Slaves and Religions in Graeco-Roman Antiquity and Modern Brazil

Home , Inhuman Bondage, Slavery and religion

Edited by

Stephen Hodkinson and Dick Geary

Slaves and Religions in Graeco-Roman Antiquity and Modern Brazil, Edited by Stephen Hodkinson and Dick Geary

This book first published 2012

Cambridge Scholars Publishing

12 Back Chapman Street, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2XX, UK

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book 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 copyright owner.

ISBN (10): 1-4438-3736-9, ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-3736-1

In memory of the late Professor Thomas Wiedemann,

Founder of the International Centre for the History of Slavery,

University of Nottingham

TABLE OF CONTENTS

List of Figures...... ix

Introduction ...... 1 Slaves and Religions: Historiographies, Ancient and Modern Stephen Hodkinson and Dick Geary (University of Nottingham)

Part I. General Perspectives

Chapter One...... 34 In the Eyes of the Beholders or in the Minds of the Believers? Historicizing “Religion” and Enslavement Joseph C. Miller (University of Virginia)

Chapter Two...... 67 The Ritual Activity of Roman Slaves J.A. North (University College, London)

Part II. Participation and Inclusion

Chapter Three...... 96 Slaves and Role Reversal in Ancient Greek Cults Rachel Zelnick-Abramovitz (Tel Aviv University)

Chapter Four...... 133 Slaves Included? Sexual Regulations and Slave Participation in Two Ancient Religious Groups Karin Neutel (Rijksuniversiteit Groningen)

Chapter Five ...... 149 The Journey Home: A Freed Mulatto Priest, Cipriano Pires Sardinha, and his Religious Mission to Dahomey Júnia Ferreira Furtado (Universidade Federal Minais Gerais) viii Table of Contents

Part III. Status and Identities

Chapter Six ...... 174 Manumission, Social Rebirth, and Healing Gods in Ancient Greece Deborah Kamen (University of Washington)

Chapter Seven...... 195 The Apollo of Slaves and Freedmen Bassir Amiri (Université de Franche-Comté)

Chapter Eight...... 206 Infant Slave Baptisms, Legitimacy, Parental Origins, Godparenthood and Naming Practices in the Parish of São José Do Rio Das Mortes, Brazil (1750-1850) Douglas Cole Libby (Universidade Federal Minais Gerais)

Part IV. Agency and Resistance

Chapter Nine...... 244 “What will happen to me if I leave?” Ancient Greek Oracles, Slaves and Slave Owners Esther Eidinow (University of Nottingham)

Chapter Ten ...... 279 Magic, Religion, and the Roman Slave: Resistance, Control and Community Niall McKeown (University of Birmingham)

Chapter Eleven ...... 309 “The Rights of Man” or “Afro-American Call to Holy War”: Religion, Ideology and Slave Revolt in Brazil, 1750-1880 Dick Geary (University of Nottingham)

Contributors...... 335

Index...... 338 LIST OF FIGURES

Fig. 5-1. Persons convicted of crimes of concubinage in the episcopal inquisitions in Tejuco (1750 and 1753)

Fig. 7-1. Freedman and Slave Inscriptions in honour of Apollo

Fig. 8-1. Rates of Slave Legitimacy (selected regions and periods)

Fig. 8-2. Legitimacy among Slave Infants, Parish of São José, 1751- 1850

Fig. 8-3. Single Slave Mothers according to Origin, Parish of São José, 1751-1840

Fig. 8-4. Slave Couples appearing in Baptismal Registers, according to the origin of spouses, Parish of São José, 1751-1830

Fig. 8-5. Godparents by legal condition (%), parish of São José, 1751- 1850

Fig. 8-6. Owners, Presumed Owners, Relatives of Owners, and Presumed Relatives of Owners Serving as Godparents of Baptized Infant Slaves, Parish of São José 1751-1850

Fig. 8-7. Selected Matching Names appearing in Infant Slave Baptismal Registers, Parish of São José, 1751-1850

Fig. 8-8. Categories of Individual after whom Slave Infants were named, Parish of São José, 1751-1850

INTRODUCTION

SLAVES AND RELIGIONS : HISTORIOGRAPHIES , ANCIENT AND MODERN

STEPHEN HODKINSON AND DICK GEARY

The essays in this volume are selected papers from the conference ‘Slaves, Cults and Religions’, organised by the Institute for the Study of Slavery (ISOS) at the University of Nottingham in September 2008. The Introduction to ISOS’ previous conference publication on Slavery, Citizenship and the State noted an increasing awareness among historians of all periods that “slaves cannot simply be regarded as the objects, as merely the passive victims, of the institution of slavery. Rather, against all the odds, slaves succeeded in developing a wide repertoire of survival strategies and displayed great ingenuity in preserving, restoring or creating families, social networks and cultures.” 1 That publication examined slave agency and cultural strategies in terms of their recourse to legal systems. This volume explores similar issues through their religious roles and ritual activities. This emphasis is reflected in the title “ Slaves (rather than Slavery ) and Religions”, emphasising the religious lives and actions of slaves themselves. Involvement in religion has been a ubiquitous part of the lives of slaves throughout the history of slaving. As Joseph Miller argues in his wide-ranging paper in Chapter One, slaves’ participation in religious activities has frequently been a key response to their violent separation from the human communities that had structured their lives when free. Through engagement in divine worship—whether creating their own religious practices, sharing in the worshipping practices of the free population, or even simply assisting in the ritual activities of their masters’ households—slaves could potentially generate important elements of community, social relationships and shared humanity within their lives.

1 Geary and Vlassopoulos, eds., Slavery, Citizenship and the State , 295. 2 Introduction

A distinctive feature of ISOS conferences is the participation of historians from around the world, especially from Europe and Latin America, examining slave histories across both the Ancient and the New Worlds. In recent years the Institute has hosted a Research Interchange, funded by the Leverhulme Trust, between British and Brazilian historians of slave and “free” labour in the 18th and 19th centuries. The present volume represents a development of that interchange, bringing into juxtaposition issues of slaves and religions in Graeco-Roman antiquity and modern Brazil. Such a juxtaposition is currently unusual in slavery studies. Although the potential fruitfulness of comparison between Roman and Brazilian slaveries has occasionally been suggested, 2 historians of antiquity have generally directed their comparisons towards slavery in North America, 3 whilst modernist comparative studies typically restrict themselves to the modern world.4 Yet there are certain evident similarities. In both Brazil and the Roman world (as also in many regions of ancient Greece) slaves performed a wide range of economic functions: rural and urban, manufacturing and agricultural, skilled and unskilled. Likewise, in each society the relative frequency of manumission gave rise to a certain degree of social mobility for some slaves. 5 To what extent did these similarities extend to the religious practices of Graeco-Roman and Brazilian slaves?

