Carnivals, Rogues, and Heroes: An interpretation of the Brazilian Dilemma 0268007802, 9780268007942

Table of contents :
Preface to the English Edition 1
Introduction 4
1. Carnivals, Military Parades, and Processions 26
2. The Many Levels of Carnival 61
3. Carnival in Rio and Mardi Gras in New Orleans 116
4. The Distinction between Individual and Person in Brazil 137
5. Pedro Malasartes and the Paradox of Roguery 198
6. Augusto Matraga and the Hour of Renunciation 239
References 267

Citation preview

An Interoretatien of

the Brazilian Dilemnma

CARNIVALS, ROGUES, AND HEROES An Interpretation of the Brazilian Dilemma

T.A.S.C. LIBRARY LEEDS

TCL 179381 9

A TITLE FROM THE HELEN KELLOGG INSTITUTE FOR INTERNATIONAL STUDIES

oy 28d &

My

ai yet

2

Carnivals, Rogues, and Heroes An Interpretation of the Brazilian Dilemma

by Roberto DaMatta Translated byJohnDrury

UNIVERSITY OF NOTRE DAMEPRESS LONDON NOTRE DAME

KERN §4612 (TASS | 2a 25107 Sy MAT Originally published as

Carnavats, Malandros E Heréts

in 1979 by Zahar Editores S. A. Copyright © 1991

University of Notre DamePress Notre Dame, Indiana 46556 All Rights Reserved Manufactured in the United States of America

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Matta, Roberto da.

[Carnavais, malandros e herdis. English]

Carnivals, rogues, and heroes : an interpretation of the Brazilian dilemma / by Roberto DaMatta ; trans-

lated by John Drury. Da cm:

Translation of: Carnavais, malandros e heréis.

Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN 0-268-00780-2

1. Carnival—Brazil.

2. National characteristics,

Brazilian. 3. Brazil—Social life and customs. GT4233.A2M38 1991 394.2'5'0981— dc20

I. Title. 90-70861

CIP

To my Father and Mother,

To my brothers and sister, Romero, Ricardo, Renato, and Ana Mana,

and to the memory of Fernando.

And to my children, Rodrigo, Maria Celeste, and Renato,

with hope.

Contents 1x

Preface to the English Edition Introduction

The Approach: Social Anthropology or Comparative Sociology Time, History, and the Social Anthropology of Ritual Life The Role of Rituals Some Thoughts on Ritual and Social Life~

1. Carnivals, Military Parades, and Processions Of Routines and Rites Carnival and Independence Day: A Comparison

Historic time and cosmic time Authorities and the common people Of uniforms and fancy costumes Some Theoretical Problems The Basic Mechanisms of Ritualization Conclusions

11 15 18 26 28

59 33 36 40 42

49 aD 61

2. The ManyLevels of Carnival Two Basic Social Domains: The House and theStreet The House and the Street: Dialectics, Symbolization, and Ritualization

63

Basic Forms of Displacement

73

68 78

The Invention of Carnival A special space A manifold space

81 85

Vil

viii

CARNIVALS, ROGUES, AND HEROES

A rite without a patron The groups of Carnival Conclusion: The Dramatization of Carnival

87 90 102

3. Carnival in Rio and Mardi Gras in New Orleans:

A Contrastive Study

“Carnival” in Brazil and the United States

116 117

The Two Carnivals: Social Organization and Ideologies Carnivals of Equality and Hierarchy

12} 128

4. “Do You Know Who You’re Talking To?!” The Distinction between Individual and Person in Brazil

137

The Expression in Theory < d Practice

The Expression as a Dramatization of the Social World On the Distinction between Individual and Person The Dialectic between Individual and Person The Individual, the Person, and Brazilian Society

Zones of Passage

142 159 170 i 183

189

5. Pedro Malasartes and the Paradox of Roguery

198

A Triangle of Dramas, a Triangle of Heroes

207

The Myth of Malasartes

The Origins of Pedro Malasartes

Mediations (a) Mediation by honesty (b) Mediation by vengeance

6. Augusto Matraga and the Hour of Renunciation Names, Persona, and Social Trajectory Marginality, Renunciation, and Vengeance

The Hour of Renunciation

Of Rogues, Avengers, and Renouncers

References

217

220 226 226 230 239 248 251 259 262

267

Preface to the English Edition A strange feeling comes over meas I reread theessays in this book. In bringing out this English edition of Carnavazs, Malandros e Heros, I had to read and reread myoriginal text, and in the process I could

not avoid confronting mylimitations as a scholar and writer. Beyond that, however, I must confess that I also have a sense of deep satisfac-

tion. Onthe positive side, the work has reminded meonceagain of mynever-failing enthusiasm for the anthropological theories that were tested and applied here to some notoriously difficult problemsin the sociological study of cultural dramatizationsin general and of Brazilian society in particular. In the courseofit, I think I made some genuine

and, I hope, important discoveries. Thus, I also experience a sense of contentment in re-encountering some of the arguments, suppositions,

and assumptionsthatconstituted thefirst steps of a long-term intellectual project devoted to using whatI have learned abroad and through encounters with unfamiliar languages and customs to understanding the familiar problemsI always carry within myself: questions and doubts that were directed not to a fascinating Polynesian kingdom, a South American Indian tribe, or an African culture, but to my country and

mysociety, Brazil. In the following pages, then, the readerwill find a double disquisition, since I simultaneously devoted myself to understanding Brazil as a nation and also as a social system or society. Even today many anthropologists still regard this approach as taboo and avoidit like the devil. It was through this experience, however, that I discovered how easy and comfortable it is to talk about Brazil as a society (and as a culture) and how complex, difficult, and risky it is to study Brazil as a nation (and as a country). Whereasthefirst perspective was familiar 1x

x

CARNIVALS, ROGUES, AND HEROES

territory, the second made meface unsuspected complexities with their imposing concreteness andpossibilities for choice, variation, action, and error. One of my main goals in this bookis to see if ideological models (whatwestill call “culture”) can be of importance whentested against the ways people really act. Are they in contradiction, as some critics would have it? Or are they aspects of an utterly complex reality that allows itself to be perceived and comprehended from different

points of view? This is an obviously important problem, and I have

tried to address myself to this question in the essays that constitute

this book. At any rate, I also want to believe that this dialogue be-

tween a collectivity that wecall “nation” (andthat leadsus to all kinds

of “praxis” and “political” alternatives) and the community wecall“society” or “culture” comprises a more holistic frame of reference and will not only be decisive for future anthropologies butalso of increasing relevance in an ever-shrinking world. I even dare to say that the dialectic between these two concepts ofcollective life will constitute

the final epistemological test for many “critical” or “hermeneutical” approaches which up to now have been dealing with humanities “out

there” rather than the specifics of our own daily world.

This book is the result of several essays that were originally written

for different publics and on different academic occasions. Still, despite

this apparent unevenness in termsofits conception, the central ideas

remain quite coherent, and each piece reveals in its own way some of

the principles that I think are crucialfor a deep understanding of Brazil as a society and as a nation. In fact, the reader may read them separately as self-contained pieces, for I did not write them with a climactic argumentative movementin mind, as is frequently thecase in AngloSaxon academic prose. As we know, this style of writing is permeated by a linear logic such that a sequence of chapters culminatesin a sort of “academic happy ending” in which the argumentis fully demonstrated and “proved.” Here, however, the style of presentation is different: each essay circles back to facts and arguments in a complementary way. Theresult is a re/ative degree of independence as well as a certain sense of a sequence thatruns from “collective rituals” of Brazilian cul-

ture to the studyof various ways of navigating the Brazilian social scene.

Because I was trying to understand the relationships between Brazil as a “nation” and as a “society,” my aim was to reach not only the trained anthropologist or professional social scientist but also a more general “secular” reader who wasinterested in the “question of democracy” in Brazil. Thus, this text is informed by a deep commitment to

PREFACE TO THE ENGLISH EDITION

xi

a fundamental contemporary political and sociologicalissue. It attempts to deal with the problemsfaced by a society when it tries to institutionalize an individualistic, egalitarian political system in an ideological landscapethatis impressively marked by hierarchy and holism. This is the kind of problem that the layperson (and some anthropologists of mytribe) take as important, despite the multiple and different historical ways of defining and conceptualizing it. Perhapsall that I am doinghereis trying to get to the heart of some issues that always bother me as a Brazilian. I refer to the perennial antidemocratic (and anti-egalitarian) Brazilian elitism that is characterized by an arrogantstyle of dealing with social and political differences. From this perspective, this text is a political denunciation of a set of social practices that nobody takesseriously in Brazil but that Iam con-

vinced are at the heart of the Brazilian power structure, for in Brazil

we have a system in which better-off people are fully convinced that

they have “class” and thatthey are special and entitled to treat others

with political indifference and contempt. By studying whatis indisputably “Brazilian” in this system, I hope to open the door to the understanding ofthe blind authoritarianism that never ends, despite systematic libertarian experience and rhetoric. Anotherset of sentiments arising at this point has to do with peo-

ple andinstitutions. I want to emphasize once again that this work would never have been written outside the creative atmosphere of the

Graduate Program in Social Anthropology (PPGAS) of the National Museum of the Federal University of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, whereI

wrote this book. The Brazilian National Research Council (CNPq.),

the Brazilian branch of the Ford Foundation, the Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research, and the National Museum also provided essential funds that enabled the research for this book to take place. The late Victor Turner and Max Gluckman will be always remembered for the generous encouragement they gave to me and to my work. Manyof their views permeate this work, and I would like to believe that their thought—together with some seminal ideas of Louis Dumont and Claude Lévi-Strauss —forms a synthesis that somehow makes possible the kind of anthropology that is now being produced below the equator. The essays that form chapter one and two were originally prepared for Wenner-Gren Foundation Conferences in the always wellremembered Burg Warteinstein, Austria, and once again, I would like to mention their importance for myintellectual education and develop-

xii

CARNIVALS, ROGUES, AND HEROES

ment. Lita Osmundsen, who was Director of Research of the Wenner-

Gren Foundation, and Edith Turner were both important as sources of personal and professional encouragement. Here at Notre Dame, I would like to express my gratitude to Jim Langford, director of the Notre Dame University Press, for believing in this project, as well as to Dr. David Hess, of the Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, who took time to read the whole manuscript, mak-

ing many valuable suggestions. In the course of editing the translation, I naturally optforfidelity with the Brazilian original, except when the original arguments were impossible to render in English or when I felt further clarification was in order. In the same spirit, I have also added some newcitations to the bibliography and introduced some new footnotes thatclarify Brazilian historical figures, episodes, expres-

sions, or words when necessary.

I also wantto express my gratitude to the Helen Kellogg Institute for International Studies of the University of Notre Dame, whichpro-

vided mewith the conditions without whichintellectual labor becomes

despair and frustration. Last but not least, I would like, once again, to thank my wife, Celeste, without whom I would nevet have had the

tranquility to finish this project.

Roberto DaMatta

Notre Dame, July 31, 1990

Today on the street I met, separately, two friends of mine who had gotten angry at each other. Each one told me the story of their quarrel. Each told me the truth. Each told mehis reasons. Both wereright. It is not that one saw one thing, the other some-

thing else; or that one saw one side of the matter, the other a

different side. No: each saw things exactly as they had happened, each saw them according to exactly the same criterion; but each saw something different, hence each was right. I found myself per-

plexed by this double existence of truth.

Fernando Pessoa

Introduction This book arose out of a concern to understand what I have come to call, taking myinspiration from Gunnar Myrdal’s (1962 [1944)]) classic work, “the Brazilian dilemma.” For even thoughinterpretations of Brazil are relatively abundant,it is no exaggeration to say that almost all of them try to tell the story in a linear way. They have a beginning, a middle, and an end with bandits and heroes, and they move from geographyto the family, politics, religion, and mythology—the whole story being a current of clear waters in which socialclasses or specific and highly rational groupsfight with each other for indisputable control of the system. Here I am interested in developing a more complex interpretation.

I do not want simply to know eventsin termsof their temporal course, wherein things unfold linearly, with antecedents and consequences. I want to see “Brazil” as a drama where the beginning reappears at

the end and where — in thedialectic of indecision, reflex, and paradox

—the bandit can perfectly well take his place in the parlor even as the hero (a handsome, mustachioed ownerofa coffee plantation, already thinkingof establishing an industry) can lose his voice and move from being an anarchist and futurist “cannibal”! to being a beach-blanket revolutionary like most people. So my book has two aims: to contribute to theories of dramatization andideology, and to do this concretely by examining the case of Brazil. Assuming my readers agree with me,I think the natural result of this effort would be an interpretation of Brazilian reality from a multifaceted standpoint. Specifically, it would bea critical study of the every1 Referring to the well-known “cannibalist manifesto” produced in Sao Paulo, dur-

ing the Modernism movement of 1922.

2

CARNIVALS, ROGUES, AND HEROES

day world, an examination of the majorstyles of social celebration, and an interpretation of these forms of reunion combined with an

analysis of their principal characters: our Brazilian ma/andros (rogues)

and heroes. It is not simply a matter of considering the story of “three races,” six regions, or two social classes fighting each other for power. It is mainly a matter of entering into the social reasons for the dilemma that sets a society at odds withitself. For, as we shall see in detail fur-

ther on, in Brazil we have carnivals and hierarchies, equalities andaristocracies, and cordial meetings full of smiles giving way the very next

momentto theterrible antipathy and violence of “Do you know who

you're talking to?!” We also have the samba, cachaca (sugat-cane brandy), the beach, and futebol (soccer), but this all occurs in the midst of what

cameto be called a “relative democracy” anda “Brazilian-style capi-

talism,” a system in which only the workers run the risks and from which they draw no profit, as everyone knows. Asin the satirical song of Juca Chaves, capital remains carefree and safe in the strongboxes

of yesterday's revolutionaries, who are today’s liberators and,in all like-

lihood, will be tomorrow’s reactionaries. Andall of that in the name

of our incomparable “democratic vocation,” noless! The counterpoint of these dramasis, obviously, the exploitation of the masses, the very same masses who can smash trains and, on Mayfirst, applaud their indisputable idol in timesofcrisis: the president, or whoever is at that moment the leader or great father. Exploited, plundered, assaulted, and unknown especially unknown — this anonymous massis called 0 povo (the people). And who does not speak for it in Brazil? It is like a god without priests or theology, a truly Brazilian god of Umbanda? in which the mysticism born of political dissatisfaction is enough to engender a morality ensuring a mystical relationship between the great powers up above and the mor-

tals suffering affliction here below. By studying our carnivals, rogues,

and renouncers (our heroes), I also attempt to approach the Brazilian

people in termsof their hopes andperplexities. For I have always been deeply struck by the connection between a people so oppressed and a system ofpersonalrelationships so preoccupied with personalities and

sentiments; between a multitude so faceless and voiceless and anelite

so loudin calling for its prerogatives and rights; between an intellec-

tuallife so preoccupied with the heart of Brazil, on the one hand, and

?A very popular form of Afro-Brazilian religious cult in which a person

by a godorspirit.

is possessed

INTRODUCTION

3

so attuned to the latest French book on the other; between domestic servants who go unnoticed and employers who are so egocentric; in

short, between a society that is so rich in inventing modern rational

laws and decrees and one that nevertheless is looking for the return

of its Don Sebastian I, the old Portuguese fatherof all the renouncers and messiahs. Indeed, Don Sebastian seemsto be such a perfect model

of renunciation that he has decided, paradoxically enough, never to return, as if he foresaw his inevitable demystification and routiniza-

tion by the very same people who claim to love him and wait for him so patiently. These people, the Brazilian people, intrigue me with their generosity, their wisdom, and aboveall, their unfailing hope. In a word, the aim of this book is to learn what makes“brazil” Bra-

zil. In other words, like many other scholars I am trying to explore

the tendencies that make Brazilian society different and unique even

thoughit, like other systems, is subject to certain commonfactors of

a social, political, and economic nature. I am entirely in agreement with what Octavio Paz wrote when hefaced a similar problem:

Somepeople think thatall the differences between North Americans

and us are economic. In other words, they are rich and weate poor;

they were born in democracy, capitalism, and the industrial revolution

and we were born in the Counter-Reformation, monopoly, and feudalism. But no matter how deep and determining the influence ofthe production system maybe onthecreation of a culture, I refuse to believe

that our possession of heavy industry and our freedom from economic imperialism would suffice to erase our differences. (Paz, 1976: 23)

And here the Mexican writer poses a major question: But whylook to history for an answerthat only we ourselves can give?

If we do indeed feel that we are different, then what makesusdifferent

and what exactly goes to make up those differences? (Ibid.)

Paz’s text is important becauseit calls our attention to a level that

one mightcall the internal sphere of elaboration in the system. This

is a zone where somehow choices are made that will determine the course of action after some incentive has been received from the past or presentand before a reply has been habitually given. Not recognizing this level would mean imagining that Brazil is really a “sleeping giant”? and nothing more, something withoutstructure or will. What is worse, it would mean notbelieving in, or contributing to, analive

3Reference to a well-known and controversial verse of the Brazilian national an-

them that contradictorily and unconsciously refers to Brazil as being a “sleeping giant.”

4

CARNIVALS, ROGUES, AND HEROES

and awake Brazil that is aware of its power and its difficulties. If we were not to admit theexistenceof this intermediate zoneor level where

universal facts andforcesare translated into specificities and identities,

then we would betreating society as if it were a device that reacts blindly and mechanically to certain forces, as if it were a guinea pig

in a laboratory or a corpse in an autopsy room.

In contrast, to examine the peculiarities of our society is to study as well those zones of encounter and mediation, the squares and churchyards which are thesites of carnivals, processions, and roguish forms

of behavior. These are zones whete rational, normaltime is suspended

and a new routine must be innovated and repeated, where problems are forgotten or confronted; for here, suspended between automatic routines andthefestival that wishes to reconstruct the world, we touch the realm of liberty and the domain of what seemsto beessentially human.It is in these spheres that the power of the system is reborn, but it is also in these zones that people can forge their expectations of seeing the world turned upside down. Studying Brazil in search ofits specificity also meanstryingto interpret it in termsofits models ofaction, its practical paradigms by which we guide our behavior and thus mark our identity as Brazilians. It means trying to understand our brotherhoods and “popular voluntary

associations,” always looking above and outside the system, where they

surely try to find their place in the sun. It also means discovering that we, unlike the people of the United States, never say “separate but equal”; instead wesay “different but united,” which is the golden rule of a hierarchical and relational universe such as ours.

The Approach: Social Anthropology or Comparative Sociology

Myreaders will note that in trying to present and interpret what I am calling the Brazilian dilemma, I make extensive use of the perspective and method ofsocial anthropology or comparative sociology. I have not produced aneclectic or hybrid study, a kind of general history of Brazil crossed with the so-called “laws” of political economy and sociology; the kind of study which, in my opinion, would have very little chance of producing anytruly surprising results. Instead, I have attemptedaninterpretation alongradical sociological lines. Starting with the facts of consciousness (or ideological factors, which serve

to legitimate, mark, and define the positions, identities, and behavi or

of the actors), I attempt to get down to their most basic implications.

INTRODUCTION

5

‘Ido this by adopting a comparative perspective — superficially but, I trust, effectively— using India and the United States as points of support, control, and contrast in order to produce a dynamic comparative exercise. My aim is to compare dominant encompassing ideologies or value systems in such a way that the comparison helps us to achieve a clear perception of the system andalso grasp its main lines. In doing this, I do notseek to arrive at a typology but rather discuss the underlying sociological principles, which can in fact find concreterealization or expression in and through manysocial relations and institutions. For wantof adequate materialor outof a deliberate methodological concern, I have avoided the commonplace sociological short circuit of offering a few reflections on Brazil and then, without any deeper consideration, equating everything with the larger “Latin Americanreality,” which is regarded as the closest and most adequate dimension in

comparative terms. This “Latin American reality” is usually taken as the natural focal point in working out an interpretation, as the most inclusive and all-embracing onethat hierarchically contains all the others. It is obvious that such an approach can beuseful, that similarities

between the societies making up the so-called Latin American scene cannot be denied. But it must also be admitted that this approach needsto berelativized; otherwise, we institute a mechanical and hierarchically determined procedure without ever examining in depth the similarities (and the differences) that form the basis of any comparative exercise. Instead of pursuing this sort of functional, typological comparison,

which movesfrom like to like, I have chosen to examine contrasts and

contradictions, to look for what seemsto be contrary or different rather

than whatis similar. In the course of this exercise, I have sought to

utilize sociological principles in a tradition that probably began with Alexis de Tocqueville and his qualitative anthropological study ofthe American system, was further developed by Durkheim andhis followers, especially by Mauss, and flowed over into a social anthropology preoccupied with contemporary political and historical issues. But whatis the specific nature of this anthropology? In brief, it is no longer a matter of producing a Victorian-utilitarian classification of the evolution of cultures and societies through an external comparison of relations, traits, values, and institutions, as was donebyE. B.

Tylor, L. H. Morgan, and Friedrich Engels. Now it is a matter of locating socio-/ogical mechanisms,be they implicit or explicit, in certain societies in order to establish and develop a viable code for the trans-

6

CARNIVALS, ROGUES, AND HEROES

lation of human systems into whatcan becalled an “anthropological idiom” or “anthropological theory.” It is a matter of discovering and pushing further the relativization of our thinking about human reality, of perceiving that reality as composedof interrelated social principles, of things historically given that are nevertheless capable of being expressed by different institutions with different positions in systems far apart from each other. These principles do not have any eternal or substantive meaning in themselves. They gain meaning and “teality” only when they enter into relationship with other principles in

concrete social situations determinedby history. As myreaderswill see,

this does not mean excludinghistorical thinking, muchless historical fact; it meansrelativizing what a society may believe to be its driving or dominant, all-embracing force.

Thanksto the findings of social anthropology, we know thatthe position of certain institutions and ideologies varies from system to system; indeed, they can appearin different combinations and dominances in different societies. It is the task of a critical sociology to disentangle

these various combinations, to understandthe relative positions of these

institutions vis-a-vis each other; and, if possible, to explain why these

differences occur in this way. To do this, however, it is first necessary to be open to a perspective that “relativizes” to some extent the in-

stitutional setup and the consequent dominance ofcertain ideologies and value structures. We know, for example, that economyas an ideological system, grounded on the notion of the individual and the idea of the market as a domain whereeverything can be exchanged, bought, and sold, is a dominant force in Western thought. And wealso know

that this is not so in manytraditionalsocieties, where the individual and pure economics are subject to—or as Louis Dumont puts it, “encompassed” by— otherideologies. The latter may bereligious (the case of India) or “political-cultural” or “symbolic” (as I think is the case of Brazil and some Mediterranean societies). This comes down to equating, following Dumont, the “traditional” with a system in which the whole prevails over its parts, and the “modern” with a system in which the individual is the subject to which the wholeis (or should be) subordinate. We know thatthe latter system arose at a certain moment

in history, formally starting in the seventeenth century in Western Eu-

rope. From that moment on,a fissure opened up in oursocial setup

so that we can see permanent atomizations within “our” Western tradition or social totality. Comparingsociological principles in the above wayis equivalent to

INTRODUCTION

7

" trying to comparetotalities (Dumont 1975:155). In the process we avoid dividing up the system under study in accordance with our owncriteria. We first try to learn how the system itself is divided andclassified and by whatlogic it is internally linked, before we move on to study it more carefully. A certain kind of modern sociology, whichis frequently “sociocentric,” does precisely the opposite, giving no consideration to the position of the subsystems under studyin theoverall system from which they have been abstracted. In this approach the

first step is generally to work out an explanation in individualistic terms by taking a chunkofthe system andto project the Western individual into it as our base. Theresult is that we seldom manage to compre-

hendit, when the real task should be just that—the very opposite of what we do. As Dumontpoints out, an epistemologically correct comparison should satisfy two closely related preconditions: “that the reference to the global society or culture always be maintained, and that our side of the picture be neither forgotten nor favored” (Dumont 1975:156).

Let us recollect one of Dumont’s (1975:156ff.) major examples in

order to make clear the procedure. I think that Claude Lévi-Strauss

was the first to demonstrate that systems of kinship should notbereduced to types and studied as fixed phenomenaand qualified only by family forms (as we know,in oursociety the family is conceived as the basic individualcell of the system). Instead of taking this perspective, Lévi-Strauss shows that kinship relationships can and should be viewed as a system, there being no compelling need to go in foratomistic explanations and to reduce everything to the family and the way in which genetic traits and property are transmitted. Taking incest prohibition from its “positive” side — by not marrying his mother, sister, or daughter a manis positively oriented to other women LéviStrauss madeit possible to understand that certain “family systems” could be better interpreted as “marriage systems.” In such systems, sets of rights were not perpetuated by descent but by marriages in the form of regularcycles or “alliances” (i.e., of marriage constructedas a total institution). To interpret such systems in terms of families composed of individualized and discrete relationships among their members would notallow for a correct understanding of them. Unlike our system, they ate not preoccupied with the transmission of “consanguineous substance” (“blood” and somepsychological tendencies—and obviously property and rights—from parentsto offspring), but with the transference of “affinal links,” a social principle thatis simply not transmit-

8

CARNIVALS, ROGUES, AND HEROES

ted from generation to generation in our system because, among other things, it is in fact contrary to ourideology of love, which is grounded on an individualistic conception of the world.4 When the categories of family and descentare relativized by comparison and contrast, we can fully appreciate the contingent position of descent and affinity. In some societies it holds a dominant, encompassing position; it is not

subordinate to descent, as is the case in our system. Indeed, our kin-

ship system seems to be encompassed by the idea of descent which is concretely encapsulatedin it by the ideology of substance(like “blood,” some strong tendencies, etc.). Because of this, we deny “‘a diachronic dimension to affinity,” as Dumont remarked (1975:157), and affinity is not a sociological value among us. It was this comparative, relativizing perspective that enabled Dumontto call into question the universality and usefulness of the notion of the zvdtvidual as a sociological concept, even thoughit is a

basic category in Western society. Projecting the individual as a socio-

logical category outside the Western universe by meansofa “sociocentric’ sociological perspective, we have every right to ask whether the notion of the individual really has absolute validity in social systems wheteit is conceived as a merely residual if not negative social cate-

gory. Is it valid, asks Dumont, to studyall societies as if they were the

productof “statistical decisions,” as if the social universe operated in a Machiavellian way like computerized data made up of atomized individuals? Is that true ina society like India, where the totality prevails over the parts and everything always takes place in relation to the

whole? That is, is it true in a hierarchy?

This is not to say that the system is not always made up of given empirical individuals. Thatis clearly true, as we shall examinein detail in chapter 4. But doall societies organize andclassify all the empitical facts in their midst in the same way? Doall of them take the individual as their dominant ideological construct, as the central subject of their moral universe, as a category that permeates everything to which they attribute moral value? The answeris clearly no. Although one can say that all human societies have to cope with the individual (as perhaps a limiting and inevitable fact of the human condition itOnthefirst point see Lévi-Strauss (1949). Dumont (1975) demonstrates the trans-

mission ofaffinity. On love as a fundamental modern ideologyandits relationships

with power, see Viveiros de Castro and Benzanquem de Aratijo (1977).

INTRODUCTION

9

-self), not all of them take it as a crucial element of their worldview and think that everything else must be subordinated to the will and well-being of the free individual. Thetask of sociology, then, as I hope to demonstrate in this book, is to discover the areas where the notion ofthe individual is important and the areas where, even in a well-established individualistic system,

it can be replaced by other social entities. In India, as Dumontpoints out, the individual rises as the renouncer, one whorejects the world. In Brazil, the act of becoming an individual can be equivalent to a renunciation of the world; but, as I point out in chapters 4, 5, and 6, the individualis also an important entity with which the laws that dominate the anonymous universe of the anonymous masses are constructed. So what does it mean to renounce the world in Brazil and India? In both cases, in principle it is a matter of rejecting a mandatory system of personalrelationships. In the case of Brazil, this leads to the rejection of family, godfatherhood,political patronage, friendship, and kinship. The person who doesthis is left in the situation of some of our migrant labor: completely subject to the impersonal laws governing the exploitation of labor and to the decrees and regulations governing the masses who havexo relationship to the powerful. That is why the masses can be so ruthlessly exploited by a set of impersonal laws imposed and supervised by thestate. Rejecting the world in Brazil meansrejecting the world of personalrelations and tumbling downinto the world of impersonal laws that flay and subjugateall people unprotected by relationships, udivided people. As chapter 4 shows, only those whoare solidly related can escape those laws. Unlike the

Indian renouncer,the “Brazilian renouncer” must stay in the sameplace if he is truly to assumehis role. If he becomes a migrant, he is auto-

matically turned into a mere atom or numberin the oceanofindivid-

uals who become nothing but labor force and whocan bepitilessly

exploited. Maybethe very same mechanisms are in operation in urban,“capi-

talistic’ India. The fact of the matter is that, in Brazil, comparison

by way of contrasts reveals a twofold possibility and a dualsystem. First, we have theset of structured personal relations without which no one can exist as a complete humanbeing; second, there is a modernlegal-

istic system. An individualistic system (or better: a system grounded

on the individual), which findsits inspiration and modelin liberal,

bourgeois ideology. The problem—asI try to show in this book—is

10

CARNIVALS, ROGUES, AND HEROES

that the two are superimposed and both seem to bebasic for the overall operation of Brazilian society as a whole. Becauseof the lack of synchrony between these two systems, in Brazil a modern constitutional system made by those who have powerful relationships is used to sub-

jugate the masses. In societies with a hierarchizing structure, then, the

legal system not only broadens the representation of broad segments of the society but also tends to suffocate those segments with the impersonalyoke of the law. Theresult is a dual, parallel (but relational) structure that tends to feeditself on the dialectics of a Draconian impersonallaw anda system ofpersonal relationships that perversely enables people to get around laws and decrees. Hence the profoundsocio-

logical truth of the Brazilian dictum: “For enemies, the law;for friends, evetything.” To paraphrase it in terms of the argumentpresented in

this volume: “For those whoaresolidly related, everything; for zza?viduals (those who ate (iv)divisible and have norelations), the law.”

Pity the poor person who must deal directly with the impersonal laws

and institutions of government and state in terms of their juridical logic, which “cannot stop” and has reasons that the heart does not know. It should be noted that in Brazil government is powerful not

only as a meteclass instrument but also as a domain with resources

and lawsof its own. In Brazil, a social sphere creates a space grounded on the logic of individualism where the structural and dominantrelations of family, godfatherhood, friendship, political and economic patronage, and kinship can be jeopardized and,therefore, dialectically

and sometimes mischievously reinforced. To keep open the comparative plane, we can also ask whatthe “re-

nouncer” is like in the United States. Here the question becomes problematic: is it really possible to escape the American system in any way?

Everything suggests it is not. In the United States, there seems to be

only one possible movement: to keep movingin line with the system and to try, in and throughit, to carve out the difference or innovation that once upon a time suggested renunciation and/or radical social change. Thus, for example, the whole revolutionary side of the hippie movement is already part of the establishment, in the perennial and systematic dialectics of swallowing up all vanguards, which characterizes the “American way oflife.” *Gilberto Velho (Velho 1975; Velho 1977) wrote on some aspects of the Brazilia n vanguards. It is my point, however, that vanguards in general (and Brazilian vanguar ds in particular) can be studied as having a clearly renunciatory thrust.

INTRODUCTION

11

Time, History, and the Social Anthropology of Ritual Life The comparative approach certainly has moved ourstudy in thedirection of typically sociological materials. But what does that mean exactly?

We know that what happensin a society like ours has a dominant historical dimension; the temporal axis is always given first place in

the interpretation of any domain in our system. But even among us

not everything is viewed as belonging directly to this chronological

realm. Such things as “faith,” “love,” “truth,” “loyalty,”

2?

66

“charity,” and

“socialjustice,” for example, are certainly “virtues”— theso-called “eter-

nal values’—which are surely placed above or outside history, either because they are ideals to be pursuedor, as in the case of “social justice,” conditions to be attained. In like manner groupssuchas the family, the Catholic Church, and the armedforces, even thoughthey clearly undergo a specific and perceptible evolution in time, are conceived of as eternal and immutable, probably because they derive part of their legitimacy from this status, but also because they tend to define themselves in termsof certain organizationalprinciples such as “hierarchy,” “descent,” “honor,” “faith,” and “blood.” On another level, we could

also think about the doctrines of social change which are in force among us. Their core is the axiomatic position that everything undergoes change and transformation, except of course the doctrine that explains change, whichis viewed as being entirely outside history. This is an important paradox, and I mentionit here simply to point out that not everything can be viewed as enmeshed in the webs of an implacable historical, individualized time. Thepointis that even in a historically defined and oriented society we can find values, relationships, and social groups that claim to be

outside and above time. Thereis certainly a history of the handshake and ofbirthdayparties, for example, but we know that these two forms of ritualization are thoughtof and experiencedas situated outside time,

and this is also true of “art” as well as vulgar Marxism, the rules of

which must bereified so that their power — evocative and interpretive,

respectively—can be released and create its own doctrinal space. Looking at the opposite side of the coin we can find a similarsituation. Indeed, in the course of its development, comparative sociology has comeacross societies without a historical record of their chief events. To putit better, the societies studied by anthropologists have usually recorded such events, but notin the form of a “history,” of an evolving

12

CARNIVALS, ROGUES, AND HEROES

temporal sequence in which one event precedes and “causes” another. Rather, they have recorded their events in what we consider to be myths, legends, sagas, and genealogies: forms which we take to be removed from the “real world” and situated in the realms of fantasy precisely because they claim to be comprehensive,fixed outside time, synchro-

nized, and encompassingall known time.¢ Indeed, it took someeffort

for anthropologists to realize that such legendsalso have a socto-logical form. This form doesnot give a privileged position to time as “history” —1.e., as a basic, individualized, self-referred and dominant dimen-

sion in giving meaning to events. Instead,it favors an all-encompassing view in which time is not differentiated from other social elements

which also constitute thetotality. So whereas“historical time” is a cru-

cial part of our dominant ideology, there are other societies in which tumeis an indistinguishable part of the totality and perceived sometimes as a pendular movement. Here, synchrony subordinates diachrony in people’s conception of the social world (see Lévi-Strauss 1962b and

Dumont 1975). It is not that anthropologists do not wantto perceive

the temporal dimension ofevents, or that “primitives” with their “rustic mentality” cannotsense andregister the passage of time. It is simply thatin such societies, where the whole predominatesover the patts,

workactivities are not separated from the time needed to carry them

out and workitself is not viewed as an isolated, individualized reality that is entirely divorced from the human being engaging in it; in a conception that, I must note, isolates everything andis basic for the expropriation of human work and the exploitation of human beings. In “traditionalsocieties,” everything is, in principle, coherently placed

within thetotality. In this form ofsocial reality the encompassing ele-

mentis not time perceived as such (as an entity endowed with meaning, power, reason, and reality), but instead social relationships are

conceived as totalizing. In other words, in such a system the individual The point, hence, is not that we can indeed dismiss with “struct ure” and discover

“history” everywhere but has to do with a properdiscussion of a concep tion of dura-

tion in whichtime is thought to be effective, individualized, self-referred, having the

power to make things happen.It is a mistake to confound “legen ds” or“stories” and “genealogical memory” (which, by the way, are enormously valuab le instruments of social knowledge) with “history” as an individualized conception of duration. This is not to say, however, that anthropologists were not biased against the studyof differ-

ent conceptions of time or of how these conceptions were expres sed in different so-

cieties. If one cannot dismiss “time,” one also cannot reduce everything to a single notion of time.

INTRODUCTION

13

- 1s not basic, relationships with objects (things and nature) are not valued morethan relationships between humanbeings, and wealth is not an autonomouscategory dominated by private, movable property (Dumont 1975:158).

Butit must be pointed out that even in “tribal” societies time and

the temporal dimension can interveneto create “hot” (“historical”) di-

mensions. That is what happens, for example, in certain systems based on unilinear descent whenthey face problemsof succession, especially in ruling lineages. In such cases time becomesa fundamentalcriterion;

there is a clear awareness of its passage and of the ancestors who may be usedto legitimate choices and decisions. We similarly perceive “historical” time intervening when onesociety enters into political asymmetrical cultural contact. Indeed, “contact situations” tend to create an ideology to explain the relationship of domination or subordination amongsocial systems. This is evident in the case of some Brazilian tribal groups where mythsof contact with the white man explain, even better than somesociological theories, why they are in a situation of despair and decadence. In such cases “mythsof contact”place a historical preoccupation in apparently “cold,” ahistorical social systems(see Lévi-Strauss 1962b; for the analysis of “myths of contact,” see DaMatta 1971, DaMatta 1976a). Thusthereis no clear, absolute binary opposition betweensocieties

without history and societies with and in history, between “hot” and “cold” systems. That oppositionis really between societies with domi-

nant, excompassing historical ideologies and societies without such

ideologies. In both cases, however, we still have the enduring human dilemmaof having to take duration into account and of being inside and outside time.It is up to the anthropologist to discover those realms of a system that escape time and the realms that are the privileged vehicles for the manifestation of the temporal dimension. The basic issue, I repeat, is the relative dominanceof the ideologies and idioms through which certain societies represent and express themselves. This can also help us to grasp someof the differences between the various approachesin thesocial sciences. We know that history, political economy, economics, political science, and sociology grew out of the study of modern Western society and tend to be densely marked by history. In other words, the materials and domainsstudied by these disciplines tend to be fundamentally individualized and historical;

there is no doubt about their existence in a temporal axis or about

the crucial importanceofhistorical time for the functioningof oursys-

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CARNIVALS, ROGUES, AND HEROES

tem. Social anthropology, however, takes in materials situated on another plane; the focus is much more holistic and the data are much less subject to the perspective of time. Because I am using an anthropological perspective in this book, I am going to focus on rituals and on certain dramatic personas otchatacters. I do not meanto deny thatrites such as Carnival, parades, pro-

cessions, and the infamous “Do you know whoyou'retalking to?!” have a history. But my concern here is to examine such manifestations in

order to verify their social and political meaning and their position alongside an ideology that tends to deny time. In other words,the domain ofrites and paradigmatic formulas that invent and sustain cultural characters such as this is a realm Western scholars would like to see placed alongsideor even outside time. For this reasonrituals, espe-

cially in a complex society, help to promotesocial identity and build

its character. It is as if the domain ofritual were a privileged region for penetrating the cultural heart of a society, its dominant ideology, and its system of values. The ritual sphere permits us to take cogni-

zance of certain deepersocial crystallizations that society itself wants to posit as part of its “eternal” ideals.

Thus although my focus is decidedly sociological, it does not rule out history, except insofar as it is impossible to study the history of authoritarian rituals like Carnival and the “Do you know who you're talking to?!” without the seriousrisk of distorting an impottant part of the ideology ofthefestival, which is the conception and experience of ritual as something adverse to the passage of time. While history is indeed important, we must not forget the old lesson that each generation produces its own version ofit. From the deep wheelthatis the history ofits society, each generation drawsa limitedcollection offacts to serve as the basic reference points of its own perspective on things. Thatis precisely what happens with a ceremony such as the Brazilian Carnival. Here, a collection of social and historically given factorsis combined and recombined to express what we Brazilians perceive to be the traditional or the modern Carnival, the Carnival of the hinter-

lands or the Carnival of the big city, the Carnival of northern Brazil or the Carnival of southern Brazil, the Carnival of the rich or the Carnival of the poor. But we must notforget that this happens because all those situations are powerfully dominated by the idea that here we have a very special moment, a gathering outside of time and space and marked byactions contrary to ordinary patterns of action, and we have special characters and characteristic forms of dress and behavior.

INTRODUCTION

15

‘The Role of Rituals

Since ritual constitutes a privileged domain for manifesting what a society wants to have recognized as perennial or even “eternal,” it also emerges as a crucial domain for understanding the ideology and values of a given social formation. Here, however, our perspective is the opposite of what would be appropriate in the study of a tribal society. In the case of a tribal society, a society grounded on a synchronic axis, a basic task is to ascertain where time can or actually does make

its entry. That is what reveals its permanent andstructurally important institutions: the institutions that persist even after change, contact, and colonial rule. But in the case of a society like ours, whose dominant mold is history and change, we get the samerevelation by dis-

covering its ahistorical and even antihistorical domains: 1.e., the social

spheres that are viewed and experienced as invariant, immutable, or perennial, the alteration of which would not producea revolution(fairly commonplace in suchsocieties) but the catastrophic loss of its specific substance, its brand name.

We know that in the case of Brazil such a feeling of singularity ts deeply marked by Carnival as a moment when we can make sense of a seties of actions, attitudes, and relations that are perceived and experienced as creating and building not just a mere festival, but our very heart. Carnival, then, is one of those perpetual institutions that

has enabled Brazilians to sense and feel (more than abstractly conceive) their specific continuity as a distinct social and political entity through and over time. The samesort of thing happensin a soccer gameplayedby the Brazilian national team, wherewecan finally see, hear, feel, talk, and cheer with Brazil in the immense,reifying spectacle. But whereas soccer only allows us to actualize some of our charactetistics— everything depending on a victory and probably on the size of the victory—Carnival is independent of any results. In soccer games we dramatize a vision of ourselves through a confrontation with others (our adversaries), but during Carnival we speak with our ownsocial awareness in the form of multiple groups andonlevels (see chapters 1, 2, and 3) that are omnipresent in our universe and

system.

|

Amongother things, then, a rite can mark the privileged moment when Brazilians seek to transform the particular into the universal (for example, commemorating our independence from a colonizing mother nation)or the regional into the national (as when wecelebrate a local

16

CARNIVALS, ROGUES, AND HEROES

patron saint who, at that moment, can represent the whole country)

or the individualinto thecollective (as with “rituals of success”[prizegiving celebrations] or birthdays), or the collective into the individual (when confronting a given universal problem and showing how we solve it by taking possession ofit from a certain angle and marking it with a style of our own). It is in this set of transformationsthat a society reveals itself as a differentiated collectivity, as a unity that perceives itself as unique and different from other groups. Thatis why I think that the ritual domain is one of the most important elements not only in transmitting and reproducing values butalso in simultaneously creating and constructing them. Oneproofofthis is the regular association betweenritual and power, whichstill has not been studied asit should. In reality, the classic equation madebySir James Frazer and E. B. Tylor of magic and science, rite and technique, was probably a mystification. As we

know, there is something far more important than seeing the two sets

of items in terms of a developmentalor evolutionary relationship from the false control of magic to the real, effective control of science. For there are intricate links and associations between the techniques of power and grandiose ceremonialdisplays, either to maintain distance between the weak andthe strong or, through deliberate and truly obsessive repetition, to get across a coherence that is oneof the basic

elements in the structure of authority (see Milgran 1975). By the same

token, it is by means ofritualization that structures of authority can be fleshed out. Rite dramatically situates the person who knowsside-

by-side with the person who does not know, the person whois in con-

tact with the powers on high andthe person whois far removed from

them. It is not for esthetic reasons that in all rites we find a center,

a focal point, which is generally controlled or dominated by a priest ot a master of ceremonies. Forit is by this that we fashion the affirmation and linkage of those who have and those who do not, in the familiar dialectics of marches, processions, parades, andreflexive influences of one group on the other, in the very complicated interplay of multiple, polyphonic legitimations. Even in the Carnival, which as we shall see in chapter 3 is a “rite

without a master” and festival with many levels, we find those who

are closer to its center: the music, song, dance, parades, and actions

thatgiveit reality and harmony. There we generally encounter the masses who are on the margins ofthe socially accepted world; and when“ the

INTRODUCTION

17

‘tich” occupy those places, they are disguised as gods or kings or set apart as members of someclub orassociation.

This may help us to understand why most complex, individualistic,

modern societies are characterized by rites commemorating some unique

event that was established as the work of one well-defined group or social class but is, by general agreementor the force of authority, set aboveall the differentiations typifying such systems and allowed to represent the wholecollectivity. Thus in complex societies we find many national rituals that help their members to construct, perceive, and

experience their social universe as a totality, even thoughit is frequently

fragmentedby internal contradictions. In my opinion,just the opposite occurs in tribal systems. In these systemsrites are generally highly individualizing moments designedtoresolve life crises or, as Victor Turner (1968) pointed out, momentsofaffliction. The aim is to separate and individualize novices so that their antisocial impulses can be brought to light and eventually domesticated and they themselves can bereincorporated into society; or the intention is to find, by meansof the exorcism thathelpsto isolate, the spirit of an ancestor who has become

the source of some person’s affliction. The thrust ofritual in manytribal and traditional societies seems to be to regenerate internal complementarity which has been disturbed by some misfortune, an accident, or the bad-faith of some of its members. This explains the attention paid to the dramatizationoflife crises that otherwise separate and divide categories of persons from each other and, with this, the effort to cope with individualization, with the collectivity taking the initiative in the process, using the right agents andacting at suitable, carefully planned moments. In this way the group inhibits the process of loose andself-referred individualization, creating conditions thatwill

ensure renewed unity and solidarity. In modern industrial, individualistic society, on the other hand,ritual tends to create the collective moment by prompting the individual, the region, or the ethnic group to bowto thecollective and the national. Hence there is a focus on commemorations and, aboveall,

on agonistic complementary or reciprocal competition: the rites of sports. In the latter, the dialectics of wild, individualistic competition

ends up forminga totality to be encompassed by the winner. The champion, as we putit in Brazil, “chews up” and “swallows” the adversary and the whole dispute, encompassing in victory all the other individuals and giving expression to the whole championship contest. In the

18

CARNIVALS, ROGUES, AND HEROES

same mannerand through the samelogic, rites are used tocreate allembracingtotalities. Some Thoughts on Ritual and Social Life

But the question remains: why use ritual to achieve such consecra-

tion? Here we broach thefascinating problem ofhowto studyrituals, which is closely bound up with any overall estimation of them. Let us begin by asking a series of related questions. Why use something

as complicated and expensive asrituals to legitimate values and rela-

tions thatare already familiar: e.g., the power of the powerful, a new

political regime, and the solid concreteness of a nation-state whose boundaries and powerare already so well defined? Why bother with

the ceremonyof table manners if, in the last analysis, the problem comes downto filling empty stomachs (a necessary exercise if armies are not to be paralyzed, as Napoleon made clear)? Why invent such arbitrary

kinship terms and systems if the whole problem comes down to the

sex drive and sexual need? Why do humanbeings have beliefs about the proper wayto plant,the sex of the planter, and the timefor plant-

ing and harvesting if the wholerelationship can be reducedto the hard, cold, material relationship between soil and seed? Whybelieve in a

moment replete with freedom and creation such as Carnival if, in fact,

that moment is lie, an illusion, and an artifice of three nights? In

short, whyall such formsif everything about human reality can bereduced to a direct relationship with the material world and its concrete

limitations, solidities, and determinations? Bronislaw Malinowski, that great argonaut of modern anthropol-

ogy, brought up this issue in his work A Sccentific Theory of Culture (Malinowski 1944). He suggested that such culturalrealities as institutions and norms, rites and myths, are ways of responding tobasic, “primaty needs” that require a human response and have led humans toward

the invention of culture. Thus, kinship and maffiage are responses to

our sexual need; economic institutions are responses to hunger and the need for bodily sustenance, andpolitical and legal systems areresponses to the humanneed for cooperation. But we maywell ask, along with I. M. Lewis (1976:53) among others: what about religion andart? To what need are they responses? Or, to broaden ourcriticism a bit, what desires are served by the specific and sometimes complicated styles of ritual and myth? Aside from thefact that it does not answet such questions, the prob-

INTRODUCTION

19

lem with a schemasuch as Malinowski’s is that it loses sight of the real sociological problem: the task of examining the differences among institutions. I know very well that every human society has some form of marriage; for, as Malinowski points out, the sex drive must be chan-

neled within any society and social reproduction must be ensured. But is that the sociological problem? Of course not. The problem forsociology is to find out why somesocieties implementauthoritarian forms of social control while others strike a balance between the individual and the state. Whyis there such variety of cultural styles, if control over conflict and egoistic interests is so fundamental and universal? Similarly, the sociological problem is to find out and analyze why some societies establish a monogamousform of marriage while others permit polygamy or polyandry; or why there are various forms of table manners, work organization, and funeral rites even though all human groups must eat, exploit nature, and bury their dead.

As Durkheim (1960) pointed out back in 1895, as a sphere in its

own right the social should not be reduced to any otherreality, be it

climatic, geographical, psychological, or ecological, or even to an eco-

nomic or theological dimension. Thesocial exists on its own level, be-

yond the physiological and material impulse of sex, hunger, inclement weather, and environmental factors but very muchthisside of an automatic responseto them. Itlies in a sort of “intermediate region” where humanscan appropriate, measure, domesticate, perceive, negotiate,

construct and — of course —react and respondto whatis called the “natural world” that establishes limits and requires specific actions inside

and outside them. Thus, the social is a kind of medulla—a sort of

liminal ot in-between land, as Victor Turner used to say— between stimulation and response, between natural universality and thestyle of the group, between the routinized collective way of a group and the concrete singularity of the humanperson. It is a plane where consciousness is generated and where “becoming aware” means focusing attention on one elementandleaving other elements aside. Whenthis happens, oneelement gains in quality and can becomethevehicle for collective elaboration of meaning and identity. The social ceases to be a simple infrasocial phenomenon given in “nature” to become a socially meaningful “thing.” Or, as the members of the French sociological schoolusedto say, it becomes a sociological category: an instrumentfor expressing specific values and ideologies. But the social is not reducible to consciousness only. It also refers to the world of freedom, choice, hope, and the future. It becomesreal

20

CARNIVALS, ROGUES, AND HEROES

and operative between the natural determinations of biology and the

world, on the one hand, and group interests on the other; and thus

it can nurture and promote whatwecall a “social style” or a “cultural form.” But how does that come about? In trying to answer that question, we are ushered into the whole problem of the nature of rituals and how weare to study them. As a privileged element in helpingus ap-

prehend and construct the world, ritual is a basic vehicle in transform-

ing something “natural” into something “social.” How? Through some sort of dramatization.It is through the elaboration given in “summary

statements aboutthe world” that we becomeconsciously aware of things

and begin to see them as having full social meaning. An emotion is merely a datum amid a continuum offeelings that crop up in an undifferentiated line. They are natural facts: animals grow excited or calm, depending on circumstances, in accordance with a handful of stimuli and responses. But when the continuum is broken by meansofa collective act of selection, when the group “decides” to classify certain emotions and recognize only four or forty in the originally undifferentiated line, then it becomes possible to individualize those facts as “social things”: to speak to them, see them, shape them,

reify them, and eventually and hopefully, domesticate them. It is thanks to this act of conscious awareness that infrastructural data can be dramatized and turned into discontinuous social things. It is through dramatization that the group can individualize some phenomenon andtherebyturnit into an instrument capable of individualizing thecollectivity as a whole, givingit identity and individuality. This basic process, this sort of “elevation” of an infrastructural datum

to a socialfact, is what we usually call ritual, ceremonial, festivity, and

so forth. It is the extra-ordinary moment thatallows us to focus on one aspectofreality and thereby changeits everyday meaning or even give it a whole new meaning. Everything thatis elevated and put into focus by dramatization is usually dislocated: as a result, it can take on a New, sufprising meaning that may nurturereflection and creativity, as I elaborate in chapter 2. Thedistinctive feature of ritual, then, seems to be dramatization:

i.e., the condensation of some aspect, element, or relationship which

is spotlighted andset in relief. That is what happens in Carnival parades andin processions where certain figures are individualized and thereby take on a new meaning, one that was not suspected before whenthey were simply a partof everyday situations and contexts. Rit-

INTRODUCTION

21

ual is not defined by repetition, which is a feature of all social life, nor can it be defined as a utilitarian prescription designedto fight and control uncertainty, because there arerituals that break open the world

and shatterall the rules (Carnival being one, if not the best, instance

of them). Ritual is not characterized by any special substanceeither, which would transform it into something with an essence ready to be reified. On the contrary, everything can be ritualized because everything in the world can be personified, spotlighted, and ultimately reified. Ritual does not pose the problem of substance but rather the problem of contrasts and relationships. That is why, in studying the

social world,it is absolutely necessary to take as our starting point the

relationships between its most important moments: the daily round

andthefestival, wakinglife and dream, the real and the paradigmatic

personage. By doing so, we can now conceptualize the realm of ritual as being totally relative to the day-to-day world. A banal andtrivial action in the everyday world can take on exceptional meaning and become a “rite” when it is put in focus in a certain environmentthrougha certain sequence. Repetition is not necessary for it to smack of the extraordinary;it need only be placed in a special position. Our familiar handshake becomes the symbol of universal brotherhood whenit ts the final point, the all-encompassing act, in a whole cycle of highly conscious actions: e.g., when two headsof state who were at war with

each other meet on a long-awaitedstate visit. It is the gesture’s special position within a certain sequence that permits us to ponderits deeper truth; for now it is the symbol of something bigger than the mere meeting of two human beings. In this next context the handshake has nothing functional or routinized aboutit; it is not an act of recognition underthe logic ofeveryday encounters. It now suggests friendship between nations and peoples, the frankness that should guide internationalrelationships, and the hopeofliving in a world of peace and harmony.’ Clearly it is the ritual act that opens the doorto hope.It is often the instrument of that hope, embracing the truth of a group or a historical momentin its complex, solemn forms.In the transition from natureto culture, then, we must ponderthis plane thatfindsexpression through ritual ceremonies. It is the realm where we are faced 7™Myreaders might well think back to the meeting between President Sadat of

Egypt and the leaders ofIsrael. They might well ponder, as the principals themselves

did, the moment when Sadat shook hands with the Israeli generals.

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CARNIVALS, ROGUES, AND HEROES

with the problem of identity, conscious awareness, the freedom totespondor die, and hope: the answer that makes room for other answers. Ritual gives wing to the social plane and perhapscreatesits deepest sense ofreality. It is the instrument that permits us to delve more deeply into the ideal place I mentioned earlier: that realm between a pressing material stimulus and a humanreply ensuring differentiation and that concrete feeling of freedom. Thecollective social dialogueis basically an answer that surfaces by marking out individu-

alities; it shows up as“culture,” “values,” “ideology,” and it has certain

basic features. First, the collective social answer tends to be specific.

It individualizes some element given in the “natural” infrastructure,

whichis appropriated and transformedby the collectivity into a social thing andthen serves to frame an ideology and actually becomes an

ideology itself. Second, culture —orvalues, or ideology— is a compro-

mise between someexternal pressure (from the natural environment

or the surrounding human environment) anda specific and constructed reply that mayor maynot be in agreement with the source of pressure.

The “answers” are not automatic and they do not produce the very sameinstitutions in every case. It seems to me that in this grand and

totally fictious plan, things can be conceived rather like a dialogue between the Malinowskian universal needs andspecific, singular responses

that invent identities and individualities. Third, this style of expres-

sion defines a special position, reinforcing anew the individuality of the group and enabling people to create the conditions for an awateness of common identity. The above features enable usto link up ritual with movements of social change, popular revolts, and the actions that seek to free the human being from the yoke of rules or human beings. Since ritual is defined in termsofa dialectic between the everyday and theextraordinary, ritual beingatthe relatively extraordinary pole, it can be seen as opening upthis special idealized world for the collectivity. There is No society without an idea of an extraordinary world where deities dwell and wherelife is lived amid freedom and plenitude. Thus, to perform ritual is to open up to this world: giving it reality, creating a space for it, and opening the channels for communication between

the “real world” and this special world. It is in ritual that a society can and really does have an alternative vision of itself. For it is in ritual that a society moves out of itself and reaches an ambiguous realm where it is not what it is normally, nor what it could be, sinceritual is by definition transitory. But this transitory state could, perhaps, be permanent.

INTRODUCTION

23

Why doesn’t the Brazilian world transform itself permanently into a Carnival? Not into a perpetual parade, but into an ongoing enjoymentofcreativity, encounter, and especially freedom? AsI see it, this is the question thatcan beraised onthe basis of a deep understanding of the ritual experience. In ritual, then, there is a hint that the ex-

traordinary momentcould continue, not as a rite with an appointed hour but as an extraordinary time of longer duration:as a revolt (against someone) or a revolution (when the world will remain changed for a long time). Ritual, then, is the vehicle of permanence and of change;

of the return to orderorof the creation of a new order, a newalternative. Given this perspective, we can clearly see two ways of studying rituals. One wayis to take ritual as a response to concrete factors and as having a direct relationship to them, which meanslookingatit in terms of its point of arrival. Andit is clear that the end of the ceremonyis the return home, where one waits for the daily routine with renewed

hopesor with fear of the penalties that “the mundanerealities oflife” will inflict on us. The second wayto considerritual is to focus not only

on its manifested goals (its point of arrival) but also on what comes

before andafter that point: i.e., to take ritual in termsof its complete trajectory, as Arnold Van Gennep showed us. From this perspective,

ritual is a special moment with a beginning, a middle, and an end, a full story or a chapter in an endless book whichis society. This possibility allows us to rid ourselves, evenif briefly, of the terrible indifference encapsulated in the continuous line that springs from societal routines without beginningor end. Rituals, hence, are devices that en-

gender beginnings (in life that has nofirst lines or scenes) andter-

minal points (in a spectacle that will certainly continue without our

presence). Taking this fundamental idea into consideration, our emphasis would be ontheset of dramatizations that make therite interesting andattractive more than on the whole display requiredfor its production.

But both approaches are important. In my opinion, however, the

study of ritual as a direct reflection of concrete reality is much mote common because it is much easier to reduce ritual to society than to perceive whatelements ofsociety are ritually elaborated and thus dramatized andputin “close-up” in the ritual occasion. This is a situation that reminds one of an Ionesco play. Faced with the rhinoceros, we

talk away aboutits place of origin andits horns instead of being impressed or excited over its very appearance. Similarly, when in examining Carnival we pay more attention to and are more impressed with the wayit allegedly reproduces what we consider to be the day-to-day

24

CARNIVALS, ROGUES, AND HEROES

world, we forget to consider the elementsofthis real world that Carnival is taking into accountin order to create a new world through the dramatization ofoursocial reality. I, for one, think it is truly trite to say that Carnival reproducesa class society, something which al-

ready know well, or the birth of urban social awareness, something

which I doubt. I think it is far more important to pay attention to whateveryone says but which does not seem to be taken seriously by

sociologists: that at Carnival we Brazilians leave aside our hierarchized,

repressive society and try to live freely and moreindividually. That,

I think, is the dramatization that allows us to embrace with a single

theory notonly the class conflicts (which are, indeed, functionally compensated for and mitigated at Carnival) butalso the invention of a special moment thatstill retains a highly significant and politically charged relationship with everyday Brazilian life. The alarming thing

is to recall that a nation of millions, an industrialized, capitalist nation

at this point in time, allows “the poor” to become “rich” for four days of the year. Is that a banal fact, as some superficial observers of the Brazilian scene would have it? Oris it what helps to make brazil Bra-

zil? I am inclined to think that this is the crucial point and thatit

should serve as the guiding thread of sociological reflection. At least

that is what I attempt to study in this book. My approach is to con-

sider ritual as a dramatization of certain elements, values, ideologies, andrelationships in a society. I apply this perspective to a few basic

rituals of Brazilian society with the presupposition that we are much

closer to the participant when we look at Carnival in terms of what it suggests, presents, and offers by way ofattraction. The study of Carnival as an exclusively economic and historical production is equally important, but that is not what I offer here. That would be a task,

of course, for historians, economists, or sociologists interested in that

aspect of the phenomenon. I have taken the road to a different truth, fully aware that there are no absolute truths, especially in dealing with

societies, rituals, heroes, rogueries, and carnivals. We will end up with

only approximations, with many mistakes and a few lucky hits. But it is worth taking the risk of making such mistakes because the subject is so fascinating and important. Oneother important point deriving from our view ofrite as drama is the possibility of linking the study ofrites to the study of myths, without necessarily having to posit one as the reproduction of the other as did those whostudied religious systems in an earlier day. Indeed myposition in this bookis that rite and myth can and should

INTRODUCTION

25

be studied simultaneously as dramatizations of basic themes and problemsin a society’s daily life. The two formsare extraordinary. They both belong to a universe situated above the everyday one,offering people the possibility of reflecting on the real world or envisioning an alternative to it. They both are ways of saying wherein the collectivity can posit its dilemmas and speculations on the intermediate region between matter (which does not change), natural limitations and imposttions which impose Malinowskian stimuli (which determine responses), and thecollectivity (which appropriates and shapeseverything and finds itself in the enduring dilemma of remaining the same or changing). Both, then, posit paradigmatic actions and characters, patterns of behavior that are to be followed (and indicate what is not to be done),

and relations that should not be established (thus revealing the ones that should serve as models).

In this book I discuss Brazilian Carnival and someof the rogues and heroes of that society without making substantive differentiations or rigidly classifying them andtheir setting. My conviction is that both rituals and characters of this sort are social creationsreflecting the basic problems and dilemmas ofthe society that produces them. Hence myth andritual are dramatizations orcrucial ways of calling attention to certain aspects ofsocial reality: aspects that are normally submerged by everydayroutines, interests, indifferences, and someother similar com-

plications. Onefinal word. I do not wantto give the impression that my book is an isolatedeffort in an attemptto reinvent an interpretation of Brazil. It is nothing of the sort. It should be viewed as one contribution alongside many others to the study of the complexities of Brazilian society. Thus, as an effort, it should be placed alongside the contributions of Gilberto Freyre, Caio Prado, Jr., Sérgio Buarque de Holanda, Florestan Fernandes, and manyothers. They, like me, were sure only of their efforts and convinced that it was worth running therisk of makingerrors in order to get a better understanding, not of a distant society or an abstract system, butof the land without which the world would not make sense. For aboveall the divergencies, interpretations,

methodologies, and perspectives lies Brazil, which —as a country —is greater than all of them.

1. Carnivals, Military Parades, and Processions In this chapter I propose to discuss the three fundamental forms

by which the Brazilian social world is ritualized. To do so, I focus my analysis on two of these forms, the military parade and Carnival, and

begin with a comparison of these two waysof reflecting and expressing Brazilian social structure. Then, for the sake of needed comparison

and data-checking, or because the third form forces itself upon us, I

go on to include thereligious procession. Butthis study is not an empitical presentation of these materials by meansofan exactverification of the actual occurrence of these formswithin Brazilian society. Rather, proceeding from specific manifestations and using the resources of comparative sociology, I seek to reach a deeper and broader level where

it is possible to discuss with relative sureness, but never with comple te

certainty, the basic mechanisms of whatis conventionally classified as ritualor ritualization. This chapter, then, seeks to place before my readers two questions thatare essential and, in my opinion, inseparable: What are the fundamental principles or mechanisms used to dramatize the world? How can these principles berelatively isolated from each other by comparative analysis of the social world? A second objec-

tive, it is worth repeating here, is to take these processions, parades,

and carnivals as fundamental means whereby what wecall “Brazilian reality” —following the famous Geertzian formulation — unfolds before

itself, looks at itself in its own social and ideological mirror, and, pro-

jecting multiple images ofitself, generatesitself like a Medusa asit struggles with the ongoing dilemma of changing or remaining the same. I give the designation nationalrituals to Carnival andthe festivals of Independence Day(or Fatherland Day) because botharerites grounded 26

CARNIVALS, MILITARY PARADES, AND PROCESSIONS

27

in the possibility of dramatizing crucial, encompassing, global values of oursociety. Because national rituals entail some minimum of synchrony (Leopoldi 1978), they clearly contrast with other formsof getting together that are specific to certain regions, segments,classes, groups, andsocial categories. When a nationalritual is taking place the whole society shou/d be oriented toward the centralizing event, the collectivity halting or radically changing its activities so that itis able to be in touch with the main event. A typical sign of this centralization and consequent synchronyof activities is the fact that national rituals always entail abandoningor“forgetting” work, their days being national holidays.

I choose, therefore, to set up a provisional dichotomy here between

those days that are geared around the national order and that help to construct andcrystallize an encompassing nationalidentity (e.g., Carnival or Independence Day), and those programmed dramatizations that have regzona/or /ocal identities as their focal point. Thelatter dramatizations express the other pole of the collective world be-

cause in them weare centered on the patron saint, local custom, “folk-

lore,” or tradition belonging only to a particularcity, state, region, or social group. We are no longer dealing with the universalizing domain of a Brazil that can containall its variations or even the whole known world, as is explicitly the case in the ideology of Carnival. We are not dealing with an exclusive domainthat specifies differences between social worlds whichlive side by side and which periodically take cognizance of their differences as set up by the elementary norms of any social dialectic.

As indicated in the Introduction, however, I do not choose to go

beyondthis provisional distinction and oppose the conceptof tite or

ritual to that of ceremony or ceremonial. In refusing to make that choice,

I am nottaking the sure road opened up by manyscholars who have preceded me. Thebasic reason for this attitude is my critical stance toward the oft-repeated equation of ceremonial with the secular side of life and of rite with the mystical side of the world. As I shall try to demonstrate in this chapter, such equations and differentiations are not sanctioned by an examination ofthe Brazilian materials provided by a comparative sociology ofcarnivals, parades, and processions. Rather, such an examination seemsto indicate as much morefruitful the approach openedup bya gradualist, contrastive, and dialectical view of whatare called ritual acts. So instead of defining rite in terms of some positive and substantive feature, I have chosen to defineit (as well as

28

CARNIVALS, ROGUES, AND HEROES

ceremonial andfeast) in terms of a contrast with the acts of the everyday world,the focal pointof the conceptualization becomingthe basic oppositions between sequences of dramatic actions that every ceremo-

nial or ritual act must necessarily contain, construct, and elaborate. Ritual, then, would have much more to do with drama, which aliows

for awareness of the social world, than with any mystical or magical component.

Of Routines and Rites In Brazil, as in othersocieties, there is a classification of social events

according to the way they happen. There are events that are part of everyday routine, of whatBrazilianscall “day-to-day reality” (realidade do dia-a-dia) ot simply “life” (vida). And there are events situated outside this everyday automatic repetition and routine: feasts, ceremonials or ceremonies, solemnities (so/enidades), balls, congresses, meetings,

gatherings, and so forth. These latter events attract our attention by virtue of their ability to bring together in an explicit and usually in-

stitutionalized and synchronized way, persons, groups, and socialcate-

gories; by this very fact they are happenings that escape the routine of everyday life. These events, in turn, are to be distinguished from mitacles, misfortunes, tragedies, dramas, disasters, accidents, and ca-

tastrophes insofar as they are foreseen and programmed. Thusthey constitute whatcould becalled the extraordinary constructed by andfor society, as opposed to events that also suspend everyday routine but are marked by unforeseeableness or unexpectedness, i.e., are uncontrolled and unpredicted by society. Thelatter events may becalled the extraordinary unforeseen by social norms or rules. They are events that “hit” or “strike” society, as newspaper headlines make clear when reporting catastrophes and tragedies. As we can readily surmise, such events tend to affect the whole of society equally. In a catastrophe social groups and categories are not necessarily affected differently, depending on their position in the power structure; they are affected in the same way bythe samething, and they mustuse the sameresoutces and instruments to confront the extraordinary event. All groups are made equalin the face of the event, which assumes one and the same proportion forall as if it were a general law. That is what happens to whole communities in the face of hurricanes and snowstorms.! 1] thank Bjorn Maybury-Lewis for the remembrance and the stimulating comments

CARNIVALS, MILITARY PARADES, AND PROCESSIONS

29

Use of the word “ritual” (rz#za/) seemsto be rare in Brazil. It is generally applied to moments characterized by very solemn behavior and

explicit control of speech, acts, and dress, as is the case with funerals

and a few othercivil andreligious functions. Theuse of the terms“formal” and “informal” (formal and informal) to qualify the nature of certain encounters permits us to conclude that such expressions form the extremepoles of a continuum. At the zzformal pole would be the situations designated “festivities” (festas); at the formal pole would be those known as “solemnities,” a term more suitable, perhaps, for

those meetings that require a minimum ofinternal division and in which a hierarchizing structure shows up clearly. Whereas informalevents are based on spontaneity, depersonalization or decentralization, and the exclusion of hierarchy, formal events are highly centralized and framed in well-defined moments. For this reason it is harder to “miss” ot “be late for” a ball or a Carnival than a funeral or a conference. Formalevents, in other words, have a subject or center (for whom the festivity or celebration is made) and an audience. But Carnivals are much more fragmented and individualized moments. Indeed, in Bra-

zil they are seen as the propertyof all and as moments whensociety is extremely decentralized. Hencethe use of the term “carnival” to describe situations of great dissension, where the shouting and confusion reach the limits of disorder because everyone is talking at the same time andrelationships are about to be broken—a sign of maxtimum decentralization. While not claiming that this is a completeclassification of Brazilian social events, the above discussion doesallow usto extract a few revealing principles. Thefirst is the clear-cut separation between the domain of everydaylife and the domainof extraordinary happenings. Passage from one domain tothe other is marked by changes in behavior, and

these changes create the conditions that allows the happenings to be perceived as special. This is the subuniverse or subdomain offestivities and solemnities. Thesecond principle is the finding that in Brazil the domain ofthe extraordinary is segmented. It contains events foreseen and unforeseen by the social system. In the category of events foreseen and explicitly set up by society itself, there is a further division between two types of events: highly ordered events (ceremonies, solemnities, congresses,

he provided regarding the famous snowstorm that hit the city of Cambridge, Massachusetts, in January 1978.

