Afro-Brazilian Religions by José Eduardo Porcher

The end of philosophy of religion as a discipline was announced by Timothy Knepper, who insists that the field, whether in its continental or analytic tradition, has reached its end. In a similar fashion, Bradly Onishi is ambivalent, if the discipline has anything to offer. On a related subject, Kevin Schilbrack tenders that these concerns arise mainly because the discipline: (1) focuses mostly on very few religious traditions; (2) places emphasis on doctrines over practices and rituals; and (3) does not relate well with other fields. In addition to these observations, Nick Trakakis contends that traditional philosophy of religion suffers from its excessive reliance on the application of scientific norms of truth to religion. These contentions, therefore, command a revision of philosophy of religion away from these criticisms, for it to serve as blueprint for a truly global character while also offering deeper and comprehensive analyses of spirituality, irrespective of intellectual tradition. This, clearly is the primary impetus for the appearance of José Eduardo Porcher’s contribution in the Element Series of Cambridge University Press. By offering his analysis on the religious practices of Afro-Brazilian Religions, Porcher’s contribution seeks to overcome the charges leveled against traditional philosophy of religion. Porcher clearly agrees with the aforementioned critics as he avers: “The discipline has paid almost no attention to ritual, even the ritual life of those religions that have received pride of place within it” (p. 2). His aim then is to invite Afro-Brazilian Religions (ABRs, hereafter) as an instance wherein philosophy of religion can attain its relevance by exploring non-Abrahamic theisms, focusing on religious practices such as blood sacrifice, mediumship, spirit possession that will allow for forms of embodied knowledge.As characteristic of any Element, Porcher’s work is short yet comprehensive. There are five sections in all. The first section of the Element considers the history and nature of ABRs as a way of justifying his conviction that they are outside the scope of traditional philosophy religion, underrepresented yet holding important insights to a more robust field. In this section (pp. 3–11), Porcher talks about the various practices peculiar to Candomblé, such as the African origin of ABRs, the syncretization of these deities with Catholic saints: “The prevailing narrative among practitioners asserts that the Afro-Catholic syncretisation in Afro-Brazilian religions was a response to the probation against enslaved Africans worshipping their own deities” (p. 5). He mentions spirit possession with a very striking claim that there are few aspects of Candomblé which indicate written texts, even as its African origin is strictly based on orality.The second section returns to focus mainly on Candomblé as Porcher discusses “some mythic narratives of the Yorùbá-derived Nagô tradition of Candomblé to extract a set of attributes of this tradition’s high god” (p. 10). This section (pp. 11–22) is very informative, as it shows the depth and originality of Porcher in chronicling and citing reliable sources for various “myths” concerning Yorùbá deities—many of which are no longer in circulation in the “homeland.” Most of the descriptions pertaining to the Yorùbá higher god, with its deities, in this section, are mostly accurate and I do not begrudge Porcher in this part of his Element. This is similar to the third part where Porcher turns to examine in a deeper fashion, some of the core practices that are unique to Candomblé (pp. 22–33). The importance of blood sacrifice and its significance for reinforcing and sustaining axé (àṣe in Yorùbá) were unpacked here. Porcher’s evident contribution to the field of global philosophy of religion through ABRs is clearly disclosed in this chapter as he laments the dearth in studies pertaining to animal sacrifice: “The examination of blood sacrifice is all but absent in the philosophy of religion” (p. 23). In the next paragraph, he expatiates “Burley points to John Hick, John Stewart, and Douglas Hedley as rare instances where philosophers have addressed animal sacrifice, however briefly and dismissively—viewing such practices as outdated customs surpassed by the ‘major’ religions” (p. 23). This, for me, is evidence for the problems of narrowness and excessive intellectualism that is leveled against philosophy of religion by Schilbrack. Porcher overcomes this hurdle as he discusses the central place of sacrifice in Candomblé spirituality. He reveals the importance of blood spilling and its link to axé (àṣe in Yorùbá): “Blood is the main carrier of axé in any living being and is therefore the most important offering” (p. 27). The concept of axé as “spiritual life force which permeates all aspects of existence in Candomblé, from the inanimate to the living” (p. 9) is true within the context of Candomblé and its Yorùbá origin. I must, however, add that even when blood spilling is sacred but serves as a propeller for sustaining and reinforcing àṣe, this does not at any point, endorse the indiscriminate killing of non-human animals. However, in this section, Porcher announces that Candomblé is gravid with an “ethnographically-informed philosophy of religion” (pp. 31–33) that may be accessed via thick descriptions, which assists, arguably, that a deeper comprehension, for the motivation, related to the use of non-human animals for religious-induced and prescribed sacrifices, may be valid after all for devotees of African and Afro-Brazilian spiritualities.The fourth part (pp. 33–48) is more informing because here, Porcher dives into “material culture as it relates to initiation, drawing on cognitive ethnography and cultural anthropology to support an interpretation Candomblé’s view of ontology, personhood and agency” (p. 3). In the final part of his Element, Porcher talks about a unique template for acquiring knowledge through the body—embodied knowledge (pp. 48–62). Here, he concedes that the body is considered highly as the source and instrument for learning, understanding, and knowledge among practitioners of Candomblé. As way of validating his claim, Porcher turns to dance and gesture as ways through which learning, understanding and knowledge take place in Candomblé, leading him to consider how phenomenal conservatism can engender an embodied epistemology in Candomblé. For Porcher: “phenomenal conservatism is an influential stance on the justificatory power of experiences, asserting that individuals are prima facie justified in believing