Port2005 Really Real

Circling around the Really Real:
Spirit Possession Ceremonies and

the Search for Authenticity in
Bahian Candombl
e
MATTIJS VAN DE PORT
ABSTRACT Many anthropologists studying spirit possession
cults have commented that the most immediate experience of
possession escapes our understanding. In Bahian candombl e,
cultists have reached similar conclusions: while their religious
discourse explains why possession happens, the phenomenon
itself is considered to be hors discourslocked-up in the here
and nowof the experiencing body. This article discusses howthe
construction of possession as radically other helps the priest-
hood to deal with the fact that candombl e has become the trade-
mark of the Bahian state, and ever more voices are involved in
a debate as to what the cult is, can be or should be. In response,
priests have put the inexplicability of possession at the service
of authenticating their particular understanding of candombl e.
Declaring words to be inadequate to grasp the really real of their
religion, they seek to restore their authority. [candombl e, spirit
possession, authenticity, religious authority, tourism, Lacanian
theory]
With good reason postmodernism has instructed us that real-
ity is artice yet, so it seems to me, not enough surprise has
been expressed as to how we nevertheless get on with living,
pretending . . . that we live facts, not ctions.
Michael Taussig, Mimesis and Alterity. A Particular History of
the Senses [1993]
ETHOS, Vol. 33, No. 2, pp. 149179, ISSN 0091-2131, electronic ISSN 1548-1352.
C
2005 by the American Anthro-
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150 ETHOS
D
uring one of the rst spirit possession ceremonies that
I witnessed in Bahia I was taken over by the fear that I
might become possessed. That fear was kind of odd, given
the fact that I do not believe in spirits who take pos-
session of people. Yet it was scary nonetheless (whatever
this it may have been). Ceremonies of candombl e
1
can be powerful
performances, and this particular one, in a small neighborhood temple
(terreiro), packed with locals rubbing shoulders, certainly was. After the
introductory round dance had been danced, the drums started calling on
the orix as, the spiritual entities that are worshipped in Bahian candombl e.
They seemed to arrive in large numbers. The daughters-of-saints (lhas-
de-santo; initiates) who had been dancing for hours, circling round and
round the central pillar, started bending forward and backward, quiver-
ing their shoulders and grunting like a Vitrola needle at the end of a
recordas Ruth Landes (1947:50) once described it in the metaphor of
her time. Many of the locals who had been watching the scene became
possessed as well: a plump lady on high heels, a middle-aged man, a some-
what grayish looking woman wearing an apron, they all started to stagger
on their feet and turned up their eyeballs. Contrary to the initiates, they
took off silently, as if sneaking out of their bodies. Soon, two of the three
adolescent boys who had been busy displaying a cool and unaffected
posture amidst the general effervescence, entered into trance. I clearly
remember the nervous expression on the face of the third one after the
departure of his mates. A young girl, who had been chatting and giggling
with a friend as if this was a schoolyard rather than a place of worship,
all of a sudden fell into a rigorous spasm, and rolled over the dance oor,
stiff as a broomstick. She was covered with a white sheet and for over an
hour lay motionless on the oor.
The drums were beaten ever more frantically. Each time someone
would fall into trance there was a lot of cheering and applause. I felt ner-
vous. I was overwhelmed by the sight of behavior I could only interpret
as a complete lack of self-control. And I was scared that I too would fall
to the oor, but with no narrative other than hysteria to make sense of
it. It was only a sense of professionalism that kept me from wrestling my
way back to the exit. I recall that I crossed my arms over my chest. I tried
to dissociate myself from the scene by rummaging in my rucksack to look
for nothing in particular. I urged myself to breath deeply and calmly. I
told myself that I do not believe in spirits. I forced myself to think of what
anthropologists have been saying about possession trance, invoking the
spirits of science to protect me from whatever it was that was creeping
toward me that rowdy night. What calmed me down, in the end, was the
sight of a dog, a German Shepard. The animal had been walking around
Spirit Possession Authenticates Religious Authority 151
freely over the dance oor, pursuing its own canine pursuits, undisturbed
by the interactions of people and spirits.
Afterward I tried to gure out what had been so uncanny. All I could
come up with was that the drums had been instigating me to cross a
threshold that I cannot (or dare not) cross. Beyond it, I imagined, lies
madness, the annihilation of Self, a black hole. But I realized that I was
already borrowing words for comforts sake. Language was to no avail here.
It would be fairer to say that imagination itself was lacking.
Im certainly not the only anthropologist to have observed that no
matter how possession trance is tackled theoretically, its most immediate
experience escapes our understanding. Janice Boddy (1994), Paul Stoller
(1995), and Michael Taussig (1987), to name but a few, all have remarked
that whereas the Otherness of the phenomenon (its uncanny inexplica-
bility, its screaming incompatibility with Western notions of personhood,
its seeming disdain for self-control, its radical otherness) demands expla-
nation, and this explanation highlights the inadequacy of our conceptual
categories rather than the phenomenon itself (Boddy 1994:407).
This is of course not to say that there is a lack of imaginative ap-
proaches to possession trance. In anthropological literature, the phe-
nomenon has been cleverly linked up with the battle of the sexes,
as womenwhose predominance as mediums has universally been
noticedcan have their eeting moments of prestige when possessed by
a spirit (Boddy 1994). It has been described as a catharsis that works on
deep seated psychic conicts and may bring about healing (Obeyesekere
1981). It has been explained in terms of neurobiology, where the impact
of patterned, repetitive acts on the human nervous system are said to pro-
duce trance like states (Lex 1979). It has been read as a text inscribed
in the body in which new meanings are produced and the sediments of
history are articulated. It has been appreciated as a kind of surrealist per-
formance, in which reality is attacked and the inadequacies of the world
are addressed (Stoller 1995). And recently, a colleague of mine argued that
we should stop thinking about possession as something radically other, as
we are all living in a state of enduring possession. Could there be any other
way of being, he asked, now that weve learned that identication is all
that we have in that impossible project of coming to a sense of self?
Thought provoking comments. And yet, there seems to be an overall
agreement that there is something in possession trance that refuses
to be signied. No matter how clever our attempts to break the mystery,
something about possession remains enigmatic, unapproachable, resisting
the word, displaying the failure of representation. When faced with people
falling into trance, thoughts like Oh well, arent we all possessed are not
likely to cross ones mind. One is simply abbergasted, not knowing what
152 ETHOS
to think as to what it is these people are doing to (or with) themselves.
Even Ruth Landes, who in her classic study on Bahian candombl e comes
across as a stout and stalwart character, admitted that she felt keyed up
and restless when the drumming reached a peak during one of the rst
trance inducing ceremonies she witnessed (1947:50).
It can be argued that in many ways possession trance is as mysteri-
ous a phenomenon for the candombl e community as it is for anthropolo-
gists. There are important differences to be noticed, of course. The idea
of spirits taking possession of a human body is widely accepted in Bahian
society, and spirit possession is a common practice, not only in can-
dombl e, but in many other religious denominations as well (Kardecismo,
Pentecostalism, Charismatic Catholicism). Moreover, candombl e offers a
great many myths and metaphors to explain why possession trance hap-
pens (cf. Prandi 2001:527).
But here too, we must observe that whereas these myths provide the
phenomenon with an explanatory cosmological frame, the mystery as to
what exactly happens is accepted for what it is: a mystery locked up in the
here and now of bodily experience. In factas I will describe in greater
detail belowthe candombl e priesthood is keen on repeating over and
over again that there is something in possession trance that is beyond
human grasp. The mysteries, as they call it, cannot and should not be
revealed. A candombl e priestess told anthropologist Luis Nicolau Par es:
No one can ever really talk with certainty about the mysteries. The mysteries are the
mysteries. The secrets are the secrets, and no one will ever know anything. Those who
study, those who come to observe, they are observing, but they dont know the deep
knowledge. For one says one thing, and another says another thing, and so they only
leave one confused. I always leave the researchers em balano (dangling). [1997:2]
Following William James (1958), this something in the phe-
nomenon of possession that escapes our understanding might well be la-
beled the ineffable. Obviously, the aim of this article is not yet another
forlorn attempt to name-call into existence a phenomenon that refuses to
be verbalized. Accepting the ineffable for what(ever) it is, I would rather
discuss what use people make of occurrences that might be (or must be)
labeled that way.
