Spirit(s) in Black Religion: Fire on the Inside (Black Religion/Womanist Thought/Social Justice) 3031098862, 9783031098864

Citation preview

BLACK RELIGION/WOMANIST THOUGHT/SOCIAL JUSTICE

Spirit(s) in Black Religion Fire on the Inside

Kurt Buhring

Black Religion/Womanist Thought/Social Justice Series Editors

Dwight N. Hopkins University of Chicago Divinity School Chicago, IL, USA Linda E. Thomas Lutheran School of Theology Chicago Chicago, IL, USA

The Black Religion/Womanist Thought/Social Justice Series produces works engaging any dimension of black religion or womanist thought as they pertain to social justice. Womanist thought is a new approach in the study of African American women’s perspectives. The series includes a variety of African American religious expressions; traditions such as Protestant and Catholic Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Humanism, African diasporic practices, religion and gender, religion and black gays/lesbians, ecological justice issues, African American religiosity and its relation to African religions, new black religious movements or religious dimensions in African American “secular” experiences.

Kurt Buhring

Spirit(s) in Black Religion Fire on the Inside

Kurt Buhring Saint Mary’s College Notre Dame, IN, USA

ISSN 2945-6975     ISSN 2945-6983 (electronic) Black Religion/Womanist Thought/Social Justice ISBN 978-3-031-09886-4    ISBN 978-3-031-09887-1 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-09887-1 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Cover illustration: Bruce Rolff/Stocktrek Images / Getty Images This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG. The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

For Erika, Jackson, and Kade

I shout because there is a fire on the inside. When I witness the truth, the fire moves on the main altar of my heart, and I can’t keep still. —Unnamed slave, in Clifton H. Johnson, ed., God Struck Me Dead, 11 Where there is no human, there is no divinity. —Yoruba proverb Without knowing what spirit is, one cannot know what Spirit is. —Paul Tillich, Systematic Theology, 3:22

Acknowledgments

I appreciate being able to take the opportunity to express my gratitude to the many colleagues, friends, and family members who have been vital to my research and writing of this book. I am grateful for the support of Saint Mary’s College. In addition to a sabbatical and multiple research grants from the college’s Center for Academic Innovation, the Religious Studies and Theology Department has provided a wonderful environment for my work. We value our teaching commitments first, but always make sure to foster our passions for our scholarship as well. I am also appreciative of the work and support of the college’s library staff, which was very helpful in tracking down many, often obscure, materials for my research. Alongside the support of Saint Mary’s, everyone I have had the good fortune to work with at Palgrave Macmillan and Springer has been wonderful. Specifically, Amy Invernizzi was always helpful, encouraging, and patient and made the publishing process as simple as possible. Additionally, I am lucky to have had intelligent and generous mentors over the years. In particular, Dwight N.  Hopkins and Anthony Reddie have inspired my efforts. Dr. Hopkins, my doctoral advisor, first encouraged my interest in black theology in course work and continued to provide invaluable support for my dissertation and my work since. Dr. Reddie has been exceptionally supportive of my research since we first met at an AAR conference years ago. He knows of his invitation to publish in his journal, Black Theology, and to review pieces for it, but he is unaware of how much his implicit support of my scholarship has meant to me in the past decade or so. ix

x 

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Finally, and most importantly, I am forever grateful for the unwavering support of my family. My parents, Ed and Pat, and sisters, Laura and Debra, have been my greatest cheerleaders throughout my life. Impressively, my sisters even willingly read my first book, and we have had many discussions about the meaning of life over the years, though we still have not figured it out! My greatest appreciation is for my wife, Erika, and our two sons, Jackson and Kade. Now about to start college, Jackson was only around eight years old when I began this project. Always bright, he has matured into a good-hearted man with intellectual curiosity, sharp wit, a rapacious appetite for great books, and overflowing creativity. He always provided me with helpful feedback and even assisted in the research on a chapter or two over the summers. Now himself eight years old, Kade is my sunshine. Constantly happy, and picking up my habits and mannerisms, good and bad, he has been very patient with all the times I had to work on my book rather than play with him. While I assume he will realize his dream of playing baseball for the Chicago Cubs, I am confident that his incisive intellect, fun-loving attitude, and diligent work-ethic will allow him to do anything he wants in life. None of this would be possible without Erika. Throughout our life together, she has been nothing but inspiring and supportive. She has sacrificed her own professional interests and has constantly been a rock for our family. In addition to talking through, reading, and offering invaluable thoughts on the material in this work, countless times she picked up the slack and covered for me in our life. None of what I do or am would be possible without her and I am enormously appreciative of Erika, the love of my life.

Praise for Spirit(s) in Black Religion

“Spirit(s) in Black Religion fills a noticeable lacuna in Black theology regarding the development of pneumatology, or the doctrine of the Holy Spirit. Kurt Buhring rightly opens the previously locked door of African and African-derived religions including them as sources for a vibrant reinvigoration of Black theology and Black church theology. In so doing, he expands our Christian understanding of Spirit and the constructive possibilities that exist when Black religions inform Black theology.” —Jawanza Eric Clark, Associate Professor of Global Christianity, Manhattan College, USA “In his artfully crafted Spirit(s) in Black Religion, Kurt Buhring pushes Black theology to take seriously the often under theorized doctrine of the Spirit. Drawing from the deep wells of African Traditional Religions and Pentecostal sources, among others, he opens a new chapter in today’s African American religions and Black liberation theology. Yes, the Cross and the resurrected Spirit!” —Dwight N. Hopkins, Alexander Campbell Professor, University of Chicago, USA “Spirit(s) in Black Religion by Kurt Buhring is an important new book in the study of the religious and spiritual impulse that has animated Black people across the world for centuries. Black religion has been the locomotive engine that has fired the imagination and resistance of Black people as we have sought to make sense of our place in the modern world—a world shaped by White supremacy. This book is a must read!” —Anthony G. Reddie, director of the Centre for Religion and Culture, Regent’s Park College, Oxford University, UK, and editor of Black Theology: An International Journal

Contents

1 Introduction  1 Works Cited  20 2 The  Spirit(s) in Africa: African Traditional Religions 21 Supreme Being  25 Subdivinities  29 Ancestors  35 Interaction with the Spirits  37 Works Cited  42 3 The  Spirit(s) in the Diaspora: African-Derived Religions 45 Vodou  49 Haiti  51 Supreme Being  53 Subdivinities  55 Interaction with the Spirits  61 Santería  66 Cuba  67 Supreme Being  72 Subdivinities  73 Interaction with the Spirits  77 Jamaican Religions: Obeah, Myal, and Revival Zion  84

xiii

xiv 

Contents

Obeah  87 Myal  89 Revival Zion  93 Works Cited  96 4 The  Spirit(s) in Slavery: African American Christianity 99 History of Slavery in the United States and Slave Holder Christianity 109 Black Christianity During Slavery 113 God 116 The Spirit(s) 123 Jesus 129 Interaction with the Spirit(s) 132 Works Cited 143 5 The  Spirit in the Sanctified Church145 Holiness Movement 151 Azusa and its Influence 154 The United Holy Church of America (UHC) 158 The Church of God in Christ (COGIC) and the Church of Christ (Holiness) USA 160 Pentecostal Assemblies of the World 162 Charismatics and Neo-Pentecostals 164 Pentecostal Theology 165 Leonard Lovett 175 James Forbes 177 Works Cited 181 6 The  Spirit in Modern Black Theology and Religion185 James H. Cone 187 J. Deotis Roberts 200 Gayraud S. Wilmore 218 Works Cited 231 7 The  Spirit in Contemporary Black Theology and Religion233 Dwight N. Hopkins 234 Karen Baker-Fletcher 247

 Contents 

xv

Monica A. Coleman 258 Works Cited 267 8 A  Theology of the Spirit(s)269 A Theology of the Spirit(s) 284 Works Cited 305 Index309

CHAPTER 1

Introduction

The basic argument of this book is that Black Liberation Theology might benefit from greater attention to and development of the idea of the Spirit(s); further, the development of this idea could be fostered by an exploration of African traditional religions (ATRs) and Afro-Caribbean religions, as well as resources from the period of slavery in the United States and the black Pentecostal and charismatic traditions.1 In this work, I trace African religious elements into the diaspora, looking especially at Christianity among enslaved blacks, black Pentecostalism, and early and contemporary black theology with the intention of drawing out aspects as sources for a constructive Theology of the Spirit(s). While the Spirit is alive and well in these Christian traditions, in some of them, namely the Pentecostal movement, a social justice orientation or focus has been lacking. In short, the religious perspectives that attend well to justice and 1  Largely because of space constraints, my focus here is on African American Christian Theology and ways that ideas, theologies, and pneumatologies from ATRs and Afro-­ Caribbean religions might benefit or enhance it. I do not attend to Christian traditions in Africa and the diaspora that might display an encounter between ATRs/African-derived religions (ADRs) and Christianity. While these might provide illuminating examples of how African ideas of the spirits are integrated into a Christian context, these traditions tend to be evangelical and hold relatively negative views of ATRs. Similarly, this work does not spend more than passing commentary on ADRs, such as Santeria or other Yoruba-based traditions, in the United States. Such a direction is beyond the scope of this work and my expertise.

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 K. Buhring, Spirit(s) in Black Religion, Black Religion/Womanist Thought/Social Justice, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-09887-1_1

1

2 

K. BUHRING

liberation neglect the Spirit(s) and shy away from the supernatural, while the traditions that emphasize the Spirit(s) tend to be otherworldly focused and mitigate the importance of social justice.2 It is my hope that this book might contribute to a deepening and enhancing of the idea of the Spirit(s) in black theology that more robustly inspires and sustains action toward the fostering of greater justice, wholeness, and positive transformation. To this end, I begin to develop what I call a Theology of the Spirit(s). In moving toward this Theology of the Spirit(s), I argue for a radical rethinking of classical Christian perspectives of Christocentrism and original sin. While assumed by most black theologians, such perspectives limit the possibilities for tapping fully into vibrant and powerful resources within ATRs and Afro-Caribbean religions, as well as ideas in the Jewish and Eastern Orthodox traditions. ATRs and religions of the African diaspora have fascinating, vibrant concepts of the spirits that display an intimacy, or even blurring, between God and humans.3 As in Judaism and Eastern Orthodoxy, these traditions also offer a more positive theological anthropology than is evident in traditional Protestant theology. While African elements, or “Africanisms,” undoubtedly survived the passage from Africa to the United States during the period of slavery, they did not do so as fully as they did in some Caribbean regions. This work seeks to reconnect African American Christian theology with Africa by tapping into such Africanisms, especially in terms of ideas of God. The Theology of the Spirit(s) I develop here draws from these rich resources and conveys the idea of the Spirit(s) as vibrantly present and dynamically active in the world. This theological perspective offers a vision of a God who is one, though manifested and experienced in many ways; a God who is immanently present within the world and lovingly active; a God who is enormously powerful, yet is interactive and even interdependent with humanity in the journey toward liberation, wholeness, and positive transformation. In order to explain why I am writing this book, I feel it is important to provide a brief explanation of my personal background. I was raised in a 2  Interestingly, Carolyn Morrow Long points out a class split along denominational lines that developed beginning in the late 1800s, where blacks from relatively higher socioeconomic classes were drawn to less “superstitious” Christian denominations, including Baptist and Methodist traditions, while blacks from lower socioeconomic classes gravitated toward Pentecostal, Holiness, and Spiritualist movements, which often included more African-based religious practices. See Carolyn Morrow Long, Spiritual Merchants: Religion, Magic, and Commerce (Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 2001), 81–82. 3  Consider the Yoruba proverb, “Where there is no human, there is no divinity.”

1 INTRODUCTION 

3

working-class family. My parents worked hard, and we always had food and clothes, but we also sometimes struggled financially. I developed class-­ consciousness well before I was aware such a thing existed. To this day, I align myself with those on the margins and those who are considered “less-than” by those with power in its various forms. I was fortunate enough to have the opportunity to attend two prestigious schools for my undergraduate and graduate degrees. I earned my bachelor’s degree at Grinnell College in Iowa. Grinnell is a small liberal arts school with a tradition of progressive activism that appealed to me immensely. At Grinnell, I studied with Howard Burkle and Harold Kasimow. While Burkle taught me that I could and should think critically about religion, Kasimow stressed the value and possibility of interfaith dialogue. In my major in Religious Studies, I learned a great deal about Hinduism, especially Gandhi, and began to study the theology and ethics of Martin Luther King, Jr., in depth. I went on to obtain my PhD in Theology from the University of Chicago Divinity School, where I was mentored by Dwight N. Hopkins. With Hopkins, I explored black theology and the wider currents in contemporary Christian theology. In classes with Hopkins, I became enamored with the work of James Cone, as well as other first- and second-generation black and womanist theologians. Though white and male, I appreciated their critiques of racism and sexism; I understood and agreed with such arguments that God takes sides with the oppressed and that Christianity and Christians must focus on the liberation of the oppressed. These perspectives spoke to something deep within my class-based sense of justice and right and wrong in ways that my experiences growing up in a white, middle-class, fairly conservative Lutheran community never had. My dissertation, which I later published as a book,4 explored ways that African Americans and Jews understand the nature of God in the face of suffering and evil. I was and am especially interested in the tension between the claim of liberation theology that God acts as Liberator and the continued forms of oppression in the world. I came to learn that this tension had also been pointed out by black scholars including William R. Jones and Anthony B.  Pinn. I felt that this issue and possible understandings of responses to this dilemma have significance within the realm of black theology and also more widely among non-blacks and non-Christians. In 4  Kurt Buhring, Conceptions of God, Freedom, and Ethics in African American and Jewish Theology (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008).

4 

K. BUHRING

my book, I advocate for a position that Jones called humanocentric theism. Though he did not agree with or develop it, the perspective is that humans are functionally ultimate in the fight against forms of economic, social, and political oppression. While Jones articulated a critique of divine goodness, I used his efforts to move toward a reconsideration of divine power. I found the writings of Melissa Raphael and Dwight Hopkins especially to be useful in helping me express this theology. In her The Female Face of God in Auschwitz,5 Raphael explores the presence and activity of God in the form of Shekhinah. Tapping into Jewish kabbalist tradition, Raphael argues that God was present during the Holocaust, and can be still today, in subtle ways when women cared for one another, which was extraordinary in such a horrific context. It was in the seemingly simple acts of humane care for one another that women displayed the image of God within them and thus allowed God to behold God, in her language. In a similar way, in his Down, Up, & Over,6 Hopkins describes God as the Spirit of Total Liberation for, with, and in us. Using this implicitly Trinitarian structure, Hopkins explains that God is present within human acts of resistance against slavery, racism, and oppression. When humans act in both macro- and micro-level ways to oppose oppression, God is manifested. As I was finishing my dissertation and eventually editing it for publication with Palgrave Macmillan, I began teaching at Saint Mary’s College in Notre Dame, IN. After a few years, I developed a new course, African American Theologies. Being told the course was to meet a systematic theology requirement and should give attention to the Trinity, I was surprised to find myself struggling to find much material on the Trinity, and especially on the Holy Spirit, in what I knew of black theology. Though of course the Holy Spirit is a vibrant force within black church traditions, especially within Pentecostal and Charismatic movements, I honestly was shocked that it was so hard to find materials for the course. We used Karen Baker-Fletcher’s Dancing with God 7 and Hopkins’ Down, Up, & Over, but there was little else to tap into. What  Melissa Raphael, The Female Face of God in Auschwitz: A Jewish Feminist Theology of the Holocaust (New York: Routledge, 2003). 6  Dwight N. Hopkins, Down, Up, & Over: Slave Religion and Black Theology (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2003). 7  Karen Baker-Fletcher, Dancing With God: The Trinity from a Womanist Perspective (St. Louis: Chalice Press, 2006). 5

1 INTRODUCTION 

5

I came to see was how Christocentric academic Black Theology of Liberation, and really Christianity as a whole, actually is. As is the case with the issue of theodicy referred to before, I learned that black scholars, such as Gayraud Wilmore and Jawanza Eric Clark, had made this same observation already. And, as is the case with theodicy, I believe this is pertinent to conversations in black theology as well as beyond in wider circles of non-black Christians. In teaching this course, a few times I began to shift our starting point from the period of slavery in the United States to earlier, and still active, religious traditions in Africa and the African diaspora, particularly in the Caribbean. As we delved more deeply in African traditional religions (ATRs) and Afro-­Caribbean religions, such as Vodou and Santeria, what emerged was a strong sense of the Spirit(s). Spirit, or spirits, is central to ATRs and Afro-­Caribbean religions. Spirit undergirds all that is and takes the forms of Supreme Being/High God, subdivinities/lesser gods, ancestors, humans, and all of the universe. Spirit constitutes, sustains, and enlivens all that is. I began to wonder whether resources in these traditions might be useful in addressing what I perceived to be a gap in black theology. I also came to understand that Black scholars had already pointed out this lacking in black theology8 and some had suggested that black theology should turn more consciously to Africa and the Caribbean for enrichment.9 As I began researching the topic more fully, I came to see ways in which these currents might inform black pneumatology, Trinitarian thought,

8  For example, see J. Deotis Roberts, Black Theology in Dialogue (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1987) and Anthony G. Reddie, Black Theology (London: SCM Press, 2012). 9  For example, see Dianne M. Stewart, Three Eyes for the Journey: African Dimensions of the Jamaican Religious Experience (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005) and Jawanza Eric Clark, Indigenous Black Theology: Toward an African-Centered Theology of the African American Religious Experience (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012).

6 

K. BUHRING

and Black Theology of Liberation, as well as wider conversations in Christian theology and the study of black religions.10 It is quite clear to the majority of scholars of black religions that elements from ATRs, or “Africanisms,” are evident within the history of African American Christianity, from the period of slavery through today. Such Africanisms are usually understood primarily to be among the practices or external forms of black Christian religiosity; these include the importance of music and movement in rituals and worship services. While black Christianity shows signs of elements of African religiosity among its practices, this has been less the case in terms of theology, and beliefs in general, where dominant (white) traditional Protestant theology has largely been accepted as a given. This is not to say that there are no differences between white and black theologies, but that significant tenets of Christian doctrine and belief have mostly been affirmed. This includes classical views of God as all-good, all-powerful, and all-knowing, as well as views of Jesus Christ as Savior, original sin, and salvation. These traditional theological perspectives have contributed to a sort of static and stale position that is problematic in important ways. For example, the Christocentric nature of black theology11 has contributed to the underdeveloped treatment of the Holy Spirit. Jesus is seen as central, while the Holy Spirit is an 10  While I am a white scholar of black religions, I agree with Johnny Bernard Hill when he argues for the wider importance and implications of Afrocentrism not only for African Americans but all people. Hill explains, “My chief argument here is that Afrocentrism is not just for black people. Because it involves an essential episode in the great melodrama of struggle, resistance, and hope in the human experience, it becomes a resource in claiming new forms of resistance for marginalized bodies around the world.” He continues, saying, “Afrocentrism… offers a prophetic critique of the hegemonic forces at work in the Western philosophical tradition that has been and continues to be preoccupied with categories, binaries, distinctions, and descriptions. Afrocentrism suggests that the African experience emphasizes connectivity, relationality, community, where thought and action are inseparable. ‘Hope’ becomes inextricably linked to action, resistance, struggle, and protest. There is no hope apart from prophetic action. There is no hope separate and distinct from the will to fight.” As Hill asserts the vital significance of Afrocentrism, I argue for the relevance and importance of the ATRs, Afro-Caribbean religions, and black theology for all Christians and all scholars of religion. Johnny Bernard Hill, Prophetic Rage: A Postcolonial Theology of Liberation (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2013), 123–124. 11  Such Christocentrism has been critiqued by womanist theologians as well. While they certainly maintain problematic sexist practices and views, many ATRs and Afro-Caribbean religions also offer female goddesses and central roles for women in religious rituals, including spirit mediums. A shift from Christocentrism in black theology might offer new and liberating opportunities for women in black religions.

1 INTRODUCTION 

7

afterthought, if it is given attention at all.12 Further, acceptance of the ideas of original sin and the centrality of salvation have undermined the impetus for human agency and the importance of social justice in this world. Finally, a low theological anthropology, coupled with traditional notions of God as all-powerful, raises serious issues of theodicy. If there were greater attention to and integration of theological perspectives from ATRs and Afro-Caribbean religions, then new possibilities and directions for black theology could emerge. While much of this book is concerned more narrowly with black theology, I also hope to broaden out with attention to the wider realms of black religion. In fact, following Gayraud Wilmore’s lead, which will be discussed more fully in Chap. 6, I understand black theology to be one strand within the larger patchwork of black religion. Black theology is usually used to refer to African American Christian theology that is focused on the liberation of the oppressed. James Cone is deservedly most associated with this view. That said, black theology is itself broader and more diverse than this. It is also a movement carried out throughout Africa and the African diaspora, including places such as South Africa, the Caribbean, and the UK. Further, though it is typically Christian, it need not be exclusively so. Finally, though Cone’s influential foundation set the tone of black theology as liberation-focused, others have developed and nuanced this idea with alternatives and complementary ways of thinking, such as survival or transformation. My point is that black theology usually connotes a narrower perspective but actually encompasses a wide swath of distinctive views and in fact develops out of the diverse backgrounds of black religion. Moving to black religion then, we must zoom out even wider. Simply put, I understand black religion to include any of the multiple ways Africans and people of African descent believe or practice what they deem to be religion. I advocate for Anthony B. Pinn’s sense of religion here. Pinn, who builds from the work of Gordon Kaufman, explains that “religion is that which provides orientation or direction for human life.”13 12  Allan Anderson, Moya: The Holy Spirit in an African Context (Pretoria: University of South Africa, 1991), 6. Anderson points out this same limitation among African Christian theologians. Jacob K. Olupona explains that African Pentecostal traditions, which are most focused on the work of the Holy Spirit, tend to be the most closed off to ideas of the spirits among ATRs. See Olupona, City of 201 Gods: Ile-Ife in Time, Space, and the Imagination (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2011), 263. 13  Anthony B.  Pinn, Varieties of African American Religious Experience (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1998), 3.

8 

K. BUHRING

This definition includes secular perspectives, such as Pinn’s humanism, though my own focus in this work is largely on theistic religious traditions. So, this book explores African traditional religions (ATRs), especially West African religions, among the Fon, Dahomey, Yoruba, and Akan; Afro-­ Caribbean religions, particularly Vodou, Santeria, and a family of Jamaican religions; and African American Christianity, primarily mainline Protestant traditions and Pentecostal and Charismatic movements. I envision black religion then as broadly and inclusively as possible, but focus primarily on contemporary African American Christian theology. Part of my argument is that African American theology should itself be more informed by encounters with these wider diverse currents of black religion so conceived.14 If black religion is understood in this broader way, then the door is opened for further theological exploration of resources in arenas such as ATRs, Afro-Caribbean religions, slave religion, and Pentecostalism. While the religion of enslaved blacks has received a fair amount of attention in modern and contemporary black theology, these others areas have been underutilized. In addition, these areas feature important religious elements regarding spirit(s), both in terms of thought and action. For the most part, the theologies of these traditions have been de-emphasized and often not written. Instead, it is in the practices, rituals, actions, and deeds which are performed that the spirit comes most vibrantly to life. While these practices are clearly vital, the theologies demand greater attention and study. In addition to clarifying what I mean by “black religion” in the title, I should also address the “Spirit(s).” I use “Spirit(s)” as a broad and inclusive label. It is meant to include ideas of spirits in ATRs and Afro-Caribbean religions, as well as the Holy Spirit within Christianity. Spirits in ATRs and Afro-Caribbean religions refer to gods, sometimes thought of subdivinities or lesser gods, ancestors, and miscellaneous sorts of entities who vary in nature, power, and presence. I am especially 14  Dianne M. Stewart makes similar arguments in her Three Eyes for the Journey. There she asserts that ATRs and African-derived religions should get greater inclusion and attention within religious studies broadly, and within the study of black religion and black theology more particularly. These traditions are often approached by anthropologists more than religious studies scholars or theologians (xiii). Stewart also questions the tendency of Black Liberation Theology to start in American slavery and argue (true) Christianity as the source of liberation. Stewart implies treatments should start in African and move beyond Christianity (xiv).

1 INTRODUCTION 

9

interested in African spirits as subdivinities and ancestors. Spirit in the Christian tradition sometimes refers more broadly to the Spirit of God or more narrowly as the Holy Spirit or even the Spirit of Christ. Where spirits in African thought are multiple, the Spirit in the Christian tradition is singular. Thus, if referring to the idea only within an African or Afro-­ Caribbean context, I use spirit or spirits, as appropriate. If the context is Christian, I use the Spirit or the Holy Spirit as applicable. In my larger sense of the idea, as in the constructive Chap. 8, I use Spirit(s) with the intention of encompassing all of these meanings and ideas. Certainly, there are fundamental differences between concepts of the spirits in ATRs and Afro-Caribbean religions and ideas of the Holy Spirit within the Christian tradition, though there are also suggestive similarities and opportunities for the exchange and enhancement of ideas. In African and African-based traditions, the spirits are a powerful and active presence in the lives of people. These traditions emphasize a reciprocal relationship between the divine and the human that I think is especially compelling and enlightening. While the line is often blurred between the divine and the human in African and African-based religions, there is still a transcendent aspect to the divine that is a vital resource and the basis for hope, inspiring efforts to foster a good and just world. In a similar manner, the Holy Spirit in Christianity emphasizes divine presence and activity in powerful and immanent ways within humanity and the wider world. Though the Holy Spirit has garnered much attention within modern Christian thought, it has not received as much attention in black theology. Consequently, while not ignoring genuine differences among religious traditions, I wish to emphasize the potential of African ways of understanding Spirit(s) in the hopes of challenging, nuancing, and enhancing the concept of God in black theology.15 I believe that the resulting sense of the Spirit(s) is one that stresses the dynamic and immanent power of the Spirit(s) in the world in a way that the divine and the human are understood as working together toward justice, wholeness, and positive transformation. In this way, human efforts, grounded in divine gift and 15  In a similar way, Joseph M. Murphy writes, “I only want to suggest the idea that the experience of ‘the spirit’ in diasporan ceremonies may share important theological qualities without the traditions having to agree on the singularity or multiplicity of ‘the spirit.’…I mean [the term ‘the spirit’] to be evocative of connections rather than evasive of differences.” Joseph M. Murphy, Working the Spirit: Ceremonies of the African Diaspora (Boston: Beacon Press, 1994), 9. I agree with this idea and intention in my use of “the Spirit(s)” in this work.

10 

K. BUHRING

presence, are emphasized. In a Theology of the Spirit(s), Jesus and the Holy Spirit are understood still as active, immanent, liberating, and powerful, but as working in concert with other spirits and humanity. The traditional Protestant exclusivity of Jesus is mitigated, allowing for the entry of the wider world of the spirits—specific ones, particular ideas, of even just fragments—into a pluralistic, constructive Christian pneumatology. While views of the spirits in ATRs and Afro-Caribbean religions will be explained in detail in Chaps. 2 and 3 of this work especially, it is appropriate to give at least brief attention to my sense of the Holy Spirit in the wider Christian tradition before later discussions of the notion of the Spirit in black theology and black religion. Problematizing a consideration of the Holy Spirit, the idea of the Spirit in both the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament is complicated, varied, and often unclear. Speaking of the Hebrew Bible, Carlton John Turner cites John McIntyre as asserting the biblical account of the Spirit leaves many questions: To what extent can we distinguish a distinct person or ‘being’ within God, called the Holy Spirit, from the fact that God is described as both ‘holy’ and ‘spirit’? What about the divine council, or the spiritual court where Yahweh presides? Is the Spirit of God then a functionary of Yahweh, or a periphrasis, in a way that an angel is? What about the Spirit and other spirits? What about the sending of evil spirits?” Further questions are raised for readers of the New Testament: “What is the relationship between the Holy Spirit and Jesus? How is the Spirit connected to the Father? Is this the same as the Son? What about the movement of the Spirit within the Church? Do believers receive the Spirit before or after their ‘conversion’? Or, as with the Old Testament, what is the relationship between the Holy Spirit and other ‘created’ spirits?16

While biblical scholars and theologians have various perspectives on these issues, the point is that there is not exactly a clear, unified vision of the Spirit in the biblical texts. In the Hebrew Bible, the Hebrew term usually translated as spirit is ruach. Ruach (f) is used to speak of wind or breath, the “principle of life”

16  Carlton John Turner, “Taming the Spirit?: Widening the Pneumatological Gaze within African Caribbean Theological Discourse,” Black Theology 13 2 2015, 128.

1 INTRODUCTION 

11

itself, and the presence and activity of God in the world.17 Rarely described as “Holy” spirit,18 “the ruach of Yahweh is not detachable, as it were, from Yahweh himself: it is his living impact here and now.”19 In other words, the Spirit of God is not understood as an entity distinct from God, but as a descriptive sense of the particularized immanence of God, who “comes and goes.” In later parts of Hebrew Bible and as Judaism develops, the notion of “the emergence of a more universal, less particular understanding of the ruach as divine presence” is evident.20 In Hellenistic Judaism, the Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible, the Septuagint, uses pneuma (n) instead of ruach. Pneuma is identified with God’s Spirit, and a stronger sense of transcendence.21 Still pneuma is the Spirit of God, and not a distinct entity.22 Moving into the period of the New Testament, in addition to the Spirit of God, there is a sense of “other spirits who are involved in the daily affairs of human beings,” and who are “distinct from, but in relationship with” the Spirit of God.23 In the world of the New Testament, where belief in good and bad spirits is common,24 the Spirit becomes more closely related to Jesus Christ, or “what God has done in Jesus Christ.”25 Again, among various New Testament authors there are differing views of the Spirit. Though Leonardo Boff notes Jesus “says surprisingly little about the Holy Spirit in the synoptic gospels.…[significantly], he lives, acts, talks, relates, and prays in the Spirit.”26 Veli Matti Kärkkäinen explains, “The Synoptic Gospels offer an authentic, thick ‘Spirit Christology,’” in which the events and actions in the life of Jesus are “functions of the Spirit.”27 While Luke especially mentions the Spirit, 17  Veli Matti Kärkkäinen, Pneumatology: the Holy Spirit in Ecumenical, International, and Contextual Perspective (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2018), 16; Alasdair I. C. Heron, The Holy Spirit: The Holy Spirit in the Bible, the History of Christian Thought, and Recent Theology (Philadelphia, Westminster Press, 1983), 7. 18  For example, Ps 51:11, Isa. 63:10–11; Heron, Holy Spirit, 3–4. 19  Ibid., 8. 20  Ibid., 8–9. 21  Ibid., 32. 22  Ibid., 38. 23  Turner, “Taming,” 138. 24  Kärkkäinen, Pneumatology, 18. 25  Heron, Holy Spirit, 39. 26  Leonardo Boff, Come, Holy Spirit: Inner Fire, Giver of Life, and Comforter of the Poor (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2015), 66–67. 27  Kärkkäinen, Pneumatology, 18.

12 

K. BUHRING

including as distinct from Jesus, Mark and Matthew do so less, and usually in connection with Jesus.28 In Luke’s account of the Pentecost in Acts 2, Jesus gives the Spirit. Alasdair Heron writes, “The Spirit came on him from the Father; it comes to his followers through him. So the activity of the Spirit is intrinsically bound up with Jesus Christ himself, and this double pattern of his reception and bestowal of the Spirit is constitutive of the whole fresh understanding of the matter in the New Testament.”29 God gives the Spirit to Jesus, who then gives Spirit to his followers. For the first Christian communities, the Holy Spirit was a powerful and guiding presence,30 even to the point of possessing followers. When other spirits possessed people, Jesus and his followers, in his name, would cast them out. However, when the Spirit possessed, it dwelled in believers, “giving them new power and gifts. The gifts are for the building up of the Body of Christ,” bringing lives to “wholeness” and restoring “community and unity.”31 In the writings of Paul, the “nature and activity” of the Spirit is “intimately bound up with Jesus Christ himself.”32 For Paul, the Spirit means the “Spirit of God and the Spirit of Christ.” Though the New Testament tends to see the Spirit in the present and future, and less as past creator,33 for Paul, the Hebrew “ruach of Yahweh was nothing other than the Spirit of Christ.”34 Paul does not depict the Spirit and Jesus as identical, but as intimately related: “The Spirit as the active and transforming presence of God cannot be divorced from the crucified and risen Jesus on whom it rested, through whom it comes, and by whom it is defined.”35 Though not exactly expressing the idea of the Trinity in its later form, Paul does lay the groundwork for it.36 Finally, Paul characterizes the Spirit’s presence and activity “as extending across the whole spectrum of Christian life, and as driving dynamically towards the eschaton.”37

 Heron, Holy Spirit, 40.  Ibid., 42. 30  Kärkkäinen, Pneumatology, 18. 31  Turner, “Taming,” 141. 32  Heron, Holy Spirit, 46. 33  Ibid., 59. 34  Ibid., 47. 35  Ibid., 47; Boff, Come, 77. 36  Heron, Holy Spirit, 48. 37  Ibid., 46. 28 29

1 INTRODUCTION 

13

Describing the Gospel of John, Leonardo Boff argues, there “we find the most emphatic affirmations of the full revelation of the Spirit as Holy Spirit.”38 At his baptism, the Spirit or dove stays on Jesus, giving “a palpably stronger emphasis on Jesus’ possession of the Spirit.”39 In John, Jesus and the Holy Spirit are strongly linked, with the Holy Spirit viewed “almost a separate ‘individual’ whose role is modelled on Christ’s own.”40 For it is in John 14:16 that the idea of the Spirit as “another advocate,” or Paraclete, is introduced, “obviously implying that Jesus is the first (1 John 2:1).”41 Paraclete has many meanings, including defender, prosecutor, comforter, intercessor, “witness, revealer, interpreter, and leader into the truth.”42 Throughout the New Testament, Boff says, “we can see that the concept of spirit is used in different ways: as vital energy, breath, a divine transforming power in the cosmos, in history, in the people, in individuals, and finally in its full divinity, as God.”43 Still, other than two exceptions, the baptismal formula of Matthew 28:19 and the benediction of II Corinthians 13:14,44 there is a great deal of language in New Testament that is explicitly binitarian, but the Trinitarian element is largely implicit. Kärkäinnen notes, “although there is no formal doctrine of the Trinity in the Bible, not even in the New Testament, a deep and wide trinitarian ‘sense’ or ‘consciousness’ is there. Indeed, no reader of the New Testament would miss the abrupt shift from the Old Testament way of speaking of the salvific work of the one God, Yahweh, to the New Testament way of addressing this same God as Father, Son, and Spirit.”45 It was left to the postbiblical Christian community to clarify the idea of the Trinity.46 Interestingly, Boff makes the case that Trinitarian thought began to be developed on the basis of the practices of the early Christian community. He suggests that the baptismal formula in Matthew reflected earlier practices and that the Eucharistic invocation of the Spirit indicated the belief

 Boff, Come, 75.  Heron, Holy Spirit, 51. 40  Ibid., 52–53. 41  Kärkkäinen, Pneumatology, 21. 42  Ibid.; Boff, Come, 76. 43  Boff, Come, 82. 44  Kärkkäinen, Pneumatology, 24. 45  Ibid., 22. 46  Ibid., 25. 38 39

14 

K. BUHRING

that the Holy Spirit was God.47 Further, Boff explains that at times when Christians were persecuted, there was more emphasis on the Spirit. As the Christian community came into favor with the power of the Roman Empire, the Spirit was less evident in their practices.48 Thus, a tension developed that needed to be addressed. While the early Christian community wanted to foster and sustain the life of the Spirit, it was also concerned with issues of discernment and questions of authority/power over how that life was manifested and understood. Consequently, Boff portrays Christian history as an ongoing tension of balancing the vitality of the Spirit with the rigidity of institutionalized tradition.49 Part of this tension was manifested in the centuries-long disputes and debates concerning “both the nature of the Spirit and the Spirit’s distinction from and identity with the Son… Only gradually did there emerge a wide agreement on the deity of both the Son and the Spirit.”50 Once Christological debates and issues were relatively settled by the Nicene Creed in 325 CE, church leaders turned their attention more directly to the Spirit. Was the Spirit an attribute of God or an autonomous entity? Was the Spirit a creature or divine?51 Later, the Council of Constantinople (381) “clearly and unambiguously confirmed” the “equal status of the Spirit.” The Constantinople Creed described the Spirit as proceeding from the Father, meaning it is not a creature; as Giver of Life, which links the Spirit to salvation; as “holy,” indicating its divinity; and asserts its role in inspiring the Prophets and in the continued life of the church.52 Nevertheless, “even when the deity of the Spirit was finally affirmed in the fourth century, it took until the time of Augustine for theologians to freely and without reservation name the Spirit as ‘God.’”53 For example,  Boff, Come, 83–84.  Ibid., 84. 49  Ibid., 9–19. 50  Kärkkäinen, Pneumatology, 36. 51  Boff, Come, 86. Intriguingly, Robert E. Hood notes, “Fourth century African (Egyptian) Christians called the ‘Tropici’, once proposed that the Holy Spirit, though higher than other spirits, be thought of as an overseeing ‘ministering spirit’?” Hood asks, “Can the Christian faith accommodate a cosmology of spirits in Afro cultures today without demonizing that cosmology? What might be the relationship of the good spirits to the Holy Spirit?” Robert E. Hood, “Ghosts and Spirits in Afro Culture: Morrison and Wilson,” Anglican Theological Review 73 no 3 Sum 1991, 313. 52  Kärkkäinen, Pneumatology, 49. 53  Ibid., 37. 47 48

1 INTRODUCTION 

15

Athanasius and the three Cappadocian Fathers, Basil the Great, Gregory of Nyssa,54 and Gregory of Nazianzus, sought to clarify further pneumatology, arguing for the divinity and equality of the Holy Spirit, though never calling the Spirit “God,” “since the Bible does not do so.”55 In distinction, Augustine calls the Spirit God, as “equal with the Father and the Son.” He also expresses the idea that the Father is Lover, the Son beloved, and the Spirit is Love. Augustine understood the Spirit as a bonding entity, between Father and Son, as well as between God and humanity.56 Over time, there continued to be differing views of the Trinity in the East and the West that would eventually contribute significantly to the schism of the church. In part, this resulted from differing ways of conceiving of the nature of God. Boff explains, “The Greek theologians begin with the concept of divine Persons, especially the Person of the Father, and move toward the nature of God. The Latin theologians begin with the divine nature, and move toward the concept of divine Persons. Thus the Greeks say, ‘Three Persons in God’; the Latins say, ‘One God in three Persons.’ Both are expressing the same truth, but from different perspectives. The Latin theologians also say ‘one nature, personalized,’ whereas the Greeks say ‘three Persons in a single nature.’”57 Such contrasting perspectives culminated in what is known as the filioque controversy. In the sixth century, some Western churches added to the earlier creeds that the Spirit proceeds not only from the Father, but “from the Father and from the Son.”58 With this filioque clause added, the Spirit “was increasingly interpreted Christomorphically. God’s Spirit had become ‘the Holy Spirit,’ a third hypostasis in the Godhead, and then had become, at least functionally, the Spirit of Christ.”59 While the West sought effectively to “elevate” the status of the Son with this move, the East disagreed on the principle that the filioque downgraded the Father. In its resistance to the filioque, the East essentially maintained the co-equal status of the Spirit with the Son, where “the Spirit has its own complementary role 54  In his Race: A Theological Account (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), J. Kameron Carter argues that Gregory of Nyssa was virtually the only abolitionist in antiquity. Carter says Gregory staked a “vociferous and unqualified stance against slavery in any form” (7). 55  Kärkkäinen, Pneumatology, 41–44. 56  Ibid., 44–46. 57  Boff, Come, 92. 58  Heron, Holy Spirit, 83. 59  Michael E. Lodahl, Shekhinah/Spirit: Divine Presence in Jewish and Christian Religion (New York: Paulist Press, 1992), 69.

16 

K. BUHRING

alongside and co-operating with the Son.”60 Thus, the divine unity in Eastern thought was based in the origin of Son and Spirit in and from the Father.61 In distinction, the West wanted to affirm “that God’s Spirit is indeed the Spirit of Jesus Christ.”62 Otherwise, the Holy Spirit is more of an independent agent, not necessarily uniquely, exclusively Christ-based. To my understanding, either model suggests subordinationism; that is, the Western view puts the Father above the Son, who is above the Spirit, while the Eastern view places the Father above both the Son and Spirit.63 Nevertheless, the eastern model strikes me as a more promising and inclusive approach to theology. It also suggests the three hypostases as more dynamically interrelated than the Western emphasis on substance and personhood.64 While throughout the New Testament and the Christian tradition the Spirit is understood, accessed, and experienced as intrinsically connected to Jesus Christ, a Theology of the Spirit(s) argues this need not be the case. Instead, the persons or relations of the Trinity may be understood along the lines of other spirits, in other traditions, including ATRs and Afro-Caribbean religions. In this way, the Holy Spirit is both transcendent and immanent, powerfully present within humanity and the world, active in both subtle and overt ways, working with humanity toward justice, wholeness, and positive transformation. In this work, I use Spirit(s) to convey any understanding of divine presence and activity, whether that be the spirits, or so-called subdivinities, of ATRs and Afro-Caribbean religions or the Holy Spirit of the Christian tradition. I believe these are just various ways that human communities understand and label God when the divine is present and active in the world and among us. In this way, the Spirit(s) transcend creation and humanity, yet pulse through every aspect of existence immanently. The Spirit(s) are good and powerful, yet also interdependent with creation and humanity. In this way, human action depends on the existence of the Spirit(s) and also has the potential to evoke further divine presence, activity, and power in the world. Throughout human history, the God beyond  Heron, Holy Spirit, 84.  Ibid., 83. 62  Ibid., 93. 63  Roger Bacon, for example, provides a more balanced sense of the Trinity in his concept of the nature of God as being like an equilateral triangle, “each of whose angles is distinct, equal, and yet embraces the entire area of the whole” (Heron, Holy Spirit, 92). 64  Baker-Fletcher argues this also. 60 61

1 INTRODUCTION 

17

the Gods has manifested itself and been experienced in a multitude of ways. Here, I am especially interested in exploring these various conceptions of the divine, in which God and humanity work together, as I believe such perspectives hold great potential for inspiring and sustaining human action that strives toward greater justice, wholeness, and positive transformation. Looking ahead to the structure of this work, Chaps. 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7 seek to explore, highlight, and engage ideas from ATRs, Afro-Caribbean religions, and African American religion in the context of slavery, black Pentecostalism, and modern and contemporary black theology. These chapters will focus especially on elements that I will employ in the more constructive Chap. 8, which will move toward a Theology of the Spirit(s). While Chaps. 2, 3, 4, and 5 focus on resources for black theology, Chaps. 6 and 7 enter into conversation with modern and contemporary black theology. It is my hope that the ideas and explorations of this book can tap into the resources of the earlier chapters, enter into conversation with the figures in the later chapters, and begin to offer possibilities in the last chapter. Thus, in Chap. 2, I explore theological concepts and religious practices that are found among several African religions, as well as elements and nuances that might be distinctive to particular religions and communities, including Fon, Yoruba, Akan, and BaKongo cultures. More specifically, one purpose of this chapter is to lay out some African views of spirit(s), which include the Supreme Being, subdivinities, and ancestors, as well as humanity and spirit–human interactions such as possession and divination. My intention in tapping into these resources is to build a constructive theology and pneumatology later in the work. Chapter 3 explores ideas of spirit(s) in African-derived religions in the Caribbean. The focus in this chapter is on three religious strands that are rooted in Africa and influenced by the context of slavery and oppression: (1) Vodou (Haiti), (2) Santeria (Cuba), and (3) a family of Jamaican religions including Obeah, Myal, and Revival Zion (Jamaica). These religions are each based on particular African traditional religions and integrate elements from Christianity as well as religions that are indigenous to their locations in the Americas. In each of the three, I examine ideas and practices regarding the Supreme Being, subdivinities, ancestors, and spirit– human interactions. One element that emerges from this approach is the centrality of fascinating expressions of the African spirit(s) that have developed over time and in new contexts.

18 

K. BUHRING

The focus in Chap. 4 is on the religious beliefs and practices of enslaved Africans in the United States. Here, I begin by examining whether and how African religious elements survived and developed in North America. In the next part of the chapter, I discuss theological methodology and consider the sources of African religions, the Bible, and Christianity more broadly, as well as the personal experiences of enslaved blacks. From there, the chapter traces ways in which African Americans reinterpreted Christianity and developed ideas of God and the spirit(s), including Jesus and the Holy Spirit, as well as ways in which the spirit(s) and human interacted through communal ritual practices. Chapter 5 looks at the Sanctified Church, which is a family of African American traditions, movements, and churches that includes, but is not exclusive to, Holiness, Pentecostal, and Apostolic churches, as well as Charismatic and Neo-Pentecostal offshoots. While some attention will be given to each of these aspects, the focus in the chapter is on black Pentecostalism. I consider common themes, beliefs, and practices among the variety of movements of the Sanctified Church as well as give attention to aspects that may be distinctive to particular forms. The chapter examines the historical and cultural context of the rise of these movements before delving into the theology and ritual practices of the traditions as a way to draw out and consider understandings of the Spirit in the Sanctified Church as potential models for a theology in which God is present and active in powerful, as well as empowering, ways. In Chap. 6, my focus is the work of three pioneers of the first-­generation of black theology, James H.  Cone, J.  Deotis Roberts, and Gayraud S. Wilmore. I explain how all three develop the themes of liberation and social justice, while Wilmore particularly calls for a broader sense of black religiosity and greater attention to non-Christian resources. Building from the foundation of this generation and answering Wilmore’s call for new directions in black theology, I argue that an area of black theology that might be enriched by deeper engagement with non-Christian resources is the idea of the Spirit. Though the Spirit is alive and well in black churches, I contend that the idea has been underdeveloped within especially the first-generation of black theology. By entering into critical conversation with these figures, I intend that black theology might be strengthened by fuller treatment of the Spirit of Christianity and exploration of the spirits of non-Christian traditions. Developing the trajectory of Chap. 6, Chap. 7 moves the conversation of the previous one into the contemporary period and focuses on three

1 INTRODUCTION 

19

theologians: Dwight N.  Hopkins, Karen Baker-Fletcher, and Monica A. Coleman. Tapping into a wide array of sources in their theologies, they offer extensions of earlier ideas and resources for new directions. Particularly in his concept of the Spirit of Total Liberation in Us, Hopkins envisions a God who co-labors with humanity in bringing forth a new self and a new Common Wealth. Hopkins and Baker-Fletcher utilize a Trinitarian framework and more fully develop the person of the Spirit than is evident in earlier black theology. Baker-Fletcher especially gives the Spirit its due and offers a sense of the dynamism and fluidity of the divine. Finally, Coleman crafts a theology that decenters Jesus and reconceives of divine power, presence, and activity in such a way that humans are empowered and inspired to struggle in making a way out of no way or striving toward creative transformation. Her softened Christocentrism and her attention to the role of ancestors also provide a firm foundation for a fully treatment of the Spirit. Each of these thinkers offer dynamic, creative resources for a way forward, whether that be Hopkins’ new self and new Common Wealth, Baker-Fletcher’s Spirit-infused divine dance, or Coleman’s creative transformation. Finally, drawing from ideas of the spirit(s) in African traditional religions (ATRs), Afro-Caribbean religions, African American Christianity during slavery, Pentecostal movements, and modern and contemporary black theology, Chap. 8 begins to lay out a Theology of the Spirit(s). I suggest that this theology may help to address what I perceive to be an underdeveloped aspect of black theology, namely pneumatology. In moving toward this Theology of the Spirit(s), I argue for a radical rethinking of classical Christian perspectives of Christocentrism and original sin. While assumed by most black theologians, such perspectives limit the possibilities for tapping fully into vibrant and powerful resources within ATRs and Afro-Caribbean religions, as well as ideas in the Jewish and Eastern Orthodox traditions. In contrast, the Theology of the Spirit(s) I develop here draws from these rich resources and conveys the idea of the Spirit(s) as vibrantly present and dynamically active in the world. This theological perspective offers a vision of a God who is one, though experienced in many ways; a God who is immanently present within the world and lovingly active; a God who is enormously powerful, yet is interactive and even interdependent with humanity in the journey toward liberation, wholeness, and positive transformation.

20 

K. BUHRING

Works Cited Anderson, Allan. Moya: The Holy Spirit in an African Context. Pretoria: University of South Africa, 1991. Baker-Fletcher, Karen. Dancing with God: The Trinity from a Womanist Perspective. St. Louis: Chalice Press, 2006. Boff, Leonardo. Come, Holy Spirit: Inner Fire, Giver of Life, and Comforter of the Poor. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2015. Buhring, Kurt. Conceptions of God, Freedom, and Ethics in African American and Jewish Theology. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008. Carter, J.  Kameron. Race: A Theological Account. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008. Clark, Jawanza Eric. Indigenous Black Theology: Toward an African-Centered Theology of the African American Religious Experience. New  York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012. Heron, Alasdair I. C. The Holy Spirit: The Holy Spirit in the Bible, the History of Christian Thought, and Recent Theology. Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1983. Hill, Johnny Bernard. Prophetic Rage: A Postcolonial Theology of Liberation. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2013. Hood, Robert E. “Ghosts and Spirits in Afro Culture: Morrison and Wilson.” Anglican Theological Review 73 no 3 Sum 1991, 297–313. Hopkins, Dwight N. Down, Up, and Over: Slave Religion and Black Theology. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2000. Kärkkäinen, Veli-Matti. Pneumatology: The Holy Spirit in Ecumenical, International, and Contextual Perspective. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2018. Lodahl, Michael E. Shekhinah/Spirit: Divine Presence in Jewish and Christian Religion. New York: Paulist Press, 1992. Long, Carolyn Morrow. Spiritual Merchants: Religion, Magic and Commerce. Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 2001. Murphy, Joseph M. Working the Spirit: Ceremonies of the African Diaspora. Boston: Beacon Press, 1994. Olupona, Jacob K. City of 201 Gods: Ile-Ife in Time, Space, and the Imagination. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2011. Pinn, Anthony B. Varieties of African American Religious Experience. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1998. Raphael, Melissa. The Female Face of God in Auschwitz: A Jewish Feminist Theology of the Holocaust. New York: Routledge, 2003. Reddie, Anthony G. Black Theology. London: SCM Press, 2012. Roberts, J.  Deotis. Black Theology in Dialogue. Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1987. Stewart, Dianne M. Three Eyes for the Journey: African Dimensions of the Jamaican Religious Experience. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005. Turner, Carlton John. “Taming the Spirit? Widening the Pneumatological Gaze within African Caribbean Theological Discourse.” Black Theology 13 2 2015, 126–146.

CHAPTER 2

The Spirit(s) in Africa: African Traditional Religions

In any consideration of religion in Africa, it certainly must be acknowledged that there is an enormous amount of diversity and variation. In addition to Christianity and Islam, there are dozens of African traditional religions (ATRs) that pre-date Abrahamic faiths and that are currently practiced in Africa. While there are a great number of differences among these African traditional religions, it is also possible and helpful to consider common, typical ideas and themes. This chapter will explore theological concepts and religious practices that are found among several African religions, as well as elements and nuances that might be distinctive to particular religions and communities. More specifically, one purpose of this chapter is to lay out some African views of spirit(s), which include the Supreme Being, subdivinities, and ancestors, as well as spirit–human interaction, with the intention of tapping into these resources to build a constructive theology and pneumatology later in the work. Though speaking at times in fairly general terms of “African” views, it will be helpful to identify more specific religions, regions, and groups of people from whom these views are derived. For example, this will include the Fon, from modern-day Benin and Togo, the Yorùbá, from Nigeria and Benin, the Akan in Ghana, and the BaKongo from what is now the Democratic Republic of the Congo and the Republic of the Congo. I have tapped into these groups of people and regions largely because they are

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 K. Buhring, Spirit(s) in Black Religion, Black Religion/Womanist Thought/Social Justice, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-09887-1_2

21

22 

K. BUHRING

the groups and regions that have the greatest influence on the African-­ based religions in the diaspora, including the Americas. In addition, within these particular religious traditions, there is variation and flexibility. In other words, the religious and theological ideas may vary both within a community of people and over time. Likewise, a similar point should be made in regard to religious practices. While such range is found in any religious tradition, it may be evident within African tradition religions to an even greater extent due to the oral nature of many of these religions. Jacob K.  Olupona makes this point well, explaining that “the flexibility characterizing African religious traditions stems, in part, from the reliance on oral as opposed to written narratives, whose purported timelessness grants them authority. African traditional religions are communally maintained and routinely change in response to people’s lived experiences and needs.”1 Furthermore, unlike traditions such as Christianity and Islam, African traditional religions tend to be more comfortable with flexibility and variation. African religious narratives “often offer multiple renditions of the same event. Contrasting accounts regarding creation, divinities, and human agency may exist within the same ethnic group and may all be regarded as revealing some important truth.”2 Thus, in the theological exploration that follows, there may be aspects and fragments that are, or at least seem, paradoxical or in tension with one another. As opposed to considering these paradoxes or tensions problematic, it is suggested that they may help illuminate interesting and promising ideas.3 Generally speaking, religion in Africa is holistic, permeating and shaping every aspect of life. There is no separation of the sacred and the profane, no distinction between the spiritual and the physical, the visible and the invisible, or this world and another. Typically, the Western ideal of a religiosity that is compartmentalized from other realms of life is foreign and undesirable to an African worldview. Jawanza Eric Clark explains, “[T]he world consists of two essential realities constituting a single unity: the visible and the invisible worlds. These realities are not metaphysically or ontologically distinct but only represent a distinction in perception and 1  Jacob K.  Olupona, African Religions: A Very Short Introduction (New York: Oxford University Press, 2014), 5. 2  Ibid., 8. 3  There is a similarity here to Jewish textual interpretation. Within the Jewish tradition differing, and at times opposing, interpretations of the Bible, for example, might be enlightening because of the very differences and conflicts. Truth(s) emerge in the tensions themselves.