30

CARNIVALS, ROGUES, AND HEROES

anniversaries, birthday parties, funerals, meetings, etc.), dominated

by planning and respect (expressed in verbal and gestural restraint); and events dominated by merrymaking (4rincadeira), divetsion and/or

license, i.e., situations where behavior is dominated by the freedom

flowing from the temporary suspensionofthe rules of a repressive hierarchization.

There remains, of course, the events situated between routine and

the unforeseen, the far side of work but this side of entertainment,

those happenings weclassify as insurrections, revolts, rebellions, and

revolutions. These are the events which,in the languageof official police reports and court records, appear as “incidents,” “proceedings,”

“cases,” “subversions,” and “riots”— halfway to Carnivals, which can be

planned butare often uncontrolled. It is possible to establish a rela-

tionship betweenrituals based on thesocial principle of inversion or

reversal, such as Carnivals, and mass popular actions that are “spontaneous” and extraordinary, unexpected and unplanned, such as the Niter6i riot in 1959 that destroyed the boatstation that provided mass transportation to Rio de Janeiro across the bay. This riot was, of course, related to many other events, and all of them taken together wererelated to the conditions of oppression and repression under which the urban worker lives in Brazil’s great centers. This is the central argument of Moisés and Martinez-Alier (1976), and I have nothing to add at that generallevel of explaining violent movements andriots in terms of a struggle against the government and capitalism. But within the petspective presented here, I think one point should be emphasized. Task: Whyare such actions always directed against the meansoftransportation? And what specific forms do they take or tend to take? In the case of the Niter6i riot, it is worth citing the preliminary study of Edson Nunes(1975), because in it the violent action shows up clearly as a Carnival inversion of the type I have been suggesting: The attack on the residences of the Carreteiros [the ownersofthe transportation company] ended upasthe central event of the day. Groups of people took from the houses whatever they could carry, walking off

with small objects such as necklaces, domestic utensils, and eventelevision sets. Enormous quantities of mattresses, pictures, beds, and re-

frigeratots were piled up in front of the houses and turned into bonfires. The men puton thefancy clothes of the Carreteiro women and set up an unusual Carnival. Fine pieces of lingerie were worn by fat men, minkcoats covered the bodies ofrioters, and delicate parasols or-

namented the ensuing fashion parade, which even includ ed bathing

CARNIVALS, MILITARY PARADES, AND PROCESSIONS

31

suits and bathing caps. The Carnival lasted for some time around the flames and was extensively documented. (Nunes 1975:10-11)

The same type of inversion or reversal is noted by Natalie Davis (1975) for various periods of European history, when the reversal of clothes (and sexes) protected the perpetrators from civil and juridical responsibilities but allowed them to make the most violent and serious political protestations. Thus the Carnival form of popular revolt —and here we have a revolt in the classic sense of a circumstantial reaction of outrage, a moral reaction of persons whose basic rights have been scorned and filched, not a reaction against the structure in general

(Gluckman 1963)— permits people to destroy andreact violently with-

out fully assuming thepolitical consequences and implicationsof their actions. The Brazilian term for this sort of riot, guebra-quebra (from the Portugueseverb “to break”), is itself significant, perhaps indicating the capacity to “break” in its most destructive connotation. Aside from possibly being a reaction to the general conditions surrounding the development of capitalism in Brazil (Moisés and Martinez-Alier 1976), its specificity lies in this type of moralizing reaction. The concrete action is informed by a just, moral response as “the weak” react with indignation against the degrading action of “the powerful,” whetherthe latter be government representatives or private individuals. This sort of riot is far from being a reaction situated by its perpetrators on an intentional and explicit “political” plane as a specific domain defined in terms of representative groups that are able to put pressure on a well-defined public sphere at large, which is the way outsiders tendtosee it. The specificity of the guebra-quebra seemstolie in the fact that it is a movement wherein the “political” is contained and absorbedin the plane of morality, hence subordinated to thelat-

ter. The popular mass or mob, then,is not just reacting against spe-

cific objectives on someabstract “political” plane of perception entail-

ing rational-universal given values, strategies, or objectives. It is reacting against the intermediaries who are responsible forits spoliation as a moral person, i.e., a being endowed with a soul and a basic right to respect, dignity, consideration, and all the values that, in Brazil, peo-

ple associate with an indispensable relational-humane treatment (see chapters 4 and 5). That certainly accounts for the classic association of mob action with action against the intermediaries or middlemen (merchants, shops, means of transportation), not with action against the producers (also see Thompson 1974 and Rudé 1974). To take the

32

CARNIVALS, ROGUES, AND HEROES

specific case of the Carnival of Rio de Janeiro, we may surmise that the possibilities for violent, moralizing action protected by “merrymaking” and anonymity would be found in the poor suburbs among the blocs of completely disguised figures known as c/6vis which arose in the 1970s, as is indicated by the studies of Alba Zaluar Guimaries (1978). In any case, it is important not to forget this significant asso-

ciation between the festival, as a special domain, and the alternative

forms of action it can open up to people,either to returnsatisfied to everyday life or to change it (see Bercé 1976).

Festivals, then, are extraordinary moments characterized by joy and by values that are considered highly positive. It is the routine of daily life that is seen as negative. That is why it is called the “day-to-day” or, moresignificantly, “life” or “the harsh reality oflife” (@ dura realt-

dade da vida). \n other words, onesuffers in “life,” in the pitiless and

automatic routine of the everyday whereone is repressed by hierarchies of power —“Do you know whoyou’re talking to?”—and bythehierarchical and obviously paralyzing motto thatspecifies: “each thing (and petson) in its place” (cada qual no seu lugar). So we can say that the automatic world of daily life is the world of hierarchies and caxias? as paradigms of behaviorstrictly governed by the prevailing norms. The association of the name of the patron of the army with a type of behavior that is formal, marked by extreme preoccupation with carrying out norms, but also endowed with pejorative connotations, suggests that Brazilians have a highly problematic

perception of their social order. This allows us double or triple readings of Brazilian society, as I tried to show in another work (DaMatta 1973a) and as we shall see repeatedly in the following chapters. I shall now try to demonstrate to what extent Carnival really expresses the limit-point of informality, whereas the ceremonyof Independence Dayteally expresses the limit-point of formality. In so doing, I hope not only to provide a greater contextualization ofthese rituals but also to examine the role andsignificance ofrituals in the context of a com2 Caxias tefers to Luis Alves de Limae Silva, the Duke of Caxias (1803-1880), important military officer who commandedthe Brazilian forces during thecruc ial nineteenth century separatist movementsand later commandedthe Brazilia n, Argentine,

and Uruguayan forces during the war against Paraguay (1865-1870). The Duke of Caxias is the patron of the Brazilian armedforces and, as a mythic figure, represe nts the perfect officer and citizen who never breaks the law and is willing to follow all

tules and regulations. Hencethe popular adjective, caxias for people whoobe y regulations without the customary Brazilian suspicion and questioning.

CARNIVALS, MILITARY PARADES, AND PROCESSIONS

33

_ plex society. Furthermore, I wantto place in the sameritual context — as part of a “‘system’—suchsocial events marked by divine motivation and carried out underthe aegis of the Roman Catholic Church, those assuming, in Brazil, a mediating character between the extremes of formality and informality. From this point of view, I hope to examine not only therole of each grouporsocial category participating in such events but also the meaning and importanceofthe classical distinctions —suchas sacred/profane,religious/secular, and formal/informal —in terms of their ability to shed light on materials deriving from Brazilian society. Carnival and Independence Day: A Comparison

Historical time and cosmic time. Both Carnival and Independence Dayare national rituals which, while mobilizing the population of the cities in which they are held, require a special kind of “time” that ts

emptyor “vacant,” i.e., without work, a holiday. Carnivalis carried out over three days (the Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday immediately preceding Lent), while Independence Day(ot Fatherland Day) takes place on September7 andis officially part of a week known as a Semana da Patria (Fatherland Week). These two events constitute two of the

longest-lasting rituals in Brazil, being comparable only with Holy Week, whichis devotedto the rites reproducing the Passion and Resurrection of Christ. These three weeksof festivity suggest a “Brazilian ritual triangle” that is highly significant, especially in its political implications. Here we have festivals devoted to celebration of the most institutionalized componentofthe national state (the armed forces), festivals controlled by the Church (another crucial componentin the construction of Brazilian society), and, finally, Carnival, dedicated to what ts believed to be the most disorganized componentofBrazilian society, the people or the masses. Let us note, then, that each of these extraordinaty festive moments, in the beststyle of traditional, holistic, hier-

archized societies, is entrusted to a group orsocial category that has

its assured place, i.e., its moment and turn in the framework of the

sociallife of the nation. Here we havea cycle offestivities ranging from the commonpeople to the national government and including the Church, in an organizational form that is typical of a system much

concernedto ensure, as we already saw, “each onein his place” or, even more telling, “each monkey on his branch.”

A basic point hereis that Independence Dayis a ceremonyrelated

34

CARNIVALS, ROGUES, AND HEROES

to a specific historical event—it is a Aistorical rite, to borrow an expression from Lévi-Strauss (1962b: chapter 8)—whereas Carnivalis part of the Roman Catholic calendar marking the period which precedes Christ’s teachings among men. Thus the time in which the commemorations of Independence Dayaresituated is an empirical, recorded time which has a documented beginning and which, moreover, is part of a complex of crucial events of Brazilian life that are seen to be interconnected. One cannot therefore comprehend “Independence” without referring to the colonial period before it and the republican petiod which followed it. As specific historical moments in the history of several nations of the world, one can see how such a temporal sequenceis informed by a sense of progress, evolution, and, aboveall,

non-repetition, like the growth cycle of an individual—in this case, of the Brazilian nation. In this sense the time of Independence Day is unique,stressing the definitive break with the colonial period and the beginning of a “political coming-of-age.” It is, then, a historical rite of passage, since its performance seeks not only to reproduce a glorious momentin the past but also to emphasize the final break and the passage from the colonial world to the world ofliberty, self-

determination, and “political adulthood.” Thus these events, which

are historical and empirically recorded, are taken to be paradigmatic, and the personages who generated them are regardedas official national heroes. In contrast with this kind of temporality, Carnival is situated on a cyclical chronological scale that is independent of fixed dates. The time of Carnival is characterized by the relationship between God and hu-

man beings, and for this reason it tends to have a universal and tran-

scendent sense. The beginning of Carnivalis lost in time, since it is linked to all of humanity. Similarly, thinking in Carnival time means thinking in termsof all-embracing categories such as sin, death, sal-

vation, mortification of the flesh, and sexual excess and continence.3 Precisely because it is defined as a time oflicense and excess, Carnival

openly leads to a focus on valuesthat are not only Brazilian but also Christian. Thus, the chronology of Carnival is a cosmic chronology directly related to the divine and to actions that produce conjunction or disjunction with the gods. >These themes abound in the songs and musical pieces written especially for Carnival. They could bea topic for consideration in their own right. On Brazilian popular

music, see Levy (1977).

CARNIVALS, MILITARY PARADES, AND PROCESSIONS

35

It can be seen, then, that each one of these ceremonies is marked by and in turn creates a contrasting notion of time. That of Independence Dayis historical time —it places the participants of the ritual into the specificity of Brazilian history —while that of Carnivalis a cosmic andcyclical time, taking the participants of the ritual outside the Brazilian context and placing them in direct contact with the realm of the sacred, the divine, or the supernatural. In terms of temporality, then, both rituals are rites of passage (or “calendrical rites”), but they refer to calendars which are distinct and which many assume to be mutually exclusive, especially when such calendarsare in force and coexist in a complex, industrial and urban society.

But the change of timeis also different in termsofits use as a dramatic element. Independence Dayisa bright, daylightritual: it is usually carried out in the early part of the morning, and it takes place in a well-defined space. Since its focal point is a military parade, an avenue of main street is made ready, marking out the places where

the participants in the rite (the military) are to march, where the people are permitted to stand, and wherethe authorities are to be, usually a high platform next to the tomb and monumenterected in honor of the Duke of Caxias, the patron of the army.‘ In the case of Carnival, in contrast, the ritual takes place at night. There is a complete reversal of night and day, including the division of nightitself into distinct periods. This can beseen in thetypical ritual styles of Carnival, which are the balls (where a fancy dress parade is always put on) and the popular parades of the samba schools and 4/ocos (blocs). Since these marchinglines andballs take place at night, this phase is clearly marked off by discontinuous moments, creating a dynamism whichis the re-

verse of the normal one. Similarly, in each of these rituals, space is also arranged differently. As we haveseen, on Independence Day the commemoration takesplace at a spot consecrated by history and in front of those who represent the juridical andpolitical order of the nation. In contrast, even though in Carnival there is a special locale for the marching lines of samba schools, it is the “street” (a rza, meaning the impersonal world), in its most generic sense as opposedto “home” (a casa, which represents the personal universe), that is the appropriate space for the ritual. Thus 4In Rio de Janeiro today, the parade takes place on the Aterro do Flamengo,op-

posite to another equally sacred historical space, the monumentto the dead of World

War II.

36

CARNIVALS, ROGUES, AND HEROES

the squares, avenues, and especially the “center of the city” make up the proper spatial universe of Carnival. As a result, the center of the city ceases to be the inhumanlocale of impersonal decisions, and instead it becomes the meeting place of the whole population, just as the ballrooms becomethespatial leveler or equalizer of different social positions during the balls.

Authorities and the common people. A basic and contrasting point aboutthese two rituals has to do with the groups responsible for their performance. On Independence Dayorganization of theritual belongs

to the constituted authorities, whose legitimation has come by way of legal instruments: laws or decrees.Its rites are organized by groups that

control the means of communication and repression: the armed forces. Thus, Independence Dayandits ritual are sponsored notby a social group, club,or voluntary organization but by a permanentcorporate body representing the national authority andits power. The internal

production andorganization ofthis ritual belongs to the army, navy, and air force; and since these corporate bodies are organized hierarchically, the ritual explicitly reflects this organizing principle. Thus, there is a clear separation between the public, the authorities (who attend the procession, but for whom theprocession ultimately takes place), and the military men who marchpast. Basically, the focal point of the

procession of Independence Day consists of the march past the con-

secrated area, where the highest constituted authorities of the landare

saluted. Theparticipation of the people consists in their role as spec-

tators; this, along with the military men, adds importance and a di-

mension ofprestige to the act of solidarity and respect offered to the national authorities and the national symbols (the flag and the coatof-armsof the Republic) by meansof the paradigmatic gesture of the salute.’ This whole action takes the form ofa military parade orParada >The military salute would be a restrained form of greeting, and the Brazilian word for it is contiméncia (from the Latin, continentia), which kept the original sense of moderation and constraint.It is a style of greeting in which, upon meeting, persons emphasize their differences by withholding or “containing” expressive gestures ofjoy. This would seem to be very important in a society like Brazil, where people speak in the language of hugs and strong embraces. In the military salute, the right arm and handdo notgo outto the otherperson (as they do in the normalform ofsaluta-

tion) but turn back to one’s own self, to one’s own right forehead, to beprecis e. It

is as if the inferior party were trying to cover his eyes in the presence ofhis superior,

a traditional way of indicating respect and marking social distances.

CARNIVALS, MILITARY PARADES, AND PROCESSIONS

37

militar, the latter term deriving from the Portuguese verb parar(“‘to stop”) and having rich symbolic content. Indeed the military procession (the Portuguese word being desfi/e, from the verb desfilar, “to pass in a line”) appears as nothing short of a freezing or “stopping” of the social structure. It could not be anythingelse because the military corps march in a strict internal hierarchical order (officers in front accompanyingthe flags of the unit and the national flag), in a rigorous order of procession. At every level the ceremony becomes an actual repre-

sentationof hierarchical distinctions, being organized in a chain of com-

mand going from thecivilian and military authorities isolated on the

reviewing stand (whoreceive the flag and thesalutes), to the marching troops (organized according to their internal hierarchy), and then to the people who participate in the solemn event as applauding,legitimizing witnesses. The military parade creates a sense of unity, its crucial aspect being to dramatizethe idea of the corporate bodyin gestures, uniforms, and wordsthat are always identical. On Independence Day, then, there is a separation between the people and the authorities, and among the authorities there is a separation between those who hold and exercise a greater share of power and those who do not. The Carnival paradeis very different, since here the parades are or-

ganized andcarried outby private organizations(e.g., the samba schools and blocs in Rio de Janeiro), and they generally bring together as their permanentcorps people from the lowest and most marginalized sectors of society. In the Brazilian Carnival we ate dealing with ad hoc groups and voluntary associations based on neighborhoods, personal sympathies, class, or even the founder’s region of origin, which brings out the fact that the groups are open andaffected by multiple social relations and organizing principles. Their characteris really that of clubs and their ideological frame is that of communitas, in the sense given to the latter term by Victor Turner (1969).¢ In this context, it is also

worth noting the order of procession for the sambaschools of Rio de Janeiro, which I am taking as the model for my discussion here. Their starting order is determined by a public lottery, since they are in heavy competition with each other and do not parade in the ordered way of the military units on Independence Day. During Carnival, then, 6This is true even if they do not behave as a “communitas” all the time, because

each group tequires a different kind of structure and organization, and some(like the samba schools) are highly hierarchical in their actual internal organization.

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CARNIVALS, ROGUES, AND HEROES

the parade of the sambaschools escapes the hierarchization of every-

daylife; they are then in “free competition,” whereas before the pa-

radetheyare hierarchically arranged andclassified as “big” and “little” schools. Thus the Carnival parade presents us with some paradoxes. Althoughthe voluntary associations running it are composed of poor people, they enter into competition with each other because the aim of the parade is to give awardsto the best schools. So in a hierarchically orderedsocietylike Brazil, we find groups entering into competition with each other as soon as they escape theprevailing hierarchical scheme. Andthat is what we find in the dramatization put on by the sambaschools in the Carnival parade (see also Goldwasser 1975, Leopoldi 1978, and chapter 2 of this book). Perhaps the most important pointto note is the fact that the lines of marchers include the active participation oflocal celebrities (espe-

cially in the case of Rio de Janeiro). So the schools bring together poor

people and millionaires, soccer celebrities and stars of radio, television, and the movies; and the inhabitants of Rio de Janeiro are divided

up in accordance with their preferences for one school or another, as happens with soccer. Moreover, the parade of these groupsis a lavish one, entailing the theatrical presentation of dramas dealing with personages, places, and events of the aristocratic period or mythologyas viewed by membersof the ruling classes. What catches our attention in these marchesis the reversal effected between the marcher(a poor

person, usually a black or mulatto man or woman)and the figure they

represent in the parade (a noble, a king, a mythological figure); and we also note the participation of society as a whole, whether as judge of footer. This theatricalization brings out the tamed or domesticated character of the transmutation of the poor into the noble whenit takes place in programmed moments suchas Carnival. The (dominant) rich are not viewed as rich people (with their gradations andvaried instruments of domination, such as money, repressive power, and fluctuating status symbols) but as zod/es. If they were to be viewed as rich (or bourgeois), they would besatirized, and the parade would probably lose its domesticated character, which points to a truce between

the dominators and the dominated. Instead, they are viewed as nobles

and, through theostentatious use of a kind of encompassing symbolism, the virtues of an aristocracy in its noble aspects are inflated. Satire is abandoned so that a truce and an inflated good behavior may be maintained.

CARNIVALS, MILITARY PARADES, AND PROCESSIONS

39

Another important pointis that the Carnival groups dance as they pass by, so that the onlookeris captured by a constantvision of movement and dynamism, each participant improvising his own dance out of a set of conventional steps. As a result there is every possibility of outlets for personal innovation and interpretation of each gesture within a conventionalized pattern, whereas in the military parade the march is characterized by a total uniformity of gesture. Thus the military patade is symbolically andliterally a march, whereas the Carnival parade is a dance. The formeris marked by complete moderation and gestural restraint, the latter by the absence of such restraint.

The Carnival parade brings togethera little of everything: diversity within uniformity, homogeneity within difference, sin within the cosmic and religious timecycle, the aristocratic lavishness of dress alongside the real-life poverty of the actors. It thus refers to various symbolic subuniverses of Brazilian society and can therefore be called a polysemic parade. The opposite is what we see in the military march of Independence Day. Although there is a meeting between the people and the authorities at that parade, their separation is obvious; and the

import of the ritual symbols, gestures, and words is univocal. The character of these tworituals is also marked by the social nature of the groups running them. Carnivalis said to be a festa do povo (a “feast of the people”), whereasthe ritual of Independence Day focuses much more on national authorities and national symbols through both its internal and external organization. In the case of the celebration of Independence Day, the groups involved highlight the correspondence or homology between their ritual positions and their positions

in the everyday world with hierarchy being maintained and made manifest by ceremonial dramatization. In the case of Carnival, the social positions of everydaylife are neutralized or inverted; “rituals of the people” seek and express encounterrather than separation. Independence Day commemorates the birth or conception of the bourgeois nation-state, which is antiaristocratic by definition. The commemoration of Carnival, by contrast, is cosmic, celebrating the state of being poor and destitute. On Independence Daythe focusis on the bourgeois virtue of conspicuous individualism and the clear definition of boundaries. During Carnival the focus is on the “people” as a non(or even antz-) individualized mass, on encounter, and onthevery heart and coreof society in its basic and creative aspect, which is always rep_esented by what we designate in Brazil as the truly “popular” or “of the people.”

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CARNIVALS, ROGUES, AND HEROES

Of uniforms and fancy costumes. One of the most fundamental points in the comparative study of these rituals is the consideration of the clothing appropriate to each, this being grammatically consistent with the gestures and other general aspects of behavior. In the parades of Independence Daythe dress is the uniform, which makes all men of the same rank equal. In the Carnival parade the appropriate dress is the fantasia (the fancy costumeor disguise), the term in Brazilian Portuguese having a double sense referring both to dreams, illusions, and idealizations ofdaily life as well as to the costumes used

only in Carnival. The uniform makesits wearers equal and corporate,

since the members of a corporate body wear identical clothes with differences in rank or grade but not in quality. By contrast, the fancy costumes of Carnival distinguish and reveal, since each person is free to choose the fancy costume he or she wants.

Thusthe military uniform, the magistrate’s gown, and other clothes

typical of certain social positions have as one of their functions that

of concealing the wearer, protecting therole from the person who plays it, and also separating the role defininghis position in the ritual from the other roles he may take in everydaylife. Consistent with this is the crucial fact that uniforms and other formal garmentsare exclusive to certain positions. The opposite is true of the Carnival costume.It reveals much more than it conceals. Representing a hidden desire, the fancy costumecreates a synthesis between the costumed person, the social roles he or she plays, and those he or she would like to fill. So whereas formal dress such as the uniform effects individualization and operates in an analytic way, clearly and strictly segregating one role from all of the others that a person might carry out,7 the fancy dress operates synthetically, by adding the imaginary role expressed in the costumeto theroles that the costumed personreally fills in the everyday world. Thus the Carnival costumes have a deep metaphoricalsense,

since they effect the conjunction of domains, whereas uniforms and

other formal clothes have the metonymic sense of continuity, since a person whois not a generalis simply not allowed to wear the uniform of a general. Thelatter kinds of clothes pose and solve the problem of consistency between the contained (the uniformed person andhis position in the everyday world) and the container (the uniform as an external sign of his position in the ritual). But we must consider another fundamentalpoint. Assigns of power 7Asit is stated by Max Gluckman (1962), to which I shall return later in this chapter.

CARNIVALS, MILITARY PARADES, AND PROCESSIONS

41

and authority in the social order, uniforms also refer back to central

positions in the social structure. They are therefore a mode ofdress used bothin therituals and in everydaylife, there being only a change of degree and not of kind between one type and the other. The general distinction, in fact, is between umiforme de gala (“dress uniform”) and “regular uniform,” these being numbered from oneto five in decreasing order of importance, at least in the Brazilian Army. Such a use is consistent with the order of everyday life and its formalization is the result of an acute awareness of such order. Uniforms symbolize concrete social identities which operateat all levels of social life. A uniformed colonel does not cease to be a colonel when heis not in uniform; he may simply lose awareness of his position or be tempted to do so. Quite the contrary is the case with the fancy costumesof Carnival. Here the “characters” or “personages” which are broughtto life are

peripheral figures of the Brazilian social world: kings, dukes, princes, and other nobles; ghosts, death’s heads, devils, and other apparitions

from the shadowy world of darkness; ancient Greeks, Romans, Hawaiians, Scotsmen, and Chinese, from the edges of the known world; thieves, clowns, prostitutes, downs-and-outs, rogues, convicts, outlaws,

and other such liminal figures who appearin everyday life only in un-

fortunate circumstances. The world of Carnival characters is, then, the world of the periphery, of the past, and of the frontiers of Brazilian

society. Its focal point is the forbidden,theillicit, the impossible, that

which is outside the system or whichlies in its interstices of it (DaMatta 1973a).

It is clear, then, that thereis little homogeneity in the set of characters created by Carnival fancy dresses. This meansthatthesocial field shaped by Carnivalis not one of uniformity, based on univocal organizing principles as is the case with the uniforms of Independence Day. Onthe contrary, thefield of Carnivalis heterogeneous, and frequently fancy costumes embody combinationsthat are completely outside the “grammar” of Brazilian everyday culture, as is the case with the costumes worn in the processions of the samba schools or those which emphasize homosexuality. During Carnival it isa commonsightto see a “bandit” dancing with a “sheriff,” or a “death’s head” with a young pretty girl. This is precisely what constitutes the essence of Carnival as a national rite: this combination and conjunction of symbolic (or real) elements that represent antagonistic and contradictory fields.

Thus Carnival costumescreate a social field of encounter, mediation,

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CARNIVALS, ROGUES, AND HEROES

and social polysemy. Despite the differences and incompatibilities of the roles represented graphically by the costumes, everyone is there to brincar(play, enjoy, participate). And the original, literal meaning of Srincar (from the Latin, vzcu/u) was “to put earrings on” oxen or

other animals: 1.e., to unite, to suspend the boundaries that individual-

ize and compartmentalize groups, categories, and persons.

Carnival costumes help to create a world of mediation, encounter,

and moral compensation. Thus they producea socialfield that is cos-

mopolitan and universal, that is supremely polysemic.® In the Brazil-

ian Carnival there is room forall beings, types, personages, categories, groups, and values. It is what can be called an opensocialfield, situated outside hierarchy— perhapsa limit-pointin the Brazilian social

structure, which is so preoccupied with its “entrances” and “exits.”9

The world of Carnival is the world of conjunction, license, and joking: a world of metaphor. It is the temporary but programmed union of elements representing domains that are normally separate, their encounter or meeting being a sign of abnormality. The characters of Car-

nival are not related by a hierarchical principle but by sympathy and by an understanding resulting from the truce that suspendsthe social

tules of the plausible world, the everyday universe. SomeTheoretical Problems

The foregoing analysis establishes Independence Day and Carnival

as two contrasting social events or, to be moreprecise, two symmetrical

but inverted rituals which are part ofthe fabric of Brazilian sociallife. Atfirst glance it could be said that Independence Dayis a formalrite that celebrates structure, as opposed to Carnival, whichis an informal rite that creates communitas.'° In that way we would be taking the obvious, visible, and observable elements of the central core of these two social events as their basic defining features and furthermore establishing a dichotomyin just the way ourdiscipline likes to do. However, one could go on to say that Independence Day closely follows Gluckman’s modelofrites of passage, since, as we have seen, the cen-

®This would certainly explain why it seemed necessary that Hollywood stars (or any other important celebrity) come and participate in the Carnival of Rio de Janeiro. Onthe notion anda classical elaboration of “entrances” and “exits” in other contexts, see Mary Douglas (1970). ‘As one might suspect, the classification into profane and sacred is even more problematical.

CARNIVALS, MILITARY PARADES, AND PROCESSIONS

43

tral point of this ceremonyis the clear-cut separation ofsocial roles, in accordance with the formula presented in the essay, “Les Rites de Passage” (1962).

But if we consider the context of Brazilian rituals as a whole, such

classifications present problems.First, as Leach has shown (Leach 1954), these divisions are not mutually exclusive; they are part of a configura-

tion orset: they form a system. Second, there is another complete set

of rites in Brazilian social life which seems to bring together the fundamental componentsof Carnival and Independence Day.It is important here to recall that Carnival exds on Ash Wednesday in the heavy silence of a Mass; and that the Independence Day parade ends in an informal dispersion wheresoldiers, officers, authorities, and the peo-

ple return to their places in the everyday world. The dispersal of the participants,still formally dressed, but on their way home and accompanied by family and friends in ordinary clothes, helps to create an atmospheresimilar to that of Carnival. For we have here an encounter between the formal representationsofsocial positions (expressed most clearly in the uniforms) with the set of other social roles which have been segregated and inhibited during the performanceoftheritual. Thus, what really happened here is a combination of types of ritual behavior that, as Leach pointed out, “although they are conceptually distinct as species of behavior, they are in practice closely associated” (1961:135). Thus, analysis of these rituals would have to take into account not only their manifest elements or one of their moments but also their deep procedural structure and full cycle which, as I have indicated, takes the curious, intriguing, and expressive form ofa triangle in Brazil, its three vertices being the state, the church, and the people. This consideration is important becauseit clearly indicates that Independence Day accentuatesformality or structure at its central point (during the solemn momentofthe military parade), but that this marked preference for the formal does not rule outthe possibility of creating a moment of communitas ot of high informality. This occurs clearly at the end of the rite and perhaps even during its performance, as I

shall try to show further on. Carnival, on the other hand, is a moment

ideologically encompassed by communitas; but given thesocial organization ofBrazilian society, divided asit is into classes and segments, it also serves to maintain the hierarchy and position of theseclasses. In short, the communitas of Carnival is a function of the rigid social position of the participating groups and segments in the everyday world. The universality and homogeneity of Carnival serve precisely to rein-

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CARNIVALS, ROGUES, AND HEROES

force, and compensate on anotherplane, the particularism, hierarchy,

and inequality of Brazilian everydaylife. The second problem notedat thestart of this section has to do with the festas da Igreja (feasts of the Church)or festas de santo (feasts of

saints) in Brazil in which the focal point is a special march knownas a procissao (a procession). These rites generally begin with a Mass, are

centered on the procession (where the image ofthe saint is carried

from one sanctuary to another), and end with a party in the church-

yard to which the imagehas been taken. There, confectionery and drinks are sold, and objects are auctioned off to benefit the saint’s confraternity. There are games and dances in an atmosphere of encounter and conviviality similar to that of Carnival.11 Furthermore, the procession itself also has conciliatory characteristics. Its center is formed of those whocarry the imageofthe saint, and it so happensthat these persons

form a rigid hierarchy, consisting of the ecclesiastical, civil, and mili-

tary authorities. However, this rigid nucleus is followed and surrounded by a disorderly crowd ofall social types: penitentsfulfilling promises, disabled people seekingrelief from their infirmities, and ordinary people merely demonstrating their devotion to the saint. As a result, the religious procession brings together the hierarchical componentsof the military parade atits center, with the undifferentiated polysemic gather-

ing which surroundsit. Like the Carnival parade, it unites the happy and the sad, the healthy andthesick, innocents and sinners, and, most

importantly, authorities and the people. For while the honored saint is being carried in procession andis therefore separated from the people by his nature and by the authorities around him,heis simultaneously travelling with the commonpeople andreceiving their prayers, hymns, and displays of piety in the street rather than in church. Here we seem to touch upon an important point. At a military parade the authorities and the commonpeople viewingit are stationary; the mobile components are the marching soldiers, who symbolize the powerof authority. Mediation between the people and the authorities is effected by symbols of power: the marching soldiers who are armed with weapons. In religious procession mediation between the people and thesaintis effected by the authorities, who carry the saint onhis platform andare closest to him. Finally, in a Carnival parade the peo‘For a careful and detailed study of oneof thesefestivals, the procession of the

Ciro de Nazareth (the candlelight procession of Our Lady of Nazareth that takes place in Belém ofPara), see the original and importantwork of Isidoro Maria Alves (1980).

CARNIVALS, MILITARY PARADES, AND PROCESSIONS

45

‘ple and the authorities witness a march of the people themselves in disguise; in this ritual moment the costumed people incarnate their symbolic power, parading as part of a resplendentroyalty. At the level of the classical anthropological dichotomies, it would be difficult if not impossible to classify religious processions. They are not sacred or profane, formal ot informal; they do not engender communtitas ot accentuate structure. They have a// these facets stmultaneously. How, then, ate we to approach andsolve the theoretical problems posed by a study of these rituals?

One way to try to solve them is to take the position that each of

the three rituals discussed above expresses a different way of perceiving, interpreting, and representing what one wouldlike to epitomize as thesocial “reality” of Brazil. As Leach (1954) puts it, these rites are ways of saying something aboutthe social structure, but of saying something from particular pointof view. Or, as Clifford Geertz (1973:448) seemsto repeat moreelegantly:it is a story they tell themselves about themselves. In other words, Independence Day, Carnival, andreligious festivals are different discourses about one and the samereality, each highlighting crucial, essential aspects of it from a perspective within that reality. In Bali, for example, wefind a society dominatedbyhieratchy andpoliteness; so it is not surprising or problematic that cockfighting should show up in a more popular, dramatic, and overpowering way. Thecaseis similar in Japan, where, as Geertz remindsus, the chrysanthemum is as valued as the samurai’s sword. Thus, what wefind in Brazil should not surprise anyoneor lead to polemics, if it were notfor the fact that our official social science re-

gards rituals as minor areas of study and consigns the dialectical approach to oblivion. For we find in Brazil that the ordinary people of Carnival are the same commonpeople of September 7 (Independence Day); that the boss who hands out compliments is also the man who — in a different context — maysay “Do you know whoyou're talking to?”; that warm and friendly Mr. Niceis also a man capable of violence;

and that the ma/andro (the rogue) and the caxzas (the tough, authoritarian leader) are equally admired and followed. So it is in a culture upholding the unbounded and personalized equality of the masses that we witness the rise of the authoritarian political boss; and it ts in a realm ofreformist popu/ism that we see therise of the most violent authoritarianism as the crucial way of restructuring the system. Viewing these ceremonies as discourses means studying them from a disjunctive standpoint. In other words, theritual life of a given so-

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CARNIVALS, ROGUES, AND HEROES

ciety does not necessarily have to be coherent or functional; it can con-

tain rival elements expressing different ways of perceiving, interpret-

ing, and encompassing the social structure. Moreover, this standpoint

enablesus to verify the combinatorial nature of ritual life and the basic importance of this fact. Indeed, the national rituals of Brazil are good examples of three possible ways of highlighting and making manifest, by meansofa specific discourse, those aspects of the Brazilian social structure that are

considered important. Thusthe discourse of Independence Day highlights the routinized, hence implicit and internalized, aspects of the social order. It shows up thehierarchythat is part of the social system, the dominant emphasis ofthis ritual being on thehierarchical system

of positions andrelationships. This suggests that the focusof the ritual is on internal features of the Brazilian social system. Its orientation is completely zzszde Brazilian society itself, focusing on whatis specifically “national Brazilian’: the national flag, the nationalcolors, the national anthem, the supremeauthorities of the nation, the national

language, and the national power. But that does not mean that such a discourse or perspective does not also create a liminal moment or threshold and/or sentimentsofsolidarity and fraternity amongthe participants in the rite. In Brazil the word vzbracao (“vibes” in American English) denotes these highly emotional aspects that may be indicative of a feeling of sincere communitas when people can virtually “see” that basic aspect of the system;for it is clearly represented in and by the military parade, the salutes to the authorities, and the singing of

the national anthem. Needlessto say, the “other side” of the particular and the nationalis the universal and theinternational, i.e., the other

nations coexisting in the world with Brazil, a feature broughtout clearly

in the phenomenon ofBrazilian soccer (see Guedes 1977; Vogel 1977;

Baéta Neves 1977). So we may venture the hypothesis that a commu-

mitas framealso surfaces when there is an exaggerated reinforcement ofthe structure or formal order. This would be particularly true when we have a “breach of protocol” by the authorities. This phenomenon, whichcalls for detailed study, happens so frequently that it can beregarded as a technique for effecting a “short circuit” of human embarrassment that leads to feelings of sympathy and solidarity. A second possible discourse is one that focuses on the ambiguous aspects of the social order. That is what we get with Carnival, a ritual that seemsto focus on theset of sentiments, actions, values, groups,

andcategories that are inhibited in everyday life because they are prob-

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47

lematic. Here the focusis on whatlies on the margins and boundaries of society, in its zwterstices. Carnival, then, is the paradigm ofthe festa popular, a festival of the people characterized by a universal, cosmic orientation that puts the main emphasis on all-embracing categories: life as opposed to death,joy as opposed to sadness, the rich as opposed to the poor, and so forth. But here again we cannotsay that formality and “structure” are absent. The period of Carnival is viewed as “preparatory” to a cycle of repentance and penance (Lent) in which behavioris to be characterized by abstinence from meat and by control of excesses. Carnival itself also has its own order and formalities, its structure in the sense used by Victor Turner (1974). There are prescribed ways of participating in this festival, of dancing, singing, dressing, and organizing as groups. Thus, the typical Carnival groups are 4/ocos, escolas, tribos, e cordées (respectively, blocs, schools, tribes, and cor-

dons), whicharerelatively “spontaneous” formsof association in which

memberscan berelatives, friends, neighbors, or “teachers” or “pupils”

of the samba. Carnival may well be the momentin Brazilian social life when people can most openly and unreservedly express their ties

as neighbors, relatives, colleagues, and so forth. I also think the word

spontaneous fits well here. For even the organization of the samba schools of Rio de Janeiro, which has been shownto be extremely complex (see Goldwasser 1975; Leopoldi 1978), is fragile and seasonal; it takes solid corporate shape only during the Carnival season. In other words, here we have before oureyes the paradox of a people who never organize spontaneously to protest or demand their nghts, being obviously “over-organized,” but instead to have a good time at Carnival. The discourse of Independence Dayand the discourse of Carnival, then, would seem to be mutually related by a rather simple logic. On Independence Daythereis a reinforcementof hierarchy. This reinforcementis done openly and clearly at the start and climax of the event, and it only vanishes when the ceremony ends and the participants go back to thesocial roles they exercise in the everyday world. Carnival,

on the other hand, plays with the dissolution of the structure of social

roles and positions. It zzverts them duringtheritual, and they arereassumed only when Carnival is over and people go back to the every-

day world. Furthermore, thereis every indication that the focusof In-

dependence Day andits central momentis on what is national and specifically Brazilian, but it ends by revealing a universality underlying this internal orientation, since one cannothave a nation without having “other” nations to which “our nation” may be opposed. At Car-

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CARNIVALS, ROGUES, AND HEROES

nival, mutatis mutandis, the focus is on the cosmic and universal, but

a Brazilian cosmic and universal. So they are really the opposite of each other. The discourse of religious festivals, in turn, gives us a surprising

glimpse of another outlook on the social structure. Here the focusis simultaneously on local and universal values. Everything suggests that these festivals attempt to harmonizeor reconcile the people with the government through the worship of God or a saint. They allow the different and discontinuous elements of the social structure to meet and interact under the aegis of the Church, the corporate body that officially holds the monopoly on therelationships with thespiritual. Religious festivals place side by side regular people and the authorities, saints and sinners, healthy and sick people Thus their discourse effects a systematic weutra/ization ofsocial positions, groups, and categories, establishing a kind ofpax catholica. In these religious ceremonies there are highly rigid momentsthat focus on the two hierarchical levels represented: the divine hierarchy uniting human beings with God by meansofthe priest, and the hierarchy uniting human beings with each other underthe aegis of the priest. There are also momentssimilar in form and content to Carnival, moments permitting and authorizing a free encounter between social categories and groups: in the procession and, especially, in the festive party at its end. Nevertheless, religious festivals are neither a Carnival nor a military parade. These considerations seem to indicate that there is a combination of socialrelations and orientations andthatit is this configuration that

results in what we characterize as “ritual.” Moreover, its logic seems

to be one which accentuates relations in one momentjust to inhibit them in the next. These successive movements between well-defined phases end upcalling attention to whatis implicit and hidden. Nowit is very easy to equate these discourses with certain substantive, “natural” elements that are defined a priori: sacred and profane, formal and informal, religious and secular, and so forth. Each one of these ceremonies does contain components corresponding to such dichotomies in some ofits phases, and I fully acknowledge that these ceremonies have orientation or direction. But I have tried to demonstrate that it derives from the type of combination they produce, not from anyability of theserituals to alter the very essence of the everyday world. So what we have is a grammar or combinatorial key that would enable us to penetrate the “realm of ritual”; and our study should focus on this grammar, not on “essential dichotomies” that have been

CARNIVALS, MILITARY PARADES, AND PROCESSIONS

49

traditionally used to describe and interpret ritual moments. We can say, then, that ritual is fully compatible with the realm of everyday life, and that the elements of everyday life and the elements ofritual are the very same ones. Another point in my interpretation has to do with the crucial relationships we can isolate from each of the ceremonies studied above. I tried to show that the basic mechanism of Carnival is zzversion, that the basic mechanism of Independence Dayis reinforcement, and that the basic mechanism ofBrazilian religious festivals is zeutralization. Finally, I ended up defining the threeritual moments as discourses about thesocial structure. I hopeit is now clear that these discourses are symbolic and expressive of positions in the social structure, and that they need not necessarily be coherent or

functional. Having madethose pointsclear, I would like to proceed a bit further by trying to suggest a possible approach to the study of what we call “rite” or “titual.” To do that, I want to go back and examine a few points in more detail. The Basic Mechanisms of Ritualization

Oneof the most obvious problemsin the studyofrituals is the notion that they constitute a special kind of action and/or event. Thus

we are told that rites “do things,” “say things,” “reveal things,” “con-

ceal things,”“provoke things,”“store things,” and so forth. Expressions

such as these, appearing innumerable timesin the literature, are indicative of all sorts of theoretical positions, but they all point in the samedirection: rites are special moments constructed by society, they arise under the aegis and control of the social system, and they are programmedbyit. Equally noteworthy is the fact that the realm of ritual is the one mostheavily qualified by adjectives. Indeed, wefind rituals described as “sacred,” “profane,” “economic,” “political,” “formal and informal,”

“academic,” “civic,” “military,” “feminine,” “masculine,” “financial,”

“magical and mystical,” “scientific,” etc. We can also have “rites of the

people,”

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“rites of kinship,”

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“rites of sports,

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rites of passage,” “rites

of interaction,” “rites of segregation,” “rites of aggregation,” “rites of expiation,” “rites of affliction” . . . the list could go on indefinitely. Whatis the significance of this? It seems obvious that there exist as many “rituals” as there are events or domainsin the social world

which can be perceived andclassified. Thus, for each established do-

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main, the word “ritual” can be applied, and a corresponding “rite” may emerge from it. In other words, the whole social world can be viewed as capable of generating a “rite.” Obviously, this depends on the way “ritual” is defined, but I think this is a superficial response to the problem. For even in those areas where problemsofdefinition are prevalent, the possibilities of using such a plethora of qualifying

adjectives are not so extensive. We can see, for example, that the field

of “kinship” is one of those areas, but the possibilities of attaching qualifying labels to kinship as a domain are notso vast. It is very likely, then, that these immense possibilities of defining rites are bound up with a deeper and moredifficult issue: the simple

fact thatall sociallife is, indeed, a “rite” or thatit is “ritualized” (and,

I mayadd,“ritualizable’”). Since the social world is grounded on conventions and symbols, all social actions are really ritual acts or acts capable of ritualization. Iam therefore adopting a radical position in not attempting to differentiate between the raw material of the everyday world and that which would constitute the world ofritual. Both these dimensionsare built up on the basis of moteor less arbitrary conventions and there are no changes of quality or essence between the categories andrelations of the everyday world and those used in the universe ofrites. I do not see how we can distinguish types of behavior whichare “rational,” “communicative,” and “magical,” as Leach (1966) and Victor

Turner (1968) do. For even the act of “cutting down a tree” is a problematic one.It cannotbe calmly classified amongthe types of technicorational behavior, as it is by Leach (1966). I readily admit that on the analytic level this action is rational, in the sense that there is a rela-

tionship between means and ends, butis this really important? We know that two individuals from two different societies may cut down trees in different ways, even thoughthey both use tools. Leaving aside the basic problem thattheir tools may be different, we also know that one individual may hold the axe on his right side but never on his left side, may begin by spitting into his hands, and may invoke the godsin the performance of his task, whereas the other individual from a different culture will do noneof these things. So how are we to classify this type of action? AsI see it, we get nowhere by simply repeating that a human being mustuse a planetofly, because the fundamental sociological problem is knowing why pilot X prays before he gets into his plane whereas pilot Y, from a different society, does not do so. The sociological quest

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reveals to us that even the seemingly mostrational actions are not immunefrom behaviorthatis classified as “communicative” or “magical.” Trying to solve the problem of ritual by meansof such classifications or combinations of them, as Leach does in his second theory of ritual (1966), is no more than a disguised way of going back to butterfly collecting. One replaces butterflies with larger animals, but the problem remains.!2 And in this context one could further add that mystical or magical thought—as Lévi-Strauss (1962b) has shown —is a way of “discoursing”(or “saying something”) aboutreality which does not excluderationality. By the same token,it seems equally problematic to separate ritual from othersocial actions by invoking such criteria as a mystical component. Gluckman, for example, thinks that this componenthasto

do with the fact that in tribal societies “persons play several roles in

relation to others in the same environs, so that roles are not differen-

tiated by material conditions and fragmented associations: hence, we find here morespecific customsofstylized etiquette, more conventions and taboos, and more customsin general, to differentiate and segre-

gate theseroles in their various sets of purposive activities (see Gluck-

man 1962:49). Moreover, in tribal societies, social relations are multiple

(or, as Gluckmansays, #u/tiplex), entailing the simultaneous presence

of competitive and cooperative links. That would lead to a system in which all relationships are in a delicate balance; any change in one relationship would provoke a chain reaction ofalterations in the whole system. Thus the mystical dimension ofsocial relationships would result from this “multiplex” style of linking social positions, which generates in the ideological sphere an overdetermined vision of the system in which everythingis related to everything, with each and everysocial link having an inexorable moral significance. The problem hereis this: what is the difference between this conceptof rite and that of our ownsociety? Is it possible to imagine that 12This is rather ironic because the argumentI am presenting is basically a repetition of Leach’s earlier arguments. Indeed, Leach’s says: “In Kachin ‘customary procedure, the routines of clearing the ground, planting the seed, fencing the plot and weeding the growing crop are all patterned according to formal conventions and interspersed with all kinds of technically superfluous frills and decorations. It is these

frills and decorations which make the performance a Kachin performance and not just a simple functional act. And so it is with every kind of technical action; there is always the element which is functionally essential and another element which is simply the local custom, the aesthetic frill” (Leach 1954:12).

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a ritual such as Independence Day is something more divorced from all the other domainsof sociallife? Is it possible to imagine a governmentof the United States ceasing one dayto celebrate the Fourth of July, unless American society and its values were to be in a state of total collapse? I, for one, am sure that if governments ceased to cele-

brate those festivals, they would probably fall the next day. So if mystical behavior really means that the ritual domain is the area where everything is in relationship, then we can say that somehow the same kind of basic idea also exists in the so-called “complex societies” as well. It would be absurd for our societies to give up crowning queens, holding Carnivals, celebrating Independence Days, and so forth. This study shows how each ofthethree festivals under consideration is related to, or given direction by, a specific sector of Brazilian society. Independence Dayis associated with the armedforces and thenational authorities (it is a “rite of the nation”), religiousfestivals with the Catholic Church, and Carnival with the commonpeople. These views are

consistent with the groups that monopolize those events so that, to

someextent, these three rituals do fit well with the model of organic solidarity that was proposed by Durkheim and elaborated by Gluckman (see Durkheim 1933 and Gluckman 1962). However, the problem

is that in a complex society these organically functional and solidary domainsare constantly battling each otherfor power. Thus, Durkheim’s modelis probably true when it indicates the possibility of multiple codes in a complex society, since each group would have a different petspective of the system as a whole. Butthere exists, on the other hand, the problem ofthe “contamination of codes.” With this phrase I wish to call attention to the problematic fact that in a complex society Oscillations take place between specialized groups that may pass from ruling to being ruled orvice-versa. In the Middle Ages, for example, the Church was dominant and the code used to frame European society’s discourse was Roman Catholic. Similarly, the National Socialist Party was dominant in Nazi Germany andits discourse wasall-encompassing at that time. So alongside the multiple codes which divide up “the stage” and the roles of a society as Gluckman (1962) describes them,there is also a sttuggle caused by the eventual contamination of the whole system by one social group andits ideology. The dynamics of these systems

is, as a result, a dynamic ofeither total contamination or of equilib-

rium: that is, certain petiods are dominated by certain social groups and the whole system is oriented by their outlook, categories, andval-

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53

ues; other periods are dominated by other groups. In the context of the study ofrituals, it would seem that the history of Western society is one where varioussocial systems have fluctuated between the possibility of multiple codes coexisting in equilibrium, or of having only one code of one group which is dominant and which contaminates the entire system. I also think that complex social systems must have an overdetermination and a coherentrelational connection among their various domains. This is evident from the countless metaphors usedto establish codified ties between one realm and another:weseeefforts to establish such ties between the realm ofreligion and that of family life by the generalized use of the term “father,” between the realm of aristocracy and power on the one handand that of sports on the other (“Pelé is the ‘king’ of soccer”), and between the supernatural realm and that of everyday life (“Who do you think you are? God?”). These metaphorical commutations between subuniverses— clearly marked out in terms ofsocial roles, values, and categories—seem to

indicate the need of linking up different “stages” (or domains) and social roles. This is even clearer in the realms of politics and ritual. Rituals that reinforce existing social rules and roles (Independence Day, for example) are multiplied in a system dominated by authoritarianism. Here authoritarianism implies the reduction of multiple and competing views of the samesociety, something which would helpto explain the use of the adjective “totalitarian” for such systems, since they embody contaminated(ortotal) views of the social order. Thatis, they represent an exclusive perspective of that order. Henceit is problematic to define “ritual” as a type of social action specific to a certain system ofsocial relationships, becauseit is equally difficult to isolate clearly such systems from each other. How, then, are we to deal with the problem?

Note that up to this point I have in no way denied the existence of rituals. Quite to the contrary, I have throughoutaffirmed their existence and agreedthatthey are special momentsof sharedsociallife. My argumentis thatrituals must not be taken as events that are essentially different (in form, quality, and substance) from those which constitute and inform the so-called routine of daily life. In fact, in this chapterI have tried to bring out the fact that the three Brazilian rituals understudy use social mechanisms that are employed constantly in everydaylife: i.c., reinforcement, inversion, and neutralization. The study ofrituals, then, is not and should not be an attempt to

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search for the “essence” of a special, qualitatively different moment.

Rather, it should be an attemptto see howtrivial elements of the so-

cial world can be ds/ocated and thus transformed into symbols which, in certain contexts, helps to construct a special or extraordinary moment. Like every symbolic discourse, ritual highlights certain aspectsof reality. Oneofits basic features is to render certain aspects of social reality morepresent than others. Indeed, it could be said that without such highlighting, which leads to discontinuities and contrasts, the social meaning of the world would be lost. The ritual world is a world of opposing and linking elements, of segregating and integrating them, of emphatically exhibiting or inhibiting them. It is in this process that the “things of the world” take on a different meaning and can express more than they do in their normal context. In short, the world ofritual is the world of the truly arbitrary and the purely ideological. In it men can dress as women, adults as children, poor people as nobles, human beings as animals. In so doing, they reveal how humanbeingsaredifferent from each other andso like the animals and/or how human beings are so like each other and different from the animals. The possibilities are various and infinite. Varying from culture to culture and situation to situation, rituals may concealor reveal, obscure orclarify. As I see it, the important thing is to examine the mechanisms used

to create those momentsof hiding or openly revealing, of suggesting reflection or complete obfuscation, of supporting or opposing what is least called into question or taken for granted in the humanor the natural world. I maintain thatritual, like myth, provides a “close-up” of the things of the social world. A fingeris just a finger joined to a hand, the hand

to an arm, and the arm to a body. But at the moment when a ring

is placed on thatfinger, marking the matrimonialstatus of the person, the finger changesits significance. It continuesto be a finger, but now it is much moreaswell. It can be isolated and viewed as an independent element, seen in “close-up” as associated with a ring anda social position. As Ramosand Peirano (1973) have emphasized, a transposition of something from one domain to another has occurred. Hence,

a humble finger, which is an everyday elementthat is part of the world of biology andthe individual, becomesthe vehicle (or the “symbol”) for a whole set of social relations. Note that the basic mechanism is one of separating something and inserting it into a new context. Nothing new is really created, except, obviously, the changing of context which in social life is the basis of

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every important invention. But the element,a finger in this example, is merely transposed to a context from whichit is normally excluded. The mechanism of separation seemsto be basic in the process of ritualization. Gluckman(1962) illustrates this when hetries to equate what he takes as an abundanceofritualization with a type ofsocial system wheresocial roles are played by the samepersonin several contexts or scenarios. However, separation seems to be a much more wide-

spread and general mechanism, since what is separated from one place is integrated into another. Ritual may help separate the role of chief,

for example, from theroles of father, maternal uncle, and brother in order to be able to integrate that individual, as holder of thatrole,

into another pertinent system of positions—in this case, the system of political authority. In terms of my own analysis, I would say that the separationof roles posited by Gluckmanis one important instance of ritualization but with two differences. First, I maintain that this sort

of separation is not exclusiveto tribal societies; it is a universal mecha-

nism andpart of the universe of conventions. Second, I see such sepa-

ration as a special instance of whatI call reznforcement, as | ttied to describe the process in discussing the ceremonyof Independence Day. In cases where social relations or categories are highlighted by sepa-

ration ot reinforcement, the elementsate not transposedin any radical

way. Their position does not change much,the point being simply to call attention to the rules, positions, or relationships that do actually exist. There is a kind of inflation or accentuation of what already exists, and so rituals based on reinforcementor separation have a direct relationship with the routines of the everyday world. A general, for example, is always a general. But at a given momentestablished by the group heusesthe clothes, decorations, and weapons which correspond tohis rank and identity. This reinforces the rank of general, which exists but may be submerged by other routines and systems of positions. The “ritual of separation” is precisely that moment when the role of generalis highlighted and becomes his encompassing and sometimes exclusive defining role. In this situation all other roles played by the same person became submerged and/or disappear. One might even suggest that mechanismsof reinforcement are used when routines create conflictive equivalences betweensocial roles, or whensituations are ambiguousand there is a needto define them by taking the side of the established system. But the mechanism of reinforcement is constantly usedin trivial or more spontaneoussituations as well. We often hear such expressions

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as these: “Hey, who’s the boss in this house?” or “Who do you think

you are anyway? RememberI’m the headof this department!” Note that once again the focus is on the separation of roles or on thereinforcementof roles, in an effort to resolve an ambiguoussituation. Reinforcement, then, is a mechanism in which emphasisfalls on

what is submerged or on the verge of being submerged, on whatis inside andthereforeis not being perceived as it should be. Whenthis mechanism has been applied and the ambiguoussituation resolved, we get a social field marked by forma/ity and respect. I think thatis whatRadcliffe-Brown (Radcliffe-Brown 1952) was theorizing about when he wrote hisfirst article on “joking relationships” in 1940. I think that in this article he very keenly perceived that a theory about suchrelations would notbepossible unless at the same time he theorized about the symmetrical but inverse relations of formality and respect. Nevertheless, these relations are not special cases. They are specific ways of resolving normalsituations in social life, and my point here is that one

creates a formalfield when oneseparatesor reinforces social roles. Sepa-

ration or reinforcement, then, is the basic mechanism ofrituals that

are frequently labeled “formal” or “rituals of respect,” in which the basic aim is the separation of elements, categories, or rules that are confused for the moment. To cite a concrete example, I think this is the mechanism that characterizes the social world of the Ndembu and their “rites of affliction” (see Turner 1967: chapter 1, and 1968). A second basic mechanism is zzverston. In this case it appears that this is a radical mechanismin the sense that it really produces a com-

plete shift of elements from one domaininto another from which they are normally excluded. In other words, inversion or reversal unites what is normally separate, creating continuities among the various systems of classification which operate discretely in the social system. Itis precisely this which takes place in eventslike the Brazilian Carnival, where the use of costumes allowsa vast array of beings, social roles, and cate-

gories that would in the normalcourse of events be hidden and marginal, to be broughtinto relationship with the nucleus (or center) of the social system. Inversion, then,joins social categories and roles that are rigidly segregated in the everyday world. The context which wecall “ritual” is therefore created whenthe thief and the cop,the prostitute and the lady of the house, the convict and the diplomat, the transvestite and the macho, are placed side byside. Thesocial field thereby created is based on a special grammatical-

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ity: that of familiarity, joking, and grotesqueness where one looks for the aspects that are outside or beyondthe systems represented by each of these social roles in the normal world. Indeed, that seemsto be the very idea underlying sokzmg. In a joking situation or relationship we systematically tend to ignore those roles that are morerigidly defined by age, sex, or position in a clearly articulated system of social positions (e.g., kinship). When wejoke, we seek to bring out whatis marginal in that system. As Radcliffe-Brown (1952) notes, a grandson pretends he is going to marry the wife of his grandfather or treats her as if she already were his wife. In “joking relationships” the important thing is not the division provided byageorsocial positionsin the kin-

ship system, butit is the fact that both grandfather and grandsonare, first and foremost, males who can sexually desire the same female. This

is the basic structure of joking, since here what is soughtafter is what is marginal (the fact that both are male), the difference in age and social position being eliminated by inversion. Something similar seemsto take place at cocktail parties in academic circles, where professors and students tend to bring out their human side (as husbands, parents, children, Don Juans, pop musicfans,leftists, rightists, and so forth), allowing them to take on socialroles nor-

mally excluded from the routine of academic life. Stress is put on the more universal aspects of social relations that are normally ruled out as structuring or organizing factors of academiclife: e.g., age, sex, or

personal preferences for music, art, sports, etc.

Inversion makes possible a conjunction of positions (Radcliffe-Brown, 1952), as we see in joking. It creates the conditions for shifts between domains and between elements situated in discontinuous positions. Thus, during the Brazilian Carnival, the social classes of Brazil can relate to each other “upside down.” The mediating element between them is not just power and wealth but song, dance, fancy costumes, and joy: ie., the ability to drincar carnaval. Differences continue to exist, to be sure, but all are fundamentally human beings. The dis-

continuities of Carnival are those that separate human beings as mem-

bers of the humanspecies, not those that separate them as members

of classes, factions, political parties, and so forth. With regard to the third mechanism, neutralization, it becomes more difficult to imagine situations which will demonstrate its operation, apart from the ceremonyitself. But one could suggest as a working hypothesis that neutralizations correspond to those situations referred

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to in the anthropological literature as avoidance. Thus avoidancetesults neither in disjunction (which comes about through reinforcement and/or separation) nor in conjunction (which results from inversion). Here the result simply takes the form of a relationship based on distance and on extremerespect, as Radcliffe-Brown pointed out (1952), and equally, on an extremeinversion of behaviorsince there is novisible social relationship in the case of avoidance,as the term itself indi-

cates. This is also an inversion of social behavior, because it does not

permit social communication through normal channels between the parties in the relationship.

I think this is the mechanism governing behavior in situationslike the Mass. It has already been discussed by Lévi-Strauss (1962b), but my treatment of the Mass as an example herewill be different. The Mass accentuates relations that reinforce a pre-established order on the basis of fundamental oppositions: God/humanbeings, celebrant/ faithful in attendance, altar/locale of the public in attendance, objects whose handling is exclusive to some/objects whose handling is inclusive of all. But the Mass also offers a set of situations in which relationshipsare inverted or reversed: God descends to human beings, human beings ascend to God; sacred objects are associated with the lay congregation; there is an appropriate locale for the confusion of categories; and so forth. The paradoxical consequence is conjunction in disjunction, and the result is an avoidance that is manifested in

the solemn set of controlled gestures or acts. It should be noted, however, that these two momentsare grammatically related: the inversion comesafter the reinforcement. Only after the position ofsinner has been highlighted in the Mass is communion effected and pardon granted! I think this example brings out clearly the eminently paradoxical character of the “religious” ritual event. Here we find an attemptto

create a situation in which there are neither winners nor losers, and

to invent and maintain a relationship in which thelinked parties must necessarily be separated and divided. Only a more detailed study could tell us to what extentthis paradox of avoidance corresponds to a seemingly more simplecase: i.e., the relationship between a native man and his mother-in-law in Australia. In support of my argument I can only cite the paradoxical phrase of a male aborigine, who told RadcliffeBrown that he avoided his mother-in-law because “she is my best friend in the world,” the person who “has given me my wife” (Radcliffe-Brown 1952:92).

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Conclusions

In this chapter I have tried to call attention to the combinatorial aspect of those events which wecall “ritual.” My intention was to show that rites do not appear to be events substantially different from those of the everyday world but rather combinations of such everyday moments. The atmosphere ofritual is not created by meansof essential transformations of the world andsocial relations but by manipulations of worldly elements andrelationships. Rituals, then, are ways of highlighting aspects of the everyday world, and I examined three basic ways of doing this highlighting: reinforcement, inversion, and neutralization. In this respect my approach is close to that suggested by Leach (1954 and especially 1961), where he suggests, following Durkheim

and Van Gennep,thatritual is an aspect of social relations and also a technique for changing the position of the moral person from the profaneto thesacredor vice-versa (Leach 1961:206). I differ from Leach in that my three mechanismsare different from his, and in that I have tried to show a fuller articulation of the relationships among these three mechanismsandthree other aspects of everyday social relations: respect, joking, and avoidance.

Bycritically extending the arguments of Leach, Gluckman, Turner,

and others, I have tried to make clear that the raw material of the

world ofritual is the same as the raw material of the world of everyday life; that the differences between them are merely differences of degree, notof quality. Ritual brings into focus, into “close-up,” someelementor relationship. It is more or less pointless to classify rites when one does not comprehendclearly the basic relationships of which they

ate constituted. By the same token, to understandthe basic relations

of the social world is to understand, automatically and simultaneously, the ritual world. Like social relations (sacred or profane, local or na-

tional, formal or informal), rites say things, but with much moteco-

herence, awareness, and emphasis. Rituals, then, are instruments which

give greater clarity to social messages. If rites help to construct and elaborate time, as Leach (1961:135) suggested, they also create gaps in the social routines. Thus, there is no situation defined by a group as special or extraordinary, which is not permeated by a certain kind of awareness of an event, a category, or a relationship: in a word, ofritualization. And thereis no ritualization

that does not use some mechanism intended to neutralize, reaffirm,

ot turn everything “upside down.”

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Finally, I would suggest that we should pay more attention to social relations and to the systemsof those relations than to theeffects produced by their synthesis, as appears to be the case of rituals. As happenedin the case of totemism (Lévi-Strauss 1962a), we should be careful not to mistake the message for the code, nor the phenomenon for its constitutive elements. To find the proper approach to totemism it was necessary to point out that behinda set of seemingly different types, there lay a few basic mechanisms, without which neither the phenomenonperceived as totemism nor even social life itself would be possible. To rethink rites, then, we must first de-ritualize.

2. The Many Levels of Carnival In this chapter and the next one, I shall attempt to test the ideas

aboutritualization and the logic underlying the world of Carnival that I presented in the previous chapter. Here I am less interested in studying Carnival from a formalistic perspective than in exploring more deeply the ideological content and the goalsof the festivity. This chapter, then, will not offer a horizontal discussion of the social mechanismsofritual,

as social anthropologyso likes to do; instead,it will seek to understand the elements that are systematically used to construct Carnivals. Thus, if inversion, as a sociological principle, is the center toward which the

universe of carnival tends, we must makeeveryeffort to link its form

(its logic and formal mechanisms) with its content. We must ask the

crucial question: What exactly is inverted in the case of the Brazilian Carnival? Trying to answer this important question, I studied Carnival much moreclosely, taking into accountits complexity andits variouslevels of expression. But even though I grant the diversity to be found in Carnival, I did not make the mistake of imagining that there are different kinds of Carnivals related to each other in somesortof hierarchical way. To have done so would have been to project the values of my ownsociety into the phenomenon understudy.If there are different Carnivals, they all follow the same rules and use the same crucial

elements for dramatization. They are like soccer games played bydif-

ferent teams —somepoor, somerich, some white, someblack. Would

that fact justify us in saying that in each case they are playing a dif-

ferent game? Aren’t they all embodiments of one and the samebasic,

unquestionable dramatization, as norm and praxis, which is therefore capable of inventing its many planes within the frameworkofa fantastic dramatic unity? 61

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Here I took the decision to consider Carnival as a complicated reflection of, and a commentary on,the Brazilian social world, not a direct reflection of its social structure. Reflection andreality are like the two sides of the same coin, each sheddinglight on the other. Setting aside the theory of direct reflection, I have chosen to adopt the view

of Marx and Lévi-Strauss, who both posit ideology as a level of social reality that indeed reflects the world, but upside downas in a camera obscura (to use Marx’s image in the German Ideology). The theory of direct reflection inflates common sense: something already knownis fully reified and confirmed. It would imply that Carnival merely reproducesthe universal forms that commandor that supposedly govern the set of conflicts of Brazilian society. The theory of indirect reflection and multiple dramatization, on the other hand, starts with the assump-

tion that Carnival creates not only its many different levels but z¢s own

/eve/of social reality. Like the theater, soccer, games, andclosedsitua-

tions in general, Carnival creates its own social space, which may be limited but has its own rules and follows its own logic. Because this space is in direct opposition (as an inverted image) to daily life, under normal conditions it merely reinforces the everyday world. But normal conditionsare very relative and,as I try to makeclear throughoutthis book, Carnival styles seem to be very important as an alternative mode of collective behavior. This is especially true because it is at Carnival that, in Brazil, we experiment with new avenuesofsocialrelationship that lie dormantor are considered to be utopias from the perspective of everyday life. That is why Brazilians classify Carnival as the realm of craziness! This being said, let me assure myreaders that I know very well that Carnival reproduces the world; but I am certain that this reproduction is neither direct nor automatic. The reproduction is dialectical, with

manyself-reflections, circuits, niches, dimensions, andlevels. Thatis

precisely why society can change and why there can be, after all, hope for the world. My sociology is not one that merely confirms the power of the powerful, the extinction of native Indian tribes, and the sweeping rottenness of the world in which welive. In studying such things as the power of the powerful and the extinction of our Indian tribal groups, I hope we will be able to discover and create the cracks and openingsthat will let in the light pointing toward our future and the fresh air of a frank, open comparative sociology. By this I mean a sociology thatis willing to take risks and to admitthat the social world is, first and foremost, a human world, hence a world subjected to mul-

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63

tiple determinations. This, in brief, is the perspective that I have tried to follow in writing this chapter. Two Basic Social Domains: The House and the Street

In Jorge Amado’s first book,significantly entitled O Pais do Carna-

val (The landofcarnival), the main character, Paulo Rigger, makes the

following statementat a crucial point: “I havefelt like a Brazilian only twice. Once, at Carnival, when I danced the samba in the street. The other, when I beat Julie after she had betrayed me.”

His statementis filled with meaningful elements. Let us consider its complex semantic field in parts. First, it is importantto realize that this novel was written in the early thirties, when the main national

intellectual concern was the search for the Brazilian identity, for the

“essence” or “substance” of what it truly meant to be a Brazilian. In

that context Paul’s discovery or disclosure was as provocative as it was revealing. For him, being a Brazilian came down to dancing the samba in the street and adoptingthe typically crude, authoritarian, and patriarchal behavior of beating French mistresses (or for that matter, any

other woman) whenever they betrayed him. I should also add that when Julie did cheat on Paulo—the newly converted bourgeois son of a powerful Bahian cocoa plantation owner—she did so with one of his own employees, a virile and muscular black man who never experienced

the existential dilemmas of his young patron. Paul’s statement suggests an elementof tragedy in finding oneself a Brazilian. In other countries finding one’s identity is bound up with

problemsof civic education and culture and has to do with flags, an-

thems, crowns, or heroic struggles. For our character Paulo, whots ob-

viously a paradigm,being a Brazilian comes downto melting into the anonymouscrowd dancing the sambain thestreet and savagely beating his European mistress. In the case of finding a more comprehensive Brazilian identity, then, what takes center stage is Carnival and the need for the control over female sexual favors. The importance of Paul’s remark is that, like any authentic sociological model, it sums up briefly some of the basic elements of the ritual world of Carnival as they are enacted in Brazil. Note,first of all, that for Paulo Rigger the process of identification as a Brazilian points us to two basic social domains. Onets the street,

where he danced the samba with a mulatto womanin typical representation of Brazilian “carnivalesque” sensuality. The other social do-

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mainis the house (the bedroom, to be more precise), where his deceiving French mistress was beaten. So we have the following propositions: To dance the sambais to the street as to beat a mistress is to the house (and the bedroom). and

Thestreet is to lack of control and mixing with a multitudeof persons as the house is to control and authoritarianism.