In the research arena that is Salvador, and more particular, its ter-
reiros de candombl e, possession trance and other productions of the in-
effable are staged in a tumultuous world of rapid change. As I will de-
scribe below in greater detail, it is a world where religious authorities
are unable to impose their views or control the religious practices of cult
members. It is a world where the regimes of truth that buttress the sym-
bolic order are in disarray. It is also a world that isto borrow Michael
Taussigs phrasingall too visibly made-up: ever new groups are re-
signifying the cult; its rhythms and aesthetics have been appropriated by
the culture and entertainment industry; and its gods, rituals and philoso-
phies have become commodities for the tourist market (as well as on the
more local religious market that Brazilians so aptly call o mercado dos
bens de salva aothe market of salvation products). Because of all of
this, one could also say that it is rst and foremost a world in search of
authenticity.
Of course, candombl e studies have not ignored this wider social and
political context within which the cult operates and develops (Amaral
2002; Bastide 1978; Fry 1982; Herskovitz 1943; Johnson 2002; Prandi
1999; Santos 2000; Silva 1995, 2001). Yet the phenomenon of posses-
sion is largely studied and understood within the cosmological frame-
work of the cult. Thus, we are told that possession is the most inti-
mate experience of the mutual bond between spirits and their mediums
(Berckenbrock 1999:197) and we further learn that this relationship be-
tween human beings and spirits is a reciprocal one: in worshipping his/her
orix a (observing the taboos, participating in the rituals, sacrices, and cel-
ebrations) the initiate gains access to divine protection and receives ax e,
the life-force that assures the dynamic of life processes, and without which
human existence would be paralyzed, lacking all possibility of realization.
Within this scheme of offering and receiving, possession entails a verita-
ble booster of ax e, not only for the receiving medium, but also for the
candombl e community at large (Santos 1975:3940).
In this article, I propose an alternative perspective on possession and
possession ceremonies by interpreting them rst and foremost as the pro-
ductionof the ineffable ina symbolic universe inwhichmeanings are adrift
and truth regimes are in disarray. I will argue that in a world where authen-
ticity is in high demand, phenomena that seem to be hors discoursin
other words, seem to be positioned beyond received ways of knowing and
understandingbecome increasingly attractive. I take possession to be
such a phenomenon: because it seems to escape all attempts at signica-
tion it appears to be immune for the slippings and slidings of meaning.
Whether you say a million words about it or nothing at all, you are not
going to grasp its essence. Possession thus suggests that there are realities
beyond conventional knowledge, and as I will argue, it thus creates a
locus for the really real.
THE FAILURE OF SYMBOLIZATION
A generation of scholars who try to put Lacanian thoughts and con-
cepts at the service of understanding social phenomena provide a good
starting point for this inquiry. As their thinking has only recently entered
anthropological debates on the construction of reality, a brief exploration
154 ETHOS
of their thoughtswith all the simplications brevity impliesmay be
necessary.
Whereas most anthropologists are inclined to focus their thinking on
the positive work of culture (their primary concern is to show how socio-
symbolic formations produce meaning, to explain how people manage to
transform ultimately arbitrary notions into certainties-beyond-dispute by
means of taboos, techniques of embodiment, commemorative rites and the
many other practices they have at their disposal), scholars such as Slavoj
Zi zek (1989, 1997), Yannis Stavrakakis (1999), and Katherine Pratt Ewing
(1997) tend to focus on the ultimate failure of symbolization processes.
All symbolic constructions, they argue, are lacking because they fail to
capture lived experience in its entirety.
What do they mean? In the Lacanian view, our entrance into the
symbolic world of language and social relations was the beginning of a life
long drama: we have forever lost the enjoyment of a state of wholeness, a
full and undivided identity. As

Zi zek puts it, entering the symbolic world
withall its divisionas to what one is and what one is notmorties, drains
off, empties, carves the fullness of the Real of the living body (1989:169).
From this moment on, we will nd ourselves in an endless and impossible
quest to recover this lost state of fullness.
The relevance of Lacanian thought for the social scientist begins at
this point. Identication with socio-symbolic constructs is the way we go
about this quest, and sheer desire is the fuel that keeps us going. Yet all our
attempts to nd the lost state of wholeness in the realm of the symbolic
are doomed to fail because the constructs we identify with are the very
cause of our division and are lacking in themselves (we will always only be
something by not being something else). Therefore, Stavrakakis argues,
nothing in the realm of the symbolic can provide us with a solution,
an exit from this frustrating state (1999:46). Only in fantasy is there
a (temporary) release, as fantasies can cover the lack in socio-symbolic
constructions. This is what Lacanians mean when they argue that fantasy
supports reality: it emerges exactly in the place where the lack in our
socio-symbolic constructs becomes evident, and reality can only acquire
a certain coherence and become desirable as an object of identication,
by resorting to fantasy (Stavrakakis 1999).
Fantasy, however, is not a happy ending to this Lacanian story on
the construction of realities. Sooner or later, the illusory character of our
dreamed up realities will be revealed. The agent that destroys our fantasies
and shows that the realities they supported are in fact lacking has been
designated the Real.
The Real is a highly paradoxical concept. In its positive nature it is
unrepresentable. Logically this makes sense: if the agent that destroys
our (dreamed-up) realities could be represented, it would only signal the
triumph of our reality constructions, not their failing. Being exterior to
all symbolization, the presence of the Real can only be detected through
its effects, through the ways it intrudes on our lives (which is why I think
of it as an agent).

Zi zek describes the Real as something that persists
only as failed, missed, in a shadow, and dissolves itself as soon as we
try to grasp it in its positive nature (
Zi zek 1989:169). Yet for all of its

ungraspable characteristics, the Real derives its solid-sounding name from
its unchanging and stonelike nature: it is, as

Zi zek puts it the rock on
which every attempt at symbolization stumbles and the hard core which
remains the same in all possible worlds (1989:169).
The confrontation with possession trance that I have described in
the opening of this article may serve as a concrete example of these intru-
sions of the Real. It was a shocking confrontation with an I-dont-know-
what that was wholly exterior to my anthropological make-up, and this
confrontation did exactly what Lacanians think it does: it triggered the
desire to cover up this void (by writing this article) and created the fan-
tasy that the Lacanians might help me in doing so. But one might also
think about less idiosyncratic examples, such as accidents, disasters and
other traumatic events that tear asunder the dreamed-up states of being
(the fall of the Berlin wall, the recent wars on the Balkans, September
11th). Jacques Lacan himself liked to compare the intrusions of the Real
with a tile falling on the head of a passer-by or a knock on the door that
interrupts a dream. When things like that happen, he said, we all of a sud-
den become aware that . . . the network of signiers in which we have our
being is not all that there is, and the rest of what is may chance to break
in on us at any moment (Lacan, in Bowie 1991:103, emphasis added).
The phrasing is important, and points out another register through which
the Real works its way into the symbolic order. For is not the postmodern
condition, where truth regimes are in serious disarray, and meanings are
eternally slipping and sliding, a constant reminder of the fact that . . . the
network of signiers in which we have our being is not all that there is,
and the rest of what is may chance to break in on us at any moment?
The case of candombl e in Salvador certainly suggests a positive answer to
that question.
INTRUSIONS OF THE REAL: SIMULACRAE AND OTHER
SOURCES OF CONFUSION
Since the late 1930s, candombl e has become a symbol bank for
many groups in Bahian society, who are busy inserting the cults religious
symbols, and its practices, aesthetics, rhythms and music into their own
projects. An emergent cultural nationalism sought to cut the umbilical
156 ETHOS
cord with Europe and re-imagine the Brazilian nation as a unique mix of
the European, African and Indian races. All over Brazil a renewed interest
in the Afro-Brazilian heritage, including the Afro-Brazilian cults, became
visible fromthis time on. Bahian intellectuals and artists were particularly
eager to explore this heritage, as Bahias overwhelmingly black popula-
tion, long considered to be a sign of regional backwardness, could now
be transformed into a source of regional pride (Dantas 1988). Tourism
soon joined this project of weaving candombl e imagery into the fabric
of Baianidadea concept denoting all that is deemed quintessential to
Bahia. From the 1950s onward, tourist guidebooks urge their readers to
visit the rites of a barbaric and primitive religion of a destitute and for-
sakenpeople (Brand ao and Silva 1958:59) and watchhowthe orix as take
possession of the bodies of their sons and daughters, and make them do
what professional dancers could never accomplish (Valladares 1951:98).