2  THE SPIRIT(S) IN AFRICA: AFRICAN TRADITIONAL RELIGIONS 

23

the perceivability of the particular observer. The spiritual or invisible reality comprises entities that are imperceptible to the naked eye but exist within the same temporal/spatial realm as visible human beings.”4 Jacob Olupona points out, “African traditional religions typically strive for a this-­ worldly salvation—measured in terms of health, wealth, and offspring— while at the same time maintaining close contact with the otherworldly realm of ancestors, spirits, and gods who are seen as having strong influence on the events and people in the her and now.”5 In an African worldview, the universe is understood in an integrated and holistic manner. The integrated and interrelated nature of reality is also evident in commonly held African views of causation. Kwesi Dickson explains, “There is no happening which is uncaused…. To the African, disease and death are caused ultimately by spirit powers; the universe is full of spirits which for one reason or the other may act for or against man. In other words, the African predominantly interprets his world theologically, rather than in scientific terms, in terms of final rather than material causes.” This worldview does not negate scientific perspectives or material causes, but simply means that the mystical or spiritual is understood to be primary.6 Related to this sense of reality, in most ATRs there is a belief in an energy, force, or power that pervades all of existence. Laurenti Magesa contends, “Nothing exists as mere matter; everything ‘lives’ fundamentally as spirit-force within matter.”7 For example, the Yorùbá refer to this energy or force as àse, which “suffuses all living things, many features of the natural world, and ritual objects. Divinities as well as people use and shape àse in order to enact their will.”8 Gods, spirits, and humans may tap into this ubiquitous force that courses throughout the universe. In African cosmology, the universe is commonly viewed as having three interrelated tiers: the sky, the human world, and the earth, which includes the underworld. The sky is the realm of the gods, while people inhabit the human world, and ancestors populate the earth. Nevertheless, these tiers are interrelated and allow movement among them. Olupona writes, “A porous border exists between the human realm and the sky, which belongs 4  Jawanza Eric Clark, Indigenous Black Theology: Toward an African-Centered Theology of the African American Religious Experience (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012), 75. 5  Olupona, African Religions, 3. 6  Kwesi Dickson, Theology in Africa (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1984), 50. 7  Laurenti Magesa, What is Not Sacred?: African Spirituality (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2013), 30. 8  Olupona, African Religions, 26.

24 

K. BUHRING

to the gods. Similarly, although ancestors dwell inside of the earth, their activities also interject into human space. African cosmologies portray the universe as fluid, active, and impressionable, with agents from each realm constantly interacting with one another.”9 In his study of BaKongo cultures, Wyatt MacGaffey explains that this world and the “land of the dead” are sometimes seen as parallel and sometimes seen as “inversely complementary.”10 Thus, while for the sake of conceptualization there are distinct areas of the universe, in practice there is a flow of entities and energies throughout existence. The lines among various entities are often blurred in lived religious experience. A person can become an ancestor and may eventually be seen as a god. The gods themselves are rather anthropomorphic as well. That said, for our analytical purposes, here it is possible to distinguish among gods, including the Supreme Being or High God and subdivinities, ancestors, and humans. Most African traditional religions involve a pantheon of gods, consisting of a High God or Supreme God and lesser gods or subdivinities. The relationship between the Supreme God and the other deities varies with region, community, and time. While some traditions emphasize the qualitative distinction between the High God and other gods, other traditions “regard the Supreme God as co-equal with the deities, as first among equals, or as a king among chiefs.”11 The issue of whether African religions are monotheistic, polytheistic, or something else entirely is generally understood by practitioners and scholars of African religions as a Western preoccupation based on narrow and provincial modes of thinking and flawed categories.12 Typically in West African traditional religions, there is a single Supreme God as well as a host of subdivinities. While there is a belief in the one, transcendent, central  Ibid., 4.  Wyatt MacGaffey, Religion and Society in Central Africa: The BaKongo of Lower Zaire (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1986), 43, 49. MacGaffey writes, “In dreams the soul sees, and can be active in, the world of the dead, which is simply the daytime world in its alternative phase. Likewise, the daylight activities of the body are supposed to be experienced as dreams of the soul.…Usually the dream event is seen as some sort of inversion of the real event to come.” On page 50, MacGaffey gives the example of a dream of a successful fishing expedition, followed by an actual bad expedition the next day. 11  Olupona, African Religions, 21. 12  Ibid., 21. Olupona also points out that African communities most strongly influenced by the presence of Christianity and Islam seem to stress the superiority of the Supreme God more than communities that have been influenced less or not at all. 9

10

2  THE SPIRIT(S) IN AFRICA: AFRICAN TRADITIONAL RELIGIONS 

25

god, it is not the monotheism that most adherents of Abrahamic traditions would assert. Likewise, the existence of multiple gods does not make ATRs polytheistic. “In practice,” Olupona reports, “it is most common to find individuals and families committed to relationships of reciprocity with a smaller subset of spirits and ancestors, to whom they offer service and in return can expect assistance in times of need.”13 Though one may be aware of multiple gods, it is often the case that one’s relationship with a particular god is central, and this dynamic all takes place within the context of belief in the Supreme God and the unified nature of reality.

Supreme Being Generally speaking, the Supreme Being, or High God, is benevolent, powerful, active, and present. In describing the African concept of the High God, John S. Mbiti lays out a basically classical theology. That is, the High God is all-good, all-powerful, all-present, and unchanging.14 That said, each of these theological categories must be nuanced and qualified in ways. For example, in some ATRs, the Supreme Being is viewed as a rather impersonal force, which is neither good nor bad. Further, while the Supreme Being’s efficacy seems somewhat dependent on the lesser deities, ancestors, and humans in certain ways, it is essentially understood as supremely powerful. Olupona describes, “The Supreme Being is usually seen as the engineer of fate and therefore, in a sense, the originator of causality. While other deities and spirits can intervene in the course of events, it is the Supreme Being that ultimately determines their outcome.”15 Finally, while in some African religions the High God is omnipresent, immanent, and active within all of reality, in others it is viewed primarily as a transcendent being who creates the universe and other entities and then withdraws itself from lived existence. In addition, in terms of the gender of the Supreme God, there is variation. Some Africans understand the High God as male, “others female, and in other cases as hermaphroditic, androgynous, or without gender.”16 In terms of presence, Jacob Olupona helpfully offers two broad categories for thinking about African views of  Ibid, 20.  John S. Mbiti, Introduction to African Religion (Oxford; Portsmouth, New Hampshire: Heinemann Educational Books, 1991, 2nd rev. ed.), Ch. 5. 15  Olupona, African Religions, 22. 16  Ibid., 22. 13 14

26 

K. BUHRING

the High God: the “Supreme Being as a force among us” and the “Supreme Being as distant creator.” Interestingly, in very broad terms, more immanent, active concepts of the High God tend to be found in East and South Africa, while more transcendent, aloof notions of the High God are common in West Africa. Examples of belief in a High God who is immanent and active are evident among the Lango of Uganda, the Luo of Kenya, and the Sotho-­ Tswana of South Africa. The Lango High God, referred to as Jok, is a pervasive force or energy. “Jok is as intangible, invisible, indivisible, and ubiquitous as the wind.” Jok is all-good, “may be of either gender,” creates the universe, and may be accessed “directly through prayers and divination.” Though one, Jok is a force that manifests itself in several different emanations.17 Similar to the Lango belief in Jok, the Luo believe in a High God, called Nyasaye. Like Jok, Nyasaye is a benevolent creator, who is sometimes seen as male, sometimes as female. “Nyasaye is omniscient and omnipresent, unknowable and untouchable, too close to feel and too far to reach.” While most Luo interact more directly with ancestors, some do “pray directly to this Supreme Being and address it as ‘father’.”18 Finally, the Sotho-Tswana believe in a Supreme Being called Modimo, who is “intangible and genderless” and whose “presence infuses all things.” This good, just, “source of all” is “everywhere and extends into every realm of life.”19 In these concepts, the High God is a benevolent creator who remains active and present within existence and responsive to humanity. Though also found among West African traditional religions, the universal force or energy in East and South African religions tends to be uniquely identified with the High God. Writing of this omnipresent energy, Mechal Sobel explains, “It is the essence of being; it can be used for good or evil; it is the recognition of the presence of universal spirit; and it must always be taken into account. It can be in words and things, animals, people, spirits and divinities; it is God.”20 Through this force, power, or energy possessed by all things, God is immanent and active.21 In distinction from cultures in which the Supreme God is ever-present and active within creation, the High God is understood as a distant creator  Ibid., 24.  Ibid, 25. 19  Ibid., 26. 20  Mechal Sobel, Trabelin’ On: The Slave Journey to an Afro-Baptist Faith (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1988, reprint), 13. 21  Laurenti Magesa, What is Not Sacred?, 94–95. 17 18

2  THE SPIRIT(S) IN AFRICA: AFRICAN TRADITIONAL RELIGIONS 

27

in other cultures and traditions, including the Fon (Benin), Yorùbá (Nigeria), and Akan (Ghana). In these West African traditional religions, the Supreme Being creates the world and subdivinities, and then is largely removed from human existence for all intents and purposes. According to Mechal Sobel, the High God transcends the world and human existence, having little direct interaction with creation.22 Interestingly, in contrast with the traditions mentioned earlier, in these religions the High God is usually male. This God is also seen as good, or morally ambiguous, and supremely powerful, yet inactive, aloof, and withdrawn. Though some scholars, such as Noel Leo Erskine, point to the implied sense of a fall, or separation of heaven and earth, due to human fault, others nuance divine transcendence differently.23 For them, the High God’s self-removal is not due to human failing, such as sin, but because humanity annoyed God, in a sense, or alternatively because divine presence might overwhelm humanity. Sobel offers an example of the former explanation: “God decides to retreat, but He does not abandon His children. He creates deities who are His subalterns and with whom the troublesome people must deal.”24 Peter Paris provides an account of divine transcendence based in divine goodness, saying, “The deity’s remoteness is the primary sign of authority and power. Yet it is readily assumed by everyone that the deity’s protective care is steadfast.” In such an explanation, God is distant, yet still caring.25 In yet other instances, the Supreme Being is simply transcendent and rather uninterested and uninvolved in human affairs. In these cases, for some Africans, the High God is “an entity so distant that it is sometimes impossible to name it and especially to address invocations or to devote cults to.”26 The High God’s withdrawal creates space for other spirits, the subdivinities, and ancestors to emerge. In these cases, humans worship and interact with the subdivinities and the ancestors primarily. Among the Fon, the High God is Nana-Buluku, who is both male and female. Nana-Buluku created the world and then gave birth to twins, Mawu and Lisa. From Mawu and Lisa arise the rest of the gods, or vodun.  Sobel, Trabelin’ On, 12.  Noel Leo Erskine, Plantation Church: How African American Religion Was Born in Caribbean Slavery (New York: Oxford University Press, 2014), 38. 24  Sobel, Trabelin’ On, 12. 25  Peter J.  Paris, The Spirituality of African Peoples: The Search for a Common Moral Discourse (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), 30. 26  Dominique Zahan, “Some Reflections on African Spirituality.” In African Spirituality: Forms, Meanings, and Expressions, ed. by Jacob K. Olupona (New York: Crossroad, 2000), 5. 22 23

28 

K. BUHRING

Fon adherents typically interact with the vodun, sometimes including Mawu and Lisa, but rarely, if ever, is Nana-Buluku present or active among human affairs.27 The High God of the Yorùbá, Olódùmarè, created subdivinities, or òrìsà, which then used the materials and tools given by Olódùmarè to craft creation, including humanity. “Although the course of fate ultimately lies in the hands of Olódùmarè,” and he maintains the world, he does “not directly intervene in the course of events.”28 Finally, among the Akan, the Supreme Being is the male creator deity, Nana Nyame. This High God lives in the sky, which was once closer to humans until Nana Nyame distanced himself from the noise and aggravation of the production of fufu, which is made by pounding yams. Despite his withdrawal, Nyame is understood as all-powerful, all-knowing, just, merciful, and gracious.29 By comparison with the Supreme Being of the Fon and Yorùbá, Nyame may be appealed to in everyday informal instances to a greater extent still. As in East and South African cultures, West African cultures also maintain a belief in a universal, mystical, pervasive force or energy. For instance, in Fon culture, vodun refers to the “ever-present life force” as well as to the subdivinities,30 while in Yorùbá culture, this is called àse. Though in East and South traditional religions, this force is often identified with divinity, in West African traditional religions, this force is distinct from the gods, while at the same time the medium in which all, including the gods, act and exist. Thus, while in East and South Africa divine presence is through the universal force or energy, in West Africa divine presence is manifested especially in and through the subdivinities. The subdivinities, along with the ancestors, fill the space between the High God and creation. To be clear, it would be inaccurate to say that the Supreme Being is absent from the world. Despite the dearth of shrines to or a cult of the Supreme Being in most West African cultures, it is considered to be all-­ present.31 Still the subdivinities claim the primary devotion of most 27  Anthony B.  Pinn, Varieties of African American Religious Experience (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1998). 28  Olupona, African Religions, 27–28. 29  John Pobee, “Aspects of African Traditional Religion,” Sociological Analysis 37 1 (1976), 6. 30  Will Coleman, Tribal Talk: Black Theology, Hermeneutics, and African/American Ways of “Telling the Story” (University Park, PA: Penn State University, 2000), 4. 31  Robert Awusu Agyarko, “God of Life: Rethinking the Akan Christian Concept of God in the Light of the Ecological Crisis,” The Ecumenical Review Vol. 65 No. 1 March 2013, 53.

2  THE SPIRIT(S) IN AFRICA: AFRICAN TRADITIONAL RELIGIONS 

29

adherents of West African traditional religions. Given the fact that the next chapter will examine ideas of spirit(s) in the African diaspora and most of the religions of the African diaspora are rooted in West African traditions, it is helpful to explore the subdivinities of these traditional religions in greater depth.

Subdivinities Not surprisingly, like ATRs themselves, creation stories from across Africa display a great deal of variety. In some cultures, the universe emerges from a creator god’s body, in others from sound, and still in others creation results from undirected spontaneous combustion.32 In other religious traditions, including the West African cultures of Fon and Yorùbá, the subdivinities are responsible for creation. In these West African religions, the High God creates lesser deities, from whom it is far removed. The Fon called these other deities vodun, while the Yorùbá referred to them as òrìsà.33 Some scholars, including Mechal Sobel, describe these subdivinities as intermediaries between the High God and other entities, including humans,34 while other scholars, such as Kwesi Dickson, argue that the subdivinities should be understood as self-sufficient ends in themselves.35 Along these lines, Sylvia R. Frey and Betty Wood note, “Possessed of supernatural powers, the lesser divinities were associated with forces in the natural environment or with heroic human figures. By contrast to the Catholic cult of angels and saints, whose power depends directly upon God, African divinities were worshipped as autonomous powers.”36 It is safe to say that sometimes the lesser divinities act as agents of the Supreme Being, while at other times they act more independently.37

 Olupona, African Religions, 8–10.  Carolyn Morrow Long, Spiritual Merchants: Religion, Magic and Commerce (Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press), 5; Zahan, “Some Reflections,” 6. 34  Sobel, Trabelin’ On, 16. 35  Dickson, Theology in Africa, 53–58. 36  Sylvia R. Frey and Betty Wood, Come Shouting to Zion: African American Protestantism in the American South and British Caribbean to 1830 (Chapel Hill, NC and London: University of North Carolina Press, 1998), 11. 37  Erskine, Plantation Church, 48–49. 32 33

30 

K. BUHRING

These subdivinities can manifest and involve themselves in human affairs, as well as within other animals and the rest of nature.38 Sobel writes, “[The divinities] are most human in character, and they must be honored, placated, bribed, fed, married, and otherwise dealt with in order to avoid trouble.”39 Though the Supreme God generally is not worshipped or localized in a temple, Dominique Zahan offers, “More often than not it is the secondary divinities who have the monopoly on the piety and fervor of the believers.”40 As evidenced by the multitude of rituals, prayers, temples, shrines, and festivals in their honor, in West African traditional religions it is the subdivinities who are most present and active within creation and the human world.41 The African religions of the Fon and the Yorùbá provide a host of compelling subdivinities or lesser deities to explore. In some versions of the creation myths of the Fon, the High God, Nana Buluku, gives birth to Mawu, who is androgynous. In other versions, Nana Buluku gives birth to twins, the female Mawu and the male Lisa. Will Coleman observes, “Unlike Nana Buluku, who withdraws after her-­ his initial act of creation, Mawu-Lisa is associated with creation as a sustaining vodun.” Mawu-Lisa is “omnipresent and omniscient in relation to the activities of all creatures.”42 Mawu and Lisa then birth seven sets of twins. These twin sets form the primary array of the Fon subdivinities, or vodun, who create humans.43 Zahan asserts, “Power has always been conceived of by Africans in the least despotic light possible. The more important it is, the more reason to share it in order to avoid the individualization that could generate social abuses and disturbances. Thus, the existence of divine couples.”44 While the High God and Mawu–Lisa are radically central to the Fon worldview and receive some attention from human devotees, it is the subsequent generation of gods who form the substance of Fon religious devotion. Though there are dozens of subdivinities in the pantheon, some of the most important Fon vodun include Sakpata, Sogbo, Agbe, Djo, Legba, Fa,  Long, Spiritual Merchants, 5.  Sobel, Trabelin’ On, 16. 40  Zahan, “Some Reflections,” 4. 41  For more on shrines, see Zahan, “Some Reflections,” 14–19. For a full treatment of Yorùbá festivals, see Jacob K.  Olupona, City of 201 Gods: Ilé-Ifè in Time, Space, and the Imagination (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2011). 42  Coleman, Tribal Talk, 4, 5. 43  Olupona, African Religions, 10. 44  Zahan, “Some Reflections,” 7. 38 39

2  THE SPIRIT(S) IN AFRICA: AFRICAN TRADITIONAL RELIGIONS 

31

and Da. The children of Mawu–Lisa were each given control over some aspect of existence. Sakpata is the ruler of earth, while Sogbo reigns over the sky. Sogbo gave birth to several children, including Agbe, God of the waters. Djo is in charge of the realm between the earth and sky, including human destiny. Legba, who has no particular realm to rule, acts as mediator among the gods and between the gods and humanity. Sometimes also understood as a trickster figure, Legba is central to communication among the gods and to the interaction between these gods and humanity. Anthony Pinn explains, “Legba must be approached prior to any of the other vodun if tasks are to be successfully fulfilled and rituals performed. Thus Legba has no place of his own, but his presence is required in all places.”45 While Djo controls human destiny, Legba communicates it and thus is central to Fa, the term for both the Fon system of divination and Legba’s sister, the vodun of divination and destiny.46 Finally, Da is “power incarnate” and “signifies the Africans who lived long ago, beyond the memories and capacity of contemporary Africans to recall their names.”47 Like the Fon, the Yorùbá maintain belief in a High God and a pantheon of lesser deities. Olódùmarè is the Supreme Being who creates the subdivinities, or òrìsà. According to a dominant creation myth, Olódùmarè tasked Obatala with the work of creation. However, on his way to create, Obatala got drunk and fell asleep. Another òrìsà, Oduduwa, saw what had happened, took up the task and tools assigned to Obatala, and formed the universe with the aid of a giant guinea fowl, known as the “earth spreader.” Jacob Olupona further relates: Through creation the worlds of the divinities and of humans merged, and a horizontal relationship, a passage up and down, was established between gods and human, creative forces, and creation itself. The universe thus created was not an empty one. Through the activities of the divine being, Oduduwa, the basic elements of the universe and the earth’s morphology became established. Dry land and wetlands and animal and plant life were firmly entrenched. The palm nut, which Oduduwa planted, became the tree of life that gave birth to the plant world. It is also an important element in the Ifa divination process employed to discern the wishes of heaven.48

 Pinn, Varieties, 13.  Coleman, Tribal Talk, 8. 47  Ibid., 14. 48  Olupona, City, 29. 45 46

32 

K. BUHRING

After this act of creation, sixteen primary subdivinities came down from heaven to reign over various earthly realms. Unlike Olódùmarè, who maintains the world but is rather detached from human affairs, the òrìsà, or subdivinities, are present and active everywhere. The òrìsà are seen as “compassionate, benevolent, and capable of providing the blessings their devotees request of them in rituals and ceremonies.” Olupona adds, “At the same time, the òrìsà are willing to use their power to inflict punishment and to wreak havoc on devotees who violate societal norms… Ultimately the òrìsà transcend the dichotomy of good and evil.”49 Despite his ineptitude in carrying out creation, Obatala, the god of wisdom, is a central figure among the òrìsà. Even though Oduduwa usurped Obatala’s work, Obatala is understood as still possessing the àse, the universal force or energy upon which all, including Oduduwa’s power, depends. “Obatala is the fashioner god, and his primary responsibility is to mold human beings out of clay according to the àse, the divine power given him by the Supreme Being.”50 Obatala is thus the creator God. Along with his divine spouse, Yemoo, Obatala is regarded as honest, pure, and morally upright.51 While Obatala is defined by his righteousness, Oduduwa is understood as power. Jacob Olupona says of Oduduwa, “All of the essential forces of nature, along with human and spiritual forces, are subject to him.… No physical or spiritual forces supersede Oduduwa in power.”52 In addition to creating the world, Oduduwa is also seen as the god-king, ancestor to the Yorùbá people, and founder of the sacred city of Ilé-Ifè, where his cult is based almost exclusively.53 Though ritual worship of Oduduwa is evident most prominently in a single geographic location, his adherents claim that his presence, “persona and ultimate strength are derived from the total energy of the universe.”54 In addition to Obatala and Oduduwa, other important òrìsà include Esu, Ogun, Sango, Olokun, and Ifa. Esu (Eshu-Elegba) is the messenger of the òrìsà and a trickster figure, capable of both good and bad. Ogun is the violent god of war, who led the gods from heaven to earth at the time of creation.55 Sango is the popular god of thunder and lightning, while  Ibid., 88.  Ibid., 147. 51  Ibid., 145–149. 52  Ibid., 229. 53  Ibid., 226, 231. 54  Ibid., 233. 55  Ibid., 112. 49 50

2  THE SPIRIT(S) IN AFRICA: AFRICAN TRADITIONAL RELIGIONS 

33

Olokun is the goddess of the sea.56 Finally, another very significant god is Ifa, the god of divination. Olupona writes of Ifa, “He is the regulator of events in the universe, and his divination process and activities bring order to a potentially chaotic universe.”57 While among the Akan it is clear that creation is carried out directly by the Supreme Being, Nyame, there is no clear, consistent creation story explaining the process or event in any detail. In addition, unlike the Supreme Being in Fon and Yorùbá theology, Nyame is still considered to be present and involved in worldly affairs, at least by comparison to these other West African traditions. Further, while the Akan tend to elevate the status of ancestors above the lesser deities, these subdivinities, or abosom, still play an important role in Akan religion.58 Unlike the gods of the Fon and Yorùbá, who have distinctive individualized persona, the lesser deities of the Akan are typically described in terms of groups of collectives based on their roles in the world. Akan abosom are described as children of God, executioners of God, or linguists of God. The label of children is not meant literally and applies to a set of water deities in particular. The abosom, who are executioners, carry out God’s will and mete out justice as called for. Lastly, the linguists are God’s spokesmen and act as both independent agents and conduits between the Supreme Being and humanity.59 Finally, in BaKongo religious traditions, the Supreme Being is Nzambi Mpungu. At least within scholarship on BaKongo religion there is little substantive discussion about the nature of this God. In addition, there are “few myths about the creation of the world” because a cyclical universe “has no origin.”60 While the BaKongo believe in a Supreme Being, there is no pantheon of subdivinities as evident in Fon and Yorùbá traditions. Like the Akan, among the BaKongo there is greater attention instead to categories of the dead, including the ancestors, ghosts, local or “nature” spirits (simbi), and sprits in charms. Distinctions among these categories are sometimes blurred or nonexistent. Ras Michael Brown explains, “The 56  Marcus Louis Harvey, “Engaging the Orisa: An Exploration of the Yoruba Concepts of Ibeji and Olokun as Theoretical Principles in Black Theology.” Black Theology 6.1 (2008), 61–82. From concepts of Olokun, Harvey develops the theological idea of mystery, uncertainty, and the unknown, and thus human humility. 57  Olupona, City, 180. 58  Patrick J.  Ryan, “‘Arise, O God!’: the Problem of Gods in West Africa,” Journal of Religion in Africa 11 3 1980, 169. 59  Pobee, “Aspects,” 10–11; Dickson, Theology, 55–56. 60  MacGaffey, Religion, 57.

34 

K. BUHRING

passage from person to nature spirit through the intermediary stage of ancestor reveals the close connection between the living and the simbi that not only obscures distinctions between the nature spirits and ancestors but also between nature spirits and the living.” For example, the simbi could incarnate as humans, in particular as twins, albinos, and dwarves.61 Brown explains that “West-Central Africans perceived nature spirits as primordial entities, created and begotten beings as well as transformed versions of people who once lived.” In this sense, spirits in some African cultures, such as the Kongo, are difficult to categorize or label.62 These collective, morally ambivalent, and somewhat vague clusters of spirits, sometimes spirits, people, animals, objects, or even bursts of energy, are pervasive and active in BaKongo traditional life.63 Overall, there tends to be more emphasis on subdivinities in West African religious traditions than is evident in East and South Africa. Generally speaking, while the Supreme Being in East and South Africa is understood to be omnipresent and efficacious within worldly affairs, the Supreme Being in West Africa is usually conceived of as relatively more distant and less involved. The exception to this among the traditions discussed here is the Akan Supreme Being. Nevertheless, one gets the sense that there is a human desire for intimacy with the spiritual realm and the expectation that the spirits will act with fairness, justice, and providence. It is especially in traditional religions where such immanence and activity might be less than desired that the subdivinities or lesser deities become more prominent. These gods, especially the vodun of the Fon and the òrìsà of the Yorùbá, are anthropomorphized. That is, they can be capricious, morally ambiguous, and even “dependent” on humanity. Nevertheless, these spirits are also ever-present, active, powerful, and typically good. While human devotion to the subdivinities may be driven at times by fear, it is also frequently motivated by gratitude for the blessings of an able, present, efficacious deity. Alongside the subdivinities, ancestors also play a similar significant role.

61  Ras Michael Brown, African-Atlantic Cultures and the South Carolina Lowcountry (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 98–103. Brown adds, “As spiritually potent beings, simbi children received special treatment and provided essential assistance for people in life and death” (103). 62  Ibid., 105. 63  MacGaffey, Religion, 6, 8, 63, and 90.

2  THE SPIRIT(S) IN AFRICA: AFRICAN TRADITIONAL RELIGIONS 

35

Ancestors In addition to the Supreme Being and the subdivinities, or lesser deities, the ancestors hold a central place in ATRs. In some instances, as noted earlier, the ancestors are seen as more important than the subdivinities and often interact with people more than the Supreme Being does. Peter Paris asserts, “In African societies the ancestors comprise the principal link between the ethnic community and the realm of the spirit. Their interaction with and appeasement by the living are necessary for the preservation of peace and harmony.”64 To nuance the status of the ancestors even further, “it is not always easy to make a distinction between ancestors and divinities,” and the divinities themselves may have been ancestors who were elevated to a higher status.65 In African traditional religious views, “death does not represent the end of human existence, but rather a change in its status.”66 Jawanza Clark explains, “the dead are not dead, but they constitute a living, powerful, spiritual presence among those in the visible world. The ancestors can, and often do, affect reality in our spatial/temporal order in very practical and pragmatic ways.”67 As mentioned earlier, in traditional African metaphysics, there is not a polarized distinction between the sacred and the profane or between the spiritual and the physical. The African world is a holistic, unified blending of the physical and the spiritual. Ultimately, the ancestors may be the most important of the African spirits. They “are disembodied, transcendent human beings who have achieved their destiny and fulfilled the purpose of their being. In this way, they are fully realized, or complete, human beings.”68 The ancestors play a powerful role in the world, maintaining, caring for, and rewarding and punishing in the human world as deserved.69 Not every person who dies becomes an ancestor.70 In order to become an ancestor, one must live a moral, exemplary, and long life and die a “good” death; “death by ‘ill reputed’ disease (such as leprosy) or by  Paris, Spirituality 51.  Olupona, African Religions, 28. 66  Zahan, “Some Reflections,” 10. On the same idea within BaKongo traditional religions, see MacGaffey, Religion, 44. 67  Clark, Indigenous, 74. 68  Ibid., 75. 69  Ibid., 94. 70  Dickson, Theology, 68. 64 65

36 

K. BUHRING

a­ ccident (especially if provoked by lightning) means exclusion from the society of the ancestors.”71 In such cases, these spirits “become wanderer spirits, who are forced into an isolated and lonely existence.… [I]t is believed that these wanderer spirits can haunt and negatively impact the lives of visible human beings. Often, these spirits visit the living in dreams. They exist in the world of spirit but are cut off from the place of peace, rest, and solace.”72 For example, the BaKongo believe that witches are closed off from the status of ancestor and instead become ghosts after death.73 Further, some African cultures distinguish between ancestors and the living dead. Whereas ancestors died generations ago, the living dead died more recently. The ancestors “live” when remembered and honored by the still living.74 In many African cultures, there is a close link between the ancestors and new life. Newborn children may be named after the ancestors as a way to sustain the ancestors. Clark offers, “The act of naming then is metaphysically significant and theologically efficacious, because naming helps to maintain the ancestors’ immortality. To be remembered through invocation, propitiation, or active petition by living, visible humans is, in part, the way in which the ancestors maintain their link to the visible world.”75 Even more dramatic than living on through the naming of a descendent is the idea of living through reincarnation. For Africans, “life is eternal in the sense that it is cyclical. One merely passes from one form of life to another form and, under the best of circumstances, returns to historical life time and again.”76 Many African societies maintain that ancestors may be reborn, at least in part, in newborns. Paris explains, “Ancestral spirits, then, do not reemerge in the visible realm as the exact replica of the person they were when they were departed. The newborn baby carries aspects of the ancestor’s spirit, her or his sun sum, and aura, but she is a unique entity that is, in a sense, visiting the earth for the first time.”77 Jacob Olupona adds that in such cases, “a spirit can remain an ancestor even when it has also reincarnated in human form.”78  Zahan, “Some Reflections,” 11.  Clark, Indigenous, 92–93; Zahan, “Some Reflections,” 10–12. 73  MacGaffey, Religion, 63, 72–73. 74  Olupona African Religions, 28. 75  Clark, Indigenous, 86. 76  Paris, Spirituality, 47. 77  Ibid., 85. 78  Olupona, African Religions, 32. 71 72

2  THE SPIRIT(S) IN AFRICA: AFRICAN TRADITIONAL RELIGIONS 

37

In some African societies, the ancestral realm is similar to the human, visible world; in others, the ancestral realm is a utopian paradise. Either way, there is a certain reciprocity to the relationship between the ancestors and humans. Olupona writes, “The forbearers need their progeny in order to sustain themselves in the afterlife just as much as the living need blessings, wisdom, and grace from their predecessors. The living and the ancestors depend upon one another for survival.”79 Despite the fact that both sides need one another, the ancestors are envisioned as the ideal version of their living selves—powerful, authoritative, and morally upright.80 While the ancestors may appear to the living as ghosts or in dreams,81 living humans may make contact with the ancestors with the use of food, blood, libation, or sacrifice, accompanied by prayer.82 Such contact may be motivated by the desire for communion with the ancestors or propitiation.83 Clark describes a reciprocal relationship: “In exchange for respect and due diligence in the performance of specific rites of propitiation and communion, the ancestors are themselves obligated to offer protection and well-being to those earthly children that obediently comply with their wishes.”84 In addition to contacting the ancestors in such ways, humans may interact in a variety of ways with the wider realm of spirits, including the Supreme Being, the subdivinities, and the ancestors. This interaction may take the forms of spirit possession, divination, and ceremonies and rituals.

Interaction with the Spirits Within African traditional religions there is a range of ways in which humans interact with the spirits, such as the gods and the ancestors. These interactions are based on the understanding that the spirits are privy to special knowledge and are able and willing to communicate to people the reasons for the communal or personal state of affairs, whether good or bad. In many ways, the spirits communicate with humans their feelings,  Ibid., 29; Olupona, City, 102.  Olupona, African Religions, 29. 81  Pobee, “Aspects,” 8. 82  Dickson, Theology, 68–69; Zahan, “Some Reflections,” 12. MacGaffey writes that BaKongo believe children and the elderly, as “closer” to the land of the dead, are more likely to be able to see or communicate with its inhabitants. See MacGaffey, Religion, 54. 83  Dickson, Theology, 69 84  Clark, Indigenous, 94. 79 80

38 

K. BUHRING

their will, their needs and desires. The spectrum of interactions includes spirit possession, divination, and a variety of rituals, including prayer, sacrifices, rites of passage, ceremonies, and festivals. While the spirits tend to drive the possession experience, humans play an increasingly larger role when divination and other rituals are examined. It is helpful to distinguish between two significant modes of interaction and communication between the spirits and humans. The first mode includes spirit possession, trances, or dreams. This category involves a human medium whose state of consciousness is altered in some way. While there may be human agency involved in attaining the altered consciousness state or in working with the given spirit, the spirits are fundamentally driving this form of interaction or communication. The second mode of interaction primarily involves divination. In divination, there is no altered state of consciousness necessarily. Here human agency is more important, as the diviner seeks to communicate with, and perhaps on behalf of, the spirit(s) and the particular client seeks to ascertain the message from the spirit(s).85 After exploring mediumship, we will examine divination. Spirit possession, “almost universally known to West African people,”86 is typically evoked or elicited willfully by a spirit medium through multisensory music and dance.87 While dreams and trances may be spontaneous events in which the spirit comes to the medium, possession tends to be something that is initiated by the spirit medium. Spirit possession involves the lesser deities or ancestors, not the Supreme Being.88 Laurenti Magesa calls these spirits “bilocal,” explaining, “They dwell in the sky but can also possess any creature for a certain purpose. They can be induced by a specialist to seize things or people.”89

85  Some scholars, such as Jacob K. Olupona, speak of a category of “mediumistic divination.” In this understanding, divination is the broader category that includes a spirit medium and a diviner. See Olupona, African Religions, 40–45. 86  Sobel, Trabelin’ On, 19. Interestingly, Sobel notes that it is typically women who are possessed. Sylvia R. Frey and Betty Wood explain, “In contrast to Western Christianity,…traditional religions recognized the female as participating in the divine and thus allowed for the parallel and complementary development of male and female ritual leaders.” Frey and Wood, Come, 12. 87  Tony Perman, “Awakening Spirits: The Ontology of Spirit, Self, and Society in Ndau Spirit Possession Practices in Zimbabwe,” Journal of Religion in Africa 41 2011, 59–92, 66. 88  Sobel, Trabelin’ On, 12–13; Zahan, “Some Reflections,” 24. 89  Magesa, What is Not Sacred?, 35. For more on human interaction with West-Central African spirits, see also Brown, African-Atlantic, 113–114 and 123–125.

2  THE SPIRIT(S) IN AFRICA: AFRICAN TRADITIONAL RELIGIONS 

39

These spirits may communicate to the medium, but they usually operate through the medium.90 In such cases, the spirit takes over the conscious personality and identity of the medium, “mounting” the believer, who becomes “other” during a temporary trance.91 During possession, “the divinity or spirit is regarded as mounting or climbing on the medium, and the inhabited or possessed body adapts the behavior appropriate to the spirit that has come to subordinate her body.”92 The event of spirit possession may be a one-sided revelatory affair, in which the spirit does all the “talking,” or it may take on a more conversational tone, in which the clients or observers may engage the spirit entity more interactively.93 In either case, the spirit recommends some course of action to propitiate it or otherwise to address whatever issue prompted the evocation of the possession. This course of action may involve a ritual, such as an animal sacrifice. Though some scholars argue that the spirit medium maintains a degree of agency, most view possession as the spirit taking over and replacing the central identity and agency of the medium during possession. For example, Mechal Sobel writes, “In all cases, the medium is but an agent, chosen by the gods, who returns to her old self after the possession ritual. She has power, but her own essential nature is not changed. She is the mounted steed, and the rider is the significant actor.”94 In contrast, Tony Perman gives more ground to the idea of the human medium having agency. Based on his anthropological research on Ndau, or spirit, in Zimbabwe, Perman describes the relationship between spirit and medium in rather reciprocal terms. He explains, “formless spirits rely on the living to serve as mediums for their embodiment and desired corporeality.”95 He continues, “The living possess their spirits as their spirits possess them: dialectically. The mediums focus on the relationship with their spirit as an aspect of themselves, thus allowing the spirit an opportunity to speak, be heard, and contribute to the community. Both spirits and mediums have agency, and the imagination of the medium has room to contribute.”96 Despite the  Olupona, African Religions, 44.  Zahan, “Some Reflections,” 24; Long, Spiritual Merchants, 6; Adekunle Oyinloye Dada, “Old Wine in New Bottle: Elements of Yoruba Culture in Aladura Christianity,” Black Theology Vol 12 no. 1, April 2014, 19–32, 23. 92  Sobel, Trabelin’ On, 20. 93  Olupona, African Religions, 44. 94  Sobel, Trabelin’ On, 20. 95  Perman, “Awakening,” 68. 96  Ibid., 86. 90 91

40 

K. BUHRING

claims of the medium’s independence and agency, Perman does acknowledge that possession involves some loss of self-awareness on the part of the medium, who usually does not remember anything from the trance period.97 While interaction with spirits through dreams, trances, or possession involves an altered state of consciousness on the part of a medium, interaction with the spirits through divination does not. Much like the use of a medium, the use of a diviner is made when people wish to communicate with the spirits. Again, the assumption behind these activities is that the spirits have access to special knowledge and that it can be communicated to people in order to address the state of affairs, communal or personal, good or bad. In addition, the belief is that the spirit can be active and efficacious, either by changing the state of affairs or by recommending an effective course of action for the client that does so. For example, if someone is ill, she may ask a diviner to communicate with the spirits through divination in order to ascertain the cause and cure of the illness. In other words, divination may be employed to restore physical or spiritual wellness. As in all respects when considering African traditional religious beliefs and practices, there is great variety across the continent in terms of types of divination. Ifa divination will be used as an example of one such variety. Ifa divination, among the Yorùbá, provides a significant example of divination that is particularly relevant to the current study. Ifa divination, or close variations on it, was adopted by the neighboring Fon and is prevalent throughout the African diaspora in the Americas.98 Ifa divination utilizes several tools or materials, including a divining chain (opele), halved palm nutshells, and a divining tray, spread with wood powder. The diviner, or babaláwo (the “father of the secrets”), casts the chain with the attached nutshells into the powder on the tray. The nutshells fall either up (concave-­ side up) or down (concave-side down). After a series of castings in the powder, a pattern is read by the diviner that corresponds to one of the portions of the oral text of the Ifa corpus. The diviner, who has memorized each of the 256 possible segments (odu) of the body of stories, poems, and proverbs, and the client then seek to interpret and apply the  Ibid., 82; Sobel, Trabelin’ On, 19.  Coleman, Tribal Talk, 22–23. Coleman discusses the role of charms, or gob, in Fon Ifa divination. Similar charms are also evident throughout the Americas as “gris gris, mojos, tricks, hands, and hoodoos.” 97 98

2  THE SPIRIT(S) IN AFRICA: AFRICAN TRADITIONAL RELIGIONS 

41

particular divined segment for the client’s needs. Often the diviner then prescribes a course of action, such as a ritual, for the client to complete.99 As alluded to earlier then, divination practices involve a specialist seeking hidden knowledge from the spirits on behalf of another person, a client. Divination does use human agency, but does not involve an altered state of consciousness. This mode of interaction or communication with the spirits presupposes that the gods or ancestors have access to hidden knowledge and may be willing to share it with humans. The spirits are viewed as fair and just in the sense that they are willing to reciprocate knowledge for some ritual acknowledgment, a gift or a sacrifice.100 Jacob Olupona explains, “One would be justified in interpreting a sacrifice as a communal meal joining the gods, spirits, hosts, and the guests—an act of communication both between the sacrificer and his gods, and between him and his fellow man.”101 Again, as was evident in the case of spirit possession, though the spirits are seen as ever-present, their activity and further manifested presence may be evoked through the divination process. Finally, in addition to interaction and communication through spirit possession and divination, humans may interact with the spirits through a variety of ceremonies, festivals, and a host of rituals. In all of these cases, the spirits are ubiquitous, knowledgeable, powerful, and active, and yet there are human ways of evoking further spiritual presence and activity as well as human activity that in essence limits the power of the spirits. Ultimately, in ATRs, one encounters a sense of spirit that is immanent, good, and powerful, in a subtle and persuasive way. Moving into the African diaspora and beyond then, the African sense of spirit(s) is a valuable resource for constructive Christian theology and pneumatology. The notion of a universal energy, force, or power is an important idea for the constructive work to follow. More specifically, the concept of the spirits, like the subdivinities and ancestors, as immanent and active within humanity is especially significant as we move forward and make connections with Christian understandings of the Holy Spirit and human agency.

 Olupona, African Religions, 45–47.  For a thorough and nuanced discussion of divination in Yorùbá traditional religions, see especially Chap. 6 in Olupona, City. 101  Olupona, City, 169. 99

100

42 

K. BUHRING

Works Cited Agyarko, Robert Awusu. “God of Life: Rethinking the Akan Christian Concept of God in the Light of the Ecological Crisis.” The Ecumenical Review Vol. 65 No. 1 March 2013, 51–66. Brown, Ras Michael. African-Atlantic Cultures and the South Carolina Lowcountry. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012. Clark, Jawanza Eric. Indigenous Black Theology: Toward an African-Centered Theology of the African American Religious Experience. New  York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012. Coleman, Will. Tribal Talk: Black Theology, Hermeneutics, and African/American Ways of “Telling the Story”. University Park, PA: Penn State University, 2000. Dada, Adekunle Oyinloye. “Old Wine in New Bottle: Elements of Yoruba Culture in Aladura Christianity.” Black Theology Vol 12 no. 1, Apr 2014, 19–32. Dickson, Kwesi A. Theology in Africa. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1984. Erskine, Noel Leo. Plantation Church: How African American Religion Was Born in Caribbean Slavery. New York: Oxford Press, 2014. Frey, Sylvia R. and Betty Wood. Come Shouting to Zion: African American Protestantism in the American South and British Caribbean to 1830. Chapel Hill, NC and London: University of North Carolina Press, 1998. Harvey, Marcus Louis. “Engaging the Orisa: An Exploration of the Yoruba Concepts of Ibeji and Olokun as Theoretical Principles in Black Theology,” Black Theology 6, no. 1 (2008): 61–82. Lewis, Berrisford. “Forging an Understanding of Black Humanity Through Relationship: an Ubuntu Perspective.” Black Theology 8.1 (2010) 69–85. Long, Carolyn Morrow. Spiritual Merchants: Religion, Magic and Commerce. Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 2001. MacGaffey, Wyatt. Religion and Society in Central Africa. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1986. Magesa, Laurenti. What is Not Sacred?: African Spirituality. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2013. Mbiti, John S. Introduction to African Religion. Oxford [England]; Portsmouth, N.H., USA: Heinemann Educational Books, 1991. 2nd rev ed. Olupona, Jacob K. African Religions: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014. Olupona, Jacob K. City of 201 Gods: Ilé-Ifè in Time, Space, and the Imagination. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2011. Paris, Peter J. The Spirituality of African Peoples: the Search for a Common Moral Discourse. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995. Perman, Tony. “Awakening Spirits: The Ontology of Spirit, Self, and Society in Ndau Spirit Possession Practices in Zimbabwe.” Journal of Religion in Africa 41 (2011): 59–92.

2  THE SPIRIT(S) IN AFRICA: AFRICAN TRADITIONAL RELIGIONS 

43

Pinn, Anthony B. Varieties of African American Religious Experience. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1998. Pobee, John. “Aspects of African Traditional Religion.” Sociological Analysis 37 1 1976, 1–18. Ryan, Patrick J. “‘Arise, O God!’: the Problem of ‘Gods’ in West Africa,” Journal of Religion in Africa 11 3 1980, 161–171. Sobel, Mechal. Trabelin’ On: The Slave Journey to an Afro-Baptist Faith. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1988, reprint. Originally published Westport, Conn, Greenwood Press, 1979. Zahan, Dominique. “Some Reflections on African Spirituality.” In African Spirituality: Forms, Meanings, and Expressions. Ed by Jacob K.  Olupona. New York: Crossroad, 2000.

CHAPTER 3

The Spirit(s) in the Diaspora: African-Derived Religions

Although the popularity of African traditional religions (ATRs) in Africa has decreased, as many Africans are or have become Muslim or Christian, the membership and influence of African-derived religions (ADRs) in the Western Hemisphere have grown steadily.1 By “African-derived religions,” scholars refer to the dozens of religious traditions and cultures that are rooted in Africa and have developed over time outside of the continent, many of which were shaped in the context of slavery and oppression in the Americas.2 An illustrative list of ADRs includes: Vodou (Haiti) or Voodoo3

1  Jacob K.  Olupona, African Religions: A Very Short Introduction (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 110. 2   The label African-derived religions typically excludes Judaism, Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, and humanism. Anthony Pinn has long made the convincing argument that African American religiosity stretches beyond Christianity. His work has especially made the powerful case for the inclusion of humanism among the range of African American religions. A similar argument could be made for including humanism in a list of African-­ derived religions. See especially his The End of God-Talk: An African American Humanist Theology (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), and his Varieties of African American Religious Experience (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1998). 3  Voodoo is the Americanized spelling of the tradition related to Haitian Vodou.

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 K. Buhring, Spirit(s) in Black Religion, Black Religion/Womanist Thought/Social Justice, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-09887-1_3

45

46 

K. BUHRING

(United States); Santería or Regla de Ocha4 (Cuba, Puerto Rico, Brazil); Obeah, Myal, Revival Zion, and Kumina (Jamaica); and Candomblé, Macumba, and Umbanda (Brazil).5 The focus in this chapter will be on three religious strands: (1) Vodou (Haiti), (2) Santería (Cuba), and (3) a family of Jamaican religions including Obeah, Myal, and Revival Zion (Jamaica). I have chosen to explore these three because they are vibrant, powerful religious traditions strongly rooted in their African foundations and influenced by their context in the Americas. In addition, they have significant numbers of practitioners and have exerted a great deal of influence within their particular nations and beyond. These three also provide us with a bit of variety in terms of African roots and forms of Christianity with which they come into contact. Vodou and Santería are the obvious candidates for inclusion in this study. I have opted for Jamaican religions over Candomblé, more commonly included in discussions of ADRs, because, like Santería, Candomblé developed from Yorùbá sources in a predominantly Catholic context; in distinction, the Jamaican traditions trace their lineage to Kongo and Akan (Fanti-­ Ashanti) sources and emerged in mostly (British) Protestant colonies. Finally, in each of the three, one finds fascinating expressions of the African spirit(s) that have developed over time and in new contexts. Thus, this chapter will provide a bridge between Chap. 2 on ATRs and Chap. 4 on African American Christianity. The religions discussed in this chapter are each based on particular ATRs and integrate elements from Christianity as well as religions that are indigenous to their locations in the Americas. Haitian Vodou stems from 4  Santería (“the way of saints”) was originally a pejorative label used by Catholics. Some practitioners and scholars prefer the terms Lucumi (my friend, friendship), Regla de Ocha (rule of Ocha), or Ayoba. However, the religion is still most commonly referred to as Santería among both practitioners and scholars. For example, see Miguel A. De La Torre, Santería: The Beliefs and Rituals of a Growing Religion in America (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2004). Therefore, I still use the term in this work. 5  There is variation in terminology used regarding these religions. In this work, I am using what I have found to be the most accurate and common terminology and spelling of terms and ideas in English language scholarly treatments. When multiple terms or spellings are often used, it will be indicated in the text. For example, loa is the Kongo word for spirits, and it is used in Haitian Vodou and New Orleans Voodoo. Sometimes it is spelled as loa, while other times it is lwa. When I introduce the term later in the chapter, I designate it as loa/lwa, then proceed to use loa unless directly quoting a source that spells it as lwa. In addition, loa or loas can be used as the plural noun. Except when quoting, I have opted for the more common loa as the plural form.

3  THE SPIRIT(S) IN THE DIASPORA: AFRICAN-DERIVED RELIGIONS 

47

Fon, Yorùbá, and Kongo religions, while Cuban Santería is Yorùbá-based, and Jamaican religions such as Obeah, Myal, and Revival Zion are founded on the Kongo and Akan religious systems.6 ADRs such as these have often been described as syncretistic. That is, they combine a variety of elements from multiple religions, in this case, African traditional religions and Christianity. However, most contemporary scholars of African and African-­ derived religions are critical of this characterization as syncretistic. They believe it is inaccurate and misleading to describe religions such as Vodou in such a way, as if Vodou practitioners were simply throwing together beliefs and practices from various sources. For these scholars, such a description is also problematic because it overemphasizes the role of European Christianity in the formation and development of ADRs. Instead, many contemporary scholars argue that most ADRs are fundamentally African in nature, with a veneer of Christianity. In this case, Christian elements were employed to cover over genuine African realities in order to survive under conditions of slavery and oppression in the Americas. This treatment will follow the perspective of contemporary scholarship in understanding ADRs as African at their core, as well as acknowledging Christian elements and influence when accurate and relevant. Overall, ATRs better survived and developed in some European colonies in the Western Hemisphere than others. Some circumstances that allowed African-derived religions to develop in the Americas included ratio of blacks to whites, number of African-born slaves, degree of supervision by slave masters, and compatibility with European religion. So, African religious traditions fared better in colonies that had a higher black to white ratio, had a significant number of African-born people, had less direct supervision by slave masters, and were predominantly Catholic rather than Protestant. For example, on Haitian plantations, the black-to-­ white ratio might have been 100:1, whereas English plantations in North America tended to be smaller and have more direct oversight by the slave master.7 The greater contact in the United States meant greater control and oppression, and less African-based religion. Further, African-born slaves were still being brought to Haiti and Cuba, while by the American Revolution only about twenty percent of American slaves were from  De La Torre, Santería, 161.  Noel Leo Erskine, Plantation Church: How African American Religion Was Born in Caribbean Slavery (New York: Oxford University Press), 55. 6 7

48 

K. BUHRING

Africa.8 Finally, diasporic religions such as Vodou and Santería were able to blend aspects of Christianity and thrived especially in Catholic as opposed to Protestant contexts in the Americas. It seems that a Catholic worldview, including especially saints, lent itself to the West African-based sense of the pantheon of subdivinities in a way that a Protestant worldview did not. The Catholic worldview allows for space for African subdivinities and a sense of energy in all (àse in Yorùbá) that Protestant systems did not. In other words, ATRs seem more compatible with Catholicism than Protestantism, and, relatively speaking, the Catholic Church in some colonies tended to allow for such compatibility, usually with the long-term intention of converting enslaved Africans to Catholicism. In short, as a result of these factors, more “Africanisms” survived in the French, Spanish, and Portuguese colonies of Caribbean and South America than in English colonies of Caribbean and North America.9 While this is not to say that slaves in North America “lost” African elements entirely, about which more will be discussed in Chap. 4, it is to argue that ATRs had a robust presence and laid a strong foundation especially in places like Haiti, Cuba, and Brazil. Undoubtedly, there is great variety both among and within African-­ derived religions. Nevertheless, there are also some fundamental similarities. Generally, ADRs are monotheistic, while simultaneously recognizing the multiplicity inherent to the way the divine manifests itself to humanity. Jacob Olupona reasons, “It is not surprising that African diasporic traditions are pluralistic by design, a quality that remains one of their greatest strengths and helps to explain their resilience.”10 Olupona also adds that ADRs are focused on practices more than on beliefs. Without a doubt, as will be evident throughout this chapter, central, fundamental “Africanisms,” both practices and beliefs, survived and flourished in the Americas, especially in places like Haiti, Cuba, and Brazil, and even in Jamaica and the United States. Beyond the African foundations of the religious practices and worldviews, African-derived religions also share a common historical and cultural context of “enslavement and racial discrimination. Each tradition became the focus for an extraordinary struggle for survival against 8  George Eaton Simpson, Black Religions in the New World (New York: Columbia University Press, 1978), 18–19. 9  Carolyn Morrow Long, Spiritual Merchants: Religion, Magic, and Commerce (Knoxville: The University of Tennessee Press, 2001), 17, 37. 10  Olupona, African Religions, 110.

