106–109). Humans, however, are repeatedly
able to escape the attacks of the ghūls. Masūdı̄ narrates that, before the
arrival of Islam, Umar al-Khat.t.āb (the second caliph, d. 644) traveled to
Syria with his companions (1965–1979, vol. 3, 316.1–4). On their way, a
ghūl manifested itself to them in different shapes and Umar beat it with
his sword. However, fighting ghūls is risky. Although the ghūl dies at the
first stroke, it returns to life at the second one. Humans, therefore, should
not strike a ghūl twice, even if it implores them to do so.47 Even if one
strikes the ghūl a thousand times after the first stroke, it will not die.48
Third, demonic beings manifest themselves as natural phenomena.
The following explanations focus on the demonic nature of winds, espe-
cially whirlwinds (Nünlist 2015, 144–152). In his study of the female
childbed demon, the Āl, Eilers underlines that the wind is feared in the
entire Near East, as it is supposed to be a demonic phenomenon (1979,
51). In Semitic languages, the wind is feminine, and this includes the
Arabic rı̄h.. Hentschel underlines that whirlwinds and dust clouds are
peopled by demons (1997, 23–24). Westermarck, Winkler, and Meier
cite comparable examples that underline the close relation between winds
and demonic beings (Nünlist 2015, 145; Westermarck 1973, 6; Winkler
1936, 16). Pielow states that heavy winds, particularly if they are hot and
dusty, cause serious illnesses (1995, 105).
Arabic and Persian sources also perceive winds, particularly stormy
winds, as manifestations of demonic beings. The Quran says that
Solomon, the oppressor of all demonic beings par excellence, rode
through the air on the wind.49 Qazwı̄nı̄ calls the whirlwinds zawba a
(1948, 94–95; 1346/1956, 62). T.abarı̄ reports that the ruler of the
demons in Yemen is called Zawbaa, whom Solomon ordered to construct
castles for the king of Yemen (1879–1965, vol. 2, 585.9). Another
zoographic author, Damı̄rı̄, discusses the episode of the pious Muslim
who buried a dead snake in the desert. He explains that the dead animal
was in fact a righteous male jinnı̄ from the jinn of Nis.ı̄bı̄n who had heard
the Quran from Muh.ammad. This jinnı̄ was called Zawbaa (Damı̄rı̄
30 T. NÜNLIST
1356/1937, vol. 1, 207.6–9). Azraqı̄ reports that, at the death of a great

jinnı̄, dust rises in the desert and hides the mountains.50
The Foes of Humans

The following remarks try to give a better idea of the general nature of
jinn by focusing on the circumstances under which they manifest them-
selves. Their most striking characteristic, according to the convictions of
many Muslims, is that they present themselves to humans in liminal51
situations under three aspects: spatial, temporal, and moral.52
Even on a corporeal level, the demonic nature of jinn manifests itself
primarily in their extremities: the hand of jinn sometimes resembles a
dog paw.53 And all body parts of ghūls are liable to change, except their
feet; they always remain the feet of an ass. According to Qazwı̄nı̄, 420
different groups of demonic beings arrived at Solomon’s court in strange
shapes (Nünlist 2015, 430–431). In the Haft Paykar, Niz.āmı̄ focuses on
Māhān’s encounter with the queen of the parı̄s .54 While, at the beginning
of the scene, the queen is described as a lovely woman, at night she reveals
her real character to the love-drunken Māhān. Niz.āmı̄ describes her as an
awful demon ( ifrı̄t ) created from God’s wrath.55 He repeatedly insists
that the extremities of this demon who torments Māhān are misshapen.
These two episodes by Qazwı̄nı̄ and Niz.āmı̄ underline that demons
manifest themselves in liminal situations on a spatial level. Other pre-
modern sources confirm their point of view. On a macrocosmic level,
demonic beings populate regions at the margins of the world inhabited by
humans. They live in the Ocean surrounding the world (bah.r muh.ı̄t.), in
mountainous regions inaccessible to humans, in deserts and barren waste-
lands. On a microcosmic level, they prefer dirty places, latrines, baths,
rubbish heaps, deserted houses, ruins, etc. In houses, they dwell near the
threshold. Bridges, bifurcations, and crossroads, too, are highly appreci-
ated by jinn. These examples underline that jinn, although excluded from
the ordinary spheres of human life and mostly banned to a terra incognita,
are nevertheless omnipresent.
Jinn additionally have a predilection for ambiguous situations on a
temporal level.56 Fartacek underlines that demons develop their most
dangerous activities in situations of transition (2010, 135–138). They are
particularly active at dawn and dusk when it is not possible to distinguish
between day (nahār) and night (layl ). According to Fartacek, ambiguous
situations favor the appearance of demonic beings. The following expla-

nations focus on the activities of demons during particular periods of the
day, and during liminal phases of human life (birth, childbed, marriage,
death, illnesses):
Several sayings of the Prophet underline that the night belongs to
demonic and satanic beings. Bukhārı̄57 cites a h.adı̄th according to which
the Prophet recommended that his believers cover their vessels in the
evening, bind their water hoses, close their doors, and order their chil-
dren to come home. He explained that jinn roam and kidnap humans
at night. He also asked his followers to extinguish their lamps. In the
ethnographic literature, the expression “inhabited house” (bayt maskūn)
is frequently attested (Nünlist 2015, 222–223). It is a house haunted by
demonic beings particularly active at night. Other sources warn of the
jinn active at noon when the burning sun obliges humans to retreat to
their dwellings. Noon is considered a bad time for any activity. Suyūt.ı̄
also explains that Iblı̄s prefers to appear at noon (1991, 300.12–301.6; §
723). During the month of Ramadan, an extraordinary spiritual power is
active and withholds the jinn behind the Mountain Qāf on the margin
of the inhabited world. A h.adı̄th reported by Bukhārı̄ underlines that,
during Ramadan, the doors of Paradise are open and the doors of Hell
closed.58
The liminal nature of demons also manifests itself in that they inter-
fere in transitional phases of human life. Demonic beings often harm
humans at birth, in childbed, at marriage, during illnesses, and at death.
The secondary literature extensively treats the increased disturbing nature
of demonic beings for humans.59 The h.adı̄th literature mentioned above,
according to which demonic beings are particularly active at night, also
recommends that boys should not stay outdoors after dusk. Although
this saying does not mention any particular demonic being, more or
less everywhere in the Muslim world people fear the nightly activities
of childbed demons, euphemistically called “the Mother of the Young
Men” (Umm as.-S.ibyān), “the Mother of the Night” (Umm al-Layl ), or
“Female Follower” (Qarı̄na or Tābi a). Pielow insists that these different
names usually designate one and the same demonic being (1998, 47 and
187; Canaan 1937, 85).
S.anawbarı̄’s (Pseudo-Suyūt.ı̄’s) Kitāb ar-Rah.ma reports a dialogue
between Solomon, a Jewish king in the Bible and a prophet in Islam,
and the Tābia, in which she confesses her various misdeeds60 : the Tābia
admits that she roams in houses, ruins, and tombs and is responsible for
32 T. NÜNLIST
many illnesses and damages. She haunts her victims at night and lays
herself on adults and children. She causes menstrual problems and is
responsible for difficult births, infertility, inflammations of the eyes, pains,
and many kinds of illnesses, including outbursts of wrath.
But Solomon not only subdued the Tābia, as S.anawbarı̄ tells us. In
the Muslim world, Solomon is appreciated as the protector par excellence
against the jinn. His battles against demons appear in every episode of his
life. According to Qazwı̄nı̄, Solomon managed to control the jinn thanks
to his seal ring (Nünlist 2015, 430–431). The Quran describes him as
the ruler over the wind, which, according to convictions widely shared in
the Near East, is demonic.61 Solomon’s meeting with Bilqı̄s, the Queen
of Sheba in Yemen, must be interpreted against this background as well:
Bilqı̄s’s mother was a female jinni (jinniyya). Thanks to a ruse, Solomon
discovers that Bilqı̄s’s feet are misshaped—a clear hint at her demonic
nature.62
Demons can be regarded as liminal beings in a third respect: when
moral codes are disregarded, they intervene as protectors of correct
social behavior. This last aspect is illustrated in the story of Māhān in
Niz.āmı̄’s Haft Paykar (1995, §36, 174–197; Nünlist 2015, 235–240).
Māhān, Niz.āmı̄’s protagonist, passes several nights in deserts haunted
by demons. His nightmares end only when the cock cries at dawn and
all monsters immediately withdraw.63 Completely exhausted by his expe-
riences, Māhān finally reaches a lovely garden. He becomes acquainted
with its owner, a childless old man, who intends to bequeath to him all
his possessions. To make Māhān’s bliss even more perfect, the old man is
looking for a spouse for him. He leaves to make last preparations for the
wedding night. Before his departure, the old man asks Māhān to climb
into a tree and forbids him to come down—whatever happens—before
his return. While Māhān sits in the tree, girls appear in the garden and
prepare a feast. When they notice Māhān’s presence, their queen with
her fairylike face (parı̄-rukh)64 asks her maidens to bring the young man
before her. Māhān cannot resist the seductions of the lovely girls and is
brought before their queen who, initially at least, appears to Māhān as a
beautiful woman. In the end, he can no longer resist and they become
intimate. This beautiful queen suddenly transforms herself into an awful
demon, ifrı̄t. On an analytical level, Māhān’s experiences illustrate the
role of demonic beings as guardians of moral codes.
The Friends of Humans

The examples of demonic activities cited so far almost all presented
these beings as troublemakers. It is, however, important to underline
that in the Muslim world jinn are generally considered morally neutral
beings.65 And in rare instances, the jinn help and assist humans.66 The
sources often mention that demons transmit knowledge to humans. They
particularly advise them on medical issues (Nünlist 2015, 336–341). The
Arabic sources additionally insist that demonic beings transmit impor-
tant messages in real time. This phenomenon is generally known as
belief in voices of otherwise invisible beings (hātif ).67 According to
Jāh.iz., this belief is widespread among Bedouins, but he is unable to
explain it (1356–1377/1938–1958, vol. 6, 202.5f). The three inter-
dependent authors Shiblı̄, Suyūt.ı̄, and H . alabı̄ deal with this issue in
special chapters on the basis of reports on events having taken place
in early Islam. Invisible beings, for example, informed the inhabitants
of Mecca of Muh.ammad’s imminent birth (Shiblı̄ 2017, 314.1–12).
Hātifs additionally announced the result of important battles having
taken place abroad to the Muslims who had stayed at home. The short
time elapsed between the battle and the diffusion of the news at home
underlines the extraordinary nature of this kind of transmission of detailed
information.68
An additional phenomenon, namely the function of the jinn as
inspirers of poets illustrates their positive nature particularly well (Nünlist
2015, 341–373). Communications by poets (shā ir, pl. shu arā ) and
soothsayers (kāhin, pl. kuhhān), as well as, indirectly at least, the Islamic
revelation are cited as examples that demonic beings participate in the
composition of texts.69 Several authors, among them Ibn Khaldūn (d.
808/1406),70 criticize the polytheists who compare Muh.ammad’s revela-
tions with the compositions of poets. Considering Muh.ammad’s physical
condition when he received God’s word, the polytheists accused him
of suffering from madness (junūn) or of having an assistant among the
jinn (tābi min al-jinn). Traditionally oriented scholars ( ulamā ) fiercely
opposed any stylistic comparison between the divinations of the pre-
Islamic soothsayers and the verses of the Arabic poets, on the one hand,
and Muh.ammad’s revelation, on the other. They criticized the polythe-
ists who refused to abandon the veneration of their idols for the sake
of the message of a be-jinned poet (shā ir majnūn, Sura 37:35f.). Sura
69:38–42 too refutes the idea that Muh.ammad is a poet (shā ir) or a
34 T. NÜNLIST
soothsayer (kāhin) (Nünlist 2015, 342–343). These Quranic passages

underline that poets, because of their supposed contacts with demons, had
a bad reputation in the Muslim world. Bürgel cites several h.adı̄ths which
give a negative idea of the role of poets. Particularly clear is an apoc-
ryphal saying that “Poetry is the Quran of the satanic beings” (Bürgel
2006, 44; Nünlist 2015, 343–344). Muslim theology therefore insists
that Muh.ammad did not receive his revelation from a jinnı̄, but from
the archangel Gabriel or the Holy Spirit (rūh. al-qudus ).
This explanation attributing poetic inspiration to the intervention of
jinn found a broad echo in pre-modern Arabic literature. Jāh.iz. discusses
these aspects in a section of his Kitāb al-H . ayawān under the title
“Shayāt.ı̄n ash-shuarā” (“The follow spirits of the poets”).71 Here,
the shayāt.ı̄n are not satanic beings in the Western sense. Jāh.iz. rather
considers a shayt.ān to be a companion spirit, as does Ibn Khaldūn in
his Muqaddima (tābi min al-jinn) (Jāh.iz. 1356–1377/1938–1958, vol.
6, 225.10–229.7). Jāh.iz. mentions several companion spirits (shayāt.ı̄n)
who assisted famous poets in the early Islamic period.72 Thaālibı̄ (d.
429/1038) largely shares Jāh.iz.’s interpretation of the demonic inspiration
of the poets. According to Thaālibı̄, the poets pretend that the shayāt.ı̄n
throw their verses on their tongues and assist them in composing their
texts. The fiercer (amrad) the shayt.ān is, the better (ajwad) the verses
of his poet. The sources even contain information on the details of the
inspiration process (Nünlist 2015, 348–373).
Conclusion
This overview outlines central aspects of Islamic demonology as found
in written sources in Arabic and Persian from the pre-modern period
(approximately 600–1500 CE). It is however important to insist once
more that these beliefs are still shared by broad segments of the popula-
tion more or less everywhere in the Islamic world. The basic principles
of belief in jinn met with in written sources (the great tradition) do
not really differ from the convictions accepted by illiterate people (the
little tradition). The details of belief in jinn differ in accordance with
regional influences. Often, local pre-Islamic convictions were integrated
into Islamic demonology. However, the dominant role of the Quranic
revelation and the sunna of the Prophet guarantees that the basic
elements of Islamic demonology are widely accepted among Muslims.
This chapter presents the echoes found in written sources, which mostly
originate from a region between Egypt and Iran.
Notes
1. The expression jinn is a generic term for all kinds of demonic beings. The
word jinn is used as a collective term and designates a group of demonic
beings. In Arabic, a single male demon is called jinnı̄; a single female
demon jinniyya.
2. It sums up the results of my study Dämonenglaube im Islam: Eine Unter-
suchung unter besonderer Berücksichtigung schriftlicher Quellen aus der
vormodernen Zeit (600–1500).
3. Ibn Taymiyya is well known for his attacks on popular beliefs and practices
such as visits to shrines. Although he was an influential scholar, his ideas
were often criticized. See Laoust, “Ibn Taymiyya, Tak.ı̄ al-Dı̄n Ah.mad”, in
EI2; Rapoport and Ahmed (eds.), Ibn Taymiyya and His Times.
4. Shiblı̄ was born in Damascus in 712/1312 and died in Tripoli in
769/1367. See Badeen, “Introduction” to Shiblı̄, Ākām al-marjān, 9–
21. The passage referred to here is Shiblı̄, Ākām al-marjān, 10.12–12.11;
see also the partially identical passage in Ibn Taymiyya, Īd.āh. al-dalāla,
102.14–103.2.
5. Suyūt.ı̄, Laqt al-marjān, 6.9–17 (§§ 6–7). Suyūt.ı̄, one of the most prolific
writers in the Muslim world, lived in Cairo in the 15th c.; see Geoffroy,
“al-Suyūt.ı̄”, in EI2.
6. H. alabı̄, Iqd al-marjān, 26.3–27.15, more precisely the passage discussing
the real existence of the jinn (Ithbāt wujūd al-jinn).
7. Damı̄rı̄, Kitāb H . ayāt al-h.ayawān, I.206.18–20. Damı̄rı̄ lived in Egypt in
the 14th c.; Damı̄rı̄’s most important work is his Kitāb H . ayāt al-h.ayawān;
see Kopf, “al-Damı̄rı̄”, in EI2.
8. For an introduction to the mirabilia literature in the Muslim world,
see Dubler, “Adjāib”, in EI2; von Hees, “The Astonishing: A Critique
and Re-reading of Ağā ib Literature;” Sariyannis, “Ajā ib ve gharā ib:
Ottoman Collections of Mirabilia and Perceptions of the Supernatural”,
mainly 445–447 (with footnote 12).
9. Qazwı̄nı̄ was a famous geographer and cosmographer who wrote in
Arabic; see Lewicki, “K.azwı̄nı̄”, in EI2; Richter-Bernburg, “al-Qazwı̄nı̄,
Zakariyyā b. Muh.ammad”, in Encyclopedia of Arabic Literature.
10. The author of this text is referred to as Hamadānı̄-T.ūsı̄ because the various
manuscripts call him either Hamadānı̄ or T.ūsı̄. This text is available in
two editions: 1. Muh.ammad b. Mah.mūd b. Ah.mad-i T.ūsı̄, Ajā ib al-
makhlūqāt, ed. Sutūda (1345/1966); 2. Muh.ammad-i Ibn Mah.mūd-i
Hamadānı̄, Ajā ib-nāma, ed. S.ādiqı̄ (1375/1996).
11. T.ūsı̄, Ajā ib al-makhlūqāt (edition Sutūda), pp. 511.10–14; the same
passage with slightly modified wording in Hamadānı̄, Ajā ib-nāma
(edition S.ādiqı̄), pp. 204.15–17.
12. Translated by Arberry, Quran: The Koran Interpreted, 251.
36 T. NÜNLIST
13. Jāh.iz. was a prolific Arab writer and lived in Iraq; the Kitāb al-H . ayawān
is his most important text. On him, Pellat, “Djāh.iz.”, in EI2.
14. Mas ūdı̄ was born in Baghdad and died in Cairo; he particularly dealt
with geography, history, and philosophy. On him, see Pellat, “Masūdı̄”,
in EI2.
15. Niz.āmı̄ was an important Persian epic poet who lived in the Caucasus;
his five most important works are known as Khamsa and comprise
the following texts: Makhzan al-Asrār, Khusraw wa Shı̄rı̄n, Laylā wa
Majnūn, Iskandar-nāma, and Haft Paykar. On him, see Chelkoswski,
“Niz.āmı̄”, in EI2.
16. On Abū Ish.āq al-Naz.z.ām, see van Ess, “Abū Esh.āq Naz.z.ām”, in EIr.
17. On Niz.āmı̄’s position against the real existence of demonic beings, see:
Nünlist, Dämonenglaube, 38–40; eodem, “Demonology in Islam”, 153f.;
Nizami Ganjavi, Haft Paykar: A Medieval Persian Romance, 174–197 (§
36), translated by J. Scott Meisami. See also the translation by R. Gelpke:
Die sieben Geschichten der sieben Prinzessinnen, 159–209.
18. Meier (1912–1998) was Professor for Islamic Studies at the University of
Basel (see Schubert, “Meier, Fritz”, in EIr). Although he was particularly
interested in Islamic mysticism, he repeatedly published on demonology.
He gathered extensive information on the belief in demonic beings in
the Muslim world. This material (about 2000 pages) is now held by the
University Library, Basel, under the shelf mark NL 323: D 4.3.1–12 (the
list of the lemmata is available online).
19. T.abarı̄ (d. 310/923) was an important Quran interpreter and historiog-
rapher; on him, see Bosworth, “al-T.abarı̄”, in EI2. The title of his Quran
commentary is Jāmi al-bayān fı̄ ta wı̄l al-Qur ān (Tafsı̄r al-T
. abarı̄); his
work on history is referred to as Ta rı̄kh al-T . abarı̄ (Annales).
20. T.abarı̄, Ta rı̄kh (Annales), I.82.3–5, according to a h.adı̄th going back to
al-Rabı̄ b. Anas.
21. Ikhwān as.-S.afā, Rasā il, II.228.5–8; on the group of scholars generally
referred to as Ikhwān al-S.afā, see Marquet, “Ikhwān al-S.afā”, in EI2; de
Callataÿ, “Brethren of Purity (Ikhwān al-S.afā)”, in EI Three.
22. Q: 2.30–35.
23. Shiblı̄, Ākām al-marjān, 373–387, deals with Iblı̄s’s refusal to bow to
Adam. The Quran mentions it in several passages, see Suras 7:11–18,
15:28–40, 17:61, 18:50, 20:116, 38:71–76. Awn, Satan’s Tragedy and
Redemption, discusses Iblı̄s’s motivation as depicted in mystical sources.
24. An angel sent to Adam and Eve after their expulsion from Paradise had
taught them comparable cultural techniques, according to the Ikhwān
as.-S.afā (Rasā il, II.230.14–16).
25. Fahd (b. 1923) was Professor for Islamic Studies and Arabic Literature at
the University of Strasbourg (France). He repeatedly published on magic
literature, divination, and demonology.
26. Translated by Arberry, The Koran Interpreted, 322; Sura 18.49.

27. Fahd, “Anges, démons et djinns”, 177f.; Meier, “Bet-Ruf”, 581 (with
footnote 1). Wieland, Ǧinn-Vorstellung, 21, shares this point of view.
28. For an overview of the titles of the chapters in English, see Badeen,
“Appendix I”, in al-Shiblı̄, Ākām al-marjān, 57–62. In this overview,
chapters 84–140 deal with Iblı̄s, al-Shayt.ān, or the satanic beings; chap-
ters 1–83 are mostly dedicated to jinn. See also the table of contents
preceding the Arabic text, 5–13.
29. Fahd, “Anges, démons et djinns”, 176 (with footnote 68, 204).
30. See Nünlist, Dämonenglaube, 67f.; Wieland, Ǧinn-Vorstellung, 35–47.
The classes of demonic beings and other spiritual creatures are mentioned
in detail in Nünlist, Dämonenglaube, particularly chapter 5: “Die ǧinn
und ihre Gestalt”, 100–191.
31. See above footnote 1.
32. Translated by Arberry, Quran, 239.
33. In this statement, Badakhshı̄ implicitly considers the jinn as forming a
parallel society.
34. The term jinn is derived from the Arabic root j-n-n with the basic
meaning “to cover, to conceal”. For a detailed discussion of the etymology
of the expression jinn advanced so far, see Nünlist, Dämonenglaube,
chapter 1.4: “Exkurs: Zur Etymologie des Wortes ǧinn”, 22–26, particu-
larly 25.
35. Translated by Arberry, Quran, 173 (here Sura 7:27): “Surely he sees you,
he and his tribe, from where you see him not.” This verse primarily refers
to Satan. But the Islamic tradition often considers the jinn to be part of
Satan’s tribe, so debates on the visibility of jinn frequently cite this verse.
36. Pielow, Quellen der Weisheit, 113, insists that jinn are mostly invisible.
37. A kind of ‘house spirit’ (Hausgeist).
38. See Ibn Taymiyya, Īd.āh. al-dalāla, 127.11–129.7, who mentions the
confrontation of a young man with a huge snake when returning home
during the battle of Khandaq.
39. Meier, Nachlass on Demonology, folder 4, s.v. Hausgeister; see footnote 18.
40. See, e.g., Shiblı̄, Ākām al-marjān, 47.3: “There is no doubt that the jinn
manifest themselves in human form.”
41. On this issue, see Nünlist, Dämonenglaube, 152–154 (“Anthropomorphe
Manifestationen der ǧinn”).
42. Nünlist, Dämonenglaube, 154–162, chapter 5.6.1: “Männliche Teufel –
weibliche Dämoninnen?”.
43. For further information on the shiqq, see e.g. Jāh.iz., Kitāb al-H. ayawān.
Vol. 6, 206.7–207.9; also Nünlist, Dämonenglaube, 165f.
44. The following remarks are based on Nünlist, Dämonenglaube, 179–191,
where further sources are mentioned. On the ghūls, see also Szonbathy,
“Ghūl”, in EI Three (published 2018).
38 T. NÜNLIST
45. For the various sources relating this saying, see Nünlist, Dämonenglaube,
182.
46. Hamadānı̄, Ajāyib-nāma (edition S.ādiqı̄), 224.4–13, too, underlines that
the ghūl is a demonic being associated with deserts.
47. For this motif, see Meier, “Orientalische belege für das motiv ‘nur einmal
zuschlagen’”.
48. On demonic beings as mixed creatures, see Nünlist, Dämonenglaube,
162–191, chapter 5.6.2: “Dämonische Mischwesen: Einzelbeispiele und
Klassen”.
49. See Suras 21:81, 34:12, 38:36. For a discussion of this episode, see
Nünlist, Dämonenglaube, 439–444.
50. Azraqı̄, Akhbār Makka, 262.10f.; the redaction of this text goes back to
about 900.
51. The expression liminal is taken from Latin limen, “ the threshold”.
52. For a detailed version of the following remarks, see Nünlist, Dämo-
nenglaube, chapter 6: “Zur Liminalität: Die Dämonen als Grenzwesen”,
192–246.
53. According to Shiblı̄, Ākām al-marjān, 235.10–236.2, Ubayy b. Kab, a
transmitter of the Quran (d. between 19–35/640–656), kept his fruits
in a bowl. As each night fruits vanished, he stayed up. Suddenly, an
animal appeared looking like an attractive young man, who was a jinnı̄.
He stretched out a hairy dog paw.
54. Niz.āmı̄, Haft Paykar, § 36 (edition Thirwartiyān), particularly vv. 363–
375; Nünlist, Dämonenglaube, 237f.
55. An ifrı̄t (pl. afārı̄t ) is a particularly malevolent jinnı̄. The Quran
mentions this class of demons in Sura 27:39; see also Szonbathy, “Ifrı̄t”,
in EI Three. For a translation of the scene under discussion, see Niz.āmı̄,
Haft Paykar: A Medieval Persian Romance, § 36, 193f., vv. 363–375
(translation by Scott Meisami).
56. For a detailed overview on the manifestation of the jinn on a temporal
level, see Nünlist, Dämonenglaube, chapter 6.3: “Ǧinn-Zeiten”, 218–235.
57. For detailed information on this h.adı̄th, see Nünlist, Dämonenglaube, 221.
58. For more, see Nünlist, Dämonenglaube, 228–230.
59. For further examples, see inter alia Dols, Majnūn, 291; Winkler,
Salomo und die K . arı̄na, 37f. (letter E); Wellhausen, Reste, 155f.;
Henninger, Geisterglaube, 292, 302; Dols, Majnūn, 211–310; Wieland,
Ǧinn-Vorstellung, e.g. 16.
60. S.anawbarı̄ (d. 815/1412). For a translation of the passage under discus-
sion, see Winkler, Salomo und die K . arı̄na, 21; Nünlist, Dämonenglaube,
233f.
61. See, e.g., Sura 21:81f. and 38:36f.; see also Nünlist, Dämonenglaube, 444.
62. On Bilqı̄s, see Nünlist, Dämonenglaube, chapter 10.5: “Bilqı̄s, die Königin
von Saba, in nachkoranischen Quellen”, 464–479; on her misshapen legs:
chapter 10.5.4: “Verunstaltete Beine”, 474–479.
63. On the anti-demonic functions of cocks, particularly of white cocks, see

Meier, “Niz.āmı̄ und die Mythologie des Hahns”.
64. The Persian expression parı̄ can best be translated as “fairy”. In sources
dating from the Islamic period, parı̄s can often not be clearly distin-
guished from the jinn. In early Persian translations, the Arabic term
jinn was often rendered by parı̄ or dı̄w. While parı̄s are rather good
and usually female; dı̄ws are mostly bad; for the details, see Nünlist,
Dämonenglaube, 519, footnote 68.
65. See footnote 1.
66. On this positive function of demons, see Nünlist, Dämonenglaube,
chapter 8.3: “Die ǧinn als Komplementärwesen und ihre positive
Funktion”, 325–373.
67. The expression hātif is derived from the verb hatafa, “to shout”.
68. For detailed information, see Nünlist, Dämonenglaube, 329–331.
69. These messages are often characterized by special linguistic features. This
style, known as saj , is used in profane as well as in sacred literature,
including the Quran.
70. Ibn Khaldūn was an important historian, sociologist, and philosopher; on
him, see Talbi, “Ibn Khaldūn”, in EI2.
71. For the detailed references, see Nünlist, Dämonenglaube, 347f.
72. Jāh.iz., inter alia, mentions the following examples: Amr is the companion
spirit (here: .sāh.ib) of the poet Mukhabbal. Amr’s brother-in-law is called
Mish.al and was active as the inspirer (shayt.ān) of the poet Ashā.
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CHAPTER 3
Tipping the Scales Toward an Islamic Spiritual

Medicine: Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyya on Jinn
and Epilepsy
Felix Wessel
Introduction
By the thirteenth century, a Sunni genre of texts called the Prophet’s
Medicine (t.ibb al-nabı̄, al-t.ibb al-nabawı̄, .tibb al-rasūl )1 had come
into full bloom and was most prominently enriched by traditionalists in
Mamluk Damascus. Among them, Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyya (691/1292–
751/1350) emerged as the Muslim scholar of religion best known to
larger audiences in modern times and whose writings on the spiri-
tual merits of the holy sources of Islam meanwhile enjoy wide-ranging
F. Wessel (B)
Institute for Islamic Studies, Freie Universität Berlin, Berlin, Germany
e-mail: Felix_wessel@gmx.de

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-61247-4_3
46 F. WESSEL
popularity. Originally being a part of Ibn al-Qayyim’s biography of the

Prophet, his Zād al-ma‘ād ‘alā hady khayr al-‘ibād (Provision for the
Life to Come with the Teachings of the Best of God’s Servants), al-T . ibb
al-nabawı̄ was initially not written as a separate book. His elaborations
on Prophetic Medicine bear typical elements of Hanbali theological and
normative thought and method, such as the school’s strongly, but not
exclusively, literalist understanding of the divine texts.2 This makes them,
at first glance, not very open to the seemingly rationalist field of medical
theory with its ancient Greek underpinnings. However, as Irmeli Perho
has convincingly shown in her monograph on three major exponents of
the Prophet’s Medicine of that period,3 at this stage of development its
authors combined rationalist medical and spiritual religious knowledge in
order to endow medical treatment with an appropriate religious framing
and to advocate the fundamental role of Islam in dealing with all sorts
of afflictions. They produced “medical” writings that blended two realms
of knowledge previously regarded as separate, if not contradictory. In the
manner of the later Hanbali scholars, Ibn al-Qayyim affirmed the exis-
tence of jinn as described in the Qur’an and the Sunna of the Prophet
as his exemplary way of life and role model for his followers. Under the
rubric of medicine (t.ibb), the Damascene scholar assembled those strands
of thought and previously scattered fragments in a theory of disease and
spiritual healing. Ibn al-Qayyim made use of the idea of jinn to fill
some explanatory gaps that humoral medicine itself could not provide
satisfactory answers to.
But what effects does the inclusion of elements of knowledge from
such different spheres as Greek humoral medicine and Islamic religion
have? And how do jinn figure in this scheme? This chapter pursues these
questions through the prism of Ibn al-Qayyim’s understanding of epilepsy
(s.ar ) as exemplified within his wider field of Prophetic Medicine. The
appearance and cause of epilepsy already presented a riddle to the ancient
Greeks, since it combined physical and psychological symptoms and it
hinted at more than physical processes. It was known as the “sacred
disease,” suggesting that it was sent by a deity, caused by possession by
a god or a demon or as a punishment for sin. Epileptic seizures were
even believed to be states of proximity to God or the divine and there-
fore associated with prophecy (Dols and Immisch 1992, 7–8, 29, 72).
In the Corpus Hippocraticum, the writing ad morbo sacro (on the sacred
disease) linked the term epilepsy for the first time to its specific symptoms.
Despite the title, the author argues against a divine cause of the disease
3 TIPPING THE SCALES TOWARD AN ISLAMIC SPIRITUAL MEDICINE … 47
and emphasizes the impact of humoral causes. Thereafter, the expression

“sacred disease” prevailed.
For this reason, Ibn al-Qayyim’s treatment of epilepsy serves here as
a paradigmatic case to inquire about the relationship between health
and the supernatural, as well as to ponder normative conclusions. For
an evaluation of Ibn al-Qayyim’s contribution to “medicine” within the
intellectual landscape of medieval medical theory, or, rather the postclas-
sical Islamic period, this chapter will first give a brief outline of medical
humoral theory and of the development of the Prophet’s medicine as a
genre between the ninth and fourteenth centuries. This outline of the
genre’s development will be based largely on Irmeli Perho’s monograph
on the Prophet’s medicine and on the contributions of Emilie Savage-
Smith to the broader field of Islamic medicine, as well as on Michael Dols’
study of the madman in medieval Islamic society, as a backdrop.4 The
second half of this chapter investigates Ibn al-Qayyim’s understanding
of epilepsy in his presentation of al-T . ibb al-nabawı̄ and examines his
conception of disease and ailment as outlined in his introduction. How
does Ibn al-Qayyim succeed in bringing together humoral medicine and
Islamic religious tradition? What role do jinn play in his conception of
epilepsy? And how does this affect the understanding of epilepsy itself?
Medical theory and practice in the medieval Islamic world was heavily
based on ancient Greek humoral theory. With the Abbasids taking over
the Caliphate in the mid-eighth century, a Graeco-Arabic translation
movement gathered pace and lasted until the Buyid era in the eleventh
century. Based in Baghdad, encouraged by their respective rulers and by
private and official patrons and financiers, mostly Syriac-speaking Nesto-
rian Christians translated into Arabic the writings of Greek scholarship
from Greek and Syriac (Gutas 2005, 4–7). Following this first phase of
translation of Greek scientific writing in the ninth century came a period
of compilation of material, while finally a third stage saw the composi-
tion of comprehensive treatises by medical and philosophical authorities,
like Ibn Sı̄nā (Ibn Sina, Avicenna) and al-Rāzı̄ (Rhazes) in the tenth and
eleventh centuries (Savage-Smith 1996, 913–926). Probably, the most
influential of the translated Greek medical texts was the humoral theory
of Hippocrates (d. approx. 370 BCE) (Nickel 2011, 597), which was
developed further by Galen (d. approx. 199) (Nickel 2011, 450–451) and
transmitted to the later Arabs via the school of Alexandria (Savage-Smith
and Pormann 2007, 15).
48 F. WESSEL
Humoral medicine was based on the assumption that the human body
comprises four humors, namely blood, black and yellow bile, and phlegm,
each ascribed to a certain organ and characterized by a combination of
two out of four qualities: warm or cold, dry or moist. In a healthy body,
the humors are in relative balance, while an imbalance causes and is indica-
tive of disease. Since foodstuffs share the same qualities as the body’s
humors, diet is an important means of medical therapy. For example, a
dry and warm diet is prescribed to counterbalance a dominance of moist
and cold humors. Further remedies were the ingestion of pharmaceu-
tical substances and simple drugs, as well as techniques such as cupping,
venesection, cautery, and even exposure to certain weather conditions
(Savage-Smith and Pormann 2007, 43–45).
The Developmental Stages

of the Prophet’s Medicine
Apart from Graeco-Arabic medicine, between the ninth and fifteenth
centuries, a genre of text developed known as the Prophet’s medicine or
Prophetic Medicine. Its authors were mainly not physicians, but scholars
of religion, who, in the relative absence of medical advice in the Quran,
referred to passages from the Sunna of the Prophet Muhammad. They
also included the ancient Arabic medical tradition (Savage-Smith and
Pormann 2007, 72; Dols and Immisch 1992, 211–212, 243). These
sources were often transmitted in the form of Hadith and cross-pollinated
with other writings of Islamic culture. Historically, such pertinent medical
information was initially only collected, later also commented upon, and
finally used to develop more comprehensive religio-medical theories. The
development of the Prophet’s Medicine is divided into four phases:
i. In a first step, medicine-related traditions about the life of

Muhammad were compiled in separate sections within the author-
itative Hadith collections, such as a section called “chapter on ill
people” (kitāb al-mard.ā) in al-Bukhārı̄’s al-S.ah.ı̄h. compendium and
a section titled “chapter on medicine” (kitāb al-t.ibb) in Ibn Māja’s
Hadith encyclopedia Kitāb al-Sunan (Perho 1995, 53).5
ii. The first book that distinctly treated the topic was al-T . ibb al-
nabawı̄ by the Andalusian scholar Abd al-Malik Ibn H . abı̄b al-
Sulamı̄ al-Qurt.ubı̄ (d. 238/853), but the manuscript did not
survive. The oldest such extant texts are al-T . ibb al-nabawı̄ by
Ibn al-Sunnı̄ al-Dı̄nawarı̄ (d. 364/974) and a work of the same
title by Abū Nuaym al-Is.fahānı̄ (d. 430/1038). Neither author
commented on the Hadith collected therein, but they arranged
their material in a way that was familiar from humoral medicine
(Perho 1995, 54).6 Ibn al-Jawzı̄ (d. 597/1200), the famous
Hanbali legal scholar from Baghdad, arranged the presentation of
diseases and cures in his Luqat. al-manāfi fı̄ al-t.ibb in accordance
with medical books of that time and presented humoral theory,
which made this book another milestone in the development of this
genre. This method was copied/used by the practicing Damascene
doctor Abd al-Lat.ı̄f al-Baghdādı̄ (d. 629/1231), whose comments
on Ibn Māja’s Kitāb al-Sunan were put into writing by his disciple
Muh.ammad al-Birzālı̄ (d. 636/1239). In a next step, Alı̄ Ibn
Abd al-Karı̄m al-H . amawı̄ (d. 720/1320), expanded the work of al-
Birzālı̄ inasmuch as he based his treatise on the Prophet’s medicine
on all authoritative Hadith collections and cited medical authorities
such as Ibn Sı̄nā and al-Rāzı̄.
iii. The fourteenth century saw elaborate writings of the Prophet’s
medicine among traditionalist Damascene authors such as al-
Dhahabı̄ (d. 748/1348), Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyya (d. 751/1350),
and Ibn Muflih. (d. 763/1362). They not only collected Hadith and
commented on the diseases and remedies described therein, but also
elaborated on all sorts of symptoms and cures in accordance with
their contemporary medical knowledge, combining it with Hadith.
Their works were “constructed like a regular medical book treating
all the basic issues of medical theory in a concise manner” (Perho
1995, 34) and contributed to forming a traditionalist Islamic theo-
retical framework for medical practice (Perho 1995, 76–78). Hence,
over time, the Prophet’s medicine became a blend of Greek-based
humoral medicine, Islamic belief, and ancient Arab medicine (Dols
and Immisch 1992, 248; Elgood 1962, 146).
iv. After the fourteenth century’s Damascene traditionalists, authors
continued to develop this genre. Two of them were the Yemeni
scholars al-S.anawbarı̄ al-Yamanı̄ (d. 815/1412) and Ibrāhı̄m al-
Azraq (d. 890/1485), whose works are characterized by a predom-
inance of rationalist humoral theory. In contrast, the work titled
al-Manhaj al-sawı̄ wal-manhal al-rawı̄ fı̄ al-t.ibb al-nabawı̄ by the
Cairene scholar Jalāl al-Dı̄n al-Suyūt.ı̄ (d. 911/1505) focuses on
the religious tradition without commenting on it with regard to
humoral medicine.7
50 F. WESSEL
Features of the Prophet’s Medicine

Humoral medicine and many medical Hadith shared an emphasis on diet
to prevent and treat diseases, as indicated by recommendations with long
lists of food in writings on the Prophet’s medicine (Ibn al-Qayyim 1998,
2003). Both also recommend cupping and cautery. At a later stage, more
elements from humoral theory were included in the development of the
Prophet’s medicine while elaborating in detail on Hadith related to health
issues. We may already speak of intersections, rather than mere similarities,
between the two.
The Prophet’s medicine further relied on Hadith of Muhammad
recommending honey, camel’s milk, and urine as remedies for certain
ailments. This advice was not only referred to by authors of the
Prophet’s medicine, but also discussed and partly affirmed by Ibn Sina
(d. 428/1037) (Perho 1995, 121–123). Yet, in contrast to humoral
medicine, the Prophet’s medicine includes divine remedies (adwiya
nabawiyya) (Perho 1995, 53). These could be regular prayers (s.alāt ),
spiritual invocation (du ā ), trustful patience (s.abr), struggle in the name
of religion (jihād), divine charm or magic (ruqya ilāhiyya), recitations
from the Quran, or substances said to contain divine blessing (baraka)
to treat and prevent afflictions. The healing qualities of the Quran
encompass curing effects ascribed to the recitation of certain Suras and
verses, such as its first chapter (al-fātih.a) or the last two Suras (al-
mu awwidhatān, meaning “the two protecting ones,” i.e., Suras 113
and 114) (Lecker 1992, 564). These two final chapters, for example,
were said to shelter a person from the mischief of the Evil Eye that an
envious human or jinnı̄ strikes him with (Krawietz 2002a). The Quran
is also believed to unfold its healing capacities if one wears part of it as
an amulet. A particularly potent verse was written on a paper and then
washed off with water that was subsequently drunk by the afflicted. More-
over, the Damascene traditionalists of the fourteenth century advocated
moral conduct in accordance with the principles of the Sharia and a life
following the example set by the Prophet. Widespread pre-modern under-
standing did not perceive the human soul and the behavior that it induces
as separate from the human body, but as being in a constant interplay
with it. Backed by the overall imperative to balance the humors, for these
Hanbali and other Muslim traditionalists to strengthen the soul meant
to insist on moral or spiritual conduct based on an internal balance of
soul and body. Hence, Prophetic Medicine promoted not only physical
strength but also the prevention of malady by keeping one’s balance, and
it offered a key to spiritual well-being (Dols and Immisch 1992, 243).
On a theological level, over time, the Prophet’s medicine became based
on the premises that disease was not caused by God directly, but through
earthly means or intermediaries, including jinn or sorcery. In this case,
disease is still perceived as given by God, but jinn function as the earthly
agents, effecting disease by possessing humans or by striking them with
the Evil Eye (Dols and Immisch 1992, 247). In general, affliction was
perceived as emanating from God’s will and as a trial for the believer;
but at the same time, God also provided treatment, as He created a
cure for every disease, although not all remedies have been discovered
yet or been properly applied (Dols and Immisch 1992, 244–245). This
explanatory model gave traditionalist authors in the fourteenth-century
greater liberties to incorporate humoral medicine into Hadith science. On
the one hand, this allowed the introduction of a certain degree of ratio-
nalism in the traditionalists’ argumentation, even though they pretended
to distance themselves from rationalist schools of thought. On the other
hand, they also refuted the extreme ascetic or mystic practices of some
radical Sufis who rejected medical treatment (tark al-tadāwı̄) as part of
their pious exercises of enduring ordained illness with patience (s.abr).
This could have been linked to the theological concept of complete trust
(tawakkul ) in God’s just plan without questioning the wisdom behind
the cause of a disease and of gaining a place in the hereafter by passing
through the experience of affliction. For his part, Ibn al-Qayyim took a
different stance and did not see tawakkul as conflicting with treatment
(Bürgel 2016, 20–24; Perho 1995, 65–67).
At this stage, elements of humoral medicine were fully incorporated
into the Prophet’s medicine. Tzvi Langermann argues that, in the course
of the translation movement described in the beginning of this chapter,
Islam developed a natural relation with science, meaning that scientific
knowledge, by being quoted and referenced, became “naturalized” in
texts addressing religious concerns and hence part of religious knowl-
edge (Langermann 2010, 212–213). By the time Ibn al-Qayyim authored
his Medicine of the Prophet, he could make use of humoral medicine,
as it was not perceived as conflicting with the wider Islamic culture. In
his research on the furūsiyya genre, Stephan Conermann has shown that
traditionalist authors during the Mamluk era co-opted worldly literature
in order to emphasize the role model of Muhammad and his Compan-
ions for pious Muslims (Conermann 2013, 414–415, 417).8 Accordingly,
52 F. WESSEL
the appropriation of rationalist argumentation from the field of medicine

by Hadith scholars led to the religious cooptation of a genre formerly
perceived as secular. This also allowed other fields of knowledge to be
dealt with in this way, so that the universal validity of religion could be
proven.
Jinn and Epilepsy According to Ibn al-Qayyim

The following presents Ibn al-Qayyim’s chapter on epilepsy because it
serves as a particularly striking example of the specific mechanism of incor-
porating medicine in religion. The role of jinn in this interface will also be
exemplified. In general, Ibn al-Qayyim’s writing was extensive and is diffi-
cult to label, since he rarely confined himself to a single genre and used
to combine theology, jurisprudence, philology, and ethics. This genre-
transgressing style was a source of creative energy in his writing (Krawietz
2006, 29). In our case, the concept of humoral medicine was incorpo-
rated in the study of Quran and Sunna (by blending humoral theory with
elements from the sacred sources).
Ibn al-Qayyim advocated the precedent of the Prophet as a model
for pious Muslims and adherence to Islamic law to secure access to the
hereafter. His Medicine of the Prophet is characteristic of Hanbali schol-
arship as it constantly refers to Quran and Sunna and emphasizes moral
conduct in a Muslim’s everyday life and the importance of the exem-
plary role of the Prophet and his Companions. Another Hanbali feature
is the theory of the consistency of reason and revelation, meaning that
the divine revelation is per se rational and that no rationalist argument can
contradict the word of God, otherwise it would not be rational (Rapoport
2010, 194). The value of such an approach is obvious when it comes to
a genre that employs tradition to establish a religiously grounded theory
for medical practice, spiritual healing, and prophylaxis.
Ibn al-Qayyim’s al-T . ibb al-nabawı̄ consists of two main parts. The
first is a general consideration of medical theory and religious permission
and encouragement to seek medical treatment; the second provides an
alphabetical list of food and medicinal substances. He begins with his
understanding of disease and cure, emphasizing that only a medicine
based on the knowledge of divine revelation may lay claim to truth
and effective treatment, while criticizing rationalist humoral medicine
for only scratching the surface. Despite his sharp rhetoric against ratio-
nalist medical scholars, whom he calls ignorant doctors, Ibn al-Qayyim
acknowledges cures derived from the rationalist methods of humoral

medicine, but somewhat harmonizes them through his juxtaposition with
medical statements from the normative sources of Islam (Ibn Qayyim
al-Jawziyya 1979, 1–18).9 In cases of obvious contradiction between
Prophetic tradition and rationalist theory, Ibn al-Qayyim manages to
combine them by adjusting them in various ways.10 Some prophetic state-
ments appear as universally valid, while in other cases, for example in his
sections on fever, he limits the scope of a Hadith to its specific location,
time, and target audience. Accordingly, urban dwellers need compound
medicine due to their complex diet, whereas Bedouins can take simple
drugs such as honey and herbs due to their simple food (IQ 1979, 6).
Ibn al-Qayyim also applies this hermeneutic strategy to epilepsy. His
method of reconciling rationalism and tradition is to restrict the validity
of humoral theory by dividing diseases into a spiritual and a physical form,
naming them “the physical diseases” (amrād. al-abdān) and “the diseases
of the heart” (amrād. al-qulūb) (Schallenbergh 2001, 422; IQ 1979, 2).
There are remedies for the body and remedies for the heart (IQ 1979, 2).
Ibn al-Qayyim further distinguishes between two types of disease of the
heart: doubt or confusion (shubha) and lust (shahwa) (IQ 1979, 2). The
first relates to the true knowledge of God, in which case Ibn al-Qayyim
recommends certainty (yaqı̄n) as the appropriate remedy; in the case of
desire (shahwa), he advocates patience (s.abr) (Schallenbergh 2001, 427).
Here, healing means to strengthen the soul by adhering to the divine
law, because a body inhabited by a strong soul is less prone to ailment.
As we will see below, according to Ibn al-Qayyim, epilepsy can emerge
from doubt (shubha). The division of different types of diseases serves a
further goal in the case of epilepsy, as Ibn al-Qayyim distinguishes two
different causes: “Epilepsy is of two kinds: an epilepsy stemming from
malicious, earthly spirits and an epilepsy that stems from bad humors”
(Al-s.ar .sar āni: .sar min al-arwāh. al-khabı̄ta al-ard.iyya wa .sar min
al-akhlāt. al-radı̄ at ) (IQ 1979, 51). Thereby, ¯ he allows both the ratio-
nalist and the religious explanation to apply. He continues: “They [the
rationalist theoreticians] do not have anything but ignorance. Otherwise,
there is nothing in the art of medicine that can overcome it. Experience
and fact prove it [this type of epilepsy]” (IQ 1979, 51). Experience most
probably had shown that epilepsy seemed incurable by means of humoral
medicine. Therefore, Ibn al-Qayyim managed to fill this gap with expla-
nations from divine scriptures (Perho 1995, 129). He emphasizes the role
of spirits (arwāh.) in medicine: “They admit that its treatment lies in the
54 F. WESSEL
confrontation of the noble, good, and lofty spirits with those evil, vicious
spirits; and in removing their influence, and in opposing and overcoming
their deeds” (IQ 1979, 51).
Accordingly, the strong spirit of a person helps to protect him against
evil spirits. As mentioned above, the balance of body and soul was
also a principle of humoral medicine. However, Ibn al-Qayyim not only
identifies two different causes of the disease, but also claims that there
are two different kinds of epilepsy: al-s.ar .sar āni. At first glance, one
could assume that he merely gives two different reasons for the same
phenomenon here (Ragab 2009), but he actually describes each type very
differently in the following sections. Hence, to understand the way his
presentation of epilepsy functions, he might be taken at his word that
there are indeed two kinds of epilepsy: an epilepsy of humors (s.ar al-
akhlāt.) and an epilepsy of spirits (s.ar al-arwāh.).11 He treats each in a
separate chapter, the second with the epilepsy of humors and its symptoms
and the first chapter on spirit epilepsy. Herein, Ibn al-Qayyim diagnoses
the spread of the disease and indicates its possible treatment. This will be
the core of our examination.
The Fight Against Jinn-Induced Epilepsy

Ibn al-Qayyim starts the section on spirit epilepsy with an account from
the Hadith about a black woman suffering from epilepsy who involun-
tarily takes off her clothes during seizures and who asks the Prophet to
invoke Allah on her behalf. Muhammad offers her either paradise if she
endures the fits with patience (s.abr) or to ask God to end the seizures.
She opts for patience to secure herself a place in heaven, but wants the
Prophet to supplicate to God to prevent her from involuntarily strip-
ping off her clothes during the seizures (IQ 1979, 51; Jolin 1999, 30).
It is noteworthy that Muhammad is unable to cure her. Ibn al-Qayyim
explains this in his section on humor-related epilepsy, where he assumes
that the woman is suffering from humor-related epilepsy with symptoms
he describes. He further states that this type of epilepsy of humors is
incurable, which explains why the Prophet did not promise her a cure but
instead asked her to observe .sabr. In other words, this tradition propa-
gates endurance as a key to enter paradise and supplication to God as a
cure. Interestingly, the behavior she shows during her fits is decisively not
in conformity with the Sharia, so that epilepsy is here associated with an
immoral conduct. Further, this is quite an elegant solution, because the