Slaves and Religions in Graeco-Roman Antiquity: A Missing Historiography

The volume’s juxtaposition of studies of Graeco-Roman antiquity and modern Brazil highlights at least one significant difference: namely, in the respective historiographies of the subject. In contrast to the considerable body of modern literature on slave religions in the New World, the role of religious activities in the lives of slaves in ancient Greece and Rome has suffered a surprising degree of neglect. This is not to ignore the existence of certain specialist studies, such as those produced by the two main

2 Bradley, Slavery and Society at Rome , 39, 54, 70, 87-8, 94, and especially pp. 67- 8: “The correspondence [of early-19th-century Rio de Janeiro] with Rome is striking, despite the gulfs of time and distance.” 3 As, for example, in Volume 1 of the recent Cambridge World History of Slavery . 4 E.g. Degler, Neither Black nor White ; Kolchin, Unfree Labor ; Bergad, Comparative Histories . 5 The frequency of manumission in Greece will be discussed by Kostas Vlassopoulos in the forthcoming Oxford Handbook of Greek and Roman Slaveries , ch. 16. Slaves and Religions: Historiographies, Ancient and Modern 3

Continental research organisations on ancient slavery. One of the earliest studies produced within the long-standing research project Forschungen zur antiken Sklaverei (FAS: founded in 1950 under the auspices of the Mainz Akademie der Wissenschaften und der Literatur) was Franz Bömer’s four-volume Untersuchungen über die Religion der Sklaven in Griechenland und Rom ,6 which surveys the roles of slaves in the major cults and religions of ancient Greece, Rome and the Latin West More recently, a volume in the Mainz project’s series “Corpus der römischen Rechtsquellen zur Sklaverei” has been devoted to the position of slaves in Roman sacred law. 7 Similarly, the Besan ҫon-based, multi-national Groupe Internationale de Recherche sur l’Esclavage dans l’Antiquité (GIREA) has, since the early 1990s, devoted three of its published colloquia to various aspects of the interaction between ancient slavery and religion.8 These specialist publications, however, have had comparatively little impact on broader academic accounts of Graeco-Roman slavery or religion, which frequently devote minimal attention to the religious activities of slaves.9 For example, the recent volume on The Ancient Mediterranean World (2011) within the multi-volume Cambridge World History of Slavery devotes an entire chapter to “Slavery and the rise of Christianity”, but none to slaves in other Graeco-Roman religions. Its index entry on “religion” references nothing directly on Greek religion and a mere four pages on Roman domestic religion. 10 Likewise, Elisabeth Herrmann-Otto’s excellent survey, Sklaverei und Freilassung in der

6 First published in 1958-1963, and partially revised in 1981-1990. For the Mainz project publications, see the document “Publikationen der Forschungen zur Antiken Sklaverei ”, available (in January 2012) on the FAS project website at http://www.adwmainz.de/fileadmin/adwmainz/projekte/as/FAS_Publikationen_20 10.pdf. 7 Schumacher, ed., Stellung des Sklaven im Sakralrecht . 8 Annequin and Garrido-Hory, eds., Religion et anthropologie de l'esclavage ; Divinas dependencias ; Hernández Guerra and Alvar Ezquerra, eds., Jerarquias religiosas y control social . 9 A full survey of the (in)attention paid to slaves’ religious roles in the recent historiographies of these two fields lies beyond the scope of this Introduction. I purposely focus on recent summative studies, especially works of high vulgarisation, which are particularly revealing about the topics and approaches judged most significant for presentation to a wider audience. 10 Subsidiary (“ see also ”) entries on “sacrifice” and “sanctuary” reference only a further seven pages on Greece and Rome—far outnumbered by the page coverage referenced in other subsidiary entries on “Christianity”, “Islamic societies” and “Judaism”: Bradley and Cartledge, eds., Cambridge World History of Slavery , Volume I, p. 586, with 568, 576-7, 587. 4 Introduction griechisch-römischen Welt (2009), has no index entries under “Religion” or “Kulte”. Even studies which provide some coverage of slaves’ religious roles tend to give the topic only limited prominence. Hans Klees’ Sklavenleben im klassischen Griechenland (1998), a Mainz project publication, splits and subsumes his discussions of religious aspects of slave lives under two separate chapters on “Education, upbringing and cultural participation” and “The position and valuation of slaves in state and society”.11 Thomas Wiedemann’s ground-breaking sourcebook, Greek and Roman Slavery (first published in 1981), includes several passages on slaves and ancient religious practice. However, the passages on slaves and civic religious activities all focus on the negative: the exclusion of slaves or the master’s limitation of their involvement. 12 The only sources illustrating slave agency are those concerning leaders of the Sicilian slave revolts, whose charismatic appeal was enhanced by special religious capacities such as powers of prophecy and divination, skill in astrology or divine visions. 13 This comparative neglect in the recent historiography of ancient slavery is also largely replicated in modern studies of Greek and Roman religions. Simon Price’s Religions of the Ancient Greeks (1999) contains a mere six references to slaves. Although these cite ancient evidence implying that slaves regularly participated in or attended public and private religious rituals, slave roles receive no concerted discussion, in contrast to a full chapter on the religious roles of citizens of different ages and sexes.14 In similar vein, Robert Parker’s Athenian Religion (1995) defines his subject as “the religious outlook and practices of Athenian citizens”.15 Acknowledging the relevance of the religious practices of non- citizens, his discussion includes occasional passing references to slave participation in particular cults and to collective dedications by slaves; but