3  THE SPIRIT(S) IN THE DIASPORA: AFRICAN-DERIVED RELIGIONS 

49

and triumph over brutal systems of exploitation. They share an elevated sense of solidarity against injustice and a commitment to the protection and advancement of their communities.”11 These claims would also be true of most African traditional religions as well. Partly because of the African religious basis for ADRs, the structure of this chapter will follow that set in the previous one. So, we will explore ideas and practices regarding the Supreme Being, subdivinities, ancestors, and spirit–human interactions. One element that emerges from this approach is the centrality of the spirit(s). There are strong similarities between ideas of the spirits in Africa and those in the diaspora. As in Africa, the relationship between humans and the spirits provided the basis for all of life. Peter Paris points out, “Africans in the diaspora were able to preserve the structural dimensions of their spirituality: belief in a spirit filled cosmos and acceptance of a moral obligation to build a community in harmony with all the various powers in the cosmos.”12 Of the dynamic between humans and the spirits, Joseph Murphy suggests, “Diasporan liturgies are seen by their practitioners as both works for the spirit and works of the spirit.”13 Practices and rituals are certainly vital to both African and African-derived religions. As Murphy indicates, these multipurpose practices serve the spirits, indicate the efficacy of the spirits, and also provide the basis for the vitality and vibrancy of the spirits. After an examination of the spirit(s) in Vodou, Santería, and ADRs in Jamaica, Chap. 4 will move into the spirit(s) in African American Christianity during slavery.14 There we will consider ways in which elements from African religions and ADRs are integrated into black Christianity, as well as acknowledge ways in which such an influence is lacking, underdeveloped, or denied.

Vodou Vodou is typically disparagingly understood as sinister and nefarious magic. This has been and is still evident among a range of groups, including white European colonizers, black Christians, and the wider Western 11  Joseph M.  Murphy, Working the Spirit: Ceremonies of the African Diaspora (Boston: Beacon Press, 1994), 2. 12  Peter Paris, The Spirituality of African Peoples: The Search for a Common Moral Discourse (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1995), 35. 13  Murphy, Working, 7. 14  Limitations in space and scope preclude an in-depth treatment of Christianity in Africa and the African diaspora beyond the United States.

50 

K. BUHRING

popular culture. As is often the case, these unfair characterizations are based largely on racism, fear, and ignorance. Vodou is in fact one of the most vibrant and creative of the ADRs of the diaspora. Leslie Desmangles observes, “Vodou is a system of beliefs and practices that gives meaning to life: it uplifts the spirits of the downtrodden who experience life’s misfortunes, instills in its devotees a need for solace and self-examination, and relates the profane world of humans to that of incommensurable mythological divine entities, called lwas, who govern the cosmos.”15 While Vodou is like many other religions in some of the respects Desmangles cites, it is distinct in the fact that it has developed its lively visions of the gods and its intense ritual practices in the context of slavery and oppression. Vodou is practiced primarily in Haiti and by some devotees elsewhere, including Louisiana in the United States. Like other ADRs, it is difficult to know accurate demographic information about Vodou, but a common saying regarding Haiti’s population of eleven million relates: “Haitians are 100 percent Catholics and 90 percent Vodouisants.”16 Vodou is often practiced along with another religion or religions, and sometimes is masked by other religious practices and beliefs. In Vodou, there is no central authority, so there is variation evident.17 In addition, there are no formal doctrines; rather, the religion is centered on practices and rituals more than on “beliefs.”18 Maya Deren writes, “Divinity is an energy, an act. The serviteur does not say, ‘I believe.’ He says: ‘I serve.’ And it is the act of service—the ritual—which infuses both man and matter with divine power.”19 Vodou practitioners serve the gods, who manifest in material ways and produce practical results.20 It is a religion of the peasants, not the elite. It is not theoretical or overly intellectual, but pragmatic, concrete, and participatory.21 While Vodou elements are evident in many cultures and the religion is practiced in several places, the religion is centered in Haiti.

15  Leslie G.  Desmangles, The Faces of the Gods: Vodou and Roman Catholicism in Haiti (Chapel Hill: The university of North Carolina Press, 1992), 2–3. 16  Desmangles, Faces, 1. 17  Maya Deren, Divine Horsemen: The Living Gods of Haiti (New York: McPherson and Company, 1953), 18. 18  Desmangles, Faces, 4. 19  Deren, Divine, 187. 20  Desmangles, Faces, 5. 21  Deren, Divine, 195, 197.

3  THE SPIRIT(S) IN THE DIASPORA: AFRICAN-DERIVED RELIGIONS 

51

Haiti Africans were brought as slaves to what became Haiti, first by the Spanish, beginning in 1512, and later the French, who in 1697 took over what was then called Saint-Domingue.22 These Africans represented a variety of ethnic groups and geographical regions of the continent, especially from West Africa, but the largest group was from the Fon of Dahomey, present-day Benin. While the Spanish sought to Christianize the slave population, the French initially had less religious fervor to do so. This approach changed in 1685 with the Code Noir, which forced baptism and Christian doctrine on slaves and essentially banned African religions. Regulations and limitations continued to be imposed throughout the 1700s.23 Despite these harsh restrictions and guidelines, enslaved Africans in Haiti largely maintained their traditional practices and beliefs. African worldviews were able to survive in Haiti for a few reasons. First, blacks greatly outnumbered whites in Haiti. By 1790, there was an 11:1 black-to-white ratio in Haiti, and 100:1 ratio on Haitian plantations.24 Thus, on a simply practical level, despite their efforts to do so, the French could not suppress Vodou very effectively. Second, instead of insisting on only one god or set of gods, Vodouisants “seemed rather to delight in as generous an inclusion as possible”25 and drew elements from several West and Central African cultures. For example, Vodou is from the Fon word for gods, vodun, while loa is the Congo word for spirits. On the whole though, Vodou is rooted primarily in Fon worldviews.26 In order to keep their religion alive, enslaved Africans typically blended, syncretized, creolized, or, as many scholars argue, masked their religiosity with Catholicism, as well as elements from indigenous peoples.27 Anthony Pinn suggests, “In this way, the vodun (gods), ancestors, and other energies were revised or re-empowered to address a foreign and harsh social context.”28 One of the most dramatic expressions of this revised religion was evident during the Haitian Revolution.

 Desmangles, Faces, 19.  Pinn, Varieties, 16–17. 24  Desmangles, Faces, 21. 25  Deren, Divine, 58. 26  Ibid., 60. 27  Pinn, Varieties, 17. 28  Ibid. 22 23

52 

K. BUHRING

In 1791, Dutty Boukman, a Vodou priest, or houngan, led a Vodou ceremony that served as a catalyst for the Haitian Revolution.29 It is believed that Vodou, and the spirit of solidarity and resistance it engendered in Haitian slaves, was vital to the Revolution.30 The Haitian Revolution took place from 1791 to 1804, with Toussaint Louverture and Jean-Jacques Dessalines leading large-scale revolts in 1797.31 The Revolution was significant on many levels. The only slave revolt that resulted in a black-controlled, slave-free independent nation, the Haitian Revolution sent shock waves through the colonial powers and inspired anti-slavery and anti-colonial resistance globally. Despite the central role Vodou played in Haitian independence, in 1801, Toussaint actually tried to encourage the Church to remain as a presence to bring stability, but it largely left for a time.32 Though Catholicism was named the state religion, the Vatican, like other European powers, refused to recognize Haiti as a republic, or to send any priests to the new entity.33 Though there were efforts to suppress the religion,34 “Vodou flourished” and grew,35 as practitioners often hid their religion behind the “the veil of Catholicism.”36 By the mid-1800s, Vodou was generally accepted by the Haitian masses and some of the political elites of Haiti.37 With the concordat of 1860 came greater formal Roman Catholic interaction with Vodou. The Church and the government sought to suppress Vodou especially in “antisuperstition campaigns in 1896, 1913, and 1941, during which temples were destroyed and hundreds of people who admitted to being practitioners of Vodou were massacred.”38 Vodou was persecuted also during the American occupation (1915–1934), the postDuvalier era, and after the 2010 earthquake. In the latter two instances, Vodou was blamed for the success of the despotic regime and the natural disaster.  Desmangles, Faces, 29.  Ibid., 28. 31  Ibid., 29. 32  Ibid., 37. 33  Ibid., 42. 34  Ibid., 45. 35  Margarite Fernandez Olmos and Lizabeth Paravisini-Gebert, Creole Religions of the Caribbean: An Introduction from Vodou and Santería to Obeah and Espiritismo (New York: New York University Press, 2003), 104. 36  Desmangles, Faces, 11. 37  Ibid., 46. 38  Fernandez Olmos, Creole, 104–105. 29 30

3  THE SPIRIT(S) IN THE DIASPORA: AFRICAN-DERIVED RELIGIONS 

53

Despite these periods of persecution, Vodou is still a dominant force in Haiti. Maya Deren contends, “Where, at first glance, it might seem that Christianity had triumphed over Voudoun, it becomes clear, on closer study, that Voudoun has merely been receptive to compatible elements from a sister faith and has integrated these into its basic structure, subtly transfiguring and adjusting their meaning, where necessary, to the African tradition.”39 Vodou tolerated and incorporated Catholicism and therefore made impossible Vodou’s eradication.40 Leslie Desmangles describes the relationship between Vodou and Catholicism as symbiotic, meaning they “coexist without fusing with one another.”41 One important way in which Vodou and Catholicism coexist without conflict is in the conception of the spirits. As among the Fon, discussed in the previous chapter, Haitian Vodou devotees believe in a Supreme Being, a variety of gods (lwas, loas, or mysteres), ancestors, other spirits, humans, animals, and plants. In Vodou, the gods are transcendent, “ineffable and awesome,” as well as immanent, “inherent in all persons and things,”42 ubiquitous, and “forever active in their devotees’ lives.”43 Supreme Being The Supreme Being in Vodou is Bondye, who is the creator and sustainer of the universe. In sum, Bondye has traits one would expect of the Supreme Being. As creator and sustainer of all, he is all-powerful. Leslie Desmangles says of Bondye, “Events in the world occur because he ordains them; without his aid, nothing in the world can happen.”44 He is described as never-changing,45 yet also the “the guarantor of motion.”46 Bondye is “all-­ wise, all-knowing,”47 good, and just.48 Bondye is omnipresent, both transcendent and immanent. In terms of his transcendence, it is said that “He  Deren, Divine, 56.  Ibid., 57. 41  Desmangles, Faces, 5. 42  Ibid., 92. 43  Ibid., 4. 44  Ibid., 160. 45  Ibid. 46  Ibid., 159. 47  Ibid., 160. 48  Ibid., 161. 39 40

54 

K. BUHRING

dwells above the heavens.”49 Like Nana Buluku and Mawu-Lisa in Fon religion, Bondye is largely uninvolved in worldly or human affairs. Pinn notes, “God does not come to humans but rather meets the gods (loas) between heaven and earth and responds to the requests that the loas bring from humanity.”50 Interestingly, though clearly transcendent, Bondye is also immanent, present, and active through the loa and within humanity.51 The loa are manifestations or personae of the one God. Bondye is also manifested in the human soul itself.52 Further, good, moral human acts foster Bondye’s vital forces, while evil acts mitigate them.53 Desmangles makes the argument that Bondye is largely similar to Christian notions of God, with the exception of two ideas. First, he says, unlike in Christianity, in Vodou, Bondye is not the only “supernatural power.” Second, unlike in Christian theology, “Bondye’s holiness implies his profound separateness and aloofness from the world.” Desmangles points to the facts that there is no direct prayer to Bondye, no ceremonies for him, and he does not possess devotees. Bondye is benevolent, patient, and slow to interfere in worldly affairs, Desmangles says.54 While there may be some nuanced distinction here between Bondye and the Christian God, I would say these descriptions of Bondye are not so radically different from how some Christians conceive of God the Father. Given the Trinitarian understanding of God, God the Father is not exactly the only supernatural power. I am not claiming that Trinitarianism involves multiple gods, but most scholars of Vodou understand the Vodou pantheon as multiple manifestations or personae of one God. Likewise, for some Christians, God the Father is rather aloof and transcendent, particularly in classical theological models that image God as in heaven and working primarily through creation and in terms of general divine activity. Jesus and the Holy Spirit are the most present and active in the daily lives of many Christians. Given similarities in conceptions of the divine, there may be space here to draw constructive resources for Christian pneumatology later in this work.  Desmangles, Faces, 160.  Pinn, Varieties, 20. 51   Nathaniel Samuel Murrell, Afro-Caribbean Religions: An Introduction To Their Historical, Cultural, and Sacred Traditions (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 2010), 74. 52  Desmangles, Faces, 160. 53  Ibid., 96. 54  Ibid., 162–163. 49 50

3  THE SPIRIT(S) IN THE DIASPORA: AFRICAN-DERIVED RELIGIONS 

55

Subdivinities While Vodou is “essentially a monotheistic religion,” devotees largely focus their religious lives on service to the loa or lwa, which are spirits or subdivinities, the “souls of the cosmos.”55 They are also known as “mysteres, anges, saints, or les invisibles.”56 The loa are variously described as independent agents, as intermediaries between Bondye and the world, including humanity,57 and as “the manifestations” of Bondye,58 the “one cosmic Principle.”59 There are hundreds of loa, although a dozen or so are the primary ones that are widely recognized and served by devotees. Typically, devotees serve particular loa depending on one’s personality, preferences, needs, and/or ancestral tradition.60 During the colonial period, the loa were grouped by families or nations (nanchons) based on connections to particular West African ethnic groups, or merely slaves’ port of embarkation.61 Over time, two primary nations or categories of loa emerged: the Rada and the Petro/Petwo.62 Most Rada loa are Fon-Dahomey-based, while most Petro loa are based in Kongo and Angola.63 Maya Deren clarifies, “If the Rada loa represent the protective, guardian powers, the Petro loa are the patrons of aggressive action.”64 Interestingly, Rada rites involve drumming and dancing that are on beat, but Petro rites are offbeat.65 While the Rada loa are very similar to African vodun and tend to be considered more benevolent, the Petro loa are African-based and forged in the crucible of the slavery experience. Deren also believes some Petro elements came from sources indigenous to Haiti; she maintains that escaped slaves or maroons likely came in contact with “Indians.” Deren writes, “Petro was born out of [cosmic] rage. It is not evil; it is the rage against the evil fate which the African suffered, the brutality of his displacement and his enslavement. It is the violence that rose out of the rage,  Deren, Divine, 86.  Fernandez Olmos, Creole, 105. 57  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 74. 58  Desmangles, Faces, 162. 59  Ibid., 98. 60  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 74. 61  Fernandez Olmos, Creole, 105. 62  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 75. 63  Ibid., 75. 64  Deren, Divine, 61. 65  Ibid., 61. 55 56

56 

K. BUHRING

to protest against it.”66 It is especially when Vodou has been suppressed that the “Petro rites become dominant.”67 Thus, the Petro loa “are aggressive and vengeful and appear violent.”68 While the Rada loa may punish, they tend to do so justly; in distinction, the Petro loa may punish simply out of spite or malice.69 The Rada and Petwo loa should not, however, be oversimplified as good and evil forces, respectively. Nathaniel Samuel Murrell clarifies, “Although they are associated with benevolence, Rada lwa may cause affliction on persons who anger or neglect them, whereas Petwo lwa are extremely protective of their servitors.”70 Vodou does not lend itself to clear dualistic frameworks of good and evil. The spiritual energy that is guided by priests and devotees is itself amoral.71 The Petro loa may be understood as the somewhat darker alter ego of the Rada loa persona in many instances. It may be thought of as one being, with multiple personae or manifestations.72 Of loa from any nanchon, Murrell writes, “Lwa have their likes and dislikes—special gourmet tastes that require pandering on various occasions, specially designated worship days and times, distinct colors that their devotees wear, dances and movements, songs and prayers, and special symbols to be displayed in rites and rituals.”73 The following section will describe several of the most important loa in terms of personalities, traits, symbols, and any association with particular Catholic saints. In an exploration of the Vodou loa, one comes to see the idea of the divine as pluralistic, diverse, and fragmentary. While no one loa encompasses the entirety of the divine, each gives a fragmentary glimpse of God. The loa include male and female figures who are full of imperfections, contradictions, and tensions. These gods are immanent and involved with human affairs, and they are interdependent with humanity in a reciprocal relationship in which human action is vital. Some of the most important loa include Legba, Gede, Damballah, Ezili, and Ogou.  Ibid., 62.  Ibid., 62–63. It is believed that it was a Petro ceremony led by Dutty Boukman that catalyzed the Haitian Revolution. 68  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 75. 69  Desmangles, Faces, 111. 70  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 75; see also Desmangles, Faces, 95. 71  Pinn, Varieties, 24. 72  Desmangles, Faces, 97. 73  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 77. 66 67

3  THE SPIRIT(S) IN THE DIASPORA: AFRICAN-DERIVED RELIGIONS 

57

Legba, or Papa Legba, is the most important of the loa. Desmangles writes, “Bondye fashioned the universe; Legba has nurtured it, has fostered its growth, and has sustained it.”74 Like Legba of the Fon and Esu (or Elegba) of the Yorùbá, he is the intermediary among the loa and between the loa and humanity, for the gods don’t speak the same language as devotees.75 He is described as “keeper of the gate and the crossroads.” Without Legba’s work, “the ‘gate’ remains closed, communication with the cosmic powers is impossible, and, consequently necessary resources and health are denied.”76 When Legba “opens the gate, the two worlds can interpenetrate.”77 Thus, each Vodou rite begins with an invitation and propitiation for Legba. Given his association with gatekeeping and crossroads, Vodou devotees relate Legba to Saint Peter and Jesus.78 Legba’s cosmic symbol (vèvè), which includes two perpendicular lines, predates Christian influence. In Vodou, the symbol of the cross stems from Fon mythology and connotes the four cardinal points of the universe and the intersection of the sacred and the profane.79 As a Petro loa, Legba “is the trickster who arranges unexpected accidents to cause human lives to deviate from the Almighty’s plan.”80 Thus, as was evident among ATRs, in Vodou, destiny is not deterministic, and “humans have some freedom of choice.”81 In interesting ways, Legba and Gede represent two sides of the same coin. While Legba loa are connected to destiny and therefore life, Gede loa are linked with death, the underworld, and the dead.82 Gede is “the lord of death, the master of the destruction of things.”83 Gede is omnipresent, just as death itself.84 As Legba is the intermediary between loa and humanity, “so whoever would seek ancestral counsel or support must first address” Gede,85 who, in this sense, can be “responsible and trustworthy.”86  Desmangles, Faces, 108.  Ibid., 99. 76  Pinn, Varieties, 20–21. 77  Murphy, Working, 39. 78  Pinn, Varieties, 21. 79  Desmangles, Faces, 100–104. 80  Ibid., 110. 81  Ibid., 111; for more on Legba, see Deren, Divine, 96–102. 82  Pinn, Varieties, 23. 83  Desmangles, Faces, 115. 84  Deren, Divine, 104. 85  Ibid., 103 86  Ibid., 112. 74 75

58 

K. BUHRING

In addition, “Whereas rituals begin with respect paid to Legba, they end with acknowledgement of the Guede; hence, the intimate link between life and death is acknowledged.”87 As in ATRs, in Vodou death is not final, but involves a transition between stages of being. Gede is known as the “master of Ginen,” and involved with both death and rebirth.88 Hence, “both Legba and Gede are associated with fertility.”89 In further layers and nuances, Gede the Lord of Death is also full of life and enjoys worldly, physical pleasures, to excess in fact. Gede is called the “Lord of Eroticism,”90 and is often gluttonous.91 He appears with an obscene, offensive persona.92 He is a mischievous, “witty clown” who employs gallows humor.93 Simultaneously, his devotees see him as a wise and trusted advisor; he is also known as a healer, a “guardian of children,”94 and is associated with St. Gerard. While multifaceted in his Rada personae, Gede becomes even more complex if his Petro modes are added. As Petro loa, Gede is known as a series of Baron figures, most famously Baron Samedi.95 Baron Samedi is a dark, macabre figure who appears in black top hat and sunglasses. He is “associated with control over death and reanimation of humans as zombies.”96 In both Rada and Petro modes, these loa may intrude on the rituals for other loa, acting mischievously and menacingly.97 In distinction from the darker loa Gede, and based on the Fon’s Da subdivinity, Damballah is a benevolent, “aged, noble father who assisted Bondye when he created the universe.”98 Maya Deren describes Damballah as “the major benevolence, the mighty protection, [and] the lofty evidence of a just and eternal good.”99 Pinn adds, “Due to his grace and strength, his presence speaks to stability and harmony.”100 His presence  Pinn, Varieties, 23.  Desmangles, Faces, 114. 89  Pinn, Varieties, 23. 90  Deren, Divine, 104. 91  Ibid., 108. 92  Desmangles, Faces, 117. 93  Ibid., 116. 94  Deren, Divine, 113. 95  Desmangles, Faces, 117. 96  Pinn, Varieties, 23. 97  For more on Gede, see Deren, Divine, 102–114. 98  Desmangles, Faces, 25. 99  Deren, Divine, 116. 100  Pinn, Varieties, 121. 87 88

3  THE SPIRIT(S) IN THE DIASPORA: AFRICAN-DERIVED RELIGIONS 

59

“brings peace,” and he is “unchanged by life.”101 He is somewhat aloof, and connotes stability, security, and the constancy of motion.102 There is little direct communication with Damballah. “Yet,” Deren asserts, “it is this very detachment which comforts, and which is evidence, once more, of some original and primal vigor that has somehow remained inaccessible to whatever history, whatever immediacy might diminish it.”103 Damballah is associated with water, rainbows, snakes, and Saint Patrick. Even his Petro manifestations are positive forces,104 and not malevolent.105 In addition to the central male loa, Ezili or Erzulie is “the mother of the lwas and of humanity.”106 Likely based on the Fon vodun Ezili and the Yorùbá òrìsà Oshun,107 Ezili “is the symbol of fecundity, the mother of the world who participates with the masculine forces in the creation and maintenance of the universe.”108 Maya Deren describes Ezili as the loa of meaning and creativity.109 She adds, Ezili is “the loa of things as they could be, not as they are, or even as they normally should be.”110 Ezili is “associated with love, beauty, and the sexual self.”111 Luxurious, refined, and sophisticated,112 she is the “Goddess of Love,” beauty personified.113 In most Rada modes, Ezili is a young, beautiful woman, while in at least one other, Metres Ezili, she is imaged as an old woman.114 Ironically, the Goddess of Love sometimes “protests that she is not loved enough”115 and is “known to be very jealous and requires devotion.”116 While she is sexual, Ezili is also virginal. Thus, not surprisingly, Ezili is associated with Mary.117 In Vodou there is no contradiction seen between  Deren, Divine, 115.  Desmangles, Faces, 125. 103  Deren, Divine, 115. 104  Ibid., 116. 105  Desmangles, Faces, 128. For more on Damballah, see also Deren, Divine, 114–119. 106  Ibid., 132. 107  Desmangles, Faces, 143. 108  Ibid., 131. 109  Deren, Divine, 138. 110  Ibid., 144. 111  Pinn, Varieties, 21. 112  Deren, Divine, 138. 113  Ibid., 141, 140. 114  Desmangles, Faces, 133. 115  Deren, Divine, 143. 116  Pinn, Varieties, 21. 117  Desmangles, Faces, 135. 101 102

60 

K. BUHRING

Ezili as the “lwa of love” and sensuality and her transcendence.118 “To call her virgin is to say that she is of another world, another reality, and that her heart… is innocent of the flesh, is inaccessible to its delights and corruptions,” Deren helpfully explains.119 Popular Petro manifestations of Ezili include Ezili Je-Rouge and Ezili Danto. Within her Petro modes, Ezili can be destructive of those who fail her. “She can also provide protection and guidance for those who must act aggressively in order to survive an ordeal or painful situation.” Pinn continues, “Here Ezili remains the exemplar of womanhood, but womanhood extending beyond sensual allure by embracing the ability to act for preservation.”120 As was stated earlier and is evident among the other loa also, the Petro modes are less an “evil” version of the Rada than they are a shadow persona with a sharper edge.121 Finally, based on the Yorùbá òrìsà Ogun,122 Ogou is described as a “warrior hero; statesman and diplomat; politician and gangster; magician.”123 Deren relates, “Ogoun is might, power, authority, triumph.”124 Ogou has multiple modes, some of which are associated with metal, tools, trades, and constructiveness, while others are related to war, weapons, and destructiveness. He protects his devotees and wages war against their enemies.125 In still another persona, he is envisioned as a wounded warrior. Like Jesus in Christianity, but not based on Christian theology, this mode shows an alternative understanding of divine power.126 In addition, showing further similarities with Christian views of Jesus, as Ogou Batala, Ogou is understood as a healer.127 Somewhat surprisingly, there are not many Petro Ogou.128 However, one mode is Ogou Ferary. Pinn notes, “The battle savvy and aggression of a warrior is found in the Rada Ogou and is intensified in the Petro

 Ibid., 138.  Deren, Divine, 143. 120  Pinn, Varieties, 25. 121  For more on Ezili, see also Deren, Divine, 137–145. 122  Desmangles, Faces, 145. 123  Deren, Divine, 130. 124  Ibid., 131. 125  Pinn, Varieties, 22. 126  Deren, Divine, 131–132. 127  Pinn, Varieties, 22. 128  Deren, Divine, 135. 118 119

3  THE SPIRIT(S) IN THE DIASPORA: AFRICAN-DERIVED RELIGIONS 

61

manifestation named Ogou Ferary.”129 As this persona, he is a military hero and revolutionary spirit.130 In addition to the aforementioned select primary loa, there are dozens more loa, as well as additional spiritual beings and the ancestors. Along with the primary nanchons of Rada and Petro, there are also loa from the Congo (Kongo) and Igbo nanchons. In addition to these loa, some ancestors may become loa or may merge into one of the personae of a particular loa. The gwo-bòn-anj (soul) of an extraordinary person eventually “may join the families of spirits venerated in the ounfo [temple]. It may become a great lwa on its own, or become a new dimension of an established lwa, a refinement of a more basic lwa energy.”131 Hopefully, this brief exploration of a few of the most significant loa has offered potential resources for constructive theological ideas later in this work. Of particular significance are notions of human conceptions of the divine as fragmentary, imperfect visions of reality. Now that some of the primary loa have been presented, we will consider ways in which humans relate to and interact with such spirits. One intention of this following section is to examine Vodou understandings of the reciprocity and interdependence of the divine–human encounter and the significance of human action in this dynamic. Interaction with the Spirits Interaction between the loa and humans takes place primarily through rituals, especially communal rituals involving spirit possession and individual rituals such as feeding of the loa. One may serve one or multiple loa at various times. There may be a major loa as the focus of a group ceremony and another loa who is the significant spirit in an individual’s home, for example.132 The rituals are how the loa are present and how they communicate and reveal themselves and their will. As in ATRs, in Vodou, there is a reciprocity between the loa and humanity. Margarite Fernandez Olmos and Lizabeth Paravisini-Gebert explain, “The lwa offer help, protection, and counsel; their devotees offer ritual service in return, which includes a variety of individual and communal rituals. Privately, the believer will wear the lwa’s colors, feed the spirits, and make all necessary sacrifices when  Pinn, Varieties, 25.  Desmangles, Faces, 148. For more on Ogou, see also Deren, Divine, 130–137. 131  Murphy, Working, 39–40. 132  Deren, Divine, 75. 129 130

62 

K. BUHRING

instructed.”133 The rituals are based on the presence and activity of the loa, who themselves depend on the rituals for their existence and vitality. In Maya Deren’s words, “The loa depend on the rites for their sustenance; without these rites, the loa would wither and die.”134 Further, Vodou practitioners expect the loa to respond efficaciously to rituals. When this divine action is absent or unsatisfying, Vodou devotees push back and demand more from the loa. Deren writes, “An event which, to the serviteur, does not seem logical is not accepted with good grace as the ‘will of God’; on the contrary, the serviteur is aggressive in calling the loa to account and in exacting the explanation to which he feels entitled and which would indicate the corrective procedure he should follow.”135 In this way, in the face of injustice or suffering, the devotee does not accept divine or human inactivity. Instead, in Vodou, the emphasis is on “human action intended to correct wrongs through remembering the ancestor, fulfilling spoken commitments to the loas, and proper relations between members of the community.”136 In terms of the rituals themselves, “The rites focus an unformed Grand Maitre, a Bondye, into tangible forces, who may assume personalities through the gift of service.”137 There are rituals that evoke the presence of the loa through both objects and people. In regard to inanimate objects, some rituals can make an “object a ‘door’ by which divine energy may be drawn into the world by those who possess the key.”138 Leslie Desmangles explains, “Once these rituals cease, the divine powers that have occupied these objects depart to return to their sacred abode. Hence, the power of a divinity comes and goes according to the circumstances in which an object is handled.”139 In a somewhat similar fashion, people may be possessed by the presence of a spirit also. Though in Vodou there are many types of rituals and sorts of interactions between the divine and the human, the focus of this work will be on spirit possession. The loa are forces that are constantly present and active and may interact with humans, through possession or dreams for

 Fernandez Olmos, Creole, 102–103.  Deren, Divine, 37. 135  Ibid., 89. 136  Pinn, Varieties, 53. 137  Murphy, Working, 38. 138  Deren, Divine, 186. 139  Desmangles, Faces, 90. 133 134

3  THE SPIRIT(S) IN THE DIASPORA: AFRICAN-DERIVED RELIGIONS 

63

example,140 even when unsolicited.141 That said, it is primarily through the communal ritual of spirit possession that the loa exist and that humans may serve them. Fernandez Olmos and Paravisini-Gebert describe possession as “a trancelike state in which the devotee is ‘mounted’ by the spirit and becomes the lwa’s vehicle. As the incarnation of the lwa, the ‘horse’ communicates with the congregation through words and stylized dances, offering advice, becoming a conduit for healing, and relishing the opportunity to be among its devotees.”142 Leslie Desmangles writes that “one comes to know the lwas only by observing them, or by ‘becoming’ them.”143 Again, Vodou rituals such as spirit possession offer concrete, actual contact with the loa. This differs from most understandings of divine revelation evident in Abrahamic faiths. In Vodou, the devotee need not take the word of a distant witness to revelation or merely accept the veracity of a written account of divine activity. Here, the loa are experienced by the devotee, whether herself possessed or simply present for the phenomenon. Before, during, and after spirit possession, the houngan or mambo (female priestess) acts as intermediary between the loa and the people.144 Deren asserts, “The loa is dependent upon the houngan both for his energy—for the houngan feeds him—and for his opportunity to ‘live’ in the world. Thus the relationship between houngan and loa is an interdependence which fluctuates in its nuance.”145 The houngan is a healer of ailments, physical, psychosomatic and/or spiritual,146 and an interpreter. While he himself may be mounted, he often serves as diviner for the spirit possession of others. He prepares the way for the loa and invites their presence and activity. The houngan can invite the loa through the playing of drums, the performance of dance, the offering of food or libation,147 and/ or drawing of the vèvè. On the importance of the dance, Murphy says, “Vodou means both dance and spirit, a movement of the spirit both calling for and being called by the actions of human beings…In the dance the  Deren, Divine, 219.  Murphy, Working, 19–20. 142  Fernandez Olmos, Creole, 102–103. 143  Desmangles, Faces, 98. 144  Deren, Divine, 171. 145  Ibid., 172. 146  Ibid., 161. 147  Food may just be left for the loa and then later eaten by the human participants, or the loa/possessed devotee might actually consume it during the ritual. Deren, Divine, 209. 140 141

64 

K. BUHRING

spirit is worked into presence, alive to comfort, discipline, and enable its children in their struggle.”148 Fernandez Olmos and Paravisini-Gebert develop a related idea, explaining possession lets the mounted “transcend his or her materiality by becoming one with the spirit. It also allows the spirit to renew itself by drawing upon the vitality of its living serviteurs, energized and invigorated by the music, dance, and feast.”149 The loa might be that of the houngan, the serviteur, or of the ounfor (temple),150 and one or more loa may be evoked and invited, and uninvited loa may appear.151 While the houngan or mambo “reads” the spirit possession and discerns its meaning for the community, it is important to note that not only the houngan or mambo, the Vodou priest or priestess, but each devotee “has direct access to the spirit world through spirit possession.”152 Murphy explains this “democratic” feature of Vodou, saying, “The sign that a person is called to be something more than an ordinary participant in the services often, but not always, occurs when a lwa manifests itself in his or her body. This experience of ‘possession’ by a lwa indicates that the spirit is calling the devotee to its service.”153 One may be possessed by a loa with whom he or she shares some similarity in terms of personality or temperament,154 and male and female loa will mount either male or female devotees.155 During spirit possession, the actions and personality of the possessed depend on which spirit mounts him or her. Further, “The actions and utterances of the possessed person are not the expression of the individual, but are the readily identifiable manifestations of the particular loa or archetypal principle.”156 Here the earlier descriptions of the loa personae are

 Murphy, Working, 43.  Fernandez Olmos, Creole, 122–123. 150  Deren, Divine, 202–209. 151  Ibid. 152  Desmangles, Faces, 3. Mensah notes it is often a hounsis, a student studying Vodou, who is possessed. Osei A.  Mensah, “Mythology of Rituals and Sacrifices in African-Derived Religions,” in Contemporary Perspectives on Religions in Africa and the African Diaspora, ed. Ibigbolade S. Aderibigbe and Carolyn M. Jones Medine (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015), 185. 153  Murphy, Working, 18. 154  Deren, Divine, 32. 155  Fernandez Olmos, Creole, 123. 156  Deren, Divine, 16. 148 149

3  THE SPIRIT(S) IN THE DIASPORA: AFRICAN-DERIVED RELIGIONS 

65

helpful. For example, if the possessed acts obnoxiously, smirking and stealing food, it is clear to all present that Gede has mounted the devotee. Vodou devotees who have experienced spirit possession amazingly describe the phenomenon by saying that their selves, their personalities, have been temporarily displaced and refer to their “departing ‘selves’ and entering ‘loa’.”157 Some have gone as far as saying that a devotee can “become God” through possession.158 Nevertheless, it is generally understood that the loa is simply displacing the human self temporarily. Maya Deren clarifies, “To understand that the self must leave if the loa is to enter, is to understand that one cannot be man and god at once.”159 Even in the phenomenon of spirit possession, the loa remain other to humanity. It is interesting that Deren makes this point regarding divine transcendence in the context of a discussion of spirit possession, which seems to be when the loa are most immanent. Yet, it is an immanence that is made possible by the essential absence of the human self. It may be said that the loa “visit one’s house,” not for an intimate conversation, but while one is out. After possession, the houngan or the mambo helps to discern the possession experience and offers ways to serve the will of the loa. This often involves a change of behavior or lifestyle, and perhaps a food offering to the loa.160 After the ritual, the devotee who had been possessed typically has no memory of the event. Further, even after consuming a food offering, the devotee who had been possessed is still hungry after the ritual. It is understood that the loa “ate” the food.161 While the food is actually eaten by devotees, the loa “draw their essential energy” from the offering162 and are “obligated to provide” for their devotees.163 In this way, reciprocity is central to the divine–human encounter. Thus, spirit possession in Vodou provides an image of the divine as intimately immanent within the world and the human, and a sense of the divine–human dynamic as profoundly relational and interdependent. Thus, in the Vodou understanding of reality, the ultimate being is manifested through several spirits, or loa. These spirits are ubiquitous and  In Murphy, Working, 21.  Desmangles, Faces, 4. 159  Deren, Divine, 249. 160  Fernandez Olmos, Creole, 124. 161  Deren, Divine, 209, 249. See also footnote on 322 regarding Deren’s own fascinating and powerful experience of spirit possession. 162  Fernandez Olmos, Creole, 125. 163  Pinn, Varieties, 33. 157 158

66 

K. BUHRING

active. While the loa may be imperfect and show all-too-human flaws, they are present to humanity, intimately so in many ways. We are each born with a divine aspect within our self. The gods surround and pervade reality constantly, manifesting especially during rituals such as spirit possession. After physical death, it is even possible for the person to become divine, adding to or merging with particular persona of spirits. In Vodou, the divine and human energize and empower one another and depend on each other to survive and thrive.

Santería The religion commonly known as Santería, or “the way of the saints,” was labeled as such by outsiders, specifically white Catholic clergy of colonial European powers.164 It is also known as la regla de ocha, or order of the orishas, and Lucumi, or “my friend.”165 Joseph Murphy explains, “The founders of Santería called their African gods santos (saints) and venerated them in churches according to the Roman rites. But, among themselves, they worshipped the saints with the songs and dances remembered from the motherland.”166 Murphy’s comment highlights a difficulty in the study of some Afro-Caribbean religions, namely the secrecy built around the tradition by its adherents.167 Such a veil of secrecy was often a necessary reality of self-preservation because of persecution and oppression by outside powers-that-be. However, this veil of secrecy has also contributed to some misunderstandings of the religion. Certainly, such ­misunderstandings  Murphy, Working, 81; Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 97.  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 95. As with the Vodou term loa, both orisha and orishas are used for the plural noun. Here, I have opted for the more common orishas for the plural form. 166  Joseph M.  Murphy, Santería: An African Religion in America (Boston: Beacon Press, 1988). 167  Many Santería adherents understandably have been rather suspicious of outsiders and slow to share a full, substantive version of the Santería with scholars of religion. Partly as a result then, most scholarly accounts of Santería have been written as sociological or anthropological studies by outsiders to the tradition. There are also some “insider” accounts of ritual practice, though these tend to be “uncritical” (Murphy, Santería 2–3). Two of the most outstanding scholarly English treatments of the religion are written by Joseph Murphy and Miguel De La Torre. Murphy describes his work as walking a “narrow” path “between the demands of dispassionate scholarship and a loyalty to the believers’ point of view” (Santería, 3). Miguel A. De La Torre is a Christian scholar who refers to himself as a “former believer” of Santería (Santería, xvii). 164 165

3  THE SPIRIT(S) IN THE DIASPORA: AFRICAN-DERIVED RELIGIONS 

67

have also been based on the racism and ignorance of those outside the tradition. Despite suppression and secrecy, Santería, a “religion of an oppressed people,”168 claims approximately 100 million adherents in the Americas.169 Santería traces its roots to the òrìsà religious traditions of the Yorùbá, in modern-day Nigeria. As described in Chap. 2, the Yorùbá religious tradition includes belief in a Supreme Being (Olódùmarè), subdivinities (òrìsàs), and ancestors. When forced to adopt Catholicism, enslaved Yoruba saw similarities with their own religious views. Miguel A. De La Torre contends, “In order to continue worshipping their African gods under the constraints of slavery, they masked their deities behind the ‘faces’ of Catholic saints, identifying specific orishas with specific saints.”170 Joseph Murphy argues that the fact that the Yorùbá in Africa had been exposed to and accepting of religious diversity and pluralism meant these òrìsà traditions were open to new religious ideas and practices in the West and well-suited to integration, adaptation, and development.171 While Yorùbá-based religions survived and developed in many places in the West, they have thrived in vibrant ways in Cuba especially. Cuba There are at least three factors that allowed for the flourishing of Yorùbá traditions in Cuba: the nature of the slave trade to the island, the Catholic context in which the religions were practiced, and the character of the city of Havana. Each of these factors will be discussed within a consideration of the history of Cuba. Spain entered an already inhabited Cuba in 1492 and imposed Roman Catholicism on the indigenous population.172 As a result of high demand in the European market, there was a boom in sugar production in Cuba and profit for the Spanish. The political and commercial elite decided that this demand could not be met through the use of indigenous labor alone and began bringing Africans as slaves to Cuba.173 Over the period of hundreds of years, roughly 500,000–700,000 Africans,  De La Torre, Santería, 3.  Ibid., xiv. 170  Ibid., xii. 171  Murphy, Santería, 105. 172  George Brandon, Santería from Africa to the New World: The Dead Sell Memories (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1993), 37. 173  Ibid., 52. 168 169

68 

K. BUHRING

largely Yorùbá and BaKongo, were forced to work mostly on Cuban sugar plantations, which were “hellish” places.174 Joseph Murphy reports, “Absentee owners found it more profitable to work slaves to death and buy ‘fresh’ recruits from Africa than to maintain a slave community.”175 Thus, by the early nineteenth century, most African slaves in the “New World” were Yorùbá and were brought to Cuba and Brazil. Murphy argues that this “influx of such a large number of Yorùbá over such a relatively short period of time must be considered a factor in the survival of the way of the orishas in Cuba.”176 Africans brought to Cuba were able to remind and renew the òrìsà traditions of the Yorùbá in Cuba. In addition to the nature of the slave trade to Cuba, a second factor that contributed to the survival of Yorùbá religious elements on the island was the Catholic context of Cuba. While Catholicism was forced on African slaves, it also inadvertently allowed some space for African religious traditions to survive. Murphy cites the slave code of 1789, which dictated: “All owners of slaves …must instruct them in the principles of the Catholic religion and in the true necessities in order that they be baptized within one year of their residence in my dominions.”177 African slaves were baptized and catechized by Spanish Catholics, who decided that the “trade-­ off” cost of slavery in the present would be offset by the benefit of heavenly eternity.178 Despite efforts to the contrary, the Roman Catholic Church allowed enough latitude for Yorùbá elements to survive, and Catholicism itself offered significant parallels with the Yorùbá religion, which meant the two religions could coexist. Joseph Murphy points to similarities between Catholicism and Yorùbá traditions: “The emphasis on ritual, on a remote God and active, petitionable intermediaries, on blessed objects and the tangible presence of the miraculous, was not entirely foreign to Yoruba ritual expression. Catholicism offered a world of overt symbolism that could be translated into African meanings.”179 While similarities between Catholicism and Yorùbá religions exist, this does not mean that the two religions merged into one, as is sometimes believed. Scholars such as Murphy and De La Torre insist that Catholicism and Santería are two distinct religions and that Santería is not syncretistic.  Murphy, Santería, 23–24.  Ibid., 24. 176  Ibid., 106. 177  Ibid., 27–28. 178  Ibid., 118. 179  Ibid., 114. 174 175

3  THE SPIRIT(S) IN THE DIASPORA: AFRICAN-DERIVED RELIGIONS 

69

Murphy describes the relationship between Santería and Catholicism as one of symbiosis, meaning the two religions coexist without fully merging.180 A santero/santera (Santería practitioner) understands Santería as having multiple expressions and the gods as having different modes, paths, or caminos. He argues that santeros understand a Catholic saint as a manifestation of an orisha. The image or idea of the saint is a camino, a way or road, of the orisha. The orisha incarnates itself in the saint.181 Murphy explains, “For the santero, the orishas and saints are identical in that they derive their power from one source, a power so beyond categorization that it can be conceived only as a unity. They are different in the ways that people of different cultures approach them.”182 From the point of view of the santero, he is practicing one religion, though one religion that takes on different forms.183 In short, Cuba’s Catholic context was conducive to the survival of Santería as santeros could appear to be Catholic or even genuinely accept Catholic elements on Santería’s terms. While these first two factors of the slave trade and Catholic context are true of Yorùbá traditions in both Cuba and Brazil, a third factor that accounts for the survival and development of òrìsà elements especially in Cuba is the nature of Havana during the period of slavery. In Havana, and some other Cuban cities, Africans found some possibility of “economic mobility” and “full legal freedom.”184 “When the Yoruba poured into Havana in the early nineteenth century, they found harshness and bitter injustice,” but, Murphy observes, “they also found each other. Slowly, they replanted the ways of ashe in a new world, meeting to honor the orishas and finding order and hope in the breath of Olodumare.”185 It was in Havana that the Yoruba community “came to be called ‘Lucumi’ after their way of greeting each other, oluku mi, ‘my friend’.”186 The Havana of the 1800s was a rather cosmopolitan and vibrant blending of cultures that  Ibid., 122.  Ibid., 121. 182  Ibid., 124. 183  In addition to other forms of resistance against slavery, such as undermining or destroying plantation production, poisoning masters, suicide, and escape, Murphy argues that enslaved Africans in Cuba resisted slavery by developing Santería as an alternative grounding of moral, religious, psychological, social, and political strength. See Murphy, Santería, 119. Thus, it is important to recognize Santería as resource autonomous from the Catholicism imposed by slaveholders. 184  Murphy, Santería, 25. 185  Ibid., 26. 186  Ibid., 27. 180 181

70 

K. BUHRING

included slaves and free people of color (gente de color).187 While the nature of the slave trade and the colonial Catholic context contributed to the survival of Yoruba traditions in Cuba, it was the unique urban setting, especially in Havana’s cabildos, or “social clubs,” that factored into the development and flourishing of Santería. The cabildos were for both enslaved and free blacks, grouped by nacion, and actually organized by the Catholic Church. However, the church had mixed motives. Murphy explains, “By Christianizing Afro-Cubans, the church enforced the mores of a repressive society and controlled or channeled the creative life of Afro-Cubans into socially acceptable directions. Yet, by supporting the Christian status of Afro-Cubans, the church opened up legal opportunities and spiritual hopes that were seriously resented by the ruling caste.”188 The cabildos created a space for Afro-Cubans “to preserve their ethnic identity, African worldview, and adaptation to life in a hostile environment.”189 Over time, the cabildos blossomed into important multipurpose institutions. They provided economic and social support for Afro-Cubans and also organized celebrations and festivals.190 It was in the religious festivals especially that “the Africanness of Cuba” could be seen.191 Murphy writes, “The carnival dances, loosely harnessed to the veneration of the saints, became the primary way for the Lucumi to be both Catholic and African.”192 He continues, “A new bilingual tradition emerged, at once a resistance to Catholic oppression and an accommodation to Catholic values.”193 This tradition that emerged was Santería. The Cuban government recognized Santería as both an African-based reality that appealed especially to lower socioeconomic classes and an alternative source of power in society. As a result of the “economic isolation forced upon Haiti after its revolution,” Cuba was left “with a virtual monopoly on the production of sugar for the world market” until the 1870s. As sugar rose in dominance, Cuba needed to import for subsistence, and, as a result, the rich got richer and the poor got poorer.194 The wealthy, ruling elite came to see Santería’s popularity among the lower  Ibid., 107.  Ibid., 29. 189  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 103. 190  Ibid. 191  Murphy, Santería, 30. 192  Ibid., 31. 193  Ibid., 32. 194  Brandon, Santería, 79. 187 188

3  THE SPIRIT(S) IN THE DIASPORA: AFRICAN-DERIVED RELIGIONS 

71

socioeconomic classes, who were predominantly Afro-Cubans, as a potential threat. Thus, for both social and political reasons, the Cuban government suppressed and restricted cabildos, eventually “essentially outlaw[ing]” them in 1888.195 Tenaciously, they survived underground196 despite the first American occupation (1898–1902) of Cuba and broader efforts to “de-Africanize Cuban culture.”197 Despite political repression and cultural ostracism, “during pre-Revolutionary Cuba of the 1940s and 1950s, Santería enjoyed a significant, but limited, following,”198 and became more ethnically diverse, with whites and creoles becoming more involved.199 In the lead up to Castro’s Revolution, recognizing the appeal and power of the religion, “both government and revolutionaries sought help from Santería powers.”200 In 1959, some of Castro’s guerillas entered Havana, “waving the red and black flag of Elleguá, Santería’s trickster orisha. A national legend has it that both the Christian Holy Spirit and the Santería orisha Obatalá blessed Castro’s rise to power when they symbolically rested on his shoulder in the form of a dove during his appeal for peace in a speech” in early 1959.201 However, soon after taking power, Castro made anti-religion moves, rightly recognizing “religion as a source of possible destabilization or an avenue for counterrevolutionary ideas.”202 Castro saw Santería “as a backward and primitive residue of capitalism and slavery,”203 unnecessary and perhaps even dangerous. Nevertheless, since the Revolution, Santería “has gained a greater following and visibility among Cubans on the island, regardless of their ethnic, social, and economic background.” Mercedes Cros Sandoval explains, “Santería demonstrated its efficacy by assisting people to ameliorate the shock and stress suffered while adapting to the new ways of the Revolution.”204 Santería has also flourished outside of Cuba as exiles have  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 104; Brandon, Santería, 82.  Murphy, Santería, 33. 197  Brandon, Santería, 85. 198  Mercedes Cros Sandoval, “Santería in the Twenty-first Century,” in Orisa Devotion as World Religion: The Globalization of Yorùbá Religious Culture, ed. Jacob K. Olupona and Terry Rey (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2008), 355–371; 356. 199  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 105. 200  Ibid. 201  Ibid., 106. 202  Ibid. 203  Ibid. 204  Sandoval, “Santería,” 356. 195 196

72 

K. BUHRING

moved to Puerto Rico, Venezuela, Miami, and New York, among other places, and sought solace and meaning from their roots.205 Supreme Being The universe of Santería is populated by a Supreme Being, orishas, or subdivinities, the egun, or the dead, humans, other animals, plants, and “non-­ living” things.206 Coursing through all existence is a force or energy called ashe. Joseph Murphy explains, “The real world is one of pure movement. In fact, the real world is one not of objects at all but of forces in continual process. Ashe is the absolute ground of reality. But we must remember that it is a ground that moves and, so, no ground at all.”207 Murphy continues, “All things that we are accustomed to call beings are, in reality, caminos, ways of ashe that can be liberated and channeled by those who understand them.”208 Specifically, ashe can be channeled into types, the orishas.209 While practitioners serve a variety of orisha, like Vodou, Santería is monotheistic, for it maintains one God and “a supporting cast of spirits who are God’s extensions.”210 The expression of ashe as High God or Supreme Being is called Olódùmarè, just as in Yoruba religions. Olódùmarè is “creator, ruler, and judge.” He is understood as “immortal, omniscient, omnipotent, and beyond the total comprehension of mortals.”211 Further, Olódùmarè is omnipresent, merciful, and just.212 There are many different “facets or persons” within Olódùmarè,213 including Nzame, Olofi, Baba Nkwa.214 Olofi is considered “humanity’s personal god” and is the most commonly worshipped personification of the Supreme Being.215 In the patakis, or legends of the orishas’ lives,216 there are multiple creation stories. In some of these stories, the various personae of Olódùmarè create the universe, including the orishas and humanity; in others, the orishas do  Ibid.  Brandon, Santería, 76. 207  Murphy, Santería, 130. 208  Ibid. 209  Ibid., 132. 210  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 107. 211  De La Torre, Santería, 35. 212  Sandoval, “Santería,” 357. 213  De La Torre, Santería, 35. 214  Ibid. 215  Jesus is understood as “the mask of Olofi” (De La Torre, Santería, 35). 216  De La Torre, Santería, 31. 205 206