With the inauguration of a state tourist organization, Bahiatursa, in 1971,
an unprecedented production of candombl e imagery has indeed given
Salvador the appearance of the Capital of Fetishism: hotels, commercial
enterprises and streets are named after the orix as; the city council has
erected statues of orix as in public squares and parks; and souvenir shops
are lled with orix a bric-a-brac. Art galleries sell artworks inspired by the
cult of the saints and bookshops offer glossy coffee table books on can-
dombl e. Tourists can participate in various courses where one can learn
to play the sacred rhythms from candombl e or to dance the dances of
the orix as.
Consequently, candombl e has long left the connes of the traditional
places of worship. Certainly, the cult still functions as a religious prac-
tice, with over two thousand registered temples in Salvador alone. But
it has also become a tourist spectacle; a source of inspiration for local
writers, artists, lmmakers, dancers and musicians; an emblem of Ba-
ianidade used by the state authorities; a token of black resistance and
emancipation; a proto-ecological movement that from time immemorial
respects the forces of nature; a fortress of female power and matriarchy
in a macho culture; an exemplary tolerant religion that supports gay
rights; and a money-generating industry, selling all kinds of spiritual prod-
ucts and services. Anthropologists, Evangelical Christians, social work-
ers, New Age gurus and the ofcial Federa ao Nacional dos Cultos Afro-
Brasileiros are all making public their particular (and widely diverse)
understandings of what the cult is all about (cf. Van de Port 2005).
This public re-signication of the cults practices and discourses is
not only the work of people who do not belong to the candombl e commu-
nity. Many adepts of the cult seek to prot both politically and materially
fromthe overwhelming public interest in candombl e. This is most evident
among the priests and priestesses of the leading traditional temples,who
have become public gures, have themselves photographed with the po-
litical and cultural elite, or seek to get their temples on the list of pro-
tected monuments. Members of minor temples explore the opportuni-
ties of tourism, hiring themselves out as tourist guides, or teaching the
art of drumming. In other words, in Salvador there is no neat separa-
tion between degenerated public forms of candombl e and a pure inner
life of the temples, however much the priesthood wishes to see it that
way.
In the face of this hyper-exposure of candombl e imagery in Salvadors
public sphereand the endless re-readings of the cult it provokesJean
Baudrillards notion of the simulacrumreadily comes to mind. Baudrillard
argues that what distinguishes simulacrae from mere imitations is that
they become a reality on their own, producing the same symptoms as
the original referent. As such, they mess up distinctions between true
and false, original and copy, real and imaginary, sacred and
profane and cause havoc in the regimes of truth that buttress the sym-
bolic order (Baudrillard 2001:171). This is exactly what has happened
in Salvador. The omnipresence of candombl e imagery outside the temple
wallsand the fact that these representations are now available to all
has severed this imagery from its original referent. No better example of
the unsettling work of the simulacrum (as well as the anxieties it trig-
gers) as the performances of a Salvadorian folklore group called the Bal e
Folcl orico da Bahia.
The Bal e Folcl orico da Bahia performs a nightly show in the tourist
district of the old city center that includes a sequence of dances of the
orix as. Many priests and priestessesespecially those who are most active
in the public sphereargue ercely against the productions of the Bal e,
with all available arguments. M ae Stella, priestess of the famous temple Il e
Op o Afonj a, opened her address to a congress on tourism by saying that
one thing must be remembered at all times:
Candombl e is a religion. It has nothing to do with the folklore shows that can be seen in
nightclubs, where they put onthe orix as dance, as if the dancer were a lho-de-santo. . . .
These shows are vulgar imitations. Having to witness how the sacred is profaned on
stage, how these dances are performed in a sequence that includes maculel e, capoeira,
or samba de roda is saddening to all serious people, regardless of whether they are
priests or laymen. [1991:3435]
Such indignation about the performances of the Bal e Folcl orico is
surprising when one realizes that most Bahian culture productions are
drenched in candombl e imagery and full of references to the universe of
the orix as. What is it about these performances that elicits such severe
critiques? What might be at stake became clear to me when I observed a
rehearsal of the dance group. The dancersadolescents, all of themblack,
and most of them from the poor neighborhoodshad been stretching
158 ETHOS
and exing their muscles for over an hour in utmost concentration and
dedication. Then the drums were beaten, the sacred songs where sung,
and the youngsters started to dance. The spectacle was nowhere close to
the somewhat obligatory fatigued dancing one often sees in the temples.
The movements were exaggerated, stylized and highly energetic. There
was no adherence to any liturgical sequence. The dancers beautiful and
sweating bodies were dressed only in tights and shorts, rather than the
baroque costumes of lhos-de-santo who incorporate their orix as. Yet
for all the obvious differences, the rehearsal produced a genuine efferves-
cence that lled the studio to the brim, transcending the mere rehearsal,
producing a spectacle that was as powerful as a religious ceremony of
candombl e.
An even more telling example of the way in which simulation has the
power to produce the same symptoms as the original comes from a video
tape that the Bal e Folcl orico da Bahia produced in 1989. A scene shows
a dancer interpreting the orix a Xang o dancing with two earthen bowls in
which a re is burning. At one point, the dancer pokes his foot in the
re. In spirit possession cults, this kind of behavior obviously serves to
prove the reality of the medium being taken over by a supernatural being.
During this performance, however, the test was simulated. And yet, the
dancers foot, poking around in the blistering hot charcoals, did not get
burned. So what is real here, and what is fake?
A different source of confusion over what is and what is not real is
the fact that, by entering the public sphere, the candombl e priesthood
has to explain itself to its new audiences. What this means is that they
are forced to translate their faith in terms that the others can understand.
The situation reminds one of what John Comaroff has convincingly ar-
gued about the colonizing of Tswana consciousness in South Africa: once
you engage in a conversation with others, you start objectifying your own
world by inventing a self-consciousness and distinctness vis- ` a-vis the other
(Comaroff 1989). Whats more, inevitably you start to internalize the
terms through which you are being challenged. But whereas Comaroff
discusses a relatively surveyable situation of Tswana on the one hand and
protestant missionaries on the other, the candombl e priesthood has to
engage in a conversation with widely different interlocutors. The wish to
be recognized as a full edged religion, for example, requires the use of
criteria that are thoroughly Christian: time and again, I found worshippers
of the orix as explaining their religion as if they were no different from
Catholics and Protestants. What is a religion?, Antonio Maciel, secretary
of the Federa ao National dos Cultos Afro-Brasileiros and pai-de-santo
(father-of-the-saint, i.e., priest) asked me, just to give me the answer right
away. Well, a religion has a liturgy, it has dogmas, it has churches, it has
qualied priests. We all have that!
For example, for a person that is initiated in the afro-religion (religi ao afro), to become
a priest, he has to pass at least seven years, fullling his obligations, and performing the
rituals after the rst, third and seventh year. These are the basic dogmas to become a
priest. We can make a comparison: the priest (padre) from a catholic church, he goes
to study, he will have to go to a seminar for a certain number of years, after which he
will receive his diploma. In the Afro-religion, exactly after seven years, he will receive
his cargo, so in our comparison he receives a diploma, he receives his powers and his
cargo, he stops being . . . how would you call that? . . . not a novice . . . thats what it is
called in the Catholic church . . . in our language it is i ao . . . thats it, he stops being an
i ao to become a priest (sacerdote)
The conversation with the ever more powerful Pentecostal
churches requires that the priesthood defend itself against allegations
that candombl e is the realm of the devil. To counter these attacks, the
priests have to stress that their dealings with occult forces are only to do
good. The stress on doing good is such that the endless public com-
memorations of the legendary priestess M ae Menininhathe mother of
all Bahiansmake her look like a catholic saint, rather than a priestess
from candombl e.
