New Era - New Religions (Ashgate New Critical Thinking in Religion, Theology, and Biblical Studies)

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NEW ERA – NEW RELIGIONS New Era – New Religions examines new forms of religion in Brazil. The largest and most vibrant country in Latin America, Brazil is home to some of the world’s fastest growing religious movements and has enthusiastically greeted home-grown new religions and imported spiritual movements and new age organizations. In Brazil and beyond, these novel religious phenomena are reshaping contemporary understandings of religion and what it means to be religious. To better understand the changing face of twenty-first-century religion, New Era – New Religions situates the rise of new era religiosity within the broader context of late-modern society and its ongoing transformation.

ASHGATE NEW CRITICAL THINKING IN RELIGION, THEOLOGY AND BIBLICAL STUDIES The Ashgate New Critical Thinking in Religion, Theology and Biblical Studies series brings high quality research monograph publishing back into focus for authors, international libraries, and student, academic and research readers. Headed by an international editorial advisory board of acclaimed scholars spanning the breadth of religious studies, theology and biblical studies, this open-ended monograph series presents cutting-edge research from both established and new authors in the field. With specialist focus yet clear contextual presentation of contemporary research, books in the series take research into important new directions and open the field to new critical debate within the discipline, in areas of related study, and in key areas for contemporary society. Series Editorial Board: Jeff Astley, North of England Institute for Christian Education, Durham, UK David Jasper, University of Glasgow, UK James Beckford, University of Warwick, UK Raymond Williams, Wabash College, Crawfordsville, USA Geoffrey Samuel, University of Newcastle, Australia Richard Hutch, University of Queensland, Australia Paul Fiddes, Regent’s Park College, University of Oxford, UK Anthony Thiselton, University of Nottingham, UK Tim Gorringe, University of Exeter, UK Adrian Thatcher, College of St Mark and St John, UK Alan Torrance, University of St Andrews, UK Terrance Tilley, University of Dayton, USA Miroslav Volf, Yale Divinity School, USA Stanley Grenz, Baylor University and Truett Seminary, USA Vincent Brummer, University of Utrecht, The Netherlands Gerhard Sauter, University of Bonn, Germany Other titles in this series: Tantric Buddhism and Altered States of Consciousness Durkheim, Emotional Energy and Visions of the Consort Louise Child The Politics of Praise Naming God and Friendship in Aquinas and Derrida William W. Young III The Trinity and Ecumenical Church Thought The Church-Event William C. Ingle-Gillis

New Era – New Religions Religious Transformation in Contemporary Brazil

ANDREW DAWSON Lancaster University, UK

© Andrew Dawson 2007 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher. Andrew Dawson has asserted his moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work. Published by Ashgate Publishing Limited Gower House Croft Road Aldershot Hampshire GU11 3HR England

Ashgate Publishing Company Suite 420 101 Cherry Street Burlington, VT 05401-4405 USA

Ashgate website: http://www.ashgate.com British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Dawson, Andrew New era – new religions : religious transformation in contemporary Brazil. – (Ashgate new critical thinking in religion, theology and biblical studies) 1. Cults – Brazil 2. Brazil – Religious life and customs 3. Brazil – Religion – 21st century I. Title 299.8’91 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Dawson, Andrew, 1966– New era, new religions : religious transformation in contemporary Brazil / Andrew Dawson. p. cm. – (Ashgate new critical thinking in religion, theology and biblical studies) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-7546-5433-9 (hardcover : alk. paper) 1. Brazil – Religion. 2. Religion – History – 21st century. I. Title. BL2590.B7D39 2007 200.981’090511–dc22

ISBN 978-0-7546-5433-9

Printed and bound in Great Britain by MPG Books Ltd, Bodmin, Cornwall.

2006035445

For Debbie, AJ and Anna

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Contents Acknowledgements

ix

Introduction

1

1 Mapping the Religious Landscape Colonial Beginnings Emerging Pluralization Further Pluralization Established Diversity

9 10 12 25 35

2 Neo-Esoteric Religiosity Contemporary Neo-Esotericism Temple of Good Will Valley of the Dawn Gnostic Church of Brazil

39 41 45 48 54

3 Ayahuasca Religions of Brazil Indigenous and Mestiço Origins Ayahuasca Religion in Brazil Expansion and Diversification Conclusion

67 67 70 92 96

4 New Era Discourse Course in New Gnosis Architectonic Motifs of New Era Discourse The Diffusion of New Era Discourse

99 100 104 121

5 New Era Religiosity in Late-Modern Perspective A Broadened Religious Spectrum An Enhanced Capacity to Choose Social Transformation The Meeting of the What and the How

129 129 131 133 153

Conclusion

159

Bibliography Index

163 179

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Acknowledgements As with any work of this nature its completion has been possible only by incurring a range of debts which deserve to be acknowledged. I wish to express my gratitude to University of Chester and its Global Perspectives programme for providing the time and funding which made possible much of the fieldwork, reading, and reflection upon which the following material is founded. Likewise I am indebted to the Arts and Humanities Research Council whose grant created the space in which these materials were brought together in book form and (now, former) colleagues at University of Chester who covered administrative and teaching responsibilities during my absence. I’m thankful to Sarah Lloyd at Ashgate for her initial enthusiasm and continuing support for the book and to Peter Clarke for his ongoing encouragement and assistance. Whilst never sought, I want to say a loud obrigado to Claudio and Magali for the hospitality offered between bouts of fieldwork and to their son Guilherme for the colourful drawings which adorn my notebook. Finally, there is Debbie, AJ, and Anna to whom this book is dedicated. I wish to express my gratitude to AJ and Anna for their kindness in tolerating my absence from birthday and other important events and for their steadfast refusal to allow ‘the grump in the study’ to take himself and his project too seriously. Where Debbie is concerned there are debts which can never be repaid. For her hard work during my periods abroad and unquenchable positivity when at home writing up I offer my heartfelt, but comparatively feeble, thanks. The immeasurability of my indebtedness is matched only by my love.

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Introduction Religion is back on the academic map. For some, of course, religion has never been away. Specialists in religious studies, sociology of religion, and social anthropology have long been engaged in the study of religion as a central component of a great many societies, cultures, communities, and individual biographies. Since the heady days of Marx, Durkheim, Weber, and Parsons, however, religion has been progressively displaced from mainstream academic curricula by subject matter thought to be more relevant to the modern world. At worst ‘absent’ from mainstream academic study (Ebaugh, 2002: 386) and at best imbued with an analytical laziness (Smith and Woodberry, 2001: 2), the academy’s ‘refusal to think about’ religion (Lemert, 1999: 240) constitutes a ‘neglect’ which Beckford regards as bordering on the ‘perverse’ (2003: 155). Slowly but surely, things have begun to change. On the one hand, the much vaunted ‘cultural turn’ of the mid-twentieth century has provoked a renewed interest in the study of religion as academics have increasingly turned their attention to an analysis of the ‘symbolic dimensions of social action’ (Geertz, 1973: 30) through which human beings render the world meaningful and their existence worthwhile. On the other hand, this new-found theoretical openness to religion has been complemented by a range of concrete events which have further piqued analytical interest by calling into question established academic assumptions about the function and status of religion. The rise of ‘progressive Christianity’ and its participation in oppositional campaigns against right-wing, dictatorial governments, for example, has done much to challenge longstanding assumptions concerning the inherently conservative nature of religion (e.g. Mainwaring and Wilde, 1989). Likewise, the resurgence of religious fundamentalism has problematized supposedly incontestable academic opinion upon the place and future of organized religion in the modern world (Martin, 2005). The cultural turn of the theoretical lens and the practical momentum created by events on the ground have combined to give religion an ‘increasing salience’ (Robertson, 1992: 42) which makes it ‘more and more difficult to ignore’ (Davie, 2004: 327) as an object of academic scrutiny. The rise of liberation theology and the exponential growth of neo-Pentecostal Christianity have already established Brazil as a social context at the vanguard of generating the practical groundswell which has helped rekindle academic interest in religion. The largest and most vibrant of Latin American nations, however, has more to offer. Brazil is currently undergoing widespread transformation as it is increasingly integrated within the globalizing system of late-modernity. In every sphere of its economic-political and social-cultural life Brazilian society has been subject to massive and irreversible upheavals which have reshaped its religious landscape. Noting that over the past thirty years ‘religious life in Brazil has changed in ways never seen before’, Pierucci and Prandi maintain that ‘the Brazilian religious panorama has changed not only because people are deserting their traditional gods and secularizing their lives and values, but also because there are growing numbers of

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others who are adhering to “new” gods, or rediscovering their old gods in new ways’ (1996: 9–10). Once a bastion of Roman Catholicism Brazil is today home to some of the world’s fastest growing religious movements and has greeted enthusiastically a number of home-grown new religions and alternative spiritualities. Hess argues that ‘the world of alternative Brazilian religion … makes that of California seem bland in comparison’ (1991: 2), whilst Beckford remarks upon the ‘mesmerising variety’ of Brazil’s religious landscape, adding that ‘religious developments in Brazil may be a forerunner of things to come’ (2003: 103). Guerriero likewise notes that ‘the number of religious denominations, new and old, is truly amazing. We can say that the majority of these religions are part of that group which we conventionally term new religious movements’ (2005: 39). Collectively these novel forms of religiosity are redefining both contemporary understandings of religion and what it means to be religious. It seems that for each different approach to the study of new religious phenomena there is a correspondingly different set of terminology, defining characteristics, and issues identified as significant. Academic nomenclature for new religious phenomena is as varied as the subject matter itself. ‘New religious movement’, ‘alternative spirituality’, ‘new age religion’, ‘new religious consciousness’, ‘diffuse religion’, ‘cult’, ‘mystical-esotericism’, and ‘neo-esoteric religion’ are only the most oft-used terms among an ever growing range of denominational options. The typological features by which new religious phenomena are both identified and classified are likewise diverse. Chronology is a popular defining characteristic in which ‘new’ is treated in the literal sense of being historically recent (e.g. Clarke, 1991). Whilst not foregoing chronological features, other typologies rest upon positional definitions by which novel religious phenomena are plotted relative to the ‘dominant religion’ (e.g. Chryssides, 1999; Melton, 2004). Organizational characteristics, membership lifestyles, belief systems, and attitudes to society at large have also been used as definitional ingredients (e.g. Stark and Bainbridge, 1985; Wallis, 1984; Wilson, 1970; Wuthnow, 1978). As Barker notes, however, ‘one cannot generalise’ about new religious phenomena. Her admonition to tread carefully when treating new forms of religious expression is worth quoting at length: The only thing that they have in common is that they have been labelled as an NRM [new religious movement] or ‘cult’. The movements differ from each other so far as their origins, their beliefs, their practices, their organisation, their leadership, their finances, their life-styles and their attitudes to women, children, education, moral questions and the rest of society are concerned. Attempts to produce typologies have been limited and … do not really help us to anticipate with much certainty the empirical characteristics that might follow from the defining characteristics of each category … The ever-increasing range of alternatives from all corners of the world … have made neat, predictive models out of date almost before the ink has dried on their author’s paper – or the laser has printed from their author’s PC. (1999: 20)

Despite the many perils involved in naming and defining new religious phenomena such is their social-cultural significance that the theoretical risks involved are far outweighed by the conceptual insights engendered by their academic engagement. The study of new religious phenomena furnishes insight into the nature of counter,

Introduction

3

‘deviant’, marginal or alternative cultures. It also engenders an appreciation of societal change through the study of, for example, novel modes of social integration and collective participation, alienation and protest, the impact of individualization, lifestyle experimentation, social-cultural pluralization, globalization, detraditionalization, secularization, and re-enchantment. Organizational and community dynamics can also be explored through the study of new religions, along with group formation, the maintenance of collective identity, membership and belonging, leadership styles, the use of violence, and the making of authority claims (Clarke, 2006b; L. Dawson, 1998 and 2004; Saliba, 1995; Wilson, 1991). All in all the study of new religious phenomena sheds light not only upon the present status and possible future of religion, but also upon the nature and potential directions of the societal forces and dynamics which have spawned them. In effect, new religious phenomena are barometers of both religious and social change and, therefore, have a social-cultural significance in excess of their actual numerical size. In one of the few typologies offered of new religious movements in Brazil Guerriero lists four major types. The first type, whose status as bone fide NRMs Guerriero calls into question, comprises ‘new groups which have arisen within the large Christian religions’ (2005: 50). The most noteworthy of these groups are Pentecostalism and the Catholic Charismatic Renewal movement.1 Others mentioned include the Seventh Day Adventists, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Latter-day Saints, Christian Science, the Salvation Army, the Family, and the Jesus Freaks. Arising outside of mainstream Christianity the ‘second type’ includes, among others, the International Society for Krishna Consciousness (ISKCON), the Brazil Osho Institute (formerly Rajneesh), the Sathya Sai Baba Organization, the Bahá’í Faith, the Ahmadiya Muslim Association, the Legion of Good Will, the Valley of the Dawn, Transcendental Meditation (of Maharishi Meheshi), and the ayahuasca religions of Barquinha, Vegetable Union, and Santo Daime. Guerriero’s ‘third type’ comprises ‘new religions originating in the East’ (2005: 52). Along with the Unification Church, he lists the Japanese new religions of Soka Gakkai, Church of World Messianity, Seicho-no-Ie, Perfect Liberty, and Mahikari. The ‘fourth type’ is of an ‘occultist or esoteric’ nature and is the most diverse of all. This type is constituted by two subgroups which Guerriero orders relative to organizational cohesion. Made up of the ‘most organized groups’, the first, and ‘practically inexhaustible’, subgroup comprises: Wicca, the Order of the Rosy Cross (AMORC), the Rosicrucian Fraternity, the Universal White Fraternity, the Druidic College of Brazil, the Church of Scientology, the New Acropolis, the Fraternity of Universal Peace, the Anthroposophical Society, the Human Potential Movement, the Theosophical Society of Brazil, the 3HO Institute, the Nyingma Institute of Brazil, the Paz Geia Institute of Shamanic Studies, the Palas Athena Centre of Philosophical Studies, the Brazilian Society of Eubiose, and the Esoteric Circle of the Communion of Thought. (2005: 53)

The second subgroup includes ‘various isolated groups without institutional ties’. Among those listed are ‘druidism, neopaganism, shamanic practices (of North1 Guerriero notes that it is conventional for Brazilian scholars not to treat Pentecostalism or the Catholic Charismatic movement as new religious movements (2005: 50).

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America, Tibet, and Siberia), Celtic rituals, the Violet Flame of Saint Germain, angel worship, and sacred dance … the study of ancient, lost civilizations such as Atlantis or even of other planets’. The ‘most common’, however, are the ‘clinics and integrated venues’ offering ‘bodily and floral therapies, yoga, reike, biodance, herbalism, chiropractics, ayurvedic cure, oracles and divination (such as astrology, I Ching, Tarot, and various others), numerology, cosmic radionics, geotherapy, chromotherapy, past-lives regression, holism, cranial-sacral integration, meditation, crystals or feng shui’ (2005: 53–4). As with all typologies, and bearing Barker’s warning in mind, Guerriero’s suffers from a number of limitations, if not confusions. It does, though, provide a useful point of orientation. As a central aim of this book is the treatment of nonmainstream and non-established religiosity in Brazil, all of those groups mentioned in Guerriero’s first type will not be engaged except in passing and where necessary for context. Likewise, established Afro-Brazilian and Spiritist religions will only be dealt with to the extent that a basic appreciation of what they are about sheds light upon the primary subject matter of new era religious practice and discourse. Another aim of this book, that of introducing new religious phenomena which are not readily accessible to a non-Portuguese speaking audience, means that the ‘oriental’ religions making up Guerriero’s third type will not be detailed to the same extent as other forms of novel religiosity. Thanks to the work of Clarke (e.g. 1994, 1999, 2000a, 2006a), for example, there is ample material available in English on Japanese new religions in Brazil. The application of these two aims leaves us with types two and four which, in tandem with two other central aims of this book, furnish us with the particular new era religions to be discussed. In addition to introducing new religious phenomena which have not been widely written about outside of Brazil, the following material also aims to treat examples of new era religion which do two things. First, the examples chosen are typically Brazilian in nature and thereby embody a range of religious practice and discourse which reflects the historical processes and contemporary dynamics which combine to create their context of origin. Consequently, I have elected not to engage the many new era groups, organizations, and movements in Brazil whose religious repertoires do little more than reproduce the kind of discourse and practice found throughout the urban-industrial world. For example, as a tranche of alternative religion in Brazil pretty much mirrors that of European and North American new age scenes it is mentioned here (see Chapter 2) only in so far as its acknowledgement offers a more balanced representation of the new era spectrum as a whole. Second, the groups, organizations, and movements chosen for treatment are included because they offer fertile examples of the manner in and extent to which new era religiosity embodies characteristics typical of late-modern, urban-industrial existence. In its own particular fashion each of the groups, organizations, and movements detailed provides a working example of how the forces and dynamics shaping contemporary life (e.g. urban-industrialization, secularization, pluralization, and globalization) are refracted through new era discourse and practice. As well as furnishing insight into the particularities of the Brazilian context, then, the new era repertoires chosen for scrutiny exhibit a range of characteristics whose exploration tells us both about

Introduction

5

the contemporary status of religion in particular and the nature of late-modernity in general. In view of the above we are left with a number of options which appear in the second and fourth categories of Guerriero’s typology. From the second category the Legion of Good Will, Valley of the Dawn, and ayahuasca religions of Barquinha, Vegetable Union, and Santo Daime fall precisely within the dictates of aforementioned aspirations. Although not listed by Guerriero within the fourth type of ‘practically inexhaustible’ occultist and esoteric groups, I have chosen the Gnostic Church of Brazil (known also as the Samael Aun Weor Foundation – FUNDASAW) as a representative working example of Brazilian esotericism. Whilst complemented by examples drawn from other parts of the new era spectrum engagement with these groups, organizations, and movements provides the bulk of what follows. Prior to a detailed engagement with these groups, organizations, and movements, Chapter 1 opens our treatment of contemporary religious transformation in Brazil by charting the progressive pluralization of the nation’s religious landscape. By providing an overview of historical developments within and the current shape of the religious field in Brazil, Chapter 1 furnishes an overarching backdrop against which the rise and spread of new era religiosity can be plotted. No less a part of new era religiosity as a whole, the distinct character of ayahuasca religion nevertheless lends itself to being treated initially in its own right. As a result, the three religions of Barquinha, Vegetable Union, and Santo Daime are first introduced in a self-contained unit which is Chapter 3. The Legion of Good Will, Valley of the Dawn, and Gnostic Church of Brazil appear together in Chapter 2 and are introduced under the heading of ‘neo-esoteric religiosity’. Although it may appear somewhat arbitrary, the distinction between ayahuasca religion and neo-esoteric religiosity adopted here does have some analytical value. On the whole, for example, exponents of neo-esoteric religiosity tend to shy away from identifying their particular repertoires as explicitly religious in nature. Wary of the label ‘religion’ neo-esoteric groups and organizations prefer to talk of themselves as a ‘lifestyle philosophy’, ‘world ethic’ or ‘spiritual service’. Likewise distancing themselves from traditional forms of religion, ayahuasca religions are nevertheless generally more comfortable in regarding themselves as embodying some form of religious ethos. As one Santo Daime practitioner put it to me, ‘we may be religious but we are not a religion’. In the same vein, neo-esoteric religiosity exhibits a greater degree of individualism. As typically late-modern forms of religious expression both neo-esoteric religiosity and ayahuasca religion espouse a heightened valorization of the individual and her right to self-determination in every aspect of her existence. In comparison, though, ayahuasca religion places greater emphasis upon the importance of collective association and the mutual obligations it entails. Neo-esoteric religiosity, on the other hand, adopts a looser sense of community which is complemented by a stronger articulation of individual autonomy that lends itself to seeing participants more as clients than members. Whatever the niceties of their analytical distinction, ayahuasca religion and neo-esoteric religiosity are equally important examples of the rich diversity of the new era spectrum. The new era spectrum is a continuum of discourse and practice stretching from commercialized ventures specializing in psychotherapeutic

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techniques or the manipulation of impersonal energies to explicitly religious organizations whose rituals facilitate interaction with supernatural agencies and forces. In between there is a diverse array of divinatory practices and curative disciplines located within individual approaches, organizational repertoires or conference programmes exhibiting varying degrees of religiosity. Allowing for the variegated nature of the new era spectrum a number of family resemblances typical of new era religion are nevertheless identifiable. Among the most common characteristics of new era religiosity mention might be made of its individualistic emphasis upon the self as the ultimate arbiter of religious authority and the primary agent of spiritual transformation. Indicative of its individualized nature new era religion embodies an instrumentalized religiosity within which individuals acquire and apply new era practical knowledge to the end of achieving inner peace, healing, enlightenment or fulfilment. The individualistic and instrumentalized character of new era repertoires is further expressed through a modified sense of belonging evinced through concurrent participation in and consecutive switching between different groups and organizations. Such religious transit is complemented by the practice of bricolage in which individual belief systems are constructed through the combination of otherwise disparate components culled from a variety of different groups, traditions, and repertoires.2 Although working with developed concepts of pre-natal and post-mortem existence (e.g. reincarnation), the immediatism of new era religiosity valorizes the ‘here and now’ implications of its practices (e.g. health, wealth, and happiness) in contrast to the deferred transformations (e.g. paradise, heaven, the next life) promised by mainstream religions. New era practitioners also espouse dissatisfaction with orthodox religious traditions, modern (viz. ‘Western’, positivistic, consumer) culture, and prevailing economic and political-juridical systems. This dissatisfaction manifests itself both through organizational claims denying the possession of traditional religious attributes, instead claiming the status of life philosophy or alternative spirituality, and the juxtaposition of an authentic ‘inner,’ ‘higher’ or ‘divine-self’, experienced through non-conventional means, with an inauthentic society or illusory world without which is experienced through orthodox sensation. New era religions by and large adopt a relativizing approach to competing knowledge claims through which purportedly exclusive traditions are regarded as alternative perspectives upon the same all embracing (i.e. holistic) reality. Alongside other factors this relativizing approach encourages the formation of hybrid religious repertoires whose discursive and practical contents are appropriated from established world religions (particularly Eastern ones), indigenous traditions, alternative and marginal spiritualities (e.g. extraterrestrialism), and prevailing socialcultural sign-systems. 2 The concept of ‘bricolage’ was adopted by Lévis-Strauss from the French bricoleur: someone who does handiwork and repairs by combining bits and pieces left over from prior jobs (The Savage Mind, 1966). As employed here, bricolage refers to the ongoing construction and reformulation of individual beliefs through the appropriation and combination of elements (practical and conceptual) appropriated from a variety of different sources. Whilst some of these sources may regard themselves as mutually exclusive, the key point is that the product of their combination makes sense for the individual.

Introduction

7

Demographically speaking, and allowing for the usual variations between specific groups and organizations, the new era spectrum shares many of the characteristics of alternative groups and new religious movements in other parts of Latin America and the urban-industrial world (Contepomi, 1999: 131; Parker, 1997: 142; Barker, 1999: 20; and Heelas, 1996: 121). As with the religious profiles of most urban-industrialized countries, and allowing for the slight demographic preponderance of Brazilian women to men (51 to 49 per cent respectively), the number of women participating in new era activities usually outweighs that of their male counterparts.3 In respect of age, those between 25 and 40 years old appear to be best represented, with the five-year band below (i.e. 20–24) coming next and the one above (i.e. 41–45) after that. New era participants are overwhelmingly members of Brazil’s urban-industrial middleclasses, which also makes them preponderantly white, relatively well-educated, and usually employed in the professional field and its ancillary sectors. Along with the relative novelty and obvious exoticism of new era discourse and practice, the socialeconomic status of new era participants is perhaps partially responsible for the social visibility of new era religion far exceeding that of its actual statistical presence.4 As one would expect with Brazil’s religious profile, a large majority of those participating in the new era spectrum were raised in Catholic households. Those brought up in homes with Spiritist, Umbanda, and traditional esoteric affiliations, or with no religious affiliations at all, are also present in numbers. Generally speaking, those with prior involvement with Candomblé, traditional Protestantism, and Pentecostal denominations are less well represented in new era circles.5 Whatever their former or existing religious affiliation, new era participants generally regard traditional religious repertoires as overbearing, inflexible, and stultifying. In contrast, new era forms of religiosity are seen as less restrictive and more conducive to being tailored to individual needs and aspirations. Finally, participants enjoy relatively fluid and 3 The figures for male–female participation are more or less equal for Roman Catholicism (49.5 per cent to 50.4 per cent respectively), average out at approximately 44 per cent male to 56 per cent female for traditional Protestantism and neo-Pentecostalism inclusively (except for the Universal Church of the Kingdom of God which has 38 per cent male to 62 per cent female) and are inverted (60 per cent male to 40 per cent female) for those recorded as ‘without religion’ (Campos, 2004: 134). 4 The amorphous nature of the new era spectrum, along with the fact that new era participants are scattered throughout various parts of the religious landscape and include many who regard themselves as not belonging to any official religion, makes the estimation of numbers somewhat difficult to judge relative to the census returns of 2000. Roughly speaking, however, I would estimate that at least 30 per cent of those currently active in Brazil’s religious-spiritual arena have had contact with or recourse to some aspect of new era practice. 5 The relative scarcity of candomblistas, Protestants, and Pentecostalists is perhaps attributable to the confluence of a number of factors. The relative dearth of candomblistas and Pentecostalists within new era circles may be connected with the fact that the vast majority of participants in Candomblé and Pentecostalism come from the poorer sectors of Brazilian society. Also, and similar to Loveland’s analysis of ‘religious switching’ in the United States (2003: 147–57) for example, certain forms of Brazilian religiosity (here, Candomblé, traditional Protestantism, and Pentecostalism) may be less prone to the dynamics of religious mobility than other religions.

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transitory relationships with the new era spectrum evidenced through concurrent membership of and consecutive switching between different groups, organizations, and movements. Although a number of the above characteristics of new era religiosity and its participants are included in the largely descriptive treatments of Chapter 2 and 3, they receive more critical attention in our fourth and fifth chapters. Chapter 4 builds upon the concentrated look at the practical aspects of new era religiosity offered by Chapters 2 and 3 by engaging the central discursive components of new era repertoires. In brief, these central narrative motifs are: i) a holistic perspective in which a supernatural force or universal energy is held to pervade the cosmos, uniting individuals with it and, by virtue of its mediating ubiquity, with each other; ii) an individualistic ethos in which the self is valorized as the ultimate arbiter of religious authority and the primary agent of spiritual transformation; and iii) a pragmatic approach in which the information and techniques needed to harness and manipulate these universal forces are regarded as anchored deep within the self, thereby representing a form of practical knowledge ultimately available to everyone. Detailing the macro-structural dynamics and transformations (e.g. secularization, urban-industrialization, and globalization) which have given rise to new era religions, Chapter 5 situates new era religiosity within its broader societal context. In so doing, this chapter allows an appreciation of new era religiosity as a form of practical knowledge attuned to meeting the particular demands of late-modern existence.6 Concluding remarks upon the distinctiveness and central dynamic of new era religiosity bring the book to a close.

6 Throughout this book, social theories of late-modernity inform the analytical framework through which the rise and consolidation of new era religions is interpreted. The religious transformation which has spawned new era religions is indicative of the historically recent (i.e. late-modern) intensification of microscopic, mid-range and macro-structural dynamics constitutive of contemporary urban-industrial existence (e.g. Beck, 2002; Giddens, 1991; Lash, 1990). Whether at an individual or organizational level, contemporary processes such as detraditionalization, individualization, and secularization set the context within which religious transformation occurs and new era religions emerge, take root, and flourish. At the same time, contemporary manifestations of religiosity exemplified here by new era religions can be seen to refract late-modern processes in ways which reconfigure these dynamics through, for example, the re-composition of tradition, refashioning of community and reenchantment of collective and individual identities.

Chapter 1

Mapping the Religious Landscape If census categories alone are anything to go by, the last three decades have witnessed the rapid and widespread pluralization of the religious landscape of Brazil. Excluding both non-declarations and those self-designating as ‘without religion’ (sem religião), the eight categories of the 1980 census relating to religion rose to 45 in 1990 before considerably expanding to the 141 categories employed by the census of 2000. As one would expect given the recent history of religious change in Brazil, the largest expansion of census categories relates to Protestant (Evangélico) Christianity, with the two categories of the 1980 census increasing to 23 in 1991 then rising to 74 in 2000. Across the board, however, the sub-categories of existing designations have multiplied and new categories have been added (Jacob et al., 2003: 221–4). On the one hand, the multiplication of census categories concerned with religion has something to do with the ongoing development of social scientific concepts and methodological approaches. As the analytical lens refines its focus what is seen increases both in detail and intensity. On the other hand, and in parallel with the aforementioned growth of academic interest in religion in general, the multiplication of census categories is a direct response to changes happening on the ground. And whilst census categories inevitably lag behind the actuality they seek to quantify, dramatic changes such as those evidenced in respect of religion nevertheless indicate that something interesting is afoot. Ultimately, then, the exponential increase in census categories is, above all, an indication of the rapid and far-reaching pluralization to which the Brazilian religious landscape has been subjected over the course of the last thirty years. The very nature of novelty comprises not only the introduction of what was formerly absent, but also the appearance of previously unseen phenomena which result both from the combination of once disparate elements already in place or the mixture of existing ingredients with those of a more contemporary provenance. As Clarke reminds us, new religious phenomena ‘are not … exclusively modern, but juxtapose both modern and traditional forms of religion’ (2006b: 355). For many academics and interested parties, this is what makes the study of new religions so stimulating. With new religious phenomena one gets to study not only the appearance and consolidation of the dramatically new but also what emerges and takes shape when the old is transformed into something recognizably different than what it once was. As with all things new, novelty comes in a variety of shapes and sizes. With these things in mind, this chapter provides an overview of the religious landscape of Brazil which is both historical and contemporary in nature. What follows sets the broader backdrop against which the rise and spread of new era religiosity can be understood. It also highlights the most relevant historical and contemporary ingredients which have, in one way or another, found their way into the discourse

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and practice of new era repertoires. Inevitably, then, both Catholic and Protestant Christianity receive attention, as does Afro-Brazilian religiosity in the forms of Candomblé and Umbanda. However, as we are concerned with non-mainstream and non-established religiosity the space given over to these religions is limited to the basic (in terms of broader context) and the necessary (in terms of particular detail). In contrast the religious repertoires of Spiritism and Japanese new religions receive greater attention. Although English-language treatments are available, the subject matter of this book lends itself to including at least an overview of the establishment and principal features of Japanese new religions in Brazil. Less readily accessible to the non-Portuguese speaking world than Brazil’s other established (i.e. Christian and Afro-Brazilian) religions, Spiritism is no less important to the rise of new era religiosity in both setting the historical backdrop and furnishing particular ingredients. Furthermore, such is the correspondence between certain motifs central to both Spiritist and new era repertoires that a basic understanding of Spiritism stands the reader in good stead for the detailed treatments which follow this chapter. Colonial Beginnings Catholic Christianity An integral part of the Portuguese imperial enterprise from 1500, the Lusitanian brand of Catholic Christianity brought by its southern European settlers remained the only legal religion of Brazil for the first three hundred years of its colonial existence. Indirectly through European-borne pestilence and directly through persecution and enforced conversion, Catholic Christianity displaced indigenous forms of religiouscultural expression in all but the most inaccessible parts of the country (Hoornaert, 1992: 21–152). ‘Two basic forms of Catholicism are present in the religious history of Brazil: traditional Catholicism and renewed Catholicism’ (Azzi, 1978: 9). Known also as ‘romanized Catholicism’, renewed Catholicism established itself in Brazil from the late nineteenth century onwards as Catholic Christianity assumed an increasingly ecclesiastical tenor. This institution-centred ethos was established through the centralization of clerical authority and sacramental distribution which were mediated through strengthened parish and other formal organizational structures (Oliveira, 1985). Alternatively termed ‘popular’ and ‘folk’, Oliveira defines traditional Catholicism as ‘the body of religious practices and representations developed by the popular imaginary starting from the religious symbols introduced to Brazil by Portuguese missionaries and colonists, to which certain indigenous and African religious symbols have been added’ (Oliveira, 1985: 122). Although ‘Roman’ Catholicism is very much the official face of Catholic Christianity in Brazil today, by no means has it been as influential in shaping the contours of contemporary Brazilian religious culture as its ‘traditional’ counterpart. ‘Tied profoundly’, Azzi maintains, ‘to the culture of the Brazilian people’ (1978: 9), traditional Catholicism comprised, among other things, three formative characteristics that conspired to shape successive forms of popular Catholic Christianity from colonial times, through independence and the establishment of the Republic, to contemporary urban-industrial Brazil. In no

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particular order of priority, the foundational characteristics of popular Catholicism most relevant here are its pragmatic supernaturalism, semi-autonomous existence from formal ecclesiastical structures, and highly eclectic nature. The form of Catholic Christianity established in Brazil was, according to Mello e Souza, an admixture of late-medieval and early-modern religiosity ‘imbued with paganism’ and accustomed ‘to a magical universe’ in which ‘people could barely distinguish between the natural and the supernatural, the visible and the invisible, part and whole, the image and what it represented’ (2003: 48). Inhabiting a universe populated by magical forces and spiritual entities, both malign and beneficent, Brazilian colonists managed their supernaturalized world through recourse to a vast array of superstitions, beliefs, and practices articulated by popular Catholicism and geared towards meeting the needs provoked by the everyday challenges and hardships of life. The utilitarian nature of popular Catholicism is exemplified in practices such as the promessa, novena, and pilgrimage. These practices underwrite a form of reciprocally binding, though generally temporary, arrangement through which favours and benefits are gained by the supplicant in exchange for some form of ritualized offering to the supernatural powers that be (Greenfield, 2001: 59–61; Oliveira, 1985: 117). Structured principally around the ritualized interaction of supplicant and saint, colonial popular Catholicism embodied an unabashedly pragmatic religiosity in which saintly patronage combined with thaumaturgy (i.e. use of charms, spells, offerings, amulets, and curses) and assorted means of supernatural manipulation thought most likely to engender sought after results. The more formal beliefs and practices of popular Catholicism’s pragmatic supernaturalism were ordered through a range of sanctioned organizations and semi-official structures likewise inherited from Lusitanian religiosity (Azzi, 1978: 155). Owing to the organizational structure of the Catholic mission in Brazil, its prioritization of the elite classes, and relative lack of well-trained and pastorally committed clergy, popular Catholicism enjoyed a relative independence from ecclesiastical structures already weakened through political compromise and geographical remoteness (Azzi, 1977: 160–200). Orientated around domestic shrines, local chapels, and strictly segregated associations (e.g. irmandades and confrarias) popular Catholicism drew upon a range of lay functionaries (e.g. benzedores, rezadores, and festeiros) whose semi-autonomous and socially-stratified nature further enhanced the development of a para-ecclesiastical religious worldview (Oliveira: 1985: 130–33; Pessar, 2004: 20). Attuned more to the social rhythms and hardships of everyday life than the theological intricacies of official Church teaching, the pragmatic supernaturalism and semi-autonomous nature of popular Catholicism inclined it as much toward heterodoxy as perceived orthodoxy. Exploiting the room for manoeuvre furnished by its semi-autonomous nature, popular Catholicism’s pragmatic ethos engendered an eclecticism that judged beliefs and practices relative to their practical efficacy for the hardships of everyday life rather than their correlation with official Church teaching (where, indeed, it was propagated).1 Add to this popular Catholicism’s 1 In her treatment of popular religion in colonial Brazil, Mello e Souza grounds this eclectic dynamic in the miscegenation born of the cultural melting pot of the colonial context. ‘Mixing white, indigenous, and black blood’, she says, ‘it is as if Brazilians had been

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well-developed supernaturalism, and one can appreciate the relative ease with which elements of indigenous animistic worldviews and spiritist cosmologies of imported African slaves were drawn upon and incorporated within the discursive and practical repertoires initially provided by colonial Catholic Christianity. Emerging Pluralization Protestantism Except for ill-fated invasions by French Huguenots (Rio de Janeiro, 1555–67) and Dutch Calvinists (Bahia and Olinda, 1624, 1630–54), Catholicism continued to enjoy official religious hegemony until the British-assisted arrival of the Portuguese royal court in 1808 (Mendonça, 2004: 50). Keen to establish trading relationships with the nascent imperial power of Great Britain and desirous of attracting immigrant farmers from Protestant northern Europe, the Brazilian aristocracy oversaw a raft of legal reforms to help realize these aspirations. Whilst maintaining Catholicism as the official ‘imperial’ religion, for example, the Constitution of 1824 granted limited liberties to Anglican/Protestant modes of religious expression, such as permission to hold religious services as long as they were restricted to a domestic context and foreign language (Mariano, 2002).2 Reflecting the advance of secularist philosophies among the nation’s ruling elites, and seeking to increase Brazil’s appeal to European immigrants (thereby lessening latifúndio reliance upon slave labour), religious liberties were further extended in the early 1860s; but again in such a way as to protect Brazilian Catholics from the advances of Protestant missionary activity (Fragoso, 1980: 237–48).3 Indicative of the progressive realignment of Brazil’s international relations from the mid1850s onward, it was the more zealously proselytising forms of North American Protestantism that most readily exploited this new-found political-legal space. Excluding the Igreja Evangélica Fluminense (1858), whose roots lay in Scottish Congregationalism, the legally sanctioned establishment of non-Catholic churches “condemned” to syncretism’ (2003: 46). Whilst I do not wish to underplay the importance of miscegenation in contributing to popular Catholicism’s eclectic dynamic, I nevertheless judge the pragmatic nature of popular Catholicism (indeed, of most forms of popular religiosity) to be of primary significance in generating its tendency to eclecticism. In effect, then, eclecticism (or ‘syncretism’ as Mello e Souza prefers) would have occurred irrespective of miscegenation; to what extent, however, is a moot point. 2 The Brazilian–English treaties of 1810 (Alliance and Friendship; Commerce and Navigation) had already eased the way for Anglican worship to have taken place in Rio de Janeiro by 1820 (Mendonça, 2004: 52). 3 Burns (1980: 362) estimates the number of voluntary immigrants entering Brazil between 1820 and 1930 as 4.5 to 5 million, whilst Schneider (1991: 97) notes that approximately 3 million immigrants entered between 1884 and 1920. Perhaps ironically, in view of legal changes in respect of religious liberty, the overwhelming majority of immigrants came from the Catholic countries of Italy, Spain and Portugal, with Lutheran Germany sending approximately 3.5 per cent of those entering Brazil between 1820 and 1930.

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in the second half of the nineteenth century (e.g. Methodist Church, Rio de Janeiro, 1878; Presbyterian Church, Rio de Janeiro, 1862; Baptist Church, Salvador, 1882; Episcopalian Church, Rio Grande do Sul, 1890) reflected the now hegemonic status of North American denominations within Brazilian Protestantism (Mendonça, 2004: 53–5). Although constituting only 1 per cent (142,235) of the population in the 1890 census, the establishment of Brazil as a republic in the same year did much to consolidate the social-cultural position of Protestantism as a legitimate marker of Brazilian identity (Mariano, 2002). Modelled on the secular liberal State exemplified by the French and U.S. Constitutions, Brazil’s new political order oversaw the removal of the Roman Catholic ecclesiastical institution as a quasiofficial body of government (Burns, 1980: 288). Along with the secularization of official procedures relating to birth, education, marriage, and death, the granting of full civil and political rights to members of selected non-Catholic religions created an environment in which nascent Protestant denominations could thrive well enough by the early decades of the twentieth century to begin to act autonomously from their North American parent organizations. Never numerically significant enough to reshape Brazil’s religious-cultural landscape in any dramatic way, a number of traditional Protestant denominations nevertheless remain well represented within influential sectors of the nation’s contemporary urban-industrial elite.4 In many ways, the establishment in Brazil of Christian-spawned movements such as the Seventh Day Adventists, Jehovah’s Witnesses, and Church of the Latter Day Saints (Mormons) mirrors that of many traditional Protestant denominations. The Seventh Day Adventists are recorded by the census of 2000 as the largest of these denominations, with 1.2 million members. The Jehovah’s Witnesses come a close second with 1.1 million members, whilst the Church of the Latter-day Saints registers 199,641; although it claims to have more than 600,000 members (). Each of these movements has a similar demographic profile to traditional Protestantism in Brazil (Jacob et al., 2003: 73, 103). Although, like its two counterparts, Seventh Day Adventism emerged in the United States, it first made its way to Brazil as part of the late nineteenth-century arrival of German immigrants who had been converted through the organization’s missionary activity in 1870’s Germany. Confined for the first decades of its existence to the German speaking immigrant community in the south, Adventism’s first real missionary successes in Brazil occurred subsequent to its adoption of the Portuguese language in the early decades of the twentieth century. The Adventist presence in Brazil was complemented by the arrival of Mormonism and the Jehovah’s Witnesses in the 1920s (Schunemann, 2003: 27–40). The massive demographic shifts unleashed by Brazil’s rapid urban-industrial expansion in the 1950s and 1960s provided fertile ground for the progressive spread of Protestant Pentecostalism that had begun to establish itself in Brazil some fifty years earlier. Along with ‘first wave’ Pentecostal churches such as the Christian 4 Termed ‘missionary Protestants’ (evangélicos de missão) by the census of 2000, traditional Protestantism comprises: Baptists (3.2 million adherents), Lutherans (1 million), Presbyterians (981,055), Methodists (340,967), Congregationalists (148,840), Mennonites (17,631), Anglicans (16,591) and Salvation Army (3,743) (Jacob et al. 2003: 73).

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Congregation (1910) and Assemblies of God (1911), ‘second wave’ denominations such as the Foursquare Gospel (1951), Brazil for Christ (1955), New Life (1960), and God is Love (1962) rapidly augmented the Pentecostal presence in Brazil by their expansion among the recently displaced and increasingly urbanized rural masses (Read, 1965: 159–79; Willems, 1967: 12–13, 54–8). Typified by the subsequent emergence of, for example, the Universal Church of the Kingdom of God (1977), the International Church of the Grace of God (1980), and the Reborn in Christ Apostolic Church (1986), the radicalization of Pentecostal discourse and practice in the late-1970s and early-1980s led to the term ‘neo-Pentecostal’ being coined (Freston, 1994: 131). In addition to exploring the factors behind the urban spread of neo-Pentecostalism (Mariano, 2002; Ruuth: 2002), recent treatments have engaged, among other things, neo-Pentecostalism’s move into the formal political arena (Oro, 2003: 53–69), its acrimonious relations with Afro-Brazilian and Spiritist religions (Mariz, 1997: 251–64), the movement’s transnationalization through the establishment of neo-Pentecostal churches in other parts of the world (Aubrée, 2002: 12–21), and its use of mass-media communications, corporate institutional practices, and state of the art marketing techniques (Chesnut, 2003: 50–62; Cunha, 2004: 53– 80; Dolghie, 2004: 201–220). Of most relevance here, however, is the manner in which neo-Pentecostal organizations are adapting to Brazil’s increasingly pluralized religious field by appropriating (e.g. exorcism, unction, correntes, and novenas) and adapting to (e.g. religious transit) themes and practices central to the repertoire of Brazilian popular religiosity (Mariano, 1999: 109–146; Freston, 1994: 138–9, 142). By tapping into the foundational aspects of popular Catholic, Afro-Brazilian, and Spiritist discourse and practice, neo-Pentecostalism broadens its appeal among the poorer sectors of Brazilian society whilst unwittingly providing qualified legitimacy to beliefs and practices at the heart of popular religious expression in Brazil. Among the fastest growing religious organizations in the world today, neo-Pentecostalism grew from 3.9 million in 1980, through 8.8 million in 1991, to 18 million in 2000. Predominantly a religion of the urban poor, neo-Pentecostal denominations represented 10.6 per cent of the population recorded in Brazil’s census of 2000 (Jacob et al., 2003: 39).5 Candomblé If the desire for European immigration played a part in reshaping Brazilian politicallegal attitudes in respect of certain non-Catholic religions, the legacies of slaverelated immigration have redrawn sections of Brazil’s religious map in their entirety. Estimates range between three to five million African slaves forcibly transported to Brazil between the years 1530–1851, with approximately 266,000 arriving in the last seven years (Burns, 1980: 183; Brown, 1994: 27). With the dynamic of the Brazilian 5 There are fifteen named denominations included in the census 2000 category of ‘Pentecostal Protestants’ (evangélicos pentecostais). Of these fifteen, the Assemblies of God (8.4 million), Christian Congregation of Brazil (2.5 million), Universal Church of the Kingdom of God (2.1 million), Foursquare Gospel (774,827) and God is Love (277,352) are the largest (Jacob et al., 2003: 44).

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slave trade having moved by this time from servicing a rural to an urbanising context, this fresh infusion of African cultures was provided with a social-economic space conducive to the maintenance and survival of themes and practices central to their religious worldview. Inevitably, trade-related upheavals of transportation and distribution did much to undermine and confuse the linguistic, cultural, regional, and cultic allegiances established in Africa (Johnson, 2002: 37). Although geographical clustering of slaves allowed for a degree of regional variation in Afro-Brazilian religious expression, there nevertheless remains a great deal of substantive overlap between central motifs, rituals, and their respective interpretations (Gaspar, 2002).6 Certainly, by the time the first recorded Candomblé terreiros (places of worship) appeared in Bahia in the early part of the nineteenth century, earlier processes of fusion and selection had produced from its various constituents a more streamlined and systematized cosmology (Voeks, 1997: 51). Candomblé is divided into ‘nations’ (nações) which function as ostensible historical links to the diverse African cultural-linguistic strands comprising this particular Afro-Brazilian religious worldview (Bastide, 2001: 29). The most influential of these nations, the ‘Ketu’, is centred upon the worship of orixás, with most terreiros acknowledging the existence of more than twenty orixás, but usually concentrating upon actually honouring no more than twelve.7 Candomblé cultic practice revolves around a mutually advantageous exchange between orixá and adherent facilitated by the ritually trained medium (mãe or pai de santo and filhas or filhos de santo). Candomblé cosmology has the physical terrain of the earth (aiê) surrounded by a spiritual realm (orun) comprising nine semi-permeable concentric spheres. The outermost spheres are populated by the remote god Olórun and other foundational deities (the Irumalé). The souls of the dead (eguns) are dispersed throughout orun, their cosmological position in the supernatural hierarchy determined relative to their spiritual development when alive on earth. The spiritual spheres nearest the earth share a similar level of cosmic energy (axé) with it, thereby allowing the orixás most central to Candomblé practice to pass easily between orun and aiê and possess their designated mediums. Acting ostensibly as representatives of the higher deities, orixás possess their entranced hosts to enjoy temporarily the trappings of material existence. These trappings come chiefly in the form of food (including sacrificed animals), dance, decorative clothing, and adoration relative to the orixá’s idiosyncratic set of tastes. Each deity has designated days and festivals, and a range of powers that corresponds with particular domains (e.g. forest, water, and land) and spheres of activity (e.g. health, relationships, and employment). Complemented by an assortment of divinatory and curative techniques mastered by the mãe or pai de santo, orixás work through their designated mediums to radiate axé and offer insight, guidance, and encouragement to supplicants in exchange for a stipulated range of propitiatory gifts and thank-offerings. In contrast to some 6 The most well known of these regional variations is Candomblé (Bahia), which exists alongside Xangô (Pernambuco and Alagoas), Tambor de Mina (Maranhão and Pará), and Batuque (Rio Grande do Sul) (Prandi, 2000: 645). 7 Voeks (1997: 54–5) lists the twelve most commonly venerated orixás as: Xangô, Ogun, Oxalá, Oxóssi, Omolu, Ossâim, Iroko, Yemanjá, Oxum, Iansã, Nanã, and Oxumarê.

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Umbanda and Spiritist practices, candomblistas hold the medium (cavalo, literally ‘horse’) to remain in an unconscious state throughout the period of possession. Unlike the Protestant denominations mentioned above, Afro-Brazilian religions such as Candomblé lacked sufficient social-cultural capital to underwrite their claims to the same liberties as other non-Catholic religions. Despite persistent and, at times, violent state-sponsored and unofficial persecution, however, the steady urbanization of Brazil’s north-eastern ports (e.g. Salvador, Olinda, and Recife) and southern cities (e.g. Rio de Janeiro and São Paulo) proved increasingly conducive to the progressively unhampered practice of Afro-Brazilian religion. Thanks to Vargas’ populist attempts to broaden the pre-war social-cultural base of the Estado Novo (1937–45), Afro-Brazilian religions such as Candomblé enjoyed greater, though still limited, freedoms (Skidmore, 1967: 31–3). Although legal obstruction and semi-official persecution of Afro-Brazilian religions was happening well into the 1970s, Candomblé terreiros continued to thrive in the northeast whilst making gradual inroads in the south (Prandi, 2001). Although only 118,105 (less than 0.1 per cent of) Brazilians identified themselves as candomblistas in the census of 2000, the numbers of those regularly participating in religious ceremonies or consulting at Candomblé terreiros is actually much higher (Jacob, 2003: 101; Prandi, 2000: 644). The residual social-cultural stigma attached to Afro-Brazilian religions, along with the habitualized identification of citizenship with Catholicity, perhaps leads many candomblistas to record themselves as Roman Catholic rather than allying themselves solely with Candomblé. What is beyond contention, however, is the extent to which themes and images connected with Candomblé have passed securely into the psyche of contemporary Brazil (Johnson, 2002: 156–63). Recent academic interest in Candomblé and related Afro-Brazilian religious expression revolves around a number of issues. The spread of Afro-Brazilian religion beyond Brazil’s borders is a matter of note, as are the ramifications of Candomblé’s expansion into the traditional southern heartlands of Umbanda (i.e. Rio de Janeiro and São Paulo), and its growing appeal to members of Brazil’s white, urban middle classes (Carozzi and Frigerio, 2000: 291–318; Prandi, 2001; Amaral and Silva, 2002: 219–36). Attempts to ‘purify’ Candomblé of Christian adulteration through the re-articulation of African themes are also of interest, as are the inclusion of non-traditional deities (e.g. encantados, caboclos, and pretos velhos) within existing pantheons, and progressive formalization of traditional discourse and practice (Motta, 2001: 79–80; Ferretti, 2001: 102; Johnson, 2002: 169). Of most relevance here, though, is the extent to which Candomblé and related forms of AfroBrazilian religion have contributed to the ongoing development of popular religious expression within Brazil’s growing conurbations. Writing upon the ‘integration’ of African deities and the ‘deified saints of the Catholic Church’ that occurred within Afro-Brazilian religions, Voeks notes the ‘structural similarity’/‘functional correspondence’ between folk Catholicism and African religiosity that made this syncretism possible (1997: 59–60).8 This functional correspondence, I maintain, 8 This integration is exemplified in Candomblé’s allowance for the overlap of identity between African deities and Catholic saints. For example: Oxalá – Jesus Christ; Omolu – Saint Sebastian and Saint Lazarus; Iansã – Saint Barbara; Ogun – Saint Anthony and Saint George;

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is grounded ultimately in the fact that the forms of African religiosity eventually established in Brazil had the same foundational characteristics as the popular forms of Catholicism first established in colonial times (i.e. pragmatic supernaturalism, semi-autonomous existence from formal clerical oversight, and highly eclectic nature). As with popular Catholicism, Candomblé and its related forms of religiosity are framed by a view of the everyday world as populated by spiritual entities open to manipulation through a pragmatically orientated ritualized exchange. Effected through designated agents in correspondence with suitably qualified spirits and deities, relationships remain primarily utilitarian and punctual, limited as they are to the supplicant’s acquisition of specific benefits such as healing or a change of fortune (Motta, 2001: 75; Prandi, 2000: 655). As with popular Catholicism, Candomblé and its related forms of Afro-Brazilian religiosity draw upon a rich practical knowledge comprising a well-developed plant lore and familiarity with the spirit world, and a plethora of techniques ranging from divination and healing, through formulation of spells, charms and potions, to possession and exorcism. Drawing upon a famous account of popular religiosity in early twentieth-century Rio de Janeiro, Brown’s observations are worth noting at length: One of the most striking features of João do Rio’s account is its wealth of references to an immense range of individual magico-religious specialists, generally referred to as feitiçeiros (sorcerers) and found among the lower sectors of the Rio population. Almost all of them seem to have many wealthy even famous clients, including politicians and other well-known public figures. … Eclecticism appears as well in Rio’s investigations of magical/religious practices among more affluent sectors of the urban population, where he encounters a great variety of seers, fortunetellers, cartomancers, clairvoyants, crystal gazers, tarot card readers, telepathists, and Zoroastrians. … Rio describes visits to a convent where an Italian priest spends a full day each week performing exorcisms for those who have been ensorcelled, mainly lower class clients. … Brief mentions of caboclo and pagé curers and of hervas de caboclo suggest the presence as well of elements of indigenous Indian traditions. (1994: 33–4)

In its entirety, João do Rio’s report evidences the extent to which traditional Catholic, indigenous, and African expressions of popular religiosity had mixed to form a heterogeneous body of practical knowledge grounded in the experience of the poorer classes but also drawn upon (and, in part, legitimized) by wealthier sectors of the population of Rio de Janeiro. Already immensely heterodox in character, the popular religious consciousness of Brazil was further pluralized through the addition of another foreign import, that of Spiritism. Spiritism Unrelated to any particular migratory movement, Spiritism initially made its way to Brazil as part of a broader appropriation of things avant-garde by the self-styled Yemanjá – Mary (specifically, Our Lady of Conception); Xangô – Saint Bartholomew; Oxum – Mary (specifically, Our Lady of the Candles); Exu – Satan (Voeks, 1997: 59–60; Prandi, 2000: 650–53).

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cultural elite of the nation. An influential and now integral part of the Brazilian religious arena, Spiritism nevertheless remains relatively under studied (Lewgoy, 2004: 19 and Stoll, 2002: 364). Inspired by the events of 1848 in Hydesville, New York, Spiritism emerged in France from Hippolyte Rivail’s (1804–1869) attempts to systematize spiritist thinking along the lines of nineteenth-century scientific paradigms (Hess, 1991: 72). Assuming the name under which Rivail (as Allan Kardec) published his systematization of spiritist thought, Kardecism presented itself as the ‘third codification’ of spirit-inspired revelation for the new era, superseding earlier ‘first’ (Judaism) and ‘second’ (Christianity) attempts (Cavalcanti, 1983: 21). Kardec’s first and major work, The Book of the Spirits (1857), represents a codified distillation of moral teaching, philosophical instruction, and scientific insight gleaned from a range of eminent spirits (e.g. Socrates, John the Baptist, and Benjamin Franklin) interrogated by him with the help of a number of spiritist mediums. The information provided by these spirits was further elaborated in Kardec’s other major works, The Book of the Mediums (1859) and The Gospel According to Spiritism (1864). Typical of other nineteenth-century movements such as Theosophy, Kardecism represented a move beyond the supposedly outdated confines of traditional religion. Like its Theosophical and esoteric counterparts, Kardecism comprised an eclectic trawling of marginal, alternative, and oriental worldviews (e.g. Mesmerism, Swedenborgianism, Hermeticism, Hinduism, and homeopathy) which were merged with vestigial Christian teachings and selected insights from prevailing moral, scientific, and philosophical opinion. A child of its time, Kardecism offered a quasi-religious worldview in which traditional beliefs (e.g. heaven, hell, and miraculous intervention) were replaced with moral principles (e.g. love and charity) and scientific insight (e.g. cause and effect) conducive to the modern, liberal intelligentsia. Utilizing the latest in rational argument and scientific method, Kardecism presented itself as an inclusive, universal alternative to divisive, sectarian religious worldviews.9 Its emphasis upon spiritual freedom of choice, responsibility for prior actions, and meritocratic advance through reincarnation is indicative of an emerging modern conception of religiosity as a field of autonomous self-expression, bounded by an ameliorative ethic of just deserts. Kardecist cosmology sees the universe as composed of ‘universal fluid’, an allencompassing energy force whose form alters to constitute the different components of the cosmos, seen and unseen. At its most dense, universal fluid forms the ‘material plane’, of which the earth is one among many habitable worlds. Framing these habitable, material worlds is the ‘spiritual plane’, comprising any number of subdivisional planes which are progressively less dense relative to their distance from the material plane. The relationship between these planes is regulated by a series of ‘laws’ (e.g. sympathy, karma, and charity), knowledge of which is relative to one’s evolutionary status. Originally created equal and endowed with free-will and intelligence, different spirits inhabit different spheres of the universe relative to their evolutionary trajectory from the material to the ethereal. Roughly speaking, three classes of spirit inhabit the cosmos: ‘pure spirits’, whose evolutionary advance has 9 This inclusive versus sectarian contrast was further reinforced by Kardecism through its subsequent association with Esperanto, the purportedly new, universal language of modernity (Santos, 2004: 62).