This opposition between street and house is basic, and it can be a powerful tool in analyzing the Brazilian social world, especially when one wants to examine its processes of ritualization. The category street basically points to the world with its unpredictable events, accidents, and passions; the Aowse refers to a controlled

universe where everything is in its proper place. The street implies movement, novelty, action; the house implies harmony and calm. The

latter also defines a fundamental, but exclusive, place of affection and

warmth, as is suggested by the word of Latin origin /ar (“hearth”), which is used in Portuguese to mean “home”and “house.” In the street people work; at homethey rest. Thus the social groups that occupy the house are very different from the ones to be found in the domain of the street. In the house we find associations shaped and governed by personal rules: the norms of kinship and blood relationship, the links of patronage which combine economic and moral bonds; in the street we find relationships strongly marked by individualistic choice or at least the possibility of choice. In the house relationships are ruled by the “natural” hierarchies of sex and age, precedence going to males

and the oldest; in the streetit often takes someeffort in localizing such

hierarchies because people can be classified by manydifferentcriteria. In this way, although both domains should be governed by a hierarchy based on respezto and consideracao (tespect and consideration), the latter being a fundamentalrelational concept of the Brazilian social

world (see Viveiros de Castro 1974), this basic conceptis aboveall char-

acteristic of the relationship between parents and children, and especially between father and son, which, in many contexts, seems to mirror the “patron-client’ relationship. One consequence ts that in the street one must be careful not to violate unknownor unpetceived hierarchies. One must also be careful notto fall prey to people who wantto deceive or ensnateus, since the basic rule of the street is deceit, deception, and roguery (malandragem) —the Brazilian art of using ambiguityas a toolfor living. In the

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street, then, the world tends to be viewed in Hobbesian terms: it is

the warof all against all until some form ofhierarchical principle can surface and establish some kind of order. It is quite the opposite in the house. Therethe spaceis strictly marked out anddivided into different areas: the veranda, the drawing room,

the dining room, the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedrooms, and the

inevitable “‘servants’ quarters” and service areas. As a totality, then, the homeis a set of spaces where greateror lesser intimacy is permitted, possible, or forbidden. It is obvious that the opposition street/house sepatates two mutually exclusive domains. Yet this opposition operates in a complex way, since it may be expressed both in the form ofa static binary dichotomy and in termsof gradations(i.e., in a continuum). Thespatial division of the Brazilian homeitself suggests the possibility of gradation, of compromise and mediation. The porch or veranda is an ambiguous space between the house andthestreet generally located facing the street. The parlor or drawing room is also an intermediary space, although within the house,since it is a place wherevisitors are received. Another ambiguous componentof the house, situated between the inside and outside world, is made up of the windows, from which one

can “see”the street and its constant display of movement. As we learn from Thales de Azevedo (1975), it was from the windowsthat the young ladies of a house could make visual contact with their boyfriends. Certain areas of the house, then, allow for communication between the

inside and the outside, hence between the feminine (always understrict control) and the masculine. In addition, the Brazilian kitchenis also a special place, exclusively female and—even today, in a time of change and modernization —

separated from therest of the house and usually hidden, whichis not

the case with the houses of North America and Europe. Another equally ambiguousarea is the servants’ quarters. This is a space whichrelates the world of the house with the street, work, poverty, and marginality.

These observations can be extendedto thelayoutof Brazilian urban space and,byextension, to the layout of Latin American and Mediter-

raneancities, where there is a correspondence between the layout of

the home,withits well-marked internal divisions, and that ofthecity.'

1In Brazil it is a sign of poverty or even destitution to live in a space which is not differentiated internally or externally. One wholives like that must be prey to the confusions of mixture, and this is seen as a sign of serioussocial inferiority. In other

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In fact, it can be said that at the level of the city, the street is also a category open to subdivisions: “my street” or “our street” in opposition to “the street” as a general, disembodied category. In addition, the street is the place where I have my house, whereas the Praga (square)

constitutes an area of formal and impersonal encounters, a kind ofurban drawing room. Thusthe squaresof Latin America are always dot-

ted with geometric, well-tended gardens, in contrast to the “parks”

of the Anglo-Saxon world. We must also note that Mediterranean homes have an internal patio, an area which functions as a kind of stage —as occurs also in the villages of the Gé and Bororo Indiansin central Brazil, for example. This inner courtyard is a focal point of community activities, of rituals in particular, and of circulation in general. In any case,it is also the focal point of the gaze ofthe villagers —a basic aspect I shall return to later. The distinctive feature of the domain of the house seemsto be the greater controlover social relationships, which certainly implies more intimacy andless social distance. My houseis the site of my family, of “my folks” (os meus), as we say in Brazil. The street, on the other hand, implies a certain lack of control and distance or separation. It is the place of punishment, “struggle,” and work, of what we Brazilianscall “the harshreality oflife” (¢ dura realidade da vida). As a general category in opposition to the house, then, thestreet is the public

arena controlled by “the government” or by destzno (destiny) —those impersonal forces over which we have minimal control.

In that sense the street is equivalent to the category mato (scrubland)orfloresta (forest) in the rural world (or of the zazure in the tribal

world). Here again we are speaking of an only partially known and controlled domain peopled by dangerous beings. Thusit is in the street and in the forests that the rogues, deceivers, marginal characters, and spirits live—those entities with whom I never have precise contractual relations.” In this sense, then,thestreet is a specific locale and a complexsocial domain. When people in Brazil say “I’m headingforthe street,” they words, one-room houses can lead to what we call a dagumca (a mess), a state of “dirty

squalidness” or social confusion. That is also why so many Brazilians are shocked by

the absence of fences or other enclosing devices between the houses in North American cities. Forcritical reflections on the sociological importanceof“dirt,” see Douglas

(1966).

For a study of these entities in one region of Brazil, the Amazon, see DaMatta

(1967, 1973a).

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mean they are heading for the business centerofthe city, or for some city if they live in a village or in some jumbledcluster on the outskirts of a city. In a like manner, such expressions as moleque de rua (‘street kid,” “gutter snipe”) and 74 para a rua (“dump ‘em into thestreet’) are very strong andoffensive. The first expression signifies a person with no sense of morality; the second signifies a very brutal way of eliminating someonefrom specific social context. Throwing someone “out of the house” is synonymouswith depriving that person ofa social position. In Brazil, then, leaving homeor the houseis a kind of penalty or punishment, depending on thesituation. In its overall meaning, then, the street denotes everything relating to the public, uncontrolled aspects of the urban world. It should also be noted that the category “street” can be further divided into two othercategories: the “center” and the public “square.” Indeed, the urban world of Brazil always has the Aowse (the place of greater intimacy), the praga (the square), and the centro da cidade (the center, the downtownarea). The square represents the esthetic aspects of the city: it is a metaphorofits cosmology. There wefind the gardens and the edifices that are most basic to the social life of the community: the church (representing religious power) and the governmental center or town hall (representing political power). The “center,” on the

other hand, is the area of commercial concentration where impersonal transactionsare carried out. In manycities, of course, the center and

the public square coincide. But it is important to realize that on the conceptuallevel there is a separation between the domain of temporal andreligious authority and the economic domain. In these social universes there tends to be a separation betweenreligion, politics, and economiclife. The three realms may be complementary, but they do not coincide.? Reinforcing the dichotomy betweenstreet and house,there is a whole set of social roles, objects, and actions that properly belong to one or the other domain. Reprimanding and beating people, for example, are actions that should take place in the privacy of the home, where they are appropriate. Political conflict and confrontation, on the other hand, ate in principle banished completely from the house; they are supposedto take place in the streets, and especially in the public squares near theoffices of government. Sleeping, eating, bathing, having sex3The implications of this point are important. See Weber (1967), Dumont(1970a, 1970b). For the Brazilian situation see Otavio Velho (1976), Schwartzman (1975).

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ual relations, and all other forms of physiological relief and satisfaction are actions that should take place in the realm of the home, where people recuperate from the daily grind and renew their vitality. Thus everything having to do with the care and use ofthe body, everything involving rest and recuperation, is associated with the domain of the house, whereas activities associated with outside aspects of the social

world belong to the public domain of thestreet. In Jorge Amado’s novel we see that Paulo Rigger suitably beats his mistress at home andparticipates in Carnival in the street. In this case the streets are those in the center of the city. But Paulo’s more orless perplexed tone suggests that in this case we confront a sharp opposition. In fact, the place for the mistressis really the street, not the house.

Andthe place for singing and dancing, especially in the case of the

upperclass, is a house or club—certainly not the street. In this novel

Jorge Amado successfully pulls off an inversion, placing in the street

elements that should be in the house and vice-versa. Julie, Paulo’s French mistress, comes to have a permanentrelation with him. Indeed,

the reversal is so symmetrical that we cannot help butsee it as an intuitive and trivial dramatization. The House and the Street: Dialectics, Symbolization, and Ritualization

Myprevious remarks are enough to suggest a complicated relationship between Aouse andstreet. As sociological categories, the two terms imply both an opposition and gradations, as was the case in the segmentary oppositions of the Nuer in the classic description of EvansPritchard (1940). The street can be viewed andusedasif it were a part or an extension of the house, and areas of the house or home can be

seen in certain situations as parts of the street. Significant examples of the first possibility are the houses of Naplesor the hillside favelas (shanty towns) of Rio de Janeiro, whereit is difficult to mark any clear boundary between the houses andthestreets. The sameis true for the old Brazilian custom,still flourishing in manycities, of setting rocking chaits on the sidewalk, especially in the evening at twilight. The second possibility is well exemplified by the verandas and the drawing rooms where families used to set all their chinaware in special cabinets, the crzstalezras, as if it wete on permanent exposition. In the drawing room theyalso hungthe portraits of their ancestors. The drawing room wastruly an intermediate realm between the house and the

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street. Indeed, the only way to comprehendcorrectly this room and its dichotomyis to examineits logic, its movements, andits articulations. For it is by taking seriously their dialectics that we can escape the frozen picture that often results from a purely formalist or taxonomic viewpoint. Jorge Amado’s novel helps usto realize that the domains of home and street are more than distinctive, static spaces. It also allows us to

perceive social roles and ideologies, specific actions and objects, because these and other constitutive elements of a society are not loose in the social structure; on the contrary, they are always in some way associated. Each domain hasits fitting social roles, ideologies, values,

actions, specific objects—someof them created especially for that sphere of life. Thusall the social roles which are articulated by an ideology of substance necessarily associated with body and blood(as is the case with the domain of kinship) must be created and acted out in and through the house in the Brazilian case. Butall social roles involving choice and volition (matters of the “soul” and of a more impersonal “morality”)—i.e., voluntary associationssuchas clubs,political parties, and otherformsof civic organization — belongto the public realm and to the street. The same holds true for objects and activities. No one expects to find beds, kitchenware, and intimate apparel in an office. By the sametoken, in the homeanythingrelated to the realm of work should be in a restricted and special place. Exchanges of objects and dislocations of social roles from their respective original domains are responsible for the “clues” (which ultimately lead to criminals) and for “‘scandals,” “scenes,” “dramas,” and “dirty things,” since they trigger sharp awareness of unwantedor unexpectedshifts and interferences between different domains. In other words,since social systems are madeof differentiated spheres

or domains, there is a grammarora logical arrangement amongthese domains. We generally tend to pay a great deal of attention to social roles as individualizing elementsin a social structure, ignoring the possibility of seeing them as parts of specific systems and subsystems of the social world. From this perspective, social roles, together with other elements, form clear sets that mark and are marked by their domains

oforigin. Dislocations and shifts from one domain to anotherareresponsible for a variety of processes. Indeedit is in this passage that they can be perceived as znverted, reinforced, ot neutralized, as was brought out in the previous chapter. If an element—object or social role—circulates between very dis-

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tant and contradictory domainsin a given social system, it will be the focusof fairly strong references; and the stronger its evocative power, the greater will be the effort to return it to its sphere of origin. The distance between domainswill call attention to the object and will transform it. For example, a skull would be nothing more than a natural remain in a grave, where it belongs; but it comes to represent a lot in a drawing room or in a kitchen drawer! A bow or a club, which

are tools for hunting and warfare in the tribal world, tell us much more about the owner of a modern house when they are hanging on a wall, provoking speculation about their use and aboutthe family in question. The sameholdstrue for the work tools of the manuallaborer and the peasant. In a workshop or a field, the hammerandthesickle

are purely functional instruments; but they lose their instrumentality

and gain proportional evocative power as they are taken from their

original places and are associated to an explicit ideology of change. Now,far from their original domains, repesented against the red field of a flag, they become é¢racks or clues and, as truly dislocated objects, they are transformed into symbols of a well-defined political group. The basis of the symbolization process, then, is the displacement or passage of an object and its aberrant manifestation in a different, unfamiliar domain. This would seem to be important because we often talk about symbols but we seldom try to specify the conditions under which a mere object—a piece of paper, a stone, a gesture, a book, or an animal—can be transformed into a symbol. I argue that a fundamental part of the process ofsymbolhzation is the dislocation or passage of some element from one domainto another. A society not only classifies but also organizes and manipulates its classifications. And classifications are made upof things, persons, relations, objects, sentiments, and ideas. The great insight of Arnold Van Gennepwas, of coutse, to raise the questionof “rites of passage.” But instead of being obsessed by the term “ritual,” I think we would do better by focusing on the notion of movement, process, and displacementthatis inherent in this formulation and implicit in his notion of passage. The idea that displacementis the crucial mechanism in the transformation of objects into symbols is also basic, I think, in understanding what a rite is. For it enables us to see ritual as something constructed and not as a finished and definitive type of social activity, as it is so commonly viewedin social anthropology. If, as I suggest, we must ask how and why an object, X, became a symbol and under what conditions that was possible, then we must also ask ourselves under what citcum-

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‘stances a given complex of social activities can be transformed into a “ritual.” Thanks above all to the work of Victor Turner, we know that the processes of symbolization and ritualization are interrelated and “go together.” I suggest that in both processes we have a phenomenon of putting people on the alert — of heightening conscious awareness. This indeed is the only common denominatorI can see in whatis called the ritual sphere, which is systematically qualified by countless modifiers, as I noted in the previous chapter. Like symbolization, ritualization basically comes downtoan established way ofshifting objects from their places of origin or familiarity to other domains. These displacements sharply heighten our awareness of the nature of the object, the characteristics of its original place, and the congruity of its new position. Such displacements, then, lead to a heightened awarenessofall social processes, especially on the arbitrary nature of ideological constructs which sustain social life. That is why the realm of theater, with its genuineartificiality and arbitrariness, can moveus. In its artificial depiction I see a re-presentation of mysocial world. Through contrast with its artificiality I end up being moved.and mobilized bythe real world, which is removed completely from its proper place and put into a special space, the stage, and set in movementby theactors. I am similarly perplexed and sharply aware of mental disorder whenI see someonewashinghis or her hands in a compulsive and systematic fashion. Here, as in all cases of displaced gestures, hand washing ceases

to be a functional act and hasonly allusive, evocative, and/or symbolic content.It is the displacement of the act (washing one’s hands in the absence of functional orrational, “ritual” or hygienic necessity) that calls my attention to the mental derangement.4 Victor Turner poses a parallel question in his studyofrites of passage and the use of masks on such occasions. In Central Africa, for example, the size of the masks are disproportional; the objects are characterized by exaggeration. He then asks: “What is the point of this exaggeration amounting sometimesto caricature? It seems to me that to enlarge or diminish or discolor in this way is a primordial mode

4The example comes from Freud (1965). I am basically trying to show that the notion of dislocation or displacementis basic in the realm of symbols. I am also suggesting that obsessive and “automatic” acts are really displaced acts. By witnessing them, we became aware of their nonfunctionality and their disturbing allusive power. That, I submit, is what makes the symbolandtheritual. It is up to the student of

society to discover the underlying reasons for this apparentirrationality.

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of abstraction” (1967:103). To abstract is to be able to compare and differentiate aspects, relations, and social domains. As Turner implies,

exaggeration is a privileged way of making novices aware ofcertain basic features of their society. Now the mechanism usedto dothisis clear. As weare saying, it is the displacement of objects that is at the base of this process, so that the joining of a human being with an animal by meansof a mask promotesthedislocation that enables crucial comparisons and consequently a synthesis of different levels of one and the same tribal reality. Victor Turner is quite clear about the impor-

tance ofthis process of heightening conscious awarenessin celebrations, but he does not regard it as the central elementin theritual process,

as I am doing here. Indeed, he says: “Monsters startle neophytes into

thinking about objects, persons, relationships, and features of their environment they have hitherto taken for granted” (1967:105, italics added). This amounts to saying that displacement is responsible for the perception and,for a fleeting moment, for the correspondingrelativization of the extraordinary set of constructed “truths.” ThusI think it is importantto call attention to the process of dis-

placement.It is through this process that we can exaggerate (or rein-

force qualities), invert (or disguise qualities by an exchange ofplaces), and even neutralize (diminish or omit qualities) and thus become con-

scious of somebasic social processes and spheres. Calling attention to

passages and displacementsas the core ofthe ritual processis also important because we know thatin national societies we have systems in which social domains are far removed from one another. Instead of having systems whose basic characteristic is the hierarchical interrelationship and complementarity of domains, which is what we find in tribal and traditional societies, in industrial societies we have competition, conflict, and contradiction between the diverse spheres of social

reality. In our societies displacements are obvious and tendto allow

one domain, considered basic, to contaminate all other spheresoflife.

Displacements of objects in complexsocieties —i.e., the ritual process of industrial societies— create symbols that are supposed to be dominant, to serve as a patadigm for the contamination of the whole system. I don’t think it is by accident that almostall these symbols are constituted of objects associated with heavenly things or things from above in their original domains(the eagle, the cross on the mountain peak, the stars, the moon,the sun, etc.), or with overpowering animals or objects (such as the lion, the dragon, the griffin, the sword). The symbolism of our flags—and our symbolism in general—tends to dramatize poweras a totalizing element in a system that readsitself

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as fragmented and devoid of a center. Our metaphor of power, then, is constructed by linking the high with the low,as if this sort of connection and e/evation could effect an indisputable union ofall and end the differences between the various domains that make up our social experience. In the tribal world, by contrast, the dialogue seems to be between spheres that are seen as horizontal, equivalent, and com-

plementary, as is the case with the dichotomyof nature and culture.

Here,as I have noted, the problem seemsto beto individualize, which

in such systems makes it possible for healing and other miracles to occur. I hope that these considerations of a more general nature will help us to frame the main implication of the dialectic of street and house in the Brazilian social universe. I am of the opinion that interpretations of Carnival are heavily dependenton therelations between these two categories. Clearly one of the crucial problems posed by the dialectic of street and house is knowing what objects shift from one domain to the other and under what circumstances they do so. Here we want to know when the domestic or the public world can bealtered,

be it by changing one of these domains into the other or by emphasizing only one of them. When wepose the problem of displacement

or intermixing in this way, weare really looking for metaphor: the crucial and essential linkage between domains. I would suggest that there

are situations in which the houseis extended into—and encompasses —the street and the city, so that the social world finds its center in

the personalized metaphorof the house. In other situations the opposite is true: the street and its objects and values tend to penetrate (and encompass) the intimate world of the house, so that society is integrated by the metaphorof public, impersonal life. Finally, there are situations where the two domainsare related by a “double metaphor,” the domestic realm invading the public realm and being invaded by it in turn. In such situations society ends up creating a special mo-

ment, onethatis truly in-between the intimacy of the house and the

impersonality of the street. Before we consider the way this occurs in the Brazilian Carnival, let us take a more careful look at displacement as a tool for symbolizing and ritualizing.

Basic Forms of Displacement

Let us begin with the assumption thata basic relationship exists be-

tween social domains andtheroles, ideologies, actions, sentiments,

and objects that are contained in them. The crucial task would be to

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track the origzm of someentities in their social displacements. We know that every society is made up of a multitudeofdifferent passages and dislocations. In everyday life these passages are indelibly stamped with the dialectic of house and work. Indeed, this is so well-marked in our

culture that we call this frenetic passage “rush hour.” This undoubtedly has to do with the fact that we are keenly aware not only of this passage, butalso of ourarrival or departure from homeand work. But,

weare all conscious too that the passageis only a “rush,” that is, some-

thing to be disregarded. Whatreally matters in daily life is the departure or the arrival. In the everyday world, then, we attach importance to what happens

at work or at home. Here, what is taken into account is thatlife is

madeof a dialectic of two poles that are in opposition, comparison, competition, or reciprocity. When we are at work, we think about our home,ourglass of beer, and our favorite chair; when we are at home,

we talk about work and often look forward to it anxiously.

In the ritual world, or rather in the “displaced universe” of ritual

and of the heightened awareness, all is reversed. In this case, it is the movement that becomes important. \n the ritual context departure and arrival are not as importantas the journeyitself, which really becomesthe elementthatis ritualized and consciously noted. So we have a continuum running from more unconscious andtrivial journeys (such as our frequent“rush hours’) to the almost epic movementsandstages of such things as pilgrimages, in whichit is essential to keep moving ahead andto arrive (see Turner and Turner 1978). Everyday travel or journeying is really functional, rational, and operational because it has a specific objective: work, shopping, business, study, etc. But in the “ritual journey”—or better, the conscious journey of ritual—the goal and the journey becomeso intertwined that they become equivalent. Now, the normal displacementof everydaylife is inverted, since one does not concentrate only on the arrival, but it is the journeyitself that constitutes the whole objective of the trip. Besides, the aim of a ritualjourney is not to seek anything concrete, palpable, or translatable in practical goals, but such ineffable things as blessings, cures, and signs of faith. There are many types of journeys in the social world of Brazil that, like pilgrimages, clearly express their particular points of departure and arrival, and hence are capable of creating or inventing different ritual moments. In pilgrimages, one leaves one’s home—where oneis petsonalized by an irreplaceable networkofrelatives, godparents, and

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friends—and goes out to meet one’s diffuse and sometimesill-defined companionsof faith. The proposition of the journey seems to be a gradualsubstitution ofthe original ties of substance (given by “family blood” and kinship links) with morecollective social and political ties that are given throughreligion. The aim is to transform the “child or relative of so-and-so” into something much moregeneral, a “child of God” and brotherorsister of all the other pilgrims, no matter what his or her material, moral, and spiritual conditions may be. Thepilgrimageis a journey that implies displacementandestablishes a relationship between the most intimate and the most universal, until it

is possible to return again to a renewed intimacy. For if the journey is successful, we gain our lost intimacy with God and thereby recover our intimacy with all other human beings, including thoseclosest to us. The second distinctive type of journey is the procession, which—as

we saw in the last chapter—comesfrom a Latin word meaning “to move forward.” It is a basic variation of the pilgrimage. In a pilgrimage, as the Turners point out, it is we who go out to meet the cemzer. In a procession it is the center (represented by the image of the saint) who comes out to meetus, leaving its sacred niche in the shrine or church. We can choose to comeoutof our housesor notbut, if we do, we take part in an orderly journey whose movingcenteris rigidly organized aroundthesaint and the authorities. In Brazil processions, like military parades, follow a familiar, predictable route, “sacralizing” (or “legitimizing’’) the streets and alleys of residential or peripheral neighborhoodsof the cities. Processions generally avoid “the business center” (ceztro comercial), which is a profane area in competition with the ideals and values of religious faith. The procession, thus, goes through streets where families assemble in order to be able to to see and therefore to receive and welcome the saint into their residences. In the procession, it is the sacred which enters into the houses and, as the faithful say, into the heartsofall

the participants and observers. The procession is a momentin which the saint, who is aboveall, eliminates the dichotomy between home and street and creates his or her own social field. Carried on litter and higher than the surrounding crowd, thesaint is actually e/evated and above all, uniting as brothers andsisters all the faithful who,at the momentof their passage, transfer their sentimentsoffiliation to thesaint, often with sincere and disturbing emotion. The saint,

thus, whenit passes, creates relationships that are often cemented by the avid look of faith in the eyes of the devotees, a look which aug-

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ments andcrystallizes the corporality of the loyal followers. In the process, the faithful may temporarily transfer to the saint their original and most fundamentalloyalties to their group, class, or social category. This is the basic social process at the bottom of the experience referred to as having been blessed by the saint. What is involved here is a redefinition, where loyalties to group, class, and social category are weutralized, giving way to an intimate relationship with the saint which is made through eye contact and sometimesis experienced as penetrating and afflictive. Through this experience a relationship is established that includesall of those who are following as well as those who are looking at thesaint. It is precisely at these moments, of course,

that the saint’s miracles and favors can descend upon the realm of human beings.

In processions, then, everyone is united by fraternal ties with the

saint, and throughthis relation (which assumesthe typical form of a

patronage link), they are linked toall other believers who also follow

the saint. The pointis, therefore, to establish linkages with and through the saint. : In this passage, which is both physical and social, the streets are transformed and the boundaries between street and houseare dissolved. Water or hospitality should not be denied to the participants. The whole space is occupied by people whoare in a privileged relationship to the saint. The atmosphere is one of transferred loyalties and opennessto the sacred field. Windows and doorsare to be open. There are lace-trimmedcurtains, linen cloths, and bright vases of flowers on the windowsills and verandas. All this is doneso that thesaintis able to “see” the house, in a dramatization of the openness andtherelational field that should exist between the saint and human beings— even in their residences, where they find their most inalienable loyalties. Thus the sacred enters the house and is welcomed there.

But even when a procession celebrates the feast day of a saint, it

also raises the questionof “sacrifice,” i.e., of using one’s body to make an expressive contact with the saint. Participating in the procession,

no matter how difficult it maybe, is a “sacrifice” in which the body

ceases to be an instrument of pleasure and instead enters the service of the sacred. Note that again we have a transference or reallocation

of loyalties, this time of a more intimate nature andlevel, for here the

bodyis used to express religious corporate loyalty. Thus the procession engenders an intermediary social field in which the body assumes a central position. No wonderthis is the point whenthe saint can cure

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illness and remedyaffliction.It is as if the “body ofthe faithful” could lose its routinized boundaries and,in the momentsofgreatest fervor, unite with the image and giveit life. In this movement, when “house” and “street” lose their meaning, cures can becomea reality. The atmosphere is oneof great tolerancefor the destitute and the weak in general. All are united with and throughthesaint, whose social existence is assured precisely because he orshe is capable of transcending all divisions and differences. That is the proof that the sacred is truly above us (see Alves 1980). Military parades are a second form of procession. Here again the participants move forward in an established manner, one behind the other. It is worth noting that the word “parade” is used here in designating this form of relationship between the public realm and the house. The parada militar (military parade) has a double pointof departure: the soldiers leaving their barracks and the spectators leaving their residences. The dramatic momentof the military parade is an obvious and revealing demonstration of force since the contingents

of armed men, ready for war and in uniform, march in perfect order

and are so seen and applauded. Whereasin religious processions the movementsare less rigid and more emotional, in military parades they are kept understrict control. Anotherbasic feature of military parades

is the stress on divisions and separations. In religious processions peo-

ple can enter and leave the corporate set as they please becauseit has a nucleus and floating area open to anyone whowantsto participate. This is completely ruled out in military parades, which are a form of passage with only two positions: those who are inside the order and the rigid hierarchy of the event and those who are outside and can only watch (note this basic form of participation again) whatis going on in the street. The dramatization effected by the military parade entails a hierarchical separation of positions. The only ones who can take part in the paradeare “soldiers,” who belong to some permanentcorporate bodyas part of the armedforces. In Brazil, as well as in many other “developing countries,” this corporate entity is the most eloquent personification of the state and governmentin terms of order, discipline, obedience, and power. Perhaps this is why in the large urban centers of Brazil, military parades always happen in the very “center” of the city. Consequently, on the one hand wehavethe solemn,silent military men, marchingin strict order and distinguished by their corps, wearing their uniforms and bearing their weapons, and on the other hand we have the people watching as an undifferentiated mass: talk-

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ing, unrestrained, impressed with the pompanddiscipline of the activities and armed with their most precious assets— their admiration, their obedience, and their children, who are here learning their first practical lessons in citizenship. Military parades, then, take place in the center of the city, which

is won backto order, patriotism, andcivic morality. It loses its everyday cast, which is dominated by highly individualizing economic trans-

actions. At these parades the leading characters are the authorities, who

afe stationary on the reviewing stand and whoreceive the “salutes” of the soldiers. The focusis on the flag and the symbols of the nation, which are also embodied in the persons who hold sacred offices in the power structure ofthe state. Thestrict separation between the masses on the one handand the authorities and their soldiers on the other brings out the framework and dramaof a society in its most authoritarian terms. The street and the square ate taken away from the people and are turned over to the soldiers, who, armed and uniformed, now

renew their ties of loyalty to the authorities. Here the mediation between house andstreet is achieved by meansof a sharply divided and rigid social field, with the houses actually being dragged into the pub-

lic world, recruited as the soldiers were. Again, whereas in thereli-

gious procession people are seen as “brothers and sisters,” here they

all are “fellow citizens.” Some are, of course, invested with the consecrated roles of authority and order, somefill the lowlier roles of un-

differentiated spectators, and a third group — the military —serve as the pointer of the balance. In this context, the military are the material embodimentof pure power, of power in its most blatant, instrumental, and even brutal form. They are armed and prepared for warfare,

whichin the case of nations with an authoritarian national style means keeping commonpeoplefar from the squares and streets and reminding them that their role in the orderedsetupofthe social world is that of mere spectator. Finally, we have a third form of procession, the line of march or marching rows of people knownas the desfi/e, the term being applied mainly to the displays and pageants of Carnival. The Invention of Carnival

Let us consider the Carnival desfi/e more closely, taking it as the center of our analysis. This will distinguish this study from the last chapter, where I was mainly interested in calling attention to certain basic features of the Brazilian Carnival.

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Oneof the features of the Carnival paradeis that it is part of what is knownasthe “street Carnival,” as opposed to a closed Carnival taking place in clubs, which is a truly domestic Carnival. Before 1840, when dancesorballs became popular, in Rio de Janeiro (Eneida 1958: 29f.), Carnival took place in homesand hadnoinstitutionalized public orientation. It wasa festival of family and neighborhood, closer to the Portuguese extrudo from whichit arose. The carnaval de rua (ot “street Carnival” as opposed to the carnaval de clube ot carnaval de

salao, “club Carnival”or “ballroom Carnival”) reproduces the classic

segmentary division between house andstreet consistently used in speakingof this festival and —as we are seeing — pervadesthe ordering of Brazilian social life. In the street, Carnival mainly takes the form

of an open encounter, dominated in Rio de Janeiro by the desfi/e of the sambaschools. In the clubs, the atmosphere is much more well

defined, since even the physical spaceitself is private. But it would be a mistake to regard this division as rigid. It takes only a little reflection to see that street and c/ub ate in segmentary opposition, for in their respective contexts these two areas reproduce again the sameop-

position. Thus, in the open carnaval de rua (‘street Carnival’), the

dancing parading lines of samba schools and d/ocos (“blocs”), carry out an effective closing of “Carnival space,” since they are clearly defined associations of people who have gathered together for the specific performance of a parade. As they pass, there is a clearly defined public that merely watches the performers who display themselves. And there, too, as we shall see, one also finds gradations. By the same logic, the closure of the carnaval de clube or saléo is

segmentary and relative. First, admission to the balls is a matter of monetary payment, as is typical of Carnival. Closed, exclusive clubs, then, do not meetfor Carnival “by invitation only,” basing admission to their balls on sociopolitical or moral criteria. On the contrary, even the most exclusive clubs opt for the logic of the market, which clearly becomes dominantat Carnival. Second, once inside the club we find

a setup that again reproduces the same opposition. We find: (1) a stage for the orchestra; (2) a hall where people can make metry (S7incam) 5Since the “Carnival ball” is a source of income for many clubs, they “open up”

during Carnivalfor the general public. The Yacht Club ofRio de Janeiro, for example,

is a closed, upper-class association, but during Carnival it holds its famous “Hawaii Night” ball, which is open to all who can pay the price of an “invitation.” This is a telling inversion of the ordinary rules of the game, where a private, exclusive club follows a moral, political, and social logic which explicitly dismisses the rule of money

as an exclusive criteria of belonging and admission to its main events.

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individually or in groups, entering and leaving when they wish; (3) a collection of tables around the hall; and (4) a balcony of boxes (camarotes) above the main floor, with tables and chairs, where people obviously have a morerestricted and closed space. Again we encounter the samelogic of the carnaval de rua (‘street Carnival’), with areas andlevels that are moreotless rigidly organizedor closed. In the main hall, which is the center of thefestivity, the setup is both individual and collective. Like a street, it is open. In this area there is a constant movementof people, the/o/6es (from the Frenchfo/e, madness), moving in a citcle—acting out the craziness of Carnival individually, in couples, or in groups. Theycirculate slowly around thehall in such a way that everyone is seen by everyoneelse, including those whoare at the tables and in the balcony. The space occupied by the tables and boxes is a much more private and less open plane; for here we find corporate groupsof people, usually families or groups of couples who ate friends. The area of table and the box, then, symbolizes or dramatizes the House itself, the place from which one observes the people passing in the street (here the hall). The area of the boxes is even more closed, of course, and the people there can be seen even moreclearly by those in the hall or some otherarea of the club. From the box to the table to the hall we have a perfect continuum, but a gradation that can always be modified insofar as people in the boxes may do

their Carnival merrymaking “in the hall” (”o sa/ao) ot nos camarotes

“in the boxes”or at the tables, where one may have moreprivacy. Again we get a repetition of the opposition between street and club. Moreover, at the tables and in the balcony boxes people can find rest and relaxation for their bodies: eating, drinking, and ultimately stopping their Carnival merriment of singing and dancing. This possibility of bodily relaxation and refreshmentbringsthese areas closer to the house as a social category. Energy is spent in the hall, as it is in the street,

and then recovered at the boxes andtables. Like the everyday world, then, Carnival also has two basic levels: street and house. In both styles of “Carnival play” we find the same two domains reproduced,asif the system were seeking to avoid closure into two radically different types of Carnival, whatever impression a superficial analysis might give. Both types contain the classic elements of the Carnival parade. In the club, people circulate around on the dance floor of the hall; in the street, they take part incorporating themselves into groups. So there is an exact equivalence between the closed space of the club andthe closed space of the organized group in the

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street. The moreclosed (or corporate) a Carnival group in thestreet

is, the closer it resembles the precincts of a club, because the greater

will be its capacity to take up and useforitself the open space of the street. Let us now take a closer look at the desfile carnavalesco (the Carnival parade) by examining someofits elements. A spectal space. Carnival requires its own particular space, whether

it be out on thestreet, alley, square, or avenue, or in a club, school,

or home.In an earlier paper on thestructure of Carnival balls (DaMatta 1978a), I brought this point out, noting that even these more or less closed spaces reproduce the dichotomy betweenstreet and home. The point I want to bring out now is that this space must be “produced,” even whenit is the more closed space of a club. Thus, the walls of the club are decorated with motifs relating to Carnival. Scenes and decorations may depict a southern seashore or memories of an idealized historical Rio. The club may be turned into an art gallery

with motifs reminiscent of Picasso, or into a theater recreating Dante’s

Inferno (as was the case of an unforgettable Carnival in Manaus). So even when a spaceis already well defined, it has to be turned into a new and different area designed exclusively for Carnival. The sameis true of urban space. The commercial center is closed off to traffic so that people can occupy it without difficulty, whether or not they belongto the typical carnivalesque associations (the /ocos and the sambaschools). Streets and avenues are tamed and domesticated. If in everyday life, the streets of Brazil and Rio de Janeiro are mortally dangerous for pedestrians and cars whiz throughthestreets as if they were outto kill people, during Carnival the nervous and hysterical center of the city seems to turn into a medieval square, andit is taken over completely by the people, who replace the cars and come to witness or participate in Carnival’s multiple levels. Under a “‘carnivalesque schema,” a center of impersonal decisions and business becomes ¢4e centerfor all the encounters and dramatizations thattypify Carnival. The commercial and banking district of Rio de Janeiro, for example, becomes an immense promenadearea, where people walk by each other, look at each other, and eventually wear their Carnival

costumes. The center of the city thus acquires a movementofits own. First of all, it truly becomes the center even though Carnival is a holiday. On holidays people ordinarily get away from their area of work and

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headfor the beaches or the most entertaining and distinctive districts of a city: Copacabana, Ipanema, or Leblon,in the case of Rio deJaneito; Icaraf, in the case of Niteroi. At Carnival this movementis re-

versed and they head for thecenterofthecity, just as they do on work days, but this time to indulge in Carnival merriment. It should also be noted that this displacementitself is festive and it is done—asI already pointed out—in a highly conscious way. On the buses people sing, dance, and play the drums; this, needless to say, is not due to any sudden improvement in thecity transportation system. The bus trip itself is encompassed by Carnival since it is not transportingillpaid workers with a strict deadline for arriving at work but Carnival foliées sure that thingswill not begin until they get there. And here

the reversal is remarkable, for the momentoftravel in a crowded means

of public transportationis ordinarily considered oneof the clearest examplesofcity hellishness; at Carnival it becomes a momentof high

creativity and an eventto be lived with smiles, diversions, and bodily

contacts. This is a conscious displacement and a movement marked by ritualization and inversion. It thus differs markedly from the trip to daily work and its “empty time,” time that has to be killed (see Goffman 1967). The urban worldis set aside for and by Carnival. Entire streets take on a private aspect, opening again a deep link between their houses, displaying their own lighting and decorations, and holding their own parade and fantasia (Carnival costume) competition. Similarly, entire zones of the city are reordered such that the downtown becomesdivided into a multitude of small niches orlittle squares where people can meetand celebrate their Carnival. The city governmentitself creates these spaces by setting up bandstands oncertain corners of the major avenuesand hiring small bands of musicians to play there. Thus Rio de Janeiro, seen every day as a systematic and highly fragmented, problematic megalopolis, suddenly findsitself articulated by many Carnival subdivisions, each with its own band, bandstand, and popula-

tion. Everyone joins in the merrimentandthis reinventionof city space, which shifts from being impersonal and disconnected to being personal, “communitarian” (in Victor Turner’s sense), and most especially, creative. It now leaves room and opportunity for the individualized expressions of neighborhoods, classes, and social categories. Butall of this is done in the samestyle, the style of Carnival, and thatis a basic

point.

The movement of Carnival does not differ from other ritual movements in that they all require a special place for their performance.

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The major contrast between the Carnival marches, military parades, and religious processions is that the Carnival requires a muchlarger space, whichis occupied for a muchlongertime. Military parades and processions occupy public space(streets, alleys, avenues, and squares) for a few hours in the morning or the afternoon. Carnival massively occupies this space for at least three days and includes a long period of preparation. Considerable effort must be invested in traffic plans and arrangements,particularlyin cities like Rio de Janeiro with a population of more than five million people. Besides the traffic arrangements during the Carnival period, there is the construction of bandstands and huge grandstands to provide seating for sixty thousand people during the march of the samba schools on Sunday.* These grandstands have bathrooms, medicalfacilities, areas for TV and radio broadcasting, places of honor for visitors, and a covered section that has

higher prices. The boxseats are located in this “noble” section, a space

that is segregated andalso hierarchically arranged, as is true in the “clubs.” Theline of parade, involving approximately twelve thousand persons amongthe twelveassociations of the main group of the samba schools, takes place in a true canyon of spectators, who occupy both sides of the grandstands and join in singing and dancing with the Besfilantes.7 During Carnival, then, the street is permeated by the povo (the

poor folk). They occupyit at virtually every level: for parades, promenades,andall the othersocial activities associated with a lengthy occupation of the public arena. Carnival replaces the frantic and deadly journeys of buses and automobiles with an inverted movementthat has no sure direction or destination. It is highly ritualized because it is openlyself-conscious. In this “Carnivaltrip” it does not matter where one is going or how onegets there. The important thing is to move along withoutdirection or destination, to take intense delight in the movementitself, and to occupy humanlythestreets of the city’s com-

mercial center, where impersonal and inhumanlawsof transit prevail

in the ordinary routine of the everyday world. In the Carnival of 1977, I saw people sleeping, urinating, and mak-

The first thing that the “socialist” Brizola government did when it was inaugurated in the early eighties was to project and build the so-called Sambodrémo—an enormousterrace, designed by the famous Brazilian architect Oscar Niemeyer—so that the city could have a permanentplace for its samba school parades.

7In 1977, for example, the price of regular seats ranged from 75 to 750 cruzeiros

(about $5.50 to $55.00 U.S.). The box seats, about 51 of them, cost 10,000 cruzeiros (about $733).

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ing love on the benchesof the small gardensin the centerofthecity. I also saw whole families camped out in the center of the city. Sitting on aluminum chairs, they nonchalantly watched the passing groups offolides and blocos. Close by were their open cars, wherelittle children were calmly sleeping. It was like an inverted picnic, but onelocated on the savage and hostile asphalt that had been transformed and domesticated for the momentsince they also had coolers from which they took bottles of water and beer, as desired. All this was happening

on Rio Branco Avenue, the center of Rio’s banking, commercial, and

shopkeeping world. Our home-grown, greedy, and impersonal Wall Street had been transformedintoa collection of “houses” encompassed by the same family spirit that typifies the small townsof the interior. Rid de Janeiro was now a city divided into a thousand small towns. I noted this same sensation of transformation andradical displace-

mentofactivities, persons, and objects as I observed the movement

of people on Rio Branco Avenue in the area of Cinelandia. On Rio Branco Avenue, where the everyday paceis rushed and concerned about getting somewhere,I saw people strolling without any look of concern on their faces. No one was heading for a pressing or important goal of the sort that makes us forget the pleasure of the trip. No one had such clear-cut goals on their Carnival stroll. We know that human be-

ings form a group when they have common objectives. It takes some minimal common denominator to form clans, lineages, or political parties. But in Carnival people behave withoutspecific goals and with

multiple aims. Onthis occasionit is “joy,” “laughter,” “music,” “happiness,” and sexual pleasure that matters, which brings about a formidable transformation and invention of what we, in Brazil, call o povo

(the destitute people) or @ massa (the masses), that mass of relatively undifferentiated human beings who appear to be basically indistinguishable in their pursuit of human things. As such, they now seek goals for which politicians and ministers have not yet devised a form, muchless a method to reach them. People are now basically seeking pleasure and luck, happiness and well-being. That is precisely what rules out the exact sociability of corporate bodies and permits the fantastic openness that ends up relinking and reuniting each with all as only an authentically religious moment would do. All are joined as mete Carnival foes and as full members of the same humanspecies eternally searching happiness, and, above all, as Brazz/tams —whichis what happenedto Paulo Rigger, the character in Jorge Amado’s novel discussed at the outset of this chapter. Stripped of our social roles as

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_ membersofa family, neighborhood, race, occupational category, and

social segment, we are left simply with the truth that we are nothing more than men and womenseekingpleasure in a certain style. It is because of this that we can instantly conclude that we are, aboveall,

Brazilians.

A manifold space. The multiplicity of events taking place in a single space, which seemsto betypical of “rituals of inversion” such as Carnival, permits oneto transfer the strongest loyalties (to such per-

manent and familiar sources of identity as family, house, and social

segment) to a situation, a specific context. The specific contextis defined as highly dramatic because many activities are taking placesimultaneously within it. There is no order of “entrances” and “exits” as on the theater stage or in any other more formally defined situation. Thusthe social world takes on a rhythm andanintensity that are greater and much more open than oursystem ofclassification can digest. On Rio Branco Avenueand in Cinelandia, for example, the “street” becomesthestage of a theater withouta set text. Spontaneous dramatic improvisations by those in carnival costume take place there. Because of this, the relationship between the “fake actors” and the “fake spectators” is one of intense participation. All can intermingle and change places, creating the possibility for a relativization of social positions that, according to Bakhtin (1974),is typical of truly popular spectacles, in which the populace both depicts and playsitself. The highly separated roles of actor and spectator are simultaneously questioned. We see, side by side, carnivalesque personifications of the mother image, the exemplary mistress of the house who takes care of her husband and children and watches her TV soap opera at night, as well as of womanhoodasa generic category, which in Brazil is paradoxically and simultaneously linked with the realmsof sin (through the prostitute) and purity (through the Virgin Mary). All these characters are staged by men (homosexuals or not) dressed up as women. In drag, they arouse both envy and condescension. It is not uncommonto see the spectators shaking their heads negatively in a typically Brazilian gesture of disapproval while, at the same time, looking intently at the men who, disguised as women, bring into question this basic figure of the world of the house. We saw oneof these men dressed up as a pompousupperclass lady; she was wearing her jewels, her furs, and excessive makeup that failed to hide her aged face. The impersonation was a put-down

of both social class and femininity. Across the square, another male

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performer was doing an inverted and grotesque imitation of the mysteries and complications of feminine physiology, thereby calling them into question through his demonstration of menstruation and how to handle it. Others, in groups, were provoking the spectators by involving them in discussions and comments of a moralizing nature bycall-

ing attention to the enormous numberof homosexuals in the world —

however unsuspected, in a male-orientated culture. Knowing that the

spectators and participants were membersof the petty bourgeoisie of Rio de Janeiro, the encounter was highly dramatic. It was the meeting of two opposed domains: the “street,” to which homosexuals belong

since they have no place in the Brazilian “family”; and the “house,” anchoredin its strict morality and customs, which leaves room only for those dichotomies that ensure the reproduction of the system: man and woman, elderly and young. A few feet farther on, on the otherside of the street but in the same

general area, two girls were passing. They were dressed as femmes fa-

tales, weating see-through dresses that revealed their naked bodies. In

the midst of the Carnival crowd they were not, however, aggressively

approached. Onthecontrary, they were the ones aggressively approach-

ing the macho menof Brazil, who drop their masks during Carnival and reveal themselves to be surprisingly and incredibly timid in such sexual confrontations. Farther on, we saw four or five young people dressed as Arabs, wearing long garments andcarrying briefcases. Their faces were serious, and on their backs they had written “the owners of the world.” On another corner we saw a man with an austere expression and a somberpipe looking at the whole spectacle with a distracted air. He was an “executive” and had his characteristic briefcase. But he had no pants on, proving what Bakhtin (1974) pointed out: that Carnivalis the glorification of what goes on below the waist, as opposed to the hierarchical, repressive realm of the bourgeosie that hypocritically gives primacy to the soul.

Faced with all of this, seeing more than we can understand, we are obliged to set aside all of our traditional roles. We cease to be and cometo exist and /ve the momentof commeunitas (Turner 1974). During Carnival, in its typical space, the instant overcomes eternity, and the event becomes mote than the system thatclassifies it and givesit

a normative meaning. That is why the word most often heard is Jow-

cura (craziness). “This is crazy,” we say, as we contemplate whatis going on. It is crazy because weare in the “street,” which has suddenly become a safe and humane place. It is crazy because our social world,

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ordinarily preoccupied with the hierarchy and logic of “You should know your place” and “Do you know whoyou'retalking to?” (see chapter 4), is offering more openings than wecan possibly take advantageof. A nite without a patron. Besides being a space for highly conscious, joyous, andritualized carefree meandering, Carnival is also a moment without a patron and a master: it belongsto all. This appears to me to be basic in a society such as Brazil, where everything should be un-

derthe strict control of the prevailing codes. Brazilians cannot,or perhaps should not, have any festival without a patron, a subject, a center, or a dono (a master), as it is commonly heard in both rural and urbanareasof Brazil. Indeed, one commonly heats people asking such things in connection with rituals in Brazil: “Who is the ownerof the

festival?” It is clear to everyone that gatherings of a collective nature, especially programmedones, should have a center, a subject, or a purpose. Thisis true of religious processions, which pay homageto saint and commemoratehisor her birth, appearance in the community, death, or martyrdom. It is true of military parades, which commemorate the

birth or heroic action of some regional or national hero and link him

to some basic momentin the history of the social group to which he

belongs. It is also true of protest marches (passeatas), since the purpose of the march is to demonstrate agaist something regarded as un-

just by the marchers, which are now called “demonstrators,” a word

with negative connotationsin Brazil, kingdom of conformity. Buthere, as in the religious processions and the military parades, the intentions of the group are clear: to commemorate andto protest. In sum, the

meaningofthefestival, the march, the reunion is known. It is precisely this that prompts people to congregate, to gather together, and ultimately to unite as one corporate body. As I have already emphasized, it is necessary to have a commongoal to turn individuals into a body,

a group, of an association. Now, whena ritual has a subject or owner,that is the focal point

of the festival and the march. This is the key point, the focus of the

meeting, the person whogives it meaning, purpose, and unity. But whois the owner of Carnival? In responsesay “cada qual brinca como pode’(everyone plays Carnival as they can) because “Carnival belongs to everybody” (O carnaval é de todos). In fact Carnival may really be the only Brazilian national festival without an owner or master. In the innocent but loaded phrases just given, there is a strong distributive and compensatory content. This

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is particularly true in a society which is so fascinated by imposingfixed forms and formulas, most of them with a clear-cut juridical mold, on ways of acting, reproducing, commemorating, and ritualizing. Whether in the street or at home, Brazilians are normally subjected to fixed rules requiring an ongoing relationship and binding the individual to the group. These rules of conducttie the individual to the group (or groups), ruling out atomized action as an individual; the latter kind of action always lies outside norms, hence tendsto be viewed andinterpretedas illegitimate. It seems that the trust and aim of Brazilian society—with its rules and rites—is to effect the dissolution and disappearanceofthe individual. Vacillating between their individual will and a course of action dictated by normsandrites, Braziliansoscillate, interpret, and conciliate. They never enjoy true self-mastery; on the contrary, everybodyis controlled by laws, norms, decrees, and governmentregulations.

At home Brazilians are subjected to the rigid code of love and respect for family, a group seen as inevitable and inescapable, in which one is a perpetual dependentand in which one’s individuality is frequently dissolved. Our social ethics tell us that one “owes everything” to this group, because in it we learn to be “someone” (a/guém) and to become a person (uma pesséa).

The realm of the s¢veez is just the opposite. Here the individualis torn loose from the moral group and thereby subjected to the impersonal codesoftraffic, of supply and demand,andofalllevels of government. It is a hostile world almost always devoid of hierarchy and complementarity. So it is not surprising to Brazilians using rites of distancing and reinforcement whenever they feel crushed under impersonal norms and want to make clear that they are “someone.” That is whatis implied,for example, in the expression: “Do you know who you're talking to?”

In Brazil, then, we must ritualize whenever we have to make the

passage between houseandstreet. To say we ate “getting ready to go out of the house” is not simply to use a commonexpression. It is a way of consciously noting (i.e., of ritualizing or dramatizing) our transition from a secure place ruled by familiar hierarchy and complementarity toa much moreindividualized domain where we are anonymous. For this passage we must make ourselves presentable in public, tidying up our body and “arranging”it properly. Dress and appearance, which includesthe way of walking, talking, and gesticulating, help to maintain the position as the memberofa “house,” even when weare out

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on the “street.” They indicate that the person in question is someone who “washes himself or herself” (gente que se Java), that is, a person who comesfrom a decent homeandhas“‘a place to die in” (um lugar onde cair morto). Such people have a house and permanentproperty, and they are always in the same area, where they can be found and where everyone knows each other. In general, Brazilians find inconceivable the extreme mobility of middle-class Americans, who never seem to be overly concerned about having a home and mayeven live

in mobile homes! Brazilians’ dress and concern for appearance, especially before go-

ing out on thestreet, indicate a clear desire to puta social label on

one’s body to counteract anonymity. All this serves as an instrument, particularly in the individualized domain of the street, that permits Brazilians to establish hierarchies and create spaces where individuals can discern and know “whothey are talking to.” One can therefore say that in Brazilall social situations have (or should have) some dono

(master), be it a particular person, a saint, a hero, or even a social do-

main. The crucial pointis that there is always a need to impose some

code so that the situation can be hierarchized.

During Carnival, however, laws are at a minimum. It is as though

there had been created a special space, outside the house and above the street, where everyone can be unconcerned aboutrelations or affilia-

tions with groups having to do with birth, marriage, and occupation. Since it is above and beyond house andstreet, Carnival creates a festival out of the everyday social world in which there is no emphasis on the harsh rules that govern membership and identity. Because of this, everyone can change groups, cross over, and create newrelations

of unsuspectedsolidarity. If my readers will permit me the paradox, I would say that the law of Carnival is to have no law. This does not mean there are no acceptedor regular ways of acting and operating during Carnival. To have no law asits rule is morelike a refusal to treat the ritual as if it were the exclusive celebration of a particular group, segment,or social class.* Carnival is multiple: it al-

8] am remindedhereof the classic observations of Florestan Fernandes (1972) about the Brazilian prejudice of paradoxically believing that, in Brazil, there is no racial

prejudice. It seems to me that the “prejudice of not admitting having prejudice”is

anothercase, in the almost interminable series of labyrinths in Brazilian society, where there is both a desire to assume a social andpolitical responsibility and an inhibition

against doing so. Thus, nonprejudice as prejudice would come underthe heading of those things I mentioned above whenI spokeof a celebration whose law is that there

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lows for extremesocial creativity. In it we celebrate the disparate, allencompassing, abstract, and inclusive: e.g., sex, pleasure, joy, luxury, song, dance, and merriment. All of this is included in the notion of

brincar o carnaval (to play Carnival). If Carnival celebrated sexual union rather than a special conception of sexuality, it would be centered in a structure and it would bea festival of spouses and their union.Its “owner” would be marriage (this routine of sex; this machineofsocial

reproduction). If Carnival celebrated membership in a permanent group — of people whoate together, for example —thenit wouldberestricted to that group exclusively. If Carnival were a festival of wealth (not of /uxo, “luxury” or “extravagance”), then its patron or subject would be one social class. However, its focus is not the rich but the noble (or better, the nobility, which frequently squanders the riches dismissed and despised by the former), hence Carnival continues to be decentralized and inclusive. Furthermore, if Carnival were centered around

discursive speech and walking instead of song and dance, it would be a ritual of order, a ceremony of reinforcement and of structure. But

the focal pointof this rite is the humanuniverse and its perennial suggestion of inclusiveness and communality. Forall of these reasons, Carnival does not have an owner and a subject matter. It belongs to the

people.

Since, as we have seen, all the other festivals of Brazilian society

have a master or patron, this festival without a master is primarily a festival of the dominated and the destitute. In the everyday world they possess nothing buttheir bodies and their labor power, their mystical powerandtheir thirst for living; hence only they can beat the center of an inverted, paradoxical festival that has no law or master but can

be possessed by those who have nothing. That is the very reason why Carnival can be the target of any and all social projections, the huge social screen on which these multiple visionsofsocialreality are simultaneously projected.

The groups of Carnival. Thereis a widespread assumption in Brazil that nothing that happens during Carnivalis serious. This popular belief is curious, to say the least. For the fact is that manycivil institutions have changed or disappeared, while the groups of Carnival —

generally the poor, undistinguished, and unpretentious —continue to

is no law. This modeofsocial behavior therefore turns basicsocial and political mechanisms into a “natural” process.

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exist with the sameold vigor, giving a strong impression of the perpetuity appropriate to corporate bodies.

In Brazil wefind class associations, schools, clubs, political and sci-

entific ideologies, religious credos, government apparatuses, and political parties which have an ideology of permanence and almostalways define themselves as revolutionary, but they appear, grow, and die with astonishing speed. In the end weare left with the traditional things: the family (and the house) and workplace (andthestreet). Paradoxically, the things that remain vigorous andalive are the soccer clubs, the lottery system known as the “animal game”(j6go do bicho?), and the carnival associations. We continue to maintain and preserve whatis considered unserious and unbourgeois. Everythingelse, subject to waves of enthusiasm andthesuperficial ideological passions of the elite and the upperclasses, continually changes and disappears. In Carnival, then, we have an organizational inversion. Permanence

of an astonishing sort resides with groups organized fo p/ay (Le., to sing and dance), the groupsof“inconsequentiality,” to paraphrase Goff-

man (1967:149). This fact is even more noteworthy when werealize

that these Carnival organizations are grounded on imprecise ideas, bringing together people who, in addition to being uneducated (or evenilliterate), are—as our petty bourgeoisleftist intellectuals say—

politically “alienated.” And I need hardly mention that these associations are often organized in terms of family or patronage, being grounded on a taste for music, costumes, singing, and Carnival. The truth is that here we have something similar to what we find in the religious brotherhoods, which also have a long history and persist in someBrazilian cities, and it is something that the pseudo-critic often forgets, even thoughit is the very core of any organization. We have here an interest and concern that comes from within and finds out9] must remind thereaderthatthe logic of the y6go do bicho is totemic (see LéviStrauss 1962a, 1962b). To each numberthere correspondsan animal. The system works precisely throughthepossibility of transforming the number(an impersonal element) into an animal(a highly personalized being). This introduces the language of hunting into the gamesince the number(= animal) can be “encircled” and “hit” or “seized” by a palpite (a guess). The game turns arounda system of guesses which is supposed to be coupled with the numeric system which,byits turn, is “totemically” equated with series of animals. So even in this innocent domain wefind the dialectic of the impersonal andthe personal, of number and animal, the mastery of which corresponds to the possibility of transforming the “poor,” anonymous individual (the player) into the “rich,” highly visible “personality” (the winner). No wonder, then, that the j6go do bicho is so popular amongthe Brazilian masses.

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ward expression, in correspondence with the most genuine impulses

of the group or person. The groups of Carnival, then, are the most

authentic and genuine formsof association. They did not come from any foreign model or from somepolitical or sociological textbook, nor were they implementedin the framework of somespecific and deliberate plan of “development.” They did not come from France or England, these exemplary countries. Instead of being ways of responding to a world that certain groups view as having an absolute and uniquereality, they are a way of dialoguing with thestructure ofsocial relations that operate in Brazil itself. This is probably where their authenticity and permanencelies. Anoverview of these carnival groupsis very revealing. In Rio de Janeiro it is widely believed (especially amongthe elite) that Carnival is above all the desfile of the samba schools. Yet there are, in fact,

many other groups whoshare the Carnival space. Thus, in addition to the great parade of the first group of sambaschools, there are also the parades of manyother organizations—suchas the d/ocos, the groups offrevo, the greatsocieties (grandes sociedades), the ranchos, the banho de mar a fantasia (“costumed baths by the sea”), and the parade of the second andthird groups of sambaschools.’ Since all of these displays and presentations are to be judged and thusinvolve competition, their relations are obviously dynamic and noticeably expressive of certain aspects of Brazilian society. Henceit is an error to think that the Carnival parade is summedupin only one event, even though the major desfile of the samba schoolsis very important and paradigmatic. Hereit is worth nothing that the sambaschools, ranked hierarchically into groups, have a complex relationship among themselves. In the first group thereis a total of twelve schools from each of which the numberof participants in the parades had reached about 4,000 participants by 1969. From that year on, the Association of Samba Schools of the State of Guanabara (todayof State of Rio de Janeiro) set a maximum limit of participants to keep the competition from being too 10Differences between the various Carnival groups have to do with their structure as well as with the rhythm andtype of music that accompany their parade. Eneida

(1958) dates the organization of thefirst ranchos in 1909. Their accompanying music

is the march, whichwill be discussedlater in this chapter. The frevo groups owetheir nameto the intense, frenetic rhythm of their accompanying music. Frevo is a genre of music that originated in the Northeast and is very popular throughout Brazil. Studies on the origins of these forms of Carnival association invariably trace them back to the legacy of black Africa, as this legacy is perceived in Brazil.

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long. Today the sambaschools of thefirst group are limited to 2,500 participants each. The second group is composed of eighteen samba schools with a somewhat smaller numberof participants. The third group is composedof fourteen sambaschools, each of whichis limited to 700 participants in the parade. Besides this internal division, the sambaschools are in a constant

process of intercommunication. Each year schools may move from one

group to another, depending on their ranking in the previous year’s parade. For example, the parade of the schools of the first group is always opened by the school that won second place (followed by the champion school) in the previous year’s parade of the second group. And, according to the samelogic, the last two schools ofthe first group parade in the second groupthefollowing year (Jorio and Aratjo 1969: 25). The samerules apply to the schools of the second group in relation to those of the third group. Thus the system of samba schools is clearly hierarchized, butit also presents possibilities for progressive

reclassification. Even within a relatively rigid hierarchical mold it is possible to ascend and descend. The momentfor that is obviously the Carnival parade, whensociety opens up to series of competitions and judgments,i.e., to reclassification. I shall come back to this important point later on. Here I have to point out that it is precisely because the aim is to reconcile the original position of a school with its per-

formance in a given parade that the drawing for the order of appearance in the parade-competition andthe final judgmentof the jury are so highly dramatic. It is not simply a matter of evaluating the behavior of each school during the parade butalso of determining the school’s position within a given set or “group.” There is no greater dishonor for a school than “declassification,” the terrible fate of losing its standing and being dropped into a lower group." Besides the schools, we have the 4/ocos carnavalescos (the Carnival “blocs”). The term itself is revealing, since it suggests something compact andsolid that is able to act as a synchronized body. The same thing is suggested by the term “sambaschool,” a groupthatis organized as a corporation and,as the term suggests, has the symbolic in11Notethat the words desclassificagao (declassification) has deep negative social connotations in Brazil. To say that someoneis desclassificado (declassified)is to label him as an “individual” (izdividuo), someone gone astray and without “class,” someone without group orprinciples: in short, a marginal human being. Fora full analysis of this, see chapter 4.

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vestmentof teaching samba, dance, sex, and joy. It is precisely when Brazilian society opens up to Grincadezras'2—the fun, games andrelationships possible only during Carnival—that we note the formation of groups of people who sing, dance, and dress in a structured way and display the movement and dynamism appropriate to the festival. In Rio de Janeiro there are three kinds of 4/ocos: the blocos de en-

redo ot desfile, the blocos de embalo or empolgagéo, and the b/ocos de sujo. In the 1977 Carnival, there were about 237 blocs of enredo, each with about 1,000 participants; 31 blocs of emba/o, each with

about 1,500 people; and about24 blocs of suo, each with 100 people. If we add to them andthe sambaschools the participants in the grupos de frevo, the ranchos, the grandes sociedades, and so forth, we get an impressive numberof participants and organizations, even for city the size of Rio de Janeiro. The difference between the blocs and the samba schools shows up in their respective designations. The 4/oco is somethinglike Le Bon’s “ctowd”: powerful, large, and overwhelming, but without the neces-

sary internal organization to elaborate or depict a drama withlasting

impactor to express clearly a certain viewpoint with the required nu-

ances. Thus, the 4/oco is organized much moreloosely and has, as a

consequence, a simpler parade even whenit is a loco de enredo(litetally: “a script bloc”), which should be representinga story or intrigue. The other two types of b/ocos ate also lively and powerful, but they have little internal organization during the parade or duringthe rest of the year. The G/ocos de embalo (ot empolgagao [overwhelming movement]), however, clearly suggest the power of the bloc. During the parade they can virtually “possess,” “seize,” and “transport” their fans and the spectators, inciting them to join the marchers and thuseliminating the gap between performers and audience. As we already pointed out, this is the supremepointof any social moment grounded in such categorical differentiations. The designation sao (“dirty”) for the third category of b/ocosis also significant. As I have indicated elsewhere (DaMatta 1973a), this group’s nameevokesa fantasy of no definite form. They are “dirty” in the sense that they are as if reduced to embryonic or fetal social matter, as are the novices of Ndembuinitiation rituals of which Victor Turner writes (1967, 1969). They are the “dirty,” seek-

ing to be reborn socially because they representthe pariahs, the lowest 12Rememberthat the Portuguese words Srincar and brinco derive from Latin vin-

culum: “bond,” “tie.”

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of the low on thesocialscale, the meeting point of nature and culture: uterus and cloaca, sewer and ship’s hold. Only at Carnival can they appear in a corporate form and menaceall with their appearance,

which has no indication of sex or age, and withtheir “dirty tricks” (sw-

feiras), which is a joke in bad taste or an aggressive sally. In their disguises, then, the suyos deny—by their Carnival costumes — their regular position in the social order. As I noted above, the term “school,” applied to associations of people who are impoverished in the everyday world, adds another paradox to the world of Carnival. It is a term hallowed over time to designate groups of people whoare notoriously uneducated, who are systematically houndedbythe police, and wholive on thehillside slums of Rio de Janeiro. !3 Thus, in everydaylife they spend their time learning our rules and occupying ourkitchens andfactories; during Carnival, however, they appear as professors, teaching the pleasure ofliving as it finds expression in the songs, the dances, and samba. They reveal a

fantastic vitality and love of life behind a surprising power for order and regimentation.It all translates into a generosity that is typical of these systematically exploited segmentsofsociety. So I maintain that the term “sambaschool” has, among other things, a highly compensatory impott. The fact that the J/ocos are organized in a far simpler way than the sambaschools makesit possible for the former to distinguish themselves by saying, amongotherthings, that the schools “no longer obey the Carnival tradition”; that they are “racially” and socially mixed, welcoming outsiders from different neighborhoods andsocial segments; that they are “for the tourists” rather than for the people; and that they put on a “show”instead of a spontaneous parade. The 4/ocos claim to express much purer Carnivalvalues, oriented toward ritualization of the solidarity of their neighborhoods—as with the famous cordées of 13For the origin of the samba schools see Edison Carneiro (1975), Sérgio Cabral (1974), Maria Julia Goldwasser (1975), José Savio Leopoldi (1978), Jorio and Aratjo (1969), and Candeiaand Isnard (1978). It is worth noting the structuralsimilarity between the samba school and the religious brotherhoods of the colonial period. On the latter see Scarano (1976). Alba Zaluar Guimaraes (1973:182) offers some very pertinent comments on popular Catholicism. It seems that the religious brotherhoods wete important mechanisms for social compensation in an aristocratic, slave-owning

society. Blacks who were slaves could be, nonetheless, important membersofa religious brotherhood and even “kings” or “queens” of their respective confraternities. The sameis true of the samba schools and other Carnival groups today.

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old Rio Carnivals (see Eneida 1958). The J/ocos pose as reinforcers of neighborhoodlife and local closeness, a phenomenawe tendto regard as irrelevant in our estimation of the modern urban world. In this way, the /ocos intersect distinctions based on family, race, education,

and occupationto uniteall their components in a single corporation, “tribe” or “bloc.” Thus the choreography of their parades is simple, often dramatizing “attacks” by the men on womenoftheir own b/oco and the women’s effort to “defend” themselves. Onegets the impression that the 4/ocos divide up the city by taking as a central point their residence in a commonarea. The samba schools, in contrast, are unified around the possibility of creating a different sort of space. Although they are umbilically linked to their hillside shantytowns and poverty, at Carnival time they makeit possible for affluent, white, “well-born people” to unite with blacks and the poor. So even thoughtheschools also begin with a focus ona resi-

dential segment andsocial class, they do promote the systematic integration ofclasses in their highly complex parade,as we shall see further on. As the members of the J/ocos see it, the schools are much more universalistic and oriented toward the outside, while they are the opposite: particularistic and oriented toward tradition and neighborhood. Anothercontrastis that the 4/ocos participate in Carnival without the elaborate costumes or complex inner structures which are typical of the sambaschools. Indeed, the internal structure of the G/ocos always presents a binary mode. Thus, there is a comussao de frente (a lead group that opensthe desfi/e and serves as the “calling card” of the 4/oco) in contrast with the components of the 4/oco that follow. There are members of the 4/oco who sing and dance in contrast to those who play the percussion instruments (the Sa¢era). And finally, there are the minimal internal segments knownas a/as (wings), which are simply divided into “richer” and “poorer.” By contrast, the internal organization of the sambaschools is extremely complicated, both in the Carnival parade and in the everyday world. They have dozensof “wings” with their own namesin addition to the lead groups; the so-called a/a das baianas (the Bahian wing), which is obligatory and goes back to a tradition of Rio de Janeiro processions and parades; and the destaques, the famousandsignificant personages who “stand out” in the parade because they appear by themselves as individualized figures. To give an example of this organizational complexity, I will take the setup of a major samba school that paraded in 1977 in Niterdi, a city

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of the greater Rio de Janeiro area. As is generally the case, this school depicted a relatively elaborate story. Its theme was a “tribal myth,” wholly invented by the intellectual mentor and “carnival director” of the school, which recounted thestory of Atlantis. The themeandits elaboration would merit a studyof their own, since they offered a naive and urbanview oftribal groups. At any rate, the school prepareditself for the parade with the following elements or dramatic units: a/as de evolugao (“wings of evolution”), that is, dancers who performed the same movements in a synchronized way; alas de passistas (“wings of steppers”)—dancers who performed the choreography of the samba; destaques (isolated persons, elaborately dressed, generally women and homosexuals); figuras de enredo —basiccharacters for the plotor story being told; carros alegéricos (allegorical floats)—relatively large constructions representing scenes and objects associated with the story in

question; and, finally, the porta-bandeira and mestre sala (standardbearer and the master of ceremonies), obligatory characters who carry the school’s flag, perform very elaborate steps, and are usually dressed as figures in the court of Louis XIV. ~ The distribution of these elements in the parade followed a complex order, since they were used to depict 100 different “scenes,” combiningall of the above elements into a processional mode. Thusit displayed seventeen “standouts” (all women or homosexuals), forty-two “wings of evolution” (each wing with its own individual name,dress, and choreography), thirty-four “wings of steppers” (with individualized costumes but uniform steps), seventeen “eredo characters’ (also highly individualized), and four allegorical floats. The arrangement of these elements was designed to create an atmosphere that would enhancethe presentation of the story and the audience’s understanding of it. The school also soughtto arouse viewer enthusiasm and support by meansof song, rhythm, plot, and presentation, while at the same time ruling out any feelings of boredom during the longstretch of time required for so many participants to parade by the public. The internal division into wings allows for diversity and contrast among the components, enabling the schoolto tell a story as it parades. Thus the basic processes involved here are those of massification and individualization. Since the school is obliged to represent a “Brazilian theme,” it always chooses to give it an epic treatment. So in its “carnivalesque script” we always find an opposition between someindividual hero (mythical or national) and a mass (of slaves or ordinary people).