3  THE SPIRIT(S) IN THE DIASPORA: AFRICAN-DERIVED RELIGIONS 

73

the bulk of the creating and are directly responsible for bringing humanity into existence.217 While in some origin stories Olódùmarè is somewhat more direct or hands-on, in most he is rather distant and removed from worldly and human affairs. As Olofi, Olódùmarè departs the earth. Confused and frustrated with human conflict, and tired of the orishas demanding more from him and their efforts to usurp his power/status, Olódùmarè leaves the earthly and human matters to the orishas.218 This sense of the Supreme Being, while panentheistic yet somewhat paradoxically uninvolved, is consistent with the idea of the High God among Yorùbá traditions. And, as in African Yorùbá, Santería practitioners typically do not worship Olódùmarè, but the many “orishas who, in return for devotion, mediate powerful ashe to their human devotees.”219 Subdivinities The subdivinities, or orishas, are gods created by Olódùmarè. These gods “rule certain parts of nature” and “personify these forces of nature.” De La Torre notes, “These orishas are the receptacles of Olodumare’s ashé, and they manipulate the ashé they have been given within the cosmic forces they govern.”220 The orishas are providential, which means that “believers are assured that they do not exist in a universe that lacks reason or direction. Rather, all that is… exists as part of a system in which valiant orishas protect all of creation. The orishas also provide guidance and security to humans, whom they adopt as their children.”221 Thus, the orishas form personal relationships with humanity and are immanent and active in worldly affairs.222 While the orishas are very powerful, they typically use their powers for good.223 Though the orishas are divine, powerful, and providential, additionally “they are multidimensional mythological beings with human-like characteristics and personality.”224 In this sense, like the Vodou loa, the orishas

 Ibid., 35–38.  Ibid., 41–43. 219  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 107. 220  De La Torre, Santería, 45. 221  Ibid., 6. 222  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 107. 223  De La Torre, Santería, 26. 224  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 107. 217 218

74 

K. BUHRING

are “morally ambivalent”225 and imperfect. While adherents of Abrahamic faiths, for example, might find this notion of a flawed god problematic, or even blasphemous, Santería devotees think otherwise. From this point of view, a “perfect” God could not truly understand humanity. The flaws and imperfections of the orishas become the ground for genuine relationship with humans.226 De La Torre refers to this camaraderie as a “codependent relationship.”227 People need the orishas, and the orishas need people. Each gives to the other, takes from the other, and thrives in interdependence with one another. Without an exchange of ashe, we would no longer find purpose or meaning in our lives, and the orishas would “cease to exist.”228 While there are dozens of orishas, there are a handful that are primary, or “major,” orishas. These include Obatalá, Yemayá, Changó, Orúnla, and Elegguá. In addition, most of the orishas “can have multiple caminos (literally ‘paths’), that is, ways of manifesting themselves to humankind, and in this way they reflect the diversity of existence.”229 The caminos, paths, ways, or personae of the orishas may manifest especially in certain contexts, historical or cultural, or appeal to particular individuals more than others. They are distinct reflections of the same orisha. It is in this way that the Santería view of Catholic saints may best be understood. The saints are caminos, or personae of the orishas.230 The first among equals of the orishas is Obatalá. The “most powerful” subdivinity, Obatalá is “thus recognized as the head of the Yoruba pantheon. He fathered many of the orishas and is also considered the father of humanity in recognition of the fact that he created all human heads.”231 Obatalá is also described as “the creator of the world, source of all beginnings, supreme judge, principal messenger, [and] husband and wife,”232 indicating the god’s androgynous nature. Further, Obatalá is known as a “god of purity and justice.”233 Originally, Obatalá acted as a peacemaker, translator, and an intermediary between other orishas and Olódùmarè. A  De La Torre, Santería, 47  Ibid., 50. 227  Ibid., 45. 228  Ibid., 45–47. 229  Ibid., 51–52. 230  Murphy, Santería, 40; De La Torre, Santería, 55. 231  De La Torre, Santería, 57. 232  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 112. 233  Fernandez Olmos, Creole, 44. 225 226

3  THE SPIRIT(S) IN THE DIASPORA: AFRICAN-DERIVED RELIGIONS 

75

devotee might petition a particular orisha, who then had to ask Obatalá to ask Olódùmarè to grant ashe. Obatalá got tired of this process and asked Olódùmarè to give the orishas some power directly to pass on to devotees.234 In addition to Obatalá, another very important orisha is Yemayá, the “mother of the world.”235 De La Torre explains, “She is the mother of all that exists: Mother of the World, mother of humanity, and mother of several of the orishas.”236 Yemayá is “the model mother and giver of life, protector of maternity, [and] goddess of the oceans.”237 De La Torre continues, saying, “She is symbolized by the sea, for it is from the life-giving properties of water that all living things come into being.”238 Finally, as a camino known as the black Yemayá, she “is seen as the goddess of rational thinking, good judgment, and superior intellect.”239 While some orishas, like Obatalá and Yemayá, are characterized by their power and integrity that indicates their very differences from humanity, other orishas are served in part because of their very relatable natures. Changó, or Shangó, is the example par excellence of this sort of orisha. De La Torre writes, “Changó is the most human [orisha], displaying all the complexities of human passion and emotion. For this reason, he is much loved by the people.”240 Changó is a “romantic, flamboyant entity and fierce god of thunder, lightning, and fire.” He personifies “power, sexuality, masculinity, and passion,”241 and is an “incurable womaniz[er].”242 Interestingly, Changó is the “only orisha to have experienced death,”243 from which he was consequently reborn. De La Torre adds, “despite consistently displaying a reckless and destructive use of power, Changó became the orisha of justice.”244 Obatalá, orisha of peace and justice, gave Changó wisdom to channel his power in justice.245 While Changó embodies masculine sexuality, Oshún, or Ochún, is the orisha of feminine sensuality and  De La Torre, Santería, 58.  Ibid., 72. 236  Ibid. 237  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 111. 238  De La Torre, Santería, 72. 239  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 111. 240  De La Torre, Santería, 65. 241  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 109. 242  De La Torre, Santería, 64. 243  Ibid. 244  De La Torre, Santería, 65. 245  Ibid., 65–66. 234 235

76 

K. BUHRING

love.246 She is “the gifted, beautiful, affectionate, sensual goddess of luxury, and pleasure, ruler of oceans and fresh waters,”247 and “possessor of feminine virtues.”248 Finally, there are orishas of knowledge, divination, and destiny. These include Orúnla, Ifa, and Elegguá. Orúnla is the “master of all knowledge, divination, and concentrated magical science and powers”; however, Murrell adds that “people have little communication with him directly.”249 Instead, it is typically Ifa who is appealed to in divination rituals. For it is Ifa who is “the senior orisha of destiny and order.”250 As in West African religions, in Santería, the idea of destiny is not understood as mitigating human free agency. While one should strive to follow one’s intended path, divined through consultation with Ifa, there is a notion of balancing this sense of order with novelty, “randomness and unpredictability.”251 This is the arena of Elegguá, the trickster, and “messenger of the gods.”252 Though Elegguá is known as “the master of peoples’ fates,”253 and can open and close paths for humans,254 people remain the primary agents, charting our own path through life. While the various orishas are understood as omnipresent, they are thought to be especially “concentrated” in certain places or objects, particularly in orisha stones (otanes).255 De La Torre relates, “According to legend, when the orishas left their community of Ilé-Ifè, what remained were stones resonating with ashé.”256 Scattered in and outside of Ilé-Ifè, these stones contain the real presence of the orishas. This presence can be sensed or “heard” today by devotees. These stones are exemplary of the fact that Santería involves the supernatural and mystical, but is fundamentally a practical religion focused on tangible, concrete problems and solutions related to human life.257 Orishas and humans interact in many ways, often through formal rituals and ceremonies, or ebbos. Murrell explains,  De La Torre, Santería, 74.  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 111. 248  Ibid. 249  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 110. 250  Murphy, Santería, 133. 251  Ibid. 252  De La Torre, Santería, 59. 253  Ibid., 60. 254  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 110. 255  Murphy, Santería, 41. 256  De La Torre, Santería, 135. 257  Ibid., 189–190. 246 247

3  THE SPIRIT(S) IN THE DIASPORA: AFRICAN-DERIVED RELIGIONS 

77

“The ritual means of communication are designed to make more potent ashe in the world to aid human accomplishments and the work of spiritual entities.”258 The following section will further explore some of these means of communication or modes of interaction, including initiation, possession, divination, and sacrifice. Interaction with the Spirits As in other orthopraxis-based religions, in Santería, “One becomes a devotee not according to ethnicity or race, nor because of a profession of faith, but rather because of an action taken during a ritual.”259 More specifically, this action is within the context of a community. Joseph Murphy writes, “The spirit of Santería, like that of vodou and candomblé, grows out of the community in action. The orishas are made present by the actions of the community and in the actions of the community. There are no orishas without human beings.”260 Similarly, De La Torre cites a Yoruba proverb: “Where there is no human, there is no divinity.”261 Murphy adds, “The orishas ‘live’ through the ‘work’ of the community. The orishas need the ‘work’ of the community to live.”262 There are four primary rituals or ceremonies that give life in this sense to both the orishas and the community. These include initiation, possession, divination, and sacrifice.263 Santería involves a series of initiation rituals, ranging from basic entry points to the religion, to deeper, more complex ceremonies for priesthood. Murphy explains that “initiation is a commitment of service, both to the spirits to whom the initiate is bound as well as to the community.”264 In addition to being praxis-based, Santería is always understood as a communal enterprise: the individual exists in the wider context of the community of other people, living and dead, and gods. Though one can practice Santería without any initiations,265 most devotees move more meaningfully into the religion through initiation rituals. “Spiritual growth is manifested by stages of initiation, complex and symbolic ceremonies of  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 107–108.  De La Torre, Santería, 4. 260  Murphy, Working, 110. 261  De La Torre, Santería, 5. 262  Murphy, Working, 111. 263  Murphy, Santería, 134. 264  Murphy, Working, 92. 265  Fernandez Olmos, Creole, 51. 258 259

78 

K. BUHRING

death and rebirth that are the source of ritual knowledge, development, and evolution.”266 There are initiation ceremonies at a basic level, fundamentos, a deeper level, asiento, and the highest level, which are for priesthood.267 De La Torre describes four parts, in order of increasing importance, to asiento, or making the saint.268 Step one is “obtaining the beaded necklaces” (elekes). Osei A. Mensah explains, “It is believed that the colors and patterns of the beads on the elekes will be those of the orisha that serves as the iyawó’s [initiate’s] ruling head and guardian angel, so the first ruling that must be done is to determine who that orisha is.” This decision is divined by a babaláwo, a priest of the orisha Orula.269 Step two involves “receiving the Eleggua,” or “making Eleggua.”270 The third step is called the “receiving the warriors,” which refers to other orishas. Finally, the fourth step is called “making the saint.” This is also known as asiento, “the ceremony in which the [initiate] becomes ‘born again’ into the faith, becoming once and for all the child of the orisha determined to be their parent.”271 Murphy points out that the language describing this ritual as “making” the saint is significant. He insightfully explains, “This making suggests an active engagement on the part of the initiate. His or her involvement with the orisha creates the power of that orisha.…The orisha is not a static symbol to be had but a moving, flowing current to be enhanced, ‘made’ by the devotee’s commitment. … Thus, an orisha is in a continual process of rebirth.”272 Asiento is described as “seating” the spirit both on the head273 and inside the head.274 Now the initiate’s public and private actions may manifest the spirit dwelling within.275 Murphy writes, at this point, “The devotee no longer must listen to the call of the orisha because the voice is his or her very self. The prayers, sacrifices, divinations, and dances come to be seen as the outward manifestations of inner processes. Thus, Santería culminates in a mysticism of identity between orisha  Ibid.  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 116, 120 268  De La Torre, Santería, 107–112. 269  Mensah, “Mythology,” 186. 270  Ibid., 186–187. 271  Ibid., 187. 272  Murphy, Santería, 140. 273  Murphy, Working, 91. 274  Murphy, Santería, 138. 275  Murphy, Working, 95. 266 267

3  THE SPIRIT(S) IN THE DIASPORA: AFRICAN-DERIVED RELIGIONS 

79

and human being, not only in the trance consciousness of the bembe, but in everything that the santero does.”276 De La Torre even refers to this dynamic in initiation as possession.277 While for some Santería adherents asiento may be a terminal stage of initiation, for others it is a step deeper into the religion along the path to priesthood, which itself has different levels. Once the orisha is seated on/ in the initiate, “he or she can transfer that spirit, ‘give birth’ to that spirit, in the heads of new initiates and, so, become a madrina or padrino in her or his own right. This capacity to ‘make’ the orisha in others constitutes the priesthood of Santería.”278 Broadly speaking, there are two types of priesthood, and consequently two roads of priesthood initiation. The priesthood of the orishas, constituted mostly by women at roughly a four-­ to-­one ratio, involves divination by trance, or possession; the priesthood of Ifa, for men only, involves divination by interpretation of Ifa.279 Though typically the large majority, around eighty percent, of Santería practitioners are women; men still occupy most of the leadership positions. Despite this disparity in leadership roles, women are the foundation of the religion. Joseph Murphy writes, “Santeras will frequently say that women are ‘naturally’ more sensitive to the spirit, that their experience with ambiguous emotions that characterize spiritual work is more extensive than that of men, and that their very bodies are more ‘open’ to spiritual communion.”280 Fascinatingly, it seems that the fairly common sexist dualistic way of understanding women as emotional and men as rational is evident in this sense in Santería. Also, by comparison with Vodou for example, in Santeria more attention is given to forms of divination, in which men are rationally interpreting the will of the orishas, than to trance or possession, in which mostly women are feeling the presence and activity of the orishas. After a discussion of trance or possession, divination rituals will be discussed later in the text.

 Murphy, Santería, 143.  De La Torre, Santería, 114. De La Torre also describes that some understand asiento as involving not only an orisha, but also “an eleda, a guardian angel who resides atop their head. Some in Santería assert that the eleda and the orisha who owns the head are the same entity; others insist the eleda is the spirit of a dead person; others do not claim to know its identity. Whichever the case may be, all agree that the eleda corresponds to the human mind” (115). 278  Murphy, Working, 91. 279  Murphy, Santería, 140–141. 280  Murphy, Working, 84, 87. 276 277

80 

K. BUHRING

Formalized, ritualized interaction and communication between humans and the orishas takes the forms of possession and divination. Possession or trance281 happens most commonly in the initiation ceremonies, discussed earlier, and in bembé,282 a drum-induced dance that is “the central public ceremony of Santería.”283 The bembé ceremony, “generally given to honor, thank, supplicate, or repay an orisha,”284 involves a musical, dynamic evocation of the orishas, who then possess the devotees, sometimes in a collective trance. In language similar to that of Vodou, the orisha “descends” and “mounts” the head of the medium.285 De La Torre writes, the “one possessed becomes a living manifestation of the orisha. Their individual consciousness recedes and the personality traits of the orisha take them over. At this point, anything said by the person is considered to be a direct revelation from the orisha.”286 The behaviors and personalities exhibited are understood to be consistent with the orisha(s) possessing the devotee(s). Murphy explains, “The outsider and the santero would agree that the orisha is a subconscious part of the medium’s personality. The difference in the viewpoints is the ontological claim of the santero that the orisha is the real source of the medium’s personality.”287 While entranced, the devotee “can predict the future, uncover what is hidden, provide advice, see activities occurring elsewhere, or do anything else capricious gods feel like doing.”288 Significantly, possession is not understood as benefitting or privileging the individual, but rather the community.289 It has been evident that Santería is a religion focused on the community. Humans are understood as inherently communal, and the relationships between 281  While some Santería devotees question the terms “trance” or “possession,” Murphy argues that this terminology is relatively accurate. He explains, “Santería mediums claim to remember nothing of their activities when in this altered state of awareness, so the term ‘trance’ is not entirely unfounded. And since their behavior is controlled by the orisha, ‘possession’ conveys something of the experience” (Murphy, Santería, 137). For these reasons, and as the experience is similar to Vodou possession, the terms trance and possession will be used here. 282  For more on initiation and possession in Santería, see Patel, “Finding,” 166–169. 283  Murphy, Working, 104. Murphy describes a bembe ceremony he observed in New York in Santería, 92–100. 284  De La Torre, Santería, 119. 285  Murphy, Santería, 137. 286  De La Torre, Santería, 114. 287  Murphy, Santería, 139. 288  De La Torre, Santería, 114–115. 289  Murphy, Santería, 139.

3  THE SPIRIT(S) IN THE DIASPORA: AFRICAN-DERIVED RELIGIONS 

81

humans and other entities and spirits, including the orishas, are viewed as communal. Murphy’s point about the effects of possession illustrates this ideal of community well.290 While Santería is best understood as a communal enterprise, there are somewhat more individualized aspects to the tradition, including divination. Though even in the case of divination, which deals with an individual’s problems, the solution suggested by divination typically involves bringing the individual into harmony, with her destiny, with the orishas, and with the wider community. Divination is a way for the orishas and humans to communicate; through divination, the orishas diagnose and propose concrete solutions. Divination rituals are carried out in order to better understand the status of one’s self, one’s life, and particularly one’s problems.291 These problems often involve health, money, or love, which are seen as spiritual problems at their root. Murphy clarifies though that “this is not to say that it is only deprivation that forces santeros to turn to the orishas.”292 Expanding on this idea, De La Torre explains that “the purpose of divination is … intended to inquire into the harmony, or the lack thereof, between individuals and the spiritual world, between ‘good’ and ‘evil.’ The ultimate question of anyone who consults the oracles is, ‘Am I in balance with my destiny?’ If the answer to that question is no, then divination can provide remedies, restoring good health, fortune, or love.”293 Remedies involve “specific models for action”294 that may range from sacrifices to orishas to righting relations with other people or even within oneself. 290  De La Torre makes a comparison between Santería and Pentecostal Christianity, especially in terms of faith healing and being “possessed” by the spirits or Holy Spirit. De La Torre says, “One particularly striking similarity between Christianity and Santería can be found in the outward expression of those ‘filled with the Spirit’ in Christianity’s Pentecostal tradition and those possessed by an orisha in Santería. …Both religious expressions occur along the margins of society, on the edge of what is deemed acceptable by mainstream religious groups, and both impact society from their position at the margins. Both also give an outlet for communication and a sense of authority to those who spend most of their lives in a powerless state.” There are significant similarities, but also differences certainly. For example, while a Santería devotee may claim to become the orisha during possession, a Pentecostal Christian remains human even when “filled with the Spirit.” See De La Torre, Santería, 219–222. 291  Murphy, Santería, 134. 292  Ibid. 293  De La Torre, Santería, 139–140. 294  Murphy, Santería, 134–135.

82 

K. BUHRING

There are three main forms of divination rituals. “With increasing subtlety and precision,”295 these include Obi, or coconut shells; dilogún, or cowrie shells; and Ifa, which may use kola or palm nuts, or sometimes a chain (opele or ekwele) with tortoise shell disks.296 Obi divination involves using four shells from a broken coconut. This is the simplest form of divination. It is open to all believers, and thus no specialized diviner is necessary.297 The santero asks the orishas a yes or no question, then casts the four coconut shells, which each land with either the white or the dark side up. This produces five possible answers,298 which then correlate to a meaning that is relatively easy to interpret.299 The coconut shells may be cast multiple times to address more questions or even to get more refined responses. The second type of divination ritual uses sixteen cowrie shells and is also “referred to as diloggún, which is the Yoruba word for sixteen.”300 For this form of divination, a santero may consult a priest or may cast the shells himself if proficient enough. Through cowrie shell divination, the seeker or client can “obtain knowledge of the workings of orishas and their desires, wishes, and effects on human fortune.”301 The cast shells correspond to “a particular odu, that is, to a set of specific legends, proverbs, verses, and sacrifices.”302 The odu are accessed through a sacred text, the “Corpus of Ifa,” but this “text” is an unfinished, mostly oral tradition.303 The odu are then interpreted by the diviner, and the shells may be cast again. While the casting of shells can be done by anyone, the interpretation and application can be done by only someone with a deep understanding of the odu and the experience communicating with the orishas. The third and final type of divination is Ifa. Ifa divination can be done only by a babaláwo, a highly specialized priest of Orúnla; in this version of divination, the future can be divined.304 Ifa divination can be done in two methods. The first method is called the Table of Ifa. This involves casting loose kola or palm nutshells on a tray and then interpreting the patterns as  Ibid., 134.  Fernandez Olmos, Creole, 62. 297  Fernandez Olmos, Creole, 62 298  De La Torre, Santería, 141–143. 299  Murphy, Santería, 74. 300  De La Torre, Santería, 143. 301  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 124. 302  De La Torre, Santería, 145. 303  Ibid., 14–15. 304  De La Torre, Santería, 149. 295 296

3  THE SPIRIT(S) IN THE DIASPORA: AFRICAN-DERIVED RELIGIONS 

83

they correspond to odu. The other method is used for simpler, everyday divination and employs a chain with these shells on them.305 When the curved shell pieces land on the tray, they land either concave or convex side up, resulting in 256 possible combinations.306 Thus, Ifa involves more complex odu than the cowrie shells system. The shells are cast multiple times, producing over 4000 combinations.307 In Ifa divination, the babaláwo and the orishas communicate, largely through yes or no answers from the consulted orisha as interpreted by the diviner. In this way, the babaláwo is able to diagnosis the client’s problem, often physical as well as spiritual, and recommend concrete solutions issue.308 The second type of Ifa divination uses a chain, called an opele309 or an eleke, which is “a thin chain some fifty inches long, broken at regular intervals by tortoise shell disks about one-and-a-half inches in diameter.”310 De La Torre explains, “Using the chain allows the babalawo to arrive at the same markings and corresponding odu more quickly than he would by casting the nuts on the Table of Ifa; one single cast of the chain is equivalent to eight separate manipulations of the nuts.”311 Again the chain is used for more everyday readings, while the Table is employed when more in-depth consultations are called for. Remarkably, devotees need not take a “leap of faith” to believe in the efficacy of divination or the real communication with the orishas. Instead, Santería devotees say they know Ifa “works” because of results.312 While in divination the orishas give guidance to humans, in sacrifice or offering313 the human offers ashe to the orishas, who then share their ashe with the devotee.314 The intent of the sacrifice or offering is “first, to bind the individual in a series of exchanges with the spirits and second, to awaken the individual to the subtle presence of the spirits within herself or himself.”315 Sacrifices and offerings may employ herbs, plants, or animals.  Ibid., 151.  Murphy, Santería, 64. 307  De La Torre, Santería, 153. 308  Murphy, Santería, 64–67. 309  De La Torre, Santería, 153. 310  Murphy, Santería, 64. 311  De La Torre, Santería, 154. 312  Murphy, Santería, 67. 313  Murphy, Working, 111. 314  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 128. 315  Murphy, Working, 111. 305 306

84 

K. BUHRING

In the Santería view of reality, all plants and animals are alive, “complete with personality and temperament, and [are] guarded by a spiritual entity and infused with ashe.”316 Under special circumstances,317 animals are humanely sacrificed318 for their “potent ashe.”319 The specific traits of the sacrificed animal (type, gender) depend on the orisha and the issue being addressed; this is divined through the “dilogun of the cowrie seashells.”320 While sacrifices and offerings may be understood as a reciprocal exchange of ashe, it is still an exchange between unequals.321 Nevertheless, these two unequal partners, the orishas and the humans, depend on one another for their existence. In sum, between Vodou and Santería, there are many similarities. In particular, both religions provide an image of the divine as powerful, providential, beneficent, active, and immanent. Like the loa, the orishas are both male and female; it is because of their imperfections, rather than despite them, that they are relatable to and beloved by devotees. Finally, the loa and the orishas thrive in a reciprocal dynamic with the actions of the human community. While Vodou is rooted in Fon religious traditions and Santería is based in Yoruba worldviews, the African-derived religions that developed in Jamaica stem mostly from Akan and BaKongo regions of Africa. Unlike Vodou and Santería, which developed in majority Catholic contexts, ADRs in Jamaica grew in a largely Protestant culture. The next section on ADRs in Jamaica will thus provide an even closer point of comparison with African American Christianity discussed in Chap. 4.

Jamaican Religions: Obeah, Myal, and Revival Zion Jamaica was inhabited by Arawak tribes prior to Christopher Columbus’ arrival in 1494. In a tragic pattern that repeated itself throughout the “New World,” these native communities were enslaved by the Spanish and simultaneously decimated by warfare and disease. As the Arawak population fell, the Spanish began to import West Africans as slaves. When the British captured Jamaica from the Spanish in 1655, they continued the  De La Torre, Santería, 130.  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 128. 318  Murphy, Santería, 44. 319  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 129. 320  Ibid. 321  Murphy, Working, 112. 316 317

3  THE SPIRIT(S) IN THE DIASPORA: AFRICAN-DERIVED RELIGIONS 

85

slave trade. Altogether, approximately 750,000 Africans were captured and brought to Jamaica.322 The demographics of this African population are hard to trace, but, especially early on, they were mostly Akan, with later groups coming from Fon, BaKongo, and Yoruba communities.323 Amalgamated in Jamaica, these Africans created “Pan-African syntheses of religious and cultural practices that could serve the needs of individuals and communities at large.”324 Though “the African character of Jamaican religions is often depicted as less salient than that of Vodou in Haiti or of Yoruba derivatives in Cuba and Brazil,”325 African religious and cultural worldviews persisted in Jamaica. It was “not until 1815 that the right of enslaved Africans to receive Christian instruction was legally acknowledged in the British Caribbean.”326 Thus, for some 200 years, African-­ based Jamaican religions survived and developed. While these religions encountered Christianity, they maintained their African character and should not be understood as merely syncretic with Christianity, according to Dianne M. Stewart, who argues that they “masquerade[ed],”327 with a Christian face, but with an African heart and soul. Though these religious traditions remained, they are difficult to study and trace, at least when compared with Vodou in Haiti and Santería in Cuba.328 Stewart contends, “When we speak of African-derived religions in Jamaica, we are not referring to one or two widespread popular religions with markable beginnings and discernible trajectories of growth, transformation, or cross-fertilization. On the contrary, we are referring primarily to traditions with ambiguous origins, unpredictable evolutionary patterns, and, at times, regional significance.”329 In part, because of these realities, this chapter will explore a few religious traditions throughout Jamaican history, namely Obeah, Myal, and Revival Zion, rather than a single, dominant one. Then, within each tradition, the themes of the gods, rituals, and humanity will be examined, as was done (as mentioned earlier) with Vodou in Haiti and Santería in Cuba. 322  Dianne M.  Stewart, Three Eyes for the Journey: African Dimensions of the Jamaican Religious Experience (Oxford: Oxford University, 2005), 17. 323  Ibid., 20–21. 324  Ibid., 27. 325  Ibid., 140. 326  Ibid., 29. 327  Ibid., 12. 328  Ibid., 140. 329  Ibid., 140–141.

86 

K. BUHRING

While Obeah, Myal, and a Native Baptist tradition developed prior to the abolition of slavery by the British in 1834, Revival Zion grew out of the Native Baptist tradition in the 1860s.330 Though there are differences among the various Jamaican religions explored further in the chapter, there are also important similarities, with one another and with other ADRs of the Caribbean. Stewart describes six “foundational characteristics” of African religions that are evident in the Caribbean, not only Jamaica: (1) “a communotheistic understanding of the Divine,” which involves a community of gods, and is not really polytheistic or monotheistic; (2) ancestor veneration; (3) possession and mediumship; (4) animal sacrifice and offerings; (5) “divination and herbalism”; and (6) “an entrenched belief in neutral mystical power.”331 While the first characteristic is not particularly evident in Jamaican traditions, there is still belief in and interaction with a community of spirits and ancestors.332 In addition to these characteristics, like other African-based religions in the Caribbean, Jamaican religions provided the foundation and inspiration for resistance and rebellion against slavery and other forms of oppression. Jamaica “is credited with one of the highest rates of slave revolts and conspiracies in the history of any slave society,” especially among the British colonies. This “include[es] the decisive rebellion of 1831–1832 which hastened the abolition of slavery by Britain in 1834.”333 Further, Stewart offers, “Whether resistance through the use of force, or resistance through symbolic forms such as language, folk-tales and proverbs, or resistance through the creation of alternative institutions, religion was the main driving force among the Jamaican peasants.”334 As stated earlier, Jamaican religion has been manifested in several different forms over time, including Obeah, Myal, and Revival Zion. The rest of this chapter will explore

330  Ibid., 11. Rastafari is not included in the present treatment as it is “not an African-­ derived religion” (131). Stewart explains that Rastafari “eschew[s] the explicit features of African-derived religion present in traditional African Myalism, Obeah, and Christian Myalism (Native Baptist and Revival Zion).” It does not include features such as belief in a community of deities, divination, offerings/sacrifices to deities, spirit possession, or ancestral veneration. 331  Ibid., 24–26. 332  Ibid., 26. 333  Barry Chevannes, ed., Rastafari and Other African-Caribbean Worldviews (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1998), 1. 334  Ibid.

3  THE SPIRIT(S) IN THE DIASPORA: AFRICAN-DERIVED RELIGIONS 

87

aspects of each of these traditions, including ideas of gods, spirits, ancestors, ritual interaction with these entities, and claims about humanity. Obeah With Ashanti roots,335 Obeah practices are evident throughout the Caribbean, including the Bahamas, Antigua, Barbados, and Jamaica; further, in Guyana and Trinidad, indentured servants from East India “syncretized with Hindu mysticism.”336 The label “Obeah” is used to refer to a variety of ethnic African practices.337 Unlike Vodou and Santería, Obeah lacks an “established liturgy and community rituals.” Fernandez Olmos asserts that Obeah is “not a religion so much as a system of beliefs,…which acknowledges the existence and power of the supernatural world and incorporates into its practices witchcraft, sorcery, magic, spells, and healing.”338 Whether understood as a religion or not, Obeah has had a significant influence on Myal and other Jamaican religious traditions. Historically, though white observers typically characterized Obeah as sinister and “bad magic,” the reality is more complicated and balanced. Stewart actually presents a largely positive description of Obeah, while Murrell seeks a middle ground. Murrell argues, “This religious system is neither inherently evil nor completely innocuous; it provides services to clients who believe in its efficacy but may also affect others negatively.”339 Murrell continues, “Obeah seeks to obtain protection, good health, and personal success as well as retributive justice.”340 Obeah includes a “code of ethics,” a “penchant for justice,” and, on the whole, is more well-­ intentioned than not.341 While the positive, or at least balanced, sense of Obeah is certainly accurate, given the link between Obeah and rebellion342 against British enslavement, it should not be surprising that many whites saw a malevolent aspect of the religious ideas and practices and consequently feared it. Obeah was used by maroon communities in resistance

 Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 230. Fernandez Olmos, Creole, 131.  Fernandez Olmos, Creole, 140. 337  Stewart, Three Eyes, 41. 338  Fernandez Olmos, Creole, 131. 339  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 229–230. 340  Ibid., 239. 341  Ibid. 342  Fernandez Olmos, Creole, 133; Stewart, Three Eyes, 42. 335 336

88 

K. BUHRING

against British,343 including a maroon rebellion in 1760 led by “Ashanti warrior” and “obeah man” Tacky.344 “After this rebellion the fear of the obeah man was so pervasive that the Jamaican legislature passed a law against him.”345 Before and after it was outlawed by the British, there were references to secret Obeah rituals, which gave slaves “at least an illusion of autonomy as well as a familiar method of social control.”346 While the Obeah system and practices typically do not involve a community of deities,347 there is a sense of spiritual or supernatural energy and entities that can be tapped into. The spirits may be the soul of a dead person manifested in the form of a human, a mythical or real animal, or other supernatural being.348 Spirits, or duppies, can be called to give insight, provide protection, or do harm.349 The Obeah spirits can be summoned by practitioners, Obeah men or women.350 Male or female, “Practitioners are believed to be born with special powers—to be ‘born with the gift’—normally revealed to them through visions or dreams in late childhood or early adolescence.”351 Though sometimes taking on a more communal form, Obeah practitioners tend to operate individually, providing personal one-on-one consultations to clients,352 who wish to effect some sort of change in their lives.353 In distinction from Vodou or Santería, “An Obeah practitioner may chant or sing or go into a trance in the treatment of an individual client, but the practice bears no resemblance to the complex rituals of possession and summoning of the spirits through music and dance characteristic of other African-derived Creole practices.”354 That said, there are still examples in Obeah practices of “veneration of the ancestors, spirit possession, animal sacrifice, and divination.”355 The Obeah practitioner’s prescription for the  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 232.  Noel Leo Erskine, “The Roots of Rebellion and Rasta Theology in Jamaica,” Black Theology 5, no. 1 (2007): 106. 345  Erskine, “Roots,” 106. 346  Fernandez Olmos, Creole, 132. 347  Ibid., 133. 348  Ibid., 141. 349  Ibid. 350  Ibid., 133. 351  Ibid., 134. 352  Ibid., 133. 353  Ibid., 136–137. 354  Ibid., 136. 355  Ibid., 133. 343 344

3  THE SPIRIT(S) IN THE DIASPORA: AFRICAN-DERIVED RELIGIONS 

89

client often includes herbs or fetishes, “inanimate objects that are supposed to have special powers and are carried as protection or revered,” and also sometimes used to protect homes.356 Overall, Obeah is more a generalized spiritual worldview than a formalized religion. In this sense, like hoodoo in the United States, there is a sense of the supernatural realm that is appealed to for healing and cursing through practitioner–client interaction. Today, Obeah’s influence is common and varied,357 and it is often “combined” with or practiced by other religions, including Myal.358 Myal With a Kongo basis,359 Myal is the “creole version” of ATRs. It is a religion with “a belief system, a dance ritual, an initiatory rite tradition, and a pharmacopeia for herbal and spiritual healing.”360 Myal, which takes its name from its possession dance, emerged as an amalgamation of African religions especially after the 1760 slave rebellion.361 Myal is best understood as a version or “subset” of Obeah.362 While Obeah is found throughout the Caribbean, Myal is a uniquely Jamaican expression of the more general Obeah worldview. Though some observers characterized Myal as a “good magic” religion that contrasted with Obeah’s bad magic,363 Stewart argues that Myal should not be understood as anti-Obeah; in fact, she finds commonality and even collaboration between Obeah and Myal.364 Stewart explains, “In pre-emancipation Jamaica then, Myalists and Obeah practitioners cooperated in both covert and overt protests against slavery and forged a distinct religiocultural orientation of political praxis around the goal of liberation.”365 Further, Obeah and Myal practitioners used herbs and were “skilled in the uses of empowered religious objects and spiritually ‘charged’  Ibid., 136–139.  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 235 358  Ibid., 237. 359  Stewart, Three Eyes, 50; Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 254. 360  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 251. 361  Ibid. 362  Stewart, Three Eyes, 47. 363  Stewart, Three Eyes, 41; Fernandez Olmos, Creole, 142. 364  Stewart, Three Eyes, 61. 365  Ibid. 356 357

90 

K. BUHRING

substances.”366 Finally, practitioners of both religions sought the activity and presence of spirits “for the purpose of influencing behavior, assuring protection, and reaching one’s goals.”367 As described earlier in the section on Obeah, in Myal, some of these spirits, or duppies, are the souls of departed ancestors.368 While spirits are appealed to, in both Obeah and Myal, problems in the world call for a “concrete human response.”369 Thus, as in African religions and other ADRs, there is a this-worldly, practical orientation to the religion. Though there are fundamental similarities, the two religious traditions also differ in other respects. By comparison with Obeah, Myal is closer to Vodou and Santería in a few ways. First, though not to the extent they did in Vodou and Santería, in Myal, a more vibrant sense of West African-­ derived gods survived and developed. These spirits, “able to possess the faithful, were invoked to guide and protect the ritual community against harm, especially from Europeans.”370 Second, in addition to maintaining belief in a community of gods, Myal also is group-based rather than individually oriented. Stewart offers that “Myal is only described as a religious ceremony, an association based upon corporate duty, which featured charismatic leaders with identifiable groups of adherents.”371 Though prohibited by the British, these group religious gatherings and practices were sustained in Myal to an extent, despite these restrictions.372 Third, Myal maintains more highly involved ritual expressions, including the possibility of “possession trance.”373 Fascinatingly, in Myal spirit possession, it is the Holy Spirit that engages the devotee. Unlike in Christianity, where God the Father and Jesus are central, in Myal the Holy Spirit is primary. Barry Chevannes writes, “Myal was transfixed on the Spirit as possessor and sought [the Spirit] in dreams and secluded retreat. Whereas Christianity placed its emphasis on  Stewart, Three Eyes, 48.  Fernandez Olmos, Creole, 143–144. 368  Murrell explains, “Devotees believed that each person has two souls or spirits: one spirit, referred to as the duppy, departs the body at the moment of death and remains in the grave for several days before journeying to take its place among the ancestors.… The second spirit was seen as a living person’s shadow that needed to be protected from harm caused by evil spirits, witchcraft, and sorcery” (256). 369  Stewart, Three Eyes, 182. 370  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 256. 371  Stewart, Three Eyes, 48–49. 372  Fernandez Olmos, Creole, 144. 373  Ibid. 366 367

3  THE SPIRIT(S) IN THE DIASPORA: AFRICAN-DERIVED RELIGIONS 

91

transmitted knowledge (doctrine, Bible, catechism) for conversion, Myal placed its emphasis on the experience of the Spirit.”374 This experience of spirit possession in Myal is understood to be catalyzed by dance. Ritual dancing is central to Myal possession, initiation, and healing processes as a way to invite the spirits’ presence and activity.375 Myal dances provide an opening for the “entrance of the spirit in the body of the initiate.”376 Dance-induced possession allows the possessed person to act as conduit for the spirits to interact with the community. In exchange for propitiation, the spirits may offer advice, protection, or healing.377 As in Vodou, Santería, and Obeah, in Myal, the spirits offer ways to heal devotees’ body, mind, and soul. This typically involves the use of herbs, vegetables, and other plants.378 Thus, the devotees’ dance elicits divine presence, which then results in concrete solutions to practical problems. While the African-nature of Myalism should be evident, Myal also encountered Christianity and developed in interesting forms. In a discussion of Myalism, the Native Baptist movement, also known as Christian Myalism, is relevant. George Liele, born in Virginia as a slave, arrived in Jamaica in 1783 and “founded the first Baptist Church which he named the Ethiopian Baptist Church.”379 Beginning the following year, African American Baptists came as missionaries to enslaved Africans in Jamaica.380 Noel Leo Erskine explains that “the Native Baptists were the first church to reach out to the enslaved in Jamaica” and, in part because of Baptist institutional flexibility, “allowed the inclusion of African traditional practices such as drumming, dancing, handclapping; in short, the practices of Myal.”381 Stewart concurs, explaining the appeal of Christianity, especially Evangelical Christianity, to some enslaved Jamaicans. She highlights several appealing aspects, including the idea of an incarnational God, the emphasis on feeling and not just thinking, the primacy of action over belief, and the ideas that African souls were worth saving, as African

374  Barry Chevannes, Rastafari: Roots and Ideology (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 1994), 18–19. 375  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 256. 376  Fernandez Olmos, Creole, 145. 377  Ibid., 144. 378  Murrell, Afro-Caribbean, 256–257. 379  Erskine, “Roots,” 108. 380  Stewart, Three Eyes, 101. 381  Erskine, “Roots,” 108.

92 

K. BUHRING

people were worthwhile.382 Thus, “during the 1790s there was a fusing of Myalist beliefs with that of the Native Baptists”383 or, as Stewart describes it, Africans “absorbed” Christianity “into the Myal framework.”384 While Native Baptists or Christian Myalists effectively created their own religious institutions, they called them Baptist.385 Though Baptist in name, “their Baptist piety was unorthodox by European Christian missionary standards, for it was rooted in Myalism, where dreams and visions (as opposed to repentance and confession of Christ) were the criteria for orthodox participation and official membership in the Native Baptist community.”386 Some features of Christian Myalism include communotheism, spirit possession, and belief in neutral mystical power, though there is no evidence of ancestor veneration or divination practices.387 Furthermore, “Native Baptists adopted a doctrinal position that elevated ‘the spirit’ and neglected the written word.”388 Erskine contends, “Under the aegis of the spirit, the leaders of the Native Baptists were free to make theological connections as they saw fit. In the system of slavery, which denied them political power, they carved out space in their church under the aegis of the spirit.”389 This process of development was “unhindered by European theological traditions until about 1814, when the first Baptist missionaries arrived from Great Britain,”390 and dismissed Native Baptists as Christian in name only, and recognized it as more fundamentally Obeah and Myal (without necessarily labeling it as such).391 Stewart credits Native Baptists or Christian Myalists as “inspir[ing] and le[ading] the 1831–1832 rebellion,” which contributed to subsequent abolition of slavery.392

 Stewart, Three Eyes, 94–97.  Erskine, “Roots,” 108. 384  Chevannes, Rastafari, 8. 385  Stewart, Three Eyes, 102. 386  Ibid., 105. 387  Ibid., 129. 388  Erskine, “Roots,” 109. 389  Ibid., 110. 390  Ibid., 109. 391  Stewart, Three Eyes, 106. 392  Ibid., 103. 382 383

3  THE SPIRIT(S) IN THE DIASPORA: AFRICAN-DERIVED RELIGIONS 

93

Revival Zion Though Revival Zionists claim Christian identity393 and it is understood by some observers as a Christian revival movement or as Christian-African syncretism, Stewart suggests that maybe the best evidence that Revival Zion is not simply Christian is the fact that orthodox Christians often condemn and renounce it.394 Instead, Stewart and other contemporary scholars argue for conceiving of Revival Zion as a religious phenomenon that is more a revival of African religious impulses and in fact African at its core.395 In particular, Revival Zionists likely were striving for a renewal of African-derived Myal “in response to a Native Baptist tradition that was perhaps undergoing rapid ritual and theological modification in the direction of Christian orthodoxy.”396 To this point, Myalism and Revival Zion share several African elements, including belief in “a community of spirits; possession trance; animal sacrifice; ancestral veneration; and a strong belief in neutral mystical power,” as well as a significant use of drums.397 Finally, Stewart asserts, Revival Zion is certainly more “African” than Native Baptist tradition was.398 While Revival Zion has an African core, it also integrates Christian elements, including theological ideas and the centrality of the Bible.399 Revivalists believe in multiple supernatural beings or spirits. This should not be misunderstood as polytheism though, but rather communotheism, or belief in monotheism and a community of divine manifestations. This includes “God the Father, the creator and ruler of the universe.” Like the High God in African theology, this God “never comes to a service.”400 In addition to God the Father, Revival Zionists also “accept that Jesus Christ is the redeemer, but they have a very low Christology.”401 For example, Jesus is not powerful enough to possess devotees.402 While Jesus is “deemphasized,” as in Myal, the spirit is central to Revival Zion.403  Ibid., 111.  Ibid., 116. 395  Ibid., 108. 396  Ibid., 130. 397  Ibid, 109. 398  Ibid., 130. 399  Fernandez Olmos, Creole, 147–148. 400  Simpson, Black Religions, 112–113. 401  Stewart, Three Eyes, 110–111. 402  Simpson, Black Religions, 112–113. 403  Stewart, Three Eyes, 110–111. 393 394

94 

K. BUHRING

In Revival Zion, the spirit refers to both the Holy Spirit, the third person of the Trinity, and “the particular spirit who guides the individual in his or her work.”404 While the Holy Spirit “attend[s] services and ‘manifests on’ (possesses) followers,”405 Revivalists interact with “many spirits who take an active interest in the affairs of the living and who intervene in those affairs.”406 As in ATRs and other ADRs, these spirits can help or harm humans and are not seen as wholly good or bad.407 While there are many spirits, it is typically understood that a devotee will “have a special relationship” with a particular spirit, who serves as their personal guide and protector. Some of these spirits are biblical figures, including Hebrew Bible prophets, New Testament apostles, and even Satan, while others, “such as the Dove, River Maid, Bell Ringer, and Hunter,”408 as well as ancestors, are extrabiblical. Revival Zionists see belief in the Holy Spirit as consistent with belief in many spirits. Stewart emphasizes, “In their theology, the spirit messengers are legitimate manifestations of the Holy Spirit, just as the Holy Spirit is a legitimate manifestation of the Creator God.” This theology is seen as parallel with Christian “Trinitarian logic” and “classical African communotheism.”409 The notion of an African core with Christian clothing is evident also in Revival Zion’s view and use of the Bible.410 Revival Zionists “view the Hebrew and Christian scriptures as sacred texts of African people.”411 In this sense, Revival Zionists find the basis for practices such as “animal sacrifice, [and] veneration of ancestral and spirit messengers.” Though these practices are seen as heretical in orthodox Christianity, in Revival Zion they are both biblical and consistent with African traditional religions.412 In addition, as in African traditional religions, the spirit messengers can “visit” people whether their presence is asked for or not. Human interaction with the spirit can happen in two basic ways: the uninvited spirit can come to people and people can elicit and work with the spirit. One primary way the spirit moves to humans is through dreams.  Murphy, Working, 130.  Simpson, Black Religions, 112–113. 406  Ibid., 114. 407  Ibid., 114–115. 408  Stewart, Three Eyes, 110–111. 409  Ibid., 111–112. 410  Ibid., 111. 411  Ibid., 109. 412  Ibid., 111. 404 405

3  THE SPIRIT(S) IN THE DIASPORA: AFRICAN-DERIVED RELIGIONS 

95

Murphy explains, “In dreams people have the sight to see the reality of the spiritual world that is ordinarily closed to them when awake.”413 This spiritual world is called Zion.414 Murphy adds, “Zion is at once a place, a locality of past greatness, a source of inspiration channeled and made present in the church, a future hope for the redemption of this world.”415 Thus, “children of Zion” may be visited in both dreams and visions by a spirit messenger who becomes their “lifelong guides.”416 While spirits present themselves in dreams, “if one has the gift of discernment one might see the presence and activity of spirits in waking life.”417 While the spirit may enter the lives of humans to “reveal itself,” it is also evident within the human community “through the praise, hymns, and dance of the congregation.”418 Revivalists draw the spirit toward them through Bible reading, praying, fasting,419 and, most dramatically and efficaciously, through possession trance brought about with music and dance420 in group religious services. The possession trance is called “working” or “laboring” in or with the spirit. During group ritual services, “members are escorted into the invisible domain where, under states of trance, they sojourn through a host of experiences before returning to the visible domain to share insights with the congregation.”421 These insights are largely for the sake of the wider community and not just for one devotee. Murphy emphasizes the collective or communal aspect of the trance, and the religion as a whole. He writes, “One works with these spirits … to develop the gifts of healing and prophecy for the service of the community.”422 Interestingly also, Murphy describes the possession trance as working with the spirit, which highlights the importance of the human role in Revival Zion. As was seen in the chapter on spirits in ATRs, the spirits in ADRs in the Caribbean such as Vodou, Santería, and a family of Jamaican traditions are immanent, active, and interdependent. The spirits are present within  Murphy, Working, 128.  Ibid., 141. 415  Ibid., 142. 416  Ibid., 130. 417  Ibid., 129. 418  Ibid., 141. 419  Ibid., 29. 420  Ibid., 141. 421  Stewart, Three Eyes, 113–114. 422  Murphy, Working, 130–131. 413 414

96 

K. BUHRING

world and humanity, especially within ritual possession. The spirits are alive, vibrant, and ever-active. They share power with humans and interact reciprocally. Human action serves to evoke greater divine presence and activity; the spirits provide the purpose and energy of life itself; and the power and efficacy of the spirits depend on human efforts to bring about harmony and justice. These religious traditions offer both spiritual and practical insight and are understood always as communal enterprises. Finally, these ADRs offer theological resources that have inspired and sustained resistance against oppression as well as life-affirming hope in positively transforming the world. The next chapter on the spirit during the period of slavery in the United States will explore how some of these ideas continued and developed, while others faded over time in a different context.

Works Cited Brandon, George. Santería from Africa to the New World: The Dead Sell Memories. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1993. Chevannes, Barry, ed. Rastafari and Other African-Caribbean Worldviews. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1998. Chevannes, Barry. Rastafari: Roots and Ideology. Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 1994. De La Torre, Miguel A. Santería: The Beliefs and Rituals of a Growing Religion in America. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2004. Deren, Maya. Divine Horsemen: The Living Gods of Haiti. New York: McPherson and Company, 1953. Desmangles, Leslie G. The Faces of the Gods: Vodou and Roman Catholicism in Haiti. Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1992. Erskine, Noel Leo. Plantation Church: How African American Religion Was Born in Caribbean Slavery. New York: Oxford Press, 2014. Erskine, Noel Leo. “The Roots of Rebellion and Rasta Theology in Jamaica.” Black Theology 5, no. 1 (2007): 104–125. Fernandez Olmos, Margarite and Lizabeth Paravisini-Gebert. Creole Religions of the Caribbean: An Introduction from Vodou and Santería to Obeah and Espiritismo. New York: New York University Press, 2003. Long, Carolyn Morrow. Spiritual Merchants: Religion, Magic and Commerce. Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 2001. Mensah, Osei A. “Mythology of Rituals and Sacrifices in African-Derived Religions.” In Contemporary Perspectives on Religions in Africa and the African Diaspora, edited by Ibigbolade S. Aderibibge and Carolyn M. Jones Medine, 179–197. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015.

3  THE SPIRIT(S) IN THE DIASPORA: AFRICAN-DERIVED RELIGIONS 

97

Murphy, Joseph M. Santería: An African Religion in America. Boston: Beacon Press, 1988. Murphy, Joseph M. Working the Spirit: Ceremonies of the African Diaspora. Boston: Beacon Press, 1994. Murrell, Nathaniel Samuel. Afro-Caribbean Religions: An Introduction to Their Historical, Cultural, and Sacred Traditions. Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 2010. Olupona, Jacob K. African Religions: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014. Paris, Peter J. The Spirituality of African Peoples: the Search for a Common Moral Discourse. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995. Patel, Umesh. “Finding Home in a Foreign Land: Initiation and Possession in Santería, Candomblé, and Vodou.” In Contemporary Perspectives on Religions in Africa and the African Diaspora, edited by Ibigbolade S.  Aderibibge and Carolyn M. Jones Medine, 165–177. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015. Pinn, Anthony B. The End of God-Talk: An African American Humanist Theology. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012. Pinn, Anthony B. Varieties of African American Religious Experience. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1998. Sandoval, Mercedes Cros. “Santería in the Twenty-first Century.” In Orisa Devotion as World Religion: The Globalization of Yoruba Religious Culture, edited by Jacob K Olupona and Terry Rey, 355–371. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2008. Simpson, George Eaton. Black Religions in the New World. New York: Columbia University Press, 1978. Stewart, Dianne M. Three Eyes for the Journey: African Dimensions of the Jamaican Religious Experience. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005.

CHAPTER 4

The Spirit(s) in Slavery: African American Christianity

The focus of this chapter is on the religious beliefs and practices of enslaved Africans in the United States. Here, we will begin by examining whether and how African religious elements survived and developed in North America. The next part of the chapter discusses theological methodology and considers the sources of African religions, the Bible, and Christianity more broadly, as well as the personal experiences of enslaved blacks. From there, we will trace ways in which African Americans reinterpreted Christianity and developed ideas of God and the spirit(s), including Jesus and the Holy Spirit, as well as ways in which the spirit(s) and humans interacted through communal ritual practices. Though aspects of African traditional religions (ATRs) are evident in African American Christianity, ATRs did not survive in North America as It should be emphasized that the focus of this section is on the forms of Christianity developed by enslaved African Americans in the United States. Thus, left out here would be Christianities practiced by free blacks during the period of slavery, as well as non-Christian religions in America, such as Islam, humanism, or any of the myriad of religions that might fall into the broader category of African diaspora religions, including those discussed in the previous chapter. This narrow focus is not intended to mitigate the importance of these other religious traditions. The restriction is only a result of my effort to refine the scope of the chapter reasonably. © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 K. Buhring, Spirit(s) in Black Religion, Black Religion/Womanist Thought/Social Justice, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-09887-1_4

99

100 

K. BUHRING

well as they did in parts of the Caribbean and South America such as Haiti, Cuba, Jamaica, and Brazil. In comparing the North American context with that of the Caribbean and South America, a few important differences are relevant in accounting for how well “Africanisms” (African ideas or practices) survived or dissipated. The first difference involves the numbers of blacks and whites and the nature of their interaction. Relative to white populations, there were fewer enslaved blacks in North America than there were in the Caribbean and South America. North American plantations also were more spread out and tended to be smaller,1 with only about a quarter of slaves living on large plantations (defined as fifty or more slaves).2 Since the plantations were smaller, enslaved blacks came into contact with fewer other slaves. Because the plantations were spread out, there was also less opportunity for interacting with slaves from other locales. In addition, on North American plantations, there was less absenteeism than in the Caribbean.3 Overall, there was more direct white oversight of enslaved blacks.4 Thus, because of the ratio of whites to blacks and the level of control slave masters exercised, it was more difficult for Africanisms to survive in North America. The second distinction between the contexts in North America and the Caribbean and South America is the nature of the Christian traditions maintained by Europeans and European Americans. In short, Africanisms did not persist within Protestant regions as well as they did within Catholic ones. Some of the differences between the two traditions are discussed in Chap. 3. As a reminder, while Catholic powers could certainly be oppressive and make efforts to stamp out African religions and cultures, relative to Protestant forces, they tended to be a bit more permissive, especially in terms of beliefs. Enslaved blacks in Haiti and Cuba could still practice African and African-derived religions under the façade of 1  Noel Leo Erskine, Plantation Church: How African American Religion was Born in Caribbean Slavery (New York: Oxford Books, 2014), 154. 2  Eugene D. Genovese, Roll, Jordan, Roll: The World the Slaves Made (New York: Pantheon Books, 1974), 7. 3  Genovese, Roll, 10–11. 4  Melville J. Herskovits, The Myth of the Negro Past (Boston: Beacon Press, 1958), 120.