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placed them beyond the influence of matter; ‘good spirits’, whose evolutionary status allows for the predominance of the spiritual over the material; and ‘imperfect spirits’ whose relatively lowly evolutionary position reflects the predominance of matter over spirit (Cavalcanti, 1983: 39). Spirits evolve from the imperfect to the perfect by means of ‘reincarnation’. Fully aware of itself and its evolutionary status when in a disincarnate condition, each spirit chooses for itself an appropriate material world into which it is to become incarnate. In choosing the material conditions into which it is to be born, each spirit has in view the range of trials and tribulations through which its probity is to be tested, prior misdemeanours expiated, and sufficient merit earned to enable its evolutionary advance up the cosmic hierarchy of existence. The better the life lived by an incarnate spirit in this world, for example, the broader its range of options in the spiritual plane when next choosing a (less material) world in which to undergo a subsequent set of tests. The worse the life lived, however, the less the options available and the longer the ascent up the evolutionary ladder. Unlike oriental and some esoteric representations of reincarnational cycles, there is no involution (reincarnational descent through non-human species) in mainstream Spiritism. Kardecist anthropology holds the person to be constituted by the interaction of three components, each comprising varying densities of universal fluid. The densest of these constituent parts is the human body, which is perishable by virtue of its material nature. The least dense is the imperishable ‘spirit’ which has elected to be incarnated through flesh and blood materiality. When existing in incarnate form, the imperishable spirit is known as the ‘higher self’ (eu superior). Mediating between material body and immaterial spirit is the semi-material ‘perispirit’; one part of which perishes with each ‘disincarnation’ (i.e. death of the material body), the other part of which is imperishable and accompanies the spirit through successive forays into the material realm. The perispirit’s accompaniment of the spirit through successive incarnations allows the impress of each particular incarnation upon the spirit. This spiritual memory serves to inform the disincarnate spirit when choosing its next incarnation and may be witnessed in corporeal form through the remembrance of past lives which is accessed through communication with the higher self. In addition to mediating in the material plane between incarnate spirit and physical body, the perispirit allows the spirit (in both incarnate and disincarnate form) to interact with the universal fluid. When incarnated, however, the spirit is disorientated by its material environment and its relations with the spiritual plane seriously attenuated. The inevitable disorientation brought on by incarnation and its possible deleterious consequences for the spirit’s evolutionary well-being provides the rationale for Spiritism’s existence as a moral-religious system.10 Spiritist séances are recorded as having taken place among French émigrés in Brazil as early as 1853 (Santos, 2004: 14). Although informal networking among Brazilian groups in Bahia and Rio de Janeiro went on throughout the 1860s, it was 10 As well as providing the raison d’être of Spiritism’s existence, the attenuation of the incarnate spirit’s relations with the spiritual plane serves also to preserve its moral autonomy as the epistemic distance between incarnate spirit and spirit realm provides space for an ethically meaningful freedom of choice.

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not until the 1870s that Spiritism coalesced sufficiently as a non-émigré movement to begin to seek legal recognition. Indicative of its early appeal to members of Brazilian polite society, Spiritism’s foothold in Brazil benefited from a number of high profile conversions, not least of which was Adolfo Bezerra de Menezes Cavalcanti (1831–1900). Often referred to as the ‘the Brazilian Kardec’, Bezerra de Menezes played a major role in both assuaging the suspicions of legal-political authorities and fostering a nascent organizational cohesion among the early Spiritist community (Hess, 1991: 81). Reflecting tensions already established within the Kardecist community of France, Brazilian Spiritism soon split along fault lines dictated by the schism between those regarding the movement as a scientific one and those wishing to develop a religious identity. On the scientific front, Spiritism was interpreted as making a fresh intellectual contribution to modern science thanks to its openness to spiritual causation of material phenomena and subsequent grounding in parapsychology. Interested in contributing to the medical community’s understanding and treatment of illness, particularly insanity, the ‘intellectual’ wing of Brazilian Spiritism regarded itself as true to Kardec’s vision of Spiritism as a philosophy and science of non-natural causation. On the religious side, Spiritism was viewed as making a valuable contribution to the spiritual evolution of humankind through its spirit-centred discourse and medium-facilitated practice. Influenced in part by the writings of French Spiritist J.B. Roustaing, ‘evangelical’ Spiritists in Brazil supplemented Kardec’s philosophical-scientific emphasis with an assortment of historical and cosmological interpretations of an explicitly religious nature (Santos, 2004: 22). Whether scientific or religious in emphasis, Brazilian Spiritists were united in viewing their discourse and practice as fundamentally ameliorative in nature. Guided by Kardec’s reading of the universal principles of ‘charity and fraternity’, Spiritism initially established itself in Brazil through a performative repertoire structured around three principal facets: the séance, mediumistic prescription, and disobsession (desobsessão). Orchestrated chiefly by the cultural attributes of Brazil’s wealthier classes, séances were organised in which participants could interact with disincarnate occupants of the spirit world through medium-facilitated oral or written (psychographed) communication. Inevitably accompanied by the fripperies of morbid curiosity and enquiries of a personal nature, the principal objective of these ‘round table’ meetings was the communication of spiritually edifying insight and morally uplifting instruction that might orientate and assist incarnate spirits as they undergo the trials and tribulations of life on the material plane. Complementing the discursive emphasis of the séance, Spiritism employed a practical regime of healthorientated diagnosis, prescription, and cure. Central to the successful implantation of Spiritism in Brazil, this cure-centred regime initially revolved around the provision of homeopathic treatments and suggested spiritual-moral correctives which were prescribed by mediums (médiuns receitistas) subsequent to learning the symptoms and consulting the spirits. When faced with more serious (often convulsive), prolonged or psychological illness, mediumistic prescription was complemented by a more robust set of Spiritist techniques involving direct action upon the patient. Such robust measures included use of the ‘pass’ (passe) which recalibrates the sufferer’s imbalanced fluidic field by means of a series of hand gestures and arm movements

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applied by a medium to the vital force surrounding each individual. Direct action upon the patient also involved increasingly frequent recourse to what has perhaps become the primary signifier of contemporary Spiritism in Brazil, the practice of ‘disobsession’ (desobsessão). Practised originally in contexts as formal as early Spiritist asylums or as informal as the patient’s home, disobsession is essentially the Spiritist form of exorcism. Unlike exorcistic rituals, however, Spiritist disobsession does not constitute the expulsion of an evil spirit or malign entity. Rather, disobsession represents for Spiritists the removal of an evolving spirit which has, for a variety of reasons, erred into the body of an already incarnate spirit. Severely disruptive to the effective functioning of the body–perispirit–spirit relationship, the intrusion of an errant spirit results in a range of physical, emotional, and psychological pathologies which will continue, if not worsen, until the intrusive spirit is persuaded and/or coerced into returning to the spiritual plane. The finer points of Spiritist cosmology aside, the clear affinities between Spiritist curative techniques and the therapeutic preoccupations of popular religiosity in Brazil were certainly not lost on the poorer sectors of society (Bastide, 1985: 433). Whether consulting prescription mediums or undergoing the direct treatment of the pass and disobsession, the poorer classes of Brazil took from the Spiritist repertoire interpretative and practical elements which were soon mixed with prevailing Catholic, Afro-Brazilian, and indigenous emphases to form an integral part of what would later be pejoratively termed ‘low spiritism’ (baixo espiritismo) (Giumbelli, 2003: 247–81). In some of the earliest academic treatments of Spiritism in Brazil, Camargo argues that the ‘sacral’ nature of ‘Brazilian cultural tradition’ meant that it was almost inevitable that Spiritism would assume a religious rather than philosophicalscientific identity (1961: 4–8; 1973: 112). Guided initially by the likes of Bezerra de Menezes and subsequently orientated by the Federation of Brazilian Spiritism (FEB), the Spiritist community in Brazil has undeniably assumed an increasingly formal religious identity through the adoption of quasi-denominational structures and the development of discursive and practical repertoires of an explicitly ritualistic nature. The religionization of Brazilian Spiritism, however, cannot be properly understood without reference to the progressively trenchant critique of Spiritist medicine by the early twentieth century scientific community and successive waves of legal repression of ‘low spiritism’ deemed by legal-political authorities to have no place in a modernizing nation such as Brazil (Hess, 1991: 96, 159–60; Santos, 2004: 31–5; Giumbelli, 2003: 247–81).11 Squeezed in terms of scientific and popular expressions, Spiritists inevitably sought protection by appealing to the religious liberties afforded by the republican constitution of 1890 and reiterated by subsequent governments. Stating its right to exist through persistent recourse to a ‘freedom of religion’ argument, one can begin to appreciate the extent to which a formal religious repertoire established itself as the most attractive, because feasible, operational template for the Spiritist community in Brazil. 11 Bastide (1985: 433) would also wish reference to be made to the influence of the middle-class aesthetic at the heart of the Spiritist movement at the most formative stages in its history.

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Despite the frequent denials of practitioners, contemporary Brazilian Spiritism enjoys many of the trappings typical of religious organizations. Gathering at set times in a purpose-built locale (centro), Spiritist meetings are usually conducted in a sanctified (‘cleansed’) space by designated functionaries and comprise a structured pattern of formal introduction and dismissal, readings, prayers (irradiações), instruction, and songs. Although not necessarily practised every time Spiritists gather, the undoubted highpoint of the Spiritist repertoire revolves around mediumistic activity. According to Spiritists, every person enjoys, by virtue of their composition, certain mediumistic qualities. For some people these qualities remain undeveloped, but may be glimpsed at times through dreams, sleep walking, extrasensory perception, and so on. For others, however, such mediumistic qualities are, by virtue of their evolutionary maturity, quite strong and allow for unmediated interaction with the spiritual plane. With the appropriate training (desenvolvimento mediúnico) and morally disciplined lifestyle, this latter type of person can function as a trained medium capable of not just communicating with occupants of the spiritual plane but actively receiving (‘incorporating’) them into herself and controlling them for as long as necessary. The process of incorporation (incorporação) is situated within a carefully defined ritual context and hedged by a series of choreographed actions. Somewhat disconcerting to the uninitiated observer, the act of incorporation generally begins with a series of (seemingly involuntary) jerky movements and arm waving, and may be accompanied by a range of grunts, expostulations, and assorted noises. Once the initial period of incorporation is complete, a sense of control is established and the incorporated spirit allowed to communicate. During the act of incorporation, the incorporating medium may remain in a fully, semi- or unconscious state relative to the nature of the incorporated spirit or skills of the medium. Self-consciously performative in nature, the act of mediumship serves a number of purposes, each of which is regarded as an act of charity (caridade) in its own right. First, and similar to the séances of early Brazilian Spiritism, the incorporating spirit may communicate spiritually edifying insight and morally uplifting instruction that serves to orientate and assist incarnate spirits as they undergo the trials and tribulations of life on the material plane. Such communication may be in written (psychographed) or verbal form and often comes from the spirits of renowned historical figures or famous Brazilian Spiritists (now deceased). By offering such instruction and exhortation the visiting spirit is held to be performing an act of charity for which merit is earned that might speed its evolution or help expiate prior misdemeanours. Second, and of greater significance to Spiritists in general, the act of mediumship offers inhabitants of this world opportunity to earn merit or expiate past wrongs by performing spiritual acts of a charitable nature. The most meritorious of these spiritual acts of charity comes in the form of disobsession which is the most popular form of mediumistic activity practised by Brazilian Spiritists today.12

12 Spiritual acts of charity are complemented by acts of social charity performed on an individual and collective basis. Integral to winning public acceptance of Spiritism in Brazil, works of social charity remain central to contemporary understandings of Spiritist mission. It is worth noting that charity not only earns merit or expiates past wrongs for its practitioners,

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For Spiritists, the all-pervasive nature of universal fluid means that material ‘globes’ such as the earth are permeated by any number of spiritual planes and their occupying spirits. Understood in terms of vibrations in the universal fluid, interaction between material and spiritual planes is an everyday occurrence. On the material plane, for example, every deed and thought produces its own range of vibrations, each of which reverberates through the universal fluid and across the spiritual plane. Lower thoughts and baser deeds produce inferior vibrations which penetrate only the denser, lower strata of the spiritual plane inhabited by less evolved spirits. Obversely, higher thoughts and deeds generate superior vibrations which penetrate higher spiritual strata occupied by purer spirits. Whilst all human beings owing to their nature are prone to the influence of inferior spirits, at certain times particular individuals are subject to the specific attentions of lesser spirits by virtue of their immature evolutionary status or lack of moral probity. Upon becoming ‘obsessed’ (obsidiado) by an inferior spirit, an individual is prone to any number of personal problems, physical ailments, and psychological disorders. Interpreting anything from bad luck to relationship problems or ill health as caused by obsession by a low spirit, Spiritists provide the service of disobsession as an act of spiritual charity to obsessed and obsessor alike. The basic format of disobsession involves an ‘incorporating medium’ who works on the spiritual plane in tandem with higher spirits connected with the centre or acting as the medium’s ‘spirit guide’. These higher spirits serve the Spiritist centre by bringing the lower spirits within the grasp of the incorporating mediums. Once brought to the centre, the medium incorporates the spirits considered responsible for the sufferings endured by respective petitioners. Having incorporated the relevant offending spirit, the incorporating medium then interacts with a ‘clarifying medium’ (médium de clarificação) who interrogates the incorporated spirit to ascertain its precise status. Once the evolutionary status has been ascertained, the inferior spirit is indoctrinated (doutrinado) into the principles of Spiritism and given opportunity to repent of its wrongdoings and release the obsessed petitioner before being allowed to return to the spiritual plane whence it came. Whilst Spiritists generally agree upon the central status of disobsession and the merit is earns its practitioners, they differ in terms of their interpretation of its primary function. Within Spiritist centres attended by members of a higher socialeconomic status, the act of incorporation sits within an overarching interpretative framework orientated towards the intellectual. As such, the practice of disobsession, undertaken generally in the absence of the obsessed, is regarded primarily as a moral endeavour geared towards the assistance of immature spirits through their didactically facilitated reorientation to higher things. For Spiritists from poorer sectors of society, however, the act of disobsession is interpreted within a prevailing framework imbued by the pragmatic emphases of popular religiosity. Within popular interpretations the act of disobsession is given a strongly therapeutic character, with emphasis resting heavily upon the physical benefits gained by those whose obsessing spirits are removed through this process. As with other popular forms of but also acts as a kind of spiritual prophylactic, protecting the charitable from obsession by inferior spirits.

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spiritist religiosity (e.g. Umbanda), poorer Spiritist centres perform disobsession in the presence of those obsessed. Whether moral or therapeutic in emphasis, Spiritist interpretations nevertheless agree that disobsession is a charitable act that both benefits incarnate and disincarnate alike whilst earning its practitioners meaningful amounts of evolutionary merit. Despite charges of sorcery and quackery being made against Spiritism for much of its early existence in Brazil, by the middle of the twentieth century the movement was a securely established component of the nation’s religious field. A respected track record in social charitable ventures, prudent use of radio and televisual media, coupled with occasional sensationalist exploits such as the Spiritist surgery of ‘Dr Fritz’, did much to raise the profile of the Spiritist movement whilst embedding it in the Brazilian psyche as an authentically national phenomenon (Stoll, 2002: 363; Santos, 2004: 83). Echoing Voeks’ (1997: 59–60) comments upon the structural similarities of Candomblé and popular Catholicism, Hess notes how the ‘broader cultural pattern’ of ‘belief in spirits’ crosscutting ‘otherworldly and this-worldly Brazil’ played a significant part in easing Spiritism’s introduction and eventual consolidation (1991: 43–4). Spiritism’s ability to tap into and exploit the nation’s prevailing supernaturalism is evidenced no more clearly than in the highly significant career of Chico Xavier (1910–2002). Working ostensibly as the mouthpiece of a number of highly evolved spirits, Xavier’s psychographed works merged Spiritist morality with popular religious pragmatism (e.g. saintly mediation, promise, and blessing) to produce a form of Spiritism that appealed to many outside the ranks of the formal Spiritist community (Lewgoy, 2004: 36–48). By the time of his death, Xavier’s works constituted a sizable proportion (more so than any other single author, including Kardec) of the more than 50 million Spiritist works circulating in Brazil. The moral-rational emphases of Spiritist doctrine, its formal religious character, and the importance of the written word to key parts of its repertoire combine with its historical trajectory to make Spiritism (like traditional Protestantism) predominantly a religion of the urban middle classes. The federative nature of denominational structures and doctrinal emphases upon autonomous action, however, make for a diverse Spiritist community. In recent years, the growth and influence of AfroBrazilian religions and neo-Pentecostalism have further pluralized Brazilian Spiritism as previously unacceptable or unheard of ideas and approaches are included within the repertoires of growing numbers of Spiritist centres and organizations (Cavalcanti, 1983: 21; D’Andrea, 2000: 156; Stoll, 2002: 388). The ingression of new era themes and techniques is likewise reconfiguring Spiritist discourse and practice. In the northeast, for example, the self-help (auto-ajuda) spiritism of Divaldo Pereira Franco offers a psychologized counterpoint to the popular spiritist paradigm established around the work of Chico Xavier. In the same vein, the extraterrestrial psychography of ‘Trigueirinho’ (José Hipólito Trigueirinho Netto) and the alternative communities founded by him and his followers in central-south Brazil reflect the increasing influence of new era themes and practices upon established Spiritist repertoires. Of a different ilk but no less indicative of new era influences upon the Spiritist community is the International Institute of Projectiology and Conscientiology (Instituto Internacional de Projeciologia e Conscienciologia) founded in the 1990s

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by Waldo Vieira and today based in the south-western city of Foz do Iguaçu in the state of Paraná. The census of 2000 records approximately 2.2 million Brazilians identifying themselves as Spiritists (Jacob et al., 2003: 101). Although this figure represents only 1.4 per cent of the Brazilian population as a whole, it is highly likely that the numbers of those frequenting Spiritist centres, reading Spiritist works or influenced by Spiritist themes is significantly higher. As Santos maintains, Spiritism today has a secure place in the Brazilian religious universe. The Spiritist movement is stable, has a respectable image and its concepts and practices exercise an influence that goes beyond its institutional ambit. Themes basic to it, such as the possibility of communication with spirits and of reincarnation, are fairly widespread, whilst its publications and message circulate broadly. Its principal mediums, some of whom have nationwide profiles, are renowned and in demand; with their deeds welcomed and commented upon. Spiritism is part, then, of contemporary Brazilian culture. (2004: 7)

In addition to adding, by virtue of its own existence, to the steadily diversifying Brazilian religious arena, Spiritism must also be credited for playing a large part in promoting further pluralization through its hand in the emergence of yet another religion, that of Umbanda. Further Pluralization Umbanda The origins of Umbanda are popularly dated to a series of visitations received by practising Spiritist Zélio de Moraes (d.1975) during a prolonged illness in 1920s Rio de Janeiro. Rebuffed by fellow Spiritists, the story goes, Moraes was subsequently charged by the spirits of a Jesuit priest and an indigenous chief to found an authentically Brazilian religion that might better meet the needs and aspirations of a modern nation. To be called ‘Umbanda’, this authentically Brazilian religion was to be centred upon interaction with two sets of spirits: caboclos, the spirits of deceased indigenes, and pretos velhos, the spirits of dead African slaves (Brown, 1994: 37–9). Although this ‘official’ narrative is as much myth as fact, its overall tenor contains a number of accurate themes (Giumbelli, 2002: 184–7). As the presence of indigenous and AfroBrazilian spirits indicates, Umbanda was formed in part through the appropriation of a number of themes and practices central to popular forms of religiosity practised by poorer sectors of society in south-central Brazil’s expanding urban conurbations. Generally termed ‘Macumba’ and detailed in the aforementioned reports of João de Rio, this popular religiosity was a highly eclectic blend of Catholic, Afro-Brazilian, indigenous, oriental, and mystical-esoteric elements (Bastide, 2001: 30). Structured around spirit possession and straightforwardly pragmatic in nature, Macumba was targeted by successive republican governments as a form of ‘sorcery’ (feitiçaria) with no place in a modernizing nation such as Brazil (Giumbelli, 2003: 247–81). Familiar with Macumba by way of participation, and no doubt influenced by the growing

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valorization of ‘native’ and African heritages promoted by nationalist politics and modernist aesthetics, a number of Spiritists were increasingly sympathetic with the cultic status of indigenous and Afro-Brazilian spirits (Hess, 1991: 93; Johnson, 2002: 92–6). Regarded by Spiritist doctrine as inferior spirits of lowly evolutionary status, dissident Spiritists such as Moraes nevertheless placed indigenous and African spirits at the centre of an emergent religious system whose architecture was borrowed to varying degrees from Spiritism itself.13 Umbanda cosmology comprises a tripartite hierarchy with the earth (and its inhabitants) sandwiched between higher and lower spiritual planes. Occupied by a remote Creator, the higher spiritual plane is populated by a complex assortment of lesser spirits, many of whom are drawn from popular Catholic saints and AfroBrazilian deities. The most popular of these spirits are caboclos and pretos velhos, with numerous others (e.g. guias and protetores) making up the expansive Umbanda pantheon. Excluding the remotest spiritual tier, the higher spiritual plane is divided vertically into seven permeable lines (as sête linhas de umbanda), with each line itself divided horizontally into seven sub-sections. Appearing most often in Umbanda practice as mediators between the higher spirits and the earthly plane, caboclos, pretos velhos, and guias occupy the lower lines most adjacent to our world. Performing acts of charity to ascend (evoluir) the spiritual hierarchy, Umbanda spirits temporarily possess trained mediums (e.g. pai and mãe de santo and lesser médiuns de consulta) to offer insight and advice as to the cause and remedy of the particular ills besetting those who are seeking guidance. Although ‘natural’ causes and remedies are never ruled out, the origins of such ills are often attributed to the inhabitants of the spiritual underworld the most renowned of which is Exu. Attracted by bad thoughts and deeds, yet often summoned by third parties, these inferior spirits visit the earthly realm to enjoy its material pleasures and to cause mischief and suffering wherever they can. Enacting the character traits and wielding the paraphernalia typical of the spirit whose possession has been induced, the medium serves as a conduit through which higher spirits offer counsel as to the most propitious means of remedying the supplicant’s ills and staving off further spiritual assault. Prescribed remedies range from spiritual cleansing through ritual exorcism, the making of placatory offerings and counter alliances with other spirits, to visiting a doctor or adopting a more positive outlook on life. In acting as its conduit, the medium is considered to have faithfully served his adoptive spirit, furthering the likelihood of future success. Perhaps more so than any other religion in Brazil, Umbanda is extremely diverse. Practised in relatively large-scale ‘temples’ staffed by any number of mediums, Umbanda is also just as at home in a shanty-town (favela) shack served by a pai de santo and shared with his family. The more affluent Umbanda centres tend towards 13 Whilst the weight of academic opinion tends towards seeing Umbanda as a kind of Spiritist offshoot (e.g. Brown, 1994 and Giumbelli, 2002), I wonder whether there might also be hermeneutical worth in regarding Umbanda as an attempt, in light of legal repression and in view of modernist aesthetics, to legitimize Macumba by formalizing elements of its repertoire along lines offered by the Spiritist paradigm; a paradigm which itself was sufficiently diverse at this time to have contained elements of a ‘low spiritist’ nature.

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a Spiritist-like repertoire, although they are generally less intellectual and far more therapeutic in emphasis. Poorer Umbanda groups, however, are more likely to adopt many of the accoutrements of established Afro-Brazilian religions such as the use of drums and animal sacrifice. The constant appearance, though, of new additions to the Umbanda pantheon (e.g. ‘cowboys’, Japanese spirits, and ‘ascended masters’), along with the recent ingression of new era and indigenous themes, is indicative of Umbanda’s inherently eclectic and rapidly evolving nature (Assunção, 2006; Ferretti, 2001: 103; Souza and Souza, 1999). Although recorded by the census of 2000 as constituting only 0.24 per cent (397,421) of the Brazilian population (Jacob et al. 2003: 103), Chesnut’s observation that approximately ‘half of all Brazilians have visited an Umbanda center at least once’ is indicative of Umbanda’s broader appeal to a nation steeped in the kind of pragmatic supernaturalism championed by this religion (2003: 106). As Parker states: Since the 1950s, society has been more open to umbanda, and thousands of centers, along with various federations, have been legalized. Access to the media has been made more readily available: radio programs, umbanda periodicals, and various activities have established umbanda as a socially legitimated religious option in the context of the cities of south-central Brazil. Umbanda as an option in the religious field has continued its growth, and … its cultural and even political importance cannot be ignored. (1996: 154)

Ayahuasca Religions Around the same time in which Umbanda was beginning to differentiate itself from Macumba and Spiritist repertoires, in the remote north-west of the country the truly autochthonous movement of Santo Daime was beginning to coalesce around its charismatic leader Raimundo Irineu Serra (1892–1971). Santo Daime is the largest and most high-profile of Brazil’s ayahuasca religions. Ayahuasca is a hallucinogenic substance traditionally consumed by indigenous inhabitants of the Amazon which has passed to non-indigenous communities through its use among mestiço (mixed race) communities and rubber-tappers in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Ayahuasca is regarded by those who consume it as an ‘entheogen’, that is, a substance whose properties facilitate the interaction of the human spirit with supernatural agents or forces. The consumption of ayahuasca is legal in Brazil when undertaken within strictly delimited circumstances. The establishment of Santo Daime as a recognizably distinct movement took place in the 1920s, with a second and now more prominent organizational offshoot being founded by Sebastião Mota de Melo (1920–90) in the early 1970s. Santo Daime was joined in 1945 by a related ayahuasca-based religion Barquinha. Barquinha was founded in the same region as Santo Daime by a former disciple of Irineu Serra, Daniel Pereira de Mattos (1888– 1958). A third ayahuasca religion was founded independently of Santo Daime and Barquinha and is known today by the generic term of União do Vegetal (UDV). União do Vegetal (literally, Vegetable Union) was founded in the early 1960s by José Gabriel da Costa (1922–71). Each of these ayahuasca religions represents a distinctly idiosyncratic blend of popular Catholic, esoteric, Afro-Brazilian, Spiritist, and indigenous elements.

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The influence of indigenous religiosity upon the formation and contemporary expression of ayahuasca repertoires is discussed in the opening sections of Chapter 3. It may be timely to note here, though, that the influence of indigenous religiosity upon the Brazilian religious landscape as a whole is considerably more tenuous than in other South and Central American countries in which the indigenous population has not been as historically or socio-culturally isolated from society at large. Historically, the influence of indigenous repertoires upon non-indigenous religious expression has been strongest in rural areas. For example, indigenous influences are most apparent in north-western (e.g. ayahuasca and pajelança cabocla) and north-eastern (e.g. Catimbó and jurema) repertoires which have incorporated elements of indigenous cosmology and ritual performance (e.g. spirits, soul-flight, psychotropics, and shamanism) (Assunção, 2006; Gaspar, 2002: 117–22; Maués and Villacorta, 1998; Motta, 2001: 73–4). As indicated by the aforementioned account by João do Rio of popular religious expression in early twentieth-century Rio de Janeiro, indigenous elements have also traditionally been incorporated within urban repertoires. In this instance and with later manifestations of ‘low spiritism’ (baixo espiritismo), for example, the appearance of indigenous elements within urban religious repertoires owes much to their importation by rural migrants. Even allowing for Umbanda’s iconic, if not stereotypical, use of indigenous themes, it was not until the latter part of the twentieth century that indigenous religiosity began to make a significant impact upon urban religious expression. Complementing the growing awareness of indigenous culture in Brazil, the pioneering works of Castaneda (1968) and Harner (1972) did much to reinforce the attraction of indigenous religiosity to an emerging counter-cultural movement eager to appropriate anything which smacked of the exotic, alternative or marginal. The subsequent rise of identity politics in post-dictatorial Brazil, along with the environmental movement’s championing of indigenous culture as ecologically responsible, have further catalyzed the appropriation of indigenous elements as ‘must have’ accoutrements for both progressive mainstream (e.g. Christian eco-spirituality) and alternative (e.g. neo-shamanism) religious repertoires. The appropriation of indigenous elements nevertheless remains piecemeal and acontextual. As Santo Daime, Barquinha, and União do Vegetal are engaged in a chapter of their own, they will not be discussed in any further detail here. By way of anticipation, however, something can be said about their relevance to what we are about. In the first instance, of course, Brazil’s ayahuasca religions are bona fide new religious phenomena and thereby fall directly within the remit of this book. Second, the composite origins and eclectic nature of these religions in many ways exemplify religious formation and development in Brazil. Third, the individual trajectories of these religions are archetypal of the manner in which historical dynamics and contemporary processes are combining in Brazil to produce typically late-modern forms of religious discourse and practice. Fourth, the transition of these religions from northern rural backwaters to Brazil’s central-southern conurbations not only adds another ingredient to Brazil’s already highly pluralized religious arena, but also allows us to study the various pressures and strains to which these religions are subjected within their newfound urban-industrial context. Fifth, the spread of ayahuasca religion to North America, Europe, and Australasia means that we are dealing with a (potentially controversial) religious repertoire whose

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internationalizing presence is already reshaping the religious-cultural landscape of its new host nations. Japanese New Religions Unlike Spiritism, Umbanda, and the nation’s ayahuasca religions the contemporary influence of oriental religions upon Brazil’s increasingly diverse religious field is tied directly to immigration. Whilst records of Chinese agricultural workers in Brazil date from the mid-nineteenth century, it was not until the early twentieth century that organized immigration from the Orient commenced (Nakamaki, 2003: 143). Arriving from Japan rather than China, immigration resulted in an estimated 234,000 Japanese migrants living in Brazil by 1941, with the earliest Japanese (Buddhist) temples having already been erected in the early 1930s (Magnani, 2000: 17). Japanese immigration resumed subsequent to the re-establishment of post-war diplomatic relations in 1947, and there were approximately 1.5 million people of Japanese descent residing in Brazil at the time of the 2000 census (Matsue, 2002: 3). Oriental immigration was subsequently bolstered in the latter part of the twentieth century by the arrival of Chinese and Korean migrants whose communities are now the largest in South America. The first Chinese and Korean (Buddhist) temples in Brazil were erected in 1964 and 1984 respectively (Shoji, 2004: 75–7). Working originally in an agricultural context, Japanese migrants settled mainly in the greater São Paulo area, where they were later joined by the majority of Chinese and Korean immigrants. The influence of Japanese religions upon Brazil’s religious scene is of greatest relevance here. Of the various organizations and movements that make up the principal categories of ‘traditional Buddhism’, ‘Shinto’, and ‘new religions’ (Ozaki, 1990: 18–20), those Japanese religions comprising the latter are the most relevant for our purposes. Although the most influential Japanese new religions emerged in the 1920s and 1930s, owing to the influence of movements such as Kurozumikyo, Tenrikyo, and Konkokyo, Clarke places their true origins in the middle years of the nineteenth century. He is careful to add, however, that the early twentieth-century influences of Omotokyo and Reiyukai should not be overlooked (1999:197–8). Renowned for their syncretistic nature, Japanese new religions emerged as a blend of Japanese Shinto, traditional Buddhism, selected Christian aesthetics, western esotericism, and idealist philosophy. The traditional importance of purity and the Japanese cult of ancestors was retained, but reconfigured by these new religions within a conceptual superstructure emphasizing karma, reincarnation, and a selfesteeming worldly pragmatism (Clarke and Somers, 1994: 3–9). Post-war growth in Japan and the potentially fertile grounds of the burgeoning immigrant community lent a certain inevitability to the spread of Japanese new religions to Brazil. Of the nine Japanese new religions recorded by Ozaki as active in Brazil, comment upon the ‘Church of World Messianity’, ‘Perfect Liberty Kyodan’, and ‘Seicho-no-Ie’ will

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suffice as illustrative of the prevailing concerns of this movement as a whole (Ozaki, 1990: 20).14 As with other Japanese new religions, Perfect Liberty Kyodan targeted Brazil as a potential jumping off point for the expansion of its mission to the rest of South America and beyond. The organization which eventually came to be termed ‘Perfect Liberty’ originated in the early twentieth century and despite government repression boasted approximately one million Japanese adepts by 1937 (Yamada, 2004: 34). Post-war restructuring and the absence of repression allowed further growth and by the end of the 1950s Perfect Liberty was looking to expand overseas. A trained instructor arrived in São Paulo in early 1957, official headquarters were established later the same year, and the formal establishment of Perfect Liberty in Brazil enacted in February 1958 (). For the first years of its existence in Brazil, Perfect Liberty’s mission was directed solely to Japanese immigrants and people of Japanese descent. This changed in the late 1960s, however, with the translation of its materials into Portuguese and the gradual adaptation of its practices to render them more user-friendly to those with no prior experience of Japanese culture (Nakamaki, 2003:183). By the turn of the twenty-first century, Perfect Liberty was estimated to have approximately 300,000 followers in Brazil, of whom 95 per cent were of non-Japanese descent, and had spread to other parts of South America, Canada, Europe, and Australia (Matsue, 2002: 4; Souza and Albuquerque, 2002: 37).15 The central pillar of Perfect Liberty’s original mission and subsequent spread beyond the Japanese immigrant community was the notion of ‘cure’ performed through the act of oyashikiri. Initially tied to the miraculous healing of illness, oyashikiri has come to apply to the removal of all troubles which blight the happiness of an individual. Perfect Liberty regards the individual as part of the divine whole of which the universe is comprised and, therefore, destined to happiness and success in all that she aspires to achieve. Interpreted as an illusory aberration from the norm, the suffering resulting from illness, bad luck, and unhappiness is said to be grounded in a spiritual imbalance brought on by an individual’s moral disharmony with the universal force pervading the cosmos. Performed by a trained instructor who first listens to the petitioner and offers counsel (kaisetsu) as to how such cosmic dissonance might be remedied, oyashikiri facilitates the implementation of this advice by removing the ailments and troubles currently impeding the supplicant’s happiness and success (Nakamaki, 2003: 170–71). 14 Ozaki’s list includes: Tenrikyo (Divine Wisdom); Comoto Nambei Shukai (Grand Origin); Seicho-no-Ie (House of Growth); Konkokyo (Golden Light); Sekai Kyuseikyo (Church of World Messianity); PL Kyodan (Perfect Liberty Religious Institution); Risshokosseikai (Rissho Kossei Religious Society); Sukyo Mahikari (True Light); and Reiyukai (Friends of the Spirit). 15 As Matsue notes with reference to other scholars of Japanese religion in Brazil (2002: 4), there is a tendency for membership of Japanese new religions to be under-represented in census figures. As with Afro-Brazilian religions one cause may be the use of ‘Catholic’ as a default response offered by individuals whose contemporary relations with Roman Catholicism are actually far more tenuous than their participation in Japanese new religious movements.

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Although not all of those originally attracted to Perfect Liberty by its curative ministry take their participation further, those who remain are won over by Perfect Liberty’s well developed social networks and its high view of the self. Whilst oyashikiri remains central to Perfect Liberty’s contemporary repertoire, it is important to recognise that this process of purification is understood ultimately to be serving the higher good of self-determination. Perfect Liberty is fundamentally an ethic of human potential whose teaching (e.g. Instruction for the Religious Life and Twenty-One Precepts) is orientated to enabling individuals to assume personal responsibility for their lives through learning to trust their own judgment, set their own goals, and rely upon their own efforts to achieve them. Regarding the individual as a piece of self-crafted art and life as ‘a succession of self-expressions’ (Second Precept), Perfect Liberty’s rituals, teachings, networks, and structures underwrite a pragmatically orientated ethic of self-realization justified ultimately by its efficacy in resolving the trails and tribulations of everyday life. Seicho-no-Ie (House of Growth) began life as a publishing enterprise founded in 1930s Japan by Masaharu Taniguchi (c. 1893–1985) (Albuquerque, 1999: 19). The Seicho-no-Ie magazine was a form of self-help guide extrapolated from Taniguchi’s experiences of miraculous healing which combined popular Japanese religious themes with elements of Christian Science, new idealism, and western esotericism (Clarke, 1994: 152). Although Seicho-no-Ie magazine was circulating in Brazil as early as 1932, it was not until a Japanese immigrant was healed subsequent to reading Taniguchi’s major work Seimei no Jisso (The Truth of Life) that his teachings began to spread. Using the promise of cure as the centrepiece of their mission, the earliest Seicho-no-Ie groups in Brazil enjoyed so much success that by 1951 they were officially recognized by Japan. As with most other Japanese new religions in Brazil, official recognition was soon followed by the arrival of headquarter representatives and the sending of selected practitioners back to Japan for intensive training in the latest organizational philosophy and missionary techniques (Albuquerque, 1999: 21–2). Influenced by the desire for expansion and the relative decline in Japanese speaking Brazilians, by the mid-1960s Seicho-no-Ie was disseminating its message in Portuguese and orchestrating the gradual ‘Brazilianization’ of its discourse and practice (Clarke, 1999: 208). By the early twenty-first century, Seicho-no-Ie in Brazil was distributing three monthly publications with a combined circulation of approximately 530,000 and enjoying an approximate membership of 2.5 million, of which over 90 per cent were of non-Japanese descent (Matsue, 2002: 4; Yamada, 2004: 30). Seicho-no-Ie sees itself as more of an all embracing philosophy than a particular religious worldview. Like so many Japanese new religions it makes no claims to exclusivity, arguing instead that participation in Seicho-no-Ie serves to deepen whatever faith practitioners already hold. As with other Japanese new religions it espouses a holistic perspective in which each aspect of the cosmos is united with every other by way of a universal energy pervading all things. Merging oriental (e.g. Buddhist) and western (e.g. Christian Science) forms of idealism, Seichono-Ie regards matter as an illusion and suffering as the delusional consequence of ethical-spiritual disequilibrium. Evidenced by illness, misfortune, and relationship breakdown, internal disequilibrium can be eradicated through the practice of shinsokan

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(Yamada, 2004: 34). A form of prayerful meditation, shinsokan overcomes internal imbalance by realigning the self with universal reality through the mental assertion of matter’s unreality and suffering’s consequent illusory status (Clarke, 1994: 152). Complemented by positive thinking and an unqualified thankfulness for all that life brings, shinsokan re-establishes equilibrium and makes possible the realization of the self’s true potential. In addition to the physical, spiritual, and moral benefits accrued, the realization of self-potential allows the acquisition of worldly benefits (genzeriyaku) to which the individual has right by virtue of her inherently divine status (Yamada, 2004: 30). Referring to the ‘utilitarian character’ of Seicho-no-Ie, Albuquerque argues that its teachings ‘are related less with the body of doctrine or current of thought that originated them and more with the usefulness they present in the face of any particular problem with which the adept is faced’ (Albuquerque, 1999: 106). The organization known today as Church of World Messianity (Sekai KyuseiKyo) was founded in the mid-1930s by Mokichi Okada (1882–1955), who had previously been an adept of both the westernized Japanese religion Omotokyo and the Christian Salvation Army (Oro, 2000: 126). Regarding himself as the reincarnation of the Bodhisattva Kannon, Okada believed that he had been chosen as the vehicle for the inauguration of a new age of wholeness and prosperity on earth (Clarke 2000b: 150). Followers of Okada travelled to Brazil in June 1955 as part of the second wave of Japanese immigration which commenced subsequent to the reestablishment of diplomatic relations between Brazil and Japan in 1947. It was not until July 1965, however, that the Church of World Messianity was formally established in its national headquarters in Vila Mariana, São Paulo (Matsue, 2002: 4). As with other Japanese new religions in Brazil, it was not until the Church of World Messianity adopted a missionary strategy of inculturation that it began to secure its place in the national religious arena. In addition to translating its materials into Portuguese, for example, prayers such as the ‘Our Father’ were adopted, Jesus held in high esteem, and parallels encouraged between the Bodhisattva Kannon (sometimes seen as female) and Mary (Nossa Senhora) the mother of Jesus. By the early twenty-first century, there were an estimated 310,000 members of the Church of World Messianity in Brazil, of whom over 90 per cent were of non-Japanese extraction (Clarke, 2000b: 161; Matsue, 2002: 4). In addition to the conceptual elements of ancestor veneration, reincarnation, and karma, the practical repertoire of the Church of World Messianity is founded upon four central pillars. As with other Japanese new religions, the movement has a welldeveloped concern for the environment. Embodied in the concept of shizen noho, this environmental concern is held to foster harmony with the laws of nature and has led the organization to champion alternative techniques such as low-intensity agricultural methods and organic farming (Clarke, 2000b: 153). Likewise mirroring similar emphases expressed by other Japanese new religions, the Church of World Messianity esteems the aesthetic (belo). Encouraging its members to practise calligraphy, flower arranging (sangetsu), painting, and ceramics, the organization prizes artistic expression as something that externalizes inner virtue whilst developing self-expression. Again in common with other Japanese new religions, the Church of World Messianity holds a modernized millenarian perspective which leads it

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to anticipate (if not hasten) the end of history through the construction of earthly models of heavenly paradise. In addition to establishing the Brazilian version of its Japanese Holy Land (Solo Sagrado) at its massive Guarapiranga site, the movement also plans to construct various new age cities which it anticipates will function as kinds of Noah’s Arks when the catastrophic end times commence (Clarke, 2002: 22–5). Fourthly, and perhaps most importantly for its integration within Brazil’s religious consciousness, the Church of World Messianity places the practice of cure at the heart of its discursive and practical repertoire. Followers of Okada believe that inferior thoughts and deeds in this life, along with bad karma from prior incarnations, result in the build up of toxic substances in the body which subsequently give rise to any number of physical, relational, behavioural, and financial problems. Considered the ‘spinal cord’ of the organizational repertoire, the practice of johrei (spiritual purification) removes built up toxicity through the application of curative energy channelled through qualified operatives in possession of the medallion of the divine light (Ohikari) (Oro, 2000b: 120). Johrei is similar in form to the Spiritist practice of the passe, and although not everyone attracted by its therapeutic properties takes up membership, it remains at the forefront in drawing would-be members to the Church of World Messianity. There is little doubt that Japanese new religions are ‘savvy’ (Albuquerque, 1999: 24) when it comes to the development of organizational strategies of adaptation to new environments, the winning over of converts, and the retention of members. This strategic cunning is evidenced in the Brazilianization of Japanese new religions from the mid-to-late-1960s onwards, when terms, concepts, and practices prevalent in the everyday religious consciousness of Brazilians were appropriated. Within a short period of time, Japanese temples became known as ‘churches’ (igrejas), staple rituals referred to as ‘mass’ and ‘baptism’, instruction presented as ‘catechesis’, religious functionaries as ‘priest’ or ‘pastor’, and Christian iconography and scriptures integrated within everyday practice (Nakamaki, 2003: 161, 167; Shoji, 2002: 73–4; Yamada, 2004: 37). Indicative of the extent and success of the Brazilianization of Japanese new religions, Clarke notes that the trade in butsudans (Buddhist household altars) and kamidanas (Shinto household altars) … and the building of impressive Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines … are signs that the beliefs and practices of Japan are no longer simply an exotic appendage to the religious and cultural life of Latin America’s largest and most economically and industrially advanced region. (1999: 209)

Although aided by strategic syncretism, the growth of Japanese new religions in Brazil is also indebted to the appeal of central repertorial motifs to the late-modern, urban middle classes. Emphasis upon personal-realization and the acquisition of this-worldly benefits, along with beliefs such as reincarnation, karma, and ecological sensitivity, dovetail well with the self-orientated and aspirational moral-rational sensibilities of Brazil’s contemporary urban professionals. This correspondence between religious repertoire and urban middle class habitus goes a long way to explaining the prevailing demographics of Japanese new religions. Already associated with upwardly mobile Japanese immigrants and their offspring,

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Japanese new religions are today populated by Brazil’s predominantly white, urban middle classes (Clarke, 2002: 28; Souza and Albuquerque, 2002: 37).16 In addition to its appeal to the late-modern predilections of urban professionals in Brazil, the discursive and practical repertoire of Japanese new religions marries well with the prevailing concerns of the nation’s popular religious consciousness. Notions of reincarnation, karma, universal energy, and millenarianism accord with formal (e.g. Spiritist and Umbanda) and informal (e.g. Macumba and new age) religiousspiritual systems operative in Brazil. Likewise, the veneration of ancestors, with all that is entailed by way of manipulation and placation of spirits, corresponds directly with Brazil’s established supernaturalism. The non-exclusivity of most Japanese new religions, which allows participants to retain membership in other religious movements, along with their eclectic tendencies, also conforms to the punctual and utilitarian nature of popular religiosity’s clientelistic paradigm. Of greatest import in grounding Japanese new religions in the themes and practices of popular religiosity, however, is their emphasis upon the physical and material benefits of their spiritual regimes. Cohering explicitly with popular religiosity’s pragmatic and therapeutic orientation, the centrality accorded to healing and resolution of everyday troubles situates Japanese new religions within the warp and woof of Brazil’s prevailing religious consciousness. Neo-Esoteric Religiosity The spread of Japanese new religions to Brazilians of non-Japanese descent coincided with the arrival of religious elements caught up in the counter-cultural movement already sweeping the northern hemisphere. Arriving in Brazil at a time of wide-spread social-demographic and economic-political upheaval, these ‘new age’ religious and ‘alternative’ mystical-spiritual emphases found fertile ground among sections of Brazil’s urban-industrial middle classes (Carozzi, 1999: 149, 184). A good number of the themes and practices espoused by new age/alternative repertoires were already present in Brazil owing to the earlier arrival of esoteric traditions brought by north-European immigrants influenced by self-styled ‘alternative’ beliefs and practices that swept across Europe in the latter half of the nineteenth century (e.g. Theosophy, Anthroposophy, Rosicrucianism). Traditional esotericism and the initiatory societies that practice it have been officially present in Brazil since the first decades of the twentieth century. For example, the Esoteric Circle of the Communion of Thought (Círculo Esotérico da Comunhão do Pensamento) was founded in São Paulo in 1909, the Brazilian wing of the Theosophical Society officially opened in Rio de Janeiro in 1919, and the Anthroposophical Society of Brazil (with adherents in Porto Alegre as early as 1910) founded in São Paulo in 1935. The social-cultural changes wrought by Brazil’s rapid urbanization, coupled with the growing influence of new age thought, resulted in the fragmentation of esoteric organizations in Brazil 16 Whilst membership of Japanese new religions remains solidly white, urban professional, there is evidence that members of Brazil’s poorer classes are including cureorientated rituals such as oyashikiri and johrei as part of their therapeutic repertoire (Oro, 2000b: 117).

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evidenced in the emergence of, for example, Rosacruz Amorc (1956), Rosacruz Áurea (1957), and Eubiose (1969) (Magnani, 2000: 17). Commenting upon the proliferation of ‘alternative spiritualities’ in Brazil, Carpenter defines them as ‘highly individualistic and experientially oriented approaches to the transcendent that are found outside the religious mainstream’. He goes on to add: Alternative spiritualities encompass a diversified constellation of teachings and practices that address metaphysical, therapeutic, psychological, and/or ecological concerns. In addition, they include various divinatory techniques, such as different astrological, Tarot, and cabalistic systems, the I Ching, and Scandinavian runes. Specifically in Brazil, the category also includes a loose-knit array of expressions, both imported and local in origin, derived from Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam, and Japanese New Religions, as well as from Theosophy and other occult, metaphysical, and Oriental traditions. (1999: 236)

The recent IT revolution and the hastening pace of globalization further enhanced the availability of actual and virtual alternatives to those on offer. Indicative of a self-consciously cultured disenchantment with traditional forms of social-religious expression, both recently arrived ‘new age’ movements (e.g. ISKCON/Hare Krishna) and freshly repackaged mystical-esoteric organizations (e.g. Eubiose) quickly established themselves as legitimate occupants of Brazil’s rapidly pluralizing religious field (Guerriero, 2001: 44–55; 2004: 157–73). Such was the thirst for the new, exotic or just plain different, that religious-cultural practices previously restricted to immigrant communities (e.g. acupuncture, meditation, tai chi) and remote backwaters (e.g. ayahuasca religion) increasingly found a place in the religious repertoires, therapeutic programmes, leisure pursuits, and mysticalspiritual practices of Brazil’s urban middle classes (Magnani, 1999: 71). Merging new age, alternative, and mystical-esoteric themes with already well-established religious repertoires, Brazil has spawned a broad range of its own particular brands of new era discourse and practice (e.g. Valley of the Dawn, Temple of Good Will, and Orion) which will be explored in greater detail in the next chapter. Established Diversity Vargas’ reestablishment in the early-1930s of political-legal privileges for the Catholic Church did much to allow the ecclesiastical institution to consolidate further a new found organizational vigour first promoted by its legal disestablishment in 1890. Released from the institutionally stultifying effects of its pre-Republic status as a branch of government, the Catholic ecclesiastical institution in Brazil was reinvigorated through its progressive integration within the international organizational structures of the Roman Catholic Church. Embodied in what has since been termed the ‘Romanization’ of Catholic Christianity in Brazil, this organizational integration involved, among other things, the attempt to ‘modernize’ traditional Catholicism through the eradication of what were considered superstitious excesses (e.g. thaumaturgy, possession, and exorcism) and the establishment of clerical authority through the integration of once semi-autonomous lay movements

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within formal parish and diocesan structures (Oliveira, 1985: 279–96). In effect, the processes of Romanization comprised a concerted institutional assault upon traditional Catholicism through the attempted eradication of its pragmatic supernaturalism, eclectic tendencies, and semi-autonomous scope of action and their replacement with a priest-centred and sacramentally orientated piety. Whilst reshaping organizational structures and formal patterns of ritual participation, the attempted eradication of traditional Catholic emphases was, however, only partially successful in that it failed ultimately to expunge these elements from the popular religious consciousness of which they remain a fundamental constituent (Brandão, 1980; Burdick, 1993). The early twentieth-century organizational vigour of Roman Catholicism was further bolstered through the creation in 1952 of the National Conference of Brazilian Bishops (CNBB). In addition to coordinating Catholic polemics against Protestant, Spiritist, and Afro-Brazilian growth, the CNBB also encouraged the revitalization of pastoral strategies that led to the base ecclesial communities and was, albeit tangentially, involved in the emergence of Brazilian Catholic theologies of liberation (A. Dawson, 1998: 39–71). Tested through the years of military dictatorship (1964–85), and further centralized under the reign of John Paul II (1978–2005), the organizational cohesion of the contemporary Catholic Church allows the institution a degree of strategic focus that is the envy of other religions in Brazil. Whilst the success of popular cultural phenomena such as the singing priest Marcelo Rossi could hardly be legislated for, the consolidation of Charismatic Renewal movements and the progressive appropriation of Pentecostal pastoral strategies and marketing techniques are undoubtedly collective institutional responses to the increasingly diverse religious-cultural field of Brazil (Carranza, 2004: 124–46; Guerra, 2003a: 1– 23; Maués, 2000: 119–51). At the same time, more adventurous charismatic renewal groups and popular writers such as Leonardo Boff and Paulo Coelho (see Chapter 4) have done much to further the pluralization of Catholic identity through their combination of established Catholic repertoires with practice and discourse drawn from the new era spectrum. The state-sponsored growth of health, education, and social infrastructures, in addition to the development of the independent networks of civil society, have resulted in a diminishing institutional presence of Roman Catholicism within the everyday lives of successive generations of Brazilians. The historical association of Brazilianness (brasilidade) with Catholicity (and atheism with sedition) has traditionally been reflected in census returns of ‘Catholic’ well in excess of 95 per cent. Processes unleashed by the rapid urban-industrialization of the mid-twentieth century, along with the creeping pluralization of Brazilian society, however, have progressively impacted upon Catholic returns, with the figure dropping below 90 per cent for the first time in 1980 (88 per cent) and falling further to 80 per cent in 1991. The census of 2000 gives an average of 74 per cent of the population recording themselves as Catholic, with more urbanized pockets returning figures of less than 60 per cent. Allowing for the consequences of increasing pluralization, in addition to a rise in those self-designating as ‘without religion’ (7.4 per cent in 2000), Catholic returns are likely to average little more than 60 per cent by the time of the next census in 2010 (Jacob, 2003: 15–18, 115). Given historical factors, however, census

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returns are a poor indication of the numbers of Brazilians regularly participating in the Catholic Church. The number of those actively involved with Catholicism on a regular basis is, in reality, unlikely to exceed 15 per cent of the current population of Brazil. Commenting in light of the safeguards enshrined by the Constitution of 1988, and noting the now ‘taken for granted’ nature of contemporary religious liberties in Brazil, Mariano goes on to say: Despite certain set backs, such as prolonged state discrimination suffered by AfroBrazilian religions (cultos), the religious liberty sanctioned and assured by the state has not only been fully realized in the last decades of the twentieth century, but has also become an indisputable given of reality, an undeniable fact that is rooted in contemporary religious pluralism and our dynamic religious marketplace. (2002)

The constitutional safeguards of 1988 are the outcome of the incremental secularization of political-legal structures formally begun in 1890, but also result from the ineluctable pressures generated by an increasingly diverse society whose late-modern, urban-industrial existence engenders a range of expectations, not least of which is the right to self-expression in matters religious and cultural. Certainly the ending of Roman Catholicism’s ostensible monopolization of Brazilian religiouscultural identity constitutes a watershed in the nation’s history, and scholars are right to highlight its significance (e.g. Eleta, 2000: 120; Sanchis, 2001: 10). It would be a mistake, however, to see the diminution of Roman Catholicism’s influence as anything other than a symptom of established and recently emergent processes reshaping everyday life both in Brazil and beyond. The demise of Roman Catholicism’s virtual monopoly, then, is not the cause of the religious transformation of contemporary Brazil. It is rather the effect of a range of processes and dynamics that have impacted not only upon Roman Catholicism but have reconfigured and continue to reshape the religious landscape as a whole. Detailed treatment of these processes (e.g. urban-industrialization, secularization, and globalization) is offered principally in Chapter 5, although the dynamics of individualization are engaged as part of Chapter 4’s treatment of new era discourse. Prior to these treatments, however, Chapters 2 and 3 offer concrete examples of new era religiosity (neo-esoteric and ayahuasca respectively) which both reflect and contribute to the ongoing transformation of the contemporary religious landscape of Brazil.

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Chapter 2

Neo-Esoteric Religiosity The term ‘neo-esoteric’ is taken from José Magnani’s study of new and alternative forms of spirituality in municipal São Paulo (1999; 2000). As noted in the Introduction, there is an almost vertiginous array of nomenclature used to designate certain forms of late-modern religiosity both in Brazil and beyond. The terms most used include, for example, ‘alternative spirituality’, ‘new age religion’, ‘new religious consciousnesses, and ‘mystical-esotericism’. Magnani’s use of the term ‘neo-esoteric’ both highlights the importance of esoteric emphases within the Brazilian context and underlines the radicalization of these emphases under latemodern conditions. Although most explicitly embodied in the formal repertoires of esoteric organizations which arrived in Brazil on the back of late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century European immigration, esoteric themes and practices have long been present in aspects of traditional Catholic, Afro-Brazilian, and Spiritist religions. As Carvalho notes, the influence of esoteric repertoires upon the broader religious landscape of Brazil is both under-researched and far more widespread than it might initially appear (1992: 139; 1994: 75). Certainly, esoteric themes and practices comprise a major component of new era religiosity and are increasingly manifest as established religious repertoires undergo what some academics have termed the process of ‘esotericization’ (Siqueira, 2003; Souza and Souza, 1999). The adjective ‘esoteric’ is derived from the Greek word for ‘inner’ (esoteros) and when applied to religious phenomena it generally denotes two characteristics. First, the term esoteric is used in contrast to ‘exoteric’ and founds a distinction between an exclusive corpus of inner knowledge and practice available only to initiates and a general body of outer knowledge and practice available to all and sundry. Esoteric discourse and practice thereby embodies elements of exclusivity, custodial responsibility, secrecy, initiation, and hierarchy. Second, the word esoteric connotes an emphasis upon interior states of mind, experiences, and dispositions which are awakened through access to particular esoteric knowledge and practice. These interior realities are nurtured through a range of disciplines and techniques (e.g. meditation, introspection, and regression) and provide access to further truths located deep within the (higher) self (Faivre, 1986: 156–63). These two aspects of the term esoteric come together in an understanding of esotericism as a privileged form of practical knowledge whose learning and practice permits a reading of reality as it is in itself and the subsequent development of previously dormant or hidden subjective faculties. Underwriting these epistemological and existential processes are a number of assumptions foundational to esoteric repertoires. Of most relevance here are the principles of correspondence and manipulation (Faivre, 1992: xv). The principle of correspondence sees the visiblenatural world as a direct correlate of an all-embracing invisible-supernatural reality.

