Berkley Center

An interesting choreography of sorts can be seen during rush hour in front of the church Nossa Senhora da Paz in Ipanema, Rio de Janeiro. There, among the evening stream of pedestrians, cars, and buses, many people, both outside and inside vehicles, face the church when passing in front of it and do the sign of the cross in a perfectly timed and almost automatic movement. For an outsider, this would appear to be a natural occurrence in the world’s largest Catholic nation, but as some Brazilians will readily admit, such displays should not be considered signs of a devoted Catholic population, but superficial manifestations. “Everybody says they are Catholic, but nobody really is,” a local friend told me. “Futebol (soccer) is more of a religion than Catholicism."

Ouch. But should we take this as the modern pretense we see elsewhere? Interestingly, in Brazil this is neither a modern issue nor insincerity. It is true that many people who identify as Catholics are not practicing Catholics. But then, like my friend admitted, almost nobody really is. This is because religious practices in the country, starting with Catholicism when it first arrived with the Jesuit missionaries, have all incorporated, and even been created from, interactions with practices and traditions from all the others. In this way, Catholics may not go to church, but will engage in an informal cult of saints similar to the principal Afro-Brazilian religion of Candomblé and also make promessas, superstitious rituals originally adopted from indigenous spiritualism done to reach specific ends (for example, plucking a feather from a sleeping chicken and writing a wish with it). Even the evangelical movement, which has been gaining ground in the rural and suburban areas, has seen itself adopt many of these features. Conversely, Ubanda, a more balanced mix of Catholicism and Afro-Brazilian practices, is a very important religion in the country. Santo Daime, a spiritual movement that unites some metaphysical theology, communal doctrines, and indigenous practices such as the use of ayahuasca (a semi-hallucinatory tea), is also a common religion in Brazil.

Does this apparent pluralism presuppose a weak institutional Catholic Church? Even if my friends will affirm the opposite, the fact is that the Catholic Church has been, and still is, a very active force in the country; it has been one of the major forces in civil society, apart from syndicates, to foster political activism (especially against the dictatorship) and social development (Brazil is the great bastion of liberation theology in Latin America). These activism-oriented actions are, in fact, characteristic of all the religions in the country and help explain the rich and shared spiritual experience between religions.

For example, on a recent surfing trip half an hour away from the city, in a place called Macumba Beach, I saw three women dressed in white who were engaged in a Candomblé ceremony for the orixá (goddess) Iemanjá. The few people on the beach didn’t lend attention to the ceremony, only giving casual glimpses with the banal fascination we might have upon seeing people doing tai chi in a public park—that is if tai chi consisted of an elderly woman going on an excited trance while other women chanted around her. When they finished, I asked them about the ceremony, their experience with their religion, and other things. Perhaps the most interesting glimpse into their world came when they said that their main objective was to “ask for peace and strength in trying to eradicate violence and despair within [their] poor community.” They admitted that their devotion lay in the wish for divine protection and guidance in these “bad times.” Like Catholicism, and the ever-growing evangelist movement, the ‘reason’ for practicing seems to not be the search for spiritual fulfillment, but rather the search for immediate, ‘real’ salvation, the attainment of certain social needs with religion as a communal institution to guide them.

Hints of religious life are widespread and readily evident. But, as we will learn going forward, they are proof of a uniquely Brazilian spirituality that, similar to religion in other countries, embodies overall political and social aspirations, while also providing a permanent part of personal identity. This explains how calling oneself a Catholic is quite simply part of one's heritage, or why Afro-Brazilian practices carry, and complement, the political overtones of Brazil’s ongoing racial discussion. I do have to admit a strange occurrence: the very moment that the women on the beach put their offering of flowers in the water, a surprised fisherman 15 feet away yelled excitedly as he pulled out a big fish that had just bitten the line. I commented on this, and with the smile of somebody who expected what had just happened, one of the women said “That is Iemanjá [who is associated with being the protector of the sea and of wisdom] thanking us for the offering.” I think religious experiences in this country can be judged as being less like the celestial affairs that their religious ideals claim, and yet, there are moments like these where one looks up to the sky and wonders.

P.S. In the upcoming letters I will discuss in depth my experience inside each religion, including interviews with Catholic leaders, a visit to a Mae de Santo (Candomblé priestess), a visit to an up-and-coming evangelical congregation, and my experience with the Santo Daime movement.