4  THE SPIRIT(S) IN SLAVERY: AFRICAN AMERICAN CHRISTIANITY 

101

Catholicism. Practitioners and scholars have pointed to the similarities between African views of the subdivinities and ancestors and Catholic understanding of the saints. Essentially, the two religions could coexist despite Catholic efforts to fully Christianize. In contrast, in Protestant regions, enslaved blacks were forced to abandon their African traditions and adopt Christianity wholesale. As will be explored later in the chapter, while despite this either/or mentality African religious ideas and practices did survive in North America, Protestant traditions more successfully stamped out African views and practices. There was no room in Protestant theology for the African spirits, in other words. A third reason that Africanisms survived in the Caribbean and South America more effectively than in North America is because fewer enslaved blacks in North America were African, and, especially after conversion to Christianity, many of these slaves took up a negative view of Africa. The higher mortality rate in the Caribbean meant more slaves were imported directly from Africa. Thus, the slave population was “constantly re-­ Africanized,” whereas most North American slaves were native-born.5 In fact, by the time of the American Revolution, only roughly twenty percent of slaves were born in Africa.6 Such realities would obviously make it more challenging to retain and pass on African religious ideas and practices. This fact likely also contributed to an anti-African sentiment among not only whites, but also blacks themselves, which further mitigated the chances of Africanisms surviving. Jawanza Eric Clark argues that as enslaved blacks converted to Christianity, they also adopted a negative sense of Africa and of black inferiority.7 While such a dynamic is likely not unique to North America, Clark’s point is supported by many of the views expressed in the slave narratives collected in the 1930s as part of the Federal Writers’ Project (FWP)

 Erskine, Plantation, 155.  George Eaton Simpson, Black Religions in the New World (New York: Columbia University Press, 1978), 18–19. 7  Jawanza Eric Clark, Indigenous Black Theology: Toward an African-Centered Theology of the African-American Religious Experience (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012). 5 6

102 

K. BUHRING

of the Work Projects Administration (WPA).8 The following three examples illustrate this anti-Africa sentiment: Dose black ignoramuses in Africa forgot God, and didn’t have no religion and God blessed and prospered the white people dat did remember him and sent dem to teach de black people even if dey have to grab dem and bring dem into bondage till dey learned some sense.…God sure bless and prosper

8  See John W.  Blassingame, ed., Slave Testimony: Two Centuries of Letters, Speeches, Interviews, and Autobiographies (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1977), Introduction. Blassingame’s Introduction helpfully assesses the challenges and opportunities evident in a variety of sources that describe the experiences of enslaved African Americans. In particular, Blassingame explores the advantages and disadvantages of the WPA interviews, the mostly commonly cited source on black lives during slavery. In terms of flaws inherent to these interviews, one is the fact that the people being interviewed were typically very young at the time that slavery ended. More significantly, most of the interviewers were white. Even if it is assumed that many of these white interviewers were well-intentioned and professional, it is not hard to imagine that black interviewees might be a bit guarded in their comments and validly hesitant to be entirely open about their experiences and memories of slavery. For example, much more often than one would expect, black witnesses describe the period of slavery fairly positively and, in some instances, better than their current times. (For an exemplary exception to this tendency to portray the conditions of slavery as moderate, see the interview with Thomas Hall, Federal Writers’ Project: Slave Narrative Project, Vol. 11, North Carolina, Part 1, Adams-Hunter. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https://www.loc.gov/item/ mesn142/. Thomas Hall, 361–362. (Hereafter, this source will be abbreviated to FWP: SNP). Hall describes horrific conditions during slavery, criticizes Lincoln, and argues that racism is still oppressive and rampant in his day.) While many of these witnesses may be speaking honestly, I have to believe their responses were often guarded and suspicious of how negative portrayals of slavery might be used against them. In addition, though much of the scholarship on black Christianity during the period of slavery is based on slave interviews and narratives, these sources are inherently limited. Wilmore points out that we have few narratives and that those that exist may not be the best representation of black religiosity during slavery. (See Gayraud S. Wilmore, Black Religion and Black Radicalism: An Examination of the Black Experience in Religion (Garden City, NY: Anchor Press, 1973), 7.) Further, M.  Shawn Copeland adds that only about twelve percent of existing slave narratives were written by women. (M. Shawn Copeland, “‘Wading through Many Sorrows’”: Toward a Theology of Suffering in Womanist Perspective,” in Cut Loose Your Stammering Tongue: Black Theology in the Slave Narrative, 2nd ed., edited by Dwight N. Hopkins and George C. L. Cummings (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2003), 158.) Thus, when drawing from accounts by enslaved blacks and ex-slaves, it is important to recognize the limitations inherent to the resources in terms of sample size and consideration of which voices speak for the “slave experience,” which certainly was not uniform or monolithic.

4  THE SPIRIT(S) IN SLAVERY: AFRICAN AMERICAN CHRISTIANITY 

103

de white people and He put de red and de black people under dem so dey could teach dem and bring dem into sense wid God. 9 Now it was de finest thing could have happen for de Negro, to have been snatched out of Africa and brought here in touch wid civilization and Christianity. It will work out untold benefit to de race.10 A thoroughly civilized negro state does not exist in Liberia nor do I believe in any part of West Africa. Superstition is the interpretation of their religion, their political views are a hodgepodge of unconnected ideas. Strangth over rules knowledge and jealousy crowds out almost all hope of sympathetic achievement and adjustment.11

As is evident in these select quotations, many slaves held a negative view of Africa and explained that slavery had the positive consequence of bringing Africans to Christianity. Along with the negative view of Africa expressed here, one also finds a fairly common sense of black inferiority in the interviews. Jane Johnson’s views illustrate this phenomenon: Maybe I’s wrong to say dis but you knows, white man, de nigger is a far way back of de white man; his time ain’t come yit, leastwise dat’s de way it ‘pear to me. De nigger come from Africa and other hot places, so he takes after de hot country he come from and has a short temper, hard head, and not ‘nough sense to keep him out of trouble when he gits mad or ‘cited. When he come here, de white man made him work, and he didn’t like dat. He is natchally lazy and when he had to work, then he began to get huffy and to conjure up in he mind hate and other bad things against de whites.12

In addition to the internalized sense of black inferiority, the interviews also show a common association of Africa with “heathen” anti-Christian sensibility. Thus, while maybe mostly for white consumption and/or skewed because of white interviewers, many of the interviewees display both 9  FWP: SNP, Vol. 14, South Carolina, Part 2, Eddington-Hunter. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https://www.loc.gov/item/mesn142/. Susan Hamlin, 230. 10  FWP: SNP, Vol. 14, South Carolina, Part 2, Eddington-Hunter. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https://www.loc.gov/item/mesn142/. Cornelius Holmes, 297. 11  FWP: SNP, Vol. 5, Indiana. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https://www.loc.gov/item/ mesn142/. John Boehne, 34. 12  FWP: SNP, Vol. 14, South Carolina, Part 3, Jackson-Quattlebaum. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https://www.loc.gov/item/mesn142/. Jane Johnson, 50.

104 

K. BUHRING

anti-African views and a belief in white superiority and black inferiority. Along with the fact that most slaves in North America were not born in Africa, as well as and the dominating and controlling Protestant context, these views of Africa and blackness served as obstacles in the survival and perpetuation of Africanisms in North America especially. Despite the fact that Africanisms did not persist in North America to the degree in which they did elsewhere in the African diaspora, African religious ideas and practices were certainly still manifested during and after slavery within black Christianity. This issue of the survival of Africanisms raises the issue of the well-known debate between Melville J. Herskovits and E. Franklin Frazier. In short, while Herskovits asserted the existence of significant Africanisms despite the history of slavery in North America,13 Frazier argued that slavery had destroyed virtually any traces of African influence.14 Based on exhaustive ethnographic research in Africa, the Caribbean, and the United States, Herskovits’ 1941 work, The Myth of the Negro Past, argues against the “mythical” claim that Africans are inherently inferior and that enslaved Africans in the United States were virtually completely cut off from African cultures and worldviews. Herskovits admits that, relative to some areas of the Caribbean and South America, there are fewer “Africanisms” evident in the United States.15 This does not mean, however, that there are none. Throughout his work, Herskovits explains several Africanisms, or distinctly African elements, including religious ideas and practices, which are evident in African American communities. He is careful to point out that in his research as a sociologist, he was more focused on “outer forms of religious expression rather than on inner values and beliefs.”16 Herskovits believes that it is in these “outer forms” or practices that African elements are still evident especially, though beliefs exhibit some continuity as well.17 Some of the elements Herskovits explores include the blurring of the sacred and the secular;18 the role of water in initiation rituals, including also a strong sense of the presence of

 Melville J. Herskovits, Myth.  E.  Franklin Frazier, The Negro Family in the United States (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1939). 15  Herskovits, Myth, 122. 16  Ibid., 214. 17  Ibid. 18  Ibid., 207. 13 14

4  THE SPIRIT(S) IN SLAVERY: AFRICAN AMERICAN CHRISTIANITY 

105

spirits/Spirit;19 an understanding of magic, crossroads, and good and evil; and the use of libations and charms.20 Herskovits also argues that part of the appeal of Methodist and Baptist churches for some blacks would be similarities based on Africanisms. In other words, many enslaved blacks were drawn to the forms of Christianity that more closely resembled African institutional organization and rituals or practices.21 Finally, despite his comprehensive treatment, Herskovits does not even devote much space to what might be fairly obvious Africanisms, such as spirit possession or ring shouts. While Herskovits argues for the persistence of African religious ideas and practices among African Americans, Frazier opens his work with a direct rebuttal to Herskovits, saying, “One must recognize from the beginning that because of the manner in which the Negroes were captured in Africa and enslaved, they were practically stripped of their social heritage.”22 In regard to religion, Frazier boldly asserts, “it is impossible to establish any continuity between African religious practices and the Negro church in the United States.”23 In addition to the comparative differences between the Caribbean and US contexts outlined earlier, Frazier explains the minimal influence of Africa in a few more ways. While there were not as many African-born slaves in the US, even those who were directly from Africa were very consciously forced to acclimate to the new culture and context, for example in terms of language.24 Frazier also argues that the institution of slavery in America fragmented families and communities and destroyed forms of social cohesion that might have been based in African ways of life.25 Instead, Frazier argues, Christianity became the “new basis of social cohesion.”26 Frazier suggests that Methodists and Baptists had great success in appealing to enslaved blacks, not because of any similarities between ATRs and Christianity, but because they sought outcasts and delivered a message of hope based on feeling and “social

19  Ibid., 232–234. He also gives some attention to Africanisms in Voodoo and Hoodoo as practiced in Louisiana. See 245–251 for this material. 20  Ibid., 235–239. 21  Ibid., 233. 22  E. Franklin Frazier, The Negro Church in America (New York: Schocken Books, 1964), 1. 23  Ibid., 6. 24  Ibid., 2–3. 25  Ibid., 3–4. 26  Ibid., 6.

106 

K. BUHRING

solidarity.”27 Frazier claims that enslaved blacks found an answer for their loneliness in companionship with a Christian God, with whom they could “walk” and “talk.”28 Frazier also interprets the spirituals as entirely religious and “otherworldly.”29 He even insists that the spirituals contain only Christian theology and no African ideas at all.30 While Frazier’s claims cannot be dismissed outright as invalid, there are significant flaws and biases evident in his theories. For example, pointing to the dearth of material available from certain Christian missionary groups, Frazier makes the following odd statement: “We do not know, for example, to what extent the converted slaves resumed their old ‘heathen’ ways or combined the new religious practices and beliefs with the old.”31 To say nothing of the description of African ideas and practices as “heathen,” Frazier seemingly admits that he cannot be sure whether Africanisms survived or not. In another similarly problematic claim, Frazier writes, “In the crisis which they experienced the enslaved Negroes appealed to their ancestors and their gods. But their ancestors and their gods were unable to help them.”32 How would Frazier know if the African gods and ancestors helped enslaved blacks? What, for Frazier, would such “help” have looked like? How would this help have been manifested in ways that would have been satisfactory to Frazier? Did the Christian God “help” enslaved blacks more effectively? Frazier has a bias against African religions, and he seems closed off to the possibility of the survival of Africanisms in the United States, to say nothing of their efficacy in the lives of some slaves. In acknowledging that some slaves appealed to “their ancestors and their gods,” is not Frazier allowing for the survival of African religious views? In fact, shortly after the previous statement, Frazier hints that, while so-called house slaves more readily adopted the masters’ Christianity, so-called field slaves maintained ties in African traditions.33 Again, Frazier allows for the existence of at least some Africanisms here. While Frazier does in fact admit some “continuity” between ATRs and black Christianity, he makes clear that these are exceptions. For example, he points to dancing, which he

 Ibid., 7–8.  Ibid., 15. 29  Ibid., 12. 30  Ibid., 13. 31  Ibid., 7. 32  Ibid., 9–10. 33  Ibid., 10. 27 28

4  THE SPIRIT(S) IN SLAVERY: AFRICAN AMERICAN CHRISTIANITY 

107

calls “the most primitive form of religious expression,”34 and also the ring shout in the Sea Islands as “an example of the most primitive and elemental expression of religion among American Negroes.” Even this example, he is quick to point out though, is directed toward the Christian God.35 And, as he earlier referred to African practices as “heathen,” here he dismissively chooses the word “primitive.” Most scholars today, including Eugene Genovese, Joseph Murphy, Peter Paris, and Jawanza Eric Clark, stake out a middle ground in this Herskovits–Frazier debate and lean toward Herskovits; in particular, while some scholars acknowledge the dissipation of African beliefs, many argue for the persistence of Africanisms in the forms of African American religious practices or rituals.36 That is, enslaved blacks may have developed practices that drew from African rituals more than they were able to transfer over the beliefs in terms of African theology and understandings of the gods. Further, Clark raises the compelling question of why African theological ideas tended to fade, suggesting that as they converted to Christian theological concepts, blacks came to view anything African as heathen or sinful. He argues, “Protestantism was much more repressive than Catholicism when it came to the (furtive) incorporation of African theistic expressions and theological conceptions. … Yes, there are African retentions in many black churches, but these retentions are not primarily or fundamentally theological in nature. The belief that human beings are born with an ontological defect, sin as human condition, for example, is alien and antithetical to all indigenous West African religions.”37 Part of why I believe the present work is important is that it seeks to follow Clark’s lead and tap into African theological and anthropological principles that may have dissipated in North America during and since slavery. In this sense, Frazier is certainly right when he argues that aspects of African beliefs and practices were lost in North America. In the end, I side more closely with Herskovits in the debate. While not as evident as in Afro-Caribbean religions, such as Vodou and Santería, African American Christianity still certainly shows signs of Africanisms, especially in places or contexts that differed from the aforementioned  Ibid., 82.  Ibid., 13. 36  Genovese, Roll, 162, 185, 209, 280; Joseph M. Murphy, Working the Spirit: Ceremonies of the African Diaspora (Boston: Beacon Press, 1994), 182. 37  Jawanza Eric Clark, Indigenous, 24, 6. 34 35

108 

K. BUHRING

descriptions. For example, one finds more examples of similarities with African and African-derived religions in Catholic locations, such as Louisiana, and in places with stronger ties to Africa, such as South Carolina, where there were relatively more African-born slaves, less white oversight, and fewer and weaker efforts to Christianize than in other places in North America.38 Margaret Washington Creel contends that, in part, these factors account for the persistence of Africanisms among blacks in South Carolina, and especially within Gullah culture.39 Creel and other scholars point specifically to Gullah practices such as the ring shout,40 the initiation/conversion process, and “use of sacred medicines,” as well as beliefs in spirits, ancestors, and the value of community among the Gullahs.41 In addition, while the view that there are more Africanisms among black Christian practices than beliefs is reasonable, I believe that one need not cede the idea that all African theology was lost. Notice that Clark supports his point by turning to an anthropological difference (sin) rather than a theological one. Certainly, black Christianity could benefit from a renewed interest in African theologies, and there are pieces that survived and might be further developed. As Peter Paris explains, “Africans in the diaspora were able to preserve the structural dimensions of their spirituality: belief in a spirit-filled cosmos and acceptance of a moral obligation to build a community in harmony with all the various powers in the cosmos.”42 Later, I will argue for some theological African retentions within black Christianity. For example, while a communotheistic “family” of gods fades, fundamental claims about God’s nature and activity persist and develop. That said, one may even find some similarities between African ideas of the gods and ancestors and black Christian notions of Jesus and the Holy Spirit. Later in the work, I will advocate for further developing 38  Juan Williams and Quinton Dixie, This Far by Faith: Stories from the African American Religious Experience (New York: HarperCollins, 2003), 11, 19–20; Ras Michael Brown, African-Atlantic Cultures and the South Carolina Lowcountry (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 63–70, 204. 39  Margaret Washington Creel, “A Peculiar People”: Slave Religion and Community-­ Culture Among the Gullahs (New York: New York University Press, 1988), 99–101, 108. 40  Williams and Dixie, Far, 31–32. 41  Creel, “Peculiar,” 2, 207–209. Creel convincingly argues that the Gullah integrated Christian aspects into their African beliefs and practices and effectively “converted Christianity to their African world view” (267). 42  Peter Paris, The Spirituality of African Peoples: The Search for a Common Moral Discourse (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), 35.

4  THE SPIRIT(S) IN SLAVERY: AFRICAN AMERICAN CHRISTIANITY 

109

and expanding aspects of African beliefs and practices within contemporary black theology. The next sections will examine the sort of Christianity white slave holders forced upon enslaved blacks and ways that blacks took up Christian ideas and practices and integrated them with earlier, African principles.

History of Slavery in the United States and Slave Holder Christianity Information about the history of slavery is difficult to know or confirm with complete accuracy. It always involves estimates. That said, roughly nine to fifteen million Africans were brought to the Americas as slaves between 1451 and 1870; this does not include the estimated millions who died along the way, during the Middle Passage. The first Africans to land in North America arrived in 1619 in what is now Virginia. These twenty Africans were sold by a Dutch captain as slaves in Jamestown, Virginia.43 Of those Africans brought to the Americas, approximately 532,000 of them were in British-controlled areas of North America. Of these, two-­ thirds to three-fourths were men.44 The more than half million Africans included significant numbers from Angola, the Gold Coast (Ghana), by way of Jamaica, Senegambia (Senegal and Gambia), and Sierra Leone, with relatively smaller numbers from “Bight of Biafra” (eastern Nigeria and Cameroon) and “Windward Coast” (Liberia and Sierra Leone). These Africans were enslaved mostly in what became Mississippi, South Carolina, and Virginia.45 Approximately one-third of the slaves in what became the United States were Kongo-related.46 And, some were already Christian or Muslim.47 Rice and cotton were labor-intensive, so much so that white plantation owners continued to import Africans after the1808 US ban on the international slave trade.48

 Simpson, Black Religion, 213.  Sylvia R. Frey and Betty Wood, Come Shouting to Zion: African American Protestantism in the American South and British Caribbean to 1830 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1998), 37. 45  Juan Williams and Quinton Dixie, Far, 13–15. 46  Carolyn Morrow Long, Spiritual Merchants: Religion, Magic, and Commerce (Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 2001), 71. 47  Frey, Come Shouting, 36. 48  Williams and Dixie, Far, 12. 43 44

110 

K. BUHRING

Initially, white slave holders made no effort to convert enslaved blacks to Christianity. Albert Raboteau explains, “During the seventeenth and much of the eighteenth century there was a great deal of indifference, reluctance, and hostility to the conversion of slaves.”49 Minimally, conversion was considered unnecessary, as it was thought that blacks lacked souls. According to this perspective, slaves were subhuman, and therefore not worth the effort. Riggins R.  Earl, Jr., refers to this typology as the soulless-body type of response, where enslaved blacks are understood by whites as animal-like.50 Other slave owners believed that conversion to Christianity might backfire in that Christian slaves could make a claim to equality or at least to a better status. Mass conversion of blacks to Christianity did not happen until the late eighteenth–early nineteenth centuries.51 In time, slave owners came to see that by converting their slaves to a certain sort of twisted and oppressive Christianity, they could have more subservient and docile slaves. In fact, some justified slavery in terms of Christianizing slaves.52 Earl calls this view the bodiless-soul type of response, in which the physical bondage was justified in the name of the otherworldly welfare of the soul.53 By 1830, many enslaved blacks converted to Christianity,54 with the majority joining Baptist or Methodist churches. There are many theories as to why these two particular denominations drew black converts, but Genovese points out that they worked at converting blacks and used black preachers to do so—in other words, they used effort and common sense. Frey explains, “In contrast to mainline denominations, which stressed instruction in and acceptance of a formal set of beliefs, evangelical groups such as the Methodists and Baptists emphasized the conversion experience as the chief means of entry into the Christian community. Central to most, if not all, evangelical doctrines of conversion was the claim to extraordinary communication and witness of the spirit.”55 In particular, Baptist churches especially appealed to many enslaved blacks. Baptists had 49  Albert J. Raboteau, Slave Religion: The “Invisible Institution” in the Antebellum South (New York: Oxford University Press, 1978), 66. 50  Riggins R. Earl, Jr., Dark Symbols, Obscure Signs: God, Self, and Community in the Slave Mind (Maryknoll: NY: Orbis, 1993), 5. 51  Genovese, Roll, 184. 52  Raboteau, Slave, 96. 53  Earl, Dark Symbols, 5. 54  Frey, Come Shouting, 118. 55  Ibid., 100–101.

4  THE SPIRIT(S) IN SLAVERY: AFRICAN AMERICAN CHRISTIANITY 

111

­organizational flexibility” and looser authority, which made African “ retentions possible.56 In addition, the Baptist view of human nature was more positive than the Methodist view of humans as depraved sinners, and thus closer to African perspectives of human nature.57 By the Civil War, most blacks were Christian. Raboteau writes, “Not all slaves were Christian, nor were all those who accepted Christianity members of a church, but the doctrines, symbols, and vision of life preached by Christianity were familiar to most.”58 When slave owners decided slaves should be converted to Christianity, they first decreed that Christianization, conversion, and baptism did nothing to the slave’s earthly status. Christian identity did not make the slave free. In addition, conversion to Christianity happened frequently under racist terms, and slave holders put strict limits on black religiosity. White slave holders converted enslaved blacks to a very particular form of Christianity and sought to control every aspect of slave life and religion, including cutting off slaves from resources that might be empowering or liberating. Enslaved blacks were cut off from Africa, the Bible, and God and were taught a warped, repressive version of Christianity by white slave holders. Enslaved Africans were cut off from Africa in several ways. African languages, religions, and worldviews generally were discouraged and repressed as backwards and heathen. Clark argues that with Christianization came racialization; in other words, as blacks converted to Christianity, they also converted to the view that Africa was primitive and that blacks were inferior to whites.59 Further, families and communities were very purposively split up in order to dehumanize and to weaken any form of communal bonds. In addition, enslaved blacks were restricted from direct access to the Bible. White slave masters did not want enslaved blacks to be educated in any formal way; this meant that reading, and reading the Bible in particular, was forbidden. Genovese cites “South Carolina’s Whitemarsh B. Seabrook, who seriously pointed out that anyone who wanted slaves to read the entire Bible belonged in a lunatic asylum.”60 One gets the strong  Genovese, Roll, 234–235.  Mechal Sobel, Trabelin’ On: The Slave Journey to an Afro-Baptist Faith (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1988), 129. 58  Raboteau, Slave, 212. 59  Clark, Indigenous, 7, 21–22. 60  Genovese, Roll, 188. 56 57

112 

K. BUHRING

sense that slave holders knew slavery was immoral and that, should they read the Bible, enslaved blacks would find support to claim it was against the will of God to oppress fellow humans. Enslaved blacks were further restricted in the way that whites sought to control slaves’ relationship with God—either by trying to prevent any relationship, or allowing it, but in a controlled, mediated way. Ex-slave Minnie Fulkes discusses being told by white “paddy rollers,” “Ef I ketch you here agin servin’ God I’ll beat you. You haven’t time to serve God. We bought you to serve us.”61 When access to God was allowed, it was indirect, as whites would try to act as mediators between blacks and God. In literal terms, blacks were allowed to practice religion only in the presence of white authority figures. Ex-slave Leah Garrett explains that white slave masters “always had somebody to follow de slaves to church when de colored preacher was preachin’ to hear what wuz said and done. Dey wuz ‘fraid us would try to say something ‘gainst ‘em.”62 Theologically, Dwight Hopkins gives several examples where slave masters maintained that the slave could be in relation to God only through them and, at times, displayed a God-complex in which the slave master believed himself to be all powerful over the life of the slave.63 Cut off from Africa, the Bible, and direct encounter with God, enslaved blacks were taught the message or doctrine of white slave master theology. This white slave master theology included several tenets. According to this theology, God ordained and willed slavery. In fact, slavery was in the best interests of the slave. Many Christian slave masters likely believed they were good people, good Christians who held the spiritual welfare of the slaves in high regard.64 However, this supposed interest in the welfare of the slave referred only to the soul, and not to the body. The white slave master theology followed the dominant orthodox Christian dualism that split the body (enslaved) from the soul (free). Finally, white slave master theology held that whites and blacks are inherently different.65 Here, the 61  FWP: SNP, Vol. 17, Virginia, Berry-Wilson. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https://www.loc. gov/item/mesn142/. 11–13. 62  FWP: SNP, Vol. 4, Georgia, Part 2, Garey-Jones. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https:// www.loc.gov/item/mesn142/. 16. 63  Dwight N. Hopkins, Shoes That Fit Our Feet: Sources for a Constructive Black Theology (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1994), 20–22. 64  Genovese, Roll, 189. 65  Dwight N.  Hopkins, Down, Up, and Over: Slave Religion and Black Theology (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2000), 87–94.

4  THE SPIRIT(S) IN SLAVERY: AFRICAN AMERICAN CHRISTIANITY 

113

“theory of the twice fallen[ness]” of Africans was appealed to. Like all humans, blacks fell once with Adam’s sin; in addition, in disobedience to Noah’s instructions after the flood, blacks alone fell again and, therefore, deserved servitude.66 Given all of these claims, the best ethical course for slaves, in the language of Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, was to obey their masters. In the words of ex-slave, Uncle Charlie, “Church was what they called it but all that preacher talked about was for us slaves to obey our masters and not to lie and steal. Nothin’ about Jesus, was ever said and the overseer stood there to see the preacher talked as he wanted him to talk.”67 Over many interviews with ex-slaves, one finds ways in which white slave masters restricted slaves’ access to Africa, the Bible, God, and any religion beyond the version of Christianity whites developed in order to maintain and justify slavery and oppression. Despite white people’s efforts to restrict and control black religiosity, there were always black people’s efforts to resist this white version of Christianity and develop a liberative form of black Christianity.

Black Christianity During Slavery The liberative form of black Christianity combined elements from ATRs, aspects of the Christian tradition and Bible, and experiences of slavery, which served as source as well as lens through which the other sources were viewed and criterion by which they were measured; enslaved blacks integrated beliefs and practices from these sources and created new and unique forms of religiosity. This process was not only a matter of combining various religious elements syncretistically, but also creating something new in the context of slavery in the United States. Genovese asserts, “The slaves reshaped the Christianity they had embraced; they conquered the religion of those who had conquered them.”68 Ultimately, enslaved blacks created a unique religion by drawing elements from various resources. This meant integrating African religions, the Bible, and their own experiences, all the while reinterpreting perverse forms of slave master Christianity 66  Earl, Dark Symbols, 29. For a reference to the curse of Noah’s son (grandson) as justification of servitude of blacks, see FWP: SNP, Vol. 1, Alabama, Aarons-Young. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https://www.loc.gov/item/mesn142/. Jabbo Rogers, 336. 67  FWP: SNP, Vol. 1, Alabama, Aarons-Young. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https://www. loc.gov/item/mesn142/. 398. 68  Genovese, Roll, 212.

114 

K. BUHRING

and discovering liberating possibilities within a more genuine form of Christianity. Both practices and beliefs from ATRs served as sources for black Christianity. As discussed earlier, many scholars emphasize that the primary way in which African elements are evident within African American Christianity is through practices and actions more than through beliefs. For example, Raboteau writes, “Even as the gods of Africa gave way to the God of Christianity, the African heritage of singing, dancing, spirit possession, and magic continued to influence Afro-American spirituals, ring shouts, and folk beliefs.”69 In addition, Wilmore cites W.E.B. DuBois as arguing that black religion was originally fundamentally African, with merely “a veneer of Christianity”; then “gradually, after two centuries, the Church became Christian, with a simple Calvinistic creed, but with many of the old customs still clinging to the service.”70 While Raboteau and DuBois stress black Christian practices as manifesting African elements, other scholars, including Genovese, Wilmore, and Sobel, assert that elements of African worldviews are still within black Christian beliefs as well. In his research on beliefs of enslaved black Christians, Genovese finds an “integrated,” holistic worldview where distinctions between sacred and secular and this world and the next are blurred;71 he also points to a sense of the world as a good, joyous place,72 and of humans as imperfect, but not corrupted with original sin. Wilmore contends that enslaved blacks drew from African visions of existence in asserting the vibrancy and efficacy of the world of spirits, a world in which the individual and community were embedded. He writes, “The essential ingredient of Black Christianity prior to the Civil War was the creative spirituality of the African religions. The defining characteristic of that spirituality was its spontaneous fascination with, and unselfconscious response to, the reality of the spirit world and the intersection between that world and the world of objective perception.”73 Likewise, Mechal Sobel explains, “American blacks retained the basic concept of spirit and its power, and of the soul as a participating spirit, a concept shared by most West African peoples.”74 Thus, clearly in practices but also in core beliefs, enslaved blacks retained  Raboteau, Slave, 92.  Wilmore, Black Religion, 6. 71  Genovese, Roll, 210. 72  Ibid., 212–213. 73  Wilmore, Black Religion, 36–37. 74  Sobel, Trabelin’, 41. 69 70

4  THE SPIRIT(S) IN SLAVERY: AFRICAN AMERICAN CHRISTIANITY 

115

and developed Africanisms during slavery. It was through the lens of these practices and this encompassing worldview that enslaved blacks encountered the stories of the Bible. Though usually restricted and mediated by white slave holders, some enslaved blacks were able to tap into the Bible, either reading it directly or hearing from those who could; the messages of the Bible, not the white slave holder’s interpretation of it, resonated with many enslaved blacks. Henry Mitchell shares, “In the early worship of the slaves there was almost no conscious jettisoning of major aspects of the best of former African belief and practice. Rather, there seems to have been a flow in which self-­ selected biblical concepts amounted to spontaneous translations of traditional African beliefs into Christian English. This was neither the purging of major portions of African traditional religion nor the radical conversion away from their indigenous faith.”75 In other words, it was not a matter of being drawn to a new message so much as a reinforcement and renewal of traditional ideas. Further, enslaved blacks understood the Bible differently than whites. Genovese explains, “For the blacks the Bible provides an inexhaustible store of good advice for a proper life; it does not usually provide an unchanging body of doctrine, as with white fundamentalists. Hence, biblical figures must come alive, must be present, must somehow provide a historical example for modern application.”76 Lawrence Levine adds that “a sense of sacred time operated, in which the present was extended backwards so that characters, scenes, and events from the Old and New Testaments became dramatically alive and present.”77 Encountering a God who liberates the Israelites from bondage, enslaved blacks identified with this plight and believed that God would free them too. Ex-slave Washington Allen shares, “I then told [slave masters] that God was using the Yankees to scourge the slave-holders just as He had, centuries before, used heathens and outcasts to chastise His chosen people—the Children of Israel.”78 James Cone argues that enslaved blacks had an innate sense of morality and knew that their slavery was wrong and must be rejected. From this perspective, they could take liberative 75  Henry H.  Mitchell, Black Church Beginnings: The Long-Hidden Realities of the First Years (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004), 36. 76  Genovese, Roll, 242. 77  Raboteau, Slave, 250. 78  FWP: SNP, Vol. 4, Georgia, Part 1, Adams-Furr. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https:// www.loc.gov/item/mesn142/. 13.

116 

K. BUHRING

messages in the Bible literally, while rejecting other biblical passages that supported, or were used to support, slavery.79 Cone’s point raises the additional theological resource of human experience. For some enslaved blacks, lived experience carried more weight than any other religious source. Wilmore writes, “Even though ‘churched Negroes’ respected the Bible and learned to read it before they could read anything else, among many slaves there was a contempt for ‘book religion,’ not merely because they had to depend upon oral instruction, but because they possessed great self-esteem and confidence in their own manner of believing and worshipping God. For them, ‘the Spirit within’ was superior to the Bible as a guide to religious knowledge.” Enslaved blacks had developed a healthy suspicion of the Bible as they had experienced its corrupt and oppressive use by slave masters.80 Time and again, throughout narratives and interviews with ex-slaves, one finds the appeal to lived experience as the primary religious resource through which the Bible, as well as traditional African religious ideas, would be processed. In other words, ATRs and the Bible provided rich ingredients as enslaved blacks developed a unique version of Christianity, but lived experience was the criterion by which these elements were measured and evaluated. Based on these sources of lived experience, ATRs, and the Bible, enslaved blacks crafted ideas of God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, along with the wider world of the spirits, and a host of ritual practices in which humans interact with the spirits.

God When discussing the view of God among enslaved African Americans, it is important to state that not all slaves had the same theology. There were numerous variations, as there was no systematic theological picture with which all slaves would agree. In fact, particularly given the experience of slavery, many enslaved blacks expressed atheistic views. For what sort of God would allow such atrocities to happen over hundreds of years? Further, many slaves practiced non-Christian religions. These qualifications aside, it is still possible and worthwhile to draw together the many theological fragments and consider common and widespread claims about the nature of God in the nascent Christianity of enslaved African Americans.  James H. Cone, The Spirituals and the Blues, (Maryknoll: NY: Orbis, 1992), 37–38.  Wilmore, Black Religion, 11.

79 80

4  THE SPIRIT(S) IN SLAVERY: AFRICAN AMERICAN CHRISTIANITY 

117

Thus, the portrait of God presented here should be understood in this light. Though not even all Christian black slaves would agree with every aspect of this theology, the theology would look very familiar to most enslaved blacks and resonate powerfully with many of them. Based on the sources mentioned earlier, including ATRs, a particular understanding of the Bible, and personal experience, a distinctive vision of God appears. This God is all-present, all-good, all-powerful, all-knowing, and active in human history.81 In terms of presence, God is both transcendent and immanent. God is always greater than and “above” humanity, though also ever-present to and within humanity. This is an all-good God, who is a friend and counselor,82 and “knows the needs of them that trust him.”83 God is also just; thus, this is a God who takes sides with the oppressed, the slaves, and against the oppressors, the slave masters. Former slave Jackson Whitney calls out the immorality of his “Christian” slave owner, saying that he must atone for his sins. He continues by asserting, “If God don’t punish you for inflicting such distress on the poorest of the poor, then there is no use of having any God, or talking about one.”84 Drawing on the spirituals, James Cone argues enslaved blacks sang of a God “involved in history—their history,” specifically “making right what whites had made wrong.”85 Putting together some of these theological traits, God is powerfully present and active, seeking to liberate slaves from bondage. While this God is all-powerful, a God who makes a way out of no way,86 humans have free will and the potential to contribute to the liberation of the oppressed. These theological claims are based on at least three primary sources: ATRs, the Bible, and personal experience. These sources provided enslaved blacks with theological resources and a firm ground on which to reject the theology of white slave masters and to develop their own, unique theological claims instead.87 One source from which enslaved blacks drew their theological claims was West African religions. Dwight Hopkins describes God in West African religions as transcendent and immanent, caring and kind, just and  Cone, Spirituals, 36.  Unnamed ex-slave in Clifton H. Johnson, ed, God Struck Me Dead: Voices of Ex-Slaves (Cleveland: Pilgrim Press, 1993), 157. 83  Unnamed ex-slave in Johnson, ed, God Struck, 85. 84  In Blassigame, Slave, 115. 85  Cone, Spirituals, 32. 86  Ibid., 33. 87  Wilmore, Black Religion, 14. 81 82

118 

K. BUHRING

powerful, and as siding with the powerless and the poor.88 The African pantheon of gods or subdivinities did not survive, at least not in explicit forms, particularly in Protestant contexts.89 That said, “The African principle of acquiring stronger gods did not require or even encourage the surrender of one’s own gods.”90 From this perspective, enslaved blacks did not need to surrender their African concepts of God and adopt a new, Christian one. They were able to integrate Christian theological claims into a pre-existing African worldview. Further, there are similarities between the divine in ATRs and black Christianity; for example, in each, God is seen as omnipotent, just, omnipresent, and providential. These similarities are part of what made Christianity appealing and reasonable to some blacks.91 For example, Peter Paris explains that in both ATRs and Christianity, and I would add Judaism, God is understood as “covenantal.” “That is to say, God is viewed as reciprocally related to the tribal community, sustaining and preserving the latter in return for steadfast obedience and faithful devotion.”92 Paris draws out the particular/universal aspect evident in liberation theology; that is, God is related both to the particular community, and, in this way, to all. He asserts this is an African view of God and also the slaves’ understanding of the Christian God. “God serves the well-being of the race (that is, the tribal group) in particular and of all peoples disposed towards entering into a similar covenantal relationship.”93 Related to this theological idea, Paris adds that there is a shared notion of the common good that can be realized only in community. He argues that this claim is “both commensurate with and expansive of the African traditional understanding of God.”94 In terms of divine presence, God in ATRs and black Christianity is both transcendent and immanent, as Hopkins explains. While Henry Mitchell argues for the distinction that God in ATRs is transcendent and the Christian God is immanent, considering especially the incarnation,95 this is a misreading of African theology. Though Mitchell’s claim might be true of the African High God or  Hopkins, Shoes, 16–17.  Genovese, Roll, 210–211. 90  Ibid., 212. 91  Paris, Spirituality, 41. 92  Ibid., 44. 93  Ibid., 45. 94  Ibid. 95  Henry H. Mitchell, Black Belief: Folk Beliefs of Blacks in America and West Africa (New York: Harper & Row, 1975), 140–142. 88 89

4  THE SPIRIT(S) IN SLAVERY: AFRICAN AMERICAN CHRISTIANITY 

119

Supreme Being, it certainly is not when considering the various subdivinities in ATRs. Instead, I would argue that in African theology and Christian theology, God is both transcendent and immanent. This is one of the intriguing similarities that provides ground for building a black theology of liberation that explores and further develops divine immanence.96 In the end, Mechal Sobel describes a full integration, saying, “the African High God and the Christian God became one—a God close to man, but one who still sent messengers to lead his black people home. Spirit force or power was still recognized, but it was exerted by God, Christ, and the Holy Ghost, as well as by holy men.”97 As mentioned earlier, though specific African subdivinities formally faded away in the American context, theological similarities between the African High God and these subdivinities and the Christian God, in its Trinitarian form, remained.98 In addition to ATRs, enslaved blacks drew their theology from the Bible. Though first introduced and mediated by white slave masters, the Bible was read through a liberative lens by many enslaved blacks. Hopkins describes how many blacks knew that the oppressive biblical message claimed by slave masters was wrong. Over time, many slaves learned to read and encountered the message of the Bible directly. Ex-slave Douglas Dorsey explained that the white minister would preach the language of “slaves obey your masters” and encouraged the slaves “to honor their masters and mistresses, and to have no other God but them, as we cannot see the other God, but you can see your master and mistress.” But, Dorsey adds, “After the services the driver’s wife who could read and write a little would tell [the slaves] that what the minister said ‘was all lies’.”99 Instead of the white, oppressive theology, throughout the Hebrew Bible, especially the stories of the Exodus and the Hebrew prophets, and the New Testament, enslaved blacks found a God who was just and liberating, who punished the wicked, and who brings salvation and freedom, now.100 As described in the previous section, for many enslaved blacks, the stories of the Bible came alive as if they were contemporaneous with their own experiences. For example, many slaves pointed the Union victory in the Civil  This idea will be taken up in subsequent chapters, especially Chap. 8.  Sobel, Trabelin’, 148. 98  Parallels between African theology and Christian notions of Jesus and the Holy Spirit will be examined in the next section of this chapter. 99  FWP: SNP, Vol. 3, Florida, Anderson-Wilson. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https://www. loc.gov/item/mesn142/. 97–98. 100  Wilmore, Black Religion, 51–52. 96 97

120 

K. BUHRING

War as proof of God’s active and powerful involvement in history on their behalf.101 This idea raises the third primary source for theology of enslaved blacks, personal experience. Personal experience was the criterion by which all theological claims would be measured in the theology of the slaves. Anyone could make arguments about the nature of God based in ATRs or the Bible, but these arguments were warrantless if they were not consistent with one’s personal experience and sense of the divine. For many slaves, especially those who were illiterate, God’s presence and activity were experienced directly. Raboteau writes, “Some slaves believed that God revealed his word to them directly, in their hearts.”102 An unnamed slave explains, “The Lord has shown me many visions, and I know he lives true because he not only lives in my soul,…but he lives about me every day, and since I can’t read he directs my path.”103 Enslaved blacks experienced God directly and personally as present, good, and powerful. In terms of presence, God was experienced as a spirit or force who was intimately and powerfully immanent. For example, ex-slave W.L.  Bost refers to “somethin’ inside” that told him God willed a better future.104 Another ex-slave relates that they heard the voice of God, which says, “I am a spirit and am to be worshipped in spirit and truth.”105 Fascinatingly, an interviewer describes Harriet Tubman’s meditations during trips to escort escaping slaves to the North: “When going on these journeys she often lay alone in the forests all night. Her whole soul was filled with awe of the mysterious Unseen Presence, which thrilled her with such depths of emotion, that all other care and fear vanished. Then she seemed to speak with her Maker ‘as a man talketh with his friend;’ her child-like petitions had direct answers, and beautiful visions lifted her up above all doubt and anxiety into serene trust and faith.”106 In her description of the execution of John Brown, Tubman herself goes further, describing God’s presence within Brown: “it wasn’t John Brown that died on that gallows. When I think how he gave up his life for our people, and how he never flinched, but was so brave to

 Hopkins, Shoes, 24–27.  Raboteau, Slave, 242. 103  Unnamed ex-slave in Johnson, ed, God Struck, 127–128. 104  FWP: SNP, Vol. 11, North Carolina, Part 1, Adams-Hunter. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https://www.loc.gov/item/mesn142/. 143. 105  Unnamed ex-slave in Johnson, ed, God Struck, 114. 106  In Blassigame, Slave, 461. 101 102

4  THE SPIRIT(S) IN SLAVERY: AFRICAN AMERICAN CHRISTIANITY 

121

the end; its clar to me it wasn’t mortal man, it was God in him.”107 Other ex-slaves describe humans as conduits for divine presence and activity. Identifying himself as a prophet, Mose Hursey says, “I become a great prophet by fastin’ and pravin’. … I know Gawd is feedin’ the people through me. I see him in visions and he speaks to me.”108 Some ex-slaves also explain that God works through them109 and others, including figures such as Abraham Lincoln.110 While sometimes the presence of God is spontaneous and uninvited or unexpected, other ex-slaves understand that their actions could evoke and elicit divine presence and response. One ex-­ slave explains, “Who is God? God is a spirit and seeks only those to worship him who will worship in spirit and truth.”111 Notice the claim that God seeks those who seek God first. Another ex-slave, Susan Rhodes, relates, “We used to steal off to de woods and have church, like de spirit moved us, sing and pray to our own liking and soul satisfaction and we sure did have good meetings, honey. Baptize in de river like God said. We had dem spirit filled meetins at night on de bank of de river and God met us dere.”112 While God is omnipresent, these accounts explain that human efforts can further evoke fuller divine presence. The presence and activity of God were experienced by slaves as divine power and goodness. In the words of one unnamed ex-slave, “I can feel [God’s] power and goodness in everything.”113 Divine goodness meant that God cared for the oppressed, did not will their oppression, and would act to free them, not only in an afterlife, but in the here and now. Another unnamed ex-slave says, “We must see, feel, and hear something, for our God talks to his children. … The love of God is beyond understanding. It makes you love everybody.”114 These claims of divine love and the human love it should inspire did not mean that God loved all equally. This was a  Ibid., 463.  FWP: SNP, Vol. 16, Texas, Part 2, Easter-King. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https:// www.loc.gov/item/mesn142/. 171. 109  FWP: SNP, Vol. 16, Texas, Part 3, Lewis-Ryles. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https://www. loc.gov/item/mesn142/. Laura Redmoun, 229–230. 110  FWP: SNP, Vol. 13, Oklahoma, Adams-Young. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https://www. loc.gov/item/mesn142/. Easter Wells, 321. 111  Unnamed ex-slave in Johnson, ed, God Struck, 13. 112  FWP: SNP, Vol. 10, Missouri, Abbot-Younger. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https://www. loc.gov/item/mesn142/. 288–289. 113  Unnamed ex-slave in Clifton H. Johnson, ed, God Struck Me Dead: Voices of Ex-Slaves (Cleveland: Pilgrim Press, 1993), 86. 114  Unnamed ex-slave in Johnson, ed, God Struck, 115. 107 108

122 

K. BUHRING

God who sided with the oppressed, and against oppressors. In other words, divine love did not mean weak acceptance of the oppressive status quo of slavery. Many ex-slaves talk about the justice God would mete out on slave holders. For example, Minnie Fulkes asserts, “God’s gwine ’rod dem wicket marsters. Ef hit ‘taint ’em whut gits hit, hits gonna fall on deir chillun.”115 God’s love would be manifested by liberating the oppressed and justly punishing the wicked. Such claims of divine goodness and power raise the issue of theodicy. There is a tension within the theology of enslaved blacks regarding why an all-good, all-powerful God would allow slavery and racism to exist at all. James Cone acknowledges that some enslaved blacks wondered why they suffered in slavery if God were all-good and all-powerful liberator, including some who were in “open rebellion against God.” Nevertheless, he argues that for most blacks, such an abstract and philosophical question was not one really asked. It was not an issue evident in spirituals or in other expressions. According to Cone, enslaved blacks did not blame God for slavery typically. He writes, “The certain fact is always that God is present with them and trouble will not have the last word. Penultimately, white masters may torture and kill slaves capriciously, and the world seem only chaos and absurdity. But ultimately God is in control and black slaves believed that they had encountered the infinite significance of God’s liberation.”116 Raboteau agrees with Cone, saying, “The slaves…found meaning in their religion. The meaning was not so much an answer to the problem of suffering as the acceptance of the sorrow and the joy inherent in the human condition and an affirmation that life itself was valuable.”117 Likewise, Peter Paris explains that the evil of slavery was interpreted by some slaves as being based on the moral wrongdoing of slave masters but not God, while others even blamed the slaves themselves.118 Some enslaved blacks pointed to the end of slavery as proof of God’s liberating activity.119 Many other enslaved blacks took an otherworldly approach in which the present suffering could be mitigated by the promise of an afterlife filled with freedom and justice. Despite the apparent majority of enslaved blacks for whom theodicy did not pose a serious challenge, there certainly were 115  FWP: SNP, Vol. 17, Virginia, Berry-Wilson. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https://www. loc.gov/item/mesn142/. Easter Wells, 11. 116  Cone, Spirituals, 65–67. 117  Raboteau, Slave Religion, 258. 118  Paris, Spirituality, 46. 119  Cone, Spirituals, 42.

4  THE SPIRIT(S) IN SLAVERY: AFRICAN AMERICAN CHRISTIANITY 

123

many enslaved blacks who challenged and questioned God’s justice, power, and existence in light of their experience of slavery. For example, David Emmanuel Goatley explores themes of what he calls Godforsakenness in spirituals. He draws out examples of expressions of hopelessness and bleakness.120 In addition, Anthony Pinn has written extensively on atheistic, agnostic, and humanistic critiques of Christianity by African Americans, including during the period of slavery.121 Again, the experiences and theological claims of enslaved blacks were not uniform, monolithic, or systematic; nevertheless, certain core claims common to many Christian enslaved blacks can be identified. For many black Christians during slavery, God was present and active in their lives. God suffered and sided with the slaves. As a manifestation of divine goodness, justice, and power, God was experienced as a loving and liberating force. This force was conceptualized as God the Father, as well as Jesus and the Holy Spirit.

The Spirit(s) While there are parallels and similarities between ideas of the divine, including subdivinities, in ATRs and Christian views of God, including the Holy Spirit and Jesus, significant shifts are evident as belief in the spirits changes during slavery. In both ATRs and in black Christianity during slavery, spirits are present, active, and sometimes efficacious. Humans interact with the spirits and are affected by them. Will Coleman concludes that slave narratives and interviews with former slaves show a range of views on spirits: “The Spectrum of beliefs ranges from denial to ambivalence to affirmation of the significance of spirits in the lives of slaves.”122 In these sources, spirits are often powerful forces or energies; they take an 120  David Emmanuel Goatley, “Godforsakenness in African American Spirituals,” in Cut Loose Your Stammering Tongue: Black Theology in the Slave Narrative, 2nd ed, edited by Dwight N. Hopkins and George C. L. Cummings (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2003), 132, 140, 145–146. 121  See for example Anthony B. Pinn, The End of God-Talk: An African American Humanist Theology (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012). 122  Will Coleman, “‘Coming through ‘Ligion’: Metaphor in Non-Christian and Christian Experiences with the Spirit(s) in African American Slave Narratives.” In Cut Loose Your Stammering Tongue: Black Theology in the Slave Narrative, 2nd ed., edited by Dwight N.  Hopkins and George C.  L. Cummings (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2003), 55.