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In effect, the material (i.e. physical, chemical, and biological) processes that combine to constitute the visible-natural world are nothing less than direct reflections of overarching immaterial dynamics constitutive of the cosmos as a whole. Summed up in the esoteric maxim ‘as above, so below’, the universe as we know and experience it is no more than a material effect of immaterial causation. The immaterial forces and dynamics that constitute the universe are understood by esoteric thought to be encapsulated in a series of ‘laws’ such as karma (known also as ‘reciprocity’) and reincarnation (known also as ‘perpetual return’). As with most, if not all of these laws, esoteric representations of the laws of karma and reincarnation reflect typically modern preoccupations. Overall these laws encapsulate an ameliorative vision of the cosmos in which human consciousness evolves through the pedagogical opportunities afforded by successive incarnations within which an ethic of just deserts ensures the appropriate dispensation of merit and punishment from one incarnation to the next. Laws such as these combine to regulate the cosmos and its inhabitants. Traversing the entire universe and thereby operating at both immaterial and material levels, these laws impact directly upon the spiritual and physical wellbeing of every living entity. Given the principle of correspondence between the visible-natural world and invisible-supernatural reality, knowledge of these laws is available to those who know how and where to look. It is here that esoteric knowledge comes in. The principle of manipulation is the practical outworking of the principle of correspondence. Given the causative nature of immaterial forces and dynamics, the ability to harness and control their creative energies engenders limitless possibilities for the transformation of the material world and those who inhabit it. Within traditional esotericism, this quest for material transformation through the manipulation of immaterial forces was typified by the science of alchemy and its attempts to transmute lead into gold (Bonardel, 1992: 71–100). Modern and latemodern esoteric repertoires, however, tend to articulate the manipulation of immaterial forces in terms of the inner transmutation of the individual and her subsequent ascent up the evolutionary chain of being (McDermott, 1992: 288–310; Sellon and Weber, 1992: 311–29; Needleman, 1992: 359–80). Informed by esoteric knowledge as to the nature of universal forces and the manner of their impact upon the world and its inhabitants, initiates of esotericism are also taught a range of technical disciplines by which these forces can be harnessed and manipulated. Understood and applied correctly, esoteric practical knowledge results in the discovery, awakening, and channelling of forces residing deep within the individual self but grounded ultimately in the surrounding universe. First systematized in the modern era by the likes of Theosophy, Anthroposophy, and Rosicrucianism, esoteric themes went on to provide an important ingredient to subsequent new religious movements and new age repertoires (Heelas, 1996: 44–8; Hammer, 2001: 47–80; Hanegraaff, 1996: 514–24). Amalgamated within the increasingly hybridized frameworks of new era religiosity and radicalized under the late-modern conditions of urban-industrial existence, classical esotericism gave rise to neo-esoteric forms which emerged in Brazil during the late 1960s and early 1970s (Guerriero, 2004: 161; Carozzi, 1999: 149). It was not until the mid1980s, however, that neo-esoteric forms of religious expression began to make real headway in Brazil’s newly re-democratized society (P. Martins, 1999: 94). Carpenter

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identifies the positive publicity generated by the ‘cultural industries’ of televisual and print media as a major catalyst behind neo-esotericism’s broadening appeal (2004: 214). Whilst accurate, it is likely that such media coverage was as much reactive as proactive, reflecting as it was the spread of new era religiosity already underway among Brazil’s professional classes. Writing at the turn of the twenty-first century, Magnani says the following by way of underlining the ubiquitous presence of neoesoteric phenomena in contemporary Brazil: It is now in every part: in the classified ads of newspapers and magazines, in pride of place in bookstores, and on top of the most-sold listings; it is a theme of television talk-shows and of internet chat sites, is included in selected mailings, and circulates as stickers on cars; it is spread in pamphlets and has even been made available through designated telephone lines … it now encompasses a broad range of products, activities, and services from consultation of the old divinatory arts, through unconventional therapies and exercises of oriental inspiration, to shamanic experiences, meditative practices, and courses and workshops on beliefs and philosophical systems of various origins. The consumption of related products such as New Age and world music compact discs, self-help books, organic products, incense, crystals, pendulums, images of angels and elves, and so on completes the picture of dissemination. (1999: 9–10)

Contemporary Neo-Esotericism Spurred by the growing visibility of discourse and practice related with neoesoteric repertoires, early academic interest expressed in conference papers and round table discussions soon passed to the publication of works seeking to explore the socio-cultural implications of what has come to be termed the ‘new-erization’ (nova-erização) of religiosity in Brazil (e.g. Soares, 1989: 121–44; Carvalho, 1992: 133–63; Amaral, 1994: 11–50; Brandão, 1994: 23–41). Now consolidated as a mainstream interest of academic studies of religion in Brazil, contemporary treatments of neo-esoteric religion indicate its widespread presence within most of the nation’s major conurbations. For example, in his study of neo-esotericism in municipal São Paulo, Magnani identifies 842 organizations which he classifies under five main headings. Excluding the 21 (2.48 per cent of) groups categorized as ‘others’, these five main categories are as follows. Initiatory Societies (4.28 per cent) such as the Theosophical Society, Brazilian Society of Eubiose, Order of the Rosy Cross AMORC, and Esoteric Circle of the Communion of Thought make up the first category. Historically of European immigrant origin, these organizations are characterized by defined doctrinal systems, a body of rituals, and levels of internal hierarchy managed through degrees of initiation. Multi-service Centres (12.95 per cent) comprise the second category and include, for example, Illuminati: Centre for Human Development, Tattva Humi Cultural Venue, Marina and Martin Harvey Study Centre, and the Astrolábio Centre. These ‘integrated centres’ (centros integrados) unite under one roof a variety of services and activities ranging from consultations, therapies, alternative techniques, sale of products, and formation courses and programmes. Often run as small businesses, these centres tend not to have

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closed doctrinal systems, instead combining elements from assorted philosophical, religious, and esoteric sources. Magnani’s third category is Specialist Centres (15.56 per cent), which concentrate chiefly, though not exclusively, upon the study and application of a specific discipline (e.g. martial arts), technique (e.g. divination, therapy, and meditation) or practice (e.g. dance). Sharing many of the generic characteristics of their multi-service counterparts, specialist centres listed by Magnani include, for example, Palas Athena Association: Centre of Philosophical Studies, Géia Peace Institute of Shamanic Studies, Centre for the Study of Acupuncture and Alternative Therapies, and the Brazilian Association of Oriental Massage. The fourth category of Individualized Centres comprises 31 per cent (261) and, as the term suggests, these units are run by one or two people. Following no particular doctrinal or philosophical line, each of these groups offers a specific service that, when taken collectively, constitute a wide variety of neo-esoteric provision. Among the services offered by these centres, Magnani lists astrological mapping, massage and acupuncture, divination and tarot, shiatsu, palm-reading, and chakra-based cures. Sales Points (33.73 per cent) comprising explicitly commercial ventures make up the fifth and largest category. Servicing clients directly through the sale of neo-esoteric products (e.g. books, organic food, crystals, incense, and music), these units also serve as points of contact between customers and neo-esoteric specialists by way of organizing and provisioning courses, talks, and events upon specific topics. Magnani lists a number of sales points including, for example, New Age Tourism and Trips, Green World: natural esoteric consumables, and Sankar Sana: Distributor of Indian Goods (1999: 24–9; 2000: 29–32).1 In her study of ‘mystical-esoteric’ groups in the Federal District of Brasília, the capital of Brazil, Siqueira identifies ‘various facets’ which she organizes within three categories. First, there are ‘groups of a fundamentally religious orientation’, including local branches of the International Society for Krishna Consciousness (Hare Krishna), Santo Daime, and the Knights of Maitreya. Second, a number of ‘traditional esoteric schools’ are identified, among which are branches of the Theosophical Society and the Rosicrucian Order. Third, there are groups of a ‘spiritual-psychological orientation’ whose organizational repertoires draw upon a range of alternative therapies and techniques designed to promote self-realization (2003: 27). Collectively, these groups utilize a range of ‘alternative or nonconventional practices’, which Siqueira lists as therapies (e.g. astral cure, application of heiki, iridology, floral, and homeopathic); massages (e.g. do-in, ayurvedic, shiatsu); practices and techniques of self-help, relaxation, chakra harmonization, energization, meditation, acupuncture, yoga, tai-chi-chuan, astrology, and astral mapping; men-only shamanic sessions and women-only rituals of the full moon; readings of Tarot, I-Ching, and runes; and crystals, birth stones, and elves. (2003: 103)

1 As with Redden’s analysis of the ‘marketization’ of the new age scene in the northern hemisphere (2005: 231–46), the commercialization of neo-esoteric repertoires represents an important dynamic shaping the less formally religious end of the new era spectrum.

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Camurça’s study of the ‘neo-esoteric circuit’ of Juiz de Fora in the state of Minas Gerais identifies what he describes as ‘five spaces of religious hybridization’. The first to be detailed is the Holistic Therapy Centre, one of whose therapists, Camurça notes, is a practising Umbanda medium. The therapeutic repertoire practised at the centre uses a mixture of massage, hypnosis, and chakra-based kinesiology to unblock mental and physical energies to the end of promoting ‘spiritual cleansing’ (higienização espiritual). Next is the East-West Cultural Centre which specialises in ‘eastern alternative therapies’ such as acupuncture, shiatsu massage, meditation, and tai chi. Founded and run by a Spiritist, the centre aims to promote individual wellbeing through the ‘harmonization’ of ‘physical, emotional, and spiritual’ aspects of the self. The third component of Camurça’s ‘neo-esoteric circuit’ is the range of therapeutic services offered by an individual now going under the name of Swami Bhagawan Mahasaya. Ex-monk, former adept of the Rajneesh movement, and now practising member of Santo Daime, Bhagawan Mahasaya offers ayurvedic and reiki massage, crystal and chromotherapy, and courses in meditation and tarot. Together or individually, these therapies aim to unite individuals with the ‘cosmic consciousness’ through the realignment of their chakras and subsequent harmonization of bioenergies. Fourth is the Alvorada Spiritist Centre which combines elements culled from established Umbanda, Spiritist, and esoteric repertoires. Fifth is the Kundalini Temple which is dedicated to Krishna. Directed by an ex-Umbanda practitioner, the temple’s ritual repertoire is guided by the Bhagavad-Gita and comprises an amalgam of Candomblé rituals, Bhakti Yoga, and alternative therapies (2003: 37–65). In his analysis of the ‘alternative therapeutic complex’ in the north-eastern city of Recife, Paulo Martins identifies a range of therapeutic techniques and divinatory practices. Among the most popular therapeutic techniques recorded are meditation, yoga, homeopathy, flower-therapy, biodance, reiki, acupuncture, massage, chromotherapy, past-lives regression, and iridology. The divinatory practices with which participants were familiar are tarot, I-Ching, astrology, numerology, cowrie shells (búzios), palm-reading, and runes (1999: 80–105). Likewise concentrating upon the more practical aspects of ‘new age’ religiosity, Tavares identifies a broad range of techniques and practices in her analysis of ‘therapeutic spirituality’ in the city of Rio de Janeiro. Among the 199 different forms of alternative therapy identified by her are homeopathy, acupuncture, astrology, shiatsu, past-lives regression, chakra, dance, dietary regimes, yoga, crystal, colour, pendulum, massage, floral, and iridology (1999a; 1999b: 106–129). Researching in the southern city of Porto Alegre, Maluf identifies a highly variegated ‘alternative circuit’ of therapeutic and religious themes and practices accessed through a variety of spaces including, for example, medical centres, vegetarian restaurants, bookshops, and environmental fairs. Among other things, Maluf’s description of Porto Alegre’s alternative circuit includes the ‘corporal disciplines’ of ayurvedic and shiatsu massage, yoga, and tai chi; the medicinal approaches of homeopathy, flower and nature-therapy; ‘therapeutic and psychotherapeutic techniques’ such as past-lives regression, Jungian psychotherapy, and the Fischer-Hoffman process; Zen, dynamic, and kundalini forms of meditation; the ‘divinatory and oracular’ techniques of astrology, I-Ching, tarot, runes, and numerology; traditional and mystical-esoteric groups such as Theosophy, Golden

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Dawn, and modern witchcraft; and branches of Santo Daime and Osho-Rajneesh (2003: 153–71). In her overview of ‘new age’ discourse and practice throughout Brazil, Amaral describes a diverse array of centres, courses, movements, retreats, and conferences which collectively offer all of the disciplines and techniques noted above, in addition to one or two previously unmentioned (e.g. channelling and neo-shamanism). At one gathering in Campina Grande, for example, she records as present representatives of the United Presbyterian, Roman Catholic, and Baptist Churches, Islam, Afro-Brazilian traditions of Orixá and Axé Epô Afonjé, new religions of Seicho-no-Ie, Church of Messianity, Santo Daime, Bahá’í Faith, and Hare Krishna, and esoteric Masonic and Rosicrucian orders. In addition, specialists in tarot, astrology, ufology, psychology, music, and artisan crafts combined with other practitioners to offer courses and workshops on past-lives regression, flowertherapy, tai chi, yoga, chakra alignment, biodance, hypnosis, and bio-energization (2000: 188–9). Further insight into the diversity and breadth of the neo-esoteric spectrum is offered by Labate’s analysis of what she terms the ‘neo-ayahuasca network’ (rede neo-ayahuasqueira). Labate defines this network as comprising small groups of an experimental nature emerging in the large urban centres whose practices represent new urban modalities of ayahuasca consumption. They are the fruit of the introduction of the União do Vegetal and Santo Daime to the large urban centres starting from the 1970s and 1980s respectively. (2004b: 491)

These groups are formed by the mixture of ‘new age’ and traditional patterns of ayahuasca consumption and are run by individuals who have either moved beyond the ritual confines of Santo Daime and Vegetable Union or been attracted to aspects of these rituals on the grounds of their apparent correspondence with certain of the neo-esoteric practices which have just been highlighted. Within these groups, for example, traditional patterns of ayahuasca consumption are complemented by the use of other psychotropic agents such as mushrooms, peyote, and jurema.2 Likewise, the received repertoires of the established ayahuasca religions are practised alongside or, as is more usual, modified through the inclusion of discourse and practices drawn from the neo-esoteric inventory outlined above (Labate, 2004b: 401–489). The overwhelming majority of the performative repertoires included in the above overview include little which cannot be found among the new age and alternative scenes existing in other urban-industrial nations across the globe. In view of Brazil’s fully integrated status within the warp and woof of late-modern global networks, this is not surprising. There is, however, much that is truly distinctive within Brazil’s new era spectrum. The remainder of this chapter is given over to underlining this distinctiveness by way of providing three concrete examples of neo-esoteric religiosity. The first two examples (the ‘Temple of Good Will’ and ‘Valley of the 2 Most commonly consumed in liquid form, jurema is produced by processing the bark of two species of tree from which two kinds of jurema, ‘black’ (Mimosa hostilis benth) and ‘white’ (Vitex agmus castus), result. Originating with indigenous cultures, the consumption of jurema has since passed to Afro-Brazilian (particularly north-eastern Umbanda) and alternative repertoires (Assunção, 2006).

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Dawn’) are taken from organizations based in and around the capital city of Brasília; a city which many practitioners regard as the neo-esoteric heart of Brazil, if not the world (Carpenter, 2004: 220; Siqueira, 2003: 24). The third example functions also as a case study and concerns the Gnostic Church of Brazil which is based in the southern city of Curitiba. Temple of Good Will The Temple of Good Will (Templo da Boa Vontade) was opened in Brasília on 21 October 1989 and today stands alongside the ‘World Parliament of Ecumenical Fraternity’ (ParlaMundi) as part of a larger complex of the Legion of Good Will. The Legion of Good Will (Legião da Boa Vontade) was officially founded in 1950 by Alziro Zarur (1914–79). Like many non-mainstream religious organizations at this time, the Legion of Good Will enjoyed formal legal status by virtue of its charitable activities rather than explicitly religious character. Although the son of Arab immigrants, Zarur’s religious identity was formed principally at the hands of Brazilian Spiritism. A journalist, writer, and poet, Zarur’s impact upon the religious landscape was first promoted in 1949 through his presentation on Rádio Globo (Rio de Janeiro) of the ‘Good Will Hour’ (Hora da Boa Vontade). The Good Will Hour was part of the broader post-war trend in which Brazil’s media was progressively opening up to non-mainstream religious broadcasting. The programme itself comprised a mixture of religious music, spiritual rhetoric, and personal interest stories revolving around the themes of charity and social solidarity. It was on the back of the momentum generated by Zarur’s career as a radio broadcaster that the Legion of Good Will grew steadily over the next few decades to become what is today one of Brazil’s most respected charitable institutions at a national and international level. The Legion of Good Will is defined by Zarur’s successor, José de Paiva Netto, as ‘a civil, spiritualistic, religious, anti-sectarian, ecumenic, altruistic, educational, cultural, philosophic, scientific, nonpolitical, nonpartisan, beneficent and philanthropic organization of international scope’ (1988: 43–4). Galvanized by the institutional success of the Legion of Good Will, Zarur proclaimed the establishment of the Religion of God (Religião de Deus) in October, 1973. It was not until after Zarur’s death, however, that the Religion of God was registered as a legal entity in December 1983. The Religion of God defines itself as a religion of ‘unrestricted ecumenism’ (ecumenismo irrestrito) and is founded upon the ‘fourth revelation’ whose codifier was Alziro Zarur. Moses (Judaism), Jesus (Christianity), and Kardec (Spiritism) constitute the respective codifiers of the first three revelations. In many respects, the Religion of God shares much of the cosmological architecture of Brazilian Spiritism. The material world is perceived to be permeated by a surrounding spiritual realm, with each sphere inhabited by spirits seeking to evolve through the acquisition of cosmic merit. Reincarnation is the mechanism of spiritual evolution, charitable activity the means of acquiring cosmic merit, and the law of universal love the abiding regulatory principle. Communication between spiritual and material worlds is likewise possible. Unlike the overwhelming majority of Spiritist organizations, however, the Religion of God

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eschews association with any one religious identity, instead preferring to see itself as a new religion for the third millennium. The Religion of God defines itself as the ‘final synthesis’ which transcends and thereby relativizes the historical-cultural particularity of existing religions. The Religion of God regards itself as the highpoint of humanity’s evolution to date and thereby best placed to prepare humankind for the total regeneration of our planet to be effected by the ‘forthcoming and last Armageddon’ of the current evolutionary cycle (Netto, 1988: 28). Although the Religion of God registered (an under-representative) 12,115 members in the census of 2000 (Jacob et al., 2003: 103), its use of the extensive televisual and radio network of the Legion of Good Will gives it an organizational reach that stretches across most of Brazil’s major conurbations. In addition to its association with the Legion of Good Will, the social visibility of the Religion of God is further assured by the now iconic status of the Temple of Good Will. Claimed as the most visited monument in Brasília, the Temple of Good Will is open 24 hours a day and is located on a 6,000m2 site shared with the World Parliament of Ecumenical Fraternity and assorted charitable facilities and administrative offices of the Legion of Good Will. The temple itself is a 21-metres high seven-sided pyramid and is capped by what is claimed to be one of the largest natural crystals in the world. The Temple of Good Will is one of a number of pyramids built since the mid-twentieth-century founding of Brasília and its construction represents something of an architectural acknowledgement of the supposed mystical-esoteric ethos of the Federal Capital. At the same time, however, the temple’s pyramidal structure is also a reflection of the influence of neo-esoteric paradigms which have increasingly impacted upon both the physical and conceptual space of the movement over the last few decades. The Temple of Good Will is accessed through an underground walkway resonant of the crypt-like entrances used by the actual pyramids of Egypt. Upon reaching the temple proper, the visitor is faced with a large open space whose floor comprises two spirals (one of black tiles, the other of white) each centred directly beneath the pyramid’s apex and its inlaid rock crystal. Standard practice is for visitors to remove their outer and inner footwear and walk barefoot slowly along the black-tiled spiral from its outermost tile towards its centre. Whilst doing so one is supposed to reflect upon aspects of one’s life in need of moral-spiritual rectification. Upon reaching the centre of the spiral the individual stands still and is energized by the naturalsupernatural forces concentrated by the perfect symmetry of the temple and refracted through the crystal now immediately above. The return journey to the outer edge of the temple floor takes place upon the white-tiled spiral whose colour represents both the higher spiritual way and the now purified inner state effected by the cosmic energies channelled down by the pyramid’s crystalline apex. Upon reaching the outermost tile of the white spiral, the individual now stands at the other side of the temple immediately opposite both the entrance and beginning of the black spiral.3 3 Subsequent to a conversation with the temple’s architect, R.R. Roberto, Carvalho notes that the black and white spirals were intended simply as aesthetic devices whose design served to break the monotony of a monochrome floor. Carvalho regards the subsequent and rather rapid emergence of the spiral ritual as evidence of the kind of ‘religious invention’ typical of contemporary neo-esoteric religion (1992: 158–9).

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At this point the now energized individual is met by an empty throne dedicated to the God of all religions. Either side of the throne is an urn of ‘fluidified water’ (água fluidificada) imbued with energizing powers that pass to the drinker upon its consumption and an altar supporting a sculptural representation of the four elements of earth, air, fire, and water. This artwork is inscribed with the legend ‘Every day is the day to change your destiny’ (Todo dia é dia de mudar o seu destino). In true new era fashion, the individual is empowered to think of herself as the mistress of her own destiny. In addition to the ground floor pyramidal structure, two subterranean rooms are worthy of note. Each room is accessed from the same antechamber, the walls of which are lined with cabinets housing objects and portraits connected with historical and contemporary religions, philosophies, and cultures. Along one wall, for example, portraits of Beethoven, Charlie Chaplin, and Nelson Mandela stand side by side with those of religious leaders (e.g. Tia Neiva) and spiritual luminaries (e.g. Mother Teresa) from down the ages and across the world. As with the temple as a whole, the juxtaposition of cultural icon and religious dignitary signifies the elision of secular and sacred space typical of new era holistic approaches. A long corridor heading out of the antechamber leads the visitor to the largest underground space which houses a wide variety of contemporary art (some donated and some for sale), a fountain which provides the fluidified water used immediately above, niches for meditation, and the tomb of Alziro Zarur. The artwork on display is not of an explicitly religious nature but its aesthetic qualities are intended to awaken the higher sentiments comprising the inner self. The other room accessed from the antechamber is entered through a stairway at a cost of a few Reais and is called the ‘Egyptian Room’. The Egyptian Room is sumptuously decorated with murals, fabrics, rugs, and furniture of which gold, blue, and ochre are the primary colours. The murals depict pharaohs, deities, and miscellaneous scenes which combine with the vivid furnishing to evoke a sense, it is claimed, of being present within an actual Egyptian temple. Plants and the sound of running water generate an ambience of calm and armchairs with footrests provide a comfortable place to sit and take in the surroundings. Regarded by temple publicity as ‘a passageway to a lighter and higher’ aura, the Egyptian Room has been ‘prepared by high spirits to serve the inner transformation of those who visit it’. The same publicity goes on the say that ‘by transferring the traditions of the spiritual world from Egypt to Brasília, the Temple of Good Will inaugurates an era of renewal and spiritual rebirth of Humankind’. The migration of spiritual wisdom from the ancient world of the East to the modern world of Brazil is a common motif within neo-esoteric discourse. Exemplified by the Temple of Good Will, the Religion of God is in many respects typical of neo-esoteric religion in Brazil. Its hybrid character, for example, is evident through the appropriation of themes from traditional esotericism, popular religiosity, new age mysticism, and indigenous spirituality which are integrated within an overarching Spiritist-inspired cosmological framework. Here, Jesus is a ‘Divine Master’ and member of the ‘Spiritual Government’ which directs the destiny of the world through its management of the ‘universal laws’ which regulate both visible and invisible aspects of the cosmos. A ‘de-sectarianized’ Jesus stands alongside Moses, Buddha, Mohammed, Ghandi, and other incarnations of higher spirits to serve as

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a cipher of the universal values of ‘Love, Fraternity, and Justice’. The espousal of universal values over the historical-cultural particularity of specific religions is typical of the holistic perspective which pervades new era religiosity. Underwritten by this holistic articulation of universal values, the ‘unrestricted ecumenism’ of the Religion of God relativizes all forms of particular religious and spiritual expression whilst facilitating its presentation as an ‘all-embracing’ worldview to which all roads ultimately lead. Hybridity and holism combine with the formal minimalism of the Temple of Good Will to allow the appearance of being all things to all people. Indicative of neo-esotericism’s individualized character, individuals are encouraged to take from the overall experience what suits them and leave what does not. This process of selection tailored to individual aspirations is guided by spiritual insight obtained through looking deep within the self rather than listening to any external authority. The explicit presence of artwork throughout the temple complex further underscores an understanding of spirituality as an aesthetic experience orientated to expressing individual values and meeting personal tastes. Open around the clock, the temple’s ‘24/7’ availability places it on a par with surrounding supermarkets whose accessibility on demand is geared to the instant gratification of the late-modern consumer. Valley of the Dawn The ‘Valley of the Dawn’ (Vale do Amanhecer) is located approximately 40 kilometres from Brasília and was founded in 1969 by Neiva Zelaya Chaves (1925–85). Attracted by the prospect of regular employment, the recently widowed Chaves travelled with her four children from the northeast to Brasília in 1957. It was soon after this time that official narratives record Tia Neiva (‘Aunt Neiva’, as she came to be known) as beginning to experience a series of mediumistic visions and visitations, in addition to transporting her consciousness to other ‘vibrational planes’ and parts of the globe to be instructed in the ways of the Masters (Sassi, 1979: 3). These psychical experiences culminated with Tia Neiva being charged by the spirit of an Amerindian chief (Pai Seta Branca) to found a religious community in which a religion fit for the third millennium might be practised.4 Subsequent to a number of abortive attempts, Tia Neiva and her followers settled upon the farmstead of Mestre D’Armas, five kilometres from the satellite town of Planaltina. No more than a few thousand in number at the time of her death, the Valley of the Dawn is now inhabited by over twenty thousand people subsequent to the selling of plots of land to non-members of the religious community. The movement centred upon the Valley claims over 250 affiliated temples and is (perhaps over generously) estimated to have approximately 450,000 adepts throughout Brazil (M. Martins, 1999). The Valley of the Dawn defines itself as a ‘Christian Spiritualist Order’ (Ordem Espiritualista Cristã) which ‘translates the transcendent heritages of various ancient peoples – Egyptians, Greeks, Romans, Mayas, Incas, Nagôs, Gypsies – along with 4 Pai Seta Branca means ‘Father White Arrow’ and is the name given to one of the principal spirits of Umbanda. As well as being a term of respect, use of the word ‘Father’ has hybrid connotations related both with Catholic clergy and aged black salves.

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an original culture brought by Pai Seta Branca; an Inca chief who lived with his tribe in the vicinity of the Bolivia–Peru border during the time of the Spanish conquest’ (). Pai Seta Branca was the final incarnation of an evolved spirit whose task it is to aid humanity through the impending crisis brought on by the cyclical civilizational transition that takes place upon the earth every two millennia. Upon completing his own evolutionary journey and thereby no longer in need of further incarnations, Pai Seta Branca chose Tia Neiva as his earthly representative responsible for the foundation of a religious community able to support humanity through the calamitous times ahead. In order to aid Tia Neiva and the community founded by her, Seta Branca has enabled the gathering of a ‘phalanx’ of approximately 30,000 spirits to serve and watch over the Valley of the Dawn, its mediums, and supplicants. The most evolved of this phalanx of spirits are said to reside in the Morning Star from where they descend to be incorporated by the Valley’s mediums (Cavalcante, 2002). The origins of the most important ‘spirits of light’ that serve Tia Neiva’s community lie beyond our own solar system. Some 32,000 years ago, it is said, a fleet of spacecraft arrived from the planet Capela (Chapel) bearing an alien race. Upon arriving on earth and settling in the Andean region of South America this alien race transformed itself into a race known as the ‘Equitumans’. The terrestrial dominance of the Equitumans, however, lasted little more than two thousand years and was brought to an abrupt halt by the cataclysmic events provoked by the arrival of a large space craft piloted by the spirit who would later be known as Pai Seta Branca. Subsequent to this civilizational transition planetary dominance passed to a race known as the ‘Tumuchys’ who colonized the rest of the earth under the guidance of Pai Seta Branca. Scientific in disposition, the Tumuchy race used its advanced technological skills to design and build the structures and pyramids found today throughout Egypt, the Middle East, the Orient, the South Pacific islands, and South America. Tumuchy dominance lasted approximately five thousand years until the ascent of the race known as ‘Jaguars’ (juaguares). Based in the Andean region but greater in number than the remnants of the Equituman and Tumuchy races, the Jaguar race subsequently gave rise to many of the great civilizations recorded in human history. Upon evolving through their consecutive incarnations as Equituman, Tumuchy, and Jaguar many of the higher spirits who today serve the Valley of the Dawn passed on to humanity and appear through human history as its principal movers and shakers. Before incarnating as the Amerindian chief Seta Branca, for example, the Valley of the Dawn’s guardian spirit was incarnated as an interplanetary grand master, Tumuchy leader, Jaguar chief, Egyptian pharaoh, and Saint Francis of Assisi. In addition to Pai Seta Branca, the Valley of the Dawn calls upon a number of highly evolved spirits, among which, for example, are those last incarnated as African slaves, Amerindian princesses, Portuguese colonists, and prominent Spiritists (e.g. Pai João, Pai José Pedro, Princesas, Mãe Yara, and Dr Fritz). Representatives of the Valley of the Dawn maintain that over the course of the past five hundred years these spirits have been converging upon South America and particularly Brazil by way of their incarnation through indigenous inhabitants of the Amazonian basin, Portuguese and Spanish colonists, Africans forcibly transported as slaves, and latterly those from other parts of the world arriving as immigrants. Mirrored by the organizational

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structures of the Valley’s functionaries, these spirits are regimented into different phalanges relative to their last incarnation and the personality they adopt upon being incorporated by their respective mediums. The religious compound of the Valley of the Dawn is as eclectic as its cosmological framework. Upon entering the site one is immediately struck by the novelty of its architecture and the vibrancy of its colour schemes. Excluding administrative and ancillary buildings, the religious compound is split into two main sections. The area accessed upon entering the compound itself houses the main ritual building which has been constructed with an east-facing entrance and the external appearance of an Amerindian temple. Immediately in front of the main temple an open square contains a stone six-pointed Star of Solomon (a popular esoteric symbol) pierced by the white arrow of Seta Branca and inscribed with one of his many aphorisms. A few metres to the north of the star stands a large concrete and brightly coloured sun. Sculptural representations of the sun, along with those of the moon and stars are scattered throughout the Valley complex and point to the influence of indigenous cosmologies for which astral bodies have a high level of significance. In between sun and star stand a four metres-high statue of Jesus and an ellipse stood on its long axis. The ellipse contains a white arrow pointing from the sky downward towards some stars and a moon. Regarded by Valley adepts as a new religious symbol for a new era, the ellipse represents the combination of practice and knowledge in the service of healing. Whilst there are a number of crosses located at various points on the site, this Christian symbol is held to represent the suffering endured by all incarnated spirits as they pass through this world of moral-spiritual expiation. Adjoining the southern side of the temple a court room has been erected complete with judgement seat, dock, jury benches, and public viewing area. This structure is used to conduct trials of spirits who are brought to the court room by the Valley’s mediums. Here, spirits are given opportunity to defend, make their case or (more often than not) confess their guilt in the face of prosecution arguments as to their moral-spiritual culpability and low evolutionary status. Sentences laid down by the court are carried out at the hands of mediums of indoctrination and the spirits of light watching over the Valley. The other part of the religious compound is an open air complex (Solar dos Médiuns) a few hundred metres from the main temple and its adjoining buildings. The eastern end of this open air complex comprises a medium sized lake known as the ‘Lake of the Princesses’ (lago das princessas). A number of structures of indigenous, Egyptian, and Graeco-Roman inspiration dot the northern and southern banks of the lake and a large ellipse stands at its centre. The ritual heart of the open air complex is situated at the far western end of the lake and is known as the ‘Burning Star’ (estrela candente). Constructed in the shape of a Star of Solomon, this area is the site of daily rituals at which adepts of the Valley gather to incorporate and counsel spirits in need of cure and guidance. Known as ‘Consecration’, the main ritual involves a pair of mediums (one of the sun and one of the moon) facilitating the transition of spirits from lower to higher spiritual planes through the ‘manipulation’ and channelling of cosmic energies. In addition to the Burning Star, the western end of the lake houses a waterfall, oracle, and large statue of Tia Neiva. Further to the west a large ellipse has been erected on a hill and is visible from all parts of the Valley.

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Although ritual activity takes place daily at the open air complex and throughout the streets immediately surrounding the Valley compound, the stone temple is the cultic heart of the Vale do Amanhecer.5 The temple is approximately 100 metres in length (from east to west) and 60 metres wide and is entered through an eastfacing doorway. Of stone construction on the outside, the internal fixtures of the temple are predominantly of concrete which is painted a variety of vivid colours and softened by a generous use of fabrics, hangings, and upholstery which is likewise rich in colour. Increasingly common through the neo-esoteric popularization of chromotherapy, the use of vibrant colours as a means of generating and channelling positive cosmic energies has long been an established practice in traditional esoteric and Spiritist circles. Around the southern edge of the temple are a number of spaces reserved for Valley functionaries, the most ritually central of which are the mediums (of incorporation and indoctrination) directly involved in cultic activities and those (directors) who oversee matters from the sidelines. The northern perimeters of the temple space are occupied by a series of rooms used by clients (clientes) on a private basis (e.g. prayer room) or when undergoing certain forms of treatment (e.g. passe). At the eastern end of the temple floor nearest the doorway stand two concrete operating tables which are used for the performance of non-invasive mediumistic surgery. Positioned further within the temple is a large triangular table (mesa evangélica) around which mediums of incorporation sit with mediums of indoctrination standing behind them. Watched by clients sat on viewing benches to the south of the table, mediumistic activity takes place in which spirits are incorporated by those who are seated and indoctrinated by those who are standing. Throughout these mediumistic sessions there is a great deal of physical and verbal agitation as incorporating mediums wave their arms whilst rocking to and fro and speaking loudly in often unintelligible guttural utterances. The mediums of indoctrination struggle to be heard above this commotion as they ask their questions and bark instructions at the incorporated spirit. Moving further to the west, a large statue of Jesus and altar to the spirits separates the triangular Evangelical Table from the red and yellow banks of ‘thrones’ (tronos). It is here that Valley clientele are formally integrated within surrounding cultic activities. Upon first arriving at the temple, clients are directed to a series of benches just inside the doorway before undergoing a preliminary triage in which their particular issues and problems are identified. After the initial triage clients may then be led to the throne area at which further consultation (consulta) takes place by way of mediumistic activity. Each throne comprises a stone bench just big enough to sit two people; the client and a medium of incorporation (known more commonly as an apará). A medium of indoctrination (doutrinador) stands immediately behind 5 Groups of mediums leave the religious compound at regular intervals to conduct mediumistic sessions in the streets immediately surrounding the complex. Gathered in a circle composed of approximately eight mediums, these groups serve to tend and reinforce the vibratory fields surrounding the religious compound. Whether returning to the compound after one of these sessions or standing around the complex subsequent to a shift in the temple, Valley mediums can be seen feverishly transcribing or animatedly discussing visions and communications received during their mediumistic trances.

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the now seated incorporating medium who after some preliminary chat sets about communicating with the spirit world to establish the precise cause of the client’s illness or misfortune. Whilst not as expansive as the gestures and utterances enacted around the mesa evangélica, the actions of the medium who invokes and subsequently incorporates the spirits remain distinctly performative in nature. At times the incorporating medium holds the client’s hands or touches various parts of her anatomy and at other points no contact is made. Throughout the period of incorporation the medium of indoctrination offers encouragement and clarification to the client whilst channelling cosmic energies in support of the semi-conscious incorporating medium. At the same time, the indoctrinating medium engages with any spirits drawn from the client by the incorporated spirit working through the incorporating medium. Immediately to the west of the throne area is an altar to Pai Seta Branca, the centrepiece of which is a large statue of the spirit himself. Behind the altar and screened off from the rest of the temple is a space reserved for the healing (cura) of clients. Subsequent to triage and consultation, for example, clients may be taken to this area for further intensive treatment for their ill-health and misfortunes. The cure room is furnished with a suite of platforms upon which patients can recline or sit whilst receiving a range of therapeutic treatments from attendant mediums. The removal (desobsessão) of immature or malevolent spirits is the most common form of treatment practised here, although other causes such as bad karma from previous incarnations or moral impropriety in this life may also require concentrated attention. Other rooms situated along the northern edge of the temple provide further space in which less intensive and longer term curative techniques might be undertaken by or practised upon the client. The cure room itself leads to the westernmost point of the temple which comprises a central space used for the initiation of mediums. The space in which initiation takes place is flanked by rooms in which aparás and doutrinadores are prepared prior to their initiation. Perhaps nowhere are the hybridizing tendencies of neo-esoteric repertoires more evident than the Valley of the Dawn. Cosmologically, architecturally, and practically, the Valley of the Dawn is a unique blend of indigenous spirituality, ancient neareastern and classical themes, traditional European esotericism, popular Catholic religiosity, Brazilian Spiritism, Afro-Brazilian practices, oriental concepts, and new age preoccupations. From the waterfall, astral bodies, and temple, through the oracle and pyramid, to the cross, Star of Solomon and white arrow, religious iconography has been culled from many of the world’s religious-spiritual traditions. Articulated through a mind-bogglingly abstruse cosmological system and enacted through a cure-centred practical repertoire, the neo-esotericism of the Valley of the Dawn is a conspicuously hybrid form. The Valley’s hybridization of multiple sources is further evidenced through the dress of its qualified mediums. Excluding minor differences relative to seniority, function, and phalanx membership, the standard garb of male mediums includes a dark shirt, white waistcoat, and sash. Over this is draped a long cape stereotypical of nineteenth-century aristocrats and adopted by adepts of European esotericism. Shirt, waistcoat, sash, and cape are heavily decorated with colourful emblems such as a Christian cross, Bible, and jaguar head. Fully qualified female mediums sport an even more colourful and eccentric mode of dress than

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their male counterparts.6 Again allowing for individual variations, female mediums are generally bedecked in brightly coloured flowing dresses, scarves, headpieces, and elbow high gloves. Jewellery adorning the ears, neck, and head of the medium combines with her clothing to present the stereotypical appearance of a Romany Gypsy or fairytale princess.7 As with other new era groups and organizations, the Valley’s conspicuous appropriation of disparate sources is rationalized through an appeal to holism which relativizes their apparent incongruity. If all religions and cultures are but particular historical-geographical manifestations of overarching universal realities, the argument goes, they are but different expressions of one and the same thing. According to Mário Sassi, a First Tumuchy Sun Master, ‘the Valley’s Doctrine is not Umbanda, Candomblé, Quimbanda, Kardecism, Hinduism, Theosophy or Catholicism. Rather, it is a Doctrine in a universal sense, with its base in the Christic System’ (1979: 16). Given the underlying unity within one and the same holistic reality (here, the ‘Christic System’), the actual provenance of particular concepts, icons or practices is of no abiding consequence. The absolute transcendent truth is what matters, not its relative historical-cultural expression. Together, the site’s architecture, dress of its mediums, ritual practices, and conceptual system combine to give the Valley of the Dawn a theatrical quality which borders on the playful. The ludic nature of the Valley’s repertoire is further reinforced through an individualized rhetoric typical of new era groups and organizations. ‘Truth is perceived individually, by each person’ is a sentiment reflective of late-modern conceptualizations of the self as the ultimate arbiter of what is right or wrong (Sassi, 1979: 2). Of course, the individualism pervading the Valley’s rhetoric is grounded in the long established clientelism of popular religion in Brazil. Whether traditional Catholic, Spiritist or Afro-Brazilian, popular religious repertoires have long been imbued with a pragmatism which relativizes the fixity of client–practitioner relationships. At the same time, however, the punctual nature of client–practitioner relations has been further attenuated by the confluence of a number of late-modern dynamics such as individualization and globalization. Both established and contemporary, hybridizing processes and individualizing forces combine to engender a highly fluid dynamic characteristic of new era repertoires and their participants. Like many new era contexts, the Valley of the Dawn is a highly inventive and fluid place in which the notion of tradition is important discursively yet less influential in actuality. Whilst Tia Neiva’s legacy is regarded, in theory, as sacrosanct, the contemporary dynamics of invention, experimentation, and hybridization conspire towards an ever more complex and heterodox repertoire. The complexification and growing heterodoxy of its repertoire is perhaps behind Carvalho’s exasperation 6 The dress of trainee mediums, known as ‘neophytes’, is plainer than their qualified counterparts, with female neophytes wearing a white dress similar to that worn at popular Catholic festivals. 7 The princess motif is generally understood as a representation of indigenous heritage, whilst gypsy and other motifs (e.g. masters and senhores) both celebrate European traditions and reflect the ingression of esoteric influences.

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in stating that ‘I know of no one to date, even among those who have been there various times, who has been able to understand the belief system of the Valley of the Dawn’ (1992: 156). In certain respects, the Valley of the Dawn’s juxtaposition of abstruse cosmology and pragmatically orientated spirit-centred cure is similar in kind to the practical–discursive relationships in Afro-Brazilian religions. Umbanda, for example, has an extremely complex cosmological system which only a few specialist practitioners fully comprehend. The overwhelming majority of Umbanda adepts only ever experience a practical point of access which is accompanied by a greatly simplified conceptual rationale. This is true also of the Valley of the Dawn, whose clients are driven by a pragmatic motivation to end their suffering or improve their fortunes rather than a desire to revel in the theoretical intricacies of its discursive repertoire. As with the material fabric of the compound, however, the Valley’s already syncretistic discourse has progressively acquired a great many more accretions as its innate hybridizing tendencies have been radicalized under late-modern conditions. Typical of many new era organizations in Brazil, the Valley of the Dawn is conspicuously promiscuous in its appropriation of otherwise disparate sources which are inserted within a rapidly burgeoning conceptual system. Unwieldy in scope and lacking systematic integration, the Valley’s conceptual repertoire contrasts with the relatively straightforward practical interface between client and medium. Gnostic Church of Brazil The ‘Gnostic Church of Brazil’ (Igreja Gnóstica do Brasil) is based in Curitiba, the capital of the southern state of Paraná, and is an independent offshoot of the ‘Universal Christian Gnostic Movement of Brazil’ founded in São Paulo in 1972.8 The Universal Christian Gnostic Movement of Brazil was founded on the back of missionary activity by representatives of the ‘Universal Christian Gnostic Church’. Legally established in Mexico in 1976, but functioning institutionally for many years prior, the Universal Christian Gnostic Church is part of a broader movement founded by Samael Aun Weor (1917–77). The organizational repertoire of the Gnostic Church of Brazil is centred upon the veneration of Weor and adherence to his teaching which is known as ‘New Gnosis’. The man later known as ‘Bodhisattva of the Venerable Master Samael Aun Weor’ was born Víctor Manuel Gómez Rodríguez on 6 March 1917, in Santa Fé de Bogotá, Colombia (Zoccatelli, 2000: 33–48). According to insider accounts Rodríguez was a precocious child who by twelve years of age had already passed through dozens of esoteric and Spiritist schools in an insatiable quest for an understanding of the deepest truths of the universe. Emic accounts also record Weor’s ability to transform himself into a number of animals (an ability typical of powerful shamans) and to transport himself physically or in spirit to different spatial and temporal dimensions (a skill typical of esoteric masters). It was not until Rodríguez encountered in the mid-1940s the German-born Arnold Krumm-Heller 8 The adjective ‘gnostic’ derives from the Greek noun gnosis (equivalent of the Latin scientia) which means ‘knowledge’ or ‘learning’. Used within neo-esoteric circles, the term denotes the possession of a body of knowledge unavailable to the uninitiated.

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that his ‘longing to encounter the Secret Way’ began to be fulfilled (Zoccatelli, 2005: 255–75). A Rosicrucian adept, Krumm-Heller arrived in South America from Europe in 1910 and subsequently founded the Iglesia Gnóstica (Gnostic Church) in Mexico.9 Not finding as much success as he had initially hoped for, KrummHeller moved around various parts of South America finally settling in Colombia. It was in Colombia that Krumm-Heller, now known as Frater Huiracocha, founded the Fraternidad de Rosacruz Antiqua (Fraternity of the Ancient Rosy Cross) and was first encountered by Víctor Rodríguez. Mentored by Krumm-Heller until his death in 1949, Rodríguez subsequently left the Fraternity and was immediately charged by the ‘Venerable White Lodge’ with ‘the sacred and difficult mission’ of ‘forming a new culture; forging a new civilization; and creating the Gnostic Movement’. Now known as Venerable Master of the ‘Bodhisattva Samael Aun Weor’, Rodríguez’s message was rejected by Spiritist and esoteric communities alike, and, for a time, he was imprisoned for ‘quackery’ by the Colombian authorities. It was during this time of rejection and persecution that Weor wrote the first and still most influential of his 76 books, El Matrimonio Perfecto (Perfect Matrimony).10 With contents drawn from the gamut of esoteric (e.g. Rosicrucian, Masonic, Theosophical, Cabalistic, Hermetic, Anthroposophical), oriental (e.g. Tibetan tantrism), and indigenous (e.g. Maya) traditions, Perfect Matrimony comprises Weor’s articulation of the place and role of ‘sexual magic’ within ‘Christian Gnosticism’. By way of introduction to the book, Weor states that Sexual Magic is practised in Christian Esotericism and in Zen Buddhism. Sexual Magic is practised among initiated Yogis and Muslim Sufis. Sexual Magic has been practised in all of the Initiatory Colleges of Troy, Egypt, Rome, Carthage, and Eleusis. Sexual Magic was practised in the Mysteries of the Mayas, Aztecs, Incas, Druids, etc. ()

The evolution of the self to the point at which it is able to commence the long and arduous return to its immaterial origins is dependent, Weor maintains, upon the sustained practice of sexual magic. Also termed ‘sexual alchemy’, sexual magic is practised when a (heterosexual) couple engage in copulation whilst supplicating the ‘Divine Mother’ (Mae Divina) to strengthen and reward efforts to ‘awaken the Serpent Kundalini’ which is coiled around the base of the spine. Concurrent with the gradual annihilation of the ‘plural ego’, Kundalini’s ascent up the spinal column is hastened by focusing the physical, mental, and spiritual energies enhanced by the transmutation of sexual energy generated through the practice of sexual union without orgasm (‘sexual spasm’). Critical analysis of the minutiae of everyday events and experiences (‘law of self knowledge’) and regular charitable activities (‘law of voluntary sacrifice’) complement the daily practice of sexual magic and 9 Krumm-Heller’s works are available through Editorial Kier, Buenos Aires; . 10 A full list of Weor’s writings is available from and . A number of English translations of Weor’s works have been made to date and are available via and .

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further aid the concurrent awakening of Kundalini and annihilation of the ego. The ascent of Kundalini and annihilation of the ego are necessary to the enlightenment of the inner self and its resultant escape, if so desired, from the cycle of birth, death, and reincarnation which Weor designates the ‘law of eternal return’. Whilst Weor and his followers regard the publication of Perfect Matrimony (May 1950) as the informal beginnings of the Universal Christian Gnostic Movement, formal juridical status was not gained for this or its sister organizations until much later. Prior to this time, Weor sought alliances with an assortment of esoteric, occultist, and orientalist organizations, the most noteworthy of which was Sivananda’s Raja Yoga movement. Moving through various parts of South America rallying sectors of the esoteric community to his cause, Weor finally settled in Mexico where he legally founded the Movimiento Gnóstico Cristiano Universal (MGCU). By now in possession of the ‘New Gnosis’ (nova gnose) for which he is best known, the self-proclaimed ‘Avatar of the Age of Aquarius’ declared the commencement of the Age of Aquarius on 4 February 1962. By the time of his death (‘disincarnation’) on 24 December 1977, Weor had overseen the founding of the Universal Christian Gnostic Church (Iglesia Gnóstica Cristiana Universal) in various parts of Latin America, including Venezuela, Colombia, and Mexico. In addition, Weor and his followers also created the still functioning Institute of Universal Charity (Instituto de Caridad Universal), Latin American Christian Workers’ Party (Partido Obrero Cristiano Latino Americano), and the Gnostic Association of Scientific, Cultural and Anthropological Studies (Associación Gnóstica de Estudios Antropológicos Culturales y Científicos) (see ). Reportedly now a member of the Secret Government of the World which rules from Tibet, Weor is said, like the ‘ancient’ masters (e.g. Eliphas Levi, Cagliostro, and Saint Germain) before him, to make the occasional journey to our dimension albeit disguised as someone else. Although the Curitiba base of the Universal Christian Gnostic Movement of Brazil closed in 1977 due to a lack of popular interest, an independent organization known as the ‘Gnostic Association of Philosophical, Scientific, and Cultural Studies’ (A.G.E.F.C.C.) was opened in the city in late 1979 by Christian Gnostics loyal to the teachings of Samael Aun Weor. In 1983 a number of A.G.E.F.C.C. members then founded the Fundação Samael Aun Weor (FUNDASAW), a legally constituted charitable organization charged with the preservation of Weor’s teachings. By 1987 FUNDASAW was functioning independently of the A.G.E.F.C.C. with members subsequently founding the ‘Universal Christian Gnostic Church of Brazil’ (Igreja Gnóstica Cristã Universal do Brasil). The Universal Christian Gnostic Church of Brazil gained formal legal status as a religious organization on 9 April 1994, and having consolidated its status as a bona fide legal institution changed its name in 2001 to the ‘Gnostic Church of Brazil’ (hereafter, IGB). Official juridical recognition of FUNDASAW and the IGB was complemented in 1998 by the granting of charitable status to their sister organization the Santa Clara Charitable Association (Associação Beneficente Santa Clara). Santa Clara is understood to be one (‘Social Action’) of three core components which combines with FUNDASAW (‘School’) and the Church (‘Temple’) to form an organizational triad through which the New Gnosis of Weor is lived and propagated. Although technically distinct given their separate juridical identities, in actuality the same group of individuals runs each of

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these units from the same location, with the same resources, and to the same ends. Often in practice and sometimes in theory, it is difficult to distinguish the particular organizational remit within which a specific activity, event or programme is being undertaken. Both orally and in writing, members often refer to FUNDASAW and the IGB as one and the same organizational entity. Organizational Repertoire Resulting from its perceived adherence to the fundamental truths of the Weor patrimony, the Gnostic Church of Brazil believes itself to be the contemporary torch-bearer for the New Gnosis. This self belief was expressed at a session given as part of a three day seminário for adepts held in Curitiba. Within this session the organization was situated at the endpoint of an esoteric trajectory commencing in medieval Europe and ending in contemporary Brazil. Subsequent to the medieval persecution of Christian ‘sects’ (seitas) such as the Albigensians and Cathars, it was argued, non-mainstream groups and movements were forced underground both to avoid attack and preserve the purity of the teachings entrusted to them. Through the 1500s the Templars were at the forefront of preserving the most important contents of Europe’s esoteric doctrines and practices. In the 1600s this role passed to the Rosicrucians, who in turn ceded the esoteric limelight of the 1700s to the Masons. The Masons were succeeded by the Theosophists in the 1800s, whose responsibility for the jewels of the esoteric treasure chest ended in the early 1900s with the passage of Arnold Krumm-Heller from Germany to Mexico. This translation from Europe to South America was consummated upon Krumm-Heller’s relationship with Samael Aun Weor and the latter’s subsequent commission by the ‘Venerable White Lodge’ (Loja Branca Venerável) and formulation of the ‘New Gnosis’. As a South American with access to and understanding of indigenous Latin American cultures, Weor’s nova gnose was able to perfect the European esoteric tradition by adding to it the autochthonous heritage of the Maya, Aztec, and Incan cultures. This addition was an important one, given the fact that these peoples were the direct descendents of those who survived the Atlantis catastrophe. Weor thereby closed the loop in reuniting two important cultural strands of the esoteric world order. The relationship of the IGB to the New Gnosis of Weor is that of the final batten holder in a relay race. The IGB today holds this batten thanks to a series of events that point, it was said, to the ‘discovery’ of Brazil not being a ‘coincidence’ but part of a wider plan. Thanks to successive kings of Portugal making their kingdom a haven for those persecuted by Roman Catholicism, by the end of the fifteenth century the world-famous Sagres school of navigation had actually become a Templar stronghold. In turn, those sailing from Sagres, like Cabral the European ‘discoverer’ of Brazil, were likewise adepts of the Templar order. ‘Discovered’ by Cabral and his fellow Templar adepts in 1500, Brazil thereby enjoys a direct historical link to medieval esotericism unmediated by later European esoteric traditions. Comparing the relative religious tolerance of early 1970s Brazil to the religious haven of Manuel I’s Portugal, the arrival in Brazil of Weor’s representatives was presented as a direct parallel to the earlier European migration of esoteric adepts in search of more tolerant surroundings. Arriving in the first South American country to be populated

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by European esoteric (viz. Templar) adepts, the New Gnosis of Weor subsequently found its Brazilian champion by way of the IGB’s formation. Regarding itself as a nodal point at which Brazil’s noble esoteric past combines with Weor’s vision of the future, the IGB holds the death of Weor to have signalled the swing of the New Gnostic pendulum from the Universal Christian Gnostic Movement in general to the Igreja Gnóstica do Brasil in particular. As with the Religion of God and Valley of the Dawn above, the narrative transition from ancient East through modern West to contemporary Brazil is a common neo-esoteric motif. The confidence of the IGB in its now central role of preserving and propagating the New Gnosis of Weor rests principally upon the assertion that other groups ‘do not practice’ sufficiently the meditative and yogic regimes central to the efficacy of Weor’s teachings. A survey of the internet sites of purported organizational exponents of the New Gnosis, adepts claim, reveals an average of only thirty minutes practice per day demanded of would-be adepts. Whilst IGB instructors average up to six hours of daily meditation and yogic practice, at least two hours per day are recommended to those taking their discipleship seriously and four hours to the more experienced initiate. The centrality of sexual magic to the everyday routines of IGB members is, however, the cornerstone of the organization’s claims to take the New Gnosis more seriously than others. The practice of sexual magic is situated by the IGB within the triadic schema first outlined by Weor in Perfect Matrimony. The threefold structure of ‘mystical death’, ‘sexual magic’, and ‘charity’ is regarded by adepts as the ‘backbone’ (espinha dorsal) of the IGB’s practice of Weor’s New Gnosis. Mystical death (morte mística) involves the ‘annihilation of defects’ through the practice of what is termed the ‘chain of death’ (cadeia de morte). The defects to be annihilated through the practice of the cadeia de morte are the ‘accumulated egos’ (egos agregados) which accrue to the (lower) self by virtue of its material relationship with society at large. The process resulting in the gradual annihilation of these ‘fifteen thousand inhabitants of the interior city’ (each of which has thousands of facets in its own right) commences with ‘self-observation’ in which every detail of the self’s daily routines, thoughts, feelings, and dreams are individually identified. Leading to ‘self-discovery’ of the basic mechanisms and motivations that drive the individual, these practices, thoughts, and feelings are then subjected to ‘self-analysis’ by means of sustained meditative contemplation of their propriety or unacceptability. If practised properly, self-analysis gives way to ‘selfunderstanding’ as particular defects and their place in the self are identified. Once identified, each individual defect is then ‘eliminated’ as it becomes the focus of specific prayers and ritual action, the most efficacious of which is the practice of sexual magic. Sexual magic, known also by the IGB as Arcano A.Z.F., comprises an orgasmless act of coitus which is practised daily and lasts anywhere between 30 to 60 minutes. Sexual alchemy is said to take place as the sexual energies retained through refusal to orgasm are transmuted through supplicatory prayers and mantras. Complemented by a range of dietary, yogic, ritual, and assorted esoteric practices, the efficacy of sexual magic in aiding the annihilation of accumulated egos is further bolstered by the practice of charity (caridade). The centrality of charitable practice to New Gnostic teaching mirrors its importance to Spiritist communities throughout Latin

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America and is indicative of Weor’s indebtedness to the Spiritist tradition for a number of important themes. Charitable activity is understood as enacting the ‘law of voluntary sacrifice’ and thereby earning its practitioner varying amounts of ‘cosmic merits’ relative to the degree of self-sacrifice involved. Underwritten by the reciprocal dynamic of ‘what one gives up one gets back’, charitable activity enables a healthy ‘balance’ to be credited (contabilizado) to an individual’s ‘cosmic bank’. The credit accumulated in this account can then be drawn on to ease ‘negotiations with divine laws’ such as those governing the awakening of the serpent Kundalini and annihilation of aggregated egos. Although accumulated cosmic credit is most efficacious when cashed with the Divine Mother during the practice of sexual magic, it pays to have a surplus of credit by the time of one’s physical demise in order to facilitate a progressive evolution through birth, death, and incarnational cycles. Although members of the IGB strive to be charitable whenever appropriate opportunity arises, it is at the Santa Clara Charitable Association (Associação Beneficente Santa Clara) that charity is held to be practised in its purest form. Situated approximately thirty kilometres from the city of Curitiba, activity at what was to become the Santa Clara Charitable Association upon its formal juridical recognition in 1998 actually began some twenty years earlier. Also known as the Institute of Universal Charity (Instituto de Caridade Universal), Santa Clara is staffed on a voluntary basis by IGB members and receives food, clothing, and assorted items distributed through neighbouring religious and private charities. Currently in operation three days a week, Santa Clara caters mainly for the elderly and pregnant young women by offering nutritional meals, life skills clinics, and alternative medicinal practices (e.g. acupuncture, chromotherapy, and meditation). Santa Clara’s small gardens are also used by clients to grow fruit and vegetables, and donated materials and sowing machines provide opportunity for those attending to make clothing and other items. The second component of the organizational triad introduced above is FUNDASAW (Fundação Samael Aun Weor) which gained formal legal status in November 1983. The Samael Aun Weor Foundation is understood as ‘School’ (escola) in the classical esoteric sense and represents a First Chamber (Primeira Câmara) open to all, irrespective of initiatory status or experience. FUNDASAW is today run from a purpose-built, single-storey building situated on the outskirts of Curitiba. In addition to housing the IGB temple, FUNDASAW headquarters includes a large room for seminars and a smaller one for meditation, kitchens in which health foods and organic sandwiches are prepared for purchase by visitors, and a foyer in which CDs, books, candles, crystals, and assorted neo-esoteric paraphernalia are on sale. A hybrid collection of mystical-religious ornaments and decorations populate various parts of the building. In addition to the seemingly ubiquitous portraits of Weor, there are, for example, pictures of Vishnu, a Christian crucifix, the Hindu ‘Om’ symbol, a Masonic Tetragrammaton, and a miscellany of candles, crystals, incense sticks, and oil burners. Over all, the architectural layout of IGB headquarters closely resembles the structural descriptions of a typical neo-esoteric centre offered by Magnani (1999: 29–34). According to adepts, the four aims of the Foundation are: i) ‘to preserve, without adulteration, the heritage of Samael Aun Weor’. The preservation of this heritage

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includes making Portuguese translations of Weor’s many (over 75) books, obtaining and preserving as many as possible of his (over 300) recorded seminars, and storing hundreds of photographs and other relevant materials; ii) ‘to practise the principles of Weor’s doctrines’. Here a distinction is drawn between the general practical knowledge (e.g. history, metaphysics, meditation, and astral flying) open to all who are interested in learning more about the initiatory way and the specific ‘rituals’ (e.g. Gnostic Mass) reserved for those of the Second Chamber (Temple) who have undergone initiation; iii) ‘to form and educate instructors’ responsible for teaching others who might go on to establish further centres in other cities; and iv) ‘to spread the doctrines of Weor, first to Brazil and then to the rest of the world’. Although FUNDASAW hosts day and weekend conferences both in Curitiba and beyond (e.g. Rio de Janeiro and São Paulo), face-to-face interaction between instructors and interested individuals is limited by the vastness of Brazil and the relative costs and difficulties associated with travel. Given the relative facility of contemporary IT media, it is through the internet that the overwhelming bulk of FUNDASAW’s contacts are made and sustained. In addition to Portuguese translations (e.g. Matrimônio Perfeito, Curso Zodiacal, and Rosa Ignea) and original recordings of Weor’s public talks and lectures, FUNDASAW makes all of the following available for purchase on CD Rom or subscription via the internet: Course in New Gnosis (Curso de Nova Gnose); Course in Astral Projection (Curso de Projeciologia); Course in Meditation (Curso de Meditação); Course in Esoteric Cabala (Curso Esotérico de Cabala); Course in Esoteric Anthropology (Curso de Antropologia Esotérica); and series of yogic exercises (Manancial de Juventude). Catechetical works written by FUNDASAW instructors (e.g. Steps on the Road and Pearls for an Aspirant of the Way) are also available for purchase as hard copy or in electronic format. Organizational representatives claim that FUNDASAW responds to approximately 40,000 annual emails and sends materials throughout Brazil and beyond. The internet-based ‘Course in New Gnosis’ (Curso de Nova Gnose) provides the central pillar to FUNDASAW’s task of disseminating the New Gnosis of Samael Aun Weor. Developed from a pre-existing correspondence course inherited from the Universal Christian Gnostic Church, the Course in New Gnosis was reworked and launched electronically in November 1983 (the same time at which FUNDASAW was created). According to the IGB, the Course in New Gnosis has had over 15,000 completions since its inception in 1983 and now averages 3,000 active students per year. Although pedagogical support for students of this course has undergone a number of revisions since its commencement, the principal medium of clarification and guidance today is an internet ‘support group’ (grupo de apoio). The support group is managed by a FUNDASAW representative to whom most messages are addressed in search of clarification and further technical detail, and through whom all messages pass before being posted to list members. An overview of the Course in New Gnosis is given in Chapter 4 as a working example of new era discourse. Understood as ‘Temple’ (templo), the Gnostic Church constitutes the third component of the organization’s triadic structure. Reserved for those who have passed the first stage of initiation (completed on average in nine to twelve months), the Church is the ‘Second Chamber’ (Segunda Câmara) complementing the First Chamber that is FUNDASAW. The IGB regards its raison d’être as ‘a purely spiritual’