Prophet cannot be blamed for not curing a humor-induced ailment.
Concerning the function of this passage, the quote from the Hadith
affirms Rubin’s argument that one of the aims of the Prophet’s Medicine
was to construct Muhammad’s prophethood (dalā il al-nubuwwa) by
bringing him in line with the other, pre-Islamic prophets. In the case
of miracle healing, the point of reference that comes to mind is Jesus, of
course. This proof of prophethood was one reason for the existence of the
genre of the Prophet’s medicine (Rubin 2005, 96–97). Rubin bases his
thesis on non-canonical Hadith and remarks that, in the development of
this genre, Muhammad’s ability to heal was extended to his Companions
as mediums and finally to the Quran itself, claiming that one could cure
by means of the holy words alone. Thus, healing was no longer depen-
dent on God’s messenger or his Companions, but the divine power as
such was transmitted through the holy scripture. Healing, then, becomes
possible for the ordinary believer, especially through pertinent Quranic
verses (Rubin 2005, 103–105). The healing qualities of the holy scrip-
ture appear in Ibn al-Qayyim’s description of exorcism (Szombathy) in
the section on epilepsy caused by spirits (arwāh.). Here, he describes a case
of exorcism he witnessed with his sheikh (IQ 1979, 52–53). By quoting
certain verses from the Quran, such as the Throne verse (āyat al-kursı̄ Q
2:255) and al-mu awwidhatān (Q 113, 114), by reciting certain formulas
such as “In the name of God” and “leave!” (ukhruj ), and finally by phys-
ically beating the man, the shaikh made a female spirit leave the body
of a possessed person whom Ibn al-Qayyim calls an epileptic (mas.rū )
(IQ 1979, 53–54). If we assume that this shaikh is most probably Ibn
Taymiyya (d. 728/1328), a brief look at his understanding of jinn is
necessary. Ibn Taymiyya affirms the existence of jinn in his Īd.āh. al-dalāla
fı̄ umūm al-risāla due to his scripturalist understanding of the divine
texts. He suggests measures against their misconduct that are consistent
with Ibn al-Qayyim’s description. An important point in his account is
the introduction of exorcism as a medical treatment, which changes the
required skills of a physician, as I will argue below. However, let us first
focus on Ibn al-Qayyim’s basic conception of “spirit” here. This scene
clearly indicates that, for Ibn al-Qayyim, the “spirit” causing epilepsy
means possession by jinn, although he does not label them jinn, and that
these “spirits” are not merely an internal human faculty.12 Furthermore,
an epileptic fit is not a state of direct relation or connection to God or
even prophecy, but caused by earthly factors. Therefore, Ibn al-Qayyim
56 F. WESSEL
turns jinn into a means to theologically argue in favor of causation, but

against those who stress the role of divine intervention in affliction.13
As mentioned earlier, epilepsy was commonly believed to be caused
by jinn (Dols and Immisch 1992, 219). These spirits already appear
in the Arabian Peninsula’s pre-Islamic society and were integrated into
the Islamic belief system, as they are mentioned in some Meccan verses
of the Quran. However, their role differs from their pre-Islamic role.
To grasp Ibn al-Qayyim’s understanding of epilepsy, some features of
jinn as depicted in this period are particularly interesting here: jinn are
demons who move freely through air and space. They are able to change
shape and appear as snakes or other animals, but often they are invisible
to the human eye. They are also known to occupy places deserted by
humans and, interestingly, to inhabit the subterranean world (Dols and
Immisch 1992, 215), which again fits Ibn al-Qayyim’s description of the
spirits causing epilepsy, as he calls them “evil, earthly spirits.” Together
with humans, jinn form the category of al-thaqalāni, “the two weighty
ones,”14 meaning that they were imagined as bodily beings like humans
who eat, reproduce, and show feelings like love, desire, or anger. They are
able to engage in social relations with each other. Yet, interactions with
humans are problematic. Jinn are divided into different groups, one of
which, the Satans (shayāt.ı̄n), are of decidedly evil character. There are
many evildoers among jinn, such as Iblis himself, inciting humans to
unbelief, polytheism, and sins (Krawietz 2002b, 254). When ill-disposed,
jinn can lead believers to heretical practices and even possess their bodies
(van Gelder 2017). Interestingly, one way jinn attack humans, according
to Ibn Taymiyya, is by overpowering them with an epileptic fit, motivated
by desire (shahwa, hawan and ishq) or envy (h.asad) (Krawietz 2002b,
255).15 This remark by Ibn Taymiyya corresponds with Ibn al-Qayyim’s
introductory example of the black woman suffering from seizures during
which she would undress. Here a jinnı̄ might have caused her behavior,
which certainly transgresses the Divine Law.
According to Ibn Taymiyya, jinn are endowed with reason and act
willfully and knowingly (Krawietz 2002b, 252). Since jinn, too, heard
Muhammad’s message, they are divided between believers and unbe-
lievers and can consequently enter paradise (Krawietz 2002b, 254). To
achieve this, jinn must obey the Sharia and therefore, humans are called
upon to command good and forbid evil (al-amr bil-ma rūf wal-nahy an
al-munkar) in relation to jinn, as they are required to do in relation
to human believers. Humans should be aware of jinn, in particular of
those doing evil, and protect themselves against the capricious nature of
jinn. A disobedient jinnı̄ should be taught to apply divine norms from
the authoritative sources. Fighting an evil jinnı̄ has to be carried out in
line with the Sharia. Ibn Taymiyya sees protecting oneself against these
spirits as the greatest religious struggle. Accordingly, a jinnı̄ is to be
confronted with divine incantation and disciplinary measures. These imply
resisting, threatening, and cursing it. Beating a possessed person, i.e., an
epileptic, is said to harm only the jinnı̄. One way of repelling a jinnı̄
possessing a human is to write Quranic verses on a paper, wash them off,
and dose the possessed with this mixture (Krawietz 2002b, 255–257).
What Ibn Taymiyya provides here are orthodox forms of exorcism and
magic that we can find also in Ibn al-Qayyim’s writing on the Prophet’s
medicine. Therefore, by the end of the chapter on the epilepsy of spirits,
Ibn al-Qayyim’s readers have learned that the disease is not accidental,
but possibly caused by a lack of belief mediated by jinn and that it is
preventable or treatable as described above. Yet, nothing was mentioned
about the symptoms and the appearance of the disease. Thus, the author
affirms:
If the cover were lifted, then you would see the majority of the human
souls epileptic through those evil spirits; you would see that they are in
their captivity and in their grip; they lead them as they wish, and [for the
people,] there is no refuse from them [from the spirits], and no disobedi-
ence. And herein lies the biggest epilepsy, which its bearer [the epileptic]
cannot wake up from, except by separation and examination, then one can
verify that he was truly epileptic. (IQ, 54)
What surprises in this passage is Ibn al-Qayyim’s allegation that the

majority of people have epilepsy, and he goes even further by stating “that
the disease is spreading so that one sees nothing but epileptics” (IQ 1979,
54). This rather rhetorical description does not allow us to identify any
specific symptoms of spirit epilepsy. Although we already know that the
state of affliction is caused by a lack of belief in the form of confusion
or uncertainty, we do not yet know anything about its symptoms. Since
it is not likely that public life in medieval Damascus was characterized by
sudden convulsive seizures suffered by the majority of people, this raises
the question whether Ibn al-Qayyim is describing epilepsy here at all.
One instructive aspect of the relationship between Ibn al-Qayyim’s
descriptions of humor epilepsy and spirit epilepsy is the structuring of the
58 F. WESSEL
paragraphs. Following the statement that there are two epilepsies, there
is one paragraph on each type of epilepsy. The first paragraph, on spirit
epilepsy, describes the religious causes of and the diagnosed spread of the
disease, but is devoid of any description of particular symptoms.
Only in the chapter on humor epilepsy does Ibn al-Qayyim give a
detailed description of pertinent medical symptoms. Thus, it is up to the
reader to fill the void left by absent description in the first paragraph
with the description of symptoms given in the second and to imagine
these as the symptoms of Jinn-induced “epilepsy”. He wants to scare his
readers about spiritually caused, but spiritually treatable diseases that are,
at the same time, discernable in medical terms and therefore recognized
by both medical and religious authorities. Yet, the aforementioned exag-
gerated claim that the majority of people were afflicted by epilepsy in his
time means that the religious scholar wants to rhetorically pathologize
what he deemed to result from neglecting the normative demands of the
Sharia. According to Ibn al-Qayyim, such behavior paves the way for evil
spirits to intrude on negligent believers.
Healing, Physicians, and Religious Scholars

A final aspect is the role Ibn al-Qayyim concedes to the physician. In
general, he recommends medical consultations in case of ailment, and
he acknowledges the danger of unprofessional treatment. Partly, this
means accepting medical treatments, as opposed to their total rejection
by “hyper-ascetics”. And, as Perho states, the concern of the traditionalist
authors of the genre was to diligently emphasize the recommendation of
Prophetic tradition that help should be sought from the most proficient,
be it a Muslim believer or not. However, Ibn al-Qayyim emphasizes the
qualities of the physician and the preconditions for treating epilepsy as
follows: “The treatment of this sort consists of two kinds: one on the
part of the epileptic and one on the part of the physician; and the one on
the part of the epileptic is in the strength of his soul and his orientation
toward the Originator and the Creator of these spirits” (IQ 1979, 52).
Moreover, Ibn al-Qayyim writes that the healer (mu ālij ) has the means
of simply saying, “Get out of him!” (IQ 1979, 52). Ibn al-Qayyim stresses
here that the firm belief of the patient and the physician are important for
the cure. The curing Ibn al-Qayyim mentions here is “oneness,” meaning
the belief in a single God (tawh.ı̄d), trust in God (tawakkul ), and piety
or devoutness (taqwā). As mentioned, Ibn al-Qayyim accepts medical
intervention, but adapts the underlying humoral theory of Graeco-Arabic

medical practice by limiting its scope in favor of the prophetic tradition
and stressing the religious faith of the treating physician as a precondi-
tion for successful healing. Ibn al-Qayyim adds a religious feature to the
institution of the physician, who, without a firm knowledge of the divine,
cannot grasp the full scope of medical problems. In the end, a full-fledged
“good physician” necessarily also comprises technical skills and faith. This
is not to completely delegitimize medical qualification, but to strengthen
the claim of religion and the position of the religious scholars ( ulamā ).
Their authority is expanded and diversified inasmuch as they are impor-
tant for the teaching of the religious knowledge that the physicians need
to acquire. And in combining exorcism with the preservation of religious
norms, it is legitimized as part of medical treatment. By accepting certain
aspects of medical treatment in a new, religious theory, Ibn al-Qayyim
expands the universal claim of Islam to the field of medicine.
Conclusion
Prophetic Medicine is more than the religious acknowledgment and legit-
imization of the techniques of medical healing and medical expertise. As
a latecomer genre to Islamic writings, this signifies a delayed, though
disguised, incorporation of Greek medical concepts. Ibn al-Qayyim’s
creative way of doing this is a feature in all of his writings. By joining
the two fields, he succeeds in making his point in a variety of religiously
controversial topics. He balances rationalism and religious tradition, not
relying solely on rational argumentation. In the case of epilepsy, he uses
humoral medicine’s lack of an explanation and of an efficient cure for
epilepsy to introduce his religious message. This way, jinn are integrated
into a humoral-medical context to explain epilepsy as the believer’s weak-
ness toward jinn resulting from a lack of faith. This argumentation results
in the pathologization of disbelief and discredits disbelief as expressed in
mere rationalist convictions.
This—rhetorical—expansion of “epilepsy” also resonates with the
Damascene traditionalists’ view that sinful behavior was gaining ground.
With the Prophet’s Companions as a normative point of reference, they
saw later social developments in the Muslim community as decaying
because of bad innovation (bid a), such as celebrating Muhammad’s
birthday or visiting saints’ graves. The Hanbali traditionalists interpreted
major historical events, such as the Crusades in Syria and Palestine and the
60 F. WESSEL
Mongol conquest that made its way to Syria after the devastating destruc-
tion of Baghdad in 1258, as collective punishment by God. Another
example is the plague that struck the Middle East in the mid-fourteenth
century. The spread of the Black Death and the lack of a cure for it led to
explanations similar to those for epilepsy. Here as well, jinn were seen as
transmitters of the disease.16 Hence, people’s fear of divine punishment
was a widespread emotional disposition that helped Ibn al-Qayyim when
he linked lack of faith with medical explanations of physical ailments.
In this way, Ibn al-Qayyim also strengthens the position of the religious
Muslim scholar by turning him into a medically relevant authority, while
at the same time reducing the prestige of the physician. The latter is not
familiar with the “diseases of the heart,” the necessary spiritual remedies,
and the intricate workings of evil jinn.
As jinn appear in the framework of the sacred texts of Quran and
Sunna, they serve as a normative argument that disease can be caused by
factors other than God’s immediate interference. The idea of a worldly
causation of a disease is presented with an example from the divine
sources, since, although jinn appear in the holy texts, they are not part
of the divine. Therefore, epilepsy is no longer a sacred illness, because
afflictions caused by jinn are not directly caused by God. Concerning
the “sacred disease,” Ibn al-Qayyim turns the case in point upside down:
sacred and spiritual offerings prevent and treat the disease, while a defi-
ciency of faith causes it. So, neither divine intervention nor a close relation
between the afflicted person and the divine causes the disease. Prevention
and cure of the disease have to be related to the internal spiritual state
of the believer and are achievable through the spiritual means of Islam.
As one of these offers, Ibn al-Qayyim advocates leading a life in accor-
dance with the divine law and the example of the Prophet Muhammad.
This impact is mundane as it prevents affliction in this world, and it is
otherworldly as it affects the fate of the believer in the hereafter. As a
result, Ibn al-Qayyim has transformed epilepsy from a disease caused only
by humors to an affliction triggered by evil demons to be cured by the
sacred means of Islam.
Notes
1. This chapter does not deal with the spiritual medicine of the Shiite imams.
2. On Hanbali methodology and its inherent pragmatism, see Rapoport
(2010), 194.
3. Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyya, Ibn Muflih., and al-Dhahabı̄.
4. See Savage-Smith and Pormann (2007, 41–71); for the Prophet’s

medicine, see (2007, 71–75 and 150–151); Dols and Immisch (1992,
211–312); and on Prophetic Medicine, Perho (1995, 243–260).
5. Dols, too, indicates that the medicine-related Hadith are relatively few
and appeared relatively late (Dols and Immisch 1992, 423).
6. If not otherwise indicated, the development of the genre outlined here is
based on Perho (1995, 53–64).
7. While Perho depicts Damascene traditionalists of the thirteenth-
fourteenth centuries as the peak and, accordingly, these later authors as
falling behind the former’s elaborate capacity to blend the two regimes
of knowledge, Savage-Smith suggests that the genre underwent two
separate developments in different later directions (Perho 1995, 60–61;
Savage-Smith 1996, 928).
8. This genre deals with the maintenance of horses and various sorts of
equestrian games.
9. In the following, the edition of 1979 is referred to and quoted as IQ
1979.
10. Ahmed Ragab 2009 has presented three such examples of adjustment.
11. Jolin speaks of “the kind caused by evil spirits and the kind caused by
humoral imbalance” (1999, 31). The authors of the English edition of
the Prophet’s medicine decided to translate .sar al-arwāh. as “epilepsy
that results from negative forces”, thereby obscuring the impact of jinn
in epilepsy.
12. Perho interestingly distinguishes between jinn and spirits “that God had
created and placed within each man” (1995, 127–128).
13. As Dols and Immisch put it: “for God has created powers in both mankind
and the spirits that can influence others” (1992, 256).
14. Q 55:31.
15. On envy, see Krawietz (2002b, 343); Dols and Immisch (1992, 256–
257).
16. On the plague as a punishment, see Dols (1979, 114), and on the
transmission of the plague by jinn (1979, 116–18).
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CHAPTER 4
The Physical Reality of Jinn Possession

According to Commentaries on the Quran
(2:275)
Mudhi al-Shimmari
Preliminary Remark on the Editing

and Translation of This Text
In his contribution, which was originally composed in Arabic in a much
longer version of this text, the Saudi Arabian scholar Mudhi al-Shimmari
compiled a collection of citations taken from Quranic commentaries in
connection with the Quranic verse in (2:75): “Those who take usury
(ribā) will rise [from the grave on the Day of Resurrection and Judgment
involuntarily shaking] before God like those whom Satan [as the most evil
Jinni] strikes to the ground through beating (yatakhabbat.uhu al-shayt.ān
min al-mass ).” From a total of 40 Quranic commentaries referring to this
particular verse, al-Shimmari investigated the following questions: When
M. al-Shimmari (B)
Center for Dawa and Irshad, Ministry of Islamic Affairs, Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-61247-4_4
66 M. AL-SHIMMARI
a jinnı̄ has entered a human body and taken control of it, in what ways
is Satan (shayt.ān) linked to the striking down of this human being? Once
a jinnı̄ is inside the human body, the second question arises: Whether
two souls, the one from the human and the other from the jinnı̄, can
coexist in one and the same human body, and can this jinnı̄ take control
of the affected human body? Here the h.adı̄th “Satan runs through the
blood of humans” is instructive. And finally, in what ways is the expulsion
or exorcism of jinn from the human body linked to the well-being of
a human? Since Mudhi al-Shimmari’s initial Arabic contribution was too
demanding in the context of this edited volume and required a consider-
able amount of background knowledge of Islamic theology and law, Birgit
Krawietz translated bits and pieces from his Arabic text into English,
slightly rearranged their sequence, and added a few explanatory remarks,
hopefully without interfering with his line of argument, and with the aim
of preserving his principle scholarly assumptions.
Introduction to Arabic
Terminology and Islamic Concepts
The expression “madness” (Arabic: al-mass; literally touching) is related
to someone who has been touched by a jinnı̄ (mamsūs ). This kind of
being affected or possessed is also denoted linguistically by the additional,
interchangeably used past participles majnūn, makhbūl , and malbūs , i.e.,
mad, confused, and enwinded. A jinnı̄’s physical entering (dukhūl or
talabbus ) a human body overpowers the will of the individual human
being who is stricken or wrestled to the ground (mas.rū‘ ) and, as a
result, is controlled by the intruding force. In this context, the term
for epilepsy (s.ar‘ ) is often used to describe the lack of self-control in a
state of madness. In a general sense, it also designates all sorts of trans-
gressive behavior.1 Al-H . usayn al-Baghāwı̄ (d. 516 h/1122) and others
explain the striking to the ground (khabt.) as “he [Satan] wrestles him
[the human] down” (yas.ra‘uhu) and as beating (d.arb) so that the other
loses his balance (istiwā’) (al-Baghawı̄, Ma‘ālim al-tanzı̄l fı̄ tafsı̄r al-
Qur’ān, 1/340). The late Saudi Arabian scholar Muh.ammad Ibn S.ālih.
al-‘Uthaymı̄n (d. 1421/2001) adds the nuance that being stricken to
the ground (takhabbut.) occurs through uncontrollable sudden hitting
(d.arb ‘ ashwā’ı̄), “because it overpowers the human being” (yus.allit.
‘alā Ibn Ādam), putting him off guard, “so that it strikes him to
the ground” (fa-yas.ra‘uhu) (al-‘Uthaymı̄n, Tafsı̄r al-fatı̄h.a wal-baqara,
4 THE PHYSICAL REALITY OF JINN POSSESSION … 67
3/374). However, such a physical intrusion by jinn has to be concep-

tually distinguished from their mere instigation of evil through foul
whispering (waswasa).
Consensus Among the People

of the Sunna and the Community
In the past, Muslims have agreed (ittafaqa) on the existence of the jinn,
based on the Book of God and the Sunna of His Messenger, peace and
blessings be upon him. The Quran contains a chapter called “the chapter
of the Jinn,” Sura 72. It is reported that there was a consensus (ijmā‘ )
on this (e.g., al-Biqā‘ı̄, Nuz.um al-durar, 4/111). However, a represen-
tative of contemporary Islamic theological and jurisprudential studies,
the former Grand Mufti of Egypt and then Azhar Rector Muh.ammad
Sayyid T.ant.āwı̄ (d. 2010), speaks only of “the majority (jumhūr) of the
scholars” (al-Tafsı̄r al-wası̄t., 1/634). Due to the abundance of evidence
(adilla) from the holy sources, no Muslim, irrespective of his group or
sect, denies the existence of jinn—except for the Mu‘tazila and the later
Qadariyya, another philosophically tinged current. This is not surprising,
given their preference of reason (al-‘aql ) over evidence taken from Quran
and Sunna. I refer the readers to two famous quotes taken here from the
fourteenth-century Syrian author Badr al-Dı̄n al-Shiblı̄:
Imām al-H . aramayn [al-Juwaynı̄ (d.478/1058)] said: You should know,

may God have mercy on you, that many philosophers, a large number
of the Qadariyya, and all heretics (al-zanādiqa) completely denied devils
(shayāt.ı̄n) and jinn. This is not strange for people who are not well guided
and do not hold on to the Sharia. However, the Qadariyya’s denial is aston-
ishing given the [authoritative holy] text references (nus.ūs.) of the Quran,
the wealth of reports [authenticated by widespread transmission] (tawātur
al-akhbār), and the abundance of records. (al-Shiblı̄, Ākām al-marjān, 6)
Abū Bakr al-Bāqillanı̄ (d. 403/1013), too, mentioned their discord on

this matter: “In the past (qadı̄man), many of the Qadariyya affirmed
that jinn exist, but now they deny their existence. Some acknowl-
edge their existence [in general], but claim that they are not visible
to humans due to the fine texture (riqqa) of their bodies and because
rays pass through them (nufūdh al-shi‘ā‘ fı̄hā)” (al-Shiblı̄, Ākām al-
marjān, 7). The Ottoman scholar Ismā‘ı̄l H
. aqqı̄ al-Istanbūlı̄ al-Khalwatı̄
68 M. AL-SHIMMARI
(d. 1127/1752), may God have mercy on him, explains the traditional
understanding of their entering the human body in the following manner,
in which he plays with the linguistic similarity between wind and soul:
“Like the wind (rı̄h.) and the breath moving back and forth (al-nafas al
mutaraddid) that is the spirit (rūh.) in our bodies, it is not impossible that
they [the Jinn] enter our bodies” (Ismā‘ı̄l H . aqqı̄, Rūh. al-bayān, 3/150).
However, there is no doubt that the aforementioned rationalist
dissenters are only a small and negligible minority that is barely remem-
bered today. In historical perspective, I have not found any doubt about
that in the period ranging from the death of the Prophet in the year
11/632, peace be upon him, until the time of Imam Ah.mad Ibn H . anbal
(d. 241 h). His son ‘Abdallāh said: “I asked my father: Some people claim
that the jinn do not enter the human body?! He responded: ‘My son,
they lie. He [the jinnı̄] speaks with his [the human being’s] tongue” (Ibn
Taymiyya, Majmū‘ al-Fatāwā, 8/433). ‘Abdallāh was evidently surprised
by such doubts. This indicates that those people were the first to raise the
issue at all, while earlier there had been a consensus that jinn can enter the
human body. Later, the Muslim scholar al-Zamakhsharı̄ (d. 538/1144),
in particular, addressed that doubt, as I will show below, God willing.
That is to say, believing that jinn can intrude on the human body is
part of the established theological doctrine (‘aqı̄da) of “the People of the
Sunna and the Community” (ahl al-sunnah wal-jamā‘a) in the tradition
of al-Ash‘arı̄ (d. 324/936) (Maqālāt al-islāmiyyı̄n, 1/435; al-Ibāna ‘an
us.ūl al-diyāna, 1/22; Ibn Taymiyya (d. 728/1328), Majmū‘ al-fatāwā,
24/276; Ibn H . ajar al-Haytamı̄ (d. 974/1567), al-Fatāwā al-h.adı̄tha,
1/53); al-Shawkānı̄ (d. 1250/1834), Fath. al-qadı̄r, 1/445, and others).
Quranic Exegesis of the People

of the Sunna and the Community
One of the most powerful proofs the scholars point to regarding the
jinn’s taking over of the human body is verse (āya) 275 of the second
chapter (sūra) of the Quran, called “The Cow” (al-Baqara). Therein,
the Almighty says: “Those who take usury (ribā) will rise [from the
grave involuntarily shaking] before God like those whom Satan strikes to
the ground through beating” (yatakhabbat.uhu al-shayt.ān min al-mass ).
And Ibn Kathı̄r (d. 774/1373) supplements: “that is to say, he rises [on
the Day of Resurrection, Day of Judgment] in a bad manner” (yaqūmu
qiyāman munkaran) (Tafsı̄r al-qur’ān al-‘az.ı̄m, 1/326).
Leaving aside some seldom-published commentators and authors who

were not within my reach, I consulted dozens of Quranic commentaries
(sg. tafsı̄r) about this particular verse. It turned out that the smaller
portion of them did not tackle the issue of jinn possession in the frame-
work of (2:275), while more than half of the commentaries accepted the
verse at face value (‘alā z.āhir al-āya), thus confirming the doctrine of
the People of the Sunna and the Community. Contemporary authors,
like Abū Bakr al-Jazā’irı̄ (d. 1439/2018),2 may God have mercy on him,
follow this line of reasoning (Aysar al-tafāsı̄r, 1/268). Already Ibn H . azm
(d. 456/1064) emphasized, “God [explicitly] mentioned the influence of
Satan on the person who has turned mad (dhakara ‘azza wa-jalla ta’thı̄r
al-shayt.ān fı̄ al-mas.rū‘ ), namely by touching (mumāssa), so that no one
may add anything to that” (al-Fas.l, 5/10).
Only three commentaries argued along the lines of the Mu‘tazila,
claiming that this statement in the Quran merely reflects the unfounded
and superstitious assumptions (mazā‘im) of the Arabs before the advent
of Islam. To counter the belief in Jinn, they emphasized that although
God Almighty knows better, He addressed them in the Quran in this
fashion only in order to accommodate the archaic mindset of people back
then and finally guide them to a higher level of insight through gradually
understanding His revealed message more properly.
However, the majoritarian view is confirmed by famous scholars of
the tenth and eleventh centuries, such as Muh.ammad b. Jarı̄r al-T.abarı̄
(d. 310/923) (Tafsı̄r al-T . abarı̄, 5/38, 41), Abū Ish.āq al-Tha‘labı̄ (d.
427 h/1035) (al-Kashf wal-bayān), Abū al-Muz.affar al-Sam‘ānı̄ (d.
489/1096) (Tafsı̄r al-al-qur’ān, 1/279), and later ones such as al-Suyūt.ı̄
(d. 911/1505). Abū Bakr Ibn al-Mundhir al-Nı̄sābūrı̄ (d. 319/923)
makes it clear that the mentioned “touch” can stem from the devil and
the jinn in general (Tafsı̄r Ibn al-Mundhir, 1/51). Abū al-Layth al-
Samarqandı̄ (d. 373/983) clarifies that the standing up in front of God
refers to the Day of Resurrection after humans are raised from their graves
(Bah.r al-‘ulūm, 1/182). Al-Rāghib al-Is.fahānı̄ (d. 502/1108) likewise
takes this verse as a proof of the power of jinn and adds to it, “Satan has
an impact on the human, contrary to what the Mu‘tazila claimed when
they said that the Devil has only influence (ta’thı̄r) on the human through
whispering” (waswasa). This incitement to sinful behavior in the mind or
heart of a person is mentioned in the last Sura of the Quran and the
Prophetic Hadith: “Satan runs through the human being like his blood.”
70 M. AL-SHIMMARI
‘Izz al-Dı̄n Ibn ‘Abd al-Salām (d. 660/1262) (Tafsı̄r al-qur’ān, 1/245)
adds:
Satan strangles him [the human being] (yatakhannaquhu) in this world

through touching; that is to say madness [emerges] due to the prevalence
of the black [bile] (li-ghalabat al-sawdā’); hence, it was attributed to Satan
because it resembles what he does with regard to his [man’s] entrapment
or it is [indeed] a doing of Satan, because it is rationally possible and it is
in accordance with the wording of the Quran.3
Abū ‘Abdallāh al-Qurt.ubı̄ (d. 671/1272), may God have mercy on him,
said: “This verse is evidence that it is invalid to negate [the possibility
of] being wrestled to the ground (s.ar‘ ) by jinn and to claim that this
is [merely] the deed of natural forces” (t.abā’i‘) (al-Jāmi‘ li-ah.kām al-
qur’ān, 3/355). Obviously, the co-presence of two souls—the soul of
human and the soul of the jinnı̄—in a single human body posed a certain
theological problem. Again according to al-Qurt.ubı̄:
Many people repudiated the famous statement of the Prophet, “Satan

runs through the human being like his blood” (Inna al-shayt.ān yajrı̄
min Ibn Ādam majrā al-dam), declaring it impossible that two souls can
be within one body (ah.ālū rūh.ayni fı̄ jasad). However, reason does not
exclude the possibility that they move through human beings (al-‘aql lā
yuh.ı̄l sulūkahum fı̄ al-ins ), because their bodies are of light, simple matter
(raqı̄qa bası̄t.a). (al-Jāmi‘ li-ah.kām al-qur’ān, 2/50)
Al-Biqā‘ı̄ not only relates Satan’s streaming in human blood to a number

of h.adı̄ths, he even mentions reports of the type that the Prophet
Muh.ammad “ejected an obsessive jinn force in the shape of a dog from
the inside of an afflicted human being” (akhraja al-s.āri‘ min al-jinn min
jawf al-mas.rū‘ fı̄ .sūrat kalb), etc. (al-Biqā‘ı̄, Nuz.um al-durar, 4/111).5
However, this is exaggerated and I object to this latter narrative because
it is “weak” (d.a‘ı̄f ) from the viewpoint of critical Hadith scholarship.
However, Muslim Quran interpreters like al-Biqā‘ı̄ are so convinced of the
agency of jinn that they even dwelled on cross-religious parallels of afflic-
tion with and expulsion of demons and referred to Christian sources and
especially the Gospels of Luke and Marcus (al-Biqā‘ı̄, Nuz.um al-durar,
4/114). In addition, there is a lot of evidence, especially from the Sunna,
that the Prophet Muh.ammad, peace be upon him, was guided by God to
shield himself through Quran recitation, especially by taking refuge in its
last two very short Suras (113–114) (al-mu’awwidhatān). The Prophet

encouraged pious Muslims to seek spiritual treatment, but an excursion
into these h.adı̄th reports is outside the scope of this contribution.
The outlines of the prominent thirteenth-century author al-Qurt.ubı̄
are followed by the majority of modern Muslim commentators, such as
the very influential Yemeni scholar al-Shawkānı̄ (d. 1250/1834), who
affirms in principle what Abū ‘Abdallāh al-Qurt.ubı̄ postulates. Many
twentieth-century Quran commentators consulted for the purpose of
this chapter and who agreed on the possibility of jinn intrusion are
well known and originate from different regions of the Islamic world,
like Egypt, India, the Maghreb, the Arabian Peninsula, and the Middle
East. Notably the famous Syrian Salafi scholar Jamāl al-Dı̄n al-Qāsimı̄ (d.
1332/1914) mentions many statements that go against al-Zamakhsharı̄
and his followers. It is astonishing that in some scientific circles the claim
is made that al-Qāsimı̄ rejects human jinn possession (yunkir talabbus al-
jinn bil-ins )! However, the correct position is that al-Qāsimı̄ does affirm
this possibility (Mah.āsin al-ta’wı̄l, 2/220).
The popular Egyptian theologian Muh.ammad Mutawallı̄ al-Sha‘rāwı̄
(d. 1418/1998), may God have mercy on him, describes the jinn as
follows, raising some rhetorical questions to underline in medical terms
the very modern concept of what jinn are doing with human bodies:
“They [the jinn] are subtle hidden creatures that have their own special
law” (qānūn). Although atheist scientific knowledge has habitually ques-
tioned the hidden mysteries mentioned by God, its scholars have come
up with the notion of creatures called microbes (al-mikrūbāt ). Pursuing
his argument al-Sha‘rāwı̄ further declares:
They [the microbes] stem from the category of [real] substance (al-jins al-
māddı̄), namely from clay,6 but they are very tiny (d.ā’ı̄la jiddan). What
does the microbe do? It pervades (yanfudhu fı̄) the body, while you are
not aware of it entering (dākhil fı̄) your body. And after that, what does
it do with your temperature? What does it do in your body? And when
the Prophet informs you on God’s behalf, “The devil will run through
you like the blood,” hence, what is the contradiction in that? If there
were something tiny (d.ā’ı̄l ) [stemming] from your material (mādda) about
which you do not know how it entered and that you do not feel inside
yourself and that then disturbs your balance of temperature and that plays
games with your whole body (yumāris al-‘abath bi-kull jismika), so that it
puts the white blood cells into turmoil (tahı̄ju) in order to combat it, that
72 M. AL-SHIMMARI
is to say, to get the puss out (tukhrij al-s.adı̄d), where is a contradiction

then?” (Tafsı̄r al-Sha‘rāwı̄, 4/1272)
Following up on al-Qurt.ubı̄ and other premodern authors, yet another

important Egyptian voice, namely the former Rector of Azhar University,
Muh.ammad Sayyid T.ant.āwı̄ (d. 1431/2010), argues against Zamakhsharı̄
and his followers who did not acknowledge the reality that epilepsy (s.ar‘ )
and madness (junūn) are caused by satanic force. Furthermore, T.ant.āwı̄
quotes an important report mentioned by al-Nawawı̄ (d. 676/1277) that
the Messenger of God, peace be upon him, used to say:
O Allah, I seek refuge with You from being thrown from a high place
or crushed beneath a falling wall, or drowning or being burned, and I
seek refuge with You from being led astray by Satan at the time of death
(Allāhumma innı̄ a‘ūdhu bika min al-taraddı̄ wal-hadm wal-gharaq wal-
h.arı̄q, wa-a‘ūdhu bika, an yatakhabbat.anı̄ ash-shayt.ānu ‘inda l-mawt ).
Wrapping up, T.ant.āwı̄ states: “The conviction of the pious ancestors of

Islam (salaf ) and of the people of the Sunna is that these issues have to
be taken as really occurring in the way the Lawgiver (al-shāri‘ ) reported
them.” The reason for that is that “it is not up to us to freely interpret (an
nu’awwila) the Quran, disregarding its literal meaning” (z.āhir) (T.ant.āwı̄,
al-Tafsı̄r al-wası̄t. lil-qur’ān al-karı̄m, 1/634).
Rationalist Dissenters from Among the Mu‘tazila

Concerning the exact nature of the tempting whispering, Sirāj al-Dı̄n al-
Nu‘mānı̄ (d. 775/1374) relates that question to reports that it “dives
deep into the human being” (yaghūs.u fı̄ bāt.in al-insān). He adds: “It
is well known that jinn have the ability to influence human beings
deep down, but most of the Mu‘tazila denied this” (Lubāb fı̄ ‘ulūm
al-kitāb, 1/115). Representatives of the rationalist Mu‘tazilı̄ school of
thought are known for their stubbornness when it comes to acknowl-
edging the impact of jinn activities. The famous thirteenth-century
author al-Qurt.ubı̄ deplores in his Quran commentary:
Most of the Mu‘tazilites denied Satans and Jinn. Their denial is evidence
of their lack of concern and of the feebleness of their religious convictions
(diyānāt ). To affirm their existence is not excluded by reason. Passages
of the Quran and the Sunna verify their existence. (al-Jāmi‘ li-ah.kām
al-qur’ān, 2/50)
Ibn ‘Arafa al-Mālikı̄ (d. 803/1401), may God have mercy on him, said
after he had quoted al-Zamakhsharı̄:
You should know that the Old Mu‘tazila radically denied the [existence
of] Jinn (yunkirūn al-jinn bil-as.āla). There is no doubt that it is unbe-
lief, because it belies Quran and Hadith; however, later Mu‘tazilites affirm
them (yuthbitūnahum) [i.e., acknowledge their existence], but deny [the
possibility of] madness/epilepsy (s.ar‘ ) [through Jinn]. (Tafsı̄r Ibn ‘Arafa
al-Mālikı̄, 2/767)
We now recall what the Mu‘tazila claim on this matter, and I say, only in
God is success. In historical perspective, the early twelfth-century author
Abū al-Qāsim al-Zamakhsharı̄ is the first Muslim scholar recorded as
departing from the apparent meaning (z.āhir) of Quran (2:275), when
he connected the fact of being struck to the ground by Satan (takhabbut.
al-shayt.ān) and the phenomenon of epilepsy (s.ar‘ ) or complete loss
of self-control to allegations voiced by pre-Islamic Arabs (T.ant.āwı̄, al-
Tafsı̄r al-wası̄t. lil-qur’ān al-karı̄m, 1/634). Al-Zamakhsharı̄ is followed
on this matter by later commentators, such as Nās.ir al-Dı̄n Bayd.āwı̄
(d. 685/1290) (Anwar al-tanzı̄l, 1/162) and Sharaf al-Dı̄n al-T.ı̄bı̄ (d.
743/1343) (H . āshiyat al-T
. ı̄bı̄ ‘alā al-Kashshāf , 3/542). The problem
with Zamakhsharı̄’s argumentation is that he relied solely on one argu-
ment that is in itself devoid of a convincing religious indicator (dalı̄l ).
Hence, his position was often contested.
In general, many Quran interpreters agreed with the first position,
which is the saying of the Ahl al-Sunna and those who are in line with
them. It is that the jinn indeed enter the human being and possess it.
Yet, it is necessary to mention al-Zamakhsharı̄ and the evidence he brings
forth. He based his opinion on the single argument: “This is one of the
allegations of the [Old] Arabs.” However, it is clear that this argument
needs evidence! Instead, it should be emphasized that there is no legal
or scientific evidence to deny the possibility of possession by jinn. On
the contrary, there are many indicators from the holy sources to support
it.
74 M. AL-SHIMMARI
Final Comment of the Author

The evidence presented in this book chapter indicates that being touched
by jinn is real. A very large number of tafsı̄r scholars agree on this. It is
also clear that those who disagree are only a few, and that they have no
legitimate evidence. Hence, they cling to something their minds did not
understand properly! I have demonstrated that a human being stricken
by jinn does not mean that Muslim scholars exaggerate in explaining
some diseases as being related to the touch of a jinnı̄. It is clear that
the human mind suffers from many ailments, including what is known
in modern medicine and what is still unknown. The “touch” or being
overpowered by jinn (mass , .sar‘ ) is only one of these many different
types. It can cause an abundance of mental and physical health problems.
Among them is the situation that some patients quit treatments based
on modern (bio)medicine on the grounds that they are afflicted by jinn.
Others recommend a modern biomedical treatment and comply with it.
They are treated and receive betterment with God’s will. And there are
people who do not believe until their health deteriorates. We are also
faced with another problem. Many people refuse psychological treatment
thinking that it is for mad people only. However, it should be empha-
sized that it is a treatment like any other. The mind can get sick just like
the body! Therefore, a medically sick person does not improve his health
condition through Quran reading or dhikr, but needs to turn to modern
biomedical treatment.
The diagnosis of certain diseases has been exaggerated, among them
the phenomenon of being touched by a jinnı̄, to a degree that some
people seek their cure in myths. Some of the quacks who take money
for nothing also believe that. Many people even trust black magic and its
charlatans. What those people know can only increase diseases. Many of
them make a business out of that. Some of them lie to the sick for the
sake of money. And they tell them that their illness necessitates repeated
visits. From God we come and to Him we return!
God knows best. Blessings on our Prophet Muhammad, and his Family
and Companions.
Acknowledgments I would like to thank everyone who commented

on this text negatively or positively. I welcome readers’ comments at
Abuzaidsh77@gmail.com. I also thank Annabelle Böttcher and Birgit Krawietz,
who invited me to contribute to this volume.
Notes
1. On the ambivalent concept of .sar‘ , see Wessel in this volume.
2. Fiqh scholar, born in Algeria in 1921 and settled in Saudi Arabia; see, e.g.,
al-Jazāirı̄, Aysar al-Tafāsı̄r, 1424/2003, 1:269.
3. For the religious references to humoral medicine that originated in Greece,
see Wessel in this volume.
4. The sources transmit a widespread assumption that Jinn may appear in
zoomorphic shape, often that of a (black) dog.
5. According to the Quran (3:59), God created Adam from clay or dust
(turāb).
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al-Maqs.ūd, Beirut: Beirut: Dār al-Kutub al-‘ Ilmiyya [n.d.].
al-Nu‘mānı̄, Sirāj al-Dı̄n ‘Umar b. ‘Alı̄ b. ‘Ādil. Al-Lubab fı̄ ‘ulūm al-kitāb, ed.
by ‘Ādil Ah.mad ‘Abd al-Mawjūd and ‘Alı̄ Muh.ammad Mu‘awwid, Beirut: Dār
al-Kutub al-‘ Ilmiyya, 1419/1998.
al-Qāsimı̄, Jamāl al-Dı̄n. Mah.āsin al-ta’wı̄l. Beirut: Dār al-Kutub al-Ilmiyya,
1418/1997.
al-Qurt.ubı̄, Abū ‘Abdallāh Muh.ammad b. Ah.mad. Al-Jāmi‘ li-ah.kām al-qur’ān,
ed. by Ah.mad al-Bardūnı̄ and Ibrāhı̄m At.fı̄sh, 2nd ed. Cairo: Dār al-Kutub
al-Mis.riyya, 1384/1964.
al-Rāghib al-Is.fahānı̄, Abū al-Qāsim al-H . usayn [Tafsı̄r al-Rāghib al-Is.fahānı̄],
ed. by a group of scholars, Kulliyyat al-Ādāb, Jāmi‘at.-T.ant.ā, 1420/1999 and
Riyadh: Dār al-Wat.an, 1424/2003.
al-Sam‘ānı̄, Abū al-Muz.affar Mans.ūr b. Muh.ammad b. ‘Abd al-Jabbār. Tafsı̄r
al-qur’ān, ed. by Yāsir Ibn Ghunaym, Riyadh: Dār al-Wat.an, 1418/1997.
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1413/1993.
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Muh.ammad Mutawallı̄ al-Sha‘rāwı̄], 20 vols. Cairo: Mat.ābi‘ Akhbār al-
Yawm, 1418/1997.
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1420/2000.
T.ant.āwı̄, Muh.ammad Sayyid. Al-Tafsı̄r al-wası̄t. lil-qur’ān al-karı̄m. Cairo: Dār
Nahd.at Mis.r, 1418–1419/1997–1998.
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by Abū Muh.ammad Ibn ‘Āshūr. Beirut: Dār Ih.yā’ al-Turāth al-‘Arabı̄,
1422/2002.
al-T.ı̄bı̄, Sharaf al-Dı̄n. Al-Kāshif ‘an h.aqā’iq al-sunan, ed. by Abd al-H . amı̄d
al-Hindāwı̄. Mecca and Riyadh: Maktabat Nizār Mus.t.afā al-Bāz, 1417/1997.
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al-T. ı̄bı̄ ‘alā al-Kashshāf ), ed. by Muh
. ammad Abd al-Rah
. ı̄m. Dubai: Jā’izat
Dubay al-Dawliyya lil-Qur’ān al-Karı̄m, 1434/2013.
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Ibn al-Jawzı̄, 1423/2002.
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ed. Beirut: Dār al-Kitāb al-‘Arabı̄, 1407/1986.
CHAPTER 5
Battered Love in Contemporary Syria: Shi‘i

Spiritual Healing with Abu Ahmad
Edith Szanto
Introduction: Religion and/as Magic

Getting what you want from God or a saint with a religious vow can take
time—months or even years. But sometimes, time is a luxury one cannot
afford. When people are desperate and cannot wait for divine goodwill,
they may decide to try to get help elsewhere. To this end, they might visit
a spiritual doctor, such as Shaykh Abu Ahmad.
I met Shaykh Abu Ahmad and his apprentice by accident when I came
to Sayyida Zaynab in 2008, where I was conducting ethnographic field-
work on Muharram rituals and the religious seminaries that support these
rites. “Spiritual healing” was not originally part of my research project.
In a sense, I happened to simply stumble upon it. I met Shaykh Abu
Ahmad’s apprentice, Abu Hasan, who also ran a real estate agency, while I
wandered the streets looking for agents who could help me find housing.
When I told Abu Hasan about my interest in “popular” religious rituals,
E. Szanto (B)
Department of Religious Studies, The University of Alabama,
Tuscaloosa, AL, USA
e-mail: eszanto@au.edu

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-61247-4_5
78 E. SZANTO
he invited me next door and introduced me to Shaykh Abu Ahmad. I

did not pursue the topic of spiritual healing any further during that field-
trip. However, when I returned the following year and asked Abu Hasan
to help me find an apartment, I encountered the shaykh again and I
asked whether he would allow me to observe him. Having me, a Western
woman and doctoral student at the time, in his office clearly lent him
legitimacy and prestige in the eyes of neighbors and customers. At times,
I was amused and thought him a harmless therapist. At other times, I was
convinced that the shaykh was a charlatan taking advantage of trauma-
tized refugees and other poor people. Regardless of what I thought, his
clients craved his aid and he was often able to help in one way or another.
Following Katherine Ewing’s call for anthropologists to suspend their
atheistic disbelief (Ewing 1994), and Amira Mittermaier’s lead in viewing
the imagination, or as in this case, the spiritual healing of Abu Ahmad,
not as “anchored in the individual subject but instead [as referring] to
an intermediary realm between the spiritual and the material… presence
and absence” (Mittermaier 2011, 3), I urge the reader to approach the
following examples from Abu Ahmad’s work as a believer rather than as
an anthropological atheist. Suspending my own disbelief was a constant
challenge for me, although I genuinely liked the shaykh as a person. For
the longest time, I was convinced that he mainly helped people by giving
them sound advice, occasionally manipulating clients into doing what was
best for them or into seeing the world in a new and more optimistic
way. Unlike a medical doctor or psychologist, he did not simply reveal
the actual causes to explain their affliction. Rather, he veiled “reality” by
restating the events in such a way that they include jinn. Then he charged
clients for exorcising the Evil Eye or an ‘amla, an evil (magical) deed. At
least temporarily, he lightened the burden these concealed faults (‘uyūb),
posed. Shaykh Abu Ahmad veiled and relieved his clients’ worries with
h.ijābs or talismans, for which he used magic number squares. His method
of healing involved kashshāf , a diagnostic analysis or revelation, which
simultaneously revealed and concealed. Shaykh Abu Ahmad’s magic is an
example of Michael Taussig’s definition as “a skilled revealing of skilled
concealment” (Taussig 2006, 121–155). The shaykh’s intervention had
two social functions: It restored Muslim bodies and lives, and it reified
normative views of the role of jinn.
In this chapter, I examine the role spiritual healers and jinn play in
society and how they relate to the sphere of religion. I begin by analyzing
the relationship between religion and magic, then I describe the shaykh’s
5 BATTERED LOVE IN CONTEMPORARY SYRIA … 79
space. Next, I tell two stories: one about averting divorce and the other
about an attempt to make a former lover return. The first treatment
achieved its stated goal; the second did not. Both, however, resulted in
healing broken hearts and mending social relations. Spirits are part of the
healing process, part of the stories.
Magic and Religion

In Syria and Iraq, spiritual healers are not a topic to be discussed in polite
company, as Katja Sündermann has already noted (Sündermann 2006,
24). Yet, the belief in spiritual healers, as well as jinn and the efficacy
of magic, nevertheless remains widespread (Fartacek 2002). The Iranian
President Ahmadinejad, for instance, was accused in 2011 of participating
in black magic in order to win the election (Shuster 2011). Despite the
stigma, acquaintances started telling me more about their experiences
with jinn and spiritual healing once they knew I was interested in the
topic. There were several pious seminary students who came to Shaykh
Abu Ahmad for help and advice. While spiritual healing and the exis-
tence of jinn per se was never addressed at the seminaries I attended in
the shrine town of Sayyida Zaynab, dozens of books for sale at seminary
bookstores were concerned with the topic. Abu Ahmad in turn employed
religious symbols, rituals, and language in his practice.
Abu Ahmad was a roughly 65- to 70-year-old man from Baghdad,
which meant he could be from anywhere. He said he had studied at an
institute that had since closed and had undergone self-disciplinary exer-
cises, such as not eating meat and not talking to other people for extended
periods. He was tall, lean, and always dressed in a white dishdāsha, the
white garments older Iraqi men wear along with traditional headgear. He
claimed to have four wives, though only one resided in Syria with him.
The shaykh always began his ceremonial treatment by invoking two
Quranic passages. First, he affirmed the existence of jinn. “We are not
alone in this world. In the Quran, the Lord says, ‘and I have not
created jinn and men except to worship Me.’1 Ah ha! Notice! Jinn and
humans!”2 Next, Abu Ahmad highlighted that belief in the existence of
black magic (sih.r) is part of Islam, because the Quran explicated that
humans were taught magic by angels. To this end, he quoted the second
Surah of the Quran, Surat al-Baqarah, verse 102:
80 E. SZANTO
They [the people of the Book: Jews and Christians] followed what the
evil ones gave out (falsely) against the power of Solomon: the blasphemers
were not Solomon, but the evil ones, teaching men Magic, and such things
as came down at Babylon to the angels Harut and Marut. But neither of
these taught anyone (such things) without saying: “We are only for trial;
so do not blaspheme.” They learned from them the means to sow discord
between man and wife. But they could not thus harm anyone except by
Allah’s permission. And they learned what harmed them, not what profited
them. And they knew that the buyers of (magic) would have no share in
the happiness of the Hereafter. And vile was the price for which they did
sell their souls, if they but knew!3
For Shaykh Abu Ahmad, the verse proved that magic is an ancient, origi-
nally divine practice. Jinn, angels, and saints—all act in this world and it
is possible to interact with them. While he invoked the veracity of magic
as a whole, he also assured clients that he only practiced white magic
(ruqya), which he claimed was Islamically legitimate, because it aimed to
help people.
Religion and the Shrine Town

Shaykh Abu Ahmad was concerned with questions of religious authority.
His attention to the matter reflected the wider social discourse on reli-
gious authority. He lived and worked in the shrine town of Sayyida
Zaynab, a suburb located roughly 15 km south of Damascus. The town
housed the shrine of Sayyida Zaynab, the granddaughter of the Prophet,
who came to Syria after having witnessed the Battle of Karbala in 680 CE,
in which her brother, the third Imam, Imam al-Husayn, was martyred.
Shi‘is continue to ritually mourn the death of al-Husayn every year during
the tenth day, Āshūrā , of the Islamic month of Muh.arram. To Shi‘is,
Zaynab is a hero because, even though she came to Damascus as a
captive, she stood up to Yazid, the Ummayyad Caliph, and “spoke truth
to power.” She then passed on the story of Karbala and initiated the
performance of commemorative mourning rituals (Szanto 2013, 76).
Zaynab, the saint, became especially popular in Iran following the
Iranian Revolution of 1979 and is central to Hezbollah sympathizers in
Lebanon, because she represents “revolutionary fervor” (Aghaie 2004,
114–130). Her shrine and the town became a major site for Iranian and
Lebanese Shi‘i pilgrims after the Iraqi shrines of the first Imam ‘Ali, the
third Imam al-Husayn, and his half-brother, Abu Fadl al-‘Abbas, became
inaccessible in the 1970s and’80s, after Ba‘th forces violently clashed with
Shi‘is in Karbala (Farouk-Sluglett and Sluglett 1987, 198).
Manuscripts note the existence of a shrine south of Damascus as early
as the thirteenth century (Zimney 2007). However, until the twentieth
century, no town had grown around her shrine. Several events set the
process of urbanization in motion. The first was the support of Sayyid
Muhsin al-Amin, the Shi‘i mujtahid, or Islamic authority, of Damascus
until his death in 1952.4 Sayyid al-Amin called upon Shi‘is all over the
world to support and donate to the elaboration, expansion, and embel-
lishment of the shrine in order to help the local Shi‘i community flourish.
Second was the establishment of a Palestinian refugee camp just west of
the shrine in 1948. In 1967, Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs) forced
out of the Golan Heights were also settled in that area, just north of the
Palestinian camp. In the 1970s, Afghan Shi‘is who had been studying at
the seminaries of Karbala and Najaf in Iraq had to flee and came to Sayyida
Zaynab, where Sayyid Hasan Shirazi founded the first seminary. During
the Iran-Iraq war in the 1980s, the debilitating sanctions on Iraq in the
1990s, and following the violence that ensued after the American War on
Iraq in 2003, the number of Iraqi Shi‘is steadily increased in Syria, and
many of them came to live as well as study in the shrine town of Sayyida
Zaynab.
Twelver Shi‘ism was an important aspect of the shrine town, espe-
cially considering that Shi‘is constituted only around three percent of
the general Syrian population, and even in Sayyida Zaynab, not everyone
was Shi‘i.5 However, what they shared was the common trauma of
forced displacement. Poverty and petty crime were as much a part of
the shrine town as pious learning and religious tourism. Ousted politi-
cally ambitious Iraqi and Iranian men lived and were buried in Sayyida
Zaynab, including the political philosopher ‘Ali Shari‘ati. From the early
1980s on, seminaries multiplied, and by 2008, there were dozens of
religious schools. Numerous distinguished scholars opened offices that
provided Shi‘is with religious guidance and charity and accepted dona-
tions. The famous Lebanese Ayatollah Fadlallah, who passed away in
2010, for example, visited the shrine town and his institute there every
two weeks until the Israeli-Lebanese war in 2006. Ayatollah Khomeini
and his successor ‘Ali Khamenei patronized the most prestigious semi-
nary in Sayyida Zaynab, and the Friday sermon at the shrine’s prayer hall
was held in their name. In short, Shi‘ism and a shared sense of a history
of collective suffering permeated the town.
82 E. SZANTO
Shaykh Abu Ahmad