In sum, the hyper-exposure of candombl e in the public sphere pro-
vokes many conversations, and inturnthese conversations force cultists
into a constant reformulation of what is and what is not candombl e. Priests
nd themselves producing comparisons on all sides: were real priests,
just like the Catholic ones, its all a bit like astrology, nkosi sekelele
afrika!, we have broken with Catholicism, we are purely African,
Santa Barbara is surely an elevated spirit, but she is not Ians a, we
are denitely not folklore. It is highly unlikely that these reformulations
do not leave their mark on an understanding of self within the candombl e
community. It is also plausible that this development increases the vis-
ibility of what I have earlier referred to as the made-up character of
belief.
THE QUEST FOR THE REALLY REAL
All of this confusion as to what is and what is not real, the hyper-
exposure of candombl e in Salvadors public sphere begs the question of
howit is that the cult maintains (or produces) a sense of authenticity. How
do the cult membersin particular those who are active in the public
sphereproduce a sense that what is now their particular reading of
candombl e has an inevitability to it that other readings lack? Howdo they
avoid the sense that their creed and practices are but a clayish substance
that can be molded into whatever one wishes to make of it? How do they
convince themselves that the others are feigning and that they are involved
with the real thing? How do they keep the rest of what is at bay?
160 ETHOS
Lacanians would argue that fantasy would be put to work in order to
cover up the failure of symbolization and recreate coherence (Stavrakakis
1999:46). Baudrillard offers a similar lead. In Simulacras and Simula-
tions he describes the responses of societies where the dynamics of sim-
ulation are at work as follows:
When the real is no longer what it used to be, nostalgia assumes its full meaning. There
is a proliferation of myths of origin and signs of reality; of second-hand truth, objectivity
and authenticity. There is an escalation of the true, of the lived experience; a resurrec-
tion of the gurative where the object and substance have disappeared. And there is a
panic-stricken production of the real and the referential, above and parallel to the panic
of material production. [2001:174]
Much of this can easily be pointed out in Salvador. The entering of
candombl e into the public sphere has indeed triggered a proliferation of
myths of origin. Temples are involved in (or pay lip service to) a restora-
tion of their African roots, breaking with the syncretistic traditions of the
past; there is a genuine quest for African wisdom and African religious
products; more and more adepts dress up in Nigerian clothes; many have
entered Yoruba language courses; and a journey to Nigeria or Benin, the
land of origins, is ever higher on the agenda of priests and priestesses,
who by now have specialized travel agencies at their disposal to make
the pilgrimage. Brazilian scholars speak about these fantasy scripts as the
reafricaniza ao (re-africanization) of the cult.
The second-hand truths, objectivity and authenticity that are in
such high demand when simulation abounds are delivered by a great
number of anthropologists who have put themselves at the service of the
priesthood. With the prestige of the written word (in what is largely an oral
tradition), the prestige of their scientic methods, as well as the prestige of
their belonging to the white middle-classes, they have become important
arbiters in an attempt to shift the true fromthe false, and the authen-
tic fromthe degenerated. Their books are circulating in the candombl e
communityespecially the work of Pierre Verger, a French anthropolo-
gist and photographer who makes explicit comparisons between Bahian
candombl e and the original cults in West Africa. Many anthropologists
have taken up ceremonial functions in the temples, or have been initiated.
To my knowledge, at least two have opened up a temple themselves.
Much more should be said about these attempts to immunize the
cult against the unsettling work of the simulacrum through fantasy, but I
hastily pass them by because in this article I want to focus on what Bau-
drillard vaguely calls the panick-stricken production of the real and the
referential and the escalation of the true, of the lived experience. What
does he mean? Is he still talking about fantasy formations? Baudrillard is
not very clear as to how one produces the real and the referential or
how the true or the lived experience might escalate. Id like to think,
though, that he is hinting at a tendency that has been pointed out in an
increasing number of studies on the condition of postmodernity: when
people begin to mourn the loss of the self-evident nature of things, they
likely develop a craving for authenticity, for encounters with something
that is really real and somehow immune from the disturbing work of
simulacrae.
Take for example David le Bretons essay on life-risking sports that
gain ever more adepts in the Western world. An adept of free jumping told
the anthropologist
When we are in the plane climbing to the altitude for the jump, I always feel frightened
and surprised that I amundertaking such a peculiar activityjumping froma plane. But
as soon as Ive left the plane, its like being in another dimension. Suddenly everything
seems so real. Free fall is much more real than everyday life. [Le Breton 2000:3]
This equation of what is outside the realm of discourse with authen-
ticity also clearly comes to the fore in Sean Kingstons discussion of au-
thentic primitive art, or rather, the demise of it. Kingston argues that the
enchantment of any art object or performance is produced by its capacity
to [ush] us out of our unquestioned condence that we hold the correct
view on how things generally are (1999:343). For this effect to happen,
something inexplicable has to be present.
One of the reasons for [authentic primitive arts] death was that its producers and its
means of production became too visible. It lost the enchantment of authenticity to its
Western audience as it became apparently mentally encompassable to them; not only
did the people who produced these numinous objects seem less strange and unfamiliar,
but they even began using the Wests familiar material and social technologies in the
production of their world. The net result, of course, being the decreased power and
authenticity of the art. [Kingston 1999:343]
Tourismsuch an inescapable presence in Salvador and its terreiros
de candombl eis yet another eld where the inexplicable is sought to
produce the authenticity people crave for. The search for the exotic, for
the strange ways of the Other, is clearly fuelled by the desire to be ushed
out of the unquestioned condence that we hold the correct view on how
things generally are. What else would explain our gazing at the pyramids
of Gizeh (how on earth did they build those things?), the success of Rio
de Janeiros favela tours (how on earth do people manage to live under
these circumstances?), or indeed, the busloads of tourists who make their
way to Salvadors candombl e temples to gaze in full incomprehension at
the spectacle of possession trance? The tourist guides that I interviewed
during my research were all aware that tourists want the real thing, and
that it is the uncanny I-dont-know-what of possession trance that delivers
the authenticity that is sought. Obviously I receive a lot of questions
about possession, is what Josuel, an initiate into the cult and part-time
tourist guide, said when I asked him about tourist responses to possession
162 ETHOS
trance. He told me that he had no difculties understanding the bafed
tourists:
When you see a person receiving an orix a and completely change, you start asking
yourself why this is happening and how this comes about. A lot of them ask me whether
[the mediums] use drugs, or alcohol, but I tell them that we do not use drugs or alcohol.
I tell them that these are the orix as!
Gabriela, an Argentine blonde who is a bit of a veteran in the business
of taking tourists to celebrations of candombl e, told me that she was hesi-
tant to take tourists to certain celebrations in honor of caboclos, because
these spirits may start to interact with the audience in rather unbecom-
ing ways, and tourists wouldnt understand what was going on and become
scared. But she too told me that it is a golden rule that, no matter how
long it takes, she will never leave a temple with her group before the arrival
of the spirits:
Before I take them to a temple, I will tell them that it may take hours before the spirits
arrive. They have to know that this is not a show, that the celebrations do not follow
the time schedule of the tourists. And as you know, it can become very repetitive. I may
not wait until all the orix as get dressed up [after mediums are possessed they are taken
behind the curtains to be dressed in festive costumes], but I will always stay until at
least the possession has started.
My observations conrmed their view: time and again I could witness
that it was this strangeness that fuelled the anticipatory excitement
of foreign tourists who made an organized tour to the temple; just as the
inexplicability of it all was the central topic in the discussions afterward
often in a heated debate whether or not the trance was faked.
Lastly, the equation of the inexplicable with the authentic is also to be
found in studies on religion, where the role of mystery in the production
of the numinous, that sensual-experiential underpinning of the Sacred,
has been discussed by a great many authors. Roy Rappaport, for instance,
deemed the numinous constitutive of any religion: if liturgical orders are
to remain vital they must receive the numinous support of at least some
of those who participate in them at least from time to time (Rappaport
1999:394ff). In her recent study on Susm, Katherine Pratt Ewing argued
that Pakistani mystics acknowledge the limitations of intelligential and
discursive reason and seek authentic truths hors discours:
Access to truth requires an irruption, a disruption of the imaginary, of the ideologies,
including the ideology of the self that place a screen or veil between us and truth. With-
out such an irruption, we are caught in a historically contingent discursive formation.
[Ewing 1997:259]
What these examples suggest is that people are not powerless in the
face of the havoc caused in the symbolic order by simulation, nor des-
tined to plug [their] lack with one poor fantasy object after another
(Eagleton 1997:7), as the Lacanian scenario suggests. Fantasy certainly
plays an important role that needs to be considered. But these examples
show that people have more potent ways at their disposal to convince
themselves that they are living facts, not ctions.