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endeavour involving the ‘preservation and practice of the rituals of Samael Aun Weor’. A good number of these rituals were bequeathed to the Universal Christian Gnostic Movement by Arnold Krumm-Heller who had arrived in South America with a liturgical repertoire (including the rituals of initiation, mass, and the first three initiatory grades) comprising an admixture of Masonic and Rosicrucian practices. This repertoire was subsequently revised (e.g. A Culta Secreta de um Guru written in 1952 whilst in prison for ‘quackery’) and added to (e.g. Santa Iglesia Gnóstica: Libro de Liturgía) by Weor. The IGB has all of the accoutrements of other more traditional esoteric schools and initiatory societies. In addition to its established seven rituals (Initiation, Baptism, Confirmation, Marriage, Chrism, Mass, and Burial), the IGB has designated liturgical functionaries (e.g. Guardian, Priest, Watcher, and Isis) and a set liturgical calendar (e.g. 6 March – Birthday of Weor, 27 October – Advent of Weor, and 25 December – Birth of Cosmic Christ in Weor). The organization also holds scheduled religious celebrations (e.g. weekly Thursday services and a Gnostic Mass on the 27th of each month) which are held in a purpose built ‘temple’ modelled along Masonic lines and usually out of bounds to the uninitiated. The IGB temple is rectangular in shape with a single step-high platform, carpeted in red, taking up the northern third of the room. Crossing the northern wall and extending about seven feet along the northern end of the east and west walls a pleated blue curtain hangs down two feet from the ceiling. On the platform at the northernmost end of the temple is a large wooden altar. In addition to the loaf of bread and chalice of grape juice used in the Gnostic Mass, the altar has upon it an open copy of the ancient Gnostic text Pistis Sophia, two vases of flowers (representing water), an open wooden sacristy, a three branched candelabrum (signifying fire), a crucifix with the word Norte (North) above it, two small bowls containing salt and earth respectively, a feather (representing air), an incense stick, a pictorial representation of the Masonic Tetragrammaton, and a steel sword approximately three feet long. The western wall at the northern end of the temple has a large mirror attached to it, whilst on the eastern wall opposite hangs a large flag-like banner with white, red, and yellow quarters on which a yellow cross, grey and yellow crossed keys, and a seven pointed yellow star are sown. A large wooden cross (bedecked with flowers and a white rosette), iron-headed scythe, steel-tipped spear, and two six-feet-long poles (one topped with three white cotton pompons and the other with a small metal cross) rest against various parts of the wall at the platform end of the temple. The remaining two thirds of the temple has a black and white chequered tiled floor on which five rows of seating are laid out. Where the platform step meets the chequered tiled floor a set of three coloured light-bulbs (blue, red and yellow) projects from the upper parts of the wall at each side (i.e. east and west) of the room. The aforementioned pleated blue curtain hangs also at the southern end of the room and is, apart from a wall-mounted plaque bearing the word Sul (South), the only decoration in the lower two-thirds of the temple. During a visit to the temple I was invited to attend a Gnostic Mass. The Mass itself was an extremely wordy and cerebral affair, enacted throughout with sweeping, almost theatrical, ritualized gestures. During proceedings three cassocked IGB officials occupied the dais, but only one spoke throughout the seventy minute long service. Ritualized gestures undertaken by the three IGB officials prefaced and

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concluded a great many parts of the service. The aforementioned items propped against the wall at the northern end of the temple were brandished at different points, as was the sword, candelabrum, and other items laid out on the altar. The four compass points, along with the traditional elements of earth, air, fire, and water played an important role in the liturgy of the Gnostic Mass. Apart from the spoken responses, and frequent standing, kneeling, and sitting, it was only when approaching the platform to receive bread and grape juice that congregants played any active part of the service. The service included no music, singing or chanting, although a number of call and response sets were used. Mostly in Portuguese, Latin was also used principally by the IGB officiant and by congregants in certain short responses. Prayers uttered and led with great repetition by the IGB celebrant constituted the vast majority of the Gnostic litany. These prayers were mainly addressed to the Logos, Divine Mother, and various Archangels (Michael and Gabriel featuring most), but also included appeals to the Grand Architect and White Lodge. Prayers for the ‘expansion’ and ‘development’ of the New Gnosis via FUNDASAW and the internet were complemented by petitions for the success of Santa Clara and understanding, patience, and perseverance for aspirants to and followers of the initiatory way revealed by Samael Aun Weor. The formally religious character of the discourse and practices associated with the temple places the IGB on a par with other established esoteric organizations (e.g. Eubiose and Esoteric Circle of the Communion of Thought) whose repertoires are of a more traditional kind, complete with doctrines, rituals, and functionaries. At the same time, however, FUNDASAW course materials are punctilious in their representation of the New Gnosis as a neo-esoteric alternative to formal religious schemas such as those of established (e.g. Christian, Spiritist, and Afro-Brazilian) traditions. In presenting the New Gnosis as a ‘philosophy of life’ or ‘life system’, FUNDASAW course materials strive hard to appear closer to those produced by Siqueira’s typological groups of a ‘spiritual-psychological orientation’ than those of a ‘fundamentally religious’ or ‘traditional esoteric’ nature (1998; 2003). In effect, two organizational repertoires are in play here; one formally religious in character, the other self-consciously non-religious. The concurrent presence of two distinct repertoires within what is, despite technical legal distinctions, one and the same organization is possible because of the existence of two distinct constituencies. On the one hand, there are Curitiba-based individuals whose engagement with the New Gnosis is realized through their collective constitution as a congregation involved in highly ritualized, temple-based activity of a formally religious nature. On the other hand, there are those scattered throughout Brazil whose engagement with the New Gnosis is enacted through their discrete constitution as individual ‘clients’ (Stark and Bainbridge, 1985: 208–233) whose relationship with the organization is almost entirely mediated through the electronic means of CD Rom and internet. Personal choice and relative geographical remoteness mean that very few of these individuals will become involved in the kind of formal religious activity undertaken at the Curitiba-based community. The institutional origins of the IGB have bequeathed an organizational repertoire comprising formalized authority structures, discursive patterns, and practical regimes which strongly resemble those of mainstream religious organizations. Using the

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appellation ‘church’, claiming to be in possession of ‘divine revelation’, and using appointed ‘priests’ to orchestrate received ‘liturgies’ that are practised to schedule in a purpose built ‘temple’, the IGB community of Curitiba exhibits many of the formal trappings of other more traditional religious institutions. Given the IGB’s desire to situate itself within the existing neo-esoteric milieu of contemporary Brazil, however, the apparent dissonance between its ostensibly religious character and the apathy towards formalized religion of many neo-esoteric practitioners is likely to create a number of problems, not least that of recruitment. Given the mediated relationship between the IGB and the majority of its clients, however, the organization is able to limit the implications of this incongruity by downplaying in electronic format the formalized religious components of its day-to-day identity. Removed from the empirical confines of everyday time and geographical space, and unencumbered by the evidentiary experience of participant involvement in temple-based activity, the IGB adopts a virtual rhetoric which highlights its neo-esoteric credentials whilst bypassing its formal religious characteristics. Overlooking the more traditional aspects of its repertoire, the IGB locates itself within mainstream neo-esotericism by presenting itself and its courses as embodying just one among many life-style systems currently on offer within the neo-esoteric milieu. In effect, the electronic materials made available by the IGB convey a virtual image of the organization that is tailored to the existing predilections of the contemporary neo-esoteric milieu. Minimizing the formal religious components of its everyday organizational identity, the IGB seeks to maximize its organizational return through the projection of a virtual image which whilst not belying its temple-based practice nevertheless contrasts with it. The benefits gained from the existing relationship between the IGB and its clients, however, is not all one way. In addition to the gains accrued to the organization itself, recipients of IGB materials likewise benefit from getting what they want without having to become embroiled in the kind of formalized religious activity to which many of them are either indifferent or openly hostile (A. Dawson, 2005). Furthermore, freed from the regular and unmediated physical oversight of IGB authorities, course participants enjoy a much greater latitude to pick and choose those elements of IGB discourse and practice most suited to the contemporary profile of the late-modern bricoleur. In effect, the mediated relationship between the IGB and its clients allows the latter to appropriate IGB teachings on their terms rather than those dictated by the institution.11 11 This is not to imply that no such experiential or performative space exists in the normal course of routine, unmediated participant engagement with other more traditional religious institutions. Although realized to a greater or lesser extent relative to a given institutional context, the particular experiences of individual participants cannot be, except in the most extreme cases, completely overridden by the prevailing organizational paradigm. As such, there is nearly always latitude for the experiential and performative divergence of individuals from the practical, theoretical, and evaluative regimes of any given religious organization (see Bell, 1992: 207–208). At the same time, though, individual participants within collective religious regimes are constantly subject to a variety of dynamics (e.g. ritual persuasion, peer pressure, official censure, and sanctioned exclusion) geared to limiting idiosyncratic appropriation and ensuring an at least minimal conformity to orthodox organizational practices, beliefs, and values (Bourdieu, 1991: 107–116). Given the mediated nature of IGB–course participant

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If IGB figures are anywhere near accurate, the organization’s strategy of virtual alignment with the prevailing predilections of the neo-esoteric milieu appears to be working. On the one hand, IGB instructors and those based in Curitiba are able to continue practising a more traditional religious repertoire typical of established ‘initiatory societies’ (Magnani, 1999: 26). On the other hand, the organization is able to exploit the mediation offered by late-modern technology (and necessitated by the geographical vastness of Brazil) to project an image of itself which maximizes its appeal across the neo-esoteric spectrum by highlighting its ‘spiritual-psychological’ orientation (Siqueira, 1998; 2003). Were the IGB seeking to integrate these individuals within the life of its temple-based activities, then the incongruity between the virtual image which attracted them and the reality that awaits them would inevitably result in a range of tensions and eventual disillusionment. As things stand now, though, the mediated relationship between the IGB and its course participants means that it continues to benefit from the finances and institutional self-esteem generated by its internet-based recruitment of neo-esoteric seekers whilst avoiding the potential pitfalls generated by their integration within the actual community of normal time and space. The relatively unfashionable nature of IGB temple-based activities for many neoesoteric participants has direct implications for both short-term recruitment and longterm survival. Certainly, those attracted to the New Gnosis through FUNDASAW materials may well bring financial and ideological benefits to the organization. Both geographical constraints and personal predilections, however, make it unlikely that course take-up will be translated into any significant numerical increase in those participating in temple-based activity. The IGB leadership is thereby faced with the real possibility of its IT-disseminated materials increasing in popularity whilst the aging temple-based community in Curitiba eventually shrinks to a critical mass below which actual day-to-day collective activity becomes infeasible. That the leadership has already grasped this scenario is evidenced by recent attempts to enhance recruitment by diversifying its Curitiba-based activities through offering daytime and evening classes in subjects ranging from basic English through tarot readings to new age crafts. There is, then, a conscious effort on the part of IGB personnel to adopt a number of approaches already implemented to great success by the kinds of ‘multi-service centres’ detailed above in Magnani’s neo-esoteric typology (1999: 24–9). Taken alongside the aforementioned ‘spiritual-psychological orientation’ (Siqueira, 1998; 2003) manifest by FUNDASAW course materials, these developments suggest a possible incremental shift in IGB activity away from the ‘traditional esoteric school/initiatory society’ model. Only time will tell whether this strategy works or is complemented by a thoroughgoing revision of the more traditional aspects of the organization’s performative repertoire. relations, however, individual recipients of IGB materials enjoy much greater latitude in their personal appropriation or rejection of the organization’s teachings than those involved in more conventional, unmediated modes of religious participation. Indeed, released from the tensions and potential conflicts generated by standard institutional patterns of orthodoxy maintenance, both organization and individual participant enjoy the benefits of a mediated relationship in which each is able to maximize its return relative to the respective investment made.

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Along with the Temple of Good Will and the Valley of the Dawn, the Gnostic Church of Brazil provides a working example of both the variety of neo-esoteric practice in Brazil and the extent to which this variety includes groups and organizations whose performative repertoires differ from those on offer within new age and alternative scenes in other parts of the urban-industrialized world. The introductory and principally descriptive treatment of these organizations offered here represents the groundwork to be built upon by Chapters 4 and 5 as they offer more detailed and critical analyses of new era religiosity in both its discursive and macro-structural contexts. Complementing this current chapter and likewise founding a platform upon which Chapters 4 and 5 will build, Chapter 3 furnishes further evidence of the variety and distinctiveness of new era religiosity in Brazil by engaging the three ayahuasca religions of Barquinha, Santo Daime, and Vegetable Union.

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Chapter 3

Ayahuasca Religions of Brazil Indigenous and Mestiço Origins The word ‘ayahuasca’ derives from the Quechua language and means ‘soul vine’ or ‘vine of the dead’ (Labate, Goulart, and Araújo, 2004: 21). The origins of ayahuasca consumption lie with indigenous communities who today live along the upper reaches of the Amazonian river system in Brazil, Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, and Bolivia. When referring to indigenous contexts, ayahuasca is a generic term denoting the vine Banisteriopsis caapi which is prepared and consumed by communities chiefly belonging to the Aruák (e.g. Ashininka and Machiguenga), Chocó (e.g. Emberá and Noanamá), Jívaro (e.g. Aguaruna and Shuar), Pano (e.g. Kaxinawá and Marubo), and Tukano (e.g. Desana and Siona) peoples (Luna, 1986: 167–70; Luz, 2004: 37– 68). Once prepared the vine can be taken on its own, alongside other substances such as coca and tobacco, or mixed with additives like the leaves of the shrub Psychotria viridis. Ayahuasca is a psychotropic agent and as the literal meaning of the term suggests its narcotic effects are believed by indigenous peoples to be central to the interaction of humankind with the supernatural realm.1 Allowing for particular structural and taxonomical differences, indigenous cosmologies are stratified, with primordial deities existing in the upper tiers of the supernatural sphere. Remote from everyday human activity, these divine beings are accompanied by a pantheon of lesser deities whose origins and characteristics are usually connected with celestial, climatic, totemic, and otherwise routine phenomena. Although indigenous deities involve themselves in the general ordering of human affairs and are at times difficult to differentiate from the more numerous categories of spirits, it is the latter that most directly influence the day to day lives of indigenous peoples. More commonly occupying the lower strata of the indigenous cosmos, the spirits of animals, plants, and elementals (e.g. of water), along with those of deceased human beings, are regarded as primary causal forces potentially influencing every facet of human existence. Although exclusively benevolent and malevolent forms do exist, indigenous spirits are by and large morally ambivalent in their dealings with human affairs. Encountered often through dreams or visions, but found also in the village and the forest, indigenous spirits determine a vast array of things, from personal well-being, through interpersonal relations, to social-economic reproduction. The prevalence of supernatural causality and its attendant consequences demands constant vigilance and careful management of human–spiritual interaction. As with 1 Pharmaceutical studies of the chemical composition and psychosomatic impact of ayahuasca include Brito, 2004: 623–52; Grob et al. 2004: 653–70; E.N. Andrade et al. 2004: 671–80; Shanon, 2004: 681–710; and Ott, 2004: 711–36.

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other indigenous peoples, communities using ayahuasca consider the management of supernatural causality to be most effective when orchestrated by a ritual specialist identified in the English speaking world by the generic term ‘shaman’. Although intended (as opposed to accidental and undesired) engagement with indigenous spirits is not restricted to formal shamanic activity, the shaman is nevertheless the primary agent in human–supernatural interaction. Selected by way of heredity or aptitude, shamans undergo rigorous and prolonged training which comprises an extended period of isolation and instruction, coupled with numerous ordeals and disciplinary regimes. Geographical marginalization, sexual abstinence, emetically induced purgation, and narcotically managed disruption of sleep and hygiene patterns reconstitute the apprentice shaman as one whose responsibilities place him at the cusp of natural–supernatural interaction. Langdon’s identification of the defining characteristics of shamanism is worth quoting at length. These identifying characteristics are: the idea of a universe of multiple levels in which visible reality always presupposes an invisible one; a general principle of energy that unifies the universe, without divisions, in which everything is related to the cycles of production and reproduction, life and death, growth and decomposition; a native concept of shamanic power which is tied to the system of global energy … through which extra-human forces exercise their powers in the human sphere and through which humanity, mediated by the shaman, in turn exercises its powers in the extra-human world; a principle of transformation … [by which] spirits adopt concrete human or animal form, and shamans become animals or assume invisible forms such as those of the spirits …; the shaman as mediator who acts principally for the benefit of his people; and ecstatic experiences which are the basis of shamanic power and make the mediatory role possible. (1996: 27–8)

The differentiation of shamanic specialisms varies among indigenous peoples, with the Jívaro, for example, distinguishing between two classes of shaman, whereas the Desana have three types. The grounds for such differentiation differ from tribe to tribe, with the most popular distinctions related to abilities to heal or injure, the frequenting of different supernatural realms, relationship with particular spirits, and the use of specific psychotropic agents (Sullivan, 1988: 388–465; Langdon, 1992: 1–21). The central role accorded supernatural causality situates the shaman at the heart of indigenous life. The shaman is a focal point of communal festivals (e.g. harvest), rites de passage (e.g. female menarche and male coming of age), social-economic reproduction (e.g. successful hunting), and political processes (e.g. assuaging internal discord or inter-tribal dispute). Most of typical of all, however, the responsibilities of the shaman reside in the almost daily routine of preventing, diagnosing, and curing illness. For indigenous communities the health of the individual is indicative of communal well-being which is in turn a sign of cosmological wellbeing. The ability to heal is thereby charged with implications which transcend the prevailing configurations of contemporary time and place. The shaman’s therapeutic responsibilities are executed by drawing upon a vast range of knowledge acquired through initiation, apprenticeship, and practice. Shamans are required to learn and memorise maps of the numerous cosmic realms of the indigenous universe and

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master the techniques of ecstasy, dream, and vision through which these other worlds are visited and the services of their supernatural inhabitants engaged. The shaman is likewise expected to possess an extensive diagnostic lore and range of curative techniques which draw upon a knowledge of surrounding flora and fauna and an ability to harness their powers for divination and healing. In addition to the consumption of ayahuasca, the use of song is of great importance to the shamanic repertoire. Used collectively to convey cultural histories and define contemporary identity, the shaman’s repertoire of songs also helps control the potentially disturbing effects of ayahuasca, communicate between natural and supernatural worlds, and focus cosmic energies where needed. The words and rhythms of these songs are acquired from agents of the spirit world and their singing may be accompanied by a gourd rattle and other ritual paraphernalia. Above all else, the therapeutic success of a shaman depends upon the establishment of supernatural alliances with spiritual forces from other worlds. Chief among the shaman’s most powerful allies are his ‘guardian spirits’ which usually reside in the higher strata of the indigenous cosmos. Bequeathed by shamanic elders or acquired when visiting the supernatural realm, guardian spirits offer protection from supernatural assault and information as to the probable causes of individual malady and social disturbance. Visiting their domains in person, shamans communicate with their guardian spirits by way of transporting their souls through the media of naturally occurring, ritually induced or narcotically stimulated dreams, trances, and visions. Whilst not the only psychotropic agent used to facilitate ‘soul-flight’, ayahuasca is nevertheless of great importance to those indigenous communities cited above. ‘Auxiliary spirits’ (principally of animals and plants) often complement the overarching support of a particular shaman’s set of guardian spirits. Resident within the shaman himself, auxiliary spirits do play a diagnostic role, but come into their own as active agents in the curative techniques called upon in shamanic practice. The principal relationship between a shaman and his auxiliary spirits is one of mutually beneficial exchange. In return for their aid in resolving those problems with which the shaman is faced, auxiliary spirits get to enjoy the same material pleasures (e.g. sex, food, and ayahuasca) as their shamanic host. Working for the betterment of his community, the shaman’s ability to persuade, co-opt, suborn, and manipulate agents of the spirit-world furnishes a practical corollary to indigenous belief in widespread supernatural causality. In the non-indigenous context of contemporary Brazil, the most popular form of ayahuasca is consumed as a liquid produced through the combination of the vine Banisteriopsis caapi and leaves from the shrub Psychotria viridis. The addition of Psychotria viridis to Banisteriopsis caapi is practised among indigenous communities owing to its ability to intensify and prolong the psychotropic effects of ayahuasca. The passage of ayahuasca consumption from indigenous to non-indigenous communities is a complex and contested matter (Luna, 2004: 183). At its most basic, however, the traditional consumption of ayahuasca is likely to have spread beyond indigenous peoples through its dissemination among mestiço (mixed race) communities and by way of ad hoc contact between indigenous peoples and nonindigenes working in remoter parts of the Amazonian forest (Franco and Conceição, 2004: 201–227). Prior to the emergence of the ayahuasca religions of Brazil, the

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most popular form of ritual consumption of ayahuasca within non-indigenous peoples took place principally among mestiço communities living on the borders between Brazil, Colombia, Peru, and Bolivia. Known most popularly by the term vegetalismo, the mestiço consumption of ayahuasca is orchestrated by specialists who claim the spirits of certain plants (vegetales) as their teachers (Luna, 1986: 14–15). As with their indigenous shamanic counterparts, vegetalistas use ayahuasca to facilitate interaction with the spirits of plants, animals, and other supernatural forces. Addressed as ‘master’, the vegetalista consults different plants, animals, and supernatural agents relative to the task at hand. Whilst used for other purposes such as artistic inspiration or divination, the consumption of ayahuasca within the context of vegetalismo is primarily for therapeutic ends (Mabit, 2004: 147–80). As with the ritual consumption of ayahuasca by indigenous peoples, the liquid is taken on its own or alongside other substances such as tobacco. Likewise, vegetalistas regard the acquisition and application of songs (icaros), sometimes accompanied by a maraca or other rhythmical instruments, as central to their success as healers. Ayahuasca Religion in Brazil Beyond the contexts of indigenous peoples and vegetalismo, the ritual consumption of ayahuasca in contemporary Brazil is practised principally by the three religious movements of Santo Daime, Barquinha, and União do Vegetal, and the amorphous assortment of groups and organizations which Labate labels the ‘neo-ayahuasca network’ (2004b).2 The relative ease with which contemporary neo-ayahuasqueiros can obtain and consume ayahuasca is very much indebted to the earlier struggles of the established movements of Vegetable Union and Santo Daime; struggles which are being acted out today in various parts of the urban-industrial world. Whilst local tensions and disputes were generated upon the establishment of the earliest Santo Daime communities in the first half of the twentieth century, it was not until the 1960s that the federal government began to express concerns as to the legality of ayahuasca consumption by non-indigenous groups (Araújo, 1999: 54). It was not until after Brazil’s redemocratization and the increasing visibility of ayahuasca consumption in the nation’s cities, however, that the federal government acted decisively in 1985 by placing ayahuasca on the proscribed list of narcotic substances. Subsequent to a concerted campaign by representatives of União do Vegetal, the Federal Narcotics Council (CONFEN) was charged by the government with investigating the context and implications of ayahuasca consumption. CONFEN’s report of August 1987 recommended that ayahuasca be removed from the government’s list of proscribed substances, arguing, to the consternation of mainstream Christian religions, that members of religious movements in which ayahuasca is consumed are actually more likely to exhibit patterns of physical and moral well-being beyond those of the nation as a whole (MacRae, 1992: 79–83). Although subsequent complaints to 2 Ayahuasca is also consumed as part of the ritual repertoires of certain neo-esoteric and Afro-Brazilian groups which are both organizationally sporadic and small scale. As these groups have neither historical nor institutional ties with the movements of Santo Daime, Barquinha, and União do Vegetal they will not be treated here.

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the government have over the years resulted in a series of official investigations into the ritual consumption of ayahuasca, its use by religious groups remains legal in contemporary Brazil. Despite the failure of União do Vegetal, Santo Daime, and Barquinha to agree upon and stick to informal accords regulating the production, distribution, and consumption of ayahuasca, there is nevertheless an understanding between these groups and government agencies that ayahuasca should be collectively consumed under the guidance of experienced leaders, taken in designated ritual contexts comprising particular places and specific dates, and not be marketed commercially (Labate, 2004b: 97). Santo Daime The founder of the oldest of Brazil’s non-indigenous ayahuasca religions was Raimundo Irineu Serra (1892–1971), known more commonly as ‘Master Irineu’. Born in the town of São Vicente Ferret in the north-eastern state of Maranhão, Irineu Serra was of Afro-Brazilian parentage. Attracted by the employment opportunities created by Brazil’s first rubber cycle (c. 1890–1920), in 1912 Irineu Serra moved to the western Amazonian territory of Acre bordering Peru and Bolivia. For the next couple of decades Irineu Serra worked as a rubber tapper (seringueiro), frontiersman, and member of the territorial guard (MacRae, 1992: 61). Moving back and forth between the Brazilian, Peruvian, and Bolivian borders, Irineu Serra came into frequent contact with mestiço and indigenous communities within which the ritual consumption of ayahuasca was commonplace. Whilst Irineu Serra undoubtedly took ayahuasca during his trips into the remoter parts of the borderlands, it was in the frontier town of Brasiléia that he regularly consumed ayahuasca in a formal religious context. The Brasiléia community was known both as the ‘Circle of Regeneration and Faith’ (Círculo de Regeneração e Fé) and the ‘Queen of the Forest Centre’ (Centro da Rainha da Floresta). As the two names suggest, the Brasiléia community embodied a hybrid organizational repertoire comprising elements of popular Catholic, European esoteric, indigenous, vegetalista, and Afro-Brazilian discourse and practice. Founded around the same time as Irineu Serra’s arrival in Acre, disputes among the leadership led to Irineu distancing himself from the group toward the end of the 1920s (Silva, 2004: 414–25). By the time he broke completely with the Circle of Regeneration and Faith, Irineu Serra had established a reputation as a healer (curandeiro) and was in possession of a number of songs (hinos) which further underlined his status. As if further to reinforce his claims to be considered a healer of good standing, Irineu Serra also recounted a number of visions which he experienced whilst under the influence of ayahuasca. As MacRae notes, the paucity of corroborating sources and their evident function as foundation myths inevitably qualifies the status of these accounts as reliable historical evidence (1992: 63). Irrespective of their actual veracity, these vision narratives play an important role in contemporary daimista repertoires. According to official narratives, Irineu Serra’s first experiences of ayahuasca included a number of visions (mirações) in which a beautiful woman initially identifying herself as Clara appeared. In one of these first visions Clara instructed Irineu Serra to withdraw into the forest during which time he consumed ayahuasca on a regular basis whilst

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practising a rigorous dietary regime. The structural similarities of this episode with shamanic and vegetalista initiatory practices are clear to see. The subsequent identification of Clara as ‘Queen of the Forest’ as well as the appearance of an eagle and the moon further cement this resemblance. Throughout later visions Clara also became identified with ‘Our Lady of the Conception’ and Irineu Serra received the title ‘Imperial Chief Juramidam’ (Chefe Império Juramidam). During these visions the Queen of the Forest handed over to Irineu Serra a series of teachings and hymns (hinos) which he was instructed to use as the basis of a set of new religious practices for the people of Juramidam (Couto, 2004: 387). By the early 1930s Irineu Serra had become known as Master Irineu (Mestre Irineu) and was practising this new religious repertoire in the rural neighbourhood of Vila Ivonete in the city Rio Branco. During this time the term ‘daime’ was first associated both with the drink ayahuasca and the set of practices surrounding its consumption. ‘Daime’ literally means ‘give me’ and is understood by followers of Irineu Serra to have functioned originally in the imperative sense of, for example, ‘give me light’, ‘give me wisdom’, ‘give me strength’. Within contemporary circles the drink ayahuasca is generally referred to as ‘Daime’ whilst the term Santo Daime (literally ‘Holy Daime’) is reserved for the movement as a whole. A combination of growing popularity and escalating persecution led Irineu Serra to seek a move from Vila Ivonete. This was made possible by the donation of a tract of land by the then Governor of Acre, Guiomar dos Santos, who had already been instrumental in safeguarding Irineu Serra and his religious community from the attentions of the local police force. Originally known as ‘Custódio Freire’, the land donated by Guiomar dos Santos is today named ‘Alto Santo’ and serves as the headquarters of the ‘Universal Christian Light Illumination Centre’ (Centro de Iluminação Cristã Luz Universal – CICLU) founded by Irineu Serra after his community’s arrival in 1940 (Gregorim, 1991: 65).3 As with all of the groups who make up the Santo Daime movement, the ritual repertoire of Alto Santo is organized around collections of hymns known as hinários. The first and most important of these hinários is that of Irineu Serra and is known as the Cruzeiro. In addition to signifying the hymnal of Irineu Serra, the term Cruzeiro also refers to the central symbol of Santo Daime which is more popularly known outside the movement as the Cross of Caravaca. Associated in popular Catholicism with the cult of Saint Helen, the Cross of Caravaca also has longstanding esoteric connections. Taking its basic form from the Christian cross, the Cross of Caravaca adds a shorter horizontal beam that runs parallel above the original crossbeam. The Cruzeiro of Irineu Serra comprises 132 hymns which the ‘Master’ received throughout the course of his life subsequent to his first encounter with ayahuasca. This hinário is regarded by Alto Santo as the ‘trunk’ from which all else grows and upon which everything depends for its sustenance. The hymns of the Cruzeiro are set to the rhythms of the march, mazurka, and waltz, and in form reflect the influences of both Amazonian vegetalista icaros and the songs of popular Catholic festivals (Luna, 1986: 174–80; Labate and Pacheco, 2004: 317, 330). 3 CICLU should not be confused with CECLU (Centro Eclético de Correntes da Luz Universal), an autonomous daimista community founded in Porto Velho in the state of Rondônia by Virgílio Nogueira do Amaral in 1964 (MacRae, 1992: 71).

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Throughout the Cruzeiro, the figures of ‘Divine/Eternal Father’ (Pai Divino/ Eterno), ‘Jesus Christ the Redeemer’ (Jesus Cristo Redentor), and ‘Virgin Mother/ Mary’ (Virgem Mãe/Maria) appear often. Reference to the ‘Divine Beings’ (Seres Divinos) who populate the ‘celestial court’ also appear frequently. The astral bodies of the sun, moon, and stars are also commonplace and are complemented by frequent reference to the elements (e.g. earth, wind, and sea) and the flora (e.g. flowers and vine of Banisteriopsis caapi) and fauna (e.g. butterfly and birds) of the forest. Irineu Serra appears often in the guise of a ‘Teacher’ who has been entrusted by the Virgin Mother, commonly referred to as the Queen of the Forest (Rainha da Floresta), with ‘sacred doctrines’ to be conveyed by way of the ‘hymns’ being sung. Ayahuasca is likewise referred to as a ‘Teacher’ and ‘Holy Light’ whose consumption engenders ‘force’, ‘power’, ‘cure’, and ‘cleansing’. ‘Truth’, ‘love’, ‘wisdom’, and ‘understanding’ appear throughout and are particularly connected with the community of ‘brothers and sisters’ whose consumption of Daime has set them apart from the world of ‘sin’ and ‘illusion’. The members of the community constituted by the mutual consumption of Daime are to be much ‘misunderstood’ but assuredly on the ‘way’/‘journey’ towards ‘salvation’ and ‘another incarnation’. Sung usually at the beginning of daimista rituals, the 29th hymn of the Cruzeiro, ‘Sun, Moon, Star’ (Sol, Lua, Estrela) embodies a number of these themes: Sun, Moon, Star The Earth, the Wind, and the Sea You are the Light of the Firmament You are the only one I should love You are the only one I should love I carry always in my memory God is in heaven Where my hope lies The Virgin Mother sent This lesson to me To remember Jesus Christ And to forget illusion To walk this way Every hour and every day The Divine is in heaven Jesus Son of Mary.

Together with the prevailing discourse and practice of Alto Santo, the Cruzeiro of Irineu Serra situates the community and its members within a millenarian worldview framed by the cosmic battle between good and evil. Irineu Serra is the ‘Imperial Chief’ whose ‘soldiers’ are led by ‘commandants’ and organized into ‘battalions’ regimented according to sex, age, and marital status. As if to underline further the military motif, members of Santo Daime who have consumed ayahuasca a number

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of times receive a uniform (farda) to wear at official rituals.4 There are two types of uniform worn by fardados, each with male and female versions. The ‘white uniform’ (farda branca) is worn during major rituals such as the bailado (dance). Allowing for organizational variations and embellishments, the white uniform for women comprises a white pleated skirt worn down to the ankles, long-sleeved blouse, and socks. A short green skirt signifies the forest and is worn over the top third of the white skirt. Two green ribbons crisscross the front of the white blouse to form a ‘y’ shape and a sequined tiara is worn on the head in reference to the Queen of the Forest. An assortment of flowers, ribbons, and pins may also be worn and are often located on different parts of the upper body to differentiate married and unmarried (i.e. ‘woman’ and ‘virgin’). Men wearing this uniform sport a jacket, shirt, trousers, and socks, all of which are white. A black neck tie is also worn. At other rituals (e.g. marriage and baptism), the ‘blue uniform’ (farda azul) is worn. For women this uniform consists of a white blouse (with optional short sleeves), blue bowtie, blue pleated skirt worn down to the ankles, and white socks. For men it comprises a white shirt, blue neck tie, and blue trousers. Non-fardados are asked to wear light colours, with some daimista communities also stipulating the avoidance of ‘hot’ colours such as red. The Cruzeiro of Irineu Serra is not the only hinário sung at Alto Santo. Hinários continue to be created at Alto Santo as hymns are received by different members of the contemporary community. Whilst individual hymns may vary as to their content, they are expected to have some reference, however implicit, to terms, themes, and practices referred to in the Cruzeiro. The continuing reception of hymns plays a vital part in shaping the organizational repertoire of the contemporary community. On the one hand, and in addition to reflecting the personal aspirations of the one receiving a hymn, the collective processes preceding a hymn’s eventual validation or rejection by the community both reinforce existing hierarchies and reflect changing patterns of individual status. On the other hand, the discussion and debate surrounding the acceptance of a hymn facilitates the modification of prevailing discourse and practice as existing patterns are reinterpreted or novel materials added in the light of fresh challenges and new experiences. Alongside their performative role in guiding daimistas in the practice of their rituals, hinos are sites of contestation in and through which individual trajectories and collective patterns of reproduction are negotiated, confirmed, and transformed. The largest branch of the Santo Daime movement is known as CEFLURIS (Centro Eclético da Fluente Luz Universal Raimundo Irineu Serra). Founded by Sebastião Mota de Melo (1920–90), CEFLURIS complements the Cruzeiro of Irineu Serra with the hinários of its founder. Unlike Irineu Serra, Mota de Melo was born in the Amazon region in the town of Eirunepé in what is today the state of Amazonas (Groisman, 1999: 20). In 1959 Mota de Melo moved to lands owned by his family 4 The Circle of Regeneration and Faith in Brasiléia employed military themes along with ranks stretching from private to marshal. As will be seen, the use of uniforms and military motifs is common among all of Brazil’s ayahuasca religions and appears to result from particular cultural refractions of an admixture of millenarian martial themes and esoteric notions of hierarchy.

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on the outskirts of Rio Branco where he practised a form of esoteric-Spiritism he had learned from São Paulo-born Mestre Oswaldo (MacRae, 1992: 71). His first contact with ayahuasca occurred in 1965 and resulted from a liver complaint which led him to seek a cure from Irineu Serra. From this time forward Mota de Melo played an increasing role in the community of Alto Santo, although he continued to live and practice, with the addition of ayahuasca, at his family estate of Colônia 5000 (Colony 5000). By the time of Irineu Serra’s death in 1971, Mota de Melo had been granted permission to produce Daime on his lands on the condition that he gave half of it to the Alto Santo community. Subsequent to the death of Irineu Serra, Mota de Melo staked his claim to the leadership of Alto Santo, underwritten by his reception of the hymn Sou Eu (I’m the One). Whilst unsuccessful in his leadership bid, Mota de Melo maintained working relations with Alto Santo. Over time, however, these relationships became increasingly strained and finally broke down in 1973 during a dispute as to the best way to respond to an outbreak of persecution by the local authorities.5 As a result Mota de Melo and seventy percent of the Alto Santo community left and subsequently founded CEFLURIS (‘Eclectic Centre of the Universal Flowing Light Raimundo Irineu Serra’) (Gregorim, 1991: 65–7). Established at Colônia 5000, the community of CEFLURIS was forced to move in 1979 as a result of urban growth, local deforestation, and increasing numbers. The continued attention of the local authorities may also have played a part. By 1980 the community had become established in the plantation of Rio do Ouro where it cultivated and produced rubber. At about the same in which a southern company was disputing the right of CEFLURIS to settle and farm the land, Mota de Melo, known now as ‘Padrinho Sebastião’, received a vision from the astral plane informing him that Rio do Ouro was not the location at which he was to found the New Jerusalem. As a result, the community moved a further six miles to the headwaters of the river Mapiá, a tributary of the river Purus. Known as Céu do Mapiá (Heaven/Sky of Mapiá), this community is now the spiritual headquarters of CEFLURIS which was legally constituted in 1989 and is today led by the immediate family of Mota de Melo. Soon after the community’s establishment in Céu do Mapiá, the first affiliated church opened in Rio de Janeiro in 1982. The first church in São Paulo was established in 1988 as part of the movement’s rapid expansion both throughout Brazil and the urban-industrial world (MacRae, 1992: 79; Labate, 2004b: 71–2). In addition to the Cruzeiro of Irineu Serra and assorted hymnals of organizational luminaries, the discourse and practice of CEFLURIS is orientated by Mota de Melo’s two hinários, O Justiçeiro (The Just One) and Nova Jerusalém (New Jerusalem).6 Started before his split with Alto Santo, O Justiçeiro is the earlier of the two hinários and comprises 156 hymns. Nova Jerusalém has 26 hymns and was being added to by 5 Claiming justification with reference to the recently received hymn ‘I Raise this Flag’ (Levanto esta Bandeira), Mota de Melo wanted to unfurl the Brazilian flag during a ritual to which members of the local authorities had been invited. Permission to execute this plan was denied by the then leader of Alto Santo Leôncio Gomes. 6 The hinários of the contemporary leadership are clearly regarded as important, as are the four hinários received by, now deceased, contemporaries of Irineu Serra known as the ‘Hymnals of the Departed’ (Hinários dos Finados).

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Mota de Melo up until the time of his death. In a great many respects both hinários mirror the Cruzeiro of Irineu Serra in form and content. The heavenly figures of the popular Catholic trinity (i.e. Father, Mary, and Jesus) appear throughout, as do various members of the heavenly court. Unlike the Cruzeiro, however, the celestial status of Jesus relative to the Father and Mary seems less secure. Jesus is mentioned far less frequently than the Father and Mary, and a greater proportion of references place him here on earth (usually dying on the cross) rather than in heaven alongside his celestial parents. Mota de Melo’s frequent mention of Irineu Serra, whom many daimistas regard as a reincarnation of Jesus, may have something to do with this relative displacement. At the same time, and encouraged by Mota de Melo himself, daimistas regard Padrinho Sebastião as the reincarnation of John the Baptist. The flora and fauna of the forest appear prominently in both O Justiçeiro and Nova Jerusalém, as do all of the themes cited above in reference to the contents of the Cruzeiro. Whereas Afro-Brazilian religious motifs appear in the Cruzeiro (almost inevitably given Irineu Serra’s heritage), the influence of Umbanda and related practices upon Mota de Melo results in a number of his hymns giving them a more explicit acknowledgement. The martial imagery of the Cruzeiro is reproduced throughout both of Padrinho Sebastião’s hinários, this time with Mota de Melo commissioned by Master Irineu as the ‘General’ in command the battalions of Juramidam. Whereas the consumption of ayahuasca is held by daimistas to help generate the ‘power’ that is essential to their rituals, the singing of hymns is the means by which this ‘astral force’ is engaged, channelled, and manipulated to form a ‘spiritual current’ (corrente espiritual) which binds participants vertically with the spiritual plane and horizontally with each other. As such, hymns are sung at all of Santo Daime’s collective rituals which are officially termed Hinários but known informally as ‘works’ (trabalhos). It is common practice in vegetalista, Spiritist, and esoteric circles to refer to a ritual as a ‘spiritual work’ to be undertaken. The four most important rituals at which daimistas gather together are the feitio (at which Daime is made), bailado (dance), concentração (concentration), and missa (mass). As with its other rituals (e.g. cure), Santo Daime’s practical repertoire is organized according to a strict calendrical schedule. Allowing for organizational variations, the ‘concentration’ takes place on or as near as possible to the 15th and 30th of each month. The ‘dance’ is less regularly practised than the ‘concentration’ and tends to follow the traditional Catholic calendar of saints’ days and festivals. Whilst the schedule for the feitio has traditionally been tied to the lunar cycle, the growth in ayahuasca consumption is resulting in more communities producing Daime when needed. The ‘mass’ is celebrated on the first Sunday of the month, with additional masses held relative to the passing of community members and to mark significant anniversaries such as the death of prominent leaders. As with Alto Santo, the headquarters of Céu do Mapiá are organized around the primary functions of social-economic and ritual reproduction. Whilst the compound of Céu do Mapiá is an inhabited clearance which is physically distinct from the surrounding forest, conceptually its day-to-day activities are understood to be umbilically tied to the natural rhythms of the jungle. The forest and its inhabitants are regarded as the purest earthly manifestation of the astral plane and thereby constitute a paradigm for humankind’s interaction with both supernatural and material realms.

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Ultimately it is the forest which provides the vine (Banisteriopsis caapi) and shrub (Psychotria viridis) whose alchemic combination results in the sacred force of Daime. Social-economic reproduction within Céu do Mapiá is overwhelmingly agricultural in nature, with plantations and fields comprising the primary locus of everyday activity. The community’s agrarian practices are complemented by a well developed environmentalism which pervades the Santo Daime movement as a whole. Indeed, the movement’s ecological credentials have played a major role in enabling the strategic exploitation of political-economic opportunities generated by the rising tide of environmental concern among Brazil’s urban middle classes. Along with the workshops and stores supporting the community’s agricultural production, Céu do Mapiá has social, educational, administrative, and health facilities which support both resident community and the constant stream of visitors who have made the long and tiring trip to the compound. Ritual reproduction in Céu do Mapiá revolves principally around the church (igreja) and casa de feitio (production house) in which Daime is made, although a number of other buildings reserved for ritual use (e.g. cure) stand on the site. Whilst other Santo Daime communities might not have the well developed social-economic facilities or range of ritual buildings enjoyed by Céu do Mapiá, the possession of both church and casa de feitio are regarded as important symbols of spiritual and organizational status. The many groups lacking their own casa de feitio either get their ayahuasca directly from Céu do Mapia or, as is increasingly the case, obtain Daime from a regional centre of production with whom they may be allied. Traditionally the production of Daime has been tied to the cycle of the new moon. With the geographical spread of Santo Daime and the resulting rise in Daime consumption, however, those communities with the facilities are tending increasingly to conduct a feitio when need arises. The need for numbers means that the feitio is generally conducted over a weekend. Usually preceded by a ritual celebration on the evening prior, the feitio commences around dawn the following morning. As the preceding celebration may not have ended until after 2 am that morning, the feitio can often begin with participants having had little or no sleep. Allowing for variations between different communities, the feitio may begin with a few prayers, the odd hymn, and, more rarely, the local leader offering some edifying reflections upon the task at hand. The distribution and consumption of Daime at the outset and at regular intervals throughout the feitio is, though, a constant factor across communities. Having gathered to open the feitio, participants separate relative to sex and the tasks with which they have been charged. According to daimista cosmology, the two ingredients of Daime are endowed respectively with male and female energy. The vine Banisteriopsis caapi, known popularly as jagube, is associated with the stereotypically masculine characteristics of strength and power. The shrub Psychotria viridis, known commonly as rainha, is characterised by the supposedly feminine traits of light and subtlety. Given these characteristics, and excluding very exceptional circumstances, only men are expected to collect the jugabe vine whilst only women should harvest the rainha leaves. Earlier in the history of Santo Daime, part of the feitio involved entering the jungle to search for, harvest, and return with the two ingredients of Daime. In itself, this process could take a number of days. Over time, however, community growth and the progressive decline in

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accessibility led to the cultivation of jagube and rainha in nearby forest plots known as reinados. Outside of the Amazon area, jagube and rainha are only ever cultivated; usually, though not always, thanks to the initial provision of plants from the mother community of Céu do Mapiá. Throughout the first part of the opening day of the feitio, bundles of cut jagube and bags of harvested rainha are brought to the casa de feitio (preparation house). Although layout and size vary from community to community, the casa de feitio usually comprises a relatively large structure or complex in which the ingredients of Daime are prepared, cooked, and cooled prior to being decanted in readiness for consumption at a later date. Upon arriving at the preparation house, individual pieces of the jagube vine are cleaned and macerated by shifts of male workers. Traditionally done with a handheld wooden implement and accompanied by the singing of hymns, the arduous and time-consuming nature of this task has led a number of communities to invest in a motorized macerator. As with all daimista rituals, however, the associated motifs of trial and perseverance underwrite the discursive valorization of the exertion and strain associated with manual labour. Once macerated, the jagube vine is placed in a large metal pan (panela) as alternating layers interspersed with layers of the harvested leaves of Psychotria viridis. The correct ratio of vine to leaf is vital to ensuring that the resulting Daime has the most efficacious balance of power and light. The layered pan is then filled with water from a fresh running source. The pan is then placed in one of a number of spaces that have been constructed above a channel in which an intense wood fire has been lit. Once the cooking (cozida) of the ingredients has started, the fire remains lit and the production house staffed until the entire harvest has been turned to Daime.7 The first pan of fresh water and layered ingredients is boiled until the liquid has been reduced to approximately one third of its original contents. This reduction is then drained and set to one side to cool. Once enough of the reduced liquid has been produced, the process starts again with the reduced liquid being added to a fresh layering of jagube and rainha. Upon being reduced for a second time the liquid is again drained from the mash and allowed to cool. Termed ‘Daime’ at this point, this liquid is nevertheless boiled and reduced a number of times more before being considered of sufficient quality for ritual purposes. After its final reduction and cooling, the Daime is decanted for storage and distribution. The cooking process involves only men. It is an arduous, hot, and often smoky affair which requires constant vigilance of the boiling pans to ensure that they are stirred at the right times, do not boil over, and are drained when the reduced liquid is of an appropriate colour, viscosity, and amount. Likewise the fire needs continued attention to maintain a consistent heat that is neither too hot nor too cool. Although the niceties of feitio etiquette differ from community to community, the atmosphere around the production house is always 7 A miscalculation in the amount of materials harvested at a feitio in which I participated resulted in an extra 24 hours’ cooking. Typical of daimista readings of ritual as trial (prova), this extra day and night turned into a particular test of spiritual strength and perseverance. As the extra day turned into night, a vigil narrative developed as the story of the disciples falling asleep whilst Jesus prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane circulated as a cautionary tale for those of us on watch.

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one of respectful and focused activity that ebbs and flows relative to the quieter and busier phases of the production cycle. At times hymns may be sung to raise spirits or break the monotony, and a formal service held in the middle or towards the end of the production process. If and when conducted, general conversation in and around the production house is nearly always about the material processes of the feitio and their spiritual implications for the individuals involved, the community at large or the Santo Daime movement as a whole. Upon being asked about particular processes or a specific activity, participants will often offer both a literal explanation and a spiritual interpretation of what is taking place. Around the casa de feitio, for example, spiritual interpretations tend to revolve around esoteric interpretations of the production process. Here, Daime emerges from the alchemic transmutation of the basic elements of fire and water as they are combined with the masculine force of jagube and feminine light of rainha. The alchemic transformation, however, is not limited to the base materials being combined. The individuals involved in managing this process and the atmosphere surrounding it also play a part in constituting the final product. As such, individual thoughts, interpersonal exchange, and collective ethos are expected to be trained upon and orientated by the astral plane and the spiritual energies harnessed in the production of Daime. In addition to fortifying individuals and maintaining the collective ‘spiritual current’, the regular consumption of Daime throughout the feitio symbolises the union of base matter and supernatural force in which the latter makes itself felt through the transformation of the former. The ayahuasca produced at the feitio is of a light brown colour which deepens as the liquid ferments prior to consumption, is slightly syrupy in consistency, and bitter to the taste. In addition to the age, quality, and type of plants used, the psychotropic potency of ayahuasca differs relative to the environmental conditions in which they are grown and the ratio of their combination. Within Brazil’s ayahuasca religions, the average dose of ayahuasca tends to be no more than approximately three fluid ounces (eighty millilitres) and in some contexts may be distributed as regularly as every hour. Depending upon individual physiology, the liquid begins to make itself felt twenty or thirty minutes after first being consumed, with subsequent doses increasing its psychotropic effects. Most renowned for the visual imagery its consumption produces, ayahuasca may also generate auditory and olfactory sensations. The earliest effects of the liquid tend to be a warming of the stomach followed by a spreading feeling of physical relaxation and mental calm. There is, though, no loss of vigour or alertness. At its weakest ayahuasca produces a mild detachment from one’s body and surroundings which allows a mental objectification and critical examination of the smallest of details, feelings, and thoughts. Stronger forms of the liquid promote the visual apprehension of irregular shapes, recurring and colourful geometric patterns, distorted and fleeting images, and prolonged outof-body experiences or dream-like visions populated by the familiar and the fanciful. Sounds may also be heard as distortions of external stimuli or self-contained auditory experiences. Likewise, smell and taste may be affected to a more or less pleasant degree. Given its emetic qualities, ayahuasca consumption often induces vomiting and may also result in the involuntary evacuation of the bowels. Whilst these effects may be moderated by dietary restrictions, their purgative nature is seen in a positive light as the external physical manifestation of inner spiritual cleansing. By and large,

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the vomiting induced by ayahuasca tends to have far less of an upsetting effect than that brought on, for example, by bad food or travel sickness. The cultic heart of Santo Daime is the church (igreja) building. Purpose-built churches are polygonal in shape (the hexagon being most favoured) and whereas they tend to be open to the elements in the Amazon, security and climate further south often dictate a closed structure. The ritual locus of the church building is a large space (salão) occupied in the centre by a large wooden table often in the shape of the six-pointed Star of Solomon. During services the table is usually laid with a wooden Cruzeiro, around which a rosary is hung, statuettes of Mary and Jesus, photographs of Master Irineu and Padrinho Sebastião, candles, flowers, water, and incense sticks. Some groups may include statuettes of some of the saints and a Bible, whilst others might also have crystals, representations of Afro-Brazilian spirits and deities, and oriental icons. Together with its assorted symbols of daimista cosmology, the central table is regarded as an important focal point through which the spiritual current generated in the salão is harnessed and directed. The local Padrinho stands or sits close to the table and is often joined by musicians and instrumentalists who work under his close supervision. To the right of the table as one enters the salão, floor space is reserved for male members of the community, whilst women and young children occupy the left-hand side of the room. At the service of ‘concentration’ seating is arranged on both sides of the floor for the male and female ‘battalions’ respectively. The salão remains generally free of furniture when the ‘dance’ is practised. Each battalion is ordered relative to seniority and marital status, with all participants facing inward towards the central table. In effect, senior married members are placed nearer the padrinho, who is adjacent to the table, whilst less senior single members are furthest away. Whatever the service, subsequent to commencement assigned places are to be kept and neither sex is expected to enter the space reserved for the other. The floor space immediately opposite the entrance and on the other side of the central table is reserved for the Daime. Some churches place a table here on which the Daime, cups, and assorted items are set, whilst others serve from a hatch in the wall which connects the worship space with a room in which the Daime is stored when not in use. As with Afro-Brazilian terreiros, many daimista churches string paper or material strips along the roof space by way of reproducing the forest canopy. Both bailado and concentração usually commence some time after sunset. The former service may continue until dawn the next morning whilst the latter does not normally exceed three or four hours. Attendance and full participation at these events is mandatory for all fardados. As the name indicates, the ‘dance’ is an active service in which participants sway, step or spin relative to the rhythm of the hymn (waltz, march or mazurka). Arranged according to sex, seniority, and marital status, participants are expected to remain in their designated space whilst following the choreographed movements of the particular dance being executed. Rhythm is kept by the ubiquitous maraca, with guitars, tambourines, and the occasional drum also lending a hand. Although each fardado is charged with the responsibility of keeping in step and retaining focus, appointed senior members, male and female, patrol their respective side of the floor to reinforce order by correcting errant novices or directing wayward lines. In addition to ensuring that participants are not unnecessarily absent

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from their place, these individuals will support or counsel members relative to their particular needs. The bailado opens with the recitation of a number of prayers and tributes adapted from popular Catholic rituals (e.g. Our Father, Ave Maria) after which participants queue to receive the first dose of Daime. The Daime is distributed by a senior male member of the community with each sex forming a separate line and drinking from separate vessels. Every participant is expected to take Daime in order to ensure the generation and smooth flow of ‘spiritual current’ throughout the service. Upon retaking their place, members begin to sing and dance to the particular set of hymns (hinário) chosen for the service. Although each community tends to favour the hinários of its own padrinho or senior members, when the hymnals of Master Irineu or Padrinho Sebastião are not being sung in their entirety it is expected that individual or sets of their hymns will nevertheless appear at key points of the service. In addition to ‘Sun, Moon, Star’, for example, Irineu Serra’s hino ‘I Should Love That Light’ (Devo Amar Aquela Luz) is often used to open a dance. For the uninitiated, the bailado can be a long and tiring affair. Some respite is offered, though, by the routine practice of cheers and salutations (vivas) that serve to break up groups of hymns and offer participants chance to catch their breath. Led by a designated senior member, a viva will usually offer praise to the Father, Mary, Jesus, divine beings, and Master Irineu, but may also include Padrinho Sebastião, various saints, and specific representatives of the local community or wider movement. The cycle of dancing, cheers, and consumption of Daime continues for a good number of hours until an appointed break of between thirty minutes and one hour allows for some relaxation and light refreshment. The second half of the bailado mirrors the first in structure and continues until the chosen hinário and its accompanying sets of hymns, vivas, and closing prayers have been completed. Depending upon the hinário being sung, the second half of the bailado can last until dawn. The concentração is an altogether less energetic and more tranquil affair. Except when queuing to receive Daime (or leaving the salão to vomit), the entire service is conducted whilst sitting down. Like the bailado, the concentration opens with prayers and salutations appropriated from popular Catholicism which are followed by the consumption of Daime. The frequency and number of times that Daime is distributed during a concentration varies from community to community. Upon participants returning to their seats, a period of meditative calm ensues in which individuals are expected to quieten their minds through the progressive dismissal of intrusive thoughts and images. Once freed from the ‘outside’ world the individual is then to focus upon the inner, spiritual realm. There is a broad spectrum of opinion within the Santo Daime movement as to whether this spiritual journey is focused upon awakening the inner self or dislocating the inner spirit from the material to the spiritual plane. Of course, neither of these interpretations is mutually exclusive and, in practice, both are often held together. The former emphasis, however, reflects esoteric-Spiritist concerns with arousing the ‘higher self’ within, whilst the latter articulates quasi-indigenous understandings of ‘soul-flight’. Either way, the act of concentration is intended to distance its practitioners from both the distractions of society at large and the ties of the material world as a whole.