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Butit is not just in the treatment of plot that the dialectic of in-

dividualization and massification is basic. The percussionsection, for

example, embodies massification because its dress is uniform and it matches as a compact group. Butit also produces the mostdistinctive and individual thing aboutthe school, its distinguishing trademark as a gtoup: the musical rhythm that accompanies the singing of its parading members. The wingsalso actualize the sameprocess. For example, the “wings of steppers” generally allow for the individualization of their members, since they display talent in the classical forms of dancing the samba. The “wings of evolution,” on the other hand, tend toward massification, since their participants perform quite uniform movements. But it should also be noted that all the wings have their own distinctive name; hence they are individualized by definition andtreated as such within their school. Yet this individualization is never left completely free, since it is incorporated into an overall presentation of scenes and its role is to contribute to the total effect in the desfile. Here again, it seems to me, the organization of the samba

school repeats andreflects the polarization evidentin Brazilian society between house and street, person and masses.

The sambaschoolis a collective organization, but it allows room

for the extreme form of individualism known as the standout (destaque). As we observed, the schoolis divided into wings that can grow,

multiply, disappear, and even take part in competitions as semi-independentunits. Thus, there are indications that in the Carnival parade the samba school tends to express the ideology of individualism in which everything is unique and has its own mark of distinction and personality. Whereas in everydaylife the school suppresses individualism andis heavily centered aroundthe authoritarian and patronal power of its president, as Leopoldi (1978) stresses, it allows for the liberation of individualities at Carnival. First, there is the liberation of its own individuality as one specific group vis-a-vis other groups of the same

sort. Then, within it, we find a certain numberof units that have their

own names and enjoy a certain autonomy,thereby expressing their own individuality within this twofold code. Sometimesit is the individuality of a person, who,at the momentof parading, becomesa celebrity —the supreme momentfor all the marchers. Sometimes it is the individuality of a “wing of steppers” doing a synchronized rendition of the samba. Thus,the parade of the samba schoolexpresses an association between the collective and the poor, on the one hand, and the

individual and therich, on the other. Everything in the school that

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is strictly collective, such as the percussionsection, is ugly, poor, and uniform; everything that is allowed to stand out and stand apartis luxurious andrich. This closer analysis of the samba school and its structure seems to confirm whatI suggested earlier. It would appear that in the S/ocos the order is given in a binary and complementary scheme based on the divisions of musicians/participants, men/women, and wingsofrich people/wings of poor people. In contrast, the internal division of the sambaschools into multiple wings allows for enormousflexibility. The wings can increase, decrease, have their own names, make up their own

tules andstyles, introduce their own innovations. This is why the samba schools can bring togetherrich and poor, blacks and whites, employers

and employees, those “inside” and those “outside” (sambzstas and Sambetros, as they ate respectively called in Rio de Janeiro). In fact, the entire organization of the samba schools is based on these semiautonomous and powerfully articulated groups. Thus in the samba school we-have a formal structure, composed of a president, a vicepresident, and several administrative sectors. This fixed structure han-

dles the daily routine of the group and constitutes its nucleus, which is completely bound up with the local and neighborhoodroots of the organization. Then, during the month of August when preparations

for Carnival begin, anotherstructure is added to the nucleus, like the

tail of a comet. This secondstructure is more open anddiffuse, bringing in people from the outside and taking charge of the wings and the Carnival components in general. As Leopoldi (1978) demonstrates, the two structures are superimposed andarticulated. The central nucleus catalyzes and holds togetherthetail, which is far more diffuse and operates with human resources from outside the school’s original ranks. There is thus a complex binary division like a comet, with a nucleus controlling the daily routine and really commandingall the operations, but opening the way for another structure during theorganization of Carnival. We have, then, as has been revealed by the works

of Goldwasser (1975) and Leopoldi (1978), a tension between the managets of the school’s everyday affairs and the managersof the talent, who emerge during Carnival. It is this form of organization that permits the enormousflexibility exhibited by the samba schools and makes possible the creation of a

special social field where rich and poor, white and black, dominators

and dominated can congregate. The sambaschool seemsto have a d organization.In its center is the nucleus of people whoareclosely

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lated by kinship, residence, color, and general conditionsof social existence. They are the “owners”or“fathers” of the association:its founders, creators, and moral supporters. Aroundthis center there is another much more flexible and diffuse order oriented toward the outside world. Here people comeand go, not having the same kind ofbasic loyalties as those whoare at the center of the institution. This is the realm of “associates,” “adepts,” “sympathizers,” or “clients” of the system, who metely pass through the school anduseits services. Thereis a clear-cut hierarchy between the two groups, although all are members of the same “association.” I think this last point is important because I consider it basic to the social definition of associations that are formed in societies with a strong hierarchical component. Thusin the Brazilian case, the samba school, the 4/oco, the tenda espirita or umbandista (places where gatherings of Spiritism ot Umbanda happen), charitable associations, religious brotherhoods, soccer clubs, and perhaps even political parties, are institutions characterized and inspired by an egalitarian, individualistic ideology, superimposed on a familistic, patronal, and authoritarian nucleus —which is the real center of the so-called association. In this nucleus, however, the ideologyis clearly hierarchical, with age,

kinshipties, the neighborhood,andfriendship operating as basic forces that constantly affect the egalitarian framework.It appears, then, that such “associations” would not be “societies” in the classical, liberal

sense of the term: Le., associations of individuals, all of whom enjoy the samerights because they are equal beforea set of rules or laws that they themselves invented andinstituted for their own government. On the contrary, despite such groups’self-definition as “clubs,” they are in fact familial or patronal assemblies, where the space generated by the group is what transforms the individual member into gente, or person. It is thus the group that makesthe person, not the egalitarian association that makes the group. Once the group (now institution) is formed and legitimate, it detaches itself from its members. Reified in its own laws it then operates in terms of the internal division we have just been considering. 4 '4The political implications of this modeof organization are very important.It is clear that here we have aristocratic values, since the founderofthe institution has

morerights over it than do the other members. The whole notion of representation

is also distorted in this case, simply because we do not know whetherit is the core or the tail that makesthe institution. Moreover, there is often tension between the

two parts, as somestudies indicate. In such situationit is practically impossible to

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It is hard to say with certainty whetherthis is a generalized phenomenonin all Brazilian associations or whetherit appears only in socalled “popular” institutions formed in low-status groupssuch as the sambaschools, b/ocos, Spiritist sects, and so forth. I suspect that the phenomenonof the “comet”type of internal division is generalized.

This being the case, one might suggest that Brazilian institutions are

always characterized by an ideology of openness to an inclusive society. After all, they have nothing to lose with that sort of “inclusive generalization,” as long as they can maintain (as appears to be thecase) the solidity of their nucleus. Thus, their ideology seems to be one of diffuse causes, and it is extremely difficult to pinpoint their precise ideological aims. As a consequence ofthe possibility of diffuseness at the structural level, these associations would have the advantage of always being open to everyone; but they have difficulties in developing a particular ethic, without which it seems to me difficult or impossible to develop real awarenessof unity and purpose. The study of such groups shows how difficult it is for them to achieve some.boundary, to close ranks and

set limits to their membership. This kind of internal structure becomes

an obstacle for the transformation of the group into an instrumentof a neighborhood, a segment, or a class because both its ideology and its practice allow anyone to be part of it. The intention of a samba

school is never to becomea closed or “total” institution (Goffman

1961) but to be able to “seduce” as many people as possible, above all those of the dominant class. They are trapped,as it were, in a sociopolitical paradox. Insofar as they really could be political instruments because of their solid power of penetration, they would have to open up to all societal groups. But their success and popularity mean that

they cease to betruly associations of a single group. They start out

from the lower classes; however, thanks to the internal division of their

structure and organization, they end up representing values that promote their diffusion and popularity among the upper classes, even

establish a simple process of internal regulation, there being great difficulties for the

interpretation ofthe rules. Indeed, since the institution is divided, the interpretation

of internal norms becomes a basic element in the operation of the institution. Anotherassociated phenomenonis the coup (or golpismo), the penchantfor a surprise

attack or takeover by some group. Factions form and view each other in a paranoid way. Fear that the institution may be taken over by enemies within it reinforces the ideology of the sudden coup. Note that here we haveall the dramatic elements to be found in a nation like Brazil.

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though their initial center is preserved. We can readily see that concitation again becomesthe central feature of the social dynamics of these groups and of the whole society. For this reason, I am sure that the sambaschools, like so many other popular institutions, serve as mediating arenas between social segments with opposedsocial and political interests. In Brazil we seem to relegate “total institutions” to minimal areas of the social system, as if we had a prejudice against groups preoccupied with defining their outer and inner boundaries in terms of a strong ethic. The Catholic Church and the armedforces are apparently the only groups in Brazil that operate as total institutions on the na-

tional level. When other groups develop a strong ethic and are concerned about defining their boundaries, they are judged to be antipopular or antidemocratic. In Brazil the very notion of democracy tends to be equated with a refusal to allow the definition (and closure) of social groupings, and this attitude prevents the formation ofinterest groupsthat wouldbepolitically representative, hencepolitically power-

ful. I am sure that it is this sort of bipartite, cometlike structure, ca-

pableoflinking the Aowse (or nucleus) with the street (the periphery, the outsiders) thatlies at the root of such movementsaspolitical populism, or a kind of “Carnival of power” where everything and nothing are apparently represented and solved. Mythesis, then,is that this type ofstructureis also a major obstacle to the formation of institutions that would betotal, individualized,

and therefore representative. Much to the contrary, what we witness on the Brazilian social sceneis the creation of institutions that are midway between opennessand closure, such as the “soccer club.” Although the club is obviously closed, the group of fans (a torcida) is always

open, andthis allows the accumulation of thousands and millions of

sympathizers. We systematically create situations where a social inversion is possible, since there is always an encounterof values and objectives situated in social domainsthat are frequently distant and antagonistic in the everyday world. Not only do the public squares engender

communication and encounters in the Brazilian world: public institu-

tions also havethis role. And this is precisely what Carnival groupsdo. Conclusion: The Dramatization of Carnival

In the course of this chapter I have tried to show how the moment of Carnivalredefines the’Brazilian social world. It obviously would not

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suffice to say that at Carnival the world is inverted. I had to make clear the courseor orientation of this inversion. Forif it is importantto reveal the principle or mechanism, it is equally basic to consider the domains and cultural objects to which it is applied. In other words, inversion and its logic must be described andspecified if it is to pass from being a formal principle to becomea truesocial operator. In this way social meaning is revealed and we can manageto break out of a formalistic position and begin to understandrules as real structural principles. This being the case, I began with the categorical opposition between house and street and attempted to show thatit is central to any understanding of the Brazilian social system. The social world of Brazil is framed within this complex, segmentary dichotomy; andit, in turn,

helps usto interpret the Brazilian ritual universe. My whole interpretation was based ontherelationship between street and house, and how the realm of ritual handles these two domains by wayof transcendence, separation, or reinforcement. In religious processions, for example, the house is invaded by what is going on in the public square, the churchyard, andthestreet. In military parades, in contrast, the house simply disappears as a category since the eventtakes place in the center of the city. All family members are forced to move to that place and are transformed into citizens of Brazil. With the events of Carnivalit is as if society were at last capable of inventing a special space where street and house might meet. The festival has public features, with its parade andits formal groups; but it also allowsfor a series of gestures andsocial actions thatare generally carried out only in the house. This displacementof objects (social roles

and values) from one domain to another, whether unidirectionally or

on a two-way basis, allows the elaboration of a few basic hypotheses relating to the definition of symbol, ritual, and drama and their most

basic processes. Thefirst point to be madeis that the realm ofritual (and of drama) is the realm ofvisible things, of things that are correct and prescribed even though they may be shocking or unusual, and therefore ritual is the realm of things that are displaced and highlighted. It is on the stage that open and bloodyassassination is allowed; it is in the stadium that we managetoestablish a hierarchy throughfair, highly individualized competition; andit is at Carnival that we permit the total con-

fusion of hierarchical rules. As I indicated in chapter 1, ritual activity can be created on the basis of the consistent and systematic use — two

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indispensable features of ritual action —of three familiar social principles: inversion, which engenders joking; reinforcement, which leads to respect; and neutralization, which generates avoidanceorsocial in-

visibility. We thus create a special space where the routines ofthe everyday world are broken, and wherethe real world, viewed upside down,

can be observed, analyzed,criticized, and presented to us as re/atzve. That is why rituals must always be studied with the everyday world

as their counterpoint, as we are doing in this book. Both are part of the samestructure, like the two sides of the same coin or expressions

of the samesocial principles. In fact, rituals are part of the social world, but they are moments when sequencesof action are broken,dilated, or interrupted by the dislocation of gestures, persons, ideologies, or objects.

Take, for example, a participant during Carnival in Rio de Janeiro. In the morninghestays in bed, recovering from the events ofthe previous night when he“played” until dawn in thestreet or at some club ball. He does not botherto get ready for work orfor recreation because Carnivalis not an ordinary weekdayor holiday. Whenit is lunch time,

heeats very little. Brazilian Carnivalis not a time characterized by spe-

cial meals, as is the case with most Brazilian rituals. On the contrary, Carnivalis a timeto eat little and to celebrate a lot, in a typical atti-

tude of “chastising” the body. After all, the meaningof “carnival,” as

the original Latin tells us, is “to take away the meat”(carnevale). In

the same wayit is precisely because thereis no special food that families are dispersed. Carnival does not promote family reunions in the

house but loose meetings of individuals in the street. Thus, thereis

nothing holding our participant back in his house. In the afternoon he will take a bath (an essential operation for leaving the house) and go to the street where he will stay until the following day. If you ask him where he ts going, he will simply say that he is going to see Carnival. In fact, the whole pointof thefestival lies precisely in not knowing what is going to happen.It is a world where adventure finally takes center stage and becomes the main thing because thepetitbourgeois style of social life—constructed on small contradictions between right and wrong, sin and virtue, certainty and uncertainty—is suspended andturned upside down. Notice that ourparticipant does not stop sleeping, eating, meeting people, changing clothes, going in and outof the house, andso forth. But he now lives these experiences with a heightened sense of awareness. A very different set of motivations prompts his actions. He must “have fun,” “take risks,” “make

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something happen.” Theseare all paradoxical purposes, in frank opposition to those of daily life. If in the “real world” of everydaylife

I look for certainty, in Carnival I am absolutely convinced that I will

find uncertainty. This is undoubtedly one of the paradoxesof theritual world. It is something like the movies, where we know that Good should ultimately triumph over Evil butwestill follow the farce to the end. Both a ritual and film reveal that what is importantis not “rationality” or “knowledge” or the “moral of the story”: i.e., the arrival at a certain destination. In them whatis importantis the means, the way, the trip itself.

The everyday sequenceis thus displaced. Our Carnival participant does not get up to make his dash to work andto follow his “natural” everyday sequence from home to work and back again. Because Carnival is a special moment, that sequenceis short-circuited. He leaves

hometo enter the Carnival parade, which is his objective. Thestreet

where he is parading, the commercial center of the city, the public watching and applauding him, and the world around him becomehis house. The orderof things is displaced and everything becomes emotionally moving, allusive, symbolic, and representative. Whereashis everyday “parade” or “march”is functional and painful, since it has definite meansprecisely calibrated to certain ends, the ritual parade of Carnival is pleasurable, open, and withoutrigidly defined objectives. In the everyday journey there is a precise, rational relationship

between meansand ends; the important thing is to get where you are

going and how you get there does not matter. Butin the ritual journeying of Carnival there is no precise, rational relationship between means and ends; the important thing is how you march alongor parade, not where you are going. But what is dramatized during Carnival? What objects, relations,

and ideologies are highlighted in this ritual? In other words, what dramas does Carnival depict? Here I want to be specific. I would say that the Carnival of Rio de Janeiro dramatizes the following:

Open exhibition as opposed to modesty and restraint, ot, tather, the dialectic of what is or should be hidden and whatis openly revealed. This was made clear when we discussed Carnival organizations and space, since in both we saw thepossibility of exhibition and of “making theater.” Once again we have another way of introducing the dichotomy between house and street, because whatis associated with the house should remain hidden whereasthe street is always associated

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with whatis outside and could be exhibited. Ordinarily we should see the street from the house, but at Carnival we observe houses from the

street. Moreover, Carnival bases its exhibition on exaggeration. The poorest people are those who dress up as kings, dukes, and nobles. Consequently, it is the powerless who represent the powerful. But this representation is exaggerated sinceit is an imitation of the nobleman rather than the rich man. In the same way, the representation of the

body doesnot stop in showing an immobile nude body, like the sculp-

tures knownas “artistic nudes” in which nakednessis ritualized, fro-

zen, and rendered morally acceptable and dignified as the “nude.” In

Carnival, on the contrary, the naked bodyis one that moves, revealing

its reproductive potentialities. Even when seenin isolation, the body

exhibited at Carnival cries out for its complement, for its “other,” always alluding to the sexual act, that most essential form of the confu-

sion and ambiguity of the grotesque when—as Bakhtin has indicated —two bodies are transformed into one. Whatin the everyday world is considered a “sin”—1.e., the intense provocation of the public and men by women—comes to be regarded as something completely normal, as part of the style of the festivity. The norm of reserve and modestyis replaced by the “opening” of the body to the grotesque andto its possibilities as an object of desire and an instrumentof pleasure. Moreover, movementsindicative of the sexual act invert the world because they should be performedin the house, in the intimacy of a bedroom and a bed, not standing up ona platform in the midst of a crowd. This sudden bringing to consciousness of the “hidden” andthe “exhibited” bringsus to the basic opposition between “seeing” and “doing” in Brazilian society. During the whole period of Carnival there are people who dothings(parade, sing, dance, etc.) and people who simply watch. Theirs is a fully complementary relationship, like the relationship between the house (where one looks out at things) and the street (where things happen). The samerevealing opposition between seezmg and dozng is also evident in the realm of work. There are people who oversee, supervise, or have command over work, and there are people whoactually do the work. The relationship between the watcher and the workeris like that between the person who commands or enjoys life and the person who merely observes the world. In a society where everybody hides from everybody, only artists can exhibit themselves. But Carnival makes possible exhibition and an inversion between those who do and those who watch. The poorcan ex-

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hibit themselves as noblesto the rich who, in commonclothesofevery-

day life, look enviously at the nobly dressed poor. Once again, the rules governing watching are suspended. In Carnival, thus, it is not only possible to see and to do, with the poor arousing the envy oftherich.It is also possible to establish relations of desire, envy, and covetousness with a frankly passionate and hungry look. Such a look is normally to be kept under careful guard as a source of wickedness andtheevil eye; but it becomes innocuousat Carnival. All are deeply touched and mutually penetrated by these looks of envy, covetousness, and wantonness. That is what permits the exhibition of the female body and of the conspicuous wealthofthe rich, either by the pooror by the truly rich themselves. Woman as virgin and as whore is another of Carnival’s ostentatious dramatizations. And here, too, we have an opposition that embodies

the other, already mentioned dichotomies. In Brazil and in the Medi-

terranean world, women occupy an ambiguousposition with two para-

digmatic figures serving as guides: the virgin-mother and theprostitute. The virgin-mother represents the woman whohashersexuality controlled by men andkeptin the service ofsociety; like her supreme model, Mary, she can be a mother and yet remain a virgin. The prostitute, on the other hand, is woman whosesexuality is not under the

control of men. On the contrary, she is the controller and the center of a network of menofall kinds. Afterall, isn’t a prostitute a woman who puts all men in relation? As virgin-mother, woman has no sense of comparison or measurement; her only power is that of her virtue.

As prostitute, womanrepresses and suspendsher reproductive power, because a prostitute-motheris an outrage and a contradiction; instead, she becomes a center from which male sexuality can be compared,

hence maderelative and controlled. As virgin-mother, the womanblesses

and honors her home; asprostitute, she confers masculinity on men. The virgin-mother places reproductive powers above sexual pleasures and favors; the prostitute puts her sexuality above reproduction. Now the place of these two figures in the Brazilian world is quite clear. The virgin and motherstays at home,in a safe and sacred place where men have control over entrances and exits. But the prostitute is to be found in the street, in casas de tolerancia (houses of indul-

gence), in places where the code ofthe street invades and permeates residential quarters. That is why we in Brazil say that the prostitute is a mulher da vida (womanoflife), paradoxically implying that the

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virgin-motheris the “womanof death.”In one case men are assuming and controlling a “natural,” automatic code; in the other men are in an unfamiliar world, governed by an uncertain code. During Carnival we reverse the two positions. We do notglorify the Holy Virgin parading on an altar andblessing all those who lowertheir eyes discreetly as she passes. Instead, we glorify the prostitute, the great generalized whore, who brings life with her and prompts thoughts of physical encounter, sexual penetration, and the reproduction of the world. The Virgin parades with only her face—serene, beautiful, and half-hidden by a veil; her body is covered with a mantle that hides her bodily shapes and features. But the women of Carnival parade as whores, high up on platforms where they draw the attention of everyone’s eyes, or around the tables and boxes of the ballroom where they stir passions. These are their niches, akin to the altars of the Virgin

Mary, Our Lady. Is it woman dislocated from her proper place, or is it simply the other side of womanhoodnowsurfacing which arises for our conscious attention? The otherside of this dramatization is obviously the dialectic of the male as controller (father) and controlled (son), when herelates to these two aspects of the female world. Here I shall focus solely on the side highlighted during Carnival, since in Brazil womanis situated as the ultimate prize, the central object of desire. Thus, the presence of naked, seductive women in the Carnival parade and onthestreetsis a clear manifestation of the transformation of public social space into one big house. Once again, a displaced object creates its own atmosphere, which is different from that of the city in everydaylife. The same thing, by the way, happenson the beachesof Rio de Janeiro during the summer. People create their owses on the undifferentiated space of the sand, thus bring their homesinto the street. At Carnival, they are semi-naked, revealing their bodies to an equally undifferentiated public. This producesa situation of equality that compensates

for the hierarchies of everydaylife. The beach, then, resembles Car-

nival as a space that synthesizes the differences and contradictions of the urban world. Gestures, musicalforms, and harmonies. During Carnival the world

is openly played and sung byall. In other words, and to paraphrase Clifford Geertz (1973), the story that “the Brazilians tell themselves about themselves” during Carnival is a story that is sung and played, never spoken. Thus, of the three critical forms of verbal communica-

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tion—song, speech, and prayer—song (andtheclosely related cry or shout)is selected for the military parade, and prayer (which is midway betweenthe collective and the individual, song and spoken word) characterizes the religious procession. But what doesit really mean to relate to the world through playful entertainment and music? First of all, it means being able to discover that we all are in one and the same society, one and the same world; that we need each other, despiteall

differences and hierarchies. Second, it means using a musical form that comes from below (the samba)as an ideal but not exclusive form of social relationship. Our mythologytells us that the musical form of the sambaarose in the borderline areas of Brazilian society: in its cellars and slave quarters and slums; amid the poverty of its blacks and its most wretched inhabitants. Now, during Carnival, it becomes the

most widespread and general form of music. The world not only becomes musical; it is dominated by the musicality associated with the lowest styles of this musicality. No longeris it dominated by popular music, which frequently deals with the classical themes of the Western world, such as love and individualism, as fundamental themes

that make life worth living. On the contrary, in samba the world is sung in a collective way. Its themes are the marginal rogue (the malandro), slavery and nobility, mythology and magical Afro-Brazilian foods. Another frequent themeis the history of Brazil as a natural history of the mixture of three races: the black, the indian, and the white.

In the popular ideology everything is “natural” becauseit all depends on the infrastructural and biological predispositions of these three cos-

mic, primordial races. Samba, then, like all that comes from 4e/ow,

from the commonpeople, acquires a seductive, all-encompassing aura and with the carnival groups, especially the samba schools, is turned upward, seeking conversion, approval, and legitimation from the upper segmentsof society. The system is integrated once again on this level, when society becomes singularized by what is taken to beits most essential elements. For even thoughitis divided into highly visible groups, it becomesa totality by adopting as a generalized and un1versal form everything that originated Je/ow. Another importantpoint deserves to be noted. The wordsfor “sing” (cantar) and “play” (Srncar) have many metaphorical possibilities in Brazilian Portuguese. The word Jrimcar may also mean to “enter into a relationship” by breaking downthebarriers betweensocial positions, to create an atmosphere ofunreality and to superimposeit onreallife. When we “play” at Carnival, we are establishing relationships with each

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other and simulating feelings and positions. To put it another way, we are dramatizing relations, possibilities, desires, and social positions. Carnival is a situation where everyonelives as if on a large stage. As in tribal societies, according to Gluckman’s theories, Carnival helps to separate social roles. We all discover that we are two persons. One is

the serious person of everyday life whois little inclined to indulge in “fun and games.” The otheris a tropical Mr. Hyde, a trickster and a rogue (malandro) able to operate as a perfect actor, simulating the most shameful and forbidden emotion, or, as we say, the most “vul-

gar’ ones.

In like manner, the word “sing” (cantar) may be used in the sense of propositioning sexually or seducing. Men “sing to” women when

they are trying to enter a sexual relationship with them. Weall “sing

to” peopleof high social position when we are trying to get something out of them or win somefavors from them. The everyday world relates persons in terms of such camtadas, planned seductionsthat are accepted with pleasure and are therefore revealing and indicative of deep harmonies despite differences and discontinuities between social positions or the people involved. At Carnival everythingis “sung.” Song, indeed, is the form of participation that is possible and legitimate. Through singing simple songs, everybody becomes equal and understands each other. The samba,like the gtoups that makeit their flag, is both exclusive and generalizing. Its excellence as music is attested by its ability to seduce people, especially the rich, the powerful, the innocent—in

short, all those who representvirtue andforce, the powers from above.

But theseries of paradoxes that make upa society is evidenthere, too. For alongside the sambathere is another musical genre in Brazil that is equally popular and associated with Carnival. It is made up of “marches” (archas), and the nameis highly significant. Marchas are the privileged vehicles for expressing the dramas,the aspirations, and thecriticisms rooted in the worldview of the petit bourgeois. Marchesalso allow the body to comealive provocatively, but on a much less luxuriant scale than the samba. Whereas samba is more danced than sung, the march is more spoken and sung than danced.In the matchthe lyrics are more important than the music because one must say things —a typical affirmation of the egalitarian ideas of the middle classes; in contrast, things are danced in the samba ina visceral, bodily

way that is much moreclosely associated with the world of workers and the marginal membersof the labor market, the formerslaves. The march

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is the samba of the middleclass, as it were. I think this pointis im-

portant, for it reveals the fascination of Brazilians with formalized modesof singing and dancing, of which the marchis the best example even though it is never mentioned by those who discuss or theorize about Brazil’s Carnival. Alongside the music of the poorthatis freer and made for dancing, we have a musical formula that allows us to

harmonizethe world in a more discreet, “spoken” way; its square, dry

rhythms are more reminiscent of the large military corps. At Carnival both musical forms are present as open, positive elements, elaborat-

ing the same or similar themes and thus permitting the integration of everyone with everyone. Hierarchy and equality. Finally, the fundamental drama of Carnival is that of the dialectic between the principles of hierarchy and equality, both present in the festivities and in the Brazilian social system. This is an important dramatization because it reveals the con-

tents which ultimately give meaning to the Brazilian Carnival as dis-

tinguished from other “carnivals.” The principle of social inversionis also used in the Mardi Gras of New Orleans. Butin the latter case the social world is dominated by an ideology of equality and individualism, so that inversion produces a momentofstrong differentiation that tends toward hierarchy. Thus, New Orleans’ Mardi Gras can be inter-

preted as a dramatization of hierarchy, or of what hierarchy may mean in an egalitarian society, as I shall try to show in the next chapter. Everything suggests that Brazil’s Carnival produces a moment of equality. In other words, the ortentation of this Brazilian ritual is the opposite of the North American ritual. The Brazilian Carnival subverts a normal order clearly marked out by laws, regulations, orders, decrees, rules of etiquette, and so forth. In Carnival, then, it 1s ille-

gitimate to use theclassic formula, Vocé sabe com esta falando?(“Do you know whoyou're talking to?”), which is a style of ritual segregation used to counteract the anonymity and impersonal, universal laws that level people as individuals and citizens (see chapter 4). Carnival also breaks up the elementary groupsof society. In this rit-

15] would like to note that the most popular song of Brazilian Carnivals is Mamdée eu quero (MommyI want), a march whoselyrics alone deserve a study(see the periodical Veya, February 23, 1977). It was composed by V. Paiva in 1937. Another march, A Banda (the band)is one of the most frequently interpreted songs in the repertoire of Brazilian music. It was composed by Chico Buarque de Holanda in 1964.

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ual without owners,it is the individual left to himself who is taken as the starting point. It is the “celebrant” (the fo/do) who matters. Andit is the fo/go who will decide how to “participate in” (477”car) Carnival: if alone or accompanied, if permanently linked or searching for a new partner every day, if dressed or undressed, if wearing everyday clothes or a costume, if individually or incorporated into a large and encompassing body: a club, a 4/oco, or a sambaschool. As I noted earlier, the rule is not to have rules.

It appears that all these possibilities create an atmosphere perceived by Brazilians as one of “total freedom.” In it they can “vent” the repressionsof their everydaylife. But what freedomsandrepressions are we talking about here?

The core features of Carnival, its areas of greater dramatization, al-

low us to see these things clearly. We need only recall the parade as the crucial point of the ritual, the supreme dramatization of Carnival,

as a privileged modeofsynthesizing all the dramatic axes that we are trying to examine. For it is in the Carnival parade that we find the dialectic of individuality and collectivity, of equality and hierarchy. The samba schools, as we have seen, are really classified into differ-

ent and hierarchically organized “sets” or “groups.” Indeed, everything is based on a hierarchy and organized into “sets”—/ocos, balls, costumes, parades, Carnival societies— because everything is legally organized and registered and mustfollow thestrict regulations set up by the city government. Nothing seems to be feared more in Brazil than the formation of an association of people, an event rigidly circumscribedin all our laws, including the Law of National Security that cameinto effect in 1968. Thus, to form and register an associationis an arduoustask, requiring an initial core of highly determined people, since many obstacles must be surmounted. But if everythingis classified in a hierarchical order, the paradeis a momentin whichthe groups(the individuals) are in open competition. This deserves mention because the very idea of competition, of a contest between equals,is incompatible with hierarchized socialsystems and therefore seen as something that should be banned from them. There no one should rise by meansof tests, which place performance aboveothercriteria of greater importance (such asbirth,residence, skin color, etc.). But in Carnival everything happens through competition, so much so that the idiom ofthesociety is transformed. From a hierarchical language andstyle, we pass to a competitive and egalitarian code, since now open contests provide opportunity forall.

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If Brazilian everydaylife is very thrifty about holding contests and when they occurthey acquire a highly dramatic content (being publicly announced and having extremely complexrules), in Carnival everything happens through competition. In Rio de Janeiro, for example, there are three contests for the sambaschools, which meansthree pa-

rades and three separate and independentreferees; three contests for the d/ocos de sujo; eight contests for the G/ocos de enredo, since these

blocs are rankedinto eight hierarchical sets; eight contests for the b/ocos de embalo (organized in the very same way); six contests for the queen of the “costumedbathers bythe sea”; andyet eight additional contests for the best bandstand, the best frevo group, the best rancho group, the best grande sociedade; and, at the several balls, contests for the

mostoriginal fo/zdo, the best costume, andso forth. These contests are judged in a complex way, with many different cfiteria used simultaneously, and even with a different judge for each criterion. In this way, there are many compensationsfor all the com-

petitors, since they can be judged as very poor by onecriterion but as very good according to another. Thisclearly indicates how in Brazil the competitionstry to relate their fundamental national and modern notion of equality with the hierarchical conception that seems to be the basic point of the society. The contests of Carnival, then, drama-

tize in a very intense waythis dialectic between equality and hierarchy, and the difficulties of reconciling these two values. That is why the parades and thefinal judging of the contests are always marked by

highly dramatic incidents. In this context I should also call attention

to the famous“amateur contests” which are a very important part of our so-called “auditorium shows” in radio and, nowadays, in television. Here again a panel of judges, clearly representing all segments of society, establishes a hierarchy amongthe “novices-performers,” who start out with the samerights. The panel does this in conjunction with the program producer, whose poweris increasingly greater but disguised in a sometimes autocratic mixture of manipulation and moderation. I think that the central point of these programsis the dramatization of merit and hierarchy through performance, the programs themselves linking the formal power of broadcasting stations and advertisers with that of the masses. We Brazilians need a carefully marked outsituation, a Carnival or

a TV program, to encourage or promote the vertical social mobility of individuals by way of performance. In such a situation wetry to keep a rein on such features as skin color, family background, friends and

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relations, since it would be grossly unfair to introduce them into the

picture. Movement upward in oursocial scale, then, is a highly dramatic movement; it is as if it were going to turn the world upside down. Thatis why, I think, Carnival is explicitly associated with open contests, competition, and the ability to perform freely, unhindered by ties of blood, godparenthood, or friendship. Everything suggests that Carnival has manylevels, that it is really

a manifold or multidimensionalfestival. The Brazilian Carnival as such seems to provide a special space of its own for exhibition, choice be-

tween alternatives, gestural dialogue, and critical commentary between

social classes and segments. The space of Carnivalis a space squeezed between wife and mistress, 7zacho and homosexual, wealth and poverty, dominator and dominated,family and voluntary association, equality and hierarchy. Asis the case with the most dramatic phaseofrites of passage, Carnival creates a reality that is neither here nor there, neither inside nor outside the time and space we perceive and experience as “real.” But that does not prevent us from living the universe of Carnival as a reality that says something to us and evokes in us a series of memorable experiences. Brazilian nostalgia surely stems from these zones of profound ambiguity where an alternative is presented yet tightly controlled, in a world that has specialized in maintaining

control over radical social change.

For these reasons Carnival serves both those whoare on the top and those who are on the bottom, those who are at home and those who are in the street. Like a painting by Brueghelthe Elder, it is an occasion when ourvision finds it hard to discover a focus or center. We see the organized reality of everydaylife unravel into many planes or levels in a fierce process of individualization. As I have indicatedelsewhere (DaMatta 1973a), Carnival ultimately ends up reinforcing the everyday order, but we must notforget that it also offers alternatives and suggests pathways to take.

As I look back over all of this and ponderit, I feel a final sense of

defeat. It seemsas if the circle of ritual is so tightly closed that one cannotget outofit. My analysis is caught in the traps of its many levels. I manage to make an opening, only to see it quickly closed again by a counterexample or a counterargument. All that remains for me to do, in a final ritualization, is to take cognizance of that fact and say thatif the sociological study ofrituals serves no other purpose, it can at least call our conscious attention to certain topics and problems. Trivialities, no doubt, but they do take us back to the hero of Jorge

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Amado’s novel, whom weconsidered nearthe start of this chapter. Carnival ultimately makes him feel that he is a Brazilian, that in body and soul hereally belongs to a social group —andthis at the very moment whenhegives up his awareness of being a privileged citizen, a member born into the ruling class. Similarly, the study of Carnival makes me feel more like an anthropologist. I enter and confront the

rite and I feel like Amado’s character: defeated and victorious, ready for another moment, another dialogue, another Carnival.

3. Carnival in Rio and Mardi Gras in New Orleans: A Contrastive Study This chapter provides both a developmentof oursociological understanding of carnival anda test of someof the ideas already presented. It also demonstrates how comparative sociology may enhance our knowledge of two modern, complex, industrial societies by focusing specifically on the relationship betweenthevalues and ideologies offestival

moments (extraordinary moments planned by society) and the values

and ideologies of routine, everydaylife. For my purpose I decided to compare andcontrast a carnival in the

United States, the Mardi Gras of New Orleans, with carnival in Brazil

as represented by the Carnival of Rio de Janeiro. My aim wasto focus moreclearly on a series of problems relating to the theory, method, and substance of theritual realm by a concrete examination of two societies that are very different in many domains. While we mayprofit

from formal, functionalist comparisons, in which comparison is made

through similarities and like is compared with like by meansof the construction of“types,” I think we can gain more sociological insight by following theso called “structural anthropological method” rooted in the work of Lévi-Strauss and some of the writings of the late Sir Edmund Leach. In other words, we do better to proceed by wayof contrasts and contradictions, to engage in a process of discovery in which the investigator is compelled to play a dynamic, creative role and to demystify the almost theological guarantees of methods, techniques, and philosophical positions. Given this perspective, we are faced with the basic question ofthis chapter: When we talk about Carnival and confront two Carnivals in two (or more) different societies, are we really talking about the same 116

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phenomenon?Or,to put it even moreclearly: If we say that Carnival is a “rite of inversion,” what happens when we have two Carnivals in societies that are clearly different in termsof institutions, history, and

ideology? Whatexactly is inverted in each of the two Carnivals in these two different societies? If an “inversion” doesreally take place, how does each Carnival establish its dramatic field and its scenic levels? In this chapter, as I said, I want to study the elements that are considered basic and broughtto social awareness in two specific Carnivals: the Mardi Gras of New Orleans and the Carnival of Rio de Janeiro. By isolating and analyzing the elements that each of these two Carnivals selects as basic to its production, we can avoid a purely formalist and/or functionalist stance that would view Carnival as the unfolding of events in a certain sequence in order to fulfill a certain need (or function), a stance that lacks the sociological imagination to disclose the “things,” “personages,” “gestures,” “costumes,” “rhythms,” “mu29

66

sic,” “parading,” “encounters,” and “dramatizations” used in each of

the two Carnivals. Again refusing simply to equate Carnival only with the general functional conditions of a given society or with a rite of

passage in Van Gennep’s sense (Van Gennep 1978), I wantto find out

whathas been displaced, inverted, and highlightedso that it may serve to effect a radical transformation of the everyday world. A major finding ofthis chapteris that the formal sociological mechanism maybe the samein two different Carnivals but that the position and practice of the ritual may be quite the opposite within the overall context of a given society. Thus, from a sociological point of view, it is not sufficient to make an inventory ofits logical mechanisms. One must also get a picture of the general social context in which these mechanismsare applied. One must also examinethe specific social and historical conditions in which they are used, trying to see how form and content go together and can beinterrelated, as Lévi-Strauss (LéviStrauss 1962a: chapter 4) expressly recommends. “Carnival” in Brazil and the United States

We know that in Brazil Carnivalis a special festival and also a hubbub of topsy-turvy confusion. It isa moment whenordinary rules, routines, and procedures are altered, when free expression of feelings and emotions prevails and everyone can publicly display his or her individuality. As we saw in the previous chapters, one of the basic dramatizations of Brazilian Carnival has to do with the opposition between

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the group andthe individual, between collective action ruled by spe-

cific codes andisolated, individual action, whichis perceived as “free”

in Brazil.

Butaside from the Mardi Gras festival in New Orleans, what does

the word “carnival” mean in the United States? If you look in various dictionaries, you will find that it has several meanings. It can refer to

a lively festival, an entertainmentwith a carousel and sideshows, a trav-

eling amusement show ofthe samesort with a Ferris wheel, merry-goround,shootinggalleries, other sideshows, and gamesof chance. It may also be combined with a fair or exposition, in which case the carnival area usually has a midway along which its shows and amusements are located.

Besides being a festive occasion, then, “carnival” in the United States

is a special place. To put it better: it is a specialized event located in

a well-defined place, a designated area permitting many and varied

human encounters with machines (which here are in the service of entertainment and amusement), with luck, and with freaks (the ape man,

the bearded lady, midgets, hunchbacks, and other marginalfigures that American society tendsto exile in specialized institutions). Moreover, these “carnivals” tend to be placed on the outskirts of cities, between

commercial and residential districts, in neutral or dead areas that are

often uninhabited or abandoned. Exactly like the Carnival of New Or-

leans, itself a threshold city located on the last U.S. frontier to be con-

quered—the South: the defeated but not yet egalitarian South, the arfistoctatic South clinging to the values of hierarchy and nobility of blood, the South of gallant chivalry and the contradictions of racial discrimination that leave room for privileges in a nation dominated by the creed of equality (Myrdal 1962 [1944]; Dumont 1970a)— inshort, the dogmatic and complementary, internally divided South. Along with Boston, New York, San Antonio, and San Francisco, New Orleansis

one of the very few “unique” American cities. With its Mardi Gras, New Orleans completesits “romantic” world characterized by the French Quarter, jazz, and an ideologyof the “big easy” in a Calvinist nation.

New Orleansis a Latin city in an Anglo-Saxon world, a sort of France in America, a sensualcity famousfor its indolent verandas, open-air

cafés, and byits anti-Calvinistic political and financial scandals (see Trillin 1975). It is a place where sex ceases to be a sin, where thehieratchization of human beings and the world becomesa part of popular ideology. As is pointed out by Munro Edmonson (Edmonson 1956),

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the anthropologist who serves as my sourcehere, it is this sphere of values that the Carnival of New Orleans helps to preserve.! In American society, then, the concept of Carnivalrefers to a spe-

cific and special place. As Max Gluckman (Gluckman 1962) pointed outin his well-knownarticle on rites of passage, this is typical of modern industrial societies, where social relationships are individualized and hence marked by such spatial specialization. I am a father and brother at home, a teacher i” the classroom, a deacon in church, a joker at a social gathering, a manager in my plant, a liberal in my political party, and so forth. Each ofthese social roles is exercised on a different social stage or in a different social domain. In societies marked by such a multitude of equivalent relationships, the fundamentalfeature

is individualism and its accompanying ideology of equality, an ideology that dovetails with the individual as a political, economic, moral, social, and religious category. In such social systemslife ceases to be characterized by totality and loses the basic complementarity that is manifested in tribal groups through the absolute sense of a reciprocal linkage between moieties and amongclans and lineages, without which their social universe would be diminished and mortally wounded. In tribal groups the power of the whole over the parts is evident in their view that everything is linked to (and with) everything and in theresultant mystical or magical ultradeterminism manifested in mystical and magical notions and explanations (see Lévi-Strauss 1962a; Gluckman 1962). To interfere with a social relationshipis to affect the whole network ofsocial relationships, because the system of humanlinksis

channeled and diffused through the whole structure of the universe,

which also includes plants, animals, and supernatural beings. In this kind ofsociety, the social universe is a veritable cosmos. As Dumont has pointed out (Dumont 1970a; Dumont 1970b), in such a system there is no place for the zxdividua/ as an omnipresent category, as an entity that is the embodiment of humanity, except on well-defined, special occasions. In our system, on the other hand, everything and everyonereally does seem to be separate and tofollow his or her own rhythms. When 1In relationship to this kind of identity, Edmonsonsays: “Carnival expresses, too,

New Orleans’ view of itself as a ‘Latin’ city, meaning by this not only thatit is still French, butalso that it is gay, wicked, sophisticated, and subtly lascivious—all that

the Anglo-American understands by the term “Latin.’” (1956:240).

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the shop orfactory awakensto start the day, the Bohemians are going to bed. While many work, and precisely because they do, some can enjoy their freedom from work. Individuals seem to create their own worlds (or hells). It is even hard to notice that each oneof these domains—whichhasits own political, juridical, and ideological status — is actually a part of a collective system or structure. There is in fact a system, but what dominates consciousness is not the whole but the parts. Its forces do not proceed from the whole to theparts or individuals, as far as commonsense can see, but rather from the individuals

to what is more comprehensive and eventually all-embracing. Indeed, it is a tremendoussurprise for manyto discover that the individualized world in which theylive their lives owes its existence to an ideology that is maintained collectively. Only in rare moments, then, do we perceive the power and weight of the totality and its network of ultradeterminations. In Brazilian society one of those momentsis Carnival, a ritual with an all-encompassing ideology that envelops the system and makes room forall sorts of characters, actions, costumes, and music. Another such momenttakes

place during the soccer tournaments, when the whole system is permeated andeverything tends to be oriented around the match. At such moments we cease to be members or parts of a neighborhood,social class, or social segment; we become equal members of a team or a nation in the contest. In American society such situations seem to be

even mote difficult to come by. They occur only at momentsof great national distress or shock: e.g., when President Kennedy wasassassinated. Then the people of the United States temporarily suppress their individualism and realize that they are something more than a mere and conflictualcollection of individuals. The assassination of Kennedy, for example, madethe people of the United States aware of something above and beyondindividual persons, something that the assassinated president represented: a unified set of values and ideas without which

individual will would not even exist. Indeed, I was in Cambridge, Massachusetts, when that catastrophe occurred. Even there, where the

world seemed to betotally compartmentalized—and even moreso, by the cosmopolitan ideology of Harvard — thesocial universe was transformed that day. The afternoon of the assassination people were hugging each other in the streets and weeping openly. The impersonal, individualized world collapsed under the weightof the totality and the unpredictability of history. The death of the supremeleader, the real eponym in anindividualistic society, gave ise to the solidarity and

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communalism that had always been repressed and implicit in Ametican society.

Aside from such teal national tragedies, I think that perhapsit is

only at presidential inaugurations—as Robert Bellah points out (Bellah 1967, 1975)—that the totality manifests itself clearly and inescapably in American society. In other words, today only the sphere ofpolitics is capable of bringing the whole American mation together as a com-

prehensive and complementary soczety.

As we have already noted, “carnival” in the United States is more

of a place than a situation. In egalitarian andindividualistic societies, specific domains or spheresare also geographical locales endowed with

their own appropriate ideologies, social roles, and objects. Being equal,

they are in competition; and being in competition, they are capable of mutualrelativization. That certainly accounts for the difficulty that the modern humanbeinghasin perceiving its universe as a coherent totality, although a deeper analysis might reveal that many social identities, which are seen as individualized and independentare in fact connected and complementary. Such is the case, for example, with the prostitute and the virgin, the cop and the robber, the black and the

white, the saint and thesinner, and so forth (DaMatta 1976a). Given

this perspective, one might suggest that totalitarianism, like the racism analyzed by Dumont (1970a: Appendix A), is a perverted way of resolving conflicts between an egalitarian ideology and a world that is actually unequal and highly fragmented.? The Two Carnivals: Social Organization and Ideologies In an earlier work (DaMatta 1973a), I compared the Carnival of Rio de Janeiro with that of New Orleansbriefly in order to bring out the fact that thefestival in Rio is marked by an ideology of encounter and communion, which showsup clearly in the uninhibited involvement 2In chapter 3 of the Ovzgins ofTotalitarianism, Hannah Arendtnotes that equality

of conditions is one of the most uncertain speculations of modern humanity, even

thoughit is the basic requisite for justice. The more conditions tend toward equality,

the more difficult it becomes to explain the differences that really exist between persons. Individuals who actually consider themselves more than equal form groups among themselves that tend to becomeincreasingly closed to others and hence different. In

this chapter we shall see that Arendt is right insofar as we are able to perceive that American society tends to re-establish hierarchy throughthecreation of exclusive ideologies, social mechanisms, and groups(like special clubs and secret societies).

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and competition of the sexes and social classes. I noted that the Carnival of New Orleans seemsto do just the opposite, according to the commentsofits main ethnographer, Munro Edmonson(1956). Hestates: There can be little doubt that the main ideological content of Carnival

is aristocratic. The gorgeously clothed &rewe masters ride their gaudy floats high above the profanum vulgus, carelessly and capticiously distributing their dimestore largesse in response to cries of “Throw me something, Mister,” from children and adults in the street below them. Nor

is the aristocratic motif of mock royalty restricted to the parades; there

is a very real andself-conscious ideology of exclusiveness to the membership of the &rewes, and the court ceremonialat theballs is very serious. Nowhere more than in Carnival is the traditional prestige dominance of the Anglo-French upperclass in New Orleansso clearly expressed.

(1956:240)

The aristocratic and exclusive atmosphere of the New Orleans Carnival, as noted by Edmonson,seemsto contrast sharply with theatmosphere of “freedom” and “anything goes” that pervades Brazilian Carnival. In order to understand and appreciate this inverted symmetry, let us examine the two ceremonies in greater detail. Thefirst thing we notice is that the Carnival of New Orleansis local-

ized, while that of Rio de Janeiro is generalized. The latter Carnival

belongs to the whole country, not just to Rio de Janeiro. The Carnival of New Orleans, in contrast, is a specialty of that city just as Patriot’s Dayis a specialty of Boston, the Easter Parade of New York, the Veiled Prophet’s Ball of St. Louis, and the Cherry Blossom Festival of Wash-

ington, D.C.3

3This seemsto be a confirmationof the “individualistic bias” present in American celebrations. An ideological motivation that seemsto be at the base of the “American ritual system,” wheretheritualization of“success” is systematically expressed with the distribution ofprizes for the “best” achieving individuals of the celebrating “commu-

nity.” This momentis dramatized by call on the individual, which constitutes the

climax andthe center of the ceremony. There appears to be a deeprelationship be-

tween individualism and the shape of American rituals, from birthday parties to Oscar-

winningcelebrations. This helps to explain why celebrations tendto follow distinctive social categorizations in the United States with each professional, age, regional and/or ethnic group having their special celebrations which are crucial for its identity as a distinct category within American society. The “American ritual system”can be characterized by a highly “specialized” mode which reveals its “individualistic bias.” Edmonson, in a mote descriptive way, makes the samepoint whenhesays: “It is striking

that amongfitualactivities that might be described as ‘community’ events, there ap-

pearto berelatively few that engagethe participation of even a considerable fraction

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Another noteworthy point is that Brazilian Carnival is seen as a compact festival, even though it lasts more than four days. It is “Carnival time,” a special moment when anything can happen. In sociological terms, it is a period whenthesocial worldis rich in possibilities and ceases to be organized aroundits ordinary social classifiers (occupation, neighborhood,wealth, power, etc.). The Carnival of Rio deJaneiro and Brazil, then, is a period marked by anincrease in freedom and anonymity and in social maneuverability. In contrast, Carnival in New Orleans

is not a compactfestival atall. It is divided into phases, ranging from the balls to the parades, and it culminates in the famous Mardi Gras parade, in which the phasesfinally come together and the whole picture seems to emerge. The balls and parades are separate activities, with series of private meetings serving as counterpoint; in the private meetings, the populationis, obviously, divided betweenrich and poor, white and black. Hence the Carnival of New Orleansis perceived as something exclusive to one class, and elements of anti-Jewish and antiItalian discrimination are also encouraged (see Trillin 1968). All this

suggests thatit is more difficult for this Carnival to evoke and promote an ideology of integration and social harmony, a real meeting between social classes or ethnic groups.

Moreover, the Carnival of New Orleans is centered around upperclass organizations knownas &rewes. These organizations, some of them dating back to 1872, serve as the modelfor the Carnival organization

of the city. Groups participate in this Carnival as corporate or semicorporate entities, giving stress to the area of the city from which they come,their color, social position, and schoolaffiliation (since there are paradesof schools). It should also be noted that the organization of the &£rewes follows a pattern that is widespread in the United States. These groups also put an enormous emphasis on exc/uszvity, since the

krewes ate controlled by rich whites who belongto the mostrestricted clubs in thecity. Not surprisingly, they recall the structure ofcollege fraternities, which are also exclusive and highly discriminatory, as well as the clubsof high society in New York and Boston. Since exclusivism and discrimination are to be foundin all these organizationsat various levels, it is no exaggeration to say that they operate along the same of the population of the community. In a very useful compendium of American community celebrations, the vast majority of ceremonials inaugurated before 1920 are described as specialized events (flower show, music festivals, or sports competitions)”

(1956:233).

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lines as racism, an obviously perverse sociological mechanism invented to restate hierarchy in a context where equality is socially and legally a part of the official creed (Dumont 1970a). Just as some college fraternities sought out their namesin the classical world of the Greek alphabet andclassical aristocratic Athens, so the idiom and etiquette of the Carnival &rewes of New Orleansis that of royalty. In their Carnival appearances, then, which according to Edmonson ate always

very formal, the 4rewes have their king, their queen, their dukes, and their retinue of attendants, all of them in fully elaborated aristocatic

dress. Note that all these members of royalty are white members of the traditional families of New Orleans, not poor, black people dressed in satin and other Carnival materials that denounce their real posi-

tion in the social structure. Asis true in a real court, everything that takes place within the power sphere of the &rewes is tightly controlled by them. At the balls, for example, those invited by the members

can only dance when they ate properly called upon to do so. Moreover, in their performances the &rewes act outlittle dramas, called tableaux, which ate always suitably associated with themesof fantasy or folklore. Since the &rewes are exclusive and provide the paradigm for New Orleans Carnival, blacks of the middle and upperclasses follow the same pattern of exclusivity in organizing their “carnival clubs.” They are “separate but equal,” according to the former legal motto of the segregated Americansociety. But in its organization the socially dominated group reproduces the model of the dominant groups. Hence, the black clubs do not have kings but presidents, vice-presidents, secretaries, a business manager, and a captainof the ball. Like the Avewes,

however, the black groups sponsor debutanteballs and fancy-dressballs, but the languageofaristocracy is totally absent in these clubs. During Mardi Grasthe black clubsreally prefer to reproduce the bureaucratic structure that dominatestheir everyday routine and that is probably beyond their reach and control. Black Americans of the middle and lowerclasses are also incorporated into clubs, which have noteworthy nameslike Zu/u Aid and Pleasure Club, They ate, by the way, the first to march in the Mardi Gras. As Edmonsoninforms us, the themeof this paradeis “a mock African motif to parody the mock royalty of the white krewes and the pretensions of society generally” (1956:237). But lower-class blacks also appear in the parade as Indians, marching as tribes and singing tribal songs that individualize them. Also appearing are “gangs” of blacks

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of the samesocial position whorevealtheir status as prostitutes, marching as “Gold Diggers” and “Baby Dolls.” As we have already seen, the Carnivalof Rio de Janeiro is organized around twobasic categories: the street and the club. In that city, however, the Carnival clubs tend to be organizations of the middleclass,

which open their doots to the public during Carnival insofar as the “guests” pay for their tickets. The upperclass entertainsitself at exclusive balls, frequently in homes, to which are invited manylocal and

international celebrities. The club balls, then, are inclusive and dependsolely on people’s economic capacity and willingness to pay. That holds true even for balls in luxury hotels and for the “City Ball” that is the high point of the Carnival in Rio de Janeiro. Organized by the municipal departmentfor tourism, the City Ball once was held in the Municipal Theater but is now held in a nightclub, the Canecao. The basic organization of the Rio street Carnival, it is worth recall-

ing, is in terms of 4/ocos (always representing city neighborhoods) and sambaschools. It seems clear that the samba schools are the structural

and functional equivalent of the &rewes ofNew Orleans, but there are

at least three important differences. First, the samba schools have a twofold organization: a fixed internal side that runs the schoolandits internal operation as well as its artistic components (musicians, composers, and so forth), and an external side that operates as a club. While the inner group may have a more defensive and exclusive char-

acter, the outer group seeks to attract people from the rich areas of

the city, who can be temporarily associated with the sambaschool (Goldwasser 1975; Leopoldi 1978).

Second, the samba schools have a twofold organization, because

they operate in two different moments within a well-defined annual cycle. During the period of Carnival they must organize their parades. They must bring together thousandsof supernumeraries and produce a stereotyped drama based on national folklore motifs and expressed in an idiom that is naive, studied, and aristocratic.4 In this respect

the samba schools remind us of the &rewes of New Orleans and their tableaux, whichalso utilize aristocratic themes and language. During

the rest of the year, however, the samba schools enter in a period of

“latency” (Leopoldi 1978). They operate much morelike authentic so-

cial clubs, serving as an excellent attraction for tourists and members 4For a study of the themes of these compositions see Baéta Neves (1973). For a

study of Brazilian music in general see Julia Levy (1977).

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of the upper and middle classes (located in thecity’s fancy “zona sul” or “South Zone”). The latter can now fraternize with membersof the “dominatedclasses,” located in the popular “zona norte” (the North Zone), and play at being carefree “Bohemians.” So it is during this period that the sambaschools rehearse and keep on the move, maintaining a regular interplay between the two paradigmatic areas of Rio de Janeiro: the North Zone and the South Zone. Third, the samba schools have a twofold aspect for this very reason. On the one handthey are open, inclusive clubs; on the other hand,

they are exclusive dramatic associations with a highly developed,if implicit, sense of neighborhood,group, skin color, and social segment.

The membersof the sambaschools know they ate black and poor, most

of them belonging to the marginal labor market of Rio de Janeiro, but in their rehearsals and during Carnival they are fully aware of the fact that they are the “teachers” or “professors” of music and rapture (alegria). In this way they can invert their position in the social struc-

ture, compensating for their social and economic inferiority with an obvious and indisputable superiority during Carnival. All this shows up in whatis perceived as their “instinctive” (or “natural”) way of dancing the samba, which Brazilian commonsense viewsas an innate privilege of the “Negro race” as a social category.°

Thus, the &rewes and the sambaschools are important units in the two Carnivals under study, but with the differences we have just considered. There is a redundancy in the &rewe modeof organization because — after all—the rich are always together by definition,as theyare few and united. As organizations modeledonthe rich, the Arewes demonstrate something that everybody already knows: therich are united and exclusive. The exact reverse is true of the samba school, which by allowing the union of marginal people and blacks from the slums and shantytownsreveals great organizationalability, an ability unsuspected by the petty bourgeoisie, who tend to see slum dwellers as “dominated” *It is startling to see how the sambaschools, by virtue of these features, open up a social space where the two poles of Brazilian society can meet and “see” each other. Like associations of soccer fans, they allow for the involvement and competition of all. They are mechanisms of promoting the intersection and cross-cutting of social identities. Their objective is “Carnival,” “luxuriousness,” whatis “beautiful” or “daz-

zling.” These values are above and beyondthepractical divisions of society; thatis why they can bring everyone together. The historical roots of associations grounded in such principles seem to go very deep in Brazil; we find the same ideology in the religious brotherhoodsof the colonial period. See also note 13 of chapter 2.

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(andalso as “alienated”) people. The paradox, however, is that the samba schoolis not a school of justice or social equality but a “school” of samba dancing. The low position of these groups in everydaylife can be compensated for by the high quality of their Carnival talent. That brings us to another basic feature that must be noted. Thesocial universe created during Carnival by the samba schools indicates that the classification of social groups and persons is not based on onesingle axis but on several in such a waythat, in Brazil, a person can be “poor but clean and neat,”“rich but a blockhead,”“powerful but unhappy,” “unemployed but a good samba dancer,” “honest but a sucker,” and so forth. In all these well-known Brazilian expressions, we find the same sort of cosmic complementarypossibilities that permeate therelationships between the polar categorizations of the society, such as that of rich and poor, saints and sinners, dominant and dominated. This para-

doxical complementarity, based on so manydifferent hierarchical axes,

is truly very dynamic, functional, and compensatory. Dumont(1970a) notes the same phenomenonin India, but in that society everything is geared aroundthesingle axis of “pure artd impure,” which is founded on religious criteria and ideology. In Brazil, however, the relations between the sambaschools and the middle and upperclasses do notfollow an explicit religious ideology or any other single criterion of classification. There is open admission of hierarchy, but the principles of hierarchization seem to be many andvaried so that they can be compensated for and altered to fit different social situations.®

When the “average” Brazilian sees the parade of a sambaschool, which each year includes morecelebrities and “whites” of the South

Zone, he thinks much more of the compensations of blackness and

poverty. Indeed, the Carnival of Rio de Janeiro is inclusive, and the samba schooltries to include everybodyin its ranks. Just the opposite is true of the &rewes of New Orleans, which are exclusive groups and 6See, for example, the research of Dr. Ruth Cardoso (1978), in which thepossibility

of manydifferent classifications shows upclearly. Polling slum dwellers in Sao Paulo,

she got responses such as the following: “There are people worse off than me, guys scraping by with a wife and kidsto feed.”

“There are people worse off than mein Sao Paulo. A thief, for example. You may be poor, but you’re honest and free. A thief is always on the run. A crippled person is also worse off because he depends on alms.”

“You have your strength and health to work and yourbelief in God. So youare rich in health and ability but poor in material things and money. That is why you are weak, you see?”

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associations. Moreover, the krewes follow a strict order of appearance whenthey parade. First comes the Krewe ofRex (at the topof the hieratchy); then come the middle-class krewes: the Orleanians and Crescent City. By contrast, the order of march of the sambaschools in Rio

de Janeiro is completely fortuitous, as we saw in chapter 2. It is based

on the impersonallaws of chance andluck, and on hard work and performance, not on the substantive laws of birth, blood line, skin color,

family name, or neighborhood. Thestructure and organization of the sambaschools, then,is truly egalitarian. They are hierarchized (or, to be more precise, stratified ) only at the end of the parade, when the

judges make their choices in an atmosphere of marked high tension. In short, the parade of the &rewes in New Orleansis preestablished

and reflects well-established social hierarchies, whereas the parade in Rio de Janeiro is a contest. In the latter parade all submit to the laws

of chance and performance, with winners and losers. Here we are in

a world ruled by individualism and equality rather than in a universe organized by substance.

Carnivals of Equality and Hierarchy

Even my summary comparison above seemsto showclearly that the relationship between the two Carnivals is one of inverse symmetry. Moreover, the Carnivals of the two countries seem to confirm everything that has been said about them in comparative terms—except that in this case, as in the area of race relations, the advantage seemsto lie with Brazil. The truly inclusive, open, and “democratic” Carnival is the one in Brazil; the exclusive, discriminatory, and aristocratic-minded Carni-

val is the one in the United States. The crucial and basic question would seem to be: How can there be an aristocratic Carnival in an egalitarian society and an egalitarian Carnival in a hierarchical and authoritarian society? Let us concludethis chapterby reflecting on someof the basic issues associated with this question. There seems to be no doubt that Carnival is a ritual in which the social principle of zzverszon is applied in a consistent way. But inversion is merely a logical mechanism; it does not always lead a social event in the samesocial and semantic direction. That is why we must be very cautious about accepting “‘substantivist” views of the ritual

world, views that see ritual as a social moment endowed with some

sort of “essence” whichrevealsitself through peculiar symbolic expression and special qualities. Comparison of the Carnival of Rio deJaneiro

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with that of New Orleans makes it clear that we cannot studyritual without taking into accountthe everyday world with all its problems and values. In the United States, where an individualistic and egalitarian ideologyis operative in everydaylife, the inverted world of Mardi Gras makes room for the openly admitted hierarchization of social groups. In the Mardi Gras of New Orleans, the rich are exclusive and aristocratic, blacks are Africans and Indians, and black prostitutes are

“Gold Diggers” and “Baby Dolls.” One might well wonder whether we are dealing with typical Carnival metaphorical inversion or with an everyday reality that Americans refuse to acknowledge. Ontheritual level the Carnival of New Orleans seemsto reproduce the deeper truths of class exclusivism in a society that claims to have banished hierarchy from its central midst. The only difference is that Carnival, as we have

already noted, is a momentplanned and controlled by society. In the American case, however, its basic feature seems to be consistent with

facism: in a society where individuals enjoy legal and political equality, skin color becomes an instrumentfor a social arrangement based on differentiation and inequality. As Dumont putsit: The distinction between master and slave was succeeded by discrimina-

tion of White against Black. To ask why racism appears is already to have in part answered the question: the essence of the distinction was juridical; by suppressing it the transformationofits racial attribute into racist substance was encouraged. For things to have been otherwise the distinction itself should have been overcome. (1970a:255)

And he goes ontosay: For the Greeksas for others, foreigners were barbarians, strangers to the

civilization and the society of the ‘we’; for that reason they could be enslaved. In the modern Western world not only are citizens free and equalbefore the law, buta transition develops, at least in popular men-

tality, from the moral principle of equality to the belief in the basic identity of all men, because they are no longer taken as samplesof a

culture, a society or a social group, but as zzdtviduals existing in and

for themselves. In other words, the recognition ofa cultural difference can no longer ethnocentrically justify inequality. But it is observed that

in certain circumstances, which it would be necessary to describe, a hier-

atchical difference continues to be posited, which is this time attached

to somatic characteristics, physiognomy, colour of the skin, ‘blood’. No

doubt, these wereat all times marksof distinction, but they have now

becometheessence ofit. Howis this to be explained? It is perhaps ap-

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CARNIVALS, ROGUES, AND HEROES posite to recall that we are heirs to a dualistic religion and philosophy:

the distinction between matter and spirit, body and soul, permeates ourentire culture and especially the popular mentality. Everything looks as if the egalitarian-identitatian mentality was situated within this dualism, as if once equality and identity bear on the individual sow/s,

distinction could only be effected with regard to the Jodies. (Dumont 1970a: 255, emphasis in the original)

Hence, Dumontconcludes with Gunnar Myrdal’s profound observation that “race prejudice is, in a sense, a function (a perversion) of egalitarianism” (Myrdal, in Dumont 1970a: 256).

Myclaim hereis that this set of implicit and repressed values —expressed in a hierarchy which is at the basis of American racial segregation — permits usto establish a sociological link between such separate and seemingly distinct phenomenaas college fraternities, clubs, and secret societies (of the Ku Klux Klan type), and the Mardi Gras

of New Orleans. For the essence of racism, exclusive associations, and

the Mardi Gras (with its aristocratic Arewes) seems to be nothing more than an attemptto put back a principle ofdifferentiation into a social milieu from which it was legally and juridically excluded by the official social and political creed. It is precisely because the egalitarian creed is strong and omnipresent that hierarchy has to be insinuated

in a noxious and, as Myrdal puts it, perverted way: i.e., by means of

closed clubs, of secret societies, and of a Mardi Gras that suddenly of-

fers us an American society completely ordered and arranged, with each social class and racial group in heavy synchronywith theposition they

occupy in the political and economic domains.

Just the opposite occurs in Brazil. There everyone already knowshis place. Or, to putit better, everyoneis always trying to be in his proper social place. The principle of hierarchy is always present, because the deepest social fear in Brazil is the fear of being “out of place,” especially when this “displacement” implies trying to pass as something other than what onereally is, as we shall see in the next chapter. Within this frametheinversion of Brazilian Carnivalis a principle that temporarily suspendsthe precise hierarchicalclassification of things, persons, actions, categories, and groups in the social arena, enabling everyone and everythingto be outof place. It is precisely because it can put everything out of place that Carnival is often considered a “greatillusion” or a grand “foolish madness.” Brazilian Carnival, then, transformsthe holistic hierarchy of everydaylife into a fleeting moment dominated by magical individualistic equality.

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Finally, we must consider the two characters or personages that symbolize the Carnival of Rio de Janeiro and the Carnival of New Orleans. In New Orleans, where the everyday world is marked by equality, the symbolof Carnival is the king (Rex). He is played by a millionaire belonging to a closed club and a semisecret Carnival society. The king is the product of the upper class, one who secretly and inwardly accepts hierarchy because he knowsbetter than anyoneelse that, despite its repression, it really exists. In the United States, the “king” (who stands for familism, skin color, and money as a symbolofprivilege andprestige) is constituted in radical opposition to the “president” (who,as we all know, expresses performance, individualism, and equality). The “president” is a zealous administrator, the “king”is a sovereign ruler. The “king” is superior by birth; the “president” merely represents the people and is elected by them in a free contest. Here we

have a typical dislocation of idioms and worlds. One leaves the universe of parallel, equal individuals to enter a hierarchized system where

noblemen and commoners complementeachotheras estates ot orders rather than asclasses and/orinterest groups. The king of New Orleans

is a symbolof aristocracy because heis dislocated in social time and space. It is precisely this displacement that enables him to become a symbol, as we have noted earlier. In Rio deJaneiro, the symbolof Carnival is the mzalandro, the rogue

whois almost always out of place. In fact, the malandro does notfit

either inside or outside the order. Helives in the interstices between order and disorder, using both andfinding sustenance from those who

are inside the normal, structured world and those who are not. But

whoexactly is this rogue and whatdoeshetell us about the Brazilian social order? It seems he offers the everyday world of order the very same thing that the king of New Orleansoffers people in the United States during Mardi Gras: the possibility of seeing the world upside down, if only for a brief moment. The Brazilian rogue seemsto introduce thepossibility of relativization into the closed world of everyday routinized morality. In our bourgeois, individualistic world we are always ordered alongthe exclusive axes of economicposition andpolitical capacity. The roguetells us that there are other dimensions and other social ways by which people and social actions can beclassified: “I’m poor but I’ve got my girl, my guitar, and the moonlight,” as a famousBrazilian song reminds. Since his world is a world of interstitiality and ambiguity, it is one where reality can always be interpreted and ordered by many different codes and axes. These relativizations

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always tend to link up with song, dance, and joyous merriment, a realm left open for the rogue and carefully codified by Carnival. It is clear that we are dealing here with a mechanism of compensation, butit is equally clear that the world of mza/landragem (roguery) and Carnival is also rich in possibilities and innovations. It does not occupy one single well-defined place. It is not simply a function of the normative side of the social order, noris it simply one of the forces for change and equality as voluntaristic factors of a “program”for social justice. It lies somewhere between the two and probably serves both, butit

is certainly in this ambiguous midway world that popularcreativity is fully exercised. The same happensin the structure of the samba school, which is

a central elementof this contradictory world of roguery and Carnival, because here we find a whole series of completely dislocated objects.