11 Klees, Sklavenleben , 218-96, at pp. 262-72; 355-431, at pp. 379-87. 12 Wiedemann, Greek and Roman Slavery , nos. 64, 80, 149 (p. 142), 151 (p. 149). 13 Ibid. nos. 229 (pp. 201-2, 203), 230 (pp. 211, 212-13); cf. no. 231 (p. 216). These religious capacities do not always receive sufficient attention from historians, receiving only passing mention, for example, in Theresa Urbainczyk’s Slave Revolts in Antiquity , 12-13, 54-5, 57. In contrast, see the comments of North and especially those of McKeown in this volume (chs. 2 & 10). 14 Price, Religions , 34, 45, 98, 102, 112, 153; contrast the focus of his ch. 5 (pp. 89-107) “on the individual citizen from birth to death” (89). 15 Parker, Athenian Religion , 4: his “short definition” of the subject. Slaves and Religions: Historiographies, Ancient and Modern 5 specific consideration of their religious activities appears only near the end of the volume’s final Appendix.16 This lack of attention to slaves is shared by works on Greek religion by leading Continental and American scholars. Walter Burkert’s Griechische Religion der archaischen und klassischen Epoche (1977) contains only one modest paragraph on the religious roles of slaves in historical Greece.17 Louise Bruit Zaidman and Pauline Schmitt Pantel’s La religion grecque (1989) includes a number of fleeting references, but not a single paragraph addressing the subject in its own right. 18 Slave religious participation is similarly neglected in the multi-national collection of essays in the Blackwell’s Companion to Greek Religion (2007). 19 Only in exceptional cases, such as Jon Mikalson’s Ancient Greek Religion (2005), have recent studies of Greek religion provided any more sustained explicit discussion of slaves’ religious activities or shown consistent alertness to their supporting roles in the ritual practices of the free population. 20 If anything, the subject’s neglect is even more apparent within scholarship on Roman religions. There is no index entry for “slavery” or “slaves” in John Ferguson’s The Religions of the Roman Empire (1970), Robert Turcan’s Les Cultes Orientaux dans le monde Romain (1989), or Clifford Ando’s collected volume on Roman Religion (2003). The ground- breaking, two-volume, history-cum-sourcebook, Religions of Rome , includes only a handful of brief references and a mere five source-texts regarding the religious behaviours of slaves or freedmen.21 With occasional exceptions, this comparative neglect is again replicated in the Blackwell’s Companion to Roman Religion .22 Certain recent studies have, admittedly,

16 Ibid. 338-40; cf. also 340-2, as part of a discussion of associations of non- citizens. Passing references at 5, 136 n. 54, 167 n. 48, 171 n. 66, 174 n. 74, 193 n. 146, 194, 266. 17 I cite by the 1985 English translation, Greek Religion , 259. He also provides a brief discussion of slaves of the gods in Mycenaean religion: ibid. 45. 18 I cite by the 1992 revised English edition, Religion in the Ancient Greek City , Index s.v. “slaves”. 19 Ogden, ed., Companion to Greek Religion : only two pages are cited under the Index entry on “slaves” (pp. 287-8, from Charles Hedrick’s article on religion and society in classical Greece), though Hedrick’s also provides a brief further discussion on pp. 291-2. 20 Mikalson, Ancient Greek Religion , 156-7, with 133-6, 140-1. 21 Beard, North and Price, Religions of Rome , vol. I, pp. 294-5, 333 fig. 7.3, 357; vol. II, texts 7.3(a), 12.3a, 12.5c(i) & (ii), 12.7c(i). 22 Rüpke, ed., A Companion to Roman Religion . Other than a modest number of passing references (e.g. pp. 182-3, 199, 220, 244, 245, 263, 311, 363, 396, 400), the only pages which include a specific focus on slave roles are Karl Galinsky’s 6 Introduction acknowledged the religious engagement of slaves. Discussing the limitations of the term “ polis -religion”, Jorg Rüpke notes of slaves, foreigners and non-citizens, that “they too ‘have’ a religion”. James Rives has commented on how religion “provided opportunities for marginalized groups to advance their social status in ways that would otherwise be denied to them”. 23 As regards slaves, however, such general observations are rarely developed in any systematic or detailed manner.24 The limited attention given to slaves, especially in wide-ranging studies of ancient religion, may be partly attributable to the typical organisation of these volumes according to key themes, which—owing to the skewed production and survival of ancient source materials—are most easily illustrated through evidence for the religious activities of the free population. Hence explicit attention to slave religious roles tends to be restricted to occasional discussions focused, not thematically, but on the activities of different personnel, associations or social groups or on widening participation consequent upon religious change. Even in such discussions, however, the attention given to slaves is typically far outweighed by that devoted to persons of free status. 25 As John North notes in Chapter Two, there are understandable reasons why this has been the case. As already intimated, the bulk of ancient literary texts bearing on Graeco-Roman religious activity were written by, for and about the free, adult male citizen elite. The negative effects of this literary bias on the study of subordinate members of the free citizen population have been combated in recent scholarship by determined attempts to recover the contributions of women and those outside the elite: attempts grounded in contemporary feminist and populist movements and spearheaded by female scholars and academics from non-elite social backgrounds. In contrast, few scholars of Graeco-Roman antiquity hail from a modern slave ancestry; and movements against contemporary discussions of “increased participation for the non-elite” (78-9; cf. also 72-3) and Marietta Horster’s account of cult servants (332-4). 23 Rüpke, Religions of the Romans , 20; Rives, Religion in the Roman Empire , 128. 24 Only in connection with voluntary, organised religious associations does the active participation of slaves, briefly, receive more than passing recognition: Rüpke, Religions , 205-6, 214; Rives, Religion 128-9. 25 For example, Part IV, “Actors and Actions”, in the Blackwell Companion to Roman Religion devotes three entire chapters, respectively, to republican nobiles , emperors, and urban elites in the Roman East; whilst slaves (and other groups, including freed persons) have to share a single chapter focused on religious professionals and personnel. Mikalson’s discussion of “Religion in the Greek family and village” devotes thirteen pages to free members of the household, but only slightly over a page the slaves: Ancient Greek Religion , 133-57. Slaves and Religions: Historiographies, Ancient and Modern 7 slavery, though widely applauded, generally lack a comparable immediacy and political force in those Western countries in which classical scholarship is most strongly rooted. In partial contrast to the elitist perspectives of Graeco-Roman literary compositions stands the epigraphic and papyrological evidence, comprising diverse kinds of inscriptions and papyri texts produced by a much wider range of individuals or groups (though by no means fully proportional in relation to the social composition of ancient populations), including slaves and freed persons, alongside those from other subordinate statuses. Almost all the Greek and Roman papers in this volume draw heavily upon such epigraphic or papyrological texts to gain access either to the religious voices and actions of slaves themselves—through highly “personal” texts such as their funerary inscriptions (ch. 2), their vows, dedications and votive offerings (chs. 2 and 7), their consultations of oracles (chs. 9 and 10), and their magical spells and curses (ch. 10)—or to actions by third parties which bore directly on slave religious experiences: texts such as the regulations of cult groups which included slave members (ch. 4) or public records of sacral manumissions (ch. 6). As a number of papers in this volume show, however, interpretation of these epigraphic and papyrological texts is rarely unproblematic. At the most simple level, the typical lack of explanatory preamble in “personal” texts often inhibits comprehension of their precise character: for example, the exact statuses of the persons involved and the specific context of their consultation, vow, spell or curse are frequently unspecified (see Esther Eidinow’s discussion of the Dodona oracular consultation tablets in Chapter Nine). At a more advanced level lies the challenge of assessing the significance of religious phenomena revealed by instances of individual slave behaviour revealed in such texts: as Niall McKeown asks in Chapter Ten, how many individual examples are required to constitute a noteworthy historical trend? Even where the number of instances is deemed to pass such a critical threshold, there remains the more fundamental problem, highlighted by John North, of the lack of wider evidential context. How can one properly assess the implications of apparent slave agency in religious behaviour evidenced in epigraphic or papyrological texts, given not only the relative invisibility of slaves in the literary sources, but (worse) the predominant emphasis in those sources on slaves’ lack of capacity for independent action in other aspects of their lives? The relative neglect of slave religious behaviour in broader accounts of Graeco-Roman slavery and religion probably owes a lot to the state of the available evidence. However, it is also strongly rooted in the modern 8 Introduction historiographies of these fields. Approaches to the subject over the last fifty years have been dominated by the weighty conclusions of Franz Bömer’s major four-volume study (1958-63) mentioned above. As North and McKeown point out in their chapters, although Bömer collected together a diverse range of evidence for the religious activities of ancient slaves, his analysis focused mainly on the narrow question whether slave worship ever took place in an autonomous sphere of activity or operated solely in a mixed environment together with free and freed persons. Not only did Bömer’s consistently negative answer, that there was no sign of a slave religious life different or separate from that of the free or freed populations, rapidly become the orthodoxy in subsequent scholarship.26 It has probably also discouraged further in-depth enquiry, overshadowing the possibility that a wider range of questions might have elicited more positive conclusions regarding slave religious agency from the substantial body of evidence collected in his study. Perspectives on slave religious activity have also been conditioned by assumptions of “religious centralisation” shared by diverse modern scholarly models of ancient, and especially Roman, religion: from the Staatsreligion model of nineteenth-century Germanic scholarship to the so-called “civic model” of “polis religion” underpinning much late- twentieth-century Western research.27 In emphasising the overwhelmingly collective character of ancient religious activity centred around ritual performance, the embeddedness of worship in civic politics and culture, and the role of cities and their citizen elites in patterning the religious horizons of the entire resident population, the “civic model” leaves little scope for personal religiosity or for the possibility that subordinate individuals or groups, especially slaves, might fashion their own religious behaviours. On this model, the only occasions when slaves exercised prominent religious roles were during specific public festivals when normal social positions were purposely reversed.28 (See, however, Rachel Zelnick-Abramovitz’s re-evaluation of the nature of these festivals in Chapter Three, which argues that most of the ancient Greek festivals in question did not involve a true reversal of roles) The impact of Bömer’s work and the civic model on approaches to slave religiosity in the Roman world are discussed below by North and