124 

K. BUHRING

interest in things of this world and are sometimes family members and sometimes strangers; in many stories, the spirits are positive forces associated with conversion or healing, in other accounts they act as negative, unhappy, or malevolent entities, and in still others, they tend more toward neutrality and simply convey signs or omens.123 Spirits may be experienced or felt while awake or in dreams and by anyone, though it was thought that one born with a veil or caul had a special ability to experience the spiritual world.124 While belief in spirits is common among slaves, over time the more nuanced and complex African notion of spirits develops in four directions. First, though not great in number, some African Americans maintain African-based views of spirits; one example of this is the belief in simbi, or nature spirits, in the South Carolina Lowcountry. Second, many enslaved blacks experience recently departed family and friends as spirits. These spirits are not understood as gods, but positive or neutral figures who do not have a great deal of power or influence in the lives of the living. Third, other enslaved blacks describe spirits negatively, as figures to be feared and avoided. Commonly, these are referred to as ghosts and are understood as strangers who lived long ago. Finally, some enslaved blacks integrate the spirits into more orthodox Christian notions of the divine. In short, the spirits became the Spirit of the Christian God, experienced as both the Holy Spirit and Jesus. Regarding the first way views of the spirits developed, though relatively rare, some blacks had less direct interaction with and oversight by white forces and maintained beliefs in spirits that were very much based in African worldviews.125 For example, Ras Michael Brown has written about the prevalence of belief in simbi, or nature spirits, in the South Carolina Lowcountry. He argues that the simbi are based on the simbi evident in traditional religion in Kongo.126 Brown writes, “The simbi served as guardians of the natural environment and of people who lived in their domains and functioned as the chief intermediaries between the physical ‘land of the living’ and the spiritual ‘land of the dead.’”127 He continues,  Ibid., 49–54.  FWP: SNP, Vol. 3, Florida, Anderson-Wilson. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https://www. loc.gov/item/mesn142/. Josephine Anderson, 4. 125  Though not prevalent, such an example gives a sense of what integrating, or reintegrating, African theological ideas into contemporary black theology might look like. 126  Brown, African-Atlantic, 179. 127  Ibid., 2. 123 124

4  THE SPIRIT(S) IN SLAVERY: AFRICAN AMERICAN CHRISTIANITY 

125

“In fortifying the bonds between people and the land in both its physical and spiritual aspects, the simbi played an essential role in the formation and maintenance of communities of the living.”128 The simbi could be encountered in dreams or near sacred places in the wilderness or bodies of water. In this view, the physical, natural land has sacred dimensions and the wilderness was seen positively, as a place both natural and supernatural and a space away from slavery.129 Spirits who controlled natural forces, especially water,130 the simbi acted benevolently toward those people who respected them and harmfully toward those who disrespected them or those under their authority and care.131 A second type of spirits described by ex-slaves include recently departed family and friends; these entities are often understood as either stuck in limbo or as benevolently staying “attached” to the land of the living to act as a guide. Illustrating an example of the first sort, ex-slave Caroline Holland describes seeing the ghost of someone named Jade, whose presence is only temporary. She explains that Jade will move on to heaven after God finishes punishing him for stealing money. Holland defines ghosts as “peoples dat can’t quite git in heaben, an’ dey hadda stroll ‘roun’ little longer on de outside repentin.’”132 Discussing an example of this second sort of spirit, former slave Carrie Fryer explains that the spirit of her dead husband serves as a reassuring presence when she gets worried. One night, his spirit related that he would help her, as would God. Despite this assurance, Fryer wonders how her husband’s spirit can help her since he’s dead.133 So, while there is a sense of the existence of the spirits of ancestors among blacks during slavery, there are significant differences with traditional African views. In America, the manifestation of the spirit is considered temporary. It is also not necessarily interpreted positively or as efficacious, as the spirit of the deceased may be “trapped” or essentially ineffective in its interactions with the living. In addition to viewing spirits positively or neutrally, other enslaved blacks came to understand spirits in a third way, as scary forces that should  Ibid., 2–3.  Ibid., 168–169. 130  Ibid., 3. 131  Ibid., 201. 132  FWP: SNP, Vol. 1, Alabama, Aarons-Young. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https://www. loc.gov/item/mesn142/. 186. 133  FWP: SNP, Vol. 4, Georgia, Part 1, Adams-Furr. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https:// www.loc.gov/item/mesn142/. 342. 128 129

126 

K. BUHRING

be feared or at least avoided. While some ex-slaves use terms interchangeably, others make a distinction between spirits and ghosts, hants, or witches.134 While spirits are recently departed figures of familiar people, ghosts “tend to be associated with the haunting presence of those who died a long time ago and usually are strangers.”135 Like practitioners in Africa and the Caribbean, some ex-slaves witness to being “ridden” by spirits, though they do not describe the experience in terms of possession. To prove their claim, they explain they are exhausted the morning after the encounter. And, unlike in Africa and other parts of the diaspora, being ridden is not understood as fortuitous or revelatory, but troublesome and tortuous. Once again, these spirits or ghosts are not identified as divine in any way either. Interestingly, one ex-slave explains that white slave holders employed these negative superstitions to oppress slaves further. His interviewer relates that Rev. Edmunds “is convinced that the superstitions of the colored people and their belief in ghosts and goblins is due to the fact that their emotions were worked upon by slave drivers to keep them in subjugation. Oftentimes white people dressed as ghosts, frightened the colored people into doing many things under protest. The ‘ghosts’ were feared far more than the slave-drivers.”136 Possibly for similar reasons, the aforementioned simbi came to be “associate[ed]…with enslavement;”137 though still respected, the simbi came to be feared and thought to be bad luck.138 As enslaved blacks increasingly came to understand spirits or ghosts superstitiously and negatively, they simultaneously were encouraged by white and black Christians to understand spirits in a fourth way, integrating positive aspects of the spiritual world into a Christian framework.139 In other words, one may still find a non-Christian belief in ghosts or spirits, but many black Americans shifted to a Christian belief in spirits and the 134  FWP: SNP, Vol. 1, Alabama, Aarons-Young. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https://www. loc.gov/item/mesn142/. Sylvia Witherspoon, 430–431. FWP: SNP, Vol. 3, Florida, Anderson-Wilson. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https://www.loc.gov/item/mesn142/. Josephine Anderson, 8. 135  Coleman, “‘Coming,’” 54. 136  FWP: SNP, Vol. 5, Indiana, Arnold-Woodson. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https://www. loc.gov/item/mesn142/. 65. 137  Brown, African-Atlantic, 127. 138  Ibid., 175. For this reason, Brown points out the difficulty in researching simbi even today. See 179. 139  FWP: SNP, Vol. 16, Texas, Part 3, Lewis-Ryles. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https://www. loc.gov/item/mesn142/. 268.

4  THE SPIRIT(S) IN SLAVERY: AFRICAN AMERICAN CHRISTIANITY 

127

Spirit.140 For example, ex-slave Charles Hayes affirms his belief in spirits, but contextualizes it within a Christian framework. He explains, “When Christ walked on de water, de Apostles was skeered he was a spirit, but Jesus told dem dat he warn’t no spirit, dat he was as ‘live as dey was… He tol’ ‘em dat spirits couldn’t be teched, dat dey jus’ melted when you tried to. So, Mistis, Jesus musta meant dat dere was sich a thing as spirits.”141 Likewise, another ex-slave, Anna Baker, describes that she was baptized and the Holy Spirit came into her heart. She goes on to say, “I belleves in de Sperrit. I believes all o’ us when us dies is sperrits. Us jus’ hovers ’roun’ in de sky a-ridin’ on de clouds. Course, some folks is born wid a cloud over dey faces. Dey can see things dat I’s can’t. I reckon dey sees de sperrits.”142 Thus, the African belief in spirits is integrated into a Christian notion of spirits and the Holy Spirit and Jesus.143 Many scholars describe the shift from African to Christian theology as rather smooth and natural. For example, Mechal Sobel writes, “The Holy Ghost as spirit incarnate was certainly understandable to Africans. The power of spirit to be in anything or to be, by itself, was fully accepted.”144 In addition, she argues that “The Holy Ghost and the Sonship of Jesus can be viewed as a reduction of African ideas rather than as new concepts.”145 Goatley also points out the relatively easy transition from belief in a High God and multiple subdivinities and the Christian Trinity.146 Though I believe him to be guilty of Christian bias and oversimplification, Henry Mitchell helpfully adds that “the three-in-one trinity of the Godhead was easy to envision, since this sort of fluidity among aspects of the deity was also common in Africa.”147 Finally, Joseph Murphy also highlights 140  FWP: SNP, Vol. 14, South Carolina, Part 3, Jackson-Quattlebaum. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https://www.loc.gov/item/mesn142/. Amy Perry, 254–255. 141  FWP: SNP, Vol. 1, Alabama, Aarons-Young. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https://www. loc.gov/item/mesn142/. 175. 142  FWP: SNP, Vol. 9, Mississippi, Allen-Young. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https://www. loc.gov/item/mesn142/. 15. 143  Interestingly, views of the devil among African Americans during slavery also show evidence of both African and Christian perspectives. While there are descriptions of the devil and demons as evil and in opposition to God, other people indicate an understanding of the devil as something closer to an African trickster god, like Legba. See Genovese, Roll, 218–219 and Coleman, Tribal, 111. 144  Sobel, Trabelin’, 123. 145  Ibid. 146  Goatley, “Godforsakenness,” 154–155. 147  Mitchell, Black Church, 37.

128 

K. BUHRING

s­ imilarities between African and Christian Trinitarian theological conceptions in terms of the relational multiplicity understood within the ontologically one God.148 Though some scholars portray the move from spirits to the Holy Spirit as fairly clear-cut, Will Coleman argues for a more complex and nuanced sense of the spirits and the Spirit. Consider for example one ex-slave, Patsy Mitchner, who clarifies that she has never seen a ghost, though “our spirits is always wonderin’ aroun’ eben before we dies. Spirits is wonderin’ eberywhere an’ you has to look out for ‘em.”149 She also later says that God has taken off a spell from someone she knows and asserts that everything is in the hands of God. Thus, in one brief account, Mitchner implies belief in the existence of ghosts (though she herself has not seen one), and affirms the efficacy of conjure spells, the existence of spirits, and the power of the Christian God. Coleman asserts that scholars of religion, implicitly especially Christian scholars, often tend to fold spirits into the Holy Spirit far too easily, or view them as “either angelic or demonic forces, as something to be demythologized, or as psychotic eruptions.”150 Nevertheless, increasingly over time, for some slaves there is clear, outright conflict between “non-Christian beliefs regarding the spirits and orthodox Christianity,” as even Coleman allows.151 With conversion to Christianity, blacks often came to view the notion of ghosts, spirits, or conjure as superstitious and heathen.152 Once Christian, many slaves distanced themselves from African theology and came to embrace a Christian Trinitarian view of God. Central to this view of God was both Jesus and the Holy Spirit. After the following section details understandings of Jesus, the subsequent portion will examine human interaction with the Spirit(s). There we will attend to conversion experiences and ritual communal practices such as ring shouts, which will be used to explore claims about the nature, presence, and activity of the Spirit further.

 Murphy, Working, 181.  FWP: SNP, Vol. 11, North Carolina, Part 2, Jackson-Yellerday. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https://www.loc.gov/item/mesn142/. 121. 150  Coleman, “‘Coming,’” 49. 151  Ibid., 56–57. 152  FWP: SNP, Vol. 5, Indiana, Arnold-Woodson. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https://www. loc.gov/item/mesn142/. Amy Elizabeth Patterson, 151. 148

149

4  THE SPIRIT(S) IN SLAVERY: AFRICAN AMERICAN CHRISTIANITY 

129

Jesus The perspectives of Jesus among enslaved blacks display a nuanced and balanced duality. Though generally not understood as a “spirit,” Jesus bears often a closer resemblance to the subdivinities of Africa and the diaspora than do black concepts of the Father and the Holy Spirit. In particular, while enslaved blacks assert the divinity, power, and transcendence of Jesus, they simultaneously maintain belief in his humanity, vulnerability, and immanence. In important ways, slaves’ views of the relationship between Jesus and God the Father parallel African understandings of the dynamic between subdivinities and the High God. Despite the multiplicity of gods, ATRs are monotheistic at their heart. Most Africans believe that there is one God. Likewise, James Cone explains, in the spirituals, “statements about God are not theologically distinct from statements about Jesus Christ.”153 There is a strong sense of monotheism. Nevertheless, just as in ATRs and Afro-Caribbean religions, God is encountered most directly and personally through the “subdivinity.” Cone adds, “When black slaves encountered [Jesus’] presence, they also met the Father who sent the Son to give his people liberty.”154 Jesus provides a concrete, tangible, literally human face to the human relationship with God. Enslaved black perspectives of Jesus are influenced strongly by the Bible, Africa, and personal experience, and typically some integration of two or three of these sources. As discussed earlier, the Exodus story of a liberating God was central to the theology of enslaved blacks. This narrative also informed their concepts of Jesus. Genovese writes, “The slaves did not draw a sharp line between [Moses and Jesus] but merged them into the image of a single deliverer, at once this-worldly and otherworldly.”155 Hopkins adds that some enslaved blacks understood, or placed, Jesus during the time of Moses, closely linking a liberation motif in both the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament.156 Mitchell explains that the developing view of Jesus among enslaved blacks was informed and influenced by an African worldview. In fact, he argues that Jesus filled the void of the “lost” ancestors and subdivinities by providing a vision of an immanent,  Cone, Spirituals, 43.  Ibid., 44. 155  Genovese, Roll, 252. 156  Hopkins, Shoes, 28. 153 154

130 

K. BUHRING

personal, and mystical God.157 While this is a God who is both oppressed and suffering, this God remains fully divine; hence, there is a duality at the heart of African American Christology. In terms of his nature, activity, and presence, Jesus integrates and balances seemingly oppositional characteristics in the Christology of enslaved blacks. Interestingly, even in accounts of visions and conversions given by former slaves, Jesus is frequently described as having hair parted directly down the middle.158 Not to get carried away with this minor detail, but it seems to reveal a subconscious sense of the duality of Jesus’ character. More importantly, the labels enslaved blacks attribute to Jesus can be divided along more “divine” and “human” traits. On one side, Jesus is conceived of in ways that emphasize his divinity. He is called king, priest,159 “Doctor Jesus,”160 miracle worker,161 pilot, and “soul sweetener.” He is a powerful, and empowering, savior and liberator.162 On the other side, Jesus is also understood in very human and relational ways. He is oppressed and sides with the oppressed. He suffers, and co-suffers with others. He is a sacrificial figure, “converter in conversion,” and mother.163 Very often Jesus is a present, intimate friend.164 Goatley writes, “Christian slaves possessed a particular concept of Jesus as a friend, and they understood themselves as enjoying a close and open friendship with Jesus. The friendship was so intimate, slaves even felt comfortable in making demands of their friend Jesus.”165 In short, Goatley describes that Jesus knows troubles and overcomes them. This human–divine duality (fully human, fully divine) is evident in enslaved blacks’ sense of Jesus’ identity, activity, and presence. Of the Jesus expressed in spirituals, Cone writes, “the meaning of Jesus’ birth, life, death, and resurrection is found in his identity with the poor, the blind, and the sick. He has come to set them free, to restore their wholeness. He is the conquering King and the crucified Lord who has come to bring

 Mitchell, Black Church, 43.  For examples, Unnamed ex-slave in Johnson, ed, God Struck, 168. 159  Hopkins, Shoes, 30. 160  Unnamed ex-slave in Johnson, ed, God Struck, 98. 161  Cone, Spirituals, 46. 162  Hopkins, Down, Chapter 5. 163  Hopkins, Shoes, 31–33. 164  Raboteau, Slave, 259–260. 165  Goatley, “Godforsakenness,” 142. 157 158

4  THE SPIRIT(S) IN SLAVERY: AFRICAN AMERICAN CHRISTIANITY 

131

peace and justice to the dispossessed of the land.”166 This humanity–divinity duality is also shown in understandings of the presence of Jesus. Coleman shares, “In a sense, African American Christians ascribed to a belief in the immanent transcendence of God. That is, God was with them, through Jesus, as their Savior in the midst of multidimensional experiences of oppression. At the same time, God resides beyond the hardships of slavery as the waymaker for a better future.”167 The most radical way that Jesus is present as human is the crucifixion, while the most powerful way that Jesus transcends as God is the resurrection and its meaning for humanity, especially the oppressed. Cone writes, “through the crucifixion, Jesus makes an unqualified identification with the poor and the helpless and takes their pain upon himself.…If Jesus was not alone in his suffering, black slaves were not alone in their oppression under slavery. Jesus was with them!”168 Goatley also points out that slaves relate to Jesus on the cross;169 in fact, he claims there is often little mention of the resurrection in spirituals.170 In spite of the underdevelopment of the resurrection in spirituals, Cone argues that Jesus’ resurrection “means that the cross was not the end of God’s drama of salvation.”171 Cone emphasizes a balanced view of the present and future that parallels the sense of Jesus’ immanence and transcendence as well as his humanity and divinity. Jesus is with the oppressed in both the present, co-suffering and liberating them in the here and now, and in the future when he returns.172 This gives confidence, hope, and joy even in the midst of suffering and slavery. Liberation “is already at hand in Jesus’ own person and work, and it will be fully consummated in God’s own ordained future.”173 For many enslaved blacks, Jesus was the most direct and significant personification of God in their lives. He acted as both empathetic co-suffer and as powerful redeemer and liberator.

 Cone, Spirituals, 44–45.  Will Coleman, Tribal Talk: Black Theology, Hermeneutics, and African/American Ways of “Telling the Story” University Park, PA: Penn State University, 2000), 51. 168  Cone, Spirituals, 49. 169  Goatley, “Godforsakenness,” 151. 170  Ibid., 153. 171  Cone, Spirituals, 49–50. 172  Ibid., 50–51. 173  Ibid., 52. 166 167

132 

K. BUHRING

Interaction with the Spirit(s)174 While enslaved blacks frequently experienced God as Jesus, many also witnessed powerful, personal interactions with the Spirit in their religious beliefs and practices, such as conversion, communal services, ring shouts, and possession. Especially in visions and in conversion experiences, slaves discussed both Jesus and the Spirit as playing central roles, and frequently it seems they blurred the distinction between the two in their theologies. In the Christianity of enslaved African Americans, humans and God interact in many ways. In some ways, especially conversion experiences, God is often described as the primary agent. God acts on people, virtually overwhelming free will. In other ways, particularly ring shouts, humans elicit or evoke greater divine presence or action and serve as the drivers of the interaction. After an exploration of the theology of conversion experiences, we will examine understandings of spirit–human interaction in communal ritual practices, including ring shouts and possession experiences. Though Paul Rudin reasonably asserts that there is not much explicit, developed theology in conversion stories,175 there are in fact some theological claims, both overt and implied. In conversion, also referred to as the “coming of the Spirit” or “getting religion,”176 enslaved blacks ­typically 174  In addition to  various forms of  Christian interaction between humans and  spirits, among enslaved blacks there were also a  variety of  practices that may be  referred to  with  the  general term conjure. Conjure, sometimes called hoodoo, was  less a  religion and  more a  set of  varied beliefs and  practices that fell outside the  bounds of  Christianity, voodoo, or purely medical practices, though it is related to each of these to a certain extent. Conjure, hoodoo, magic, or witchcraft existed during and  even after slavery, well into the twentieth century and well beyond Louisiana and South Carolina; it also coexisted simultaneously with Christianity (Genovese, Roll, 215). Throughout the WPA interviews with ex-­ slaves, there is a very common belief in conjure, superstition, “root work,” “hants,” ghosts, and  witches; though this can also be  called hoodoo, the  ex-slaves themselves do not use the term often. When conjure comes up, it is often in terms of magic or “alternative medicine” rather than religiously based ideas. Nevertheless, conjure tapped into a  pervasive assumption that spirits existed and could be used. Based in African worldviews and practices, conjure provided a practical alternative or supplement to Christianity, which was sometimes seen as other-worldly. 175  In Johnson, God Struck, ix. 176  George C.  L. Cummings, “The Slave Narratives as a Source of Black Theological Discourse: The Spirit and Eschatology,” in Cut Loose Your Stammering Tongue: Black Theology in the Slave Narrative, 2nd ed., edited by Dwight N. Hopkins and George C. L. Cummings (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2003), 34.

4  THE SPIRIT(S) IN SLAVERY: AFRICAN AMERICAN CHRISTIANITY 

133

encounter God as a voice, vision, or feeling. In the experience, the person moves from sin and death to redemption and life. Most commonly, God is the main actor in the conversion experience. However, humans may contribute to the process in varying degrees; this is especially evident in regions with greater African influences. Typically, conversion is a matter of a powerful sensory experience rather than an intellectual assent to theological claims; the individuals feel, hear, and see “God’s act of deliverance.”177 Coleman writes, “The spirits and the Spirit are experienced as they activate the senses of the recipient. Accordingly, they are not simply conceptualizations to be rationally understood. On the contrary, they are perceived and responded to as living phenomenon.”178 During their conversion experience, many ex-slaves describe feeling abnormal, especially sick. Furthermore, many of the converted hear a voice, usually attributed to God. An unnamed slave explains, “The soul is the medium between God and man. God speaks to us through our conscience, and the reasoning is so loud that we seem to hear a voice.”179 While some hear a voice, others may have a vision including one or more figures. In their accounts of these experiences, enslaved blacks see God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, or the entire Trinity, or angels. Given the teachings of white slave holders, it is not surprising that these figures are virtually always white.180 God is usually a white man, sometimes imaged as wearing armor or sitting in an armchair. Notably, in almost all black visions, “a little white man” acts as guide to heaven, Jesus, or God; interestingly, this little man does not appear in white conversion accounts.181 In addition to these sensory experiences, enslaved blacks describe an ontological transformation, including a trajectory where God leads the person from sin to redemption and from death to life or rebirth. Unnamed slaves witness that the “power of God struck me,”182 or that “God struck me dead.”183 Riggins Earl explains, “Slaves likened their experience of this rite of passage to having been ‘struck dead…’ killed dead by God and made alive.’ This death experience, ironically, was characterized as both a  Cummings, “Slave Narratives,” 41.  Coleman, “‘Coming,’” 60–61. 179  Unnamed ex-slave in Johnson, God Struck, 14. 180  Mechal Sobel points out that in West Africa, white symbolizes goodness and purity. Sobel, Trabelin’, 115. 181  Sobel, Trabelin’, 113. 182  Unnamed ex-slave in Johnson, God Struck, 45. 183  Unnamed ex-slave in Johnson, God Struck, 59. 177 178

134 

K. BUHRING

life-­taking and life-giving phenomenon.”184 Conversion involves the sense of two persons, one before the event and one after. After conversion, one is “a new man,” who still sometimes experienced “new vision travels.”185 Raboteau describes a typical three-part structure: “first a feeling of sinfulness, then a vision of damnation, and finally an experience of acceptance by God and being reborn or made new.”186 Before conversion, one is sinful, defeated, and damned. Once God has acted on them though, they are redeemed, reborn, and have their sins wiped away by either God or Jesus.187 The transformation of conversion involves a displacement of sorts; the Spirit takes over. Murphy notes, “African-Americans of the antebellum period recognized the conversion from living as a sinner to becoming a saint with the extraordinary experience of ‘coming through,’ manifesting the spirit through one’s body while consciousness was absent.”188 Thus, conversion was not often understood as a willful, rational choice on the part of the person. In many typical conversion accounts, the theology evident is fairly traditionally Protestant. God is all-good and all-powerful. God saves the sinful human from damnation, and the person contributes little, if anything, to his or her redemption, though conversion includes the imperative to live morally.189 In such cases, God acts on the person, who does not initiate or prompt the experience. Though most conversion accounts stress the primacy of divine action, human effort is implicitly significant in other accounts as well. For example, in church after God tells her the Holy Ghost is over her, one ex-slave, Nancy Gardner, obeys God’s vocal command to be baptized. During her baptism, Gardner again hears God’s voice telling her to stay on the straight path and that God will be with her always.190 While it does not seem as if her conversion would have happened without God’s involvement, Gardner does contribute in the sense that she was already in a church, “gave herself up” to God in her baptism, and maintained a moral life. After the experience of conversion, many enslaved blacks understood themselves as new  Earl, Dark Symbols, 58.  Sobel, Trabelin’, 120. 186  Raboteau, Slave, 268. 187  Unnamed ex-slaves in Johnson, God Struck, 15–17, 19–23, 45, 59, 63, 68–74 91–93, 99–101, 109, 140–147, 148 and 150. 188  Murphy, Working, 171. 189  Raboteau, Slave, 269–270. 190  FWP: SNP, Vol. 13, Oklahoma, Adams-Young. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https://www. loc.gov/item/mesn142/. 109. 184 185

4  THE SPIRIT(S) IN SLAVERY: AFRICAN AMERICAN CHRISTIANITY 

135

people who were empowered and called to better this world. Earl writes, “The ethical imperative demanded that the convert be an example of the new being [and]…required that the converted become an active partner with God.”191 While I am not convinced that Gardner would envision herself as a “partner” with God, Earl does highlight the notion of human contributions post-conversion. In addition, while Gardner’s is only one account, it is representative of prevalent views of God’s presence. The theology of divine presence is rather ambiguous. God is powerful and transcendent, “over” her; God is also present always, but more clearly so after conversion, and powerfully, intimately so in the persons of Jesus and the Holy Spirit.192 While conversion involved an initial recognition of one’s self as sinner, it also affirmed one’s worth, especially post-conversion, as a child of God, one deserving of the constant, reassuring presence of God.193 However, Jawanza Eric Clark asserts, this worth was based on denial of one’s self-worth pre-conversion. In his work, Clark argues that typical understandings of conversion, or Christianization, depended on the doctrine of original sin, which was particularly harmful for African Americans. He writes, “while I cannot deny the spiritual transformation that no doubt occurred among converted slaves, I argue that this transformation was a double-edged sword. For the enslaved African, conversion was humanizing and transforming, in one sense, yet also ultimately denigrating, in another sense, because it resulted in alienation from his indigenous religious roots and also led her to accept her low status within the American racial hierarchy since American Christian discourse was insolubly related to discursive racial rhetoric.”194 In short, conversion meant accepting and internalizing the claim that blacks were inferior to whites. Clark explains that the conversion experience was understood as converting from heathen sinner (African/black) to Christian (white). Further, one could be “saved” only through the exclusive means of Jesus. In Clark’s words, “The conversion experience required a complete turning away from the old (depraved human condition) and a total, exclusive acceptance of the new (Christ as the one and only savior).”195 The old sinful self, meaning the  Earl, Dark Symbols, 65, 67.  Sobel, Trabelin’, 119. 193  Cummings, “Slave Narratives,” 35. 194  Clark, Indigenous, 30. 195  Ibid., 25. 191 192

136 

K. BUHRING

African self, had to die in order for the new self, meaning the Christian/ white self, to live and thrive. Such an acceptance of original sin and the soteriological exclusivity of Jesus meant the person as African, and African religion as a whole, was worthless. Clark provocatively maintains, when enslaved blacks bought into the theology that they were transformed from sinner to saved, they accepted the implicit notion that blacks were inferior to whites and that Christianity, and not their traditional religions, could benefit them.196 While Clark raises important and compelling critiques of traditional Christian claims, especially as they manifest in black Christianity, there are other theologians who draw out alternative, more positive interpretations of the conversion experiences of enslaved blacks. Specifically, some thinkers, such as Riggins Earl, explore ways that theological and anthropological claims of some blacks may undermine a pessimistic view of the unconverted as depraved, worthless sinner. In addition, other theologians examine conversion accounts, especially from areas that exhibit stronger African influences, which draw out a more robust sense of human agency involved in conversion. Though not directly in response to Clark’s arguments, some of these ideas do highlight different, more liberative ways of reading conversion. Earl taps into African theological anthropology to offer an argument that in conversion some enslaved blacks believed they had unearthed their inherent worth. In some African and Afro-Caribbean religions, the human self is understood to include an aspect referred to as the “little me.” The little me is one’s true self, one’s spirit, while the “old me” is one’s physical self. Though dualistic, this view of human nature provides a basis for human worth always inherently present, just waiting to be discovered. In terms of conversion, Mechal Sobel writes, “the African did not simply see his old self die and a new self born, as the white did. The Afro-American recognized that there had always been a little me inside me.”197 Earl suggests that the sense of the true self being freed in the conversion process might mean that some ex-slaves did not affirm the traditional Christian notion of original sin. Perhaps there was an “intrinsic goodness” all along that simply lay buried underneath the outer aspect of the self.198 Conversion then 196  Clark’s critique of both original sin and the exclusivity of Jesus will be discussed further in Chap. 8. 197  Sobel, Trabelin’, 113. 198  Earl, Dark Symbols, 60.

4  THE SPIRIT(S) IN SLAVERY: AFRICAN AMERICAN CHRISTIANITY 

137

is less about a radical ontological departure of self, from sinner to saved, and more a matter of discovery of worth that had always been present. This sense of human self-worth is also related to an idea of profound divine immanence within the human, even prior to conversion. This differing view of the human self and the nature of conversion taps into traditional African beliefs and addresses some of the concerns expressed above by Clark. In a somewhat similar move, Ras Michael Brown and Albert Raboteau explore the idea of conversion as “seeking” or “coming through.” Conceiving of the event as a quest-like process in which the human plays an active role, these descriptions differ from typical characterizations of conversion as sudden and driven largely, if not entirely, by God. In addition, nature is seen positively, as ripe with spiritual presence. In these ways, conversion is viewed similarly to African initiation rituals. For example, examining stories of “seeking” in low country South Carolina and Georgia, Brown offers several Christian conversion stories, which are driven by human initiative and aided by both humans and spirits. These conversion stories involve the initiate going into the wilderness,199 encountering spirits, white beings, “as well as more familiar Christian figures,” and finding or being given white bundles and/or white babies “to help in their quest.”200 Conversion of this sort “required initiates to seclude themselves, pray, have visions, and consult with their leaders,”201 or elders. Raboteau writes, “These elders… interpreted the dreams and visions of the seeker, offered instruction and support, and finally informed the seeker when he or she was ready to go before the church to render an account of God’s action and his or her response.”202 Likewise, initiation rites among “cult groups” in Florida studied by Zora Neale Hurston display similarities with African traditions. She writes, “Among these were seclusion of the novitiate, fasting, wearing of special clothing, dancing, spirit p ­ ossession, 199  Brown explains that later the role of the wilderness shifts as Christian converts no longer talk or sing about going into the wilderness to find God but instead coming out of the wilderness to “find salvation” (African-Atlantic, 200–201). By the 1930s, man-made structures (homes, churches) replace the now-negatively conceived natural context for conversion processes and Jesus pushes out the simbi figures. Brown does note that the simbi seemed to survive in traces at least in common folklore about mermaids (ibid., 249–251). 200  Ibid., 214. Brown argues that the spirits, white beings, or babies may be understood as simbi, or minimally as “simbi-inspired figures” (ibid., 249). 201  Ibid., 213. 202  In Johnson, God Struck, xxiii-xxiv.

138 

K. BUHRING

sacrifices, acquiring a new name, and references to running streams of water and to thunder and lightning.”203 In these examples, drawn notably from a region with stronger African influences than much of the rest of the American South, conversion is a process in which the seeker plays a willful, conscious, and active role. Even if the human is not thought of as the primary actor in such a view, at the very least he or she is a co-agent or coworker with God. While conversion tends to be understood in more individual terms, most forms of black Christian ritual practices, including ring shouts, were communal in nature. Joseph Murphy picks up the ideas of African influences on African American Christianity and the theme of human–divine interaction as almost reciprocal. In particular, Murphy explores ways that African American views and practices reflect African religious elements. He emphasizes the human role in interacting with the divine, and especially when humans act communally in ceremonies and rituals. He writes of religions of Africa and the diaspora, including black Christianity, “The spirit is ‘worked’ by rhythmic movement to enflesh itself in the bodies of sanctioned members of the community who share it with others.… [This spirituality] reveals a special reciprocity of spirit and human being, recognizing the spirit to be a dimension of the eternal soul of the individual. And the spirituality of the African diaspora seeks to empower the community by making the spirit present in body and mind to all gathered in its service.”204 Murphy clarifies that black Christians may not go so far as to think of the spirit being “made” by humanity,205 though he also maintains that such human action that both depends on and evokes divine presence and activity is found especially in communal ceremonies.206 Echoing Murphy, formerly enslaved African Americans believe that God interacts with them in several ways and contexts, but most particularly through communal services, gatherings, and ceremonies. While there are examples of the Spirit’s interaction with individuals,207 the presence of the Spirit was especially evident during bush arbor meetings, secret, religious gatherings of slaves, away from the oversight of the slave masters. “Many of these so-called clandestine meetings, though not exclusively  Simpson, Black Religion, 218.  Murphy, Working, 199–200. 205  Ibid., 180. 206  Ibid., 182. 207  FWP: SNP, Vol. 4, Georgia, Part 2, Garey-Jones. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https:// www.loc.gov/item/mesn142/. Mary Gladdy, 18–19. 203 204

4  THE SPIRIT(S) IN SLAVERY: AFRICAN AMERICAN CHRISTIANITY 

139

Christian in origin, developed into what came to be known as the ‘invisible institution’ and eventually the African American church.”208 Coleman writes, “In terms of a consecrated time and place, ‘bush arbor’ meetings provided the physical, sacred space where the Spirit ‘gotta hold of’ slaves.”209 As ex-slave John McCoy explains, “De spirit jes’ come down out de sky and you forgits all you troubles.”210 While almost all enslaved blacks present would feel “the spirit of the Lord,”211 some would be “so full of the lawd and so happy they draps unconscious.”212 During these gatherings, which could take place in cabin rooms or in the wilderness, usually one slave acted as preacher and delivered a sermon. While whites were present, black leaders were forced to preach pro-slavery propaganda. However, when on their own and away from white oversight, the message was very different. In such instances, the preacher would share the genuine good news of liberation and justice.213 Music was also vital, as drums, singing, and dancing would set the tone for the meeting. In order to elude the notice of the slave masters, enslaved blacks would use an overturned pot to trap the sound issuing from the meeting. Hopkins asserts that the use of an overturned pot in secretly worshipping God evidences a connection to the African drum. He cites the words of an ex-slave who asserts that in the use of the overturned pot, enslaved black knew that “‘Gawd wuz wid dem’”214 as a “sheltering, liberating power.”215 The presence, power, and activity of God were most dramatically evident in ring shouts. Many scholars, including Genovese and Coleman, have highlighted the similarities between African religious rituals and the African American ring shout.216 For example, Genovese writes, “The style, which subsequently  Coleman, Tribal, 40.  Coleman, Tribal, 51. 210  FWP: SNP, Vol. 16, Texas, Part 3, Lewis-Ryles. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https://www. loc.gov/item/mesn142/. 33. 211  FWP: SNP, Vol. 4, Georgia, Part 2, Garey-Jones. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https:// www.loc.gov/item/mesn142/. Mary Gladdy, 26–27. 212  FWP: SNP, Vol. 16, Texas, Part 1, Adams-Duhon. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https:// www.loc.gov/item/mesn142/. Richard Carruthers, 199. 213  FWP: SNP, Vol. 4, Georgia, Part 4, Telfair-Young. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https:// www.loc.gov/item/mesn142/. William Ward, 129. 214  FWP: SNP, Vol. 15, Tennessee, Batson-Young. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https://www. loc.gov/item/mesn142/. Patsy Hyde, 34. 215  Hopkins, Down, 144–145. 216  Ibid., 142. 208 209

140 

K. BUHRING

came to dominate American popular dancing in a variety of versions, could not have been more clearly African. The same might be said about the insistence that the community worship God in a way that integrated the various forms of human expression—song, dance, and prayer, all with call-­ and-­response, as parts of a single offering the beauty of which pays homage to God.”217 Coleman makes the point that there was “a frequent blending” of African rituals and black practices of shouting.218 In ring shouts, enslaved blacks would form a ring or circle and drum, sing, and dance, both to witness to the already-present Spirit and to evoke even fuller divine presence and activity. In a sense, the ring shout depended on the already-present spirit. Ex-slave Ellen Payne explains, “when I gits the spirit, I jest can’t hold that shoutin’ back.”219 Echoing Payne’s account, Coleman writes, “The Spirit possessed the physical being of the slaves, and as a consequence they shouted; spoke of great visions of God, heaven, or freedom; and engaged in physical activity that manifested the Spirit’s presence.”220 Enslaved blacks shouted to express joy and sorrow, and sometimes to reflect on their past and their conversion. One unnamed slave vividly describes, “I shout because there is a fire on the inside. When I witness the truth, the fire moves on the main altar of my heart, and I can’t keep still.”221 While the human activity relied on God’s fiery presence, the ring shout also elicited and evoked greater divine presence and activity. The ring shout was “a way of invoking either the spirits or the Holy Spirit.”222 Murphy explains, “In word, song, music, and movement, the spirit is brought down to become incarnated in the very bodies of the devotees, showing them its power to sustain, heal, and liberate the community.”223 When the spirit descends, it takes over the worshipper’s body and person224 to the point that some understand it as possession.

 Genovese, Roll, 234.  Coleman, Tribal, 50. 219  FWP: SNP, Vol. 16, Texas, Part 3, Lewis-Ryles. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https://www. loc.gov/item/mesn142/. 179. 220  Cummings, “Slave Narratives,” 34. 221  In Johnson, God Struck, 11. 222  Coleman, Tribal, 46. 223  Murphy, Working, 169–170. 224  Ibid., 149–150. 217 218

4  THE SPIRIT(S) IN SLAVERY: AFRICAN AMERICAN CHRISTIANITY 

141

As is the case in the ring shout, there is also a clear African influence in regard to understandings of divine possession. As expected, there are both differences and similarities between African and African American experiences and conceptions of possession. One fundamental difference was who was believed to be doing the possessing. While in African and Afro-­ Caribbean religions there are many subdivinities who may possess the devotee, in the Christianity of enslaved blacks, the Holy Spirit alone would possess the worshipper. In short, the spirits became the Spirit. In addition to a different view of who is possessing the human, there is also an alternative understanding of the nature of possession itself. As was discussed in Chaps. 2 and 3, in African and Afro-Caribbean religions, possession involves the temporary displacement of the human self by the divine spirit. In contrast, in African American Christianity, the self is “filled” by the Spirit, but there is still a degree of human will.225 In both versions, the human remains human, but in African-based concepts of possession there is a stronger sense of union and integration between the human and the divine than is generally allowed for in black Christianity, or any forms of Western Christianity for that matter. Again, to a degree, this is related to dominant Christian views of original sin. In brief, we are too lowly to be displaced by the gods or to become god; instead, we have to be saved by God, by the Spirit. Finally, there may be a different understanding of divine presence. Though Sobel distinguishes between African possession and Baptist “visionary experiences” by saying the African divinities come to the mediums, then leave, while the Christian believer “travels” to the High God and keeps His presence with ever after,226 I disagree. I would argue that in African and Afro-Caribbean religions, there is a stronger sense of the divine as all-present; this God is found everywhere, including nature and humanity. As detailed in Chaps. 2 and 3, this theology may not pertain to the High God, but certainly does to the subdivinities. Thus, while many formerly enslaved African Americans speak of God or the Spirit as constantly present, when one examines the theology in greater detail, this seems less to be the case. Like the theological concept of many 225  Genovese points out that, when possessed, slaves’ feet did not cross, because this would have been “dancing” and thus sinful. He uses this example as evidence that the human self is not entirely displaced by the Spirit (239). An exception to the more common idea of maintaining one’s self and personality even during possession is found among the Gullah of Lowcountry South Carolina and Georgia. See Creel, Peculiar, 299. 226  Sobel, Trabelin’, 101.

142 

K. BUHRING

Christians, enslaved blacks tended to view God as fundamentally transcendent and occasionally immanent.227 Though there are genuine differences between conceptions of possession in African and African-derived religions in the rest of the diaspora and in black Christian views, there is also some overlap. Mitchell points out significant similarities between ATRs and African American Christianity in his discussion of shouting or possession by the Holy Spirit: “In both traditions, this experience of shouting, or possession, is the height of the rite, the greatest evidence of the presence of the deity in the service. This presence is emotionally cathartic and healing, as well as known to give guidance for life. In both African traditional religion and Christianity, fellow worshippers treat the possessed with awe and reverence.”228 Coleman also discusses the resemblances between black Christian views of possession and beliefs in Africa. In both contexts, he explains that believers “could be transported beyond present oppressions while receiving the courage and strength to both endure and resist the absolute enslavement of body and spirit. For them, this meant psychological and emotional liberation where physical freedom was not immanent.”229 Thus, possession by the Holy Spirit (immanence of God) allowed for transcendence by the possessed (of slavery, oppression, racism, etc.), even if only temporarily; such experiences of divine presence also could be healing, empowering, and liberating.230 In this chapter, we have seen ways that enslaved blacks drew elements from ATRs, the Bible and Christianity, and their own personal experiences to craft forms of African American Christianity. Drawing from these sources and reinterpreting the white forms of Christianity that were forced on them, black Christians developed concepts of God and the Spirit, including Jesus and the Holy Spirit, and practices in which they interacted directly and communally with the spirit(s). The following chapter will trace ideas of theology, pneumatology, and divine–human interaction in the Sanctified Church.

227  For example, read Mary Gladdy’s experiences of divine presence: FWP: SNP, Vol. 4, Georgia, Part 2, Garey-Jones. 1936. Accessed July 2018. https://www.loc.gov/item/ mesn142/. 18–19. 228  Mitchell, Black Church, 14. 229  Coleman, Tribal, 51. 230  Mitchell, Black Belief, 141.

4  THE SPIRIT(S) IN SLAVERY: AFRICAN AMERICAN CHRISTIANITY 

143

Works Cited Aptheker, Herbert. American Negro Slave Revolts. New  York: International Publishers, 1963. Orig 1943 (New York: Columbia Univ. Pr.) Blassingame, John W., ed. Slave Testimony: Two Centuries of Letters, Speeches, Interviews, and Autobiographies. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1977. Brown, Ras Michael. African-Atlantic Cultures and the South Carolina Lowcountry. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012. Clark, Jawanza Eric. Indigenous Black Theology: Toward an African-Centered Theology of the African American Religious Experience. New  York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012. Coleman, Will. “‘Coming through ‘Ligion’: Metaphor in Non-Christian and Christian Experiences with the Spirit(s) in African American Slave Narratives.” In Cut Loose Your Stammering Tongue: Black Theology in the Slave Narrative, 2nd edn, edited by Dwight N. Hopkins and George C. L. Cummings, 47–72. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2003. Coleman, Will. Tribal Talk: Black Theology, Hermeneutics, and African/American Ways of “Telling the Story”. University Park, PA: Penn State University, 2000. Cone, James H. The Spirituals and the Blues. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1992. (orig 1972) Copeland, M. Shawn. “‘Wading through Many Sorrows’: Toward a Theology of Suffering in Womanist Perspective.” In Cut Loose Your Stammering Tongue: Black Theology in the Slave Narrative, 2nd edn, edited by Dwight N. Hopkins and George C.  L. Cummings, 157–171. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2003. Creel, Margaret Washington. “A Peculiar People”: Slave Religion and Community-­ Culture Among the Gullahs. New York: New York University Press, 1988. Cummings, George C. L. “The Slave Narratives as a Source of Black Theological Discourse: The Spirit and Eschatology.” In Cut Loose Your Stammering Tongue: Black Theology in the Slave Narrative, 2nd edn, edited by Dwight N. Hopkins and George C.  L. Cummings, 33–46. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2003. Earl, Riggins R., Jr. Dark Symbols, Obscure Signs: God, Self, and Community in the Slave Mind. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1993. Erskine, Noel Leo. Plantation Church: How African American Religion Was Born in Caribbean Slavery. New York: Oxford Press, 2014. FWP: SNP. 1936. Manuscript/Mixed Material. https://www.loc.gov/item/ mesn142/. https://www.loc.gov/collections/slave-­narratives-­from-­the-­ federal-­writers-­project-­1936-­to-­1938/about-­this-­collection/. Frazier, E.  Franklin. The Negro Church in America. New  York: Schocken Books, 1964. Frazier, E. Franklin. The Negro Family in the United States. Chicago: University of Chicago, 1939.

144 

K. BUHRING

Frey, Sylvia R. and Betty Wood. Come Shouting to Zion: African American Protestantism in the American South and British Caribbean to 1830. Chapel Hill, NC and London: University of North Carolina Press, 1998. Genovese, Eugene D. Roll, Jordan, Roll: The World the Slaves Made. New York: Pantheon Books, 1974. Goatley, David Emmanuel. “Godforsakenness in African American Spirituals.” In Cut Loose Your Stammering Tongue: Black Theology in the Slave Narrative, 2nd edn. edited by Dwight N. Hopkins and George C. L. Cummings, 131–156. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2003. Herskovits, Melville J. The Myth of the Negro Past. Boston: Beacon Press, 1958. (originally published 1941) Hopkins, Dwight N. Down, Up, and Over: Slave Religion and Black Theology. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2000. Hopkins, Dwight N. Shoes That Fit Our Feet: Sources for a Constructive Black Theology. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1994. Johnson, Clifton H. ed. God Struck Me Dead: Voices of Ex-Slaves. Cleveland: Pilgrim Press, 1993. Orig 1969. Long, Carolyn Morrow. Spiritual Merchants: Religion, Magic and Commerce. Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 2001. Mitchell, Henry H. Black Belief: Folk Beliefs of Blacks in America and West Africa. New York: Harper & Row, 1975. Mitchell, Henry H. Black Church Beginnings: The Long-Hidden Realities of the First Years. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2004. Murphy, Joseph M. Working the Spirit: Ceremonies of the African Diaspora. Boston: Beacon Press, 1994. Paris, Peter J. The Spirituality of African Peoples: the Search for a Common Moral Discourse. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995. Pearson, Edward A., ed. Designs Against Charleston: The Trial Record of the Denmark Vesey Slave Conspiracy of 1822. Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1999. Pinn, Anthony B. The End of God-Talk: An African American Humanist Theology. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012. Raboteau, Albert J. Slave Religion: The “Invisible Institution” in the Antebellum South. New York: Oxford University Press, 1978. Robertson, David. Denmark Vesey. New York: Knopf, 1999. Simpson, George Eaton. Black Religions in the New World. New York: Columbia University Press, 1978. Sobel, Mechal. Trabelin’ On: The Slave Journey to an Afro-Baptist Faith. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1988, reprint. Originally published Westport, Conn, Greenwood Press, 1979. Williams, Juan, and Quinton Dixie. This Far by Faith: Stories from the African American Religious Experience. New York: HarperCollins, 2003. Wilmore, Gayraud S. Black Religion and Black Radicalism: An Examination of the Black Experience in Religion. Garden City, NY: Anchor Press, 1973. (orig 1972)

CHAPTER 5

The Spirit in the Sanctified Church

The Sanctified Church is not a single tradition, but rather a family of African American traditions, movements, and churches that includes, but is not exclusive to, Holiness, Pentecostal, and Apostolic churches, as well as Charismatic and Neo-Pentecostal offshoots. While some attention will be given to each of these aspects, the focus of this chapter will be on black Pentecostalism. To complicate matters, some scholars use “Sanctified

The label “Sanctified Church” is used by scholars to refer to Holiness, Pentecostal, and Apostolic traditions as well as offshoots of these traditions such as Charismatic and Neo-Pentecostal movements. While some scholars, such as Estrelda Y. Alexander, prefer “Afro-Pentecostal,” I retain the older and more common designation. In addition, though Spiritual churches are included with the Sanctified Church in some scholarly discussions, they are not treated here. They are excluded here because they would move the conversation beyond strictly Christian boundaries that have been shaped by the previous chapter, as well as subsequent ones. For a more detailed explanation of excluding them, see Estrelda Y. Alexander, Black Fire: One Hundred Years of African American Pentecostalism (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2011), 21. Further, space does not allow a full consideration here. For a sustained treatment of Spiritual churches, see Hans A. Baer and Merrill Singer, African American Religion: Varieties of Protest and Accommodation. 2nd ed. (Knoxville: The University of Tennessee Press, 2002), 183–201. © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 K. Buhring, Spirit(s) in Black Religion, Black Religion/Womanist Thought/Social Justice, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-09887-1_5

145

146 

K. BUHRING

Church” to refer to the wider body of traditions just mentioned, while others use the term with the narrower Pentecostal movement in mind. Further, some writers use “Pentecostalism” to refer to the larger range of traditions and movements. This chapter will consider common themes, beliefs, and practices among the variety of movements of the Sanctified Church as well as give attention to aspects that may be distinctive to particular forms. Following the structure established in earlier chapters, this chapter will examine the historical and cultural context of the rise of these movements before delving into the theology and ritual practices of the traditions as a way to draw out and consider understandings of the Spirit in the Sanctified Church. Finally, the chapter will examine two particular thinkers, Leonard Lovett and James Forbes, who represent ways in which modern and contemporary Pentecostal perspectives may seek to integrate social justice elements that are also evident in Black Liberation Theology, the focus of the subsequent two chapters. As Amos Yong and Estrelda Y. Alexander write, “as a religion of the Spirit, Pentecostalism has possible implications for reversing dominant conceptions of power and providing a vehicle to introduce more just ways of conceiving pneumatic empowerment for a greater, more liberative future for the black Christians in particular and for the church ecumenical as well.”1 Following this idea, this chapter will draw out Pentecostalist views of the Spirit as potential models for a theology in which God is present and active in powerful, as well as empowering, ways. Pentecostalism, as well as the movements it has influenced, is enormously important in terms of global Christianity, with an estimated one-­ quarter of all Christians identifying as Pentecostal. Including Holiness church members, classical Pentecostals, Apostolics, charismatics, and neo-­ charismatics, there are more than half a billion adherents, with roughly three-fourths of these in Latin America, Asia, and Africa.2 While there are significant Pentecostal populations within Africa and the wider African diaspora,3 this chapter is limited to the Sanctified Church, or Afro-­ Pentecostalism, in the United States. 1  Amos Yong and Estrelda Y. Alexander, eds., Afro-Pentecostalism: Black Pentecostalism and Charismatic Christianity in History and Culture (New York: New  York University Press, 2011), 167. 2  Amos Yong, The Spirit Poured Out on All Flesh: Pentecostalism and the Possibility of Global Theology (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2005), 19. 3  Ibid., 59–80.

5  THE SPIRIT IN THE SANCTIFIED CHURCH 

147

There is great diversity of beliefs and practices within the Sanctified Church, with more than one hundred institutional bodies; while there is no single black Pentecostal church or movement, there are important similarities among most churches and organizations. Most are united “by their distinctive Pentecostal belief that the ‘baptism’ or ‘outpouring’ of the Holy Spirit on the believer is a distinct work of grace, subsequent to the indwelling of the Holy Spirit given at initial conversion, and is an essential aspect of the Christian experience.”4 This experience of baptism of the Spirit, often manifested through ecstatic expression including glossolalia, or speaking in tongues, is an indication of the believer’s intense and intimate relationship with the divine. While doctrinal variations among denominations concerning exactly what important terms and concepts mean, Cheryl J.  Sanders offers that the saints, the self-designation of adherents of the Sanctified Church, are “saved, sanctified, and filled with the Holy Ghost.”5 In addition to Spirit baptism, branches of the Sanctified Church also share an “ascetic ethic”6 that emphasizes sanctification. “To be sanctified is to receive some second form of blessing that conveys upon the believer a distinctive ethical identity of being set apart for God, literally to be made holy.”7 Sanders explains, “saints follow the holiness mandate in worship, in personal morality, and in society, based on a dialectical identity characteristic of the tradition: ‘in the world, but not of it’.”8 There are difficulties in researching and writing about the Sanctified Church. Black Pentecostalism is largely an oral tradition, historically; there has not been a great deal of written or published theology. Offering a few reasons why this may be the case, Alexander points to white racism, black embarrassment of “primitive” practices, a focus within Pentecostalism on evangelization rather than theology, and “anti-intellectualism” within black Pentecostalism.9 Sanders adds that these traditions have been studied and written about largely by outsiders, especially white scholars. In her

 Yong and Alexander, Afro-Pentecostalism, 4.  Cheryl J. Sanders, Saints in Exile: The Holiness-Pentecostal Experience in African American Religion and Culture (New York: Oxford, 1996), 58. Sanders is associated with the Church of God in Christ, in the Holiness tradition. 6  Ibid., 5. 7  Ibid., 58. 8  Ibid, 5–6. 9  Alexander, Black Fire, 12, 23. 4 5

148 

K. BUHRING

own important work, from an “insider’s” perspective,10 Sanders cites Zora Neale Hurston’s The Sanctified Church as one of the first uses of the label.11 Researching and writing from an anthropological perspective, Hurston described that in the Sanctified Church, she found not a new religion, but rather, “the older forms of Negro religious expression asserting themselves against the new.”12 James S. Tinney describes black Pentecostalism as an “eclectic” “amalgam of multiple trends and sources,”13 including African religions, slave religion, independent black churches, and the Holiness movement of the nineteenth century.14 Hurston explained, “The Saints, or the Sanctified Church is a revitalizing element in Negro music and religion. It is putting back into Negro religion those elements which were brought over from Africa and grafted onto Christianity as soon as the Negro came in contact with it, but which are being rooted out as the American Negro approaches white concepts.”15 Here, Hurston asserts the survival of Africanisms and views the Sanctified Church as integrating and renewing older forms of religion within the context of postbellum America. Further, Hurston notes, the saints represent resistance against oppressive white tendencies to mitigate or destroy such Africanisms. She writes, “The Sanctified Church is a protest against the high-brow tendency in Negro Protestant congregations as the Negroes gain more education and wealth. It is understandable that they take on the religious attitudes of the white man which are as a rule so staid and restrained that it seems unbearably dull to the more primitive Negro who associates the rhythm of sound and motion with religion.”16 In this passage, if we forgive the “primitive” adjective, we see Hurston draw out an important division within the African American community that would continue throughout the twentieth century and on to today. While socioeconomically middle-class and upper-middle-class blacks were educated and participated in traditionally  Sanders, Saints, vii.  Ibid., 3. 12  Zora Neale Hurston, The Sanctified Church (Berkeley, CA: Turtle Press, 1984), 103. 13  James Tinney, “A Theoretical and Historical Comparison of Black Political Movements” (PhD diss., Howard University, 1978), 230. 14  Alexander, Black Fire, 16. 15  Hurston, Sanctified, 105–106. 16  Ibid., 103. Speaking further of the pervasive influence of African religions, Hurston writes, “In fact, the Negro has not been Christianized as extensively as is generally believed. The great masses are still standing before their pagan altars and calling old gods by a new name” (103). 10 11

5  THE SPIRIT IN THE SANCTIFIED CHURCH 

149

Protestant churches, which gave rise to liberation theology, socioeconomically lower-class and lower-middle-class blacks found a home in the Sanctified Church.17 This split along socioeconomic lines goes a long way toward explaining differences today between mainline congregations, where pneumatology is underdeveloped, and Sanctified congregations, where the Spirit thrives.18 In distinction from mainline denominations, Cheryl Townsend Gilkes elucidates that the Sanctified Church “comprises those independent denominations and congregations formed by black people in the post-Reconstruction South and their direct organizational descendants.” Further, Gilkes explains that these communities “arose in response to and largely in conflict with postbellum changes in worship traditions within the black community.”19 While the religious beliefs and practices of enslaved African Americans displayed African elements, after slavery such aspects were able to be drawn out and developed even more fully in the Sanctified Church. Alexander argues that while slavery had repressed some Africanisms from flourishing in North America, after emancipation blacks had greater freedom to tap into African elements more fully.20 While many whites and some blacks found the renewal of such African elements “primitive” or “heathenish,” a great number of African Americans “held on to these remnants, imbued them with Christian understandings and incorporated them into their lives and worship. They were unashamedly emotive and exuberant in their use of music and rhythm. They were open to supernatural encounters with God through the Spirit. And they understood all they did as somehow having sacred significance.” Highlighting particularly views of female participation and leadership, Alexander adds that the radically inclusive nature of especially early Pentecostals “was scandalous but very

17  Part of the argument of the present book is that black theologies of liberation might benefit from greater encounter with traditions that attend more fully to the presence, power, and activity of the spirit(s), including African religions, religions of the Caribbean, and Pentecostal traditions. Likewise, as will be discussed later in this chapter, some black Pentecostal scholars argue for greater development of liberative, justice-oriented aspects of the Pentecostal tradition that are already central to black theologies of liberation. 18  Notably, most academic black theologians are rooted in Mainline Protestant traditions. 19  Cheryl Townsend Gilkes, “If It Wasn’t for the Women…”: Black Women’s Experience and Womanist Culture in Church and Community (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2001), 44. 20  Alexander, Black Fire, 60.