Thefirst is the school itself, which is usually situated on hillside or

in an outlying area heavily inhabited by the poor, theilliterate, and the marginally employed. This samba“school” does not teach anyone a trade or how to makea living; it teaches “life itself,” as popular ideology and many sambasattest. During Carnival the marginal people

of the hillsides, the outlying slums, and the samba school become “teachers,” “professors,” and “doctors” of rhythm and the samba. They

“instruct” the middle and upperclasses in the world of the samba, roguery, and tricky movement, a world forged by the effort to survive on a meagersalary in a consumersociety marked byexploitation. They clearly demonstrate the “power of the weak” (Lewis 1963), revealing that their strength lies in their great creativity, their incomparable capacity for social organization and mobilization, andtheir ability to reinvent the social structure year after year. Above all, perhaps, they manifest the great paradox of the harmonization ofinequality, which could never be achievedif they were not both the actors and the spectators. To this end they organize themselves in the rhymes and rhythms of their parade lines, in which magical figures dance and sing ofhistorical characters. In short, they present us with many axes and zones of hierarchization, which seems to be typical of the rural and urban

social world in Brazil. After all, what is the mythical rural hero Pedro Malasartes but a “rural rogue” wholives by duping plantation owners and bosses and compensating for his lack of power with a rare and extraordinary wisdom? We can readily see that the inversion of the Brazilian Carnival is different from that of the American Mardi Gras. The break that Bra-

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zilian society makes with its everyday routine transforms marginal and inferior people (whoin Brazil are called “individuals,”i.e., people alone and withoutsocial position, “nobodies”) into “persons,” and it transforms persons (who are the masters of the system) into “individuals” (i.e., a composite, undifferentiated massofcitizens enjoying the same rights to sing, dance, and play—which runs counter to the Brazilian ideology of hierarchy). Not surprisingly, then, some members and groups of the middle and upperclasses (sophisticated intellectuals in particular) abandonthecity during Carnival because they “cannot stand Carnival” or “the transformation of the city into pandemonium.”Thisattitudeis clearly a reaction to theloss of privileges during Carnival, when a brief but dramatic momentof freedom prevails and no oneis supposedto ritualize social relations by invoking the classic authoritarian question, “Do you know whoyou're talking to?” (see chapter 4). As

weshall see further on, there is a close relationship between the “land

of Carnival” and a hierarchizing society obsessed with the classic question noted above, just as there is a dialectical axis running from cotrdiality and the “cordial man” of Sérgio- Buarque de Holanda (1973) to extreme andbrutalviolence. In this context I cannot bypass a revealing passage from an unexpectedsource, the journalist Luis Edmundo Costa. Writing about Carnival in Rio de Janeiro, he notes the crushing crowds and the potential for fights and conflicts: The “beast” who will not take insults home clashes with the “brute” whowill not sake insults from anyone, slapping, punching, and kicking. .. . The epoch is one of toughness, petsonal retribution on the

street, blows with one’s cane . . . and loud remonstrances that invariably

begin with “Who do you think you're talking to?” (Costa 1938, 3:803; emphasis in the original)

In short, equality for all is problematic and provokes attemptsto restore hierarchy by violence. The freedom and equality of Carnival can readily be perceived as “madness,” “abuse,” and “high jinks.” It seems difficult for Brazilians to live in a universe of individuals. Individuality is always rejected, either becauseit fosters personal independence(at the expenseof imperative social relationships) or because it poses obstacles to the Brazilian practice of “bending” legal codes and the impersonal normsof public life to favor a friend ora relative. In a similar vein, the zvdzvistbility given in individuality would make

it difficult for the marginal members of the labor market, our occasional laborers and household servants, to be seen and treated with

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the respect and consideration they desetve as persons. It is because they can be seen as gente (people, persons, real human beings) and classified as social entities internally divided, “persons” with a body and a soul, that they can be simultaneously exploited and given proper social consideration (comstderagao). And here we touch uponthe per-

sonalism that is typical of Latin American andtraditionalsocieties, a feature considered basic byJohn Gillin (1955) and Charles Wagley(1968). But wealso touch the core of the Brazilian dilemma, whichis articu-

lated in this dichotomousvision of the world in which the public sphere is divorced from the private so that the exploitation of the worket’s body has nothing to do with his or her soul, since the latter is viewed as already having an assured place in heaven. Thus, the body can be subjected to the toils of underpaid labor while the soul (as a true expression of the “person’”) is cultivated and nourished with “consideration” and “respect.” Here, in a capsule, we have the essential ingredients of paternalism and patronage, with their sophisticated dialectic of exploitation and respect, contempt and consideration. As “persons,” those at the bottom of the social structure are seen

to be divided into a body and a soul. Carnival permits the transformation of domestic workers—actually slaves to house and family— into samba experts who can arouse the envy of their bosses: not the petty-bourgeois envy over moneyorpolitical consciousness, but envy of lower-class joy, vitality, and the inexhaustible energy and generosity that cannot be squelched even by intolerable working conditions. Herein lies the paradox. We discover that the anonymous mulatto of the factory is a superb dancer or musician. How can this be? we ask, like dumbidiots bewildered by our own pettiness in the face of the mysteries of oursociety. Before us we see a “nobody,” but how elegantly he plays his music and dances the samba! For a few moments, hours,

ot days, our society manages to shapeits course andits order not only

in terms of neighborhood, money, career, education, clothes, and fam-

ily but also in terms of people’s ability to demonstrate mastery over their bodies; whichis to say, along an axis thatis primarily personal and esthetic, and just as obviously fleeting, marginal, and compensatory. In an even motevisible and dramatic way, especially in Rio de Ja-

neiro, the rites of Umbanda show usthese same “structural inferiors”

being transformed into personalities when they are possessed by the spitits of indios, pretos-velhos, exis, and pomba giras (roughly: “Indians,” “old black slaves,” and “masculine and feminine tricksters”). Thusinvested, they give consultations and words of authoritative ad-

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vice to their employers, revealing the other face of the chauffeur, the maid, the cook, and the occasional laborer.7 As mediators to such

powerful entities, they are no longer isolated and anonymous“individuals” subject to the general, impersonallawsof society. United and incorporated with their “guides’— their godparents in the beyond, the “astral” region, the “other world”— they are now fonts of healing, wisdom,tranquillity, charity, and power. This process is similar to what happens when people use the phrase, “Who do you think you're talking to?” In doing so, they suggest a connection with some important

politician, general, or other person whose position in the system en-

sures that the law will be bent to their favor.

Once again weare faced with an inversion, one which allows a tem-

porary but basic subversion of society’s secular hierarchy and creates other fields and lines of power andclassification. Note that this inversion does noteliminate hierarchy and inequality. But just like a truly controlled experiment, the festive moment simply allows for a tempotary recombination (and inhibition) of them. Our study of Carnival enables us to link phenomena that have generally been regarded as

distinct and studied separately like the religious rites of Umbanda, the samba blocos of Shrove Tuesday, and also soccer betting and thelottery. What clearly unites them is the principle of inversion, which is rigorously applied to certain domains and occasions in Brazil. It is through the systematic application of this principle that we have the ongoing possibility of opening up thesocial world in an individualizing style. We thus can experience the world in reverse in certain carefully prepared contexts without runningtherisk of seeing the world turned upside down in any permanent way. Carnival and Umbanda, together with their close relative, soccer,

are linked by the powerful ties that generally tend to unite the low and the weak with their magical and mystical powers. These powers are somehow taken to be marginal and outofthe effective control or check by anycivil authority, whose power in turn is based on physical force and on the control of violence (Lewis 1963). Those at the bottom of the social structure mayfind that their labor force is repressed and that their ability to claim political rights is severely limited, but they

can still communicate with the spirits and so come to know thefuture,

thereby gaining a tranquillity that the rich and powerful, by their very 7See Yvonne Maggie Velho (1975), in which these consultations are described in detail, and Fry and Howe(1975).

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definition, cannotpossess. In the rites of Umbanda and Carnival the poor, especially poor women—whoare doubly repressed — enter into relationships with spiritual beings (or with the samba and the musical rhythms) and becomeable to seduce or heal without any distinction or reference to power or wealth. Thusthe ideologyof “charity,” “love,” “renunciation,” and “conciliation” is much more thana political ideol-

ogy invented only to effect the mystification of the masses. On the contrary, it is a crucial and authentic cultural value of the hierarchical system itself which —with thebricks of mystical religion and of affliction and the mortarof soccer and Carnival, activities based on performance rather than on substance builds real ramparts against social dissatisfaction and unrest in a system based on conformism and marked by an alarming lack of coherence between its ideas andits actions. Everything suggests that these are some of the key elements of the Brazilian dilemmaandofthis society as a specific entity. All this, as I hope to be demonstrating in the pages that follow, seems to mirror the bittersweet nostalgia of our fado music and that perduring perplexity of a man whose handsdo brutal deeds but whose heart weeps bitter tears and thus, so full of sorrow, makes the torture tolerable.

4. “Do You Know Who You're Talking To?!” The Distinction between Individual and Person in Brazil

I now wish to examinea little Brazilian ritual that stands in a symmetrically inverse relationship to the ceremonies we have been studying so far. I am referring to the ritual embodied in the use ofthe familiar Brazilian expression: “Vocé sabe com quem estafalando?!” “Do you know whoyou're talking to?!” This is a commonly used expression that always implies a radical and authoritarian separation between twosocial positions that are objectively or conceptually differentiated in terms ofthe rulesofclassification of Brazilian culture. That may be whythis form of addressing someone, which is very popular amongBrazilians, is systematically left out of both superficial and serious works that attempt to describe the essential traits of our “character” as a people or nation.! It is not something we are proudof, given its overtones of vexing authority, hostility, and arrogance. Thus, weleaveit outofourself-image as an undesir-

able way of being a Brazilian, since it reveals our formalism and our

veiled or even hypocritical way of expressing the most extremesorts of prejudice. As I hope to show in this chapter, the ritual embodied in the use of the “Who doyou think you’re talking to?!” puts us much 1 Significantly enough, the expression is absent from two well-known studies de-

voted to Brazilian expressions: Luis da Camara Cascudo, Locugées Tradtcionats no Brasil (Recife: Universidade Federal de Pernambuco, 1970); and Raymundo Magalhies,

Jt., Dictonaério Brasileiro de Provérbios, Locugées e Ditos Curtosos (Rio de Janeiro: Editora Documenta4rio, 1974).

197,

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more onthe side ofhierarchical ranks and authoritarian figures — things which we systematically try to hide or, what comes downto the same thing, feel no need to demonstrate or prove because “everyone should know his place’”—than on theside of free, modern, spontaneous, af-

fable associationsrelated to such things as drinking beer on the beach, playing soccer, dancing samba, and partying at Carnival. Every Brazilian knows that the question under consideration here is the ritualized and almost always dramatic reflection of a social separation thatsets us miles apart from the positive image of the mza/andro (rogue) and of his usual meansofsocial survival. For ourritual expression is a rude denial and rejection of “cordiality,” theseztinho(the clever dodge or bypass), and malandragem (toguety), traits that have always been used to define our way of being (e.g., Sérgio Buarque de Holanda 1973), and even the birth ofourliterature (see Anténio Can-

dido 1970).

Indeed, by virtue of its intensive and extensive usebyall social segments andclasses, in newspapers, books, popular histories, revues, and anecdotalpieces, the form of interaction revealed by ourritual expression seemsto be rooted in the heartofourculture, alongside Carnival, the lottery, soccer, and roguery. Whatit lacksis a fixed and collectively recognized date for its use or appearance, and so should be studied

as an importantitem in relation to the material in the previous chapters.

This ritual expression has two important features. Thefirst is the hiddenorlatent nature of learning and usingit, since it is almost always regarded as anillegitimate and inadmissible recourse available to the members of Brazilian society. In other words, we teach soccer and sambaand wetalk about sunny beachesandlove, aboutour infor-

mal and open ways, as signs of our truly “democratic vocation”; but we never voice our nasty question,“Vocé sabe com quemesta falando?!” in front of children or foreigners. On the contrary, we try to forbid its use as undesirable, even if we then use the accursed formula the first time an opportunity presentsitself the next day. We considerthis expression to be a part of the “real world” and of the “harsh reality

oflife.” It is a tool we learn and use in the domain of the street, that

cruel world we keep separate and far away from ourhearth and house. The domain ofthe street is witness to the systematic use ofthis ritual expression, but we choose notto incorporate it into the pleasant, non-

routinized picture of the social universe we prefer to construct for ourselves. And so the expression is not examined seriously at either the

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scholarly or common-senselevel, just as it is not employedin thelyrics of samba music. The second feature of this ritual expression is its connection with a disturbing aspect of Brazilian culture. The fact is that this “authoritarian ritual” is always the expression of a conflictive situation, and Brazilian society seemsto beinimical to conflict. Needless to say, that does not eliminate conflict. Like every other dependent, colonialsociety, Brazil has an intimidating numberof conflicts and crises, but there is a long roadto travel between the existenceofa crisis andits recognition. Whereas somesocieties try to confront crises promptly, regarding them as part and parcel of the very structures of sociopolitical life, other societies seem to be unable to acknowledge conflict andcrisis. In fact, a comparative, if brief, look at conflict perception and conceptualization reveals that for onesociety crises may indicate the needto correct something, while in another they represent the end of an era, the portent of catastrophe. Everything suggests that we Brazilianssee conflicts as omensof the end of the world, as signs of unbearable failure that makeit difficult for us to accept them as part of our history, especially as part of theofficial versions of that history with its idealized and understandable emphasis on oursolidarity. This is why we always prefer to put more stress on our universalist and cosmopolitan tendencies, in the process sidestepping a more penetrating and accurate look at our problems. At therisk of making a long digression, I think it might be more accurate to add here that the dominant, triumphantsectors

of any society always read its history and social structure as a narrative

of solidarity, whereas the dissident and dominated sectors systematically reveal the role of conflict, violence, andcrisis in the system. The

mistake would obviously be to lose sight of the dialectical character of social life and to assumethat only oneofthese positions represents the correct view of our social reality. In studying the “Vocé sabe com quem esta falando?!” and interpreting it as a “rite of authority,” then, we shall be examining an important and revealing aspect of our social life and broaching series of broader Brazilian themes.If we hide or inhibit the “Do you know who you're talking to?!” from foreigners and children, if we decide not to integrate the expression into our ongoing vision of whatis Brazil, it is because therite reveals conflict and wearecertainly allergic to crises. Besides, we know that open conflict, based on opinions publicly represented,is a revelation of egalitarian individualism —a style of tackling

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conflict that always confrontsviolently the hierarchical skeleton of our society. It seems obvious that on the everydaylevel, this verbal rite of authority reveals the aversion to discord and crisis that seems to be so basic to our social system, a system intensely preoccupied with authority, hierarchy, and “everyone in his proper place.” That is why the expression embarrasses every Brazilian. Indeed, in a social universe which must moveaccordingto the gears of a hierarchy, conflicts cannot help but be regardedasirregularities. Hereit is believed that the world has to operate in termsof an absolute harmonythatfollows naturally from a system dominated bythetotality and that leads to a visceral pact between the strong and the weak. In such a system of domination,

where open conflict is repressed and avoided, we should not besurprised to find—in the very frame of the relationship between social superior and social inferior —the idea of “consideration” as a basic social category and a fundamental value. In such a social frame, conflict cannot be viewed as a symptom of crisis in the system, but as a revolt that should and must be put down. Seen as a crisis, conflict would entail efforts to change the whole web

of relationships implied in the social structure, but if seen as revolt

ot rebellion, conflict can be personally circumscribed and treated as such. Thisis, for example, the approach of Pedro Malasartes (see chapter 5), the Brazilian mythological hero who, when faced with a cruel, abusive landowner, blames the landowner rather than the system of domination. Given a choice between the two possibilities of transformation, Pedro Malasartes acts with the typical generosity of the poor:

he chastises the personal agent and maintains the system.

Interestingly enough, this is exactly the way my informants interpreted the use of the ritual expression “Do you know whoyou're talking to?!” None of them evertook it as the actualization of structural principles and values in our society, but they always viewed it as the manifestation of undesirable personal traits. Like racism and authoritarianism, our expression was regarded as somethingthat crops up by chance among us, being only dependent on “system” imposed by the groups that hold power.It is evident, however, that thesituation

is much more complicated. Thefact remains that in Brazil we confronta social system with features that are known but not recognized by its members. When I was gathering data for this study, some university students who served as

informants acted as if they did not understand whatI wanted, while

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_ others refused to answer even two or three basic questions about the expression, just as they refused to give any concrete examplesofits use. Significant for my investigation was the constant dichotomy between my informants’ actual use of the expression and what mightbecalled

the “social grammar”ofits usage: i.e., those situations permitting or

prohibiting its use. My informants generally thought that use of the expression was undesirable, but they did in fact use it themselves. As in the studiesof racial prejudice, all of the informants considered racial prejudice undesirable, butall of them provedto be “racist” in specific, concrete situations.

What does this mean from the sociological standpoint? Are we Brazilians a contradictory people, incapable of recognizing the levels of irrationality present in our system? Orare wea society that privileges someof its aspects and uses them as vehicles in the construction of its self-image? Clearly, the second question points to an answer. But then we must find out whatspecific features are systematically regarded as positive and usedas ideological building blocks for the constitution of a Brazilian identity. Now our studyof the ritual question “Vocé sabe com quem est4 falando?!”reveals a paradoxical situation:in a society heavily oriented towardthe universal and the cordial, we find the emphasis on the particular, the hierarchical, and the conflictive. And we find this under peculiar conditions: a general rule prohibits the use of the ritual expression, but an equally general practice fosters its use. It is as if certain factors were imperceptibly present in our society:first, the need to divorce the rule from the practice; and second, the discovery

that in Brazil there are two conceptionsof “nationalreality,” one that views the world as based onsolidarity and cordiality, and another that sees society as made up ofexclusive categories organized in a scale of respect and deference. Finally, we learn that we immediately adopt anything said that implies openly embracing inclusiveness, whereas we hide and whisper aboutanything that suggests exclusiveness. Thus, we proclaim andprivilege Carnival, but we say nothing aboutthe “Vocé sabe com quem esta falando?!” Oneis the subject matter of books and films; the otheris a subject for anthropological articles, since it is not a seri-

ous and pleasantmatter like soccer, they6go do bicho, and the cachaga.? 2] am referring here to the old Brazilian saying: “In Brazil, the only things people

take seriously (because they are a source of pleasure and intrigue) are the j6go do

bicho {the animal game], futebol [soccer] and cachaga [sugar cane rum].”

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The Expression in Theory and Practice All my informants, about a hundred people, indicated that there were countless situations in which onecould use the expression “Vocé sabe com quem est4 falando?!” but that it was obviously possible to specify times whenits use would be typical. The enormous consistency among informants on this matter suggests that we are dealing with a well-established form of expression rather than a sudden fage of passing fad associated with a particular historical period orsocial group. Someinformants, for example, were able to spell out fairly precisely the social circumstances in which a given person would usethis rite of separation. They said thatsocial situations suited for the use of the expression ranged from general attempts to “feel important” or “prove one’ssocial position’to very specific situationslisted in terms of ptiorities. For example, one middle-aged male informant with a university backgroundsaid that people were likely to use the ritual expression when:(a) theyfelt their authority threatened or diminished; (b) they wanted to impose their authority in a clear and definitive way; (c) they consciously or unconsciously sensed the possibility of making the interlocutorfeel inferior in terms ofsocial status: (d) they felt weak or had an “inferiority complex”; and (e) they somehow saw their interlocutor as a threat to the office or function they held or exercised. Myreaders should note that there was no appointment withorprior discussion of the subject with the informants. I did not express my ideas on the topic before collecting data from informants. The high degree of sophistication and finedetail in the responsesof the informants, as well as their feel for the nuances of social relationships, came outoftheir social practice. This suggests the well-established collective character of the expression and, in addition, an intense preoccupation with the social universe and how to navigate in it. In fact, our informants displayed what might becalled a clear“awarenessofsocial position.” So great was this awareness that there can be no doubt that all of them were, at various levels, fleshing out our proverbial social presctiption that recommends “a place for everything, and everything in *I gathered information from students, friends, and casual interviews. My graduate students from the Institute of Superior Education of the Getdlio Vargas Foundation and the Rio de Janeiro School of Visual Arts complement ed and completed the gathering of data. I want to thank all involved, not only for the data-gathering but also for the discussions we had which were essential in working up the material for this chapter.

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- its place.” Theyall revealed a society with an enormouspreoccupation with social position and a tremendous awareness of all the rules and resources having to do with its maintenance, loss, or threats to it.

In this context, I cannot help but remember an observation made by Alexis de Tocqueville in Democracy in America: “In aristocratic communities, where a small number of persons manage everything, the outward intercourse of man is subject to settled conventional rules. Everyone then thinks he knows exactly what marksof respect or of con-

descension he oughtto display, and none are presumedto be ignorant of the science of etiquette” (1945 [1835]: 181). And the great French social observer goes onto say: “These usagesof thefirst class in society

afterwards serve as the modelto all the others; besides this, each of the latter lays down a code of its own, to which all its members are

bound to conform. Thus, the rules of politeness form a complex system of legislation, which it is difficult to master perfectly but from whichit is dangerousto deviate, so that men are constantly exposed involuntarily to inflict or to receive bitter affronts” (ibid.). We shall see further on how this masterly observation by Tocqueville might be applied to the Brazilian case. At this point it is enough to note that Brazilians today, like nineteenth-century Europeans,always worry about committing a blunder, saying the wrong thing, or violating somerule of etiquette outof ignorance or inattention, hence of breaching someparticular code of etiquette that has—as Tocqueville pointed out—all the force of law. In a society framed in such terms, the corollary is obviously a deeply rootedfear of beingridiculed and madefunof. Thisis precisely what happens when our ignorance of the limits of social positionsis given a negative sanction, either with the blunt acknowledgment that we committed a gaffe or with ready correction for the affront when we receive—as we say, pelo meio da cara (“right on the face,” right on the mask thatcarries our respect and personal honor)—the vociferous “Vocé sabe com quem esta falando?!” Thoseate, to quote Tocqueville once again, the “cruel wounds” Brazilians suffer when they fail to recognize their proper social place. We mustalso consider somevariations in the use of this ritual expression. I am thinking of the possibilities, at least in theory, of some people being unfamiliar with the expression, given the obvious fact thatit is used in a structure where an “inferior” is sonorously addressed by a “superior.” But the investigation once again revealed some important things of a surprising and complicated nature. Indeed, my first informants had been asked to say when they used the expression and

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to cite examples of its use familiar to them. I quickly realized that membersof the lower classes and/or“powerless groups” mightin theory be unable to use the expression. Making the necessary changes in the questions, I proceeded to ask them of domestic employees, ser-

vants, and children. The results were mixed. There was no consensus

based upon “generalsocial position,” with all “structuralinferiors” saying that they could notuse the expression because they had no power. The sameoccurred with children. We had, thus, people occupying subordinate positions who did not have the slightest idea of how to use the formula; they understood it as a question used to get to know another person. But I also found people of subordinate positions who used and “received”a “Vocé sabe com quem esté falando?!” with many emphasizing —as a kind of point of honor—the fact that they had never received such an admonition. A similar situation occurred with the children. Complications also came with the fact that in many instances the ritual expression was also usedbya socialinferior against someoneelse, with a clear vertical social identification being used whenthesocially subordinated person took thesocial projection of his patrao (boss, em-

ployer, or superior in general) as a cloak for his own social position. So there were many examples of employeesusingthis ritual of separation in the following way: “Do you know whoyou’te talking to? I’m the chauffeur of Minister X (or General Y)!!!” Two of my coworkers

got the following incident from a maid herself, a modest woman who

worked for a large landowner with the powerfultitle of colonel: “I took care of a plantation home ownedby a colonel, whose subordinates enjoyed use of the place. Because of a room change, one ofthe subordinates came to me and asked if I knew whoI wastalking to. When the colonel returned, I asked him whowasin charge. The colonel said

that I was in charge and‘the you know whoyou’re talking to guy’ had to apologize.”4 Ourfamiliarity with this form ofsocial identification revealsits force and frequency on theBrazilian scene. This is so true that we also know We find an identical case in a nineteenth-century story narrated by Machado de Assis and examined by Faoto (1976:30-31). Upon granting of a title of nobility to a certain landlord, the whole domestic group celebrated his transformation into a

baron. Machado de Assis writes: “Even the slaves seemed toreceive a portion of freedom and wore it as their own decoration. They bounded around, exclaiming jump-

ing, ‘Miss Baroness!’ And John pulled Mary, playing castanets with his fingers: ‘Who

is this Negress slave? I am the slave of Miss ‘Baroness.’”

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- how to sanction the behavior of a “big person’s” subordinate when that subordinate forgets his own origins and becomes, as we say in Brazil, a besta (literally, a work animal), cocky “fool,” or a mascarado, one who masquerades as someoneheis not. Thus, the force and power of this vertical identification is obviously proportional to the “social altitude” of the superior in question. The higher his position, the greater the impact of the ritual expression when it is used by one of his subordinates, for it is worth noting that the projection ofa social position can extend beyonda single individual and in somesocial formations we find that a given social position may even come to be regarded as an authentic institution.» Children use theritual expression in the same way, also identifying themselves with the social area occupied by their parents: “Do you know who you're talking to? I’m the son (or daughter) of so-and-so!” Here the possibility of a vertical identification and consciousness ofsocial position is so great that one of my informants, the son of a national senator, informed us that his father had forbidden his children

to use the expression at all. Both female and male domestic employees also use the expression, identifying themselves with their employers and thus ranking themselves a bit above the interlocutor they want to differentiate themselves from. Another phenomenonis evident in the case of women, who occupy a position ofsocial and political inferiority (to be clearly distinguished from moral inferiority) in oursystem. Women mayuse the expression in interactions with men to defend their female honor and to ward off the improper advances of an ageressive male. Following the same logic, women also use the expression to identify with their husbands, thus using their husband's social status to establish and bring outtheir social position anddifference. In such a connection we may hear “Do you know whoyou'retalking 5] am reminded of another commentby Tocqueville on this very same subject: “Aristocratic communities always contain, among a multitude of persons whoby themselves are powerless, a small number of powerful and wealthycitizens, each of whom can achieve great undertakings single-handedly. In aristocratic societies men do not need to combinein orderto act, because they are strongly held together. Every wealthy

andpowerful citizen constitutes the head ofapermanent and compulsory association, composedof all those who are dependent upon him or whom he makes subservient to the execution of his designs.” (1945:115, my emphasis) Here is, by the way, a tangential explanation for the lack of voluntary associations in Brazilian society. It is not due so muchto individualism as to the power and controlexercised by people in higher

positions, who have a vast clientele around them.

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to? I’m the wife of Senator X!” in orderto settle an embarrassing social situation. These cases demonstrate that “structural inferiors” obviously use the ritual formula and that it is not the exclusive prerogative of a social category, group, segment, or class. On the contrary, the ritual expression appearsto allow identification by meansofvertical social projection: inferiors may use it to identify with their superior and by doing so, take the place of their patrao (boss) or chief, acting in certain circumstances as if they were hierarchically superior. By means of this type of “vertical social identification,” inferiors can use their subordinate links with a superior in order to put down another individual who,by regular economiccriterion would be placed in the samesocial position.® All of this suggests the perplexity of a social structure in which hierarchyis connected with social “intimacy.” Here, in fact, social relationships may begin by being marked by the economic dimension of the system, such as labor or employment, but they soon may take on a

personal quality, being also defined onthe level of a strong andperduring moral plane. In other words, the use ofour ritual formulareveals a social structure wherethesocial classes also communicate with each other through a system of crosscutting ties or relationships (see Gluckman 1965). This probably helpsbypartially inhibiting social conflicts as well as the system ofruthless social andpolitical differentiation

that is rooted in the economic dimension of the system. In such a so-

ciety, work relationships are added to a wholeset of personalties governedby suchvalues as intimacy (see Barret 1972), consideration, favor (see Schwarz 1977), respect (see Viveitos de Castro 1974), and by general ethical and esthetic considerations such as being clean-cut, goodlooking, smart, well-mannered, well-behaved, and so forth. As a result it is always possible to establish continuous, multiple, and varied hieratchizations ofall the social positions of the system, even when those ‘The same was true in Brazilian slavery, where a dichotomy between master and

slave existed on the overall economic andlegal planes. But on the practical level of the operation of the system, the slaves reproduced the hierarchies of the dominant

class amongthemselves, as various observers of Brazilian society have noted (Conrad, 1972: chapter 1). I think that the study of these hierarchizations amongslaves and inferiors in general, which make room for mediations and compensations in the sociopoliticaltissue, is of basic importance.In this connection see the study of Maria Isaura Pereira de Queiroz (1976a), which analyzes the slave hierarchies in two well-known

Brazilian nineteenth-century novels: A Escrava Isaura and O Tronco do Ipé.

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positions are formally identical or radically differentiated (see Cardoso 1978). Thus otherwise radical, conflictive social differences —like patrao/ empregado (employer/employee)—can be compensated for because the system is able to operate by transcending its economic dimension — whichis, indeed, the basic axis—by creating an alternative classification based on an inclusive moral code. By doing so, everyone can be classified from a moral standpoint. Even powerful patrées may be “good or bad,” “happy or unhappy,” “considerate” of their subordinates or “inconsiderate,” “clean or dirty,” and so forth. While such considera-

tions may seem to beirrelevant for economicor political analysis, they are fundamentalif one wants to understand howthesystem really works, rather than simply approachit in formal —or worse, formalist — terms. The possibility of classification along multiple axes or dimensions does not merely allow for compensation and complementarity at the extremesof the hierarchizing social scale. It also permits the opposite

process, allowing continuous, disturbing, and systematic differentiations among equals. Thus, with varying degrees of success depending

on objective historical circumstances, it permits the maintenance of

a hierarchical and complementary framework that can coexist with egalitarian ideas, thereby obscuring ourvision of the way the system oper-

ates. Thefact is that analyses of the Brazilian social system always focus exclusively on the phenomenaof economicdifferentiation and disregard all the otherclassificatory schemesthat allow for reorientation of sociopolitical behavior and a basic identification between the dominant and the dominated. Thus, alongside the compensation and com-

plementarity perspective that seeks (but not always obtains) equality, we find a hierarchizing attitudethat allows the differentiation of equals and therefore prevents horizontalsocial solidarity. On the basis of this principle of multiple differentiation, then, two employeesreceiving the same wage and enduring the same regimenofsocial exploitation can be differentiated by their employers in termsofcolor, intelligence, general attitude, morality, and so forth; and by the same logic, they might differentiate each other along the same dimensions. One can therefore establish patterns of internal differentiation within the samesocial category andsocial class, based on criteria other than those of the economic dimension, which is expected to be hegemonic. The system equalizes on onelevel and hierarchizes on another, the result of whichis a greatclassificatory complexity, a deep sense of compensation and complementarity which certainly hinders horizontal social solidarity and increases vertical social awareness to such an extent

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that the worker sometimesidentifies with the boss, the maid with the

household where she works, the worker with his company, and companies and their executives with various state organizations, since in Brazil the state clearly seems to be responsible for the totalization of the whole system, at least in its formal, legalistic, and finished mold. It is thus difficult to classify completely a person orinstitution in Brazil, unless the person or institution is confined to one dimension of

the system. This is a basic elementof our conflicts, and it is regarded as being at the heart of the so-called “rebellions.” Suppose, for example, that a student group decidesto continuea strike or sit-in andrefuses the appeals of authorities to their roles as citizens, patriots, people of good will, responsible youths, and so forth. If the studentsstick to their social identity as students, then they are boundto be regarded as rebels and the conflict will only sharpen. Normally, however, everyone operates with all their identities, trying and usingall the frames ofclassification available to them. Indeed, the moteidentities andclassifications available to a person, the “richer,” “more prestigious,” and the more difficultit is to be classified. The possibility of having multiple omnipresent roles that can be readily used for classification is a sure proof of prestige in this system. But the dynamics of such a system clearly pose serious obstacles to

efforts to individualize social classes, which are truly “crosscut” by the

possibilities of multiple interaction and classification, since no one is limited to oneclassificatory scheme. While the economic criterion may be the determining factorin the setup of the standardofliving, it certainly is not the only factor in the fundamental web of personal and moralrelationships that every Brazilian is able to cultivate and develop. Hence the disturbing facility one has in differentiating oneself from an equal and, by using the same logic, identifying with a superior. Indeed, it is easier to identify with the superior than with colleagues, whotend to establish relationships permeated byfear, envy, and com-

petition, thus making it difficult to carve out any kind of “horizontal ethics.”7 Indeed, I would say that we Brazilians definitely live more 7This formulation of the problem covers a wide spectrum.First of all, there are the historical dimensionsofthis sort of system, which certainly are rooted in the Iberian

origins of oursociety, as Raymundo Faoro (1975) makes very clear. Following from

this, it is interesting to think about the system of race relations which—from my

pefspective — is one of the main axesfor social classification in Brazil and thusdiff ers

from the system in the United States. Permanenthierarchization and the possibility

of multiple classifications and gradations express the “prejudice of mark” (of physical

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_ by the ideology of guilds and religious brotherhoods, with their ethics of vertical identity and loyalty, than by the horizontal ethics that came to the Western world with the advent of capitalism. Because the Brazilian expression “Vocé sabe com quem esta falando?!” calls attention to the domain of the person and of personal relationships rather than to the impersonal domain defined by universal laws, it has become a formulafor personal use that is dissociated from social levels or economically defined positions. Everyone has the moralright to use the expression. Someonein the system will always be there to use it as a superior or to feel the sting of it as an inferior. Moreover, everything suggests that oneof the social reasons whywe usethis ritual of separation is that it permits and legitimatesa level of social relations that focuses on the person and on various dimensionsnecessarily disregardedby the universalistic classifications provided by the economic sphere andbythe general laws, decrees, and formalrules of thestate. Without fear of making a sociological short circuit, we can say that our ritual expressionis the tool of a society in which personalrelationships form the nucleus of whatwecall the “moral order” (“morality” or the “moral sphere”) and have an enormousweight in the actual op-

eration of the system, always filling the spaces where the laws of the state and economicsdo not penetrate. So the Brazilian formula under discussion is a function of the “patronage” and hierarchy that perme-

ate ourvarious relationships and allow for personal links in basically

impersonal activities.®

appearance and, sometimes, social context) in opposition to the “prejudice of origin,” which operates in American society, to use the terms coined by Oracy Nogueira in his classic essay (1954). Ourstyle ofracial prejudice is partial and allows for compensation, whereas the American style is total and irrevocable. As I see it, we try to avoid

at all cost individualization that wouldlead inevitably to a direct impersonal, irrevocable, binary, and dichotomous confrontation between whites and blacks, superiors andinferiors, dominators and dominated, etc. This particular way of relating opposed categories is an old one in Brazil. In the days of slavery, when race and power were categorically equivalent, it was evidentin religious brotherhoodsand confraternities.

These associations undoubtedly created a social field where thetotal individualization

of the system was methodically undermined, mediated, and short-circuited. See Scarano (1976). For two important recentstudies of the Brazilian racial problem see Carl Degler (1971) and Thomas Skidmore (1976). ®On patronage see Kenny (1960; 1968); Stirling (1968), Maybury-Lewis (1968); Greenfield (1972); Strickon and Greenfield (1972); Wolf (1966); Cutileiro (1970); Campbell (1964); Hutchinson (1966); Galjart (1964); Gross (1973); Carneiro (1976). For a fuller study of the Brazilian case, see Forman (1975); Wagley (1968). For a compre-

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Beyond these general conditions and implications, there are also manyvariations of “Vocé sabe com quem esta falando?!” Some equiva-

lents are: “Quem vocé pensa que é?!” (Who do you think youare?);

“Onde vocé pensa que esta?!” (Where do you think you are?); “Re-

colha-se a sua insignificancia?!” (Rememberyou're a nobody!); “Mazs amor e menos confianca!” (Mote love [love here meaning “consideration”and “respect”’] and less impertinence!); “Lembre-se do seu lugar!” (You’d better remember yourplace!); “Mazs respezto!” (A little respect,

please!); “Sera que vocé nao tem vergonha na cara?!” (Aren't you

ashamed ofyourself?), etc. All of these variations express the very same consciouseffort which seemsto be basic in Brazilian society, to establish or reestablish “order” and hierarchy. We mightstart by noticing that most of these expressions take the interrogative form that, in Brazil, appears as a very assertive style of social interaction without a hint of required cordiality. Questioning is associated with judicial investigations and procedures whentheteis suspicion of somecrimeor sin. Thus, questioning should be avoided in order thatsocial life may appearto be following its normal course.

This allows us to postulate a probable link between fear of interroga-

tive styles of conduct and social systems dominated or preoccupied

with hierarchy, where everyone and everything should normally be in

properplace. In such societies questioning may suggest an attemptto revolutionize everything by disturbing the sanctified routine of the system. In other words, “Do you know whoyou’re talking to?!” is a forceful

rejection of “not knowing,” since it prevents the other party from remaining unawareofthe social position of the person with whom he of sheis interacting. It is worth noting that we use this aggressive ritual questioning in the matterofsocial position and hierarchical status and for establishing scales of social superiority and inferiority even though we know thatin Brazil no onereveals ignorance ofa particular matter by promptly saying “I don’t know.” Oneof the shrewdest observers of the Brazilian cultural scene and its comparative contrasts with the North American world was the Brazilian writer Erico Verissimo. In A Volta do Gato Preto (1957) he has two people carry on a dialogue that confirms this style of dealing with ignorance. Onesays: “Another trait of North Americans I admire is their courage to say ‘I don’t know’ hensive study of patronage as a form oftraditional political relationship, see Cintra

(1974).

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‘when in fact they don’t know something.” His imaginary interlocutor says: “We Braziliansfind it very hard to say that. We have a deep fear of appearing to be ignorant.” Thefirst person closes the conversation with the definitive comment: “We prefer to fake it.” We are socialized in the same logic by family and school, where we are taught not to ask too many questions becauseto doso is impolite or is perceived as a crude form of aggressiveness to be used only when

we want “to put someone down.” It is no wonder, then, that Brazilians

are usually taken by surprise in countries like the United States where

questionsare a normalpartofsociallife. There theyalso find disagreeable the kinds of questioning that have a very different thrust and purpose. The French writer André Maurois provides us with a perfect example: “To those who feel they are superior enough to jump in front of others lined up for customsor a dining car, an American will say, ‘Who do you think you are?’ andforce them to take their proper place” (1969:187-88). But note the inverted thrust of this question, whichis designed to mark the questioner as the equal, not the superior, of the other party involved. Using the verb “to think,” the American form of questioning suggests that the person with presumptions of superior-

ity is operating in the realm of subjective fantasy (by thinking he has morerights than others) rather than in the objective realm ofsocial reality (which says that every citizen has equalrights). In other words,

if the intruder thinks he has more rights than others, they—withtheir

question — bring him backtoreality by reaffirming therules of equality and relegating hierarchical pretensions to the realm of subjective and imaginative pretensions. Here once again wefind an inverse symmetry in the twosocieties. Brazilians use their expression “Do you know who you’re talking to?” to place themselves in a higher position and claim authority.It is a truly authoritarian ritual designed to separate and differentiate social positions. North Americans, on the con-

trary, use the formula “Who doyou think you are?!”as an egalitarian ritual to counter authoritarian pretensions to superiority. At every level —as we saw in the last chapter — Brazil and the United States seem to be in radical contrast. Moreover, I cannot help butcall attention to the deep impression that waiting in line makes on Brazilians. Traveling in the UnitedStates at the end ofthe Second War, the writer Erico Verissimo again makes a relevant observation:

We venture to make our wayto the diningcar and find we have to watt exin line ten, fifteen, or twenty minutes... . Such lines offer a vivid

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ample of American democracy. If a private gets in line before a cor-

poral, the corporal before a sergeant, and the sergeantbefore a captain,

no law can changethatorder. The higher officer w7// watt his turn quite naturally, knowing that all citizens have equal rights before the Constitution of the United States and that they do notcease to be citizens

when they becomesoldiers (1957:81).

I haveitalicized the points that struck Verissimo, who even when

playing the role of ethnographer does notcease to be a Brazilian surprised by the way Americans take waiting in line for granted. In the context of the Brazilian army, an officer, by contrast, would regard this kind of“civic-egalitarian” behavior as a “breakdown ofthe hierarchy” because soldiers are soldiers and officers are officers! In other words, we Brazilians are much more substantively dominated by thespecific roles we play in particular contexts than by general identities associated with the set of universal laws we should obey and whichtypifies citizenship, as Erico Verissimo brings outclearly. It should also be noted that “Vocé sabe com quem esta falando?!” is not new but a venerable and very traditional expression. Indeed,this ritual formula has comeinto greater use as othertraditional symbols —

such as morning coats, canes, and mustaches—which, as Gilberto Freyre

(1962:xxxi) shrewdly points out, could only be used by true whites of the seignorial class—went outof fashion. There seemsto be a correspondence betweenthe decline of traditional expressions ofsocial status and the increasing use of ourritual question, whichallowssocial “superiors” to maintain their differences and continuetolive in a hieratchical world. It is thus quite possible that the use of our authoritarian rite has become even more popular, especially in times marked by social change and “development,” because people no longer possess that good old “proper awareness” of their place. Or perhaps it would be better to say that the expression is more used today because an entire system based on respect, honor, favor, and consideration is constantly jeopardized by capitalism andbyliberallegislation, those universalizing mechanisms thatare further reinforced by the speedof the mass media. The ongoing disappearance oftraditional marksofsocial position and hierarchy—walking sticks, garments of white linen, gestures and mannets, graduation rings, fountain pens in a man’s jacket pocket, etc.— merely increases the use of ourritual question to separate and differentiate social positions. In this way our formal, legal egalitarianism, which is obviously shaky in oursocial practice, can be kept under control and subordinated to other ways of maintaining a social hierarchy.

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There is really nothing new aboutall this. Recall the Brazilian responseto thehellish problem of legal equality for blacks and whites,

masters andslaves, as it was presented to them bythe abolitionof slav-

ery in 1888. We know that the response was basically a greater emphasis on personal hygiene: bathing, cleanliness, fashions in clothes and footwear. Of this time of drastic egalitarianism on the formal and legal plane, Gilberto Freyre says that: “The Brazilian of that epoch was in this respect almost a Hindu, so scrupulous was he aboutcleanliness with respect to his underpants, shirts, and stockings” (1962:cxx). In fact—andheteis a line of reasoning not contemplated by Freyre — faced with a general, impersonallaw that imposed universal equality, the lord and the aristocrat established a whole series of countercustomsdesigned to point up differences and to reestablish hierarchy in those domains where it was possible. The privileged arenas for such gradations would obviously be the Louse and the body, these fundamental domainsof the world of personal relationships whose center is defined by substantive ties. We thus invented a “general theory of the body” and series of concomitant practices thatare still today the object of a careful learning. With the abolition ofslavery, this “theory of the body” became Brazil'speculiarform ofracism, and it went through two distinct phases. Shortly after abolition, when the problem arose, it was typically a rigid and hierarchical ideology. Later, with —among other revisions—the publication of Gilberto Freyre’s work, the focus shifted from the two extremes of the system—the supposedly backward,feeble black man andthecivilizing white man toits interstices ot mediating points. As a consequence ofthis significant ideological shift, we explicitly invented the glorification of miscegenation, racial

mixing, and the mu/atto. Note, however, that as the central element

in the ideological elaboration, the body provides the basic unity of the hierarchical structure in both cases. It is the privileged area that continually evades vociferous lawmaking and constitutes an important residue for ideological (or symbolic) elaboration all, of course, under the orchestration of the logic of personal relationships. The abolition of slavery in Brazil and the United States effected a crushing legal equality in both countries, but the Brazilian reaction was very different from the American one. In the latter country a legal countersystem was immediately set up to reestablish what had been abolished. Racism became an ideology, an open social practice, and a codeoflaws(e.g., the Jim Crow laws). In an egalitarian system, then, all these measures provided what Gunnar Myrdal called a “defense” of the “American Credo” in a type of reaction which is at the heart

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of the “American Dilemma” (Myrdal 1962:89). In contrast, in Brazil differences were manifested and highlighted in the area of personal relationships, an ambiguous domain which left room for hierarchy through the use of “Vocé sabe com quem esta falando?!” but also left openingsfor personal choices and multiple classifications.9 We Brazilians did not enact a counterlegislation to establish a closed, segregationist system of race relations based on theprinciple of “separate but equal.” Wepreferred to use the realm of personalrelationships, a realm untouchedbylaw, as the privileged place for prejudice. For, as many observers have noted, Brazilian racial prejudice has a strong esthetic (and moral) componentbut never a legal one. It seems that in Brazil

we have never cometo bereally afraid of the free black because our system of social relationships was based on a strong hierarchy. What we had to do was simply to adjust the networkof social relations and proceedto operate in more internal areas of the system, the body and the house, wherelegal discussion was banished bydefinition and where the application of a moral or personalcriterion to solve social problems and dilemmas was indisputable. 1 Everything suggests that there is a complex, circular interplay in whatcan becalled Brazilian “modernity.” This interplay is constituted by a complex dialogue between an explicit written constitutional code, founded ontheprinciples of equality and individualism, and an implicit, unwritten, hierarchical, complementary, and “holistic” moral

code. When the egalitarian pole grows stronger, the hierarchical structure does not automatically fade or disappear; it finds new ways to

*Note, for example, the moving testimony by the great abolitionist Joaquim Nabuco (in Minha Formagao 1949) in which the dichotomy between the personal and the universal shows up clearly: “And so I fought against slavery with all my strength.

I rejected it completely in my conscience as theutilitarian deformation ofthe creature.

And whenI saw it come to an end,I thoughtI could also ask for my ownrelease .. .

since I had heard the best news that God could send the world in myday. But today,

now that slavery is abolished, I experience a singular nostalgia that would shock a

Garrison or a John Brown: the nostalgia of the slave.”(I have italicized “today” in

thecitation.) Again, the contrast made spontaneously by Nabucois telling. Heis trying to reveal that this kind ofsociological “inconsistency’’—to fight for the end ofslay-

ery and, later, to experience nostalgia for s/aves—would never be understood by the

American abolitionists he mentions.

‘oThese remarks relate to points raised in chapter 3, the underlying inspiration coming from Dumont’s study ofracism, socialstratification, and hierarchy (see Du-

mont 1970a: Appendix A). The work of Carl Degler (1971) is also important for my

line of argumenthere.

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react and reinforce itself. Even a superficial examination of newspaper data on the use of the ritual expression under study here reveals its extensive use, especially in the realm of automotive traffic, a special domain of the modern world where the impersonal constantly clashes with personal motives, websofsocial relationships and personality status, elements that are so basic in Brazilian society. The use ofour ritual question goes way back, as I have indicated. In two classic works published in the second decade of this century,

the writer Affonso Henriques de Lima Barreto depicts the frenzied use and abuseoftitles and hierarchizing forms. One workis his novel, Recordacées do Escrivao Isatas Caminha; the otheris his remarkable eth-

nographyof the imaginary republic, the United States of Bruzundanga, whichis entitled Os Bruzundangas" butreally is about Brazil. Operating with the inconsistencies of the social system, the main characters are hostile to honestcriticism, serious analysis, and the impersonality of universal laws. The latter are always twisted and bent for the sake of some important personal relationship. Indeed, Lima Barreto's detailed description of the contemporarysocial world in Brazil has never been matched or rebutted by any other Brazilian writer, whether novelist or sociologist. Writing in 1917, Lima Barreto saw with incomparable clarity the contradictions of a society with twoideals, equality and hieratchy. Alluding, for example, to the entrance examsto schools of higher education, he writes: “Passing the preliminaries, the future leaders of the republic, the United States of Bruzundanga, take courses of study

and end up more ignorant and presumptuous than they were when they entered. They are the sort who loudly boast,‘I have a degree. You ate talking to a man with a degree!” In Bruzundanga, wearetold, there is a whole army to “organize enthusiasm.” It is a special corps designed to pay homageto important people, and it certainly inhibits, in Bruzundanga and in Brazil, the violent put-downs andsocial separations caused by the invective of our ritual question, because only the big shots of the country are given

to such homage. It is customary in Bruzundanga, as it is in Brazil,

associate oneself with fictitious aristocracy, especially after the experience of success, when the person fashions a noble ancestry and genealogy. Writes Lima Barreto:

A certain citizen of the democratic republic of Bruzundanga may be named Ricardo Silva da Concei¢ao, for example. During his child-

11Both published by Brasiliense, Sao Paulo, 1956.

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CARNIVALS, ROGUES, AND HEROES hood and adolescence that was his nameon all the official registers. One fine day he does somenice speculating and becomesrich. Since he does not have a doctorate, he now finds his name to be too commonplace.

He decides to change it to appear more noble, so it becomes Ricardo Silva de la Concépcion. He publishes a notice of the change in theJor-

nal do Comércio (thelocal trade daily) and feels like the happiest man in the world.

LimaBarreto also perceived another formidable feature of the ruling classes in Bruzundanga. There were two kinds of nobility: a doctoral nobility (based on a bachelor’s degree) and a nobility of guess. The first group included those with bachelor’s degrees in engineering, law, and medicine. The second group was made up of merchants who were wealthy but who hadnotitle of nobility, or military or academic standing. But as we have been demonstrating, a position in the business world is not enough in Brazil, as it would be in France or the United States. In Brazil economic power must be translated into the hierarchizing idiom of the system and thereby legitimated. This hierarchical idiom reveals lines of classification based on the person, on “intellectuality” as a value, and on the respect and importance of different kinds of networks of personal relationships. That is why it is necessary, besides being rich, to be learned and wise. And to be an integral part of some permanentinstitution or perpetual corporation, such as the armedforces or a governmentorganism. As Gilberto Freyre (1962:304) pointed out; the “doctors” came to replace the commanders, barons, viscounts, and counselors of the Empire in Brazil. This was

a way of maintaining nobility and hierarchical distinctions using other meansofsocial differentiation. Anothergreat analyst of Brazilian nationallife confirms these hieratchizing features of our system by pinpointing the figure who in a way personifies the authoritarian “Vocé sabe com quem esta falando?!” Iam obviously speaking of the writer Machado de Assis andofhis undiscussed “theory of the big shot.” In a short story entitled “A Teoria do Medalhao”!? (the theory of the big shot), a dialogue published in 1882 in his book Papézs Avulsos, an old and experienced father talks '?In Brazilian Portuguese, medalhdo means“medallion.” The metaphorical association of a supposedly important person with a “medallion” comes from the existing engravings with the full head of importantfigures in many buildings and coins. However, in daily speech, the word “medalhao” designated pejoratively someone whois

considered —or assumes—to be important independent of merit.

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with his son whohasjust turned twenty-one. Since the son has reached

formal adulthood, the father cannot fail to reveal to him the secret

to success in our society: becoming a medalhao. The “theory of the big shot”is, then, the secret to success in a society dominated by conventionalism, orthodoxy oftheories and doctrines, rigid legal practices, a penchantfor fashion and conformism thatrules out deep andoriginal solutions, and a hierarchical system that finds a place for everything, even innovations, and that hates to engagein self-scrutiny and to change by meansof its own force and dynamism. And sothe boy’s fatheroffers this advice: “A discourse of political metaphysics naturally excites political parties and the public, prompting reactions andremarks, without requiring any further thoughtor inventiveness afterwards. In this branch of humanlearning everything has been formulated, labelled, and packaged. . . . In any case, never go beyond the level of an enviable banality.” The father also suggests that his son use the phrase “philosophyofhistory”: “A good expression you should use frequently. But I forbid you from reaching conclusions other than those already reached by others. Avoid anything and everything that might rs smack ofreflection, originality, etc.” It is plain to see that the sons of this zealous father are truly numerous. Oneof the merits of the text by Machado de Assis is thatit clarifies the relationship between our system ofclassification of persons and, as a consequence, the use of the authoritarian rite of “Vocé

sabe com quem est4 falando?!” It is a formula that should or can operate effectively only in a society where an institutionalized opposition is set up between, on the one hand,pessoas, gente, pessoas que sé lavam,

and medalhoes, (“teal,” “important people,” “big shots”) and, on the other, the gentinha, the zé-povinho (small fries), the arrata-minda (riffraff), the gentalha, ot the massa (the masses; the socially low and unclean in general). Thus, we have a general system of classification in which persons are markedby extensive categories ordered in binary fashion. In onecategory are the superiors, in the other, the inferiors. Butit is important to note that these categories do have an important moral component, since one systematically avoids concrete, exclusive classifications that mightrefer to features of empirical life and only one dimension ofsociety. Ourclassifications tend to be comprehensive, inclusive, and “moralizing”: people are classified in terms of several dimensions simultaneously. The categories seem to be abstract and conceptual, referring to character rather than to concrete, individual dimensions. In sense, we refuseto classify people only by their

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occupations. Instead werefer to “priests,” “military men” or “doctors,” without further specification. We talk about the “authorities” and “members of the government” without making differentiations. More precise classifications are left to the specialized level of impersonal, bureaucratic organs. It is in social formations where such “moralizing classification” is powerful that the figure of the mzedalhdo tends to emerge. But who is the medalhdo? Once again we discover thatthis figure does not belong exclusively to one class, group, or social segment. As a petsonal crystallization of the moral qualities in a given social domain, the Brazilian medalhdo ot big shot emerges wherever there is a group. Thus we have szedalhées amongtherich and the poor,the strong and the weak. I think it is proof of the need to establish differences andhierarchies in every group, category, and situation, especially where everybodyis categorically equal. Although there is a tendency to equate the medalhao with therulingclass, that linkup is much too simplistic. The fact is that there are such big shots in every domain ofBrazilian 99 66

sociallife: in the slums and in the national Congress, in politics and

thearts, in the university and in soccer, among the police and among

criminals. They are the “persons” who can be called the homens (the “men’”), the cobras, the figuras, the personagens (“characters”), the im-

portantpeople, whotranscend the rules that constrain and govern the ordinary petson in any given social sphere. Needing no introduction, they are the people one musttalk to first, the people with whom one must “reach an understanding.” In egalitarian systems such characters are tare and are called VIPs (very important persons). But in hierarchiz-

ing systemsthey are to be found everywhere andin every domain, providing the fundamental connections between the several hierarchical circles that constitute a kind of skeleton of the social universe. Hence they justifiably enjoy a high reputation and a special prestige which shows up in the way they are treated. Free from the constraints and tules of the system, they live in a sort of social nirvana, on a kind of Himalaya of hierarchical scales, above and beyondroutine altercations. They have no needto use the ritual question, “Sabe com quem est4 falando?!” Medalhées are often national figures, celebrities who sum up and

embodythe basic features of a given domainofsociallife. Their “persons” project wide shadows where many can take refuge and protection. To be the son of the President, the delegado de policia (“sheriff”), or the director is like having a calling card. Indeed, Passing as

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“the son of Pelé” can permit a poor black to enjoy several splendid days in a five-star luxury hotel." It was a social situation crowded with characters that any Brazilian would classify as 7zeda/hées that made Erico Verissimo write a chapter entitled “Do You Know Who You're Talking To?” in the book mentioned above, A Volta do Gato Preto. In fact, while having lunch in the faculty club of the University of California, Berkeley, Verissimo found himself surrounded by top scientists of great renown, among them E. O. Lawrence, who won the 1939 NobelPrize for Physics. None of these men, however, was the objectof special attention, deference, or concern, as would certainly have been the case in Brazil. Here is the

significant commentby Brazilian Verissimo: “All of these men are models of simplicity. A little over forty, his face without a trace of mystery, Lawrence could have been taken for a modest country doctor,a traveling salesman, or—why not?—thesteward ofthis club.” And Verissimo pointedly concludeswith a high sensibility for sociological comparison whenhe contrasts the American scientist with certain figures in Brazil: “T thoughtof certain presumptuous people in my own country who think theyare thesalt of the earth andlove to ask, ‘Do you know who you're talking to?!’ solely because they have wealth, position, or an important relative.” Notethat Verissimo correctly pinpoints some ofthe basic factors involved in using the expression as an authoritarian ritual: wealth (that address to the economic dimension), position (that address to the sociopolitical basis), and the kinship web which leadsus to the Brazilian extended family links or parentela (that address to the basic asset of social relations). In doing so, Verissimo touches upon the actual practice of this expression, which I shall now attemptto analyze in a more basic way.

The Expression as a Dramatization of the Social World

I now wish to locate some structural features of the ritual question under study by applying to the actual samples gathered in my inquiry the concept of dramatization or social drama derived from the work of Victor Turner (1957 and 1974). The notion of social dramatization fits in well with a theoretical analysis of my empirical data for several reasons. Indeed, thesocial situation understudyis actually viewed by 13Jornal do Brasil, December 11, 1977.

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members of Brazilian society as a “drama” and a “scene’—a special moment (above or beneath) the routines of everyday life. Moreover, as Victor Turner himself points out, social dramas are basically con-

stituted by an action (or set of actions) that breaks with the quasiautomatic way in whicha society experiences the operationofits social norms, as well as the array of activities that trigger the process of compensation, redressing, and/or alleviation. And we find both of these

processes in the social situation we are examining.

I am clearly interested in process here, in the whole course of action triggered by our ritual question, even though the nature of my data and the way in which it was gatheredfor this study do not permit me to specify all of the empirical details about theactors, situations, and spectators. But here I am interested in examining an importantsocial transformation of the everyday scene, one in which ordinary routine and social interaction are turned into dramatic momentsof confrontation between two individuals, groups, or social categories. As we shall see, this is a transformation that may enable a dialogue with therigid structure ofclass relationships historically established. In anycase,it certainly permits us to see clearly some hidden features of the social world because when actors use the expression, theyare called into play as resources of power andprestige. In studying the use of this question myinterest is centered on the “social resources” called into play by the actors, since in my view theywill point up the hidden structures and

essential domains that governsocial interactions or that, in the percep-

tion of the actors, should govern them. AsI seeit, this interaction and

dialectic between the actor’s awareness and the social resources, which

may or maynot be explicitly present in somesocial situations, is what constitutes the stuff social dramas are madeof. Let us consider sometypical cases of our ritual expression: 1. In a parking lot the attendant tells a motorist there is no more space. The motorist persists, saying that thereare available spaces. When the attendant continues to say no, the motorist asks: “Do you know who you're talking to?!” and reveals his identity as an army officer. 2. Around dawna girl is waiting for a busor cab to take her home. A police car comes along and, believing she is a street woman, approaches her. Whenthe policemen ask herfor identification, she shows them hercard butsays indignantly: “Do you know who you're talking to?! I’m from a highly respected family. I’m the daughter of so-and-so.” 3. A ladyis going shopping in the Copacabana area and decides

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to park on the sidewalk, which is not allowed. A cop finds her a few hours later and asks that she or her driver move the car. The ladyrefuses and says: “Do you know whoyou're talking to?! I’m the wife of Deputy So-and-So.” (Sometimesthe outcomeofsuch a situation is ambiguous, with the woman departing mad leaving an embarrassed cop upset and fearful. There are instances where a cop has been obliged to apologize to such ladies a few dayslater.) 4. Someonetraveling abroad wants to import materials subject to a customsduty. Hecontacts relatives, who get in touch with somepersonage in customs. Whenthe traveler arrives back home, everything is arranged. He passes through customswithoutany problems because the customs officer knows whom he1stalking to. 5. Several people are in the waiting room of a bank director. Another man comesin, waits impatiently for a few minutes, and then

says in a loud voice: “Do you know whoyou're talking to?! I’m So-andSo.” The nervoussecretary hurries to the director immediately and the man is soon usheredin. 6. At the reception desk of a hospital a man wants to be let in to see a patient. The receptionist firmly refuses to let him in. After a

harsh but pointless exchange of words, the man says, “Do you know

who you’re talking to?!” and reveals his identity as a doctor. 7. Ata dangerous corner known forits bad traffic lights and resultant collisions there is a car accident. Since the driver of one of the cars is clearly at fault, the policeman approaches him and baldly proposesto forget the incident for a nice bribe. The indignant driversays, “Do you know who you'retalking to?!,” identifies himself as a district attorney, and has the policeman placed under arrest. g. A girl is visiting her uncle, a fisherman. While they are talking a stranger passes by and makes a lewd joke. The gitl’s uncle hits the man with a punch, saying: “Do you know whoyou're talking to?! This is my niece!” 9. A manis in the waiting line at a public facility that deals offcially with people. Suddenly the window is being closed down before the official office hours are up. The man in line makes inquiries and finds outthat the early closing has been ordered by the head man.

The man in line has the head man summoned, identifies himself as

the president of the organization in question, andfires the entire staff. 10. Thereis a collision. The two drivers leap from their cars, ready

for the worst. Both are strong, white, and decent-looking. One shouts:

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“Doyou know whoyou’re talking to?! I’m an armycolonel!” The other replies: “So am I!” Then they look closely, recognize each other, and decide to settle the matter calmly. 4 Let us begin by considering someof the features commonto all the cases cited. First of all, they all embody a dramaticsituation involving conflict between two persons. In such situations people’s toneof voice,

facial expression, and gestures are generally tense, revealing that the

parties are extremely upset. In Brazil, common sense tends to define such situations as a fim do mundo (“end of the world”), a Deus-me livre (“God forbid”), or as a Deus-nos-acuda (‘God help us”), thatis, as a moment in which thetules of everyday life are suspended and the people involved, often filled with indignation andrage,are left to face themselves and each other. Like characters in Nelson Rodrigues’ plays, they repeatedly shout out the marksoftheir social identity in orderto reduce their adversary to nothingness. Moreover, there is often an audienceso that the incident becomesa group affair and each disputant tries to win the support of the group. The audience acts as a mediator and legitimator between the two disputants. Suspending the routines of everydaylife, such incidents make the eyewitnesses ponderthevery nature of order and uttertypically definitive judgments. During the more intense and lengthy dramatizations involving ourritual question, one commonlysees people shaking their heads and muttering thingslike this: Eo fim... (“It’stheend . . ia); Eo Brasil... (“That’s Brazil for you”); O mundo esta mesmo virado (“The world’s turned upside down”); Esse Brasil esta perdido (“Brazil is hopeless’); Onde & que nés estamos? (“Where are we anyway?’’);

Onde 7a se viu? (“Did you ever see such a thing?”). These expressions reveal everyday frustrations and a certain lack of confidence in thesystem of rules that governs the world. After witnessing an unpleasant “Do you know whoyou're talking to?!” when the strong endsup winning out over the weak, spectators really do feel that the world is a bad place andthat thebetter side or even the idealis to be orientated to the Aouse and the family, never to the street or the world, where ‘Thecases are faithful to the data gathered, but I am responsible for their final form here. Weare notstriving for completenessor a typology, of course, but for dramas representative of the operation ofcertain social principles. Cases 3, 4, and 9, however,

were drawn from items published in Jornal do Brasil, editions of 12/ 23/76, 5/13/76,

and 3/7/76.

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- life reveals itself in all its injustice and cruelty. Thus, the “Vocé sabe com quem esta falando?!” reveals and reinforces the “basic mistrust of the world” that differentiates us Brazilians from the Puritan American universe. Another point to be considered is the case of a sharp opposition between someone whois anonymous(since heorsheis playing a untversal social role) and a well-defined representative of order and authority. The conflict then is between a universal role — driver, citizen,

consumer,client, etc.—anda well-defined social identity within a subsystem of authority: traffic police, customs inspector, parking-lot at-

tendant, etc. On oneside we havea set of social identities with com-

petence and delegation of authority, but usually from the lowest ranks of the system of authority. On the otherside, we have those who appear on the scene with a general and nonspecified identity that confers anonymity upon them. Thus everybody knows who the police officer is, but nobody can guess the identity of the person under suspicion, afrest, of investigation.

What marksthis kind of situation and makesit dramatic is the sudden revelation of othersocial identities that erase the anonymity of the person who is in conflict with the well-defined, but perceived as a modest — or “poor’—representative of authority.!° Thus the one who feels attacked by the universal norm suddenly becomesthe attacker. The apparently “weak,” unknown person suddenly becomes “strong”

and quite well-known, as in case nine above, for example, where the

user of a public service (a universal social role that by definition confers anonymity) suddenly becomes the president of the organization managing that service. Again, in case four, the anonymous traveler and taxpayer becomes the relative or friend of someone holding a position in the customs service and as a result is able to pass over the law. In fact,all of the cases cited above involve this transition from a univetsalizing social role to a much moteprecise one, a role capable of localizing the actor in a system thatis regarded as dominant. This is undoubtedly why our ritual question is used profusely by members of 15]n Brazil, due to the hierarchical bias of the society, perceptions of authority are “naturally” ranked. In most cases, people say that the nasty use of this authoritarian ritual was decided becausethepolice officer or the person in authority was not “hum-

ble”or “cordial” enough while exercising authority. It is obvious that we have a serious

problem of authority roles, particularly between persons occupying those roles and another the ideas and expectations on how these roles should be performed. This is central problem that this ritual expression tries to mediate.

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the armedforces, who claim to enjoy a monopoly of authority and hierarchy in our society. That is also whyits use is understandablyrare or nonexistent in tribal societies or small towns, where everyone knows everyone andall are connected by multiple or szu/tip/ex social ties (see Gluckman 1965). In them thesocial system is not actualized through universal or general roles but rather through precise andparticular social identities deriving from social ties such as those of family, neigh-

borhood, godfatherhood, and aboveall kinship. In such societies, then, we do notfind a policeman whois a/so a father, husband, son, and

godfather. On thecontrary, he can be a police officer precisely because heis all those other things. Personal relations take precedenceoverservices essential for the working of the system andthey are never divorced

from it, which is not the case in a “complex society.”

A third related pointis the whole matter of double anonymity, when,

for instance, two drivers confront each other as in case ten, and the

problem is to establish someclassification (or hierarchy) in a conflict related to the fact that both parties claim equalrights as drivers, even thoughtheir rights may be different in other social domains and one maybe superiorto the other. This situation calls to mind what Louis Dumontsays about India. In India, unlike Brazil, hierarchy encompassesall relationships amonggroups and social categories. He writes: One mightsay that India has institutionalized inequality just as we

are trying to do the same with equality. In the relation of two men

modern western society presupposes equality to the pointthat delicate situations are likely to arise where subordination is necessary. India on the contrary emphasizes inequality to the point thatsituations tending

to equality are unstable and conflict is called for to solve them by the establishment of a gradation. (Cf. Dumont 1970b:13-14)

He goes on to say something aboutIndia that maybe relevant for our understanding of Brazil: “This might well be the basic reason why dispute is so endemic: however developed it maybe, the system has not succeeded in establishing a perfect gradation of the whole ofsocial life” (ibid.). Now I think Dumont’s remarks can help us to understand why Brazilian situations of extreme equality before the law engenderpotential conflict. Indeed, the “Vocé sabe com quem estfalando?!” can be seen as an “authoritarian operator” or device capable of somehow reestablishing, if not a full hierarchy, at least somesort of gtadation in that

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particular situation.It thus mayresolve theinitial ambiguity brought forth by an extreme and disturbing explicit equality. In this case, our ritual question would be a ritual ofreinforcement as I described the latter in chapter 1. As it is well illustrated by case ten, it would be a wayof calling the attention of the actors to differences required by social routines in situations of intolerable equality. That leads usdirectly to the problem of the connection between violence and the equality of “free men” or “free citizens,” although in the context of this discussion we have “free citizens in a hierarchical order”— but not in a “slavocratic order” as Maria Sylvia de Carvalho Franco (1974) puts it. Now I would agree with Carvalho Franco that there is some equation between violence and equality, but I think it is fundamental to understandthat violence enters the picture to point up the extreme need for hierarchization. While it may be true that our “free citizens” are impudent strays, the fact is that they remain part of a social formation whose centers of domination and diffusion were based onhierarchy. Thusthe valuesof our“free citizens in a world of slaves” must beat least twofold. On the one hand,they are oriented to equality as an ideal, an equality that can actually be concretely real-

ized in some areas of their social life. On the other hand, and as a counterbalance, there was the weight of the established hierarchical

system; a structure sustained andgraphically represented in Brazil by a generalized, balanced slavery experienced throughout every region of the country (Skidmore, 1976:59) and by an authentic, native nobility.