26 Already by 1977 Burkert’s curt conclusion, “Slaves have the same gods as their masters” ( Greek Religion , 259) was supported by an endnote referring to Bömer’s work. Not long afterwards, Bömer’s view was endorsed within slavery studies by Garlan, Slavery in Ancient Greece , 198-9. 27 Bendlin, “Looking beyond the civic compromise”; cf. North, this volume, ch. 2. 28 Bremmer, Greek Religion , 3; Mikalson, Ancient Greek Religion , 157. Slaves and Religions: Historiographies, Ancient and Modern 9

McKeown; but their combined influence is equally evident in research on Greece. Jan Bremmer’s judgement—in his commissioned survey of recent approaches to Greek religion—that, “as life in Greece was dominated by free males, they could (and did) seriously restrict religious opportunities for … slaves, whose religious position was modest” appears in a section on religion’s “embeddedness” and public, communal character, and is supported by a direct reference to Bömer’s publication.29 Despite the general dominance of these twin influences, there are signs in recent research of the emergence of different perspectives. One critique of the application of the civic model of Graeco-Roman religion to Republican Rome has challenged the claimed homology of “religion” with “society”, “politics” or “culture”, proposing an alternative model involving a significant degree of religious pluralism and scope for individual religious choices.30 Another critique of the model’s application to ancient Greece has drawn attention to the rigidity of the concept of “polis religion” for the description of ritual activity—given the sheer variety of cult organisations and the different levels and types of involvement by the polis—suggesting instead a more fluid construction of ancient Greek religion with the capacity to take account of co-existing, sometimes overlapping, networks of ritual activities.31 An even broader challenge to current orthodoxies has questioned standard unitary conceptions of the polis as the basic, self-bounded unit for analysing ancient Greek communities and as an exclusive male citizen club, with their associated assumptions of an “isomorphism between society, economy and the state”. This new perspective views a Greek polis as a variegated agglomeration of diverse kinds of everyday private voluntary associations, formal and informal, short- and long-term. Many of these associations—whether organised around an extended family, neighbourhood, trade or religious cult, or brought together for some more