that things are as they appear in the absence of counter-evidence” (p. 58). This applies to knowledge acquired through mediums and contexts of spirit possession, in the absence of epistemic defeaters. Porcher’s (p. 61) call for “. . . broadening the category of the ‘cognitive’ to incorporate the whole body,” is not misplaced, since some earlier studies in systemic memory process have evidenced how individual cells, tissues and organs have distinct memories. This perspective simply debunks the general understanding that only the brain is the seat of memory and cognition. This conviction is not wholly strange to the “homeland” Yorùbá as indicated in a verse from OdùÉjì Ogbe of the literary corpus:The day that the body was created, was when water was formedThe day that water was created, so was bloodThe day that blood was created, so was the whole body”We performed Ifá divination for heart (ọkàn)And likewise for the life-force (ẹ̀mí)We divined for the inner head (orí-inú)And likewise for the brain (ọpọlọ́)When the four of them were set to journey from heaven to the worldAlthough I find the analysis and exposition of Porcher compelling and praiseworthy, I must say that I am wary to offer criticisms against his “thesis,” from the orient of someone deeply immersed in African spirituality. I am wary (or shall I say, hesitant?) because Porcher has offered disclosures of ritual practices in Candomblé that bear practical semblances with those that in some instances, are similar to African spirituality, even when there are “accommodations” for radical departures. I am careful to not accuse Porcher of offering an incorrect assessment of Candomblé’s “improvisations” of practices in the Yorùbá religious culture. After all, the Yorùbá religious culture clearly evidence some striking connections with Candomblé’s ritual practices in Brazil. Whether these Candomblé practices conform strictly to those of the “homeland,” or not, are to me, subtle, provided the pragmatic outputs and religious experiences of devotees are guaranteed and consistent. Nevertheless, it is still important to point out some concepts that would ordinarily sound strange to an expert in African spirituality, who encounters Porcher’s analysis on the subject for the first time. I limit myself to two of these before I turn to articulating two other fall outs in Porcher’s Element.The first limitation, is tied to the semantics of orí for odù in Porcher’s Elements. In the homeland, orí is generally understood as destiny. For all literature on destiny in the Yorùbá context, it symbolizes the physical head, but at the metaphysical level, it is a concept which depicts destiny and hence, sometimes referred to as inner head. It is one of the three core aspects that go on to make a human person—the others being ara (body), and ẹ̀mí (life force). All entities possess these three core elements, and their destinies can be checked from birth or at any point of their lives. In the Element, Porcher replaces orí with odù: “Odu represents an individual’s life path and destiny. At birth, a child’s odu is revealed, and aligning one’s actions with this prescribed odu is crucial to avoid misfortune and attract good fortune” (p. 9). Any expert in the discourse on destiny among the Yorùbá in Africa will easily discern that orí but not odù is meant here. Odù refers to the cantos, chapters of the Ifá literary corpus. It is not uncommon to hear of Odù Ogbè-Yọ̀nú, Odù Ọ̀yẹ̀kú Ọ̀ṣẹ, Odù Òtúúrúpọ̀n, and OdùÉjì Ogbe as just four out of the 16 major and 240 minor cantos of the Corpus—total being 256.The second limitation concerns the depiction of Ogum (Ògún in Yorùbá) in Porcher’s Element as the “. . . patron of agricultural wisdom and, notably, the divine artisan who commands metals, Ogum presides over warfare and technology, holding a significant position as the second deity in the Afro-Brazilian pantheon, closely intertwined with and surpassed only by Exu” (p. 35, italicized emphasis mine). In the “homeland,” Ògún is a personified deity and does not come close to Èṣù in ranking. In fact, the three highly regarded gods after the Higher Deity Olódùmarè are: Ọbàtálá, Ọ̀rúnmìlà, and Èṣù, in this order. Of these three, Ọ̀rúnmìlà and Èṣù are even close to the extent that even Èṣù is not only depicted on Ifá divination trays but has shrines, usually not too far from any place that Ọ̀rúnmìlà is patronsied. In the context of “homeland,” Ògún does not come close. It is important to add that aside being a patron for steel/iron workers/users, Ògún is responsible for fashioning out the skeleton of the molded forms of Ọbàtálá.What do these two points imply? On the one hand, if these “confusions” arise out of Porcher’s analysis, then this may serve as a pitfall to his work. On the other hand, were it a norm in Candomblé’s practices, then this signals a serious call to foster an intellectual exchange between experts in Yorùbá and Candomblé religious cultures. Not only will this provide elaborate and more robust collaborations among intellectuals of these two traditions, and how they have continued to influence lives on both sides of the Atlantic, but to also serve as a chance to see what kind of practice(s) and knowledge, they can add to the emphasis on a global philosophy of religion.Aside the foregoing, it is helpful to add there are some problems that may be discerned in the analysis uncovered by Porcher concerning Candomblé. The first part, which talks about the arrival of captured African slaves into Brazil, could have assisted the readers by indicating what kind of religious practice(s) aside the Catholicism which came with the colonizers, were operational prior, among Amerindians. This oversight gives an impression that the ‘natives’ of that part of South America that would, later be called Brazil, by the Portuguese did not have any form of religious practices prior the arrival of European colonialists and Africans carted across the Atlantic as slaves.Furthermore, the title of Porcher’s Element is Afro-Brazilian Religions, giving the impression that the Element will discuss more than one, but his focus seems to be on just one of them—Candomblé. He makes this disclosure as early as the fourth page of the Element: “Candomblé is a family of religious traditions, subdivided into ‘nations,’ that developed in Brazil mainly during the nineteenth century. It will be the main focus of this Element . . . ” (p. 4). Although, he mentions other traditions like Xangô and Batuque, these could still have appeared, had the title of the Element bore its real focus—Candomblé: An Afro-Brazilian Religion, a truer reflection of the Element.