Abu Ahmad is neither a Syrian nor a native of Sayyida Zaynab. Rather, he
was one of the hundreds of thousands of Iraqis who fled Iraq in 2003.
He had been living in Baghdad, but was from a poor, rural background.
Details of his personal history, however, were hard to come by. He was
always evasive when asked about his past, as were many Iraqis living in
Syria at the time. Having witnessed brutal governmental oppression and
war, he continued to live in fear. Abu Ahmad was secretive about every-
thing except his children’s prosperity. He would recount often that his ten
children from multiple wives lived in large houses with cars and families
of their own. He presented the success of his children as proof of having
found divine favor in exchange for helping people.
He said he attended an institute to study spiritual healing in Iraq, but
did not reveal its location. He instead emphasized his own autodidacti-
cism through reading books, such as the reprint of Shams al-shumūs, a
127-page edited manual penned by Ahmad Abu al-Qasim al-Iraqi, which
the author’s preface calls a tried and true collection drawn from ancient
works (Abu al-Qasim al-Iraqi 2009). Another practice Abu Ahmad
described as crucial for attaining his ability to see and hear jinn was a
lengthy vegetarian fast held in complete solitude. His card read in Arabic,
“Research and Information about Natural Herbs,” and the subtitle read,
“Treatment for female infertility and other illnesses and cupping and
ruqya shar iyya.” Ruqya shar iyya roughly means “Islamically acceptable
incantation.” Hans Wehr’s dictionary translates ruqya as “spell, charm,
magic; incantation” (Wehr 1994, 355). According to the German Islamic
Studies scholar Sabine Dorpmüller, ruqya is a generally permitted form
of “magic,” as it uses Quranic verses for incantations to heal patients
and loved ones (Dorpmüller 2005, 4–5). The main meaning of the verb
from which the term ruqya derives is to ascend or progress both spatially
and intellectually. Similarly, Abu Ahmad conceived of himself as someone
who helped people progress in life. Abu Ahmad routinely utilized herbal
homeopathic treatments, istikhāra (a practice aimed at helping someone
decide a course of action), and the use of “natural magic,” such as wearing
rings with special stones. By adding the adjective shar iyya (or sharia-
compliant) and by listing ruqya alongside other treatments, Abu Ahmad
and Abu Hasan advertised orthoprax Islamic healing.
Abu Ali was one of several at.ibbā’ rūh.āniyyūn, or “spiritual doctors” in
the shrine town of Sayyida Zaynab who helped their clients using similar
methods. Going to a spiritual doctor was generally not seen as socially

commendable, but many inhabitants still visited such doctors. According
to Sündermann, spiritual healers are quite common in Damascus, but
are less socially acceptable there than in Cairo or Fez (Sündermann
2006, 24). Spiritual doctors belonged to and worked for all religious and
social groups in Syria. There were Sunni and Shi‘i spiritual healers, Pales-
tinians, Syrians, and Iraqis. Healers were portrayed in film and in popular
discourse, ranging from pious angels in human form to devils in clerical
disguise. Their degree of piety was not linked to their efficacy, but was an
indicator of moral stature. What spiritual doctors in Syria shared was their
stated purpose to help people. They also shared a reputation for being
mysterious, powerful, and possibly maleficent.
The Place: The Clinic

I arrived in Damascus on the last day of Ramadan in 2009. The next day,
which was the first day of The Festival of Breaking the Fast ( Īd al-Fit.r),
I visited my friend Amal, whom I knew from the Zaynabiyya seminary,
bearing gifts and sweets. We met at her parents’ home in the Palestinian
camp, just to the West of Sayyida Zaynab’s shrine. Her husband was on
a business trip, so she spent the Īd with her family. We were catching up
over tea when her mother rushed in with bad news: “Abu Muhammad
wants to divorce Amina [Amal’s younger sister] after the Īd!” And after
a short pause, she added: “Do you know a shaykh [a wise man or a
magician] who can stop him?” The next day, Amina brought her two
small children to Amal’s home, where the children’s grandfather agreed
to babysit the toddlers so that Amina, her mother, Amal, and I could visit
Shaykh Abu Ahmad.6
Shaykh Abu Ahmad welcomed us at the door of his clinic ( iyāda),
located at the end of a long, lower working-class market. His clinic was a
small, narrow room at the end of a short corridor leading past a toilet and
a storage room. Dark and cramped, it lacked any grandiose or luxurious
amenities. Abu Ahmad seated us on low, threadbare sofas and then left
us to make Arabic coffee. The clinic’s arrangement was a cross between
a traditional sitting room (majlis ) and a professional office, though the
furniture was too worn out to be either. At the head of the small consul-
tation room stood the doctor’s desk. From his desk facing the entrance,
the doctor could preside over his clients, who would sit facing each other
on ragged couches pushed up against the walls of the clinic. The spatial
84 E. SZANTO
organization ensured that clients sought out the shaykh, who sat in a posi-
tion of power: facing the door, with a solid wall at his back. He sat on
an elevated seat, behind a desk. His seat was a little higher than the low
couches on which visitors sat. Behind him, several bookshelves stacked
with books, various bottles with medicine, measuring cups and tapes, and
incense lined the wall. In lieu of a framed degree, these tools of his trade
lent the doctor an air of sophistication, authority, and medical expertise.
On the walls, he had had written numbers and magic symbols and had
hung religious pictures.
Beginning with Quranic verses, Shaykh Abu Ahmad bolstered his reli-
gious legitimacy by invoking the names of the fourteen Infallibles, who
are central to Shi‘ism, in his prayer-spells.7 He prayed regularly and
visibly; he wore “traditional clothes,” meaning a white ankle-length robe
(dishdāshi) and a red and white checkered head cloth (kūfiyya). While
waiting for clients, he listened to Basim Karbalai, a young singer famous
for Muharram mourning songs, on his phone.8 Posters on the walls
depicted the Infallibles, the Kaaba in Mecca, and the shrines of Zaynab
and Imam al-Husayn. His use of pious language, his style of clothing,
and his display of religious symbols all enhanced his respectability and
buttressed his legitimacy in the eyes of his clients and guests. Abu Ahmad
claimed to have visited most of the Infallibles’ burial places. He had been
to Qom and Mashhad in Iran, visited all the Iraqi shrines, and gone on a
pilgrimage to Mecca and Medina (h.ajj ).
He invited belief and hope when he retrieved pieces of blessed green
cloth from his desk drawer. He had taken it with him on his visits to
shrines in Iran and Iraq and cut off pieces for clients as blessed, divine
material vehicles of God’s love and force. Shaykh Abu Ahmad laid claim to
secular forms of prestige by employing modern technology and invoking
both Western medical practices and Quranic remedies. For instance, he
used cell phones to divine and cast spells for customers from abroad.
Sometimes, he kept a video monitor on his desk and for a few months
he even had a working, albeit ancient, computer. He admitted to me that
he did not need it. He displayed it only to impress customers. His healing
practices blended “modern” and “traditional” techniques.9 He prescribed
Omega 3 pills for painful knees and wet cupping for back pain. On some
days, he presented himself as a modern Shi‘i by decrying tat.bı̄r, which is
a bloody form of self-flagellation that is often labeled “traditional” and
“backward” (Szanto 2013, 76–77; Deeb 2006, 135–137). Overall, it was
important for him to appear as a devout Muslim, a respectable elder, and
a knowledgeable doctor.
The Process: The Diagnosis

Abu Ahmad treated his clients with generous hospitality, like guests whom
he sought to impress. He offered cigarettes and lit incense. As he moved
around, arranging coffee and incense, his long moments of absence
encouraged clients to talk, to reveal their troubles, and their stories. The
shaykh listened, moving in and out of the room throughout. When he
finally settled down in his chair, he carefully constructed his assessment.
He spoke with Amina about her own character, her past, her husband,
their life, and their problems. He always initiated this kind of life history
slowly, in generic terms, so as to evoke comments: leading, correcting,
and backing up his broad assertions.
In his investigation of Amina’s life and problems, the shaykh inquired
about her social and familial relationships. What was his prognosis? The
source of all her troubles was her mother-in-law. Amina’s parents and
her in-laws were neighbors in the Palestinian camp. And as neighbors,
they occasionally fought. Moreover, after Amina and her husband moved
out of his parents’ home, the mother-in-law felt bitter. According to her,
Amina had stolen her son and abandoned her household duties. Amina
suspected that her mother-in-law wanted her son to divorce so that he
would marry another, more subservient woman.
To test his hypothesis, the shaykh used the client’s body as a proof
of having been influenced by jinn. To accomplish this, Abu Ahmad
employed what he called kashf , meaning research, revelation, examina-
tion, and exposure (Wehr 1994, 289). First, he asked her to stretch out
her right hand. Then, the shaykh began reciting incantations in Syriac, the
language of the jinn. He mixed these invocations with Quranic verses,
recited in Arabic, along with the names of each of the fourteen Infal-
libles. Next, Shaykh Abu Ahmad took an approximately one-foot-long,
blunt sword from its hanger on the wall behind him. He tapped his client
on the head with the side of the blade and traced her body’s silhouette
from top to bottom, first on the right and then on the left. He explained
that jinn dislike metal and can thus be forced to manifest themselves in its
proximity. Focusing on the client’s right arm, which he told her to hold
stretched out and palm up in midair, he commanded the jinn to move
the hand if a spell had been cast on the client. In such cases, the shaykh
declared jinn to be the cause of the involuntary movement. By moving
the client’s arm, the jinn used it to communicate with the shaykh and
confirm that the client had been possessed. The shaykh then addressed
86 E. SZANTO
the client, asking her whether she knew who the possible perpetrator
might be. Clients were often more than willing to point their fingers at
a close relative or neighbor. There were rare instances when Abu Ahmad
declared a client free from spells. In such a case, he suggested that the
client was probably simply afflicted by someone’s unintentional but never-
theless harmful, jealous Evil Eye. In both situations, Abu Ahmad fed their
fears and affirmed their suspicions. In a sense, he never presented clients
with new or outside information. He waited for his clients to reveal their
concerns over coffee and ensured that their own bodies convinced them
of the truth of their suspicions. The client revealed her own truths and
bore witness to them by observing herself. She was simultaneously the
victim, the proof, the witness, and the detective (Johansen 2001). She
had the answer all along. The doctor was simply the facilitator. Amina
was quickly convinced that her mother-in-law was the cause of all of her
troubles. But how could she solve this problem?
Ceremoniously, the shaykh took out a red pen and paper and wrote
a h.ijāb, a magic formula or talisman consisting of magic squares. He
placed the paper in a glass and poured water over it. He handed the
glass to Amina and had her drink it. “This will clean out some of the
dirt (najāsa).” The mother-in-law’s curse, like most maleficent spells,
involved feeding ritually impure substances like menstrual blood to the
victim. These impurities not only affected the curse, but also caused the
victim to suffer from headaches and backaches.
“Do you feel better?” the shaykh inquired, once Amina had drunk the
entire glass. “I do,” she affirmed. Taking the wet paper out of the glass
and placing it in a clear plastic bag, he instructed her: “Soak the paper in
water and make sure your husband drinks it every day for the next three
days.” He also told her to read the entire Quran in the coming three days
and warned her not to react with anger, regardless of what her husband
might say to her. She was to remain calm no matter what.10
In the end, Amina’s husband did not divorce her after the Eid as he had
threatened. However, the idea that her mother-in-law hated her enough
to put a spell on her prevented her from relaxing entirely. The shaykh said
he would be able to remove the curse, but it would cost her more than her
husband earned in a month. In other words, there was no way she could
remove the curse and solve her problems once and for all. Though she was
not pleased with the prospect, she was certain the problem would resur-
face again in the future and that she would then have to return to Abu
Ahmad. Amina’s hostile relationship with her mother-in-law guaranteed
that the work of the shaykh would always remain unfinished. In this way,
the relationship between the patient and her doctor continued. When-
ever something negative happened, she would blame her mother-in-law
and return to the shaykh.11
There is no permanent solution for the problem of curses. Once
afflicted, a victim continues to require protection, a form of h.ijāb. These
usually consist of magic squares written on paper, folded into a triangle
and then sown into fabric.
In some cases, stones were inscribed with magic squares. Originally, the
numbers arranged in squares represented both “mathematical games” and
powerful symbols.12 These magic squares could be written on paper h.ijāb,
on stones worn as jewelry, or even on gold rings. Different squares serve
different purposes. A woman giving birth was shown a particular magic
square in order to ease the labor. Other squares numerically symbolized
various names of God, such as Hafiz, the Preserver (Schimmel 1993, 32–
33). The most common kind of square was the 3 × 3 square, which used
the digits 1–9 and whereby each horizontal, diagonal, or vertical set of
three numbers added up to 15. Abu Ahmad used the 3 × 3 square as
well as the 9 × 9 square. He often employed the latter for love magic.
Abu Ahmad had written 66 in the middle of each of his four walls
with the explanation that the number 66 represents the numerical value
of Allah. The magic squares were used to create a sacred barrier, which
repelled jinn and attracted angels.
Abu Ahmad first diagnosed and then helped Amina by concealing and
revealing what was going on. He shifted the blame to the mother-in-
law and away from the couple themselves. Notably, the husband had no
agency in Abu Ahmad’s analysis. The problem lay between Amina and her
mother-in-law. Amina accepted this at least in part because it was such a
prevalent assumption that mothers-in-law want to harm their sons’ wives.
Of course, the fact that her parents and her in-laws were neighbors meant
that their close living arrangement inevitably led to drama, which had to
remain concealed for the sake of propriety.
Metaphoric Restoration
The anthropologist Michael Taussig argues that the power of magic
resides in both its secrecy and its skilled exposure (Taussig 2006, 121–
155). The spiritual doctor Shaykh Abu Ahmad both revealed and hid
certain truths from his patients. Similarly, clients revealed some truths,
88 E. SZANTO
while they hid others. Occasionally, both the doctor and his patients spoke
in riddles or in code. The truth was not always sought, and it was not
always the truth that healed. What brought about healing was ritual purifi-
cation. Amina was purified by drinking water that had touched a talisman.
Others needed even exorcism.
One evening, a twenty-one-year-old Palestinian woman came to ask
the shaykh about a recurring strange dream and to ask him to foretell
her future. In her dream, a young woman was kissing and caressing the
dreamer, but then after a period of lovemaking, the woman began to
beat the dreamer and drag her by her hair. She asked Abu Ahmad: “What
does it mean? And will I be successful if I leave my parents’ home and
live alone?” Abu Ahmad told her she should stay with her family and that
someone had cursed her. As a result, a Jewish jinn was making her life
difficult. Jinn can belong to any religion, like humans. Given prevalent
anti-Jewish sentiments, it is not difficult to understand that in this context
being possessed by a Jewish jinnı̄ automatically meant she was possessed
by a malevolent, dangerous, and scheming jinnı̄.
For 2000 Lira, approximately 40 USD, he would exorcise the jinn
and restore peace in her family. The sum was two-thirds of her monthly
salary at the factory, but she was willing to pay if it meant her parents
and her eight brothers would leave her alone. While Abu Ahmad left the
room to pray, she told me she wanted to move to Latakia, a predom-
inantly ‘Alawi city on the Mediterranean coast.13 When Abu Ahmad
returned, she admitted to having sexually charged dreams at night. In
one of her dreams, a woman first pleasured her and then beat her on her
back. She had suffered from back problems ever since. To ease her pain,
the shaykh massaged her shoulders. As if pleading with the shaykh, she
repeated: “Will I be okay if I leave my family?” The shaykh responded by
demanding 2000 Lira, and he became angry when she said she did not
have any money with her. “If I bring you the money tomorrow, are you
sure that everything will get better?” He assured her that his craft would
work and sent her home.14
Once she was gone, I confronted Abu Ahmad: “Seriously, a Jewish
jinnı̄ is causing problems between her and her family? It makes no sense!”
The spiritual doctor closed the door and spelled out his reading of the
situation: “She had an ‘Alawi boyfriend and they had anal sex.15 That
is why she is having dreams of sex with a woman [i.e., non-vaginal
sex].” The woman in the client’s dreams symbolized a relationship with
someone who would never be a socially acceptable or legally possible
spouse. For many Sunnis, ‘Alawis are not considered true Muslims, and
Sunni women cannot marry non-Muslims. The young man’s family would
consider such a marriage to a Palestinian woman a steep step downward
religiously, socially, and financially. “She wants to marry him. But he is
laughing at her.”
The young woman in her dream represented her boyfriend. Their
initial time was pleasurable to both, though it constituted a suppressed
and banned form of sex—lesbian sex. Her relationship with her boyfriend
had similarly been a forbidden fruit that could not last, because social
differences would ultimately undermine their love. Worst of all, the fact
that her lesbian dream lover always ended up beating her meant that her
lover ultimately inflicted pain on her. Similarly, the young man who had
decided that he would not marry her had hurt her. She felt used.
Her brothers were now trying to make her marry someone else, while
she just wanted to run away. By not revealing the whole truth to his client,
the shaykh veiled it and made it solvable. He intended to charge her a
sizable but affordable sum. It would allow her to feel as if she could enact
agency within the social boundaries of her life. In short, Abu Ahmad’s
spiritual healing consisted of first identifying and then veiling a socially
unacceptable truth, such that it could be addressed and solved. Such a
ritual would give the woman a symbolically disguised sense of closure
and restoration. Here, language itself functions as a veil for “the facts”.
Her shameful misdeeds can be addressed without having to reveal them.
According to Edward Badeen and Birgit Krawietz, a similar logic was
applied by Badr al-Din al-Shiblı̄, the famous fourteenth-century Syrian
jurist, in his book discussing marriage between humans and jinn. Badeen
and Krawietz begin by pointing out that many modern scholars of Islam
are uncomfortable with questions of the occult in pre-modern Islamic
texts, and particularly with how to address al-Shiblı̄’s elaborate treatise
on jinn-human relations. After summarizing al-Shiblı̄’s thorough expli-
cation, they analyze his conclusion: Since marriage between jinn and
humans does not bring about companionship, the ultimate purpose of
marriage, the only reason humans would enter into such marriages is
because they are being forced to by aggressive jinn. Al-Shiblı̄’s final chap-
ters of this work focus on the dangers of encountering jinn. Among other
sections, there is one on how to legally treat a wife whose husband has
been abducted by a jinniyya. For Badeen and Krawietz, al-Shiblı̄ hereby
demonstrates a case in which a marriage with jinn becomes a socially
useful claim, especially should the husband come back and resume family
90 E. SZANTO
life. Needless to say, however, there are limits to the kinds of misdeeds
that can be veiled by stories of encounters with jinn (Badeen and Krawietz
2002).
Transgressing Love
“Black magic separates man and wife, while white magic is that which
reunites man and woman,” Abu Ahmad would often say. Love magic, in
other words, was doctrinally acceptable and not sinful. Yet, sometimes,
the love magic failed.
When Shirin, a thirty-year-old professional Damascene, found out that
her boyfriend of seven years had ended their relationship in order to marry
a much younger blond woman, she was devastated. “After all I did for
him! I helped him establish his business and worked my personal contacts
in order to support him. But I know why he is doing it! He wants a
young, stupid girl who will look up to him with awe!” A few days later,
he called her to inform her that the wedding date was set. She was incon-
solable, having waited for years for him to establish himself financially,
so they would be able to get married, buy a house, and have children.
And now he had left her a spinster. Unable to go to work or function
normally, she came to Shaykh Abu Ahmad one morning for help, which
he was willing to offer for 6.000 Lira (ca. 120 USD).16
The first step Abu Ahmad always took was to ascertain whether his
patient was cursed. He asked her to stretch her arm out in front of her,
palm up, and then he recited an invocation. If the patient’s arm became
tired and was lowered for several minutes, she was cursed. In Shirin’s case,
the shaykh diagnosed a severe case of affliction by the Evil Eye. To heal
her, he wrote Quranic verses on paper, which he inserted in a glass of
water. He sprayed some of the water on her and had her drink the rest.
Next, he wrote a magic square on her right palm with a red pen and then
wrote the same square on a sheet of paper, which he folded into a triangle
and taped shut. He told her to keep this h.ijāb on her and wear it near
her heart inside her bra.
The shaykh tended to Shirin for almost two hours, asking her questions
and drawing her out. He inquired about her relationship with her former
boyfriend, such as whether they had been physically intimate. Several
cigarettes and cups of coffee later, he divined her future. He told her
she would lead a natural life, something I often heard him tell women.
The shaykh assured Shirin that one day she would go on the pilgrimage
to Mecca and Medina. He determined her astrological sign, not by her

birth date but by calculating the numerical value of her first name and
her mother’s first name. Hence, he told her she was not an Aries but a
Cancer and then proceeded to read her astrological profile to her from a
book.
Getting ready for lunch, Abu Ahmad sent Shirin home and told her
to return after the evening prayer. He would prepare “work” for her in
the meantime. When Shirin came back to the shaykh’s consultation room
that night, he treated her to more coffee and asked her how she felt. She
already felt better, hopeful, and purposeful. She now had a goal and felt
less helpless. She was able to smile and laugh at his jokes. He gave her
six paper cones filled with incense, which would invoke jinn, and another
h.ijāb, which she was to wear for the next two weeks. She put this one
in her bra as well. The shaykh instructed Shirin to burn one cone every
three days just before sunset. The heavens were open then and jinn and
angels could work on her behalf. However, before burning them, he told
her to read half of Sūrat al-Zalzala three times and then a short prayer
that he wrote out for her.
The following evening, Abu Ahmad called her to see if she had burned
the first cone before sunset. She reported that she had been too scared to
do it alone and she came back to his consultation room the next evening
in order to perform the first installation of “love magic” with him in atten-
dance. The shaykh’s work was never complete in one sitting. It always
required repeated contact and allowed for a delayed outcome. Shirin’s
boyfriend married the other woman and never returned to Shirin, who in
the meantime has left Syria and become a refugee in Europe, where she
eventually married and had a son. The magic did not work to reunite her
with her boyfriend. However, the treatment did help her in the sense that
it allowed her to overcome her anger, helplessness, and feelings of devas-
tation. It allowed her to exercise some form of control over her destiny, so
that she was able to return to normal daily activity. She once again started
taking care of herself and seeing her friends. The spell was supposed to
take effect in a month to six weeks, which gave her time to recover from
her shock.
Encountering Jinn
What is a jinnı̄, according to Shaykh Abu Ahmad? Jinn are creatures,
similar to humans in that they were created to serve God. They are
92 E. SZANTO
capable of free will, good, and evil. But they can travel long distances
in a split second and can make themselves invisible. They are supposedly
less intelligent than humans, but live much longer. Most importantly, they
can interact with humans, often taking the form of a pact or collaborative
work. They can interact with humans in dreams.
Jinn can also have long-term relationships with human individuals.
But when they serve humans, they demand something in return. Any
relationship with them would have to be reciprocal. According to Abu
Ahmad, humans can have sexual relationships with jinn.17 If someone
who is of marriageable age but is unwilling to get married or if the parents
have difficulties finding a spouse for her or him, a possible cause is that
the person in question is already in a sexual relationship with a jinnı̄ or
jinniyya and is afflicted by erotic dreams. The jinn are assumed to be
jealous and as such will sabotage the marriage negotiations and wedding
plans.18 In this case, reciprocity with the jinn must be broken rather than
established. Abu Ahmad writes a “cover” or h.ijāb for the protection of
the dreamer. The existing reciprocal arrangement must be renegotiated
through exorcism and charitable giving. The money charity diverts bad
luck and protectively covers the dreamer.
Jinn stand in for a variety of social actors, forces, and individual desires.
Shaykh Abu Ahmad begins with the belief in jinn and he forces patients to
participate in the recitation of the Quranic verse (51:56), “I have created
jinn and men only that they may serve Me.”19 Thereby, he tries to ensure
that patients will be open to his explanations involving jinn and magic
performed by others, which only he can protect his clients from.
He offered to protect the Palestinian girl and to fix all her problems
for a hefty fee. If her family also accepts that explanation, it might distract
them from what actually happened, which would be more shameful.
Possession was socially less problematic than the “loss of honor,” in the
event that she had slept with the ‘Alawi boyfriend. In Egypt and in Iraq,
the exorcism includes a hefty beating. Shaykh Abu Ahmad said it could
be done with prayer and medicine.
In Shirin’s case, the aid of the jinn was ultimately in vain, inasmuch as
the man she loved never came back to her. Yet, even in her case, the jinn
played an important role in distracting her from what had just transpired,
from the fact that her boyfriend had left her and had married another.
By enlisting Shaykh Abu Ahmad’s help, she implicitly tasked jinn with
acting on her behalf to restore the relationship. The shaykh had said it
would take at least a month if not six weeks. This allowed her to catch
her breath and get back on her feet again. The magic worked in that it
allowed her to heal her broken heart, even though the jinn failed to bring
Shirin what she wanted most—her boyfriend.
In the 2010 Syrian television series al-Sayyida, a young spoiled wife
goes to a spiritual healer to ask for help conceiving a child. In the
series, the shaykh tells her that there are jinn after her and that she
must get rid of them by following his instructions. However, following
his instructions, she smears a stinky substance on the doorframe of her
mother-in-law, who lives in the same building. The implication is that
the young wife has cursed her own home. She constantly nagged, and
then ran off to live with her older married sister, whose husband is not
happy at all to have another woman in the household. In the meantime,
her husband sees the wife with the shaykh at a café. This finally causes
him to divorce her, having declared her behavior shameful, and to wash
his hands off her. At some point, this spiritual doctor states that the jinn
have proliferated since 2003, when the USA decided to depose Saddam
Husain:20
“The Americans released thousands of jinn in Iraq.” On screen, the
young woman expresses her doubts, but the shaykh insists: “How else do
you explain that everyone is majnūn?” (al-Sayyida 2010, episode 22).
Majnūn means both crazy and possessed by a jinn.
The idea that the world is crazy because of jinn is a simplistic explana-
tion, but one consistent with scripture, according to Shaykh Abu Ahmad.
For him, the world consists of multiple intersecting narratives that reveal
and conceal other stories.21 His practice is religious inasmuch as it draws
on Islamicate symbols, myths, and rituals. Comparing Abu Ahmad’s spiri-
tual healing with other religious practices, one might conclude, with Rudi
Paret, that while both draw on the same set of symbols, magic supposedly
serves predominantly selfish purposes (Paret 1958, 86). Put differently,
spiritual healing allows clients to regain agency and control over their
lives. This however has to happen behind the veil. In order to work, the
process has to be hidden first, even if it is revealed in the end.
Notes
1. Q 51:56 (translation mine). “I have created jinns and men only that they
may serve Me.” (Yusuf Ali’s translation.)
2. Field notes, Sunday, 1 November 2009.
3. Q 2:102, Yusuf Ali’s translation.
94 E. SZANTO
4. In Shi‘ism, a mujtahid is someone who is able to produce independant

reasoning. Since the Akhbari-Usuli debate in the nineteenth century, the
Akhbari notion that every Shi‘i must follow a living mujtahid in all matters
of life led to the rise of a Shi‘i hierarchy. See Momen (1985, 117–118,
175–176).
5. The shrine town attracted Shi‘i pilgrims, but the vendors, hotel owners,
and hotel staff who served and made money from the pilgrims were not
always Shi‘is. However, given that the religious identity of the religious
tourists and consumers was Twelver Shi‘ism, Twelver Shi‘i products and
symbols dominated the visual space of the shrine town. Cf.: Pinto 2007;
and for a discussion of how pilgrimage sites were shared by different
religious groups, see Fartacek (2011).
6. Field notes, Sunday, 20 September 2009.
7. The fourteen Infallibles include the Prophet Muhammad, his daughter
Fatima, her husband Ali, their sons Hasan and Husayn, followed by nine
male descendants of Husayn. All except the Prophet and his daughter
are given the title Imam. All are considered infallible because they have
received divine knowledge and as such cannot bring themselves to err.
8. Basim Karbalai is one of the most famous Muh.arram mourning singers.
Basim was also relatively young and handsome at the time of my fieldwork
starting in 2007.
9. This mixing of medical traditions is not new. As Andrew Newman
explains, in the seventeenth century, the Safavid jurist Bāqir al-Majlisı̄
reproduced a supposedly ninth-century medical treatise by the eighth
Shi‘i Imam. By analyzing Majlisı̄’s text, Newman concludes that it can
be usefully understood in the context of debates regarding the utility
of Greek sources, charting a “middle path” and blending “Islamic” and
“Galenic” medical models. See Newman (2009, 349–361).
10. Field notes, Monday, 21 September 2009.
11. Amina’s sister Amal told me after this incident that she had previously
tried magic to solve her own marital problems. However, unlike Shaykh
Abu Ahmad, of whom she generally thought very highly, she thought that
the magician she had consulted earlier had practiced black magic, because
it led to her divorce. According to Amal, she had gone to a woman doctor,
who told Amal that she would solve her marital problems. The female
doctor told Amal to bring her the head of a sheep and a chicken (black
with a white feather on its head) and kafan (or cloth used for wrapping
corpses). Amal was instructed to wrap the head and the chicken in the
two ends of the cloth and bury them in the cemetery about two meters
apart from one another. Following this, she was divorced within a month.
Amal’s marital problems had been solved, but not the way she had hoped.
Field notes, Wednesday, 28 October 2009.
12. Schimmel (1993, 29–31), Cammann (1969, Parts I and II), and Knight
(2016).
13. The ‘Alawi are a Shi‘i minority. They are not Twelvers, but were recog-
nized by the Twelver Shi‘i cleric Musa al-Sadr as Shi‘i Muslims. Cf. Seale
(1995, 173).
14. Field notes, Saturday, 5 December 2009.
15. She was still technically a virgin. Had she lost her hymen, her brothers
might have killed her for besmirching the family’s honor.
16. Field notes, Sunday, 27 September 2009.
17. This is fairly common. Cf. Crapanzano (1973).
18. Field notes, Tuesday, 17 November 2009.
19. Yusuf Ali’s translation.
20. On the politization of jinn see Böttcher’s contribution in this volume.
21. For a fascinating discussion about the marginalization of non-rational ways
of telling history, see Nandy (1995).
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CHAPTER 6
Ruqya and the Olive Branch: A Bricoleur

Healer Between Catalonia and Morocco
Josep Lluís Mateo Dieste
Introduction
This work aims to show the open and dynamic nature of Muslim rituals of
healing in contemporary contexts defined by migration and the construc-
tion of transnational links, in which social tensions and bodily afflictions
emerge. Rituals such as the ruqya that we will analyze here are old,
but they constitute new symbolic mechanisms for the populations of the
diaspora. These rituals allow the release of personal and social tensions
provoked by social and gender inequalities, but they are also mecha-
nisms for reproducing differences and transmitting morality, especially as
a result of processes of revival within Islam. The ruqya, in my opinion,
J. L. Mateo Dieste (B)

Departament d’Antropologia Social i Cultural, Universitat Autònoma
de Barcelona, Bellaterra, Spain
e-mail: JosepLluis.Mateo@uab.cat

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-61247-4_6
100 J. L. MATEO DIESTE
has been experiencing this revival as a textual technique linked to Islamic

Prophetic Medicine (t.ibb nabawı̄) since the 1990s. This revival has taken
place in countries with a Muslim majority, such as Morocco, but also
among populations of Maghrebi origin living in Europe, and this has led
to transnational processes of the dissemination and construction of Islamic
medicine.
In my analysis, I will address the question of how these rituals are
constructed in a setting of human movements. I will look at an orig-
inal case, a young man born in Catalonia of a Moroccan father and a
Catalan mother, who spent a few years practicing ruqya among Muslims
and non-Muslims. He acted as a true bricoleur, adopting various healing
techniques, through his networks and trips between a mountain village
in the north of Morocco and a village in Catalonia. The majority of the
people who attended his healing services were of Moroccan origin and
belonged to the lower socioeconomic classes that settled in Catalonia after
the migrations from Morocco between 1980 and 2010, inserted in jobs
in the secondary labor market or directly affected by unemployment. In
the case of women, many followed the pattern of a migration by marriage
that placed them in a new social environment full of uncertainties, as they
follow virilocal residence patterns.1
Through this case, I will show innovations in how ruqya is practiced,
in an original combination of different Muslim traditions, and the rela-
tionship between the healer and the “patients” in a transnational context
between Catalonia and Morocco. I will accompany this specific case with
other reflections and cases that I have collected in my fieldwork between
2010 and 2013, with various fuqahā (sg. faqı̄h)2 who perform ruqya in
Tangier, Tetouan, and Barcelona.
Ruqya as a Revival in Morocco and the Diaspora

My main hypothesis is that ruqya, understood here as Quranic recita-
tion for healing purposes as practiced since the 1990s in various parts of
the Islamic world and the “West,” is the effect of a revival and reinter-
pretation of Islam in response to new challenges and historical changes.
This accords with the classical theory of religious revival (Wallace 1956,
269–290).
This revival finds in the ruqya a particular success due to the installation
of a textualist rhetoric, as addressed by Benkheira (1997) in his “amour
6 RUQYA AND THE OLIVE BRANCH … 101
de la loi.” The use of the Quranic text for healing fits this interpreta-
tion. It is based on principles of the definition of evil that are inalienable
for Muslims, since jinn (sg., jinnı̄)3 are beings recognized as creatures
created by God; the ruqya aims to domesticate them, in addition to facing
other afflictions attributed to magic, the Evil Eye, envy, or poisoning
(Ashour 2007, 26–32). But these afflictions are also the effect of social
relationships, of uncertainties, of frustrations, and of hidden conflicts that
emerge precisely in rituals (Aouattah 1993, 235–237).
I will also show the plasticity of the ritual, in a moment of apparent
rigidity and immobility. Though the majority of social actors whom I have
studied legitimize their practice by referring to the prestige of the text,
and they accuse other healers of practicing charlatanism (sha wadha), they
elaborate their own interpretations of Islamic medicine techniques, which
are standardized contemporarily (Jeraissy 2002).
The specific case of the healer whom I will analyze here does not easily
fit into the typologies of the fuqahā in accordance with their degrees of
knowledge of the textual tradition. The case of this bricoleur challenges
the dichotomies of orthodoxy and heterodoxy and shows the plasticity
of the ritual, as well as the therapeutic itineraries of the afflicted people
between Europe and Morocco. We can say that both the healer and the
patients participate in this transnationality. Even jinn ignore borders,
so that Muslims in Europe are also possessed by jinn “living” in the
Maghreb. The theological dimension of the apparent (z.āhir) and the
occult (bāt.in) has other borders than the nation-states, although jinn
are also a reflection of human sociopolitical relations, as shown by the
different dangers attributed to jinn in the function of their religion
(Rothenberg 2004, 77–98; Drieskens 2008, 105; Mateo Dieste 2014a,
276–280).
Ruqya is an old ritual already practiced by the Prophet Muhammad and
his wife Aisha,4 but both the fuqahā and their clients or the broader social
environment are giving it new significance, and its practice has increased
since the 1990s (Spadola 2014, 121–127). Namely, the redefinition of
religion is not a mere return to the past, but responds to a social tension
that affects daily life and practices (food, clothing, family relationships),
recreating tradition and appropriating modernity (Burgat 1996, 257).
This is the context of the return of Prophetic Medicine (t.ibb nabawı̄)5
and the re-adoption of rituals such as ruqya. I propose the concept of
sociological re-Islamization to analyze this re-adoption. This would be a
process derived from a political phase in the re-signification of Islam; this
political dimension does not disappear, but the sociological dimension is

disseminated to broad layers of the population (low, middle, and upper
classes). The process of re-Islamization takes place through daily practices
linked to clothing, body aesthetics, body discipline, morality, and their
effects on economic patterns, leisure practices, and “cultural consump-
tion.” In this sense, the modernity of this process is very clear, since
being Muslim goes beyond the ritual itself and depends on the adop-
tion of forms of modern capitalism, centered on the imitation of certain
aesthetic tastes and of certain forms of consumption, especially of prod-
ucts considered “Islamic,” but also of those forms of healing considered
lawful (h.alāl ) in relation to illicit (h.arām). My analysis of ruqya must be
understood in this general framework of postcolonial Muslim societies, so
that the ritual is not a mere reproduction of old techniques of jinn evic-
tion, but the re-elaboration of a kind of social relationship that not only
offers psychological services to people, but it also builds mechanisms of
body control and indicates tensions in the domestic sphere and kinship
in transnational situations (Hüwelmeier and Krause 2009; Mateo Dieste
2015, 57).
This reconstruction of Islamic medicine has come about in many
different ways, as I saw in my fieldwork in Tetouan, Morocco in April
and June 2010 and May 2011. I interviewed six specialists in Islamic
medicine who are particularly dedicated to the expulsion of or the preven-
tion of attacks by jinn. These fuqahā did not have a homogenous
profile, and they showed some diversity with respect to training, tech-
niques used, physical presentation, claimed legitimacy, and social setting,
linked to their status and their neighborhoods or the type of clientele
they receive, mainly in their houses. The frontier regarding the tech-
niques they displayed is not clear at all, though most of them insisted
that their technique was of course the closest to Islam and orthodoxy. The
only ‘ālim among the six healers showed in-depth knowledge of Islamic
sources and rejected deviant practices. Three of them affirmed that they
use only Quranic sources, while the other two did not mind recognizing
the use of a mixture of Islamic sources with magic elements (amulets,
handling of substances, etc.).
These forms of healing have also reached Europe, with their own pecu-
liarities, as part of the migratory processes and the construction of a
European Islam (Hoffer 2000, 137–172; Khedimellah 2007, 392–395)
and of a globalized Islam that standardizes models and practices. The
production of books and CDs, Web sites, Twitter, Instagram, etc., takes
place in Arabic, but also in the European languages (e.g., in French for
people of Tunisian origin living in France, Ben Halima and Ben Halima
2001; Ben Halima 2005). The individualistic conception of many of
these new forms of knowledge and praxis, adapted to a modern vision
comparable in some cases to self-help techniques, is also remarkable.
A Ruqya Bricoleur
The Case and Its Context
To illustrate all these theoretical proposals, I will discuss a case study that
reflects both the mechanisms of the revival and the transnational networks
that surround the re-signification of ruqya as well as its adaptation to
new historical contexts. The two central spaces will be the mountains of
Jbala, in the northwestern region of Morocco, and an inland village in
Catalonia.
The case study of a young rāqı̄ 6 has allowed me to illustrate the whole
process of production of a healing practice elaborated by a bricoleur (Levi-
Strauss 1962, 26–33). At first sight, the case indicated the lack of spiritual
healing services for Muslims in the diaspora, a process of returning to
the roots of the healer and the constitution of eclectic healing rituals,
between dowsing and ruqya. The result was a learning process that bore
fruit and attracted the abundant demands of healing in Europe, which are
not absorbed by the biomedical health system.
Born in the 1980s in Catalonia of a Moroccan father and Catalan
mother, Rachid (which will be his fictitious name)7 spent his early
adolescent years without practicing Islam regularly, only entering into its
rites around his twenties. Self-taught, he acquired remarkable theological
knowledge, especially of some classical authors of Sufism. Rachid works
in the family business founded by his father, a metallurgical workshop for
car components. He married a girl from his father’s village and has three
children.
In 2010, I had regular contacts with this rāqı̄, a friend of mine,
since attending Arabic classes. At that time, I was publishing the Spanish
version of Health and Ritual in Morocco (2013), had written about the
state of the art in Moroccan medical systems, and was exploring ruqya
in Catalonia. I was following the case of a rāqı̄ in Barcelona who had
cured a Moroccan family, also of my acquaintance. To my surprise, my
colleague told me by e-mail that he had started on the issue of ruqya. For
a time I followed his experiences, while I was conducting various inter-

views and field observations in Tetouan. This text presents the results of
this methodologically “unprogrammed” follow-up.8
Initiation in the Ruqya

and Trips to the Paternal Village
It was a surprise for me to hear of this initiation in the ruqya for someone
who had not previously experienced this healing system. After many years
of returning to his father’s mountain village in the summer, a small dchar
(village) of Jbala in an Arabic-speaking area in the north of Morocco, he
confessed to me that he had felt a kind of call after a visit to Mawlay
‘Abdeslam. This saint is a pole (qut.b)9 of Islam and a central reference of
Maghrebi Sufism.10 This intuition linked to a reference sanctuary is very
interesting, because it is a first indicator of the polysemic nature of the
case. Until then he had regularly visited the sanctuary—I had accompa-
nied him on some occasions—and tended to reject it, because he linked
the place with superstitions and popular religiosity. We must remember
that this tension between “legitimate Islam” and sha wadha or trickery is a
plot thread that was repeated in my interviews with other ruqya specialists
of Tetouan.
Rachid’s practice of ruqya clearly emerged in a transnational arena
through the influence of social actors in Catalonia and Morocco. His
interest in ruqya began in recent years with his observation of the imam of
his village’s mosque in Catalonia, who really introduced him to this prac-
tice. The imam, although trained in Tangier, comes from the same tribe
as our protagonist and claims a Sharifian origin as well.11 That is to say
that the ruqya as a method came to him through a religious agent linked
to the Islam of the book, but also to Sharifian baraka.12 From the begin-
ning, this initiation took another course, since Rachid has always been
self-taught and his initiation in the ruqya would also be based on “prac-
tical experience”. In the summer of 2010, a visit to the shrine of Mawlay
‘Abdeslam had an impact on his life, along with the influence of an uncle,
the brother of his father. This uncle initiated him into a very different
esoteric practice, a form of dowsing, specifically using olive branches13 to
find water and wells in an area not reached by running water and also to
look for treasures (sg. kanz). There are many legends about buried trea-
sures in Jbala, as in other areas of Morocco, which mention fuqahā from
Sus who arrived in the past (González Vázquez 2015, 84–85).
Since his initiation into these techniques, Rachid developed an aware-

ness that he might have some strength, some special power, some kind
of flow of blessing or grace (baraka), and so his visit to the sanctuary
has its importance in this story. Nor should we forget the family history
in that same village. In addition to the aforementioned uncle, an aunt
practices the technique of ‘ azzāma, that is, the application of baraka
through hands or saliva, accompanied by Quranic recitations and other
secret formulas transmitted between healers and also through Sharifian
families (Rhani 2009, 28–29), which are abundant in the region. But
above all, a highlight of this local background is the memory of Rachid’s
paternal grandmother, who was a celebrity in the village as a healer and
midwife. As Rachid explained to me:
I do not know very well where all this comes from, I only know that
I have always had a special sensitivity to these things. Last summer I
discovered that, like my uncle, I have the ability to detect water, metals,
black magic (sih.r), and jinn with the olive tree; and by then I visited
Mawlay ‘Abdeslam, where I noticed an internal call… I went there, and
apparently nothing happened, but, actually, something happened; at that
precise moment, I knew something hidden (bāt.in), which was not apparent
(z.āhir).14
This mixture of “traditional” Moroccan Islam and revitalized ancient

techniques such as ruqya converged in this personal itinerary, which devi-
ates from the standards described in the Internet and in compilations of
fatwas, h.adı̄th, and sūra, conceived as an authentic globalization (Roy
2004) of the ruqya:
My ruqya is simple and based on the baraka, since I do not follow any
concrete texts, and the jinn are not visualized or resisted, they simply
disappear. According to the imam [of the village in Catalonia], this happens
to the men called rūh.ānı̄ [spiritual], of rūh.. The truth is that applying the
hands on the affected part facilitates the exit much more [here we see in
part the influence of the technique of ‘ azzāma]. Now I am also testing
with diseases, and although it is giving results in some cases, I do not know
if it is due to the products used or to the baraka.15
In this narrative, we observe that the boundary between physical and spir-
itual illnesses is not clear either, and that in any case, in this first period,
the interventions had a clearly experimental thread.
At the end of December 2010, Rachid’s experiences with ruqya began

to multiply. In part, progress in this technique was clearly linked to trips
made to the mountain village in Morocco. In one of these trips of a few
days, one of the people involved was his mother-in-law. Apparently, his
family and friends in the village encouraged him to perform the ritual,
and he felt that the baraka was emerging more and more during the
sessions. During those few days, he conducted a total of approximately
twenty ruqya:
It seems that I have a special baraka to do this. Now I am perfecting the

technique, but the certain thing is that I have expelled some jinn that well-
known imams in ruqya had not been able to remove. In my penultimate
ruqya, the jinnı̄ appeared, after the person briefly fainted; she got up and
the jinnı̄ began to speak; it was amazing; all the assistants were stunned.
And then I started pushing to get him out. He said he was a faqı̄h of
Kenitra and he asked me to forgive him.
People told him that the jinnı̄ had been bothering his mother-in-law for
32 years. During this period, the family had tried everything, and they
had grown tired of visiting all kinds of imams. Everyone confronted the
jinnı̄, but he had never revealed to them who he was or explained to them
that he wanted to leave that body.16
This self-directed training, as we could define it, was accompanied by
small ritual advances that invested Rachid with the condition of rāqı̄ at
the behest of his mentor, the imam of his village in Catalonia. So, he told
me that the imam had given him the authorization (idhn) by means of a
silver ring, with an inscription inside it (al-rah.mān, the Merciful, one of
the names of Allah) as an evocation of the Prophet’s seal (Porter 2011,
6–7). The same ring would also serve to heal. Here we can observe again
the intersection of several Moroccan medical systems, since the struc-
ture is similar to that of the ‘ azzāma, or healing by contact with some
object or part of the blessed body—hands and saliva, but also contact
with objects such as old knives or lemons.17 Rachid himself has also been
seen performing ‘ azzāma with knives, although the ones he used were
not old.
According to his mentor, Rachid’s abilities are not habitual, and he
predicted that in a short time, the jinn would flee just knowing that
he is already approaching the body of the possessed person. The point
is that although Rachid still did not master the recitations, he observed
something special that makes his ruqya much more effective than other
people’s, probably that baraka. The relationship with the imam is similar
to the forms of transmission of knowledge and Sufi master–disciple rela-
tions (Hammoudi 1997, 137–141) central in the Maghreb. This imam
had received in turn the ijāza, the authorization, from a master in
Tangier.
In that period (late 2010), the imam was teaching Rachid various
Quranic verses (āyāt ), and especially more powerful ones, to protect
himself in case one of the most dangerous jinn appeared. Another aspect
that Rachid himself highlighted in our conversations was his calm when
facing this process of initiation. From his point of view, the important
thing is to put a lot of intention (niyya), to face the new situations,
with improvisations, intuitions, and letting himself be carried away by
the sensations that he experiences during the ruqya ritual. He did not
live alone through this process, but had a social support, his primary
group of kinship. His uncle told him that he had similar feelings, which
he attributed to the baraka. Therefore, unlike other textual rhetoric that
attribute power to the text, Rachid emphasizes the importance of the
sensations experienced when capturing the jinn. In contrast, the mecha-
nisms of a globalized ruqya are based on principles such as that the emitter
of the ruqya, recorded by new information technologies, can also exert its
influence, because it is almost a scientific effect, due to sound waves. Many
Muslim authors have labeled these congruences between religion and
science Quranic miracles (i jāz ilmı̄) (Benyoussef 2006; Mateo Dieste
2014b, 130–134; Bigliardi 2018, 28–43).
These constructions of an eclectic ruqya are formed by the combina-
tion of the advice of the imam and practice. When practicing ruqya in
the Moroccan village, Rachid spent several days reciting to heal the same
person. He put his right hand on the man’s head. He felt something
going through the patient and coming out of his own left hand. Observe
in this commentary the reproduction of the patterns on the right and the
left hand that have been analyzed in other contexts (Needham 1973): the
right has the power to control, the evil comes from the left. This experi-
ence makes sense when Rachid remembers the words of his mentor, the
imam: that feeling means that jinn are moving through your body with
the blood.18 According to him, this is why he may feel heat and trembling
during the ruqya. It is no coincidence that, a few months later, Rachid
would install a small sauna in his house in Catalonia to relax after the
sessions and to check the power of the heat on the jinn. After a ruqya,
he noticed some tingling in his hands after a few minutes of being in the
sauna. Rachid felt that it was a jinnı̄ he had expelled and captured, that
had just left his body, because jinn flee from the heat.19
During the first sessions, he began to apply what he had learned,
reciting over water and having his mother-in-law drink the water with
ruqya. But her body did not improve until the third day, when she stood
up and started talking. In that stage, the woman finally revealed the secret,
the faqı̄h who possessed her spoke and apologized. In this scene of incar-
nations, like the “maîtres foux” by Jean Rouch, where people embody
third-party characters, the dialogues of possession show alter egos and
projections of the collective unconscious. In dreams, Rachid also received
a visit from the jinn,20 who informed him. The jinn are thus a kind of
informants. As I understand it, this is another projection of the Maghreb
forms of mediation, al-wası̄t.a (lit. “the one in the middle”), a way to
resolve negotiated conflicts, which we can also observe in Buya Omar
and other sanctuaries (Naamouni 1995, 131–151; Maarouf 2007, 203–
221), where the possessed await an invisible judgment by saints and jinn.
In Rachid’s dream, a jinnı̄ in the shape of a boy tried to attack him with
a sword, and two women appeared naked. In a later conversation, I asked
about the dream of the nude women and he speculated that it could be
a message to indicate that women attending ruqya should be covered.
Ruqya in the Catalan Village