It is here that I would want to return to our discussion of the Real.
As I have argued, the Lacanians have characterized the Real as a radical
negativity, a rocky hard core at which all symbolization stumbles. Ungras-
pable in any discourse, it remains the same in all possible universes. The
Lacanians always describe the intrusions of the Real as horric and trau-
matic. They are to be avoided at all costs. Any awareness of its presence
triggers the work of fantasy to cover up the lack. But contrary to what
the Lacanians argue, the keyed up anthropologists, the bungy jumpers,
the disillusioned art collectioners, the tourists and the saints-to-be that
Ive introduced in my text seem to be looking for something that remains
the same in all possible universeshowever horric that something
may be. Their examples suggest that we might need to modify our under-
standing of the workings of the Real. Could it be that the Real does more
than trigger the desire to cover it up through fantasy? Could it be that in
a world where the simulacrum is doing its unsettling work, this negativity
might become attractive as a source of authenticity? Could it be that the
very fact that the Real is beyond the grasp of the human imagination also
grants it the status to be beyond dispute, and therefore authentic? And
could this help to explain the productions of the ineffable that Ive stud-
ied in Salvador? There are reasons to suggest that this is how it must be
thought of.
MODES OF THE INEFFABLE: THE INEXPLICABLE AND THE SPONTANEOUS
Let me give you some concrete examples as to how the ineffable does
its work in safeguarding the really real of candombl e beliefs. Time and
again, my interviewees tried to convince me of the authenticity of their
experiences by referring to inexplicable events. In their narratives, the
ineffable would occur in several modes.
First of all, initiation into the cult very often begins with inexplica-
ble bodily experiences. Most of the time these are fainting spells or ab-
scences (aus encias), but they might also be depressions and illnesses
that cannot be diagnosed. When a medical doctor or psychiatrist cannot
help to solve the problem, a Bahian has a great many options in the mer-
cado dos bens de salva ao to seek relief from his/her afictions. Through
various channels, healing is promised by Charismatic Catholicism,
Pentecostal churches, New Age groups, Kardecist and Umbanda centres
and Candombl e, who all offer their particular explanations of the cause
164 ETHOS
of the afiction and the way to go about a healing. A combination of
advice from friends and family and preestablished links or afnity with
a particular denomination will guide a person toward one or the other
church or temple (Amaral and Silva 1993:100; Leacock 1975:117, 122).
When unsolicited bodily experiences and spontaneous fainting spells or
absences occur in a temple during a ceremony, they are more readily
interpreted as a sign that the orix a is calling on his human counterpart. In
candombl e, there is in fact a whole vocabulary to label spontaneous faint-
ing spells: they are called o chamado do santo (the calling of the saint),
bolar no santo (rolling to the saint), cair no santo (falling to the saint) or
possession by santos brutos (unruly saints). Vagner Gonalves da Silva
writes:
Rolling or falling to the saint is considered to be an indication that a future initiation
is necessary. It usually happens when a person is attending a celebration and the orix a
incorporates him or her, still in a state that the adepts of the cult would call savage
(bruto, not yet ritually seated or made). Rolling to the saint looks like fainting. For
the people from candombl e, however, the orix a is involved. He takes the head of his son
or daughter, even against their wish, and urges their initiation. This rolling usually
happens when the people are singing and dancing for the orix as, a signicant fact,
because the identication of the orix a to which the person belongs can be established
through the song that was sung at the moment of rolling. Once having rolled, the person
is taken to the saints room, where hell be woken up, generally by sprinkling water
over his body, tapping under his feet, or pulling his hair a bit. Rolling in a particular
temple is also a sign that this is the temple where the orix a prefers to be seated.
However, the wishes of the orix as need not be immediately satised. The person may
not want to be initiated, or may not be in the social or nancial position to start the
process. [Silva 1995:123; cf. Bastide 2000:189 and Ligi ero 1993:129]
What struck me during interviews, however, is that whereas initia-
tion stories are often success stories of coming to understand the causes
of inexplicable afictions through explanation, the inexplicable as such
was always underlined and held out to me as the principle ingredient
of the narrative. The logic at work in these narratives seems to be that
the more poignant the inexplicability of the occurrence (not I started
to have fainting spells, but rather there was nothing wrong with me,
and all of a sudden I started to have these fainting spells; or I was not
really into candombl e, but the orix a took me anyway), the more power-
ful the really real of the explanation that brought about healing. Clearly
then, these narratives put inexplicability at the service of authenticating
belief.
Visions, dreams and revelations are another mode in which the in-
explicable helps to convince people of the authenticity of their particular
convictions. Again, it is striking how much inexplicability and spontane-
ity dominate the narratives of these experiences (cf. Csordas 1990). The
case of Walmir may serve as an illustration.
Strange Encounters
Walmira white Bahian, a university-trained journalist, writer of po-
etry and self-proclaimed romantic soulhad wanted to be initiated into
the cult. When we met he told me his story was going to be kind of weird.
He told me he had been with a couple of friends. It was on a beach in
Alagoas. They had encountered ying saucers. Not just once, but various
times.
I recall how Walmir looked at me, assessing the impact of his words,
probably seeing an expression of disbelief on my face. Yes. Flying saucers.
The information he had just given me was indeed hard to process. I had
assumed that the story about his explorations of candombl e would have
been yet another story about a quest for the spiritual, guided by the en-
chantment of the drumming and the beauty of the Afro-Brazilian other.
And in fact, as the interview proceeded, these elements were all part of
the narrative: Walmir told me about the distant drumming he used to hear
during his childhood, about his irtations with Zen Buddhism, about the
wink of recognition he had found in the counter-culture of the Tropic alia
movement, where the lyrical beauty of candombl e had been voiced by
singers such as Caetano Veloso and Maria Beth ania. He talked about his
black lovers, rst an alab e (drummer from candombl e) who had intro-
duced him to temple life, then a pai-de-santo. I love the humour in
candombl e, he said. The laughing! The possessions that came were
frequent, sometimes for days on end. They were tiring him out, he said,
especially the ex us, who would possess him at home. Later he received
his orix a, a much more powerful experience. What was it like?, I asked
him. It was beautiful, he said. Eventually he had opted out, given up
on the idea of having himself initiated and becoming a pai-de-santo. He
told me he could not stand the animal sacrices. He hated the endless
preoccupation of the cultists with money. And the thought of bearing the
responsibility for a following of initiates was simply too frightening.
But all of it had started with the ying saucers. You know, I really did
not have any particular interest in science ction or UFOs or what have
you. But I saw ying saucers anyway. And it wasnt just me. My friends
saw them as well. He explained that after his encounter with the ying
saucers it was not difcult to believe. Anything. Whatever. The experience
had been fundamental. It had broken open all assumptions as to what
is and what is not believable. It was beyond words. It could not be
communicated. But even that did not matter. Just thinking about the
encounter made him happy. He murmured plenitude. Such plenitude.
What the case suggestsfrom Walmirs somewhat embarrassed com-
ments on the weirdness of having inserted something as outrageous as
ying saucers in his narrativeis that what matters is not so much the
166 ETHOS
specic content of the vision (the ying saucers might as well have been
mermaids, or the manifestation of one or the other spirit). What matters
is the unsolicited and out-of-the-ordinary character of the revelation.
Finding a strange object (such as a stone or a bone) also belongs
to this register of inexplicable and unpremeditated occurrences that add
authenticity to a particular belief. The case of Luiswho indeed seemed
to be wavering as to what to believeis telling.
Tattoo
I met Luis in a shop that sells religious articles, where he was buying
some herbs and minerals for a ritual bath. We entered into a conversation,
and he started to talk about his recent experiences in a temple. He pointed
out a big tattoo on his arm, a portrait of a Cheyenne Indian with waving
black hair. He told me that the prime reason for choosing this particular
tattoo was the fact that the black hair had served the purpose of covering
up an earlier tattoo that he did not like anymore. Two weeks later, how-
ever, he had become possessed by a Cheyenne Indian. This was indeed a
strange occurrence. Indian-spirits (caboclos) are well known entities in
candombl e cosmology, but as far as I know, north American plain Indians
descending form the skies have not yet been reported. His m ae-de-santo
(mother-of-the-saint, i.e., priestess), however, insisted that this was the
spirit who was taking possession of his body. He told me that ever since,
he had been surng the Internet to nd all kinds of information about
Cheyenne Indians.