29 Greek Religion 3 with 9 n. 9: Bremmer’s survey, part of the authoritative “Greece & Rome, New Surveys in the Classics” series, was first published in 1994 and reprinted in 1999 and 2003. Likewise, Mikalson’s view that, “Slaves have left no evidence of a religious life of their own, apart from the communities of citizens” (Ancient Greek Religion , 157) is simultaneously both a classic inference from the civic model and a (possibly indirect) reflection of Bömer’s conclusions: his “Further Reading” cites Klees’ study, whose above-mentioned relegation of slaves’ religious activities depends heavily on Bömer’s work, cited repeatedly in Klees’ footnotes ( Sklavenleben , 264-72; 379-87). 30 Bendlin, “Looking beyond the civic compromise”, 125-35, with the approving comments of Bispham’s editorial “Introduction”, 14-17. 31 Eidinow, “Networks and narratives”. 10 Introduction temporary purpose—embraced men and women of various ethnic origins and statuses, including slaves, and frequently operated with connections extending beyond the borders of the polis. 32 Most such associations included some religious activities, but associations specifically dedicated to the worship of particular deities or heroes are attested in late Archaic and Classical Greece and became even more common in the Hellenistic and Roman periods. 33 The greater potential for slave agency implied by these new, more “de- centralised” understandings of civic and religious behaviour suggests that the time is ripe for a re-examination of the religious activities of Graeco- Roman slaves.34 To what extent do the ancient papers in this volume support or contradict the orthodox views of slave religious roles outlined above? The picture is somewhat mixed. As already indicated, not all the forms of ancient evidence considered in this volume offer insights into the slaves’ own religious behaviours. The large numbers of Greek manumission inscriptions studied by Deborah Kamen (ch. 6) are highly informative about different forms of sacral manumission and the identities of the gods invoked, but they provide no indication about the liberated slaves’ input (if any) into the choice of god or the form or conditions of manumission. In the dedications from Tres Galliae and Germania studied by Bassir Amiri (ch. 7), current slaves are almost entirely absent. Worship of Apollo by these provinces’ non-free populations can be observed only through the religious practices of former slaves, freedmen from important Romanised cities eager to display their social integration, especially their social advancement into the local elite, and above all their adoption of their cities’ religious codes through worship of one of their leading divinities. Other types of evidence positively imply the limitations upon slave agency. Rachel Zelnick-Abramovitz’s examination of literary evidence for a number of publicly-organised Greek festivals which involved the full participation of slaves (ch. 3) concludes that their inclusion was a collective decision of the masters granted only as a fleeting privilege. Karen Neutel’s study (ch. 4) of two religious groups which positively

32 Vlassopoulos, Unthinking the Greek Polis , esp. 68-99, 143-240; quotation from p. 87; id., “Beyond and below the polis”. 33 Kloppenborg and Ascough, Greco-Roman Associations , esp. 1-13; Kloppenborg and Wilson, eds., Voluntary Associations , esp. 1-15; cf. the nine-volume series New Documents illustrating Early Christianity (1981-2002), variously edited by G.H.R. Horsley and S.R. Llewelyn, reviewing inscriptions and papyri on Greek social and religious history published between 1976 and 1987. 34 Vlassopoulos, Unthinking the Greek Polis , 174-5; cf. id., “Free spaces”; “Slavery, freedom and citizenship”; “Two images of ancient slavery”. Slaves and Religions: Historiographies, Ancient and Modern 11 welcomed slave members—the Philadelphia extended household cult and the Pauline early Christian communities—shows how, nevertheless, their stricter than normal regulations for sexual conduct presupposed a level of control over one’s body that lay beyond the capacity of most slaves. Where the evidence does offer direct evidence of slaves’ own religious activities, the situation is complex. Esther Eidinow’s study of fifth- and fourth-century BC question-tablets from the oracle site of Zeus at Dodona in northern Greece (ch. 9) shows slaves using the same means of oracular consultation as slave owners and other free consultants. The more limited forms of question posed by some slaves may reflect constraints on their ability to make autonomous decisions or plans about their future. Other slave consultants, however, show higher levels of self-determination, including plans to escape. Moreover, the openness of the oracle and its patron god to enquiries from slaves reveals an unexpected (and perhaps unusual) scope for slaves in the Classical period to take independent initiatives of a kind hitherto thought possible only in the apparently more diverse and cosmopolitan religious landscape of the succeeding Hellenistic age. John North’s examination of the epigraphic evidence of Roman slave funerary monuments, vows and dedications (ch. 2) affirms Bömer’s established view, inasmuch that their publicly displayed inscriptions provide no indication of a slave religiosity separate from that of the slave- owning elite. Indeed, in undertaking and publicly recording their religious activities, slaves were creating their own legitimate space within Roman society precisely by exploiting established civic conventions. Nevertheless, the wide range of ritual actions undertaken by slaves on their own initiative suggests that the civic religious model has paid insufficient attention to the agency of slaves, as they proclaimed their family relationships in funerary inscriptions and made individual choices in their vows and dedications about which gods to approach and which cults to support, in a manner consonant with more pluralistic interpretations of Graeco-Roman religion. Finally, Niall McKeown’s wide-ranging exploration of Roman slaves’ involvement in magic, the collegia and the Christian church (ch. 10) argues that magic was used by some slaves as a means of resisting their owners; but he confirms another of Bömer’s views: that other forms of religious activity were not a focus of slave resistance. However, slaves were sometimes able to act with considerable autonomy through the use of magic and through participation in religious associations, such as the collegia and the Christian Church, which embraced both slaves and free and which operated separately from their masters’ households. Regardless 12 Introduction of the Church’s legitimation of the institution of slavery, Christianity offered possibilities for some slaves to escape from their servitude by becoming priests or joining monastic communities. On this last point, McKeown’s analysis highlights how several of the papers presented here reinforce a salient conclusion of the ISOS volume on Slavery, Citizenship and the State : namely, that the lives and activities of slaves were rarely confined to their relationships with their particular owners and masters. In ancient Greece and Rome household slaves were formally part of the extended oikos or familia and played subordinate roles in its religious rituals. However, the direct engagement of slaves with religious practices and institutions beyond the household—commissioning funerary monuments, making dedications in sanctuaries, consulting oracles, participating in public festivals, and joining various types of voluntaristic religious associations—broke the binary relationship between master and slaves, thereby providing places and spaces for slaves to create some measure of everyday lives of their own.