A few weeks later, following these experiences in Morocco, Rachid started
implementing the practice of ruqya in his Catalan village, not only
with Muslims but also among non-Muslims. The arena of the ruqya in
Rachid’s house in Catalonia is a baladı̄ room, with mtarba, Moroccan
sofas, paintings of Quranic chapters, in a corner a Quran, and some
rūmı̄ component, like a television set.21 But Rachid also makes house
calls when people prefer privacy. And on several occasions, they have
performed the rituals in the local mosque.
In January 2011, he performed a ruqya for a 25-year-old Moroccan
woman.22 A few months earlier, she had married a Spanish non-Muslim
man in his 50s who works in a mechanical workshop. Since she came from
Morocco and did not have her family, she went through a hard period
with many difficulties adapting after her arrival in the village. The Spaniard
did the shahāda and converted to Islam to get married, because Islamic
family law prohibits Muslim women from marrying a non-Muslim, but
he did not actually practice Islam. The young woman was sick, she had
stomach pains, and she confessed to Rachid that she could not have sexual
relations and that when she heard recitations of the Quran she noticed
that her legs were falling asleep. Rachid went to her house and applied
the dowsing technique. When he had the branch in his hands, he recited
some blessings in the name of God and expected that the branch would
point out the jinn. He detected a jinnı̄ and he began to recite parts of
the Quran, until the jinnı̄ manifested itself in the presence of a relative
of Rachid and the young woman’s husband. The jinnı̄ explained that he
had been married to the girl since she was 14 years old. He also confessed
through the woman’s voice that he was a Jew from Israel. Talking to the
woman, Rachid tried to convince the jinnı̄ to leave her body, but he
did not succeed; in the conversation, she confessed very private matters.
Meanwhile, Rachid held her hands, which were very cold, and her head.
At the end of the process, her body warmed up. She got up and tried to
escape. In the final effort, Rachid managed to get the jinnı̄ out through
his own body, from right to left.23 His hand and right arm went numb,
something crossed his chest and passed to his left arm, and finally some
fingers of his left hand fell asleep. The husband, who attended the scene,
was very upset by what he saw. Rachid handed him the olive branch but he
did not detect any jinn; however, he found problems in the neck caused
by black magic (sih.r) hatched up by the family of his wife.24
The practice of ruqya in a non-Muslim country faces several practical
and legal problems. Beyond the known effects of abuse by some healers,
their practice in homes could lead to problems of public and criminal
order if a patient suffers a mishap,25 and in fact, this was one of the many
reasons why Rachid stopped practicing ruqya. Rachid already foresaw this
problem during his first cases, when a possessed girl began to shout in
response to the Quranic recitation. At that time of the night, it was not
advisable to continue with the ritual. Given the difficulties encountered,
he called his master, the imam, for help. They spent an hour and a half
negotiating with her/the jinnı̄, who was reluctant to leave. According to
Rachid,26 the girl went into a trance. First, the jinnı̄ pretended that her
name was Mariam and that she was Muslim, but then the jinnı̄ confessed
that he was married to her, and that he was a Jew.27 After two hours
of struggling, Rachid felt a current that crossed him from right to left.
He stretched out his arms to make room for the exiting jinnı̄, and when
Rachid noticed that he had left her body, he shouted the girl’s name, and
she replied, waking up from the trance.
Treatment of Non-Muslims
After a time, Rachid also received requests from non-Muslims to practice
ruqya on them. For instance, he visited a house in another nearby town,
where members of a Catholic family believed it was haunted by a dead
man pulling their hair. Rachid with his dowsing stick detected jinn, whom
he forced to leave, but one of them took refuge in a computer. This case
demonstrates the polysemy of agency. For some it was a dead person, for
Rachid it was a jinnı̄.
Information about the benefits of ruqya even reached Rachid’s physio-
therapist. One day he suggested her to use his dowsing stick, after she felt
that she had a lot of bad luck, and he diagnosed a case of Evil Eye afflic-
tion (al-‘ayn). He did ruqya on her, though she was not a Muslim. She
noticed that a very painful weight was going down from the stomach to
the womb. In an interesting exchange of techniques, almost dialectical,
Rachid detected several alterations in his physiotherapist. He attributed
them to the jinnı̄ and the influence of ruqya on the jinnı̄’s movements
in her organs.
Healing Innovations
and the Appropriation of Tradition
One of the innovations that I have already mentioned is the use of the
dowsing rod and its incorporation as a diagnostic tool. The stick was
used in the past as a device to look for treasures, but Rachid applies it
to detect the presence of jinn, at any time and in any situation. In fact, I
have attended several of these moments when the olive branch intervenes.
Rachid jokes about it: He has baptized the instrument his “scanner,”
and it can be applied both to people and places. This indicates a certain
mimicry of hegemonic technological language or even of medical proce-
dures when referring to diagnoses and cures. In my previous work, I had
paid attention to the interference of jinn in places and even in electronic
devices, as I observed in Tetouan. When I asked Rachid about this, his
response was as follows:
Yes, it has happened to me. Right now, I have the jinnı̄ that I took out of
my car on Monday. I changed the car 15 days ago and yesterday morning
it started to make strange movements, and then I went to the city and
the lights did not go out; today in the morning, the remote control did
not open the door… I was suspicious, and at noon I looked with the
“olive scanner” and indeed the jinnı̄ was in the car. I gave him a 24-hour
ultimatum to leave.28
When I visited his house in Catalonia, we went down to the garage, he

took out the dowsing rod, and it began to tilt toward the ground to
mark the place where the jinnı̄ lay. The effects continued months later.
One day he was going to visit a woman who had been possessed for years,
to recite ruqya. When he approached the house, the windows of the car
were blocked, and the mechanics were not able to explain the cause of
the breakdown.
The cases of jinn intrusions in machines and electronic devices have
been frequent in Rachid’s career, especially when he is on the way to
perform ruqya. On three occasions, when leaving the house, either the
elevator did not come down or the doors did not open. These theo-
ries resemble what Gluckman (1944) called the ad hoc explanation of
events, following a logic shared by science, witchcraft, and even what is
called chance. On another occasion, a Catalan businessman married to
a Moroccan woman contacted Rachid. They had many problems in the
company and Rachid went to investigate. He found a gigantic jinnı̄ in
the factory. He drew an imaginary circle to delimit an area, but then,
outside the circle, the Moroccan woman, who was also present, began to
asphyxiate, until Rachid made a ruqya to reassure her. Rachid attributed
this attack to the most dangerous type of jinnı̄, the flying jinnı̄.
This olive wood works as a kind of oracle to determine afflictions and
to find explanations, as in Evans-Pritchard’s (1937) classic work about the
Azande, although it does not serve to foresee the future but to analyze
the present and the past, detecting jinn and determining the cause of
their appearance. That is why he asks the branch whether what he finds is
black magic (sih.r), the Evil Eye (al-‘ayn), or poisoning (Moroccan: tkal ).
Rachid’s uncle also uses other divination techniques, such as reciting
verses while throwing cumin or pepper onto a charcoal stove, to identify
the remedy, such as ruqya, some humoral substance, or a visit to a saint.
Rachid often performs a ritual he learned in his Moroccan village.
It consists of marking limits for the jinn, as a kind of imaginary cage.
In the process, he recites some Quranic phrases and then he marks the
ground with a knife and cuts through the air at the four ends that
make up the square. To supplement the ruqya, Rachid recommends
making jujube (sidr) infusions. He brought examples of this plant from
his Moroccan village and planted them in his garden in Catalonia, an

authentic metaphor for the transplant of rituals. Drinking blessed water is
an auxiliary mechanism when recitation is not enough. But when the jinn
resist, the possessed refuses to drink the water or is disgusted, and there-
fore Rachid prepares the jujube infusions, especially against black magic
(sih.r). One of the fuqahā interviewed in Tetouan also supplemented the
ruqya with substance ingestion, according to the Prophetic Medicine (t.ibb
nabawı̄) classics (Elgood 1962, 53–58). And when these methods do not
work, then Rachid prepares another combination that the possessed often
despise: recitation over a mixture of boiled water with jujube, cumin, and
honey. A woman who drank this mixture reacted violently because she
had poisoning black magic (sih.r). She began to vomit dark balls of hair.
Rachid acknowledged that he uses various concentration techniques,
inspired by New Age movements that refer to “energies”. He distin-
guishes between the mental images he creates when he wants to attract
the jinn and when he wants to expel them. To attract them, he thinks
in mental arrows that point inward to absorb energy. To expel them, he
thinks of arrows that transport the energy outward. According to Rachid,
baraka, too, can be imagined as an energy entering the body.
Such developments show the process of the construction of a healing
practice without a centralized authority of transmission, and this allows for
ritual adaptations. We can say that there has been a kind of construction
of an Islam with the values and modalities of the society in which the
bricoleur was socialized (Dassetto 2000).29
Transnationality and Ruqya

In my fieldwork in Tetouan, some Muslim experts (fuqahā , sg. faqı̄h)
were already practicing ruqya by mobile phone or talking to Muslims in
Europe in a cybercafé. For instance, the faqı̄h Susi showed me a list of
thirty European contacts who used his services. This dimension has taken
on new meanings. The same day that I asked Rachid if he could perform
remote ruqya, the imam told him that he had a case in Belgium, a boy
who had made several suicide attempts. His family called the imam to
help them at a distance. Rachid tried to make his diagnosis with the olive
stick thousands of kilometers away. He asked the imam if the boy took
drugs and the family confirmed it. However, Rachid normally hesitates
to perform ruqya virtually, since it precludes the physical proximity that
allows him to control the person’s reactions.
In spite of these limitations, what matters is that both the healers

and the afflicted move on a transnational stage. During my fieldwork
in Catalonia over the years, I have been able to follow the case of a
woman afflicted by jinn, although the information has always come to me
through her husband, a merchant installed in Catalonia since the 1990s.
Both husband and wife come from the eastern Rif, near Nador. Their
therapeutic itineraries are quite open and plural, and when the family
cannot find a solution, they spend years going here and there consulting
different healers. In this case, the woman experienced a serious crisis after
the birth of her child, with anguish, fear of death, and depression. The
family has attributed this to a jinnı̄,30 although over the years I have heard
several versions from her husband, depending on the advice and interpre-
tations that various healers have given them. Some think it is a case of
black magic. Others have identified a jinnı̄. They have gone to Muslim
healers, including Rachid, in Barcelona and other points of Catalonia, but
also in Madrid. And they have made several trips to Morocco, from the
Rif to Tangier and other towns in the north. She has received ruqya and
even a Caribbean ritual.
The relationship with women continued to be a sensitive issue during
the ritual. Among the people who should not attend a ruqya are preg-
nant women or menstruating women. I asked if this had to do with
the fact that the jinn are fed with blood, but Rachid commented that
it was rather due to an emotional tension, which could alter menstrua-
tion or have negative effects on pregnancy. It is worth remembering that
the prevailing model of healing is that of men applying their power over
women in a clearly gendered ritual division; although there are women
who can also perform it (MacPhee 2003) and fortune tellers (Moroccan:
shuwwafāt ) who also resort to fuqahā (Radi 1996, 90–95).
We had interesting discussions about the different ways of explaining
afflictions. When I commented that social science theories attribute
possession to biographical crises (conjugal problems, death of a relative,
etc.) or social exclusion, Rachid replied that this is what he defines as “the
doors open”. In the human body, there are moments when these doors
open and the person suffers from weakness, with emotional shocks. At
that time, Rachid was reading a psychology book that explained that the
body is less alert in moments of crisis and loses its inner balance (here
we see also the imprint of the humoral theory). Therefore, during the
sessions, Rachid tries to find out the traumatic moment that the jinnı̄
uses to enter a person.
The following case will illustrate this approach. A young woman

began to have headaches and nervous breakdowns, which she attributed
to a jinnı̄, right after the traumatic event in her life of a relative
drowning in the sea. She was a young mother of Moroccan origin,
born in Catalonia, married, with three children. Her affliction provoked
headaches, insomnia, and visions. She explained that when her husband
approached her she saw a dog’s face. The conclusion Rachid reached
was that the jinnı̄ passed to the husband and transformed his face. The
woman was then in psychiatric treatment and was taking psychopharma-
cological drugs. In Rachid’s treatment with his olive stick, he detected a
jinnı̄.
Our last conversation about Rachid’s practice took place in January
2013. Sometime later, he abandoned his healing rituals for various
reasons, but above all because he was overwhelmed by the requests and
queues of patients in their free time, the possible danger of some cases
(even for the family itself), and his dedication to other tasks. I wonder if
Rachid’s time for ruqya is over and if that whirlwind of experiences will
come back someday, but what is clear is that dozens of human experiences
turned around him—human experiences that are hidden under so-called
normality.
Conclusion
The case analyzed here shows the construction of new forms of healing
that remake major traditional Muslim practices in a transnational context;
it presents a Muslim, the son a Moroccan migrant and a Catalan woman,
working in the family business, who turned himself into a part-time
spiritual broker dealing with jinn. The ruqya stands out among these
techniques for many reasons: It is based on the authority of the Quranic
text, and the new communication technologies like Facebook, Twitter,
and WhatsApp have allowed faster dissemination of recorded recitation,
where a human voice represents God’s power of healing and protecting.
These new technologies of diffusion through mobile electronic devices
had great success among Muslims in Morocco and in Europe and they
conform to ideas about spirit possession (Behrend et al. 2014, 3–8). In
this sense, ruqya is not only a healing ritual; it has become a contempo-
rary instrument of self-protection, especially through the reproduction of
recitation at any time and place. At the same time, it plays the role of
a moral agency that enters people’s everyday life following a neoliberal

pattern disguised as a proper Muslim commodity.
As the example of Rachid has shown, some Muslim healers adapt old
traditions to local contexts. Rachid has brought together classical textual
sources, Sharifian baraka, dowsing, and humoral medicine. His practice
as a healer is defined by a complex and polysemic system of ritual bricolage
transmitted to him by relatives and religious specialists in both Morocco
and Europe. Rachid recreates the ritual through practice, rather than
theory. Rachid builds his methods through performance and his interac-
tion with people who demand his services. These open traits of the ritual
are possible in a context where no authority holds a religious monopoly.
The ritual makes sense for people who do not find their place in the
world. Despite the hegemony of the biomedical system for the treat-
ment of diseases, Rachid is consulted, like other practitioners of ruqya
in Europe, by people who believe that their afflictions cannot find a cure
in that biomedical system. This system does not exert symbolic efficacy
on them, unlike the Islamic ritual, which uses a language of prestige and
authority in a time of Islamic revival. Namely, ruqya is not just a healing
method, but also a social arena where the affliction is defined and given
a moral meaning during the performance. The ruqya ritual responds to
“needs,” to a social demand that is also the effect of a social construction,
of a revival of Islamic medicine. The ritual is the arena for the expression
of personal and social afflictions in a world of changes and transforma-
tions, like the migratory processes, with plenty of uncertainties and class
and gender inequalities: personal crises, collective fears, and, especially,
tensions of kinship or marital problems in which the control of sexuality
and fertility becomes a central issue in healing. People who live in this
diasporic situation resort to these hybrid healers because they are also a
mirror of the diaspora and its transformation processes. In this context,
being a good Muslim will be a guarantee to avoid attacks of evil. And
ruqya has become a vehicle to guarantee this proper condition of Muslim
according to the textualist revival, even if, in fact, the ritual may be a
creative mixture of transnational techniques, as we have seen through the
eyes of Rachid.
Acknowledgements I want to thank Dr. Araceli González Vázquez for reading

this manuscript and making many interesting comments. This work is recorded as
a result of the project “Estudio antropológico comparativo de las nociones de ser
humano (HUMANT)” (HAR2013-40445P), MEC. I + D+I Proyectos de inves-

tigación fundamental, carried out by the research group AHCISP (Anthropology
and History of the Construction of Social and Political Identities).
Notes
1. There were 60,000 people of Moroccan origin in Catalonia in 2000;
128,000 in 2003; and 207,000 in 2017. Before the crisis of 2007, half of
the men were occupied in construction and industry. A significant part of
the employed women worked in domestic service. See López García and
Berriane (2004) for a general view of the context.
2. An expert in knowledge, recitation, and teaching of the Quran.
3. In this chapter, we will use the terms jinnı̄ (sg.) and jinn (pl.), but the
reader should note that in Moroccan Arabic people mainly use the terms
jinn (sing.) and jnūn (plural).
4. According to the later compilations of hadiths and of Prophetic Medicine,
such as that of Ibn Qayyim al-Jawziyya (XIV century C.E.) or al-Suyūtı̄
(XV century C.E.).
5. For Prophetic Medicine in general, see Wessel’s contribution in this
volume.
6. Rāqı̄ is the one who performs the ruqya ritual.
7. I want to thank him for his warm collaboration during the fieldwork and
his subsequent authorization to quote our conversations in this text.
8. For another example of a detailed biography, see Sax (2013). Crapan-
zano’s work has also been an inspiration in analyzing the experiences of
the possessed (Crapanzano 1985).
9. A perfect human being who heads the saintly hierarchy.
10. The area surrounding the sanctuary is known to have hosted many Islamic
scholars. Vignet-Zunz (1993).
11. This means that he is supposed to be a sharı̄f , or descendant of the
Prophet Muhammad, through one of the latter’s lines of descendants.
12. Divine protection and blessing transmitted by lineages of shurafā’ (sg.
sharı̄f ).
13. On the use of vegetables and wood for magical purposes in Jbala, see
Cola Alberich (1949, 49).
14. Conversation, 27 November 2010. All our conversations took place in the
Catalan language.
15. Conversation, 27 November 2010.
16. Conversation, 11 November 2010.
17. In my fieldwork in Tetouan, I was able to interview a healer who was
doing ‘ azzāma with the Sharifian baraka of a knife attributed to the
mystic Darqawi Ahmed Ben ‘Ajiba, which is applied to a lemon and the
parts of the body involved. Interview in Tetouan, May 29, 2010. I thank
Ahmed Benajiba for his mediation and participation in the interview.
18. Here, the commentary coincides with that of an ‘ālim of Tetouan, for
whom the jinn circulate through the blood like microbes, and the ruqya
is like a healing serum.
19. Westermarck had already noticed this question in his seminal work of
1926 (Westermarck 1968). On the connections between Islamic medicine
and humoral medicine, see Greenwood (1981).
20. In Morocco, as in other parts of the Arab-Islamic world, there is a strong
tradition of interpreting dreams (Hart 1976; González Vázquez 2014).
21. I use the baladı̄ (“of the country”) vs. rūmı̄ (“European”) dichotomy,
borrowed from Rachik (1997), also applicable to the living rooms of the
house.
22. Conversations in the room where ruqya takes place, January 28, 2011.
23. This follows the pattern of purification, like in the partial ritual ablution
(wud.ū ).
24. See Rosander (1991) on accusations of witchcraft by affinity.
25. A paradigmatic case was the death in Belgium of the young
Latifa Hachmi by the ingestion of tens of liters of blessed water.
Jacques Laruelle, “Latifa, morte avant son démon,” LaLibre.be, May
14, 2012. http://www.lalibre.be/actu/belgique/latifa-morte-avant-son-
demon-51b8ea95e4b0de6db9c6876e, retrieved September 16, 2018.
26. Conversation, January 26, 2011.
27. On the marriage between humans and the jinn, see Leemhuis (1995) and
González Vázquez (2013).
28. Conversation, January 26, 2011.
29. For other suggestive cases of bricoleur healers, see Sanson (2017) and
Garrone (2013).
30. Family diagnosis is a very important factor. The social environment
constructs the explanation of the affliction, in addition to what the patient
can do.
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CHAPTER 7
Healing, Agency, and Life Crisis Among

British Pakistani Ruqya Patients
Andreas Gadeberg Nielsen
Jin and Illness---Superstition or a Serious Matter?

Throughout history and across religions and peoples, illness, misfortune,
and suffering have been ascribed to the influence of evil spirits and
magic.1 In fact, similar beliefs are still found in all the major world reli-
gions (Dein and Illaiee 2013) and often seem to coexist and interact
with biomedical understandings of illness. The fact that the connec-
tion between spirit possession and mental illness is a major cultural
phenomenon should be appreciated here in order to understand that we
are not just dealing with something found in rare or “exotic” branches of
Islam. On the contrary, the belief that spirits can affect your well-being
and ultimately drive you mad is part of theology, belief, and practice
in many Muslim communities. However, the extent to which jin can
affect human life is a highly contested topic, dependent on cultural and
historical circumstances (Dein et al. 2008, 32).
Many Muslims I have met during fieldwork and elsewhere have
explained that, from their perspectives, there is an excessive belief in
A. G. Nielsen (B)
Aarhus, Denmark

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-61247-4_7
122 A. G. NIELSEN
stories about black magic and jin in Muslim communities. They do

believe in the existence of jin, in accordance with the Quran and the
Sunna of the Prophet, but see most jin stories as superstition. During
my four-month fieldwork in the region of West Yorkshire in northern
England during spring 2015, the caretaker in a mosque that I frequented
daily would jokingly burst out as he saw me, “Ah! Here comes the ghost-
buster.” Similarly, many would distance themselves from superstition and
“ghost stories” first thing upon learning of my research topic and strug-
gled to combine an open belief in jin with identities as modern Muslims.
For others, however, jin possession is in fact experienced as a highly
serious matter connected to severe life crisis, mental health issues, and
social problems that are to be dealt with in the right manner practically,
morally, religiously, and by purifying the heart, which is often conceptu-
alized in classical Islamic theology as the main moral and ethical faculty
of the body.
In cases of believed spirit possession, many seek out imams and others
who claim to be experienced in dealing with these phenomena. Both
healers and patients come in many shapes, adhere to a wide range of
beliefs and practices, and often engage in various antagonistic contesta-
tions about how to diagnose and deal with jin possession. The aim here
is not to judge in any such struggles, but rather to take the patient’s
perspective as the point of departure. One of the main contributions
of social science, and perhaps notably of medical anthropology, in this
context is to create openings for new understandings of what it means
to be a patient under these specific circumstances and how life crisis and
mental health issues among Muslim migrants are dealt with on a local
level in everyday lives. To this end, here we will examine the extended
patient cases of two British men of Pakistani descent, Ali and Usman,
and thus explore ethnographically how agency and healing interplay as
important aspects of recovery processes for ruqya patients.
The Ruqya Revival Among South

Asian Migrants in the UK
My respondents in West Yorkshire have at some point in their lives
rediscovered an Islam different from that of their parents’ generation.
Sometimes older-generation Muslims have been condemned as immoral
traditionalists and at other times pitied as backward and less-resourceful
Muslims who “did not know any better.” Especially the practice of forcing
7 HEALING, AGENCY, AND LIFE CRISIS AMONG BRITISH … 123
their children into arranged marriages is vehemently criticized. Younger

British Muslims are distancing themselves from these practices, sometimes
as part of processes of revitalizing what they understand as classical or
true Islam. Interestingly, they often accepted the media’s critique of Islam
and backward Muslims, but at the same time, they reoriented themselves
toward “traditional” or “South Asian” Islam and “Pakistani culture.”
“True” or “pure” Islam was seen as going hand in hand with “old British
values,” like being well-mannered, gentle, modest, and humble, virtues
they believed the British, like the South Asians, have largely forgotten over
time. In Friday sermons and everyday conversations, these virtues were
used interchangeably with religiously understood virtues like thankful-
ness, patience (Arab. sabr), sincerity, and trust in God (Arab. tawakkul ).
Teaching me about the moral character of the Prophet Muhammad, one
imam even told me, “Muhammad was a true gentleman.” This way of
combining Britishness with a return to observant and pious forms of
Islamic religiosity can be understood as a creative construction of a dual
identity that seemed present in some of the relatively new and still largely
undefined local piety movements.
In the local mosques, some mentioned that there had been a growth
in religious healers (Arab. sg. al-rāqı̄) during the last five to ten years.
According to one respondent, the reason that ruqya treatment had
become more widespread was simply because there was more magic in
today’s world. The closer the world moves to Judgment Day (qiyāmat
ka din), the more divided the Muslims will become. Magic is seen here
as a cause and symptom of division among Muslims who use religiously
illicit magical means in a desperate attempt to control what is out of their
hands. The unlawful nature of using black magic for your own immediate
this-worldly gains is seen as part of the moral demise of Muslims who have
lost contact to important virtues. In this apocalyptic version, ruqya is seen
as an important part of the defense of the righteous against the attempts
from Satan (Arab. sg. shayt.ān) and his army to tempt, corrupt, and cause
divisions. Developing Islamic virtues and obtaining religious purity is here
understood as the best, if not the only, defense against everything from
immorality and depression to possessing jinn and evil magicians.
According to others, the spread of healing practices considered to be
based on Quran and Sunna is occurring simply because Muslims are
becoming well educated again. The “proper” and “classical” ways of
healing are thus re-emerging as large-scale phenomena, because Muslims
124 A. G. NIELSEN
have once again started to study the religious scriptures and live accord-
ingly. The use of modern technology is seen as an important tool in
the spread of religious knowledge, for instance through social media.
The famous British Muslim boxer Amir Khan’s Instagram pictures of
his cupping (Arab. h.ijāma)2 treatment, together with YouTube videos
of ruqya treatments, are often-mentioned examples of the popularization
of Islamic healing through social media among my respondents. Ruqya
clinics also sometimes have their own Facebook pages, and a great variety
of religious healers can be found in online and newspaper advertisements.
I told the imam in one of the mosques where I often attended prayer
about my project and that I was interested in the connection between
various illnesses and hardships and how these were connected to belief in
jin and black magic (kālā jādū). He immediately liked the project and
told me that this was in fact “a very hot topic” among Muslim scholars
today. According to him, ruqya healing had become widespread in the
UK only within “the last ten years or so”. The (re)emergence of ruqya as
a large-scale cultural phenomenon can be understood as a ruqya “revival”
(Dieste 2014, 51). Quranic healers are incorporating the methodologies
and vocabulary of secular science to prove the materiality of the jin and
their effects on the bodies of the possessed (Dieste 2014, 45–46).
The return to classical Islam sometimes seems to entail a form of
adaptation in which scientific and religious knowledge are combined in
a unified discourse. In this way, the rhetoric of the Medicine of the
Prophet (tib-e-nabvi) and knowledge of how to heal spirit possession and
black magic affliction through Quranic recitation is mixed with technical
biomedical terms. The ruqya revival is thus connected to a processual
scientification of Islam and to a broader process of increasing religiosity
and returns to scripturalism in the Muslim minority (Roy 2009).
Another way of explaining this revival is as a reaction to the sociopolit-
ical situation that my respondents find themselves in. On the patient level,
we can understand ruqya as something that becomes necessary when life
has gone wrong and life crisis is imminent and requires urgent action.
To consider the multiplicity of problems, misfortunes, life crises, and
disorders reported by ruqya patients, we have to consider the difficulties
and traumas of minority life and migration. Muslim migration from the
South Asian colonies slowly started during the colonial era, but became
large scale in the 1950s and 1960s. In search of better living condi-
tions, many migrated to the UK. Most of these migrants were from rural
areas in Pakistan, northern India, and Bangladesh (Jones 2013, 552–

553). The riots and civil war leading to the partition of India in 1947
(and the creation of the Pakistani nation-state) left around 14 million
people displaced (Dube 2015, 55). Some of these migrants went to the
UK following state initiatives to acquire the unskilled labor needed in the
UK after the world wars.
Especially the textile industry in northern England saw a large propor-
tion of South Asian labor migrants. The industrial collapse and economic
decline in the mid-1970s left many unemployed (Webster 2003, 101–
102). Respondents proudly told me about the largest textile factory in
Yorkshire, located in the Harehills in Leeds, which is still considered an
“Asian area”. Today, there are no more cotton mills, and on the hill
where the big textile factory used to be, you now find one of the largest
Barelwi mosques in the UK. According to Colin Webster, the unem-
ployment and social deprivation resulting from the decline in the textile
industry played a key role in increasing racial tensions (Webster 2003, 96).
These tensions between Muslim minorities and the majority populations
spiked further with the large demographic growth of the South Asian
Muslim population, caused mainly by family reunification in the 1960s
and 1970s (McLoughlin 2006, 1050). The number of Muslim migrants
coming to certain areas in northern England has been the focus of public
debates on the perceived Islamic “threat” to “the English way of life”
locally and nationally (McLoughlin 2006, 1048). During the 1970s and
1980s, the institutionalization of Islam provided Muslims in the UK with
means to maintain connections to Islamic institutions in their countries of
origin, from which religious scholars and leaders started migrating to the
UK. The communities around most religious institutions largely remained
aloof from British society, most likely because many still remembered the
horrors of the partition in 1972 and colonial rule and because of fears
that their children would become too influenced by British culture and
forget their cultural and religious heritage (Jones 2013, 553).
With the migration, some of the regional conflicts from the South
Asian political landscape traveled to the UK. One such divide is between
the Deobandis and the Barelwis, who still constitute the two largest
denominations of Muslims in the UK (Jones 2013, 550). This conflict
dates back to the days of British colonial rule in India, where the Barelwis
employed a strategy of allegiance with the British against the Hindu
majority. The Deobandi movement, on the other hand, gained social
126 A. G. NIELSEN
ground through resistance to British occupation and to Barelwi collab-

oration. Although both denominations follow the Hanafi school of law,
there are theological differences. Barelwis follow a form of devotional Sufi
Islam originating from Bareilly in northern India. Deobandi scholars crit-
icize certain Barelwi beliefs, for instance that the Prophet is a being made
of light, which is seen as conflicting with notion that Muhammad was
a human being. Certain saint-related practices, like tomb veneration and
socioreligious power structures related to Sufism, were condemned for
elevating holy men (sg. pı̄r) to God-like status and thus equating them
with God (shirk). These denominations are represented in West York-
shire by a large proportion of Kashmiri Barelwis in both Bradford and
Leeds and at the European Deobandi headquarters located in Kirklees
(Jones 2013, 553; Brown 1997). This conflict is one of the main dividers
among South Asians in the UK, but respondents did not see themselves
as part of it. For many British-born Muslims of Pakistani descent, the
divide between the Deobandis and Barelwis is associated with the older
generations and seen as a result of traditionalist and culturalized practices.
The centers for Islamic religious training in Britain have largely been
unable to provide Islamic teachings that correspond with the lived expe-
rience of the younger generations (Jones 2013, 554; Gilliat-Ray 2006,
66). British-born Muslims’ efforts toward “embedding Islam in British
traditions and cultural forms” have to some degree alienated them from
forms of Islam associated with their countries of origin (Jones 2013,
561). Respondents seem to follow this development by deemphasizing
the importance of ethnicity and affiliation with specific Islamic denomi-
nations. Younger Muslims such as my respondents generally understand
overcrowding, unemployment, and general social deprivation in the Asian
communities as problems caused by conservatism as well as lack of educa-
tion in older generations of South Asian Muslims whose traditions and
lack of Islamic knowledge they criticize. Along these lines, older religious
healers are also criticized and their younger counterparts answer the call
for the (re)invention of perceived classical forms of religious healing by
drawing on a mix of biomedical and Islamic methods of treatment.
Ali’s Treatment: Purifying the Heart

“It hurts! Stop burning me!” Ali’s body is shaking violently, and he
appears to be screaming in pain as his rāqı̄ Ahmed Hafeez perseveringly
continues his fast-paced incantations. Ahmed is holding a microphone in
front of him. His voice is booming through the small amplifier next to
which Ali’s body is twisting and turning on the floor. Beads of sweat are
running from Ali’s forehead down his long, well-trimmed black beard
and starting to soak from his chest through his long, gray garment as he
continues shaking. Suddenly Ali growls in a deep voice, trying to move
his torso upward. Firmly but gently, Ahmed puts his hand on Ali’s sweaty
forehead and presses his head back onto the pillow on the floor. He reads
louder and faster, repeating certain passages from the Quran in what, to
me, resembles a form of loud and aggressive speed recitation. It feels like
a relief when Ali finally stops shaking and screaming. Ahmed halts his
recitation. We agree that Ali definitely reacted to the treatment this time,
but that something was still left inside him. We declared our hopes that
he would be cured so he could get his life back on track and start living a
normal life. Soon the jin would leave and the jādū be gone, inshā’ Allāh!
Ali’s intense screaming and shaking was believed to be caused by a jin
possessing his body. The reading of the Quran burns jin and reminds
them of their possible punishment of hellfire in the hereafter (ākhirat ).
In this way, ruqya is an attempt to scare jin into leaving, since if they
refuse, they might end up being killed by the burning. Sometimes during
ruqya, jin speak through the patient, often in a distorted voice, and in
this way, the unseen is given an audible manifestation. It is disputed
whether the healer should engage in conversations with the jin. Some
argue that the goal of ruqya is to make a jin convert to Islam, say the
shahādat, and leave because it realizes that possessing a human is not
acceptable in Islam. Others argue that jin can never be trusted and that
any conversation with them is therefore futile. The voice of a jin can lie,
curse, and deceive, but sometimes, as in Ali’s treatment, it mainly screams
in pain. Ruqya sometimes creates intense, aggressive bodily reactions in
patients that can require restraining. The rāqı̄ is trying to force jin to
leave the body against their will, and this process often entails a form
of ritualized violence. Physical and symbolic violence in healing might
seem frightening or alien at first, but might actually be a key aspect of its
transformative potential.
During ruqya healing sessions like Ali’s, I would mainly be an observer
sitting there, sometimes for hours, listening to recitation of the Quran.
Participation was possible for me only before and after the incantations,
when I was part of conversations between healers and patients. What to
me resembled a form of talk therapy became an important site of knowl-
edge production, as it gave me an opportunity to explore what kind of
128 A. G. NIELSEN
guidance rāqı̄s give their patients and what kind of self-transformations

the treatment might enable.
On the first night that Ali was treated by Ahmed Hafeez, there
was no shaking or screaming. Ali simply lay on the floor listening to
Ahmed’s recitation while I sat in the corner. Afterward, they had a long
conversation with the following exchange of words:
Ahmed: “Listen, this treatment is based purely on Quran and Sunna. No

magic tricks or anything, okay? So the main task in fact lies with you.
How you are as a person. How you pray and so on and if you have a
strong faith (ı̄mān)… Can I ask you, do you believe that this jin will
leave your body by the will of Allah?”
Ali: “I don’t know. It has been there so long, you see. I can’t get my
thoughts straight and I used to be slack with my prayers and all that. I
got completely depressed. Sometimes I couldn’t even get out of bed.”
Ahmed: “It is the jin that makes you think like that. That is what it wants
you to think. To confuse you so you don’t pray.”
Ali: “But why does the reading [Quranic recitation] not affect the jin?”
Ahmed: “It might be hiding. I don’t know. Allāhu a lam (God knows
best). But listen, you have to believe, that is the key, otherwise the
reading won’t help you. Actually, I want you to say it, that you believe
that this jin will leave your body by the will of Allah. Otherwise I can’t
treat you.”
Ali: “I am not sure.”
Ahmed “In fact, you are putting us all at risk here if you don’t pray and
you don’t believe. You have to declare it. That is the beginning. Then
we can tackle your problems.”
Ali: “Okay. I believe that the jin will leave… By the will of God [looking
at Ahmed who is nodding his head and smiling]. I really want it to leave
so I can start living a normal life again. Please help me [now looking
down].”
Ahmed: “Okay. That is very important. You know that? In fact, you have
come a long way already and this is only your first treatment. What we
have to do is simply to change that mentality. You have to think more
positively.”
At the core of Ahmed’s treatment was a strong belief in God and in

the healing effects of prayer and positive thinking. This mix of religious
and psychological understandings of healing is quite prevalent in ruqya
practices in West Yorkshire. When rediscovering Islam, beliefs in the
unseen (al-ghayb) are sometimes reworked and revitalized. Healing from
possession was seen as depending on Ali’s faith and the sincerity and moral
character of his actions. He came to understand his negative thoughts as
an evil influence coming from the jin and thus not something that was
part of his “normal self,” as he referred to it. The way to get Ali’s life back
on track, as Ahmed and Ali saw it, was to become a more pious Muslim,
develop Islamic virtues, and start thinking more positively. In this way, Ali
was seeking to reimagine himself as a morally good human being.
After Ali’s treatment went on for weeks, finally the jin could not
take the burning anymore and left his body. However, Ali would keep
visiting Ahmed. In these following sessions, Ahmed would read over Ali,
but mainly they would talk and discuss what had happened and how to
proceed. They agreed that Ali should keep seeing his psychiatrist, because
the jin could still have “left him in a depressed state.” Although the
jin was gone for now, Ali’s moral and psychological struggles were not.
For some healers, the transfer to biomedical institutions and psychiatry
seemed unproblematic, most likely because they have grown up with and
are familiar with the British healthcare system. In their own treatments,
many healers also strive to work from a psychological as well as a spiritual
and religious point of view. In interviews, Ali would often talk about the
role of the heart and about how “purifying the heart” was essential to
his improvement. Among Muslims and in Islamic theology, diseases are
often understood as located in the heart and to be of a moral nature. The
heart is connected to ethics in a way in which “to become moral” and
abstain from sin and to “purify” or “treat” the heart are understood and
experienced as related. “Being a good Muslim” is very much bound to
the believer’s ability to purify the heart, but the heart can fall ill and the
believer be led astray. When depression and life crisis become insurmount-
able, knowledge about illnesses of the heart and their cures becomes
important. It is believed that lack of faith can leave the believer ill, and so
faith is thought to have the potential to cure the afflicted. Sincere prayer
is seen as very central in this respect, but sometimes when the believer
is down in a hole, depressed, anxious, and hopeless, prayer can become
difficult. In these situations of illness and life crisis, ruqya is believed to be
an important remedy to purify the heart and get one’s life back on track.
Usman’s Story
Usman, a 26-year-old British-born Muslim of Punjabi origin, was to
marry a girl from the Punjab region in rural Pakistan, who was then to
130 A. G. NIELSEN
move to the UK on a family reunification visa. He was not particularly

happy with the situation, but decided to go through with the marriage to
be a good son. He was especially worried that she spoke little English and
had different ideas about religion. Usman wanted his family to be well-
integrated and well educated and, in this way, to show the surroundings
how “real Islam” and Britishness worked well hand in hand.
It was Muhannad who introduced me to Usman. He had been treating
both of Usman’s two older sisters, who had married into the same family
of first cousins (see kinship chart below). After marrying, both of Usman’s
sisters had developed anxiety attacks and instances of memory loss and,
according to Usman, were very unhappy with their marriages. According
to Muhannad, all three siblings shared similar symptoms caused by kālā
jādū and jin possession. The in-laws were from the mother’s side of
the family, and according to Usman and Muhannad, the family prob-
lems in this group of relatives dated back several generations. In Pakistani
demonology, it is not rare to hear stories of someone who is believed to
have a special relationship with one or more jin, sometimes referred to as
āmil.3 From the point of view of Sufism, this kind of positive relation-
ship with jin can be cultivated in certain rituals and meditative practices
believed to have the potential to use the supernatural powers of jin for
healing purposes. From a neo-orthodox perspective, this kind of relation-
ship with jin is considered forbidden and will therefore most likely end
up with jin manipulating the healer and not the other way around. So,
from this perspective, a person in a relationship with a jin needs healing
and is not someone you should seek out for help. They are considered to
be possessed madmen, not healers. It is seen as a big problem that people
put their faith in “fake healers,” rather than in God.
According to Muhannad, the problems in Usman’s family date back
to such a person in rural Punjab. By treating four siblings from the same
family, he had gathered substantial insight into the family history. Appar-
ently, in their village, Usman’s great-grandfather was considered a healer
who was in contact with the spirit world. He had deliberately let himself
be possessed in order to heal others. According to Muhannad, the jin
possessing Usman was the same that his great-grandfather had contacted
many years ago in Pakistan. It has been causing problems from genera-
tion to generation. Usman came to see his problems as stemming from
his wife and her mother’s use of love magic against him. Usman told
me how they had brought amulets with religious writings (tāwı̄z) from
Pakistan and how she would spike his food with love magic tāwı̄z and
Viagra to make him desire her and thus sustain the marriage. However,
Usman was very worried about this use of magic, which he found not
only extremely frightening, but also a backward cultural practice with no
place in the life of a modern British Muslim. He felt alienated by what
he saw as “Pakistani culture” and started to see the problems in his life
not just as coming from his wife and in-laws, but also as coming from a
corrupted version of Islam passed on to him from his parents. Initially, he
did not believe that he was possessed, but felt sure that the in-laws were
performing some sort of magic on him.
When he told his parents about his worries, they recommended not to
confront the in-laws. Instead, he was to go to a specific local Pir with
whom they had a relation. Although skeptical about this method, he
did as his parents told him and got the tāwı̄z from the Pir to wear for
protection against kālā jādū. Tāwı̄z is quite complicated in this context,
because it can be used for healing as well as for malicious purposes and
has different effects, depending on whom you ask. One Muslim considers
a small amulet with Quranic verses inside worn around the neck a healing
remedy, another sees it as black magic. Usman did not feel that the tāwı̄z
from his pir was helping. His sister had suggested that he should go and
see a rāqı̄ whom she believed based his treatment “purely on Quran and
Sunna” and who did not use tāwı̄z. In this way, he was introduced to
Muhannad.
The first thing Muhannad did was to remove Usman’s tāwı̄z, open
and show it to him to prove, that it did not contain Islamic elements, but
was even a form of polytheism (shirk), because healers were addressing
jin rather than God. Meeting Muhannad, Usman had become further
convinced that his problems were connected to cultural practices of a
non-Islamic nature. He believed that he had suffered from “stress and
depression” in this period of his life and explained how his worries and
tensions with his in-laws had become “a big black cloud” hanging over his
head. He was afraid of his mother-in-law, who would come to their house
and interfere in their family matters. In time, Usman had started openly
criticizing his in-laws and lecturing them on “real Islam”. The tensions
grew to a level at which Usman felt that his life had “come to a halt”. He
had stopped his study of medicine and left the house mainly to see a few
friends or when he went out for healing.
When Muhannad saw the state that he was in, he urged Usman to get
a divorce. Initially, Usman was not ready to do this, but did engage in
a more intense period of ruqya treatment. At the same time, his parents
132 A. G. NIELSEN
insisted that he keep visiting the Pir, but Muhannad’s objective was to
dispel what he saw as the Pir’s magic. When the latter learned about this
from Usman, he supposedly threatened to use kālā jādū on Muhannad
if he did not stay out of his way. In time, Usman became increasingly
convinced that the religious universe of Pirs, tāwı̄z, and jādū did not
contain the answers to his problems; in fact, he came to see it as the
cause of his problems. He started paying a lot of attention to reading the
religious texts and especially to prayer.
As time went on, Usman realized that his in-laws were not going to
change their ways. He moved out of the house and declared the divorce
from one day to the next. Today, Usman sees this decision as key to his
healing, although it alienated him from his in-laws and his own family.
At the time of the fieldwork, he spoke only secretly with two of his
sisters, who backed him up in his decisions, although they are still both
married into this family. Usman had only little contact with his parents,
who were still angry with him, as they felt that he had embarrassed
them and brought shame on the family. Usman said that he had a bad
reputation among his uncles and aunts, and he generally tried to avoid
them. They were especially angry with the manner of the divorce. It had
given the family poor standing with the mother’s side of the family in
Pakistan, which they needed to compensate for in other ways, socially
and economically. From their perspective, Usman’s decision was selfish
and disregarded his family. Usman and Muhannad, on the other hand,
felt that the problem was located in the institution of arranged marriages,
especially when it is not a “match in mentality”. In an interview with
Muhannad and Usman, they agreed that as long as they kept up their
prayers and stayed sincere and righteous in their actions, neither the Pir
nor Usman’s relatives could do them any harm. Their kālā jādū would
simply be repelled by strong faith (ı̄mān).
The jin that had possessed Usman until Muhannad managed to exor-
cise it was of Punjabi origin. This had made the communication with
the jin difficult. During ruqya, it had started taking over and speaking
through Usman in Punjabi dialect, which Muhannad struggled to under-
stand, being of Kashmiri origin himself. He tried to in vain convince the
jin in English and Arabic to convert to Islam and to leave the body in
both. Usman and Muhannad agreed that in the end the Punjabi jin had
been burned to death because it had been too stubborn to leave. They
also believed that the jin mentioned the names of places, other jin, and
humans in the area of the village of his great-grandfather in rural Punjab.
They could not locate precisely where the jin had come from or why, just
that it was connected to his relatives from rural Punjab. In a way, not
only had jin been burned, but a traditional marriage had been destroyed
together with Usman’s connection to his first-generation relatives and to
his country of origin in general. Only time will tell, whether transnational
relations and the magico-religious universe of Sufi practices will re-emerge
in times of crisis as the young grow older, as suggested by Rytter in
a Danish context (2013, 207), or if British-born Muslims, like Usman,
have distanced themselves from these practices permanently. If you ask
Usman, however, tāwı̄z is religiously forbidden (harām), his parents are
wrong, and Pakistanis have in general forgotten the moral nature of true
Islam out of a desire to illicitly control everything around them, when
they ought to leave these matters in the hands of God.
Breaking Arranged
Marriages---Dispelling Kālā Jādū
In the same way as they are distancing themselves from such cultural prac-
tices as using tāwı̄z, many younger British Muslims are also distancing
themselves from the practice of arranged, and especially forced, marriages
prevalent in their parent’s generation and thus often expected of them
(Shaw 2014, 27). Among South Asian migrants there has been a “boom
in love marriages” (Rytter 2010, 58), partly due to the independence
of the younger generation growing up in the minority context, but also
due to more strict immigration policies in the Western European nation-
states. South Asian Muslims growing up in the minority context generally
prefer what we could call arranged love marriages over the otherwise
widespread preference for arranged endogamous marriages (Rytter 2010,
57). However, especially among Muslims in Bradford originating from
the Mirpur district in northern Punjab, the high rate of arranged cousin
marriages with spouses migrating from Pakistan continues (Shaw 2014,
26), and as we saw with Muhannad, it might require great effort to
break away from these marriage traditions. Anthropologist Mikkel Rytter
suggests that diagnosing Muslims from younger generations with kālā
jādū has the potential to allow first-generation Pakistanis in Denmark to
regain control in life and reestablish meaningful future horizons in critical
life situations (Rytter 2010, 60). He writes, “Rumours and suspicions of
kālā jādū constitute a specific allegorical arena which is used to reorga-
nize and make sense of problematic family relations and changing moral
134 A. G. NIELSEN
orders” (2013, 165). Rytter shows how the diagnosis of kālā jādū can
work as a way for the older generation to control the younger by accusing
them of being afflicted with various forms of love magic carried out by
their partners or their in-laws.
When the younger British Muslims of Pakistani descent choose love
marriages over arranged cousin marriages, it can have a wide range of
implications for other family members; sometimes members of the older
generations use the diagnosis of kālā jādū to attempt to stabilize the
family situation in the wider kinship group (birādarı̄) in times character-
ized by loss of control and insecurity connected to minority life (Rytter
2010, 57–58; 2013, 202). As we shall see here, the younger generation
can also accept their diagnoses to accuse someone in the older generation
of being a magician or of paying a magician to cause the affliction. The
diagnosis is accepted, but the accusation is redirected at the parents or the
kinship group. In this way, dispelling kālā jādū in ruqya shar iyya (Arab.)
can be seen as a counter-strategy that the younger generations of British
Muslims apply to break out of arranged marriages and to break bonds
with their kinship groups. Accusing the spouses or potential spouses and
their families of immoral un-Islamic behavior, such as using kālā jādū
or contacting jin, is used as an argument to break engagements or get
divorces. As we saw with Usman, this is often done by accusing the
cousin-spouses and their families of trying to create and sustain marriage
ties by using black magic and contacting jin, which are felt as contin-
uous hauntings in the lives of ruqya patients even many years after the
rearrangement of kinship ties.
Cutting the Network

Rāqı̄s sometimes play active roles in separating arranged marriages. When
parents are perceived to be following what is seen as non-Islamic tradi-
tional practices and as forcing their children into arranged marriages
against their will, these strategies are turned against the older genera-
tions and used as arguments for breaking engagements or getting desired
divorces. This in no way means that neo-orthodox rāqı̄s do not value
marriage. In fact, they take the lawful Islamic marriage very seriously.
This is also why they find it important that spouses “match in mentality,”
so that they can thrive together and build what they see as good normal
families, ideally without conflicts. Essentially, there is a view of marriage
as something helping people stay sane, because it directs sexual desires in
a lawful way and allows for what is perceived as “the normal family”.
From the neo-orthodox perspective, not all marriages are considered
lawful. Especially the institution of arranged first-cousin marriages has
increasingly come under scrutiny and attack (Werbner 2004).
Marilyn Strathern directs our attention to the concept of relationality
in the anthropological analysis of kinship ties, suggesting that this theoret-
ical notion has been applied too uncritically (Strathern 2005, viii). Kinship
structures are changing ever more rapidly, and family ties are being
reshaped along new lines. However, disruption and erasure of previous
unions come before the reshaping or creation of new relations. Old ties
sometimes have to be cut for new combinations to emerge (Strathern
2005, 26–28). Following Rytter, the disruptive aspects of kālā jādū can
be interpreted as what Strathern calls “cuts in the network” (Strathern
1996; Rytter 2010, 56). The older generation can use accusations of jādū
as a form of moral judgment of the younger generation and as a resort to
try to control their children, who increasingly dismiss traditional arranged
marriages in favor of love marriages (Rytter 2010, 58). The cases provided
here show how the younger generation can use dispelling kālā jādū as a
counter-strategy to break out of arranged marriages both before and after
the marriage has been consummated, as in the case of Usman. Rytter
argues that the acceptance of the diagnosis of jādū among the younger
generations can serve as a way to reenter the cultural religious universe
of the parents and thus reconcile family upheavals in a way that lessens
generational distance (Rytter 2013, 196). Contrary to Rytter’s findings,
the ethnographic examples above suggest that intergenerational relations
are sometimes being completely severed, thus increasing the distance and
tensions between generations.
Sometimes when the arranged marriage is broken, so too are the rela-
tions to in-laws and to one’s own closest family. Ruqya can thus be seen
as a way of destroying existing kinship structures resembling a form of
disruption and disconnection, rather than as a reordering or re-creation of
family relations. On the one hand, this has left Usman quite isolated and
without most of his former network, whose absence he felt as a constant
haunting and fear of animosity and vengeance. At the same time, he also
experiences new opportunities and that his family can no longer hold him
back. He believed that sincere prayer had created a shield protecting him
against any jin and jādū. Ruqya can entail quite radical breaks and disrup-
tions, but sometimes it also works to keep marriages together. Returning
136 A. G. NIELSEN
to Ali, we can also see how ruqya can also serve to preserve marriage
without breaking kinship ties.
“I just Praise Allah I Still Have My

Family”: Preserving Love Marriages
In Ali’s treatment, both he and Ahmed Hafeez acknowledged that the
magic that had been performed on him could have come from vengeful
and jealous relatives, as in Usman’s case. Still, they chose not to dwell on
potential issues regarding other members of his kinship group. Instead,
Ahmed deliberately omitted a specific aspect of the treatment, often key
to the diagnosis of jādū. By not engaging in conversation with the jin,
no guilty relatives were identified. According to Ahmed, questioning a
jin is a risky practice because it is a “trickster” out to deceive patient
and rāqı̄ alike. You can never trust what a jin says. If you do, it might
succeed in its evil mission to cause divisions by lying about who has sent
it. Ahmed believes that cases like those from Rytter’s ethnography, in
which spouses are accused of performing love magic, are the result of jin
or magicians succeeding in spreading lies to break up marriages. In this
way, from Ahmed’s perspective, the possessing jin are able to manipulate
kinship ties by using the questioning during ruqya to create animosity and
divisions between relatives and spouses. From this perspective, the ques-
tioning during ruqya can enable the jin to succeed in their evil mission.
Therefore, they might leave the body, not because they were frightened
by the righteousness and recitation of the rāqı̄, but because their mission
is complete and the family left in ruins. According to Ahmed, this was the
reason that many “dodgy healers” had relative success. By stating who had
performed the jādū, whether this was true or a lie, the jin could separate
families and cause divisions. By bypassing the practice of questioning the
jin, kinship ties can be protected and left out of the equation. In this
way, Ali avoided the kind of family dispute that Usman found himself in,
because the possibly guilty relatives were not located. Ali told me that he
sometimes suspected certain relatives of having performed kālā jādū on
him, but that he was trying not to “give into those thoughts”. When he
had these suspicions and negative thoughts about his relatives, he would
try to remind himself that whatever jin were trying to tell him during
ruqya or through evil whispering (waswās ) was not to be trusted.
In some cases, network cuts might be necessary to facilitate healing,
but in cases like Ali’s, the role of ruqya is to preserve and sustain kinship,
rather than to destroy and disrupt it. Whether dispelling kālā jādū and
expelling jin entail the preservation or the dissolution of Muslim fami-
lies, ruqya seems often to be connected to the rearranging of kinship ties
among Muslims who are striving to settle and create families. The capacity
to develop what is perceived as the normal family is seen as a key sign of
good health. Evil forces will try to obstruct the believer from achieving
this healthy, sane state. Although this peaceful state of mind and stable
family can seem far away in the midst of depression and family conflict,
what ruqya patients seem to be hoping for more than anything is exactly
that: the normal family. The process of trying to recover from severe life
crisis and mental illness in the midst of family conflicts can require help
from experts, imams, healers, psychiatrists, and others, who can guide
patients in sustaining as well as cutting kinship ties. In this way, it may be
possible to create more peaceful social spaces for personal betterment.
Healing, Hope, and Agency

in Anthropology and Islam
In anthropologist Galina Lindquist’s (2006) terminology, ruqya can be
said to “conjure hope.” Her study of magic in post-Soviet Russia shows
how hope can be gained, or “conjured,” from engaging in magical prac-
tices. By regaining a sense of hope, her informants can re-emerge as actors
and change their unfortunate situations by gaining the courage to put
something at stake and thus possibly win (Lindquist 2006, 21). Dispelling
kālā jādū and expelling jin in ruqya similarly holds the potential to
create hope and enable patients to make active changes in their lives,
like breaking out of arranged marriages and thus reimagining meaningful
futures for themselves and their families.
However, an important difference from Lindquist’s analysis is that,
among ruqya patients, the attempt to gain control through magical
conjuring is seen as harām and as the very thing that needs to be
dispelled. The desire to control is sometimes even realized as sinful
through acts of worship and ethical self-fashioning in prayer, healing,
and everyday life. There seems to be some underlying premise in such
anthropological accounts of healing that betterment of the ill self is within
the patient’s ability to act upon and change their own circumstances. In
this context, magic is seen as a means to gain intentionality, will, and the
ability to actively change one’s world.
138 A. G. NIELSEN
Interestingly, these notions of individual autonomy, much celebrated

in certain strands of contemporary anthropology (Asad 2000), are under-
stood to some degree negatively from an Islamic point of view. Although
healing practices sometimes play a key part in active and creative kinship
restructurings, the notion of “taking control” is perceived as negative and
is ascribed to traditionalists who use magic to illicitly manipulate other
people’s marriages. Intentionality and individual autonomy are not seen
as something to be cultivated and celebrated, but also as forms of sinful
desire that are therefore to be diminished through continuous acts of
worship and submission. The notion of agency in some anthropological
accounts celebrating creative individual autonomy appears inadequate, on
its own, to understand the processes taking place around ruqya practices.
In fact, attempts to gain control and individual autonomy are sometimes
seen as what Muhannad called “shortcuts” and “playing God” and as a
form of impatient arrogance (kibr). Magical agency, from this perspec-
tive, is illicit, something to be avoided and dispelled, not something to be
practiced and praised. The whole idea of gaining agency through magical
practices is dismissed as un-Islamic and immoral. Magic as a means to
manipulate social relations and feelings of autonomy are rejected as a
cultural practice carried out by people who do not have patience (sabr),
thankfulness (shukr), and reliance on God (tawakkul ). By cultivating
these Islamic virtues, patients are believed to develop acceptance that they
are not the creators of their life situations.
This, however, does not lead to a fatalistic belief that one has no influ-
ence in one’s life. What matters from this perspective is how one struggles
and strives to become a healthy, sane, and peaceful being. Analytically
placing the idea of autonomous agency as the supreme achievement of
internal struggle among my respondents would thus overrule their under-
standing and experience of how healing occurs. Anthropologist Robert
Desjarlais reminds us that lack of reflection about preconceived notions
of individual autonomy and control can render anthropological analysis of
religious healing practices narrow-minded (1995, 171). This critique by
Desjarlais is directed toward Thomas Csordas’ seminal work The Sacred
Self (1994), which states, “The answer to the question of ‘what it means
to be human’ is the same as the answer to the question of ‘how we make
ourselves humans.’ This is an enduring premise for cultural anthropology
and means that an inquiry into a topic like the ‘sacred self’ is an inquiry
into human creativity, and in particular self-creativity” (Csordas 1994,
vii). This premise, posited in the opening lines of Csordas’ influential
work on Catholic healing practices in North America, seems to color his

analysis throughout the work.
According to Csordas, members of the movement called “The Catholic
Charismatic Renewal” take part in “the late-twentieth-century shift away
from embracing suffering and self-mortification as an imitation of Christ’s
passion, and towards the relief of suffering through divine healing as
practiced by Jesus in the gospels” (1994, 25). If there is in fact such a
broader “shift” away from “embracing suffering,” then perhaps Islamic
neo-orthodoxy can be understood as a moral reaction against the avoid-
ance of pain and a movement toward a kind of re-embracing of pain and
suffering. From the point of view of rāqı̄s in West Yorkshire, pain exists
for a reason. Ruqya does not entail any kind self-mortification, but there
is a deliberate engagement with and invoking of pain that goes before
“the relief of suffering”. Something has to be disrupted and destroyed
for something new to appear. To foster change, the pain of life needs to
be realized as tests sent from God for a reason. Pain is thus initially to be
embraced, rather than avoided, and suffering is to be lived, rather than
prematurely relieved, for instance by taking magical shortcuts.
Talal Asad argues that anthropology has been informed by what he calls
a “triumphalist” notion of agency (2000, 29) in the sense that it celebrates
the individualistic self-empowerment of humans actively creating their
own worlds and their own history. Agency refers to the willful capacity
to act upon, resist, and change the life-worlds in which people find them-
selves. According to Asad, taking notions of agency for granted might
foster an analytical poverty by essentializing the human subject (Asad
2000, 29–30). He suggests that we see notions of agency as belonging to
different traditions of thought and that this notion of the autonomous self
has been central to the anthropological endeavor. For Asad, this idea of
the free agent is contingent on particular historical circumstances and can
be seen as a Western construction of the healthy self as based on individual
autonomy (Asad 2000, 33). With his critique in mind, other modalities
of agency can be explored. As anthropologists, we need to cultivate an
openness in our analytical language in order to grasp what healing is and
how it occurs locally, if we are not to end up simply reproducing prede-
fined notions of agency. Ethnographic accounts of healing can serve to
challenge notions of agency in academic theorization. However, breaking
with certain theoretical trends, such as ascribing creative agency to indi-
vidual actors, might take anthropological analysis too far in the other
direction, depicting our respondents as incapable of changing their own
140 A. G. NIELSEN
social worlds. Different notions of agency need to be balanced analyti-

cally and can exist side by side. This chapter seeks to challenge the idea
of working with or unwearyingly writing based on one theoretical notion
of agency.
“God Only Gives You One Heart”:

Urgency in Moral Transformations
For ruqya patients in West Yorkshire, working on oneself is directed
toward cultivating a “good life” with a “normal” family, but also toward
the afterlife (ākhirat ). Eschatological imaginings seem to give the culti-
vation of morality and ethical action a sense of urgency. Take for instance
this narrative from a dream Ali recounted: in the dream he was at his
parents’ old house in Beeston. A black dog, which Ali told me symbol-
ized a jin, was trying to get in, but Ali was struggling to push back the
door to keep it out. Just before jumping toward the door to keep his
family safe from it, he had handed a plastic box to his mother for her to
watch over it. In it was his heart. Eventually the police came and took
the dog away, restoring peace. The police according to Ali symbolized
angels because they look after people. When he asked his mother for his
heart, he discovered that she had carelessly stowed it away on top of the
fridge. He became angry with her for this disregard of human life and
explained to her that the heart is the most precious thing humans have. I
asked him how it made him feel to see his heart in this way in the dream:
“You have to take good care of it. This is why we pray and why we fast.
To become disciplined, but also to have love in our hearts. So, I was sad,
of course, to see it in such a state lying there in a plastic box and every-
thing. You really have to take good care of it. God only gives you one
heart, you know.” This quote seems to highlight the urgency with which
moral transformations occur for pious Muslims. People receive only one
chance to be good in life, which will determine the nature of the afterlife.
To have the heart in the right place and to “become moral” is also what
allows a life relatively free of suffering. Or at least a life in which suffering
is perceived as meaningful because it is part of a transformative process in
which the heart is being purified and directed toward God.
This kind of urgency of moral transformation can also be seen more
broadly in processes of rediscovering Islam. As mentioned, there is a firm
belief among respondents that their parents’ generation, their countries
of origin, and even Muslims as such have forgotten the moral nature of
“true Islam” in favor of identarian displays of religious belonging. Rāqı̄s

are inviting their patients back to what they see as true Islam. This invi-
tation deliberately has an element of proselytizing (dāwā) to it, but also
serves to give the patients certain tools to understand and act upon their
suffering in new ways. In these healing encounters, they face the compli-
cated task of inviting patients to engage in a dual process in which they
should ideally leave healing in the hands of God, but at the same time
actively take action. This ambivalent notion of agency seems to revolve
around a dialectical movement between realizing healing as God-given
through moral work on the self and at the same time making active
changes like breaking out of arranged marriages.
Ali’s vision of what needed be done seemed quite straightforward. By
thinking positively and fostering the good within himself, he seeks to
please God and receive divine healing and mercy, enabling him to keep
jin and jādū at bay. But sometimes becoming moral is no easy task. When
I returned to the field four months after returning to Denmark, Ali had
experienced a setback. He was certain that some new jādū had afflicted
him, which made him despair, and he was struggling to get a job and to be
a good father and husband. He also feared that his wife had now become
possessed and that they would pass on their ailments to their children.
Ruqya had enabled Ali to engage in a process of ethical struggle, but
had not cured him completely. As all respondents agreed, the main task
of healing though moral transformations was located outside the ruqya
ritual in the everyday practices of the believer. Ali expressed how he had
done all he could to put his trust in God, but that it was difficult. Except
for praying, he was not always sure exactly what to do.
Ambivalence of Agency in Self-cultivation

According to Christian Suhr, ruqya patients “autonomously choose to
obey the divine doctrines” (Suhr 2013, 163). From this perspective, we
can see the healing capabilities of ruqya as located in patients’ relin-
quishing control over their own lives. Suhr sees self-sacrifice as central
to the way ruqya operates and suggests, “What needs to be sacrificed in
the Islamic treatments is the idea that autonomous and rational control
of one’s actions is possible – that ultimately one could be the master of
one’s own life” (ibid., 163). Other anthropological accounts of religious
healing, like those of Lindquist (2006) and Csordas (2005), have focused
142 A. G. NIELSEN
on individual capacity and self-creativity and have placed healing poten-

tial within patients’ capacity to think and act differently. Informed by
Talal Asad’s critique of uncritically adopted notions of triumphalist agency
in Western academia, Suhr suggests that the healing in ruqya treatment
does not work through individual agency, but through the application
of “external non-human force” that serves to “overrule the destructive
powers within a human body” (Suhr 2013, 170). Thus, in Suhr’s account,
agency is not something to be regained in order to heal, but rather some-
thing to be defeated and overcome. He is not arguing that ruqya patients
do not have agency, but that agency can be “an obstacle to healing” (Suhr
2013, 170).
This point is interesting for present purposes because it resonates with
West Yorkshire rāqı̄s’ focus on “letting go of control”. Ruqya patients’
recognition that they are actually not in control of their own healing
seems to be of key importance to understand how this form of healing
operates. Within the actual ritual, Ali is allowed to let go of control and
let his body “do what it has to do.” He seems to be temporarily surren-
dering himself to the uncontrollable forces of the jin and kālā jādū within
him, but also to the agency of the healer, and most importantly he is
able to surrender and submit to the divine agency of Allah. At the same
time, rāqı̄s sometimes call for patients to actively engage in the process
of change.
In West Yorkshire, this kind of action suggested by the rāqı̄s often
revolved around kinship conflicts in which the purpose of dispelling kālā
jādū and exorcising jin can either sustain or dissolve families and kinship
groups. As the dispellers of occult attacks, rāqı̄s were often in opposi-
tion to and battling the agency of the invisible force within their patients.
If a jin was believed to be trying to break up a family, as in Ali’s case,
the rāqı̄ will try to sustain and preserve the family, as Ahmed did by
not questioning the jin and thus avoiding kinship disruptions. When love
magic was performed to preserve Usman’s marriage, Muhannad advised
divorce. Patients sometimes do manage to actively make these cuts in
the network as part of their struggle with invisible forces. In this process,
ruqya seems to facilitate a renewed sense of agency and ability to actively
create the normal family. This does not mean that ruqya patients perceive
themselves as being either in complete control or completely power-
less. Rather, I would suggest that the ethical struggle of ruqya patients
is located within a dialectical movement between feeling powerless and
feeling in control. Ruqya treatment seems to offer an arena for these
internal tensions to unfold. Ahmed Hafeez’s treatment of Ali seemed to

contain this dialectic. During the treatment, Ali would lose control of his
body and shake, scream, and curse. The recitation left him powerlessly
observing his own bizarre and perverted behavior as he was growling and
cursing, a behavior he considered far from what he called his “normal
self”. At the same time as containing this kind of realization of power-
lessness and submission of agency, something else seems to be at stake
in ruqya treatments. When refusing to treat Ali unless he stated that he
believed that the jin would actually leave his body as an effect of the
ruqya, Ahmed was in a way forcing Ali to take responsibility. In this
way, the capacity for betterment was somehow located in Ali’s capacity
to believe. As long as he was on the path to righteousness and kept up
with his ritual prayer (namāz) and prayer of supplication (duā), he would
be protected against unseen forces. His psychiatrist could help him with
the psychological impact made by the jin, and the rest was up to himself
and God. One example is how he wanted to make himself more aware of
his anger issues.
Now that the jin is gone, there is no excuse for getting angry with the
kids all the time or angry with myself. For instance, the other day at the
shop, I forgot the debit card and had to go back. Normally, I would get
angry maybe even start acting out, you know, like a lunatic, but this time
I simply kept calm… like a normal human being would do. Went home
and got it and there was no problem. This is how it should be, inshaallah.
The Quran speaks of this. We gotta have that patience in our lives. Sabr is
so important. You know this.
This example suggests that, in Ali’s pursuit of healing, there is also a

regained sense of agency and control. By cultivating sabr, he felt that he
could stay calm in situations that might have been difficult or humiliating
for him before. Ali’s understanding of his own healing process seems to
contain this ambivalence between the capacity to act and the realization of
his inability to act, seen for instance in the previously quoted statement
that human are “weak creatures”. One thing that struck me about this
statement of Ali’s is that he was not directly addressing his own weakness
and powerlessness, but rather making a general statement. It is not just
the madman who is powerless, but humans as such. For Ali, being weak
is not just something ascribed specifically to his illness, but to the human
condition. In this way, the realization of the struggle to “become normal”
144 A. G. NIELSEN
is facilitated by the realization of the struggle “as normal”: as something

all humans most unavoidably engage in. As he said, “Even you, Andreas,
will feel this.”
Usman’s pursuit of betterment, as we have seen, contained active
engagement with his life situation. It was not only his capacity to recog-
nize his own powerlessness and to cultivate patience that brought about
the changes associated with Muhannad’s ruqya treatment. It was also his
capacity to act. As we saw, he did manage to break out of his arranged
marriage after Muhannad had dispelled the love magic contained in the
in-laws’ tāwı̄z. After the cut was successful, the main way to protect
himself from attacks and to stay sane was to pray. Agency in the context
of jin possession cannot be seen solely as something good that heals and
enables. Self-transformations are also brought about by the recognition of
one’s powerlessness and that one’s desires are sinful. Agency in this sense
can be seen as something evil inside you that needs to be overcome for
healing to take place. Paradoxically it is also something that at the same
time needs to be gained to actively restructure kinship. In this specific
context, the potential for healing seems to be located within the tension
between a modality of agency characterized by taking control and another
characterized by letting go of control. Developing the ability to move
between such modalities of agency perhaps points toward new under-
standings of what healing is in ways that go beyond debates about Muslim
minorities and ruqya. Although this form of treatment might seem violent
and alien to the Western eye, it can show us important aspects of how
healing takes place and about implicit culturally founded beliefs within
our own healthcare systems that we should have the courage to challenge
and develop.
“Ruqya Is for Those Who Cannot

Pray”---Perceptions of Mental Health and Prayer
Rāqı̄s and patients saw prayer as one of the most important aspects of
healing from occult afflictions and also of staying protected. Muslims in
general regard prayer as a very important part of Islam. According to
Ahmed Hafeez, if the believer’s faith is strong enough, kālā jādū cannot
harm him or her. In fact, in attempts to perform kālā jādū on someone
with strong sincere faith and disciplined religious practice, the magic can
harm the magician instead. In this way, the disruptive force of the occult
attacks is redirected back at the one performing the practice perceived
as illicit. Prayer is believed to have this kind of outer effect of repelling

external forces trying to control the believer and lead him or her astray.
To grasp how prayer helps vulnerable ruqya patients, closer descrip-
tions of the experience of Muslim prayer are needed. Respondents seemed
to agree that prayer was a way to become a calm person and that prayer
contained a form of healing (shifā). In the beginning of the fieldwork, I
expressed my interest in mental health issues and how it related to kālā
jādū and jin possession. One of the most common responses was a subtle
rejection: “There is no madness in Islam.” At first, I thought that the
private nature of mental health issues was the reason that they would not
admit that this problem existed in their communities. In time, I discov-
ered that there was more to these rejecting statements. Talking about
prayer and learning how to pray taught me that prayer is believed to keep
any sort of madness at bay by keeping the believer peaceful and nurturing
Islamic virtues by being closer to God. That there is no madness in Islam
does not mean that a Muslim cannot become mad. It means that if the
believer manages to follow Islam he will be at peace, and if his faith is
strong enough, evil forces cannot harm him and madness cannot take its
hold. It is a general belief that religion heals and keeps healthy. When
madness, family conflicts, and life crisis come creeping into the lives of
believers anyway, it is often attributed to a lack of religion and sincere
religious practice in their lives.
One day I went to the mosque with Ali. Entering the local mosque, we
entered directly the area for ritual cleansing before prayer (wuzū). Before
the ablution, one is to have the intention for the act (niyyat ) and then
say bismillāh (in the name of God). This day Ali seemed very focused.
He said bismillāh with closed eyes, and we did the ablution in silence
and joined the crowd in the prayer hall. Whereas Ali would sometimes
stay behind and talk with me until the prayer began, this day he went
directly to the first row and sat down with his eyes closed waiting for
the Imam to begin the evening prayer (namāz maghrib). I noticed that
Ali was crying during the prayer. It was not uncommon to see people
sobbing during prayer, especially with the recitation technique (tajwı̄d)
and voice of this particular Imam. In the period after the jin had left
Ali’s body, he was very strict with his namāz and du ā s, but I had never
seen him so emotionally engaged in prayer. When the prayer ended and
the congregation dispersed, Ali stood back and added some voluntary
prayers (nawāfil ). I sat on the floor waiting for him, and after maybe ten
minutes of nawāfil prostrations, he approached me with a smile, “Let’s
146 A. G. NIELSEN
go get some brew.” We went for tea at the small cafe where we always
went. I asked him how his prayer was. He explained how he had felt a
level of tranquility in prayer (Arab. khushū ). “In prostration (sujud), I
was close to God, nothing to be afraid of. It is the most beautiful you
can experience.” After tea, I asked if he thought that he would ever need
ruqya again.
I hope not inshā’ Allāh, but you can never be certain. As humans, we can
never be certain, but you know my problem before was that I couldn’t pray
properly. I felt distracted all the time. Even in the mosque during prayer, I
would get these negative thoughts… the waswās. The jin was playing with
me, you see. Now that it is gone, I can pray again al-h.amdu lillāh. Ruqya
is for those who cannot pray. I think I am starting to become a bit more
patient now. Right now, I feel like I’m at peace, you know. There is peace
in my heart. This is how it should be in Islam.
Prayer seemed to offer Ali moments of peace in which he appeared

very hopeful that everything was going in the right direction. At other
times, he was less optimistic and seemed to struggle more. He feared
that perhaps there was still some kālā jādū left in him or perhaps this
was something the psychiatrist could help him with: “As long as I do
both measures, I hope I’ll be fine, inshā’ Allāh. I have to stop getting so
angry.” Sabr was the virtue that Ali talked about the most. By cultivating
perseverance, he believed that he would be able to control his sexual
desires and his temper. He saw prayer as the key to this end. The silence
of prayer sometimes seemed to offer him these glimpses of hope when
he believed in his own ability to be a good person, but the struggle and
moral transformations would go on in continuous ups and downs. Ali’s
example seems to suggest that hope appears in some moments, only to
be lost again in others. This movement between hope and hopelessness is
seen as part of the struggle that the believer must endure.
Coexisting Healing Traditions

Rāqı̄s and their patients draw on a combination of classical theological
and scientific biomedical vocabulary in their understanding of illnesses
and healing processes. Both Islamic and biomedical healing practices are
criticized for “playing God” by trying to control the uncontrollable. On
the one hand, patients are to let go of control and submit to the fact
that healing is in the hands of God. On the other hand, they are also
thoroughly reminded to take responsibility for their own actions and to
change their mentality and attitude toward life, a form of active change
that sometimes involves breaking out of arranged marriages.
Healing traditions not only coexist, they are also becoming increas-
ingly intertwined. The ability of religious healing to incorporate scientific
terminology and to use the knowledge readily available in the context
of Western societies to help often highly vulnerable patients is an impor-
tant part of its appeal to the younger generation. Ruqya allows for new
trajectories of agency to develop through processes in which the feeling
of being in control is either regained, relinquished, or both at once. The
simultaneity of taking and letting go of control is a paradox that rāqı̄s and
their patients seem to be maneuvering with as an unavoidable part of the
struggle that patients go through. Ritual violence within the ruqya treat-
ment facilitates new ways of engaging with pain and thus new trajectories
for perceptual agency. By cursing and screaming as a perverted version
of themselves during ruqya, patients are allowed, through the perceived
agency of the jin, to accuse, judge, and to be aggressive, violent, perverse,
and egoistic—essentially all that their religion forbids. This amplified
perversion within the patient needs to be expelled or killed. The evil influ-
ence is conquered, at least temporarily, through ritual self-destruction.
This can be seen as a radical way of dealing with pain and suffering. This
kind of amplification seemingly stands in contrast to modern, secular ideas
of healing that seek to avoid pain, rather than engaging with it. Perhaps
part of the appeal of ruqya lies in its capacity to enable inner as well as
outer transformation.
Concluding Remarks
Arguably, ethnography and academic writing has been too far removed
from clinical reality and the encounter between Muslim patients, healers,
and clinicians. Ethnographic knowledge can be used actively in the
process of developing a healthcare system that is more sensitive to cultural
difference. Furthermore, looking at other cultural modes of healing like
ruqya can teach us something about what healing is and how it takes
place. This needs to be taken seriously if we want to understand how
Muslim minorities are handling life crisis health problems on a local level.
Taking patient perspectives into account with open approaches might
have great benefits in terms of improved health in the migrant population.
148 A. G. NIELSEN
Ethnographic field studies can also have strength in their implicit

network facilitation and possibility in building trust relations locally. By
drawing on networks stretching from the academic to the clinical world to
that of ruqya patients and religious healers, anthropologists could serve as
facilitators of fruitful cooperation across disciplines as well as connecting
ethnic, religious, and social spheres that would otherwise remain largely
separate. The fact that young religious healers are increasingly drawing
on biomedical understandings of illness, reaching out toward coopera-
tion, and opening up for developments suggests fruitful ground for new
cross-sectoral cooperation in which we as professionals leave questions of
right and wrong behind in mutual efforts to help and support Muslim
patients in difficult life situations.
Acknowledgements I would like to thank Liz Harris for checking the Urdu
transcription in this chapter.
Notes
1. British of Pakistani descent refer in English to black magic, to kālā jādū
in Urdu, and to sih.r in Arabic. According to the Quran, black magic was
brought to the earth by the angels Harūt and Marūt as a temptation and
a test (2:102). It is considered illicit, and anyone practicing black magic is
believed to have left Islam. In a South Asian context, there is a tendency
to believe that kālā jādū affliction stems from jealous and hateful rela-
tives. Suspicions and accusations of jādū are often enmeshed in family
conflicts (Rytter 2013), sometimes resulting in ruptures and disconnections
in kinship relations. Accusing someone of performing jādū or of paying
a magician (jādūgar) is a serious allegation, because it implies that the
accused has left Islam out of the desire to control relatives through illicit
magical means. Jin possession is also believed to sometimes occur because
a magician has sent the jin to cause havoc and divisions in Muslim families.
Black magic and jin can be interrelated, but are not necessarily connected.
On the patient level, we encounter cases involving only one or the other
as well as both.
2. A form of blood cupping mentioned in the sunna and believed to draw
out bad blood and work against black magic. Like ruqya, it has been highly
popularized among Muslim minorities in recent years and can be found all
over social media like YouTube and Instagram.
3. This is the anglicized version commonly used in the UK.
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Strathern, Marilyn. Kinship, Law and the Unexpected. Cambridge: University
Press, 2005.
Suhr, Christian. Descending with Angels: The Invisible in Danish Psychiatry and
Islamic Exorcism. PhD thesis. Department of Culture and Society, Aarhus
University, 2013.
Webster, Colin. “Race, Space and Fear: Imagined Geographies of Racism, Crime,
Violence and Disorder in Northern England.” Capital and Class 80 (2003):
95–102.
Werbner, Pnina. “Theorising Complex Diasporas: Purity and Hybridity in the
South Asian Public Sphere in Britain.” Journal of Ethnic and Migration
Studies 30, no. 5 (2004): 895–911.
CHAPTER 8
Contextualising Female Jinn Possession

in Sexual Trauma
Birte Spreckelsen
Introduction
In Egypt, a woman who does not comply with society’s expectations
is likely to be accused of being “complicated”, “knotted” or “diffi-
cult” (mu aqqada) as well as “crazy”, “mad” or “possessed by jinn”
(majnūna), all traits of irrationality. Jinn possession in Egypt seems to
be gendered, affecting predominantly women (El-Kholy 2004, 26).
While existing scholarship on this vast topic remains fragmented, Janice
Boddy, Heba El-Kholy, Cynthia Nelson, Gerda Sengers, and Sabine
Strasser gathered invaluable anthropological insights into female jinn
possession through their fieldwork in the Islamic world.1 They describe
possession as a possibility for women to express the burden of their
gender-specific roles subordinated to men. Zār ceremonies, offered to
jinn-possessed women, are particularly interesting in this regard.2
B. Spreckelsen (B)

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-61247-4_8
152 B. SPRECKELSEN
In her pioneering study, Sabine Strasser conducted research on female

jinn possession in Turkish migrant families in Austria and rural parts
of Turkey. She views possession as a translocal strategy for addressing
and modifying otherwise unmentionable social problems “by means of
third beings” rather than medical intervention (Strasser 2001, 216–
217).3 Cynthia Nelson wrote about zār ceremonies in Cairo, “[T]he
[possessed] woman can express herself in ways that are not open to her
in the larger social structure” (Nelson 2007, 30). Heba El-Kholy also
conducted research in Cairo’s lower-class neighbourhoods, where she
recorded women’s personal accounts of jinn possession. She describes
these narratives as “a culturally legitimate and ‘honorable’ way for women
to communicate ‘immodest sentiments’” (El-Kholy 2004, 29). Such
accounts are also attested for other Middle Eastern countries. In the
following, I will focus on female jinn possession in Egypt, based on
excerpts from El-Kholy’s case studies.
Public Perception of Female

Jinn Possession in Egypt
Despite some scepticism, men, especially those from the lower classes,
tend to accept the concept of jinn (Nelson 2007, 31; El-Kholy 2004, 28).
The fact that jinn are mentioned in the Quran gives accounts of posses-
sion a certain validity. Some Egyptian women have even used jinn as a
legitimation to leave an unhappy marriage: in 1985, the Egyptian news-
paper al-Ahram reported about a woman who requested a divorce in a
Cairo court, arguing that her husband had entered into a second marriage
with a female jinn, a jinniyya. Due to a short-lived reform in 1979 of
the Egyptian personal status law, which was cancelled only six years after
its introduction (Sonneveld 2019, 156), women temporarily enjoyed the
right to get divorced, if their husbands remarried without their knowledge
or prior permission. The woman mentioned in the article succeeded in
her petition after the court deduced the existence of jinn from the Quran
and thus granted her divorce (Edge 1989, 683). Despite this rare case,
many Egyptians dismiss the concept of jinn possession as a form of super-
stition, the Quranic references to jinn notwithstanding. This attitude can
intimidate the afflicted women and prevent them from talking about their
condition: “The increasing revival of ‘Islamic’ discourse in Egypt on the
8 CONTEXTUALISING FEMALE JINN POSSESSION IN SEXUAL TRAUMA 153
one hand, and the dismissal and ridicule of spirit possession by govern-
ment officials, the media, and professionals on the other, makes women’s
public admission of possession to outsiders rare” (El-Kholy 2004, 26).
Egyptian biomedically trained health professionals often openly display
a negative attitude towards belief in jinn, which is attributed predom-
inantly to women (El-Kholy 2004, 27). Hoda El-Saadi shows how
nineteenth-century Egyptian physicians readily manifested misogynistic
views. Influenced by Western psychiatry, doctors reproduced the biolog-
ically determinist belief that women possessed an inherent mental and
physical weakness, leading these doctors to conclude that there was a
natural hierarchical binary between the sexes in which men hold the
superior and women the inferior position. This patriarchal, modern, scien-
tific discourse not only served as a legitimation for male dominance over
women, it also denigrated traditional Egyptian concepts of mental illness
and corresponding female healing practices (El-Saadi 2005, 297–300).
The female-specific diagnosis of hysteria, a product of this male-
dominated field of psychiatry, allowed health professionals to pathologise
deviant female behaviour and locate its causes in an inherent female infe-
riority in order to control and disfranchise women. In contrast to this,
although a number of scholars attribute jinn possession mainly to women,
in Islamic literature its causes are located in a general human—not an
inherently female—weakness and susceptibility to jinn affliction of all
sorts (Ussher 1991, 170; Russell 1995, 12–13; Nelson 2007, 29–30).
Insights on jinn Through a Feminist Lens

In her chapter A Discourse of Resistance: Spirit Possession among Women in
Low-Income Cairo, Heba El-Kholy discusses the findings of her research,
for which she conducted interviews with women possessed by jinn in
several parts of Cairo from 1995 till 1996 (El-Kholy 2002, 7). She argues
that their possession is an expression of their daily negotiations and a
way to build awareness of gender roles. This strategy serves as a tool
for passive protests and subtle resistance (El-Kholy 2004, 22). Never-
theless, El-Kholy adds a note of caution against over-emphasising and
romanticising this type of agency (El-Kholy 2004, 36).
In contrast to this focus on the individual’s agency of everyday resis-
tance, I will discuss two excerpts from Heba El-Kholy’s case studies from
an explicitly feminist perspective, critical of women’s structural oppres-
sion in patriarchy. Feminist theory derives from and focusses on women’s
154 B. SPRECKELSEN
situated experiences, highlighting the personal as being inherently polit-

ical and therefore a fruitful approach to the understanding of female
jinn possession. I emphasise the need to locate the accounts from El-
Kholy’s case studies in their broader social context and argue that jinn
possession serves the two women as a culturally legitimate—yet socially
stigmatised—narrative for interpreting the effects of trauma.
Marriage, Female Madness and Psychiatry

At the heart of feminist theory lies the critique of female-specific, biolog-
ically determinist attributions, psychiatric diagnoses and claims made
under the male pretence of scientific objectivity and expert authority.
Feminist researchers from a range of disciplines have examined pre-
modern theological and modern biomedical discourses that placed the
“deviant”, female sex “as ‘witch’ and ‘outsider’” in a close relationship
to the devil, madness, irrationality and emotionality—thus considering
women a threat to the social order (Shaw and Proctor 2005, 484).
By contrast, the masculine ideal, implicitly representing the norm
within this dualistic system, has come to stand for reason and mental
health (Chesler 1972, 69). In a present shaped by this tradition of
gendered dualisms, women face the choice between adopting “healthy”
patterns of behaviour and thinking or conforming to the feminine gender
role—a seemingly insoluble dilemma, because the scope of socially sanc-
tioned options is limited (Chesler 1972, 68–69). Both women who
challenge their socially ascribed gender role by not complying with the
dominant ideal (and thus adopting behaviour that may be regarded
as masculine) and women who do submit to (and most likely suffer
from) the feminine image of passivity are unable to withdraw from the
social judgement of their constitution because “[w]omen are seen as
‘sick’ when they act out the female role (are depressed, incompetent,
frigid, and anxious) and when they reject the female role (are hostile,
successful, sexually active, and especially with other women)” (Chesler
1972, 118). Psychiatrists function as guardians of this moral order—they
“are needed by the patriarchal culture to keep women within their narrow
role boundaries” (Russel 1995, 12). This critique of psychiatry goes hand
in hand with the feminist critique of traditional patriarchal marriage,
which feminists regard as a means of maintaining male domination over
women. As central in constituting gender roles, the institution of marriage
contributes decisively to female suffering because “the particular role
which women adopt in traditional marriage, a passive, subservient role –

the classic mirror of man – is that which is detrimental to women’s health”
(Ussher 1991, 260). Due to its marginality as a private matter, this form
of marriage with the purpose of clarifying the status of male ownership of
women and particularly women’s reproductivity involves the inherent risk
and taboo of violence at the hands of the husband and leaves little room
for a wife to defend herself and her well-being, given women’s economic
and social dependence on men (Ussher 1991, 264–265).
Furthermore, contemporary classifications, though widely accepted in
psychiatry, are subject to feminist critique. One central point of criti-
cism is, for instance, that the vague diagnoses predominantly issued for
women (e.g. depression, borderline personality disorder, premenstrual
syndrome, inhibited sexual desire, and impaired sexual arousal)4 are used
to describe and pathologise reactions to female oppression in a patriarchal
society. From a feminist perspective, the allegedly rational medicalisa-
tion of women’s distress produces female-specific clinical pictures that
obscure and individualise the causes of suffering by locating them within
the women concerned. Social and political factors such as male violence,
misogyny and discrimination, which shape women’s realities and give rise
to their misery, are not considered in these diagnoses (Shaw and Proctor
2005, 488).
Such depoliticised diagnoses signal to the women concerned that
they need to undergo treatment in order to adapt to patriarchal stan-
dards, reproduced and normalised by male-centred science and its modern
worldview that deceptively divorces the biological from the social, because
“biomedical and psychological theories of depression decontextualize
what is often a social problem, simply acting to legitimize expert inter-
vention, whilst negating the political, economic and discursive aspects of
women’s experience” (Ussher 2010, 15). This is particularly detrimental
to women’s position in society because psychiatry interprets female anger
as an individual problem and a pathological condition. Thus it not only
denies society’s responsibility for creating adverse conditions for women,
but also deprives women of the awareness and vocabulary needed to
address and challenge the factors leading to their distress and thus of the
potential to mobilise collectively: “Labelling us mad silences our voices.
We can be ignored. The rantings of a mad woman are irrelevant. Her
anger is impotent” (Ussher 1991, 7). Hence, it is important to recog-
nise this patriarchal bias and to turn towards women’s perceptions and
experiences in relation to their context.
156 B. SPRECKELSEN
Personal Accounts of Possession—A Matter of Interpretation

I chose the following excerpts from Heba El-Kholy’s case studies in order
to reinterpret them from a feminist point of view. Umm Yusif recounts
her experience as follows:
I have not been sleeping in the same bed with my husband for the past
ten years and we have not had sex for that long. There is nothing I can
do about it. The spirits do not allow me. When he comes near me I start
kicking and screaming. One day I bit him so hard he bled. At first my
husband used to get angry and hit me, but now he understands that it is
not up to me. The masters do not want it. I know it is forbidden to deny
my husband sex, and I have been to many doctors and I even made a zar
every year for the past three years, but the spirits still do not allow me; it
is out of my control. I personally do not mind it however. I never enjoyed
sex with him. It was always a duty. Sometimes he also hurts me. (El-Kholy
2004, 34)
Amal, also known as Umm Ayman, tells her story in the voice of her jinnı̄
Abdallah, who insults her husband:
He is a stupid ox and I despise him. He is trying to sleep with me and

is asking me to do dirty things. I love Amal […] and do not want her to
sleep with him, so every time he tries to sleep with her, I get in the middle
of the bed and separate them and kick him. So one day, he said, “Fine. If
Amal does not want to sleep with me, then you sleep with me.” I am a
man like him, but he is not ashamed to ask me to do these things. He is
a very bad man. (El-Kholy 2004, 34)
Heba El-Kholy describes these statements as “opaque” and a matter of

individual interpretation. Yet, she concludes, “[W]omen do not enjoy
sex with their husbands, their husbands do not satisfy them sexually”
(El-Kholy 2004, 34). El-Kholy reads the women’s accounts in relation
to sexual pleasure, as if they were complaints about bad sex. While
the possessed women express their unwillingness to have sex with their
husbands, the researcher concludes “a consistent lack of sexual desire
or sexual interest” (El-Kholy 2004, 34). Seemingly indicating a sexual
deficit on the women’s part, she interprets the women’s statements from
a male-centred perspective, in relation to a male norm: El-Kholy locates
the women’s problems within themselves, in their insufficient desire, thus
ignoring the social and political context of the issue. But, as Ussher
reminds us, from a feminist perspective, “[I]t is not enough to posit a

physical (or psychological) cause for a sexual difficulty and then treat it
out of context of any other facet of a woman’s experience” (Ussher 1993,
26). It is astonishing that El-Kholy misses the opportunity to go deeper.
Female Possession in Context

Several psychologists and psycho-anthropologists voice a general concern
about anthropological studies of jinn possession, perfectly in line with
the feminist approach to understanding women’s illness not in isolation,
but in relation to its context and possible causes (Seligman and Kirmayer
2008, 44).
According to this criticism, anthropologists place too narrow a focus
on the social construction and meaning of narratives on possession while
neglecting to consider how living conditions and past experiences may
affect an afflicted person’s psyche and be the breeding ground for posses-
sion as an involuntary mechanism rather than a deliberate, feigned act
(Ward 1980, 149–150). This criticism also applies to El-Kholy’s findings.
In order to understand the wider political and social setting of the
women’s statements, I will analyse the patriarchal context in Egypt,
taking into account that the implications of this exercise are rele-
vant beyond this particular scope: marital rape is not criminalised in
Egypt (United Kingdom, Home Office 2017) and a wife’s obedience
is her husband’s prerogative.5 Egypt’s economic liberalisation nega-
tively impacted women’s employment rates and went hand in hand with
the promotion of women’s role as economically dependent housewives
(Hatem 1992, 231–251, 233–240). Unmarried women face stigmatisa-
tion in large parts of society. At the time of the interviews with the women
possessed by jinn, a large number of Egyptian females between the ages
of 15 and 49 had been genitally mutilated. This illustrates the invasive
extent of regulation and the contradictory requirements that Egyptian
society directs at women and their sexuality; women are expected to
remain chaste until marriage, display modesty and concern about their
reputation, and then lead sexually active and fulfilled lives with their
husbands.6 Moreover, women have only very limited options to end
their marriage. A non-consensual divorce (hul‘ ), initiated by the wife
and without the necessity of proving specific,˘ unfavourable circumstances
subject to further legal examination, became possible only after an amend-
ment that went into effect in January 2000, years after El-Kholy spoke
158 B. SPRECKELSEN
to the possessed women (Sonneveld 2019, 149–178; 150; 156). Against

this background, I construe the possessed women’s statements as personal
accounts about sexual violence within marriage. Neither of them wants
to have sex with her husband, and both report male violence. They are
aware of what is socially expected of women: Umm Yusif knows that she
is obliged to have sex with her husband; Umm Ayman is appalled by the
sexual practices (anal sex?) that her husband demands of her. She can only
express the act through the metaphor of homosexuality between her male
jinnı̄ and her husband. It is not a lack of female sexual desire that emerges
from the statements, but a blatant lack of male empathy and societal
consideration for women’s bodily integrity and self-determination.
Naming the Subconscious

Many scholars agree that jinn possession offers women an opportunity
to implicitly draw attention to societal taboos. What is perceived as moral
trespassing, committed under the influence of jinn, tends not to entail
negative repercussions for possessed women. Instead, blame is commonly
placed on the jinn (Nelson 2007, 30; El-Kholy 2004, 29; Strasser 1995,
224).
On a rhetorical level, the narrative of jinn possession offers women a
vocabulary facilitating them to speak about their problems and to justify
transgressive behaviour allegedly caused by the interference of jinn. But
what does possession represent beyond this rhetoric? Both women had
experiences with jinn. What does this mean in a setting of domestic
violence? The women describe situations in which jinn take control over
them. This narrative allows them to talk about the sexual assaults by
their husbands. The women find themselves in an existential conflict
between contradicting imperatives; this prevents them from protecting
their personal interests: defending their own bodily integrity violates the
social norm that dictates a wife’s obedience towards her husband as a
“conjugal duty”. Considering the loss of control resulting from this immi-
nent threat of violence that the two women face on a regular basis in
the confines of their marriage, jinn possession seems to be the result of
repeated traumatisation, rather than a conscious strategy of resistance.7
Hence, jinn may be an expression of what psychology knows as
traumatic dissociation, a protective mechanism that causes a person’s
consciousness, perception and sensation to disconnect from traumatising
events, such as sexual violence (Russell 1995, 46). When speaking about
their past rapes, some women recall having left their bodies and witnessing
the violation from outside (Lukas 2003, 146). Repeated traumatisation
can result in a dissociative identity disorder (previously known as multiple
personality disorder), that is, the emergence of multiple personalities or
the splitting of a person’s identity. The different states can develop into
permanent (semi-)autonomous personalities, each with its own percep-
tion, in some cases exhibiting exaggerated gendered stereotypes, such as
the role of the victim or the protector (Huber 2003, 65; Rode 2009, 20).
Moreover, women who are raped by their husbands commonly struggle
with their perception of the event because “one aspect of being domi-
nated is that the person who is in the subordinate position often perceives
experiences from the perspective of the dominant person” (Russell 1990,
53). These descriptions of women’s reactions to rape resemble the two
women’s accounts of jinn possession.
Conclusion
Women describe their reactions to sexual violence in different ways,
resorting to the narratives of their cultural contexts. While the psychiatric
diagnosis of the dissociative identity disorder is a possible interpretation,
the two women translate their experiences into the vocabulary of jinn
possession. In contrast to the woman in the al-Ahram article, mentioned
above, who filed for divorce due to her husband’s secret marriage to a
jinniyya, the women who talked to El-Kholy about their jinn posses-
sion did not employ this narrative in a conscious manner. Hence, jinn
possession here is not merely a strategic legitimation for inappropriate
behaviour. Rather, the possessed women interpret their subconscious
reactions to sexual violence within a patriarchal setting of marriage and
widespread female genital mutilation.
In the context examined here, jinn serve as an expression of female
distress resulting from the trauma of male violence and patriarchal control
over women’s bodies and selves. However, this pain has no place in
society’s self-image and is silenced. The distress remains marginalised
until it breaks out of the women’s subconsciousness in another shape,
transformed into dissociated beings demanding attention by seemingly
disturbing the patriarchal marital order.
Feminist researchers have cautioned against viewing female-specific
diseases without considering the context. In the same vein, I recognise
the danger of viewing jinn possession without its context. In patriarchal
160 B. SPRECKELSEN
settings, society promotes this decontextualised interpretation of female

“deviance” and dictates how women should articulate their own condi-
tions. Instead of questioning familial, social or political discriminatory
factors in order to identify the source of their distress, women explain
their conditions subconsciously, adopting the embodied narratives that
are tolerated and prevalent in their (class-specific) cultural contexts—even
if this might be to their own disadvantage. The aforementioned accounts
of jinn possession are such “safe”, yet stigmatising narratives.
Notes
1. Aihwa Ong, while not explicitly using the term ‘jinn’, wrote about female
workers’ spirit possession and the corporate medical management of these
interruptive instances of resistance to exploitative and abusive working
conditions in multinational factories in Malaysia (1988, 28–42).
2. Zār ceremonies are sometimes held to pacify jinn, whereas exorcism is not
a common practice.
3. Unless otherwise indicated, translations are mine.
4. “ Following in the path of the experts of the past, the woman is blamed for
the problem of sex” (Ussher 1993, 17).
5. Islamic legal thought does not encompass the concept of marital rape
because the wife’s sexual availability is her duty towards the husband
(Fluehr-Lobban and Bardsley-Sirois 1990, 39–53, 40–41).
6. To this day, female genital mutilation remains prevalent (El-Zanaty et al.
2015, 104; UNICEF 2005, 32).
7. Judith L. Herman describes trauma as follows: “The conflict between
the will to deny horrible events and the will to proclaim them aloud is
the central dialectic of psychological trauma.” While definitions vary, this
understanding of trauma is relevant to the cases of jinn possession central
to this paper (1992, 1).
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CHAPTER 9
Jinn and Mental Suffering by Migrants

in Europe: A Review of Literature
Sophie Bärtlein and Nina Nissen
Introduction
The Islamic figure “jinn” is a central element in Islam, and many Muslims
draw on it to explain the causes and manifestations of mental illness.
This chapter is based on a presentation by Sophie Bärtlein during the workshop

“Health, Jinn and the Muslim Body: Theoretical and Practical Reflections”,
University of Southern Denmark, Odense, Denmark, 17 May 2018. The
authors are listed alphabetically, with the following contributions: the
introduction, method and analytical sections were written jointly by the authors;
Nina Nissen wrote the discussion.
S. Bärtlein (B)
e-mail: sophie.baertlein@fu-berlin.de
N. Nissen
REHPA—Danish Knowledge Centre for Rehabilitation and Palliative Care,
Region of Southern Denmark and University of Southern Denmark,
Odense, Denmark
e-mail: nina.nissen@rsyd.dk

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-61247-4_9
164 S. BÄRTLEIN AND N. NISSEN
Belief in jinn is shared not only among Muslims living in predomi-

nantly Muslim societies, but also among those living in Western countries
(Dieste and Beagles 2013, 234–235). The idea of jinn living and being
active in Western countries raises a number of questions, such as: How
do Muslims who migrated to Western countries perceive the influence of
jinn? What views do they hold about supernatural phenomena as causes of
illnesses, including mental health issues? How do Muslim migrants expe-
rience biomedical treatment and services? And what kind of treatment do
Muslim migrants wish for?
This chapter reviews existing social science literature that examines the
phenomenon of jinn related to mental illness, as perceived by Muslims
migrants living in Western countries, and aims to provide an overview
of the perspectives of Muslim migrants on the relationship between jinn
and mental health. In so doing, this paper contributes to developing a
more nuanced understanding of and approach to mental health issues
experienced by Muslim migrants living in Western countries.
Jinn in Islamic Tradition

Jinn are fundamental actors in Arabic folklore and popular literature, as
well as in Islamic theology. Muslims acknowledge their existence, but their
opinions about the nature and powers of jinn and their relationships with
humans vary widely, depending on the opinions of Islamic scholars and
on different interpretations of jinn in Islamic tradition and theology.1
Jinn are described as supernatural beings who possess powers for good
and evil, whereby the responsibility for the use of these powers lies
with the jinn themselves. According to the Quran, jinn are regarded
as invisible beings made out of smokeless fire. They nevertheless have
characteristics similar to those of humans; they eat, drink, and marry not
only jinn but—in extreme cases—also humans (MacDonald et al. 2012;
Chabbi 2018). Although the powers of jinn are not generally regarded as
demonic, a fear of their negative impacts on one’s life is central to many
Muslims’ understanding of jinn. According to Chabbi, many Muslims
are constantly aware of being at a jinnı̄’s mercy at all times. While in the
Quran jinn are mainly described as members of a collective (Chabbi), they
appear as individual protagonists in most of the articles reviewed here.2
Jinn are said to strike the “imprudent and insolent” and to punish
them with illnesses, including various kinds of mental illness, but also by
influencing their social and private life (MacDonald et al. 2012). Jinn are
9 JINN AND MENTAL SUFFERING BY MIGRANTS IN EUROPE … 165
further said to “haunt the spaces to which people do not belong, but
through which they are nevertheless constrained to pass whenever going
from place to place” (MacDonald et al. 2012). Scattered in liminal places,
there is a risk for human beings to encounter them at any time.
Methods
We searched for social science studies of mental health issues, belief in jinn
and experiences with biomedical and non-biomedical care among Muslim
migrants living in Western countries. Using the search terms Muslim
migrants, jinn and mental health, our main research was conducted
through Primo, the library portal of the Freie Universität Berlin, which
includes the databases PubMed, Web of Science and ProQuest. In addition,
we searched JSTOR using the aforementioned search terms.
The following inclusion criteria were used: peer-reviewed articles
published in English and German; qualitative and quantitative research
designs; and participants were Muslim migrants living in Western soci-
eties. Exclusion criteria were: no abstract; abstract not in English or
German; articles focussing on countries with a predominantly Muslim
population and articles focussing on the mental suffering of Muslim
migrants in Western countries without addressing the aspect of jinn or
similar phenomena; articles reporting on psychological studies based on
questionnaire instrument or model designs.
Using the search string Muslim migrants AND jinn AND mental
health, the Primo search yielded 179 hits, including 103 PhD theses,
66 peer-reviewed journal articles based on empirical studies, five refer-
ence entries, two literature reviews, two books, and one book chapter.
The JSTOR search yielded 27 results, including 26 peer-reviewed journal
articles and one book. After removing duplicates (n = 7) and excluded
publications (n = 30), nine articles (empirical studies n = 7, literature
reviews n = 2) met our inclusion criteria (for details, see Diagram 9.1).
These articles are discussed here.
The authors of the included articles worked in various Muslim migrant
communities with participants differing by gender, age and residential
status, as well as country of origin and religious affiliation (for details,
see Table 9.1).
This left us with diverse studies with a range of terminologies, partly
reflecting the authors’ disciplinary backgrounds. For example, some
Diagram 9.1 Primo JSTOR

Literature search flow
chart (179 hits) (27 hits)
Meeting Meeting
inclusion criteria inclusion criteria
(38) (8)
Duplicates
removed (7)
Further
exclusion, on
reading full
articles (30)
Total (9)
Empirical studies (7)

Literature reviews (2)
Table 9.1 Included literature
Author/date Study design Location of Participants Migrant Professional

study participants’ participants’
country of background
origin
Dein et al. Anthropological UK (East n = 40 Bangladesh n/a

(2008) fieldwork London) Female n =
18
Male n = 22
Mean age: 42
Fazel et al. Literature Focus regions Studies n = Asia n/a
(2005) review (20 of the 20 Former
psychiatric reviewed Based on Yugoslavia
surveys) studies: interviews Middle East
Australia; with adult Central
Canada; Italy; refugees America
New Zealand; (n = 6743)
Norway; UK;
USA
Gerritsen Population- Netherlands Interviewees Afghanistan n/a
et al. based n = 410 (majority)
(2006) cross-sectional Refugees n = Iran
study 178 Somalia
Female n =
79
Male n = 99
Mean age:
40.3
Asylum
seekers
n = 232
Female n =
90
Male n =
142
Mean age:
34.4
Hoffer Interview study Netherlands n = 29 Islamic Islamic
(1992) Healers n = healers n = 9 healers,
9 Morocco n = informants
Clients n = 2 from Muslim
20 Turkey n = 3 organizations.
Surinam n = Representatives
3 from public
Guyana n = health and
1 social services
Clients =
particularly
from
Morocco and
Turkey
(continued)
Table 9.1 (continued)

origin
Islam et al. Focus group UK Interviewees Pakistan Spiritual care

(2015) study (Birmingham) n = 66 (Majority) representa-
Early Caribbean tives, early
Intervention intervention
(EI) service professionals
users n = 22 (nurses,
Carers n = service
11 managers, care
Community coordinator)
and voluntary Social workers
sector Commissioners
organizations of U.K. health
n = 6; and social care
Service organizations
commis- Voluntary and
sioners n = community
10 organization
EI representatives
professionals
n = 9
Spiritual care
representa-
tives n =
8
Johnsdotter Interview study Sweden n = 23 Somalia n/a
et al. Female n =
(2011) 17
Male n = 6
Aged
40–55 years
Kuittinen Cross-sectional Finland n = 128 Somalia n/a
et al. study Female n =
(2017) 75
Male n = 53
Aged
50–80 years
(continued)
Table 9.1 (continued)

origin
Leavey Interview study UK (London) n = 32 Christian n/a

et al. Male n = 32 Clergy:
(2007) Aged English;
37–68 years African;
African-
Caribbean;
South Asian.
Imams:
Bangladesh, n
= 4 India,
Turkey,
Kenya.
Rabbis:
English-born,
n = 5 South
Africa, n = 1
Lim et al. Literature n/a Female n = Predominantly n/a
(2014) review (47 case 23 Islamic
reports) Male n = 24 countries
Female mean
age: 32.4
Male mean
age: 30.5
studies included Muslim refugees from Somalia living in Finland (Kuit-

tinen et al. 2017, 211–238), Somali immigrants in Sweden (Johnsdotter
et al. 2011), people from Bangladesh living in the UK3 and Muslims
of various national backgrounds living in the Netherlands (Hoffer 1992,
40–53). In reporting the findings from the included studies, we adopt
the terminology used by the studies’ authors to describe participants as
“migrant”, “immigrant”, “refugee” or “asylum seeker”, “Muslim” or
“service user”. However, the authors are not always consistent in the
use of their terms; for instance, “Swedish Somalis” are also referred to
as “Somali immigrants” (Johnsdotter et al. 2011, 741). Furthermore,
not all the articles refer to the status of participants’ residence. Dein
et al. use the term “East London Bangladeshis” (Dein et al. 2008),
whereby Islam et al. refer to their participants as “Black and minority
ethnic (BME) service users”, which includes Pakistani participants (see
Table 9.1).4 When reporting more generally, we use the term “migrant”.
The International Organisation for Migration defines a migrant as “any

person who is moving or has moved across an international border or
within a State away from his/her habitual place of residence, regardless
of (1) the person’s legal status; (2) whether the movement is voluntary
or involuntary; (3) what the causes for the movement are; or (4) what
the length of the stay is” (IOM).5 In this article, we focus on migration
across international borders.
Lastly, some of the included studies focus specifically on participants
affected by mental illness, whereas cultural or religious background was
the only inclusion criteria for participation in others. Moreover, the
numbers of participants in the different studies range from 20 (Johns-
dotter et al. 2011) to more than 120 people (Kuittinen et al. 2017,
211).
The nine articles included in this review were thoroughly read and
reread and analysed thematically, based on emerging categories, themes
and sub-themes (Miles and Huberman 1994). In this way, we identified
two main themes: (1) Muslim migrants’ understandings of and beliefs in
jinn and (2) experiences with biomedical treatment from the perspec-
tives of Muslim migrants and their relationships with diverse medical
or religious professionals. These themes are examined in the following
sections.
Understandings of and Beliefs in Jinn

In this section, we summarise the understandings of and beliefs in jinn
identified in the included literature. Our findings point to perceptions
of diverse relationships between health and jinn, and to demographic
differences in beliefs.
Migration, Mental Health, and Jinn

In a systematic review of prevalence studies of mental disorders in refugees
resettled in Western societies, Fazel et al. state that refugees6 are more
often affected by mental health issues than the non-migrant population of
the country of immigration (Fazel et al. 2005). Similarly, Gerritsen et al.
writing about Afghan, Iranian and Somali refugees and asylum seekers
living in the Netherlands note the high prevalence of (mental) health
problems among these groups (Gerritsen et al. 2006). In their anthropo-
logical study of Bangladeshis living in the East End of London, UK, Dein
et al. support and explain this tendency. These authors suggest that their
participants’ poor living conditions, high unemployment rate, exposure
to racism and increasing Islamophobia in Europe permeate every sphere
of life and contribute to vulnerability to mental health issues.
Dein and colleagues further note that their participants tended to
make supernatural powers like jinn responsible for their situations, as
they seem to find themselves in circumstances beyond their own control,
thus perceiving their lives to be controlled by sources more powerful than
themselves (Dein et al. 2008, 34–35). Similarly, participants in Kuitinnen
et al.’s study of older Somali refugees living in Finland named jinn as one
of the most common causes for mental suffering (Kuittinen et al. 2017,
227). However, not all studies point to a belief that jinn cause mental
illness. For example, the results of Johnsdotter et al. show that the Somali
immigrants living in Sweden attribute the mental issues they experience
mostly to social and psychological stress.7
Beliefs in Jinn, Gender and Age

Several studies indicate differences in beliefs in jinn and their impact on
health, in accordance with either gender or age. The study by Kuitinnen
et al. of older Somali refugees in Finland indicates that women in partic-
ular attribute mental health issues to jinn, whereas male participants
mostly identify psychosomatic and psychological reasons for suffering
(Kuittinen et al. 2017, 225, 227).
The British Bangladeshi participants in the study by Dein et al. in
East London (UK) confirmed the general existence of jinn; nonetheless,
they disagreed on the extent of influence that jinn exert over the human
body and mind. Participants who were older than forty stated more often
than younger participants that jinn cause diseases (Dein et al. 2008, 38).
Dein et al., however, point to the possibility of younger participants
denying the belief in jinn out of fear of being stigmatised as “back-
ward” (Dein et al. 2008, 46). One participant mentioned that jinn are
often regarded as causes for problems, although, he noted, this is rarely
the case. According to this participant, even though the Quran confirms
the existence of jinn, it is questionable whether jinn are responsible for
diseases. He described people believing in such causalities as “backwards”
and “small minded” (Dein et al. 2008, 38). Overall, the younger respon-
dents in this study were more inclined to reject belief in jinn as a cause for
complaints, often describing themselves as “modern”, while labelling “the
others”—mostly older members of the community—“traditional” (Dein

et al. 2008, 32).
The younger respondents of the study by Islam et al. on Black and
minority ethnic mental health service users in Birmingham (UK) often
combined biomedical and religious ideas to explain illness. Many were
said to be aware of the influence a high alcohol or drug consumption
may have on mental health, such as psychosis, but contextualised such
behaviour and its possible consequences within a religious-spiritual frame-
work. For example, one British Pakistani respondent stated: “As soon
as we smoke weed or we have alcohol, we’re not pure, our bodies are
not pure so we are prone to attack from evil forces” (Islam et al. 2015).
In this way, both approaches to understanding illness and treatment can
exist side-by-side, rather than contradicting each other (Islam et al. 2015,
737–753).
Manifestation of Jinn
Respondents in some of the included studies linked the power of jinn
to psychological and physical issues (Dein et al. 2008). For example,
Muslim Bangladeshis living in East London, UK described psychological
symptoms that could result from the influence of jinn, including abrupt
changes in behaviour, isolation from family members and friends, failing
in religious duties and behaviour such as stealing or cheating on one’s
partner (Dein et al. 2008, 38–39). The Swedish Somali informants in
Johnsdotter et al.’s study stated that hearing voices and speaking with an
unfamiliar voice could be a symptom of having been entered by a jinn.
For example, one informant of Johnsdotter et al. who was on medication
for schizophrenia stated that he was possessed by a jinn (Johnsdotter et al.
2011, 734–744).
Lim et al. reviewed 47 published case studies of “jinn as an explana-
tory model in the context of psychotic disorders” (Lim et al. 2014, 18).
Based on their review and analysis, they list the following psychiatric
symptoms as manifestations of jinn: “hallucinations, delusions, anxiety,
aggression, mutism, anorexia, sleep disturbances, catatonic posturing, and
self-mutilation” (Lim et al. 2014, 23). Further, in their review of case
studies of the relationship between jinn and psychotic disorders, Lim
et al. also identify physical symptoms attributed to the influence of a jinn,
including epileptic seizures, knee injury, paralysis of a limb, typhoid fever
and the effects of alcohol withdrawal (Lim et al. 2014, 24).
Participants in Dein et al.’s study of British Bangladeshis (Dein et al.