Weeks later he called me up from his mobile phone. He was some-
where on the highway to the neighboring state of Sergipe, and told me
quite excitedthat while making a sanitary stop he had found a strange
bone that might well have been from an Indian. Thinking that anthro-
pologists know about bones and Indians, he wanted my opinion on his
ndingclearly hoping that this bone might be interpreted as a sign of
the authenticity of his possessions by the Indian spirit.
One of my own experiences might serve to illustrate howinexplicable
divinations also may contribute to upgrade the authenticity and inescapa-
bility of a conviction.
The Words of the Caboclo
In Julythe month during which many of the caboclo spirits are
honored and celebratedI took Thomas, a Dutch friend who was visiting,
along to a temple in the center of Salvador. When we entered, the priest
was already possessed by a spirit, andas is their habitwalked around
the temple, drinking beer from a bottle, smoking cigars and talking to the
public, responding to questions and giving advice. When he saw Thomas,
he walked up to him, and urged me to translate his words. With eyes that
stared into a distant nothingness, he said that my friend was writing, but
that he should be writing that other thing. Yes, if you want to shine,
if you want to make a lot of money, you should be writing that other
thing. From the face of Thomas I could already see that the caboclo had
struck a chord. Later Thomas told me that there was a major struggle in
his life whether he should devote his time and energy to writing up his
dissertation on European lawor work on a lm-script he kept hidden in his
ofce drawer. We were both speechless as to the accuracy of the caboclos
intervention. The spirits often speak in general terms, so that one can
always nd something truthful in it. This particular spirit, however, had
just hit the nail on the head without any prior knowledge. He had never
met us, let alone could know what Thomas was doing in his life.
Do I now believe in the authenticity of this spirit? No, not really. But
the whole event did highlight the politics of my saying I dont believe
these things: that remark is forever exposed as an act of not wanting to
go into believing spirits and messing up my worldview (not to mention my
academic credibility).
Afterward, I used the example in many conversations with cultists,
saying that this event really had left me speechless. They would only nod
their heads. Or they would say, Yeah, its like that, the spirits do things
like that, little strange things, to make sure that youll start to take them
seriously.
These cases cannot be written off as still more examples as to how
fantasy works to cover up the failure of symbolization. Theres no covering
up of a void in symbolic constructions in these stories. If anything, fantasy
is highlighting these voids, or producing them (as the case of Luis, who
wanted the Indian bone to be a sign of authenticity, suggests). The gist
of these stories seems to be that there is no arguing with something that
is beyond comprehension, and it is thus that these occurrences help to
uphold the really real of candombl e beliefs.
POSSESSION AND POSTPOSSESSION AMNESIA
Possession belongs to the same set of inexplicable and spontaneous
occurrences that serve to authenticate the really real of candombl e be-
lief. Following Roger Bastide, we could say that possession is the pol-
ished, religiously appropriate form of the occurrences described above.
He suggests that learning to transform ineffable occurrences into the ap-
propriate, religiously condoned form is what initiation into the cult is all
about: noninitiated individuals who hear the call of their orix a are pos-
sessed by santos brutos, and the nal goal of initiation is to free them of
168 ETHOS
this violence by the baptism of the god (por meio do batismo da divin-
dade) (Bastide 2000:189). It should be noted, however, that learning to
be a willing horse to be ridden by the saint (as local parlance has it),
in no way diminishes the inexplicability of possession. To the contrary,
great care is taken to keep the inexplicable inexplicable. A discussion of
the phenomenon of postpossession amnesia may serve to illustrate that
point.
Time and again, I was told that the medium who goes into trance
has no recollections of the time-out that is possession trance. Many
ethnographers have heard the same. Roger Bastide states bluntly: all
that was done or said during the crisis is forgotten afterward (Bastide
1978:192). Landes introduces an old priestess, saying
This god business is a mysterious force which sweeps over you. I dont like it. You
become a slave to the saint, and sometimes you go around possessed for three days!
You have no wants, your body is dead, you dont feel anything at all. [1947:57]
Rita Segato reports from Recife that in the cult . . . it is being said
that, during possession, consciousness disappears. To be more precise,
self-consciousness disappears, the body becomes the vehicle of experience
itself, without further mediation (Segato 1995:99). In some temples in
Rio Grande do Sul, people are not even supposed to remember that they
were possessed (Silva 2000:60).
Ruth and Seth Leacock, who discuss the topic of postpossession am-
nesia at length, urge their readers to consider an alternative view. The
mediums with whom they spoke also ercely maintained that they had
no recollections whatsoever of their trance experiences (Leacock and
Leacock 1975:206ff). But the Leacocks doubt the validity of the accounts
of their informants, no matter how resolutely stated. They report that
mediums who had claimed complete amnesia in one interview, during
other interviews would demonstrate to have clear recollections of specic
happenings during the possession rituals that had been discussed earlier.
When confronted with the incongruity of their statements, they would al-
ways deny it: the ction was always maintained that they had been told
by their friends what had taken place (1975:206ff). These anthropolo-
gists conclude that mediums subscribe to an ideological rule that what
knowledge there is should not come to the ears of others.
This suggestion that the experience of possession ought to be locked
up in the body is further supported by the widely reported taboo on
speaking about possession trance, or, as many anthropologists (including
myself) had to learn, on asking questions about possession trance. Segato
reported that
Trying to push the issue [of possession experiences] a bit further, or trying to understand
the subtle difference between what people describe as a normal state of consciousness
and the state of possession is considered rude and disrespectful toward the privacy
entitled to the people who go in trance. [1995:102]
M ae Stella, m ae-de-santo from a leading temple in Salvador, makes
no secret about her opinions on curious anthropologists. In a publication
called Meu Tempo e Agoraa curious mixture of autobiography, religious
guidebook and etiquette manualshe writes:
Our religion is so strong and so mysterious that it raises the curiosity of those who are
outside. They seem to think that a host of curious questions, sometimes even imper-
tinent ones, is synonymous with knowledge. But I tell you, those ways are dangerous,
leading into true labyrinths, and with dire results. I therefore advise the visitors and
friends of the Ax e: dont ask questions, just observe! [Azevedo 1993:88]
What is important to my argument, of course, is not so much whether
postpossession amnesia is reality or ction. It is plausible that, just as most
people do not remember their dreams, and Freudian psychiatrists have to
train their patients to remember them, trance states are likely forgotten
if there is not a tradition that urges the mystic to report on them.
This is basically the argument of Jos e Jorge de Carvalho (1994). The
constant references to postpossession amnesia provoked that author to
speak of a specic Afro-Brazilian mystical style. He points out that in the
Catholic tradition, as in other classic traditions of mysticism, the mystic
is urged to share his or her experiences with the community of believers.
The mystic is supposed to translate his or her experiences into essays,
poetry, autobiographical reports, and tracts. It is the linguistic translation
of mystical experience that is valued in these traditions: the greater the
sophistication of the mystics wordings, the fancier the metaphors, the
more subtle the tropes to describe the mystic experience, the more im-
portant these experiences are as a contribution to a science of the soul.
In candombl e there is no such attempt to exteriorize the subjective ex-
perience of trance through language. De Carvalho expresses his surprise
after reading an interview with the famous Salvadorian priestess Olga de
Alaketu in a magazine called Planeta (1974).
I consulted the article in the expectation of nding yet another dialogue with a spiritual
leader, along the lines of the interviews that the magazine had published before in issues
dedicated to yogis, Sus, Rosicrucians, theosophists, Christian leaders, Buddhists and
the like. To my surprise, I had to conclude that Olga de Alaketu simply does not show us
the play of her subjectivity. She expresses herself in a completely exteriorizing way
she speaks about the ceremonies, the liturgical calendar, the genealogy of her temple,
the history of her cult, and so on. She doesnt reveal anything about an interior world,
a psychological dimension, or the individual that is Olga de Alaketu. She does not bring
into play that confessional style, she does not give us an autobiography of her soul,
that subsequently could serve as a pedagogical tract on a spiritual doctrine. Although
she comes across as exalted at all times, she always remains remote, always remains
enigmatic. [1994:85]
170 ETHOS
He points out a similar absence of an exteriorizing of the subjective
experiences of possession in the Xang o cults of Recife; here too, all the
stress is on the pomp and splendor of the ritual, the beauty of the perfor-
mance, the speaking of the body in the dance, that communicates the
mystical experience to the community of believers, rather than a verbal
rendering of the experience.