Slaves and Religions in Brazil: Historiographies and Histories

Whereas work on the religious identities of slaves in the ancient world has been relatively limited until recently, the same cannot be said of the historiography of slavery in the New World. Exactly what constituted slave religion in the New World, and in Brazil in particular, however, is far from simple to define, not least because we are presented with sometimes competing, sometimes overlapping and sometimes synthesised religions and cultures of different African, Amerindian and European peoples. Indeed, if any one concept helps us to understand religious identities in Brazil, it is that of religious pluralism. In the words of João José Reis, writing about the North Eastern state of Bahia in the 1830s, there was a “cultural free-for-all”.35 We will try to examine the complex contribution of African traditions in the New World first. These traditions probably meant least in the case of the USA, where the importation of African slaves largely ceased after 1808 (in the wake of British abolition of the slave trade the previous year) and where the slave population was subsequently replenished by natural reproduction. Here, therefore, linkages to the African past were considerably more fractured than those in slave societies, such as Brazil and Cuba, which continued to import vast numbers of Africans until the

35 Reis, “Slave Rebellion,” 218. Slaves and Religions: Historiographies, Ancient and Modern 13 mid-nineteenth century. Moreover, North American slaves found some degree of spiritual succour in evangelical Protestantism. The Protestant religious revivalism of the mid-eighteenth century in the shape of Baptist and Methodist identities came to be embraced by massive numbers of slaves in the Southern USA, who usually—at least initially—adopted the same Church as their masters. The message of salvation and a relatively egalitarian stance in evangelical Protestantism proved attractive to some black slaves, as did the openings provided for black priests. In fact, by the late eighteenth century 25% of the members of the Methodist Church in the United States were of African descent. In some cases these were integrated into single congregations with their white co-religionists; but in other cases separate, specifically black churches developed. As is well known, these churches subsequently played a major role in the development of the abolitionist movement. In North America, therefore, African influences diminished over time, although this does not mean that the reception of Christianity by these slaves was not influenced by some non-Christian traditions and rituals of African origin in the first place. 36 In Brazil, on the other hand, where slavery was not abolished until 1888, where evangelical Protestantism was absent, and where the official religious world was dominated by the Catholic Church, things looked very different. Here Africa was far more obviously present, not least because Brazil imported almost ten times as many African slaves as did the USA. In fact almost 40% of all slaves exported from Africa to the New World between 1550 and 1850 arrived in Brazil; and that trade in human cargoes was never more intense than in the first half of the nineteenth century, when around two million Africans were imported into the country. 37 In consequence “African” culture was constantly rejuvenated. A not dissimilar pattern characterised Cuba. So what, in cultural terms, did African slaves bring with them from the continent of their birth? At first sight this question is preposterous. Firstly, the regions of Africa from which slaves were transported to the New World covered vast areas, many diverse political entities, and different ethnic and tribal groups. Secondly, in some of these areas many of those to be enslaved had already encountered Islam or Christianity, or both; and about these we will write more below. However, the “great majority of Africans” adhered to what Sylvia R Frey calls “traditional religious forms”, though these had already undergone significant change even before their exposure to Christian and

36 Raboteau, Slave Religion ; Bergad, Comparative Histories , 178-80; Frey, “Cultural Migrations”; Frey and Wood, Come Shouting ; Davis, Inhuman Bondage , 203-5; Drescher, Abolition , 252-4; Frey, “Remembered Pasts,” 163. 37 For literature on the slave trade, see n. 5 to Geary’s article (this volume, ch. 11). 14 Introduction

Muslim influences and were in a state of “continuous creation”. In West Central Africa, in particular, these “traditional religious forms” shared certain common, unifying themes across tribal and political divisions. These included, in Frey’s words,

a developing concept of a supreme being or ultimate power who controlled the universe; and a pantheon of subordinate deities, many of whom had a dual nature that recognized female participation in the divine, and each of whom had a cult with its own priests and priestesses, societies and religious activities. Ancestral spirits occupied a special place in the spiritual hierarchy. Endowed with a power to do good or harm, ancestral anger was appeased and their mercy implored through ritual objects and ceremonies.... 38

These shared perceptions, consequently, make some sense of the question as to what cultural baggage enslaved “Africans” brought with them to Brazil, whilst recognising that the term “African” is anachronistic and that the tribal conflicts that took place in Africa could also be translated to the New World. However, there is a second objection to the view that African culture(s) were translated to the other side of the Atlantic, at least in an unmediated form, by transported slaves. Those who were enslaved were treated with great brutality. They were often deprived of their own names, as well as their family. Cut off from their homelands and kinship ties, slaves experienced, in the famous words of Orlando Patterson, “social death”. Subject to a wide variety degrading treatments, slaves were ripped from communities, in which they belonged, and forcibly translated to societies in which they were stripped of kinship and native affiliation. They became marginalized and degraded Others, outsiders with no rights. So, at least, claims Patterson. 39 In such circumstances, it was once believed, slaves had their African cultures and identities knocked out of them in the dual trauma of enslavement and transportation to the New World. The atomisation of slave existence was further exacerbated by the policies of some slave traders and owners to disperse slaves of the same origin in order to reduce the risk of collective resistance. 40 As a result, historians have doubted the survival of “African” culture in the New World. The seminal work of Sydney Mintz and Richard Price, for example, stresses the novelty of

38 Frey, “Remembered Pasts,” 153. Thornton makes a similar point about shared cosmologies across large parts of Africa: Thornton, Africa and Africans , 261-78. See also Assunção and Zeuske, “Ethnicity and Social Structure,” 418-19. 39 Patterson, Social Death. 40 See Geary (ch. 11) below, note 25. Slaves and Religions: Historiographies, Ancient and Modern 15

Afro-American culture and is sceptical of any idea of an unmediated transfer of African traditions and practices to the Americas. 41 Price further criticises the views of Roger Bastide and R.K. Kent, who argue that the ubiquitous quilombos (maroon societies: that is, communities of fugitive slaves) of Brazil constituted “African” resistance to acculturation in the New World. He writes,

However “African” in character, no maroon social, political, religious or aesthetic system can be reliably traced back to a particular tribal provenience; they reveal, rather, their syncretistic composition, forged in the early meetings of peoples bearing diverse African, European and Amerindian cultures in the dynamic setting of the New World. 42

Though few historians would deny the fundamental syncretism of various cultural and religious practices in Brazil, there has been a significant change of emphasis in the assessment of Brazilian indebtedness to African culture in recent years. Though some slave traders and plantation owners tried to separate Africans of the same ethnic group from one another in order to undermine the possibility of collective action and understanding amongst their slaves, they were often not able to do so. The economics of shipment from slave trading ports with relatively well- defined recruitment hinterlands to destinations in the New World often linked to specific African ports in a long-term trade nexus, as well as the desire to deploy expensive slave labour as quickly as possible, given the infrequent arrival of ships, militated against the systematic implementation of any such policy. 43 In fact, the creation of large-scale, computer-aided statistical databases of slave voyages has enabled historians to establish the origin of Africans exported to the Americas and their groupings, often in clusters, in their Brazilian and other locations across the Atlantic: a discovery reinforced by collaborative work on both sides of the ocean in “diaspora studies”. As a result, Sylvia R. Frey goes so far as to claim that “statistical quantification of the slave trade makes it possible to link specific ritual practices to particular regions and in some cases specific ethnic groups”, and that “core beliefs and ritual practices persisted in relatively pure forms”. 44 The work of Robert Slenes on various