Thus, in my opinion, violence surfaces as a recourse when gradations cannot be established otherwise or when the moralorder is severely violated or broken. Hence, this social universe of“free human beings”

or “citizens” somewhere lost in the slavocratic order presented by Carvalho Franco is neither so devoid of rules and values nor Hobbesian to the point that violence is to be taken as a proof of the “war ofall againstall.” On the contrary, violence is prone to be used in the Brazilian world when other meansto establish hierarchy prove to be a total failure. In that sense one can make a direct equation of theritual expression “Vocé sabe com quem estd falando?!” with violence. Indeed, in both instances the aim is a radical separation of socialroles, separation that marks a dramatic break with the individualism that characterizes theinitial situation. Althoughthe actoris alone at the moment he commits violence against the otherparty, he is not alone whenhe tries to support or legitimize his action. For that is always done in a

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collective way, andit is possible to know with certainty who is on whose side. Here violence appears as a potent andirreversible resource to ensure that the undecided individuals and political factions define themselves clearly; this, I take it, is a rather common situation in holistic

societies grounded on social relations with “multiple purposes.” A fourth point aboutourritual expression has to do with the dramatization involved. It can be described as a revelation ofsocial identity. Such a dramatization is obviously connected with anonymity or rather with an intolerance of the anonymity that seems to be common in “holistic” and hierarchizedsocieties. In the case of ourritual question the dramatization is patent because the situation reaches its climax with the emphatic presentation of anothersocial identity—one which is generally pertinent and mayeven beessential, but in a different social domain. We see this often in those familiar cases of prohibited parking (see case three) where the policeofficer learns that the “driver/ regular citizen” disregarding the law is the spouse of an army general or a governmentofficial! This revelation of identity is frequently accompaniedbythe theatrical (and sometimes comic) presentation of the carteira de identidade (personal identity card). In Brazil this is a document of fundamental importance because the police will systematically arrest people “without documents”(i.e., without identity or possible identification) to

undertake their familiar, periodic, and authoritarian “verifications.” All

this is vivid proof of the importance of being ableto situate oneself and, in this case, of being able to prove or demonstrate one’s position. ‘6Maria Isaura Pereira de Queiroz (1976: Part Two) clearly saw this aspect of the relationship between “equality” (without, however, liberal egalitarianism or individualism whichis not mentioned by her) and whatshecalls “political pyramids” or “boss-

ism” (mandonismo). She then notes thatthis “fee/ing of equality” madethe relation-

ships among membersof“social pyramids,” “ambiguous” (1976:177). My pointis that

because she was unable to understand the hierarchical nature of the Brazilian social

structure, she misses the crucial dynamics between formal equality and implicit hieratchy. In fact, hierarchy does not appearin hertext either as a word or as a concept.

Thus, my original observation that, in diffuse socioeconomicsituations based on small landholdings, there were “equals” who negotiated their votes, but in areas where the

powerstructure was “rigid” and where there was a well-defined hierarchy, as on the coffee and sugar plantations, such negotiating power was much weakerand the power of the boss was muchstronger. Negotiation or bargaining, then,is clearly a sign of

individuality and equality, but it showed up only on special occasions, on election

days. We should also note that in both situations violence did surface as an organiz-

ing tool.

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‘In Brazil that is done with one’s identity card, which includes a photo-

graph,age, family extraction, personal signature, fingerprint, and cé#tzs (skin complexion)—a euphemism for skin color (or race). Whenthe presentation of an appropriate documentis accompanied by a vociferous “Vocé sabe com quem esta falando?!” the abstract figure involved becomes a concrete, complete human being with power

and prestige, with beauty and grace, and, above all, with relations or

connections to powerful people “at the top,” as we like to say. Ceasing to be a merely a cidadao brasileiro (Brazilian citizen) ot zxdividuo(individual) —universalizing social roles that confer no rights in the given situation — the person becomesan a/guém, a “teal somebody”: a dep-

uty, lawyer, army officer, governmentofficial, or, even better, a relative

or friend (thatis, someone with substantive, untransferable ties) to an

important personage. We find the opposite situation, which nevertheless has the same

themeofthe revelation ofsocial identity, in countless fairy tales where

the ugly beast turns out to be a beautiful, pure princess who had been charmed. The popular andtraditional formula of “enchantment” can then be viewed as a dramatization of the-revelation of the authentic social identity, a very important elementin social systems grounded on the axis of moral and personalrelations. Indeed, far away from my relationships, I am nothing. As one Brazilian maxim goes: “A bull far from his cortal is just another cow,”?” a saying that equates anonymity

and individualization (orits possibility) with risk or punishment. Such is the case of exile in a society like ours, where the quality of life is given by and depends on personalrelations. Butif in fairy tales we discover the true identity of the princess through a good deed(or an act of stoicism) and a demonstration of trust in someonethatresults in a final reward and in the confirmation of hierarchy, the opposite occurs in the dramaof the expression “Voce sabe com quem esta falando?!” Here we are punishedfor trying to enforce the law or for believing that we live in a truly egalitarian universe. For the identity that surfaces in the conflict is what will permit hierarchization. And the moralis: always put yourtrust in persons and relationships (as we learn in fairy tales), never in general rules or universal laws. With good reason, then, we are constantly afraid of running up against the king’s son or the king himself. We mustbe well aware of whom weate teally talking to, and this leads to a style of 17“Longe do seu curral, o touro vira vaca!”

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personal relationships that is very “warm,” intimate, and expansive,

as visiting foreigners have systematically noted. There is no doubtthat “cordiality” marks our relations. But neither is there any doubt that this cordiality is dialectically related to the brutallogic of social identities, their revelation, and the fact that the system oscillates between implementing the law or respecting the person. A fifth point aboutourritual expression is the dramatic and important opposition between two ethics: a “bureaucratic” and a “personal” ethic (see Stirling 1968, Kenny 1968). We obviously have a compli-

cated situation when a general, impersonal, bureaucratic norm loses

its rationale in the face of someone whoalleges sometie of kinship, marriage, friendship, or whatever with another person whois consid-

ered powerful within the system. On the one hand, we have rigid,

universalistic morality of impersonal laws and rules that are cast in modernizing, individualistic terms and proposeto effect the submission of all the membersofsociety. On the other hand, we have a much more complicated morality of total relationships imposed by family ties and by webs of imperative social relations, where personal relations and substantive ties allow us to get around the law or, what

amounts to the same thing, to enforceit rigidly. As one well-known Brazilian maxim puts it: “To our enemies, the law; to our friends,

everything!” That is to say, for adversaries we need only the general, impersonal treatment of the law, which is applied to them without distinction, consideration, or flexibility. For our friends, however, we

can do anything, including makingthe lawirrationalsince it obviously does not apply to them. As Anthony Leeds(1965) perceived, the logic of a society composed ofpanelinhas (cliques), of cabides de emprego (holding down manyjobs like a cabide, a “hat rack”), where the search for social projection is fundamental, rests upon the existence ofthis ambiguity (or double code) with respectto therelative importance of equality and hierarchy. Butlet us examine this important matter a bit moreclosely. If we

look at the various cases of our ritual expression, we see that its use

is an attempt to go above (or below) somelaw or general rule of the

system. Thereare also cases where the law is not present, however, and

whereour ritual expression is used to call for it (cases six and ten). So in somecases the pointis to invalidate the law, whereas in others there is an attemptto enforce it, and the person who can embody the law at that moment will obviously have authority over other people

and take command ofthe situation. What wesee, then, are various

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situations where “Vocé sabe com quemesta falando?!”is used to hieratchizesocial relations. Faced with a law, a person can evade it; in the absence of a law, a person can appealto it. In both situations there is a concrete separation between the person and the norm, between

a general, impersonal, universal law and a person whosees himself as

special and deserving of personalized, special treatment. Whatis being avoided hereis simply equality before the law and its resultant individual treatment. In these cases we find the hierarchization of equals before thelaw, the neutralization of authority (as when the police offcet is impotent before the army officer), and the evasion of the liberal egalitarian system in general (as whena friend helps to bypass customs duties). Needless to say, these are the marks of people whohave a pfivileged or superior position in our system, of someone who is a somebody in opposition to a nobody in oursociety. The Opposite case is that of the absence of law in ambiguous situations also markedby individualistic egalitarianism. In such cases we cry for the law, and violence is a possible option (as in case eight) in trying to straighten out a situation where someone hasfailed to show “respect” for us, this being a sign that the proper hierarchical distinctions are not being maintained. Thus the system operates on two distinct levels: one goes into particulars right down to the singular level of personal biography; the otheris “legiferous,”?® operating through generallaws and completely avoiding direct contact with concrete individuals, as Michel Crozier (1964:221-236) points outin a different context. It is as if we had two different codes through which to think out our bureaucratic code — the impersonal, egalitarian, universalizing aspect of the system. But in concrete situations presented to us pela vida (by the paradoxes of sociallife), we always follow the codeof personal relations and morality, basing our action on the jfeitinho (the clever dodge or bypass), malandragem (toguery) and “humansolidarity” that is perceived and defined in a Brazilian way. In the case of the first choice, the basic social unit is the zvdividual: in the second, it is the person. Indeed,

an expression, 18The neologism attemptsto capture thefull meaningofthe Brazili

for everylegiferante, which signals the Brazilian tendencyto pass (or to expect) laws

the result of “old thing that is perceived as in need of correction. Thus, laws are not what one sees as and good customs,” but are usually made against and to correct to have power wrong of inappropriate in a particular situation or moment. In Brazil, mode of production,” the is to be able to control what can becalled the “Juridical

is to be governed. ability to issue “legitimate” laws, by which everybody hopesthesystem

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amongus Brazilians the person deservessolidarity, hospitality, and consideration —a special treatment. The individual, on the contrary, is the abstract entity subject to the impersonality of the law and the brutality of the police, the entity for whom rules and repression were made. This important cultural distinction has many consequences andits study will be the focus of the next section. On the Distinction between Individual and Person

Our study suggests that the oppositions between public and private, impersonal and personal, anonymous and known, universal and biographical are fundamental in Brazilian society. In trying to understand them, we have beenledto the discovery that in Brazilian society there is a basic, but never discussed distinction between zzdividuo (individual) and pessoa (person)as sociological categories and waysof conceiving the social universe and operating in it. In fact, it seems that the cases of “Vocé sabe com quem esta falando?!”all indicate that this authoritarian ritual expresses an attemptto transform radically the impetsonal domainofuniversal rules by settingit in the direction of the universe of concrete and biographical personal relationships. Indeed, in the cases of a suddenrevelation of social superiority, when the initial situation is ambiguous or apparently defined by the superiority of an impersonalauthority (the policeman, the public functionary, the transit officer, the waiter, the cashier, the secretary, etc.), “Vocé sabe

com quem esta falando?!” operates as a mechanism by which “persons” are put back into their properplaces. This chronic Brazilian clash betweenwell-established public laws and the unwritten and occult importance of persons andrelationships unmasks the paradox of the app/ication of universal rules, for after the

use ofthe ritual expression, universal laws tend to be regarded with

mistrust, if not with suspicion. Butin the cases wherethis ambiguity is patent, as when there is a confusion between individuals who are apparently equals and are entitled to the samerights before the law, the very same expression is used to separate social positions. Thus, as I have already indicated, in a small community no onewill use this ritual form in order to escape anonymity, simply because there is no anonymity in such an environment. The sameis true oftribal groups

wherethe position in one’s family, or the fact of having a certain set

of proper namesor belonging to a lineage is enough to define a person as having certain social prerogatives. In India, where, according to Du-

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mont (1970a, 1970b, 1975, 1977) we face a society that took hierarchy seriously and to the extreme, ceremonial prerogatives operateatall levels: from food to clothing, from occupation to marriage, from birth

to death. Indeed, the caste system can be presented,following Bougleé’s classical demonstration (1971), as a system dominated by auto-repulsion

and superimposition, as if India were in fact constituted of a set of

multiple societies each of whichis relatively independentof the other. This all suggests that in the case of Brazil “Vocé sabe com quem esta falando?!”allows us to pass from onesocial state to another: from plain anonymity(that points to equality and individualism)to a welldefined and well-knownposition (that indicates hierarchy and petsonalism); from an ambiguousand, in principle, equalitarian situation to a familiar and well-defined hierarchized context. In other words, “Vocé sabe com quem est4 falando?!” allows us to plant a “person” where there had previously been merely an “individual.” Let me elaborate this point. The notions of “individual” and “person” are basic in sociological analysis. But in order to understandfully this distinction, we mustre-

member,following Dumont(1965, 1970a; 1970b, 1977), that sociol-

ogyis the productof a society in which the “individual” (and the corresponding notionsofindividualism andegalitarianism) is a dominant category and a basic conceptin philosophy, law, politics, society, economics, and religion. Becauseofits importance, this category has been inevitably and unconsciously projected outside the Western social universe in order to take into accountrealities in which it has only “empirical” or “infra-social” existence and its full cultural existence as a social institution happens only in very special situations. Sociological

thought, however, has used and abused the notion of the individual

(and individualism) in the study of non-Western societies, although above all the work of Dumonthas helped to counteract and remedy this tendency. Despiteall this, the discussion of the person as a sociological category is not new. It appearedin a classic essay of Marcel Mauss (1974 [1938]).19 Starting from the idea of “personage” in tribal societies, Mausstraced its progressive individualization down to the idea of the “person” as a highly individualized “psychological being.” The study by Mausscorrectly points out that the person was in fact a meeting 19This seminal elaboration was publicly initiated, however, in a note published in 1929 in the Bulletin de la Sociétéfrancaise de philosophie, no. 29 (see Mauss 1968).

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point between the notion ofa “psychological individual” and a wellestablished social unit based on a collective and imperative role. But Mauss, it should be noted,also felt that the concept ofperson ended

up in the idea of the :zdividual. We find some of the same fluctuations in the work of Radcliffe-Brown (1952) and other British anthropologists, problably because of the ideological importance of the concept of the individual. Thus the role of the “individual” was never fully understood by many British social anthropologists, who took for granted the “natural” existence of this entity and never reflected on the possibility of its social construction. As Viveiros de Castro and Benzanquem de Aratjo (1977) revealed, it became something of a problem in British social anthropology. Following Dumont, however, I hope to show four things here: (1) that the notion of the individualis also social; (2) that it can be set in contrast with the idea of the person, whichis also a social construction but puts emphasis on another dimension of the humanreality; (3) that the two notions enable usto introduce into sociological analy-

sis the dynamism required to grasp fully important dimensionsofsocial life; (4) finally, that the contrast between individual and person cannotbe disparaged andset apartin the usual rigid way (for instance, by allocation of the person to tribal societies and the zxadividual to modern systems) but that, because they have a simultaneous occurrence in some societies—as the case of Brazil convincingly reveals— they may have a broad application, helping us to understand some of the basic mechanismslinking social values and specific political practices and some general cultural ways of navigating sociallife. The first point to be established is that the idea of the individual contains three basic axes. On onelevel we have the idea of an empiri-

cally given notionof the individual as a concrete, natural, inevitable,

apodictic reality independent of ideologies or representations, be they collective or individual. We know thatthere is no humansocial formation withoutthe “individual” andin that sense —pace the anti-universalistic tendencies of a certain kind of social anthropology—I take as acceptable the idea that the “individual” can be considered as a limiting factorin the constitution of humansocieties. Butthere is an objective, sociohistorical fact that intervenes between the recognition of the empirical existence of the individual and our apprehension ofit as a dominant andactivesocial unit in a social formation, one that can generate the concomitant ideasof individualism andegalitarianism. This sociohistorical fact results from the development ofa specific social for-

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mation: Western civilization.It is only in this civilization that the idea of the individual was culturally appropriated and transformedinto an ideology in which the individual cameto be seen as the center and focal point of the social universe, an entity containing society within itself, as is proven by our myths running from Robinson Crusoe and superheroes to lone cowboys and private detectives. The point hereis that although every humansociety can be seen as constituted of empirically given individuals, not every society has madethis “apodictic fact” the central pointofits ideological elaboration. Maussis certainly correct when he writes: “It is evident that there has never been a human being who has not had sense, not only of his own body, but also of his simultaneously corporeal andspiritual individuality” (1974: 211). But heis equally correct when hewrites that the idea of “person,” of an “I,” arose and grew “slowly over the course of many centuries and vicissitudes, so that today it is still wavering, delicate, precious,

and in needoffurther elaboration” (1974:209). It is this “social elaboration” which interests us here, because from it ideologies are constructed. Thus, the distinctive feature of what we call “social” is the element that is taken from the empirically given and is consciously elaborated by someentity (be it a group or a person, a mythor a whole society), so that it can take a position or create a perspective. Theidea of the individual has been elaborated in two very distinctive ways. One,as we havejust seen, is centered on the most biographical and particular dimensions, placing emphasis on the “individual I’ and, in consequence, taking the individual as an entity which is the repository of feelings, emotions, liberty, and inner space; as something capable of crying for Aiberty and equality, which has loneliness and love as two ofits basic defining traits (see, among others, Viveiros de Castro and Benzanquem de Aratijo 1977), and the power to choose and decide as oneofits most fundamental rights. In this construction, which corresponds to the Western elaboration, the part is more important than the whole, and the generally accepted notion is that society should be in theservice of the individual. The contrary would be an “injustice” to be corrected. The other elaboration of the “individual” focuses on the inclusive,

collective, social pole. The resultant ideology is not the parallel equality of all but the complementarity of each in forming a totality which can only be constituted with all its parts. Here, instead ofsociety be-

ing contained in or encompassed by the individual, the individualis

contained, immersed, or encompassed by society. My suggestion is that

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the notion of “person” correspondsto this second elaboration. Here,

the natural and empirically given experience of the individual and in-

dividualization, in its concrete but infra-social reality, is elaborated as

an entity that addresses itself to the totality and is perceived as the basic element through whichessential and complementarity relationships of the social universe are crystallized. Obviously, these two dimensions are basic and manifested in all

humansocieties. But the idea of the individual as a self-contained,

isolated unit has been systematically elaborated in the West, whereas

the notion of the individual as a multifaceted, complementary, and

relational entity—that is, ofthe individual as a person—prevails and dominates in holistic, hierarchical, and so-called “traditional” socie-

ties. Still, it is important to rememberthat the two notions (but not the ideologies initiated by them) are not mutually exclusive; they are always present wherever there is humansociety, and there is a dialectic between them. Now, it is this dialectic that we are able to discern in our studyof the Brazilian “Vocé sabe com quem esta falando?!” along with—I believe, the theoretical importance of the forgotten complementarity between these two notionsfor sociological analysis in general. The notion of person, then, can be summarily characterized as the collective dimension of individuality, a true rigid “mask” placed upon the ever-changing, mutable, and emotionally unstable “individual” or individualized entity (be it a lineage, a clan, a family, a moiety, a club, a civil association,etc.) to turn it into a stable and perpetualsocial being.2° Whensociety allocates masks to elementsit wishes to incorporate and conceptualize, someform ofritualization is always used to “penetrate” the thing that is to be turned into somethingsocially meaningful. This is equivalentto taking something “naturally” or “empirically” given (a child, a tree, a rock, a newly built house, etc.), and elaborating uponit someessential relationship, an ideologically marked linkage. It is this process that turns the elementinto a person or a so20We can now perceive and perhaps appreciate the deep insight of Marcel Mauss. Social roles as basic componentsof“social entities” are really like “masks.” They present and represent immutable, perpetual, sacred or legal “scripts,” “texts,” or “pat-

terns”of behavior, dispositions andideas that “anchor,” “frame,” and give concreteness to the ever-changing, unstable, and Pirandellian individual, whois always searching

for a role. Masks androles stay; concrete individuals (as egos) pass away. Sociological

analysis may focus on masks andalso on the interplay between the rigid mask and

the fluid individual who “wears” it with variable degrees of awareness. Here I am interested in studying someof the “masks” that constitute Brazilian society.

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‘cial being. In tribal societies, for example, the transformation of a “child” (which in many societies is not considered to be a full human being) into a person involvesa series of ritual stages that almost always include physical actionslike piercing the ears, the lips (Seeger 1975), the nasal septum,etc.It is as if the totality were penetrating the individualized element to eliminate its inner space and incorporate it once andforall into thecollectivity and the whole. I think this gives us the best explanation for the marginalor liminal state of novices (see

Van Gennep 1978; Turner 1967). I agree that the variable responsible for the “liminality of novices”is, of course, their transition. But transi-

tion should notbereified into a kind of Deus-ex-machina tesponsible for all interesting and creative social processes. Indeed, I tendto sus-

pect that the liminarity of initiates in these rites lies in their dissociation or isolation from the imperative web ofsocial links of which everybodyis a part in tribal societies. Being temporarily set apart from society highlights their deep potential for zxdtvidualization, a state which manytribal societies regard as special and dangerous and requiting some kindof control. This unwelcome state of zndividualization, whichfor somesocieties is at the basis of crucial status transformation, helpsto clarify why novices mustberitually dissociated from the collectivity so that they can then belater incorporated into it as comp/ementary, full social human beings and, as such, as parts of a web of imperative “masks” with which they now havean essential, substantive relationship in a new position. In holistic societies, then, the mark or tattoo is meant to be used

for the rest of one’s life, with society really imprinting itself on the individual. In such systems, the social mask is not something that can

be taken off like a garment or a uniform, butit is a scar, a hole, an

incision: a sign ofsocial prerogatives that are generally invested within an ideology of complementarity and based onanethics of reciprocity. But these incorporations are all relative. Individuals are absorbed into society by first being integrated into a permanent or perpetual group such asa lineage, clan, or moiety. In other words, the connection between the individual unity and the totality is not direct but, rather, mediated through some intermediary segment. Here we do not find the conception ofsociety as societas, thatis, of society as constituted by a group of individual personalities who by will and contract unite to form a group governed by established laws that are the same for all. What exists in this case is a primary social segment that defines and establishes the prerogatives of each individual element. This

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is obvious in caste systems, where each segment(orcaste) has a certain task or function and each complementsthe others in terms of purity or impurity (Dumont 1965, 1970a, 1970b). It should now beclear that the place of the individual —as opposed to that of the person—is in systems without segmentation or, better, in systems where voluntary associationsor civic groupsofall sorts take the place of the traditional segments. In fact, the place of the individuallies in a very different sort of social collectivity, the zation, as Mausspointed out in his brief, but fundamental, treatmentofthe latter subject:

To begin with, there cannot be a nation withouta certain integration of the society, that is to say, that this nation will have to abolish all segmentation: clan, city, tribe, kingdoms and feudal domains. . . . This

integration is such that in nations of a completed typethereis, so to

speak, no intermediary between the nation andthecitizen. Every type of subgroup has disappeared; the enormous powerof the individual over society and vice versa, exercised in an unbridled way, somehow es-

capes regulation and this somehowraises the problem ofreconstituting

subgroups in a form different from the clan or oflocal sovereign government— different, in any case, from any segmentation. (Cf. Mauss

1972 [1920-21]: 290)

This shows the precision with which Mauss sees the concomitance of the nation, as a new form ofsocial and political organization, and the individual. The text also reveals how in this form ofcollectivity the individuals operate socially in a different way. Thatis, in the nation individuals have an option to form whatis called a “civil society”: voluntary and “free” associations constituted by thewill of individuals who share commoninterests. But in “polysegmented,” complementary, traditional societies, the social realm is not an option in contrast

to an individual sphere, On the contrary, it imposesitself on the person as an integral part of consciousness. Here thetotality finds one of its essential and complementary extensionsin the person as a unit. In this form ofcollectivity, we do not find what Mauss saw asa typical mechanism of the nation and called the “power” of society over the

individual and vice-versa; instead, in our “modern” social dynamic

the relationship betweenthe totality and the unit is replete with selfawareness and always problematic. Let me now try to summarize thevarious levels of contrast between “individual” and “person”:

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Person

Individual

Free. Has a right to its own space.

Submergedin thetotality to whichitis necessarily bound.

Equal andparallel to all others.

Complementary to all others.

Has choices whichare seen as part and

Does not have choices, but moral dilemmas.

Has “private” (or inner) emotionsor feelings.

Has “public” indignation.

Its consciousness is individualized.

Its consciousnessis relational andcollec-

The novel and theshort story, intimate

Mythology and otherformsof paradig-

parcelof its fundamentalrights.

and individualistic works by an au-

thor, are essential part of its universe.

Makesthe rules of the world in which it lives. The rules are conceived ofas

tive. The totality takes precedence.

matic formulationsof the world are basic forms of expression.

It is given the rules of the world in whichit lives.

explicit and capable of being

changedatwill.

No mediation between it and the

totality.

Segmentation and multiple mediation is the rule.

The Dialectic between Individual and Person

Thepossible usefulness of the individual/person dichotomylies in the dynamicinteraction thatit helps us to perceive and eventually to understand. Thus, the study of the “Vocé sabe com quem esta falando?!”as an authoritarian ritual reveals this possibility of passing from onepole to the other —from individual to person. This seemsto be an old problem that brings to mindthe classical Durkheimian dichotomy between body and soul, as fundamental sociological categories (Durkheim 1975 [1914]: 15). In fact, one can say that Durkheim's conception of the body as a space for choices and emotions in basic opposition to the whole corresponds to the notionofthe individual; in contrast, the idea of soul would be

closer to the notion ofthe person as an idealized embodimentof the noncontradictory, complementary union of the part with the whole. Both notions are always present in every humansociety and therefore it is necessary to explore their interrelations. We know that in the “Western social system” the relations between

the individual andthetotality are automatic, remindingone of vend-

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ing machines, wherethe salesperson or mediator in buying andselling operationsis excluded and, with this, the possibility of bargaining as a tool for submerging pure economic transactions into sociallife. In this setup the individual is to be served by the state, the government being—as Americans put it—an “administration,” which is best when it governsleast. In such a social formation the importance of “persons” declines, but they have not been erased from the system. They continue to exist and are quite visible in ethnic enclaves—in the Puerto

Rican, Italian, Irish, or Jewish sections of major cities, where an im-

perative system ofsocial relations is adopted by need andtradition, forming a truly holistic system whichis used by the group as a resource for power and prestige. The Mafia did it and so did theIrish. In the United States we know that in the past the Irish appropriated certain basic areas of the political system for themselves, using a personalist code of behavior that probably took the highly individualistic domi-

nant political system by surprise. It cannot be by mere accident that

crime and politics— two domains whereface-to-face relations andhierarchies can be very important—have been two areas where members of certain alien cultures were successful in the United States. Butthere are other formsof organization in the United States where personal, hierarchizingrelations persist, as we have seen. We find them in racism and in the exclusionism of total institutions—suchasfraternities, sororities, clubs, and research and training institutes one can

enter only by invitation:?? The very ideology of success, so pervasive

21The reason, one may hypothesize,is that they found a police apparatus prepared to deal with the individualistic bandit or gangster acting alone against the system but not with the gangster acting in an organized, hierarchical setup and using not only weapons but also the authority and prestige lent by relationships offriendship, kinship, and godfatherhood, as well as the full panoply of beliefs in the saints and the

Roman Catholic Churchitself. Thus the “social bandit” of Eric Hobsbawn (1969) must

also be defined as someoneusing social relationships (and the moral code that goes with it) to construct a parallel society. That is certainly what the Mafia has donein the United States.

22Jt should be noted thatin institutions of higher learning and research, direct personalrelations are intense, the work is of an artisan nature, patronage and friend-

ship are basic, hierarchies prevail, and the whole system is modeled after the medieval

European university system. To enter many of them one needsan invitation, just as

one mustbeinvited to join the exclusive clubs that bear the indelible bias ofa secret society or of a very special group. All this seems to be abundantly evidentin the

United States. Exclusivity as a social principle seems to be characteristic of a society

with an egalitarian “creed,” to use Gunnar Myrdal’s expression (1962 [1944]). It must

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“a notion in modernsocial life, which clearly expresses the values of an individualistic, pragmatic society, also legitimizes personalism (and the person) in individualistic, egalitarian social formations. Indeed,

as a sociological category, success (and its cousins— glamor, sex appeal,

charm, and having “‘it”) seems to express the idea of differentiation (and gradation) in social worlds dominated by the idea of equality.

Like the well-known concept of sana, the idea of success is perceived

as a “natural”andreified entity: a concrete thing that, like luck, can be wonorlost. Thus, if you have success, you will become a person

deserving to receive a different and special treatment. Furthermore, success is something ove Aas and does, not something one recezves,

like a name, a bloodline, or an aristocratic title. So the ideology of success can be interpreted as a wayofreconciling the concrete differentiation of human beings with the ideal of equality, as a way of coping with differentiation but without resorting to hierarchy, because we know that success (and the whole constellation of concomitant andrelated notions) cannot possibly be transmitted or socially transferred. Now,as part of the circle of success, the VIPs can go to the front

of lines and enjoy the fruits of special recagnition in a world designed to have only anonymousfaces. They also avoid the terrible loneliness of the egalitarian, individualistic world in which family ties have been repressed or severed, because they are neveralone. As “persons,” they are always being complemented by someone.It is in this world of persons, at the highest levels of decision making, money making, and power, that Anthony Leeds (1965:402, note 8) correctly, I think, finds the American cliques and insiders which are the precise functional equivalents of the Brazilian panelinhas. Thesocialfield generated by persons provokes a sort of bending of the individualistic system that permits the implicit operation of a repressed (becausethey are not for all, but only for a happy few) system of personal relationships. This set of hidden andrepressed privileges based on personal relationships helps to maintain andjustify the open generalized system founded on the principle of individualism and equality for all. Aninverse situation occurs in tribal and traditional societies where the individual has a marginal (or implicit existence) and the notion of person is dominant. Here the “individual” is the man or woman defined as egocentric andselfish, i.e., someone who has succumbed be rememberedthat he was thefirst to stress the importance of the “American Creed”

for understanding the racial problem in the UnitedStates.

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to someofthe values prized by individualism, like utilitarianism and profit making. In a system constituted by networks of imperative social relations and dominated by the person, the individual is a sorcerer.

Thatis: the individual is the one who takes and never gives in return, the one whoputsself well above friends and relatives. In other words, it is the human being whodepartsfrom totality and,like the renouncer in India (Dumont, 1970b: chapter 3), is transformed into an individual by stepping outside the everyday world. Similarly, in systems deeply marked bythe solidarity of lineage or section, affines are viewed in an individualized fashion and therefore considered a source of danger of negative magic. The same seemsto hold true for healers, mediators (such as the leopard skin chief of the Nuer), prophets, and mythical heroes in general. In fact, their biographical trajectory always takes them in an other-worldly direction, as they renounce the social system to which they have been linked by substantive ties. Now, in their social limbo they learn to cure and destroy, serving as paradigms of other possible but dangerous modes of action. In any case, what we have been calling “liminality” might be better translated sociologically as an individualization in a universe of persons. The notion of the individualis importantin tribal groups, too, butit is used to explain the exceptional humanbeingrather than the average man who is enmeshed in and encompassed by the system ofsocial relations. The conclusion seemsclear. There seemsto exist a complex dialectic between the individual and the person whichclosely corresponds to Durkheim’s concept of homo duplex. Indeed, in the opposition between bodyand soul Durkheim saw the universal dramaI find expressed in the contrasting categories of person and individual, which are the two ideological dimensions associated with the empirical, “natural,”

ot apodictic reality of the individual. Hence,the following questionarises: if some systems emphasize the individual and somesystems take the person astheir center, are there any systems in which both notions are equally basic? I think the answeris yes and the studyof “‘Vocé sabe com quemesta falando?!” seems to make clear the importance of both notions in Brazil. The Brazilian case reveals two conflictive but complementary priorities: on the one hand, the emphasis on a universal law—whose subject is the individual — to be applied toall; and on the other hand,the indignant (but complementary) response of someone whois a person and demands a singular application of the law, which should be bentespecially for him or

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her. In such systems —andI would include hereall the so-called “Mediterranean societies”—wefind the two notions operating simultaneously. Now, it is up to sociological research to detect the context in which

each notionis called for. In the case of Brazil, it seems quite clear that

the individual is a modern notion superimposed on a powerful system of personal relationships. Thus, ourritual question, Carnival, soccer, patronage, and the system of personal loyalties are all structural phenomena andreveal a dialectic that presents serious obstacles to a purely economic explanation of the system, a fundamental point which— with very few exceptions (see Faoro 1975, Velho 1976, Schwartzman

1975)—passed almost unnoticed in Brazil. All indications are that in such social formations the opposition between individual and person has never been dissolved, as has been the case in societies that have carried through the “Reformation,” which repressed and destroyed the mediators between the individual and the social universe (Weber 1967). In the Protestant world there developed an ethic of work and the body that involved an egalitarian union between body andsoul. In Catholic systemslike that of Brazil, on the other hand, the soul continues to be superior to the body andthe person continues to be more imporant than the individual. We continue to maintain a strongstyle of social segmentation, finding it very diffcult to create the voluntary associations that are the core of “civil society” and the foundation ofthe liberal, egalitarian, bourgeois state dominated by individuals. Alongside “Sabe com quem esta falando?!” we Brazilians have the well-known expressions “preto de alma branca” (black with a white soul) and ‘dixheiro naotras felicidade” (money can’t buy happiness), which addsto the underlying cultural equation that tells how work cotresponds to punishment and how the accumulation of wealth equals something dirty or illicit. One need only read some of Benjamin Franklin’s aphorisms (in Weber 1967) to see that the thrust of capitalism is to go into the world, not to flee and renounceit as seemsto be the case with us Brazilians. In the Protestant, capitalist system, the body accompanies the soul, moneyfollows work, and the individual makes the world andits rules. But in the Brazilian system, the body1s less than the soul, money is separated from work, and personshold sway. Ours is a segmented society with the classic complementary opposi-

tions between man/woman, old/young, house/street, the goodlife/ work. As I noted earlier, we have much better ways to compensate for

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economicdifferences, because the Brazilian system is made of multtple spheres which allow for various simultaneous and equivalent classifications. This is a point I would insist upon. In terms of the dialectic between individual and person, the Brazilian world is made up of a numberofpersonslocated in a rigid hierarchy ruling the life and destiny of a multitude of individuals. The hierarchy of persons invents and controls the law which the individuals should obey. Roughly, the world is divided into two segments that reproduce themselves in every layer of society: on the one hand, we have the personalities, the authorities, the omens bons (good men), and the “masters of power” (see Faoro 1975) who constitute the society

and makethe law; on the other hand wehavethe project of the bourgeois and capitalist nation. The fundamental opposition is not between capitalists and workers, but between the individual and the person,

as was pointed out by Alceu Amoroso Lima (1955). The reality of the United States, Amoroso Lima maintains, is made up of individ-

uals, whereas in Brazil the dominantsocial unit is the person. Both notionsare presentin the two societies, but each system balances them differently. A good proof for what I am saying is the great numberof expres-

sions indicating scorn for the individual in Brazil. To begin with, the

word “individual” is synonymous with someone whois unprincipled,

adrift in the human world, and, like a beast, closer to the world of nature. Because of these negative connotations, we find the word used

in harsh police reports to highlight absolute and negative anonymity: thus, the Brazilian expressions “that individual devoid of character” or “thepitiless individual who killed the child.” Here “individuality” is takenliterally to express the reality of those who are unableto divide themselves in order to befully linked to society. In these expressions, the “individual” refers to someone whois truly “undivided” and somehow unpermeatedby society and its values. This also explains whyin Brazil “individualism” is often used as a synonym for egotism,a sentimentor social attitude perceived as highly negative. All this seems to be quite logical. After all, how can a semihierarchized society operate with a heavy doseof individualism and egalitarian-

ism? To individualize means, above all, to detach oneself from such

traditional units as the house and family, and with them the axis of personalrelationships as the main connection between a humanbeing and the whole.It also presents the possibility of seeking a direct link with the nation through such voluntary associations such as labor unions,

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political parties, and groups promotingclass interests. But to do this one mustleaveaside the rights that are substantively provided by blood, family, marriage, friendship, and the links of compadno. The Individual, the Person, and Brazilian Society

The distinction between person and individual seems to be particularly useful in trying to construct a sociological interpretation of a society like Brazil, where the opposition can be found on both the concrete and ideological levels. Indeed, unlike India, which seemsto

exclude systematically the individual, and the United States, which seems to excludesystematically the person, Brazilian society elaborates and uses both notions. Hencethe social reality of Brazil can find expression in a double code. One codeis associated with personal moral-

ity, mysticism, coutage, fortitude, and aristocracy.It is a realm where

reciprocity, loyalty, charity, and goodnessare basic values for which the

cote and focal pointis a system ofpersons who always see themselves

as complementary and as necessary parts of the picture of Brazilian social life. The other has to do with universal and impersonal laws. In a system of persons, everybody knows who everybodyis, everybody shouldbe perceived as gente (people, person), and, as such, everybody should show respect for everyone else. Nobody, however, should go beyondtheirsocial and hierarchical limits. People know their place and are content to remain there. It is from this system of personsthat underlies and supports a social universe segmented into families, work associations, neighborhoods, and the every-present Aryan andracist ideology that hierarchizes, or helps to hierarchize, our interpersonal relations that a system of written laws are made. Now,theintersection of these two systems is bound to lead to confusion andconflict between the law and its creators. Indeed, in Brazil, because the law is systematically created by a “person” (or group of persons), it is taken for granted that when it is put into practice, they—the inventors of the law—obviously will not bother to follow it. It is in this world of personsthat we find the medalhées, the big shots, the ideologues, the

“person-institution”: those who, we say in Brazil, were not born but were “inaugurated”! Here we also find the leaders who incarnate, as Lévi-Strauss observed while he was in Brazil (1957:101), the social, ideo-

logical, and artistic currents they seek to uphold or implement. Indeed, in Brazil the “superpersons” tendto enter a realm I have already called a “social nirvana,” an area where they remain above and be-

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yondaccusations andcriticism. They have become whatwelike to call “part of our patrimony”or, even better, part of our “Brazilian national patrimony”as “national figures.” On the regular, everyday level they are people whose requests (pedidos) cannot be denied, whose work cannot be attacked, whose faces cannot be unfamiliar, whose “social

projection” (prosegao soctal )—the term itself is noteworthy, as Leeds (1965) pointed out — is overpowering, and whoseprestige — another important and basic word in our political vocabulary— must not be underestimated. I need hardly add that these persons or entities gather a large clientele around them andarticulately convey ideological positions. From this discovery arises the need to contemplate the Brazilian social world in highly hierarchized terms, since the system does indeed belong to this set of “superpersons.”

This superior segment encompassessociety andits inferiors. Its aims

becomethe aimsof the system, andit speaks in the nameofthe “struc-

tural inferiors” which, in Brazil, are collectively “the people” (0 povo) —another basic word in ourinstitutional vocabulary. “The people” is

always the generalized, strong, massified entity that is on “our”side.

When an adversary invokes the term, however, it does not refer to the “people,” but to somesectorof social class or, even worse, of the classe

média (the middle class), a term which has a very negative political connotation in Brazil. According to this conception, the “people”are always generous, alwaysright, and, as a consequence of so manypositive attributes, always idealized and open to manipulation. The will of the people, which no onereally needs to know,is the encompassing will of the persons whospeak forit. Just as a “structural inferior” identifies with the projected figure of his master to legitimize his use of “Vocé sabe com quem esta falando?!” so the “structural superior”— the “petson”— encompasses the inferiors, viewed collectively as “the people,” and speaks for them. Playing this role in the hierarchy, the superior always claims to know “whatis best” for the inferior and theoretically makes sure that “the people” are not cheated out oftheir rights. In Brazil, then, we have the so-called “representatives of the

people” (representantes do povo), not representatives of sectors of the society, which would make the world painfully concrete and riddle it with open butconflicting interests and crises. The “persons,” then, have an obligation to administer the system because they have the responsibility of articulating the world and introducing the ideologies that are to change it. As one can imagine, however, ideologies arising spontaneously from the inferior level are

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always regarded asrustic, innocent, or naive, as easily becoming the ptey of groups and personsinterested in the manipulative subversion of the masses. But everything from aboveis sacred and pure;it is something with an indisputablelegitimacy and to be “taken very seriously.”

As Lima Barreto saw it, this is a universe of Brahmans, ofa social segmentthat is exclusively in charge ofpolitical, esthetic, scientific, and

moral tasks, which take on an almost religious air in Brazil. Asin every hierarchized system,it is in this realm of persons that we find the ideology of kindness and charity thatis one of the key points in our self-definition as a people (Azevedo 1966). Indeed, in Brazil we havecharity, not philanthropy (which is an impersonal system of charity that is aimed much moreat social construction). We thussystematically reinforce the “vertical ethics” that link superior andinferior by the sacred ties of patronage and morality, and we tend to emphasize the complementary aspectof hierarchical relations rather than the antagonistic aspects. The world is constituted of strong and weak, rich and poor, patrons and clients, and one group provides the other with what it does not have. Relationships are not viewed as uniting individuals (or individualized social classes) but as uniting persons. We could say, with Dumont (1970b:141), that reality is not made of the individual butof the re/ationship, asis clearly the case of the so-called Afro-Brazilian religions such as Umbanda. As wealready saw,it is the pairing that counts, since it enables us to overcome individual differences, to build bridges between social segments, and to arrive at the totality. In this way the system of personal relationships is insitutionalized as a structural feature of Brazilian society. Nowit is easy to understand whythe ritual question “Vocé sabe com quem esté falando?!” becomes a weapon andoperates so effectively in such a system. In fact, if the categories of individual and person are of any use to us atall it is in helping to discover and characterize a dual social universe made up of both a personal and anindividualizing dimension. As wehaveseen, the personal dimension is grounded

on therules of “respect” and “honor” (see Campbell 1964, Pitt-Rivers

1965, Viveiros de Castro 1974, Cutileiro 1970), these being crucial sociological categories in systems that—in my own theoretical terms— seem to havelittle tolerance for equality and individualism. From this pointof view, honor and respect help above all to establish gradations of prestige and authority amongpersons (and families whoact socially as cotporations or “public persons”), thereby erasing the legal and political equality which formally operates in “Mediterranean” com-

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munities. The excellent analysis of Viveiros de Castro (1974) situates respect midway between the equality of the “free individual” (but without the ideology of egalitarianism and individualism) and hierarchy (but without a full-fledged aristocracy). We must recognize, however, that the individualizing dimension

is also presentin oursociety. It is clearly present in our legal apparatus,

for our laws were madefor individuals, under the fundamentalprinci-

ple that they are all equal before the law. The realm of individuals is to be found in this impersonal world of laws, decrees, and rules as they are applied and implementedin practice.It is also to be found in the more automaticservices of the state, which are always free, especially in the areas of health and education. Operating impersonally and automatically, laws and regulations govern the massified world of

individuals, for whom they were made and to whomtheyare integrally

applied. We can now offer a parody of the famousBrazilian dictum cited earlier: “For individuals, the law; for persons, everything!” That is to say, we will give everything to those whoare inserted in an impor-

tant web of personal dependencies. The law is for those who are isolated and confront society without personal mediations. In a very true way, only individuals frequentpolice stations, courtrooms, long waiting lines, and the corridors of public education and health care. Like-

wise someone whois bem apessoado (“of fine appearance”; literally, “nicely petsoned”) has an edge in getting a job; advertising often states that to be em apessoado is a must. Only individuals serve in the army,following the age-old tradition that only slaves are turned into soldiers. The sons of good family are left out of the corporation that turns everyone into a number and impetsonalizesall under the uniform and the popular ethosofsoldiery. The medathées andall petsons of “good family extraction’(fi/hos de boa familia) are not made for the laws that equalize and turn them into individuals — metereceptacles withouthistory, personalrelations,

or biography. Those to whom thelaw is applied are akin to the indigent, the social pariahs, the lost sheep. For we Braziliansfeel that dependence on an impersonal organism,be it private or governmental, reveals that oneis not a memberof any segment, that one has no family or godfatherhood ties, that onelacks a person readyto “lend a helping hand” (¢@ a mdo) or able to “intercede for us.” In Brazil, then, the individual enters the picture whenever we con-

front an impersonal authority that represents a universal law to be applied to all. And we have already seen how and when weuse out

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authoritarian ritual question or subtler and nicer ways—like the Brazilian ecto — in orderto reveal what we thinkis our“true” social identity in that particular situation. In fact, facing the impersonal law, we tend to forget that we are citizens of the republic who are equal before the law and to remind the authorities that we are respectable persons of our society whoare intimately linked to powerful people and hence above the general, universal law. Elaborating this way of making and maintaining social hierarchies, we have gradually created the despachantes (or “expediters”), or “lower-level godfathets,” who mediate between the person and the state apparatus when someone needsa passpott, a license plate, or documentsof that sort. While people mayall have an equal right to such documents, they often decide to hire a despachante in orderto dispense with longlines, impersonal treatment, and the other vexations associated with egalitarian (i.e., inferior) treatment. The lower-level godparent or mediator ensures differentiated treatment in areas where impersonal laws are operative, functioning according to the samelogic as the “high-level mediator”or “sponsorfor the top,” whorelates us to the social world in general as a person.

In the Brazilian social system, then, the universal, egalitarian law

is frequently use:! as a basic means to impose subjection and sociopolitical differen. ation. Laws, in other words, are apphted only to individuals, never to persons. If you are the passive object of the cold, deadletter of the law, you immediately becomean individual. If you can “personalize” the law in some way, then you are a person.In societies like Brazil, then, the legal system that helps to define the “modern liberal state” serves as one more tool for social subordination, since

its import and impact are different for different segments of society and for people who occupydifferent social positions in the social sys-

tem. In contrast, the network of personalrelations is, of course, ever

presentas an operator to help people get aheadin life and to soften and compensate for the otherfacet of the system. Lawmaking in Brazil is an activity that serves both to actualize democratic ideals and to block the organization of certain persons or segments ofthe population and their vind ‘cation of basic rights. Thus the modern legal apparatus, which should serve everyone and help bring to light different class interests and conflicts, is turned into a tool for imprisoning the masses. They must follow the law, knowing full well that there are well-connected persons who never obey it.

This, I think, is the core of the Brazilian dilemma. Universalizing

laws that are supposed to correct inequalities end up helpingto legiti-

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mize and perpetuate them. They make the system of personal relations even moresolidary and effective, more ready to deal with problems posed by the impersonal authority of the law. Furthermore, because the system is encapsulated in such a dilemma, Brazilian laws tend to be so drastic that strict compliance is often impossible, and the net result is that one always finds very goodreasons to end up not obeying the law. Ourcleverseztznho (the “dodge’’) is simply a morecordialvariant of our ritual question and other more authoritarian ways of evading the law and creating exceptions that socially confirm it. The rampant use of the expression “Vocé sabe com quem esta falando?!” and the yeztznho produces a well-known and generalized phenomena: the total mistrust of universal laws and decrees. This mistrust, in turn,

nourishesits antithesis, which is the perduring hope that one day we will finally see laws enforced and obeyed. Thuswenaively tend to think that society can be changed by good laws that some governmentwill ultimately pass and implement.?3 In other words, the rule of law is a hope. For the powerless it represents a meansof achieving a better future (laws that are for us rather than agaznst us); for the powerful it is a weapon with which to destroy their political opponent, a basic feature that studies of Brazilian and Latin American politics often miss when they exclusively focus on the personal side of the so-called patronage system in operation in these societies. By doing so, they systematically forget that patronage structurescan only befully operative in social universes also permeated by liberal, universal laws that can also be used against (or for) political purposes. Ultimately, patronage can be interpreted as a mediation between well-defined systemsof personalrelationships andclearly (if idealized and unrealistic) systems of liberal norms. Because of this personalistic bias, however, the law is rarely seen as law: that is, neither the powerless nor the powerful see it as impartial rule. Making laws, then, providesthe illusion of change

and is considered to be more important than enforcing them. There we have our dilemma. Because we havesuch great confidence in the powerof law as an insturment for changing the world, we make 25] would say that this has been an importantissue in the election campaigns of

the many old—like the UDN (National Democratic Union)—and contemporary Bra-

zilian political parties, as well as one of the key points in the career of any politician

who wantsto pose as a caxtas. The generalbelief in this case is that Brazilwill improve

if the laws on the books are implementedand obeyed. The caxias is one who operates on this principle. For a full discussion of the caxias as a fundamentalsocial category,

see chapters 5 and 6.

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up countless laws and render them inoperative. As a result, the system

of personal relations, which the body of laws is meant to undermine

or destroy, grows stronger and more vigorous. One system feeds and fortifies the other in a perverse kind of dialectics.” Zones of Passage

To reduce Brazilian society to two universes (that of persons and that of individuals), however, would be to grossly oversimplify the problem. Forthere are also zonesof conflict and zonesof passage be-

tween them,andI think these zonesare crucial for understanding some

basic social processes in Brazil.

We saw above someofthe dilemmas posed bythe relationships between the twosystems. Indeed, the Brazilian case reveals that the law is inextricably linked to personal morality and the seztzwho(the clever dodge), just as the caxias (the exaggerated square individual who obeys every rule) is che other side of the ma/andro (rogue), and Carnival is the other side of the Independence Dayfestivities. Personal morality, with its code of interests, intimacies, and considerations, trig-

gers in turn the impersonal mechanisms of the law, so the relations between the two systemsare circularly complex and problematic. Now let us look at some instances of passage from one system to the other. Thatis, let us examine some actual cases when anonymous individuals turn into important personsand real persons turn into abominable individuals. Let us begin with whatis considered to be the mostbasic and universal situation in Brazil: the trajectory of the individual from birth

to adulthood, whenhe or she steps out into the world. Here we have

the basic opposition between the domain of the casa (house, home,

residence, place where onelives with one’s relatives) and the domain

of the rua(street, public sphere, external domain, “life,” “real world”). Eachis a privileged domain inhabited by the petson and the individual respectively. In the domain of the house, relationships are marked byties of “blood” (or substance), by the reality of eating the same food and sleeping under the sameroof, bya feeling of being partly in and partly outside the “real world.” In a house, in the midst of our family we make ourfirst basic transition: born as individuals, we are turned 24This, I believe, takes us to the root of what Hélio Jaguaribe (1958:41) calls the

Estado Cartorial (Notarial State).

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into persons when weteceive our name and our godparents in therite of baptism, which links us to the world andsociety at large, through the mediation of the Catholic religion. In the house there are only persons, and social roles are viewed as complementary: old and young, man and woman, parents andchildren, father and mother, husband

and wife, family and maid, parlor and bedroom,etc. Individualism is proscribed in the casa domain and family, and behavior of thatilk is experiencedas a threat to the life of the group. In Brazil, then, the domain of the person is the domain of the casa and family, a place and a group that are partly outside and alongside the world, where all feel sheltered and protected from theterrible and well-known ‘“/uta pela vida” (the strugglefor life) which happens in the domain of the street. But whatts really meant by “/uta pela vida” andits cognate expressions: ‘a dura realidade da vida’ (the harshreality of life), “sar de casa para ganhar a vida” (leaving hometo earn a living), “a vida é

dura”(life is difficult, hard, full of sorrows), and “weulher da vida”

(womanoflife) as a term for prostitute? They all point to the importance of the dichotomy between house/street as basic domains of the Brazilian social world. Thus, the passage from houseto street is a very dramatic one. Indeed,all passages are dangerousand carefully marked in a social world where life is designed and established in terms of different positions and domains which have their own internal rules. From thefirst day of school to the first day of adult work, through all of thelife crises (baptism, confirmation, birthdays, and graduations

especially), every movement sharply remindsthe personthat he or she

is moving away from the homeandthe family group, thatfixed point of reference in thelife of every Brazilian. I interpret these passages as

recutrent movements from the person (when one is encompassed by

the family group) to the individual (when one enters the market as labor power), since few enter the world of work withoutpassing through the stage of being an unknown, single individual who is struggling to be “someone.” Normally this passage marksthe transition from person to individual, and then to person again when the job becomes familiar and ties of sympathy, friendship, and consideration are established with one’s employers. A fixed pattern of social relationsis the norm and ideal, and every change of job means having to begin again to turn one’s job into a second casa. Thatis the ideal, and successful people are those who manageto link house and work so that one domain can be considered an extension of the other.

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Entry into the world (and departure from the house)is therefore equivalent to getting to know “thestreet” with its own mysteries and rules. This usually requires the explicit use of mediators, since we systematically avoid having a person make direct contact with the domain through which heor sheis passing. Direct contact would turn the person into an individual, an anonymousbeing subject to the universal laws governing the world, and this would bring the immediaterisk of improper or disrespectful treatment. In the course of Brazilian rites of passage, then, we are given godparents, sponsors, patrons, influen-

tial supporters, spiritual entities, and saints (see Guimaraes 1973) to help us confront the perceived and assumeddifficulties thatlife will place in our path. A strong relationship with a mediator makesit possible for us to be treated in special terms, even when we do not belong to any elite or prestigious family. Oncethis link is established we are the af/hado, or protégé of someone whois important in a given social domain. This is the general norm. Hence, I would say, withoutfear of exaggeration, that in the so-called upper and middlesectors of our society it is the importantrelationship with a mediatorthat gives people familiarity with the world and entry into the sphere of work. Only for a short time does the person haveto live as an individual. Chances are very good thathewill find a Bom patrao (a good patron) to help him turn his office into his second casa. It is obvious that complementarity is the prevailing ideology here, and the whole social universe tends to be hierarchically structured around relations of a personaltype. In

other words, the “house” dominates the “street,” a characteristic shared

by “traditional societies,” where one family governs the nation as if it were its own house. I do not think it is necessary to mention concrete examples of this in Brazil or elsewhere in Latin America. But it is worth noticing that this structure seemsto beat the base of “populism,” a political style of authority with a clear personal and familistic component, which is closely bound up with the hierarchization of the public sphere in termsof the private sphere of house, friendship, and family. In such a situation all who haveties with the dominant family are automatically protected from the world, because the world is actually their amplified casa. The onesleft in the world are those who have only the most tenuous ties with the holders of power and who have only their labor power to mediate between them and the world. Here is where the dichotomy between individual and person should increase our understanding. The question is: what happens with the mass of people who have no mediator and therefore must confront the

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world directly without sponsors, supporters, or even patrons?It is this faceless mass that makes up the worldof individuals andthatis strictly subjected to the generalized domain of impersonal laws. And it must be emphasized that here “laws” mean not only the legislation consciously passed by government butalso the laws of economics, which are reified and perceived by manyas “natural.” Those without mediators are entirely at the mercy of the laws of “supply and demand,” of governmentdecisions and “options,” of salary freezes and political predicaments. They are the individualized mass of people who have been uprooted from their place of origin, where they are used to being treated with respect and consideration. The majority of them are dislocated migrants,?> this being a fundamentalstep in their transformation into individuals, who lack representation and whoaretotally subject to the laws of the marketplace and the state. We call them povo (the people) or #zassa (the masses), thereby alluding to the deep negative individualization revealed in their lack of social sponsorship and protection. If for many Brazilians individualization occurs rarely—when,

for example, we are boundbythetraffic laws—for the masses it is the

tule. They escape it only when they awaken in their poor shanties to live in the midst of their family and neighbors. But even here there is no absolute certainty, for many of the masses do not have any family, that elementso basic to the definition of a person—the true human being in Brazil. This seems to be the most profound experience of exploitation in semitraditional societies like that of Brazil: to be an individual in a hierarchically framed society; to be treated like a number

or an anonymousdatum in a society that is highly personalized,a society where everyone should be “someone” and treated with “duerespect” and proper “consideration.” It is when one understands what it meansto be absolutely subjected to all forms of universal rules that one is able to grasp the “form” assumed by exploitation in the Brazilian world. We even invented a crude expression for those who have to obey all the laws, having no rights at all. They are the fodidos(literally, the “fucked-over” or dregs) of the system, the paradigmatic “individuals” to whom we direct our authoritarian “Vocé sabe com quem esta falando?!” It ts no accident, then, that Brazilians abroad feel saudade (homeStudies of Brazilian migration confirm this view. See, for example, Claudia Me-

nezes (1976) research that shows how, in migration, persons are stripped of protection

and support, handed overto the play of impersonal rules and turned into nothing but individuals.

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sick, nostalgia, loneliness, longing) in the solitude of an impersonal world where they find nolinks of mediation and complementarity. One reaction to this situation is the highly aggressive and destructive behavior that marks the conduct of sometravelers in Europe and the United States in what is known by Brazilians as molecagem or cafajestada (a mixture of prankish with boorish behavior): small thefts in department stores, messing up public toilets and pay phones, teaching dirty words to strangers, etc. It is as if this sort of petty violence were our way of seeking the complementarity we lost with our investmentin the role of individual. Neither can the relationship between episodes of urban violence and the means of mass transportation, so frequentin the Brazilian social scene, be an accidental one, especially when we know that whenriding public transportation people are just in between the space of their houses (where they are integrated as persons in a family and neighborhood) andtheir place of work (where there is some sense of belonging evenif it is more impersonal). Thus,it is when we are passengers of mete pedestrians on our way somewhere that we seem to be more prone to commitan intriguing and spontaneous violence against the system. It is while invested in these universalizing roles as isolated and individualized “passengers” or “pedestrians” that we ate prone to engage in the famous quebra-quebras ot tiots that do damage to trains, buses, andferries. For we feel most keenly our liminality as persons, as well as our acute subjection to impersonal, egalitarian rules that make clear the system’s lack of respect and consideration for all those who are invested in a generalrole as individuals, whatever the reason may be. In these cases violence seems to be a mechanism ofreintegrating ourselves into the system. Butonce violence is done, and public property destroyed, we are no longer undifferentiated numbersor individuals but real persons with a name and a face who deserve honor and consideration. Violence is then a fundamental mechanism forthe transformation ofindividuals into persons. By resorting to violence and showing that it can have an aim,the undifferentiated masses acquire specific attributes and get considerate answers from the highest authotities of the nation. They finally become as important andreal as a truly important “person,” and they extract promises from the authorities that are generally madeonly duringelections, a time when individuals also tend to be treated as persons through the power of their vote.” In my opinion, the samebasic process of constructing the individive 26This, I hope, complements whatI said in chapter 1, in discussing the distinct

nature of Brazilian riots (called guebra-quebras(literally, break-break]).

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ual or the person takes place during great public festivals like Carnival, when persons becomeindividuals and submit to the general rules of the revelry —of the reign of the clown king Momus—andaccept their status as anonymous human beings. By the sametoken of zzverszon,

anonymousindividuals cease to be merely membersof the labor force and marginal workers and becomepersons: noblemen,singers, dancers, and characters of a national drama. The same thing happens in futebol (soccer), where by identifying with their teams (and clubs), fans transform themselvesinto personsentitled to certain rights in victory and defeat. The prize here, as in Carnival, is highly significant: it is the right to hierarchize the position of equals or to change the position of superiors, the drama always having as motif the relationships between equality and hierarchy. A similar transformation from individual to person takes place in the messianic quest for a parallel world. As we know, in such social

episodes, a pefson is stigmatized in such a wayso as tolose his or her

position within a given social system or domain. By being a victim of

an incurable or unknownillness, by the loss of a spouse, or by personal disgrace due to debts, injustice, or betrayal, a person is turned into an individual andis plunged wholly into the domainofthe street and cast “outside the world.” This acutestate of indivisibility, which —with different gradations—seemsto characterize both the sanyasi of India (Dumont 1970b) and the “social bandit” of Brazil (Hobsbawn 1969) is what will permit a compensatory and complementary return after enduring solitude and byrejecting or renouncing the system andits rules. It is this state that makes legitimate the return of the liminal

person, either as a symbolof social justice (which seemsto be the case of the social bandit), or as a “saint” and founder of a messianic sect which creates an alternative and parallel social universe (see Monteiro 1974, Queiroz 1965, and, especially, Euclides da Cunha 1938). In fact, this is the process that seems to characterize some of our mythic figures such as Anténio Conselheiro (1828-1897),27 Pedro Malasartes (a folk hero), and Augusto Matraga(a fictional character). As weshall see in the following chapters, they are historicalor fictional persons who had to leave their houses and had to renounce their respective worlds. They thus find themselves individualized andin state of social marginality, confronting the concrete alternative posed to personsin socialfor27 Magisterially studied by Euclides da Cunhainhis classic Os Sertoes (English trans-

lation, Rebellion in the Backlands).

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- mations characterized by a web of imperative social relationships. Isolated from the world, enduring the solitude and suffering implied in ostracism from their group and the worldof“real” humanbeings, they

had to construct an alternative world, the authentic source of the most

legitimate revolutionary processes. It is this transformation of the person into an individual, for longer periods of time than those authorized by the rules of routine, that seemsto be at the basis of the social processes of renouncing the world and creating alternative modes of social existence. By observing the dialectics between individual andperson, it is now possible to bring together such varioussocial processes as social banditry, messianism, roguery, and urban violence that are always studied separately. I hope to have argued convincingly thatin varying degrees theyall are actualizing the possibilities of moving from a personalized to an individualized universe. It is the drastic transformation of person into individual that provides us with the key to explain all the cases as expressions of the samestructural principle: the dramatic passage from a universe characterized by links based on personal morality to

a universe governed by impersonal general and universal laws, which

are invariably applied to those who have no mediators or sponsors. Ur-

ban violence, messianism, anda life of crime are not social facts far

removed ftom the use of “Vocé sabe com quem est4 falando?!” to the pointofreally being a different set of social phenomena. On the contrary, they all seem to converge on the samebasic categorical opposition between a dominant world of persons (and to be a “person” is already a sign ofprivilege in itself) and a powerless mass of individuals subjected to the cold andhard letter of the law. In our society the absenceofrelationships based on strongbloodties, highly placed friends, and good padrinhos makesviolence the only possible “sponsor,” or “godparent.” It thus becomes the basic mediator between the destitute masses and an impersonallegal system that makessocial exploitation “inevitable” and “just” in the eyes of the dominating. Thestudy of “Vocé sabe com quem esta falando?!” as a ritual question has allowed us to pose and reconsider a series of problems associated with the analysis of a society such as Brazil: satisfied with its modern set of universal laws but framed in a markedly hierarchical skeleton. We have discovered how our ritual question compels us to analyze the relationship between the egalitarian dimension ofthe Brazilian system and the aristocratic (and hierarchical) side, which was shaped and maintained by centuries of slavery.

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If in the course of this analysis it was difficult to characterize Brazil as a fully capitalistic society operating mainly through the economic dimension, wealso find it difficult to typify Brazil as a hierarchical system, in the samesense that India might be. The suggestion was to situate Brazil midway between equality and hierarchy, between theindividualization that governs the egalitarian world of markets and capital and the code of personal moralities. Moreover, we saw howthislat-

ter code could not be characterized by strict standardization and sharp

dichotomies between black and white, outsiders and insiders, and what

is and whatis not, since it is replete with gradations and nuancesthat allow for one more minute difference and anothertonality. In facing this paradoxical institutionalization of ambiguity, my suggestion was that in Brazil we have two systems operating in a reflexive relationship with each other, so that we always tend to confuse change with oscillation from oneside to the other. Andit is true that there is nothing more drastic than the passage from the realm of person to the universe of individuals and vice-versa. From the internal point of view, it is as if they were two diverse and independentworlds but they complement each other in a complex way, contrary to our linear mode of thinking. Indeed, the question we must ask ourselves honestly is the follow-

ing: How could we adopt, fully and unproblematically, the principle of equality and the notion of the individual as these were constructed by eighteenth-century bourgeois rationalism? This whole chapter makesclear that we cannot avoid positing another related and basic question ofthe relationship betweensocialvalues and ideologies on the one hand and economic andpolitical systems on the other. If capitalism is always the same in its generallines, no one can deny that it may operate in social worlds with different preconceptions, ideas, and values. Howis capitalism fleshedoutin the midst of different cultural values? If we do not face up to this question, then J think our consideration of the world is doomedto bein-

creasingly remote and formalistic. Our study reveals that in Brazil the universal, global systems are permeated by the code of personalrelationships,a fact that also has been verified in other societies with simi-

lar problems, like Italy, Spain, Portugal, and Greece—not to mention

the rest of Latin America (Wagley 1968). Here, the codes of personal relationships are structural componentsof thesocial structure, not mete “survivals” from the past that will soon be swept away by the introduction of modern political and economic institutions. Contrary to any linear supposition of an evolutionary orrationalist cast, the study of

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~ our ritual question reveals the complicated coexistence of a strong system of personal relations and a legal system that is universally established and highly rational, like the traffic laws, for example. In fact, here we have the proof that a legal system (which was imported and applied with all institutional force) can be systematically warped by personal morality, so that its implementationis not effected in a cultural vacuum butin a veritable crucible of values and ideologies. Finally, it was my intention to show that the notions of individual and person are importantfor the sociology of Brazil and, by implication, for general sociological study. The two notions, taken together, enable us to understand a series of basic social processes. In particular, they shed light on the processes of individualization that in “holistic

societies” come down to movements or passages we would normally

associate with a reified notion of liminality. We thus discover that “liminality” can be equated with individualization in the very same way that, in individualistic societies, it can be equated with a high degree of personalization, when the individualis successful and becomes the focal point for the desires, aspirations, and motivations of a mass of other individuals, forming a chain that can be called “symbolic pa-

tronage.” Such a conclusion seems warrantedat least by our publicity

media, movies, andtelevision, which areso essential in fabricating VIPs

and superpersons in an individualistic universe. It was with this in mind that I examined the passage of persons into individuals andtried to tie together varioussocial phenomena thatare usually regarded as widely separate and independent. Now we must move on to a mote detailed study of these passages from person to individual and vice-versa, when certain paradigms of action will be examined through the stories of some heroes whopersonify basic cultural values and ideologies.

5. Pedro Malasartes and the

Paradoxes of Roguery

In the previous chapter I suggested that we might move on to an

analysis of our heroes, those persons who have lost their anonymity

and are now enthronedin the pantheon of paradigmatic Brazilian figures, either as examples to be imitated or as types to be avoided and banished to the dark realms of our social world. One can now discern the trajectory of this book that begins by interpreting collective rituals (such asthe ritual of inversion of the social order in Carnival) andfollows an increasingly personalized road thatleads to the typical actors of each festival: its heroes or characters, without which wefeel the momentis incomplete or even “without character.” In other words, the book begins by taking the mainset of Brazilian nationalrituals and by reading them as a powerful complexofrecipes, gestures, social roles, and ideologies, then it moves in the direction

of hierarchical social formula (the ritual question examinedin the previous chapter) that is, paradoxically, applied personally. We thus end up, not with empty formulas andreified structures viewed abstractly as a form ofcollective action and reaction, but with somebasicsocial processes typical of the Brazilian social practice and with some of the personages that infuse dynamism and give concreteness to the structure of the system. Indeed, if we accept the idea that societies are different because a certain number of dramasare regularly enacted by eachsocial formation, we can then argue that, if we have regular dramatizations, we

also should have the recurrenceof certain characters or personages. In the last two chapters I will discuss these characters and demonstrate how they are coherent with someof the mostbasic Brazilian ceremonies. 198

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Thereis no doubtthat one of the most serious problemsin the study of society in terms of patterns of conduct, values, and ideologies has been the reduction of the whole to its parts, with the totality being interpreted and sometimes explainedin termsof the individual, who is taken to be the motor behindevery social situation. The problem with the dichotomy or “conflict” between individual and group has found many “solutions” in the history of the social sciences and philosophy, with some authorsdecidingto side with the heroesas the real motors behind history andsocial life, and others taking the position that history is moved forward by the mainspring of impersonal mechanisms, a perspective which submerges the individualin the collective ocean of “tendencies,” “patterns,” “classes,”

29

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“contexts,” and so forth.

To begin with, I would say that the true sociological position does notrelate to either of these two positions. This may surprise some readets who areinclined to think that the sociological perspective favors the second position, where the individualis totally absent and is replaced by implacable collective “forces” that have the real power to create or destroy. In this view, sociological processes are made in a realm of abstract mechanisms where the view of-society as a living organism or theater of individual pacts and contracts gives way to a view of the collectivity as a machine —a steam engine with its compression chambers, fuel, and piston rods, as once suggested by Lévi-Strauss (see Charbonnier 1969).