2008, 39) attributed physical symptoms and complaints, such as pain and
fatigue, whose origin was perceived as not diagnosable or treatable with
biomedical therapies to the influence of jinn. Some respondents in Dein
et al.’s study are said to differentiate between being influenced and being
possessed by jinn. A jinnı̄’s embodied manifestation seems to be regarded
as possession by a jinnı̄ , whereas an impact of a jinnı̄ from the outside
is described as mere influence of the jinn on the body and/or mind. A
jinnı̄’s influence becomes visible not only through physical or psycho-
logical symptoms, as jinn can also have an impact on a person’s life in
other, more indirect ways. A participant in Dein’s study of Bangladeshis
in East London stated that his sister experienced mysterious occurrences
in her house, which were explained by jinnı̄’s presence. The residents of
the house suffered from sleeping troubles, and their baby cried all the
time. In addition, the family was disturbed by recurrent ringing of the
doorbell. According to a Bangladeshi who specialised in treating people
who suffer from jinn, a jinnı̄ was living in the apartment, terrorising
its residents, because that particular apartment was previously charac-
terised by a high fluctuation of tenants (Dein et al. 2008, 40). Pointing
to similar liminal states and fluidity, Dein and colleagues mentioned that
people whose bodies undergo a process of transformation, such as women
during menstruation and pregnancy, are said to be particularly receptive
or vulnerable to jinn (Dein et al. 2008, 37).
Experience with Biomedical Treatment

This section presents both some Muslim migrants’ experiences of biomed-
ical psychological care and the perspectives of other actors who were
involved in providing care. These actors include traditional healers and
imams, as well as psychologists, psychotherapists, psychiatrists, nurses,
and social workers. Our findings point to distinct patterns of accessing
care, diverse understandings of illness and treatments, and tendencies to
integrative practices among Muslim migrants.
Pathways to Treatment
Two overarching patterns of accessing care can be noted in the identified
literature. People living with mental health challenges may initially contact
a biomedical professional before turning to a religious healer, as Hoffer
found in his study of Islamic healers and their clients in the Netherlands.
According to Hoffer, consultation with a healer was usually resorted to
after negative experiences with biomedical care (Hoffer 1992, 47–48). On
the other hand, the Somali Swedish respondents of Johnsdotter et al. and
Levy and colleagues’ study of male clergy—including Christian ministers,
rabbis and imams—in the UK indicated that participants first contacted
a traditional healer before seeking mainstream psychological treatment
(Johnsdotter et al. 2011, 748–749; Leavey et al. 2007, 548–559). In
this case, as noted by Johnsdotter et al., contacting a healer had been
the preferred approach, as these Somali migrants attributed their issues
to supernatural causes and thus favoured treatment by a person who
specialises in addressing such causes (Johnsdotter et al. 2011, 748–749;
Islam et al. 2015, 744, 748–749).
Family members appear to have a strong influence on care pathways.
The study by Islam et al. indicates that family members frequently advise
an affected person to consult a Muslim faith healer, whereby relatives’
advice is often based on personal experience or on acquaintances’ expe-
rience with faith healers (Islam et al. 2015, 744–745). In addition, in a
study of black and minority ethnic psychosis services in the UK, partici-
pants with Pakistani Muslim backgrounds highlight that family members
of service users at times felt excluded from discussions and decisions about
care and perceived that their opinions and knowledge of the patient were
not sufficiently valued by biomedical professionals involved in their rela-
tive’s care. Not only relatives and patients criticised the family’s exclusion;
so did social workers and healers who worked within the community,
as Islam’s study in the UK shows (Islam et al. 2015, 744). If relatives
feeling disregarded, they may advise the affected person not to continue
psychological care, but to contact a faith healer instead.8
Perceptions and experiences of social stigma also play a significant role
in care pathways for people with mental health needs. For example, some
Somali migrant women living in Sweden are reported to avoid attending
biomedical professionals in order to evade the prescription of psychophar-
maceuticals, since these may affect bodyweight, facial expressions and
body language, making mental illness potentially visible to others in the
community (Johnsdotter et al. 2011, 749–750). Further, some patients
in Islam and colleagues’ study of early intervention services in the UK
were reported to have experienced disrespect from translators from their
own community; and it has been claimed that some translators abuse their
knowledge about patients’ mental suffering (Islam et al. 2015, 746).
However, Muslim migrants with mental health problems may be

anxious not only about being stigmatised within their community, but
also of being stigmatised by biomedical professionals. Some Pakistani
psychosis service users in the UK expressed concern that their percep-
tions of supernatural powers like jinn could be misunderstood as being
a result of their illness, rather than as being part of a cultural-religious
framework (Islam et al. 2015, 747).
Knowledges, Integrative Practices

and the Needs of Patients
Knowledge about different understandings of illness and treatment
approaches (or the lack thereof) and various ways of integrating biomed-
ical and non-biomedical approaches appear to be a recurring topic in
several studies. Diverse groups of participants in several studies—patients,
voluntary and community organisation representatives, Islamic healers
and biomedical professionals—express a wish for care practices to inte-
grate both biomedical and traditional and/or religious understandings
and approaches (Islam et al. 2015, 748; Hoffer 1992, 50). Hoffer in
particular cites a Dutch example of cooperation between biomedical
professionals and an Islamic healer (Hoffer 1992, 50). On the other hand,
participants in Islam et al.’s study feared that biomedical professionals
might reject their wish for treatment by a traditional healer alongside
biomedical care. As a result, patients may not disclose any non-biomedical
treatment provided by a traditional healer, which can negatively affect the
psychological treatment process. Further, some British Pakistani psychosis
service users in the same study seem to believe that Western psychologists
were generally unable to understand the idea of supernatural powers such
as jinn. According to one respondent, it was self-evident that biomed-
ical professionals could not comprehend patients’ view of their illness and
its supernatural causes and possible religious treatments, since they were
Western-trained professionals (Islam et al. 2015, 747).
In addition, Black and minority ethnic service users of mainly British
Pakistani background living in the UK and their social workers perceive
psychologists as rarely familiar with the cultural and religious backgrounds
of their patients, while some biomedical professionals acknowledge a lack
of cultural education during their medical training. Training and semi-
nars were perceived as overgeneralising and failing to address variations
within individual cultures in appropriate detail. However, Islam et al. also
stress that most of the Black and minority ethnic service users preferred
individual treatment to ethnic- or gender-specific treatment (Islam et al.
2015, 747–748).
Patients’ lack of knowledge about mental health issues and available
mainstream services is also identified in this body of literature. Commis-
sioners and voluntary and community organisation representatives in the
study by Islam et al. report that service users living in the UK seem to
lack knowledge about possible biomedical services for people who expe-
rience mental health problems (Islam et al. 2015, 745, 748). The Somali
migrants in the study of Johnsdotter et al. also acknowledge their lack of
knowledge of possible treatment options (Johnsdotter et al. 2011, 745).
Many participants expressed surprise about the existing range of biomed-
ical counselling and care facilities. This highlights a lack of information
about treatment options available to those affected by mental illnesses.
However, only a minority of the religious actors agreed with the idea
of providing information about biomedical treatment during their own
treatment.9 This can be said to mirror the anticipated rejection of multiple
concurrent treatments by biomedical professionals noted above (Islam
et al. 2015, 747).
Discussion
In this paper, we have presented findings from a review of selected social
science literature that examines the phenomenon of jinn and suffering,
as described by Muslim migrants living in various Western societies. The
thematic analysis of nine articles included in the review highlights two
main themes: (1) Muslim migrants’ understandings of and beliefs in jinn
and (2) experiences with biomedical treatment from the perspectives of
Muslim migrants and diverse medical or religious professionals.
Our findings indicate that women as well as older Muslim migrants in
general are more likely to believe that jinn cause various forms of phys-
ical and emotional suffering, including mental illness, while some men
tend to see psychological causes for suffering. Younger participants in the
included studies appear less likely to believe in a causative relationship
between jinn and health complaints. Indeed, perceiving beliefs in jinn
as backwards, some younger people describe themselves as “modern”, in
contrast to older generations whom they perceive as “traditional”. Such
attributions have also been noticed in predominantly Muslim countries.
For instance, in his study of people living in two neighbourhoods of
Ankara, Turkey, Dole makes a similar observation. According to Dole,

the proponents of biomedical treatment describe people who believe in
traditional healing as “undeveloped” and as “opponents of progress”.
Conversely, proponents of traditional healing practices referred to those
opposing such practices as “unbelievers” and described them as “the
youth”, which is perceived to be lacking maturity (Dole 2004, 270). Like-
wise, opponents of complementary and alternative medicine (CAM) in
Western societies frequently deride CAM users (predominantly women)
as irrational, ignorant, and duped (MacArtney and Wahlberg 2014).
Two main pathways to non-biomedical and/or traditional forms of
healing, including religious healers, are highlighted by our findings.
Participants in the included studies either drew on non-biomedical
healing practices as a result of dissatisfaction with biomedical care or
out of concern about stigmatisation, or they accessed traditional healing
support for complaints perceived to be caused by supernatural causes and
therefore not amenable to biomedical treatment. Several studies indicate
that family members and social networks play a significant role in the
choice of treatment, such as traditional and/or religious forms of healing
or biomedical care (Islam et al. 2015, 744–745; Johnsdotter et al. 2011,
745–750). The advice of relatives is generally based on their personal
experience and contacts, a pattern also common among users of comple-
mentary and alternative medicine in Europe (Nissen et al. 2013). It can be
noted that, in general, information from diverse sources about different
treatment options and their implications, including biomedical provision,
seems to be limited for many of the study participants. This contrasts
with patients’ rights to information, recommendations grounded in public
health ethics and the health policy objectives regarding information
that the World Health Organisation10 and the European Commission
promote.11 Thus, our review points to the need for public health systems
to provide more encompassing health information to all citizens in
order to support citizens’ decision-making about their health and their
protection from risks and threats (Nissen et al. 2013).
Different understandings of illness and treatment approaches,
including health professionals’ lack of knowledge about non-biomedical
approaches, are a recurring topic in several studies identified in this review.
Not only may this influence citizens’ pathways to care, as noted above; it
may also hinder the disclosure of the use of traditional or religious forms
of healing to biomedical professionals while receiving mainstream care,
a tendency also frequently observed among users of complementary and
alternative medicine in Europe and other Western countries.12 Common

reasons for non-disclosure include: not having been asked about non-
biomedical approaches, perceiving non-biomedical care to be safe, the
fact that biomedical and non-biomedical care address different issues and
fear of being discriminated against by biomedical professionals (Robinson
and McGrail 2004). Non-disclosure of non-biomedical treatment, such
as the use of medicinal herbs, however, may negatively impact biomedical
care, for example cancer treatment or some medications for mental illness.
The close connection between lack of reliable evidence-based informa-
tion about non-biomedical care, professionals’ lack of knowledge about
such approaches and patients’ non-disclosure has been noted previously
(Nissen et al. 2012b).
Several studies point to Muslim patient participants’ wish for the inte-
gration of traditional and/or religious forms of healing with biomedical
care (Islam et al. 2015, 748; Hoffer 1992, 50). There is no single
approach to the integration of non-biomedical and biomedical healthcare,
and opinions differ concerning the value and appropriateness of any form
of integration (Kadetz 2013). Some scholars argue that non-biomedical
treatments cannot be validated for safety and effectiveness by biomed-
ical trials and it is therefore unethical to promote them, and others argue
that non-biomedical approaches should not and/or cannot be validated
by biomedical standards, as they are underpinned by different epistemolo-
gies (Kadetz 2013; Fischer et al. 2012). These debates point to multiple
dilemmas grounded in public health ethics, which is concerned with social
justice and equity in health, the need to respect individual autonomy and
the obligation to prevent harm (Nissen et al. 2013). Overall, due to a
paucity of reliable evidence of the safety and effectiveness of most non-
biomedical treatments, few traditional, religious and/or complementary
and alternative therapies are integrated into public health system provision
in Western societies.13 Yet, many individuals, including some participants
in the studies presented here (Hoffer 1992; Johnsdotter et al. 2011, 745–
748), integrate diverse therapeutic approaches into their everyday health
care practices.14
This review highlights that the issues involved in the phenomenon
of migration, jinn and health are highly complex and require further
research. Further research should consistently consider the diversity of
beliefs held about jinn, health and illness, the diversity of immigrants in
terms of age, gender, education, and other intersecting social differences,
the diversity of countries of origin and immigration, and the diversity
of regulations concerning non-biomedical therapies in each country of

immigration.15 Such work would provide fruitful opportunities for collab-
oration between medical anthropologists, Islamic Studies scholars, health
services researchers and medical and religious professionals and would
offer significant knowledge and understanding to improve and support
the health of immigrants to Western societies. This review has made a
modest contribution to this endeavour.
Notes
1. For a brief overview, see D. B. MacDonald, H. Massé, P. N. Boratav, K. A.
Nizami and P. Voorhoeve, Djinn (Leiden: Brill, 2012), Encyclopaedia of
¯
Islam, second edition and Jacqueline Chabbi, Jinn (Leiden: Brill, 2003),
Encyclopaedia of the Qur’an, third edition, 43–50.
2. To be more precise, in the quotations from the interviewees, jinn are
often described as single protagonists. In most cases, it seems to be a
single jinn who is causing a (health) issue. See Simon Dein et al., “Jinn,
Psychiatry and Contested Notions of Misfortune Among East London
Bangladeshis,” Transcultural Psychiatry 45, no. 1 (March 2008): 39; Sara
Johnsdotter et al., “Koran Reading and Negotiation with Jinn: Strategies
to Deal with Mental Ill Health Among Swedish Somalis,” Mental Health,
Religion & Culture 14, no. 8 (2011): 744, 749.
3. Dein et al. refer to them as “East London Bangladeshis”, see Dein et al.,
“Jinn, Psychiatry and Contested Notions of Misfortune,” 36.
4. Islam et al. “Psychosis Services in the United Kingdom,” 738. The group
of “Black and minority ethnic (BME) service users” consisted mainly of
British Pakistanis.
5. “Migrant,” Key Migration Terms, IOM, retrieved from: https://www.
iom.int/key-migration-terms#Migration, last accessed May 22, 2019.
6. Fazel et al. also include in their review “former refugees granted citizen-
ship in their new countries”. Mina Fazel et al., “Prevalence of Serious
Mental Disorder in 7000 Refugees Resettled in Western Countries: A
Systematic Review,” The Lancet 365, no. 9467 (2005): 1309–1314,
1309.
7. However, Johnsdotter et al. do not mention how many of the interviewees
designated jinn as the main cause of their mental suffering. Johnsdotter
et al., “Koran reading,” 744.
8. Ibid. Islam et al. use various terms here, e.g., “faith/spiritual healer” or
“traditional healer”, ibid., 747.
9. Again, it is important to note that this survey cannot be seen as represen-
tative, since Islam et al. interviewed only eight religious actors. Moreover,
Islam et al. use the term “spiritual care representatives”, but do not specify
the exact number of Muslim healers among these representatives. Islam

et al., “Psychosis Services in the United Kingdom,” 748.
10. “Patients’ Rights,” Genomic Resource Centre, WHO, retrieved from:
https://www.who.int/genomics/public/patientrights/en/, last accessed
March 7, 2019.
11. “Patients’ Rights in the European Union Mapping exercise,” European
Commission, retrieved from: https://ec.europa.eu/health/sites/health/
files/cross_border_care/docs/2018_mapping_patientsrights_frep_en.pdf,
last accessed March 7, 2019.
12. Anske Robinson and Matthew R. McGrail, “Disclosure of CAM Use to
Medical Practitioners: A Review of Qualitative and Quantitative Studies,”
Complementary Therapies in Medicine 12, no. 2–3 (2004): 90–98; Nina
Nissen et al., “Citizens’ Needs and Attitudes Towards CAM,” CAMbrella
Report to the EU commission (2012): 107.
13. For a brief overview, see Jon Adams et al., “Public Health and Health
Services Research in Integrative Medicine: An Emerging, Essential Focus,”
European Journal of Integrative Medicine 5, no. 1 (2013): 1–3.
14. E.g. Susan Eardley et al., “A Systematic Literature Review of Complemen-
tary and Alternative Medicine Prevalence in E.U.,” Forschende Komple-
mentärmedizin 19, suppl. 2 (2012): 18–28.
15. For details in Europe, see Solveig Wiesener et al., “Legal Status and Regu-
lation of Complementary and Alternative Medicine in Europe,” Forschende
Komplementärmedizin 19, suppl. 2 (2012): 29–36.
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343125.
CHAPTER 10
Jinn Beliefs in Western Psychiatry: A Study

of Three Cases from a Psychiatric and Cultural
Perspective
Maria Galsgaard
Introduction and Theory

The following sections introduce the notion of jinn and anthropologic
and psychiatric understandings of possession, including how possession
is conceptualized in the main psychiatric diagnostic manuals, namely
The International Classification of Diseases, Eleventh Edition (ICD-11)
(WHO 2018), published by the World Health Organization, and The
Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fifth Edition
(DSM-5), published by the American Psychiatric Association, 2013 (APA
2013). Finally, the introduction gives an example of a phenomenon, the
night-mare, which Muslim patients frequently attribute to a jinn attack.
M. Galsgaard (B)
Competence Centre for Transcultural Psychiatry, Psychiatric Centre Ballerup,
Ballerup, Denmark

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-61247-4_10
186 M. GALSGAARD
The Notion of Jinn in the Quran

The word jinn comes from the Arabic root j-n-n, which means “to
conceal,” referring to the conception of jinn (pl. jinn, sing. jinnı̄) as
invisible spirits. Together with angels, heaven, and hell, jinn form the
unseen world, al-ghayb, which has a pivotal role in Islam (El-Zein 2009,
1). Jinn are mentioned 32 times in the Quran, with a whole chapter dedi-
cated to the description of jinn, sūrat al-jinn, but also in the hadiths,
other Islamic texts, and Arab folklore (Abdel Haleem 2008, 27; Khalifa
et al. 2011, 74).
According to the Quran, humans are made from clay, while jinn are
made from smokeless fire.1 Jinn are believed to live like humans; they are
born, grow up, work, get married, enter politics, belong to tribes, form
social classes, and go to war (El-Zein 2009, 16; Lim et al. 2015, 20).
Like humans, jinn are intelligent beings who are free to make choices—
thus they, too, can follow God (Allah) or not.2 Jinn live among us and
prefer damp, dark, unclean, filthy places like graveyards, basements, and
bathrooms (Lim et al. 2015, 20). Humans are visible to jinn, and jinn can
sometimes choose to make themselves visible to humans by manipulating
human imagination (El-Zein 2009, 9). They can take the form of animals,
objects, or humans (Al-Ashqar 2003, 34).
Another prominent figure of al-ghayb is shayt.ān (pl. shayāt.ı̄n). Shayt.ān
can be seen as a principle of evil, a whisper (waswās ) that will tempt and
misguide you away from the right path3 (Bodman 1996, 249). Iblı̄s and
shayt.ān are often used interchangeably by Muslims, though in the Quran
Iblı̄s is the precursor of shayt.ān, who emerges with Iblı̄s ’ refusal to bow
to Adam in heaven. The plural shayāt.ı̄n is used to refer to mischievous
humans and spirits similar to jinn (Fahd and Rippin 2012).
Jinn Influence, Possession, and Spiritual Healing

Jinn can influence the life of humans in unpredictable ways (Al-Ashqar
2003, 1–2, 24–25). By a simple touch, Jinn can cause depression, anxiety,
chronic headaches, infertility, hallucinations, and more (Lim et al. 2015,
20). According to many Islamic scholars, a jinnı̄ is able to enter a person’s
body and possess it (Al-Ashqar 2003, 87). However, some scholars argue
that jinn only influence people, rather than entering and inhabiting their
bodies (Dein and Illaiee 2013, 291).
10 JINN BELIEFS IN WESTERN PSYCHIATRY … 187
Jinn influence or possession is initiated either by a jinnı̄ or by bad

intentions from others. Jinn can choose to influence a human out of
revenge or admiration (Meftah 2018, 1). Some argue that jinn are able
to enter romantic relationships with humans, thus preventing them from
marrying another human. Jinn can be used in Islamic magic (sih.r) and,
like humans, can give the evil eye (al- ayn), i.e., with an envious (h.asūd)
glance or intention, create adversity for a person (Krawietz 2002, 346,
349; Mullick et al. 2013, 719).
Furthermore, an individual can be more or less vulnerable to jinn
affliction (Al-Ashqar 2003, 123). Vulnerability increases during tran-
sitional phases, e.g., menstruation, traveling, or pregnancy, and by
displaying certain character traits, such as weak will, low self-confidence,
greediness, and sinfulness (Lim et al. 2015, 21; Dein and Illaiee 2013,
291). A person can decrease his or her vulnerability by strengthening the
spiritual immune system (ı̄mān), by reading and following the scripture
of the Quran and the Sunna (e.g., daily reciting The Throne Verse, āyat
al-kursı̄ 4 ) (Al-Ashqar 2003, 118).
Jinn influence and possession manifest in a wide range of somatic and
psychological symptoms and life adversities. Symptoms can range from
marital discord, infertility, and financial misfortune to depression, anxiety,
psychosis, strange recurrent night-mares, and chronic headache, among
many other things. Jinn possession is displayed by noticeable distress and
antagonism in the victim when confronted with the scripture of the Quran
(Dein and Illaiee 2013, 292). Spiritual healers will employ a range of
methods to treat the afflictions attributed to jinn. These methods include
touching the patient’s head while reciting certain verses from the Quran
(ruqya) and reciting it over water before instructing the afflicted person to
drink it (Dein and Illaiee 2013, 292, Al-Ashqar 2003, 207). Belief in jinn
is widespread in Muslim countries (PEW 2012, 67). However, Muslims
will often hesitate to share their belief in jinn and afflictions caused by
jinn, because they fear that mentioning them might invoke them or that
they will be perceived as insane, sinful, or unfaithful (Lim et al. 2015,
21–22).
In the two following sections, this article will introduce psychiatric
conceptualizations of possession states and anthropological perspectives
on spirit possession.
188 M. GALSGAARD
Possession in DSM-5 and ICD-11 as Dissociation

Possession is included as a psychiatric phenomenon in the two main
psychiatric diagnostic manuals used in Western mental health services,
namely the ICD-115 and the DSM-5 (APA 2013). In both the ICD-
11 and the DSM-5, pathological (i.e., involuntary and non-induced)
possession is classified under dissociative disorders. Dissociation, which
is the main feature of the dissociative disorders, is “a disruption and/or
discontinuity of the normal integration of consciousness, memory, iden-
tity, personality, emotion, perception, body representation, motor control
and behavior.”6 Thus, both diagnostic manuals classify possession as a
form and expression of dissociation, albeit the DSM-5 and ICD-11 differ
somewhat in their clinical descriptions of this cross-cultural phenomenon.
In ICD-11, the diagnosis named Possession Trance Disorder (PTD)
is defined as “trance states in which there is a marked alteration in the
individual’s state of consciousness and the individual’s customary sense
of personal identity is replaced by an external ‘possessing’ identity and
in which the individual’s behaviours or movements are experienced as
being controlled by the possessing agent.”7 This can be manifested by the
person seemingly changing personality and, e.g., speaking in a different
voice.
In DSM-5, possession is conceptualized as a cultural expression of
Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), formerly termed Multiple Person-
ality Disorder. DID emphasizes the existence of different identity states in
the patient: “Disruption of identity characterized by two or more distinct
personality states, which may be described in some cultures as an experi-
ence of possession.”8 The possessing spirit is here interpreted as a distinct
personality state or identity. DID does not include the occurrence of
trance states, but gaps in memory is a diagnostic criteria for DID. In
sum, both the ICD-11 and the DSM-5 classify possession as a form of
dissociation, which manifests in transient alterations of identity causing
the occurrence of trance states (ICD-11) or memory gaps (DSM-5).
Possession states voluntarily induced under religious ceremonies are
excluded from the diagnosis, since they are not considered pathological
in either the ICD-11 or the DSM-5. To be considered pathological, the
possession state must additionally cause distress; thus, a belief in posses-
sion is not considered pathological if it does not entail distress. ICD-11
was partially released in 2018 (while sections on culture-specific features
are due to be released in 2019) and has not yet been implemented in
the mental health services. This article uses ICD-11’s conceptualization

of PTD, but the core elements of PTD are similar in the ICD-10 version.
Anthropological Perspectives on Possession

This section presents two anthropological theories on spirit posses-
sions—first, spirit possession as an idiom of distress and, next, as a
division into executive and pathogenic possession. A study from 1973 by
the pioneer anthropological researcher on spirit possession, Erika Bour-
guignon, shows that beliefs in spirit possession were present in 74% of
488 societies worldwide, and spirit possession has a long history as an
object of anthropological research (Bourguignon 1973, 31). According
to Bourguignon, spirit possessions can be viewed as a common idiom
of distress (Bourguignon 2004, 570). An idiom of distress is a locally
intelligible way of expressing distress and is deeply interwoven with the
narratives, metaphors, and traditions of the specific culture (Hinton and
Lewis-Fernándes 2010, 210; Nichter 1981, 379). Jinn possessions can
be viewed as an idiom of distress, since in Muslim societies they offer a
widely accepted understanding of the person’s suffering and treatment for
it, such as ruqya (Duijl et al. 2013, 1419; Hecker et al. 2015, 9).
Another prominent anthropologist scholar of spirit possession, Emma
Cohen, divides the idiom of distress further into two types of spirit
possessions—executive and pathogenic (Cohen 2008, 103). According
to Cohen, executive possession entails a spirit, such as a jinnı̄, taking
over the person’s mind, thus making the person’s body a host for the
spirit: “…spirits would inhabit a person’s body, speaking through the
person to reveal their identity” (Cohen 2008, 105). This can be mani-
fested by the person speaking in a different voice or acting differently. In
pathogenic possession, the person’s identity remains intact. Instead, the
spirit contaminates the person’s body causing somatic or psychological
illness in the victim. However, the possession is regarded only as the cause
of the person’s affliction, not as the cardinal symptom itself (Cohen 2008,
114). Hence, whereas executive possession comprises a well-defined and
profound change in identity, pathogenic possession covers a vast variety
of somatic and psychological distress caused by spirit possession.
Possession disorders in ICD-11 and DSM-5 both refer to what Cohen
classifies as executive possession, though trance or memory gaps are not a
necessity in Cohen’s definition (Cohen 2008, 104). Pathogenic posses-
sion is not covered by DID or PTD. The analysis of the cases will show
190 M. GALSGAARD
how the diagnostic manuals in two cases conceptualize the experiences

attributed to what Cohen classifies as pathogenic possession. Cohen’s clas-
sification of possession thus covers a broader spectrum of experiences than
possession in ICD-11 and DSM-5.
Jinn and the Conceptualization

of Possession: Summary
Jinn are invisible spirits mentioned in several places in the Quran, the
Hadiths, other Islamic texts, and Arab folklore. Jinn can make them-
selves visible and can influence and possess humans. The diagnostic
system has defined spirit possession as a dissociative disorder in which
the person’s identity is replaced by another. This is termed executive
possession in Cohen’s classification of spirit possessions. Cohen addition-
ally describes pathogenic possession, in which various forms of distress
are causally attributed to spirits. Before presenting the cases, an example
often attributed to a jinn attack—the night-mare—is provided (Jalal and
Hinton 2013, 537).
The Night-Mare as Jinn Attacks

The night-mare is a phenomenon in which people wake up paralyzed
with a being on top, often strangling or having sexual intercourse with
them. The word is hyphenated to differentiate it from the broader term
nightmare, i.e., a frightening dream. The article takes the night-mare as
an example, since it is often attributed to jinn and is under-researched in
Western biomedicine (Denis et al. 2018, 143). Extensive folklore exists
on the night-mare, and more than 100 cultures have a term for it, but
in the Western world, e.g., Denmark, contemporary narratives on the
phenomenon are rare. Similar to the section on spirit possession, both
a psychiatric and a cultural perspective on the night-mare are presented.
The Psychiatric Perspective on the Night-Mare

In psychiatric language, the night-mare is called sleep paralysis (SP) with
incubus phenomenon. Sleep paralysis is a common phenomenon, and 75%
of those afflicted with it will simultaneously experience types of halluci-
nations —called hypnagogic (while falling asleep) and hypnopompic (while
awakening). These hallucinations often take the form of an evil presence
in the room (intruder phenomenon) or a being sitting on top of them

(incubus phenomenon). Neurological studies suggest, though, that SP is
a faulty variation of REM sleep, in which the person’s consciousness is
caught in a limbo state between the dream world’s vivid imagery and the
waking state (Cheyne et al. 1999, 320; Molendijk et al. 2017, 2). Several
REM processes are still active when SP occurs.
The first process still active is the temporary inhibition of motor centers
of the brain, resulting in motor paralysis. Motor paralysis makes the
person unable to speak, and his or her breathing becomes automatic. The
temporary paralysis during REM sleep prevents the person from acting
out his or her dream. Becoming aware and attempting to breathe in this
state will cause a sensation of suffocation (Cheyne et al. 1999, 322). The
second REM process still active is a strong activation of the brain’s fear
system, comprising the limbic system (Hobson et al. 1998, R2). When
people gain consciousness during SP, they feel severe anxiety symptoms
including heavy pressure on the chest and a choking sensation around
the throat. At the same time, the fear system produces a sense of terror,
danger, and alertness.
It is still uncertain how the hypnagogic and hypnopompic hallucina-
tions are created. Cheyne et al. (1999, 321–322, 332) suggest that the
perceptual activity of REM dreaming is faultily activated during SP. The
sense of danger and bodily anxiety symptoms suffuse perceptual activity,
creating intruder, or incubus hallucinations. SP with hypnagogic and
hypnopompic hallucinations is a normal and widespread phenomenon in
the general population, though there is a high correlation with PTSD,
dissociative symptoms, anxiety, and depression (Jalal and Hinton 2013,
535–536; Molendijk et al. 2017, 4). McNally and Clancy argue that
psychopathology, e.g., PTSD and depression, causes an erratic sleep,
which will heighten the risk of developing the SP state (McNally and
Clancy 2005, 600).
The Anthropological
Perspective on the Night-Mare
The night-mare has been described in folk tales throughout history and
around the world (Cox 2015; Davies 2003, 3). The phenomenon was
already described in Chinese literature in 400 AD and in ancient Greece
(Sharpless and Doghramji 2015, 18; Wing et al. 1999, 151). In Scandi-
navian and English folk tales, the being is conceptualized as a mare that
192 M. GALSGAARD
rides on top of people’s chests at night, giving them bad dreams, hence
the word night-mare (Davies 2003, 183). In present-day Western society,
the paroxysm has been coupled with alien abductions and shadow people
(Sharpless 2016, 39–40).
The night-mare is a global phenomenon, though the variance in its
occurrence from country to country (and from study to study) is massive
(Sharpless and Doghramji 2015, 95). In Germany, the lifetime prevalence
of the broader phenomenon SP is 5%, in Denmark 25%, in Egypt 44%,
and in Canada 62% (Molendijk et al. 2017, 2; Jalal and Hinton 2013,
534).
Cultural Understandings
Co-Create the Experience
In a study by Jalal and Hinton, SP was compared in the general popu-
lation of Egypt and Denmark with the aim of investigating how SP
rates and phenomenology vary in relation to differences in explanatory
models due to differences in religiosity and cultural backgrounds (Jalal
and Hinton 2013, 534–548; Jalal et al. 2014, 158–175). The word SP is
used in this section, since the study did not focus solely on the night-mare
phenomenon, but on SP in general. In Egypt, the lifetime prevalence of
SP was 44%, and in Denmark, the lifetime prevalence was 25%. In Egypt, a
large percentage of those experiencing SP, 50%, feared they were going to
die during it, while in Denmark it was only 17%. In Egypt, 71% believed
that the cause of the SP was supernatural, 48% thought it was specifically
caused by a malevolent jinnı̄ and 22% believed it was caused by a shayt.ān
(Jalal et al. 2014, 163). In 90% of the cases in which a person attributed
the SP to a jinnı̄ and turned to an imam, the imam confirmed that the SP
was a jinn attack and recommended Quranic recitation as treatment, thus
showing that attributing SP to a jinn attack is legitimate within (some)
Muslim communities (Jalal et al. 2014, 163). Jalal and Hinton (2013,
543) suggest that, in cultures that offer conceptualization and explanation
for SP, people will be culturally primed to recognize and label their experi-
ence. According to the salience hypothesis, there is an expectancy-induced
sensitivity to the recognition of SP in a country where SP is understood in
the context of jinn affliction and where religious treatments are offered
(Jalal and Hinton 2013, 543). The person will be prepared to identify
subtle cues of paralysis and attempt to move during the paralysis, thereby
confirming an SP that might have gone unnoticed if the person had not
been primed. In accordance with the salience hypothesis, when the culture
offers you cognitive categories to understand the SP experience, you are
more likely to identify and notice the experience. The salience hypoth-
esis could further explain why Canada has a high prevalence of SP, since
Canadian cultures offer an extensive vocabulary on the phenomenon in
aboriginal Inuit folklore, Newfoundland folklore (the old hag ), popular
culture representations, and pranks (Adler 2011, 18).
Night-Mare: Summary
The night-mare is a widespread, global, and non-pathological
phenomenon. Psychiatric research has interpreted the phenomenon
as being caused by disturbed REM sleep, while folklore interprets the
phenomenon as caused by jinn or a mare, for instance. Research suggests
that the night-mare is highly malleable to the narratives offered by the
culture to conceptualize the phenomenon.
Case Presentation
The preceding section presented the notion of jinn and the theory of
possession, as well as a phenomenon explained in terms of jinn attacks.
Next, this article provides a clinical presentation of three patients, who
attribute distress to jinn influence or possession. These cases derive
from the Competence Centre for Transcultural Psychiatry (CTP) located
in Copenhagen. The CTP is a psychiatric outpatient facility primarily
treating refugees traumatized with PTSD. The majority of the patients are
Muslims from Iraq, Iran, Palestine, Syria, and Afghanistan. The patients
in the cases have all been diagnosed with PTSD in accordance with ICD-
10 criteria.9 ICD-10 has been used to diagnose the cases, since the latest
version ICD-11 has just come out and has not yet been put into use at
the CTP. The cases display different phenomena with varying degrees of
normality and psychopathology attributed to jinn affliction or possession.
They will later be analyzed using the previously presented perspectives on
possession.
Case 1
Description. Shukria is a 48-year-old woman from Afghanistan who grew

up in a Pashtun family in the countryside. She is Sunni, fasts during
194 M. GALSGAARD
Ramadan, and listens to Quran recitations on her SmartPhone. She was

married to her cousin at the age of 17. She has never gone to school
and is illiterate. Shukria was referred to the CTP by her general prac-
titioner. She witnessed the execution of several family members by the
Taliban. Furthermore, she experienced war between the Soviet army and
the mujahidun in the 1980s and the following period of warlords vying
for power in her country.
PTSD symptomology. Shukria presents with symptoms of PTSD
and depression, including re-experiencing trauma in night-mares, intru-
sive memories, and flashbacks. She suffers from hyperarousal, causing
angry outbursts, anxiety, chronic tension headaches, widespread pain, and
memory loss. She sleeps 2–3 h a night and feels isolated.
Affliction attributed to jinn. Intermittently throughout the week,
Shukria wakes up during the night, paralyzed and unable to speak. At the
foot of the bed, she sees a being crawling on top of her chest and stran-
gling her. Shukria believes that the being is a malevolent jinnı̄ that has
possessed her and makes her unable to move or speak. Shukria suspects
that the same jinnı̄ makes her quarrel with her family, causing her chronic
headaches and recurrent nightmares.
During her treatment at the CTP, Shukria suffered from suicidal
thoughts and had suicidal plans, therefore she was admitted to an inpa-
tient psychiatric hospital. In the diagnostic assessment at the hospital,
the medical doctor evaluated Shukria’s experiences at night as an expres-
sion of psychosis. In addition, Shukria described her suicidal thoughts
as a whisper from the Devil (shayt.ān). The doctor interpreted this as
a symptom of psychosis, potentially schizophrenia. The mental health
professionals at the CTP did not find psychotic symptoms.
Case 2
Description. Aya is a 56-year-old Shiite Muslim from Iran who grew up

in a dysfunctional family in the countryside. She prays three times a day,
and recites āya al-kursi before bedtime. In her hometown, inexplicable
episodes are often attributed to devils (shayāt.ı̄n). Her parents told Aya
that a devil (shayt.ān) would appear if she did not follow their commands,
e.g., go to bed on time. The family, especially male family members, used
opium. As a child and young adult, Aya experienced severe sexual abuse
from an uncle. On several occasions from the age of five until she turned
14, Aya was locked in a room, tied to a bed, and assaulted by her uncle.
He told Aya that a devil (shayt.ān) would kill her and her parents, if she
told anyone of the abuse.
PTSD symptomology. Aya has symptoms of PTSD, including re-
experiences of the abuse, high arousal, avoidance behavior, and dissocia-
tive symptoms.
Affliction attributed to jinn. At night Aya, wakes up paralyzed,
sensing and seeing a being who rapes her. Aya feels like her hands are
tied to the bed while the assault is happening. She can often hear the
sound of keys locking and unlocking her bedroom door, even though the
door has no lock. She defines the being as a devil (shayt.ān).
During the day, Aya senses the being behind her, though she never
sees it. She describes it as “a shayt.ān that haunts me around the house.”
Aya can feel its breath on her neck, its fingers sliding up her arms, and its
hands holding her arms down. She can smell the being, which reminds
her of her uncle’s sweat. The being says derogatory comments, e.g., “you
look disgusting,” “you are a slut.” The voice sounds like her uncle’s.
The creature first appeared when Aya was eight. She has looked up ruqya
on YouTube, but prefers treatment at the CTP if that can alleviate her
symptoms.
Case 3
Description. Ahmad is a 45-year-old man from Tunisia who had a safe

and good childhood and adolescence. Ahmad is Sunni, prays five times a
day, and often goes to his mosque in Copenhagen. He frequently reads
the Quran and listens to recitations on YouTube. In Tunisia, he was
imprisoned for five years, during which he was severely tortured.
PTSD symptomology. Ahmad was initially diagnosed with PTSD
and suffered from flashbacks, night-mares, irritability, sleep disturbances,
concentration difficulties, and social withdrawal.
Affliction attributed to jinn. Six months into his treatment at the
CTP, Ahmad physically assaulted a taxi driver and a policeman. When
Ahmad explained the incident to his medical doctor at the CTP, he
disclosed symptoms he had earlier concealed. According to Ahmad, since
the age of 20, he has been possessed by a jinnı̄ who commands him
on a daily basis to act in certain ways. During the assault, Ahmad felt
like his actions were controlled by the jinnı̄, who commanded him to
harm the taxi driver by saying “Burn him!” and “Do something so he
196 M. GALSGAARD
runs away!” Ahmad reported that during the assault, he could not distin-
guish between dream and reality and that the incident felt like a distant
memory. He remembered vaguely being hit by a police officer, but at
the time perceived the blow as if it were the possessing jinnı̄ who had
been hit and remembers thinking that the jinnı̄ had deserved it. Addi-
tionally, Ahmad attributes some other phenomena to the jinn possession,
including a sensation of insects crawling under his skin and daily visual
scenarios in which he stands in the midst of hell, surrounded by hellfire.
Often things in front of him will change form, e.g., he has recently seen
his wife change into his mother. According to Ahmad, the jinnı̄ places
abnormal sexual fantasies in his head, but he is reluctant to elaborate on
the fantasies, since they are sinful. Like Shukria, Ahmad also wakes up
paralyzed with a sensation of a being, interpreted as the jinnı̄, sitting on
top of him, strangling him. At his local mosque in Copenhagen Ahmad
tried ruqya, an Islamic healing therapy, that attempts to expel the jinnı̄,
from the body, but without effect. In a session with his medical doctor at
the CTP, Ahmad expressed his fear of transferring the jinnı̄ to the doctor
and the translator. After the session, the translator said that she too was
afraid of the jinnı̄ being transferred by eye contact (as a form of the evil
eye).
Findings
The following section analyzes and compares the three cases from a
possession perspective to see if the possession theories can grasp the
experiences the patients attribute to jinn. The analysis is based on theo-
ries presented in the introduction, both cultural perspectives on spirit
possession and diagnostic conceptualizations of possession states. Other
psychiatric concepts are included where the psychiatric conceptualization
of possession does not capture the phenomena.
An introductory overview of phenomena attributed to jinn or shayt.ān
in the three cases is depicted in Table 10.1.
Pathogenic Possession, Sleep Paralysis,

and PTSD with Psychotic Symptoms
Both Shukria and Aya see the jinnı̄ and the shayt.ān primarily as external
spirits that haunt them. In both cases, the spirits are attributed control
Table 10.1 Patients’ attribution of phenomena to spirits
Shukria Aya Ahmad
A jinnı̄ attacks her at night A shayt.ān raping her at A jinnı̄ attacks him at
• Causes paralysis and night night
muteness during attack • Causes paralysis and • Causes paralysis and
The jinnı̄ also causes: muteness during attack muteness during attack
• Marital discord Follows her around during Possessed by jinnı̄ since
• Chronic headaches the day, felt by: age 20. The jinnı̄ exerts
• Recurrent night-mares • Breath on neck, hands control by:
Suicidal thoughts stemming on arms • Commanding comments
from shayt.ān (waswās) • Derogatory comments • Creating images of hell
• Smell reminding Aya of • Changing objects in
her uncle front of him, e.g., wife
to mother
• Inserting sexual fantasies
in his head
• Controlling actions
during physical assault
• Attacking him at night
over the victims’ bodies by causing them paralysis and muteness during
the nightly attacks. In Shukria’s case, the jinnı̄ is additionally seen as
the cause of her marital discord, chronic headaches, and recurrent night-
mares. In Aya’s case, the shayt.ān is seen solely as an external spirit during
the day. Shukria and Aya conceptualize the spirit encounters as posses-
sion, but would their experiences be understood as possession from an
anthropological and psychiatric perspective?
During the spirit encounters, which Shukria and Aya interpret as
possession, neither of their identities is replaced by a possessing identity,
thus neither case is captured by Cohen’s concept of executive possession.
However, the two cases can potentially be captured by Cohen’s concept
of pathogenic possession, in which the spirit is seen as the cause of distress,
e.g., their transitory paralysis and muteness. In Shukria’s case, the jinnı̄
is additionally seen as causing more persistent distress in the form of
both relational problems and psychological symptoms, so Shukria’s expe-
riences are in clear congruence with Cohen’s conception of pathogenic
possession as a causal attribution. In Aya’s case, the shayt.ān is primarily
a haunting external spirit rather than a cause of affliction, aside from the
transient paralysis and muteness. Thus, it is not certain whether Aya’s
experiences would be covered by Cohen’s conception, since the spirit
198 M. GALSGAARD
does not seem to influence Aya through continuous illness or adversity,

but more through its mere presence.
Cohen’s conception of pathogenic possession through contamination
can mediate the bridge between external, non-transgressing spirits and
internal influence. Lim et al.’s statement that a mere (external) touch of
a jinnı̄ can cause a wide range of (internal) afflictions, e.g., depression
and anxiety, connects to Cohen’s metaphor of pathogenic contamina-
tion through physical contact—mere touch—between spirit and human
(Lim et al. 2015, 21). In a study by van Duijl, Kleijn, and de Jong
on spirit possessions in Uganda, only 24% of spirit-possessed patients
reported symptoms of identity replacement, while the majority experi-
enced the possession as an external source of control: “…as if the spirits
are around and influencing the patient from outside” (Duijl et al. 2013,
1421, 1428). Cohen’s classification of pathogenic possession seems able
to capture the experience of being influenced by the spirit even though
the patient’s identity is still intact.
Neither Aya’s nor Shukria’s experiences would be classified as posses-
sions in ICD-11 (or ICD-10), and DSM 5 adduces the arguments that
the experiences would not be classified as executive possession. Further,
neither appears to be in a trance state or suffer from gaps in their memo-
ries of the encounters. The conceptualization of possession in DSM-5
and ICD-11 does not capture these forms of encounters with jinn.
Instead, in a psychiatric setting, the phenomena attributed to jinn would
be interpreted using other psychiatric concepts—sleep paralysis with
incubus phenomenon and psychotic trauma-related hallucinations—while
the patients’ jinn beliefs would be disregarded.
Sleep Paralysis with Incubus Phenomenon

In all three cases, the patients report waking up paralyzed, while
simultaneously seeing and feeling a being on top of them during the
night. As presented earlier, Western psychiatry conceptualizes this night-
mare phenomenon as sleep paralysis (SP) with incubus phenomenon
(Molendijk et al. 2017, 2; Cheyne et al. 1999, 325). Shukria and Ahmad
understand the phenomena they experience at night as an attack from
a malevolent jinnı̄. Folklore regarding jinn attacks occurring at night
is widespread, and in Islam, dreams are interpreted as a gateway to
the unseen world (Jalal et al. 2014, 163). In addition, being paralyzed
and muted are phenomena often attributed to jinn possession and spirit
possession in general (Lim et al. 2015, 23; Cohen 2008, 105). In a study
by Jalal et al., the majority (90%) of subjects attributing their SP to a jinn
attack were confirmed in their attribution by their community and imams
(Jalal et al. 2014, 163, 167). Shukria’s and Ahmad’s interpretation of this
nocturnal phenomenon is in line with the notion of the spirit world in
their cultural community. In Aya’s case, the content of her hypnopompic
hallucinations appears closely linked to her trauma experiences (the feeling
of being tied, the sound of keys, the rape). Studies have shown a high
correlation between childhood sexual abuse (CSA) and SP with incubus
phenomenon (McNally and Clancy 2005, 598; Denis et al. 2018, 145–
146). Aya’s experience could suggest that hypnagogic and hypnopompic
hallucinations during SP are formed not only by her cultural frame, but
also by traumatic experiences.
Childhood Sexual Abuse and Hallucination

During the day, Aya experiences the presence of a creature behind
her. She does not see it, but smells, feels, and hears it. In a clinical
setting, Aya’s daytime experiences could be assessed as typical olfactory,
tactile, and auditory hallucinations, since the hallucinations do not occur
in connection with SP. One could argue that Aya’s hallucinations are
trauma-related based on their content (the voice and smell of her uncle,
derogatory commentary) and early onset (simultaneous with traumas).
Studies have shown a high correlation between particularly tactile and
olfactory hallucinations and childhood sexual abuse (CSA) (Read et al.
2003, 9). Read et al. have further shown a high correlation between CSA
and the ascription of the hallucinations to an evil archetype like shayt.ān
and Iblis in Islam (Read et al. 2003, 337). The specific archetype depends
on the person’s cultural context, e.g., a monster, alien, witch, Satan,
Iblis. A high percentage (40%) of traumatized refugees at the Compe-
tence Center for Transcultural Psychiatry in Copenhagen suffers from
psychotic symptoms concurrent with PTSD that cannot be covered by
flashbacks (Nygaard et al. 2017, 1). Currently, there is no diagnosis in
ICD-10, ICD-11, or DSM-5 of psychotic symptoms coupled to PTSD,
though several researchers have argued for such a diagnosis (Compean
and Hamner 2019, 273–274; Norredam et al. 2011, 5).
To conclude, Shukria and Aya’s experiences can be classified as
pathogenic possession from an anthropological perspective. From a
psychiatric perspective, neither Shukria’s nor Aya’s experiences fulfills
200 M. GALSGAARD
the criteria for possession states in ICD-11 and DSM-5. The psychi-
atric perspective would disregard Shukria’s and Aya’s explanatory models
and instead assess the phenomena as underlying non-pathological SP with
incubus phenomenon and as psychotic symptoms.
Executive Possession, Possession