In candombl e, talk [about possession] is not in a discursive, personalized mode [. . . ] The
quality of individual spirituality is evaluated by the community interms of aesthetics and
intuition and not by way of some explicit philosophical, theological or ethical question.
[1994:86]
De Carvalhos discussion of possession in candombl e as a distinctive
mystical style makes sense. Mediums in candombl e do not seek to ar-
ticulate the merging with the divinity in the realm of intelligential and
discursive reason, to approach the unsayable in prose and poetry. In fact,
they are explicitly discouraged from doing so.
What we see, then, is a politics aimed at keeping the inexplicable
inexplicable. It seeks to lock up trance-experiences in the here and now
of the experiencing body. All discursive knowing about the immediate
experiences of trance is effectively sealed off, in an effort to guarantee
the survival of the mystery in all its enchanting ineffability. Once again, a
reection on Walmirs remarks are enlightening.
Look at Me, This Is Not Me!
During our interview, Walmir reported that the mediums he had got-
ten to know at the time of his initiation were very eager to see pictures
of themselves in trance. It had really struck him, he said, and up till
this day he couldnt quite get it what all the fuss was about. Time and
again, the mediums had wanted him to take pictures while they were in
trance. They had wanted to see themselves in the picture and then revel
in the possibility of saying, Look at me, this is not me! It had annoyed
him. It was the experience that mattered. Not these vain and outward
things.
It is understandable that Walmir got irritated over the fact that his
fellowmediums were so preoccupied with these pictures. As we have seen,
he was already disappointed with what he perceived as the greed and
material concerns of candombl e priests. To him, this fuss over pictures was
yet another sign that an interest in materiality is not absent in the temple;
that candombl e is not the local brand of Zen Buddhism he had hoped it to
be. For us, however, it should now be clear that these mediums, gazing at
pictures of themselves in trance, join the circle of gazing anthropologists,
tourists, and bystanders, join the fascination with the really real of the
inexplicable.
MYSTERY ON DISPLAY
We have seen how people from candombl e circle around the Real
in an attempt to authenticate their beliefs. Trance-inducing ceremonies
spectacularize the central role of the ineffable. During these ceremonies,
mystery is put on display in a highly dramatic form. We nd it in the xir e,
the opening round dance around the central pillar (or a marked spot at the
center of the dance oor) where the secrets of the house (fundamentos)
have been planted when it was constructed. We nd it in the many
prostrations of the initiates toward this spot, reminding the audience of
its centrality. We nd it visualized as the priest and his initiates enter and
re-appear fromthe adjacent rooms of the ceremonial dance hall, forbidden
areas for all who are not part of the temple, yet shielded off from view by
seductively [waving] curtains, that do offer glimpses of the secret and
mysterious backstage of the house. But we nd it above all in the staging
of possession. The way a daughter of Xang o or Ox ossi, or a son of
Omulu transforms into a vehicle for the deity has to be witnessed in every
little detail, right in front of our eyes:
She will feel convulsions all over her body, enters into a dizzy spell, loses her balance,
walks as a drunkard fromone side of the dance oor to the other, looking for someone to
hold on to, and nally, overcome by the orix a, will acquire another posture and recover
her senses. With closed eyes (or eyes wide open, as is the case in the candombl es do
caboclo) she will start the dance, maybe speak, and in fact, take over the celebration,
which for a while will be completely focused on her. [Carneiro 2000:60]
Given the importance of the coming of the orix as as the constituting
moment of the celebration, the spectacularization of possession probably
does not need further comment. Yet another observation that must be
made about these ceremonies triggers a number of questions.
Trance-inducing ceremonies (with some exceptions) are public
events. As I have stated before, they attract a very heterogeneous au-
dience consisting of members of the temple, guests of honor, cult adepts,
inhabitants of the neighborhood where the temple is situated, as well as
tourists and anthropologists. Obviously then, during ceremonies, the work
of the ineffable is no longer put to the exclusive service of the believers,
but is sought to do its work for the society at large as well. This is surprising
for a number of reasons.
First, it seems to be a breach with the great stress on secrecy in can-
dombl e. Life within the temple is dominated by a great number of rules
and regulations that determine who has access to what knowledge, and
at what time; who is allowed to speak and who is to remain silent; who
has access to certain areas of the temple; who is allowed to see sacred
objects or witness ritual practices (Van de Port, forthcoming). One of the
motives to shield most candombl e rituals frompublic viewis an outspoken
172 ETHOS
concern as to what the public at large might make of these events. Espe-
cially the sacricing of animals and the initiation of newmembersrituals
that produce a lot of bloodtrigger the fear that they might reinforce age-
old stereotypes of candombl e being a primitive and barbaric cult. This
concern of not being able to control what happens with the images of can-
dombl e rituals once they enter into the public sphere plays up around the
trance-inducing ceremonies as well (as these events are equally likely to
be labeled primitive); the unease about (and sometimes strict taboo on)
outsiders lming, photographing or tape-recording the ceremonies are a
good example of this concern. And yet, this worry does not induce the
priesthood to hide the trance inducing ceremonies from public view. To
the contrary, the ceremonies are brought to public attention through all
available channels. For those who are not within reach of the sound of
the drumming or the re crackers blasted into the sky, or did not receive
information by word of mouth, there are several options to nd out when
and where a ceremony is going to take place: newspapers list the most
important temples with full address and phone number in their what
and where sections, the registers of the Federa ao Nacional dos Cultos
Afro-Brasileiros (where temples have to report and register their celebra-
tions) are open for consultation, and the tourist ofce publishes a weekly
calendar of the upcoming ceremonies. Which leaves one wondering why
there is such stress on being public.
Second, the public character of these spectacles is surprising when
related to the argument that I have developed thus far: if the production of
the ineffable is to be understood as an attempt to undo the unsettling ef-
fects of candombl es entrance into the public sphere and its appropriation
by others who turn it into something-other-than-itself, then why expose
these moments to the gaze of these very others? In other words, is not one
asking for trouble when opening up these celebrations for each and ev-
eryone in a universe that is plagued by the unsettling work of simulacrae
and endless re-interpretation?
The answer to that last question should be yes, but no. The main
reason to display possession in public has to do with the fact that tem-
ples are not only places of worship but also economic units who sell a
variety of spiritual products and services to their clients. Next to manip-
ulations of the realm of the supernatural for harm or healing, they offer
divine consultations, herbal baths, the breaking of spells, the throwing of
the cowry shells (buzios) for divinatory purposes. Walmirwhom we saw
complaining about the endless preoccupation with money in the temple
was certainly right: economic survival is a recurrent issue in priesthood
talk as feasts and offerings are expensive, and temples have to compete
with a great many others for clients on the mercado dos bens de sal-
va ao. For its economic survival, then, a display of spiritual power is
crucial. The trance-inducing ceremonies are the moment par excellence
in which a temple can display its spiritual potency: the number of initi-
ates who dance in the xir e, the quality of the drumming and singing, the
splendor of the costumes and decorations, the number and stature of the
guests, andas I sometimes suspectedthe number of noninitiates who
roll to the saint all attest to the accumulated ax e of a particular temple.
Mere display, however, is not enough, because these ceremonies are
not immune to the unsettling work of simulation. Early ethnographies al-
ready report that simulation of trance is more common than it seems
(Carneiro 1942:91) and list a whole set of available tests with which the
priesthood seeks to prove the really real of possession. I have never wit-
nessed these tests (an interviewee told me they are part of the secret ini-
tiation process), but the concern that trance is being faked is widespread.