But the true sociological approach excludesneither the individual nor the collectivity, with its conflicts, styles, forces, and pressures. Instead, it takes as its starting point, as a fundamentalsocial fact, the very construction of the dichotomy between individual andsociety. For it knows very well that in many cultures and societies history is never conceived in terms of such a dichotomy and interplay of forces; instead, it is conceived as an adventure or misadventure of gods andancestors. In a similar way, the study of society cannot be reduced to the world of individuals or to the impersonal mechanisms of the market, labor relationships, and the march of time. Rather, it is a matter of finding out in what situations and by meansof whatlines of force— that is to say, by means of what contradictions — specific social formations are inclined in fact to establish this dichotomy and regard it as central in defining their own social problematic. The problem then does notlie in taking sides in favor of a moreor less individualizing (or a mote psychological) position, but rather in knowing that this way of perceiving the question is socially and historically conditioned, since

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the terms of the dichotomy themselves do notconstitute absolutetruths. Instead, as I have tried to show in the previous chapter, they are relative and socially constructed. It is very important, then, to follow the lesson of Durkheim, who tried to grasp the underlying social reasons for the dichotomyitself, a posture that leads to a deep understanding of the issue becauseit accepts the dichotomyas a full and autonomoussocial fact and simultaneouslyrelativizes it. We discover that the opposition between “individual” and “society” could only have been confronted and pondered in its social and political terms in Western-like systems, whereat a cer-

tain point in history the individual began to be conceived as having a special social weight and specific moral importance, thus becoming the standard by which thecollectivity is measured—the very center toward which society is supposed to converge. Astheclassic formula putit, society was to be altered constantly so that the individualliving in it could achieve happiness, a goal which this system transforms into a “right.” In other words, the dichotomy becomespossible only when the notions of the individual and society cometo be conceivedasval-

ues, that is, when they cease to belong to the realm of omnipresent

infrastructural categories given by the gods or fate and becomesociological and political categories, a means of consciously thinking about the world. But if we give up the old and good dichotomy, how shall weformulate the problem of the actors in a given society? To do this, we must begin with how a given system constructsits basic forms ofclassification of the world, a process which involves elabo-

fating recurrent social dramas and inventing their regular actors. In

other words, we will have to assume as a starting point that, like dramatists, societies also create their dramas andtheir actors, and this

involves not only play and plot, stage and scene, but also roles and actors, as well as the conditions under which thepieceis to be staged and received. So when westudythe collective modeof expression known

as dramatization, we are simultaneously examining actors and social

roles, becausethe rules and regularities underlying the dramaalso tend to underlie the deeper motivations of the actors. Since both are sub-

ject to the same normsandtrajectories, they reproduce themselves on

variouslevels and in different scales, which, it should be pointed out,

produces the unevennessthat eventually leads to what we perceive as “social change.” The basic point then is that when wetalk aboutcertain patterns

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of social behavior, aboutcertain specific mechanisms used and abused by a given society, we are implicitly or explicitly talking about the actors wholive out these patterns or who are subjected to certain lines

of force operative in that society. For example, one cannot talk about

the myth of Santa Claus without discovering immediately who repro-

duces the myth and whobelieves in it. Thus, when wesay, “believes

in it,” we are notrestricting this belief to the supposedly “alienated” of innocent receiver of the narrative, as modern sociological analyses tend to do. We are includingthe wise creators of the narrative as well,

whoare just as caughtup in the myth andin thesetof actionsit helps to trigger as are those sectorsof society that firmly “believe” in it and “buyit.” It is in this sense that the “myth”is a mediator between pro-

ducers and consumers, sustaining them and, on certain occasions to

be pinpointed by sociological analysis, placing them in the big sack of illusions that belongs to the myth’s principal character. With due reservations, the situation is akin to one wefind in Lévi-Strauss’s eluci-

dation of the shamanistic cure. There, too, it is necessary to have a

“believer” (the patient or client), a myth (or technique) about which there is no doubtatall or doubt only within certain limits, and finally a shaman (the “producer”), who is just as entangled in this structure

as are all the other pieces (Lévi-Strauss 1958: chapter IX). In the context of this book, the reasoning goes somehowlike this: after the examination ofBrazilian Carnivals, parades, processions, and the irritating usages of the “Vocé sabe com quem esta falando?!” as collective forms of social definition and identification, we now must ask, “who are the actors in these dialogues and dramatic intrigues?

Well, they certainly are not the John Does of Frank Capra’s films, those sentimental and somewhat moving idealizations oflife in the United States in the 1940s seen from the most optimistic pointof view. Norare they the heroes painted by popularartists like Norman Rockwell, whose attractive super-realistic style focused not on the “beau geste” (or the theatrical gritos [cries] as we say in Brazil and Latin America) of paradigmatic and historical personages— peoplelike Bolivar, Dom Pedro I, Hidalgo, or O'Higgins! — but simply on the everyday realities 1A preliminary inspection reveals that in Latin America’s independency decisive moments were usually encompassedbya grifo (a cty) or an equivalent rhetorical/magi-

cal phrase, able simultaneously to exorcise the enemy and enhancesolidarity for the

patriots. Indeed, Colombia, Uruguay, Mexico, Ecuador, Brazil, and Puerto Rico have gritos as the climatic event of a fundamental “historical rite of passage.” Chile has a

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that surround our lives: the homecoming ofthe soldier, the very special work of the plumber,? the happiness of two people in love, the fright of boys caught swimming in a forbidden stream, the grandeur and disappointmentof a defeated local politician. Even when the subject is a historical figure or celebrity, the artist deliberately turns him into the common man— the “regular guy” stuffed with modest hopes and unblemished humanity. I want to suggest that to have aJohn Doe, one mustbe at the center of an individualistic universe, whose central

values uphold the dignity of the egalitarian pattern, which,afterall, serves everyone and everything. Literary or graphic representation, then, tends not to dramatize the personal and the unique: anything that is, ot could be taken as, a special model provided by luck or predestination. Instead it dramatizes what is generalized and standardized, so that the average American looking at John Doeis seeing himself in a mirror. Note howthis contrasts with the personalizing — indeed, the biographical — operation andtheeffect of the Brazilian ritual question examined in the previous chapter. As we saw, with the “Vocé sabe com quem esta falando?!” onetries to pass over (or under) the law precisely by the acute and arrogant invocation of a personal fact which allows the universal law to be circumvented by the person.

In the United States, however, as a society that attemptsto live out

the egalitarian creed, it is historians who narrate the exemplary actions, including the great paradigmatic and exemplary deeds of American history. But these creators of historical dramas always emphasize the averageside of the great personality; they always invent typeslike John Doe andconstruct historical megastars as if they were justlike the next door neighbor. National heroes, thus, are presented and represented above all as “regular guys,” which is entirely consistent with the mythology of a society where everyone is equal before the law, where dramatic exchange of words culminating in an abrazo between San Martin and O’Higgins as the paradigm forthis historical moment. In every case, historical dramatis personae ate conceived as special, predestinated to heroic actions.

2Ofall the workers who mayvisit a house to do repairs, plumbers havea special

or liminal position in the American symbolic system, maybe because they: (a) deal

with categories that in American culture are located in between the “messy” (which is taboo), such as the leaking pipe and the sewer system, and the “neat” (or clean,

individualized and properly classified [or “distinguished”] object or action); and (b)

because as perfect strangers, they penetrate the mostsacred areas of American homes, such as the bathrooms, tofix extremely useful but inelegant household utensils like

toilets and sinks.

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all are importantandpotentially heroic. However, there exists an obviously complex relationship between the “egalitarian creed” (and individualism) and the social need for heroes or superheroes who serve as models —or“role models,” as Americanslike to put it in plain conversation and frequentmoralistic discourse. Individualism emphasizes freedom only to generate a colossal array of repressive structures of which a permanent team ofcelebrities are an intrinsic part. Hence, police

officers, doctors, judges, and attorneys all major law enforcers, invested

with utmost authority in an otherwise seemingly anarchic universe — are legion and fundamental dramatis personae in American mythology. To my mind, they are needed to be the focus of an implicit but effective, real or symbolic patronage, giving the actual regular guys a role modelto be internalized and followed. American heroes with their “success” stories, therefore, are important referents to reintroduce hier-

archicallinks amongindividuals, categories, and groups. In this sense, they are “relational beings” and they reestablish relational codes in an individualistic universe. Through them, mediation and, aboveall, gradations can beestablished, allowing an alternative emotional, relativ-

istic, and personal representation of the system, in contrast with the hegemonic “legalistic-rational” view which tends to be mechanical and which rules out paradoxes and other complex dilemmaspresent in the operation of any human society. It should be no surprise, therefore,

that American “megastars” and superheroes all tend to be represented

as having a dual personality that corresponds to a perceptible hypocritical behavior, which the press delights in denouncing and unmasking. Just like the dichotomy between Superman and Clark Kent—or Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde—we all know that those presidents, governots, senators, Jeffersons, Washingtons, and celebrities in general are just like us in their “secret” lives. But, as in the movies, it is up to Lois

Lane (a newspapetwoman) to keep the sectetot reveal it and risk mor-

tally wounding the myth. Because ofthis, American heroes are at the same time the supreme role model —aspresidents, cowboys, Superman, ot Batman—and “regular guys.” It is to solve this seemingly basic contradiction posed by individualism and egalitarianism that popular folk heroes have a “fixed” face and body(given in a mask and in a uniform). This “double personality” syndrome can be interpreted as a way of reconciling the person (represented in the needed institutionalized role model) with the zwdzvidual (the common folks who, precisely because ofall that, Aappz/y —and “voluntarily”— internalize and follow the law). As superhero and “megastar” one is above the rules,

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butas an individual(the dialectical “other side”) one is bonded to the

law.3

In Brazil, as in other hierarchizing societies, the contrast is com-

plete. The dramatic character or hero must never be the common man, someone whorepresents himself througha set of actions perceived as boring, uninteresting routine. Instead, as we saw in studying Carnival and the analysis of the “Vocé sabe com quem esta falando?!” ritual question of the previous chapter, the hero should always be tragic to be interesting. His life should be a tortuoustrajectory filled with unexpected reversals and unmaskings. Our model ofhero is muchcloserto types like the Count of Monte Cristo, a paradigmatic figure of unmasking and vengeance, an act that conferslife, legitimacy, and irresistible attractiveness on all of ourtruly

popular heroes, from television characters to high and low fictional figureslike Matragas and Malasattes, as well as legendary historical figures such as Lampiao and Anténio Conselheiro. Our dramas rarely promise that the hero will achieve happiness with the resources and social position he holds at the opening of the narrative. On the contrary, we are always mystified and indeed fascinated by tales of enrichment and violent and unmitigated social climbing. The usual core of the drama is that the central character or hero ends up with much morethan he possessed at the start. As the drama unfolds, we see a gradual identification of the actor with hisrole, as if our real interest were in the transformation of the average person —theindividual subjected to the general laws of labor exploitation, as in the case of Pedro Malasartes— into a personage, orbetter, into a real personality or superperson. Thus the trajectory of our dramatis personae follows the same generalcurve of the society that produces the dramatization, for in both cases one ought to be something that one is not yet. The appeal of an open, rich, and grandiose futureis the crucial pointof all the reversals and tragedies we reproduce in our narratives. Indeed, our stories always begin with a poor unfortunate buried in the depthsofsociety, and they end withhis blazingsocial ascent, when

he marries the king’s daughter or, as in the moderntelevision soap

’Which, by the way, can be taken to be one of the major questions behind Steven-

son's Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and Wilde’s Dorian Gray, written at the peak of Victorian individualism. Thus Mr. Hyde expresses the powerful person, whosesearch for pleasure and consequent destructionis inevitable, and Dr. Jekyll who, as an individual, remains obedientto the law butrealizes he can never be a regular human being again.

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‘opera, the daughter of a wealthy magnate. It is important to note, however, that while our character may have been marked by poverty and misfortune, he was never defined by mediocrity or lack of nobility. From thestart there is some mark of his special character, which is always revealedto us in a substantive fashion by meansofcertain intrinsic signs in the personality of the hero. Asthe story proceeds our hero mustconfront the mostterribletrials that will confirm his exceptional qualities, for the obstacles placed in his path will makeclear the line or path of his destiny. And,in Brazil, “destiny” means a clearly marked path upward or downward, a journey in which one can discern a goal, a direction, or a dominant thread.

Noteveryone, then,is given a destiny, whichis a category that surfaces as a special sign and mark for someone whohas been chosen or predestined in some way. These trials and obstacles also reveal that life and the world are harsh and cruel; andsince our heroes are generally without family and. alone in the world, they live an isolated existence in which they must display all their enormous and invincible courage in the face of obstacles. Once again wefind thecategorical opposition between the Louse and the street (which correspondsto the dichotomy, family/world) and the clear implication that the domain of the street is cruel and demandsstruggle. Living in a cruel, hostile world, our hero canrely only on his own resources, his only motivation being his hope of finally reaching safe harbor: the upperlevels of society. One could say that the trajectories of our heroesare like those traced on the maps of the Portuguese navigators, who wentout looking for new sea routes and ports with nothing but hope and their compasses to sustain them. As we all know, the symbol of hope is an anchor, a maritime instrument

for sailors on the high, open seas, people markedfor an encounter with their own destiny and, through their ascent to it, an encounter with their past as well. Such is the case with the Count of Monte Cristo, for example. At the very moment hetakes his revenge, he redeems his honor and shows himself to be completely the prisoner of his past. For without the past there simply would be no vendetta system, as I shall try to show in chapter 6.4 There is an enormous resemblance amongour heroes. Thetrajectory of those at the dawn of the modern era—in the era of the great 4For an inspired study of vengeance and the Count of Monte Cristo, see Antonio Candido (1964).

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navigations—seemsthe sameas that of our heroestoday. They are people marked out by destiny, poor people of low birth who will end up enjoying their conquestoverall their trials and obstacles. The myths of Brazilian television heroes have the same components as the old myths told by the fireside in our homes and plantation mansions. And the myth of our grandfathers and navigators is the very myth of our society. In all cases, our eyes are always on the future; and what we see there, in this mirror of our rites and myths, is the sign of greatness and enrichment.* In our ideological perception, we do not see John Doeor a society of “regular guys” but a system of great patrons, millionaires and aristocrats. We sympathized with the figure ofJohn Doe, of course, but our heroes are preferably “renouncers” and “avengers.” To put it better: our hero is the person who,by virtue of renouncing everyone and everything,finally earns the sacred right to exercise his revenge from a position in society superior to that of his enemies. This is clearly the drama of the Count of Monte Cristo, the man continu-

ally struggling with the weight of his past, a past that actually ends up fully determining his future. The myth that gives us honor and definition is a myth that requires at least two lives, or a radical separation between what we were and whatweshall be. That is the promise of all our gods, saints, and politicians —andofall our revolutions.

Welive in an eternal future because we are irremediably imprisoned in our past. We can only come to be what we promised ourselves because we are faithful to what we were. Behind the complexities of words we find a deep and passionate truth: Brazil is the perpetual land of hope and the future because,like its heroes, it is a society deeply anchored to its past. Leaving aside these deeper implications about our national identity and society, we can see clearly that our heroes and myths follow trajec>This dream of getting rich— mainly through predatory activity—and then returning “home,”is the salient attribute of the Baxdetrante (the explorer of the Brazilian backlands) whom Vianna Moog,in an intelligent but neglected book, Bandezrantes e Pionezros (1956), takes as a symbolfor the “spirit” of the Brazilian mode of coloniza-

tion, in opposition to the pzoneer, who came to the United States with his family

as a colonizer and in the process invented the American idea of the frontier. The

bandetrante is a relational being who never quite severed his strong links with his past and his motherland, Portugal. Heis nostalgic for Europe and unhappyat having to stay in the new land. The exact opposite happened with the pioneer, who con-

structed his new identity in his newly made home, hence becoming the first authentic hero of the new breed of “Americans.”

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tories parallel to those of our society. But who are our heroes? This question is best answered by examining one of them, Pedro Malasattes, that well-known masterof astutetrickery. Before discussing Malasartes’s case in detail, however, we musttry to situate him within the general Brazilian system of important characters so that we can fully appreciate him and his sociological importance. A Triangle of Dramas, a Triangle of Heroes

In studying our most basic rituals, we saw the emerging figure of a triangle: a triangle of rituals. This “figure” emerged in the course of serious sociological analysis and was something of a surprise — atleast to this investigator —who hadstarted out with the usual dual and clearcut contrast between Carnival as a rite andfestival of disorder in opposition to Independence Day as a drama of order paradigmatically sponsored by the armedforces. In fact, I would have remained fatally stuck in this classic dichotomy,if I had not adopteda radicalsociological approach which led me to compare the two dramas with certain forms of behavior recurring in everyday life. It was then that I came to see that Carnival was structurally similar to the model of “joking relationships” between persons and groups (when the barriers of social position are suspended) and that Independence Day has similarities

to relationships of respect. Hence the crucial question: Where would

we find relationships of “avoidance” and neutralization? As we saw in chapter1, “avoidance relationships” appear to be an integral part of the rituals sponsored and controlled by the Catholic Church. In them wefind a clear compromise between hierarchies and individual freedom, with the saint and the Churchreconciling and mediating differences, thus allowing for a synthesis between the people and the authorities, the weak and the strong, the saints and the sinners. We thus discover a triangle of dramatizations, all of which are essential in defining oursocial identity as Brazilians. This follows the logic of a popular Brazilian racial theory which states that, as a society, Brazil is the result of the mixture ofthree races: blacks, Indians, and

whites. As a consequence, we Brazilians can be simultaneously the

“civilizing” white Portuguese colonist, the black African slave who embodies the worst form of labor exploitation, and the native Indian who wasthe original master of the land and,according to this ideology of the three races, embodied nature and love of freedom. But beyond

this ideology of the three races, we are also soldiers, the faithful, and

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parts of the madcap carnavalesque crowd. So we get this complex and surprisingly coherent triangular equation: Parades = soldiers = hierarchy + order = whites (or superiors) Processions = pious faithful = neutralization of hierarchy = blacks (or inferiors) Carnivals = madcap crowds = inversion of order = Indians (or marginal people)

For eachside of this social triangle there is a moment whenspecial focus is put on each of the corresponding categories. That is why we can say that we are all each of the elements, despite the enormous concrete social and historical distances between them. There is no doubt that we find ourselves dealing not only with a complex society that obviously reproducesits general history and economic schemas and experiences, but also with a system thatcrystallizes it basic components into paradigms(i.e., in highly generalized and generalizing social roles) and invests these components with fundamental importance. In Brazilian society, then, there is a functionality operative at the very level of the social consciousness of the actors, sinceall sides of the triangle

are crucial. To apply a simple geometrical formula: the triangle is equilateral. Each angle of the triangle represents a possible way of “reading” the Brazilian social world from a different yet basic perspective.

The crucial point, in other words,is that in our Brazilian ideology the

social universe is systematically translated and commentedon in terms of three absolutely essential viewpoints. Without any one of them,our society would probably be impoverished and perceived as symbolically mutilated. Now,besides the three dramas andthethreecategories already noted, we find three paradigmatic figures, each corresponding to each angle of the figure: Parades = caxias = authorities = laws = guadrados (“dim-witted straights’) Processions = saimts = pilgrims (romezros) = renouncers Carnivals = malandros (“togues”) = marginal figures

It is obvious that we have a continuum ranging from orderto disorder, from tightly closed routineto total liminal openness, with each marked point corresponding to stereotyped social positions that are familiar to all sectors of Brazilian society. We know, for example, that the heroes of Carnival, the figures who reveal that momentas “carna-

valesque,” are representations(or fanzaszas) of marginal people:either because theyare situated at the boundaries or limits of historical time,

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like the Greeks and the Romans; or because they may be situated at the extremes of our geographical frontiers, like the Hawaiians, the “African-Bahians,” the Chinese, and the legionnaires; or because they may be hidden by ourprisons or the police. In any case, we findall of the marginal people at Carnival, as if Brazilian society had opened its innermost parts, it social hold (DaMatta 1973a). If we choose to lumpall these types in one social category, and we do thatvery well, we know thatthey all are to be classified as mza/andros (rogues). The reason is not that we feel obliged to view and locate the world of the Romans, Greeks, Chinese, and Hawaiians as a world of roguery.It is that here in the heat of the Carnival andcity streets, in the midst of samba rhythm andthe Brazilian summer, theyare totally out of place. Andtherogueis a being outofplace, dislocated from the formal rules that govern thesocial structure, relatively excluded from the labor market — indeed, we define and represent him asonetotally averse to work and highly individualized in his typical way of walking, his seductive mode of speaking, and in his singular dressing.® To create a “Carnival,” in otherwords,basically means to attemptto play therole of rogue, to try to insinuate oneself into a universe. that is individualized and therefore perceived as much motecreative andfree by the hierarchizing skeleton of the society. The paradigm of the rogue is Pedro Malasartes, who in his urban variation often wears a striped shirt, a ring with the image of St. George, and two-toned shoes.

The direct opposite of the rogue is the actor of the military parades

and the rites of order: the caxias, the military hero and leader. His

name —significantly derived from the venerable army patron, the Duke

of Caxias? — evokes the regular, uniformed realm from which he emerged

to win popularity in a society also fascinated by order and hierarchy. With the caxias we ate no longer in a realm marked by the creative

6This characterization of the mal/andro was tested in an inquiry conducted in Rio de Janeiro. It included residents of the “Zona Sul” (upper middle class and middle class) and of the “Zona Norte” (middle class, lower middle class, and marginal work-

ets). This inquiry was initiated with the help of the graduate student Maria do Carmo Wandeck. I express my thanks here for her assistance. The result of the inquiry was surprisingly contrary to what one might have expected. The social definition or de-

scription of the malandro and of malandragem (roguery) was completely consistent

in Rio de Janeiro and entirely independentof variations in social status or social seg-

ment among those interviewed. The inquiry only confirms that we are dealing here with a commonsocial idiom. 7See above, chapter 1, note 2.

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music and gestures that typify the social interstices and margins where roguery prevails. We are in the formal realms of our social universe, where everything should be undercontrol. In fact, what we have here is another “reading” of the world, one that definesit in terms ofits laws, decrees, governmentrules, and regulations. Here, the clear and imposingpresenceofthetotality is represented by rules and laws which stand in marked contrast to the individualized world where the part — with a dash of shrewd wit and the pleasure of Rabelaisian laughter — has a chance at an eventual triumphover the whole, as Pedro Malasar-

tes demonstrates. When we change our perspective and look at the world from the perspective of Independence Day and its drama, we find that everything is ordered and in its proper place. Totality and hierarchization are what count, not the creativity of each human being such as wefind in the “carnavalesque” theater where the mooring lines of the totality seem to be cut and everything occurs on multiple levels, each with its own zone of action and reality. So in the world

of roguery the important thing is whatis inside: the feelings of the

heart that find outlet in voice, sentiment, and improvisation. Here, the heart makes the rules. In the world of military parades, however, the “external,” the visible are the crucial thing: medals, uniforms, weap-

ons, salutes, and fixed forms of behavior. But who stands between the caxzas and the malandro, between order and disorder, as the hero of empty, neutral spaces where avoidance

and alternatives are possible? The hero here is obviously the renouncer, the person who, on various levels, uses different ways and means to reject the social world.® Thus, if the caxzas reinforces the existing social order and wants to maintainit, if the mza/andro —asan interstitial character — does not want to changeit, as we shall see in the case of Pedro Malasartes, the renouncerreally longs for anotherreality. This is not a figure that steps to marches or sambas;instead, he is a dramatis per8] am obviously referting to all social types that in Brazil appear alone such as itinerants (or romezros), pilgrims (peregrinos), ascetics (or ermitdes), and saints (santos). “Mothers” and “fathers” of the saints (mediums)in Afro-Brazilian religiouscults also follow the same social paradigm bytheoretically renouncing their families, husbands, wives, jobs, money, and a normal, regularlife. I think that manyof the types so commonin ourcities (t4p0s da rua and other characters of that sort) can bealso

viewed as a weak variant of renouncets. They are all people who havefailed with the

expectations of family or career, “rejected” the social order, and oriented themselves to other-worldly matters. See Mello Morais Filho (n.d.), for a rich description of these types in Rio de Janeiro at the start of the twentieth century.

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- sonae whoinvents his own music andtries to express himself by a singular code. With the renouncer the question is not tolive (as the caxzas does) nor to survive (as does the malandro). His aim is to create another kindoflife, a different, parallel reality. This being the case, prayers are the meansheusesto relate to the world. He does not discourse and write, producing laws and dectees as does the caxzas. He does not

sing and dance, producing sambas as does the malandro. The renouncer prays and journeys in search of a promised land where human beings will finally be able to achieve their ideals of justice and social peace. The rogue promisesa life of “shade and fresh water” (sombra e agua fresca) in which interior well-being and reality are more important than the world. The caxzas points to his formal position in the world. But the renouncertries to unite the interior and the exterior dimensions oflife to create a new, alternative world. The rogue andthecaxzas offer carnivals and parades. The renouncer does notoffer a higher life by virtue of social and economicascent; heoffers a wholly new social world. Such was the case with Antonio Conselheiro and, to a lesser extent,

with all Brazilian “social bandits” (like Lampiao). Indeed, I want to suggest that the renouncer seemsto be thesocial equivalent of the revolutionary leader in a hierarchizing social universe such as that of Brazil. Having been abandonedbythe world in which he oncelived, he does not try to maintain the rules or play tricks with them individually. He tries to create new social spaces, thus going far beyond the Count of Monte Cristo. For the Count of Monte Cristo returns to take his revenge, thereby fully accepting the code of his society and a meeting with his past. The renouncer, on the other hand, lets go of everything, especially his past, and invests in the ml/ennium. The aim of a Monte Cristo is the destruction of his enemiesto restore the social order andits fundamental values. The aim of a renouncer is to create a new society and a new age. Lampiado, the famous northeast Brazilian bandit, was more like the Count of Monte Cristo than Jesus, who seemed to be the model for Anténio Conselheiro, the notorious Brazilian messianic leader of Canudos.® The paradigmatic role of renouncer, then,is one availableto all of us. We know very well who he is and, better yet, what he oughtto be. The renouncer must combat and overcome his pride and vanity. 9There can be no doubt that Anténio Conselheiro actualized the Christ paradigm

with his agony, renunciation, andglory. Conselheiro did not flee or go into exile. He

died where he had preached his message and invented his society. For an inspired

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He must abandon the material world with its wealth and injustices. He must betotally consistent, and he cannotenjoy any longer theprivileges of inconsistency between his words, deeds,living, and being. He mustlive for his group, leaving aside egoistic interests and creating a vast external space where he can implementtherules he himself in-

vents. He can no longerrely on the laws, decrees, and hierarchies of

his original social group; he must depend on what springs from his

innermostself and his deepestdesires. Finally, the renouncer must cease

to be complementary to someotherfigure in the social world, as the rogue complements the policeman and the caxias complements the marginal membersofsociety. To reiterate a point already emphasized by Dumont(1970b: chapter 3), the renouncer individualizes himself,

thus creating the conditions to makerelative and somehow unreal the world from which he came. By “renouncing” it, he shows to his fellow companionsthefragility and arbitrariness of their conventions, thus creating the possibility of a “reinvention” of society amid the hierarchized world of authority in which he presently lives. In my view, such was the case with Antdénio Conselheiro. To define the renouncer in these terms is obviously to place him on thesocial plane of the saints. And why not? We know that the basic modelof the renouncer in Western society is the one adopted andlegitimated by the Church through the model ofJesus, who renounced worldly things, especially the temporal poweroffered to him by Satan, but remained a part of the hierarchy of heaven as the Son of God. ThusJesus also presents a paradox, for in a very real way he embodies the contradictions between hierarchy (of which he is a part as the Son) and individualism in its purest form (expressed in him by his renunciation of the world). This should help us understand the perduring combination of Catho-

lic elements in the renouncers of the Brazilian backlands, with bits

and pieces of medieval ideology that depict a strongly hierarchical society which the renouncers must recreate. It also explains an almost Opposite association: the element of renunciation in thelife of those Catholic priests who draw sociopolitical consequences from gestures of “disobedience” to the hierarchy of the Church andby conditionally analysis of the Christ paradigm in connection with thetrajectory of the revolutionary hero, see Victor Turner (1974: chapters 2 and 3). Turner sees Becket and Hidalgo as

heroes who modeled their lives on the paradigm of Christ and his sacrifice. In my terminology, they were both following the model of the “renouncer.”

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withdrawing from it and setting up their own rules and community, as was the caseof the famous Father Cicero RomAoinJuazeiro. To these figures one could perhapsalso add somedictators whoproject a social image based on personalsacrifice and the millennium, no matter how perverted it may be. Thus, there is a double way of approaching the renouncer. Thefirst is provided bythe ideologyof the Catholic Church with its paradigm oflife based on the vowsof chastity (renunciation of reproduction and sensual pleasure), poverty (renunciation of material reproduction), and obedience (renunciation of individual will and its inner spaces). Priests, then, can be viewed as “renouncers,”just as there is an element of renunciation in the Roman Catholic Church as a body. The second approach to renunciationis political. In certain societies and historical circumstances a political leader who has come to power through a nondemocratic movement maypresent himself as a man of sacrifice who has truly renouncedthe glories of this world. I need hardly point out the relevance of these associations to the case of Brazil, where politicians who,in discourse and gesture, have presented themselves as renouncets of this world have met with clamorous

success. The case of President Janio Quadres—who, in 1961 renounced

the presidency seven monthsafter being elected, leading Brazil into its deepest political modern institutional crisis— comes immediately to mind as the mosttypical, if ironic, example. Everything suggests that there is a direct link between messianism and the presence of the past (perceivedd as an obstacle to legitimate transformation) and a dread of change. Asa result, the only possible way to break with the past and liberate the future is to imagine a radical social movement which —in such a system hopes to turn thefuture into a millennium and the leader into a messiah. So we have three rituals associated with three dominant characters: the caxias, the rogue, and the renouncer. Besides the relationships of transformation that exist among them, however, we must also note that

each covers a wide area. They cannot and shouldnot beregarded as static types, but rather as poles toward which certain prevailing social principles of Brazilian society tend and around which they eventually crystallize. We can say that the caxzasis wholly within the social order and preoccupied with defending and implementing the mostexplicit social rules. But we mustnote that he is not alonein this position, for this is also the place of the “dull-witted boob” (quadrado), the “clown” (palhaco), and the “sucker” (o#ério). Thus we find complexities and gradations even within the samesocial space. A caxias who is very much

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convinced ofhis position as a maker and protector of laws can easily cease to be their master and becometheir blind, faithful servant who is a naive and dull-witted boob—the complete guadrado.It 1s only a step from there to becoming a complete sucker (0/4710), a common

fool who knows only to obey, is never critical, and therefore is the

eternally favored victim ofall rogues. Thus the social space of the caxdas —as a social model — is complex and allowsfor the existence of other similar roles. When we talk about the caxzas and try to analyze the sociological implications of this social position, we are really talking aboutcharacterslike Policarpo Quaresma, the unhappy hero of Lima Barreto’s novel. The caxzas is not a simple social type. He embodies a complex combination of a character who is obedient and respectful for the law, has bureaucratic competence and absolute loyalty, is honest and sincere in his credulous and uncritical patriotism, and has a desire to see Brazil change and improve. Therein lies the tragedy of a caxtas like Quaresma, whoseeksto effect a revolution through laws, decrees, and formal requirements. 1°

The rogue occupies an equally complex social space, ranging from the simple act of shrewdness of which anyoneis capable to the pointed jabsof the real professional. The social field covered by the rogue goes in a gradation from his typical gesture, the roguery thatis socially approved and positively regarded as a manifestation of skill and liveliness, to acts that are downright dishonest. When this happens, the rogueceases to make living by meanslike the ezto and clever dodges and instead he becomes an authentic marginal or bandit. Just as the caxias runs the risk of turning into a complete pa/hago (clown), so the rogue runstherisk of becoming a completely marginal figure who 10Policarpo Quaresmais the main character of Barreto’s novel Triste Fim de Poli-

carpo Quaresma (published in book form in 1915), the tragic story of a patriotic bu-

reaucrat who,obsessed by Brazil and convinced that the main obstacle for our progress is linguistic, proposesin a fine petition to the National Congress the substitution of Portuguese for Tupi-Guarany as the Brazilian official language. The only problem is that Policarpo Quaresma writes his petition in Tupi-Guarany, causing surprise and

revealing the ignoranceof the authorities. The book tells the story of the conflict between an honest and generous caxtas—who,significantly, used to work at the Ministry of War—anda social environment viciously dishonest, hypocritical, and stupid. The

book ends with Policarpo being shotto death as a punishmentfor his defense of some

innocent individuals unjustly imprisoned during the so-called “whip revolt” (revo/ta da chibata) of 1910, when navy sailors involved in a mutinykilled an officer and demanded the end of physical punishment on Brazilian war ships.

11The word for “clown” here, pa/haco, has extremely derogatory connotations in

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can no longer take advantage of the interstices of the system where he keeps himself in a delicate balance between order and disorder. The same holds true for the renouncer, who occupies an extreme position, a sort of ideal point of no return in the system, butis also surrounded by other important paradigmatic roles. The constitution

of a renounceris often believed to be a work of destiny when, for some tragic reason, a personis forced to leave the existing order, which plunges

him into marginality and turns his orientation to “the other world.” There is thus a close relationship between the renouncer, the pilgrim (peregrino), the romezro, and the piousfaithful. Indeed, whether on a gtandiose scale or a small one, all of them, by virtue of their own will or through the hand ofdestiny, reject and flee society to focus their attention and energies on “the other world,” a zone located outside

the organized, programmed, and well-knownsocial space. Onecan thussay that the danger facing the caxzas is to betotally immersed in the world of order, taking it to be an ultimate and irrefutable truth and thus losing sight of the fact that laws and decrees were enacted at a certain point in history and can be changed. Norms are arbitrary, conventional, and relative. As we begin to move away from this position within the existing order, where we are defined externally by plainly visible general rules, we begin to be rogues. If we gostill further outside the system, we become bandits or renouncers, depending on the motives behind our move. To judge by the famous renouncer Augusto Matraga, created by the writer Jodo Guimaraes Rosa, to be studied in the next chapter, I would say that those who remain im-

prisoned in the past and to vimganca (vengeance) as their basic social code and form ofrelationship tend to become bandits—or, “social bandits” to use Eric Hobsbawn’s expression—and enter the cangago (the backwoods) or the urban criminal underworld. Indeedsocial bandits usually have a personal history marked by vengeance; and, as general ot collective avengers, they tend to be given legitimacy by the people of the region where they operate, whom they cometo represent in some way (see Hobsbawn 1969). Social bandits, then, have a biography marked by the same destiny as the Count of Monte Cristo: first he suffers inBrazil. Inquiries indicate that, in some contexts, it may be equivalent to cornoorcabrao (cuckold), or even moreoffensive designations, in Rio de Janeiro. It indicates someone who whois not aware of the sexual needs of his wife (a mortal sin in the code of Brazilian machismo). To be a palhacois to be the subjectofridicule, the first

step in losing one’s self respect or vergonha, cariter, and honra (which is less used inBrazil).

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justice at the hands of his enemies, whoare generally powerful landowners or wealthy businessmen;later he enters a liminal and highly dangerous zone. There he earns his power and developshis socialresources, which are generally associated with the supernatural realm.

There the paradox of cruelty and spontaneous generosity toward human beings in general and the poorin particular becomespart of the definition of his social personality. Finally, he takes his vengeance on the rich in a general wayby stealing from them andgivingto the poor, reverting the normal flow of goods and money. It is in this promotion of justice with his own hands andresources that onefindsthelegitimacy and popularity of these characters. But it should be noted that social bandits almost always return to the social order in the final chapter of their biographies. They return to take their vengeance, thusclosely following the model of the Count of Monte Cristo. Anotherpossibility, however, is to act like the famous

Augusto Matraga whofollows a different course. As we shall see in the next chapter, he too wasa victim of injustice and humiliation, but instead of returning to the social order to exact his revenge, he decided to wait for his “hour and moment” in the hope of becominga saint. Thusthe system of characters, like the ritual system and the corre-

spondingsocial dramas, allows for transformations. It should never be viewed statically. As I indicated earlier, to study the ritual system is simultaneously to clarify an equivalent system of social roles that characterizes and gives life to those rituals. The sociological approach is notto give priority to the cart or the horse but to study both elements as part and parcel of one and the same phenomenon,whosestructural principles enable us to explain both the rite and the character as an expression of the same general forces. Finally, and before moving to the study of the myth of Pedro Malasartes as a paradigmaticstory ofall rogues, I should point out that our three heroesare well known in both “popular awareness” and “high culture.” One cannotsay that these figures are heroes only amongthe semi-illiterate masses or, probably even worse, only in the minds and imaginations of educated anthropologists. The rogue inhabits both popular culture andthe pages of our more imaginative fiction. In fact, Anténio Candido (1970) regards him as thestarting point of ourliterature, since he distinguishes Memmozrs of a Sergeant of the Militia (written in 1852-53) by Manuel Anténio de Almeida from theclassical picaro narrative and considersit to be ourfirst typically national novel. Heclassifies it by the expression “romance malandro,” a novel/

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romance ofthe rogue. But besides the rogue hero, we have the Rabelaisian heroes depicted by Jorge Amado, Macunaima, and a host of “heroes without any character”!? that have inspired our playwrights, such as Armando Gonzaga and Ariano Suassuna, who have dealt respectively with urban andrurallife. Ourliterature is also filled with caxias figures: Bentinho in Machadode Assis’s Don Casmurro, andIsaias Caminha, Gonzaga de Sa, and Policarpo Quaresma in the novels of Lima Barreto. They fully share the values of those who prefer to endure suffering and madness rather than break violently with the system. Finally, we have the renouncers in their concrete historical actualization as “Conselheiros” (see da Cunha 1938; Queirés 1965; Monteiro

1974: Della Cava, 1975), and “Matragas.” Thepoint is that “high culture” is not invented outof thin air. Like the so-called “popular culture,” it is an expression of the sameideological structure that after all molds the entire society. We do well, then, to turn ourattentionto the figure of Pedro Malasartes, the rogue who sowell defines one of the main components of our character. Let us see how the figure is elaborated by the people in his various qualities: his originality and generality, his precision and anonymity, his anxious quest for justice and his playful incongruity, his hopefor a different world and his conformity with law and order. The Myth of Malasartes

Again I mustregister a note of surprise that most of the phenomena studied here have been overlooked by official Brazilian sociology. In fact, a curious relationship of inversion is involved since all of these phenomena from Carnivals to authoritarianism and malandragem — are familiar to the average person and, perhapsfor that very reason, l novel, 12A reference to the subtitle of Mario de Andrade’s influential and classica that recounts Macuinaima: O Heréi sem nenhum carater published in 1928, a work andsituation, the biography of a hero, Macuinaima, wholives according to context onetravels like the in opposition to the “rational” mode of social navigation where maps). It is worth l caxias: by calibrating goals and norms(and using explicit cultura

develops an mention that Vianna Moog, in his classical Bandesrantes and Pioneers,

Dias, one of the analysis of the malandro as a social type. He even points to Jorge

and typical main characters of Machado deAssis’s novel Dom Casmurro, as a perfect not search does and Brazilian malandro. Buthis study is psychologically otientated

of characters for the sociopolitical implications of the social type, either in a system s. (as I do here) or in termsof social and ideological practice

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remote from the interests of the sociologist or anthropologist. The adventures of Pedro Malasartes, a popular narrative known throughout Brazil,13 have attracted the attention only of journalists and students

of folklore, who have focused on hisfarcical and astute spirit, whereas

the social sciences have made noeffort to study this figure and his adventures. This clearly has something to do with methodological resources and available techniques, butit is equally clear that some preju-

dice is involved: indeed, we all know that such narratives, as well as

Carnival, soccer, popular music, and the “Do you know who you’re talking to?”are not “serious subjects” worthy of sociological study. Finding the precise reasons for this prejudice against the studyof truly familiar subjects is an important task that remains to be carried out. Here I simply wantto call attention to a body of narratives and social facts

that seem to be innocent but that, for this very reason, may be basic

in understanding the ways in which we define ourselves as a society, a people, and a nation. In the stories of Pedro Malasartes we are struck by the looseness of the narrative style, in which countless independentepisodes are combined as the narratorseesfit. These accounts— which define the character of the hero and thesociety in which he operates— depict Pedro deceiving or outwitting people in social positions of power and prestige, even selling feces to a very rich man. Others depict much more ambiguoussituations where the distance between shrewdness and social offense is muddied, for example, inducing a powerful plantation owner to murder, the use of a corpse to make money, and the conscious, deliberate destruction of goods of production and consumption owned bya large proprietor. It is clear that we have a “hero without any character.” To putit better, we are dealing with a personage whocharacteristically knows how to transform every disadvantage into an advantage, an ability which is the sign of any good rogueandall good roguery. Thus, Pedro Malasartes shows us how to turn death and a corpse into something positive and alive, deriving gain and money from his own sorrow and loss. He also teachesus to accept the relationship between “crap and money,” to learn the profound equation ‘This is true even amongtribal groups that have had longties with Brazilian so-

ciety. It is true, for example, among the Apinayé of Central Brazil whom I studied

(DaMatta 1976b). I found fairly complete version of the myth of Pedro Malasartes.

Thevariations introduced in the Apinayé version are interesting and deserve a study

of their own.

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that money(andits correspondingsocial position) is rotten and disposable,like the feces hesells to a rich and conceited fool. In the mod-

ern language of Brazil, Pedro Malasartes is not only a hero without

any character butalso a “subversive.” Persecuting the powerful, healways administers the dose of vengeance and destruction that points up the absence of a morejust social relationship between the rich and the poor. He thereby reveals the moral code that should guidetherelationship between the weak andthe strong, a code grounded mainly on social involvement and moral respect between rich and poor. After an initial situation that we shall examine in detail, the nar-

rative breaks up into a series of short episodes that need not follow any particular order. In form and contentall these episodes depict a hero who prefers to transcend the existing order in some way. Hisis a tangled andsolitary course in which all the symbols of power and hierarchy of oursociety are rejected and madeto lookridiculous. Pedro, then, is a man of the interstices who keeps returning to the existing order to exact his revenge. Through ridicule and shrewdness (typical weapons ofthe weak), he restores the hopeofcorrecting the world by E compensating for social differences. Becausethevariant of the story published by Camara Cascudo (1967) is the only version that provides us with the origins of Pedro Malasartes and thestarting pointfor his life as a trickster," I will use this variantas the basis for my analysis. A well-defined starting point, a clearcut initial situation, is important for several reasons. It is important because of the very nature of this story, with its many episodes strung together loosely. We also know that an initial situation is very important in myths andfolklore narratives because it can reveal what might becalled the “set of predeterminations,” the assembly of circumstances that will help us understand what makesthe hero decide for somespecific course and whathis motivations are. As Guimaraes Rosa noted with his usual acumen: “The beginning is everything.”*° Theinitial

situation circumscribes the course of the hero; and by inversion, as Claude

Lévi-Strauss pointed out (1958: chapter XI), it can indicate the place where his trajectory will end.If the herois single, he may end up marhed by Aluisio de 14See Camara Cascudo 1967. I also examined the variants publis u Amaral(n.d.), Almeida (1951), Linfoldo Gomes (n.d.), Silvio Romero (1954), Amade

tants of the Expedito daSilva (1976), and the narratives I collected amongthe inhabi s of the same region. backlands of Goiads State and the Gé-speaking Apinayé Indian 15See Joao Guimaraes Rosa, Sagarana (1958:150).

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tied;if he is rich, he may end up poor,etc. Moreover, the initial situations in many Brazilian traditional tales tend to indicate a course leading to a successful social destiny where the central character ascends socially by the end of thetale. Such is the case with the fairy talesJogo mais Maria, O espelho magico, and A Rainha e as irmas, that were

analyzed by Sénia Coqueiro Garcez (1973, 1975). We commonly find the hero or heroesliving in an initial situation of such dire want that their trajectory must be defined as a constant quest for the means of survival. But by the end the hero has becomeanaristocrat, thanks to successful hypergamy, for example. One might suggest that Brazilian folklore narratives (i.e., the extraordinary stories adapted andtold in Brazil) can be taken as models of various forms of social ascent that fit right at the center of ideologies which proclaim the possibility of changing poverty without endangering thesocialstructure. Or better, that such stories reveal cases where social ascent is a moral right because the heroes have the necessary ethical requisites, among which perseverance and stoicism are basic. Thus social and economic status are totally subordinated to morality. Social mobility is not given by economic conditions but by the moralattitude of the heroes. It is the

fruit, not of their revolt or their own labors, of their actions and per-

Jormance, butof their qualities and their relations with their fairy godmothers—their mediators—as a reward for their resigned behavior. In comparing the tale of Malasartes with other similar tales, however, we note that everything is quite the opposite. The herois again poor, buthis trajectory is markedby his rejection of a position of power and prestige, even after he has defeated his master. In a comparative perspective, the cycle of Pedro Malarsartes also offers a model ofsurvival and success, butit does not exemplify the ultimate integration into the established order. Malasartes remainsin theinterstices, reject-

ing the focal positionsoffered by society. He can therefore be regarded as a modelof the rogue and of the hero of ambiguous zones of the social order, where it is difficult to discern right from wrong, justice

from injustice. Like the figure of Macunaima, herelativizes all laws,

codes, and moralities that suffocate the nameless individual under the yoke of labor that perpetuates social injustices. The Origins of Pedro Malasartes

The opening phase ofthe story presents us with the following set of elements and conditions:

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1. An old couple have two adult sons, John and Pedro. 2. Since they are poor, John and Pedro mustleave their family group to earn living.

3. Pedro is describedas “‘a trickster and vagabond,” hence his name

(Malasartes). 4. John, the older brother, gets a job on a fazenda (plantation). 5. The ownerof the plantationis “rich and villainous.” He makes contracts with his employees they cannotpossibly fulfill and so he does not pay them. 6. These contracts stipulate that (a) the employee cannotrefuse any job, (b) neither employer nor employee can get mad, the first to do so being obliged to lose the skin off his back. 7. That is what happens to John. He returns home almost a year later without any pay and having lost the skin off his back. 8. Pedro gets furious and sets out to avenge his brother. 9. That is the moment whenhis adventures begin.

We can detect two distinct levels in this initial situation. One is the external level marked by the opposition between Pedro's domestic group and the landowner.It is the level or axis of economic, social, and political discontinuities having to do with wealth, power, prestige, and social class. The otheris the interior or internal plane ofthe differences between the members of Pedro's domestic group andalso of the differences within the sphere inhabited by the landowner. Let us first consider the characteristics of the internal plane of Pedro's family group. A crucial fact in the narrative is the setting up of an initial situation in which this specific domestic group has no possibility of perpetuating or reproducingitself at any level. The demographic level is blocked because we have “an old couple” and “their adult sons.” The possibilities of economic production are also inhibited because the group is

ri/y described as “poor,” which means that its members must zecessa

look outside themselves for the means oftheir reproduction as a group. Thestate of poverty is directly associated with the lack of something,

e who of someresources in this case. The poor man, then, is someon

must go outside himself—it defines one whois notself-sufficient. The internalsituation is defined by the presence ofa sterile couple tely (because of age) and their two young, adult sons who are comple been capable of physical reproduction. It is as if the domestic group has hesocial untaken at a given momentin its cycle, a moment whent

oproductivity of the parents (they are poor) and their sexual unrepr

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ductiveness (they are old) are in contrast and counterbalanced by the potential social and sexual fecundity of their two sons. This overall situation shows a lack of equilibrium, however, becauseit entails thefol-

lowing contrasts or contradictions:

old couple/young sons

affinity/ biological siblingship

Where we do notfind a sex opposition, we find a complementary

opposition in relative ages (older brother/younger brother). So thein-

ternal structure of the groupis classified by simple hierarchy based on sex, relative age, marriage, and siblingship. This very rich initial situation.Its basic lack of equilibrium will produce its next stage, if we choose to view the myth in dynamic terms. What we notice here is that the actors in this initial situation cannot possibly turn inward to their own domestic group. They are prevented by the laws of incest and by the laws of economic production. Thelatter associate labor power with the land, a private asset of production that the group in question does not possess by definition. In fact, the family group of Pedro Malasartes is beyond incest since there is no sexual opposition within it (the coupleis old andsterile). Because the family is beyond the problem ofincest, it is not able to transform a substantive tie (eitherof filiation or siblingship) into an affinal relationship: the two brothers are adult men and the married couple are old. Thus the old parents mustnecessarily turn to their sons for support and survival, and the sons must likewise go outside the family group to the plantation owner, who buys and exploits labor power. The sameinitial situation set up in thetale also rules out internal competition in the family group.By virtue of their ages, John and Pedro have rigidly determined positions in the structure. John is the older brother; Pedro is the younger brother. In addition, Pedro is described

as a “trickster and lazy vagabond,” which allows an opposing definition of John as “honest and hardworking.” This brings us to another fundamental element in this group: it is completely hierarchized, that is to say, the domestic group is entirely made up of complementary relationships. So wegetthe following schema: Old couple incapable of sex or labor production Two adult sons fully capable of sex and economic labor

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Complementary duosexual group: the old couple Monosexual group where sexual opposition is reduced by the

complementary of ages and the social qualities of the sons.

These complementarities end up turning the groupasa totality toward the outside world. The old parents find in their sons what they themselves lack: the capacity for reproduction at every level. The sons

find in each other the basis for a respectful relationship based on age. The group as a whole seeks the patronage of the plantation ownerfor its major complementarity: work and survival in society. We can say, therefore, that the complementarities of Pedro’s domestic group are relative, since they end up determining the departure of the two unmarried brothers. We find a very different sort of complementarity in the narrative Joao mais Maria, the Brazilian variant of Hansel and Gretel. Here the complementarity is absolute,since the initial situation sets up the danget of incest: John with Mary, John with his mother, or Mary with her father. The expulsion ofJohn and Mary from their family group is directly related to the danger of the banned transformation of substantive ties into affinal links through incest, which would close the group in upon itself. When we read that poverty was the reason for the expulsion of the two children, we must realize that hereit is to be inter-

preted very differently from the poverty wefind in the family of Pedro Malasartes. In John and Mary, poverty corresponds to a situation rich

in absolute internal complementarities; hence there is dangerof incest

between the children of different sexes and between them andtheir parents. In the family of Pedro Malasartes, however, there is a poverty of complementarities and an internal structure that encourages movement out into the world of work, exploitation, and patronage. Here again we find the same possibilities for multiple hierarchies that we have noted before as a characteristic of the Brazilian social system. Infact it is always possible for us to base our hierarchies on differentcriteria ofclassification which provide compensation and alternatives for those at the bottom of the system. Moreover, in the popular conception of wealth and poverty there is a dichotomy between rich and poor, butthis is a relative dichotomy admitting manydifferentiations. It is this relativity, I think, that opens doors to the hope of a better life and the possibilities for eventual social change. So the myth of Pedro Malasartes can also be regarded as the myth of the Brazilian worker, of those who mustalways be searching for some-

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thing they do notpossess: a job and an employer, especially a “good patron” whowill anchor them once andfor all in the social structure. To achieve this, they must journey out into the world and the “harsh reality of life,” leaving behind their homes, their families, and their familiar places. In Brazil the poor must “earn living,” an expression used in the narrative and in everyday life to express the necessity of this quest: the search for a job and a patrao. Thus, poverty equals activity, work, change, need, movement. Thestate of being rich is equivalent to inactivity, which in turn is a function of the immanencethat comeswith satisfaction andself-sufficiency. To make a living, thus,is equivalentto leaving one’s house in orderto find work. In the Brazilian conception, the daily bread must be earned outside the house and in the midst ofa fierce fight. It is this need that defines “poverty” as a differential and relative state, pushing the “poor” to a fundamental complementarity with the world. A diagram will enable us to sum up someof the complexities we can glimpse in the myth of Pedro Malasartes with respect to the relativity of positions and the hierarchical system: the “rich” =villainous landowner

old couple society elder= honest + hardworking the “poor”

two brothers younger=a trickster + vagabond

It is quite clear that the internal structure (of the domestic group) is homologousto the external structure ofsociety. It is also clear that we have a hierarchical-complementarity axis in terms of wealth and power that runs from Pedro Malasartes at the bottom to the landowner at the top. Each point of the structure has its own specific domain, which is

linked to another domain through mediations. Ourstorytells us that patronage — economic and/orpolitical links modulated by personal(or moral) ties—is the means wherebyhierarchization finds expression in Brazilian society. It serves to mediate between different elements and domains, integrating into one and the samestructure the individual

PEDRO MALASARTES AND THE PARADOXES OF ROGUERY

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and the personal, the interior and the exterior, land and labor power, the rich and the poor, honesty and exploitation, morality and economics, politics andreligion, impersonallaw and the most highly personalized relations. Patronage doesnot just unite the brothers with the rich

farmer, who owns land becauseofhis relative wealth but obviously needs

the labor force of the brothers. It also unites the old parents with their sons, as wesee clearly in the story when Johnreturns to his house with

the supposed product of his work. Establishing a basic commitment betweenthe totality and the individual, patronage expresses not only the external relations in a society where the poor mustnecessarily associate with the rich and ac-

cepttheir “contracts,” but also the internal relations, when the family

groupitself is intersected by the same structural principle. Patronage also allows us to establish a continuum ranging from state of relative poverty (that of the old couple) to a state of relative wealth (that of the plantation owner). Between these twopositions lie the intermediary positions ofJohn and Pedro. The aged couple has no social or sexual potential, but it has two sons who give them obedience and respect. The plantation owner doesnot have any adult sons to provide him with labor power, but he has wealth andvillainy. John is older than Pedro, 16Research done by Moacyr Palmeira andcollaborators seemsto confirm this point with empirical evidence, see Garcia, Jr., and Heredia (1971). In the area between the fertile mata zone and the rural area of Pernambuco, the domestic economyof the l inhabitants shows a basic opposition in its structure between “family and individua plot.” In other words, the productionof the domestic group involvesa collective effort for the whole group butalso leaves room for individual effort by younger children the head and womentotake care of personal necessities. The noteworthy pointis that and market, of the family (whois also the mediator between the house, the regional ate the society as a whole) can,in certain circumstances of “need” (precisdo), appropri chilofhis work products of the individual plots, thus exercising patronage over the suggest dren andinhibiting the range of their individual activity. These observations that principle that the family group in the regionis internally divided by the same t is part of governs their external relations with the region andsociety as a whole.I

itself. a chain of patronage and hierarchization that extends down into the household hierarchizaWith different degrees ofsuccess,all social domains tend to reproduce the Thus society. this of tion based on personal links that are the basic structural principle ns for provi“need” or preciséo, a state ofrelative deprivation, creates the conditio

father into sionally suppressing the individual sphere of production and turning the ent of the a wielder and holder of patronageas the chief representative and embodim and the sphere collective family group. Such “needs” thusjustify the creation of the of the work of quest for complementarity with others, as well as the appropriation others.

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but he is honest and hardworking, which is whatallows the landowner. to cheat and exploit him badly. Pedro is younger, but he is a shrewd trickster and vagabond, which is what enables him to cheat the landowner, avenge his brother, and thus becomethe hero of thetale.

Note also that the tale definesall these positions in terms of compensation. In consequence, different sorts of hierarchies could be set forth, if one takes into account and uses as an organizing principle, political and economic power, seniority, physical capacity, honesty, villainy and astuteness. Asis typical of Brazilian social structure, no one has everything, but neither is anyone left with absolutely nothing. Mediations

The narrative allows us to distinguish between two clearly defined and opposed domains: the house (or domestic group) madeof substantive links and anothersphere first defined vaguely as “life.” “Life,” which is obviously equivalent to the “street” as a domain defined by contractual relationships, is the area where the initial wants of the domestic group can be metandsatisfied. On the economiclevel, then,the relationship between “house”and “life” (or “street’”’) reflects the relationship between different social classes—specifically the opposition between capital (the landowner) and labor represented byJohn and Pedro. Moreover, the tale presents a complete social group (Pedro’s family) as the representative of the poor, but only one man (the landowner) as the representative of the rich. His possessions are presented only in later episodes, after Pedro Malasartes has entered a special relationship with him. We get the impression that the poor can be character-

ized by a few basic elements (labor power, family relationships, lack

of the means of production), whereas the rich cannot be characterized

so directly and immediately. Also worth noting is the fact that the poor are depicted as membersof a family with a solid structure ofinternal hierarchies, whereastherich are represented by a single person. Besides, only oneof the poor people is described as a “trickster and vagabond,” just as the landowneris described as “rich andvillainous.” Taken by themselves, these expressions meanlittle, but they can lead to in-

teresting results when placed in a structure of mediation.

(a) Mediation by honesty. Thetale defines the structure of events in explicitly causal terms: poverty leads to a search for work and work to a landowning patron, andthe one whofindsthepatronis the elder

PEDRO MALASARTES AND THE PARADOXES OF ROGUERY

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‘brother, whois explicitly characterized only as the elder son, whereas Pedro is described as a trickster and vagabond. John’s failure after accepting the landowner’s impossible contract then reveals his honesty and willingness to work hard, so we get this first triad in the story: JOHN = honest and hardworking PEDRO = a trickster and vagabond [LANDOWNER= rich andvillainous]

The secondtriad is made upofthe relationships between the landowner and the poor (his working men), which are established by an impersonal, legal instrument, a work contract, that totally favors the employer: THE Poor = laborforce

LANDOWNER legal means

[IMPERSONAL CONTRACT]

Thestory tells us that this work contract cannot possibly be carried out because of the conditions it lays down: (a) the employee cannot turn down any job; (b) neither the employee nor the employer can get angry. The penalty for violating these conditions is to lose a strip of skin off one’s back. There could not be a clearer symbol of savage exploitation: the punishment equates the human being with a draft animal or beast of burden, and work with the intolerable weight of a burden that strips the skin off one’s back. These contractual conditions allow us to draw the following conclusions: 1. Thatthe story follows a line of development running from family links founded onthebasis of sex, age, and substance traditional

status telationships—to much more impersonal ties founded on contract and theindividual, to use theclassical expressions of Henry Maine. Again we have a movement from “person,” where the workeris classified as “people” (genze) and treated with “consideration,” to “individual,” whenhe is a mere unit of the economic machinery of surplus value and capital. 2. That the market is on theside of the landowner, since the supply of labor is greater than the demand. Thevillainy of the landowner is

that he takes advantage of the abundant labor supply and does not

pay his workers. Here the narrative is obviously makinga crucial point: the landowner is economically right but morally wrong. Thatis whyhe is character-

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ized as “rich and villainous.” Here the story calls attention to the contrast between economic laws and personalrelationships. It establishes a connection between the labor contract, its impersonality and resultant relationships, and the dishonest character of the landowner on

the one hand, and the world of personal relations, the need to look

for work, and the honesty of the worker on the other hand. We are probably at the very heart of the story as one that expresses explicitly the dilemmaof values in a society in which the economic sphere is governed by the marketbutretains the holistic ideal of being immersed in or, to use Polanyi’s classical expression, “embedded” in the moral

system. Thevillainy or dishonesty of the landowneris in direct relationship to his negative —or his “rational-individualistic’— exercise of patronage. Heis a “bad patron” because helet himself be guided by purely

economic considerations. In his relations with his employees, workers, or clients helets the impersonal, legal ties of contracts prevail over pro-

tection, favor, and consideration. Helets the personal domain disappear within the legal and universal.!7 His use of power andlegislation is worthy of condemnation because he knowsthat the work contract cannot befulfilled and because he uses his workers as a source of profit rather than as humanbeings. Hetreats them as individuals subject to laws and profit rather than as persons of moral and social worth. The landowner’s primary emphasis on economics and his impersonal

style gives him some initial advantages. He quickly exploits John and

strips the skin off his back. This honest worker returns home without pay or morale. Thatis, the honest worker is always exploited and defeated. He cannotevenrise up in revolt or take vengeance on the land17My examination of patronage in the northern part of the state of Goids verified

the fact that the role of patron or boss allowed for specifications of a structural order.

There are such things as a “good patrons” and a “bad patrons.” As one informant putit, a “good patron” protects his employees, “making things easier for them, not spying on them, and giving them advice and freedom.” Victor NunesLeal(1975: p. 38, n. 34) gives a long list of the duties of the “local chief” that are the sameas the

ones indicated above. The “bad patron,” said another informant, “does not give his

employee timeto stop or rest. His whole concern is with business. He does notcall in a doctor, he does not lend money, he doesn’t give a thing.” These data confirm the importance of personal ties, which should encompass labor and economic rela-

tions. They point up theclear association between a purely economic association and

the “bad patron,” whoactslike an individualistic capitalist and blindly obeys the laws

of the market. For an important theory of Brazilian capitalism that relates directly to this point, see Otavio Velho (1976).

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ownerbecausehis labor contract forbids it. The impersonal work contract strips John of all his moral weight and authority, treating him as a mere individual, a cog in the impersonal role of economic rules, a man incapable of claiming his rights, expressing moral indignation, or getting revenge. John not only endures exploitation but must remain silent aboutit. The condemnation of impersonal laws, be they legal or economic, is the key point of this narrative. The rich and the powerful are condemnedbecause they put complete faith in the power of money. This is madeclear in the episode where Pedro Malasartessells a pile of dung to a rich moron. Pedro coversthe pile with his hat. Moved by curiosity and an uncontrollable desire to own “the bestlittle bird in the world,”

the rich man pays Pedro's high asking price without batting an eye

or trying to bargain for it. Once again we find a contrast between the two waysof relating: Pedro's way and what we mightcall, the “bourgeois way.” Oneis based on the power of moneyto be used and abused with greed — orindividualistically. The otheris based on things above and beyond money: by whatis crystallized in personal relationships and modulated by morality. In such a world bargaining is very important because it bends andalters the purely economic, impersonal, and monetarystyle (or utilitarian and egoistic motivations), immersing it in the moralrelationship that should preside over andlegitimate the

transaction between buyer andseller. Thus the story gives us a perfect

illustration of the formula whereby a rich man taken with the power of money buys dung, and a poor man manages to turn shit}i(are:, poverty and hunger) into money(i.c., cleverness and creativity), thus proving their complete equivalence. If there is any lesson to be drawn from the experience ofJohn in the first episode, it would seem to be this: any attempt to relate poverty to wealth through work and honesty leads to the acceptance of impersonal contracts that cannot be fulfilled by the worker andresults in his pitiless exploitation. Pure and simple work, then, cannot be regarded as a correct me-

diator between wealth and poverty. Thefact is that, in Brazil, nobody believes that onegets rich by work. One needsa stroke of luck, a helping godfather or godmother, or the favors of a patron or mediator who lends a hand. Onthe other hand, and by way of compensation, wealth does notnecessarily bring happiness. This story expresses the hierarchical setup of the Brazilian social structure, for its “moral lesson’ tells us that social position cannot be changed by work or money alone. Something else is needed: a little nobility, a lot of luck, or some sub-

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stantive, inner transformation. The economic factor alone will not suf-

fice to change one’s position in the system, as happinessis notthere-

sult of money and work alone. Here, I think, we encounter oneof the

most crucial aspects of the Brazilian hierarchical system, one that sug-

gests paradoxical relationships with work and what work (or money) can bring. In this system wefind a clear ideology of social compensations. Getting back to ourstory, we say that the landowner managed to defeat John becausehefixed his gaze on profit alone and used impersonal legal formulas to protect himself. That is why Pedro Malasartes is obliged to avenge his brother, to intervene as a legitimate instrumentof social equilibrium. To take his legitimate revenge, Pedro will confront the landowneron the personal, morallevel. He will also teach

a lesson to a patron who was incapable of respecting the moral personality of the persons he hired. Pedro will show this “bad patron” that disregard for personal relationships and qualities, for what we would call in Brazil the “human”elementsof a social link, often leads to complete failure and the loss of power and wealth. Let us see how Pedro Malasartes doesthis.

(b) Mediation by vengeance. After the return ofJohn, all the episodes of the story can be considered parts of this second mediation, for Pedro Malasartes now beginshis career as a trickster and vagabond, termsthat define his paradoxical nature. Thetrickiness and vagabond nature of the rogue can betranslated sociologically as a refusal to treat one’s own labor power as a market commodity. As Marx pointed out, putting one’s labor power on the market implies putting one’s moral person on the market. This the roguerefuses to do. The rogueprefers to retain his labor power and his abilities to himself. The vagabond is the one whodoesnotenter the system with his labor power; he floats

in the social structure, able to enter it, leave it, or even transcendit.

Shrewdness, on the other hand, can be defined as an equivalent to the Brazilian sezt7xho (or bypass), as a structurally defined way to use the prevailing social rules to his own advantage without destroying them orcalling them into question. I shall returnto his pointlater on. Hereit suffices to note that Pedro's revengeis motivatedby the pitiless exploitation of his brother. It is not grounded andjustified by any external ideological discovery of an individualized general nature, located in a domain that wetendto perceive and classify as “politics’—a sphere that has to do with “power,” “influence,” and “privilege” and that we tend to imagine as “abstract.” Although Pedro’s action shows

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that he understandsthe logic of individualism, he always seeks to restore the “total moral reciprocity”—an obviously abstract but “embedded”principle ofsocial life — that is denied andrejected bythe villainy of the landowner.

Let us return to our story. After his brother's return, Pedro leaves

to work for the same landowner. Hesigns the same sort of contract that John had signed. The following episodes ensue: 1. The master orders Pedro to work in a cornfield and sendsa little dog to accompany him. They agree that Pedro cannot return to the main house until the little dog does. After a half day of work, when the animal does not budge, Pedrorealizes it is a trick. He beats the little dog with a stick, and the animal scurries home. Pedro can return

to the main house also. In the afternoon Pedro has only to gesture

with the stick for the dog to dash home. ThusPedro defeats the landowner. Thelatter is angry, but he cannot showit by virtue of his contract with Pedro. 2. The next day, the patron orders Pedro “to clean up” (/¢mpar) a field of manioc. Pedro tears out the wholeplanted field, leavingit “clean” and bare,'8 then he asks the angry landowner if he is satisfied. So as not to lose by termsof the contract, the owner says heis satisfied and

again loses to Pedro. 3. On another day Pedro’s task is to bring a wagonload of wood filled only with “unknotted timber.” Pedro cuts down the whole banana grove, explaining that the bananatree is “unknotted timber.” Once again the landowner loses; he is angry but he cannot display his anger. 4. The next day, Pedro is to put a wagonload of wood, oxen and all, into a cottage without going through the door. Pedro chops up the wood, the oxen and the wagon, dumping it all into the cottage through a window. Again the master hides his anger and loses. 5. On another day, Pedro is sentto sell the master’s pigs. He sells the whole lot and keeps the money. Having cut off the tails of the pigs, he buries the tails in a marsh andtells the master that the pigs were lost there. The master is desperate and orders Pedro, at Pedro's own suggestion, to take two shovels and go rescue the pigs. Pedro runs to the main house and asks the master’s wife to give him two contos (to clean) has 18The double entendreis clear in Portuguese where the verb /mpar

instead of the double meaning of “to clean up” and also “to take out.” Malasartes, the manioc, “cleaning up” the enormous field, an impossible task, “takes out” all hence destroying the field.

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coins.!9 The womanrefuses. Pedro calls to the master from a distance, holding up two fingers and asking him if his wife is supposed to give him two. Thinking he is talking about shovels, the master says yes; so Pedro takes in more money. Pedro returns to the marsh andpulls out the tails. He tells the master that the force of his pulling made the tails come off. The master is furious but cannot show it. Pedro

wins once again. 6. Seeing that this employeeis driving him to ruin, the landowner

decides to kill Pedro. He tells Pedro that a thief is sneaking around the stable and that he and Pedro must arm themselves and be on the lookout to capture the thief. The landowner’s plan is to shoot Pedro and say he thought Pedrowasthe thief. That night the landowner goes to the stable. Pedrois to relieve him at the first cockcrow. When the cock crows, Pedro wakes up the master’s wife andtells her that her husband wantsto see her in the stable. The womangoesto the stable and is shot to death by her husband. Pedro appears on the scene andaccuses the landowner of murder. Scared to death, the landownergives Pedro a huge sum of moneyto keep quiet and keep the law out of the matter. Healso offers Pedro additional money to disappear from his property. Pedro accepts and returns a rich man to the homeofhis parents. It is easy to see that Pedro managesto turn the whole situation upside down. He doesnot expect anything from the landownernor does he protest against the contract made with him. Instead, he follows the

contract to the /etter: Pedro carries out his side of the contract completely, following the orders of his master downto their ultimate consequences. By so doing, he can derive benefit from the “other side” of the contract and turn disadvantage into advantage. His revenge is based on theveryfact that he andthe landownerare caughtin an impersonalcontract. Pedro follows all the landowner's ordets to the letter, thereby systematically defeating him. A respectful employee, one guided by the codeoffavors, positive patronage, andpersonal relationships based on consideration, would never dream of destroying the sacrosanct goodsof his employer, which would risk getting himself sacked or destroyed by the 19Old name ofthelargest unit of measure in the Brazilian traditional monetary

system. Interesting enough com/os (or conto) is similar to contas (bills and beads), to the verb to count (coméar), to the verb totell (contar), and identical to a genre

of fiction narrative: a conto (short story).

PEDRO MALASARTES AND THE PARADOXES OF ROGUERY

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latter. It actually seemsasif the social personality of a patrao has the effective capacity of projecting a powerfulsocial shadow overall his possessions, so that an attack on those possessionsis equivalentto serious attack on the master himself. But Pedro succeeds in demystifying the landowner’s possessions. His motive is vengeance, not some impersonal political ideology. In destroying the landowner’s possessions, he desacralizes them, therebyrelativizing the social and political figure of the patron as well. Pedro decided to obey the contract literally because this was his only way to undermine andrelativize the position of the landowner. For if the worker could rely only on his own labor power, the landowner could only rely on his landed properties. Once it becomes possible for Pedro to call into question the sacrosanct relationship between property and patron,the whole structure is undermined and thepreconditions for Pedro's victory are provided. Undergirding all this is the landowner’s unjust relationship with Pedro's brother. Because ofthis injustice Pedro’s revolt, which is truly revolutionary in tone, is legitimated when it surfaces in the guise of revenge, whichis a just form of political and social reciprocity in the hierarchical structure of Brazilian society.