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During the ritual of concentration, some daimista communities will receive instruction or guidance from their leaders, others will have scriptures (Christian and oriental) and edifying texts read to them, whilst others will insist upon silence throughout the first phase of the service. One common denominator, however, is the expectation that participants will neither fold their arms nor cross their legs at any point in the ritual. As with Spiritism, the crossing of members during a ritual is seen as an impediment to the smooth flowing of cosmic energies between spiritual and material planes and among those who are gathered. After a prolonged period of concentration and, perhaps, further consumption of Daime, a spiritual current is assumed to have been generated. At a time deemed appropriate by those directing the ritual, this spiritual current will be further strengthened and channelled through the singing of specially selected hymns. In some communities this latter phase may last just as long if not longer than the initial period of quiet meditation. The concentration closes with the usual prayers and salutations to the heavenly court and its chosen representatives. The rituals of the bailado and concentração are complemented by the missa (mass) and a range of rites of an explicitly therapeutic nature. The daimista mass is celebrated on the first Sunday of each month and at various points throughout the year determined by movement-wide and local anniversaries of the deaths of influential members. Although other hymns may be sung, the mass usually employs Irineu Serra’s hinário Santa Missa (Holy Mass). Reserved for the missa ritual, these ten hymns are accompanied by prayers and salutations. As with Spiritism, rituals of cure can take place in the church, with or without the sick in attendance, or at the bedside of the infirm. Although the biological dynamics of sickness are readily acknowledged by daimistas, as with indigenous and Spiritist perspectives, ill health is regarded as a physical manifestation of underlying spiritual imbalance. The predominant causes of spiritual imbalance are held to be the working through of bad karma accrued from prior incarnations or the contemporary transgression of ritual and moral taboos which have left the individual open to the malign intentions of inferior supernatural forces. Within communities influenced by Afro-Brazilian approaches, illness and misfortune may also be viewed as resulting from spiritual assault orchestrated through the ministrations of a third party. Whatever the malady or interpretative framework, daimistas tend to agree upon the importance of individuals taking a major share of the responsibility for their treatment. There are two complementary aspects of the individual responsibility for curing oneself (curar-se). First, individuals seek spiritual cleansing through their immersion in the astral forces generated through ritual participation and Daime consumption. Second, and guided by the spiritual current, individuals undertake a detailed and critical scrutiny of every aspect of their lives to ensure the eradication of potentially injurious defects. Individual responsibility for curing oneself is complemented by an array of therapeutic practices. Whilst not eschewing conventional medicine, daimistas tend to prefer natural remedies and homeopathic treatments which are regarded as making best use of the spiritual forces bound up in the environment. These ostensibly natural approaches are complemented by a range of explicitly supernatural ones. At Alto Santo the therapeutic repertoire stands at the esoteric-Spiritist end of the popular religious spectrum. As such, emphasis is placed upon mediumistic communication

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with spiritual agencies to discover the underlying causes of illness. Once diagnosed these spiritual causes and their physiological ramifications are treated through both individual and collective interaction with supernatural forces. As with most of the occupants of Brazil’s popular religious field, Alto Santo readily acknowledges assault or obsession by malign spiritual agencies as a possible cause of ill health. Its remedial response, however, favours the ritual manipulation of astral forces (e.g. irradiação) over the direct intervention of spiritual agencies by means of mediumistic possession. This was not the case earlier in the life of Alto Santo when hymns were used to call upon higher spirits to descend and possess mediums to assist them in their curative responsibilities. Over time, though, Irineu Serra sought to distance himself and his community from possession-based mediumistic therapies such as those favoured by Afro-Brazilian religious repertoires. In their stead Master Irineu appropriated and modified remedial approaches of an esoteric-Spiritist nature with which he was already familiar thanks to his abiding sympathies with movements like the Esoteric Circle of the Communion of Thought (Gregorim, 1991: 66). Irineu Serra’s demotion of mediumistic possession within the nascent community’s repertoire was perhaps a partial response to escalating persecution orchestrated by Catholic authorities. Romanized through its post-1890 reintegration within the international ecclesiastical network and reinvigorated by the favoured legal-political treatment enjoyed under the Vargas presidency (1930–45), the Catholic hierarchy set about trying to eradicate what it regarded as outdated and superstitious excesses of much popular religious practice. Given its traditional association with Afro-Brazilian culture, mediumistic possession was an obvious and relatively easy target. In downplaying the place of possession within the therapeutic repertoire of his community, Irineu Serra thereby lessened, at least in theory, the chances of persecution by local authorities (MacRae, 1992: 65–6). Whilst undoubtedly a plausible factor in explaining the downgrading of mediumistic possession by Irineu Serra, a more likely scenario revolves around the conscious adoption of a formal religious repertoire in which esoteric-Spiritist interpretations progressively came to the fore as the community developed. For example, early in the life of Irineu Serra’s community the consumption of ayahuasca was paralleled by the use of alcohol (especially rum) and tobacco; a not uncommon practice within vegetalista circles. At the same time, and as with popular Catholic festivals of the period, the dance celebrated by the community was a more informal affair and involved couples interacting by holding hands or each other as they moved across the floor (Goulart, 2004: 293; MacRae, 1992: 137). Over time, however, the consolidation of the community was accompanied by the progressive adoption of a formal religious repertoire in which the consumption of Daime and rituals such as the dance and concentration became increasingly prescriptive and austere. Whilst not the only element guiding this process of religious formalization, the most important one was the esoteric-Spiritist repertoire with which Irineu was already familiar and sympathetic. In effect, the esoteric-Spiritist repertoire embodied in movements such as the Esoteric Circle of the Communion of Thought served Irineu Serra as a template by which he orchestrated the progressive formalization of his community’s discourse and practice. By no means following this template to the letter, Irineu Serra nevertheless appropriated and modified a number of its central elements,

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using them as the discursive and practical skeleton around which ingredients taken from popular Catholic, indigenous, vegetalista, and Afro-Brazilian repertoires were moulded. Given the modern characteristics of esoteric-Spiritist themes, Irineu Serra’s formalization of Santo Daime’s organizational repertoire inevitably involved the rationalization of the popular religious ingredients appropriated by it. The progressive diminution in status of mediumistic possession and its replacement by spiritual communication and manipulation of astral forces is a case in point. Perhaps ironically given his esoteric-Spiritist background, the rise to prominence of Sebastião Mota de Melo has seen the partial revitalization of mediumistic possession within the therapeutic repertoire of the Santo Daime movement. As his use of the word ‘eclectic’ in the name of CEFLURIS suggests, Mota de Melo was alive to the strategic appropriation of discourse and practice drawn from the gamut of popular religiosity, new era spirituality, and late-modern culture within and beyond Brazil. For example, influenced by back-packers visiting his community in increasing numbers from the mid-1970s, Mota de Melo became interested in the use of counter-culture psychotropics such as marijuana and mushrooms. Citing a vision and exploiting daimista appropriations of indigenous and vegetalista ‘plant teacher’ discourse, Mota de Melo declared marijuana to be the feminine counterpart of the masculine Daime. Given its feminine association with the Queen of the Forest, marijuana was renamed ‘Santa Maria’ (Holy Mary) and cultivated in its own version of the reinado. The consumption of Daime was thereby complemented with the use of Santa Maria, particularly during the ritual of concentration (MacRae, 1998: 325– 38). Although subsequent raids and legal threats led to Santa Maria’s retirement from official ritual use, its initial appropriation and continuing unofficial consumption are indicative of the hybridizing tendencies of the CEFLURIS community. Relative to its place in the ritual repertoire of Alto Santo, the status of mediumistic possession increased considerably within the community of Céu do Mapiá from the early 1980s onwards. The initial elevation in ritual standing of mediumistic possession was directly linked to the increasing influence of Umbanda practices upon Padrinho Sebastião. Earlier in the life of Céu do Mapiá, the possession of mediums by higher spirits was restricted to the service of cure and represented a relatively minor component of the broader therapeutic regime employed by the community. Over time, however, the practice of mediumistic possession expanded as the community progressively incorporated elements of Umbanda and the spiritual entities (e.g. Exu) that go with it. Now an explicit component of the CEFLURIS ritual repertoire, the established place of mediumistic possession and the rites within which it is practised (e.g. trabalho de São Miguel) were exemplified by the construction of an Umbanda terreiro on the Céu do Mapiá site (Groisman, 1999: 115–18). Typified by the repertorial incorporation of marijuana and Umbanda, the hybridizing dynamics central to the formation of CEFLURIS were further catalyzed by the increasing numbers of urban professionals making their way to Céu do Mapiá on the back of established interests in neo-esoteric religiosity. Whether visiting the community for limited periods or staying on a permanent basis, these individuals (e.g. Lúcio Mórtimer and Alex Polari) brought a wealth of neo-esoteric interests

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which were eagerly incorporated within the evolving daimista repertoire.8 Above all, though, the repertorial pluralization of the Santo Daime movement is grounded in its move to the urban-industrial heartlands of Brazil and its progressive integration of discourse and practice appropriated from both established popular religiosity and the emergent neo-esoteric spectrum. Before detailing the nature and implications of Santo Daime’s transition to an urban-industrial context, however, the two movements of Barquinha and União do Vegetal should be mentioned. Barquinha The movement known collectively as Barquinha consists of a number of independent groups who trace their roots to the community originally founded by Daniel Pereira de Mattos (1888–1958). Pereira de Mattos was born in the town of São Luís in the north-eastern state of Maranhão and, like Irineu Serra, was subsequently drawn to the Amazonian territory of Acre by the employment opportunities generated during Brazil’s first rubber boom. Although accounts vary as to peripheral details, the origins of Barquinha lie in Pereira de Mattos receiving over the years a number of visions in which spiritual agents handed over a ‘Blue Book’ (livro azul) and charged him with undertaking a charitable ministry. At some point before beginning this ministry, Pereira de Mattos had received therapeutic treatment from Irineu Serra and begun to participate in the recently established Alto Santo community where he was introduced to the ritual consumption of ayahuasca. Whilst under the influence of ayahuasca Pereira de Mattos received his final visionary commission which resulted in him subsequently founding the Centro Espírita e Culto de Oração Casa de Jesus Fonte de Luz (House of Jesus Source of Light Spiritist Centre and Prayer Worship) in 1945 on the outskirts of Rio Branco (Araújo, 1999: 49). It was here that ‘Frei Daniel’, as he came to be known, founded Barquinha as the means of undertaking his charitable commission of healing the sick and indoctrinating spirits. Whilst remaining the spiritual home of Barquinha, the community founded and run by Frei Daniel until his death in September 1958 is today only one of a number of communities which regard themselves as Barquinha centres. Usually founded by former mediums or leaders of the mother community, the vast majority of these centres are located in the states of Acre and Rondônia.9 Elements of the movement’s discourse and practice have, though, made their way to the central-south of Brazil 8 Mota de Melo’s increasingly desperate search for a cure for the cancer that would eventually kill him may also have played a part in the ongoing pluralization of the CEFLURIS repertoire. Towards the end of his life, for example, Padrinho Sebastião underwent a range of procedures grounded in neo-esoteric and Afro-Brazilian therapeutic regimes (MacRae, 1992: 106–107). 9 The most noteworthy of these other communities are the Faith, Light, Truth, and Charity Spiritist Centre (Centro Espírita Fé, Luz, Amor e Caridade) founded in 1962; the Daniel Periera de Mattos Spiritist Centre (Centro Espírita Daniel Pereira de Mattos) founded in 1980; the Swordfish Prince Kingdom of Peace Spiritist Centre and Work of Charity (Centro Espírita e Obra de Caridade Príncipe Espadarte Reino da Paz) founded in 1994; and the Our Lady of Aparecida Spiritist Centre (Centro Espírita Nossa Senhora Aparecida) founded in 1998.

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via their appropriation by interested urban-industrial professionals (Silva, 2004: 431; Araújo, 2004: 547). Barquinha shares many of its ritual and cosmological characteristics with Santo Daime. As the name Barquinha suggests, Frei Daniel originally conceived his community as a boat (known also as Santa Cruz, ‘Holy Cross’) in which passengers undertake a spiritual journey or pilgrimage across the sea of life to dock finally at the foot of the cross of Jesus. Like many ocean journeys this pilgrimage contains its trials and tribulations which serve to test the resolve of those marinheiros (sailors) making the crossing from the material world of illusion to the supernatural realm of light. Guided by Daime and piloted by Frei Daniel and his successors, Barquinha orders its ranks along naval lines, with members (fardados) wearing sailorlike uniforms (‘blue’ and ‘white’) and regarding themselves as an ‘armed force’ embroiled in the battle between light and darkness. As with Santo Daime, members of Barquinha identify themselves as Christian (here, ‘Christian Apostolic Spiritists’), with many seeing little difficulty with participants also attending services at local parish churches. Likewise similar to Santo Daime, Barquinha draws freely upon popular Catholic devotional traditions (especially pilgrimage and festival) which are interwoven with elements appropriated from esoteric-Spiritist, indigenous-mestiço, and Afro-Brazilian discourse and practice (Araújo, 1999: 76–88). Although executed differently and interpreted within a modified religious worldview, the daimista rituals of the feitio, bailado, and concentração remain central to the organizational repertoire of Barquinha. Within Barquinha, however, the notion of cure (cura) is conceptually paramount and provides the central axis around which the entire ritual repertoire is ordered. Cosmologically, the universe is populated with a diverse range of spirits which are ordered hierarchically relative to their evolutionary status. The lowest and most dense stratum is the material plane which is subdivided into the territories (known as ‘mysteries’) of the ‘sea’ (mar) and the ‘land’ (terra). In addition to being populated by incarnate spirits, these lower planes are the domain of less evolved spiritual entities and recently disincarnated spirits. Those spirits associated with the sea tend to be drawn from indigenous and folkloric cosmologies and include, for example, encantados who appear as mermaids, dolphins, water snakes, princes, princesses, fairies, kings, and queens.10 Understood more accurately as forest or jungle, the material sphere of the land is inhabited by disincarnate spirits most commonly associated with Umbanda such as, for example, caboclos, pretos velhos, exus, and indigenes. Immediately above the material spheres of land and sea is the supernatural tier of the ‘sky’ (céu); which in Portuguese also translates as ‘heaven’. The heavenly sphere is also referred to as the ‘astral plane’ and is populated by more spiritually evolved entities whose identities are most closely associated with Christianity (e.g. bishops, saints, and angels) and Candomblé (e.g. orixás). As with Umbanda, the 10 Encantados (literally ‘enchanted ones’) are disincarnate spirits of human beings who have been transported to the supernatural sphere without first going through physical death. Increasingly popular owing to the growing awareness and influence of indigenous religiosity in Brazil, encantados have long played a key role in traditional hybrid rural religions such as pajelança cabocla (Maués and Villacorta, 1998).

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identities of both saints and orixás often overlap. At its most remote and detached from the material plane, the heavenly sphere is occupied by the creator deity, God. As with other popular religious systems, spirits occupying the supernatural strata closest to the material plane are more commonly incorporated. Consequently, most of the ritual workload of Barquinha is carried by spirits from the mysteries of the sea and the land, although some occupants of the heavenly plane are permitted to incorporate in specific circumstances (Mercante, 2002: 49–50). Reflecting both its popular origins and the prevailing influence of Afro-Brazilian religiosity, the ritual activity of Barquinha spirits is overwhelmingly therapeutic in nature. The spatial arrangements of a typical Barquinha site are tripartite and comprise distinct spaces given over to worship, possession, and healing (Frenopoulo, 2004: 27). Worship (culto santo) takes place in the church (igreja) which, unlike daimista structures, is orientated along a single axis from the back, where one enters, to the front, where the major altar resides and possession takes place. Looking from the entrance towards the altar, men sit to the right of the aisle and women to the left. Services generally commence with the consumption of ayahuasca which, like Santo Daime, is termed ‘Daime’. Following the drinking of Daime, prayers drawn from popular Catholicism are said and selections of specially chosen hymns (salmos) are sung. As with the hinos of Santo Daime, salmos are multifunctional in nature and serve, relative to context, in a performative, didactic, normative, and revisionary capacity. The most important salmos are contained in the ‘Blue Book’ (livro azul) of Frei Daniel and are often complemented by songs appropriated and modified from Umbanda liturgies (Araújo, 1998). In addition to cleansing the church, guiding participants, channelling the spiritual current, and lauding supernatural agencies, song also acts as a call to particular spiritual entities to move, in order of seniority, from the immaterial to the material plane by way of possessing specially trained mediums. Once possessed a community leader or elected medium might channel an edifying or instructional discourse. Primarily, however, possession is orientated to works of charity (trabalhos de caridade) through which cosmic merit is earned by medium and spirit alike as they tend to the maladies and misfortunes of those in attendance. As with most possession religions in Brazil, possessed mediums take on the character traits and ritual paraphernalia of the incorporating spirit. Subsequent to possession, and relative to the particular service of worship, mediums make their way to a separate location reserved for the practice of cure. Works of charity take place in a designated space known as a congá (a word taken directly from Afro-Brazilian religion). The congá comprises a number of gabinetes (cabinets) at which possessed mediums and their assistants (aparelhos) attend to their ‘clients’. Each cabinet includes an altar comprising two tiers. The lower tier of the altar has statuettes, pictures, and assorted items (e.g. divining shells) associated with spirits inhabiting the mysteries of land and sea. The upper tier is reserved for occupants of the astral mystery which are likewise represented by statuettes, pictures, and miscellaneous items. The processes involved are similar in structure to those already described in reference both to Spiritism and the Valley of the Dawn. Consultation with a medium usually follows an initial triage and treatment may involve the extraction (‘disobsession’ or ‘exorcism’) of inferior spirits, the application of the pass (passe), and the offering of counsel; each assumed

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to originate ultimately from the spirit in possession of the medium. The lower spirits extracted from clients are held in a separate holding pen until later in the week when they are indoctrinated, converted, and, if necessary, baptized by group leaders. Clients diagnosed as suffering under spiritual assault instigated by third-party use of illicit magic (often termed quimbanda) likewise return later in the week to be treated in a designated room. As with Umbanda, the ritual disruption of the effects of quimbanda may involve the use of alcohol, herbs, and gunpowder. Indoctrination and undoing of quimbanda are achieved with the help of entities from the astral plane who may be spiritual guides working to earn cosmic merit or supernatural guardians who have elected to serve the community even though they are beyond the evolutionary cycle. Complementing the igreja and congá, a third sacred space is reserved for the practice of dance, celebration, and play which occurs on a weekly basis and as occasional events such as those rounding off a seasonal festival. Although the term bailado may be used in connection with what goes on here, the structure and purpose of the dance which is practised is quite unlike the daimista ritual of the same name. As with the bailado of Santo Daime, dance and the songs which accompany it are regarded by members of Barquinha as a form of homage to occupants of the supernatural sphere. Unlike Santo Daime, however, the dance of Barquinha does not carry overtones of trial and perseverance, nor is it imbued with equivalent strictures of austerity. Rather, the bailado of Barquinha is, like so much of its ritual repertoire, orientated toward possession and its attendant curative and meritocratic implications. Like Santo Daime, for example, the bailado of Barquinha uses a number of different rhythms. Here, though, rhythmic variety is connected with the calling of different classes of spiritual entity. Similar to the choreography of possession practised in Afro-Brazilian religions, possessed mediums perform a series of stylized gestures relative to the particular class of entity or specific spirit they have incorporated. Usually reserved for spirits who have been baptized (i.e. ‘spirits of light’), the opportunity to incorporate at a bailado provides spirits with the chance to dance, play, and generally enjoy the festivities made possible by their temporary incarnation. In return, incorporated spirits submit themselves to indoctrination or assist in the ongoing therapeutic regime of the community (Araújo, 1999: 222–35). Vegetable Union As the most Africanized of the three ayahuasca religions of Brazil Barquinha stands at one end of this particular religious spectrum; as the most rationalized, União do Vegetal (hereafter UDV) sits at the other extreme. Similar to both Santo Daime and Barquinha, the UDV movement comprises a number of autonomous organizations which trace their origins to a single founding figure; in this case, José Gabriel da

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Costa (1922–71).11 As with Irineu Serra and Pereira de Mattos before him, Gabriel da Costa was born in the northeast of Brazil (Bahia) and was thereby imbued with a popular religious consciousness formed through the combination of traditional Catholic, Afro-Brazilian, and mestiço-indigenous elements. Likewise Gabriel da Costa was drawn to the Amazon region by the prospect of employment and arrived as part of the ‘rubber battalion’ formed to exploit Brazil’s second rubber boom generated by the demise of eastern production during the Second World War (1939– 45) (Gentil and Gentil, 2004: 560). After the war Gabriel da Costa settled in the town of Porto Velho (Rondônia) where he first practised as a healer (curandeiro) before becoming a Pai de Santo in a local terreiro. In the early 1950s he moved back to the seringal to resume his rubber-tapping activities and was involved in leading a religious group which combined elements of popular Catholicism, AfroBrazilian religion, and mestiço-indigenous religiosity. During this time Gabriel da Costa began to incorporate the caboclo spirit known as the ‘Sultan of the Forests’ (Sultão das Matas) and was subsequently introduced to ayahuasca by vegetalistas practising on the frontier between Brazil and Bolivia. For a number of years Gabriel da Costa combined ayahuasca consumption with his established religious practices, but in 1961 he claimed to have received instructions from the astral plane that the incorporation of spirits was in fact mistaken. Instead, he argued, the incorporation of spirits had been superseded by the consumption of ayahuasca. In effect, the supernatural insight formerly offered by incorporated spirits was now to be gained through the expansion of spiritual perception (known as burracheira) made possible by ayahuasca. Claiming to have received confirmation of his plans from the astral plane, Gabriel da Costa declared the foundation of a new religious movement to be called União do Vegetal (Brissac, 2004: 571–88). The vegetable union of which the title of this new religion speaks refers to a twofold combination. On the one hand there is the union of Banisteriopsis caapi (termed ‘Mariri’ by the UDV) and Psychotria Viridis (known as ‘Chacrona’) which results in ayahuasca (called ‘Hoasca’ by some groups and ‘Oaska’ by others). On the other hand there is the union of Hoasca/Oaska and its consumer (‘Hoasqueiro’ or ‘Oaskeiro’) which produces enhanced spiritual perception for the individual and the unifying spiritual current for the community. For different reasons than Irineu Serra, but to similar ends, Gabriel da Costa’s move away from mediumistic possession represents a rationalization of traditional patterns of ayahuasca consumption. The UDV’s movement away from mediumistic possession, however, would be far more

11 The organization established by Gabriel da Costa in 1961 is called the Vegetable Union Charitable Spiritist Centre (Centro Espírita Beneficente União do Vegetal) and is today headquartered in Brasília. Whilst use of the word charity clearly accords with the Spiritist ethos of the group, its employment as a legal concept was commonplace among non-Christian organizations as a means of gaining official recognition. Among the other UDV organizations in existence today, the most prominent are the Vegetable Union Charitable Spiritual Centre (Centro Espíritual Beneficente União do Vegetal) which originated with Joaquim José de Andrade Neto in Campinas, São Paulo and the Rosy-light Masonic Order Charitable Spiritist Centre (Centro Espírito Beneficente Ordem Maçônica Rosaluz) (Andrade, A.P. 2004: 594; Labate, 2004b: 485).

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radical than Santo Daime’s and the application of an esoteric template far more thoroughgoing. Adepts of the UDV regard the movement as ‘the world’s oldest religious order’. Indeed, it is said, Master Gabriel (as he came to be known) did not create the UDV in the early 1960s but actually ‘reconstituted’ it. This is the case because the origins of the UDV lie in the foundational religious experiences of humanity. The first ‘Oaskeiro’ (consumer of Oaska) is believed to be Caiano who worked as an assistant to King Solomon (not the one in the Bible) who resided in the sacred sanctuary of Minguarana. Caiano was an earlier incarnation of Master Gabriel and through the consumption of Oaska received the ‘Seventh Secret of Nature’. Encapsulating the fundamental truths about the laws of the universe, the Seventh Secret of Nature comprises the absolute union of religion and science through which communion with the ‘Higher Force’ is achieved. As the Seventh Secret of Nature was later forgotten, the knowledge made possible through the union of religion and science was fragmented and subsequently scattered. Existing only in piecemeal form as unrelated fragments of insight strewn across the world’s religions, the knowledge through which union with the divine is achieved was in effect lost to humanity. It was not until Gabriel da Costa consumed Oaska (the practice of which had been preserved by Amazonian tribes without appreciating its significance) that the union of science and religion was re-established and the loss of this knowledge reversed (Milanez, 1988: 33–41). It is on these grounds that members of the UDV claim the movement to be both the foundation and culmination of humankind’s religious quest. As the contours of the UDV’s origin myth indicate, the movement is very much influenced by central elements of the European esoteric tradition which have made their way into popular religious expressions through organizations such as the Esoteric Circle of the Communion of Thought (Círculo Esotérico da Comunhão do Pensamento). As with the esoteric repertoire described in the previous chapter, the UDV holds itself to be in possession of a privileged practical knowledge which has been channelled from the astral plane by its inspirational founder. Although the basic outline of this privileged knowledge may be known to those outside the movement, its fundamental truths are revealed orally only to those who have undergone initiation. The learning and application of this practical knowledge is the means to accessing and harnessing cosmic forces anchored deep within the self. Once harnessed, these forces can then be manipulated to the end of awakening the inner self from its material slumbers and reuniting it with its spiritual destiny. For the UDV, the consumption of Oaska is essential to the successful awakening and eventual liberation of the self from its erroneous fascination with the illusory world of matter. Once released from this fascination the awakened self undergoes a gradual ‘scientification’ (cientificação) as it ascends through successive incarnations up the evolutionary chain of being (A. P. Andrade, 2004: 595–601). Similar to Santo Daime and Barquinha, adepts of the UDV wear a uniform (green shirts and white bottoms) and millenarian themes are present throughout the discourse of the movement. Unlike Santo Daime and Barquinha, however, military motifs and martial terminology are not so prominent, having been superseded by a strongly hierarchical ethos reflecting typically esoteric concerns with initiatory

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levels. There is no bailado in the UDV and whilst hymns are sung they neither laud a diversified celestial court nor call upon spiritual entities to descend. Rather, songs exist to instruct and guide participants during sessions and to help generate and focus the spiritual energies which unite adepts with each other and with the astral plane. The principal ritual of the UDV is a form of concentração. Most commonly referred to as a ‘session’ (sessão), the ritual commences around 8 pm and lasts approximately four hours. A typical session takes place around a long rectangular table which, like the room around it, is free from religious and decorative paraphernalia. Each end of the table is occupied by senior members; one who dispenses the Oaska (often referred to as chá, tea) and one whose responsibility it is to manage the smooth running of the meeting. A blue arch abuts the end of the table from which the Oaska is served and either side of the dispenser sit two adepts responsible for assisting him in his work. Some UDV groups separate the sexes with male adepts sitting to the right of the dispenser and female members to the left. After initial introductions, notices, and explanations, prayers (e.g. Our Father and Ave Maria) are said and the Oaska distributed relative to seniority. Subsequent to the distribution of Oaska, participants are allowed to sit and assume a comfortable position. At this point, some groups actively encourage members to rest their heads on the table. Over the next few hours a number of texts may be read out and explanations offered as to their spiritual significance. At intervals throughout this main body of the session hymns (chamadas) are sung by selected members both to generate and channel astral energies. The opening hymns are followed by the leader of the meeting making connection with the astral plane after which point he instructs the meeting according to what he receives. At certain points in the session the director of proceedings, who is charged with managing the burracheira, walks around the table offering words of encouragement and enquiring after individual dispositions. A period of structured discussion upon what has been experienced and the teachings that have been given draws this phase of the session to a close. Subsequently, the leader of the meeting dismisses the burracheira and brings the session as a whole to an end. The relatively austere surroundings in which UDV sessions take place, along with the prominence given to textual exposition and instruction during services, underline the movement’s intellectualization of the ayahuasca tradition. Just as the growing influence of Afro-Brazilian religion within Barquinha has led it to emphasize the magical-practical aspect of ritual performance, the importance of traditional esoteric religiosity to the UDV has resulted in its prioritization of the rational-discursive dimension. Of the three movements which comprise formal ayahuasca religion in Brazil, the UDV has done most to expunge the elements of popular Catholicism, Afro-Brazilian religiosity, and mestiço-indigenous spirituality whose combination was largely responsible for its origination. Indicative of its rationalization of the ayahuasca tradition, and in sharp contrast to both Santo Daime and Barquinha, the UDV spurns the therapeutic use of ayahuasca, rejecting its curative employment as a form of curandeirismo (‘quackery’) unworthy of a scientific faith.

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Expansion and Diversification With reference principally to the Santo Daime organization of CEFLURIS I wish now to explore the expansion and diversification of the daimista movement connected with its transition from the rural northwest to the urban-industrial heartlands of central-south Brazil. The expansion of the Santo Daime movement to the southern conurbations of Brazil resulted from both the strategically engineered expansion of the CEFLURIS organizational network and the sporadic appropriation of its discourse and practice by sympathetic urban professionals. On both counts, the formal similarities between daimista and neo-esoteric spectrums played a major part in facilitating the transposition of a once rural and peasant religious repertoire to one that is now predominantly middle-class and urban in nature. The first daimista groups formally established outside of the northwest were founded in the centralsouthern state of Rio de Janeiro in the early 1980s. Whether founded on the back of organizational evangelism, spawned by breakaway groups from the Rio network or created by independent initiative, centres affiliated with the community of Céu do Mapiá emerged in many of Brazil’s major cities over the course of the next decade (MacRae, 1992: 79). By the middle of the 1990s, daimista groups claiming official affiliation with or acknowledging a debt of origin to CEFLURIS were active in parts of Latin America, Europe, the United States, and Japan (Labate, 2004b: 73). Having grown in size, visibility and confidence, many of these groups are today involved in political campaigns and legal battles concerning the right to consume ayahuasca without fear of criminal prosecution.12 As treatments of the European context indicate, the international expansion of Santo Daime invariably involves significant modifications to the daimista repertoire (Balzer, 2004: 507–537; Groisman, 2004: 1–18). The domestic expansion of the Santo Daime movement within Brazil has likewise been accompanied by the progressive diversification of daimista discourse and practice. Whilst many factors have undoubtedly contributed to this repertorial diversification, three not unrelated dynamics might be highlighted by way of example. The first exemplary factor relates to the transition of the Santo Daime repertoire from a rural-agrarian to an urbanindustrial context constituted by the forces of late-modernity. Crucial to this transition was the appropriation of daimista discourse and practice by urban professionals already involved in the alternative religious scene. As active participants in the neoesoteric spectrum many of these individuals were both familiar with and sympathetic to a number of the discursive and practical dynamics central to the daimista repertoire. In addition to the thematic correspondence promoted by the use of a shared esotericSpiritist vocabulary, for example, neo-esoteric sensibilities were further aroused by the direct parallels between vegetalista-inspired aspects of Santo Daime and

12 The majority of those involved in these political campaigns and legal battles are members of groups related with either Santo Daime or the UDV. The ritual consumption of ayahuasca outside of Latin America is also practised within alternative and new age groups with no formal association with Brazilian ayahuasca traditions.

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the increasingly fashionable topics of neo-shamanism and eco-spirituality.13 With representatives of Céu do Mapiá actively exploiting these parallels, elements of the daimista repertoire were appropriated by neo-esoteric participants to a greater or lesser extent. In so being, daimista discourse and practice was both appropriated by middle class neo-esoteric practitioners and relocated to an urban-industrial context constituted by late-modern processes such as individualization, globalization, and secularization. Subject to late-modern forces already reconfiguring key aspects of the urban-industrial landscape of Brazil and refracted through the lens of middle class neo-esoteric preference, the newly relocated daimista repertoire inevitably diversified beyond the discursive and practical patterns first established in the rural northwest. A second factor influencing the diversification of the daimista repertoire is the organizational ethos of CEFLURIS. As the above treatment of Padrinho Sebastião’s community indicates, repertorial flexibility is an inbuilt characteristic born of the pragmatism which has long been a definitive element of popular religiosity in Brazil. In this respect, eclecticism is a virtue. It would be mistaken, therefore, to regard the organizational repertoire of Céu do Mapiá as a fixed and immutable point from which other forms of practice and discourse deviate. As with all contemporary daimista communities, the CEFLURIS repertoire is an ongoing and evolving entity. The organization known today as CEFLURIS was legally established in 1989 as part of an institutional reform provoked by issues arising from both the geographical spread of the Santo Daime movement and controversies surrounding the legal status of ayahuasca consumption. In an attempt to define the organizational parameters of the Santo Daime movement a range of statutes, regulations, and bureaucratic structures were created. Affiliated members were encouraged to adhere to these new measures both out of respect for the daimista tradition of Padrinho Sebastião and by their reliance upon external supplies of Daime whose production at the time was virtually monopolized by the mother community of Céu do Mapiá (MacRae, 1992: 84).14 The nature of these measures, the complexities involved in their application, and the increase in independent production of ayahuasca, however, continue to leave ample scope for repertorial diversity within groups officially affiliated with CEFLURIS. It should be stressed, though, that the organizational uniformity sought by CEFLURIS representatives is by no means as extensive as the kind insisted upon by, for example, neo-Pentecostal movements such as the Universal Church of the Kingdom 13 Works by Castaneda (1968) and Harner (1972), for example, helped stimulate counterculture interest in indigenous-mestiço use of psychotropics and the cosmovisions within which this usage was set. Already attractive by virtue of their novel and exotic nature, interest in indigenous repertoires was further boosted in the 1980s and 1990s by the increasingly influential politics of indigenous identity and its linkage with escalating environmental preoccupations. Associated with Michael Harner’s Foundation for Shamanic Studies, the Shamanic Studies Centre (Centro de Estudos Xamânicos) in Rio de Janeiro is a case in point (). 14 One important structural development was the formal classification of different types of daimista centres, ranging from fully-fledged churches to embryonic mission stations. A different degree of conformity to stated regulations is expected relative to the formal status of each centre ().

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of God and certain groups within the UDV. In contrast to the maximal orthodoxy (i.e. conformity in all matters) insisted upon by these organizations, CEFLURIS requires only a minimal orthodoxy (i.e. conformity in certain matters) from its affiliated centres. In effect, as long as affiliated groups meet certain requirements (e.g. concerning calendrical schedules and ritual structures) they are, within reason, free to modify existing daimista repertoires or enact discourse and practice from outside the Santo Daime movement. The minimal conformity sought from affiliated groups thereby allows a degree of repertorial diversity over and above the minimalist requirements laid down by CEFLURIS regulations. A third factor influential in the diversification of the daimista repertoire relates to the continued prevalence of ‘charismatic’ forms of leadership over ‘bureaucratic’ modes of organizational management (Weber, 1991a: 245–52; 1991b: 295–301). Along with its geographical spread and minimal expectations of repertorial conformity, the charismatic ethos and relative newness of the Santo Daime movement continue to support a decentralized style of leadership in which the head of a local community enjoys a broad scope of action. Within groups whose affiliation with CEFLURIS is both secure and cherished, the daimista repertoire tends to form the definitive organizational template by which discourse and practice are orchestrated. The earliest daimista communities in the states of Rio de Janeiro (e.g. Céu do Mar) and São Paulo (e.g. Flor das Águas) are cases in point, as are many of the centres established in recent years. Even within these groups, however, the directive latitude enjoyed by the local Padrinho (if male) or Madrinha (if female) allows the development of relatively diverse community identities as each individual leader impresses a range of discourse and practice which is, at points, as much reflective of idiosyncratic predilections as it is in keeping with broader organizational expectations. At the same time in which local leaders underline their charismatic authority by stressing their continuity with Padrinho Sebastião (often aided by a stay at Céu do Mapiá), they may be modifying the daimista repertoire in ways similar, if not as far-reaching, to those visited by Padrinho Sebastião upon the heritage of Master Irineu.15 For other groups less wedded to the CEFLURIS network, the daimista repertoire does not play such a determinative role in orchestrating organizational activity and ethos, but sits alongside rituals and concepts drawn from the neo-esoteric or popular religious spectrums. Whilst not the only repertoire at play, daimista discourse and practice nevertheless retains a significant degree of ritual distinctiveness; as is the case, for example, in groups which celebrate daimista rituals according to the official calendar and broader organizational expectations whilst performing other rites from different traditions at different points in the week, month or year. Labate’s survey of the ‘neo-ayahuasca’ (neo-ayahuasqueiro) network details a number of such groups, 15 The relative newness of groups often entails the absence of a body of core members for whom particular traditions are sacrosanct and therefore not to be tampered with lightly. At the same time, and whilst for many groups repertorial evolution is not necessarily a bad thing, significant numbers are actually unable to distinguish between discourse and practice rooted in received daimista repertoires and local modifications instigated by the community leader. Coupled with the charismatic authority invested in the local leadership, these factors further facilitate the regional diversification of the daimista repertoire.

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as well as others for whom elements of daimista discourse and practice represent only one among a number of resources which are appropriated and combined in a way that undermines their ritual distinctiveness (2004b).16 Whereas the latter kind of group tends not to be affiliated with CEFLURIS, a significant number of the former do enjoy formal albeit qualified recognition. Whether a fully-fledged affiliated church, a neo-ayahuasca group practising a dual repertoire or one appropriating selected elements on an ad hoc basis, the point I wish to stress here is the extent to which the personality of the local leader plays a significant part in diversifying daimista discourse and practice as the ritual regimes of the local community are moulded relative to individual biography and prevailing predilections.17 By and large the biographical trajectory and prevailing preferences of the local leader are directly related to where he or she has been or can be located on the neo-esoteric spectrum. Whilst neo-esoteric discourse, for example, is common to every contemporary daimista group, the extent and manner of its impact upon the ritual repertoire of the community varies according to the particular kinds of neo-esotericism experienced and favoured by the local leader. In view of the above three factors, there is a broad range of repertorial diversity even among affiliated churches with an established and vocal commitment to the daimista traditions of Padrinho Sebastião. For some church leaders repertorial variation is readily acknowledged and justified (within the constraints of minimal orthodoxy) with reference to the eclectic spirit of Padrinho Sebastião and the evolving nature of the daimista tradition. Other leaders, however, are reluctant to admit that their particular community’s repertoire is not in full correspondence with that of the mother community. For these individuals the daimista tradition and its exemplification by the community of Padrinho Sebastião are fixed and unchanging points of reference from which repertorial deviation is to be discouraged. Whilst the former group of leaders tend to regard their own hinários as potentially adding to the daimista tradition, the latter kind tend to regard their hinários as clarifying rather than modifying received repertoires. Whether acknowledged or not, repertorial diversity is a reality across the entire daimista network. Just as belief in the evolutionary processes of reincarnation is almost universal in the Santo Daime movement, so too is the acknowledgement of the existence of disincarnate spirits. For some communities, though, both communication with disincarnate spirits and their incorporation are either regarded as metaphysically

16 Labate notes that many neo-ayahuasca groups are caught between their dislike of the formal religious repertoires of traditional ayahuasca religiosity and their desire to differentiate themselves from what are seen as casual or recreational users of psychotropics. As a result ‘new types of rituals are created and interpreted with reference to philosophical, existential, therapeutic, and even religious discourse and symbols in a manner particular to each new group’ (2004b: 96). 17 Along with the relative novelty of the movement as a whole, the directive authority enjoyed by the local leader contributes to the fluidity of the urban-industrial ayahuasca network as groups affiliate with, break away from or move between the organizational matrices of Santo Daime and the UDV.

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impossible or highly frowned upon as inferior forms of religious practice.18 As has been seen with reference to Céu do Mapiá, however, some daimista communities do not just acknowledge the possibility of incorporation but actively seek it by way of designated rituals. Within this kind of community, communication with or incorporation of supernatural agents tends to be related with a therapeutic ethos not too dissimilar to the kind found in popular forms of religious practice. Within the former type of group, the notion of cure tends to be articulated by a devotional ethic through which the underlying causes of illness (i.e. spiritual disequilibrium and bad karma) are eradicated by sustained ritual practice and moral probity. Here, one is much more likely to hear talk of focusing or manipulating impersonal cosmic forces than reference to particular spirits and supernatural agents. A similar range of diverse interpretations exists in relation to the notion of miração. Within some daimista communities, miração is interpreted within a quasishamanic framework and thereby held to have some of the connotations of ‘soulflight’ attributed to it within indigenous and vegetalista traditions. For other groups, however, miração has no ecstatic connotations. As one Padrinho put it to me, ‘There is no shamanism in Santo Daime!’ Here miração is regarded as a form of inward journey which, at best, awakens the inner self and, at most, offers glimpses of past incarnations. As with every daimista community, the facilitation of miração is tied most directly with the consumption of ayahuasca. Some groups, however, are willing to entertain the legitimate promotion of miração through the use of other psychotropic agents such as marijuana, mushrooms, and peyote. The use of anything but Daime to promote miração is for other groups completely unacceptable. Similar variations in opinion exist in relation to dietary regimes (e.g. consumption of alcohol, meat, and tobacco) and physiological processes (e.g. ritual participation during menstruation). Conclusion The diversification of the daimista repertoire connected with its passage to the urbanindustrial south in many ways parallels changes to the vegetalista repertoire wrought upon its appropriation by Irineu Serra and subsequent transition from the jungle context of its origins to the semi-rural context of the outskirts of Rio Branco. Goulart situates this transition within the backdrop of social-economic upheavals to the plantation system taking place towards the end of Brazil’s first rubber cycle (2004: 277–301). As noted above, the impact of Irineu Serra’s application of traditional esotericism as an organizational template by which the formalization of the community’s repertoire was guided should not be overlooked either. Whether intended or not, by appropriating and applying an esoteric template Irineu Serra oversaw the partial rationalization of vegetalista practices which had made their way into the nascent Santo Daime repertoire. Whilst both syntax and ritual structure of daimista practices in many instances remained similar to the mestiço-indigenous traditions from which 18 A Padrinho informed me that the New Year rituals of his community scheduled around the time of the tsunami of 2005 were modified in order to discourage the unwelcome appearance (atuação) of the spirits of those whose sudden and violent death would have left them ‘disorientated’.

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they originated, an important sea-change had nevertheless occurred. In addition to progressively marginalizing mediumistic possession, for example, the application of an esoteric template also resulted in traditional ecstatic emphases being replaced by the notion of vision as a definitive characteristic of ayahuasca religiosity. Rather than ‘travelling to’ one now ‘looks upon’ (mirar) the supernatural sphere; hence, miração. Of course, notions of vision have always complemented ecstatic concepts such as ‘soul-flight’ in both indigenous and vegetalista traditions. The point here, though, is one of hermeneutical emphasis. Within indigenous shamanic traditions ritual ecstasy is the interpretative lynchpin of the shaman’s repertoire; the ‘gold-standard’, if you will. Whilst perhaps relatively less important within the vegetalista traditions of which Irineu Serra would have been aware, ecstatic experience nevertheless retained significant repertorial status. Subject to the processes of esotericization occurring within the ritual regime of Irineu Serra’s community, however, the hermeneutical status of ecstatic experience was further weakened relative to traditional esoteric notions of enlightened vision. It is commonplace in a number of treatments to find the drawing of explicit parallels between the daimista repertoire and traditional shamanic practices, such that Santo Daime is represented as a form of ‘urban’ or ‘collective’ shamanism (e.g. MacRae, 1992; Groisman, 1999: 132–4; Couto, 2004: 402–408). Care must be taken lest we take these parallels at face value. First, comparisons between Santo Daime and shamanism, both within and without the movement, should be set against the backdrop of debates and controversies surrounding the ritual consumption of ayahuasca. For many, the contention that Santo Daime owes much of its spiritual heritage to indigenous shamanism forms part of a broader argument in which the same rights to consume ayahuasca enjoyed by indigenous communities are claimed for daimista groups; a kind of ‘like-for-like’ rationale. Similarities between the Santo Daime repertoire and the shamanic practices of indigenous communities are thereby laden with solid apologetic potential. Second, the formal similarities between the ritual consumption of ayahuasca in indigenous and daimista communities respectively should not be allowed to mask the significant contextual and discursive differences between them. Whilst the actual production and consumption of ayahuasca may well be similar in practice for both constituencies, the ritual context within which these processes take place and the interpretative framework through which they are experienced are by no means as similar. Appearances can be deceptive. As highlighted above with a quote from a community leader, not every practitioner readily welcomes comparisons between the daimista repertoire and indigenous shamanism. Those practitioners who do, however, are more likely to articulate this comparison with reference to the new era hermeneutics of contemporary neoshamanism (in which one journeys inward to manipulate impersonal forces) than reference to traditional modes of indigenous shamanic practice (by which one journeys outward to interact with supernatural agents). Either way, whether denying or affirming this comparison, the status and function of traditional indigenous shamanism has been diminished. Albeit in different ways and to varying extents, traditional shamanism is subjected to a process of rationalization as both its ritual and interpretative characteristics are replaced by or subsumed within concepts and practices drawn from the contemporary neo-esoteric spectrum. As with the passage

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of vegetalista practices from their jungle context to the semi-rural outskirts of Rio Branco, Santo Daime’s transition to the urban-industrial south has involved an element of rationalization. At Rio Branco, this rationalization was exemplified by the progressive application of an esoteric template as the basis around which the emerging daimista repertoire was organized. In the contemporary conurbations of Brazil, the process of rationalization is effected through the middle-class appropriation of neoesoteric discourse and practice as the lens through which the traditional daimista repertoire is refracted. Whilst certain communities may champion ‘traditional’ ways or appropriate popular religious practices (e.g. possession), neo-esoteric discourse and practice provides the overwhelming groundswell within contemporary daimista repertoires. Given the breadth of the neo-esoteric spectrum, the manifestation of this groundswell is a varied one and will continue to diversify as the Santo Daime movement is further subjected to the variegating forces at play in late-modern industrial society.

Chapter 4

New Era Discourse As indicated by the previous two chapters the spectrum of new era religiosity is a broad one. Populated predominantly by the urban-industrial middles classes, the spectrum of new era religious discourse and practice embodies a repertorial range stretching from the explicitly religious and communal to the purportedly nonreligious and private. Whilst the heterogeneity of new era repertoires must not be lost sight of, there nevertheless exist a number of discursive components which appear across the spectrum of new era narratives as recurrent rhetorical motifs. In her study of ‘mystical-esoteric’ groups in and around the federal capital of Brasília, for example, Siqueira identifies a number of shared motifs which she records as ‘notions of karma and reincarnation’, the ‘emphasis given to the development of spirituality’, the annihilation of ‘the Ego’ and its attachment to ‘materiality and the world of illusions’, stress upon encountering ‘the divine within each and every person’, and the espousal of ‘holism’ and resulting claims of organizational ecumenicity (2003: 44). The following overview of new era discourse identifies three motifs which act as primary organizing principles around which new era narrative repertoires are structured. These three narrative components are: a holistic perspective in which a supernatural force or universal energy is held to pervade the cosmos, uniting individuals with it and, by virtue of its mediating ubiquity, with each other; an individualistic emphasis in which the self is posited as the primary agent by which religious authority is arbitrated and through which self-fulfilment is achieved by harnessing and manipulating cosmic forces residing deep within the self; and, a pragmatic ethos in which new era repertoires are regarded as a form of practical knowledge comprising information about and techniques designed to achieve absolute self-realization. Whilst the specific content of organizational discourse inevitably differs from group to group, these three motifs act as architectonic themes pervading the entire new era spectrum and thereby play a major role in defining the overall trajectory of particular new era narratives. Although specific attention is paid to the discourse of new era groups and organizations already discussed, a number of other relevant sources (e.g. Japanese new religions) will also be drawn upon to make the following treatment as broadly representative as possible. Prior to engaging the three primary motifs of holism, individualism, and pragmatism, however, it may prove beneficial to look at a concrete example of new era discourse in action (so to speak!). In addition to furnishing a working example of new era motifs at work, the following overview of the ‘Course in New Gnosis’ also provides a welcome grounding and particular point of reference for the analysis which follows.

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Course in New Gnosis As mentioned in Chapter 2, the Course in New Gnosis is the flagship course of the neo-esoteric organization known both as the Gnostic Church of Brazil (Igreja Gnóstica do Brasil) and FUNDASAW (Fundação Samael Aun Weor). The Course in New Gnosis covers the gamut of esoteric and mystical teaching espoused by Samael Aun Weor as interpreted and augmented by organizational instructors of the IGB/ FUNDASAW. The course is over nine hundred pages in length and comprises nine ‘Arcanes’ (arcanos), each of which is divided into varying numbers of chapters. Derived from the Latin arcanus, the term ‘arcane’ signifies a collection of mysterious, secret knowledge understood only by a few. Subsequent to introducing Samael Aun Weor and FUNDASAW, Arcane One records ‘the objective’ of the Course in New Gnosis as ‘forming and forging people who might think and act for themselves as holders of their own knowledge, making and crystallizing themselves as they develop the talents and capacities they have within’ (I.2). The remainder of the arcane is given over to detailing the origins of the cosmos and its metaphysical structure. This metaphysical system divides reality hierarchically into five planes each inhabited by an assortment of beings whose substance correlates with their particular sphere of existence. The first and most important plane is that of pure immateriality, the ‘Divine sphere of Absolute, Ineffable Mystery’. As with esoteric thought in general, Weor holds that the universe originated in the ordering activity of the Absolute upon chaotic primordial matter, giving rise to (emanating) the subsequent planes of the created order (‘Pleroma’). Emanating from the Absolute in order of relative immateriality, these planes are: the Divine, the Spiritual (‘Treasure of Light’), the Mental (‘Psychical’), the Astral (‘Planetary’), and the Material (‘Physical’). Each plane is ordered internally (from ‘right’ to ‘left’), again according to a hierarchy of relative immateriality. Humankind is located in the ‘middle’ sector of the basest (i.e. most physical) plane, the Material. Despite our base materiality, consciousness, which is an element (‘spark’) of the Divine Mind, permits us to ‘evolve’ spiritually relative to our place in the Eternal Order. In its present condition, however, the divine spark of consciousness is both trapped within an almost infinite cycle of birth, death, and reincarnation, and suppressed beneath the collective weight of the ‘plural ego’ accumulated through the course of evolutionary cycles to which the self has been subjected. The arcane closes by offering a number of practical exercises designed to aid meditation. Entitled ‘Cosmogenesis and Anthropogenesis’, Arcane Two delineates the evolutionary cycles (also termed ‘wheels’ or ‘chains’) to which the material cosmos and its various inhabitants are subject. Reflecting traditional esotericism’s penchant for complex systems, the arcane explicates a dizzying array of wheels, sub-cycles, and internal phases, with a variety of vertiginous figures cited as to their respective lengths (e.g. 4,320,000,000 and 311,040,000,000,000). With the current evolutionary epoch comprising seven races, each with its own seven sub-races, contemporary humankind comprises the Arian race; itself the fifth race and immediate successor to the fourth race which inhabited Atlantis. As with Arcane One the influence of the European theosophist Helena Blavatsky (1831–1891) is prevalent here (Sellon & Weber, 1992: 311–29). The arcane moves on to maintain that the final (seventh)

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sub-race of the Arian race will be made up of those who survive the ‘Great Tragedy’ of 2043 predicted by Samael Aun Weor (II.2). Only those adjudged by the ‘Lords of Karma’ to have sufficient ‘cosmic credit’ earned by way of charity and spiritual endeavour will survive the impending ‘catastrophe’ of 2043. Known also as ‘karma’, cosmic credit is directly analogous to financial credit in that ‘it is negotiable and modifiable’, although ‘it is necessary to know how to negotiate, with whom to negotiate, what to negotiate, and the rate of exchange’ (II.3). Further clarifications about the operation of karma and the ‘law of return’ (II.4–5) close the arcane. Arcane Three is called ‘The Microcosm’ and articulates the established esoteric ‘law of analogy’ by defining the human individual as a direct microcosmic reflection of macrocosmic realities. Processes and dynamics constituting the universe at large are here mapped onto the self as interior ‘atomic’ forces (III.2) whose ‘bio-psychoenergetic’ powers are centred most intensively upon the body’s seven chakra points (III.3). Accessed and focused through corresponding mantras and meditative regimes (III.4), the appropriate harnessing of these interior forces permits the development of extrasensory powers such as clairvoyance, clarividence, telepathy, levitation, and astral flight (III.5–7). Further practical exercises and technical clarifications (e.g. cabalistic numerology) close the arcane. The ‘Path of Initiation’ is the subject of Arcane Four, with its opening chapters offering a chronological overview of the development of religion and the evolutionary migration of its epicentre from East to West. The place of the ‘occult side of religions’ in this development and migration is then discussed along with the miscellaneous ‘mysteries’ it has articulated (IV.2). The initiatory way and its component (nine) degrees and corresponding tests are then engaged in great detail (IV.3–4). The seven ‘greater initiations’ (iniciações maiores) are also treated, along with the following seven initiations of Venus and three of the Logos (IV.5). Every successive stage of the initiatory path opens for the successful aspirant a fresh range of powers (each with their corresponding ‘laws of analogy’) to be mastered in the pursuit of self-enlightenment (IV.6). An outline of the twelve tasks of Hercules closes the arcane (IV.7). Arcane Five is entitled ‘White Magic’. Subsequent to a definition of white magic (V.1), its origins and place in the world’s religions and their occult components are then treated (V.2–3). A programmatic description of the preparation and commandments of the Magus (V.5–6) are followed by a number of conjuring (e.g. conjurations of 4 and 7), invocatory (e.g. invocation of Solomon), and exorcizing rituals (e.g. of fire, air, water, and earth). Along with ‘astrotheurgy and sidereal magic’, the contribution of the ‘planetary Gods’ to the awakening of consciousness is then introduced (V.8). The importance of sexual activity to awakening consciousness and its appropriate practice in enhancing universal forces concentrated in the sexual glands are also treated (V.9). The arcane closes by introducing relevant sounds and mantras (V.10) and describing the esoteric pentagram (V.11). Arcane Six offers a detailed engagement with ‘Gnostic Psychology’, in which ‘the human machine’ and its ‘five psychophysical centres’ (i.e. intellectual, motor, emotional, instinctive, and sexual) are detailed (VI.1–2) with reference to the relevant laws, atomic matter, and forces by which their functions are best regulated (VI.3–4). The ‘anatomy of the pluralized self’ in which the divine spark is imprisoned within hundreds of psychological aggregates is then sketched (VI.5), along with the place of

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Tibetan doctrines in the New Gnosis (VI.6). The arcane then treats the contemporary human condition as one of an ‘inebriated’ and ‘hypnotized’ kind in need of switching from ‘automatic pilot’ (VI.7.2). Such switching is achieved by way of ‘mystical death’ (morte mística) through which ‘psychological defects’ are annihilated and the self gradually roused from its ‘waking dream’ (VI.7). Known also as the ‘chain of death’ (cadeia de morte), this process of annihilation commences with painstaking ‘self-observation’ (‘undertaken from moment to moment, instant to instant, second to second, whether day or night’) in which every detail of the self’s daily routines, thoughts, feelings, and dreams are individually identified and recorded. Leading to ‘self-discovery’ of the basic mechanisms and motivations that drive the individual, these practices, thoughts, and feelings are then subject to ‘self-analysis’ by means of sustained meditative contemplation of their propriety or unacceptability. If practised properly, self-analysis gives way to ‘self-understanding’, as particular defects and their place in the self are identified. Once identified, each individual defect is then ‘eliminated’ as it becomes the focus of specific prayers and ritual action, the most efficacious of which is the practice of sexual magic (VI.8). The influence of George Ivanovich Gurdjieff (1866–1949) and his stress upon the somnolent self and the need for its awakening through exhaustive self-observation underlie much of this arcane (Needleman, 1992: 359–80). Entitled ‘Alchemy’, Arcane Seven treats the status of sexual activity as the centrepiece of New Gnosis and the key to the awakening of consciousness. Arguing that ‘humankind is connected by its sexual energy with the entire solar system’ (VII.1), the arcane commences by citing such ‘pearls of sexual alchemy’ as Jorge Adoum, Eliphas Levi, Arnold Krumm-Heller, Sivananda, and Gopi Krishna. The sexual metaphysics taught by Samael Aun Weor is said to build upon, but ultimately eclipse these contributions (VII.2). Arcane Seven then defines sexual alchemy as the contemporary manifestation of the traditional Hermetic art. Regarding the body and its sexual organs as the contemporary hermeticist’s ‘laboratory’, the act of sex represents the fabled ‘Philosopher’s Stone’, sexual energy the ‘Secret Fire’, and semen the ‘Prime Matter’ (VII.3). Practised at least once a day, preferably at night but not during menstruation, sexual alchemy takes place as the sexual energies retained through refusal to orgasm are transmuted through supplicatory prayers and mantras. Directed to the ‘Divine Mother’ (Mãe Divina), these prayers and mantras are aimed at the annihilation of the specific ‘defects’ identified through self-observation. Sexual magic is more or less efficacious relative to the amount of movement during coitus, the extent of penile erection, and the degree of feeling and pleasure experienced. Graded from ‘black light’ through ‘red light’ to ‘yellow light’ (the latter being best), the energy released by sexual magic is at its most when there is less movement, less erectile firmness, and less pleasure. The role of ‘sexual mysticism’ in awakening the serpent Kundalini (coiled at the base of the spine) and its contribution to the annihilation of psychological defects (‘multiple egos’) is the subject of the next chapter (VII.4). Termed ‘Super-Sexuality’ (VII.5) and ‘The Powers of Eros’ (VII.6) the arcane’s final chapters offer technical advice (e.g. positions, mantras, avoidance of orgasm) designed to enhance the practice of the ‘Great Arcane’. Arcane Eight engages ‘Universal Charity’ by analogously situating charitable practice within the ‘Great Universal Economy’ which is ‘regulated by laws of weight

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and measure’. Here, ‘nothing is given freely … everything costs, has a price, and fair value’ (VIII.1). The credit accumulated in this account can then be drawn on to ease ‘negotiations with divine laws’ such as those governing the awakening of the serpent Kundalini and annihilation of aggregated egos. Although accumulated cosmic credit is most efficacious when cashed with the Divine Mother during the practice of sexual magic, it pays to have a surplus of credit by the time of one’s physical demise in order to facilitate a progressive evolution through birth, death, and reincarnational cycles. Relative to the degree of self-sacrifice involved, the ‘law of voluntary sacrifice’ ensures that ‘what one gives up one gets back’. Charitable activity thereby enables a healthy ‘balance’ to be credited to an individual’s ‘cosmic’ account (VIII.1). Arcane Eight continues by critiquing prevailing economic, social, scientific, philosophical, cultural, and religious systems (VIII.2–8). This critique is censorious of a raft of issues (e.g. taxation, modern education, environmental abuse, organ transplantation and contraception, homosexuality, rock music, and organized religion) which are viewed as evidence of the ‘rottenness’ and ‘degeneration’ of contemporary humankind. The arcane closes by arguing that the transformation of society depends upon the prior transformation of the self. Under the heading ‘The Future of Humankind’, Arcane Nine deals with a number of themes and issues related to the forthcoming ‘final catastrophe’ of 2043 predicted by Samael Aun Weor. Drawing upon a miscellany of apocalyptic sources (e.g. Revelation, Nostradamus, and Fatima), the arcane opens by delineating the disastrous ‘final times’ leading up to the catastrophic events of 2043. It is then noted that extraterrestrial ‘beings from the Pleiades’ will support those deemed worthy enough to survive by communicating valuable scientific and cultural information which will aid in reconstruction. These aliens will also contribute genetically to humankind’s regeneration and move survivors to safer places either on Earth or other planets (IX.1). Within ‘50 to 100 years’ of the predicted catastrophe taking place, it is argued, extraterrestrial intervention and a renewed humanity will have given rise to ‘a new religion, a new political system, a new economic system, a new Science, and a new Philosophy. Everything will be new, nothing will be reformed’ (IX.2). The arcane concludes by detailing the benefits of the post-catastrophic ‘Age of Gold’ in which no individual dies of hunger, no one is denied the universal right to study, to perfect oneself, to work, to health, to longevity, comfort, freedom of movement, housing, and to enjoy the benefits of mineral, vegetable, and animal resources. Everything is portioned out to all in abundance, with justice and equality. There are no armies, police or prisons … but the one and only law of conscious universal love. (IX.3)

As with so many new era narratives, the Course in New Gnosis comprises a hybrid collection of disparate sources drawn from a wide variety of traditions, cultures, and worldviews. Virtually all of the themes common to many new era groups and organizations appear throughout the Course. Given the historical influence which esoteric narratives (of which the Course in New Gnosis is a typical example) have exercised across the new era spectrum, this should be of little surprise. Naturally, and like so many other discursive repertoires, the Course in New Gnosis reworks many

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of these themes along lines dictated by particular organizational origins, conceptual preoccupations, and evaluative aspirations. Allowing for the diversity of particular discursive expressions across the new era spectrum, a number of central motifs which underlie and orientate a great many of these specific repertorial expressions are nevertheless identifiable. As noted above, the motifs of holism, individualism, and pragmatism are regarded here as the most important of these directive themes and thereby worthy of the scrutiny to which they are now subject. Architectonic Motifs of New Era Discourse Holism The individual, society and the world should be seen, studied, measured, analysed, pondered, examined, and understood as one totality … That is Holism. (VIII.8)

Expressed here by the Course in New Gnosis, the holistic perspective is a well-trodden motif that has long been central to traditional esoteric discourse and represents one of the most recurrent motifs of contemporary new era narratives (Hammer, 2001: 76; Heelas, 1996: 33–5). The holistic perspective posits a universal force, principle or dynamic whose ubiquitous presence underlies every facet of cosmic existence. Such is the unmitigated nature of this ubiquity that every individual component of the universe, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, is joined to it and, by virtue of cosmic mediation, to every other unit of existence. As every aspect of reality is connected to every other aspect of reality, individual, unitary or differentiated existence is only ever apparent. United by way of this universal dynamic, each supposedly individual component of existence is actually part of an all-embracing whole, such that no specific unit can be properly understood without reference to the overarching whole of which it is but a particular expression. Articulated across the new era spectrum, the holistic argument that particular units of existence are but specific expressions of an underlying universal whole lends itself to the relativization of particular cultural and religious discourse and practice. Irrespective of cultural context or religious provenance, particular practices and traditions are but specific social-historical expressions of one and the same overarching, universal reality; such that ‘all religions have the same common objective and … all have the same essence’ (Albuquerque, 1999: 35). Cited in Albuquerque’s study of the Japanese new religion Seicho-no-Ie, the movement’s founder Masaharu Taniguchi echoes sentiments shared by many new era participants. Arising from this relativization of social-historical specificity, the respective cultural context or religious provenance of particular discourse and practice matters little. What matters above all is that each specific concept and individual practice can be said to communicate something of the underlying whole of which they are but relative expressions. Whether Maya or Buddhist, Hindu or Christian, Confucian or Pagan, Afro-Brazilian or new age, one religious-cultural component is as good as another. In effect, cultural specificity and religious particularity are subsumed within

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an epistemological dynamic within which each is rendered little more than a contextrelative metaphor for the same transcendent, universal truth. As all religions celebrate a singular cosmic truth so too do their central figures represent the same universal reality. As an adept of the Knights of Maitreya puts it: If you come from Umbanda, the master is going to present himself to you as a preto velho; if you are Catholic, the master presents himself to you as a saint of the Catholic Church; and if you are a ufologist, he is going to present himself as a commander of a space ship. The being [o ser] is the same. (Cited by Siqueira, 2003: 67)

According to the Course in New Gnosis, Allah, Brahman, God, Yahweh, and Tao signify the one universal truth; whilst Father, Son, and Spirit equal Brahman, Vishnu, and Shiva, who, in turn, are identical to Osiris, Horus, and Isis (I.3). Likewise the Virgin Mary is the Queen of the Forest, who is also the Great Mother, Juno, Hera, Isis, the Goddess, the Shechinah, Sofia, and so on (e.g. Coelho, 1996: 67); just as Jesus, Krishna, Buddha, and Master Irineu are one and the same incarnated reality. Following Weber, Séguy notes that the process of ‘metaphorization’ through which particular beliefs and practices are relativized by reference to an overarching universal principle is a dynamic at the heart of religion’s passage through ‘modernity’ (Hervieu-Léger, 2000: 66–74). By regarding specific beliefs and practices as nothing more than context-relative metaphors for an altogether grander, transcendent truth, the process of metaphorization facilitates two things. First, it allows beliefs and practices to be modified, if not wholly revised, along lines felt to be more in keeping with contemporary expressions of the one, underlying universal reality. Protestant Christianity’s moralizing of traditional supernatural beliefs (e.g. miracle and hell) and Catholicism’s ‘Romanization’ of popular religiosity in Brazil are cases in point. Second, and perhaps of greater relevance here, the process of metaphorization denudes particular beliefs and practices of their historical and cultural specificity. As different beliefs and practices are but varied expressions of the same transcendent truth, they assume an interchangeable quality which pays little or no heed to the actual historical and cultural contexts within and through which these beliefs and practices are interpreted. Just as particular beliefs and practices are revisable relative to the overarching truth they express, the specific contexts in which they are manifest are likewise adjudged to be expendable in respect of their historically and culturally transcendent meaning. In effect, the process of metaphorization relativizes the context of religious beliefs and practices in a manner that allows them to be plucked from their original historical and cultural frame of reference and relocated to a different time and place. As with the modification of traditional beliefs and practices exemplified above by Protestant and Catholic Christianity, the dislocation of concepts and rituals from their original historical and cultural contexts is likewise not solely a contemporary phenomenon. Traditional esoteric repertoires, for example, are renowned for their appropriation of concepts and practices culled from a wide variety of historical and cultural contexts (Hanegraaff, 1996: 454). Within the context of late-modernity, however, the dislocation of otherwise disparate beliefs and practices and their unification within a singular organizational repertoire has assumed conspicuous

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proportions. As will be seen in the next chapter, the secularization of Brazilian society has undermined the ability of state institutions and mainstream religions to influence religious expression (through coercion or socialization) at individual and organizational levels. At the same time, the intensification of cultural pluralization and globalizing dynamics have resulted in the much enhanced awareness and accessibility of alternative worldviews to those traditionally on offer. At an institutional level these interpenetrating structural dynamics facilitate both the conspicuous appropriation of concepts and practices and their incorporation within evermore hybrid organizational repertoires. Although mainstream religious organizations increasingly exhibit such tendencies (Guerra, 2003b: 1–23; Chesnut, 2003: 152), nowhere are the contemporary dynamics of conspicuous appropriation and repertorial ‘hybridization’ more apparent than across the new era spectrum (Camurça, 2003: 37–65). The hybridization of organizational narratives exemplified by the new era spectrum is characterized by the diffuse integration of disparately sourced elements within a loose, unwieldy, and often abstruse discursive repertoire. As Amaral notes, no longer circumscribed by their community of origin or ‘natural’ groups, these [dislocated] elements are repackaged with a high diversity of meaning and used for a variety of ends. They thereby function more as symbolic and linguistic resources with a large degree of flexibility and unpredictability than as doctrines or closed systems of meaning. Commencing with the incorporation of rituals, myths, and magic from diverse traditions, the improvization of ‘experiences’, events, ceremonies, encounters, and festivals becomes a distinct possibility. Separated from the orthodoxies and inhibitions of their original frame of reference, these elements are freed from any determined cultural constraints as to the relations and articulations they might form. (Amaral, 2003: 48)

The Course in New Gnosis, for example, cites the Bhagavad-Gita, Rig Veda, Upanishads, Tibetan Book of the Dead, Hebrew Bible, Christian Gospels, Gnostic writings, Hermetic literature, esoteric materials, and miscellaneous Aztec, Maya, and Incan sources. Likewise, the official website of the Valley of the Dawn appropriates elements from Christian, Afro-Brazilian, Spiritist, indigenous, pre-conquest, new age, classical, oriental, and esoteric repertoires. The organizational discourse of CEFLURIS is just as hybrid, as are many of the groups and organizations which comprise the new era spectrum. From ‘afro-new age’ (D’Andrea, 2000: 155) and ‘esoteric Umbanda’ (Souza and Souza, 1999) through ‘neo-ayahuasqueiros’ (Labate, 2004b) and ‘Umbandaime’ (Groisman, 2004: 14) to ‘Hare-Christians, HareDaimistas, and Hare-Buddhists’ (Guerriero, 2004: 167), the new era spectrum is an increasingly hybrid context; and progressively so as new and evermore inventive combinations are devised. Certainly, the relative youth of new era religiosity affords it a much greater flexibility than that enjoyed by traditional and mainstream religions. As Wilson notes, established religious organizations are often ‘caught in commitment to supposedly timelessly valid truths and … structures sanctified by antiquity’ (1999: 7). Of course, established religions are not as static as they might first appear and movements such as the Valley of the Dawn, Gnostic Church of Brazil, Santo Daime, Vegetable Union, and Barquinha also have their perceived traditions and institutional structures.