This is understandable. As the market for bens da salva ao is booming,
many newcomers have entered the candombl e business. Time and again
I would be told that I should watch out for the many charlatans that call
themselves priests and priestesses but are only after my money. Time and
again I would be told that many people fake trance. Some of the reasons
people would give me for faking would be purely commercial. A young
woman told me that when consulting a caboclo spirit, I always test him
by asking a question he cannot possibly know the answer to. If he fails to
respond, I know he is a cheat. To my question of what motives people
might have for faking she responded: Why would people fake? Clients pay
for consultations with a spirit, not with just anybody! A priest called Pai
Bobby told me that he had established contacts with a Swiss tour operator
who organized group travels to Brazil. As these groups would only do
Salvador in a couple of days, the chances that there might be a ceremony
on the day of their arrival were always slight. So Pai Bobby had gotten
himself on the pay list of the tour operator and chartered his initiates to
stage a celebration on days that tted the time schedule of the groups.
During these ceremonies the tourists were also allowed to lm and take
pictures. But that is obviously fake, these spectacles are mere shows?,
I suggested. No, no, nada fake, he replied. The orix as come for real!
Given the presence of charlatans, the really real of the spiritual
power that is held out to the public at large should at all times be authen-
ticated. One cannot but conclude that the spectacle itselfthe staging of
the ineffablesucceeds in doing so. The audiences may doubt the particu-
lar possession of a particular person, and they may have their reservations
about this or that temple. In general, however, the really real of the com-
ing of the orix as is never doubted. As old and shriveled ladies turn into
erce dancing warriors; as giggling schoolgirls roll over the oor, stiff as a
broomstick; as tourist guides wrestle their way out of the temple for fear of
being caught by the spirit; as anthropologists become restless and keyed
174 ETHOS
up when the drumming reaches a peak, they all become gurants in this
theater of the really real.
Taking the theater metaphor a bit further, it can even be argued that
the gaze of tourists and other outsiders is notas one would thinka
threat to the authenticity of the spectacle, but a reinforcement of it. For is
there a better way to highlight the ineffable than stage-casting a busload
of sweating gringos gazing at the spectacle, with open mouths and incom-
prehension written all over their faces? It seems to me that the puzzled
gaze of the outsiders is artfully brought into play to spectacularize the
ineffable and thus authenticate the beliefs of candombl e for both the reli-
gious community and the society at large. An og aa male dignitary in the
candombl e templeswith whom I spoke on a drizzly Sunday afternoon
certainly played with these thoughts.
Tourists and Nuns
I was touring a visiting colleague around the city, and the og a must
have seen us coming, climbing the many steps leading to Casa Branca,
the oldest and one of the most reputed temples of Salvador. Casa Branca
is much visited by tourists, and in all likelihood, he must have thought
that we were just another couple of gringos. We started chatting. Yeah,
yeah, he said. There are a lot of tourists that come to visit here and they
always ask a lot of questions. They always want to know about trance.
We asked if it happened that tourists fell into a trance during the
ceremonies. He nodded his head. Oh yes, it happens that tourists fall
into a trance. Every once in a while it happens. At one time, we even had
visiting nuns falling into a trance! The og a seemed quite eager to serve
us this little detail. There was pride in his voice, triumph in his laugh-
ing eyes as he countered my expression of disbelief. Yeah, yeah! Nuns!
Freiras!
This is, of course, a powerful image: a baroque spectacle of tourist
curiosity and Catholic propriety being crashed under the sheer force of
the African spirits. One can almost see it happen: little blond gringas that
are invaded by the Other they had come to gaze at. Rigid and pale nuns
bodies that surrender to the sensual beating of the drums, their wimples
and rosaries apping around in the whirling movement of the dance. But
what was it that the og a sought to convey? What does the og a make of
the spectacle that is the trance inducing ceremony of candombl e? First of
all he makes it into a spectacle that attracts gazing outsiders, and we can
safely assume that the two categories he introduces into his little story
the clueless tourists and the nuns, whomwe might read as the embodiment
of the religious Otherare not at random. Then we see that, in the theatre
of his mind, the og a does not allow nuns and tourists to simply gaze at the
spectacle. He shakes these bystanders out of their passive role, has them
sucked into the incomprehensible phenomenon that is possession trance.
There are many reasons to think of why he would have wanted this
to happen. Obviously, this is a powerful image with which to argue the
spiritual potency of the particular temple this og a belongs to, the intensity
of its ax e. Given earlier remarks during our conversation, in which he
presented his temple as purely African, his story is also a comment on
black power, the supremacy of the Afro-Brazilian creed. But above all,
the story is a way of saying that the things you do or do not believe are
irrelevant when it comes to the mystery of possession trance. The force
of the orix as is beyond what you believe, or whether you believe; it is
beyond what you know. Therefore, it cannot be a historically contingent
discursive formation. It is really real.
FINAL COMMENTS: ON MIRACLES AND THE CONSTRUCTIONIST PARADIGM
While writing this article, I rented a video at the local rent-out in
the Salvadorian neighborhood where I lived during eldwork. It was a
middle-of-the-road Brazilian comedy called Deus e Brasileiro (God is
Brazilian). It shows God as a well-educated, middle-aged gentlemen wear-
ing a pair of decent sneakers and a little rucksack, who travels around
the Brazilian Northeast to meet up with his followers. Of course, he en-
ters into a lot of situations where his announcement that he is no one
other than God himself is being doubted. And time and again he has
to resort to a little miracle to convince his audience of the truth of his
statement.
I had rented the movie to relax a bit, but watching it was a mixed
pleasure and did not bring about the relaxation I was after. Here I was,
struggling with the Lacanian Real, the Jamesian ineffable, the discontents
of the constructionists paradigmin anthropology, and the unsettling work
of Baudrillards simulacrum in postmodern societies, and all of a sudden I
found myself being forced to ponder the possibility that what I was trying
to get across in this article was as banal as the comedy showed it to be:
no Gods without miracles.
Okay. Maybe it is as banal as that. But then again, maybe it is good
to return to a middle-of-the-road comedy every once in a while, if only to
shake oneself out of the myriad textual labyrinths social science theory
forces one to enter. So lets study miracle productions. Lets study the
ways in which people manage to transcend the stories they live by. And
lets not only study the transcendence of religious constructs, but those
of race, gender, ethnicity, and the nation as well, where questions about
the really real are as pertinent as they are in the eld of religion. And
176 ETHOS
lets stop closing off this domain of investigation by dismissing it as mere
theology or metaphysics.
Because studying moments of transcendence might lead us beyond
that dead-end street that the constructionist paradigm in anthropology is
becoming. However noble its motives to break down essentialisms, and
however politically necessary such a project may be in the world of today,
the blind spot of constructionism, Stavrakakis writes, is that it reduces
everything to the level of construction and, on the other hand, occupies
a meta-linguistic or essentialist position outside construction. As such,
constructionism itself becomes an essentialist position, as it never asks
what is exterior to it (1999:66; cf. Van de Port 2004). I do not know how
to counter that critique. So now that the impossibility of its position has
been name-called into existence, I see no other option but to move ahead.
The Lacanians suggest that we will have to turn to the role of fantasy in
creating the symbolic coherence that is never there (and that includes
the fantasy formations in our own work and writing). In this article I have
argued that we might also study the moments when people seek access to
the void that is at the center of all signication, work their way toward a
state of puzzlement that allows them to authenticate their beliefs.
MATTIJS VAN DE PORT is Lecturer and Researcher at the Research Center for Religion and Society at the University
of Amsterdam.
NOTES
Acknowledgments. The research for this article took place within the framework of the
project Modern Mass Media, Religion and the Imagination of Communities sponsored by
The Netherlands Organizationfor Scientic ResearchNWO. I amgrateful for the constructive
comments of my colleagues in the project on an earlier version, especially Birgit Meyer and
Rafael Sanchez, and I would also like to thank Peter Geschiere, Jojada Verrips, Lisa Earl
Castillo, Luis Nicolau Par es, Marjo de Theije, and Joc elio Teles dos Santos for their helpful
comments.
1. Candombl e is an umbrella term for a variety of beliefs and practices that have evolved
out of the African religions that came to Bahia under slavery. Although candombl e has
recently been granted the status of religion in the state of Bahia, and organizations such
as the Federa ao Nacional dos Cultos Afro-Brasileiros are trying to canonize the central
dogmas of the cult, any suggestionof uniformity is misleading. There are over 2,500 registered
individual religious centers in the city of Salvador that are highly independent unities, and
not responsible to any superior body for the maintenance of conformity to a set of common
traditions (Wafer 1993:4).
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