The tale of Pedro Malasartes provides a real lesson of social wisdom.

It focuses on the “other side” of the contract, revealing the relativi-

ties and breaches that are always to be found in the power game and in the concrete relationships between the strong and the weak. Like all good rogues, Pedro Malasartes knows how to use the “power of the weak” (Lewis 1963; Turner 1969). And here, the power of the weak is the power to obey and consequently the power to destroy oppression by shrewd and roguish obedience at the right moment. The power of the patron is the myth of a power so absolute that it ends up being vulcompletely vulnerable, as is the case with dictatorships. Indeed, so the nerable is it that it runs the serious danger of being destroyed by blind obedience of Malasartes. Another element in the tale, crucial to the development of the myth itself, is the systematic opposition \n all between the powers of the strong and the powers of the weak. a series of the episodes of the narrative cycle, Pedro is associated with know elements that are infrasocial or downright marginal: dung—we it is he manages to sell a pile of dung to a rich fool on the pretext which he dea rare and beautiful bird; a black vulture—a bird from

husband rives good food and good money by selling it to a cuckolded useshis on the pretext that it has powers of divination; corpses—he

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mother’s corpse to get money from thecruel ownerof a large orchard, accusing thelatter of having killed the poor old woman.Onthe other hand the landowner, or whoever occupies his position in a given episode,is always associated withfine food andclothing, luxurious houses

and lands, animalsofall sorts for every kind of duty and profit, money, power and wealth, and, as is bound to be the case, the compensatory traits of a highly negative sort—greed, villainy, and dishonesty in general. On the one hand we have the poor with their characteristic Brazilian marks: eternal vagabondsin pilgrimage to work andin search of a better lot. On the other hand wehave the classic means and instruments for differentiating groups, persons, and social categories. Besides these elements, which cometogether, disband and changeplacesas the natrtative unfolds, we have fixed elements that are associated with each character in the tale. Pedro Malasartes is a trickster and vagabond; he is also very young, his brother is honest and hardworking, the employer is rich and villainous. It is worth noting that the poor and the weak are always defined by their zzterna/ characteristics, whereas the rich and the powerful tend to be defined by external possessions: land, herds, plantations, animals, and money. The power of the weak is exercised through zxtrinmsic qualities that are seen as inalienable and natural, as products of birth and character. These powers are internal and cannot be stolen away, hence their association with magical and mystical forces intrinsically bound up with certain objects, elements, tasks, and social roles. The symbolic world of Brazilian society is populated with magic objects of all sorts: rings, formulas, pots and pans, purses, scepters, and wands. These objects can transform situations and personsbyvirtue of their internal qualities. There can be no doubt that here we have a conception of sheer poweras a force capable of being individualized and therefore reified. Like the pigs, livestock, and money ofPedro’s employer, it can be lost, hidden, or stolen away; in short, it can change hands. The differencelies in the fact that good, higher quali-

ties, ones capable of changing the world for the better, are attributed

to petsonsrather than to objects. As we find in many magic episodes offairy tales, the objects themselves belongto the powerful or are coveted by them. The powers associated with the person of the weak can curse orbless,

predict the future or reveal the hidden past. They can seduce ordeceive, as we often see in the case of Pedro Malasartes. They can also be inhibited or confinedto certain well-defined areas but never extin-

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guished completely. By contrast, the powersof the strong are grounded

in external objects, elements, and instruments. They can pass from hand

to hand,as we see in the case of high offices and money. Henceeternal vigilance is the price the strong must pay for their power. This risk and price shows upin all the episodes of the myth of Pedro Malasartes. His employeris rich and, more importantly, dishonest; but he does not possess the sum total of possible power. For example, he lacks the power of beauty, sincerity, innocence, intelligence, and holiness. Wit and intelligence belong to Pedro, the young avenger who is shrewd and poor. The myth offers us a complex message that lies midway between rebellion, which has personsin view, and revolution,

which has a system of rules in mind (see Gluckman 1963): it is better to be a shrewd poor person driven by vengeance and capable of fighting for good causes than to be dishonestrich person who has lost sight of the basic humanity of humanbeings. It is in the space between these two obviously opposite poles that social systemslike ours make room for the clever dodge (sestinho) and roguery. It is in this space that are born all our Pedro Malasartes and despachantes(literally, dispatchers), those figures who specialize in the practical, everyday application of the law to concrete cases rather than in individualized ideals that somehow shouldstand for their ownsake. A despachante like Pedro has the job of personalizing the general, universal law in cases whereit shou/d be personalized, because theaffected person is not just any individual but the child of some family or, in this case, a “Malasartes.” But the resultant paradox of this system is that the pathway opened bytheprinciple of personalism and theseztznho leads to rampant legalism andall its familiar consequences: lack of trust, excessive interpretation, false and unbridled zeal for the public

interest —in short, everything that turns the individual into a poten-

tial criminal and drives him back into the arms of personalism, the

clever dodge, and the dispatcher. This closes the first circle in the adventures of Pedro Malasartes. His example andhis story not only serve to provide alternatives but also to reveal the good rogue,the trickster whocan slip underany law, even the supreme law covering the exploitation of individual labor, but who can never settle down andlive like everybody else. This brings us to a second question we have only hintedat so far: Whydoesn’t Pedro Malasartes take the place of the powerful landowner whom hehas destroyed morally and economically? The answer is clear. Pedro cannot take the place ofthe villainous

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patron because he cannotdeal with him as the boss dealt with hisfollowers. By not taking the place of his employer he does not reproduce this level of the system. His aim is to avenge his brother, revenge being a typically personal form ofrebellion, of action against persons rather than against the structure of the system. His action is not the implementation of an abstract, impersonal ideology that would relativize the whole system. If Pedro were to take the place of the landowner, he would also do away with the existential course he had chosen, the tole of being the hero of ambiguousspaces and ofsocial interstices, whichis one of the key points in the whole tale. We do find instances where the harsh, cruel patron is replaced by the valiant but poorhero, but theseare stories or tales in which victory by meansof violence has a central place and the hero ends up marrying the boss’s daughter and

replacing him. Such tales may end with the hopethat the hero will transform theearlier situation of worker exploitation and degradation, but a problem remains insofar as only the actors, not the social roles, have been replaced.?° Pedro Malasartes does not use physical violence, which is a direct, everyday occurrence in personalrelations of the region. Instead he uses the utmost shrewdness, the sort of legal filigree that makes him like out despachantes and lawyers who use shrewdness to make impersonal, universal law serve the cause of the person in question. Pedro also differs from the “bully” (va/entao) and the bandit in at least one sense. They usually seek the physical destruction of the patron. More subtle and innovative, Pedro seeks his moral destruction—and whatis worse,

by meansof the same legal instruments which thebossusesto exploit

others. But the paradox of Pedro and the rogue remains, for in no case

does he manageto transcend the personal level from which he draws the resourcesfor his brilliant maneuvering. In that sense he continues the work of fearless heroes, since his sophisticated maneuvers never jeopardize the system itself. This paradox is summed up in the old Brazilian maxim: “If a rogue knew how goodit was to be honest, he would be honest only in the ways of roguery.”2! Pedro Malasartes, then, does not behavelike a generalsocial avenger.

20For a study of these narratives, see Anténio Arantes Neto (1978) and Neuma Aguiar(1973). For an interesting essay on Brazilian banditism andviolence,see Amaury de Souza (1973).

21In Portuguese: “Se o malandro soubesse como é bom ser honesto, seria honesto

so de malandragem.”

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Heis not like Seu Joaozinho Bem-Bem, whom weshall meet in the next chapter. Noris he like Lampiaoorotherhistorical figures of that sort. For Pedro the past does not have the same weight noris the future somethinghelooksforward toasif it were a concrete, reified space out there somewhere ahead of him or above him. Malasartes refuses

to be a bandit, a bully, a saint, or a messiah. Whereas the Count of

MonteCristo ends up returning in vengeful triumphto thesocial order, Pedro follows his example only in the initial phase of his trajectory. Heinflicts defeat on his employer, but he does not use physical violence. In the end, in fact, Pedro even manages totakea little pity on the landowner. He does not summonthe authorities to arrest the landownerfor the killing of his wife. He subdues his moralsense, le-

gitimatedso far by vengeance, and for a sum of money grants freedom to the man who had flayed so many of his workers and even tried to

kill Pedro. Here the economicfactor takes complete priority over moral

and political considerations. Pedrois, after all, a rogue and chooses to live a life of vagabond adventures and successfultricks. He will live an individualized social existence rather than becomethe prisoner of production goods, herds of animals, and-followers, and perhaps be doomed to reproduce the oppression of the old landowner. Pedro does not share the obsession of complete renouncers either, people like Antonio Conselheiro or Augusto Matraga. He does not wait for his moment and hour, for somefuture that will bring this moment

of final redemption. Pedro is a being of the present and existing circumstances; he uses the resources at hand to transform his situation.

Thatis what separates him from the classic avengers and makes him a rogue,a light and inconsistent figure. This also separates him from

the caxias, who is obsessed not with the future (as the renouncers are)

but with thepast, after which he patterns his irreproachable conduct.

We can now see our triad of heroes in a new light, thanks to the

myth of Pedro Malasartes. The renouncer has only the future or the millennium and thinks only of redeeming his past. The caxzas has only the past, which legitimates a possible future. Only the rogue,like

Pedro Malasartes, lives in the present and usesit to link the past and

the future. Pedro Malasartes must keep moving and refuseall fixed positions. His bosses own land, property, and houses that they cannot give up.

Those who have families and property and who obey thelaw are imprisoned in order and condemned tolive and die within it. Pedro Malasartes acts like an individual in a universe characterized by general, im-

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personal hierarchies and laws. His approach is always to personalize the general law and thus overcomeit. Instead of having relatives and friends, Pedro relies solely on his own resources. Instead of depending on a home,heprefers to live in the world. Instead of subjecting his labor power to an exploitive boss, he prefers to live by expedients. Plac-

ing enormousconfidence in his individuality, he sells the laurels of

victory rather than holding on to them. He can never stop to assume a fixed place in the social structure. If he were to do that, he would cease to be Pedro Malasartes and becomeanotherfigure on our social stage. His perspective seems to sum up andinvolve all social forms. He is a being of the margins, revealing to us that not everyonehas to enter the social order as employees. He chooses the ambiguous path that is neither here nor there, thus inventing what seemsto bea basic fea-

ture of the Brazilian social world.

Pedro exercises his right of vengeance, but he does not become im-

prisoned in his own vengeance as did the Count of Monte Cristo or Brazil’s social bandits. He pays honor to his own nameand keeps on practicing his wicked tricks (#za/as artes) rather than clothing hisrejection of the social order in some explicit, highly consistent ideological system. When an employer is good, Pedro may be bad. When an employer is cruel, Pedro may be kind. Whenlife imposes impersonal codes, Pedro personalizes everything. When existence is heavily hieratchized, he turns himself into a dangerous individual and putshis own twist on every situation. He is a masterof inconsistency. To understand him and his destiny we mustgetrid of our bourgeois code of prejudices. We must confront him directly and courageously under the strong light of his own particular character, which is to have no character, and of his own particular consistency, whichis to be completely

inconsistent. Pedro does notreject the social order completely, nor does he act as a completely marginal character. He chooses an intermediate zone, a sphereof inconsistency where not having any character means just the opposite: i.e., being a man of character and never, never pretending or claimingto reform the world byoffering oneself as the great example. This, I think, is the ultimate paradox of Pedro Malasartes and other rogues.

6. Augusto Matraga and

the Hour of Renunciation

I have been trying to point up what might becalled the “otherside” of rituals. Instead of looking only at the recipes that produce andte-

producethe realm offestivals and extraordinary moments, I have also

chosen to look at the actors: the figures and characters who inject dynamism into the events and whose absence could distort the whole ceremony. Afterall, what would Carnival be without rogues and roguery,

a military parade without a band anda caxzas, and a religious procession without penitents, prayers, saints, and renouncets? In attempting to study the fundamental actors and heroes of Brazilian society throughtheir dramatizations,I have also chosen to adopt a patticular sociological perspective. My point was rather a simple one: rather than taking sides in some sort of absolute combat betweenz”dividual and soctety, | have taken both elements simultaneouslyassocial creations or constructions. Thus I took both the individual and the system as historical and sociological data. We have seen then that Carnival, the military parade, andthereli-

gious procession correspond to three paradigmatic social characters or personages, each defining a certain way of being and belonging to Bra-

zilian society. Moreover, I also tried to demonstrate that each of these

characters engenders a rich social dramaset off within several zones of possible action and with a few intermissions where the spectators can relax and realize that they are on their way back to the real world. It is as if we were attending a play in three acts, but a play in which

the last act is connected tothe first, in a circularity that is characteristic

of this social formation, which always prefers to mix rather than to separate its actors and dramas. It is in this relational way that Brazilian 239

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CARNIVALS, ROGUES, AND HEROES

society links its major dramatizations and finds a place for eachofits major heroes.

In the previous chapter we lookedat this play from the standpoint of Pedro Malasartes, the rogue. Nowitis time to see it from the perspective of a renouncer and of renunciations, this dimension of social life that includes—as J already indicated — not only the mixed bag of penitents and preachers, those who havetheir eyes on “the other world,” but also bandits and marginals in general. The latter seem to oscillate between order and disorder, tracing out a liminal path and deciding to remain on “the third bank of the river,” to use the expression of

Joao Guimaraes Rosa. These characters live in the dubious zone that separates the serious and “correct ways” of society from its murky, shadowy, and fascinating cellars, where they encounter the mystery of disorder, of alternatives, of the future, and most probably of what we

call hope. Another basic difference between this chapter and theprevious oneis that here we are going to examinea signedtext, a “literary

work”: 1.e., the personalized and individualized myth with a definite — if

not delimited — date of invention, whereasin the previous chapter our hero was found in a text without an individual author. This being the case, it would be advisable to begin this study by saying a few words on the controversial issue of the sociological study of the literary text. If these comments reveal naivete or ignorance on mypart regarding this question, they also point to the complexity and seriousnessof the issue —as well as the fascinating possibilities of using literary texts as ethnographies—that is, of helping to define the field known as the “anthropology of literature.”

I shall consider here a story by Jodo Guimaraes Rosa, A Hora e a Vez de Augusto Matraga (The hour and opportunity of Augusto Ma-

traga),! as a description of a momentof Brazilian social life, thus locating it on the plane of ethnography. I am following a similar exercise whichconstituted two earlier studies of stories by Edgar Allan Poe (see DaMatta 1973a, 1973b). It is hardly news that all writers wittingly or unwittingly distort what we maycall “reality,” or “reality” as it is officially constructed and defined by the instruments of legitimation of a given society. But we also know that authors maintain certain minimal coherence with someofthe vital rules for the reproduction ofthat ‘Published in Sagarana. Analyses of the same story were also made by Maria Sylvia

de Carvalho Franco (1977), Walnice Nogueira Galvao (1978), and especially, Milton

José Pinto (n.d.).

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‘reality, even whenthey react sharply against them. Thusthere is some logic to my characterization of the story underanalysis here as an ethnography, since every ethnography is ultimately, despite someclaims to the contrary, a revelation of a specific social position of an author (the so-called ethnographer) vis-a-vis a given social or cultural object. This is due to certain distinctive features of the ethnographic discourse that deserve mention here. First, ethnography always assumesa stance of distance and unfamiliarity before its object. In fact, a basic prerequisite of ethnographic discourse is some consideration of the position of ethnographers, who —as authors—try to submergetheir subjective opinions that indeed judge, qualify, and order. We say that an ethnographyis an objective, scientific narrative precisely because in this mode of discourse the author is supposed to bea translator rather than a creatorofreality. In other words, ethnographers are supposed tofilter the strangeness and exoticism of a humanreality different from their own through the code —anthropological theory itself—that is familiar to them. Thus the convention is that ethnographers donotinventreality; rather they are instruments that permit the transformation of the exotic into the familiar and vice versa (see DaMatta 1978b).

It follows that ethnographyis a discourse which aspires to be treated as relative and it is, therefore, re/ativizing. This is important because we know that there are absolute discourses —to which correspond absolute readings of social reality —which are the opposite of ethnographic narrative (with all the pretense of truth which we know lies in them) because they do not allow for a shift in focus and because they block or limit the discovery of new tools of description and analysis. This brings us to an important conclusion. By definition, ethnography always implies multiple readings of reality and suggests the possibility of abandoning stereotyped, dogmatic ways of seeing and talking about whatis perceived to be the objective world. Indeed, the possibility of estrangement, relativization, and ethnographic description seemsto be in keeping with multiple views of the world and with a social system thatis internally differentiated. In other words, we know thatit is a form of description of reality born of journeys and that to travel is to be able to separate oneself from a particular totality otherwise presented as absolute. In a highly individualized world like ours, in fact, traveling is a common experience and we have greater possibilities for distancing and estrangement. The construction of “ethnographies” is an omnipresent activity for most of us, especially at the cen-

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ter of the Western world, where a series of separations took place when society was detached from God,thecity segregated from country, money distinguished from capital, home alienated from work, morality distanced from business, the body from the soul—and, to make a long, long story short, the individual was isolated from the person. This has given rise to the possibility of estrangement on manydifferent levels, hence the possibility for the perception and conceptualization ofall sorts of different “alterities” (otherness). We have seen the rise of ecstasy, which involves stepping outside the everyday world, as a possible and systematic way of expressing a culture and a society. It also suggests one of the differences between literature and myth. A literary work offers a view removed from the everyday world, butit is a private, particular, and self-referred view

of a complex totality that can express itself in various ways simultaneously. Rituals and myths correspond to removed views of the everyday world but with the difference that—even when exegesis is possible — these ways of representing and dialoguing with the world offer coherent, if enigmatic, visions of that world. Myth cannot be taken to be

the discourse of a specific social class but the vision of the wholecollectivity. This being the case, the problematic task facing a complex society like our own —a highly individualizedsystem with multiple competing views—1s that of creating total, integrated viewsofitself. By

contrast, the task facing tribal societies, where the individual exists —

as we saw in chapter 4—only at certain special moments,is inventing alternatives capable of relativizing its social commentaries, which are always collective, totalizing, and, as such, absolute. It is usual to find in such societies the idea that one can have only one myth and one rite, although both mayhave variants.

Ethnography always seeks to transcend the “here and now” of a simplistic reading of reality which promotesitself for consumptionorlegitimation. Such simplistic readings tend to prevent the separation of the text from the society, group, and historical momentthat created it—in other words, from its humanity. Indeed, a fear of heresy or subversion lies at the root of a kind of “anti-ethnographic prohibition” of divorcing the word from society (or, at least from the “center” of society, where its powerlies) in an effort to prevent the relativization that humanizes by revealing that human beings can havevarious centers that can only be anchored by a power or authority convention. In an “anthropology of literature,” we are searching for the other side of the text, andthis involves taking the work in question and de-

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“mystifying, de-alienating, or uprooting it from its central position in a given culture or society—either as an object of unbridled consumption, or as a paradigmatic elementassociated with the authorities and power, or as the accepted, unquestionable construction for a given momentofthe history of that social body. In the specific context of this study, such a perspective involves a kind of insolence, because what I want to do is to question text of the great writer Jodo Guimaraes Rosa and in so doing explore the sourcesof its originality, the reasons behindits internal and external coherence, and the elements used to compose whataboveall might be considered a “Brazilian drama,” rather than an exalted momentof ecstatic and genial individual creation. It is not my aim here to define Rosa’s work as a literary gente or to focus on a special theme exemplified in it. By distancing myself from the text to a reasonable extent, I search forits logic from a relativized standpoint based on compartson. Indeed, one could say that the core of any anthropological reading is made up of comparison andrelativization. It keeps reaffirming a necessary and intermittent change of perspective: here and there, us and them, center and periphery,individual andperson, tribe and nation, myth and ideology. Such isits rhythm. Here I also must say a little more about my procedure, lest it be misunderstood by those who claim to know what“structural analysis” really is and thus condemned on thebasis ofits method rather than its results. Examining a certain text from a “global” perspective means trying to make an inventory of a certain number ofrules andrelations it contains. Society itself is made up of these relationships and norms, so it is always theoretically possible to dismantle a particular arrangement or combination, to verify whois its center, and to say at whatlevel of reality these combinations are assumed. In thiscase, I will dismantle Guimaraes Rosa’s narrative to identify certain fundamental structures. In someinstances these structures serve to outline parts of the narrative: in other instances they serve to produce radical conflicts. Rather than starting from somepreconceived scheme, I have tried to distance myself from the text by means of comparison. The fact is that there is no distancing without relativization, and no relativization without comparison. In fact, what may appear to scholars buried in their ownsociety as an unquestionable esthetic (or rhetorical) structure may emerge, after comparison, as a much-used device in some other domain of human societies. Thus, what is myth in one society may be a magical spell in another —andeven ideology or literature in still another.

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It would not be an exaggerationto say that in our world magic tends to be generalized and legitimized precisely through the arts and through politics. Indeed, in some countries, politics itself was and still is an art, for it is through the arts and in politics that moreorless individ-

ualized and isolated social domains can be articulated. There is some logic to the fact that poetics is so close to rhetoric and that both are viewedasarts. Thefirst is the art of articulating humanaction in complex chains filled with unexpected incidents: the consciously motivated humanact with all its complexity (see Aristotle). The second is the art of articulating or linking the masses—ofsocial groups, categories, and classes—which constitutes the politician’s point of honor and the magic of politics. In our social universe, best-sellers and the repositories of artworks

(museums, galleries, etc.) can be seen as crucial meansofsocial articu-

lation which permit varying degrees of coordination and linkages between groups, categories, social segments, and even nations. In thetribal world, however, these articulations and linkagesare effected by magic. To putit better: their social system relates everything to everything in an overdetermined way that we regard as magical or mystical (see Lévi-

Strauss 1962b and Gluckman 1962). Indeed, in tribal societies, where

everything is strongly linked and “cross-cut” to the highest degree, the

problem, as was once noted by Gluckman (1962), is to segregate, sepa-

rate, and individualize persons, groups, categories, and social segments, even thoughsuch individualizations may be designedto effect a fuller integration of the segregated element into anothercollectivity and/or another social position. But what Gluckman did notperceive is that the movementis dialectical. Thus, there is separation (and zndividualization) on onelevel just to make integration possible on a different plane. Indeed, we find only novices when normalboys are individualized and separated from their families or clans. But this individualization is relative, because they are now a special group of novices who ate to be initiated and incorporated into another category. Corresponding to each actof separation (and individualization) thereis critical relational act of integration. In our society the tendency seemsto be the opposite, and we explicitly lack linkages andrelational ideologies, overall coherence, and overt meaningfulness. And, as I have said before, comparison shows

us how certain imagined universal domains can be articulated andlinked in different ways in different systems. What is magical in onesociety maybeartistic in another; whatis political in one system maybereli-

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gious in another. Thetask of an “anthropologyofliterature” 1s to apply this sort of comparison by contrast, a true re/ativizing comparison, to a literary text, seeking to reveal its deeper, underlying order and using ethnographic examples from other systems to makeclear the im-

plicit intentions of the text or its author. By means of comparison, one dissolves the “literary text” as a “substantive text,” that is to say, a text with a “center” or a “substance” which is endowed with its own special, differentiating essence. This perspective, held by some theoreticians, sometimes betrays an elitist view of the social world, in whichthe“literaty naftative” is seen in terms of the same hierarchicallogic thatcritics catty within themselves. Comparison shows that there is no theological substance that makes a text literary. What makesit suchisits place and position vis-a-vis other texts and discourses: either in the society whereit arose or in comparison with other narratives from other systems. It would bethetask oftheliterary critic to discern and make clear this variety of texts by comparison, pinpointing their similarities, identities, positions, dislocations, and specific differences. This is precisely whatI tried to do in twoearlier analyses ofstories by Edgar Allen Poe: The Black Cat and The Devil in the Belfry (DaMatta 1973a and 1973b). With respectto thefirst story, it is easy enough to understand why an animal(the cat named Pluto) should be killed

for no apparent reason in dramatic circumstances thatwill lead to the

discovery of a murder (the man’s murdering of his wife). This black cat is capable not only of an extraordinary denunciation and accusation but also of intervening in a crucial way in the ultimate destiny of a guilty human being. My analysis pointed out how this specific

domestic animal (situated between humanbeings and wild animals, without being either—weall know thatcats, associated with sorcery

in the past, are problematic “pets”) serves as a link between the hus-

band, his destiny, and his wife. We also find here a constant in Poe’s

work. Between all those elements and society as a whole wefind a violent and radical separation of the private world (with its ambiguities and antisocial motivations) from the enveloping public world that will ultimately triumph. But this use of domestic animals and of intermediary positions between theprivate world (of woman and house) and the public world is a part of the universal experience of anthropology.

out how However, to say this is not enough; we must also try to find

this general structure is implemented and used in a particular case and society. Viewed from this standpoint, everything becomes different and relevant. A black cat can reveal and accuse—and can become an in-

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strumentof justice—only when it becomesa “magic cat” or “haunted cat.” Butto plot a plausible story of “murder-denouncing magical cats” in a society that adopts the ideology of “rational individualism” (which conceives the world as compartmentalized), that takes as a fundamental creed the notion that the universe is governed by “natural,” recurrent and immutable laws, and that is dominated by utilitarian empiticism as a value and creed, is to talk, in literary and poetic language, about a fantasy story.? The context of Poe’s story is clear and settled. It is a tale, a work of fiction, a story one reads for fun and pleasure in which anything can happen and everything can be ambiguous. The author’s concern © is not with the social collectivity as a source of legitimation but with his own individuality in its purest and fullest sense. The ambiguity of the story is due to the fact that the author maintains an exaggerated concern with himself: hence the use of the first person. Indeed, in Western societies “horror and fantasy stories”are linked to a maximum of zndividualism, a point clearly missed by Todorov (1970). The ambiguity of this story is also due to the fact that a domestic animal, the cat, has been dislocated or displaced. \t has been movedfrom its usual,

everyday domain andplaced in a specific context where it can undergo a transformation. Stories of this sort, in which cats and humanbeings get mixed up in murdets, tend to be banished from theplausible, utilitarian and “rational”world of everyday life, where we spend more time reading booksof instructions or “how to.” Placed in the framework of sheer power andits logic, of the laws governing business and

industry, of the sunlit world where the worker must sweat and the owner must make a profit, these stories are “make-believe and nonsense,” the

meteexpressions andreflections of a society that delights in escaping from itself. But placed in the framework of the narrativeitself, in the setting created by the story, replete with candlelight and the somber voice of the narrator, the text suddenly acquires a strange force: it may notbereal, butit is plausible and, underthe circumstances, verisimilar.

Mysecond analysis focused on a story by Poe that is regarded as “humorous.” It is a narrative about a society that is totally closed in ?From anotherpoint ofview it is interesting to point outthat Poe’s hero,bykilling

a “cat” (a variant of a “pussy cat”) is possibly trying to cope with the potential source

of his difficulty: the sexual discontinuity between him andhis wife. It must be re-

membered that Poe's character emphasizes how perfect (harmonious = asexual?) his matriage was!

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on itself, a village without history where time does not lead to cumulative change butis cyclical and repetitive. This imaginary village is composed of sixty houses in the form of a circle, like a huge, living clock which, paradoxically, tries to be a community without time. Tragedy

ensues when one day the Devil (who comes from the outside world) enters its domain and introduces improvisation, uncertainty, and his-

torical time into it. Thevillage society falls apart, collapsing with its social system that had been based on an automatic and noncumulative notion of time. It is obvious that Poe’s village is one more utopia. In myanalysis, however, I showed that whatto usis an offbeat story bordering on tragicomedycould be read as a profoundreflection on a certain type of social system that actually exists and that Poe’s humorous fantasy is concrete reality for a whole set of tribal societies of Central Brazil, like the Apinayé, the Canela, the Krahé, the Kayapé, the Sha-

vante, and the Suyd(see, respectively, DaMatta 1976b; Nimuendaja 1946; Melatti 1970; Seeger 1981; Maybury-Lewis 1967). As wasthe case in the village imagined by Edgar Allan Poe, amongthese societies the villages are circular, time is conceived ofas cyclical, andit is impossible to think aboutsocial, economic, and political realities without think-

ing of a circular cosmos. Myanalysis of Poe’s text showed how the humanspirit unwittingly works on the same forms when it meets with similar, universal prob-

lems, such as creating a structure able to sustain a cyclical notion of

time. Thus,faced with the problem of inventing a collectivity in which time would becyclical, the poet as well as somereal societies came up with similiar “solutions.” This convergence only confirms thestructuralist insight that, despite individualism andother similar creeds that attribute formidable powers to the human creative capacity, individual fantasies and concrete collective “inventions” tend to be surprisingly uniform. Given these considerations, we apparently have something to gain from an anthropology capable of studying and comparing elements deriving from different scales ofreality, so long as the framework and context of these “realities” are respected. I would suggest that an anthropology ofliterature is also a sociology of dislocated objects and of possible or actual dzs/ocations to which a given author subordinates elements that had been considered fixed and absolutely immutable before. It was Poe who made a black cat

of an talk after death, accuse a murderer, and thus forge the course

antihero. It was Guimaraes Rosa who turned a powerful landowner

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into Matraga. Butit is important to note that these two authorsef-

fected the dislocations under certain conditions, and when we examine

those conditions wefind ourselves involved with collective social forms.

And so we must unite the author with his narrative, the creator with

his creature, and literature with society and its myths. Names, Persona, and Social Trajectory

The story of Guimaraes Rosa is absolutely cohesive. Nothing in the nafrative causes usto lose sight of Augusto Esteves, who is presented in termsofhis relationship of descent to Corome/ Afonsdo Esteves and his place of origin. The name “Matraga’”—the narrator himself says— “is nothing,” a brief statement that sums up the whole message of the story, as we shall see, because Matragais the other side of Nhé Augusto.

In fact, the main character in the story actually has three names.

In the opening paragraph the narrator mentionshis full name, Augusto Esteves, whichis soon to be followed, underlined, and reinforced

by a second, alternative, appellation, Nhé Augusto—also known as

“the man” (o omem), whichis a significant and absolutely coherent wayof classifying dominantfigures (authorities, bosses, leaders) in the Brazilian social universe, especially in the rural areas.3 Indeed, the “zen” are all those at the top of the hierarchies, those who encompasseverything, and sum upthe whole social system in their persons. These “men” (Aomens) ate always socially designated by their social function and position. Accordingto the logic of the system ofclassification,all other people are either fémzeas or meninos (females or children, with traditional sexist emphasis on their irresponsible side) in the double opposition ofsex andage, since everything must beinferior and complementary before the leader or boss. A crucial point to rememberis that the name Matragats used onlyin thetitle of the story and atits end,

whenthe herofinds beatitude, becomes onewith his “other side,” and

smiles —“an intense smile on his blood-stainedlips, while from his face rises a wise contentment” (p. 387).

In a first interpretative movement, I would say that the centralfig-

ure in this story is introduced with a neutral name,a sort of ahistorical

designation that merely markshis position as an individualin the le-

3Lygia Sigaud (1972) shows how all the bosses and authorities are called “men”

(Aomens) ot, even motetelling, “os homens” (“the men’), in contrast to clients and persons without authority or power in the rural Northeast.

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gal registry. This name is Augusto Esteves. Soon, however, this name is transformedinto an alternate one, Nhé Augusto,a categorical term made of a designation that indicates his dominant status and his trajectory as a crucial figure in the local social structure. He does in fact occupy a position of prestige, and he is so deeply associated with it that his own proper name cannot be divorced from the generalized title of N4é—a popular abbreviation for sezhor (mister, lord, master) which occurs throughout Brazil. Neither can we overlook the name “Augusto” and its meaning, “the divine one,” an imperial name com-

ing to us from Rome,the source of all power and dominion.‘ Thus

Nhé Augusto is more than just a proper name.It is a social and power

classifier: an instrument designed to establish discontinuities in the social order. The third name, Matraga, correspondsto a third stage in the trajectory of our hero. Now, we can begin to understand the nartator’s assertion that: “Matraga is not Matraga. Matragais nothing.” Conflict and therefore drama enter the picture only when Augusto Esteves, the bearer of a neutral name, gives way to Nhé Augusto. The story thus describes the process of transformation of one name into another — of one man into another—since the namesor designations are clear markersof social identities exercised by their bearer. The short story can also be seen as a “case study” in which Nhé Augusto —“the superior,” “the one with the broad chest,” the arrogant boss who possesses overwhelming power and steps on the masses—is transformed

into Matraga—or matraca? (a wooden clapper orrattle), the change

of consonant is telling—a humble divine instrument through which the prototypical passion of Christ is ordered and announced on the days leading up to his death. Whenhe actsin therole of his classificatory name (Nhé Augusto), the actor is a separator of persons, somebody whois part of the order based on prestige andpolitical and economic power. But when heis invested in the role of Mattaga, the man is no longer anything atall in the social order; he is nothing. Ceasing to be one who manipulates the power resources of the social order,

he becomes a mere instrument of the passion of those who dedicate themselves to communion and mediation between society's exclusive divisions. As Matraga, Augusto Esteves discovers a new social space that 4] am grateful to Maria Coeli Cerqueira Leite for calling my attention to the name see Augusto as well. On the sociological importance and meaning of proper names and names of the seminal discussion by Claude Lévi-Strauss (1962b). For the study

their sociological significance in Brazilian tribal societies, see DaMatta (1976b).

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is opposedto thesocial world from which he cameand, of course, dialectically related to it. It is the space motivated by “the other world,” the world of renunciation. After all, is it not the emerging Matraga who unites blacks and whites, rich and poor in his purgatory? And isn’t he the one whoestablishes a link between the social order and marginality, fraternizing with Jodozinho Bem-Bem,a bandit (jagunc¢o) who is the leader of an armed band, banished from thesocial order

but maintaining necessary relationships with it? Like the crackling ofrifle fire in battle, the use of a wooden clapper (#zatraca) in the Roman Catholic ritual announces a junction, be it between the suffering Christ (during Holy Week) and the sinners who condemned him andwill win their salvation in and through him, between opposing armed bands that meet, or between those doing public penance (which is a temporary renunciation of the world) and ordinary people. It must be remembered that in manyareas of rural Brazil the woodenrattle clapper always announcesthe passage of penitents, “so that night revellers may return to their homes and backsliders may shut their windows, lest they becomevictims of supernatural sanctions — diseases or death” (Queiroz 1973:83). As we shall see, Matraga is also such an instrument of renunciation. The two names of Augusto Esteves mark his two majorsocialroles. On the one hand,his person, revealed by the powerful and despotic landowner who commandsandseparates men, and ownsland,cattle, and people. The an whosees himself as “superior” (a/teado), and capable of transcending the distinctions Letween good andevil, pure and impure. At least this is what is informed and contained by the seignorial name, Nhé Augusto. Onthe other hand, the name Matraga seemsto designate the connector of humanbeings andsocial categories. It reveals a social role that was not inherited along with land and livestock, a social role that has been painfully constructed by penitence, after his loss of power and authority, through his descent into the world of the miserable, the world of blacks and pariahs. Whereas the name Nhé Augustopoints to the social order anda superiorplace in its hieratchy, the name Matragareveals the marginality of an zxdividual who has wandered through with the poor people, nature, and bandits and whorefused — like a true renouncer (see Dumont 1970b: chapter 3)— to return to the world from which hestarted out. In other words, Matraga refuses to be in the noncomplementary world in which,as a destitute individual, he will have to follow and obey universal laws. This is the dimension ofthe Brazilian social universe occupied by the “poor”

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and the worker, where social position is defined exclusively by performance: by what one does and not by what one zs. Thus we could say that Matraga is a namethat za@ividualizes, indicates despoilment, and puts its bearer on an equal footing before the general laws and rules that govern the world. In contrast, the name Nhé Augusto marks the status of the whole person in thesocial hierarchy: the persow who has rights, makes laws, and obviously does not need to obey them.

Our hero combines in himself three positions that are at once one and distinct: the neutral humanbeing recorded in thecivil register (Augusto Esteves), who can be everything and nothing; the person of domination and power in the social order (Nh6é Augusto), who abuses his position and thinks he is beyond good andevil, love and hate, wealth and poverty; and, finally, the zz@zvzdual, whodiscovers his ownalter-

native as a renouncer (Matraga) whowill serve as the redeemerof two other people. Onecansay thatin its dramatic process, the narrative reproduces the passages of the hero from one nameto another. Each name, then, martks— brands, one couldsay using the idiom of the story—the stages and the dominantsocial roles of the life of the hero. Marginality, Renunciation, and Vengeance

The sequenceof namesdovetails with basic events in the story. Thus, we have a completely neutral “introductory name” that presents the character to us; a classificatory and personalized name (Nhé Augusto), which is incorporated in a clearly presented biography of the character, and, finally, a unique, individualized, hard-won name (Matraga).

Butthe hero of this story is not alonein this crucial process of name changing. Examples abound inliterature, history, and sociology because to a changein social position always corresponds a change of properor classificatory names (titles, numbers, labels, etc.). Thus, the obscure and unnamedservant girl becomes the radiant Cinderella. Dr. Jekyll is transformed into Mr. Hyde. Edmond Dantés turns into the Count of Monte Cristo. The anonymous cattleman Anténio Vicente Mendes Maciel becomes the tragic messianic community leader Ant6nio Conselheiro. In Os Velhos Marinhetros {The old sailors] byJorge Amado, the respectable and exemplary public servant Joaquim Soares da Cunha“retires” to the docks and becomes the rogue Quincas Berro D’Agua. Virgulino daSilva Ferreira becomes the bandit leader Lampido. The unknown Edson Arantes do Nascimento becomes

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Pelé. And Nhé Augusto becomes Matraga. Thelogic is impeccable and many mote examples could be given. A radical changein statuscorre-

spondsto a shift in position in the social hierarchy, and in somesocie-

ties the proper nameis oneof the privileged ways of marking this movementor passage. Indeed, in highly hierarchical and holistic systems, the nameis equivalent to the hierarchical position in such a way that

to dishonor the position equals to stain, besmirch, defile, or offend

the name. The samesociological principle links a nameto a social position very closely, to the point of dissolving the distance between the social position and the words that designate it, so that merely pronouncing the zame ofthe position (orsocial role) without following

the proper conventions required by custom —i.e., by showing “respect”—

is equivalentto defiling or attacking the concrete person andtheper-

son’s position. Among us Brazilians, for example, “the name of the

mother” is sacred and equals motherherself. Lack of respect for her nameis identical to dishonoring the social role, and it requires proper, usually violent, reparation. Entry into certain well-defined domains calls for a change of one’s original name, the adoption of a stage name or nom de guerre. This preserves the family name, which mightbe tainted in certain contexts, thus allowing for individualization and marking a change in social condition. For example, in the armed forces numbersreplace personal names and impersonal treatment makes everyone equally subject to the same general rules.>

It is also worth noting that a change of namesalways entails a change from the inexpressive appellation (without distinction or history) to a vivid, expressive one, indicating one’s passage from anonymity to notortety, and frequently from the status ofindividual to that ofperson. As | indicated in chapter 4, nothing is more important than becoming a person and—who knows?—a celebrity, superperson, or VIP. Curiously enough, the nameslisted above, with the exception of Pelé and the ambiguous case of the Count of Monte Cristo, involve the

transformation of people into celebrities precisely by a negation of the established order. In other words, it was by rejecting the conditions >Every Brazilian “family boy” can recall the advice of a worried father or friendly uncle when they pointed out the “miserable” treatment he was aboutto get in the

army, by an idealizer and leveler Sargentao—always imagined as a semiliterate, bad-

tempered, andill-manneted (*a/-educado, as wesay in Brazil) mulato—who will make

life difficult by treating the white boy as a number and withoutthe usual privileges

(regalias) and “considerations” of family position that he has in the Aouse.

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of domination imposedby the existing social structure that some individuals who had been oppressed by the power system managed to become“persons” and thus to acquire worth, respect, and sometimes power in a society that otherwise had been violently exploiting them. The other exception is Matraga, of course, who by assuming a position of renunciation refuses to return to the existing order, in which he held a superior position. Unlike many heroes, he chooses to remain in the intermediate, alternative zone that the backlandrepresents in the work

of Guimaraes Rosa, the impossible place of the xem la, nem ca—a

“neither here nor there” place, which is a symbol of another domain dialectically opposed to the everyday hierarchies based on inheritance, descent, and kinship. The se7téo (backland), then,is equivalentto the limen, the marginal, and the camgago or no-man’s-land: to all of the spaces wherealternatives and inversions are concrete possibilities. But besides the change of name, what else characterizes the trajectory of these characters? Clearly theyall are involved in paradoxinsofar as the very same person can occupy tworadically opposed positions in the short cycle of his biography. For example, Virgulino daSilva Ferreira was a small farmer totally enmeshed in the exploitive structure of rural, northeastern Brazil, but by dint of historical circumstances and his choice of arms as an instrument of protest, he became a dreaded bandit and as a conse-

quence cameto occupy a position quite the opposite of the one that held him in bondage. His was a dramatic passage from object to subject, from victim to avenger, from passive individual enslaved by the laws of supply and demand(which always favor the proprietor or patron who implements them, as we saw in the story of Pedro Malasartes) to active person making his own laws and applying them to the rich and

powerful. And we know that, as Lampiao, he madelaws that turned

local customs upside down when, at gunpoint, he compelled everyone (especially members of thelocal elite like the local magistrate and his

wife) to dance naked at balls, and when heforced the rich to bring

in person the moneyof the “loans” he made with them.® In a sense, this radical change of position expresses a reinterpretation of society by the individual who,by virtue of the change in his position, acquires

somedistance from society and, detached from it, opens up new social

spaces.

6These points are brought outin the fine study by Maria Isaura Pereira de Queiroz (1977). Also see Souza (1973).

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We find the same movementin the case of other heroes, as though

they had acquired the ability to reincarnate themselves in socially advetse and opposite types. This distance is clearly characteristic of Cinderella and also of Edmond Dantés (the Count of MonteCristo), a hero especially suited to be the patron of our social personages. Before comparing him and Matraga, however, I must examine the matter of this change of social position as a basic mechanism of what wecall “tragedy”or “drama.”Forhere, I think, is a good example of how comparative sociology can provide us with a persuasive interpretation of these genres. Theinversionseffected by the characters mentioned aboveentail two basic components: a radical change in social position and a direction in which this changetakes place. In the case of Cinderella and of the Count of Monte Cristo, the direction is toward the central groups of a society with a correspondingrise in social position. But the direction mayalso be toward the lower strata of society, a departure from the existing order toward the “no man’s land” ofthe social system, as in the case of Antonio Conselheiro, Lampiao, Mr. Hyde, and Matraga. Whateverthe direction, the hero passes through a marginal moment and an intermediate state in which the hero belongsneither to his own groupnorto the category that hewill eventually embody. This liminal state equals the momentin which the hero is completely zxdividualized from his social background and milieu, so thatheis in total opposition to his society and may become a symbolofan alternative modeof existence andofsocial behavior. In this condition, his actions

take on tremendous weight and can eventually be generalized as paradigmatic.

In somecases, and this is a fundamental consideration, the person

who makes these passagesor transitions never returns to his point of social origin. Such was the case with Anténio Conselheiro and, to some

extent, with Lampiao and other bandits who ultimately are killed and

never return to the social order. Thus there is no confrontation between the two social identities that critically mark the story of their life. It must also be noted, however, that in Brazil the trajectory of bandits is substantially different from that of renouncers, or the so-

called “messianic leaders.” The death of banditsis generally preceded by a formal trial by the authorities or informal judgment by public opinion, which notonly legitimates police violence butalso closes their biographical cycle and effects a confrontation between their twolives. In fact, the death of bandits is legitimated by a consensual judgment

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on their harmful nature, whichis usually made under the aegis of those who hold power. The culprit in question is, in the end, a bandit,

whoselife embodiedactions that are highly contradictory and ambiguous in termsof social morality. The jury verdict is simply this settling of accounts when the person can beisolated and studied in terms of his two lives: as a decent man of good deeds and/or as a bandit and mutderer. Such a judgment, however, was not possible in the case of a true renouncerlike Antonio Conselheiro. In his case it is well-known that he did not organize a band of malefactors, but instead he brought together average people andfamilies to join him in buildinga citadel of faith, a communityeffectively parallel to the official world, where, as they saw it, they could live by their own rules. If Lampiao had a zigzag trajectory, moving in and outof the existing order to exercise his role as a general avenger and dohis pillaging, Anténio Conselheiro moved steadily out of society in the direction of a new and invented world. By doing so, he committed a majorsin in the eyes of the established Brazilian authorities: he left behindthe existing system and all it represented. After all, he—like Matraga—was a renouncet. This confrontation between social roles is the basic element in the social mechanism wecall “vengeance.” From a sociological pointof view,

vengeance seems to be nothing more than the extreme (orlimiting)

case of a passage between discontinuous social positions held by the same individual, who is in confrontation with the values and persons that nourishedhis initial social role. Leaving aside the complex and fascinating problem constituted by the study of vengeance in terms of a grammarofsocialroles or identities assumed by one andthe same individual, I should simplylike to stress the fact thatit is in these cases of confrontation that we get a definitive closing of the biographical cycle and, therefore, the return of the hero.

In his important work “Da Vinganca” (on vengeance), which focuses

on the case of the Count of Monte Cristo, Anténio Candido (1964) provides a series of ideas that will help us to develop this interpretation. He points out that, in Dumas’s book, Edmond Dantés in the

course of his adventurous life is a “sailor, convict, smuggler” and also a “shrewd man, millionaire, and aristocrat” (1964:20). His return from

the veritable purgatory that was the Chateau d’If (the nameitself merits consideration) constitutes the closing of a cycle, the payment of a debt to the society that so unjustly condemned him. Hence, we can say that the return of Dantés as the Count of Monte Cristo is, from

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a sociological point of view, a moral counterexchange or prestation. As in thecase of gift-giving and receiving,it follows the encompassing norm of “giving and receiving” in the permanentcycle of reciprocity that, as Marcel Mauss (1974a) revealed, is the master fabric of the social tissue. Butif the story by Dumas broaches the problem of vengeance directly — its central theme being the complete omnipotenceofthe hero, whois able to pay off his debt to all those who had wronged him — the story by Guimaraes Rosa takes the same problem in reverse. In it the plot evolves in the direction of inhibiting vengeance and, in doing so, of imagining the possibility of such restraint in such a basic instrumentof moral salvation. All of this takes place in a social environment where vengeanceis prescribed andreified as an absolute and “natural” form of behavior. As the bandit Seu Jodozinho Bem-Bem wisely says: “Who would want to continue obeying a man whodid not avengehis own people whentheyare killed by treachery? It’s the rule!” (p. 383). In this context, he has no choice but to exact revenge for the killing of one of his men and thereby to preserve his honor as a respected bandit and true leader. In the case of Monte Cristo, the return of the hero is a central element, as if Edmond Dantés were irremediably attached to his community and original social role and his ver.geance were a counterpayment for everything that his false friends and colleagues had doneto him in the way of ingratitude, intrigue, and injustice. In the case of Nh6o Augusto, however, the action moves in the opposite direction. There is a steady movement away from revenge and a progressive abandonmentof the code of vengeanceitself, as if the hero, in becoming Matraga, were discovering that he is free and no longer bound to a counterpayment of honorto his basic community. In contrast to the world of natural beings, who are forced to follow a cyclic course of which the narrator and Nhé Augustoare fully aware at every moment, Matraga breaks this cycle by opening his way to the outside ofsociety, a trajectory that makes him more and moteisolated and individualized. Thus, if in the biographical trajectory of other heroes we find a departure from the system, a consequent individualization, and a return that closes the triumphant cycle of the hero; in thecase of renouncers, by contrast, we see the progressive individualization of the character, who irretrievably breaks with the ties binding him to his original social formation and consequently never comes back. Here the period of individualization (when the herois in a liminalstate: alone,

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outside his group, and a prey to perilous forces) does not serve as the basis for his triumphant return. Instead, the marginal individualiza-

tion keeps growing andis never overcome. Renouncers open newsocial

spaces, whereas heroes reinforce already existing social roles. Breaking his return cycle, Nhé Augusto begins his za cruczs at the momenthefindsthathis first impulse at vengeance is frustrated, when he goes to confront his mortal enemy, Major Consilva, in his ranch. There, he receives a monstrous beating and—in a perverse feat on the part of his enemies andas a proofof what he deserved —heis branded. This episode allows him to see himself in all his weakness: as a leader without followers, a patron without land, a husband without a wife.

Antonio Candido makes clear that the Count of Monte Cristo suffers from the disillusionment of omnipotence, which ultimately condemnshim to sort of ultra-marginality that correspondsto his extreme individualization. After all, there is a deep correspondence between omnipotence andindividualization andsolitude. In contrast, Matraga initially suffers from the burden of impotence, which prevents him from reassuming his place in the social structure that expelled him and transformed him into a defeated outcast. But his victory is not the triumph of the man who comes back as an avenger and as such recovers his old position in the structure; rather it is the conquest of the mystical over the economic, the political, and the moral. Much the same seemed to happen to Anténio Conselheiro, who was also driven from the social order by terrible events: a family conflict, according to the official historical version; the murder of his wife and mother

after his mother had intrigued against his wife, according to the myth of the people of the backland (see da Cunha 1938:165). Whatdifferentiates the Count of Monte Cristo from Antonio Conselheiro and Matraga is the fact that his return closes his owncycle, whereas for the renouncersthesocial cycle remains open.It is closed only on the mystical plane when “this world” and“thislife” are finally linked to “the other world” and “the otherlife” by the stern pathway of renunciation, asif the finalact of reciprocity inexorably engendered by vengeance weresituated on a differentplane. In the case of Matraga it is situated on the cosmic plane where the hero commutes vengeance into a paradoxical vengeance on an avenger himself, or, on himself, through his paradigmatic image, Seu Jodozinho Bem-Bem, the bandit leader and generalized avenger who kills Matraga in a duel. By repressing his own vengeance, Matraga breaks the ties of reciprocity and once andforall dismantles the mechanism that held him

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captive to society. He becomesan individual precisely becausehefails to return to society and assume his complementary position in a hierarchy by taking vengeance. Breaking with his society and its hierarchy, Matraga creates a special space for his own kind of existence and destiny, and ultimately for all those who decide to react similarly against the rules of the established social world. It is worth noticing that Matraga’s course is the opposite of that presented in the same book by another Guimaraes Rosa story: “The Duel.” In this story vengeance is effected and social reciprocity is fully assumed, despite the fact that the avenger, alas, dies of an ordinary

natural cause, a heart attack. But, appropriately enough, his buddy and compadre stands in for him at the magnificent momentoffinal complementarities, on the occasion when vengeance is accomplished

andall the cycles close, as with the arrival of summer andthe end of

winter.

In the story of Matraga, as if to make clear the importance of the issue, his trajectory is also marked by lesser but significant acts of vengeance. At the beginningof thestory an ugly peasantfinds his motive for wanting revenge in the high-handed actions of Nhé Augusto, who,at a perverted public auction during a fair, robs the peasant of his cheap prostitute by outbidding him for her. Later, when Nhé Augusto fails to get his revenge on Major Consilva andis, instead, beaten by the latter’s men, he sees this very same peasant among the men beating him. The mangets in his licks and thus exacts his vengeance on Nhé Augusto, thus finishing his cycle, since to get revenge is to link up the points of a social trajectory by a confrontation between

opposite social positions and situations.

Thefirst cycle of the story is closed with the revenge of the anonymouspeasant. But the theme seemsto expand on twopassages at the opening of the narrative thatoffer twolittle puzzles to the reader. First, an old song closes the cycle from the narrator to the modern reader whenit says that both the rich man and the poor man must go away, meaning that they both—bethey higher or lower in the structure of society—are subject to the laws of nature and one day will die. Second, a peasantproverb states that the toad does not jumpfor the joy of it but out of necessity; in other words, the toad must jump, just as men must take their vengeance and the poor look for work in the ideologicalreification that turnsthe rules of vengeance and moral equality into “natural” things. Butif the ugly peasant takes revenge, Dionora—the adulterouswife

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of Nhé Augusto—nevercloses her cycle, because Nhé Augusto never returnsto exact his vengeance. By the sametoken,the cycle of reciproca-

tion owed to Major Consilva, Nhé Augusto’s enemy, also remains open.

Indeed, they never meet again, since Nhé Augusto, now Matraga, sends

his blessings and pardonto his daughter and wife when hesays: “Give myblessings to my daughter, wherever she may be. . . . Andtell Dionora that everythingis in order!” This probably meansthat he has decided to sever his original links with all relationships that, otherwise,

force man (and woman)to open a cycle of vengeance. Then hedies, closing the cycle of his biography in a mystical way and leaving open that part of his life. Other events in this story are cyclic as well, such as the march of the seasons and the movementofthe birds from north to south in their seasonal migration.In fact, everything seemsto be arranged in the form of cycles: the men belonging to Nhé Augusto go over to Major Consilva for money; the powerful Nhé Augustolosesall his social and political power. What the author does, however, with Nhé Augusto —

and with the reader—is to inhibit the cycle of his own imagination,

all centered around the burning question: But whenis it exactly that

Nhé Augusto is going to avenge himself?

On a deeper level the closing of each person's cycle is equivalent to “the hour and opportunity” of each one, since such a closing entails a double confrontation: on the one hand between different persons occupying similar positions; and on the other hand, between different social roles occupied by the same person. But how does Nhé Augusto manage to close his own cycle and become Augusto Matraga? The Hour of Renunciation

The final situation in the story is filled with tension. After Nhé Augusto has roamed throughthe backlands and experienced thefeeling of true freedom, he meets up again with the bandof SeuJodozinho Bem-Bem, his friend and “brother” in spirit, who is preparing to exact vengeance in thevillage of Tombador. Hediscovers that his friend has lost one of his best men andis preparinghis revenge against the family of the man whokilled one of his loyal followers. Here Nhé Augusto encounters a double temptation. First, there is a temptation to return victoriously to his own society. Seu Jodozinho Bem-Bem knows that Nhé Augusto is a manlike himself, but one situated on the “other side” of the social structure. He had offered all his resources to Nhé

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Augusto, so that the latter would have the forces needed to return to his original village and redeem his honor by vengeance andviolence. Second, there is now a temptationto take the placeofthe slain gang member. This would permit Nhé Augustoto return to thesocial structure as a bandit. Here, Guimaraes Rosa reveals a deep sociological insight. He indicates that Nhé Augusto and Seu Joaozinho Bem-Bem are “brothers,” and we note the fact that the latter is also entitled sen-

hor (“‘sexz’’).7 Do we not confront here the twosides of the samesocial

structure, both united by a complementary, relational perspective?

Whenhe talks to the father of the man who killed his follower,

however, Jodozinho Bem-Bem explicitly reaffirms that vengeance is the

rule. It is not a matter of individual will, emotion, or choice but of

a social imperative, of honoring an ethical norm that constantly relates all workers to each other and their bosses, thus making clear the deep

and complementary aspect of the hierarchical dimension ofsociety. At

this momentthe old father, in desperation, appeals to “the force of God”for help, and this constitutes the final opportunity for Nhé Augusto to become Matraga by championingthe cause of the poor backlander. Matraga’s intervention allows Guimaraes Rosa to play with the “mys-

tical code,” which is so characteristic of his writings. He transforms Nhé

Augusto into the representative of Good opposed to Evil. This action also has theforce of an exorcism, definitively separating Nhé Augusto, the avenger who1s a prisonerofhis old relationships andofhis society, from the renouncer whom Godfrees from all human and naturallaws. In this final episode, then, there is a separation of the avenger from the renouncer. Thelatter enlarges when Nh6 Augusto/ Matragais living in a completely marginal state with a poor black couple, after he had been beaten, branded, andlostall his ties to the power structure where he was at the top. Thus theclosing of Nhé Augusto’s life cycle takes place when by becoming Matraga® he prevents a professional 7This name, like almost every namein this story, is multivocal. Indeed, in Brazil

the word sehor (master, lord, mister, gentleman) can be colloquially used either as NAéot as Seu. The expression Sew, however, also means“yours,” hence the pun with

the bandits name:“Seu Jodozinho Bem-Bem,” which meansMr. Johnny Goody-Goody

(a paradoxical joke in the context of the narrative); or, “Yours” Jodozinho Bem-Bem, that is, the bandit who does “good” for you.

*After the Brazilian edition of this book was published,I was apprised of the fact that Joao Guimaraes Rosa invented the name Matraga, not by thinking in any instrumentsof penitence, the matraca (or woodenrattle), but by simply inverting a regu-

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avenger, a sort of Hobsbawnian“social bandit,” from exercising his vengeance. This is the meaning of the paradigmatic duelto the death between Nhé6 Augusto and Seu Joaozinho Bem-Bem.Thelatter diesfirst, recognizing his opponentas his brother. Matraga himself then dies in peace. This final situation is structurally similar to the opening of the nar-

tative. To begin, as in the initial scene, the setting is a public auction

—that is, an encounter, an arena or marketplace where everyone hopes to take advantageof the free bidding on goods. Indeed, at an auction and underthe patronageofa saint and the legitimacy of the Catholic Church,the rules of hierarchy are suspended, since everyone who has the means enjoys the same right to bid for goods. At the auction in the beginning of the story, Nhé Augusto exercised his authority and poweragainst a situation framed by basic equality and individualism. Noticing that the poor and ugly peasant was about to make a bid in order to take the prostitute he wanted and loved, Nh6é Augusto sent

his man to beat up the poor peasant. In doing so, he violently broke

the rules of the gameby reintroducing hierarchical authority in a con-

text defined by different sets of rules. Nhé Augusto, the authoritarian

high-handedboss, therefore took advantage ofhis position and reacted against the disturbing egalitarian situation in which everybody has a

voice and an interest. He also used typical “Do you know who you’re talking to?!” against his eventual and weak opponent. Here the story

highlights a commonsituation in Brazil, a basic incompatibility between high-handed authority and situations framed by somesort of equality. Once again we are confronted with what we have comeacross repeatedly: a system where political or religious morality usually in-

cludes economicrules.

lar verbal form. Indeed, wesay in Portuguese: ¢raga-me (meaning, “bring it to me”) in order to express an imperative present tense form. The inversion of the regular form, “traga-me’ fot “me traga’—which,by the way, distinguishes the Portuguese spoken in Brazil from the Portuguese spoken in Portugal, as Gilberto Freyre discussed long ago (1986 [1936])—gave the writer the inspiration for the name. Be that as it may, it is interesting to note that, from a sociological view point, the form “mza/traga”is

still coherent with the limiting and decisive sacrificial action of giving himself to a

cause—the repression of the rule of vengeance—thus serving as the object that is

“brought” to besacrificed, which is the ultimate way of renouncing the world. The

“hour and time” of Augusto Matraga then, is an hour and a time in which the actor

“brings”(¢rds) ot immolates himself to a mystical decision, hence the perfect double coherence of the name Matraga.

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Atthestart of the story, then, Nhé Augusto “purchases” the prostitute at a public auction underthe patronage of a saint, thus making sure that his prerogatives as a powerful landowner prevail. But at the endofthe story he is a helpless and poor old man, an anonymous peasant, who—by a mystical appeal and in the midst of a conflict where all are just aboutto fight against all —“purchases” Matraga at the “public auction” of his own motivationsto saintliness and renunciation. Thus the story opens with the main character, Nhé Augusto, dividing and separating, or personifying power and high position in thesocial hierarchy, but it ends with Matraga serving as a social integrator, a function symmetrically inverse to the one he performedat the start. Here the person whois imprisoned by the rules and invokes them is, paradoxically, the bandit Seu Jodozinho Bem-Bem,even thoughas a ban-

dit he has systematically broken the rules and in fact does not live by any rule at all. As a landowner and a boss, however, Nhé Augusto was

the one systematically upheld by rules and laws; he is now, as Matraga, really free from them and ready to forge his own salvation. Thus is completed the paradoxical cycle of a man whobasedhis conduct on an exaggerated authoritarianism whenhelived within the existing order and who endsuprestructuring his ownlife and finding his destiny in the marginal world of the backland. As persons who may find themselves in polar social positions during the course of their social existence, heroes are beings with theprivilege of being able to complete the meaning of their biography while they arestill alive. For us common people,on the other hand, destiny as a social category is something invisible and often the object of anxious waiting. Of Rogues, Avengers, and Renouncers As we see, the story by Guimaraes Rosa deals with characters and

institutions that are fundamentalin Brazilian society. The main character is the powerful landowner who loseseverything andis expelled from the community in which he lives. Bound up with the figure of the landowner is his symmetrical opposite: the bandit leader Seu Joaozinho Bem-Bem, who in the narrative also has a right to be called “senhor”andis treated as the “ideological brother” of the landowner. This reveals a perfectly correct insight into the two sides of the Brazilian social world and the complementary or relational duality that underlies it between “outlaws” and those “in law” (or in power). But the story does notstop andfocus only onthis rathertrivial op-

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position between bandits and police. Its central theme is the loss of “secular,” “rational power” and the simultaneous acquisition of “mystical,” “relational power” or of “the power of the weak” (see Lewis 1963), a modality of powerthat runs parallel to the “official” structures of domination that normally operate in the society. The story moves from a stable situation, in which the landowner Nhé Augusto hasev-

erything —wife and daughter (symbols of his sexual and reproductive power), henchmen, land, money, and cattle (icons of his political power) —to a situation in which heloses everything by adultery, theft, and usurpation; in short, he becomesa social loser as well as a tragi-

cally individualized man bereft of his honor. According to the personalized code of Brazilian society, his only way out would be to redeem his honor by the omnipresent and legitimate tool of vengeance. But that is precisely what does not happen. Instead, Guimaraes Rosa introduces another basic componentof the Brazilian social world, but an elementthat is generally not perceived by those whotry to analyze and interpretit: the act of renunciation and the figure of the renouncer. By paying attention to the trajectory of Nho Augusto from powerfulbossto isolated penitent, we have been able to discover the importance of the renouncer as a major possibility in Brazilian social structure. In fact, perhaps dueto the egalitarian and individualistic dimension of our system, we are more proneto detect avengers and accept vengeance as a key and exclusive element in the dynamicsof the Brazilian system. But, as I have argued, the avenger always returnsto the existing order since—like Edmond Dantés—he is a true prisoner of his own past and of that order. Things, however, are significantly different in the case of renouncers,

whodefinitively break the ties that bind them to their original community. And this is done in a such a drastic way that, as the case of Matragaclearly illustrates, renunciation can be taken as a denial and refusal of vengeance. Whereas vengeance ends up affirming the basic

personalized code of the social order, renunciation deniesthatthis rei-

fied andinstitutionalized ethics is something “natural.” It brings onto the scene the possibility of alternative routes. This being said, we can now discuss the possibility of integrating vengeance and renunciation as social phenomena that express different ways of relating to society. Vengeance addresses itself to a “personal” or even “individual” style of dealing with structural conflicts. It certainly constitutes an ethical code, but thereis still room for personalized reactions and perceptions within the code. Thus, vengeance

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can be placed ontheside ofa “personal” solution for moral dilemmas, a modality that maylead to plain “modern” equality and individualism —from the personal and biographical “status” of vengeance to the “contract” form of justice by impersonal retribution, to paraphrase Maine (1963)—a movementexpected by sometheoreticiansof society.

Renunciation, however, points to a more radical resolution for the same

sorts of conflict. It addresses itself to the whole and, as we saw, offers

no possibility of reintegrating the person back into society. In fact, the renounceroptsfor action in another world, hence leaving “this world” for other values and relationships. Various kinds of millenarian and messianic movements propose this rejection of the system by simply leaving it somehow paradoxically “untouched,” as if they were assuming the radical position that the world is beyond reform. This obviously contrasts with the “this-worldly ethics of reform” which is always devoted to saving and “changing” this world, a precious place worthy of salvation. But whatis interesting in the Brazilian caseis the discovery that these two modesof dealing with conflict can be interpreted as forming a continuum, which in turn reveals how much the apparent abyss be-

tween holism and individualism is more in our minds and conceptions.

Indeed, the case of Brazil demonstrates that the combination of two

or more ethics or cultural codes—with allsorts of ideological alternatives and unexpected symbolic motivations—seems to be more frequent than we tend to suspect. The other revelation is that these two forms are used interchangeably—which poses important sociological questions that we will haveto resolve. Finally, all this shows that vengeance and renunciation are probably in competition and that—from theperspective of either modernity or traditionalism —the Brazilian system faces a built-in “structural dilemma.” Thus, in a certain way, an institutionalized system of vengeance channels conflicts and allowsthe translation of universal problemsinto personalaffairs. To a certain extent, it prevents us from seeing the problem as a part of the system of social and economicrelationships, despite the perception of their inadequacy, especially in relationship to the legal system. But, as others have demonstrated and the Brazilian ex-

petience seemsto point out, vengeanceis perhapsthe first experience leading to a critical dialogue between the law on one hand andtraditional morality on the other hand. Like the tragedy of Romeo and Juliet, which proves the stupidity of traditional morality against the desire of “free individuals,” vengeance may lead to agreementon a dif-

AUGUSTO MATRAGA AND THE HOUR OF RENUNCIATION

265

ferent kind of rule. Now, instead of being guided by the blind codes of the past, we can agree—as did the Capulets and Montagues—to be ruled by impersonal laws represented by the sovereign prince. Tragedy and revenge, therefore, as Viveiros de Castro and Benzanquem de Aratjo (1977) argue, may lead to radical change. But we mustalso recognize that revenge often leads to a bloodyfinal confrontation. Vengeanceis, in fact, a kind of in-between institution,

a way of redressing wrongs that challenges both the traditional hierarchies and the modern universalistic legal system. Vengeance tends to inhibit questions about the system as much as it puts the system in question. It permits confrontation, butit usually also consigns violence to the personal sphere, leaving room for the localizedrelief of tensions and, most importantly, keeping intact the system of social positions. Hence the encouragementofstyles of vengeance in which astuteness and ridicule is a fundamental instrument in the attempt to achieve

someform ofsocial justice and/or moralredress. This is the road taken

by rogues such as Pedro Malasartes, who, as we saw, can be taken to be a valuein the Brazilian system. This form of vengeanceis obviously easier to accomplish and, as I said, occurs much more frequently, for it represents a compromise with the system. Here the reaction (and

the eventual protest) may be merely verbal or enveloped in structural ambiguity—roguish behavior, as we saw in the case of Carnival. In other

words, we have a lot more rogues (getting their revenge with music or by meansof joking relationships) than we have bandits. Desisting from vengeance, Matraga presents a personal, subjective way out ofthe problem ofsocial conflict in Brazil. He actualizes another possibility thatis also offered and legitimatedby the system: the absoluterejection of everything by taking a supernatural route and abandoning the social order. As the story of Matraga makesclear, in societies like Brazil this is probably a much more powerful and radical way of reacting against the established order than theviolentalternative of bandits and yagumgos. Because renunciation is total rejection,it ts no longer a matterof trying to defeat a particular landowner or deputy who is powerful and wicked, but rather a way of creating a utopian millennium. Finally, we can say that bandits, rogues, and renouncers bring to light the possibilities of effecting a creative but inverted pathway within the social structure. Instead of entering more and moreinto the social order and becoming totally subject to it and its rules, they

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all posit the concrete possibility of stepping outside of society —orbetter, of leaving “this world.” As this study of Augusto Matragareveals,

then, we can say that the avenger,the social bandit, and the renouncer

can be taken as crucial Brazilian heroes and studied as part of the same continuum. In so doing, we can open new perspectives through

the use of unhindered, constructive, and systematic comparison of societies which, like Brazil, operate on the basis of a “double code.”

Indeed, we find that acute formsof individualization do surface in apparently modern systems as a way of confronting the profound inequalities posed by the dilemmaofa society that — it is never enough to repeat — institutionalizes two simultaneous and apparently contradictory ideals: equality and hierarchy.

References

Aguiar, Neuma 1973. “Totem e Tabi no Nordeste: Uma Mediacao Sociologica entre a

Antropologia Social e a Antropologia Clinica.” Publicagées do In-

stituto Universitario de Pesquisas do Rio de Janeiro. Almeida, Aluisio de 1951. “O Vigarista Malasartes.” Investigagées, ano 3, no. 28. Sao Paulo. Alves, Isidoro Maria

O Carnaval Devoto. Colecao Antropologia. Petrépolis: Editora Vozes. Amado,Jorge 1970a. O Pais do Carnaval, Cacau, Suor. Sao Paulo: Livraria Martins Editora. 1980.

1970b. Os Velhos Marinhezros. Sao Paulo: Livraria Martins Editora. English translation by Harriet de Onis: Home Is the Sailor. New York: Knopf, 1964.

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