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The majority of groups populating the new era spectrum, however, are still at the charismatic stage of organizational formation and thereby much less wedded to the concepts of an immutable tradition or fixed institutional repertoire. At the same time, the new era spectrum is overwhelmingly populated by individuals for whom the immediacy of present experience is of primary significance (Sanchis, 1997: 113). As a result, traditional concepts of religious authority and the notions of doctrinal fixity which accompany it are regarded at best as restrictive and at worst as outmoded anachronisms. The systemic inconsistencies inevitably generated by the conspicuous appropriation of widely divergent sources may well, if at all, be mitigated with self-conscious reference to the established esoteric motifs of mystery, paradox, and the coincidence of opposites (Faivre, 1992: xix). Whilst the systematization of discursive narratives is not always at the top of new era agendas, some degree of perceived internal coherence is nevertheless claimed. Once again the holistic motif comes to the fore as the potential discordance or mutual incoherence of erstwhile disparate concepts and beliefs are explained away as nothing more than superficially divergent readings of one and the same underlying reality. The holistic perspective demands that difference is only ever apparent. Excised from their original contexts and isolated from their customary frames of reference, beliefs and practices of an otherwise incongruent nature are elided within a universalizing narrative for which the bigger picture rides roughshod over individual particularity and conceptual distinctiveness. Individualism Underwritten by the holistic motif, the practice of conspicuous appropriation and the diffuse integration of disparate sources within hybrid and flexible discursive repertoires are, I wish to argue, processes that are neither blind nor random. Rather, these processes are orchestrated by typically late-modern conceptualizations of the individual as both the self-authenticating arbiter of religious authority and the primary agent of spiritual transformation. Appropriating traditional esotericism’s rhetorical imperative of ‘know yourself’, new era discourse establishes ‘self-knowledge’ (autoconhecimento) as the supreme evaluative criterion against which all else is measured. Throughout the Course in New Gnosis, for example, the neo-esoteric aspirant is advised to listen only to ‘personal’ and ‘direct experience’, ‘seek within yourself’, follow ‘your own way’, and formulate ‘your own system’. In keeping with the primacy of the self as the ultimate arbiter of religious authority, a representative of the Valley of the Dawn describes its ‘basic philosophy’ as one in which the individual learns to be the ‘judge’ of what is and what is not ‘authentic’. ‘The world is not as it is but as each person sees it … the truth is only perceived individually by each person’ (Sassi, 1979: 6, 8). Underlining the status of the individual as the primary agent of self-transformation, a member of Vegetable Union states that ‘the first instructions that a disciple receives teach him to be master [senhor], master of himself’ (Milanez, 1988: 95). The Course in New Gnosis likewise argues that ‘to go forward, to stop or to advance depends solely upon you my student friend. You are the artificer of your own life’ (IX.3). Similar sentiments are expressed by the first

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two ‘precepts’ of the Japanese new religion the Church of Perfect Liberty. Holding that ‘Life is Art’ and that ‘Man’s [sic] life is a succession of self-expressions’, Perfect Liberty teaches its followers that You are the artist! You are the master craftsman, shaping your existence from the cradle to the grave. You wield the tools, dream the dreams, see the visions, draw the plans, take the time, and do the work … As a sculptor takes his raw materials and begins to realize his ideal, as a painter takes his brush and gives form to his creative idea, so in total life you are the artist ().

The ascension of the self as the defining principle against which religious-moral truth is measured and by which personal transformation is effected has long been a defining characteristic of western modernity (Taylor, 1992: 115–42): Neither an established place, nor a form belonging to you alone, nor any special function have We have given to you, O Adam, and for this reason, that you may have and possess, according to your desire and judgment, whatever place, whatever form, and whatever functions you shall desire … You, who are confined by no limits, shall determine for yourself your own nature, in accordance with your own free will … so that, more freely and more honorably the molder and maker of yourself, you may fashion yourself in whatever form you shall prefer. (Pico della Mirandola, 1977: 478)

Exemplified by Pico’s Oration on the Dignity of Man, early-modern emphases upon self-sufficiency and self-determination were subsequently refined by rationalist reflections upon autonomy and romanticism’s musings on self-cultivation. From political power (e.g. Hobbes and Rousseau) to moral authority (e.g. Hume and Bentham), epistemological confidence (e.g. Descartes and Kant) to economic exchange (e.g. Smith and Locke), and religious conviction (e.g. Schleiermacher and Butler) to juridical process (e.g. Tocqueville and Mill), post-Renaissance discourse constituted the individual self as the Archimedean point of reference for the modern worldview. New era representations of the self as arbiter of religious authority and primary agent of spiritual transformation are thereby reflective of modernity’s constitution of the individual as the conceptual lynchpin by which social-economic, political-juridical, religious-cultural, and moral-philosophical systems are understood and ultimately justified. Whilst typically modern in sentiment, it is important to note that new era representations of the self have moved beyond the received frames of reference within which the status and responsibilities of the individual have traditionally been interpreted. Indicative of late-modern interpretations in general, new era discourse articulates a radically attenuated reading of the individual’s relationships with and obligations to collective institutions such as the family network, religious community, and local culture. Appropriating a concept of Talcott Parsons, Beck and Beck-Gernsheim maintain that contemporary society is characterized by an ‘institutionalized individualism’ in which its ‘central institutions … – basic civil, political and social rights, but also paid employment and the training and mobility necessary for it – are geared to the individual and not to the group’ (2002: xxi–xxii). Wrought by the rapid and far-reaching differentiation of urban-industrial society, the

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process of ‘individualization’ entails ‘the disintegration of previously existing social forms – for example, the increasing fragility of such categories as class and social status, gender roles, family, neighbourhood, etc’ (2002: 2). In effect, the societal environment created by the processes of urban-industrialization has progressively undermined the traditional mechanisms through which the individual was bound to and her scope of action delimited by established institutions (e.g. family, school, and church) and preconceived expectations in respect of gender, class, and ethnicity. As a result, ‘opportunities, dangers, biographical uncertainties that were earlier predefined within the family association, the village community, or by recourse to the rules of social estates or classes, must now be perceived, interpreted, decided, and processed by individuals themselves’ (2002: 4). Progressively freed (‘disembedded’) by the processes of late-modernity from pre-given patterns of societal reproduction, the contemporary individual has an increasingly enhanced responsibility to actualize a growing number of options within ever more differentiated spheres of lifestyle choice, social interaction, political and religious affiliation, sexual and moral practice, and economic and cultural consumption. In fulfilling this responsibility to choose from a growing range of options and move between a growing number of spheres, the latemodern self (homo optionis) is required to rely increasingly upon her own initiative. Understood variously as constructing an ‘elective’ (Hitzler), ‘reflexive’ (Giddens) or ‘do-it-yourself’ (Ley) biography, the late-modern self is supported in this task by an ‘ethic of individual self-fulfilment and achievement’ in which the ‘choosing, deciding, shaping human being who aspires to be the author of his or her own life, the creator of an individual identity, is the central character of our time’ (Beck and Beck-Gersheim, 2002: 3, 22–3). Late-modernity practices what high-modernity preached. Analysis of the processes of individualization and their implications for contemporary religious expression have been well treated both in Latin America (e.g. Prandi, 1997: 65; Mallimaci, 1997: 83–4) and beyond (e.g. Heelas, 1996: 2; Bruce 2002: 10–12; Beckford, 2003: 209). Central to many of these analyses is the recognition that late-modern transformations of established individual–collective dynamics have radically modified received relationships between religious communities and their respective participants. With emphasis shifting from collective to individual expectation, it is argued, growing numbers of individuals are increasingly interacting with religious movements and organizations relative to subjective criteria guided by immediate experience and orientated to personal fulfilment (Brandão, 1994: 34–5; Amaral, 2000: 19). As late-modernity progressively relativizes collective expectation and the individual obligations it entails, the quest for self-fulfilment increasingly constitutes the central dynamic of belonging to and participating in collective modes of religious expression. Evaluated relative to subjective needs and aspirations, religious participation is instrumentalized as it is regarded as a means to an end (i.e. self-fulfilment) rather than an end in itself. The instrumentalization of individual interaction with religious groups and organizations is clearly expressed through the constitution of the late-modern self as religious ‘bricoleur’ and organizational ‘transient’. Discussing the implications of the late-modern individual’s liberation from the ‘compulsory ties and loyalties’ that once constituted the traditional religious

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field, Amaral notes that ‘beyond the confines of traditional communities, seekers of personal growth tend to embrace a diversity of discourses, abandoning unitary systems of meaning and combining symbols from different codes and cultural sources irrespective of disjunctions and syncretism’ (2000: 19). Released from the traditional confines of collective determination, the individual is now freer than ever to pick and choose whatever practical, theoretical or moral resources are best suited to personal predilections and idiosyncrasies. No longer bound to accept ready-made belief systems on a ‘take it or leave it’ basis, the late-modern self has become a ‘bricoleur’ par excellence (Magnani, 2000: 12, 88). Mixing and matching elements from an increasingly pluralized spectrum of practical regimes, conceptual approaches, and moral systems once thought mutually exclusive, this process of bricolage results in what Brandão terms a ‘subjective polysemy of religious experience’ (1994: 30). No matter how seemingly abstruse, unwieldy, hybrid or systematically incoherent, if it makes sense to me, it makes sense. In addition to the process of bricolage, the instrumentalization of religious participation also results in an increased rate of individual transit between religious groups and organizations. Subject to much attention by sociologists of neo-esoteric religion in Brazil, ‘religious transit’ is characterized by successive switching between and concurrent participation in assorted groups and organizations (e.g. Almeida & Monteiro, 2001; A. Dawson, 2005; Guerriero, 2004: 159; and Magnani, 2000: 50). No longer bound by traditional loyalties and received obligations the contemporary individual is freed from established patterns of religious belonging that once saw institutional ties and organizational commitments as both long term and exclusive. Of course, religious conversion and the switching from one faith allegiance to another are not late-modern phenomena; nor as African-Brazilians have shown for generations is participation in more than one sector of the religious field at one and the same time. What is of late-modern provenance, however, is the ‘flexibilized’ manner (Bourdieu, 1998a: 84) and sheer extent of individual transit particularly between groups, movements, and institutions occupying the new era spectrum. In her study of ‘mystical-esoteric’ participants in and around Brasília, for example, Siqueira notes that the average individual had been involved in 3.2 groups, with this number rising to an average of 5.7 for those between 43 and 49 years of age (2003: 109). Likewise, my own conversations with adepts from across the new era spectrum indicate widespread transit between groups on both successive and concurrent bases.1

1 Conversations with occupants of the new era spectrum lead me to conclude that concurrent transit between groups is less commonly found among new era organizations which possess more formal religious repertoires. That is, in these groups one is more likely to meet participants who may well have passed between any number of new era organizations previously, but who are at present only involved in this one group. In contrast, the incidence of concurrent participation increases as one moves toward the other end of the new era spectrum in which formal religious repertoires are either less developed or self-consciously avoided. Allowing for the particulars of group ethos and personal taste, it would seem that more formal religious repertoires engender and/or reflect a greater sense of exclusivity or allegiance on the part of both the organization and the individual participant.

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Over time it becomes clear that the processes of bricolage and transit work in tandem to contribute further to the progressive pluralization of religious repertoires. As individuals move from group to group they invariably appropriate discursive and practical elements which are then combined in what might be termed the construction of an ‘elective’, ‘reflexive’ or ‘do-it-yourself’ religious biography. Together transit and bricolage conspire to produce a kaleidoscopic amalgam of beliefs which the individual brings to bear when interacting with the respective repertoires of each new group. What is important to note here, though, is that this variegated composite of beliefs plays an active role in influencing the individual’s conceptual and practical interaction with whatever organizational repertoire she is currently engaging. Perhaps because of the charismatic nature of contemporary authority structures across the new era spectrum, this process is most evident in respect of the leaders of a group or organization. Across the new era spectrum it is commonplace to meet leaders who have passed through a wide diversity of different groups, organizations, and movements. Typical of many conversations, one daimista leader, for example, informed me that prior to ‘finding’ Daime he had participated in Catholic, Umbanda, Spiritist, Theosophical, Rosicrucian, new age, and assorted neo-esoteric groups. Whilst he regarded himself as having moved beyond these beliefs and practices, it was clear that he continued, however unwittingly, to utilize elements from them to inform his current engagement with the contemporary daimista repertoire. Within any one new era group at any one time, then, there are any number of individuals, each with their own richly varied religious biography, interacting with each other and with the prevailing organizational repertoire in a manner which inevitably brings about modifications at both an individual and an organizational level. Whilst expectations differ from group to group, as will be seen in the next chapter, changes in the nature of religious participation and affiliation (explored here through bricolage and transit) are widely accepted by new era groups as phenomena which merit appropriate organizational strategies. Reflected in its depiction of the self as arbiter of religious authority and primary agent of spiritual-transformation, the new era valorization of the individual is seemingly compromised by the discursive location of the self within a holistic matrix of cosmic laws and all-pervasive forces. Traversing the universe and impinging upon everything that exists, these cosmic forces determine the physical and immaterial conditions of possibility within which self-knowledge and personal transformation unfold: ‘As it is above, so it is below’ (Course in New Gnosis, II.1), ‘on earth as in heaven’ (Sassi, 1979: 19). Such is the all-determining nature of these universal principles that ‘the most terrible ill that can befall Human Beings is ignorance of the Spiritual Laws which rule them and rule the Cosmos’ (Netto, 1988: 74–5). True ‘freedom’, then, arises not from the absence of these all pervasive laws, but from a ready willingness to orchestrate one’s life in accord with them (Milanez, 1988: 131). Paradoxically, individual fulfilment commences with the acknowledgement of the self as situated within an overarching matrix of pre-established and unbending universal laws, forces, and, dynamics: The study of the universe is impossible without also studying humanity [o homem]. At the same time, it is impossible to know humanity without studying the universe. Humanity is

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The discursive embedding of the individual within a pre-given web of all-pervasive laws is further reinforced by new era representations of the self as a microcorrelate of macro-cosmic forces. An analogy used in classical and Renaissance philosophy, medieval theology, and traditional esoteric discourse (Faivre, 1992: xv), the conceptualization of the self as a ‘little world’ (mundus minor) whose structure directly mirrors that of the surrounding universe appears throughout the new era spectrum: ‘The soul is the microcosm’ and this ‘microcosm has the same organization as the macrocosm’ (Sassi, 1979: 18–19). ‘We know that within our brain exists a replica of the entire universe’ (cited by Siqueira, 2003: 53). Taking the world without as a blueprint for the world within, new era discourse underwrites micro–macro relations by projecting cosmic forces and universal dynamics deep within the individual self: ‘There exists a great cosmic memory which rules the entire universe and … besides manifesting itself in the broad dimension that is the macrocosm, cannot cease to manifest itself also in the microcosm that is humankind’ (Milanez, 1988: 100). Likewise, ‘there is a harmony which pervades all things’ and ‘this Harmony exists from the microcosm to the macrocosm, in order that we may fully experience it’ (Netto, 1988: 36–7). In true holistic fashion, psycho-physical processes constitutive of the self at an intimate level are read not simply as parallel to but actual ‘miniature’ versions of the very forces, laws, and principles constitutive of the universe as a whole (Course in New Gnosis, III.1). Rather than compromise new era estimations of the individual as arbiter of religious authority and primary agent of spiritual transformation, the narration of the self as traversed by macrocosmic laws and dynamics is a discursive strategy designed ultimately to affirm the sovereign status of the individual. Absolute selftransformation is ultimately achievable because the cosmic laws and dynamics anchoring the individual to the universal whole also anchor the universal whole to the individual self. Each is internally related to the other such that changes in one component of the partnership entail changes in the other; ‘as it is above it is below and as it is within it is without’ (Course in New Gnosis, II.1). Mutually implicated as micro-self and macro-cosmos are, manipulation of the self and manipulation of the cosmos become one and the same thing. Far from compromising new era estimations of the individual as arbiter of religious authority and primary agent of spiritual transformation, the narration of the individual as traversed by macrocosmic laws and dynamics is a discursive strategy by which the self and its reach are universalized. As ‘every being contains within itself the entire intelligible world … understanding oneself’ equates with understanding ‘the universe’ (): ‘When one knows oneself and understands oneself intimately one also comprehends the entire world, its laws, and principles’ (Course in New Gnosis, III.1). ‘Know yourself and you will know the Universe and the Gods’ (AMORC, 2001: 26). The correlation of individual microcosm with universal macrocosm thereby underwrites the conflation of self-knowledge and universal comprehension such that the more one knows oneself the more one understands the inner workings of the cosmos;

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‘as it is within, it is without’ (II.1). This elision of self-knowledge with universal understanding reflects the immanentist tendencies of late-modern religiosity in which the focal point of religious belief and practice migrates increasingly from external space-time to internal psychological experience (Hanegraaff, 1996: 482; Heelas, 1996: 19; Hammer, 2001: 52). According to Berger, this migration takes place as religious ‘realities’ are increasingly ‘translated’ from a frame of reference of facticities external to the individual consciousness to a frame of reference that locates them within consciousness … Put differently, the realissimum to which religion refers is transposed from the cosmos or from history to individual consciousness. Cosmology becomes psychology. (1967: 167)

This migration from exterior space-time to inner psychological experience is expressed within new era discourse by comments such as ‘heaven is within us, it is our very selves’ (Albuquerque, 1999: 48), the ‘reencounter with one’s own essence … is also a reencounter with God’ such that ‘the disciple will have to undertake a long journey within himself’ (Milanez, 1988: 134, 76), ‘everyone should endeavour to seek their true selves’ (), and ‘in order to ascend it is first necessary to descend’ (Course in New Gnosis, IV.6). Underwritten by the conflation of self-knowledge and universal comprehension, the process of psychologization is reflected in new era preoccupations with ‘awakening’, ‘cultivating’, ‘stimulating’ or ‘discovering’ the ‘higher’, ‘inner’, ‘Christic’, ‘cosmic’ or ‘true’ self within each of us. Contrasted with the ‘ego’, which represents the part of the self most ‘polluted’ or ‘confused’ by the external world, the ‘higher self’ (eu superior) signifies the innermost part of the individual which is least affected by outside influences and thereby most closely connected with supernatural reality. ‘Through contact with the higher Self one makes contact with all the intelligences of the universe’ (cited by Siqueira, 2003: 53). Whilst the terminology may differ from group to group, the development of the higher self is championed across the new era spectrum, as are the myriad techniques, practices, and therapies by which this development is promoted. Pragmatism The psychologized approach of new era religiosity presents the successful development of the inner self as depending upon three things. First, the success of the inner self’s cultivation is reliant upon the availability of accurate information about the ‘laws’, ‘forces’, ‘dynamics’, and ‘principles’ which pervade the universe and determine the cosmological conditions of possibility within which self-realization takes place. Second, those who aspire to self-fulfilment must have access to the most efficacious techniques and practices by which macrocosmic dynamics and energies pervading the universe can be harnessed and manipulated by the microcosmic self in whom they are anchored. Third, the successful union of cosmological knowledge and efficacious practice relies ultimately upon the aptitude and ability of the new era aspirant to apply himself in a disciplined and focused way. Knowledge without practice is meaningless, just as practice without knowledge is futile.

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In offering themselves as a form of practical knowledge attuned to the needs of those seeking to develop their inner selves, new era groups are careful not to contravene, at least explicitly, the dictates of holism and the supremacy of the individual as arbiter of religious authority and primary agent of self-transformation. On the whole, new era groups are wary, at least in an overt fashion, of encouraging take up of their teachings in a way which contravenes the relativizing dictates of established holistic interpretations in which ‘all religions are true’ and ‘no religions are false’ (Course in New Gnosis, VIII.7). Claims to possess a practical knowledge superior to others on offer risks calling into question the levelling effects of the holistic worldview and all that it makes possible by way of conspicuous appropriation, hybridization, and diffuse integration. At the same time, explicit claims to be in possession of a superior kind of practical knowledge risk offending the ephemeral sensibilities of the latemodern bricoleur and transient. The assertion by any one group that it possesses a truth better than others or unavailable elsewhere inevitably impinges upon the sovereignty of the late-modern self by making claims as to what she should and should not choose. In effect, claims to superiority and exclusivity delimit the status of the late-modern self as the arbiter of religious authority and thereby relativize the place of subjective experience as the ultimate criterion by which the value of any particular practical knowledge is determined. Having espoused the principles of holism and the primacy of the self, new era groups must cut their discursive cloth accordingly. In explicit terms, new era discourse avoids contravening the dictates of holism and the primacy of the self by devolving to the individual aspirant the task of differentiating between the various forms of practical knowledge on offer. With due, and often ostentatious discursive humility, new era groups present themselves as just one among a number of perspectives on offer, whilst insisting that the individual make a choice as to which knowledge and practice works best for her: ‘Never follow anyone else! Follow only your own Internal Master’ (Course in New Gnosis, VI.12). In keeping with late-modern conceptualizations of the self, new era narratives ground the act of differentiation in subjective experience and individual preference. In effect, the act of differentiating between different new era technologies of the self becomes just another of the myriad choices that late-modern homo optionis is required to make (Beck and Beck-Gernsheim, 2002: 5). Such is the nature of this devolution of choice to the late-modern self that individuals are encouraged to appropriate what they find useful and ignore what they do not. Picking and choosing relative to personal predilection and individual idiosyncrasy, the self’s status as bricoleur and transient is assumed as a matter of course. Set against the backdrop of late-modern valorizations of the self, the ‘suck it and see’ devolution of religious differentiation makes a virtue out of necessity. Reflecting late-modern valorizations of the individual, new era groups are keen to distance themselves and their organizational repertoires from more traditional and mainstream modes of religious expression. Representing an external authority over and above the self, traditional religion (usually Christianity, but other forms also) is regarded as ‘dogmatic’, ‘overbearing’ and ‘moralistic’ with a greater concern for ‘doctrines’, ‘dogmas’, and ‘precepts’ than the needs and aspirations of individuals. Even among those groups in possession of repertorial trappings similar to mainstream

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religious organizations (e.g. doctrines, rituals, and functionaries), acceptance of a formal religious identity is eschewed or minimized by claiming not to be like those who are ‘imprisoned in beliefs and dogmas’ (Milanez, 1988: 115). As one informant put it, ‘we may be religious but we are not a religion’. In contrast with traditional religion which posits belief and authority structures over and above the individual, new era discourse more commonly presents itself as a ‘life ethic’ or ‘philosophy of life’ attuned to the needs of the inner self as it struggles to cope with and ultimately rise above the mundane demands of the everyday world. The new era message is one of timely pragmatism rather than timeless truth. Across the new era spectrum the timely pragmatism of new era practical knowledge is underlined with reference to its tangible implications in respect of physical wellbeing, material acquisition, and relational harmony. Health, wealth, and happiness are powerful exemplars of any discourse’s practical application. The timeliness and pragmatic worth of new era discourse is further underscored with reference to the manner in which it enables the individual to meet the special demands of the very particular times through which we are passing. Appropriating millenarian themes more traditionally associated with popular religiosity (Oliveira, 1985; Pessar, 2004), new era discourse is littered with claims that the world is currently passing through a transitional phase of a truly momentous nature: As is known, humanity is currently living through one of the most crucial moments of its history … humanity appears not to understand or does not wish to understand that it is fatally making its way towards its own destruction (Milanez, 1988: 129). The present cycle is about to end and the world will pass through great transformations which are already evident to those with common sense (Sassi, 1979: 4). Because of human progress separated from God, people are marching towards death in the forthcoming and last Armageddon of this cycle … these final times of deep changes for the World. (Netto, 1988: 28)

Evidenced, relative to the group, by impending ecological disaster, warfare, civil unrest, moral degeneracy, rampant materialism, escalating crime and violence, and natural calamities of drought, famine, and earthquake, this time of transition provokes a range of quite particular demands and challenges which new era repertoires regard themselves as well placed to meet. The knowledge furnished by new era religiosity, it is claimed, allows the individual to understand the significance of current calamities and disasters by placing them in their appropriate cosmological context. At the same time, new era practices are said to equip the individual with a range of techniques and therapies which enable adepts to endure successfully the trials and tribulations associated with the birth pangs of a new era, the downfall of a civilization or the closing phase of an evolutionary cycle. Given their traditional place among popular religious expressions of the rural poor, the prevalence of millenarian themes within new era narratives of a predominantly middle-class, urban-industrial complexion is worthy of further exploration. To be classed as millenarian, Cohn argues, a movement or group should exhibit five characteristics in respect of its relationship with the world. First, it should believe in the forthcoming establishment of an earthly paradise. Second, this earthly paradise will be lived and experienced collectively and not simply on a private, individual

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basis. Third, the establishment of early paradise will be sooner rather than later and occur in a compressed rather than gradual time frame. (I would add here that this compressed time frame provokes events of a dramatic and extraordinary kind which are read as signs of impending transformation.) Fourth, the transformation wrought upon the earth by the establishment of paradise will be complete. Fifth, the arrival of earthly paradise will be effected by supernatural means rather than human struggle or application (in Clarke, 2002: 20). Although the reasons behind the emergence of millenarian narratives are too complex for detailed engagement here, two related factors of central importance can be noted. First, millenarian repertoires emerge on the back of an inability or refusal of certain (usually disenfranchised) groups to envisage change for the better arising from prevailing social-economic structures and political-legal systems. As such, change must come from outside the system. Second, millenarian aspirations result from an inability or refusal on the part of certain (usually powerless) groups to employ transformative strategies by which the prevailing system might be changed for the better. Consequently, change must come by other means. Together, systemic marginalization and strategic impotence conspire to produce a worldview in which it is perceived that prevailing structures must end before things change for the better and that this end will come from means (e.g. external intervention or systemic implosion) other than internal reform or social-political agitation.2 This worldview combines with religious, cultural, and historical factors to produce a millenarian perspective in which the end of society as we know it is construed within an interpretative framework involving some form of supernatural agency or cosmological scheme. In contrast with those groups in which millenarian perspectives have traditionally emerged, new era urban professionals espousing millenarian views cannot be said to be suffering the same conditions of systemic marginalization and strategic impotence. Whence, then, their attachment to millenarian motifs?3 Again allowing for complexities beyond the scope of the present treatment, three factors might be highlighted as making, in combination, a significant contribution to the articulation of new era millenarian perspectives. First, whereas it cannot be said that the majority of new era practitioners suffer under the same conditions of systemic marginalization as those among whom millenarianism has traditionally thrived, it might be argued that their status as urban professionals nevertheless engenders a kind of systemic insecurity. Of course, the average life of the average urban professional is by no means as difficult or precarious as those of the poor majority in Brazil. Nevertheless, at a time when enhanced global awareness and late-capitalist ideology have increased urban middle-class expectations and aspirations, over the last three decades this 2 The emergence of this worldview also relies upon some form of practical-symbolic crisis which results in the breakdown or weakening of established mechanisms of socialization through which systemic marginalization and strategic impotence are inculcated as a ‘natural’ or ‘reasonable’ state of affairs. 3 As Landes notes, ‘millennial (perfect world) and apocalyptic (now) themes’ feature in the discourse of a number of new religious movements, particularly in the early stages of development (2004: 338).

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group has experienced both a decreasing standard of living and a steady decline in occupational security. The shortfall between expectation and reality, combined with the erosion of social-economic conditions inevitably generates a mixture of frustration, distrust, perplexity, and anxiety. Faced with the effects of systemic insecurity, for some, resolution is sought beyond the prevailing system. Second, whilst it cannot be said that the majority of new era practitioners experience the same strategic impotence as those for whom millenarianism has traditionally been a response, it may be argued that, for some at least, there exists a kind of strategic indifference. The cause (or admixture of causes) of such indifference will clearly differ from person to person. As well as personal disposition and socialized patterns of behaviour, strategic indifference may be rooted for some in a lack of habit born of the paucity of proper mechanisms of political representation and civil agitation which lasted from the military coup of 1964 until re-democratization in the early 1980s. Another potential cause may be the processes of individualization which, according to Beck and Beck-Gernsheim, are resulting in creeping ‘subpoliticization’ and ‘political privatism’ manifest in a growing disregard for political processes of representation and collective mechanisms for civil action (2002: 28, 37). For others the cause of political and civil estrangement might lie in a disengagement from the system which expresses the frustrations and dissatisfaction engendered by systemic insecurity. Whatever the particular cocktail of causation, the implications of strategic indifference are that those desirous of change must look for it through means other than established political-civil processes. Combined with the effects of systemic insecurity, the consequences of strategic indifference produce a perspective which holds that prevailing structures must change before things improve and that this change can come neither from internal reform nor social-political engagement. By no stretch of the imagination is millenarianism the only means of disaffected urban professionals expressing this viewpoint. Alongside contemporary religious and cultural contexts, however, the established and prevalent nature of millenarian motifs throughout the history of Brazil does make millenarianism a viable hermeneutical option. Whereas systemic insecurity and strategic indifference reflect somewhat negative processes, the third potential reason for new era espousal of millenarian motifs is of a more positive tenor. As expressed within new era discourse, millenarian motifs are ultimately affirmative in character. Whilst the particulars of respective latter-day and end-time scenarios differ from group to group, the overall message remains the same. The articulation of millenarian narratives says to new era adepts that the practical knowledge by which you now live is the very same practical knowledge by which the world will be transformed and upon which a new civilization will be founded. At the same time, the fact that you are today living by this practical knowledge places you among the righteous remnant which is to form the vanguard of this renewed world and its new civilization. By linking contemporary practice to future global renewal, and by setting this global renewal within a cosmological frame of reference, new era millenarianism endows both its repertoire and its practitioners with a significance of truly cosmic proportions. At the same time in which new era discourse emphases the pragmatic worth of its practical knowledge in dealing with the issues of today, the use of millenarian motifs underscores its significance with reference to the broader

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cosmological scheme of things. The timely pragmatism of new era discourse thereby receives a considerable upgrade. As noted above, the cultivation of the inner self is a major preoccupation of new era discourse and practice. Understood as the aspect of the self most attuned to cosmic reality, the inner self can only be nurtured relative to the demise of the ‘ego’ which is regarded as the part of the self most allied with the external, material world. Alongside a lack of knowledge and practical inexperience, new era discourse posits the ego as the major obstacle to self-transformation. According to the sixth of Perfect Liberty’s Twenty-One Precepts an individual’s ‘true self’ is only ‘revealed when his ego is effaced’ (). Representing the part of the individual most affected by and attached to the external world, the ego is, in effect, the social self; that is, the part of the self most inscribed by and attuned to the processes of socialization. Constitutive of society as whole, these processes signify forces and dynamics which stand over and against the individual limiting both her self-expression and unfettered pursuit of absolute self-realization. By effacing the ego, new era practical knowledge effaces society. As the dissolution of societal determination, the annihilation of the ego releases the self to determine its own inner transformation free from external forces and dynamics beyond its control. Across the new era spectrum, groups and organizations offer themselves as purveyors of techniques and therapies designed to facilitate individuals in their struggles to transcend the stultifying effects of the ego and awaken the higher self within: Think of the would-be golfer or artist or musician. What does he do when he wishes to develop his potentialities? Naturally he seeks the advice and assistance of a coach or teacher. Well, then, just so you too must be mature and frank enough to listen to great teachers of religion if you are truly interested in a better life for yourself and your loved ones. ()

From meditation to the realignment of chakras, miração to reiki, neo-shamanism to chromotherapy, and past-lives regression to flower-therapy, the new era spectrum is replete with techniques and therapies orientated to awakening what is within by suppressing what is without. Understood variously as ‘path’, ‘journey’, ‘apprenticeship’, ‘way’, or ‘initiation’, the technical mastery of new era practical knowledge is hard won and comes only to those who learn and apply these teachings with patient diligence. Nevertheless, the end product is worth the time and struggle for it is no less than universal comprehension and cosmic mastery. The achievement of universal comprehension and cosmic mastery is underwritten by the combination of holistic and micro–macro motifs which ground universal forces and dynamics deep within the individual such that: the more one practises new era knowledge, the more one dissolves the ego and allows the inner self to emerge; the more one allows the inner self to emerge, the greater one’s understanding of the universal laws and forces inscribed upon it; the greater one’s understanding of the laws and forces engraved upon the inner self, the more one suppresses the ego and permits the inner self to flourish; the more the inner self flourishes, the firmer one’s grasp of the principles and laws written upon it; the

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firmer one’s grasp of these universal processes, the greater one’s ability to harness and manipulate them; the more secure one’s ability to harness and manipulate these cosmic laws, the greater one’s transformation and the more universal one’s reach. Self knowledge is universal comprehension, just as self-governance is cosmic mastery. Although different new era groups and organizations underwrite the effectiveness of their particular form of practical knowledge in different ways, a common discursive strategy is to found repertorial efficacy upon the technical credentials of an ‘enlightened master’ (Rawlinson, 1997) whose spiritual journey has resulted in the instrumental mastery of the procedural technicalities necessary to self-realization. The enlightened master (e.g. Samael Aun Weor, Tia Neiva, Irineu Serra, and José Gabriel da Costa) is such because s/he has united an intimate knowledge of the universe with the practical ability to manipulate its laws in a way that has resulted in the achievement of absolute self-fulfilment. Having attained an enlightened condition the master has subsequently shared this practical knowledge in order that others may learn and apply it in pursuit of their own self-realization. Despite its extraordinary appearance, the practical knowledge made available by the master is quite ordinary in nature. That is, it has been obtained through diligent learning and rigorous application of knowledge and techniques which, by virtue of their universal (macrocosmic) status and grounding in the (microcosmic) individual, are ultimately open to everyone to learn and apply. All that is needed is an openness to acquire this knowledge and willingness to practise the techniques (e.g. meditation, possession, miração or sexual alchemy) through which the forces seated deep within the (higher) self are harnessed and manipulated. Of course, given the demands of openmindedness and diligent application only a minority of individuals will ever be able to embrace and successfully apply the practical knowledge on offer. This fact does not, though, negate the egalitarian exemplarism embodied in the acknowledgement that everyone who is willing to learn and apply themselves can access, in the same way and to the same extent, the practical knowledge acquired and manipulated by the enlightened master.4 In effect, new era discourse portrays the enlightened master as a concrete example to every would-be aspirant of what she can be if she is willing to learn and apply herself. As doing what the master has done will enable you to know what he knows, and as knowing what the master knows will enable you to do what he has done, the accession to enlightened mastery awaits you if who are willing and able to follow his lead. Complementing the individualistic rhetoric of devolving to the individual the task of differentiating between the various new era repertoires on offer the discursive motif of egalitarian exemplarism accords well with late-modern valorizations of the self. Once again, the sovereignty of the late-modern self is affirmed as success or 4 This egalitarianism is further underscored by the fact that rewards for the diligent application of new era practical knowledge are guaranteed by a procedural reciprocity in which ‘what one gives up, one gets back’; even though these rewards may not actually be received in this life but may accrue to the subject in the form of good karma to be enjoyed in a subsequent incarnation! Nevertheless, the status of the individual as the principal locus by and through which this effort is made and guaranteed rewards enjoyed accords well with latemodern valorizations of the individual as the primary agent of self-transformation.

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failure in the pursuit of self-realization is laid squarely at the door of individual choice and personal application. Having devolved to the individual the task of differentiating between alternative repertoires, new era discourse underwrites the status and ability of the self to undertake this task with success. In effect, the egalitarian and exemplarist emphases of new era discourse clears the decks of all possible obstacles to the individual’s free and unhindered exercise of choice and appropriation. Irrespective of its esoteric character and arcane appearance, it is intimated, the practical knowledge on offer is readily available for appropriation by any who wish it. The message is clear: irrespective of his now elevated status and universal command, the master was once one of us and, as such, stands as a living example of what we can be if we want it enough. The enlightened master of new era discourse thereby functions as a cipher for the universalizing aspirations of the late-modern self, just as the practical knowledge he makes available is the means by which these aspirations are realized on a truly cosmic scale worthy of the latemodern individual’s elevated status. An important aspect of new era discourse central to the success of the above scenario is the manner in which the universal laws and forces seated within and ultimately manipulated by the self are held to be directly analogous with the principles and laws enunciated by the modern scientific paradigm. Although generally disparaging of modern science, new era narratives regularly employ motifs and scenarios in which the laws and principles of which they speak (e.g. ‘universal charity’, ‘divine justice’, ‘karma’, and ‘sympathy’) are treated as supernatural equivalents of scientific laws (e.g. gravity, magnetism, and strong and weak nuclear force) which regulate the material universe. And just as these scientific laws and principles can be understood and manipulated for the benefit of the individual, so too can the laws and dynamics enunciated by new era discourse. As with established scientific method, success depends upon the appropriate combination of accurate knowledge, proper technique, and correct application. New era emphases upon the pursuit of particular ends through the application of practical knowledge which manipulates forces and energies has led some to regard the spread of new era repertoires as contributing to what they regard as the revitalization of magic (Parker, 2000: 88). According to Prandi ‘the return to densely magical concepts and practices reveals a reaction to the disenchanted model characteristic of modern societies’ (1996: 23). In her discussion of what she terms the ‘magicization’ (magicização) of religion’ Eleta links the ‘revival of magic’ to contemporary dynamics of individualization. ‘Through the present process of magicization, magic contributes potentially to the weakening of religious authority and hierarchical structures. It even relativizes the value of a common space of ritual practice and encounter in favour of increasingly flexible ties’ (2000: 144). Although academic opinion is far from unanimous in its definition of magic (and its relationship with religion) it can nevertheless be said to have the following defining characteristics. Magic is chiefly instrumental in nature in that it is primarily orientated to the achievement or acquisition of specific ends (e.g. healing, wealth, and happiness). It has manipulative and technical preoccupations in that it involves the correct application or execution of set procedures and practices which if carried out properly lead to the achievement of specific ends. Magic is predominantly pragmatic

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in nature in that it calls upon and implements (within reason) whatever forms of practical knowledge provide the most efficacious means to achieving the desired results. If particular practices or principles do not bring about the desired results then they are swapped for others that will. And magic has a certain individualistic bent in that the successful implementation of practical knowledge (once acquired) is ultimately reliant upon individual application rather than the mediation of designated religious functionaries. Emphasis therefore rests upon the quality of the doing rather than the status of the doer. Certainly, the instrumental, manipulative, pragmatic, and individualized nature of much new era practical knowledge lends itself to being regarded as a form of late-modern magical-religion. These magical preoccupations can be an integral component of a broader religious repertoire and thereby involve some kind of manipulation of (e.g. spell or charm) or procedural engagement with (e.g. promessa or novena) supernatural agencies such as spirits, saints or deities. In the same vein, and exemplified by elements of European esotericism and new age repertoires, contemporary magical practices can form part of a largely disenchanted worldview in which blind forces and impersonal energies are subject to manipulation through technical procedures echoing those of the modern scientific paradigm. The Diffusion of New Era Discourse Still the preserve of a relatively limited constituency, new era repertoires continue to grow in visibility and organizational spread. Media interest in what is perceived (and often represented) to be exotic, avant-garde or just plain eccentric has no doubt played a part in boosting public awareness of and participation in the new era spectrum. The steady growth in new era networks (e.g. fairs, conferences, and events) and campaigns (e.g. decriminalization of ayahuasca) has likewise contributed to enhance visibility and growth. Aforementioned processes of individualization and the resulting instrumentalization of religious participation have also played a part in the spread of new era concepts and practices. The dynamics of bricolage and transit are not restricted to new era participants and there is growing evidence of increasing crossfertilization between the new era spectrum and mainstream religions. In her study of the Catholic Charismatic Renewal (Renovação Carismática Católica) network, for example, Oliveira details the appropriation of new era practices and techniques such as alternative medicine, aromatherapy, chromotherapy, and parapsychology (2004: 97). Certainly, the relative youth and social status of Charismatic Renewal participants, in addition to their qualified relationship with Roman Catholic institutions, engenders a willingness to entertain novel modes of religious expression. Oliveira, however, highlights a number of thematic correspondences between charismatic renewal and new era paradigms which she argues provide conceptual grounds for the ingression of new era discourse and practice. These thematic correspondences are new era holistic perspectives and Charismatic Renewal representations of the Holy Spirit as a kind of ‘intrinsic cosmic energy’; new era preoccupations with cultivating the higher self and Charismatic Renewal concerns with the growth of inner holiness; a shared environmental sensibility; and joint reliance upon a range of ‘corporal techniques’ by which the higher self/inner holiness is nurtured and thereby sensitized to cosmic

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forces (2004: 99–106). Whilst limited to the Catholic Charismatic Renewal network, Oliveira’s observations upon these thematic correspondences and their implications for the spread of new era practical knowledge may well apply to participants in other mainstream religious organizations and beyond. New era holistic concepts, valorizations of subjective experience, environmental concerns, and technical preoccupations are themes which play well across broad swathes of late-modern urban-industrial society. In addition to the above, the visibility and spread of new era concepts and practices have been assisted by a number of authors whose appropriation of new era themes have contributed to their popularization. Chief among those whose writings have played a significant role in legitimating and disseminating new era themes are Paulo Coelho and Leonardo Boff (Camurça, 2003: 38). Paulo Coelho is a best-selling author of international standing with over 65 million books translated into over 56 languages and sold in over 150 countries. In recognition of his worldwide renown, in 2002 Coelho was elected to the Brazilian Academy of Letters and is today the most widely read author writing in the Portuguese language. Subsequent to a career in music and theatre related industries Coelho gained literary prominence in the late 1980s with the publication of The Diary of a Magus (1987) and what was to become his best-selling book The Alchemist (1988). In his analysis of the ‘mainstreaming of alternative spirituality in Brazil’, Carpenter credits Coelho’s ‘marketability’ as a pivotal moment in the establishment of Brazilian esoteric authors on the lists of national publishing houses (2004: 218–19). Writing principally in the genre of the novel, Coelho has since penned over fifteen other stories, the majority of which reiterate and develop concepts and themes first introduced by The Diary of a Magus and The Alchemist. Semán maintains that Coelho’s ‘journey’ unites and reworks the boundaries of the paths travelled by significant swathes of the middle classes over the course of the last half-century. In both his trajectory and writings, Paulo Coelho destabilizes frontiers and categories as he unites counter culture and alternative spirituality, Catholicism and New Age, the emphasis upon subjective autonomy and the demands of a materialistic world. (2002: 130)

Although operating principally within the novel genre, Coelho’s works are more often than not to be found in the ever popular ‘self-help’ (auto-ajuda) sections of Brazil’s bookshops. Exemplified by his most successful book to date, The Alchemist, Coelho’s stories are usually centred upon individuals whose dissatisfaction with whom and where they are now takes them on literal journeys and figurative voyages of discovery and self-awakening. The Alchemist, for example, tells the tale of an Andalusian Shepherd boy whose physical travels to the Egyptian pyramids and subsequent discovery of gold treasure directly parallel his inner journey of selfdiscovery and the resulting spiritual wealth of emotional serenity. As with so many of Coelho’s works, The Alchemist is rich in neo-esoteric themes and allusions (e.g. omens, divination, and nature religion), unfolds in exotic locations, and is populated by mysterious and eccentric figures (e.g. gypsy interpreter of dreams, King Melchizedek, and Arabian alchemist) whose sage advice guides the novel’s protagonist through the trials and tribulations of his literal and figurative journey.

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Throughout Coelho’s works this guidance and advice is delivered as pithy maxims and sage aphorisms which are represented as timeless truths drawn from classical civilizations and contemporary cultures; ‘listen to your heart’, ‘be prepared for change’, ‘don’t give in to your fears’, ‘you have to take risks’, ‘wherever your heart is, that is where you’ll find your treasure’ (1992a: 8, 48, 148; 1992b: 116; 1996: 8, 48, 123, 134). Central to Coelho’s success, however, is the fact that this advice is as much directed to the reader as it is to the story’s main characters. In effect, Coelho’s protagonists stand as proxy for the reader, whilst their advisers serve as ciphers for a self-help therapeutic message spun from the otherwise disparate threads of Catholic mystical traditions, new era spiritualities, and charismatic renewal ideals. Coelho’s novels articulate a form of self-help spirituality in which the courage, adventures, and eventual success of their protagonists offer working examples of the riches in store for those brave enough to start on the road to self-transformation. In his most autobiographical work to date, for example, The Pilgrimage recounts Coelho’s journey along the medieval Spanish pilgrimage route from the Pyrenees to Santiago de Compostela. The book opens with an initiation ceremony in which Coelho is made a ‘Master and Knight of the Order of RAM’ (Regnus Agnus Mundi) and is subsequently charged with making his way along the ‘Strange Road to Santiago’ (1992b: 1–4).5 Throughout the pilgrimage Coelho encounters and overcomes an assorted range of physical and existential challenges which provide working examples for all who traverse life’s path to self-discovery. Ostensibly a prolonged meditation upon the medieval traditions of Catholic spirituality, The Pilgrimage is replete with esoteric and mystical imagery (e.g. divine spark, Tetragrammaton, astral level, Knights Templar, High Priest) and comes with a series of techniques and exercises designed to enable readers ‘to communicate with the universe’ (1992b: 102, 140, 200, 214). Whatever their plot, characters or contexts, Coelho’s novels collectively communicate the same message: life is a ‘journey’ and each individual has a ‘destiny’ to fulfil. To commence upon the path to fulfilling our destiny, however, takes courage, a positive mental attitude, and an openness to change. ‘When someone makes a decision’ to change ‘he is really diving into a strong current that will carry him to places he had never dreamed of when he first made the decision’ (1992a: 71). Discovered by reading the signs and forged through perseverance in the face of adversity, self-fulfilment is gradually attained as we learn to trust ourselves and accept that life has so much more in store for us. Emphasizing the intuitive over the rational, Coelho locates the personal transformation of each of his protagonists (and thereby his readers) within a holistic horizon framed by the ‘mysterious

5 RAM stands for ‘Kingdom of the Lamb of the World’ and is described by the official Coelho website as ‘an ancient order with Catholic origins, founded in 1492 [the year in which the American continent was discovered], which studies symbolic language by means of an oral teaching system. In fact, master and disciple are merely labels used to organize the apprenticeship, which is carried out through tasks in which each person seeks out his own answer. The RAM Order has no headquarters, does not possess any occult knowledge, and its founding principle is that one only learns by taking a step forward’ ().

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force’/‘Divine Energy’ which pervades all things and thereby relativizes religious particularity. Repeatedly told that ‘the universe conspires’ to assist all in realizing their dreams, protagonists and readers alike are assured not only of the eventual success but also the cosmic significance of their particular journey of self-discovery and inner transformation (1992a: 54, 128; 1996: 57–9): ‘The Buddhists were right, the Hindus were right, the Muslims were right, and so were the Jews. Whenever someone follows the path to faith – sincerely follows it – he or she is able to unite with God and to perform miracles’ (1996: 90). Erstwhile critic of the military regime and one of the earliest proponents of the Christian ‘theology of liberation’ Leonardo Boff is today one of the most widely read Brazilian writers within the religious field and something of a doyen on the new era religious circuit. Since the publication of Jesus Christ Liberator (Boff, 1980), the majority of Boff’s works have been translated into an assortment of English, Spanish, Italian, German, and French. Particularly after the Rio Earth Summit of 1992, Boff’s once explicit engagement with the Christian paradigm has given way to the development of what he terms a ‘trans-cultural phenomenology’ (Boff, 1999a: 228).6 Within this approach Boff articulates the need for a globally relevant (i.e. non-partisan) spiritual ethos which might better relate to contemporary worldwide developments such as globalization and impending environmental catastrophe. Boff regards contemporary globalizing trends as making a potentially fruitful contribution to humankind’s collective fulfilment. Driven at an increasingly rapid rate by technological development, previously disparate societies and races are progressively brought together by way of economic exchange, political cooperation, information transfer, geographical mobility, and cultural fluidity. Facilitated by way of the material connectedness of worldwide processes, there is emerging, claims Boff, a mental connectedness on a truly global scale. Manifesting itself as a new planetary consciousness, globalization ‘offers an indispensable foundation for a new stage of humanization: the planetary stage of a species consciousness and a single world society’ (Boff, 1998b: 22). The current ‘dependent liberal-capitalist’ paradigm by which existing globalizing forces are directed is, however, in a state of crisis. Born of the European Enlightenment, the dominant modern paradigm is characterized by a typically Western ‘will to power’ which is disrespectful of difference, individualistic in outlook, and dualistic in approach (Boff, 1995a: 124; 1995b: 25). This modern paradigm lauds material acquisition through unrestricted commodification and the competitive subjugation of the other. Founded upon ‘analytical-instrumental reason’, the modern worldview has overseen the smothering of cultural diversity through creeping homogenization, the exploitation of the world’s poor through the managed restriction of benefits to an affluent minority, the depredation of nature underwritten by the myth of limitless growth, and the poisoning of the world’s ecosystem through escalating environmental pollution. Faced with the potential destruction of life on a planetary scale, maintains Boff, the dominant worldview is unable to plot a course beyond impending disaster. 6 For a close reading of Boff’s ‘trans-cultural phenomenology’, see A. Dawson, 2004: 155–69.