150 

K. BUHRING

African.”21 In both practices and beliefs, the Sanctified Church evokes and maintains aspects central to African traditional religions. While specific ritual practices such as “sacred dance, spirit possession (Baptism in the Holy Spirit within Black Holiness-Pentecostalism), call and response and glossolalia” are clearly derivative of African religious actions,22 African theological and spiritual views are also vibrantly evident within the Sanctified Church. As in African traditional religions, in the Sanctified Church, God is often most efficaciously experienced as Spirit. Tinney writes, “The Pentecostal movement reflects its African heritage in its emphasis upon the spirit world.” He explains that good spirits became folded into the one Holy Ghost, while bad spirits came to be understood as demons.23 Both the Holy Ghost and evil spirits are “at work in the world; both are at work in every life.”24 Suggesting part of the appeal of Pentecostalism to blacks, Alexander explains, “the God that Pentecostalism offered to blacks was the God of power who was intimately interested in their practical as much as their spiritual well-being.”25 Tinney adds, “Like African traditional religion, Pentecostalism seeks to tap and harness spiritual power in order to make it serve him in a beneficial way.” Anointing with oil or blessed water, use of blessed items, like talismans, laying on of hands, and the use of herbs and roots26 can each be used for physical health or generally for good fortune.27 Rooted in the same soil, multiple Sanctified offshoots developed over time. In her analysis, Alexander offers four groups. First group is the “classical Wesleyan-Holiness Trinitarian Pentecostals.” These traditions are all based in the Azusa Street Revival, and many are rooted in black Holiness church traditions. A second group is “classical Apostolic (Jesus’ name or ‘Oneness’)” traditions, which understand “God as one person who is expressed in three modes.” Alexander’s third category consists of “charismatic independent congregations or networks.” Developing in the 1960s, these entities incorporate Pentecostal elements into mainline and independent bodies. They also tend to be less strict in regard to personal piety or  Ibid., 46.  Leonard Lovett, “From the Womb of Blackness to Black Holiness-Pentecostalism.” The Journal of the Interdenominational Center 44 (Fall-Spring 2016–2017): 69. 23  Tinney, “Theoretical,” 232. 24  Ibid., 233. 25  Alexander, Black Fire, 46. 26  Tinney, “Theoretical,” 234. 27  Ibid., 235. 21 22

5  THE SPIRIT IN THE SANCTIFIED CHURCH 

151

glossolalia, unlike classical Pentecostalism in particular. Finally, Alexander refers to “recent neo-Pentecostal currents within the wider black church tradition” as a fourth category. In this type, Pentecostal styles of worship, not necessarily theology, are incorporated into classically Protestant black denominations. In this regard, Alexander highlights the blurred lines between Pentecostalism and many black churches today.28 While there is much that the various types of groups within the Sanctified Church have in common, there are also differences that have emerged over time, including “whether speaking in tongues is the or a sign of Holy Spirit baptism, the nature of the Godhead, church polity, whether divorced persons can remarry and remain in the church or in leadership, and the role of women in the leadership of the church.”29 For example, a distinction is that Pentecostal and Apostolic traditions maintain that “a person must speak in tongues (glossolalia) to validate his or her Spirit baptism,” while Holiness traditions do not. Some Holiness traditions reject glossolalia entirely, while others view it as acceptable, but not central to validation.30 Further, “The Holiness emphasis is on sanctification, or personal holiness, whereas Pentecostals and Apostolics emphasize spiritual power.”31 Finally, Apostolics reject the doctrine of the Trinity, but instead hold the “oneness of God as revealed in Jesus Christ.”32 The following sections will discuss the development of some of the various movements and traditions of the Sanctified Church, while also exploring similarities and differences among them.

Holiness Movement The nineteenth-century Holiness movement, which arose from Baptist and Methodist influences, laid the foundation for the birth and development of twentieth-century Pentecostalism.33 Specifically, John Wesley’s doctrine of perfection, or sanctification, was a central feature of the new

 Yong and Alexander, Afro-Pentecostalism, 3–4  Alexander, Black Fire, 23–24. 30  Sanders, Saints, 5. 31  Ibid., 5. 32  Ibid. 33  Ibid., 18. 28 29

152 

K. BUHRING

Holiness community.34 According to Wesley, sanctification “is a process of development which begins at the very moment a person is justified. (Works XI, 442) Perfection is the completion of the development of sanctification begun at regeneration. It is nothing more nor less than that habitual disposition of the soul which, in sacred writings, is termed holiness; and which directly implies, the being cleansed from sin.”35 While Methodists and Baptists understood sanctification as possible for the exceptional few, who had to strive over long periods to reach the state, “Holiness proponents…believed the experience to be available to every believer who earnestly yearned for it, claiming it as an act of grace poured out without partiality on the spiritually hungry.” Some Holiness groups saw it as gradual process, while others understood it to be “instantaneous.” “But all understood that as a result of sanctification, the believer would be able to live a life reflecting a higher moral character—essentially free of all voluntary sin.”36 Thus, adherents took on the strict moral codes in terms of virtually every aspect of their lives, including activities, clothing, and occupations.37 In addition to the particular understanding of Wesleyan theology and moral living, Holiness advocates were attracted to the new movement by the passion and style of worship. Those for whom the revivalist sentiment was appealing had grown disenchanted by dispassionate Christian forms, and left their denominations seeking a return to the fervor of the Great Awakenings. These people “would form associations that promoted camp-­ meeting-­style revivals where the faithful gathered,…to hear heartfelt sermons, sing fervent choruses and experience the physical manifestations that they felt signaled God’s imprimatur on sanctified lives.”38 These meetings blended formal and informal structures and liturgies; were often “rural, outdoor, and transient”; and utilized “plain and outspoken” language.39 While the theology and practices of the new Holiness movement

34  Leonard Lovett, “Perspective on the Black Origins of the Contemporary Pentecostal Movement,” The Journal of the Interdenominational Theological Center 1, no. 1 (Fall 1973): 38. 35  Ibid., 38. 36  Alexander, Black Fire, 62. 37  Ibid., 63. 38  Ibid., 61. 39  Wolfgang Vondey, “The Making of a Black Liturgy: Pentecostal Worship and Spirituality from African Slave Narratives to American Cityscapes.” Black Theology 10 2 2012, 156.

5  THE SPIRIT IN THE SANCTIFIED CHURCH 

153

drew many followers, those on the margins of society, like blacks and black women in particular, were especially attracted. In the Holiness movement, African Americans, and African American women especially, discovered an opportunity for participation and leadership like nowhere else. Wolfgang Vondey describes the postbellum camp meetings, which drew participants from ex-slaves as well as free blacks, as integrating “different denominations, races, language groups, worship practices, and musical forms.”40 Over time, black Christians formed their own Holiness bodies at least partially removed from racism in society.41 While some in the post-Reconstruction black Church wanted to progress away from “‘backward’ ways and ‘primitive’ religion,” those who became Holiness-Pentecostals saw this as a misguided, flawed move away from genuine Christian tradition for the sake of modernizing and assimilating to white society.42 They were also drawn to the religious forms of the Holiness movement, including Spirit-filled music and dance. Furthermore, the Holiness movement included relative high rates of female inclusion, participation, and leadership roles, at least within the religious sphere.43 Alexander points to “itinerant Holiness women preachers such as Jarena Lee, Zilpha Elaw, and Amanda Berry Smith” who “used the language of sanctification as a synonym for liberation and insisted that the blood of Jesus liberated them not only from personal sin, but from a less than adequate estimate of their divine worth rendered by whites and men.”44 Thus, the possibilities within Holiness theology and some organizational structures were understandably appealing to many black women. Eventually, the Great Migration of African Americans northward in the early twentieth century would bring with it the new Holiness theology, revivalist camp meeting forms, and the Spirit-filled practices. These aspects were transferred especially to urban settings like Los Angeles,45 where the Azusa Street Revival would set the Christian world ablaze.  Ibid.  Alexander, Black Fire, 62. 42  William C. Turner, Jr., The United Holy Church of America: A Study in Black-Holiness Pentecostalism (Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2006), 114–115. 43  Alexander, Black Fire, 106–107. 44  Estrelda Y. Alexander, “Recovering Black Theological Thought in the Writings of Early African-American Holiness-Pentecostal Leaders,” in A Liberating Spirit: Pentecostals and Social Action in North America, ed. Michael Wilkinson and Steven M. Studebaker (Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2010), 27. 45  Vondey, “Making,” 160. 40 41

154 

K. BUHRING

Azusa and its Influence The architect of the Azusa Street Revival was William J.  Seymour, the “father of [the] modern Pentecostal movement.”46 Born on May 2, 1870, in Centerville, Louisiana, Seymour was born to two enslaved blacks. His father would eventually gain his freedom by fighting for the Union Army.47 Seymour, who was raised Baptist, would have been familiar with Nat Turner and his visions and experiences of the Spirit, and also exposed to Voodoo and Hoodoo in Louisiana. He was active in a Holiness group and spent time in Kansas with Charles Parham, recognized by most as at least a cofounder of modern Pentecostalism.48 After his time with Parham, Seymour would make his way to “a converted livery stable in the ghetto on Azusa Street in Los Angeles in 1906”49 and lead a revolutionary revival. During the revival, which peaked from 1906 to 190950 or 1913,51 depending on different accounts, “people spoke in tongues, prophesied, preached divine healing, went into trances, saw visions, and engaged in other phenomena such as jumping, rolling, laughing, shouting, barking, and falling under the power of the Holy Spirit.”52 While drawing in many followers, many observers ridiculed the mission’s members, some of whom were “arrested, fined, and jailed on grounds that they were ‘insane’.”53 At least part of the negative sense that some onlookers had surely was based on the fact that the revival countered social and cultural norms. The early Azusa movement tended to be fairly inclusive and egalitarian in terms of class, race, and gender.54 “Though most worshipers were from the lower and working classes, there was no stratification either by class,

46  Estrelda Y.  Alexander, ed., Black Fire Reader: A Documentary Resource on African American Pentecostalism (Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2013), 55. 47  Cecil M.  Robeck, Jr., The Azusa Street Mission and Revival: The Birth of the Global Pentecostal Movement (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2006), 17–23. 48  Tinney, “Theoretical,” 221–222. 49  Lovett, “Perspective,” 42. 50  Tinney, “Theoretical,” 224. 51  Alexander, “Recovering,” 30. 52  Robeck, Azusa, 12. 53  Ibid. 54  Valerie Cooper, “Laying the Foundations for Azusa: Black Women and Public Ministry in the Nineteenth Century,” in Afro-Pentecostalism: Black Pentecostal and Charismatic Christianity in History and Culture, ed by Amos Yong and Estrelda Y. Alexander (New York: New York University Press, 2011), 65–67.

5  THE SPIRIT IN THE SANCTIFIED CHURCH 

155

race, gender or age in involvement or leadership in the services.”55 This made for a welcoming and inclusive environment in which all were able to participate. This openness was particularly attractive to those who were marginalized by society. Seymour frequently cited Luke 4:18–19 and interpreted it to refer to those who are literally poor and economically, socially, and politically oppressed.56 While initially interracial, later the movement became mostly black. Over time, there was a growing presence of “African survivals” in the Sanctified Church.57 For example, Alexander points out African elements evident during the revival, highlighting especially spiritual openness, dancing, trances, music, healing rituals, and the prominent role of women.58 Today, there is some scholarly debate over how socially and politically progressive the Pentecostal movement was and is. Most authors argue that Azusa may have had progressive aspects at its roots, but that these were de-emphasized over time. Thus, they characterize Pentecostalism as spiritually focused and primarily otherworldly. For example, Amos Yong writes, “By the time of the Great Depression, the fires of early Pentecostal social concern had fizzled as the churches, both white and black, combated severe poverty either by focusing on achieving minimal personal comforts or by emphasizing otherworldly and eschatological solutions.”59 Other writers assert the centrality of these early kernels, their presence over time, and their potential for contemporary Pentecostalism. Exemplifying this perspective, Estrelda Alexander sees the liberative nature of Azusa Revival and its continuing legacy in many Pentecostal denominations today that include “outreach to the marginalized—the poor, women, and people of color.”60 While William Seymour was not a systematic theologian,61 his 1915 publication, Doctrine and Disciplines of the Azusa Street Mission, lays out his doctrines, including elements which had been published in Apostolic Faith beginning in 1907.62 Three key beliefs or doctrines from Azusa emerge from this text.63 First, Seymour maintained the classical Protestant  Alexander, Black Fire, 121.  Robeck, Azusa, 13–14. 57  Yong, Spirit, 73. 58  Alexander, Black Fire, 47–48. 59  Yong, Spirit, 73. 60  Robeck, Azusa, 13. 61  Alexander, “Recovering,” 31. 62  Alexander, Black Fire, 128–129. 63  Robeck, Azusa, 122–123. 55 56

156 

K. BUHRING

view that “salvation came about through justification by grace through faith in Jesus Christ.” Second, “subsequent to salvation, a second work of grace known as sanctification was not only possible, it was part of God’s plan for every Christian. In this work, Christians were made holy. In fact, the ‘sin nature’—that is one’s propensity always to sin—was thought to be eradicated in this crisis experience of grace.” Finally, the third point pertained to baptism in the Spirit. “This baptism was not described as a ‘third work’ of grace, but rather as a ‘gift of power upon the sanctified life.’ Furthermore, those who received this gift of power would receive the same evidence that the disciples had in Acts 2, when they spoke in new tongues.” This third element is what distinguishes classical Pentecostals from the majority of Wesleyan Holiness people. So, in Seymour’s theology, first comes conversion, then sanctification, then baptism in the Spirit, which is manifested by speaking in tongues.64 Of the experience of baptism in the Spirit, Cecil M. Robeck, Jr., writes, “The essence of the encounter included death to self and empowerment by Christ through the Holy Spirit. The one who encountered them, the Holy Spirit, began to speak through them, and they received something they wanted to share with the world. They became passionate, compelling witnesses who were now empowered by the Holy Spirit (Acts 1:8).”65 Additionally, those who experienced the Spirit in this way at Azusa had a conscious and emotional sense of divine love, power, and presence, including both divine transcendence and immanence. Though hard to relate to others, Azusa revivalists also described an initial unconsciousness, followed by a conscious sense of power taking over one’s body and tongue, or a “flow of new life” into them; some also told of visions of Jesus and/or God.66 Such vibrant and powerful experiences of the Spirit happened at Azusa over a number of years, but reached an apex in the first three to four years after starting according to most accounts. While Seymour’s Azusa Street Revival did not directly turn into an institutionalized entity, it did have enormous influences on dozens, if not, hundreds, of denominations that emerged after.67 Though Seymour’s movement included many women and was originally fairly progressive when it came to women’s role in the church,  Ibid., 173.  Ibid.,186. 66  Ibid., 177–186. 67  Alexander, Black Fire, 158–159. 64 65

5  THE SPIRIT IN THE SANCTIFIED CHURCH 

157

gradually leadership opportunities for women in Sanctified Church traditions decreased over time.68 Alexander writes, “Despite being generally locked out of higher levels of denominational leadership, women not only filled the pews but also established and pastored congregations, served as missionaries and developed the numerous auxiliaries that helped fuel Pentecostalism’s phenomenal growth.”69 In fact, Cheryl Townsend Gilkes argues that denominations and congregations with fuller women’s participation and leadership tended to be the ones that have survived and thrived.70 In such congregations, the education of women and opportunities for developing economic power for women were stressed, and often linked to each other.71 Gilkes explains, “Women’s concentration in educational roles in the early Sanctified Church was not simply a form of female segregation; instead it was the basis for alternative structures of authority, career pathways, and spheres of influence.”72 Thus, higher education rates among women led to greater economic power for them.73 Certainly, the early ideals of equality and inclusion of women have not always been consistently manifested in Sanctified Church.74 Still, “Women’s Departments” formed within many congregations and would develop a significant influence on the development and success of many Sanctified communities. Gilkes explains that such Women’s Departments foster female leaders who feel “called to the ministry and denied access to pastoral positions, women who prefer the role of evangelist to that of pastor, women who actually have charge of churches in the absence of a pastor, and women who are Spirit-filled religious activists and congregational leaders.”75 Alexander points out that Pentecostal denominations that are rooted in the Baptist tradition have tended to offer women fewer leadership opportunities, while those stemming from Wesleyan Holiness movements have tended to be more egalitarian.76

68  Ibid., 294. For more on the role of women in the Holiness and Pentecostal movements, see Alexander, Black Fire, Chap. 8. 69  Ibid., 293. 70  Gilkes, “If It Wasn’t,” 54–57. 71  Ibid., 44. 72  Ibid., 52. 73  Ibid., 53. 74  Ibid., 48. 75  Ibid. 76  Alexander, Black Fire, 300.

158 

K. BUHRING

In regard to the structural ways in which the Sanctified Church has developed since Azusa, Leonard Lovett, a major pioneer in scholarship on black Pentecostalism, highlights five exemplary denominations that he calls the original black Holiness-Pentecostal and Apostolic bodies: The United Holy Church of America, the Church of God in Christ, the Church of Christ Holiness, the Fire Baptized Holiness Church of God in the Americas, and the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World. In addition to these formalized institutions, the Sanctified Church also includes more recent charismatic and neo-Pentecostal expressions. After a brief look at a few of these bodies and movements, the chapter will turn to the theology and practices of the broader Sanctified Church, including an exploration of particular modern figures in the Sanctified Church, including Leonard Lovett and James Forbes.

The United Holy Church of America (UHC) Tracing its roots to North Carolina in 1886,77 the United Holy Church of America (UHC) is one of earliest black Holiness sects. Advocates of this emerging Holiness movement felt the larger black Church they were leaving had “apostatized”78 by de-emphasizing a commitment to sanctification, holiness, or virtuous living as a manifestation of God’s grace in one’s life. In contrast, the early leaders and congregants of the UHC stressed the importance of maintaining holiness as a manifestation of a Spirit-filled life. William C. Turner, Jr., author of the definitive scholarly work on the denomination, points to Henry Lee Fisher as “the single greatest influence on the shape of the United Holy Church.”79 In 1910, Fisher prepared his Standard Manual for Holy Churches, which taught the “true doctrine and faithful teaching” for maintaining Holiness, or Christian perfection in an imperfect world.80 Turner writes, “The gospel Fisher was so anxious to proclaim was predicated on four cardinal truths, namely: salvation, baptism of the Holy Ghost, divine healing, and the coming of Jesus.”81 These truths would be the foundation for proper moral virtue, or holiness.  Turner, United, 20.  Ibid., 30–31. 79  Ibid., 61. 80  Ibid., 28. 81  Ibid., 66–67. 77 78

5  THE SPIRIT IN THE SANCTIFIED CHURCH 

159

Fisher maintained that “in large measure Holiness was to be seen in conduct and character.”82 Following a doctrine of Wesleyan sanctification, it was taught that sanctification, or holiness, was a result of grace. Christians “contribute little to nothing beyond repentance and obedience to God.”83 Whatever holiness was found in human action was always understood as based in divine inspiration and sustenance. In other words, human “work did not produce Holiness, [but] true Holiness produced genuine works.”84 Further, members of the UHC maintained the theological view of divine omnipotence and omnipresence.85 While God is transcendent, God is simultaneously immanent. Dramatically, Turner explains that “The belief in healing of the body through immediate divine intervention was taken seriously and literally by the Fathers,” particularly E.B. Lyons, who Turner calls “the Healer.”86 While divine intervention implies a transcendent God who is more sporadically present at particular times and in specific places, the UHC also held a more generalized and pervasive sense of divine presence. Turner writes, “Each believer was to be indwelled by the Holy Ghost, who baptizes and imparts gifts within the Church. The mind of Christ, imparted by this same Spirit, caused members to care for one another and to sustain the work of the ministry.”87 This ministerial work meant an emphasis on a “prophetic social consciousness,” according to Turner.88 In 1894, the UHC began holding its Holy Convocation, which is the primary annual religious gathering of the Church. These convocations are a time for “rejoicing, instruction, and consecration,”89 as well as communal fellowship. Turner describes these gatherings as revival-like and including prayer, praise, Bible study, testimony/testifying, and ecstatic experiences or possessions. Turner writes, “At the point of ecstasy, possession by the deity had taken place. The act of worship and praise was no longer to be attributed to the individual: through the Spirit, God had made a visitation and was present for the bestowal of blessings. Those who reached this state were literally mediums through which benefits and  Ibid., 29.  Ibid., 72. 84  Ibid., 129. 85  Ibid., 72. 86  Ibid., 82–83. 87  Ibid., 29. 88  Ibid., 128. 89  Ibid., 89. 82 83

160 

K. BUHRING

blessings could be given to others.”90 Turner adds, “During the moments of ecstasy it was as though another ego were in control,”91 and that the possessed might display superhuman strength, endurance, or healing powers.92 Possession by the Spirit is expressed through dancing, shouting, and/or lallation, and an “unrestrained profusion of sounds, sometimes mixed with weeping or laughing.”93 These experiences of the Spirit could involve the expression of familiar language and phrases or sounds, foreign words or phrases, unknown utterances, or speaking in tongues. While the UHC accepts speaking in tongues as an indication of the Spirit, it is not a necessary sign of Spirit baptism; instead, ethical Holiness is asserted as the most important outward manifestation of the Spirit.94

The Church of God in Christ (COGIC) and the Church of Christ (Holiness) USA The largest Trinitarian denomination in the Sanctified Church,95 the Church of God in Christ (COGIC), was founded by Charles H. Mason and Charles P. Jones. Mason and Jones were Baptist ministers who were baptized with the Spirit at the Azusa Street Revival. Initially, both leaders advocated for the integration of African elements in black religious expression and worship that would evoke the presence and power of the Spirit; in part because of this Jones and Mason “were expelled from their denomination” and went on to establish the COGIC.96 Over time, disagreements between Mason and Jones mounted. While Mason largely followed Seymour’s theology and practices, Jones disagreed. These differences eventually led to a denominational split. While Jones would go on to found the Church of Christ (Holiness) USA, Mason maintained leadership of the COGIC.

 Ibid., 108.  Ibid., 110. 92  Ibid., 110–111. 93  Ibid., 109. 94  Ibid., 126. 95  Alexander, Black Fire, 203. 96  Antipas L. Harris, “Elements of African Religious Spiritual Practices in African American Worship: Resounding Practical Theological Implications,” in Christianity in Africa and the African Diaspora: The Appropriation of a Scattered Heritage, ed. Afe Adogame, Roswith Gerloff, and Klaus Hock (London: Continuum, 2008), 225. 90 91

5  THE SPIRIT IN THE SANCTIFIED CHURCH 

161

Mason embraced the Pentecostal idea of speaking in tongues as the necessary evidence of Holy Spirit baptism and promoted the inclusion of African elements in COGIC worship. He “adapted African religiosity…to the black church tradition.”97 In particular, Mason drew in African worship styles and communal practices involving music, dancing, shouting, and healing rituals.98 These rituals even included the use of herbs and animal entrails. Mason “took pains to ensure that such [African-based] expression was not only allowed, but celebrated.”99 In addition to these aspects, Mason also developed a religiously based political perspective that is noteworthy. He spoke out publicly against lynching and in favor of pacifism, even encouraging COGIC members to be conscientious objectors during World War I. His pacifist stance led to “incarceration on at least two occasions” and to FBI surveillance.100 While politically progressive in some ways, Mason was a traditionalist in others. For example, Mason’s liberal political tendencies did not extend to women’s rights and roles in the church. Gilkes argues that “Despite or because of women’s exclusion from [COGIC] pulpits, the most powerful Women’s Department of any black denomination arose within the Church of God in Christ.”101 Though not unique to COGIC, this exemplifies a tendency by black Pentecostal women to find alternative forms of participation and power when excluded from formal means. Like Mason, Jones was originally a Baptist, but unlike Mason, Jones was drawn to Seymour’s movement especially because of its emphasis on the “Holiness doctrine of sanctification.” Jones advocated for Holy Spirit baptism as an “inner work of the heart,” unlike the Pentecostalist idea of baptism as evidence by speaking in tongues, which in part led to the split between Mason and Jones.102 Alexander writes, “Jones validated the experience as genuine but rejected insistence that all who received Holy Spirit baptism received tongues as initial evidence of such an infilling. Jones insisted that every true believer was heir to the Holy Spirit, that receiving the Holy Spirit was an integral part of conversion and that no specific gift signified the Spirit’s presence.”103 Further, Jones did not label the gift of  Yong, Spirit, 75.  Alexander, Black Fire, 50–52. 99  Alexander, “Recovering,” 34. 100  Ibid., 34–35. 101  Gilkes, “If It Wasn’t,” 48. 102  Alexander, Black Fire Reader, 39. 103  Alexander, Black Fire, 96. 97 98

162 

K. BUHRING

the Holy Spirit as a baptism, “for there is but one baptism (Ephesians 4:1–5). Tongues are not viewed as the only evidence, but merely as one Sign.”104 Jones also preferred “more constrained and less emotive” worship styles than did Mason.105 While Mason and his followers saw this as selling out to white standards, Jones saw Mason’s style as primitive and embarrassing.

Pentecostal Assemblies of the World Self-designated as Apostolic, Jesus’ Names, or Oneness movements,106 Oneness Pentecostal denominations like the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World are distinguished from others in the Sanctified Church and larger Christian family by their belief in a non-Trinitarian conception of God and the practice of baptism in the name of Jesus Christ alone. They deny classical Trinitarianism and assert a radical, strict monotheism that is rooted in the early Jewish Christian community.107 David Reed writes, to be clear, “Oneness Pentecostalism is not just about Jesus, and Trinitarian Pentecostals are not just about the Spirit. Both are intensely Christocentric and both experience God in a triadic way.”108 Like other forms of Pentecostalism, experience is central to Apostolic life. One can trace the roots of the Apostolic, or Oneness Pentecostal, movement from German Pietism and John Wesley to Holiness churches and through Pentecostalism.109 Pietism emphasized the subjective experience of conversion and salvation, or “new birth,”110 and also stressed “moral living over correct doctrine”; in other words, it was more about experience or practice than it was about belief.111 Describing both Pietism and Wesleyanism, Reed points out their anti-creedalism, anti-­ intellectualism, and anti-institutionalism, which are all tendencies that

 Lovett, “From the Womb,” 74–75.  Alexander, Black Fire, 176. 106  David A. Reed, “In Jesus’ Name”: The History and Beliefs of Oneness Pentecostals (Dorset, England: Deo Publishing, 2008), 229. 107  Ibid., 245–246. 108  Ibid., 338. 109  James C. Richardson, With Water and Spirit (Washington, D.C.: Spirit Press, 1980), v; Reed, “In Jesus,” 9–10. 110  Reed, “In Jesus,” 11–12. 111  Ibid., 12–13. 104 105

5  THE SPIRIT IN THE SANCTIFIED CHURCH 

163

became evident in Pentecostalism, including the Azusa Street Revival. The sentiment was that “doctrine divides, but the Spirit unites.”112 While the Azusa Street Revival is foundational to the Pentecostal movement, in the Apostolic tradition, “a subsequent experience in 1913 holds equal significance.”113 At a Pentecostal camp meeting in Los Angeles, a Canadian preacher, R.E. McAlister, “observed that the Apostles baptized in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, not in the triune formula.” Though apparently an off-hand remark, McAlister’s idea sparked controversy and reaction.114 Particularly significant, one listener, John G.  Schaepe, responded by studying and praying through that night and then shared that he had received divine revelation. As it would develop, “The term ‘revelation’ was used primarily by Oneness advocates to describe the subjective confirmation of the objectively stated truth in the Bible.”115 Schaepe said that “the Lord had shown him the truth on baptism in the name of Jesus Christ.”116 Taking up these initial ideas, Frank J.  Ewart, a Pentecostal pastor, would further develop them between 1913 and 1916.117 Ewart appealed especially to the fact that in Acts “baptism was always ‘in the name of Jesus.’”118 Even more than scriptural evidence, “for Ewart vindication of the truth of a doctrine lay primarily in the spiritual effect it registered rather than in intellectual argumentation.” He witnessed many converts who had been “re-baptized” in the name of Jesus only to be filled with the Holy Ghost, speak in tongues, and be healed.119 This practice of baptism in the name of Jesus alone would eventually lead to the rejection of the Trinitarian doctrine.120 When a prominent African American Pentecostal pastor, Garfield T. Haywood, was re-baptized, “large numbers of the non-Holiness black Pentecostals eventually followed [him] into the Oneness movement.”121 Formally incorporated in 1919, the Pentecostal Assemblies of the World  Ibid., 19–22.  Richardson, With Water, 15–16. 114  Reed, “In Jesus,” 138. 115  Ibid., 183. 116  Ibid., 139. 117  Ibid., 140–141. 118  Richardson, With Water, 15–16. 119  Reed, “In Jesus,” 143. 120  Richardson, With Water, 15–16. 121  Reed, “In Jesus,” 145. 112 113

164 

K. BUHRING

(PAW) initially had mostly white membership, but became increasingly black in a few years,122 as whites split off from PAW in 1924.123 From Harwood’s PAW comes most African American Oneness Pentecostal denominations, and in fact most Oneness denominations overall.124 Today, roughly forty percent of all black Pentecostals are Apostolics.125

Charismatics and Neo-Pentecostals Charismatics and neo-Pentecostals constitute different, but closely related, directions in the contemporary Sanctified Church that have developed a significant presence within mainline Christian denominations. Estrelda Alexander estimates “that a third of traditionally mainline black churches … have embraced charismatic and/or neo-Pentecostalism.”126 Charismatics embrace Pentecostal spirituality and worship forms without acceptance of Pentecostal theology, in particular the view of speaking in tongues as necessary initial evidence.127 While some charismatics worship within a mainline denomination, others have chosen “to cast themselves as inter- or nondenominational or to simply identify themselves as charismatic or Christian.”128 Beyond the shared “belief in the active involvement of the Holy Spirit in the life of the church and believer,” there is a great variety in beliefs and expressions of charismatic Christianity,129 including forms of the prosperity gospel.130 In distinction from many charismatic Christians, black neo-Pentecostals integrate Pentecostal elements, especially worship styles, while retaining their membership and affiliation with their mainline denomination.131 In particular, neo-Pentecostals will display worship styles such as “speaking in tongues, emotive worship and a dynamic preaching style.”132 While black Pentecostals have historically been from lower socioeconomic classes,  Alexander, Black Fire, 216–217.  Reed, “In Jesus,” 213. 124  Alexander, Black Fire, 220. 125  Ibid., 213. 126  Ibid., 344. 127  Ibid. 128  Ibid., 344–345. 129  Ibid., 345. 130  Ibid. 131  Ibid., 356. 132  Ibid. 122 123

5  THE SPIRIT IN THE SANCTIFIED CHURCH 

165

black neo-Pentecostals have emerged from working and middle classes.133 Harris alludes to the older tendency to equate a higher socioeconomic class with “white” forms of worship.134 Today, instead of being reluctant to embrace African-based worship styles, many younger African Americans may be instead drawn to Pentecostal styles. Black Pentecostalism’s “emphasis on personal asceticism,” or sanctification, may be “less and less attractive to a younger, more educated generation of Christian believers. [However,] they find the charismatic and neo-Pentecostal movement much more arresting and palatable for its emphasis on engagement with the Holy Spirit in a more personal way and are attracted to the neo-­ Pentecostal movement’s emphasis on Holy Spirit empowerment for more productive living.”135 In addition, unlike most of classical Pentecostalism, which has tended to be apolitical or anti-political, some black charismatics and neo-Pentecostals emphasize social justice and embrace political involvement, “instilling it with an understanding of Holy Spirit empowerment.” Still other neo-Pentecostals exist on the opposite end of the spectrum and emphasize financial and physical prosperity as indications of the presence and activity of the Spirit.136

Pentecostal Theology137 Though Yong and Alexander say that until recently Pentecostal theology has been an “oxymoron,”138 Alexander also argues that this does not mean there is no such thing as Pentecostal theology. She explains, “no cogent body of systematic theology has been developed within the tradition,” but a “wealth of theology” can be mined from “the substantial body of work Pentecostals have produced over the life of the movement—not only in sermons, doctrinal statements, and hymns, but in essays and monographs—that take on a variety of subjects.” Significantly, most of this work has not been published.139  Ibid., 357.  Harris, “Elements,” 226. 135  Alexander, Black Fire, 357. 136  Ibid., 358. 137  The following discussion of  Pentecostal theology will focus especially on  Trinitarian Pentecostalism and  Oneness Pentecostalism more than on  concepts of  God unique to Holiness traditions. 138  Yong and Alexander, Afro-Pentecostalism, 167. 139  Alexander, “Recovering,” 24. 133 134

166 

K. BUHRING

By and large, what emerges as a Pentecostal understanding of God is essentially what might be termed classical theology. That is to say, Pentecostals view God as good, just, and merciful, all-powerful, and dynamically present and active in human history and within the lives of Pentecostals today. This sense of God is based on biblical interpretation as well as on personal experiences of God. Since the Bible is God’s revelation for all time and places, it is the most authoritative form of divine revelation.140 While revelation is rooted particularly in the Bible, Pentecostals maintain that divine revelation is ongoing and that the Spirit is active anywhere and at any time.141 Glenn Hinson interviews gospel singer Lena Mae Perry, who asserts, “‘If the Spirit only deals with you in church,…then you need to go back and search yourself. Because if you can’t live it here first of all,’ she says, pointing to her heart, ‘then there’s no sense in you going to the church trying to do it.’”142 Ultimately, in Pentecostal theology, God is good, loving, merciful, and just, as well as powerful, present, and active. This God emerges authoritatively in the Bible and is manifested especially within communal Church worship, but also in the lives and souls of individual believers, wherever they may be and whatever they may be doing. While the Spirit is emphasized in classical Trinitarian forms of Pentecostalism, it is Jesus who takes center stage in Oneness Pentecostal traditions. Estrelda Alexander explains that in Oneness traditions, “[A]n elaborate, but not always consistent, theology developed that grew to encompass conceptions of the nature of the Godhead, the character of Christ’s deity and the mode of salvation.”143 Oneness Pentecostals maintain a strict monotheistic view, in which there is one God, or “one person in the Godhead who appears throughout periods of salvation history successively as Father, Son and Holy Spirit; and that person is Jesus Christ.”144 In other words, “Jesus is the entire Godhead.”145 This belief that Jesus is God is the basis of the refutation of the Trinity.146 Oneness Pentecostals argue that the doctrine of the Trinity is not biblical in fact. Similarly, they 140  Glenn Hinson, Fire in My Bones: Transcendence and the Holy Spirit in African American Gospel (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1999), 46–47. 141  Ibid., 319–320. 142  Ibid., 4. 143  Alexander, Black Fire, 234. 144  Ibid. 145  Ibid., 239. 146  Richardson, With Water, 126.

5  THE SPIRIT IN THE SANCTIFIED CHURCH 

167

maintain, baptism should be in Jesus’ name only and not “in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”147 Thus, as discussed earlier, the theology of Oneness Pentecostalism is rooted in both scriptural interpretation and confirmed by personal experience. Arguing for the primacy of Jesus, Oneness Pentecostals believe that the idea of three equal Persons of Trinity undermines the primacy of the “‘supreme’ and ‘absolute’ deity of Christ.”148 According to this view, Jesus Christ is “not the incarnation of the Second Person of the Trinity, but the full revelation of the one God of Israel.”149 Consequently, in Oneness theology, there is little mention of any “Threeness” in God’s nature. Preferring the term “manifestation” over “person,”150 Oneness theologians will describe God as self-disclosing Godself to the world in three manifestations. Thus, in regard to the idea of the economic Trinity, there is some similarity with Trinitarian thought, but there is fervent advocacy for the fundamentally unified sense of monotheism of the Godhead within Oneness thought.151 Though conceptualized as three manifestations (Father, Son, and Holy Ghost), Jesus Christ is the one and only God who creates, redeems, sanctifies, and sustains.152 Whether in its Trinitarian or Oneness form, Pentecostal theology is manifested most vibrantly and dynamically through divine interaction with humanity in both formal, communal practices, rituals, and worship, and in informal, personal, and spontaneous ways. In its worldview and practices, Pentecostalism exhibits strong influences from ATRs as well as similarities with Afro-Caribbean religions.153 Sanders describes many aspects of Pentecostalism that show Africanisms, such as a sense of magic, supernatural power/energy, and healing; she points out that these same understandings are evident in the New Testament and may account for part of Pentecostalism’s popularity in Africa today.154 Even beyond these worldviews, Sanders asserts that the main elements from ATRs and diaspora religions found in the Sanctified Church include shouting and spirit

 Alexander, Black Fire, 208–209.  Reed, “In Jesus,” 205. 149  Ibid., 185. 150  Ibid., 179. 151  Ibid., 261. 152  Alexander, Black Fire Reader, 101–114. 153  Hurston, Sanctified, 107. 154  Sanders, Saints, 7. 147 148

168 

K. BUHRING

possession.155 Hurston characterizes shouting as “nothing more than a continuation of the African ‘Possession’ by the gods.”156 Amos Yong expands upon the idea of strong African influences in black Pentecostalism, writing: “these were resources that black Pentecostals ritualized in their Christian worship in order to empower themselves against the challenges posed by racism, sexism, and classism. For these reasons, the black Pentecostal worship experience has always included not only the aesthetic dimension but also the ethical,…in the acts of resistance, rebellion, and reform.”157 The chapter will turn next to a consideration of some of these practices, including conversion, anointing, prayer, preaching/testimony, song, music, dance, shouting, and Holy Spirit baptism. Along the way, Pentecostal ideas of the spirit(s) will be drawn out. Similar to the sense of God’s dominant role in conversion evidenced in the previous chapter, Pentecostal views of conversion depend heavily on divine agency and power. Nevertheless, the human’s role in Pentecostal conversion is stressed to a somewhat surprising degree. Based on an interview with Deacon Eldridge, Hinson explains, “[T]he Spirit can act with or without the willful engagement of the individual. But to optimize the potential for such action, the believer must first invite the Spirit in.… [T]he responsibility for taking the first step rests firmly with the individual.”158 Once the individual takes this first step, divine presence and activity flow in. Hinson writes, “Open the door, and He’ll come in. Open the door, and He’ll take control. And when He takes control, say the saints, you will know and you will feel.”159 Once this happens, “the potential for divine intercession is always there.”160 Once God is active in the life of the individual, Pentecostals describe the experience of anointing. Anointing is also referred to as “being born again,” “feeling the Spirit,” being “filled with the Spirit,” “feeling the fire,” feeling the “holy touch,” and “getting happy.”161 While anointing, which comes with being saved,162 “can never be predicted, it can be

 Ibid., 6.  Hurston, Sanctified, 104. 157  Yong, Spirit, 74. 158  Hinson, Fire, 83. 159  Ibid., 29. 160  Ibid., 82. 161  Ibid., 16. 162  Ibid., 215. 155 156

5  THE SPIRIT IN THE SANCTIFIED CHURCH 

169

invited.”163 Again, this concept speaks to a sense of simultaneous divine power and human receptivity. Hinson points out that Pentecostals describe the events and feelings leading into and after anointing, but that the experience itself, “when spirit and Spirit meet,” is ineffable.164 In other words, it must be experienced and felt by one’s self.165 While conversion or anointing may occur when alone or in a group, Pentecostal worship formally always involves a community as they come together to have church. Pentecostal worship tends to resist rigid liturgical structures. In part, this is because of the oral nature of the tradition.166 Further, Alexander explains, “From its inception, the Pentecostal movement has defined itself as bringing about a return to apostolic simplicity in worship, and as such, it has continually proclaimed its disdain for anything that it felt may potentially rob worship of spiritual authenticity.”167 Alexander adds that an openness to the Spirit’s presence and activity is not conducive to rigid structures and practices.168 The importance of receptivity to the Spirit speaks to the collaborative nature of Pentecostal worship and its distinctive interaction between humans and the divine. Hinson explains, “‘Church’ is never a given in a worship service. Rather, it’s something that must be achieved, a state reached through individual worship and shared focus. To ‘have’ church, the saints must collectively seek it, and the Spirit must join the service to bring it about. ‘Having church’ thus becomes an act of collaboration, where sincere seeking invites divine intercession and yields-if the Spirit so wills—holy experience.”169 Hinson also distinguishes between divine presence and divine activity. While devoted human effort can virtually guarantee the Spirit’s presence, “spiritual presence does not necessarily indicate spiritual activity. The responsibility for inviting such activity, as suggested earlier, rests with the saints. They must worship with spirit and sincerity to set the process of ‘having church’ into motion.”170 While the Spirit’s activity can take subtle or dramatic forms, ultimately, only the believers  Ibid., 3.  Ibid., 17. 165  Ibid., 18. 166  Estrelda Y. Alexander, “Liturgy in Non-Liturgical Holiness-Pentecostalism,” Wesleyan Theological Journal 32 no. 2 (Fall 1997): 158. 167  Ibid., 166. 168  Ibid., 167. 169  Hinson, Fire, 36–37. 170  Ibid., 37–38. 163 164

170 

K. BUHRING

t­hemselves can know whether the Spirit is truly present and active. This certainty of divine interaction is based on experiencing the Spirit.171 Though it defines itself as non-liturgical, there is still a “distinct liturgical presence within Pentecostal worship.”172 Some of the elements evident in communal worship settings include prayer, preaching, testimony, music, shouting, and baptism in the Holy Spirit. The line between prayer and preaching tends to blur just as the distinction between the human and Spirit dissipates. While obviously any of the saints can pray at any time, the prayers of the preacher take on added significance. James Forbes explains that the preaching event “is a process in which the divine-human communication is activated and focused on the word of God and is led by a member of the community of faith who has been called, anointed, and appointed by the Holy Spirit to be an agent of divine communication.”173 The “activation” of this communication is initiated by the person, but then the Spirit will “take over.” Hinson interviews Elder Richardson, who relates that the preacher’s prayers go up and the Spirit comes down. Richardson “described how the Spirit endowed the words of the anointed prayer-giver, giving them a special spin, granting them the power to touch hearer’s hearts. ‘When you’re serving God;’ Elder Richardson explained, ‘you got to be in the Spirit. And if you are in the Spirit, God will let you know you’re serving Him in spirit, and He will endow His Holy Spirit to come upon you’.”174 At this stage, Pentecostals clarify, the dynamic shifts from human communication directed toward God to God communicating through and to humans. At this point, the prayer comes from the Spirit and is expressed through the preacher. Preachers explain that they do not plan what they will say, but rather that the words come to them from God.175 In another of Hinson’s interviews, Deacon Willie Eldridge asserts that when he preaches, “It’s not my words. It’s the words of Him that’s speaking through me. … He uses us as a vessel.”176 Even in this instance though, the human is not purely passive. Eldridge continues, “‘But you got to be in the position that He can use you as that vessel. Because, see, so many times, so many of us,  Ibid., 38.  Alexander, “Liturgy,” 189–190. Interestingly, Alexander also points out that the more middle class a congregation is, the more liturgical structure is evident. 173  James A. Forbes, Jr., The Holy Spirit & Preaching (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1989), 19. 174  Hinson, Fire, 68–69. 175  Ibid., 75–76. 176  Ibid., 77. 171 172

5  THE SPIRIT IN THE SANCTIFIED CHURCH 

171

we don’t have the Holy Spirit. And we have no thoughts of Him. And He can’t use us as a vessel to deliver a thought, or a message, from Him.’ [While] anyone can preach their own words, their own message,…only one who has been anointed can serve as a vessel.”177 Thus, at this stage, the words of the Spirit flowing through the preacher are intended for the community of saints gathered. Elder Richardson explains, “that prayer moves from heart to heart and from breast to breast. It can’t just be for one only. God’s going to let somebody else feel it.”178 So, in prayer or preaching, the interactive nature of the human–divine relationship is manifested and the communal nature of worship is evident. Prayer or preaching “is designed to bring the worshipping community into some form of climatic expression—shouting, tears, praise, repentance, tongues-speaking.”179 As in the dynamic of prayer and preaching, humans initiate contact with the Spirit through music, song, and dance to evoke further divine presence and activity. Hinson draws out this parallel, writing, “Singers describe this experience in precisely the same way that Deacon Eldridge described anointed prayer and that generations of preachers have described anointed preaching. All report experiencing a gradual spiritual elevation. All tell of eventually ‘letting go and letting God.’ All describe how the words ‘come’ of their own accord. And all testify to knowing that the words’ source is the Spirit. Saints say that this anointing is essentially the same as that which leads to tears or a shout. But it manifests itself in a different way.”180 Thus, song “initiates the supernatural conversation, thus opening the mind’s doors to transcendence. This is what saints mean when they talk about ‘singing until you feel it.’”181 The Spirit is also called and felt through dance. Hinson explains, “The quickened rhythms sweep over the body, inviting involvement that stretches beyond the voice, seductively beckoning the self to become one with the rolling flow.”182 The resulting shout, or holy dance, is both spontaneous and coordinated. Hinson describes the shout as “a culturally and aesthetically determined static structure [that] sustains the expression of ecstasy in a definite, recognizable form, the existence of which may not be apparent to the casual or uninformed  Ibid., 78.  Ibid., 68–69. 179  Sanders, Saints, 56. 180  Hinson, Fire, 302. 181  Ibid., 3. 182  Ibid., 100. 177 178

172 

K. BUHRING

observer.”183 While this sacred dance is about being “rejuvenated and energized by the Holy Spirit,”184 ultimately, the use of music, song, and dance can draw forth dynamic and vibrant divine presence and activity in the form of baptism in the Holy Spirit, or what some scholars refer to as possession. Among Pentecostals, both baptism by immersion in water and baptism in the Holy Spirit are required for salvation. While baptism in the Holy Spirit is prioritized, for some Pentecostal groups, such as Apostolics, water baptism is extremely important also.185 Though most Pentecostal communities baptize in the traditional Trinitarian form, Apostolics baptize in the name of Jesus Christ alone.186 In either form, “baptism by immersion is ordinarily required only once in the life of the believer, [while] the baptism of the Spirit may be understood as a ritual of initiation that can be repeated, replenished, or reenacted as often as the saint becomes possessed by the Holy Spirit in worship.”187 While there are obvious and significant parallels between spirit possession in ATRs and Afro-Caribbean religions and baptism in the Holy Spirit in the Sanctified Church, there are important differences as well. As in ATRs and Afro-Caribbean religions, possession is initiated by the human, often in a communal setting that involves music. The divine is purposely and consciously evoked. Likewise, possession is a tremendously important event of divine presence and activity, as well as interaction and communication between humanity and the divine. Finally, possession is always understood to have efficacy for the community, in terms of revelation, insight, and healing. Possession is transformative for the believing and practicing community. Unlike in ATRs and Afro-Caribbean religions, possession in the Sanctified tradition is always by the Holy Spirit alone and

 Sanders, Saints, 61.  Lovett, “From the Womb,” 71–72. 185  Richardson, With Water, 108. 186  Ibid., 110. 187  Sanders, Saints, 59. Lovett explains that not all Sanctified groups refer to the phenomenon as baptism. For example, some Holiness groups call it a gift, insisting there was only one baptism, which was described in the New Testament. See Lovett, “From the Womb,” 74–75. 183 184

5  THE SPIRIT IN THE SANCTIFIED CHURCH 

173

not by one of a host of subdivinities.188 Additionally, while some African and African diasporic religions understand God to mount the possessed and essentially take over or merge with the possessed person, in the Sanctified Church God remains distinct from the person always. Even in an event of utter immanence, the divine remains simultaneously transcendent in this sense. Alexander notes that, “The liminal state that results from such baptism…never results in a merging of the self with ultimate reality.”189 It is for this reason that some saints object to the description of baptism in the Spirit as possession. The Spirit “does not erase believers’ wills and control their actions. Instead, He engages them, inviting saints to ‘give in’ so that He might work with and through them. Most action arising from such engagement is thus collaborative, with the self typically maintaining a measure of awareness and involvement.” Unlike spirit possession in non-­Christian traditions, “Consciousness-and a measure of control-remains even when most control has been ceded. Saints say that it is precisely this deep level of consciousness that receives the experiential knowing imparted by God.”190 Hinson continues, explaining that the Spirit “doesn’t just grant a moment of epiphany and then leave. Instead, He abides. Believers say that the Spirit connects with the spirit, that the two come together as one, that the Spirit indwells. All of these terms suggest not only deep communion, but also deep communication,” the gift of a “profound knowing, a penetrating certainty that certifies source and clarifies meaning.”191 Such revealed insight is the basis of the saints’ confidence in what has been revealed. While the divine does not “take over” Sanctified believers, possession can take on dramatic forms of expression. Sanders describes both static

188  Lovett, “From the Womb,” 74–75. In distinction from this understanding of possession by the Holy Spirit in the Sanctified Church, adherents of Spiritual churches attest to possession by both the Holy Spirit and a “spirit guide” at various times. These spirit guides include Catholic saints, as well as other empowering figures such as Father John, Queen Esther, and Black Hawk. For more on Spiritual churches and perspectives on possession, see Hans A. Baer, The Black Spiritual Movement: A Religious Response to Racism (Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 1984) and Claude F.  Jacobs, The Spiritual Churches of New Orleans: Origins, Beliefs, and Rituals of an African-American Religion (Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 1991). 189  Alexander, Black Fire, 57. While distinctive from some ATRs and Santeria, this description is not so different from that given by Vodou practitioners in Chap. 3. 190  Hinson, Fire, 323. 191  Ibid.

174 

K. BUHRING

and ecstatic forms of possession.192 Static forms of possession, which are more distinctive of Holiness churches, may involve hymn singing, Scripture reading, prayers, offerings, sermon, altar call, announcements, and benediction, many of which may “support” ecstatic expressions. Ecstatic forms of possession, which are more distinctive of Pentecostals, include shouting, holy dance, speaking in tongues, spontaneous utterances, and lifting holy hands. Either form may be random or “controlled.”193 While speaking in tongues, or glossolalia, is accepted but not required in Holiness traditions, it is understood as a necessary initial indication of genuine Spirit baptism in most Pentecostal communities. As baptism in the Holy Spirit may be revelatory and an indication of salvation, it is also understood as empowering.194 Lovett explains Pentecostal theology, saying, “[W]e are not baptized with the Spirit to be saved and become the children of God, but…we are baptized with the Spirit because we are saved and are the children of God. In this context, the Holy Spirit immanently indwells the soul of the believer empowering the consciousness of the believer for witness.”195 Alexander adds, “Believers cast Holy Spirit baptism as ‘a gift of power on the sanctified life’ and an empowerment for service.”196 In short, Spirit baptism empowers one to live a holy and sanctified life and to reach out to serve others. It is a gift for both the self and for the community. While many in the Sanctified tradition understand reaching out and serving others in a spiritual sense, in terms of evangelization and moral exemplification of a holy, sanctified lifestyle, this other-directed impulse has also been interpreted by some saints to manifest in progressive efforts toward social justice. In other words, for many saints, both personal and social positive transformation are important.197 While the Sanctified Church can take the form of escapism or otherworldliness, Tinney argues that it is “not typically anti-political, non-political or otherworldly in nature.”198 Sanders goes even farther in characterizing the Sanctified Church as more progressive than is usually thought. She argues that there are tendencies toward resistance to oppression and for social justice  Sanders, Saints, 59–61.  Ibid., 59–60. 194  Lovett, “From the Womb,” 73. 195  Ibid., 75. 196  Alexander, Black Fire, 58. 197  Tinney, “Theoretical,” 263. 198  Ibid., i. 192 193

5  THE SPIRIT IN THE SANCTIFIED CHURCH 

175

a­ ctivism within the history of the Sanctified Church and its perspective of undermining or mitigating political and social powers that be.199 In fact, from Sanders’ point of view, black Pentecostalism offers both liberative social and political resources, as does Black Liberation Theology, as well as spiritual resources, which she finds lacking in Black Liberation Theology. The integration of political and spiritual elements in black Pentecostalism is illustrated well by two thinkers in particular, Leonard Lovett and James Forbes.