41 Mintz and Price, Anthropological Approach , 1-11. 42 Price, ed., Maroon Societies , 26. 43 Hall, Slavery and African Ethnicities , 49-66. 44 Frey, “Remembered Pasts,” 156-7; Eltis, Richardson et al., eds., The Transatlantic Slave Trade; Gilroy, Black Atlantic ; Heywood, ed., Central Africans ; Heywood and Thornton, Central Africans ; Curto and Lovejoy, eds., Enslaving Connections ; 16 Introduction conspiracies and risings in states of São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro in the 1830s and 1840s seems to be one demonstration of this point, as he identifies a Pan-Bantu culture, with its rituals, languages and artefacts, at work on both sides of the Atlantic. 45 Frey also takes issue with Ira Berlin, who has claimed that some West Africans who lived in close proximity to Europeans had already been “creolised”—i.e. had imbibed European religious and cultural influences— before the onset of slavery and that these “Atlantic creoles” played a critical role in shaping Afro-American cultures. Recent African studies have claimed that Berlin exaggerated the role, the influence and the number of such figures; and that their impact was regionally very variable within Africa. Moreover, the depth of Christian conversion in West Africa is open to question, with critics arguing that African Christianity existed in parallel with traditional African religions, giving rise to the concept that African “Christians” were “bi-religious”. What is certainly true is that only a limited number of Africans were Christians; that they were often converted in mass baptisms without any form of religious instruction; and that selective elements of the Christian faith were “incorporated into local beliefs and practices in such a way as to mutually enrich and inform both religious traditions”. 46 The idea that the slaves who arrived in Brazil from Africa were rootless, atomised individuals is open to further question, whatever beliefs they did or did not bring with them; and not only because we now know much more about the statistical grouping of the various African ethnicities in particular parts of Brazil. In the first place, many Africans of differing ethnic origin often spoke related languages or were adept at learning new ones on the lengthy Atlantic crossing, and their cosmologies often shared a common core of foundation myths and beliefs. 47 Moreover, even where traditional collectivities had been destroyed, slaves showed great ingenuity in building substitute solidarities, in creating what have been described as “fictive” kinship communities. Thus African slaves in Bahia in the 1830s extended the concept of “relative” ( parente ) to include all those of the same ethnic group. 48 So, as in the case of an overarching Yoruba identity, new ethnic communities emerged in the Diaspora, where, unlike in Africa

Lovejoy, Transformations in Slavery ; Lovejoy, Identity in the Shadow ; Childs, Slave Culture , 172. 45 Slenes, “Malungo, Negomo vem”; id., “A Avoré de Nsanda transplantada.” 46 Berlin, “From Creole to African,” 251-88; Frey, “Remembered Pasts,” 154-6. 47 Thornton, Africa , 261-78; Assunção and Zeuske, “Ethnicity and Social Structure,” 418-19. 48 Reis, A morte , 55, 160, 198. Slaves and Religions: Historiographies, Ancient and Modern 17 itself, rigid distinctions of kinship and kingship were overcome and commonalities of language and culture were stressed. This constituted the background to the emergence of African “nations” ( nações ) in Brazil. These did not correspond to precise historical groupings in Africa: they replicated no single African tribe and their identities seem to have changed over time. At the start of the nineteenth century they largely denoted an approximate region of origin in Africa, whereas by the end of the century they seem to have collated most closely with religious identity. 49 This adaptability and creativity, already evident in religious identities on the African continent, were translated to Brazil, as also to Saint- Domingue (Haiti) and Cuba, by the huge numbers of imported slaves; and produced, in their collision in these places with Catholic Christianity, a range of “neo-African religions”: candomblé in Brazil, vodun (voodoo) in Haiti, and santária in Cuba. 50 According to Laird Bergad, there were three different forms of Brazilian candomblé : candomblé ketu , practised by Yoruba slaves in the North Eastern states of Pernambuco and Bahia; candomblé bantu , which shared deities with the Yoruba variant; and the candomblé jeje of the Fon and Ewe, which, though deploying a different vocabulary, still shared similar gods and myths. The Afro-Brazilian religion of macumba , which developed more specifically in Rio de Janeiro, was, according to Bergad, distinct from the above and more “superstitious”.51 Another historian claims that the manner in which candomblé constituted a syncretistic religion varied, though it was always dynamic and changing. The mix of religious cultures was not so much a “fusion” in which no original elements of the other existed, as a hybridity in which African, Portuguese and Indian elements could co-exist and even be interchanged. Other commentators have identified various different patterns of variation. In the first, the European (Catholic) religion functioned as a disguise for what were essentially African images and beliefs, in order to avoid the attention and persecution of the colonial (later Imperial) administrators of Brazil, as in the candomblés in Cachoeira and San Félix in Bahia. In the second, both religions existed side by side (the “bi-religious” phenomenon already encountered in Africa) and were used at different points in time by the same devotees. Thus some slaves might attend a candomblé ceremony on Saturday night and a Catholic Mass on

49 See nn. 28-9 to Geary’s article in this volume (ch. 11); also Childs, “Slave Culture,” 178-80. 50 Frey, “Remembered Pasts,” 164. 51 Bergad, Comparative Histories , 186-7. 18 Introduction