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Whereas the processes of globalization have realized both a material and mental connectedness throughout the world, these have not been underwritten by the necessary spiritual depth which serves to anchor such otherwise superficial developments. The extent of the contemporary paradigm’s insensibility to ‘depth’, asserts Boff, is tantamount to a spiritual ‘lobotomization’ of the human condition (Boff, 1999b: 21). From its inception, the dominant mindset has progressively uncoupled human being at an existential level from its constitutive ontological foundation. Boff takes this failure to acknowledge, celebrate, and nurture humankind’s spiritual rootedness to be the primary cause of the modern paradigm’s crisis and its inability to chart a way out. Emerging through ‘the eruption of a higher and more integrative order’, the latest phase of human evolution is now in need of a complementary spirituality that might anchor the material and mental connectedness of contemporary globalizing processes in the recognition and celebration of humankind’s spiritual connectedness (Boff, 1999a: 21). In effect, the alienated consciousness of the contemporary paradigm is to be overcome through the progressive re-coupling of existential superstructure with ontological base. There is, claims Boff, cause for optimism and this optimism rests partially upon the ‘new cosmology’ articulated by thinkers as diverse as Ilya Prigogine, Humberto Maturana, Werner Heisenberg, Niels Bohr, David Bohm, Danah Zohar, Fritjof Capra, and Alexander Koyré. The new cosmological paradigm offers a vision of the world fundamentally richer and more nuanced than that presently in vogue (Boff, 1999b: 110; 2000: 90). Drawing freely upon the insights offered by these thinkers in their respective fields (e.g. thermodynamics, biology, quantum physics, cosmology, deep ecology, and transpersonal psychology), Boff represents this ‘new science’ as a viable alternative to those worldviews currently underwriting the modern paradigm. The nub of Boff’s attachment to the new science paradigm is that emergent understandings of the ‘four fundamental energies’ of reality (i.e. gravity, magnetism, weak and strong nuclear forces) open up fresh possibilities for interpreting the origins, nature, and destiny of the universe (Boff, 2002: 89). In moving away from traditional bifurcated understandings of the relationship between matter and energy, the new paradigm casts doubt upon all forms of dualistic thinking in favour of a holistic and integrative approach. Underwritten by its ‘hologramatic principle’, the new paradigm furnishes grounds for a new interpretative lens through which the fluid, interpenetrative, and interdependent relationship of all with all might be fully grasped (Boff, 1995b: 59). Diametrically opposed to the received wisdom of the modern worldview, the new science provides a conceptual foundation for a holistic paradigm fostering relatedness instead of atomism, respectful appropriation rather than acquisitive materialism, dialogue over antagonism, unity in diversity instead of homogenizing uniformity, interiority rather than positivism, and equality in place of hierarchy. Taken as a whole, argues Boff, the findings of the new science offer sufficient basis for a reconfiguration of humanity’s relationship with its environment, other species, its fellow human beings, and its spiritual origins. Where the individualism, materialism, and positivism of the modern paradigm have corrupted our understanding of these relationships, the new paradigm’s intellectual assault upon many of the principal tenets undergirding the modern worldview, coupled with its articulation of a ‘fundamental law’ of ‘panrelationality’, has generated a

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conceptual space and provoked alternative ways of understanding the universe that religious interpretative frameworks can begin to exploit (Boff, 2002: 43). Although regarding the new paradigm’s commitment to universal connectedness to be ‘philosophically-religious’ in nature, Boff is not suggesting that this paradigm, in and of itself, furnishes the means for a fresh appreciation of the human condition (Boff, 1995b: 52). Irrespective of its nuanced understandings of humankind’s material and immaterial connectedness, if the new paradigm is not anchored by an informed appreciation of humanity’s spiritual depth it will suffer the same bankrupt fate as its modern techno-scientific predecessor. Whilst the new paradigm affords opportunity for ‘a new experience of the Mystery of the world’, it does not afford the experience itself (Boff, 1998a: 48). The programme of spiritual connectedness, maintains Boff, is to be championed by the contemporary religious community and its articulation of a ‘new spirituality’ grounded in the mystical experience of the sacred (Boff, 1999b: 22). Such is ultimately possible because each of the world’s ‘great religious and spiritual traditions … attests to the same sacred reality’ (Muraro & Boff: 2002: 113); a reality which ‘crosses the totality of the cosmic process’ and acts as an ‘essential tie’ pervading, mobilizing, and unifying the entire universe (Boff, 1995b: 77; 2000: 59). Whilst diverse historical trajectories and prevailing cultural differences have traditionally resulted in divergent interpretations of this underlying sacred reality, the unifying processes of globalization are progressively undermining these differences and thereby promoting the articulation of an increasingly harmonious spiritual perspective. Exploiting the material and mental connectedness made possible by contemporary globalization, otherwise disparate religious communities are increasingly able to work together towards the formulation of an inclusive, global spirituality which transcends existing practical and discursive differences. Working together in humility and openness, the global religious community thereby complements material and mental connectedness with a much needed spiritual connectedness. As a result, the emergent ‘global family’, along with its newfound ‘world consciousness’, are furnished with a cosmically informed planetary conscience. As with Coelho (e.g. 1992a: 22), Boff regards the world as ‘one great message’ which different cultures have learned to read and express through different ‘cultural codes’ (Muraro & Boff, 2002: 113). In reality, however, all religions spring from the same universal source such that the axé of Afro-Brazilian religions ‘corresponds more or less to what is Chi to the East or the Holy Spirit to the Judaeo-Christian tradition’; just as ‘Kundalini for India, Yoga for the yogis, Tao for Lao Tsé, the Shechinah for the Jewish mysticism of the Cabala, and the Holy Spirit for the Judaeo-Christian tradition’ denote one and the same underlying supernatural force (Boff, 2001: 63; Muraro & Boff, 2002: 113). As long as the underlying universal message and its spiritual implications are interpreted correctly, ‘the type of religion’ by which it is expressed, be it ‘western, eastern, ancient, [or] modern’, ‘matters little’ (1998b: 37). Because he approaches different religions in this way, Boff, like Coelho, is able to appropriate discourse and practice from a diverse range of historical and cultural contexts which are then blended with elements of Catholicism with which he and his readers are more familiar. Unlike traditional approaches, however, Boff does not regard the repertoires of other religions as worthy but inferior expressions of

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underlying supernatural realities which are best expressed by Catholic Christianity. Boff may well have flirted with this approach in his earlier works, but in his later and more popular writing he has moved far beyond the Catholicization of non-Christian religious expression. In blending established Catholic themes with new era narrative motifs the writings of Coelho and Boff not only popularize the latter but also relativize the former. Coupled with the hybridizing dynamics of bricolage and transit, the writings of influential ‘Catholic’ writers such as Boff and Coelho contribute to the progressive blurring of discursive boundaries as the once clear water between mainstream and new era discursive repertoires becomes increasingly difficult to define. The incremental fuzziness of religious identity is indicative of the progressive indeterminacy of individual identity in general; an indeterminacy which reflects the subjective impact of macro-structural transformations and mid-range developments which collectively constitute the late-modern context within which new era religiosity has emerged and taken root. It is to a consideration of the most relevant of these late-modern dynamics and their implications for the rise and spread of new era religiosity that we now turn.

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Chapter 5

New Era Religiosity in Late-Modern Perspective The pluralization of the religious landscape of Brazil does not, of course, simply comprise the appearance and proliferation of new groups, organizations, and movements hitherto absent from the scene. Whilst the arrival of previously unseen groups and organizational repertoires is a necessary component of religious pluralization, it is not in itself the complete picture. For our purposes, three elements can be highlighted as combining to form the conditions of possibility within which the pluralization of the religious landscape and the ensuing rise of new era religiosity have taken place. In no particular order of priority these three components are: first, the mid-range appearance of new groups and novel organizational repertoires which join with existing occupants to broaden the prevailing religious spectrum; second, the development at a micro-social level of personal preferences such that individuals have the capacity to choose in favour of joining these new groups and participating in their novel religious repertoires; and third, the presence of macrostructural dynamics and overarching processes which combine to make the first and second components possible. To be treated later, the most relevant of these structural dynamics and overarching processes are the secularization of the Brazilian state and its ancillary institutions, the impact of rapid and far-reaching urban-industrialization, the influences of globalization, and the appearance of what some have termed a ‘religious marketplace’. A Broadened Religious Spectrum As with the arrival of Catholic Christianity, some of the most important additions to the religious landscape of Brazil have been connected with physical migration, both voluntary and enforced. Afro-Brazilian religion exemplified by Candomblé, historical Protestantism (e.g. Anglicanism, Congregationalism, and Presbyterianism), traditional Pentecostalism (e.g. Christian Congregation and Assemblies of God), and Japanese religions such as Seicho-no-Ie, Perfect Liberty, and Church of World Messianity are cases in point. Unconnected with large-scale migration but nevertheless championed initially by a small émigré community, the arrival and spread of Kardecist Spiritism has contributed significantly to the pluralization of the religious spectrum. Smaller in scale, but no less relevant for the emergence of new era religiosity, the transfer of esoteric traditions (e.g. Theosophy, Rosicrucianism, and Anthroposophy) and new age concerns (e.g. ISKCON) are also worthy of note.

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In addition to physical and conceptual migration from abroad, developments internal to the religious field have made significant contributions to the appearance of new groups and novel organizational repertoires. The fragmentation of traditional Pentecostalism (resulting in, for example, Foursquare Gospel, Brazil for Christ, and New Life) and the subsequent rise of neo-Pentecostal denominations such as the Universal Church of the Kingdom of God, International Church of the Grace of God, and Reborn in Christ have further diversified an increasingly important sector of Brazil’s religious terrain. Likewise, the rise of Umbanda and its vertiginous differentiation, the emergence and urbanization of ayahuasca religiosity, resurgence of indigenous spirituality, diversification of Roman Catholicism (e.g. progressive and charismatic movements), and consolidation of neo-esoteric repertoires have contributed to the establishment of what is today one of the world’s most variegated religious landscapes. Remarking upon the almost dizzying array of religious options available to contemporary Brazilians, Carvalho’s observation is worth quoting at length: To give an example, the typical Brazilian adult … can undergo a Rajneeshian bodily therapy to unblock the libido, occasionally take johrei in the Messianic Church to recharge his energy, and can still frequent courses or seminars on lamaism, theosophy, chakras, crystal power, or any type of spirituality or manipulation of forces and energies among those in vogue. And when he passes through a period of illness or crisis at work or in his love life he can go to some ‘centre’ in search of spiritual support. Of course, the word ‘centre’ (a key term in the contemporary religious panorama of Brazil) signifies a variety of things: an Umbanda centre, a Candomblé terreiro, a Kardecist centre, a place practising a mixture of these three or one working with a spirit unknown to established religion, and finally communities such as the Valley of the Dawn, Eclectic City, the Fraternity of the Cross and Lotus, etc. (1992: 134–5)

The appearance, consolidation, and spread of new religious groups and organizational repertoires have not occurred automatically nor have they taken place in a vacuum. The earliest religious liberties accorded non-Catholics, for example, were part of broader political strategies to cement new alliances and encourage migration from northern Europe. (Of course, at the same time in which legal-political restrictions were being eased in favour of Protestant Christianity, national and regional organs of state continued to persecute the practitioners of Afro-Brazilian religion.) In the same vein, the union of Spiritist and Afro-Brazilian elements which gave rise to Umbanda can only be fully understood when situated within the broader backdrop of early twentieth-century incipient urbanization; just as the fragmentation of traditional Pentecostalism and later rise of neo-Pentecostal denominations can be largely attributed to forces and dynamics unleashed by Brazil’s lurch towards largescale urban-industrialization effected from the late 1950s onwards. Irrespective of the overarching and structural contexts within which new groups emerge, however, there is no hope of consolidation and subsequent growth if these novel organizational repertoires fail to attract the attentions and maintain the allegiance of sufficient numbers of would-be adepts and practitioners. An appreciation of the subjective dynamics of religious choice is thereby a necessary complement to the objective processes through which new religious options appear, consolidate, and spread.

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An Enhanced Capacity to Choose At its most basic, an individual’s capacity to choose from a range of different religious options comprises both an awareness of the things between which a choice is to be made and an ability to make this choice (i.e. choose one thing rather than another).1 Individual awareness of the religious options available is chiefly reliant upon two things. First, as noted above, an appropriate societal context needs to exist in which religious groups are able to enjoy legal, political, economic, and cultural conditions conducive to organizational consolidation and growth. Without the appropriate social space, the ability of religious organizations to raise the awareness of potential adepts is severely restricted. Second, individual awareness also relies upon the ability of religious groups to manage and exploit their social environments in ways that increase organizational visibility. The more robust, vibrant, and flexible the organizational repertoire, the greater its chances of optimizing its social space and so increasing public awareness of what it is and what it has to offer. Together, favourable structural conditions and positive organizational exploitation of these conditions combine to enhance individual awareness of the religious options available. Borrowing from Anthony Giddens, it can be said that an individual’s ability to choose between one religious option and another is influenced by three dynamics which coalesce to inform personal agency by motivating the choices that are made. In no order of priority, these three dynamics comprise: (i) ‘unconscious’ drives and processes rooted deep within the psyche (the most important of which Giddens identifies as ‘ontological security’); (ii) a ‘practical’ awareness of and sensitivity to established conventions and prevailing expectations which have been internalized by way of socialization; and (iii) the ‘discursive’ ability to strategize and adapt in light of reasoned reflection (1979: 9–95; 1984: 41–109; 1991: 35–69). As an analysis of the unconscious is beyond the remit of this book, having been acknowledged as a determinant of individual choice, it will be set to one side. Consideration of what Giddens terms the ‘discursive consciousness’ and its contribution to an individual’s capacity to choose between available religious options will be discussed later in conjunction with the treatment of the religious economy model. This leaves what Giddens labels the ‘practical consciousness’ the influence of which will now be further explored with reference to the insightful work of Pierre Bourdieu. Like Giddens, Bourdieu is concerned to understand individual action in a way which acknowledges the importance of self-determination whilst doing justice to the all-pervasive influences of social-determination, or social ‘inscription’ as he prefers to call it (1998b: 55). To this end, Bourdieu likewise works with an understanding of individual consciousness as a form of ‘socialized subjectivity’ which results from the internalization of ‘social forces’ effected through the processes of socialization (Bourdieu & Wacquant, 1992: 121–7, 198). Bourdieu uses the term ‘habitus’ to label this socialized subjectivity, regarding the habitus as ‘a system of lasting and transposable dispositions which, integrating past experiences, functions at every moment as a matrix of perceptions, appreciations and actions’ (Bourdieu & 1 ‘Awareness of’ and ‘ability to’ are two sides of the same subjective coin and are thereby separable only by means of analytical abstraction.

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Wacquant, 1992: 18). Acting at an ‘infra-conscious’ level, the habitus functions as a particular type of ‘gaze’ or pair of ‘spectacles’ which predisposes individuals to see and experience the world in a particular way (Bourdieu, 1993: 23, 48). Such is the relationship between the habitus and the prevailing social system that ‘the transformation of dispositions [i.e. the habitus] cannot occur without a prior or concomitant transformation of the objective structures of which they are the product’ (Bourdieu, 1998b: 122). The power of social inscription, argues Bourdieu, ensures that the habitus predisposes individuals to see and experience the world in a way that reflects (is ‘complicit’ with) the values, practices, and assumptions of the prevailing social system (1998b: 55–6, 79). As a result, individual behaviour is predisposed to reflect (and thereby reproduce) prevailing opinion as to what is or is not acceptable as a legitimate course of action. To the notions of acceptability and unacceptability Bourdieu adds a third category which he terms impensé; literally, ‘unthought’ (1993: 51–2). In so doing, Bourdieu emphasizes that social inscription does not only predispose individuals to regard some things as legitimate and some as illegitimate, but also that it actually prevents certain things from being entertained as options in the first place. Thus, in any one society, culture, or sub-culture there is a spectrum of values, concepts, and practices which are generally regarded as acceptable, those viewed as predominantly unacceptable, and a range of possibilities which prevailing social conditions place beyond the grasp of individual consciousness. Applied to the subject of religious pluralization, the above observations allow us to appreciate the extent to which an individual’s capacity to choose between a range of different religious options is not as simple as it might first appear. Both Giddens’ notion of ‘practical consciousness’ and Bourdieu’s concept of ‘habitus’ demonstrate the extent to which the exercise of individual choice is directly related to prevailing social conditions. In effect, because ‘socialization’/‘inscription’ predisposes individuals towards a certain set of values, concepts, and practices, an individual’s capacity to choose one religion over another is always relative to (and thereby likely to mirror) the overarching social conditions prevailing at the time. Given the virtual monopoly of the religious field traditionally enjoyed by Catholic Christianity, along with the historical association of Catholicity and Brazilianness, it should be of no surprise to find that the overwhelming majority of Brazilians have traditionally been predisposed to Catholicism as their predominant mode of religious expression. Such is the nature of this religious predisposition that the aforementioned proliferation and awareness of other alternatives from which to choose is not in itself enough to explain its relative demise. What matters is not simply that alternative religious options appear and individuals become aware of their existence, but that individuals become aware of these religious options as options for me. As the above indicates, for an individual to be able to choose not to be Catholic, she must first be able to entertain this choice and entertain it as a viable one to be made. And for this to occur there must have taken or be taking place an evolution in individual consciousness which itself is only possible thanks to a broader transformation of the prevailing social system. It is to a consideration of those factors responsible for transforming the prevailing social system, thereby enhancing the individual capacity for choice and so catalyzing religious pluralization, that we now turn. As noted above, these

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transformative factors are the secularization of societal structures, rapid and farreaching urban-industrialization, globalization, and the emergence of a religious economy. Social Transformation Secularization Whether we measure church membership, church attendance, the popularity of religious ceremonies to mark rites of passage, or the more nebulous matter of religious belief, we find that, though each index starts at a different level, and the rate of decline differs for each society, nonetheless, across the industrial world there is a steady and to-date unremitting decline in all religious indices. (Bruce, 2001: 250)

One of the most contentious theories concerning the place and future of religion in the contemporary world, the secularization thesis recapitulates classical sociological perspectives by linking the rise of urban-industrial society with the decline of religion. Expressed in a variety of shapes and sizes, the contemporary secularization argument is articulated most consistently, forcefully, and clearly by Steve Bruce. Bruce argues that the effects of secularization are manifest at all levels of contemporary urbanindustrial society. In structural terms, secularization expresses itself in ‘the declining importance of religion for the operation of non-religious roles and institutions such as those of the state and the economy’. Organizationally, it shows itself through ‘a decline in the social standing of religious roles and institutions’. And at a microsocial level secularization manifests itself by way of ‘a decline in the extent to which people engage in religious practices, display beliefs of a religious kind, and conduct other aspects of their lives in a manner informed by such beliefs’ (2002: 3). A symptom of the modernization of society, secularization is a gradual process brought on by the cumulative interaction of other modernizing phenomena the most important of which Bruce identifies as ‘social and structural differentiation, societalization, rationalization, and increasing social and cultural diversity’ (2001: 258). Expressive of the increasingly complex nature of modern society, structural differentiation occurs as new and ever more variegated contexts, domains, and environments emerge each with their own set of dynamics, technical specialisms, and theoretical expertise. Closely related to the diversification of societal structures, social differentiation takes place as established classes fragment and new groups (e.g. administrative and proletarian) emerge. Together structural and social differentiation create a richly diverse and complex societal terrain comprising a wide variety of different demands, material experiences, knowledge systems, and often contrasting world views. Overstretched by the differentiated contexts of modernity, it is argued, religion’s ability to function as an all-embracing system of explanation and meaning is progressively undermined. Reflected in the growth of the state, individualized urban existence, and rise of civil society, the process of societalization concerns the progressive disembedding of individuals from their traditional contexts (e.g. family, community, and class) of social reproduction. Societalization impacts upon religion in two important respects. First, it undermines established patterns of

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social reproduction through which traditional values, practices, and interpretations (exemplified by religion) are maintained and propagated. Second, societalization decreases the likelihood of routine contact with religious institutions as their traditional involvement in everyday life (e.g. education, health, charity, and rites of passage) is taken over by other institutions (e.g. the state, secular charities, and civil organizations) or rendered superfluous to requirements (e.g. religious ideologies of political power, social hierarchy, and sexual divisions of labour). Championed by Enlightenment thinking and the rise of modern science, and catalyzed by the technical demands of structural differentiation, the most relevant aspect of the process of rationalization involves the consolidation of nonreligious means of explanation and procedural application. From medicine through agriculture to palaeontology and astronomy, the technical and explanatory advances of modern knowledge, it is claimed, have progressively undermined the need for and persuasiveness of religious interpretations and the supernatural causality upon which they are founded. At best an exotic appendage and at worst a superfluous waste of time religious explanation is rendered otiose. Nurtured by the dynamics of social differentiation, social and cultural diversity also results from the physical migration of peoples and the virtual transfer of ideas, values, and practices made possible by contemporary information technology and general global awareness. Modern society is an increasingly diverse environment in which growing numbers of classes, cultures, and creeds are faced with both the need to get along and the awareness that their particular worldview is one among many. Augmented by the egalitarian thrust of modernity, it is argued, the dictates of social harmony and the effects of global awareness result in the relativization of particular religious conviction such that it is relegated from being a matter of public concern to a question of individual taste. As a result, religious belief comes to be regarded as just one perspective alongside others and a point of divergence upon which (like so many matters of private taste) one can and should agree to disagree. Combined with the processes of rationalization, social and cultural diversity thereby undermine both the traditional certainties of religion and the established mechanisms of their assertion (Bruce, 2002: 5–30). The overall thrust of the secularization argument is twofold. First, it argues that the modernization of society involves the gradual erosion of religion as a collective phenomenon as it is progressively dislocated from its traditional embroilment with overarching political, legal, economic, and social-cultural structures. This change in the macro-status of religion is accompanied by both midrange modifications in the status and behaviour of religious organizations and micro-level transformations in the religious practices and beliefs of individuals. This is the less contentious aspect of secularization theory and, allowing for interpretative variations, one with which a good number of academics broadly agree (e.g. Davie, 2000; HervieuLéger, 2000; Martin, 2005).2 The second and more contentious assertion made by secularization theorists such as Bruce and others (e.g. Dobbelaere, 2002) concerns 2 The basic thrust of academics such as Davie, Hervieu-Léger, and Martin is that secularization at a macro-structural level and the transformations it entails at midrange and individual levels do not necessarily mean that people are less religious now than they have

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the nature and implications of these developments in respect of the current and future status of religion. What might be termed the ‘strong assertion’ made by Bruce et al argues that the processes which have given rise to modern society constitute it as an environment inimical to the reproduction and maintenance of religion at all levels of existence (i.e. macro-structural, midrange, and individual). It is not that modern society actively conspires to eradicate religion, but simply that it does not provide conditions conducive to religion’s continued survival. As such, the process of secularization entails not simply the decline of religion but its eventual demise (Bruce, 2002: 235). Denuded of its relevance, religion dies of neglect. Without gainsaying the veracity of the strong assertion of secularization, the weaker version of the thesis, I think, offers most to the current analysis of the rise and consolidation of new era religiosity in Brazil. As noted in Chapter 1 the colonial history of Brazil and the strong integration of church and state ensured Catholic Christianity a three century long virtual monopoly upon legitimate religious expression. Aided by the diffuse and relatively underdeveloped nature of central state structures, the ecclesiastical institution contributed significantly to colonial society through its administration of key life-course events (e.g. birth, marriage, and death), organizational systems (e.g. education, health, and charity), and provision of social networks (e.g. irmandades). Coupled with its practical contribution to the everyday life of the colony, Catholic Christianity served as the central ideological pillar around which the prevailing colonial cosmovision (legal-political as well as religious) was structured. Together, practical and ideological ecclesiastical functions underwrote the elision of religious and civil identities such that the loyal Brazilian and the good Catholic were one and the same. Although the religious-cultural hegemony and macro-structural status of Catholic Christianity remained principally intact for the majority of the nineteenth century, things were beginning to change. Consequent upon the arrival of the Portuguese court (escorted by the British navy), trade links with the United Kingdom were established and the official monopoly of Catholic Christianity incrementally eroded by the successive introduction of legal measures designed to protect nascent Protestant communities and encourage immigration from (non-Catholic) northern Europe. At the same time, the once diffuse and relatively weak colonial state structures were gradually giving way to moderately efficient and centralized administrative organs which came progressively under the sway of a political coterie increasingly sympathetic to the avant-garde ideas of post-revolution France and the United States. These developments culminated in the establishment of the First Republic in 1889 and subsequent dissolution of formal ties between church and state. Although the secularization of the Brazilian state and enunciation of the (still qualified) right to religious liberty placed Catholic Christianity technically on a par with other (sanctioned) forms of religious expression, ecclesiastical structures and support networks remained central to the everyday life of the majority of Brazilians. The genie, however, was out of the bottle.

been in the past. Rather, it may entail that people today are religious in different ways than those of past generations.

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The rapprochement between church and state enacted subsequent to Getúlio Vargas’ assumption of the presidency in November 1930, in reality, did little to reverse the long term effects of macro-structural secularization. The processes of structural and social differentiation related to incipient urbanization and early industrialization were given fresh impetus by nationalist concerns to boost Brazil’s manufacturing independence. In addition to facilitating increased industrial capacity, the growth of the state continued to squeeze traditional ecclesiastical roles in mediating between citizen and society. At the same time, and despite official rhetoric, the dynamics of political populism and realpolitik of alliance building allowed an emergent inclusivism to take root in which the de facto religious-cultural diversity of Brazil was given increasing recognition. The progressive acknowledgement of Afro-Brazilian and indigenous cultures, along with the increasing access to media coverage enjoyed by Protestant and Spiritist groups are cases in point. Boosted by the political-economic consequences of the Second World War, aforementioned secularizing processes underwent a massive surge on the back of the rapid and widespread urban-industrialization unleashed in the mid-to-late 1950s. Urban-Industrialization President Juscelino Kubitschek’s (1956–61) promise of ‘fifty years’ progress in five’ launched Brazil on an unprecedented trajectory of industrial expansion and subsequent urban growth. Between 1955 and 1961 overall industrial production grew by 80 percent, with certain sectors (e.g. steel – 100 per cent, electrical and communications – 380 per cent, and transportation equipment – 600 per cent) averaging still higher growth (Skidmore, 1967: 164). By the end of Kubitschek’s presidential tenure, industrial production had doubled and surpassed agriculture as a percentage of GDP (Schneider, 1991: 193). Already rising at a prodigious rate, the urban population reached 45 per cent by this time and continued to grow (passing 50 per cent in the early 1970s) on the back of the economic demands and opportunities generated by ongoing industrialization (Burns, 1980: 467). The forces and dynamics unleashed by this period of exponential urban-industrial expansion continue to reverberate across all sectors of contemporary Brazilian society. The differentiation of structural contexts already catalyzed by mid-twentiethcentury developments received a massive boost as the processes of rapid industrial growth and urban expansion further pluralized economic, legal, and political spheres as well proliferating demand for increasingly complex technologies and professional specialization. Likewise, social differentiation received a considerable fillip thanks to the hastening migration of agricultural labour to the cities, the rise of an urbanindustrial elite, and the emergence of an increasingly diverse middle sector of technocrats, administrators, and professionals. The era of economic expansion was also the era of the big state. Having grown steadily over the course of the prior three decades, the state apparatus burgeoned dramatically at this time. Infused by developmentalist theories (and centralist philosophies) which argued that a large state sector was essential to successful infrastructural development, government structures and agencies expanded accordingly. Exemplified by the expansion of educational provision, but evidenced also in areas of health, welfare, and civil

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projects, the state apparatus increasingly interposed itself into the everyday lives of the population. At the same time, private sector growth (e.g. leisure industries) and civil organizations (e.g. unions) provided additional outlets and support networks to those traditionally on offer. From its rather tentative and niche origins among the more enlightened sectors of early twentieth-century society, the recognition of Brazil’s social-cultural diversity was transformed on the back of urban-industrialization into a full-blown celebration. Progressive legal enfranchisement and political cooptation combined with social-economic mobility and increasing access to media industries to result in the public visibility, popular acceptance, and official acknowledgement of traditionally denigrated or marginal groups. Whether indigenous, Afro-Brazilian or immigrant, the presence, legitimacy, and influence of so-called minority cultures rapidly became established features of the urban-industrial landscape. In addition to eroding the macro-structural privileges traditionally enjoyed by the Roman Catholic Church, successive studies of Christian Pentecostalism, for example, have demonstrated the extent to which the aforementioned rapid and widespread urban-industrialization facilitated the emergence of non-traditional forms of religiosity (e.g. Willems, 1967; Martin, 1990). Although there is divergence upon just what the growth and nature of Pentecostalism signify, there is a meeting of minds upon the importance of urban-industrialization as a direct and significant causal factor. The most important feature highlighted by these studies is the manner and degree to which the speedy and extensive nature of urban-industrialization radically undermined traditional patterns of social reproduction. On the one hand, urban-industrial transformation entailed the swapping of social matrices constituted by relatively stable patterns of reproduction for environments composed of nascent and highly fluid social-cultural dynamics. Disembedded from established hierarchies of political, economic, social, and cosmological structures, individuals were subjected to novel and far-reaching processes through which traditional practices and received interpretations (e.g. Roman Catholicism) were modified or swapped for ones better suited to urban-industrial life (e.g. Pentecostalism). On the other hand, the rapidly changing societal environment served as fertile ground for the emergence and establishment of new groups and organizations (e.g. Pentecostals) able to exploit the new social terrain and the opportunities it presented. Suited to the urbanindustrial landscape these emergent groups and organizations established footholds and eventually thrived in conditions to which more traditional and structurally cumbersome institutions (e.g. the Catholic Church) found it harder to adapt. Although the growth of Pentecostalism must be set against the backdrop of rural to urban migration and the subsequent proletarianization of a displaced peasantry, the nub of the above analysis is directly relevant to an understanding of the rise and consolidation of new era religiosity. Unlike Pentecostalism, however, new era religiosity is a phenomenon of the urban professional classes whose origins lie less in rural migration and more in the fragmentation of traditional urban middle sectors brought on by the differentiating effects of urban-industrialization. This qualification having been made, the effects of rapid urban-industrialization remain the same; both in terms of the objective pluralization of the religious field and the subjective enhancement of individual capacity to choose from a growing range of religious options. By no means irrelevant to an understanding of the growth of Pentecostalism

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among Brazil’s proletarian classes, there is nevertheless another macro-structural dynamic which, alongside urban-industrialization, is particularly pertinent to understanding the spread of new era religious repertoires among professional sectors. Whilst the effects of globalization reverberate across all parts of the contemporary religious spectrum of Brazil, the self-consciously cosmopolitan preoccupations of the urban middle-classes among whom new era religiosity is strongest gives this overarching dynamic a heightened relevance to what we are about. Globalization ‘Modernity is’, according to Giddens, ‘inherently globalising’ (1990: 63). Regarding globalization as a new way of ordering social life across time and space, Giddens identifies ‘time-space distanciation’ as a central dynamic: In the modern era, the level of time-space distanciation is much higher than in any previous period, and the relations between local and distant social forms and events become correspondingly ‘stretched.’ Globalisation refers essentially to that stretching process, in so far as the modes of connection between different social contexts or regions become networked across the earth’s surface as a whole. (1990: 64)

Globalization stretches the distance between time and space because where one is (and what time it is) in the modern world becomes increasingly irrelevant to one’s ability to interact with other parts (and times) of the globe; the ‘here’ and the ‘now’ are no longer indissolubly linked. Underwritten by a network of advanced technologies, modern existence involves the globalization of causal relations such that ‘local happenings’ in any one part of the world ‘are shaped by events occurring many miles away and vice versa’ (1990: 64). The ‘vice versa’ is important here as Giddens wishes to stress the reciprocal nature of globalized relations. As with his theory of ‘structuration’ and its representation of self–society relations (1984), Giddens’ understanding of globalization comprises a structural reciprocity in which the duality of ‘local’ and ‘global’ are locked in a ‘recursive’ relationship of mutual causation (1991: 2). Globalization, then, is not all one way. Neither is globalization a uniform process. In addition to being influenced by globalizing dynamics, ‘local transformation’ is also the result of regional forces and processes whose interaction with global causation may well result in local developments at variance with globalizing trends (1990: 64). Working with the concept of ‘glocalization’ (i.e. ‘global’ and ‘local’), Roland Robertson is likewise keen to emphasize regional variation which arises through localized appropriation of globalizing trends; and which exists as an interpretative via media between homogenizing and heterogenizing readings of contemporary globalization (1995: 25–44). According to Robertson, the concept of globalization ‘refers both to the compression of the world and the intensification of consciousness of the world as a whole’ (1992: 8). Understood as the ‘objective’ aspect of globalization, the compression of the world comprises a ‘concrete global interdependence’ born of the ‘increasing unicity’ of contemporary existence which has arisen from the establishment of international organizations and movements (e.g. United Nations and

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environmentalism), the global transport of people and goods (e.g. migration, travel, and trade), and worldwide networks such as the internet (1992: 183–8). Conceived of as a ‘consciousness of the global whole’, the ‘subjective’ aspect of globalization involves an awareness that oneself, one’s community (e.g. neighbourhood or ethnicity), and one’s society must now be understood as part of a greater, global whole in relation to which individual, communal, and social identities are to be constructed. An important consequence of this globalizing hermeneutic is the ‘relativization of basic reference points’ by which individual and collective identity have traditionally been orientated. In effect, localized practices, values, and beliefs once thought fixed and indisputable are rendered unstable and ultimately provisional when situated within a globalized horizon comprising myriad options and alternative perspectives (1992: 27, 176). Such is the all-pervasive nature of globalization that each of the other macrostructural dynamics being treated in this chapter might justly be regarded, in its own way, as an outcome of modernity’s inherently globalizing tendencies. By definition, globalization is everywhere. There is, however, one particular aspect of globalization which can be highlighted here as being of particular pertinence to the emergence and consolidation of new era religiosity; an aspect which Waters identifies as the ‘accelerated and increasingly effective cultural flows’ made possible by the processes of globalization (2001: 25). Alongside his analysis of economic and political trends stimulated by globalization, Waters’ treatment of the cultural arena leads him to conclude that it is ‘becoming more activated and energetic’, comprising, in its globalized form, ‘a continuous flow of ideas, information, commitment, values and tastes mediated through mobile individuals, symbolic tokens and electronic simulations’ (2001: 196). As a result of globalization, cultural products become more fluid and can be perceived as flows of preference, taste and information that can sweep the globe in unpredictable and uncontrolled ways. Even the most casual inspection of such preference issues as environmental concerns, Pokemon games, investment in high-tech shares, skirt lengths, roller blading and the Aids panic can confirm this development. (2001: 24–5)

For Waters, then, the contemporary cultural arena is characterized by the rapid and large-scale transfer of practices, values, and concepts between various parts of the globe. The nature and extent of these cultural flows makes globalization a significant contributor to aforementioned processes of social differentiation and cultural diversity. Of course, such has been the integrated (some would say ‘dependent’) nature of Brazil’s relationship with successive political-economic (e.g. colonial and industrial) systems, that its citizens are no strangers to the inward flow of cultural capital. From material goods, through culinary and sartorial fashions, to political ideologies, aesthetic preferences, and life-style pursuits, the more affluent sectors of Brazilian society have never been backward in appropriating, reproducing, remodelling, and consuming practices, values, and concepts at large in the contemporary world. This is not to suggest for a moment that Brazilians neither have the self-confidence nor actual creativity to produce and value the material, conceptual, and aesthetic goods

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generated by and within its own, autochthonous social-cultural domain. Even the most fleeting of encounters with Brazilian society would indicate otherwise. Rather, inhabiting a nation whose entanglement with the outside world has existed as long as the country itself, key sectors of Brazilian society are as comfortable appropriating, integrating, and consuming what is ostensibly ‘foreign’ as they are producing and lauding what is not. In this respect, Brazil is a longstanding member of the international circuit of cultural consumption. If not a difference in kind, then globalization is surely a significant difference in degree. The extent to and rapidity with which globalization has radicalized the already cosmopolitan leanings of Brazil’s economically comfortable classes cannot be denied. Coming hot on the heels of societal developments unleashed by urbanindustrializing drives, and catalyzed by post-dictatorship liberal-economic policies, internet connection, satellite television, international media coverage, publishing conglomerates, and transnational corporations have quickly become a staple part of the daily routines of those who can afford them. Together, these virtual and real-time media constitute an extensive and implacable network through which tastes, opinions, practices, values, and beliefs from all over the world have become an integral part of an increasingly globalized habitus. Alongside its political and economic ramifications, globalization has thereby entailed a degree of socialcultural pluralization at levels and in ways never before experienced. In terms of the emergence and consolidation of new era religiosity, however, it is not just the degree of pluralization enabled by globalization which is important but also its timing. As far as Brazil is concerned, the intensification of the processes of globalization occurred at a time when the social-cultural upheavals generated by rapid and extensive urbanindustrialization had yet to die down. Continuing to reverberate across all sectors of society, the processes and dynamics unleashed by urban-industrialization made for a societal environment characterized, on the one hand, by the erosion of established forms of social reproduction and, on the other, by the still unconsolidated nature of new patterns and arrangements. The intensification of globalizing trends thereby took place at a time of social-cultural fluidity and indeterminacy, in which ties to traditional patterns of social reproduction were already considerably weakened, but new forms of social life were still emergent and yet to establish themselves as fixed and secure. There is, then, an element of synchronicity in that the intensified dynamics of globalization merged with the effects of urban-industrialization to further pluralize an already diversifying social-cultural field, whilst, at the same time, the transformations wrought by urban-industrialization combined with globalization to further enhance the already broadening individual capacity for choice. Together the processes of urban-industrialization and the impact of globalization not only increased the objective options available but also generated subjective conditions conducive to the perception of these newfound options as options for me. The emergence and consolidation of new era religiosity is a case in point. As indicated prior, the capacity to choose from a range of different religious options involves not only the ability to actualize this capacity but also an awareness of the things between which this choice is to be made. Aforementioned discussions have underlined the extent to which the subjective ability to opt for new era religions is directly related to the pluralization of the habitus which has been examined here

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through the confluence of the macro-structural dynamics of state secularization, urban-industrialization, and globalization. In addition to enhancing individual ability to choose, these macro-structural developments have also contributed to raising subjective awareness of the things to be chosen. This is the case because these macro-structural developments have combined to engender a societal environment conducive to the emergence and consolidation of new religious groups and organizations such as those engaged here. This newfound social space, however, is only one contributory factor to the raising of individual awareness. If individual awareness is to be raised sufficiently, these new religious groups and organizations must be able to exploit this social space in ways that enhance their visibility and so increase public awareness of what they are and what they have to offer. It is to a consideration of this dynamic that we now turn. Marketization The ungainly word ‘marketization’ (marketização) is increasingly commonplace within treatments of the contemporary religious landscape of Brazil. The term marketization is used to refer to the appropriation by contemporary religious organizations of the strategies and technologies of marketing used with increasing effect in the realms of business. Exemplified by neo-Pentecostal organizations (e.g. Campos, 1997; Dolghie, 2004: 201–20), marketing media and techniques have likewise been adopted by traditional Protestant denominations (e.g. Cunha, 2004: 53– 80) and the Roman Catholic institution (e.g. Guerra, 2003a: 1–23; Braga, 2004: 113– 23). The escalating ingression into the religious sphere of market-based dynamics, practices, and philosophies was predicted by Berger (1967) and Luckmann (1967) who argue that secularization (involving societal pluralization and the demise of traditional religious monopolies) entails the voluntarization of religious adherence and the subsequent rise of a religious marketplace. For example, The pluralistic situation is, above all, a market situation. In it, the religious institutions become marketing agencies and the religious traditions become consumer commodities. And at any rate a good deal of religious activity in this situation comes to be dominated by the logic of market economics … . What happens here, quite simply, is that the religious groups are transformed from monopolies to competitive agencies. (Berger, 1967: 138)

In effect, the more secularization undermines traditional modes of socialization through which commitment to a religious worldview is inculcated, the more religious allegiance has to be ‘sold’ as a commodity worthy of personal investment by potential ‘buyers’ (Luckmann, 1967: 98). As a result, religious organizations, who are now in direct competition with each other, adopt the most effective means of selling their ‘product’. As the most effective means are those employed by the secular marketplace, the marketization of the religious field ensues. A variation on the marketization theme is offered by the ‘religious economy’ model developed by the likes of Bainbridge (1985), Iannaconne (1992; 1997), Finke (1992; 1997; 2000), and Stark (1985; 1992; 1999; 2000), and applied directly to the Brazilian context by Chesnut (2003) and Guerra (2003b). As the term ‘religious

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economy’ suggests, this approach starts from the basic assumption that the religious field is directly analogous to an economy and is thereby open to analysis through the application of concepts and models traditionally used to explicate the economic sphere (Iannaconne, 1992: 123). The understanding of religion gained through the use of economic concepts and models applies at all levels; the macro-structural, the organizational, and the individual. Overall, it is argued, religion can be understood as addressing a subjective ‘demand’ which arises from deep-seated and universal psychological dynamics such as the need for meaning and aspiration for just rewards (Stark and Bainbridge, 1985: 5–14; Stark and Finke, 2000: 85, 91). Whilst not the only means of addressing this demand, given the ultimate nature of the meaning and justice sought, religion is the most effective and therefore the most enduring. Existing as a universal constant, religion nevertheless manifests itself in a wide variety of ways relative to prevailing historical and social conditions. In any one societal context, then, there is (potentially) both a range of subjective desires, tastes, and preferences in respect of individual religiosity and a spectrum of collective religious expressions. Upon seeking out a particular means of collective religious expression, the individual, who is by nature a rational subject (and thereby a canny consumer), will ultimately be attracted by those forms which she deems to be the most efficient (i.e. cost effective) means of sating her particular set of religious desires, tastes, and preferences. At the same time, religious groups and organizations are driven by a concern to survive and flourish, a fundamental aspect of which involves maximizing their appeal to would-be adepts by convincing them that they have the best (i.e. most cost effective) product on offer (Iannaconne, 1997: 26–7). There exists, then, a mutually complementary dynamic of individual demand and collective supply which is characterized by calculating subjects searching for the most efficient means of satisfying their religious demand and by strategizing organizations striving to establish themselves as the most effective form of religious supply. According to the religious economy model, however, for this dynamic of supply and demand to be optimal (and religion thereby to flourish) the appropriate macro-structural conditions must be in place. Whereas human nature dictates that individual religious demand and collective religious supply will always exist, if macro-structural conditions conducive to bringing them together are not in place, this dynamic is seriously undermined to the point of enervating both demand and supply. With an eye to the secularized societies of Western Europe, proponents of the religious economy model argue that traditional religious monopolies constitute the most inimical structural conditions for the optimization of religious supply and demand. This is the case because religious monopolies, by imposing a uniform religious model and thereby stifling open competition, undermine both supply (e.g. organizational innovation) and demand (e.g. pluriform desires, tastes, and preferences). In contrast, and in keeping with the experience of the United States, the dynamic of religious supply and demand is said to work best in societal conditions characterized by open competition free from state interference (Finke and Stark, 1992: 18; Stark, 1999: 249–73). By delimiting the scope of free competition, political interference (e.g. statutory regulation and uneven tax breaks) restricts the extent to which religious organizations are allowed, prepared or have to experiment, innovate,

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and change in pursuit of institutional survival and expansion. Unnecessary legalpolitical intervention in the religious sphere thereby constrains organizational vitality which, in turn, constricts the supply of religious goods. In so doing, the restriction of a free religious market also dampens demand in that religious suppliers are less able or inclined to offer religious products likely to stimulate or broaden existing tastes and preferences. Constricted supply thereby suppresses demand. Overall, then, the religious economy model argues that the freer a religious market is from unnecessary interference, the greater the degree of competition; the greater the degree of religious competition, the more organizational innovation there is; the more organizational creativity there is, the higher the level and quality of supply; the higher the level and quality of supply, the more demand is stimulated and broadened. This stimulation and broadening of demand leads to further organizational innovation as new forms of supply compete to meet emergent kinds of demand. Applied most rigorously to the mainstream religious context of Brazil by Chesnut (2003) and Guerra (2003b), the economic model applied follows the theoretical contours outlined above. According to Chesnut, at the start of the twenty-first century, there is growing realization that beyond the rise or fall of any one particular religious organization, the greatest transformation of the Latin American religious landscape in the past half-century, if not the past half-millennium, is the transition from a monopolistic religious economy to a free-market one. Of such significance is the development of religious pluralism that the fate of any faith-based organization during the past five decades cannot be understood without understanding its position in this new unregulated spiritual economy. (2003: 147)3

Both Chesnut and Guerra agree that the opening of the Brazilian religious market facilitated by the demise of Catholicism’s traditional monopoly has best been exploited by neo-Pentecostal organizations such as the Universal Church of the Kingdom of God. The organizational structures of neo-Pentecostal denominations have enabled them to adapt quickly to a deregulated religious economy and thereby outperform their nearest competitors. Organizationally flexible and strategically astute, neo-Pentecostals have stolen a march on other religious suppliers. Facilitated by the combination of structural manoeuvrability, marketing savvy, and enthusiastic sales personnel, neo-Pentecostal organizations are able to market an already popular product in a way which stimulates further demand. Such has been the success of neoPentecostal approaches that other mainstream religious organizations (i.e. Roman Catholic, Spiritist, and Afro-Brazilian) have increasingly appropriated them. Not only has this employment of the most effective structures and methods resulted in the progressive ‘standardization’ of mainstream organizational behaviour, it has 3 If, indeed, there is one, the religious economy arising from the demise of the traditional Catholic monopoly is neither as ‘free’ nor as ‘unregulated’ as Chesnut appears to suggest. The prevailing religious economy is not ‘free’ because there continues to exist a range of historical and social-cultural factors which advantage some religious organizations more than others. At the same time, legal-political frameworks (e.g. consumer rights, juridical definitions of ‘religion’ and ‘charity’, and state–civil society relations) continue to ensure the presence of regulatory constraints upon the religious field.

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also resulted in ‘the adoption of an increasingly rational and commercial vision of religious activity’ (Guerra, 2003b: 153).4 In the process of modifying organizational behaviour and individual expectation, the processes of marketization reconfigure the nature of religion itself. As with its theoretical adversary, secularization theory, the religious economy model offers a number of valuable insights to an understanding of the rise and consolidation of new era religiosity which can be taken on board without buying into everything asserted by this particular conceptual paradigm. First and foremost, the supply-side emphasis of the religious economy model does well to underline the importance of organizational activity in contributing to the pluralization of the religious spectrum. Although the religious economy model perhaps over-stresses the place of competition as an institutional stimulus, the onus it puts upon the organizational exploitation of the newfound social space furnished by the demise of religious monopoly provides a valuable complement to the kind of macro-structural developments outlined above. By no means the only conduit of change, the activities of religious organizations nevertheless play an important part in mediating the impact of macro-structural transformations to the level of subjective consciousness manifest through individual practices, values, and beliefs. As noted above, the subjective capacity to opt for non-traditional religious repertoires is partially reliant upon the ability of emergent (and newly unimpeded) religious organizations to raise their profiles and so increase individual awareness of what they are and what they have to offer. Whilst, for example, macro-structural transformation goes a long way to normalizing individual allegiance to alternative religious repertoires, established associations between ‘non-traditional’ and ‘deviant’ are also eroded by the presence and activity of non-mainstream religious organizations within the everyday contexts (e.g. neighbourhood, media, and political arena) of daily life. To borrow Bourdieu’s terminology, routine exposure to the presence and activity of non-traditional religious organizations eventually renders the ‘unthinkable’ conscionable and the ‘unthought’ (impensé) at least open to consideration. Although a number of combinatory factors are highlighted by the religious economy model as contributing to the ability of new religious organizations to exploit their newfound social space, the most relevant factor to an understanding of the rise and consolidation of new era religiosity relates to the mobilization of available resources. Appropriating insights from academics analyzing the emergence and spread of social movements (e.g. Tilly, Tilly and Tilly, 1975), religious economists argue that an organization’s ability to identify, appropriate, and apply the most effective resources available is absolutely essential to the successful exploitation of the opportunities presented by its societal environment (Finke, 1997: 45–64). As 4 The standardization of organizational repertoires ensues, it is argued, as purveyors of religious goods strive to optimize returns within the increasingly deregulated religious marketplace by concentrating upon its most profitable sectors. As those sectors offering the best cost–benefit returns (however perceived) are relatively restricted in scope, a standardization of religious production takes place as religious groups and organizations progressively tailor their products to the same, most profitable bands (Berger, 1967: 147; Chesnut, 2003: 152; Guerra, 2003b: 113).

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new religious organizations lack central funding, legal-political privileges, and the social-cultural buoyancy provided by traditional patterns of socialization, failure to mobilize available resources will, not least given the competitive environment of the religious marketplace, seriously undermine any group’s ability to survive, let alone flourish. The middle-class nature of the majority of new era groups and institutions entails, more often than not, an organized leadership and degree of strategic savvy necessary to optimizing available resources. Given the breadth and diversity of the new era spectrum, numerous examples can be cited by way of illustrating the programmatic identification, innovative appropriation, and creative exploitation of prevailing resources and opportunity structures. For example, many new era organizations have been quick to exploit the opportunities presented by the shrinkage of central state institutions and the growth of civil society orchestrated by the adoption of neo-liberal economic policies by successive post-dictatorship governments. Whether as social charities, pedagogical associations, or environmental foundations, new era groups and organizations have adopted juridical identities and institutional structures designed explicitly to secure their social standing and increase potential funding streams. A similar instance of new era resource mobilization involves the diversification of organizational repertoires to include commercial activities such as the staging of events (e.g. evening classes and weekend conferences), manufacture of items (e.g. CDs, candles, and soaps), and provision of goods (e.g. organic foods and literature). A longstanding feature of both European and North American alternative circuits (Redden, 2005: 231–46), the commercialization of the new era spectrum is an established feature of many of the neo-esoteric groups mentioned in Chapter 2 and an increasingly visible element in organizations of a more explicitly religious character such as the ayahuasca religions engaged in Chapter 3. A typical response to the generic features of an increasingly competitive religious landscape, the commercialization of organizational repertoires is also a reaction to characteristics formative of the new era spectrum. As noted previously, the majority of new era adepts have a particularly instrumentalized religiosity which manifests itself through, among other things, a conditional (i.e. to self-fulfilment) sense of religious belonging. Characterized by concurrent participation in and consecutive switching between different groups the religious transit which expresses this self-centred notion of religious belonging poses particular challenges to new era organizations among whose adepts it is a well-established practice. The institutional implications of contemporary religious transit entail new era organizations experiencing a relatively high turnover of participants whose relationship with the group is a potentially shortterm and non-exclusive one. The downside of this transient relationship is that new era organizations must work hard to maximize institutional return in the relatively short time that they have with group participants. Whilst not the only means of doing so, the commercialization of organizational repertoires, along with the constant repackaging, remodelling, and renewal of what’s offered, serves to squeeze the most out of adepts during their time with the group. There is an upside to religious transit, however, in that the dynamics of consecutive switching and concurrent participation entail a steady stream of fresh religious transients waiting to be attracted by new era organizations and what they have to offer. In addition to working hard to maximize returns from current participants, then, organizational diversification provides a

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valuable means of broadening group appeal to new era adepts in search of novel spheres of self-expression. Perhaps, given its nature, the most noticeable form of resource mobilization by religious organizations in contemporary Brazil comprises the use of communications media. Exemplified by neo-Pentecostal employment (and purchase!) of television and radio stations, the ‘mediatization’ (mediatização) of the religious field involves, to a lesser degree, Roman Catholic, Spiritist, traditional Protestant, and AfroBrazilian use of televisual, radiophonic, and print media (Galindo, 2004: 24–52). Utilized increasingly by these mainstream religions (e.g. Burity, 2003: 77–91; Jungblut, 2002: 149–66), the medium of the internet is by far the most popular form of communicational resource used by new era groups and organizations. Citing numerous studies to support their viewpoint, Cowan and Hadden note that ‘the Internet has not proved a particularly successful medium for the recruitment of significant numbers of converts to new religious movements’ (2004: 125). This may well be the case. Indicative of its place among the urban middle-classes as a whole, however, conversations with adepts from across the new era spectrum point to the internet forming a large part of the leisure activity of significant numbers, with a meaningful amount of this activity given over to searching for sites with new era contents. With no specific organization or movement in mind many of these searches are conducted in an almost ad hoc fashion, using generalized search terms composed of words, names, and phrases currently in vogue in new era circles. The importance of the internet to actual and would-be new era adepts cannot, therefore, be underestimated. Aware of the growing importance of the internet among actual adepts and potential constituencies, new era organizations are increasingly willing to invest in the relatively inexpensive costs of site design and maintenance. The demographic profile of the new era spectrum means that many of the larger groups can often find the necessary technical expertise among existing members and their relations. Given the geographical vastness of Brazil and the attendant problems (e.g. time and expense) of travelling across the country, the mobilization of internet resources rewards institutional investment by massively broadening the scope of organizational reach. Indeed, such is the nature of the internet that groups strong in technical expertise but small in numerical makeup can project a virtual simulacrum which greatly belies their modest real-time status. By posting well-presented pages and carefully crafting sites to optimize the capture of internet searches, new era groups are able to trawl cyberspace in a way which maximizes participant returns relative to initial development costs and the ongoing expenses of site maintenance. The sheer size of Brazil and the concomitant difficulties of travel entail that some relationships established between trawling organizations and individual surfers remain principally impersonal in that they rely solely upon the mediation of the internet and other materials furnished by the group (e.g. CD Rom and literature). Larger new era organizations with greater geographical spread, however, regard the internet more as a means to establishing eventual face-to-face interaction and subsequent integration within a collective real-time community of practitioners. At the same time, organizations such as Santo Daime and Vegetable Union, for example, also use the internet as a means of global communication and networking. Through regularly

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revised pages, email lists, chat rooms, blogs, podcasts, and poster sites, members and interested parties are informed of forthcoming events, the latest developments in the worldwide fight for the right to consume ayahuasca or, as happened recently in relation to the Bahá’í Faith, approached on behalf of other minority religions in the cause of religious solidarity.5 In addition to broadening reach and facilitating communication and networking, the mobilization of internet resources contributes to the diversification of new era organizational repertoires. As noted in Chapter 2 when discussing the Gnostic Church of Brazil (Igreja Gnóstica do Brasil), use of the internet has allowed the development of a twin-track repertoire in which the real-time community based in Curitiba is complemented by a virtual community made up of individuals scattered throughout Brazil and beyond. In an effort to broaden its appeal to the wider neo-esoteric milieu, the Gnostic Church of Brazil (IGB) uses the internet to project a virtual image of itself in which the more traditional trappings of its temple-based activities are very much underplayed. Mediated by the internet, the electronic materials made available by the IGB convey a virtual image of the organization that is tailored to take account of the established indifference to traditional religious repertoires which pervades many parts of the contemporary neo-esoteric milieu. Bypassing the formal religious aspects of its repertoire, the IGB locates itself within mainstream neo-esotericism by presenting itself and its courses as embodying just one of a number of life-style systems and philosophies currently on offer within the neo-esoteric milieu. Minimizing what are perceived as the less attractive components of its everyday organizational identity, the IGB optimizes organizational return through the projection of a virtual image that whilst not belying its temple-based activity nevertheless contrasts with it.6 As a result, the IGB now has two distinct constituencies, one virtual and one realtime, each of which participates in an organizational repertoire which is markedly different from the other. The manner in and extent to which organizations, like individual human beings, manage their appearance to ensure that the best possible image is projected has been well expressed through concepts such as ‘frame alignment’ and ‘collective impression management’ (Goffman, 1974; Tilly, Tilly and Tilly, 1975); concepts which apply in equal measure to religious (Frigerio, 1997: 153–77; Carozzi, 1999: 152) and secular (Crossley, 2002: 133–43; Della Porta and Diani, 1999: 74–7) organizations. 5 As with the site , for example, the internet also facilitates inter-organizational networking across the new era spectrum. Operated by members of the Santo Daime community Céu da Lua Cheia, offers a wide variety of information and materials related to neo-shamanism. Whilst information about Santo Daime and CEFLURIS is included on the site, the names and addresses of other neo-shamanic sites and organizations (in Brazil and beyond) are made available. The site also links with ABRAX (Associação Brasileira de Xamanismo), the Brazilian Shamanism Association, of which the community of Céu da Lua Cheia is a major sponsor. 6 Organizational return is also optimized through the frequent remodelling of internetbased support groups (the latest of which includes an additional ‘advanced’ group open to those willing to make a monthly donation), regular repackaging of ‘revised’ courses with ‘new’ and ‘better presented’ contents, and production of new courses, events, and goods available to members at an ‘exclusive’ discounted price.