States, and Paranoid Schizophrenia
Ahmad’s jinn encounters have some similarities to Aya’s and Shukria’s,
but are in several respects qualitatively different. While, like Aya and
Shukria, Ahmad experiences nocturnal spirit attacks, the jinnı̄ exerts
comparatively more control over his mind and body during the day
than in Aya’s and Shukria’s cases. The jinnı̄ inserts sexual fantasies into
Ahmad’s head, commands him to act in specific ways, and creates visual
imagery of hell, among other things (see Table 10.1). During the physical
assault, the jinnı̄ exerts complete control over Ahmad’s mind, body, and
actions.
In Cohen’s typology, Ahmad’s jinn possession would be classified
as an executive possession, since the jinnı̄ controls Ahmad’s mind and
actions during the assault—Ahmad becomes the host of the jinnı̄’s iden-
tity. Furthermore, Ahmad’s religious community appears to interpret his
experiences as a jinn possession. The spiritual healer’s attempt at ruqya
on Ahmad at his mosque and the Arabic translator’s fear of becoming
possessed by Ahmad’s jinnı̄ indicate that Ahmad’s explanatory model of
jinn possession is in congruence with jinn beliefs in his religious commu-
nity. One could speculate whether the notion of jinn transference has
some similarities to the concept of pathogenic possessions through the
idea of contamination and transmission (e.g., like a virus). It appears that
Ahmad implies that the transference can happen by the mere presence
and discussion of the jinnı̄.
From a psychiatric perspective, Ahmad’s possession during the phys-
ical assault is the experience most similar to the conceptualization of
possession states in ICD-11 (PTD) and DSM-5 (DID), which includes
an identity replacement —in PTD coupled with a trance state and in DID
coupled with memory gaps. Ahmad describes his mind and actions as
controlled by the malevolent jinnı̄ during the physical assault. Ahmad
feels like this possessing jinnı̄ has replaced his identity and intentional
agency, though he is still present as a passive observer. In addition, Ahmad
experiences memory loss of the event, manifested by big gaps in his recall
of the situation. Ahmad hereby fulfills the criteria for DID. In relation
to the trance criteria in PTD, Ahmad seems to be in a state of altered
consciousness that could be described as a dissociative trance encompassing
a sensation of being in a dream (termed “derealization”), observing
oneself from the outside (termed “depersonalization”), memory loss, and
“going blank”.
Following the incident, the medical doctor at the CTP diagnosed
Ahmad with paranoid schizophrenia and interpreted his experiences as
an expression of psychosis, rather than possession state. The diagnosis
paranoid schizophrenia is given instead of PTD or DID, based on the
following criteria: family history, age of onset of the psychotic symptoms,
lack of connection to traumatic experience, and presence of a broad range
of psychotic symptoms.
Table 10.2 presents an overview of the analytical findings of the three
cases.
There are several characteristics in Ahmad’s symptomology and devel-
opmental psychopathology that point to paranoid schizophrenia. First,
schizophrenia has a high genetic heritability (79%) and Ahmad has a
family history of psychosis—his father and two brothers also suffer from
psychotic symptoms (Hilker et al. 2018, 492). Second, Ahmad’s psychotic
symptoms first appeared at the age of 20. The typical age of onset for
schizophrenia is from the end of the teenage years to the early twen-
ties, while DID and PTD often occur in relation to childhood trauma or
severe social stressors (Nolen-Hoeksema 2007, 377; Gogtay et al. 2011,
504). In contrast to Aya’s hallucinations, Ahmad’s did not first appear in
Table 10.2 Anthropological and psychiatric findings
Shukria Aya Ahmad
PTSD (recurrent nightmares, PTSD Paranoid schizophrenia

chronic headaches, marital Psychotic hallucinations with comorbid PTSD
discord due to heightened (olfactoy, tactile, auditory)
arousal)
SP with incubus SP with incubus SP with incubus
phenomenon phenomenon phenomenon
Does not fulfill criteria for Does not fulfill criteria for Does not fulfill criteria for
PTD or DID PTD or DID PTD and DID, but
symptoms are interpreted
as Paranoid schizophrenia
202 M. GALSGAARD
relation to traumas, and the content of the hallucinations does not seem
trauma-related.
Hallucinations and delusions are cardinal symptoms of schizophrenia
– the commanding voice is interpreted as second person auditory hallucina-
tions and the sensations of insects under his skin as tactile hallucinations .
The visual scenarios of hell and the objects changing form in front of him
(e.g., his wife changing to his mother) are interpreted as visual hallu-
cinations. Ahmad’s understanding of the hallucinations as being caused
by a malevolent jinnı̄ is interpreted as an accompanying delusion. When
Ahmad says that the jinnı̄ controls his actions, this is interpreted as a
delusion of influence, which is a belief that thoughts, actions, or emotions
are caused by external influence, e.g., by magic or hypnosis.10 When
Ahmad states that the jinnı̄ places sexual fantasies in his head, this is
interpreted as thought insertion, which is a delusion that someone or
something has placed thoughts in your head. Thought insertion is a
cardinal symptom of schizophrenia, and if it is present for more than a
month, the patient can be diagnosed with schizophrenia based solely on
that symptom (WHO 2015, F20). Several of the hallucinatory or delu-
sional symptoms during the physical assault could also be understood as
signs of possession state, but from a psychiatric perspective the somewhat
constant presence of auditory, visual, and tactile hallucinations further
underlines the psychotic character of Ahmad’s distress, whereas possession
states are more transient.
In Ahmad’s case, the divergence between the anthropological and
the psychiatric conceptualization of the phenomena is profound. Both
Cohen’s term “executive possession” and the response from Ahmad’s
religious community identify Ahmad’s symptoms as a jinn possession.
In a psychiatric setting, Ahmad would be diagnosed with paranoid
schizophrenia instead of PTD or DID.
Culture-Specific Narratives Getting

Lost in the Psychiatric Maze
Cultural sensitivity and knowledge can enable a good alliance with
patients who have an ethnic-minority background and can prevent misdi-
agnosis due to culturally related misunderstandings. While Shukria was
at the CTP, she was admitted to an inpatient psychiatric hospital for a
couple of days due to suicidal thoughts. The hospital’s medical doctor
who assessed her symptoms suspected psychosis.
First, Shukria told the medical doctor that shayt.ān gave her suicidal
thoughts and tried to lure her into doing sinful things, which the
medical doctor interpreted as an expression of thought insertion and
delusion of influence, as mentioned also in Ahmad’s case. At the CTP,
Shukria’s formulations were understood as a cultural idiom, rather than
an expression of psychosis. For Shukria and many other Muslim patients,
ascribing negative or sinful thoughts to shayt.ān (termed waswās, shayt.ān’s
whisper11 ) is a cultural way of expressing distress and distancing oneself
from the negative thoughts. In contrast to Western societies, in which
people often identify strongly with their thoughts, positive or negative,
the ascription of thoughts to shayt.ān can create a reflective distance to
the thoughts and thereby make it easier not to act in accordance with
them. Shayt.ān can be understood as a destructive impulse every human
possesses, and it is his or her responsibility to avoid acting in accordance
with the impulse. The act of suicide is considered a grave sin in Islam, and
suicide is condemned especially in the Hadiths (Rosenthal 1946, 243).
Shukria often used shayt.ān as a metaphor in therapy when talking about
her negative thoughts, and her mode of expression is in line with her
religious community’s explanatory model for negative thoughts.
Second, the psychiatric hospital’s medical doctor interpreted Shukria’s
experience with the being sitting on top of her when she slept as
visual and tactile hallucinations. Additionally, her explanation of the
phenomenon that a malevolent jinnı̄ had possessed her was interpreted as
an accompanying delusion coupled to the hallucinations. In contrast, the
medical doctor at the CTP did not find Shukria psychotic. Unlike Ahmad
and Aya, she suffered only from hallucinations (hypnopompic) in relation
to her SP. Here, the lack of awareness of SP with incubus phenomenon in
Western psychiatry can have negative implications for patients, who can
be misinterpreted as psychotic. As mentioned earlier, Shukria’s interpre-
tation of SP with incubus phenomenon as a jinn attack is a widespread
and culturally legitimate interpretation, so her understanding cannot
automatically be deemed delusional.
To conclude, cultural knowledge enhances the assessment of Shukria’s
symptoms and, unlike Aya and Ahmad, she is not considered psychotic.
Her case illuminates the perils of not including cultural knowledge in
the assessment of the patient’s symptoms, which can lead to misdiag-
nosis and inadequate treatment. The three cases suggest that the field
of jinn possession covers a vast and complex set of phenomena and
204 M. GALSGAARD
symptoms. The diagnostic findings in the cases might indicate that psychi-
atry should view jinn possessions as covering a heterogeneous field of
psychopathology and normal phenomena (Hecker et al. 2015). This
could potentially be an argument for understanding jinn possessions as
an idiom of distress with vast expression possibilities for the individuals,
sometimes overlapping with severe psychopathology, sometimes overlap-
ping with non-pathological phenomena. However, it is important to bear
in mind that only three cases are presented in this article, so the findings
must be interpreted with caution.
Discussion of the Findings

This section discusses the pitfalls of failing to include either a cultural
perspective, on the one hand, or a psychiatric perspective, on the other,
in the assessment of patient’s attribution of symptoms to jinn.
Limitations of the Psychiatric Perspective

The findings in these cases demonstrate that an anthropological perspec-
tive on spirit possessions is able to grasp more phenomena attributed
to jinn possession than a psychiatric perspective is. Cohen’s conception
of pathogenic possession captures a variety of phenomena attributed to
jinn that the diagnostic conceptualization of possession does not cover.
Possession states in DSM-5 and ICD-11 are rigorously limited to what
Cohen refers to as executive possession, coupled with either memory
gaps or trance. The phenomena attributed to pathogenic possession are
covered by other non-culture-specific concepts like SP and hallucinations,
while the explanatory models of the patients are disregarded. Cohen’s
concept of pathogenic possession captures a way of attributing the cause
of symptoms to spirits, which is very widespread and cultural acceptable.
Pathogenic possession offers the clinician an understanding of a common
attribution style in patients from other cultures.
Cultural variation is granted more significance in later versions of ICD
and DSM, e.g., through DSM-5’s Cultural Formulation Interview and
the inclusion of concepts like cultural idioms of distress. Concurrently, the
manuals still seem to offer limited language to assist clinicians in general
psychiatry to recognize widespread cultural idioms, which can become
crucial for differentiating between expressions of underlying psychosis
and non-pathology. The diagnostic assessment of Shukria’s symptoms as
psychotic during her hospitalization illustrates the risk of misdiagnosis

and thus inadequate treatment for Muslim patients in mental health facil-
ities where cultural knowledge is not emphasized. Culturally sensitive
assessment is challenging when there is not even rudimentary cultural
knowledge; this places a high degree of responsibility for attaining cultural
knowledge on the individual clinician working in general psychiatry.
One can argue that it is important that mental health services special-
ized in cultural psychiatry offer education in cultural competencies and
cultural humility to clinicians working in general psychiatry in order to
enhance diagnostic assessment and adequate treatment for patients with
an ethnic-minority background.
One particularly noteworthy concept for clinicians treating Muslim
patients is al-ghayb, the unseen world. Where Islam offers space for an
unseen spirit world, al-ghayb, and metaphysical explanations of the world,
the biomedical diagnostic system is based on material or physical realism
and natural science. The findings in cases accentuate a conflict of inter-
pretations based not only on misunderstanding, but also on divergent
ontological positions. In the psychiatric diagnostic manuals ICD-11 and
DSM-5, psychosis is characterized by deficient reality testing, resulting in
delusions or seeing, hearing, or sensing things that are not there. What
“reality” consists of, e.g., the possibility of an unseen spirit world, is deter-
mined by the person’s cultural background and worldview. Whereas black
magic, spirit possession, and the evil eye exist in Islam, mental health
professionals unfamiliar with these concepts easily misinterpret them as
delusions. In some Islamic communities, folk tales of people seeing jinn
are fairly widespread and accepted, but in a psychiatric setting, they would
be interpreted as hallucinations. The mismatch in explanatory models can
lead to misunderstandings due to fundamental differences in ontological
vantage points. The findings in the cases highlight that the diagnostic
manuals are based on a secular, scientific worldview that offers little
room for religious beliefs in unseen worlds. A clinician’s awareness of
the existence of other worldviews and his or her own cultural position
can strengthen his or her relationship with the patient, besides enabling a
more exact diagnosis.
The intercultural encounter can further illuminate other limitations
of using the psychiatric perspective on patients from other cultures.
The earlier versions of the main diagnostic manuals ICD-10 and DSM-
IV have been criticized for using the concepts culture-specific disorders
and culture-bound syndromes, which referred to psychiatric syndromes
206 M. GALSGAARD
present only in a specific culture. Nevertheless, neither manual used

the notion of culture-specific psychopathology in reference to Western
societies (Kirmayer 2013, 56:16). When culture was mentioned in ICD-
10 or DSM-IV, it was criticized for referring solely to non-Western
culture, while Western culture was left invisible and unnoticed. DSM-5
has responded to much of this critique. ICD-11’s appendix on what will
be termed culture-specific features has yet to come out. Even though the
diagnostic manuals have made immense and important steps toward a
more culturally inclusive approach, there are still features of the Western-
based origin of the manuals. The pioneer researcher in cultural psychiatry
Laurence Kirmayer has highlighted that DID (formerly Multiple Person-
ality Disorder) was seldom found outside Western societies before the
inclusion of possession states in the diagnosis (Kirmayer 2013, 58:28–
59:40). Kirmayer plays with the idea that, from a cultural perspective,
DID could be understood as a Western-bound version of spirit possession:
in an individualistic, secular society, subjects do not become occupied by
spirits or gods, but instead by dissociated parts of themselves. From this
radical perspective, spirit possession is as much a variation of DID, as
DID is an individualistic, secular variation of spirit possessions. From this
perspective, the conceptualization of psychopathology is never free from
or above culture, but is always interwoven in cultural norms, discourses,
and history. This perspective can illuminate, e.g., how the prevalence of
a Western-related disorder like anorexia nervosa is highly dependent on
cultural norms of body image, gender, and self-governance. A look at
other cultures enables us to recognize our own.
Limitations of the Cultural Perspective

It is not solely the psychiatric perspective that benefits from encompassing
a cultural perspective. An exclusively cultural perspective on distress can
also be challenging if it is not combined with a psychiatric perspec-
tive. The findings in our cases suggest that it is perilous to understand
a patient’s attribution of symptoms to jinn solely as a local idiom of
distress without assessing the symptoms from a psychiatric perspective.
From a psychiatric perspective, what might be interpreted in Cohen’s
terminology as either executive or pathogenic possession covers a wide
variety of psychopathology. Interpreting beliefs in jinn possession exclu-
sively in terms of an idiom of distress can lead to disregarding severe
psychopathology. Jinn beliefs offer a language and a treatment for a range
of symptoms in countries where psychiatric understandings and treatment

are often limited. It may seem puzzling how such a wide variety of adver-
sities, among them marital discord, chronic headache, and hallucinations
attributed to jinn influence and possession, all seem to need the same
cure, ruqya. In a psychiatric setting, the three cases would be interpreted
as expressions of fundamentally different underlying psychopathology and
require qualitatively different psychiatric treatment, both medically and
therapeutically.
Ahmad had gone to his mosque and received ruqya based on
phenomena that a psychiatrist would consider cardinal symptoms of para-
noid schizophrenia. Based on Ahmad’s belief that the symptoms were
caused by jinn possession, he did not disclose the symptoms to his
medical doctor, leaving the severe psychopathology without psychiatric
treatment. In some cases, imams and spiritual healers will encounter and
make the initial screening of people with severe psychopathology before
psychiatric treatment is sought. This emphasizes how important it is for
spiritual healers to have fundamental psychopathological knowledge and a
high willingness to refer persons to psychiatric treatment when uncertain.
It could be beneficial to offer education in psychopathology to spiri-
tual healers to upgrade their screening process. In Ahmad’s case, the
untreated paranoid schizophrenia led to detrimental, and perhaps avoid-
able, consequences for Ahmad, the police officer, and the taxi driver.
These developments suggest how important it is for spiritual healers and
imams to encourage patients like Ahmad to seek psychiatric treatment
and to disclose all their afflictions, including those attributed to jinn
possession.
In addition, idioms of distress are never solely innocent descriptions,
but can place responsibility for the distress by providing its possible cause,
e.g., not following Quran scripture properly or acting sinfully. Aya’s hallu-
cinations of shayt.ān appear to be related to her childhood sexual abuse.
Attributing Aya’s experiences to a shayt.ān could amplify her feelings of
shame and sinfulness, feelings often present in victims of CSA. Beliefs in
spirits can possibly place responsibility for the symptoms of CSA on the
victims and inhibit focusing on the CSA they have suffered. The rela-
tion between Aya’s underlying trauma of childhood sexual abuse and
her experiences with shayt.ān could go unnoticed and unacknowledged
in a religious or an anthropological perspective. Furthermore, attributing
distress to the evil eye or black magic caused by members of the commu-
nity can potentially increase social distrust and hostile feelings in the
208 M. GALSGAARD
community. This can further exacerbate a schizophrenic disorder with

paranoia, which is the psychiatric disorder most often attributed to jinn.
Conclusion
Three cases were analyzed to explore the benefits of incorporating a
cultural and a psychiatric perspective when treating Muslim patients
who believe in jinn within Western mental health services. The study
showed that jinn beliefs cover a vast range of symptoms, some non-
pathological and other expressions of severe psychopathology. Anthropo-
logical and cultural perspectives are not able to detect when symptoms are
psychopathological, which demonstrates that the psychiatric perspective
is indispensable. Therefore, providing information about mental health
and possibilities for psychiatric treatment to key persons, e.g., imams and
spiritual healers, is crucial to avoid delays in treatment.
The study further demonstrated that the main psychiatric diagnostic
manuals are somewhat Western-based, and a cultural perspective is there-
fore often necessary when working with patients from non-Western
cultures. To optimize the diagnostic assessment and treatment of Muslim
patients and prevent misdiagnosis and inadequate treatment, clinicians in
psychiatric institutions should have greater awareness and better under-
standing of jinn beliefs.
The intercultural encounter between jinn beliefs and Western psychi-
atry is an under-researched field. Further studies could explore questions
like: how do imams and spiritual healers screen distress attributed to jinn
beliefs—whom do they perceive as patients suited for religious healing
and whom do they refer to mental health facilities? And how do Muslim
psychiatric patients with jinn beliefs navigate between and perhaps inte-
grate a religious and a psychiatric perspective on and healing of their
distress? More research can potentially enhance the treatment of Muslim
patients with jinn beliefs.
Notes
1. Q 15:26–27; 55:15, translation by Abdel Haleem.
2. Q 72:14, translation by Abdel Haleem.
5. World Health Organization, International Statistical Classification of

Diseases and Related Health Problems, 11th ed., “Possession trance
disorder”.
6. American Psychiatric Association, Diagnostic And Statistical Manual of
Mental Disorders: DSM -5, 5th ed. “Dissociative disorders”.
Diseases and Related Health Problems, 11th ed., “Possession trance
disorder”.
8. American Psychiatric Association, Diagnostic And Statistical Manual of
Mental Disorders : DSM -5, “Dissociative Identity Disorder”.
Diseases and Related Health Problems, 10th ed. (ICD-10), “Possession
trance disorder”.
10. VandenBos, APA Dictionary of Psychology, “Delusion of influence”.
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CHAPTER 11
Jinn Among Muslim Captives in Guantanamo

and the “Global War on Terrorism”
Annabelle Böttcher
Introduction
It is not surprising that jinn made their way into Guantanamo Bay
Detention Facility (GTMO) in Cuba during President George W. Bush’s
“Global War on Terrorism”. When the hunt for al-Qa‘ida was unleashed
after the attacks of September 11, 2001, those suspected of being
members or sympathizers were arrested and channeled through a growing
network of holding facilities. In this way, a total of 775 individuals “dis-
appeared” while transferred on secret flights to third countries like Syria,
Jordan, and Egypt to be interrogated and tortured (Physicians for Human
Rights 2005, 99). In the end, some of them resurfaced in GTMO, where
illegalities continued to be legally facilitated and systematically enacted
(Comaroff 2007, 386–387).
Having thus fallen through the grid of lofty assumptions about the
civility of wars into the deep dungeons of the US detention gulag, captives
A. Böttcher (B)
Syddansk Universitet, Center for Modern Middle East and Muslim Studies,
Odense, Denmark
e-mail: bottcher@sdu.dk

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-61247-4_11
216 A. BÖTTCHER
in GTMO struggled with jinn. Saar, a former military intelligence soldier,

wrote that “most of the detainees believed in them” (Saar and Novak,
2005, 68). They were even “plagued by jinns” (Fink, 12 November
2016).
This chapter looks at perceptions of jinn and (mental) health in
GTMO in the context of the US “Global War on Terrorism” through
the lens of US-censored sources. As will be shown, various Muslim and
non-Muslim actors in GTMO are challenged by perceptions of jinn as
liminal, non-human actors. Even though jinn are deeply rooted in main-
stream Islam and could be considered a threat to the carceral edifice, US
authorities seem to adapt rather well to the peculiarities of these uninvited
creatures. Muslim captives, on the other hand, seem to feel terrorized by
what they perceive as malevolent jinn allied with the US authorities.
The “Global War on Terrorism,”

US Detention, and Torture
Four weeks after the September 11, 2001 attacks on American soil, the
Bush administration launched a global military campaign in Afghanistan,
followed by the invasion of Iraq in March 2003, with the aim to uproot
al-Qa‘ida. Mostly Muslim males were captured and subsequently sold or
transferred to US detention (Amnesty International, 18 February 2009,
7; International Committee of the Red Cross, February 2007, 5–6).
They were forced into global mobility patterns within the expanding US
carceral network of the “Global War on Terrorism”.
As early as February 2002, the US Presidential Military Order issued
by President Bush exempted alleged members of al-Qa‘ida and the
Taliban from qualifying for prisoner-of-war- status and relabeled them
with the newly invented term “enemy combatants” (Honigsberg, 11
March 2014). This unilaterally stripped them from Article 3, common
to the Four Geneva Conventions, prohibiting torture (Comaroff 2007,
389; Amnesty International, 18 February 2009, 9). Referring to Goff-
man’s “civil death,” when prison inmates face a temporary loss of their
rights, this transition into this secret carceral geography and this relabeling
represented a “legal death,” depriving captives of basic human rights for
an undetermined period (Goffman 1961, 16).
Some of these “enemy combatants” embarked on long journeys
through secret holding and torture sites within the CIA detention
gulag, the “Black Sites,” as they were dubbed, with the aim of keeping
them from being detected, visited, or registered by the International
11 JINN AMONG MUSLIM CAPTIVES IN GUANTANAMO … 217
Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) (International Committee of the

Red Cross, February 2007, 23). A leaked report by the ICRC dated
February 2007 revealed cases held up to four and half years in undisclosed
detention and prolonged solitary confinement without their families
having any news about their whereabouts (International Committee of
the Red Cross, February 2007, 3, 7). Their disappearance turned them
into “ghost detainees”.
Captives, interrogators, and other US officials were secretly transferred
on civilian aircraft operated on behalf of the CIA between holding facil-
ities and “Black Sites” located throughout the world, without public
acknowledgment and entailing multiple violations of international law
(Connell et al. 2017, 62). Since 2002, details of 11,006 flights linked to
the CIA’s rendition program have become known (Cobain and Ball, 22
May 2013). Within this global carceral geography, Muslim captives were
traded between state actors and non-state actors and were interrogated
and tortured by the CIA and its state and non-state subsidiaries (Mayer,
14 February 2005). Foreign intelligence services also met some of them,
like Sami al-Hajj,1 a Sudanese cameraman, who was visited by the British
intelligence in GTMO (Alhaj 2018, 85).
Declassified, redacted documents detail the CIA’s “Rendition, Deten-
tion and Interrogation” program. It centered on the use of what
was described euphemistically as “enhanced interrogation techniques”
(Department of Defense, Joint Task Force, Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, 11
October 2002). This catalog of sadistic techniques was implemented to
induce a state of “learned helplessness” and dependence conducive to the
collection of intelligence in a predictable, reliable, and sustainable manner
(Connell et al. 2017, 64; Senate Select Committee on Intelligence, 3
December 2014, 11; Jens 2017, 63).
This program intended to alter the long-term psychological makeup
of the captives and relied on a mix of sensory overload and deprivation
of all human stimuli. It included dietary manipulation, forced shaving,
prolonged forced nudity, slapping the captive’s face and abdomen,
kicking, banging the captives’ head against the wall, beating, cramped
confinement in coffin-like boxes, standing against walls, prolonged stress
positions, isolation, waterboarding, exposure to cold and hot tempera-
ture, exposure to loud music or white noise, exposure to constant light
or total darkness, anal penetration, mock executions, deprivation of sleep,
air, exercise, and hygiene facilities (Senate Select Committee on Intelli-
gence, 3 December 2014, 56; International Committee of the Red Cross,
218 A. BÖTTCHER
February 2007, 9). Over the years, it was transferred and adapted in
detention operations in Afghanistan, Iraq, and GTMO.
There was also a widespread practice of forced nudity for male and
female captives in the entire US detention system, thus forcing them
to endure personal defacement (Goffman 1961, 20–23). According to
reports by the ICRC from 2007, eleven “high-value detainees” in GTMO
were subjected to extended periods of nudity, ranging from several weeks
continuously up to several months intermittently in CIA-run detention
facilities (Senate Select Committee on Intelligence, 3 December 2014, 4,
12; International Committee of the Red Cross, February 2007, 9). Abu
Zubayda, a Palestinian arrested in Pakistan in 2002, was also kept naked
during his initial interrogation in Thailand before ending up in GTMO
(Senate Select Committee on Intelligence, 3 December 2014, 55).
For Muslims, there are strict rules about covering the private parts of
the human body, the so-called ‘aura. Men should be covered at least
from the navel to the knee and females should be totally covered except
for their hands and face. Special cover is demanded for prayer for both
men and women.
Other central elements of Muslim captives’ daily spiritual lives were
targeted, such as preventing them from reading and reciting the Quran
and from carrying out ritual washings, daily prayers, and fasting.
According to a report on the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s (FBI)
involvement in interrogations dated 2009, captives in GTMO were
described as being particularly sensitive about the handling of the Quran
during cell searches (US Department of Justice, October 2009, 83, 188).
Slahi2 described in his memoirs, the “Guantanamo Diary,” the difficul-
ties of doing ablution for prayers and of praying as well as the deliberate
mishandlings of the Quran during interrogations and cell searches (Slahi
2015). In a memo dated 2004, an FBI agent noticed a captive whose
head had been completely taped, “because he would not stop quoting the
Koran” (Federal Bureau of Investigation, 15 September 2004). Moazzam
Begg, a UK national who was abducted in January 2002 from Pakistan by
US agents and taken to Bagram airbase detention facility in Afghanistan
to be severely tortured, remembered, “this atmosphere of severe antipathy
towards captives was the compounded use of racially and religiously
prejudicial taunts” (Amnesty International, 18 February 2009, 8).
Captives were also sexually humiliated by female interrogators ( Abd
al-Qādir 1434/2013, 204–206; Fletcher 2014, 7; Harrington, 14 July
2004) and tortured by anal penetration, sometimes causing long-term
damage (Connell et al. 2017, 73).
Jinn in the “Legal Black Hole”

of Guantanamo Bay Detention Facility
Since the “Global War on Terrorism,” GTMO has played an impor-
tant role as a holding and torture facility. Comaroff called GTMO a
“legal black hole” outside of any jurisdiction. The Americans do not have
sovereignty, because they have rented it from the Cubans. Nor do the
Cubans have legal jurisdiction, because it is a US military base” (Comaroff
2007, 396).
It is a lawless zone, a “total institution” confining captives in a designed
space with enforced mobility patterns, excluding them from informa-
tion regarding their fate and cutting them off from the social support
of their families (Goffman 1961, 4–5, 9, 11). Most of the approximately
800 captives at GTMO have come through Bagram and/or Kandahar
airbase detention facility in Afghanistan since January 2002 (Alhaj 2018,
70, Amnesty International, 18 February 2009, 2). They were held in the
barbed-wire-enclosed Camp X-Ray in small cages with chain-link sides,
concrete floors, and metal roofs, offering scant shelter from the elements.
GTMO is a symbol of the desperate effort of securitization after the
US experienced the collapse of its “national security” based on orga-
nizing safety and well-being into distinct spheres of internal and external
security. Security has become liminal, acknowledging the inevitable chaos
of a world without lines (Mälksoo 2012, 485–486). GTMO is a central
symbol of this liminality of securitization through which the Bush admin-
istration seemed to try to convince itself that it finally captured the
unseen enemies of its “Global War on Terrorism” (Golden, 17 September
2006; Human Rights Watch, 26 October 2004, 5). US authorities tightly
control access to GTMO, but ironically jinn (sg. masc. jinnı̄, sg. fem.
jinnı̄ya) have no material or spatial limitations and can access any part of
GTMO at will.
Belief in jinn is part of Islamic dogma, as they are mentioned in the
Quran and the Sunna of the Prophet. In the Quran, jinn are described as
creatures made from “the fire free of smoke” (55:15).3 Within the Islamic
structure of the cosmos with the three basic realms, jinn belong to the
imaginal or intermediate realm, which corresponds to the world of fire.
The terrestrial or material realm corresponds to the world of clay, from
which the human body was created and where we live, and the celestial
realm is the world of light where the angels dwell. Above the celestial
reigns the Divine (El-Zein 2009, 33).
220 A. BÖTTCHER
In Quran 46:29, Muslim jinn explain to their (apparently Jewish)

companions how they converted and what Islam is (El-Zein 2009, 44).
Jinn are intelligent creatures and bestowed with free will. Hence, they
can be Muslim, Christian, Jewish, or unbelievers. They oscillate between
good and evil, but they are susceptible to temptations by Satan’s deceiving
whispers. Like humans, jinn will be made to account for their deeds on
the Day of Judgment (Islam and Campbell 2014, 232–233).
Generally, jinn are considered unpredictable and easily irritable (Blom
and Sommer 2011, 238), often even revengeful and vicious. They are also
said to live much longer than humans, so if they have a score to settle with
someone who offended them, they might afflict successive generations.
Much has been speculated about the modes of interaction between jinn
and humans, but they are characterized by a certain imbalance, due to
jinn’s flexibility with regard to material and spatial limitations. They are
endowed with the ability to travel great distances at incredible speed.
Jinn are conceptualized as creatures normally invisible to the human
eye, but capable of making themselves visible or of conjuring up images.
They can cross at will the fine line that divides the imaginal, unseen from
the terrestrial, material world, where they might present themselves in
the shape of an animal (Lim et al. 2018, 2) or a human, often a female.
Jinn can be present around humans, can and observe them, and can
become jealous or angry for various reasons. In revenge, jinn might
briefly “touch” a human or, in the worst case, slip into human bodies
and leave or take over human body parts or an entire body for a time at
will (Dein et al. 2008, 37; Khan and Sanober 2016, 220).
Due to this unnervingly unequal power balance, jinn are thought to
be able to come into the material world of humans and affect human
bodies and minds at any time. The constant threat of this interference
in human lives is part of an individual Muslim’s risk management and
depends on many factors, such as gender, education, social environment,
and personal situation. Humans going through transitional phases, such
as circumcision, menstruation, pregnancy, or traveling are said to be more
vulnerable to jinn afflictions (Lim et al. 2015, 21). Belief in jinn is often
also linked with various forms of belief in white and black magic (sih.r)
and the evil eye cast by humans and demons (Krawietz 2002, 345–346).
When it comes to jinn risk management, females seem to be more
preoccupied by them than males, while healers are predominantly male
(Habeeb Al- 2003, 33). A healer can be a Muslim scholar with a formal
or informal education in Islamic sciences or a self-appointed layperson.
In case of affliction, the jinnı̄ is addressed and then persuaded to leave

the human body. Jinn sometimes speak foreign languages and engage in
discussions with the healer about their origins (Sündermann 2006, 201).
In some cases, the afflicted human is massaged or beaten to move the
jinnı̄ out of designated body openings. In cases where the jinnı̄ cannot
be ousted from the human body, it can be appeased (Lim et al. 2015, 22)
or burned. There is also a general belief that prayer and the recitation of
certain Quranic verses serve as protective measures.
Individuals afflicted are thought to have insomnia, hallucinations,
delusional beliefs, hyperactivity, seizures, somatic complaints, and disorga-
nized behavior and may speak in tongues as a result (Rassool 2015, 322).
This has a significant impact on the diagnosis, treatment, and course of
mental disorders, particularly psychotic disorders.
There are few studies about jinn affliction in “political transitional
phases” such as military occupation and war, accompanied by arrest,
internment, detention, and torture. In her anthropological study of a
Palestinian Muslim village in the Israeli-occupied West Bank, Rothen-
berg mentioned stories about jinn in male-dominated Israeli detention.
In one case, the allegedly “Jewish jinnı̄” turned out to speak just three
words of Ivrit (Rothenberg 2004, 77–98). In another case, a “good jinn”
gave a Palestinian Muslim detainee in the isolation cell family news, which
relieved his stress. One Muslim detainee described being possessed by a
Jewish jinnı̄ya, a female jinnı̄, speaking Arabic, of whom even the Israeli
prison guards were afraid. Finally, a Muslim shaykh managed to expel it
(Rothenberg 2004, 101–106).
Linking symptoms to supernatural causes is a familiar pattern of
attributing causality among Muslims. The supernatural makeup and
superhuman capabilities of jinn make them liminal creatures in a liminal
space like Israeli prisons. The stories seem to indicate that all actors accept
and manage jinn in the liminal fluidity of the prison and have conflicting
claims. They are not only perceived as threatening.
In GTMO, the phenomenon of jinn is also managed in a highly politi-
cized context of liminality, serving as a prism of the carceral geography
and its power relations. Jinn appear mainly in sources authored by Amer-
ican military and external legal and medical counselors and are declassified
in a heavily censored form. They remain vague and are often culturally
and politically biased. Sources authored by current and former captives
are also censored in an extraordinary effort by the US to silence them
(Connell et al. 2017, 74) and rarely mention jinn.
222 A. BÖTTCHER
In the following, I will explore two categories of encounters with jinn

of six GTMO captives, starting with Abu Zubayda. His alleged diaries
give an insight into two types of jinn affliction in the context of the
military confrontation with the Soviet occupation of Afghanistan. They
also document for this case that the concept of jinn existed before his
arrival in Cuba, but it is unclear what concepts and approaches other
captives brought with them and how these concepts developed within the
confinement of GTMO. According to American military, external legal,
and medical counselors, at least five captives seem to have struggled with
afflictions by malevolent jinn. The descriptions range from their being a
constant threat to captives to the actual affliction by taking over parts or
the entire body. In two cases, US interrogators are even accused of jinn
manipulation and expulsion.
Examples of Encounters with Jinn

Abu Zubayda
The diaries of Zayn al-Abidin Muhammad Husain, alias Abu Zubayda,
were allegedly found during his capture in a raid in Faisalabad, Pakistan,
in March 2002 (Cornwell, 9 November 2013) and remained with the
CIA until a copy was published by Aljazeera. After his arrest, the CIA
presented him as the third-ranking figure in al-Qa‘ida, and transferred him
to a “Black Site” in Thailand to be severely tortured until he later resur-
faced in GTMO (Senate Select Committee on Intelligence, 3 December
2014, 47).
The first part of Abu Zubayda’s diaries portrays a youth of Palestinian
origin in Saudi Arabia (Zubayda, 1990–1991, 10 July 1992). For his
studies, he was sent to India, but instead had sexual adventures with
his married neighbor and frequently got into trouble with the police.
He decided to travel to Afghanistan to fight against the Soviet occupa-
tion. There he received military training and gradually developed into a
pious Sunni Muslim engaged in supplementary prayers, weekly fasting,
and Quranic reading. During this development, jinn appear in his diary.
On 5 August 1992, he mentioned,
a large campaign of “Jinn”… non-Moslems… are conducting a secret

offensive against the mujahideen in Afghanistan, especially those who are
in the Pakistani Peshawar, since it is considered the launch point or transit
station into the interior of Afghanistan, and it is where the administrative

and management offices of the Afghan mujahideen parties exist. (Zubayda,
1992, 5 August 1992)
According to him, not everyone knew that jinn got involved in the mili-
tary struggle, but gradually the news spread among the Muslim fighters in
Afghanistan. On 6 August 1992, Abu Zubayda described being surprised
by a jinn expulsion session in the library of his shared accommodation.
Strange sounds came from behind a closed room:
Suddenly, the Quran reader’s voice is silenced, but the cat’s sound is still
coming from the mouth of a person. Then the door was completely opened
this time, and the person who was reading Quran came out with his large-
build body and said in an irritable way trying to mix it with pleading:
“Please, one of your Mujahideen brothers is ‘possessed by a demon’, and
we are now trying to cast him out so that it doesn’t hurt your brother”.
(Zubayda, 1992, 6 August 1992)
Later the “healer” discussed the matter with his comrades, including Abu
Zubayda:
When one of the brothers was reciting the Qur’an on a possessed person
here… the patient shook off and produced strange voices, not to those who
were familiar with the issue. The reciting person then continued his recita-
tion and focused on the verses of torment and punishment. The patient
tried to run away and resist, but the brothers held him and were barely able
to tie him in spite of his small and tired body, but the possessed has the
power often people. The voice became higher and wilder until the words
he was uttering became clear. But the voice wasn’t that of the patient at
all. The Jinni which inhabited the body of the patient brother was talking
through the patient tongue and it was controlling his body, too, therefore
resisting the Qur’an recitation. Then the conversation between the reciting
sheikh and the patient, or more accurately between the sheikh and the Jinni
through the patient’s tongue, started. The sheikh asked questions and the
Jinni answered him and appealed not to recite the Qur’an because it was
burning him. The Jinni admitted that he was a Christian Jinni inhabiting
the body of the patient brother ordered by the “Christian Pope” in the
Vatican in Rome, Italy. The Jinni revealed that the Pope conjured huge
numbers of Christian Jinn who work with him and ordered them to harm
the Jihadists and ruin their Jihad in any way possible. (Zubayda, 1992, 11
August 1992)
224 A. BÖTTCHER
The jinn session was continued on the following day, this time seemingly
in Abu Zubayda’s presence, who recounted:
he began reciting verses from Surat Al-Baqara. The rest of the crowd
and I were watching until the young man screamed that he was burning,
he was burning. The young man was silent for a little bit then he said,
“Thank God! The crusader jinni was burnt.” Everyone began saying,
“God is Great.”… The young man added, “We are praying for your silent
brother, Abu-Zubayda; so pray for him. Also, pray that God protects your
brothers from the jinn; your brothers are fighting with the Christian jinn
inside Afghanistan and peace, God’s mercy, and blessings be upon you”.
(Zubayda, 1992, 11 August 1992)
During this session, the Christian jinnı̄ was not extracted, but burned.
Abu Zubayda’s description of Christian jinn being used by the Pope to
harm the jihad in Afghanistan is consistent with Muslim concepts of jinn.
They can be Christian or follow other religious beliefs. Guthrie et al.
describe the case of an Afghan female patient in Manchester who was first
possessed by Christian, then Muslim and Hindu jinn. Whether or not
jinn can actually possess people is hotly debated among Muslims. While
some believe that jinn live alongside humans, others think they inhabit
parts of or the entire human body and are able to control it (Guthrie et al.
2016, 1–2). Interestingly, the jinn described in the context of the war of
Afghanistan are enemies, perceived as working for the Pope, the supreme
commander of the Christian crusader enemy.
Abu Zubayda got a number of jinn-related treatments himself, when
his inability to speak due to a head injury in a battle in Afghanistan was
thought to be linked to a jinnı̄ tying his vocal cords (Zubayda 1992, 17
August 1992). On one occasion, in September 1991 near the battlefront
in Gardez in Afghanistan, he was harassed by a female jinn (jinnı̄ya), in
the shape of a seductive woman, who tried to rape him:
I woke up… suffocated. I tried to move but I couldn’t, as if someone had

tied me and pressed on my neck. This condition often happens to many
people. It lasts for several minutes, rather, several seconds. One wakes up
terrified as if from a nightmare, then it ends. But what happened to me is
that I woke up with that condition and a person was really tying me but
I couldn’t see him. The room was really dark, but that wasn’t the reason
for being unable to see him, but because he didn’t exist to begin with. I
was really about to get suffocated and this “nothing” allowed me only to
move my neck. I also felt someone playing with my crotch area. I felt an
abnormal sexual excitement flow into my body. I felt angry, so I couldn’t
control myself except for resisting it. I recited Al-Kursi verse with difficulty
and, all of a sudden, everything ended then. It looked like as if I was falling
from high above. (Zubayda 1992, 27 June 1992)
After a brief pause the attack of the jinnı̄ya continued:
This time I felt that quite a woman was playing with my body – a shameless
woman who has stolen my ability to control my crotch area. It was the
same sexual excitement, rather, it was stronger: a non-figurative woman
was raping me. My hands were tied but no one was tying them. My neck
was tied too. I felt shameless kisses, as if another tongue was sucking mine.
I know that I fall an easy prey to a woman from the Jinn how to break
off with my tongue even under her control. I felt a chest of a woman,
two full breasts sticking to my mouth. I kissed them knowing that they
were important weak points of a woman. My tongue nearly loosened and
I expressed an interest in another kiss; my tongue was completely free, so I
seized the opportunity and I recited Al-Kursi verse and suddenly everything
ended… I remained in my place to calm down the nervous tightness of
my highly excited body, which seemed to be close. Everything around was
normal except for the sexual excitement, which was still creeping into my
body and into my veins. (Zubayda 1992, 27 June 1992)
He was relieved to find that he “did not find traces of wet dreams or full
sexual intercourse,” and he thanked God for saving him from committing
adultery with this jinnı̄ya.
Abu Zubayda’s mention of jinn encounters in Afghanistan and
Pakistan indicate that he was clearly familiar with the concept of jinn
before his arrival in GTMO and depicted them as enemies. The security
risk they posed was part of the wide range of threats Muslim fighters were
confronted with in Afghanistan and Pakistan. They could take the shape
of a female human, lurking in wait for and raping human beings (Badeen
and Krawietz 2003, 102), thus emerging as truly liminal creatures, trans-
gressing national and gender boundaries as well as spatial and material
limitations. There do not seem to be any sources about how he dealt
with jinn after his arrival.
In the following, five other cases of GTMO captives from the
Middle East (Syria-Lebanon), Uzbekistan, Afghanistan, Saudi Arabia, and
England were considered. They were mentioned by American military,
external legal, and medical counselors related to GTMO as having health
problems related to jinn.
226 A. BÖTTCHER
Jihad Abu Wa’el Dhiab

A particularly interesting case is that of Jihad Abu Wa’el Dhiab, because
the jinn who inhabited him moved into the center of a highly politicized
legal battle within the “Global War on Terrorism”. Mr. Dhiab, a Syrian of
Lebanese origin, was married with four children at the time of his arrest in
Afghanistan in 2002. He surfaced in GTMO, where he was incarcerated
for twelve years without trial until his transfer to and subsequent release
in Uruguay in December 2014 (New York Times Guantanamo Docket
2018).
In GTMO, Mr. Dhiab suffered from bad health. In many legal docu-
ments dealing with his medical condition, he complained of having jinn
in his legs. He contended that his captivity in GTMO and his conditions
of detention violated the US Constitution, the Alien Torture Statute, the
Fifth Amendment, and international law. In protest, he participated in a
hunger strike and underwent 1300 “forcible cell extractions” to be trans-
ferred to a force-feeding location (United States Court of the District
of Columbia, 6 October 2014, 64). During a “forcible cell extraction,”
a captive or detainee is removed by force from a cell by a tactical team
armed with less-than-lethal weapons like Tasers, pepper spray, and riot
shields. Usually, it is a response to threatening behavior or a disciplinary
infraction and can be very brutal. Due to Mr. Dhiab’s leg problems,
he was at times transferred in a wheelchair, then fixed on a restraint
chair, and a nasogastric tube was inserted into his stomach for the force-
feeding. His legal team argued that this procedure was highly painful,
medically unnecessary, and a punitive measure to suppress his hunger
strike. They contradicted the Obama government’s contention that force-
feedings were needed to prevent captives from starving themselves to
death (Jacobs and Ackerman, 9 July 2015).
In May 2014, a US district judge briefly stopped Mr. Dhiab’s force-
feedings and forced the Pentagon to disclose a number of force-feeding
videos. The Pentagon claimed that he “does not suffer from any musculo-
skeletal problem or paralysis, but rather from self-described ‘genies’ in
his legs.” This version was contested by one of Mr. Dhiab’s lawyers,
who said that his client has been given morphine and other strong
painkillers, which no doctor would prescribe to combat delusions induced
by “genies” (Klasfeld, 19 June 2014).
Subsequently, two medical experts, Sandra Crosby, a physician at the
Boston Medical Center, and Stephen Xenakis, a former brigadier general
and a psychiatrist, went to GTMO to examine Mr. Dhiab’s mental state

in September 2014. Subsequently, the concept of jinn was discussed in
detail at a hearing at the United States District Court for the District of
Columbia on 6 October 2014. Sandra Crosby told the court
it’s possible that one of the explanatory… models might be the presence
of jinns, which are not human creatures, that actually are common in Arab
culture, inhabit the body, and can cause usually psychological, but also
physical symptoms, and he was interested in pursuing that theory. (United
States District Court for the District of Columbia, 6 October 2014, 42)
When asked by the court if she believed in jinn, she confirmed and
continued to explain:
As I said, it’s really a mythical nonhuman being that inhabits the body and
causes usually psychological symptoms such as psychosis, seizures, some-
times physical symptoms, and this is part of certain – certain cultures in
the Arab world. It can be seen in certain cultures in the Arab world. I
have patients in my own practice who believe jinns are responsible for
some of their symptomatology, and they use it as an explanatory model
of disease. (United States District Court for the District of Columbia, 6
October 2014, 45–46)
Mr. Dhiab believed that “jinn have inhabited his leg,” which is an
example of a culture-bound syndrome (United States District Court for
the District of Columbia, 6 October 2014, 66). When asked by the judge
how she would treat a patient with a complaint of jinn, she responded:
In somebody like Mr. Dhiab’s case, I would probably utilize an Islamic or

cultural healer as part of the treatment team to further discuss this with
him. (United States District Court for the District of Columbia, 6 October
2014, 46–47)
Stephen Xenakis appeared in the same court hearing and explained that
Mr. Dhiab told him
…in my culture we called these jinns, that there’s a kind of spirit that gets
in you and sort of influences how you think and how you approach things.
And so I can best explain it from my cultural background, totally appro-
priate… It is just a metaphor. It’s just a way of people trying to explain
228 A. BÖTTCHER
themselves. (United States District Court for the District of Columbia, 6

October 2014, 124)
He concluded:
There is no evidence of hallucinations, delusions, or illusions. He refers to

cultural traditions of “spirits or jins” that can influence health and state
of mind. His descriptions are appropriate to his culture and his physical
complaints. (Xenakis 2014, 7)
This example shows that jinn, central components of Islamic cosmology,

emerge as liminal actors in the center of the US political and judicial
state structure as a symbol of the liminality of US efforts of securitization
during the “Global War on Terrorism”. Medical and legal experts struggle
to legally appropriate the concept of jinn in an effort to help Mr. Dhiab
regain a minimum of control over his own body and to relieve some of
his enormous suffering. It is unclear however, how Mr. Dhiab viewed the
jinn affliction in his leg.
Shakhrukh Hamiduva
Another captive suffering from jinn was Shakhrukh Hamiduva, alias
Sharo Hasda,4 an Uzbek minor. In a memorandum evaluating the risks
of his release, the annex contains a “Behavioral Health Service Adden-
dum” dated May 27, 2004. According to it, the captive consulted the
“Behavioral Health Services” after a self-injury from September 2002:
When the detainee first came to Behavioral Health attention, he reported

audiovisual hallucinations in the form of djinn with whom he fought to
regain control over himself. At that time, he was diagnosed with Psychotic
Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, due to lack of a clear symptom presen-
tation, and malingering was also considered. (Department of Defense, Joint
Task Force 170, 28 May 2004, 1–3)
Further down in the addendum, the author wonders about the diagnosis,
as the detainee is not reported to have complained specifically of depressive

symptoms. He was noted to have depressed affect while spending time in
temporary segregation. (Department of Defense, Joint Task Force 170, 28
May 2004, 2)
Long-term solitary confinement and the absence of social and environ-

mental stimulation in US-style super-maximum security detention, the
most secure level of custody in the US detention system, has been found
to lead to a range of psychiatric problems, ranging from insomnia and
confusion to hallucinations, paranoia, attempts at self-harm and self-
mutilation, and psychosis (Scharff Smith 2006, 463; Human Rights
Watch 2008, 22). These periods of prolonged isolation increased jinn-
related fears among incarcerated Muslims. A report by Human Rights
Watch described the deterioration of mental health in GTMO due to the
extreme social isolation in detention (Human Rights Watch 2008, 3).
Most captives spend around 22 hours daily without social interaction in
their cells. None of them has ever been allowed a visit from family or
friend, and many of them were not allowed to make phone calls home
for many years (Human Rights Watch 2008, 14–15). Video conference
calls started as late as September 2008, organized, and supervised by the
International Committee of the Red Cross (International Committee of
the Red Cross, 18 September 2009).
Allegations of Jinn Manipulation

by US Interrogators
While the aforementioned captives struggled with jinn affliction, the
following three examples go a step further. According to the US-censored
sources, the captives were under the impression that US interrogators
appropriated the Islamic concept of jinn.
The first example is Muhammad al-Qahtani, who was captured near
Tora Bora in Afghanistan and transferred to GTMO. He was accused of
having been involved in the September 11 attacks. His interrogation log,
authored by his interrogators from November 2002 to January 2003,
obtained and subsequently published by TIME magazine in 2005, gives
a rare insight into the brutality of the interrogation sessions in GTMO
(Zagorin and Duffy, 20 June 2005). In these “sanitized” protocols, al-
Qahtani is said to have accused an interrogator on 27 November 2002
“of working with the jinn”. On 10 December 2002, still under intense
interrogation and torture, he stated, “Jinns had control of his emotions
and only a trained doctor could help him” (TIME 2006). According to
an article in the New York Times, Mr. al-Qahtani was reported to have
asked for psychological support, because he thought he was having a
problem with jinn. But “the interrogators instead performed an exorcism
230 A. BÖTTCHER
for ‘jinns’ – supernatural creatures that he believed caused his problems”