Sunday morning. A third form of syncretism involved a more fundamental fusion of the two religious heritages into a new and unique creation. 52 In the words of Rachel E. Harding, one of the leading authorities on candomblé , it was a “poetic complex of ritual action, cosmology, and meaning with deep and obvious roots in several religious traditions of West Central Africa—especially Yoruba, Aja-Fon, and Bantu”. Though it was initially able to develop through the interstices of the official Catholic Church (of which more later), it “recreated” those African traditions and thus provided a space in which Afro-Brazilians could express identities at odds with those allocated to them by their masters. Candomblé , as the product of this encounter, was extremely “plastic”; and its well-known identification of various orishas (spirits) with Catholic Saints was but one expression of the Catholic/African fusion or dualism. However, Harding stresses that this Afro-Brazilian religion was much more than a meeting of European and African traditions. It was—and increasingly became—a fusion of different African traditions; it was above all “Pan-African”. As it developed, therefore, it became less ethnically determined. 53 Moreover, its central ritual activities of healing and divination through drumming, dance and trance were not immune to Amerindian influences, especially in terms of magico-pharmacopoeic knowledge. 54 Having said this, candomblé , though practised by many slaves, was not exclusively a “slave religion”; and the houses of free men seem to have been especially important for its development. Nor was it exclusively black. 55 As already noted, Catholic institutions were used by the practitioners of candomblé , and it is to these institutions and the Christian legacy that we now turn. As already mentioned, there was a long history of Catholic conversion in Africa, which, for example, saw the King of Congo embracing this religion in the 1570s. 56 However, the extent and meaning of conversion in Africa were unclear; 57 and in any case most of the Africans arriving in Brazil were not already converted. So the Portuguese authorities in Brazil had to import Catholic institutions from Europe to incorporate, instruct and convert the slave newcomers. Of course, these

52 Heuman and Walvin, 359; Hall, 46; Price, Maroon Societies , 29; Guimarães, “Mineração, quilombos e Palmares”; Volpato, “Quilombos em Mato Grosso”; Thornton, Africa , 2 and 213-18; Omara-Tunkara, Manipulating the Sacred , 3; Wimberley, “Afro-Brazilian religious practice,” 81. 53 Harding, Refuge in Thunder , xiii; 39-40. 54 Ibid., 50. 55 See Geary’s article in this volume (ch. 11), 315. 56 Frey, “Remembered Pasts,” 153-64. 57 See above, p. 16. Slaves and Religions: Historiographies, Ancient and Modern 19 institutions were seen by masters and rulers as mechanisms of social control; for in the minds of the authorities African drumming, dances and other rituals constituted a threat to public order, to the economic productivity of slaves; and possibly carried within them a message of revolt. 58 The principal institution of Catholic incorporation was the irmandade (Brotherhood), which certainly existed in Portugal in the fifteenth century and subsequently became associated there with blacks and slavery. However, African irmandades had also come into existence in various parts of the Portuguese Empire: in West Africa, namely Angola, the Kingdom of Congo and the island of São Tomé. As a result, Sylvia Frey speculates that such brotherhoods may have been brought to Brazil from Portugal by African creoles, or by Africans who had been converted in Africa but then enslaved and transported to Brazil. 59 The brotherhoods were dedicated to particular saints and, in the case of those dedicated to Our Lady of the Rosary, unusually admitted women. Their principal roles were the celebration of saints’ festivals and the physical and spiritual care of the dead. In some cases they also functioned as friendly and manumission societies. The precise social and ethnic basis of such brotherhoods is far from clear. We know from work on Rio de Janeiro that they often replicated ethnic solidarities and divisions, to which they gave a religious dimension; and conflicts between the social worlds of creoles (slaves born in Brazil) and Africans are well documented in the case of Bahia, where brotherhoods were also organised along ethnic lines. However, this was far less true in the state of Minas Gerais, where divisions more usually ran along the lines of colour. Lines of division also seem to have broken down in some urban areas. 60 Whatever their social composition, however, the relative absence in Brazil of anything resembling the close control of the Inquisition in Mexico 61 meant that the brotherhoods became spaces, in which those of African origin could construct new collective identities, find self-worth and constantly recreate in new and various forms aspects of their African cultural past. The precise nature of belief might be “bi-religious” or some kind of syncretistic fusion, in which Catholic saints and African spirits became interchangeable; but it would be wrong to draw hard and fast lines of separation between different groups and different practices, especially as

58 Graden, From Slavery to Freedom , 103-6. 59 Frey, “Remembered Pasts,” 164-5; Kiddy, “‘Who is King of the Congo?’” 60 Childs, “Slave Culture,” 181; Soares, Devotos ; Kiddy, Black of the Rosary , 118; Bergad, Comparative Histories , 184; Libby in this volume (ch. 8), 216-18. 61 Frey, “Remembered Pasts,” 159-61. 20 Introduction

African identities were often extremely fluid and interchangeable. 62 It is also important to recognise that brotherhoods and their various identities were not restricted to slaves but often included free and freed men, and, in some cases, women. Certain aspects of Catholic ritual, in particular baptism and burial, were of great importance to the members of brotherhoods and to both slaves and freed persons more generally. As Douglas Cole Libby reminds us in Chapter Eight, “the sacrament of baptism was of fundamental importance because it represented the admission of the baptized into the Catholic Church and, in many ways, into the local community”. 63 Baptism also played a crucial role in the lives of Brazilian slaves in a further, related way. Slaves often chose as godparents free or manumitted persons who might help purchase a child’s future freedom. Though Libby shows significant regional and chronological variations in this choice as far as the Brazilian data is concerned, the links between the parents and godparents, and between children and godparents, became “a major building block of social organization in emerging black Catholic communities everywhere in the Atlantic world” (Frey), as in parts of Bahia and in the city of Rio de Janeiro. 64 The extent to which participation in rituals of conversion or incorporation into Catholicism indicated a real acceptance of Christian beliefs, or was another building block of “bi-religious” or “syncretistic” faith, or was, for that matter, simply pragmatic, is of course impossible to know in most cases; and it is certainly true that ostensibly Catholic funerals were often accompanied by African rituals of dance and drumming. 65 However, some Brazilians of African ancestry became much more clearly committed to the Christian faith and rejected syncretism and their African past, as Júnia Ferreira Furtado’s fascinating study reminds us in Chapter Five. She demonstrates the social ascension of a mulatto, born of an African mother and a white father, through the ranks of the Catholic Church, his involvement in an attempt to convert the ruler of Dahomey to Christianity, and his rejection of African practices as “demonizing”.66 A final thread in the complex religious map of slave Brazil is provided by Islam. Islam not only had a long history in North Africa, but by the

62 Kiddy, Blacks , 58-77, 81-141; Bergad, Comparative Histories , 184. On the fluidity and voluntaristic nature of African identities see Geary’s chapter in this volume (ch. 11), 321-2. 63 On funerals, see Reis, A morte . For the Libby quotation, this volume (ch. 8), 220. 64 Libby (ch. 8), 220-29; Frey, “Remembered Pasts,” 163-4. 65 See Reis’ wonderful study, A morte . 66 Furtado, this volume (ch. 5), 167.