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Concepts such as these help underline the ways in and degrees to which groups such as the IGB survive and flourish by ensuring the continued ‘alignment’ of their ‘collective’ image with their respective and ever changing environments (here, neo-esoteric milieu) in a way which maximizes organizational return. Whether perceived in terms of financial gain, numerical growth, structural expansion or ideological success, maximal organizational return is dependent upon some form of self-conscious management of a projected image capable of adapting to changing circumstances and thereby optimizing prevailing conditions. Although a degree of correlation between projected image and actual fact is expected, in real terms the particular image projected by a group or movement does not (perhaps, should not!) always reflect the actual nitty-gritty of everyday organizational life. Should the projected image diverge too much from actual reality, however, organizations and movements leave themselves open to a host of problems, not least of which is the rapid disappointment and subsequent departure of disillusioned adherents and would-be sponsors. When it comes to the internet, however, the nature of the relationship between the image that is projected and the day-to-day existence of real space-time becomes somewhat stretched (‘distanciated’ Giddens would say). In relation to the IGB, for example, because the vast majority of the relationship between the organization and its internet participants takes place in virtual time and space, the extent to which the collective impression generated by the IGB needs to correlate with its actual organizational existence is lessened. The mediation of the internet between the IGB and its clients thereby allows an enhanced degree of elasticity to exist between what the organization says it is and what it actually is. As expected of any group striving to maximize organizational returns, the more elastic this relationship is the more it will be stretched. Although the IGB is a more extreme example of the repertorial diversification enabled by the internet it is not alone in testing the elasticity between actual and virtual identities. The websites of the Temple of Good Will, Valley of the Dawn, and CEFLURIS, for example, each present an organizational image which is, in certain respects, far more varied than that of their actual day-to-day repertoires. Whilst by no means conveying anything duplicitous, each of these sites nevertheless employs a range of concepts, themes, and images which enjoy a virtual prominence somewhat beyond that of their actual place in real-time repertorial practice. As with the IGB, this stretching of actual and virtual identities results from groups wishing to broaden their appeal by playing up components of the organizational repertoire which are perceived to be fashionable in contemporary new era circles. Those elements considered particularly topical or in vogue are thereby selected and emphasized in a manner which belies their actual status in the repertorial hierarchy of the realtime community. Consequently, there is inevitably a degree of standardization as sites appropriate and re-present the most popular buzz words, images, and themes currently doing the rounds across the new era spectrum. At the same time, however, there is a dynamic at play here which goes beyond that of frame alignment and collective impression management strategies born of organizational desires to maximize return. As a virtual medium, the internet offers an ideal environment for the creative exploration of identity (individual and collective) through the imaginative

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combination of the actual and the aspirational. It should be of no surprise to find, then, that new era groups predisposed to innovation and invention should use this virtual environment as a means of further exploring their already diffuse, flexible, and hybrid repertoires. Exploiting the elasticity between actual and virtual identities facilitated by the internet, new era groups are able to emphasize, combine, downplay or juxtapose elements in an experimental fashion unhindered by the actual constraints of real-time practice. The virtual emphasis given by the Valley of the Dawn to discursive components (e.g. cosmology) which play a relatively minor role in day-today practice is a case in point; as is the manner in which the web-pages of the Temple of Good Will bypass established Spiritist components of its practical repertoire to the end of playing up its all-embracing new era credentials. As noted, these virtual identities are not solely strategic in scope, but also reflect new era predispositions to explore and innovate in ways which constantly push the boundaries of existing real-time repertoires. The creative and imaginative freedoms offered by the internet thereby allow new era groups to explore existing identities and construct new ones in ways which both reflect and catalyze repertorial diversification. In addition to facilitating collective repertorial innovation, as noted above the internet plays an important part in the construction of the individual religious identity of new era adepts.7 Objectively speaking, the internet has exponentially increased both the amount and diversity of materials available for individual appropriation. Still at the vanguard of contemporary information technology, the globalized environment and extensive capacity of the internet makes it an increasingly potent agent of social-cultural pluralization. At the same time, and subjectively speaking, the way in which the internet mediates materials for individual appropriation contributes to late-modern processes of individualization and commodification. In terms of individualization, the manner in which the internet bypasses collective mechanisms (e.g. family, school, religious community) through which social-cultural capital has traditionally been conveyed relativizes their importance to individuals. As well as disembedding individuals from received patterns of social-cultural reproduction, the internet mediates materials in a way that constitutes them as commodities for individual consumption. Whether shopping for groceries, researching a school project, reading about the latest natural disaster or visiting a new era website, the utilitarian character of the internet reconstitutes the materials it mediates as just another kind of product processed for individual consumption. Mediated through internet usage, the dynamics of individualization and commodification complement aforementioned macro-structural processes and combine to reinforce the instrumentalization of latemodern religiosity. Exemplified by contemporary transformations in understandings of religious belonging, the internet further instrumentalizes late-modern religiosity as the practices of transit and bricolage become as easy as clicking a mouse. Within the space of a few minutes and by lifting only a finger the new era adept is exposed to myriad religious repertoires and spiritual agendas as she moves almost seamlessly from new age temple to esoteric terreiro to alternative church to mystical commune; 7 Empirical studies in general have demonstrated the extent to which the internet serves as a medium conducive to the construction of individual religious identity (e.g. Lövheim and Linderman, 2005: 121–37).

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and all without leaving the comfort of her own home. Available now at the click of a button bespoke religion has never been easier. In terms of the rise and spread of new era religion the internet has proved to be an important resource mobilized at organizational levels and utilized on an individual basis. In view of the organizational–individual dynamics at play across the new era spectrum, a complementary dialectic of virtual supply and demand can be posited. On the one hand, new era groups mobilize contemporary IT resources to trawl the internet by way of carefully crafted sites designed to lead the curious surfer from an initial encounter to a more sustained participation in organizational repertoires (virtual or real). Intentionally or not, the medium of the internet and the elasticity it allows between real-time and virtual identities is being exploited by organizations in a way which further radicalizes the formation of diffuse, flexible, and hybrid repertoires already typical of the new era spectrum. On the other hand, individual adepts and would-be participants are likewise exploiting late-modern technological developments and surfing the web guided by a series of search terms more or less related to new era themes. The pluralizing, individualizing, and commodifying nature of internet mediation catalyzes further the instrumentalized characteristics of new era religiosity in a way which reinforces established dynamics of transit and bricolage. Each of these corresponding dynamics has, in its own way, contributed to the formation in contemporary cyberspace of a virtual new era milieu; a direct, albeit late-modern, parallel of the ‘cultic milieu’ identified by Campbell (1972: 119–36) and further engaged by the likes of Balch and Taylor (1978: 43–65). Complementing the actual new era spectrum described in earlier chapters, the virtual new era milieu is likewise populated by ‘seekers’ intent on appropriating through cyberspace the kinds of religious commodities perceived not to be offered by mainstream religious organizations. Whether remaining as a purely virtual relationship, leading to actual group participation or existing as a mixture of the two, the novel forms of religious interaction enabled by the internet serve to augment what is already a highly diverse, fluid, and innovative new era spectrum. The supply-side emphasis of the religious economy model and all that it makes possible by way of appreciating the importance of resource mobilization to the emergence and consolidation of new era religion is of considerable analytical value. Another valuable contribution of the religious economy model is its emphasis upon the subjective role of reasoned reflection as an individual component influencing religious adherence and participation. Critics such as Beckford are correct in questioning the extent to which the religious economy model’s ‘exclusive focus on rationality’ is ‘a fair characterisation of human action’ and thereby ‘capable of providing well-rounded explanation in isolation from other considerations’ (2003: 170). I agree with this criticism and have sought to avoid offering a similarly impoverished understanding of human action by appropriating the concepts of ‘practical consciousness’/‘habitus’ employed earlier when engaging the subjective aspect of religious pluralization in relation to the individual capacity to choose. When suitably qualified, however, the place accorded rational subjectivity by the religious economy model does provide a valuable corrective to structurally deterministic readings of subjective religiosity which seriously underplay the role of purposive, reasoned reflection as a causal element influencing the religious behaviour of individuals. Whilst not wanting to

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lapse into an uncritical ‘subjectivism’, Anthony Giddens has likewise sought to avoid ‘the conceptual elimination of the subject’ in the face of what he sees as overly deterministic readings of self–society relations (1979: 44). As noted above, Giddens does this by offering a tripartite understanding of human agency comprising the personal dimensions of the ‘unconscious’, the ‘practical consciousness’ and, of most relevance here, the ‘discursive consciousness’ (1991: 35–69). Grounded in the human capacity for rational reflection, the discursive consciousness involves ‘purposive, reasoning behaviour’ and expresses itself ‘through the reflexively monitored activities of situated actors’ who are able to objectify subjective experience, reflect upon it, and use such reflection to inform current behaviour and future choices (1984: 179, 212). Alongside unconscious drives and habitualized behaviour internalized through socialization, the recognition of goal-orientated and self-critical reasoned reflection (i.e. reflexivity) offers a well-rounded understanding of individual agency. Although overplayed and frigidly articulated through the mercantile language of cost–benefit analysis, the emphasis upon subjective rationality as a constituent element of individual agency offered by the religious economy model is a useful and timely one in two particular respects. First, the emphasis upon subjective rationality coheres well with the relatively high degree of reflexivity enjoyed by the urban middle classes of Brazil. As noted above, the macro-structural processes of urban-industrialization and globalization have done much to encourage the emergence of the kind of disembedded and pluralized urban professionals among whom adherence to and participation in new era repertoires is highest. Commenting upon the dynamics of individualization and globalization respectively, both Beck and Beck-Gernsheim (2002: 3–6) and Robertson (1992: 12, 167) underline the significant degree of ‘reflexivity’ generated by the macro-structural conditions which have given rise to the contemporary urbanindustrial landscape with which new era religion is most closely associated. The ‘reflexive modernization’ of which they speak is characterized by ‘the structuring of choice (with its strong connotations of the “rationality” of processes of optimization, if not maximization, of preferences)’ (Robertson, 1992: 167) and the ‘“tyranny of possibilities” … to be thought about and negotiated’ (Beck and Beck-Gernsheim, 2002: 6). By no means the only ones subjected to the forces of reflexive modernization the structural origins, prevailing context, social-economic status, and level of educational attainment of the urban middle-classes of Brazil nevertheless endow them with a relatively heightened degree of reflexivity. Religiously speaking, and indicative of their class identity, the reflexive character of late-modernity is exemplified by the calculatingly self-referential and strategically promiscuous approach to religious participation of new era adepts. As with other spheres of their daily lives, in matters spiritual and religious new era adepts are generally self-assured as to what they deserve, well-informed about what they seek, and tactically savvy in respect of how to get it. Allowing for its conceptual limitations and theoretical deficiencies within the religious economy model, the notion of subjective rationality and its implications for individual behaviour nevertheless contribute to explicating the reflexive character of new era religiosity which manifests itself, for example, through a self-centred and instrumental approach to religion expressed by conspicuous levels of transit and bricolage.

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Not unconnected with reflexive modernization the place of subjective rationality as a feature of individual religiosity is of relevance also in connection with the increasingly detraditionalized urban-industrial context within which new era religion has emerged and spread. Giddens regards the ‘radical turn from tradition’ as ‘intrinsic’ to the reflexive character of modern life (1990: 175), whilst Beck and Beck-Gernsheim note that the disembedded existence of the late-modern individual is a ‘detraditionalized’ one. They continue: This does not mean that tradition no longer plays any role … But traditions must be chosen and often invented, and they have force only through the decisions and experience of individuals. The sources of collective and group identity and of meaning which are characteristic of industrial society (ethnic identity, class consciousness, faith in progress), whose lifestyles and notions of security underpinned Western democracies and economies into the 1960s, here lose their mystique and break up, exhausted. Those who live in this post-national, global society are constantly engaged in discarding old classifications and formulating new ones. (2002: 25–6)

Expressed religiously through the progressive secularization of societal structures outlined above, the detraditionalization of urban-industrial society has a number of implications of particular relevance to an understanding of new era religion. The first of these relates directly to the current treatment of subjective rationality and will be dealt with presently. The second implication of detraditionalization is more holistic in nature and its identification and treatment will be the jumping off point for the concluding section of this chapter. Detraditionalization involves the erosion of established patterns of socialization through which traditional values, practices, and beliefs are inculcated and thereby transmitted from one generation to the next. Affecting the religious landscape most dramatically through the macro-structural secularization of society, detraditionalization undermines the habitual and taken for granted nature of traditional modes of religious participation. No longer internalized through the normalizing routines of everyday life, traditional modes of religious commitment are progressively displaced as an integral component of the practical consciousness/habitus of individuals. As noted above with reference to Berger (1967) and Luckmann (1967) the dislocation of established patterns of religious behaviour from the taken for granted routines of everyday life means that the religious commitment of individuals must now be established through non-traditional means such as marketing. What is important to note here is that these non-traditional means function (relative to the extent of detraditionalization) in a way which appeals to the individual at a discursive level of consciousness. That is, in the absence of established religious routines and habits which exist at the level of practical consciousness the establishment of religious commitment is achieved most effectively by appealing to the individual as a purposive, reasoning subject. In so doing those groups and organizations seeking to gain the religious allegiance of the individual pitch their appeal in a way which both relies upon and assumes the reflexive capacity to identify and pursue a course of action in her own best interests. Coupled with the heightened degree of reflexivity enjoyed by the typical urban professional, the focus upon discursive consciousness provoked by detraditionalization thereby increases the role of subjective rationality

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as a constituent component of new era religiosity. Treated in the previous chapter, the discursive representation of the individual as the self-authenticating arbiter of religious authority perhaps most exemplifies new era estimations of subjective rationality. Lauded as the best ‘judge’ of what is and what is not ‘authentic’ and advised to listen only to ‘direct experience’ when formulating ‘your own system’, the individual as a purposive, reasoning agent forms the conceptual cornerstone upon which new era discourse builds. Whilst its status within the religious economy model remains problematical, and its place in less detraditionalized sectors somewhat more attenuated, the importance of subjective rationality as a determinative element of new era religiosity should not be underestimated. The Meeting of the What and the How As well as increasing the importance of the discursive consciousness to the establishment of religious commitment, the processes of detraditionalization further enhance the room for manoeuvre enjoyed by new era organizational repertoires. It has already been noted how the macro-structural transformations outlined above have eroded longstanding legal, political, and economic constraints upon the religious field which have traditionally delimited the organizational latitude of nonmainstream groups. Refracted most clearly through the dynamics of secularization, the implications of detraditionalization for the religious landscape of Brazil also involve the removal of social-cultural restrictions which have traditionally inhibited the expressive scope of religious repertoires. At a macro-structural level, for example, the secular state has lost interest in policing the practical and discursive content of religious repertoires. No longer concerned with the substantive details of what religions say and do the state instead guards the formal parameters within which religious groups and organizations are expected to operate. As long as laws relating to public decency, state security, and fiscal propriety are neither broken nor threatened, for example, the specifics of what religious groups actually practice and preach are of little or no interest to secularized state institutions. At an organizational level, the role of the Roman Catholic Church as the traditional benchmark of religious orthodoxy has been progressively dissipated. Denuded of its ability to define and defend the boundaries of acceptable religious expression ecclesiastical campaigns to protect the soul of the nation against Afro-Brazilian, Protestant, and Spiritist advances have lost their force. Whether Catholic, neo-Pentecostal or Spiritist, claims to occupy the religious high ground (and thereby define the low ground) are increasingly regarded as little more than partisan in nature and perspectival in authority. In the same vein, the religious sensibilities of individuals have undergone considerable alterations over the course of the last few decades. What an individual chooses to believe and how she elects to practise these beliefs is now firmly entrenched in public opinion as a matter of personal taste. It is no exaggeration to say that individual tolerance of religious diversity is now on a par with acknowledging a neighbour’s right to support a football team different than one’s own. The erosion at all levels of social-cultural constraints upon religious expression comes at a time when the spectrum of religious options has been massively broadened

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by the pluralizing forces of late-modernity and the ease with which these options can be appropriated greatly enhanced. The synchronicity of an increase in what can be appropriated with the enhanced latitude of how it can be expressed is a dynamic fundamental to the formation of new era repertoires. As noted in previous chapters new era repertoires are typically hybrid creations, the contents of which have been appropriated from a wide variety of different sources and combined within characteristically flexible and inventive frameworks of interpretation and practice. The hybridizing tendencies of new era repertoires are driven internally by holistic interpretations which regard particular beliefs and practices as context relative metaphors for the one, overarching reality. Dismissive of their historical or cultural provenance this relativization of specific beliefs and practices allows them to be plucked from their original contexts and relocated to a different frame of reference without, it is argued, violating the fundamental truth to which they attest. Dislocated from their original frame of reference these beliefs and practices are re-embedded (and thereby reinterpreted) within a typically hybrid repertoire comprising any number of previously disparate concepts and rituals. Underwritten by the relativizing dynamics of new era holistic interpretations the conspicuous appropriation of otherwise disparate beliefs and practices which gives rise to hybrid repertoires has been radicalized by aforementioned transformations in respect of both what can now be appropriated and how it can now be expressed. The contemporary confluence of the what and the how does not, of course, impact solely upon the new era spectrum. The Roman Catholic Charismatic Renewal movement, for example, has unabashedly appropriated a number of elements which it regards as central to the success of neoPentecostal organizations such as the Universal Church of the Kingdom of God; just as the Universal Church of the Kingdom of God has progressively adopted a range of themes and practices from popular Catholic religiosity. Whether driven strategically or an unintended consequence, motivated by competition or a desire to save souls, the appropriation of components from the religious repertoires of other groups and organizations is an increasingly visible phenomenon across the religious landscape as a whole. What sets new era religion apart from its mainstream cousins, however, is the conspicuous nature of appropriation and the hybridized manner of its expression. The synchronicity of an increase in what can be appropriated with the enhanced latitude of how it can be expressed results not only in the hybridization of religious repertoires but also in the appearance of erstwhile traditional repertorial ingredients in a range of untraditional contexts. The vast majority of the neo-esoteric groups listed in the opening pages of Chapter 2, for example, utilize components appropriated from a wide variety of traditional religious repertoires. Whilst using elements appropriated from traditional religious contexts, however, many of these groups actively play down their own association with traditional religiosity, instead emphasizing their status as life-style resources or non-partisan spiritual enterprises. There is, though, an interesting rhetorical dynamic at play in many of these neo-esoteric groups and organizations. On the one hand, the effectiveness or veracity of the disciplines and practices employed by any one group are underscored with reference to the established religious tradition within which these disciplines and practices have been tried and tested for hundreds if not thousands of years. The acknowledgement of

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traditional provenance thereby valorizes the beliefs and practices appropriated. On the other hand, and having been assured of the authenticity of the merchandise, participants are encouraged to partake of these goods as standalone products or as part of a hybrid repertoire free from the usual baggage associated with traditional modes of religious activity. Dislocated from their traditional setting and denuded of their traditional connotations, these products have been rendered safe for consumption. Unaccompanied by the discursive sophistication of established neo-esoteric centres the same dynamics are nevertheless evinced by individual entrepreneurs such as the stallholders at ‘new age’ and ‘hippie’ fairs or the street-side adivinhos (fortune tellers).8 Beneath an awning, large umbrella or makeshift shelter these new era entrepreneurs offer an array of services ranging from tarot, rune, cowry shell, crystal ball, and palm reading, through the provision of charms, amulets, herbal concoctions, crystals, massages, passes, and spells, to the eradication of black magic, bad karma, and everyday back pain and stress. Whether collective or individual, of fixed abode or makeshift shelter, the dynamics and their implications remain the same. Set within an untraditional context and framed by a detraditionalizing rhetoric, the traditional is consumed in the absence of tradition. The dislocation of religious components and their re-embedding within unconventional and hybrid repertoires inevitably involves the transformation of traditional beliefs and practices into something other than they used to be. Excised from their original historical-cultural context and relocated within a different organizational repertoire, once traditional religious practices and beliefs are subjected to a kind of modernization by which they are remodelled and resignified in line with new era tastes and preoccupations. In and of itself, however, the dislocation and reembedding of traditional religious beliefs and practices does not necessarily entail the demise of tradition. Certainly, for a good number of new era groups and religious entrepreneurs the re-embedding of elements appropriated from traditional religious repertoires is orchestrated by a worldview within which ‘tradition’ has pejorative connotations. At the same time, the fluid, commercial or short-term contexts within which this re-embedding takes place do not furnish conditions conducive to the emergence and maintenance of local traditions of their own. Within other parts of the new era spectrum, however, attitudes to tradition are neither so negative, nor organizational conditions as inimical to its development. For organizations like the Valley of the Dawn, the Gnostic Church of Brazil, and the ayahuasca religions of Barquinha, Vegetable Union, and Santo Daime, for example, the notion of tradition plays an important role. Possessing institutional structures and ritual repertoires similar to those of mainstream religions, these organizations occupy the more explicitly religious end of the new era spectrum. And, like their more established mainstream cousins, groups such as these tend to acknowledge a founding figure (e.g. Tia Neiva, Samael Weor, and Irineu Serra) who has bequeathed a range of beliefs and practices to which loyalty is expected of 8 A seemingly ubiquitous sight throughout the central streets of São Paulo, but found also in many of Brazil’s larger conurbations, adivinhos are mainly women wearing traditional Bahian (north-eastern) dress; a mode of dress which stereotypically signifies the garb of the Afro-Brazilian mãe de santo.

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contemporary adherents and would-be adepts. Embodied in a recognizable canon and administered by a sanctioned hierarchy, tradition thereby plays a role akin to that performed within mainstream religious organizations. At the same time, there are noticeable differences between new era and mainstream realizations of tradition. As noted with reference to Santo Daime, for example, the relative youth of new era organizations and prevalence of charismatic forms of leadership entail greater latitude in local interpretations of what established traditions there are. Whilst local variations undeniably exist within traditional religious denominations, the degree of repertorial diversity from one group to another belonging to the same new era organization can be quite substantial.9 In the same vein, the relativizing effects of new era holistic interpretations and the practical impact of repertorial hybridity and individual bricolage make for particularly flexible and inventive readings of tradition in which core ideas and practices are readily adapted, sidelined or supplemented relative to contemporary fashions and current preoccupations. Even among those for whom tradition is an authority-laden link with the past, the instrumentalized nature of new era religiosity and the immediatism of late-modern here and now existence combine to undermine tradition’s inertial qualities. As a result, tradition assumes a more provisional and contingent status which, despite discursive assertions to the contrary, subordinates both its authority over and regulation of new era repertoires to the perceived demands of the present. New era repertoires thereby relate to tradition less as a cherished heirloom to be lovingly preserved and more as a valued resource to be called upon, modified, and added to as prevailing conditions dictate. Again, whilst this dynamic is by no means absent from mainstream organizations, new era appropriations of tradition nevertheless involve a degree of provisionality, flexibility, and inventiveness which sets them apart from mainstream religion. Just as detraditionalization does not mean the end of tradition per se, neither do the processes of individualization necessarily entail the demise of collective association. Certainly, the disembedding effects of individualization have done much to erode established ties which have bound individuals to traditional modes of communal participation. In so doing, however, the forces of individualization have facilitated the formation of new and experimental forms of collective association such as the various new era communities discussed in previous chapters. As with the status and function of tradition, the breadth of the new era spectrum allows for a diverse range of expressions in respect of collective participation. Born of aforementioned societal transformations, of which individualization is a notable example, new era religiosity inevitably embodies highly individualized characteristics. The individualized nature of new era religiosity is exemplified both practically through the instrumentalization of participation expressed in transit and bricolage and discursively by its valorization of the individual as the ultimate arbiter of authority and principal agent of self-transformation. Whilst impacting upon all forms of new era religiosity, as with detraditionalization, the processes of individualization 9 The vast majority of new era adepts with whom I speak are unaware of the extent to which the repertoires of their own groups include both local variations not employed by others and relatively new beliefs and practices which have not always been part of their respective group or organizational heritage.

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manifest themselves in variegated fashion across different sectors of the new era spectrum. For a good number of neo-esoteric participants, for example, interaction with new era repertoires is self-consciously restricted to that of client or consumer. Consequently, individual engagement with a group or organization assumes a punctual and transactional nature by which mutual expectations are bounded to the particular exchange of goods taking place at a specific point in time. By limiting the degree of commitment to any one new era repertoire the neo-esoteric consumer forestalls any possible entanglement in relationships of reciprocal obligation and thereby preserves his freedom of movement and right to self-expression. Towards the other end of the new era spectrum, however, notions of collective identity and individual commitment are less attenuated. New era organizations possessing more formal religious repertoires (e.g. ayahuasca religions) tend also to engender a sense of communal belonging which articulates a range of mutual expectations and reciprocal obligations characteristic of mainstream religions. Within these new era organizations participants are generally comfortable with prevailing authority structures which play a significant part in directing their spiritual journey. Likewise, individuals are accepting of the usual responsibilities and compromises which group membership entails. Even here, though, the undertones of individualization and its implications for collective–individual relations are never far from the surface. Among those for whom communal identity and collective responsibility are important, there remains a clear sense that their current mode of religious participation is the intended outcome of individual choices made in their own best interests. Indicative of the heightened reflexivity enjoyed by new era participants, group membership is unambiguously understood as a voluntary state of affairs the elective character of which qualifies any sense of fixity, constraint or self-abnegation. At the same time, the relativizing dictates of new era holistic interpretations combine with the discursive centrality of self-determination to weaken further collective claims upon individual participants. On the one hand, then, the disembedding effects of individualization have released individuals from traditional ties and enabled the formation of voluntary communities through which novel modes of religious participation are collectively expressed. On the other hand, and in conjunction with aforementioned transformations, the processes of individualization have drastically altered the manner in and extent to which new era communities make claims upon their individual members. Never more than a means to individual fulfilment, collective association and the expectations it engenders assume a radically contingent and provisional status. The diversity of opinion in respect of tradition and collective association is indicative of the pluriform manner in which aforementioned transformations combine to constitute the new era spectrum as a broad and highly varied phenomenon. As can be seen, the new era spectrum stretches from the highly individualistic and purportedly non-religious (e.g. therapeutic regimes of certain neo-esoteric groups) to the associational and explicitly religious repertoires of, for example, the ayahuasca religions of Barquinha, Santo Daime, and Vegetable Union. Typical of the Janusfaced nature of late-modern metamorphoses, new era religiosity is startlingly peculiar in its novelty yet strangely familiar through its reworking of established discourse and practice.

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Conclusion Expressed through aforementioned developments at an organizational and individual level, the macro-structural forces reshaping Brazilian society are little different than the processes and dynamics unleashed by urban-industrialization across various parts of the globe. It should be of no surprise then that the new era religiosity spawned and shaped by these sweeping transformations in Brazil exhibits many of the same characteristics as emergent religious phenomena in other regions of the developed world (see Clarke, 2006b). Such are the globalized dimensions of late-modernity and such are the homogenizing tendencies of industrial existence that the urban professionals who form the bulk of new era participants in Brazil hold in common a great many of the values, preferences, expectations, and preoccupations of their middle class counterparts in cities throughout the world. As noted in the opening pages of Chapter 2, significant swathes of neo-esoteric religiosity in Brazil offer little which is substantively different from the discursive and practical repertoires of, for example, European and North American new age and alternative circuits. There is, however, much besides. Overall, the new era spectrum of Brazil comprises a richly diverse array of variegated repertoires which combine to make a highly distinctive contribution to the worldwide resurgence of novel religious phenomena currently underway. The distinctiveness of new era religiosity is founded upon the social-cultural particularity of the Brazilian context which combines with the globalizing dynamics of late-modernity to engender the kind of discourse and practice treated in previous chapters. In Robertson’s terms, the new era repertoires engaged here represent truly ‘glocal’ forms of religious expression which emerge through the confluence of global forces and local dynamics (1995: 25–44). Perhaps the most relevant ‘local’ contribution of the social-cultural context of Brazil is its conspicuously spiritualistic nature. Even allowing for the rationalizing influences of late-modern urban-industrial existence, Brazil’s religious ethos remains imbued with a view of the world as populated as much by spiritual as by physical forces. This is what Carvalho means when stating that the ‘predominant religiosity in Brazil is, in fact, a type of spiritism’ (1992: 160; 1994: 74) and to which Lewgoy refers as a form of ‘diffuse spiritualism’ (2004: 43). Although the formal discourse of religious repertoires may recognise the existence of a unitary, absolute divinity, in the vast majority of cases this divine figure functions as little more than an expository device serving to explain the origins of the universe. Whilst the divine prime cause sets the conceptual backdrop, the everyday ritual workload is actually borne by any number of purportedly lesser spiritual intermediaries. Remarking upon the ‘spiritualist’ (espiritualista) climate of Brazilian religiosity, Sanchis notes that the human being is surrounded by a universe populated by forces, spirits, and influences which maintain relationships and enter into dialogue with people … Orixás for some, the dead, saints or entities for others; Our Ladies who appear and come to live among us;

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Nurtured by the established repertoires of Spiritism, Afro-Brazilian religion, and popular Catholicism, the spiritualistic ethos of Brazil is a particular social-cultural ingredient which in combination with other ‘local’ factors gives new era religiosity its distinctive flavour. Another contributing factor to the distinctive nature of new era religiosity results from what Sanchis identifies as the ‘systematic plurality’ which has constituted the social-cultural ethos of Brazil from its colonial beginnings to contemporary times. Born from the mixing of European, Indigenous, African, and, latterly, Oriental cultures the social-cultural context of Brazil is marked by a ‘structural predisposition to porosity’ (2001: 25–8). Composite in nature, the popular consciousness of Brazil is imbued with an openness to novelty which manifests itself in an indefatigable propensity for appropriating, adapting or inventing whatever social-cultural resources are on offer or deemed necessary. Within the religious field the ‘porosity’ of Brazilian culture has historically been held in check by a structural conservatism exercised through political-legal mechanisms designed to underpin Roman Catholic hegemony. Irrespective of these measures, however, popular religiosity continued to express this social-cultural porosity through the construction of highly varied and rapidly evolving repertoires fed by an eclectic and experimental ethos and driven by the pragmatics of poverty. Enacted by traditional Catholic, Spiritist, Afro-Brazilian, and mestiço repertoires, the hybrid and experimental nature of popular religiosity is an important ingredient which, in combination with other factors (domestic and international) gives new era religion a character all of its own. As stated at the outset of Chapter 1, the emergence and consolidation of new religious phenomena does not solely comprise the appearance of what was once absent from the scene. Rather, new religious phenomena grow both from the addition of what was formerly not present and the transformation of what is already in place (whether through the novel combination of established but previously disparate elements or the confluence of the new and the old). The emergence of new era religiosity reflects each of these dynamics; dynamics which have been made possible by the interplay of aforementioned macro-structural (e.g. secularization and globalization), mid-range (e.g. hybridization and marketization), and micro-social (e.g. transit and bricolage) developments. As the transformation of what is already in place new era religiosity echoes the themes and practices of established religious repertoires. Esoteric motifs, popular Catholic liturgies, Afro-Brazilian rituals, and indigenous-mestiço cosmologies are each drawn upon to varying degrees and in different ways. In the same vein, established patterns of repertorial eclecticism, experimentalism, pragmatism, and thaumaturgy, for example, are refashioned and recapitulated through hybrid and flexible repertoires, participant transit, and new era practical knowledge. New era religiosity is, however, more than a simple difference in degree. Framed by the societal transformations reviewed in Chapter 5, new era religiosity embodies something which is radically novel and thereby of a different kind than that previously encountered within the religious landscape of Brazil. Catalyzed by the

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forces unleashed by rapid and far-reaching urban-industrialization and nourished by the cultural flows of globalization, new era religiosity involves repertorial elements which are both new to the religious landscape of Brazil and chronologically novel by way of their late-modern provenance. The most important of these, and the prevalent characteristic of the new era spectrum, is the self-centredness of new era repertoires. At a discursive level new era repertoires valorize the self through the representation of the individual as the ultimate arbiter of religious authority and the primary agent of self-transformation. Practically speaking this self-transformation is achieved through the application of a practical knowledge replete with techniques, therapies, and disciplines intent on manipulating cosmic energies to the end of universalizing the individual and her reach. Expressive of a range of late-modern processes, the dynamics of individualization reviewed in Chapter 4 are perhaps the most formative dynamics behind the articulation of the self-centred repertoires of new era religiosity. Beck and Beck-Gernsheim link the processes of individualization with the emergence of what they call ‘the market for the answer factories, the psycho-boom, the advice literature’. The rise of the therapeutic market, they argue, relates to latemodernity’s ‘erosion’ of established patterns of social reproduction. This erosion results in the now disembedded individual facing an increasingly vertiginous range of possibilities which contemporary existence provokes whilst, at the same time, undermining traditional collective means of orientation, meaning, and structure. Unsupported in the face of this ‘tyranny of possibilities’ (Weymann), the ‘overtaxed individual’ is disorientated and seeks a means of escape through the ‘flight into magic, myth, metaphysics’ composed of ‘that mixture of the esoteric cult, the primal scream, mysticism, yoga and Freud which is supposed to drown out the tyranny of possibilities but in fact reinforces it with its changing fashions’ (2002: 7). A similar critique is offered by Lasch who develops the earlier work of Rieff and his linkage of the rise of therapy (and the decline of public religion) with the individualization of society. The popularization of therapy and its linkage with the rise of urbanindustrial society is analyzed by Rieff in The Triumph of the Sacred (1966). In typical Durkheimian fashion Rieff regards the development of urban-industrial society as characterized by the demise of traditional forms of collective association and the authority structures that go with them and their replacement by voluntary, elective modes of social interaction. The decline of public religion and the rise of psychoanalysis are symptomatic of this transition from collectively orchestrated to individually orientated modes of association. Whereas religion served to reinforce collective authority structures, psychoanalytical therapy seeks to promote individual fulfilment. Lasch develops these initial insights and argues that late-modernity has engendered the therapeutization of society as witnessed through the increased accessibility and diversification of professional therapists, the exponential growth of self-help materials, and the ‘revival of ancient superstitions, a belief in reincarnation, a growing fascination with the occult, and the bizarre forms of spirituality associated with the New Age movement’ (1979: 245). Symptomatic of the ‘disintegration of public life’, the ‘new therapeutic sensibility’ reflects a ‘contemporary narcissism’ comprising an ‘intense preoccupation of the self’ underwritten by ‘the ideology of personal growth’ (1979: 25, 31, 51). In reality, the pursuit of self-fulfilment

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through therapy constitutes a pathological act of sublimation in which problems of a collective nature are transformed into ‘personal problems amenable to therapeutic intervention’ (1979: 13–14). The pursuit of self-fulfilment through therapy (be it professional, self-help or New Age) is pathological, Lasch argues, because it deals only with the symptoms of social fragmentation (manifest at an individual level) and not with its true cause (existing at a structural level). Although focusing upon the dynamics of individualization, Beck and BeckGernsheim and Lasch are among a broad range of scholars who locate the origins of novel religious phenomena such as new era religiosity within the ‘social dislocation’ and ‘crisis of meaning’ brought on by the vertiginous transformations wrought by rapid and far-reaching urban-industrialization (see, Clarke, 2006b: 17–19; L. Dawson, 1998: 42–60). Born of the deep-seated anxieties and existential disorientation of contemporary times, the argument goes, novel religious phenomena are symptomatic of a prevailing dissonance in self–society relations. Albeit a symptom of underlying causes, new era religiosity is nevertheless regarded as a malady of late-modern existence. Setting to one side the pejorative tones of Beck and Beck-Gernsheim and Lasch, that new era religiosity is indicative of a contemporary disequilibrium in self–society relations is a hypothesis which cannot be ruled out. Indeed, by positing systemic insecurity and strategic indifference as possible causes of new era millenarianism, I have already drawn upon elements of the structural maladjustment argument. As part of the same discussion, however, a third factor was identified as influencing the espousal of new era millenarian motifs; this factor being that new era millenarianism is ultimately affirmative of the individual and her new era worldview. As noted in Chapter 4 new era millenarianism valorizes the individual and his new era worldview by asserting both that the practical knowledge you live by is the very same practical knowledge by which the world will be transformed and upon which a new civilization will be founded, and the fact that you live by this practical knowledge places you among the vanguard of this renewed world and its enlightened civilization. New era religiosity underwrites its valorization of the late-modern individual through the provision of a practical knowledge the learning and application of which is a guaranteed pathway to self-aggrandizement on a categorically cosmic scale. For some new era groups subjective apotheosis is achieved by way of manipulating impersonal universal forces, whilst for others cosmic aggrandizement is obtained through interaction with supernatural agents. Whatever the impersonal or personal status of the cosmic forces engaged, the raison d’être of new era repertoires is the same: the ennoblement of the individual. A scion of late-modern times, new era religiosity contributes to contemporary valorizations of the self by endowing the individual with a significance and operational reach of truly universal proportions. Of course, the dynamic of cosmic aggrandizement is by no means the only string to the new era bow. This is evident from all that has gone before. The cosmic aggrandizement of the self is, however, the central dynamic of new era repertoires and one which situates new era religiosity within the warp and woof of late-modern valorizations of the individual.

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Index

acre 71, 72, 85 acupuncture (see also therapies) 35, 42, 43, 59 Afro-Brazilian religion (see also Candomblé and Umbanda) 4, 10, 14, 15–17, 21, 25–7, 30, 36, 39, 44, 52, 53, 54, 62, 70, 71, 76, 80, 82, 83, 84, 86, 87, 88, 89, 91, 104, 106, 126, 129, 130, 136, 137, 143, 153, 156, 160 alchemy 40, 55, 58, 102, 119 alternative religiosity/spirituality 2, 4, 6, 7, 18, 24, 28, 32, 34, 35, 39, 41, 42, 43, 44, 59, 65, 92, 106, 120, 121, 122, 132, 144, 147, 149, 159 Alto Santo (see Santo Daime) Amazon 27, 49, 69, 71, 72, 74, 78, 80, 85, 89, 90 Amazonas 74 AMORC (Order of the Rosy Cross) 3, 35, 41, 112 amulets (see also magic and thaumaturgy) 11, 155 angels 4, 41, 62, 87, 160 Anglicanism (see Protestantism) Anthroposophy (see also esotericism) 34, 40, 129 Assemblies of God (see Pentecostalism) astral plane 75, 76, 79, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 100 astrology (see also divination) 4, 42, 43, 44 Atlantis 4, 57, 100 ayahuasca (see also Barquinha, Santo Daime, and Vegetable Union) 3, 5, 27–9, 35, 37, 44, 65–98, 121, 130, 145, 147, 155, 157 as Daime 72, 76–9 neo-ayahuasca network 44, 70, 95, 106 as Oaska 89–91 Aztec 55, 57, 106 Bahá’í Faith 3, 44, 147 Bahia 12, 15, 19, 89, 155

Baptist Church (see Protestantism) Barquinha 3, 5, 27, 28, 65, 70, 85–8, 90, 91, 106, 155, 157 Beck, Ulrich 8, 108–109, 114, 117, 151, 152, 161, 162 Bezerra de Menezes Cavalcanti, Adolfo 20, 21 Boff, Leonardo 36, 122, 124–7 Bolivia 49, 67, 70, 71, 89 Bourdieu, Pierre 62, 110, 131–2, 144 Brasília 42, 45, 46, 47, 48, 89, 99, 110 Brazil for Christ Church (see Pentecostalism) bricolage 6, 110, 111, 121, 127, 149, 150, 151, 156, 160 Buddha 47, 105 Buddhism 29, 31, 33, 35, 55, 104, 124 burracheira (see also Vegetable Union) 89, 91 Cabala 35, 55, 60, 101, 126 Candomblé (see also Afro-Brazilian religion and orixás) 7, 10, 14–17, 24, 43, 53, 87, 129, 130 Castaneda, Carlos 28, 93 Catholicism (see also liberation theology) 2, 7, 10–12, 16, 17, 30, 37, 53, 57, 105, 122, 126, 130, 132, 137, 143 charismatic renewal 3, 36, 121, 122, 123, 130, 154, 160 popular/traditional 10, 24, 35, 36, 72, 81, 87, 89, 91, 160 Romanized 10, 35, 36, 83, 105 CEFLURIS (Eclectic Centre of the Universal Flowing Light; see Santo Daime) census of 1890 13 1980 9, 36 1991 9, 36 2000 7, 9, 13, 14, 16, 25, 27, 29, 30, 46 2010 36

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chakras (see also therapies) 42, 43, 44, 101, 118, 130 channelling (see also psychography) 44 charismatic authority/leadership 27, 94, 107, 111, 156 Charismatic Renewal Movement (see Roman Catholicism) charity 18, 20, 22, 23, 26, 45, 46, 55, 56, 58, 59, 85, 87, 101, 102, 103, 120, 134, 135, 143, 145 charms (see also thaumaturgy) 11, 17, 121, 155 Chaves, Neiva Zelaya (see Tia Neiva) Christian Congregation Church (see Pentecostalism) Christian Science 3, 31 Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (see Mormons) Church of World Messianity (see Japanese New Religion) CICLU (Universal Christian Light Illumination Centre; see Santo Daime) Coelho, Paulo 36, 105, 122–4, 126, 127 Colombia 54, 55, 56, 67, 70 commodification 124, 141, 149, 150 concentration (see also Barquinha and Santo Daime) 76, 80–82, 83, 84 Congregationalism (see Protestantism) Costa, José Gabriel da (see also Vegetable Union) 27, 88–90, 119 crystals 4, 17, 41, 42, 43, 46, 59, 80, 130, 155 ball reading 155 cure (see also divination, healing, magic, and thaumaturgy) 4, 17, 20, 30, 31, 33, 34, 42, 50, 52, 54, 73, 75, 76, 77, 82, 84, 85, 86, 87, 96 Curitiba 45, 54, 56, 57, 59, 60, 62, 63, 64, 147 curses (see also low spiritism and thaumaturgy) 11 dance 4, 15, 42, 43, 74, 76, 80, 81, 83, 88 bio- 4, 43, 44 democratization 40, 70, 117 detraditionalization 3, 152–6 disobsession (see also exorcism) 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 88

divination (see also magic and thaumaturgy) 4, 17, 42, 69, 70, 122 Druidism 3, 55 ecology/environmentalism 28, 32, 33, 35, 43, 77, 82, 93, 103, 121, 122, 124, 125, 139, 145 Ecuador 67 ego (see also lower self) 55, 56, 58, 59, 99, 100, 102, 103, 113, 118 Esoteric Circle of the Communion of Thought 3, 34, 41, 62, 83, 90 esotericism 3, 5, 29, 31, 34, 39–41, 47, 52, 55, 57, 96, 100, 107, 121 Eubiose 3, 35, 41, 62 Europe 12, 28, 30, 34, 55, 57, 92, 130, 135, 142 exorcism (see also disobsession) 14, 17, 21, 26, 35, 88 experimentalism (see also invention) 3, 44, 53, 142, 149, 156, 160 extraterrestrialism (see also ufology) 6, 24, 103 Federation of Brazilian Spiritism (FEB) 21 feng shui 4 flowers 61, 73, 74, 80 arranging 32 Foursquare Gospel Church (see Pentecostalism) France 12, 13, 18, 19, 20, 124, 135 Saint Francis 49 FUNDASAW (Samael Aun Weor Foundation; see also Gnostic Church of Brazil) 5, 56, 57, 59–60, 62, 64, 91, 100 Geia Peace Institute 3, 42 Germany 12, 13, 54, 57 Giddens, Anthony 8, 109, 131, 132, 138, 148, 151, 152 globalization 3, 4, 8, 35, 37, 53, 93, 124, 125, 126, 129, 133, 138–41, 151, 160, 161 Gnostic Church of Brazil (see also FUNDASAW) 5, 45, 54–64, 65, 100, 106, 147, 155 God is Love Church (see Pentecostalism)

Index Great Britain (see also United Kingdom) 12, 135 Hare Krishna (see ISKCON) Harner, Michael 28, 93 healing (see also cure, divination, and thaumaturgy) 6, 17, 30, 31, 34, 50, 52, 69, 85, 87, 120 herbs 4, 88, 155 Hinários (see also Santo Daime and song) 72, 74, 75, 76, 81, 82, 95 Nova Jerusalem 75, 76 O Cruzeiro 72–4, 75, 76 O Justiçeiro 75, 76 Santa Missa 82 Hinduism 18, 35, 53, 59, 104, 124 holism 4, 6, 8, 31, 43, 47, 48, 53, 99, 104–107, 111, 112, 114, 118, 121, 122, 123, 125, 154, 156, 157 hybridization/hybridity 40, 43, 48, 52, 54, 84, 106, 114, 127, 154, 156, 160 I Ching 4, 35, 42, 43 idealism 31 immigration 14, 29, 32, 39, 135 Inca 48, 57, 106 incense 41, 42, 59, 61, 80 incorporation (see also obsession and possession) 22–3, 49–52, 87–8, 89, 95, 96 indigenous religiosity 6, 10, 12, 17, 21, 25, 26, 27, 28, 34, 44, 47, 50, 52, 53, 55, 57, 67–70, 71, 81, 82, 84, 86, 89, 91, 93, 96, 97, 130, 136, 160 individualism 5, 6, 8, 35, 48, 53, 99, 104, 107–13, 119, 121, 124, 125, 157 individualization 3, 6, 37, 48, 53, 93, 108–109, 117, 120, 121, 145, 149, 150, 151, 156, 157, 161–2 industrialization (see urbanindustrialization) instrumentalization 6, 109, 110, 121, 145, 149, 150, 156 International Church of the Grace of God (see neo-Pentecostalism) internet 41, 58, 60, 62, 64, 139, 140, 146–50 invention (see also experimentalism) 46, 53, 106, 149, 154, 156, 160

181

Irineu Serra, Raimundo (see also Santo Daime) 27, 71–6, 80, 81, 82, 83–6, 89, 94, 96, 97, 105, 119, 155 Irradiação 22, 83 ISKCON (International Society for Krishna Consciousness) 3, 35, 42, 44, 106, 130 Islam 35, 44, 47 Japan 29, 31, 32, 33, 92 Japanese new religion 3, 4, 10, 29–34, 35, 99, 104, 108, 129 Church of World Messianity 3, 29, 30, 32–3, 129 Mahikari 3, 30 Perfect Liberty 3, 29, 30–31, 108, 118, 129 Seicho-no-Ie 3, 29, 30, 31–2, 44, 104, 129 Soka Gakkai 3 Jehovah’s Witnesses 3, 13 Jesus 16, 32, 45, 47, 50, 51, 73, 76, 78, 80, 81, 85, 86, 105 John the Baptist 18, 76 Judaism 18, 45, 124, 126 Juiz de Fora 43 Jurema 28, 44 Kardec, Allan 18, 20, 24, 45 Kardecism (see also Spiritism) 18–20, 53 karma 18, 29, 32, 33, 34, 40, 52, 82, 96, 99, 101, 119, 120, 155 Knights of Maitreya 42, 105 Knights Templar 57–8 Kundalini 43, 55, 56, 59, 102, 103, 126 late-modernity 1, 4, 5, 8, 28, 33, 37, 39, 40, 44, 48, 53, 54, 63, 64, 84, 92, 93, 98, 105, 107–110, 113–14, 119, 120, 121, 127, 129–57, 159, 161, 162 Legion of Good Will (see also Religion of God and Temple of Good Will) 3, 5, 45–6 Levi, Eliphas 56, 102 liberation theology 1, 36, 124 Lutheranism (see Protestantism) Macumba (see also low spiritism and quimbanda) 25, 26, 27, 34

182

New Era – New Religions

Mãe de santo (see also mediumship) 26, 155 magic (see also cure, divination, healing, and thaumaturgy) 11, 17, 88, 91, 101, 106, 120–21, 155, 161 sexual 55, 58, 59, 102–103 return of 120 Mahikari (see Japanese New Religion) mantras 58, 101–102 Maranhão 15, 71, 85 marketization (see also religious economy model) 42, 141–53 marijuana 84, 96 Mary (mother of Jesus) 17, 32, 73, 76, 80, 81, 84, 105 Masonic Order 44, 55, 57, 59, 61, 89 mass 33 Gnostic 60, 61–2 daimista 76, 82 massage (see also therapies) 42, 43, 155 ayurvedic 4, 42, 43 do-in 42 reiki 43, 118 shiatsu 42 Maya 48, 55, 57, 104, 106 mediatization 6, 146 meditation 3, 4, 32, 35, 39, 42, 43, 47, 58, 59, 60, 82, 100, 118, 119, 123 mediumship 15, 16, 18, 20, 21, 22, 23, 25, 26, 43, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 82–5, 87–8, 89, 97 clarifying 23 consulting 26, 51 incorporating 22, 23, 51, 52 indoctrinating 50, 51, 52 prescribing 20, 21 psychographic 20, 22, 24 Methodism (see Protestantism) Mexico 54, 55, 56, 57 military dictatorship 36, 117, 124, 140, 145 themes 73, 90 millenarianism 32, 34, 46, 48, 73, 74, 90, 115–17, 162 Minas Gerais 43 Miração 96, 97, 118, 119 modernization (see also urbanindustrialization) 133, 134, 155 reflexive 151–2

Mormons (see Church of the Latter-day Saints) Mota de Melo, Sebastião (see also Santo Daime) 27, 74–6, 80–81, 84–5, 93–5 mushrooms 44, 84, 96 mystical 2, 25, 34, 35, 39, 42, 43, 46, 59, 99, 100, 110, 123, 149 mysticism 47, 102, 126, 161 neo-ayahuasca network (see ayahuasca) neo-esotericism (see also esotericism) 2, 5, 34–7, 39–65, 70, 85, 92–6, 98, 100, 110, 111, 122, 130, 145, 147, 148, 154, 155, 157, 159 neo-Pentecostalism 1, 7, 14, 24, 93, 130, 141, 146, 153 International Church of the Grace of God 14, 130 Reborn in Christ Apostolic Church 14, 130 Universal Church of the Kingdom of God 7, 14, 93, 130, 143, 154 neo-shamanism (see shamanism) Netto, José de Paiva 45, 46, 111, 112, 115 new age 2, 4, 32, 33, 34, 35, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 47, 52, 64, 65, 92, 104, 106, 111, 121, 122, 129, 149, 155, 159, 161, 162 characteristics 2, 5–8, 41–5 typologies 2–8, 41–2 New Life Church (see Pentecostalism) numerology (see also divination) 4, 43, 101 obsession (see also incorporation and possession) 23, 83 occult 3, 5, 35, 56, 101, 123, 161 Olinda 12, 16 Order of the Rosy Cross (see AMORC) orixás (see also Candomblé and spirits) 15, 16, 44, 87, 159 Osho Institute 3, 44 paganism 11, 104 neo- 3 pai de santo (see also mediumship) 15, 26, 89 Pai Seta Branca 48–9, 52 pajelança cabocla 28, 86, 155 palmistry (see also divination) 42, 43

Index Paraná 25, 54 parapsychology 20, 121 pass (see also cure, healing, and therapy) 20, 21, 33, 51, 88 past-lives regression (see also therapy) 4, 19, 39, 43, 44, 118 Pentecostalism 3, 7, 13–14, 36, 129, 130, 137 Assemblies of God 14, 129 Brazil for Christ 14, 130 Christian Congregation 14, 129 Foursquare Gospel 14, 130 Pereira de Mattos, Daniel (see also Barquinha) 27, 85, 89 Perfect Liberty (see Japanese New Religion) Pernambuco 15 Peru 49, 67, 70, 71 peyote 44, 96 pluralization 3, 5, 9, 12, 14, 17, 24, 25, 28, 35, 36, 37, 85, 106, 110, 111, 129, 132, 136, 137, 140, 141, 143, 144, 149, 150, 151, 154 popular religiosity 11, 12, 14, 16, 17, 21, 23, 24, 25, 28, 34, 36, 47, 53, 82, 83, 84, 85, 87, 89, 90, 93 Porto Alegre 34, 43 Porto Velho 72, 89 Portugal 10, 12, 49, 57, 135 possession (see also incorporation and obsession) 16, 17, 25, 26, 33, 35, 54, 83, 84, 87, 88, 89, 90, 97, 98, 119 potions (see also magic and thaumaturgy) 17 pragmatism 8, 11, 12, 17, 23, 24, 25, 27, 29, 31, 34, 36, 53, 54, 93, 99, 104, 113–21 prayer (see also irradiação and mantras) 22, 32, 51, 58, 62, 77, 81, 82, 85, 87, 91, 102 Protestantism 7, 9, 12–14, 16, 24, 36, 105, 129, 130, 135, 136, 141, 146, 153 Anglicanism 12, 13, 129 Baptist Church 13, 44 Congregationalism 12, 13, 129 Lutheranism 13 Methodism 13 Presbyterianism 13, 44, 129 Salvation Army 3, 13, 32

183

psychography (see also mediumship) 20, 22, 24 psychologization 24, 35, 42, 64, 113 quackery 24, 55, 61 Queen of the Forest (see also Mary and Santo Daime) 71, 72, 74, 84, 105 quimbanda (see also low spiritism and macumba) 53, 88 Rajneesh Foundation 3, 43, 44, 130 Reborn in Christ Apostolic Church (see neoPentecostalism) Recife 16, 43 reike/reiki (see massage) reincarnation 6, 18, 19, 25, 29, 32, 33, 34, 40, 45, 56, 76, 95, 99, 100, 103, 161 relativization 6, 46, 48, 53, 104, 105, 139, 149, 154, 156 Religion of God (see also Legion of Good Will and Temple of Good Will) 45, 46, 47, 48, 58 religious economy model (see also marketization) 131, 141–53 republic 10, 13, 21, 25, 35, 135 resource mobilization theory (see marketization and religious economy model) Rio Branco 72, 75, 85, 96, 98 Rio de Janeiro 12, 13, 16, 17, 19, 25, 28, 34, 43, 45, 60, 75, 92, 93, 94, 124 Rio Grande do Sul 15 Robertson, Roland 9, 138–9, 151, 159 Roman Catholicism (see Catholicism) Rosicrucianism (see also esotericism) 3, 34, 40, 42, 44, 55, 61, 111, 129 runes (see also divination) 35, 42, 43 Saint Germain 4, 56 saints 11, 16, 17, 24, 26, 76, 80, 81, 87, 105, 121 Salvador 13, 16 Salvation Army (see Protestantism) Santo Daime 3, 5, 27–8, 42, 43, 44, 65, 70, 71–85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92–6, 97, 98, 100, 146, 147, 155, 156, 157 CEFLURIS (see also Sebastião Mota de Melo) 74–5, 84–5, 92–6, 106, 147, 148

184

New Era – New Religions

Céu do Mapiá 75, 76, 77, 78, 84, 85, 92, 93, 94, 96 CICLU (see also Raimundo Irineu Serra) 72–5 Alto Santo 72–5, 76, 82, 83, 84, 85 São Paulo 16, 29, 30, 32, 34, 39, 41, 54, 60, 75, 89, 94, 155 Scientology 3 secularization 1, 3, 4, 8, 13, 37, 93, 106, 129, 133–6, 141, 142, 144, 152, 153, 160 Seicho-no-Ie (see Japanese New Religion) self 8, 31, 32, 33, 40, 43, 48, 53, 90, 99, 101, 103, 107, 108, 111, 113, 114, 119, 120, 161 aggrandizement 162 analysis/observation 58, 102 centeredness 161 determination 5, 6, 31, 108, 131, 157 discovery/knowledge 55, 58, 102, 107, 111, 112, 113, 119, 123, 124 expression 18, 31, 32, 37, 108, 118, 146 fulfilment/realization/transformation 6, 31, 42, 99, 100, 107, 109, 113, 114, 118, 119, 120, 122, 123, 145, 156, 161, 162 help 24, 31, 41, 42, 122, 123, 161, 162 higher/inner/divine 6, 19, 39, 47, 56, 81, 90, 96, 113, 115, 118 lower (see also ego) 58, 113 potential 32 as primary agent of spiritual transformation 6, 8, 79, 107, 108, 111, 112, 114, 119, 149, 156, 161 as ultimate arbiter of spiritual authority 6, 8, 53, 107, 108, 111, 112, 114, 153, 156, 161 as micro-cosmos 101, 112, 119 –society relations 151, 162 Seventh Day Adventism 3, 13 shamanism 3, 28, 41, 42, 54, 93, 96, 97, 147 indigenous 68–70, 72, 97 neo- 28, 44, 93, 97, 118, 147 shiatsu (see massage) shells (see also divination) 43, 87, 155 Shinto 29, 33 slavery 12, 14, 15, 25, 49 Soka Gakkai (see Japanese New Religion) Solomon 50, 52, 80, 90, 101

song 22 Barquinha 87 indigenous 69 popular Catholic 72 Santo Daime 71, 72, 74, 81, 87, 88 vegetalismo 70 Vegetable Union 91 sorcery (see also low spiritism, magic, and thaumaturgy) 17, 24 soul-flight 28, 69, 81, 96, 97 Spain 12, 49, 123, 124 spells (see also magic and thaumaturgy) 11, 17, 121, 155 Spiritism 10, 17–25, 26, 29, 45, 52, 75, 82, 88, 129, 159, 160 low 21, 26, 28 spirits Afro-Brazilian 26, 80 ancestor 29, 32, 34 ascended master 27 caboclo 16, 25, 26, 86, 89 cowboy 27 encantado 18, 86 evolved/pure 18, 23 good 11 guia 26 imperfect/inferior/lower 19, 23, 26, 50, 82, 88 indigenous 26, 67–70 Japanese 27 malign 11, 21, 83 preto velho 16, 25, 26, 86, 105 protector 26 tai chi 35, 42, 43, 44 Tao 105, 126 tarot (see also divination) 4, 17, 35, 42, 43, 44, 64, 155 Templars (see Knights Templar) temple 26, 43, 149 Buddhist 29 Gnostic 56, 59, 60–62, 63, 64, 147 of Good Will 35, 44, 45–8, 65, 148, 149 Japanese 33 Valley of the Dawn 48, 50–52 terreiro 15, 16, 80, 84, 89, 130, 149 thaumaturgy (see also cure, divination, healing, and magic) 11, 35, 160

Index Theosophy (see also esotericism) 3, 18, 34, 35, 40, 41, 42, 43, 53, 55, 57, 100, 111, 129, 130 therapeutization (see also therapy) 161 therapy 4, 5, 21, 23, 24, 27, 33, 34, 35, 41, 42, 43, 44, 51, 52, 59, 68, 69, 70, 82, 83, 84, 85, 87, 88, 91, 95, 96, 113, 115, 118, 121, 123, 130, 157, 161, 162 aroma 121 astral 42 colour 4, 43, 51, 59, 118, 121 crystal 43 dance 42, 43 flower 43, 44, 118 geo- 4 homeopathic 18, 20, 42, 43, 82 iridology 42, 43 nature 43 pendulum 43 Tia Neiva (see also Valley of the Dawn) 47, 48, 49, 50, 53, 119, 155 trance 15, 51, 69 transit 6, 14, 110, 111, 121, 127, 145, 149, 150, 151, 156, 160

União do Vegetal (see Vegetable Union) United Kingdom (see also Great Britain) 135 Unites States of America 7, 13, 92, 135, 142 Urban-industrialization 4, 8, 36, 37, 109, 129, 130, 136–8, 140, 141, 151, 159, 161, 162 Universal Church of the Kingdom of God (see neo-Pentecostalism) Valley of the Dawn 3, 5, 35, 44, 48–54, 58, 65, 88, 106, 107, 130, 148, 149, 155 Vargas, Getúlio 16, 35, 83, 136 Vegetable Union 3, 5, 27, 44, 65, 70, 71, 85, 88–91, 92, 94, 95, 106, 107, 146, 155, 157 vegetalismo 70 Venezuela 56 Weor, Samael Aun (see also FUNDASAW and Christian Gnostic Church) 54–62, 100–103, 119, 155 Wicca 3 witchcraft 44 Xavier, Chico 24

ufology (see also extraterrestrialism) 44, 105 Umbanda (see also Afro-Brazilian religion) 7, 10, 16, 24, 25–7, 28, 29, 34, 43, 44, 48, 53, 54, 76, 84, 86, 87, 88, 105, 106, 111, 130

185

yoga 4, 42, 43, 44, 56, 126, 161 Zarur, Alviro 45, 47