(Fink, 12 November 2016).
Mr. al-Qahtani’s file for the Periodic Review Board from 24 July 2018
contains a medical evaluation report by Dr. Emily Keram, an American
forensic psychiatrist, who met with him in GTMO from 22 to 27 May
2015. She is a forensic psychiatrist with experience in PTSD and with
GTMO captives. According to her, Mr. al-Qahtani developed psychotic
symptoms in his childhood and had schizophrenia and major recurrent
depression before entering US custody. He had consulted a Muslim
healer, a “reader, a traditional healer who used the Koran to exorcise
‘djins’ (spirits or demons) who are believed to cause psychotic symptoms
in certain cultures” (Keram, 5 June 2016).
After this arrest and while in US custody, Mr. al-Qahtani was subjected
to torture and solitary confinement, including sleep deprivation, extreme
temperature, noise exposure, stress positions, forced nudity, body cavity
searches, sexual assaults, beatings, strangling, threats of rendition, and
waterboarding. He described auditory and visual hallucinations of ghosts.
Dr. Keram recommended
In addition to clinical treatment, Mr. al-Qahtani requires culturally

informed approaches to understanding and addressing his symptoms. In his
culture, symptoms of schizophrenia are thought to be caused by “djinns”
or spirits. Ridding a person of djinns requires that a skilled healer read
from the Koran over the affected person. This “reader” also assists in inter-
preting the person’s symptoms in a way that allows them to continue to
have a place in the family and society. (Keram, 2 February 2014)
In an appendix dated 14 April 2018, Dr. Keram wrote that Mr. al-Qahtani
told his attorney in a phone call in March 2018 that his health had not
improved and that he had visions of being chased by ghosts during the
day. He received medications “to help him forget about ‘ghosts’” (Keram,
14 April 2016).
To sum up, Mr. al-Qahtani seems to have had mental health problems
allegedly because of affliction by malevolent jinn before reaching GTMO.
Once in GTMO, he is depicted as having continuous problems with jinn,
but instead of receiving help from GTMO, he accused the authorities of
instrumentalizing them and turning them against him during an act of
“exorcism”. Hence, in his perception, these creatures became allies of the
US authorities.
Shaker Aamer is another captive who thought that jinn might have
been manipulated by his interrogators. He is a British citizen kidnapped
in Afghanistan in 2001 and transferred to GTMO in 2002 (Kaye, 14
April 2014). Dr. Keram documented his health on behalf of Mr. Aamer’s
lawyers, who were asking for his release due to chronic health problems.
Mr. Aamer told his psychiatrist:
We believed that the people here, the CIA, the interrogators, use “djinn”
(spirits). The evil djinn. Some of the things that happened, you can’t
explain. Some people (would) think that it was drugs or something, but
95% of us believe we got possessed by djinn. (Keram, 2 February 2014,
10)
H. usain Abd al-Qādir is a Palestinian academic who moved to Afghanistan

with his family in 1992 and was arrested in Peshawar by the Pakistani
police ten years later at his residence and transferred to GTMO. In his
memoirs, he mentioned that some interrogators also used “witchcraft
(sihr),” against which captives recited the Quran ( Abd al-Qādir,
1434/2013, 208).
In conclusion, all accounts depict malevolent jinn, filtered through the
sources authored by American military, external legal, and medical coun-
selors related to GTMO. Jihad Abu Wa’el Dhiab provides an example of
a jinn taking over body parts. In the case of Shakhrukh Hamiduva, it
is not clear if jinn have already taken over parts of or his entire body.
Muhammad al-Qahtani is also described as having struggled with hostile
jinn, which he thought were manipulated by his interrogators. This belief
that jinn are collaborating with GTMO authorities is shared by Shaker
Aamer, who also claims that the majority of captives believed they were
possessed by jinn. H . usain Abd al-Qādir even accused interrogators of
using witchcraft.
In all the cases mentioned above, captives have been affected by
war, collective violence, forced displacement, and torture, causing them
emotional distress related to depression. The legal and material condi-
tions of incarceration in GTMO can be considered an ongoing form
of psychological torture, which makes its inmates particularly vulnerable
to developing psychological problems such as depression, posttraumatic
stress symptoms, various forms of anxiety disorders, chronic pain, medi-
cally unexplained somatic symptoms, and suicidal behavior (Hassan et al.
2016, 131–132).
232 A. BÖTTCHER
It is not possible to discern culture-bound syndromes particular to

certain social and religious groups or geographic areas, or manifestations
of common psychiatric conditions, expressed through culture-bound
beliefs. According to a review of 47 case reports of patients presenting
symptoms they attributed to jinn affliction, the biomedical diagnosis
of schizophrenia was the most common (45.2%) (Guthrie et al. 2016,
1). The ways these symptoms manifest themselves and are labeled and
managed is shaped by cultural context and beliefs.
In addition, for many Muslims the explicit labeling of distress as a
mental health problem involves the risk of being considered “mad” and
constitutes a source of embarrassment and shame (Hassan et al. 2016,
134). But according to Connell, many captives in GTMO refused to
discuss mental health problems, because they doubted that they would
be believed or, even worse, they were afraid of being drugged to stay
silent (Connell et al. 2017, 70). The captives’ fear of being medicated
seems to have been justified, because the director of the Mental Health
Team in GTMO, Dr. Shay Rosecran, confessed to The New York Times
that she prescribed “strong anti-psychotics” after captives had complained
about a “jinn plague” (Fink, 12 November 2016).
Seeking mental health care was clearly considered a threat. To help
render the horrors experienced intelligible and tangible, captives in
GTMO referred to jinn afflictions as a culturally familiar set of expla-
nations. Malevolent jinn are a kind of distorting mirror of the nightmare
of GTMO, a collective representation of unremitting and implacable evil,
incorporating what is fearful and detestable (Shorter 2005, 104).
Jinn and the Role of Mental Healthcare at GTMO

These accounts raise questions about the role of mental health care at
GTMO. James Connell, a US defense attorney contracted by the US
Department of Defense for captives in GTMO, seemed to have been
under the impression that there was a lack of expertise in Muslim patient
mental health management. He mentioned problems of the “predomi-
nantly Western approach to medical treatment,” especially in Camp 7.
Access to this camp is granted only to Americans with security clearance
on the “top secret/secure compartmented information/special access
program” level. According to him, US medical, psychological, and legal
professionals had little knowledge about how the culturally diverse male
Muslim captives at GTMO conceptualize illness. Culture has a big influ-
ence on the way mental stress is understood and expressed and on how
mental distress and medical symptoms are resolved (Connell et al. 2017,
70; Quiroga and Jaranso 2005, 41). Connell mentions that pious Muslims
express some symptoms with reference to jinn:
Many Muslims also believe that Jinn can enter the human body and cause
mental illness. Symptoms of Jinn possession could be forgetfulness, lack of
energy and morbid fears. American professionals, particularly the detention
authorities at Guantanamo, have been quick to dismiss these complaints
because they are expressed in an unfamiliar cultural vocabulary. (Connell
et al. 2017, 70)
American medical, psychological, psychiatric, and legal professionals do

not align with the physical and mental illness conceptualizations of a
culturally and ethnically diverse captive population at GTMO (Connell
et al. 2017, 70).
Other sources suggest that mental health staff at GTMO was not
lacking in cultural diversity management skills at all, but contributed to a
learning process about the role of Islam in Muslim captives’ lives and its
instrumentalization in enhanced interrogation techniques. In an ICRC
report from February 2007, this insertion of medical staff in interro-
gations is further elaborated. It was performing medical checks before
and after each transfer to a detention facility. Healthcare was provided
to treat the direct consequences of torture and other illnesses during
detention (International Committee of the Red Cross February 2007,
21–22). A medical officer was also present during the waterboarding of
Abu Zubayda (Senate Select Committee on Intelligence, 3 December
2014, 70).
A recently released document about the “latest psychological status of
Abu Zubayda,” dated April 2004, contains a psychological status report
and a psychological interrogation assessment by an anonymous psychol-
ogist. It stated that the captive “continues to proactively add order and
structure and meaning to his life by practicing his religion, studying the
Qur’an” (American Civil Liberties Union, 1 April 2004).
The New York Review of Books published details of a confidential
report of the ICRC to the US administration accusing the US military
of “intentionally using psychological and sometimes physical coercion
‘tantamount to torture on prisoners at Guantanamo’.” The report also
accused some doctors and other medical workers of participating in plan-
ning for interrogations in “a flagrant violation of medical ethics”. They
conveyed information about prisoners’ mental health and vulnerabilities
234 A. BÖTTCHER
to interrogators, sometimes directly, but usually through a group called

the Behavioral Science Consultation Team, or BSCT, a team also known
as Biscuit and composed of psychologists and psychological workers who
advise the interrogators (Lewis, 30 November 2004).
Mr. Alhaj’s memoirs portray medical staff as being complicit in the
torture and interrogation architecture. Medical services were almost
comparable to the medical experiments of a Nazi concentration camp.
Apart from allegedly intentionally failing operations, including amputa-
tions, captives were forced to receive injections and medicine to make
them more compliant (Alhaj 2018, 17).
It is quite clear that any captive in GTMO would have ample reason
to mistrust anyone, including medical staff, approaching him in a highly
guarded detention site, to which access is granted only by the US
administration.
Acknowledgements I would like to thank Martin Beck, James Connell, Lutz

Hager, and Birgit Krawietz for reading and commenting on earlier versions of
this contribution.
Notes
1. Sami al-Hajj worked for Aljazeera in Afghanistan as a cameraman when
he was arrested in December 2001 by the Pakistani border police.
First, he was held at Bagram and Kandahar and later transferred to
Guantanamo. He was finally released to the Sudanese government in
May 2008. See “Sami al Hajj”, The Guantanamo Docket, The New
York Times https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/projects/guantanamo/
detainees/345-sami-al-hajj, last accessed 23 December 2018.
2. He came to Germany with a scholarship to study. In 1990, he joined
the jihad in Afghanistan and after that returned to Germany to finish his
studies. In 2001, he was arrested in Mauretania and transferred to Guan-
tanamo. His book was published in January 2015, and he was released in
October 2016.
3. Quran: The Koran Interpreted. Translated by Arthur J. Arberry. New York:
Touchstone, 1996.
4. Born in Kokand, Uzbekistan in December 1983. He was arrested in Mazar-
e-Sharif by Afghans and handed over to US forces. He was released to
Ireland in 2009. See “Shakhrukh Hamiduva”, The Guantanamo Docket,
The New York Times https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/projects/gua
ntanamo/detainees/22-shakhrukh-hamiduva, last accessed 22 December
2018.
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Index
A ‘Alawi, 88, 92, 95

Aamer, Shaker, 231 al-Azraq, Ibrāhı̄m, 49
‘Abdallāh, Ibn Ah.mad Ibn H . anbal, 68 Alexandria, school of, 47
Abel, 22 alienation, 2, 7, 20
Abu al-Qasim al-Iraqi, Ahmad, 82 Alien Torture Statute, 226
abuse, 109, 174, 194, 195 ‘ālim, Pl. ‘ulamā . See religious scholar
Adam, 21–24, 36, 75, 186 Aljazeera, 222, 234
advent of Islam, 23, 69 Allah. See God
adwiya nabawiyya. See divine remedies America, American, 139
affliction, by jinn, 2–4, 6, 8, 12,
American Psychiatric Association,
60, 187, 192, 193, 220–222,
APA, 185, 188, 209
228–230, 232 āmir (pl. ummār). See jinn living
Afghan, Afghanistan, 12, 81, 170,
together with humans
193, 216, 218, 219, 222–226,
amrād. al-abdān. See physical diseases
229, 231, 234
agency, 8, 70, 77, 87, 89, 93, 110, amrād. al-qulūb. See diseases of the
115, 122, 138–144, 147, 200 heart
ahl ash-shar . See specialists of the al-amr bil-ma rūf , 56
sharı̄a amulet, 6, 50, 102, 130, 131
Ahmadinejad, 79 angel, 23, 24, 27, 36, 91
Aisha, wife of the Prophet anger, 56, 86, 91, 143, 155
Muhammad, 101 animal, 5, 27–29, 38, 56, 186, 220
al-Ash‘arı̄, Abū al-H
. asan, 68 an-Naz.z.ām, Abū Ish.āq, 20
© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive 241
license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-61247-4
242 INDEX
anthropology, anthropological, 1, 5, Basel, 36

6, 8–10, 78, 122, 135, 138, 139, al-Bayd.āwı̄, Nās.ir al-Dı̄n, 73
151, 170, 189, 197, 202, 204, bāt.in. See hidden
208 Battle of Karbala, 80
anthropomorphic, 27, 28 bāzı̄. See play
anxiety, 172, 186, 187, 191, 194, 198 beating, 55, 57, 65, 66, 68, 89, 92,
apparent meaning, 73 217, 230
Arab, Arabic, 2, 5–8, 12, 19, 22, 26, Bedouins, 20, 33, 53
28, 29, 33, 35, 47, 49, 65, 66, Begg, Moazzam, 218
69, 73, 82, 83, 103, 123, 132, Behavioral Health, 228
148, 164, 186, 200, 221, 227 Behavioral Health Service, 228
Arabian Peninsula, 23, 56, 71 Behavioral Science Consultation Team,
arwāh.. See spirit, spirits, spiritual BSCT, 234
Asad, Talal, 138, 139, 142 Belgium, 112, 117
ash-Shayt.ān. See satan, Satan, satans, belief in voices of otherwise invisible
satanic beings, 33
asylum seeker, 169, 170 Ben ‘Ajiba, Darqawi Ahmed, 116
atheist, atheistic, 71, 78 Benkheira, Mohammed, 100
attack, 19, 24, 28, 35, 56, 102, 108, Bible, 5, 31
111, 115, 130, 135, 142, 144, Bilqı̄s. See Queen of Sheba
172, 185, 190, 192, 193, 197, biomedical, biomedicine, 4, 7, 8, 11,
198, 200, 215, 225, 229 74, 115, 121, 126, 129, 146,
‘aura, 218 148, 154, 165, 170, 173–175,
Austria, 152 177, 190, 232
Avicenna. See Ibn Sı̄nā, Ibn Sina al-Biqā‘ı̄, Ibrāhı̄m, 67, 70
Āyat al-Kursi, 225 al-Birzālı̄, Muh.ammad, 49
al- ayn. See evil eye Black Death, 60
‘azzāma, 105, 106, 116 black hole, 219
black magic, 3, 9, 74, 79, 90, 94,
105, 109, 111–113, 122–124,
B 131, 134, 148, 205, 207, 220
Badakhshı̄, 37 Black Site, 12, 216, 217, 222
Badeen, Edward, 26, 35, 89, 90, 225 blessing, divine, 50
al-Baghāwı̄, al-H. usayn, 66 blood, 18, 22, 48, 66, 70, 71, 86,
Baghdad, 36, 47, 49, 60, 79, 82 107, 113, 117, 148
al-Baghdādı̄, Abd al-Lat.ı̄f, 49 bodily resurrection on the Last Day,
Bagram, 218, 219, 234 18
Bangladesh, 125, 167 body and mind, 4, 171
al-Bāqillanı̄, Abū Bakr, 67 Boston Medical Center, 226
baraka. See divine blessing Böttcher, Annabelle, 2, 10, 12, 74, 95
Barcelona, 99, 100, 103, 113 Bourguignon, Erika, 189
Barelwi, 125, 126 Brethren of Purity, 36
INDEX 243
bricoleur, 10, 100, 101, 103, 112, combatant, 216

117 commentary, commentaries [of the
Britain, British, 6, 10, 122, 123, 125, Quran], 4, 9, 36, 65, 69, 72
126, 129 Companion, of the Prophet, 51, 52,
British intelligence, 217 55, 59, 74
Bukhārı̄, 31, 48 Competence Centre for Transcultural
Bürgel, Johann Christoph, 34, 51 Psychiatry, CTP, 193–196,
Bush, George W., 215, 216, 219 201–203
computer, 84, 110
Conermann, Stephan, 51
C confinement, solitary, 217, 229, 230
Cain, 22 confused, confusion, 24, 53, 57, 66,
Cairo, 11, 35, 36, 83, 152 229
camp, 2, 81, 83, 85, 234 Connell, James, 217, 218, 221,
Camp X-Ray, 219 232–234
Canada, 192, 193 control, 32, 66, 93, 102, 107, 110,
captive, 2, 12, 80, 215–219, 222, 112, 115, 133, 134, 137, 138,
225, 226, 228–234 141–148, 153, 158, 159, 188,
carceral geography, 216, 217, 221 196, 200, 202, 219, 224, 225,
Catalonia, Catalan, 10, 100, 103–108, 228
111–114, 116 Copenhagen, 11, 193, 195, 196, 199
Catholic, 110, 139 cosmography, 5
cautery, 48, 50 counseling, 10
CD, 102 cover, 8, 31, 57, 92, 189, 190, 203,
cell, 218 204, 206, 208, 218
Crapanzano, Vincent, 95, 116
cell phone, 84
crisis, 10, 113, 116, 122, 124, 129,
certainty, 53
137, 145, 147
Chabbi, Jacqueline, 164, 179
Crosby, Sandra, 226, 227
charlatanism, 101
Csordas, Thomas, 138, 141
charm, 82
Cuba, 12, 215, 217, 222
childbed, 29, 31
cupping, 48, 50, 82, 84, 124, 148
children, 24, 25, 31, 82, 83, 90, 103,
cursed, 88, 90, 93
114, 125, 135, 141, 226
Christian, Christianity, 17, 70, 220,
224 D
CIA, 216, 217, 222, 231 dalı̄l, religious indicator, 73
clay, 19, 23, 71, 75, 186, 219 Damascus, Damascene, 2, 35, 46, 49,
clinic, 83 57, 80, 81, 83, 90
cock, 32 Damı̄rı̄, Muhammad, 18, 24, 29, 35
Cohen, Emma, 189, 190, 197–199, Danish, 133
202, 204, 206 d.arb. See beating; hitting
Comaroff, Joshua, 215, 216, 219 d.arb ‘ashwā’ı̄. See sudden hitting
244 INDEX
Day, of Judgment, Day of Resurrec- divine charm or magic, 50

tion, Judgment Day, Last Day, divine remedies, 50
18, 65 divorce, 79, 83, 85, 86, 93, 94, 131,
Dein, Simon, 2, 6, 121, 169–173, 132, 142, 152, 157, 159
179, 186, 187, 220 dı̄w, 39
delusion, delusional, 19, 172, 202, dog, 30, 38, 70, 114, 140
203, 205, 221, 226, 228 Dole, Christopher, 177
demon, demonic, demonology, 2, 5, Dols, Michael Walters, 6, 25, 46, 48,
7, 8, 17–23, 25–36, 38, 39, 46, 49, 51, 56
60, 70, 164, 220, 223 Dorpmüller, Sabine, 82
Denmark, 2, 6, 133, 141, 163, 190, doubt, 20, 53, 68, 93
192 dream, dreamer, 88, 89, 92, 108,
Deobandi, 125, 126 117, 140, 190–192, 196, 198,
depression, 7, 113, 123, 137, 186, 201, 225
191, 194, 230, 231 du ā . See spiritual invocation
Desjarlais, Robert, 138 Dutch, 175
de Smet, Daniel, 25
detention, detainee, 2, 215–218, 221, E
226, 228, 229, 233 egg, 24
devil, 24, 28, 67, 69, 83, 154, 194, Egypt, Egyptian, 3, 11, 34, 35, 67,
195 71, 72, 92, 151–153, 157, 192,
al-Dhahabı̄, 49, 60 215
diagnosis, diagnostic, 10, 74, 110, Eilers, Wilhelm, 29
112, 117, 134–136, 188, 190, El Kholy, Heba, 11
194, 196, 199, 201, 204–206, enemy combatant, 216
208, 221, 228, 232 England, 6, 122, 125, 225
diagnostic analysis or revelation, 78 enhanced interrogation techniques,
disease, 46–51, 53, 54, 57, 58, 60, 217
74, 115, 129, 159, 171 enter, entering the human body, 8, 9,
diseases of the heart, 53, 60 66, 68, 112, 233
dissociation, dissociative, 158, 188, envy, 56, 61, 101
195 enwinded, 66
Dissociative Identity Disorder, DID, epilepsy, epileptic, 9, 46, 47, 53–61,
159, 188, 189, 200–202, 206, 66, 73
209 epilepsy of humors, 54
distress, 7, 11, 12, 155, 187–190, epilepsy of spirits, 54, 57
193, 197, 202–204, 206–208, ethnic-minority, 202, 205
232 ethnopsychiatry, 6
divination, 33, 36, 111 Europe, European, 2, 10, 91,
divine, 46, 52, 53, 55–57, 59, 60, 80, 100–103, 112, 114, 115, 117,
84, 94, 219 126, 171, 177, 178, 180
divine blessing, 50 Evans-Pritchard, Edward, 111
INDEX 245
Eve, 22, 36 female, 6, 11, 28, 29, 32, 35, 39, 55,
evil, 54, 56, 60, 67, 78, 92, 101, 115, 151–154, 158–160, 218, 220,
123, 136, 144, 147, 164, 186, 224, 225
220, 232 feminist, 11, 153–157, 159
Evil Eye, evil eye, 6, 9, 50, 51, 78, fieldwork, 77, 94, 100, 102, 112,
86, 90, 101, 110, 111, 187, 196, 113, 116, 121, 132, 145, 151
205, 207, 220 Fifth Amendment, 226
Ewing, Katherine, 78 Finland, 169, 171
exegesis, 68 fire (of hell), 127, 196
exorcism, exorcise, 55, 59, 66, 88, 92, the first chapter of the Quran, 50
132, 160, 229, 230 flame, smokeless, 23
flashbacks, 194, 195, 199
follower, of the Prophet, 46
food, 50, 52, 101, 130
F force-feeding, 226
Facebook, 114, 124 forcible cell extractions, 226
Fahd, Toufic, 22, 24, 25, 36, 186 fuqahā’ . See faqı̄h
fairies, 19, 39
Faisalabad, 222
faith, 3, 6, 59, 60, 129, 130, 144, G
145, 174 Gabriel, 34
family, families, 7, 74, 82, 83, 88, Galen, Galenic, 47, 94
89, 92, 101, 103, 105, 106, gender, 4, 6, 10, 11, 29, 99, 115,
108–110, 112–114, 125, 130, 153, 154, 165, 171, 178, 206,
132–137, 140, 142, 148, 152, 220
172, 174, 194, 201, 217, 221, Geneva Conventions, 216
229–231 Germany, 2, 45, 192, 234
fantastic creatures, 27 Gerritsen, Annette, 6, 170
faqı̄h, pl. fuqahā , 100, 106, 108. See al-ghayb. See unseen
also scholar ghost detainees, 12, 217
Fartacek, Gebhard, 4, 25, 30, 79, 94 ghosts, 1, 5, 230
al-fātih.a, the first chapter of the ghūl (pl. ghı̄lān, aghwāl ), 19, 28
Quran, 50 Global War on Terrorism, 7, 12, 215,
Fazel, Mina, 170, 179 216, 219, 226, 228
fear, 8, 17, 19, 31, 60, 82, 86, 113, Gluckman, Max, 111
115, 125, 135, 164, 171, 178, God, 21–26, 30, 46, 51–55, 58,
187, 191, 196, 200, 229, 232, 60, 67–74, 77, 87, 91, 109,
233 114, 123, 128, 130, 131, 133,
Federal Bureau of Investigation, FBI, 139–141, 143, 145–147, 186,
218 225
feeling, 7, 20, 56, 91, 107, 138, 142, Goffman, Erving, 216, 218, 219
147, 174, 198, 199, 207 Goldziher, Ignaz, 19, 25
246 INDEX
the Gospels, 70, 139 health, mental, 2–4, 6, 8, 11, 122,

Graeco-Arabic, 47, 48, 59 145, 154, 164, 165, 170–176,
Greek, 5, 46, 47, 94 188, 189, 194, 205, 208, 216,
Guantanamo, 12, 233, 234 229, 230, 232, 233
Guantanamo Bay Detention Facility, health professional, 2, 3, 7, 12, 153,
GTMO, 12, 215–219, 221, 222, 178
225–227, 229–234 heaven, 54, 91, 186
Guantanamo Diary, 218 hell, 31, 186, 196, 200, 202
Guthrie, Elspeth, 224, 232 Henninger, Joseph, 26, 27, 38
Hentschel, Kornelius, 6, 25, 29
hidden, 19, 26, 71, 93, 101, 105, 114
H high-value detainee, 218
h.adı̄th, Hadith. See tradition h.ijāb. See cover; magic formula;
H talisman
. alabı̄, Nūr ad-Dı̄n, 18, 21, 24, 33,
35 h.ijāma, hijāma. See cupping
h.alāl . See lawful Hindu, 125, 224
half, halfling, 28, 47 Hippocrates, 47
Hoffer, Cor, 102
hallucinations, 172, 186, 190, 191,
Holy Spirit, 34
198, 199, 201–204, 207, 221,
hostility, 21, 22
228–230
house, 27, 90, 102, 108, 110, 111,
Hamadānı̄-T.ūsı̄, Muhammad, 18, 19,
131, 140, 173, 195
28, 35
house jinn, 27
al-H . amawı̄, Alı̄ Ibn Abd al-Karı̄m, house spirit, 27, 37
49
humankind, humans, 4, 9, 17, 19,
Hanbali, H . anbalı̄, 9, 18, 46, 49, 50, 21–23, 26, 27, 29, 30, 56, 69,
52, 59, 60
88, 89, 92, 117, 132, 139, 143,
H . aqqı̄, Ismā‘ı̄l, 68 146, 164, 186, 190, 220, 224
h.arām, illicit, 102
Human Rights Watch, 219, 229
Harut and Marut, Harūt and Marūt,
humoral, humoralism, humors, 5, 9,
80
20, 46–53, 59–61, 75, 111
hātif . See belief in voices of otherwise
Hurayra, Abū, 22
invisible beings
H . usain Abd al-Qādir, 231
headache, 86, 114, 186, 187, 194, al-Husayn, Imam, 80, 84
197, 207 husband, 83, 85–87, 89, 93, 94, 109,
healer, spiritual, 9, 78, 79, 83, 93, 113, 114, 141, 152, 155–159
179, 187, 200, 207, 208 hyperactivity, 221
healing, 6–11, 46, 50, 52, 53, hysteria, 11, 153
55, 59, 78, 79, 84, 99–104,
106, 112–115, 117, 123, 124,
126–128, 130, 131, 136–139, I
141, 142, 144, 146, 147, 177, Iblı̄s, Iblis, 21–25, 28, 31, 36, 186
178, 208 Ibn Abbās, 23
INDEX 247
Ibn ‘Abd al-Salām, ‘Izz al-Dı̄n, 70 International Committee of the Red

Ibn ‘Arafa al-Mālikı̄, 73 Cross, ICRC, 2, 216, 217, 229,
Ibn al-Qayyim, Ibn Qayyim al- 233
Jawziyya, 9, 45–47, 49–60, internment, 2, 221
116 interrogation, interrogated, inter-
Ibn al-Sunnı̄ al-Dı̄nawarı̄, 49 rogator, 12, 215, 217, 218, 222,
Ibn H . azm, 69 229, 231, 233, 234
Ibn Kathı̄r, 68 intrusion (of the human body), 9
Ibn Khaldūn, 33, 34, 39 invisible, 26, 27, 37, 56, 92, 108,
Ibn Māja, 48, 49 142, 164, 206, 220
Ibn Muflih., 49, 60 Iranian Revolution, 80
Ibn Sı̄nā, Ibn Sina, 47, 49, 50 Iran, Iranian, 23, 34, 79–81, 84, 170,
Ibn Taymiyya, 18, 26, 35, 37, 55–57, 193, 194
68 Iraq, Iraqi, 9, 10, 36, 79–83, 92, 193,
Ibshı̄hı̄, 24 216, 218
ifrı̄t, powerful demon, 32, 33 al-Is.fahānı̄, Abū Nuaym, 49
Ikhwān as.-S.afā. See Brethren of Purity Islamic, 179
illicit, 9, 123, 138, 145, 148 Islamic Studies, 1, 2, 12, 45, 151
illness, 7, 9, 29, 32, 51, 60, 74, 82, Israeli, 221
121, 124, 143, 146, 148, 164, Ivrit, 221
172, 173, 175, 177, 178, 189,
198, 232 J
imagination, imagery, 20, 78, 186, Jafar-i Badakhshı̄, 26
191, 200 jāhiliyya. See advent of Islam
imam, 60, 104–107, 109, 112, Jāh.iz., ‘Amr al-, 19, 20, 27, 28, 33,
122–124, 137, 173, 174, 192, 34, 36, 39
199, 207, 208 Jalal, Baland, 190–192, 198
immigrant, 169, 171, 178, 179 al-Jawzı̄, Ibn, 49
immoral, 55, 122, 134, 138 al-Jazā’irı̄, Abū Bakr, 69
impure, 86 jealous, jealousy, 86, 92, 136, 220
incantation, 22, 57, 82, 85, 126, 127 Jew, Jewish, 25, 31, 88, 109, 220,
incubus phenomenon, 190, 191, 221
198–200, 203 Jihad, 223, 224, 234
India, 71, 125, 222 Jihad Abu Wa’el Dhiab, 226, 231
Infallibles, 84, 85, 94 jinān al-buyūt . See house jinn
infertility, 32, 82, 186, 187 jinnı̄ya. See male jinnı̄
infusion, 111, 112 jinnı̄ya, jinniyya, female jinnı̄, 32, 35,
ins . See humankind, humans 89, 92, 152, 159
insane, 8, 187 jinn living together with humans, 27,
insomnia, 114, 221, 229 28
Instagram, 102, 124, 148 Johnsdotter, Sara, 6, 169–172, 174,
Internally Displaced Persons, IDPs, 81 176–179
248 INDEX
Jordan, 215 Lim, Anastasia, 6, 172, 186, 187,

Judaism, 22, 23 198, 220, 221
jujube, 111, 112 liminal, liminality, 30–32, 165, 216,
junūn. See mad, madness 219, 221, 228
al-Juwaynı̄, 67 Lindquist, Galina, 137, 141
literalistic, 46
literal meaning, 72
K London, 170, 172
kāfir. See unbelief, unbeliever loneliness, 20
kāhin, pl. kuhhān. See soothsayer love, 6, 56, 84, 87, 89, 140
kālā jādū. See black magic lust, 53
Kandahar, 219, 234
Karbalai, Basim, 84, 94 M
kashshāf . See diagnostic analysis or ma ād al-abdān. See bodily
revelation resurrection on the Last Day
Keram, Emily, 230, 231 mad, madness, 6, 11, 33, 66, 70, 72,
Khalı̄fa. See vice regent 74, 121, 145, 151, 154, 232
Khamenei, ‘Ali, 81 Maghreb, 10, 71, 101, 107, 108
Khiyāl, khiyāl-bāzı̄. See imagination, magic formula, 86
imagery magic, magician, 3, 10, 57, 78–80,
Khomeini, Ayatollah, 81 82–84, 87, 90, 93, 94, 101, 123,
kinship, 102, 107, 115, 130, 131, 132, 137, 144, 148, 187,
134–137, 142, 144, 148 202
Kirmayer, Laurence, 157, 206 al-Majlisı̄, Bāqir, 94
Kompetencecenter for Transkultural majnūn. See mad, madness
Psykiatrie, 11 makhbūl . See confused, confusion
Koran. See Quran, Qur’an, Qur’ān, mal ak, pl. malā ika. See angel
Quranic malbūs . See enwinded
Krawietz, Birgit, 2, 26, 50, 52, 56, male, 6, 10, 29, 94, 154, 156, 158,
57, 61, 66, 74, 89, 187, 220, 174, 218, 220, 232
225, 234 male jinnı̄, 29
kufr. See unbelief, unbeliever Mamluk, 51
Kuitinnen, Saija, 171 marriage, married, marry, marital, 31,
85, 89, 91–93, 100, 108, 109,
114, 117, 123, 130–136, 138,
L 141, 142, 144, 147, 152, 154,
Langermann, Tzvi, 51 157–159, 164, 186, 194, 226
lawful, 102, 134, 135 Masūdı̄, Alı̄ al-, 19, 28, 29, 36
learned helplessness, 217 mas.rū . See epilepsy, epileptic
Lebanese, 3, 80 mass . See touch, touching; mad,
lesbian, 89 madness
light, 23, 70, 126, 219 Mawlay ‘Abdeslam, 104, 105
INDEX 249
Mecca, 84, 91 Muhammad, Muh.ammad, the

medical doctor, 78, 194–196, Prophet, 48, 51, 54–56, 59, 60,
201–203, 207 74, 94, 101, 116, 123, 126
medicine, 46, 50, 52, 53, 59, 60, 74, Muh.arram, 80, 94
84, 92, 131, 177, 234. See also mujahid, pl. mujahideen, 222
humoral; Prophetic Medicine mujtahid, 94
medicine, Islamic, 7, 10, 11, 47, munya. See wishful ideas
100–102, 115, 117 Muslim, 2–4, 6–9, 11, 12, 17, 18,
27, 30, 32–34, 50, 52, 60, 67,
Medicine of the Imams, 9
68, 71, 74, 84, 89, 100, 101,
Meier, Fritz, 17, 20, 24, 26, 27, 29, 103, 108, 110, 112, 113, 115,
36–39 121–123, 125, 126, 129, 131,
memory, 105, 130, 188, 189, 196, 133, 134, 137, 140, 144, 145,
201, 204 147, 148, 164, 169, 173, 174,
mental health, 2–4, 6, 8, 11, 122, 176, 186, 189, 194, 205, 208,
145, 154, 164, 165, 170–176, 217, 218, 220, 221, 224, 229,
188, 189, 194, 205, 208, 229, 232
230, 232, 233 Mu‘tazila, 67, 69, 72, 73
mental healthcare, 232 muteness, 197
mental illness, 7, 11, 121, 137, 163,
164, 170, 171, 174, 176, 178,
N
233
nār. See fire (of hell)
microbe, 71, 117
nasogastric tube, 226
Middle East, 2, 3, 8, 12, 60, 71, 225 al-Nawawı̄, 72
Middle Period, 8 Nelson, Cynthia, 151–153, 158
migration, 3, 4, 6, 7, 11, 99, 100, Netherlands, 169, 170, 174
124, 125, 170, 178 Newman, Andrew, 94
miracle, 55, 107 New York Times, 229, 232
the mission of the Prophet night, 20, 30–32, 38, 91, 109, 192,
Muh.ammad, 18 194, 198
Mittermaier, Amira, 78 night-mare, nightmare, 32, 185, 187,
money, 74, 88, 92, 94 190–195, 197, 198, 224, 232
al-Nı̄sābūrı̄, Abū Bakr Ibn al-Mundhir,
moral, morality, 4, 8, 10, 30, 32, 50,
69
99, 102, 122, 123, 129, 133,
Niz.āmı̄, 19, 20, 29, 30, 32, 36, 38,
139, 140, 158
39
Morocco, Moroccan, 6, 10, 100–104, non-state actor, 217
106–108, 111, 113–117 noon, 31, 111
mosque, 3, 104, 108, 122–125, 145, North Africa, 11
146, 195, 196, 200, 207 nudity, 217, 218, 230
Mountain Qāf, 31 al-Nu‘mānı̄, Sirāj al-Dı̄n, 72
al-mu awwidhatān, 50, 55, 71 nūr. See light
250 INDEX
O 12, 69, 73, 113, 122, 130, 144,

Obama, 226 145, 148, 151–153, 157–160,
occult, 89, 101, 142, 144 187, 189, 190, 193, 196–200,
Ocean, 24, 30 202, 204, 206
Odense, 2, 12, 163 Possession Trance Disorder, PTD,
olive branch, olive wood, 104, 188, 189, 200–202, 209
109–111 postclassical. See Middle Period
Ong, Aihwa, 160 posttraumatic stress disorder, PTSD,
orthodoxy, orthodox, 20, 57, 101, 7, 191, 193–195, 199, 230
102 prayer, 28, 50, 81, 91, 92, 124, 128,
129, 132, 135, 137, 143–146,
218, 221, 222
P pre-Islamic, 5, 22, 23, 33, 34
Pakistan, Pakistani, 12, 122, 125, 126, prisoner-of-war-status, 216
129, 130, 132, 133, 148, 169, prison, prisoner, 21, 221, 233
175, 218, 222, 225, 231 Prophet. See Muhammad, Muh.ammad,
Palestinian, Palestine, 59, 81, 83, 85, the Prophet
88, 89, 92, 193, 218, 222, 231
Prophet’s medicine, 45–51, 55, 57,
Paradise, 22, 26, 31, 36, 54, 56
61
paranoia, paranoid, 201, 208, 229
prophethood, 55
Paret, Rudi, 93
Prophetic Medicine, Medicine of the
parı̄. See fairies
Prophet, 5, 6, 9, 46, 48, 50, 51,
patience, 13, 51, 53, 54, 123, 138,
59, 61, 101, 112, 116, 124
143, 144
patriarchy, patriarchal, 6, 11, 153–155, prophylaxis, 52
157 protection, 6, 22, 87, 92, 116, 131
Pentagon, 226 psychiatrist, psychiatry, psychiatric, 1,
Perho, Irmeli, 6, 46–51, 53, 58, 61 5, 6, 8, 11, 129, 137, 143, 146,
Periodic Review Board, 230 155, 173, 203–205, 207, 227,
Persian, 5, 6, 8, 28, 29, 34, 36, 39 230, 231
philosophy, 7, 36 psychology, psychological, 1, 2, 8, 11,
physical appearance, 26, 28 19, 20, 46, 74, 102, 113, 128,
physical diseases, 53 129, 143, 160, 165, 171–176,
physician, 55, 58–60, 226 189, 227, 229, 231–234
Pielow, Dorothee, 26, 29, 31, 37 psychosomatic, 171
Pir, 131, 132 psychotic disorder, 172, 221
play, 20, 47, 78, 134, 138, 174, 177 psychotic, psychosis, 172, 174, 175,
poet, poetry, 5, 6, 17, 33, 34, 36 187, 194, 198, 201–205, 227,
polytheism, 21, 56, 131 229
the Pope, 223, 224 punishment, divine, 46, 60, 61, 127,
to possess, possession (executive, 223
pathogenic), jinn possession, 6, Punjab, Punjabi, 129, 130, 132, 133
INDEX 251
Q 130, 154, 164, 170, 172, 176,

Qadariyya, 67 187, 205
al-Qahtani, Muhammad, 229–231 reliance in God, 138
al-Qa‘ida, 215, 216, 222 religious healers, 123, 124, 126, 148,
al-Qāsimı̄, Jamāl al-Dı̄n, 71 177
Qazwı̄nı̄, Zakariyyā al-, 18, 23, 25, religious indicator, 73
28–30, 32, 35 religious scholar, 59
Queen of Sheba, 5, 32 rendition, 7, 217, 230
Quran, Qur’an, Qur’ān, Quranic, 4, resistance, 126, 153, 160
9, 18, 19, 21, 23–25, 28, 29, Resurrection. See Day, of Judgment,
32, 46, 48, 50, 52, 55, 56, 60, Day of Resurrection, Judgment
65, 67–75, 79, 84–86, 90, 92, Day, Last Day
100–102, 105, 107–109, 116, revelation, 18, 20, 23, 33, 34, 52, 85
122–124, 127, 128, 131, 148, revival, 99, 100, 103, 115, 124, 152
152, 164, 171, 186, 187, 190, risālat an-nabı̄. See the mission of the
192, 194, 195, 207, 218–221, Prophet Muh.ammad
223, 231, 233
ritual, 88, 89, 101, 102, 106, 107,
al-Qurt.ubı̄, Abd al-Malik, 48
109, 111–116, 141, 142, 145,
al-Qurt.ubı̄, Abū ‘Abdallāh, 70, 71
218
Rosecran, Shay, 232
R Rubin, Uri, 55
Rachik, Hassan, 117 rūh. al-qudus . See Holy Spirit
al-Rāghib al-Is.fahānı̄, 69 ruqya. See sharia-compliant incantation
Ramadan, 31, 83, 194 ruqya ilāhiyya. See divine charm or
rape, raping, 11, 195, 199, 224 magic
al-rāqı̄. See religious healers Rytter, Mikkel, 6, 133–136, 148
al-Rāzı̄, Rhazes, 47, 49
rationalism, rationalist, 51, 53, 59
real existence, 18, 20, 35, 36
S
reason, 47, 52, 54–56, 67, 70, 72,
Saar, Eric, 216
89, 109, 114, 123, 136, 139,
145, 154, 178, 220, 224, 234 .sabr. See patience
recitation, 50, 70, 92, 100, 105, 106, sacred, 39, 52, 60
109, 112, 114, 116, 124, 127, Said, Edward, 5
128, 136, 143, 145, 192, 194, Salafi, 6
195, 221, 223 .salāt . See prayer
Redfield, Robert, 4 al-Sam‘ānı̄, Abū al-Muz.affar, 69
refugee, 2, 7, 10, 78, 91, 169–171, al-Samarqandı̄, Abū al-Layth, 69
193, 199 S.anawbarı̄, 31, 32, 38
re-Islamization, 101, 102 .sar . See epilepsy, epileptic
relationship, 4, 47, 57, 78, 85, 86, .sar al-akhlāt.. See epilepsy of humors
88–90, 92, 100–102, 107, 113, .sar al-arwāh.. See epilepsy of spirits
252 INDEX
satan, Satan, satans, satanic, 22–25, Shiite, Shi‘i, Shi‘ism, Shia, 2, 9, 10,
27, 31, 34, 37, 56, 65, 68, 70, 80, 81, 83, 84, 94, 95
72, 73, 123, 199, 220 shiqq. See half, halfling
Saudi, Saudi Arabia, 3, 65, 222, 225 shirk. See polytheism
Savage-Smith, Emilie, 47, 48, 61 shrine, 79–83, 94
Sayyida Zaynab, 9, 77, 79–83 shubha. See doubt; confused, confusion
Sayyid Muhsin al-Amin, 81 sidr. See jujube
schizophrenia, 172, 194, 201, 202, sih.r. See black magic
207, 230, 232 sin, 46, 129, 203
scholar, 2, 3, 9, 18–20, 23, 26, 33, Slahi, Mohamedou, 218
35, 36, 46, 48, 52, 68, 71, 74, sleep, 172, 191, 193, 217
81, 89, 124, 125, 164, 178, 179, sleep paralysis, SP, 190–193, 198–200,
186 203, 204
Schöller, Marco, 25 smoke, 23, 172
seizure, 46, 54, 56, 57, 172, 221, 227 snake, 27, 29, 37, 56
self-cultivation, 141 solitary confinement, 217, 229, 230
self-mutilation, 172, 229 Solomon, King, 5, 25, 29–32, 80
sensory perception, 26 Somali, Somalia, 169–172, 174, 176
September 11, 215, 216, 229 somatic complaint, 221
sex, sexual, sexuality, 10, 88, 89, 92, soothsayer, 33
109, 115, 134, 146, 156–158, sorcery, 51
190 soul, 50, 53, 54, 57, 58, 66, 70, 80
shahāda, 108 South Asian, 10, 123–126, 133, 148
Spain, 10, 99
shahwa. See lust
speaking in tongues, 68, 221
shā ir, pl. shu arā . See poet, poetry
specialists of the sharı̄ a, 19
Shakhrukh Hamiduva, 228, 231
spirit, spirits, spiritual, 1, 2, 5, 6,
shame, 132, 207, 232
9–11, 22, 23, 25, 39, 52–58,
shape, change of, 26, 27, 56 60, 61, 68, 71, 77–79, 82, 83,
al-Sha‘rāwı̄, Muh.ammad Mutawallı̄, 93, 103, 105, 114, 121, 122,
71 124, 129, 130, 153, 186–190,
al-Shawkānı̄, 68, 71 196–198, 200, 204–207, 218,
al-Shiblı̄, Badr al-Dı̄n, 37, 67, 89 230, 231
sharia-compliant incantation, 9 spiritual invocation, 50
Sharia, sharia, sharı̄ a, 2, 18, 50, 54, state actor, 217
56, 58, 67 Stichweh, Rudolf, 5
Sharifian, 104, 105, 115, 116 Strasser, Sabine, 4, 151, 152
Sharo Hasda, 228 Strathern, Marilyn, 135
sha wadha. See charlatanism strict monotheism, 21
shayāt.ı̄n, sg. shayt.ān. See satan, Satan, sub-Saharan Africa, 11
satans, satanic substance, 23, 48, 50, 52, 86, 93,
shaykh, 78, 79, 83–91, 93, 221 102, 111, 112
INDEX 253
Sufi, Sufism, 51, 103, 104, 107, 126, television, 93, 108
130, 133 temptation, 20, 148, 220
Suhr, Christian, 6, 141, 142 Tetouan, 100, 102, 104, 110, 112,
suicide, suicidal, 112, 203 116, 117
Sündermann, Katja, 6, 79, 83, 221 text, 18, 20, 24, 33–38, 45, 47–49,
sunna, Sunna, 4, 18, 19, 28, 34, 46, 51, 55, 60, 65, 74, 89, 94, 101,
48, 52, 60, 67, 69, 70, 72, 123, 104, 105, 114, 116
148, 187 Thaālibı̄, 34
Sunni, 2, 45, 83, 89, 193, 195 al-Tha‘labı̄, Abū Ish.āq, 69
supernatural, 11, 47, 130, 164, 171, Thailand, 218, 222
174, 175, 177, 192, 221, 230 the Throne verse, 55, 187
superstition, 104, 122, 152 .tibb. See medicine
Sura. See verse, of the Quran .tibb al-nabı̄, al-t.ibb al-nabawı̄, .tibb
al-Suyūt.ı̄, Jalāl al-Dı̄n, 35, 49, 69 al-rasūl . See Prophet’s medicine
Sweden, 169, 171, 174 al-T.ı̄bı̄, Sharaf al-Dı̄n, 73
symptom, 12, 46, 49, 54, 57, 58, 123, Tora Bora, 229
130, 172, 173, 187, 189, 191, torture, tortured, 7, 12, 195, 215–
194, 195, 197–204, 206–208, 219, 221, 222, 229–231, 233,
221, 227, 228, 230–232 234
symptomatology, 227 touch, touching, 66, 69, 74, 186,
syncretic, 10 187, 198, 220
Syriac, 47, 85 tradition, 4, 5, 10, 34, 37, 48, 49,
Syria, Syrian, 2, 7, 9, 29, 59, 67, 52–54, 68, 100, 115, 126, 133,
79–83, 91, 193, 215 139, 147, 154, 164, 189
traditionalist, 45, 49–51, 58, 61, 122,
T 126, 138
T.abarı̄, 21, 23, 29, 36 tradition, Prophetic, 22, 53, 58, 59
al-T.abarı̄, Muh.ammad b. Jarı̄r, 36, 69 trance, 6, 109, 189, 201, 204
tābi , Tābia, 31, 32 transcultural, 1, 5, 6
taboo, 155 transformation, transformative, 3, 27,
takhayyul . See fantastic creatures 115, 127, 140, 141, 146, 147,
Taliban, 194, 216 173
talisman, 9, 88. See also amulet transgressive, 66, 158
Tangier, 100, 104, 107, 113 transnationality, transnational, 10,
T.ant.āwı̄, Muh.ammad Sayyid, 67, 72, 99–104, 113–115, 133
73 trauma, traumatic, 11, 81, 113, 124,
Taussig, Michael, 78, 87 159, 160, 194, 199, 201, 207
tawakkul , 51, 138 trustful patience, 50
tawh.ı̄d. See unity of Allah; strict Tunisia, 195
monotheism Turkey, Turkish, 5, 152, 177
tāwı̄z. See amulets with religious Twitter, 7, 102, 114
writings the two protecting ones, 50
254 INDEX
U water, 31, 50, 86, 88, 90, 104, 105,

Uganda, 198 108, 112, 117, 187
Umar Ibn al-Khat.t.āb, 29 waterboarding, 217, 230, 233
unbelief, unbeliever, 18, 56, 73 Wellhausen, Julius, 26–28, 38
United Kingdom, UK, 124–126, 130, Wessel, Felix, 9, 45, 75, 116
148, 169–172, 174–176, 218 West Bank, 221
United States District Court for the Westermarck, Edward, 26, 29, 117
District of Columbia, 227, 228 whirlwind, 27, 29, 114
United States, US, 215–219, 221, whispering, foul, 67
222, 226, 228–230, 232–234 Wieland, Almut, 25, 26, 37, 38
unity of Allah, 18 wind, 29, 32, 68
unseen, 2, 127, 128, 143, 186, 198, Winkler, Hans Alexander, 29, 38
205, 219, 220 wishful ideas, 20
Uruguay, 226 witchcraft, 3, 6, 111, 117, 231
US Department of Defense, 232 World Health Organisation, WHO,
al-‘Uthaymı̄n, Muh.ammad Ibn S.ālih., 177, 202
66 wrong way of thinking, 19
Uzbek, 228
Uzbekistan, 225, 234
X
V Xenakis, Stephen, 226–228
van Duijl, 198
venesection, 48
verse, of the Quran, 26, 55 Y
vice regent, 21, 24 yaqı̄n. See certainty
video, 84 Yemen, 29, 32
violence, 7, 11, 81, 127, 147, 155, YouTube, 124, 148, 195
158, 159, 231
visible, visibility, 26, 37, 67, 173, 174,
186, 190, 220
Z
voice, 28, 72, 109, 127, 145, 156,
z.āhir. See apparent meaning; literal
172, 188, 189, 195, 199, 202,
meaning
223
Zamakhsharı̄, Abū al-Qāsim, 21, 68,
71–73
W zār ceremonies, 151, 152, 160
wah.da. See loneliness Zayn al-Abidin Muhammad Husain,
wah.sha. See loneliness; alienation 222
war, 6, 7, 81, 82, 186, 194, 221, 231 zoology, zoomorphic, 27
waswasa, waswās . See whispering, foul; Zubayda, Abu, 12, 218, 222–225,
temptation 233

Islam, Migration and Jinn Spiritual Medicine in Muslim Health Management

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THE MODERN MUSLIM WORLD

Islam, Migration and Jinn

More information about this series at

The Modern Muslim World

Cover illustration: © Daniel Schoenen/Alamy Stock Foto

2 Demonic Beings: The Friends and Foes of Humans 17

3 Tipping the Scales Toward an Islamic Spiritual

4 The Physical Reality of Jinn Possession According

5 Battered Love in Contemporary Syria: Shi‘i Spiritual

6 Ruqya and the Olive Branch: A Bricoleur Healer

7 Healing, Agency, and Life Crisis Among British

8 Contextualising Female Jinn Possession in Sexual

9 Jinn and Mental Suffering by Migrants in Europe:

10 Jinn Beliefs in Western Psychiatry: A Study of Three

11 Jinn Among Muslim Captives in Guantanamo

Mudhi al-Shimmari Center for Dawa and Irshad, Ministry of Islamic

Birte Spreckelsen Institute for Islamic Studies, Freie Universität Berlin,

Table 9.1 Included literature 167

Annabelle Böttcher and Birgit Krawietz

© The Author(s) 2021 1

aspects of this phenomenon. Annabelle Böttcher first encountered jinn in

narrative among Muslim health professionals, who usually feel uncomfort-

multilayered historical roles over 14 centuries and the variety of their

(2015) German-language monograph about jinn that assembles Arabic

involved in their quest for well-being in a globalized world of shifting

intercultural psychiatry. The increased discursive employment of jinn

contemporary application. Szanto’s case study traces the double scenario

Muslim women in her contribution on “Contextualizing Female Jinn

accentuate a conflict of interpretations based not only on misunder-

Acknowledgements This book is the outcome of a process to which many

Demonic Beings: The Friends and Foes

© The Author(s) 2021 17

This article is based mostly on pre-modern written sources.2 But the

Debating the Existence of Demonic Beings

an-Naz.z.ām (d. ca. 221/836).16 In his view, feelings of wah.sha (lone-

of demonology. It is telling that the most famous Quran commenta-

The Jinn and Other Classes of Spiritual Beings

intention to install Adam as his vice-regent (khalı̄fa) on earth (Q 2:30).

The Physical Appearance of Jinn

1356/1937, vol. 1, 207.6–9). Azraqı̄ reports that, at the death of a great

The Foes of Humans

situations favor the appearance of demonic beings. The following expla-

The Friends of Humans

soothsayer (kāhin) (Nünlist 2015, 342–343). These Quranic passages

26. Translated by Arberry, The Koran Interpreted, 322; Sura 18.49.

63. On the anti-demonic functions of cocks, particularly of white cocks, see

Damı̄rı̄, Muh.ammad b. Mūsā ad-Damı̄rı̄. H . ayāt al-h.ayawān al-kubrā. Wa-

Masūdı̄, Alı̄ b. al-H

[Qazwı̄nı̄, Zakariyyā b. Muh.ammad al-Qazwı̄nı̄] Ansbacher, Jonas. Die Abschnitte

Tipping the Scales Toward an Islamic Spiritual

© The Author(s) 2021 45

popularity. Originally being a part of Ibn al-Qayyim’s biography of the

and emphasizes the impact of humoral causes. Thereafter, the expression

The Developmental Stages

i. In a first step, medicine-related traditions about the life of

Features of the Prophet’s Medicine

the appropriation of rationalist argumentation from the field of medicine

Jinn and Epilepsy According to Ibn al-Qayyim

acknowledges cures derived from the rationalist methods of humoral

The Fight Against Jinn-Induced Epilepsy

immoral conduct. Further, this is quite an elegant solution, because the

turns jinn into a means to theologically argue in favor of causation, but

What surprises in this passage is Ibn al-Qayyim’s allegation that the