Leonard Lovett Leonard Lovett was a Church of God in Christ pastor and scholar who was one of the earliest figures to bridge the gap between the church and the academy. In his seminal works, published mostly in the 1970s, Lovett explained and explored Pentecostal theology and engaged nascent Black Liberation Theology. Importantly, he developed ways of understanding both the potential for liberative thought and ethics stemming from a Pentecostal foundation and the need for a Spirit-based sense of the nature of liberation. In contrast to other theological options that stress either divine immanence or divine transcendence, Lovett asserts that the Pentecostal view of divine presence is “just right.” He offers, “The Pentecostal experience is the synthesis of both truths that guard against the extremes.” Lovett explains that God remains transcendent and “Other,” but is experienced in a concrete and personal way.200 Central to Pentecostal understandings of divine presence in a concrete and personal way, “The baptism of the Holy Ghost is not a ‘saving’ experience,” Lovett explains, “but rather an ‘empowering’ one, thus enabling the believer to become a more effective witness.”201 While this empowerment applies to an individual in a personal, spiritual sense, it also manifests in communal and political ways. Being empowered by the Holy Spirit means being enabled to move toward both personal and political liberation. Estrelda Alexander writes, 199  Sanders, Saints, 115. Alexander highlights the example of the Apostolic figure Smallwood E. Williams, who pronounced in 1945 that “anyone who tells you that God is not interested in human freedom, does not know God. Anyone who says that God is not interested in the physical as well as the spiritual condition of humanity is ignorant theologically of God’s interest in the human family” (“Recovering,” 46). 200  Lovett, “Perspective,” 47–48. 201  Ibid.

176 

K. BUHRING

for Lovett, “[T]he Pentecostal experience can awaken a political consciousness to mobilize adherents into liberation movements and free them to authentically confront oppression. Thus for him, personal liberation precedes social and political liberation.”202 Further, Lovett argues, these forms of liberation are inextricably intertwined. He asserts, “Pentecostalism affirms with dogmatic insistence that liberation is always the consequence of the presence of the Spirit. Authentic liberation can never occur apart from Pentecostal encounter and likewise, authentic Pentecostal encounter cannot occur unless liberation becomes the consequence. It is another way of saying no man can experience the fullness of the Spirit and be a racist.”203 Lovett also points out the fact that Pentecostalism has exploded in Latin America and Africa, where converts experience oppression. He suggests an inherent and powerful link between the appeal and power of Pentecostalism and the realities of oppression and liberation.204 Though Aaron Howard writes that Lovett “favors the theme of reconciliation espoused by J.  Deotis Roberts”205 over James Cone’s focus on liberation, he calls Lovett’s perspective a “Black Pentecostal theology of pneumatological liberation.”206 Howard draws out two important aspects of Lovett’s understanding of liberation, calling them spiritualization and humanization. Howard writes, “Lovett defines spiritualization as an existential transformation that occurs when revelation—God’s self-disclosure through his spirit—is received by individuals. This contact between the Spirit of God and humans results in a radical transformation of human consciousness, fundamentally altering the way one perceives oneself and the world.” This process is characterized as conversion or empowerment.207 While spiritualization entails the “infusion of power” and revealed purpose,208 humanization is the resulting human action taken toward social and political liberation. Humanization “refers to making and keeping human life more human,” as well as justice for all, especially the poor

 Alexander, “Recovering,” 46.  Lovett, “Perspective,” 48. 204  Ibid., 47. 205  Aaron Howard, “Revelation as Revolution: Black Pentecostal Theology as a Means of Radical Social Change,” The Journal of the Interdenominational Theological Center 44 Fall-­ Spr 2016–2017, 38. 206  Ibid., 37. 207  Ibid., 39. 208  Ibid., 40. 202 203

5  THE SPIRIT IN THE SANCTIFIED CHURCH 

177

and the oppressed.209 Though charity and prayer are important in the Pentecostal tradition, these efforts are not sufficient. In fact, they tend to confine the Spirit’s work in ways that “sanction middle class values and material wants.”210 Instead, Howard writes of Lovett’s vision, “A revolutionary pneumatological liberation will open doors of our confining ideological spaces to release the Spirit into unfamiliar territories that will subvert the status quo and confront the self-interested origins of our deepest desires.”211 Thus, Howard points out the liberative potential of Lovett’s Pentecostal theology. In a similar way, James Forbes’ theology draws forth intriguing possibilities from both the Pentecostal tradition and Black Liberation Theology.

James Forbes James A. Forbes, Jr., is the Senior Minister Emeritus at Riverside Church in New York and is ordained in both the United Holy Church of America212 and the Baptist Church. He has had a long and illustrious career as a preacher and scholar. Like Lovett, Forbes personifies the links between traditional Pentecostalism and progressive political tendencies within the academy in general and Black Liberation Theology in particular. Forbes argues that Pentecostalism has not attended very well to the theme of liberation, while Black Liberation Theology has largely ignored the Holy Spirit. For Forbes, these two forces should be integrated. Rooted in the Sanctified tradition, Forbes explains that his “ministry has involved searching for ways to help the larger church community experience the empowerment found in the Pentecostal emphasis on the experience of the Holy Spirit.”213 He argues that many Christians are “Holy Spirit-shy.” By this, he means they may have a doctrinal sense of the third person of the Trinity, but not a personal sense of encounter with the Spirit.214 In order for one to have a personal encounter with the Spirit, one must be receptive to the possibility. Forbes explains, “for us to be caught up in the Spirit, we must be open to receive with a heightened intensity  Ibid., 45.  Ibid., 54. 211  Ibid. 212  Forbes, Holy Spirit, 12. 213  Ibid., 14. 214  Ibid., 21–23. 209 210

178 

K. BUHRING

whatever the anointing power revealed in Jesus the Christ has for us.”215 He goes on to say that the Spirit can be present and active in one’s life in subtle ways, for example, during prayer, as a helper, and as grounds for hope.216 Forbes also understands the role of the Spirit for us to be analogous to a teacher. The lessons of the Spirit are imparted not only through the Bible “but also through the stirring of our hearts that call is to broaden our compassion, through the prodding of our conscience that recognizes injustice, and through the encounters with others that open our eyes to new ways of seeing and being.”217 While the Holy Spirit is teacher, those who are spirit-filled are teaching assistants, according to Forbes.218 Importantly then, for Forbes, being infused and empowered by the Holy Spirit involves being externally focused on others. He writes, “The anointing of the Spirit is not primarily for our personal edification. It is to enable us to be an embodiment of divine intent. We are anointed to become agents of God who authorizes the process.”219 As agents of God, one’s actions must be guided by the Spirit220 and move toward healing and transformation, on both a personal and a social level.221 While maintaining that the Sanctified tradition has resources to work toward social and political transformation in the sense of justice and liberation, Forbes acknowledges that the Pentecostal church has often not lived up to its potential in this regard. He writes that the Pentecostal tradition has tended to focus on “the personal model of salvation,” but not developed “much of an emphasis on societal issues or specific social concerns.”222 In his own spiritual and intellectual journey, Forbes points to Martin Luther King, Jr., as eliciting “a new perspective for [him] when he linked the social mandates of the Christian faith to the Holy Spirit.”223 In a manner similar to Lovett, Forbes explains, “the Holy Spirit is bigger than simply bringing a good feeling to someone who is down in the dumps. This is not to be minimized. It is crucial. But Jesus promised to send power so  Ibid., 77.  Ibid., 73. 217  James A. Forbes, Jr., Whose Gospel?: A Concise Guide to Progressive Protestantism (New York: New Press, 2010), 26. 218  Ibid., 26. 219  Forbes, Holy Spirit, 48. 220  Ibid. 221  Forbes, Gospel, 10–14. 222  Ibid., 8. 223  Ibid. 215 216

5  THE SPIRIT IN THE SANCTIFIED CHURCH 

179

that we could be witnesses for him. That is big business of cosmic scope. The Spirit we talk about empowers people to find personal fulfillment so that they will be freed up to participate in the work of liberation.” The Holy Spirit gives one an “assignment” (to deal with personal or systemic issues) and “he also gives the power and guidance to accomplish the task.”224 Thus, the Spirit is present, active, and empowering people in “the work of building up lives and creating systems for peace, justice, compassion, and ecological responsibility. A faithful relationship with God cannot be separated from our relationships with the other members of the created order.”225 In this way, being Christian involves both spiritual transformation of the self and social and political transformation of the world. Forbes points to Jesus himself as manifesting these emphases of both the Pentecostal tradition and liberation theology. As embodied in Jesus, Forbes asserts that “we need both the fire of the spirit and the liberating focus that leads us to say to all who are oppressed that the day of the Lord’s favor is upon us.”226 Forbes cites Matthew 25:31–40 as the grounds for his passion for economic justice. He writes, “In actuality, we have a responsibility as taxpayers to contribute to national security, sound infrastructure, maintenance of justice, and other essentials for the public good. While we cultivate the spirit of enough, we must also demand that a fair portion of our tax dollars feed the hungry, clothe the naked, house those who have no home, and heal the sick.”227 In addition to attending to economic justice, Forbes also writes prophetically in regard to racism, sexism, war, and ecological issues.228 While Jesus is important to Forbes in regard to these issues, intriguingly he also implies that the Spirit might be grounds for more inclusive work with other religions as compared with Christocentric efforts.229 While Lovett and Forbes have sought ways to integrate Pentecostalism’s spirit-filled ethos with the social justice orientation of liberation theology, 224  James Forbes, “Ministry of Hope from a Double Minority,” Theological Education 9.4 (1973), 309–310. 225  Forbes, Gospel, 9. 226  James A. Forbes. Jr., “The Fire and the Focus,” Brethren Life and Thought 27, no. 2 (Spr 1982): 88. 227  Forbes, Gospel, 110. 228  See also James A.  Forbes, Jr., “‘Emancipation from Poverty’: Luke 4:16–21,” in Just Preaching: Prophetic Voices for Economic Justice, edited by André Resner, Jr., (St. Louis: Chalice Press, 2003), 111–118. 229  Forbes, Gospel, Introduction.

180 

K. BUHRING

they have been exceptions to the more general tendency within black Pentecostalism to take an apolitical stance. Estrelda Alexander explains that in the broader Pentecostal movement, “efforts for liberation are often viewed with suspicion,” and as such agendas have been interpreted as being based in radical secularism.230 At times, black Pentecostals seem to regard black mainline Protestant concerns with social and political concerns as misguided bourgeois efforts that distract from “real” religious matters. Instead, within the Pentecostal realm, there has been a sense of social injustices as “unfortunate” consequences of original sin and realities that God will attend to in the future, typically in the next world.231 Though there has been a tendency for the Pentecostal tradition to be otherworldly focused, there have certainly been exceptions historically and there is potential for developments within Pentecostalism to contribute a great deal toward a conversation with liberation theology. Alexander refers to “the voice of protest that has been an integral part of the Afro-­ Pentecostal movement from its inception.”232 She goes on to point out that, “without developing a full-fledged liberation theology, early African American Holiness and Pentecostal leaders and later Pentecostal scholars were outspoken critics of the inequities of American race politics and crafted biblical objections to understandings of racial inferiority or the injustice of social, political, and economic inequity.”233 Alexander argues that it is in fact black Pentecostalism’s theological conservatism, “the penchant to engage the Word of God as authoritative warrant for the living of life, which drives the social and political agendas of African American Pentecostalism.”234 Basing their perspectives in biblical views, black Pentecostals redefined central theological themes in contrast to dominant, though warped, claims within the white Christian tradition. They saw the equality and dignity of each human, Jesus as empathizing with and liberating the oppressed, and sin and salvation as personal and social.235 At the same time that some Pentecostal figures have called for fuller development of the potential within the tradition to engage liberation efforts, without question, academic Black Liberation Theology has largely  Estrelda Y. Alexander, “When Liberation Becomes Survival,” Pneuma 32 (2010): 337.  Ibid., 338. 232  Alexander, “Recovering,” 25. 233  Ibid., 26. 234  Ibid., 48–49. 235  Ibid., 25–26. 230 231

5  THE SPIRIT IN THE SANCTIFIED CHURCH 

181

ignored Sanctified Church movements.236 Echoing Lovett and Forbes, Cheryl Sanders and Dale Irwin argue that black theology and Pentecostal theology “need each other.” Sanders asserts that black theology needs “an infusion of vitality characterized by the Spirit.237 Irwin writes that Pentecostal theology could benefit from “the critical reminder that material signifiers do not constitute liberation, that prosperity demands a clearer and more explicit social and political critique, and that numerical growth does not on its own constitute sufficient evidence of faithfulness to the gospel of Jesus Christ.”238 The next two chapters will examine modern and contemporary figures in black theology with an eye to considering ways that ideas from this chapter and previous ones might be beneficial for Black Liberation Theology moving forward.

Works Cited Alexander, Estrelda Y. Black Fire: One Hundred Years of African American Pentecostalism. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2011. Alexander, Estrelda Y., ed. Black Fire Reader: A Documentary Resource on African American Pentecostalism. Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2013. Alexander, Estrelda Y. “Liturgy in Non-Liturgical Holiness-Pentecostalism.” Wesleyan Theological Journal 32 no. 2 (Fall 1997): 158–193. Alexander, Estrelda Y. “Recovering Black Theological Thought in the Writings of Early African-American Holiness-Pentecostal Leaders.” In A Liberating Spirit: Pentecostals and Social Action in North America, edited by Michael Wilkinson and Steven M. Studebaker, 23–52. Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2010a. Alexander, Estrelda Y. “When Liberation Becomes Survival.” Pneuma 32 (2010b): 337–353. Baer, Hans A., and Merrill Singer. African American Religion: Varieties of Protest and Accommodation. 2nd edn., Knoxville: The University of Tennessee Press, 2002. Baer, Hans A. The Black Spiritual Movement: A Religious Response to Racism. Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 1984.

 Turner, United, 158.  Cheryl J. Sanders, “Wanted Dead or Alive: A Black Theology of Renewal.” Pneuma 36 2014, 416. 238  Dale T. Irwin, “Meeting Beyond These Shores: Black Pentecostalism, Black Theology, and the Global Context,” in Afro-Pentecostalism: Black Pentecostalism and Charismatic Christianity in History and Culture, edited by Yong, Amos and Estrelda Y. Alexander (New York: New York University Press, 2011), 242. 236 237

182 

K. BUHRING

Cooper, Valerie. “Laying the Foundations for Azusa: Black Women and Public Ministry in the Nineteenth Century.” In Afro-Pentecostalism: Black Pentecostal and Charismatic Christianity in History and Culture, edited by Amos Yong and Estrelda Y. Alexander, 65–81. New York: New York University Press, 2011. Copeland, M. Shawn. “‘Wading through Many Sorrows’: Toward a Theology of Suffering in Womanist Perspective.” In Cut Loose Your Stammering Tongue: Black Theology in the Slave Narrative, 2nd edn, edited by Dwight N. Hopkins and George C.  L. Cummings, 157–171. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2003. Forbes, James A., Jr. “‘Emancipation from Poverty’: Luke 4:16–21.” In Just Preaching: Prophetic Voices for Economic Justice, edited by André Resner, Jr., 111–118. St. Louis: Chalice Press, 2003. Forbes, James A., Jr. “The Fire and the Focus.” Brethren Life and Thought 27, no. 2 (Spr 1982): 87–90. Forbes, James A., Jr. The Holy Spirit & Preaching. Nashville: Abingdon, 1989. Forbes, James A., Jr. “Ministry of Hope from a Double Minority.” Theological Education 9, no. 4 (Sum 1973): 305–316. Forbes, James A., Jr. Whose Gospel?: A Concise Guide to Progressive Protestantism. New York: New Press, 2010. Gilkes, Cheryl Townsend. “If It Wasn’t for the Women….”: Black Women’s Experience and Womanist Culture in Church and Community. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2001. Harris, Antipas L. “Elements of African Religious Spiritual Practices in African American Worship: Resounding Practical Theological Implications.” In Christianity in Africa and the African Diaspora: The Appropriation of a Scattered Heritage, edited by Afe Adogame, Roswith Gerloff, and Klaus Hock, 221–231. London: Continuum, 2008. Hinson, Glenn. Fire in My Bones: Transcendence and the Holy Spirit in African American Gospel. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1999. Howard, Aaron. “Revelation as Revolution: Black Pentecostal Theology as a Means of Radical Social Change.” The Journal of the Interdenominational Theological Center 44 Fall-Spr 2016–2017, 37–57. Hurston, Zora Neale. The Sanctified Church. Berkeley, CA: Turtle Island, 1984. Irwin, Dale T. “Meeting Beyond These Shores: Black Pentecostalism, Black Theology, and the Global Context,” in Afro-Pentecostalism: Black Pentecostalism and Charismatic Christianity in History and Culture, edited by Yong, Amos and Estrelda Y.  Alexander, 233–247. New  York: New  York University Press, 2011. Jacobs, Claude F. The Spiritual Churches of New Orleans: Origins, Beliefs, and Rituals of an African-American Religion. Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 1991.

5  THE SPIRIT IN THE SANCTIFIED CHURCH 

183

Lovett, Leonard. “Black Holiness-Pentecostalism: Implications for Ethics and Social Transformation.” Ph.D. diss., Emory University, 1979. Lovett, Leonard. “From the Womb of Blackness to Black Holiness-Pentecostalism.” The Journal of the Interdenominational Center 44 (Fall-Spring 2016–2017): 59–79. Lovett, Leonard. “Perspective on the Black Origins of the Contemporary Pentecostal Movement.” The Journal of the Interdenominational Center 1, No. 1 (Fall 1973): 36–49. Reed, David. “In Jesus’ Name”: The History and Beliefs of Oneness Pentecostals. Dorset, England: Deo Publishing, 2008. Richardson, James C. With Water and Spirit. Washington, D.C.: Spirit Press, 1980. Robeck, Cecil M., Jr. The Azusa Street Mission and Revival: The Birth of the Global Pentecostal Movement. Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2006. Sanders, Cheryl J. Saints in Exile: The Holiness-Pentecostal Experience in African American Religion and Culture. New York: Oxford University Press, 1996. Sanders, Cheryl J. “Wanted Dead or Alive: A Black Theology of Renewal,” Pneuma 36 2014, 407–416. Tinney, James. “A Theoretical and Historical Comparison of Black Political Movements.” PhD diss., Howard University, 1978. Turner, William C., Jr. The United Holy Church of America: A Study in Black-­ Holiness-­Pentecostalism. Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias, 2006. Vondey, Wolfgang. “The Making of a Black Liturgy: Pentecostal Worship and Spirituality from African Slave Narratives to American Cityscapes.” Black Theology 10 2 2012, 147–168. Yong, Amos and Estrelda Y.  Alexander, eds. Afro-Pentecostalism: Black Pentecostalism and Charismatic Christianity in History and Culture. New York: New York University Press, 2011. Yong, Amos. The Spirit Poured Out on All Flesh: Pentecostalism and the Possibility of Global Theology. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2005.

CHAPTER 6

The Spirit in Modern Black Theology and Religion

While Chaps. 2, 3, 4, 5 examine resources to be used for constructive theology, Chaps. 6 and 7 enter into conversation with modern and contemporary black theologians as a way to position the ideas explored in Chap. 8. This chapter will detail the work of three pioneers of the first-­ generation of black theology: James H.  Cone, J.  Deotis Roberts, and Gayraud S. Wilmore. Dwight N.  Hopkins refers to Cone and Roberts as “church theologians.”1 They understand themselves as challenging the norms and content of white Christian theology, while still grounding their black Christian theology in largely traditional sources and expressing their theological insights within classical Christian theological categories, such as Christology, theological anthropology, and ecclesiology. In their profoundly significant work, they shake the foundations of Christian theology and challenge Christian theologians to recognize the biblically based central role of liberation of the oppressed. Though Cone and Roberts have their differences, they have more fundamental similarities and remain Christocentric in their theological formulations. In distinction, though also an ordained minister like Cone and Roberts, Gayraud S. Wilmore presents his vision of a broader sense of black religion  Dwight N.  Hopkins, Introducing Black Theology of Liberation (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1999), 84. 1

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 K. Buhring, Spirit(s) in Black Religion, Black Religion/Womanist Thought/Social Justice, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-09887-1_6

185

186 

K. BUHRING

rather than the more narrowly construed discipline of black theology. In Wilmore’s view, black religion, and really even black theology, must attend to not only the Christian tradition but also the full variety of black religiosity, including African traditional religions (ATRs), Afro-Caribbean religions, folk traditions of African Americans, as well as black secular expressions. In this way, black theology may be enriched through the use of a more diverse set of sources for doing theology and a wider array of potential theological expressions. Though Wilmore opens the door for such moves, he himself does not walk fully through the opening he himself creates. Usually stopping short of bringing his methodological suggestions to fruition, he offers that such work might be done by cultural anthropologists and historians of religions, such as Charles H.  Long. While Long does examine such realms, he is a historian of religion rather than a theologian. Thus, Wilmore creates space for a black theology that taps more fully into non-Christian black resources, but the first generation of black theologians does not utilize it effectively. An example of an area of black theology that might be strengthened and enriched by fuller engagement with non-Christian resources is the idea of the Holy Spirit. Black theologians, such as Anthony Reddie, have sometimes lamented the fact that pneumatology has been underdeveloped within black theology. Roberts himself writes, “little direct attention has been given to [the Holy Spirit] in the liberation theology literature. … [T]he Holy Spirit had been neglected in recent Black Theology. But there is no gainsaying of the importance of the Holy Spirit in the black church tradition. If the worship among most blacks is satiated with the presence of the Spirit, the worship of the more cultured and educated blacks often suffers from the Spirit’s absence. In both cases there may be a need for deeper understanding.”2 As Roberts alludes to, and as was evident in the previous chapter, the Spirit is alive and active in black churches. The issue is that in formal, academic black theology, there has been little development of this idea and reality that is so important within the black church. The first generation of black theologians focus on liberation and social justice, but have not given enough attention to the Spirit. It is the hope of this work that, by building from the firm foundation built by Cone and Roberts and by following the path carved out by Wilmore, black theology might be strengthened and enriched by fuller treatment of the Spirit of Christianity and the spirits of non-Christian traditions.

2  J.  Deotis Roberts, Black Theology in Dialogue (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1987), 54.

6  THE SPIRIT IN MODERN BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

187

James H. Cone Widely acknowledged as the father of Black Liberation Theology, James H.  Cone is fundamentally rooted in the realities of the black Church. Cone opens his 1975 work, God of the Oppressed, explaining this core influence: The black Church introduced me to the essence of life as expressed in the rhythm and feelings of black people in Bearden, Arkansas. At Macedonia African Methodist Episcopal Church (A.M.E.), I encountered the presence of the divine Spirit, and my soul was moved and filled with an aspiration for freedom. Through prayer, song, and sermon, God made frequent visits to the black community in Bearden and reassured the people of God’s concern for their well-being and the divine will to bring them safely home.3

From these seminal experiences, Cone would go on to formal academic theological training during the period of the Civil Rights Movement. He explains that he was further impacted by both the Christian theology and ethics of Martin Luther King, Jr., and the critical analysis and Muslim-­ based call for justice of Malcolm X. From these various influences, Cone would develop his black theology of liberation in works such as Black Theology & Black Power (1969) and A Black Theology of Liberation (1970). In these works, and many others, Cone develops a concept of God as Liberator. This model of God was based in the black experience, as well as the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament. While Cone’s theology gives attention to the Holy Spirit, it is primarily a Christocentric image of God that emerges from his writings. Starting with his first publications, Cone asserts that genuine Christian theology must be rooted in the idea of liberation of the oppressed. He writes, “God-talk is not Christian-talk unless it is directly related to the liberation of the oppressed.”4 Further, Cone explains that this emphasis on the liberation of the oppressed in modern America means that God is the black Christ working to liberate African Americans. In his words, “The norm of all God-talk which seeks to be black-talk is the manifestation of Jesus

 James H. Cone, God of the Oppressed, Rev. ed. (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1997), 1.  James H. Cone, A Black Theology of Liberation: Fortieth Anniversary Edition (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2010), 63. 3 4

188 

K. BUHRING

as the black Christ who provides the necessary soul for black liberation.”5 This is related to Cone’s understanding of God as black. For Cone, since God identifies with the oppressed of the land and the oppressed in modern America are black, it logically follows that God is black. For Cone, divine blackness does not mean a literal skin color of the divine, but an existential solidarity with those who are oppressed. Cone explains, “The blackness of God means that God has made the oppressed condition God’s own condition. This is the essence of the biblical revelation.… God’s election of Israel and incarnation in Christ reveal that the liberation of the oppressed is a part of the innermost nature of God. Liberation is not an afterthought, but the essence of divine activity.”6 As indicated in this explanation, Cone’s liberation theology is firmly rooted in the Bible. In the Bible, God not only creates the world,7 but also remains active and present as Liberator throughout history, as witnessed in the Hebrew Bible. God acts as Liberator when God elects and frees Israel during the Exodus. Cone explains, “God is revealed as the God of the oppressed, involved in their history, liberating them from human bondage.”8 This is a God who takes sides unequivocally with the oppressed and against the oppressors. In fact, for Cone, “There is no knowledge of Yahweh except through God’s political activity on behalf of the weak and helpless of the land.”9 Such activity continues through the Hebrew prophets and the life of Jesus. These divine actions of election and liberation display both God’s love and righteousness.10 Cone asserts that most Christian theologians emphasize divine love at the expense of divine righteousness. For Cone, God’s siding with the oppressed is a manifestation of both. God’s love of the oppressed means God’s wrath toward oppressors. A God who loves all equally is watered down. In fact, God is not neutral; God takes sides. God’s love of oppressors is manifested in God’s wrath toward them. He writes, “In a racist society, we must insist that God’s love and God’s righteousness are two ways of talking about the same reality. Righteousness means that God is addressing the black condition; love means that God is  Ibid., 40.  Ibid., 67. 7  Ibid., 79. 8  Ibid., 2. 9  Cone, God, 59. 10  Cone, Black Theology of Liberation, 70–78. 5 6

6  THE SPIRIT IN MODERN BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

189

doing so in the interests of both blacks and whites.”11 Such divine activity is related closely with Cone’s understanding of divine presence also. Largely following traditional, classical conceptions of God in Christian theology, Cone maintains that God is both immanent and transcendent. Divine immanence is central to the notion of a God who liberates. Cone writes, “God is involved in the concrete affairs of human history, liberating the oppressed. … The immanence of God is the infinite expressing itself in the finite.”12 Cone clarifies that while “black theology stresses the immanence of God. … The transcendence of God prevents us from deifying our own experiences.”13 Belying his Barthian academic roots, Cone is careful to maintain this sense of divine transcendence. However, according to Cone, this reality should not result in inaction or apathy in regard to oppression. Cone writes, “When blacks say that ‘all is in God’s hand,’ this should not be equated with the trite expression ‘We should do nothing’.” While Cone urges human efforts toward liberation, he is all too aware of our shortcomings. So, Cone adds, “Ultimately (and this is what God’s transcendence means) black humanity is not dependent on our power to win.”14 For Cone, it seems, maintaining a strong sense of divine transcendence serves as a sort of “safety net,” with the understanding that human efforts may likely fall short of achieving liberation for the oppressed. We can and should contribute, but if human efforts fail, as they might, God will bring about liberation. Related to his view of divine transcendence, Cone’s understanding of divine power is crafted in such a way to stress human freedom, yet maintain omnipotence. For example, Cone’s reading of the Hebrew Bible indicates this sense of divine power. He writes, “Israel’s liberation came not from its own strength but solely from the power of Yahweh, who completely controls history.”15 While Cone wants to maintain the idea of human freedom and the potential of humanity contributing to liberation, the fact that he includes “solely” and “completely” in this passage exhibits his rather traditional sense of divine power. Since the Exodus is so central to his theology, this sense of divine power remains for today as well. Cone explains, “The victory over evil is certain because God has taken up the  Ibid., 77.  Ibid, 80–81. 13  Ibid., 81. 14  Ibid. 15  Cone, God, 59. 11 12

190 

K. BUHRING

cause of the oppressed, promising today what was promised to the people of Israel while they were yet slaves in Egypt.” On this basis, “we also know that the oppressed will be fully liberated.”16 Despite Cone’s advocacy of a rather traditional understandings of omnipotence and theodicy, he does also try to mitigate some possible flaws of such a theology. Cone maintains that God is powerful and providential, but that doesn’t mean God condones all. He clarifies that “black theology cannot accept any view of God that even indirectly places divine approval on human suffering.”17 Cone further adds, “Omnipotence does not refer to God’s absolute power to accomplish what God wants.…God’s omnipotence is the power to let blacks stand out from whiteness and to be.”18 It is not entirely clear to me what Cone means by omnipotence if it is not absolute power. If he does not understand power in such a way, why does he hold on to the term “omnipotence?” My sense is that he affirms human ability and responsibility for fighting for liberation, but still wants to maintain a classical view of divine power in order to keep a safety net of sorts. Cone’s views of election, liberation, divine love, righteousness, presence, and power are evident especially in his understanding of Jesus Christ. In fact, for Cone, “Christianity begins and ends with the man Jesus—his life, death, and resurrection. He is the Revelation, the special disclosure of God to man, revealing who God is and what his purpose for man is. In short, Christ is the essence of Christianity.”19 In a later work, he writes, “Christian theology begins and ends with Jesus Christ. He is the point of departure for everything to be said about God, humankind, and the world.” Cone also adds, “Statements about God are not theologically distinct from statements about Jesus Christ.”20 Cone recognizes that the themes of election and liberation in the Hebrew Bible continue in the New Testament with Jesus.21 Cone interprets that the focus of the Hebrew Bible is on freedom and liberation on earth, while in the New Testament, freedom and liberation are to be found both on earth and in heaven.22 The election of the Israelites in the Hebrew  Ibid, 91.  Cone, Black Theology of Liberation, 85. 18  Ibid, 86. 19  James H.  Cone, Black Theology & Black Power: Twentieth Anniversary Edition (San Francisco, Harper & Row, 1989), 34. 20  Cone, Spirituals, 43. 21  Cone, Black Theology of Liberation, 2–3. 22  Cone, God, 73. 16 17

6  THE SPIRIT IN MODERN BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

191

Bible is widened to God’s election of all oppressed peoples in the very life, death, and resurrection of Jesus.23 Cone explains, “The appearance of Jesus as the Oppressed One whose existence is identified exclusively with the oppressed of the land is symbolically characterized in his birth. He was born in a stable and cradled in a manger (the equivalent of a beer case in a ghetto alley), ‘because there was no room for them in the inn’ (Luke 2:7).”24 Jesus’ identification with the poor, oppressed, and marginalized is evident as well in his baptism, temptation, and ministry.25 In some ways, for Cone, Jesus’ solidarity with the oppressed reaches its zenith in his crucifixion. Explaining the connection many enslaved blacks had to Jesus, Cone writes that slaves “encountered the theological significance of Jesus’ death: through the crucifixion, Jesus makes an unqualified identification with the poor and the helpless and takes their pain upon himself.”26 Of course, as a Christian theologian, Cone recognizes the resurrection as the fulfillment of Jesus’ incarnation and crucifixion. Cone argues that while “His death is the revelation of the freedom of God, taking upon himself the totality of human oppression; his resurrection is the disclosure that God is not defeated by oppression but transforms it into the possibility of freedom.”27 Going even further, Cone asserts, “Jesus’ resurrection is God’s victory over oppression.”28 Cone seems to hold the traditional Protestant view of sin and redemption, meaning redemption or salvation is something God does for/to us. We do not merit it. When he equates salvation with liberation, he implicitly carries over the sense that we don’t really contribute meaningful to liberation. It is God who liberates, though we may participate in this, in a sense. Very importantly for Cone’s theology, humans are empowered to participate in the liberation process because Jesus’ resurrection means he is “active even now” and that “he must be alive in those very men who are struggling in the midst of misery and humiliation. If the gospel is a gospel of liberation for the oppressed, then Jesus is where the oppressed are and continues his work of liberation there.”29 While especially in his early  Cone, Black Theology of Liberation, 3.  Ibid., 120. 25  Ibid., 121–124. 26  James H. Cone, The Spirituals and the Blues (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1992), 49. 27  Cone, Black Theology of Liberation, 124–125. 28  James H. Cone, For My People: Black Theology and the Black Church (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1996), 33. 29  Cone, Black Theology & Black Power, 38. 23 24

192 

K. BUHRING

writings Cone emphasizes the oppression of African Americans,30 he later broadens his analysis more fully to include all people of color,31 as well as women and people in poverty. Cone writes, “To participate in God’s salvation is to cooperate with the black Christ as he liberates his people from bondage. Salvation, then, primarily has to do with earthly reality and the injustice inflicted on those who are helpless and poor.”32 Again, while salvation and liberation refer to earthly realities, “it is not limited to what is possible in history. There is a transcendent element in the definition of liberation.”33 Also, as referred to earlier, this sense of transcendence is also the grounds for hope and faith, according to Cone. He explains, “Black people’s faith in Jesus’ future coming is the basis of their continued struggle against inexplicable evil in their present existence. … Black people can fight for freedom and justice, because the One who is their future is also the ground of their struggle for liberation.”34 Cone takes issue with forms of black humanism, in part, because of his belief that such an approach is not grounded in divine transcendence and power. In other words, Cone argues that the human struggle toward liberation is best based in the idea that Jesus has already initiated liberation and will fulfill it as well. At times, Cone tends to blur the distinction between Jesus and the Holy Spirit. For example, in his God of the Oppressed, he refers to “Christ’s Holy Spirit (Acts 1:8; 2:1f)”35 and also offers that “God is the Spirit of Jesus that guides and moves the people in their struggle to be what they were created to be.”36 Later in the same text, Cone explains, Through song, prayer, and sermon the community affirmed Jesus’ presence and their willingness to try to make it through their troubled situation. Some would smile and others would cry. Another person, depending upon the Spirit’s effect on him, would clap his hands and tap his feet. Then again another person would get down on her knees, waving her hands and moaning the melody of a song whose rhythm and words spoke to what she felt in her heart. All of these expressions were nothing but black people bearing witness to Jesus’ presence among them.37  Cone, Black Theology of Liberation, 127.  Cone, God, 31. 32  Cone, Black Theology of Liberation, 135–136. 33  Cone, God, 145. 34  Ibid., 129. 35  Ibid., 111. 36  Ibid., 20. 37  Ibid., 113. 30 31

6  THE SPIRIT IN MODERN BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

193

While it may be inherent in Christian perspectives of the divine as Trinitarian to make distinctions among the three persons rather fuzzy, I believe Cone prioritizes Jesus over the Holy Spirit and thus tends not to fully develop a sense of the Spirit as a distinct figure. At any rate, what clearly emerges in Cone’s theology is the idea that God, especially as Jesus, is present and active within human liberation activity today. While Cone’s theology is unquestionably Christocentric, there are times when he allows for the possibility of non-Christian or nonreligious approaches to liberation.38 Writing in 1989, Cone explains, “As in 1969, I still regard Jesus Christ today as the chief focus of my perspective on God but not to the exclusion of other religious perspectives. God’s reality is not bound by one manifestation of the divine in Jesus but can be found wherever people are being empowered to fight for freedom.”39 While Cone may consider any liberation efforts to be a manifestation of the presence and activity of Jesus within humanity, he points out that “It does not matter in the least whether the community of liberators designate their work as Christ’s own work.”40 Here, with echoes of Karl Rahner’s formulation of moral non-Christians as “anonymous Christians,” Cone employs Matthew 25 to argue that Jesus is still present in profound and dynamic ways among non-Christian social justice efforts. Despite Cone’s Christocentrism, in a few places he gives focused attention to the third person of the Trinity, the Holy Spirit.41 Not surprisingly, for Cone, the person of the Holy Spirit is grounded in Jesus Christ. He writes, “With the death and resurrection of Christ, the gift of the Spirit to persons—rare in the Old Testament—becomes a possibility for all who respond to God’s act in Christ in faithful obedience. The Spirit becomes the power of Christ himself at work in the life of the believer.”42 Revealed as Spirit in biblical times, according to Cone,43 the Holy Spirit is “the Spirit of God and of Christ at work today in the lives of men a­ ccomplishing the work of salvation begun in the election of Israel and continued in Christ.” Thus, “the activity of God today” is “the work of the Holy

 Ibid., 197.  Cone, Black Theology & Black Power, xii. 40  Cone, Black Theology of Liberation, 143. 41  Cone, Black Theology & Black Power, 56–61. 42  Ibid., 57–58. 43  Ibid., 57. 38 39

194 

K. BUHRING

Spirit.”44 In sum, Cone explains, “the Holy Spirit is nothing but the Spirit of God and Christ working out his will in the lives of men.”45 For Cone, God and Christ are present, active, and powerful today as the Holy Spirit works through and within humanity.46 More specifically, the Holy Spirit is active, not only in private ways or in terms of personal morality or virtue. Pointing to Matthew 25 again, Cone writes, “The working of God’s Spirit in the life of the believer means an involvement in the world where men are suffering.”47 Paralleling the presence and activity of Jesus, the Holy Spirit is found especially among the poor, oppressed, and marginalized. Further, this divine presence is more than empathy, but also liberating efficacy. Cone explains, “Faith, then, is a human response to the liberating presence of the divine Spirit in an oppressed community. God’s Spirit is liberating because she gives people the courage and power to resist dehumanization and slavery.”48 Here, more than is the case in his Christology, Cone’s pneumatology indicates the need for human action to complement divine activity. As “the means through whom God makes his will known and the vehicle of the activity of God himself,”49 human action takes on profound importance. Cone even goes so far as to claim, “Authentic living according to the Spirit means that one’s will becomes God’s will, one’s actions become God’s action.”50 Given Barth’s influence on his work, Cone clearly recognizes the potential danger of too closely identifying any human activity with the will of God.51 Yet, he argues, this is a chance we must take. He asserts, “We must make decisions about where God is at work so we can join in the fight against evil.… We are thus placed in an existential situation of freedom in which the burden is on us to make decisions without a guaranteed ethical guide. This is the risk of faith.”52 In discerning where the Spirit is active or whether one’s actions are aligned with the Spirit’s will, there are no objective, rational forms of assessment  Ibid., 56.  Ibid., 57. 46  Ibid. 47  Ibid., 58. 48  James H.  Cone, Speaking the Truth: Ecumenism, Liberation, and Black Theology (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1999), 44. 49  Cone, Black Theology & Black Power, 59. 50  Ibid. 51  Cone, God, 77. 52  Cone, Black Theology of Liberation, 7. 44 45

6  THE SPIRIT IN MODERN BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

195

for Cone. Instead, “The experience is its own evidence,”53 and the believer can have only “subjective certainty.”54 God chooses to work through whomever God chooses, and sometimes, according to Cone, “the work of the Spirit is not always a conscious activity on the part of the persons through whom God works.”55 Importantly, Cone clarifies, while these decisions are largely a matter of faith, they should be undertaken by a community of believers.56 With such an understanding, Cone implicitly makes an effort to mitigate the potential for the abuse of claiming one’s agenda is aligned with the idea of the Spirit’s activity or the will of God. Instead, it is God who chooses to liberate the oppressed. According to his analysis, Cone concludes that God as Holy Spirit is found in modern America within “the black struggle for freedom.”57 For example, during slavery, he writes, “it is clear that many slaves recognized the need for their own participation in God’s liberation. Indeed many believed that the only hands God had were their hands and that without the hazards of escape or insurrection slavery would never end.”58 In this way, divine presence and activity are realities that occur not only in the past but also in the present.59 Cone explains, “The Holy Spirit is the Spirit of the Creator and the Redeemer at work in the forces of human liberation in our society today. In America, the Holy Spirit is black persons making decisions about their togetherness, which means making preparation for an encounter with whites.”60 In this way, it is through black liberation efforts that the Holy Spirit is made manifest today. Though not present exclusively in a church setting, it is especially within the modern black Church that God as the Holy Spirit is alive and well, according to Cone. He opens his Spirituals and the Blues with a description of the presence of the Spirit both in the blues on Saturday nights and in the spirituals on Sunday mornings in church: At Macedonia A.M.E. Church, the Spirit of God was no abstract concept, no vague perception of philosophical speculation. The Spirit was the ‘power  Cone, Black Theology & Black Power, 60.  Ibid. 55  Ibid., 59. 56  Cone, Black Theology of Liberation, 50. 57  Ibid., 15. 58  Cone, Spirituals, 36. 59  Cone, Black Theology of Liberation, 31. 60  Ibid., 68. 53 54

196 

K. BUHRING

of God unto salvation,’ that ‘wheel in the middle of the wheel.’ The Spirit of God breaking into the lives of the people, ‘buildin’ them up where they were torn down and proppin’ them up on every leanin’ side.’ The Spirit was God’s presence with the people and God’s will to provide them the courage and the strength to make it through.61

The presence of the Holy Spirit is powerful and liberating.62 Cone explains that, in worship, “liberation is not exclusively a political event but also an eschatological happening.…Liberation is no longer a future event, but a present happening in the worship itself.”63 In the midst of worship, the Spirit “descends upon” the community, and Jesus “breaks into the lives of the people.”64 Here, Cone’s sense of God as both transcendent and immanent is evident. In addition, he tends to blur distinctions among the three persons of the Trinity.65 Ultimately, Cone argues, “There is no understanding of black worship apart from the rhythm of the song and sermon, the passion of prayer and testimony, the ecstasy of the shout and conversion as the people project their humanity in togetherness of the Spirit.”66 The presence of God’s Spirit is already evident and even further evoked as the people sing, pray, preach, and testify.67 Singing, praying, and preaching are human activities that exemplify the sophisticated dynamic between humanity and God in black worship. As for most theologians, Cone believes God is present everywhere, but he tends to stress divine transcendence. Thus, divine presence can be invited or evoked into fuller, more immanent manifestation, especially through singing and prayer. Cone writes, “Most black people believe that the Spirit does not descend without a song. Song opens the hearts of the people for the coming of God’s Spirit.… One cannot force the Spirit to come through manipulation. The Spirit always remains free of human choice. By singing a song, the people know whether they have the proper disposition for the coming of the Spirit.”68 Similarly, “Like the song, prayer creates the mood for the reception of God’s Spirit and is the occasion when the people  Cone, Spirituals, 1–2.  Cone, Speaking, 19. 63  Ibid., 20. 64  Ibid., 18. 65  Ibid., 140. 66  Ibid., 18. 67  Ibid., 20. 68  Ibid., 25. 61 62

6  THE SPIRIT IN MODERN BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

197

specifically request Jesus to come and be with them.”69 While singing and praying can invite fuller presence of the Spirit, Cone describes preaching as a human action that depends on prior divine action and presence for full effect. For to be an “authentic preacher in the black church tradition,” one must be “called by the Spirit.”70 Cone explains that “Preaching is not a human choice; it is a divine choice.” In the act of preaching, it is “the divine Spirit who speaks through” the preacher.71 Cone does not refer to this as possession, but it does have echoes of this phenomenon. In addition to song, prayer, and preaching, the activities of testifying or shouting are also important elements of black worship that express the presence of the Spirit. As mentioned earlier, there is a mix of human request and divine response involved. Testifying or shouting is often prompted by the altar call.72 Cone links shouting to the idea of ongoing conversion. He explains, “In one sense conversion is a once-and-for-all event and is associated with baptism. In another sense, one is continually converted anew to the power of the Spirit and this is usually connected with shouting.”73 Cone describes shouting as “one’s response to the movement of the Spirit as one encounters her presence in the worship service.” Here, Cone characterizes the worship activity of shouting as human response to the Spirit, which he interestingly refers to as “her.” Again, though many scholars, including those referenced in earlier chapters, describe shouting as akin to spirit possession, Cone shies away from such a label. Thus, in these examples of black worship, divine transcendence and immanence are both at work, and the complex interaction between human effort and divine power is on display. While Cone gives some attention to the Spirit and its activity in worship, he does not really develop a treatment of the Holy Spirit very fully. Pentecostal scholar William C. Turner, Jr., argues that Cone’s “pneumatology is underdeveloped”74 and that he tends to focus on the political and public notion of sanctification at the expense of a more personal, spiritual  Ibid., 28.  Ibid., 23. 71  Ibid., 22–23. 72  Ibid., 27. 73  Ibid. 74  William C. Turner, Jr., “Contributions from African American Christian Thought to the Pentecostal Theological Task,” in Afro-Pentecostalism: Black Pentecostal and Charismatic Christianity in History and Culture, edited by Amos Yong and Estrelda Y. Alexander (New York: New York University Press, 2011), 172. 69 70

198 

K. BUHRING

sense, instead of recognizing “[the] unity of the outward thrust for liberation with inward holiness and spiritual empowerment bound with the person of the Spirit,” which “is glaringly absent in Cone’s treatment.”75 For example, Cone asserts, “Sanctification in black religion cannot be correctly understood apart from black people’s struggle for historical liberation. Liberation is not simply a consequence of the experience of sanctification. Rather, sanctification is liberation. To be sanctified is to be liberated—that is, politically engaged in the struggle of freedom.”76 Turner argues that the “consequence” of the “lack of a clear pneumatology” in Cone is that he identifies the Spirit with the oppressed community, or at the very least blurs the proper distinction. In contrast, Turner asserts, “Even where the Spirit is present with the people to lead, guide, and empower them, such a blurring is not valid. The Spirit, who strengthens, reserves the prerogative to challenge, chastise, and resist. As divine person, the Spirit is the subject of personal acts, not the alter ego or even the superego of the community.”77 While I think Turner is right that Cone’s pneumatology is underdeveloped, I do not think Cone is guilty of this “blurring” of the divine and the human. Though Cone’s theology could be misused and abused to claim divine validation for a range of questionable human activities, as discussed earlier, Cone makes a concerted effort to clarify the dangers of such close identification between divine will and human action. Cone maintains that God as Spirit is active within and through human liberation struggles, but that does not mean that Cone approves of divinizing any such struggle. In addition to the critique that Cone does not develop a full doctrine of the Holy Spirit, other black scholars argued that Cone stresses liberation at the expense of the idea of reconciliation. As pioneers of black theology, alongside James Cone stands J. Deotis Roberts. While Roberts argues for both liberation and reconciliation as vital goals, Cone insists that liberation must be a “precondition” for any possible form of racial reconciliation between blacks and whites in America.78 Cone argues that, while Roberts also characterizes liberation as a precondition for liberation, he does not really mean it. In conversation  Turner, “Contributions,” 176.  Cone, Speaking, 33. 77  Turner, “Contributions,” 176–177. 78  Cone, God, 210. Cone does say that reconciliation among blacks may precede liberation (God, 224). 75 76

6  THE SPIRIT IN MODERN BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

199

with Roberts, Cone asks, “If liberation is the precondition of reconciliation, why then should enslaved blacks assure white oppressors that we are ready to be reconciled when the latter have no intention of loosing the chains of oppression?… It is not the case that I have overlooked reconciliation, as Roberts implies, but rather, that I refuse to let white people define its terms.”79 For Cone, “The problem of reconciliation is the oppressor’s problem,”80 and any possible reconciliation must be on black terms.81 Cone understands reconciliation in traditionally Protestant terms. That is, he maintains that God reconciles humanity to God by God’s exclusive work through the incarnation, death, and resurrection of Jesus. In this way, we are reconciled to God. In addition, “To be reconciled with God involves reconciliation with the neighbor.”82 Though reconciliation in Cone’s theology is not as developed as it is in Roberts’, Cone does create space for the concept. He writes, “Reconciliation is not simply freedom from oppression and slavery; it is also freedom for God.”83 Putting the idea in racial terms, Cone explains, reconciliation for blacks “means that God has reconciled us to an acceptance of our blackness.”84 For whites, reconciliation with God is pursued through reconciliation with God’s chosen people, the oppressed. Righting relations with white people, in terms of justice and liberation, is how reconciliation is fulfilled. In a sense, Cone identifies liberation and reconciliation together as being or becoming black. He argues, “Being black in America has very little to do with skin color. To be black means that your heart, your soul, your mind, and your boy are where the dispossessed are.… [B]eing reconciled to God… essentially depends on the color of your heart, soul, and mind.”85 Though rare, Cone does allow for the possibility of white conversion, repentance, and participation in the struggle for liberation of the oppressed that may lead to reconciliation.86 While Cone focuses on liberation and de-emphasizes reconciliation, J. Deotis Roberts argues that black Christian

79  Ibid., 219. Cone notes that it is indicative of flaws in Robert’s views that many white scholars embraced Roberts’ approach while dismissing Cone’s (God, 223). 80  Cone, Black Theology & Black Power, 145. 81  Ibid. 82  Ibid., 148. 83  Cone, God, 212. 84  Cone, Black Theology & Black Power, 149. 85  Ibid., 151. 86  Cone, God, 221–222.

200 

K. BUHRING

theology must hold both liberation and reconciliation as primary and interrelated goals.

J. Deotis Roberts Cone and J.  Deotis Roberts are the most significant figures of the first generation of black theologians. Like Cone, Roberts emphasizes the relevance of the Christian gospel to the issues of race and social justice in twentieth-century America. While similar in many important ways, Roberts differs from Cone in other respects. Roberts describes himself in relation to Cone as a “member of an earlier generation of theologians” and explains the influence of the Civil Rights Movement and Martin Luther King, Jr. on his thought,87 while still claiming solidarity with Malcom X and black power advocates.88 He characterizes his position as “on the boundary” “between the generations.”89 Roberts shares that some of the varied influences on his work include neo-orthodoxy, British neoliberalism, theology of hope,90 phenomenology of religion, African thought, and liberation theology. He also stresses that “the black experience is fundamental in [his] understanding.”91 Based on these sources, Roberts develops the central aspects of his theology: liberation and reconciliation. Partly in response to Cone’s stress on liberation as the core element in black theology, Roberts asserts both liberation and reconciliation must be central. He argues, “Liberation and reconciliation are the two main poles of Black Theology. They are not antithetical—one moves naturally from one to the other in light of the Christian understanding of God and humanity.”92 Further, he explains, “There can be no liberation without reconciliation and no reconciliation without liberation.”93 While some scholars interpret Cone and Roberts as saying very different things, on liberation they are actually very similar. 87  J.  Deotis Roberts, Liberation and Reconciliation: A Black Theology, Revised Edition (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1994), xii. 88  Ibid. xvii. 89  Ibid., 1. 90  J.  Deotis Roberts, A Black Political Theology (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1974), 13. 91  Roberts, Black Theology, 35. 92  Roberts, Liberation and Reconciliation, 8. 93  Roberts, Black Political, 222.

6  THE SPIRIT IN MODERN BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

201

Roberts asserts unequivocally that “Liberation is the theme of Black Theology. Christ is the Liberator and the Christian faith promises ‘deliverance to the captives.’ It promises to let the oppressed go free.”94 Like Cone, Roberts sees the call for black power in theological terms. He writes, “What black power means is that our motto must be: ‘Resistance! resistance! resistance!’ [sic] We view racism not merely as a social evil, but as a theological sin. We are an oppressed people who are determined to be free—to share in all the freedoms and responsibilities of our country. Liberation is not merely a secular task; it is a sacred duty as well, for life is whole. Black theology and the black church must become strong allies in the cause of black liberation.”95 Though racism is a central form of oppression with which Roberts concerns himself, mirroring Cone’s developments in the 1970s, Roberts does argue that “all liberation theologians need to look beyond a single issue of oppression.”96 Thus, Roberts treats oppression based on race, class, and gender throughout much of his work. While Cone allows for the possibility of racial reconciliation only after liberation, Roberts tends to view them as simultaneous goals, in his view reflecting the nature of the Gospel itself. He explains, “We must be liberated—Christ is the liberator. But the liberating Christ is also the reconciling Christ. The one who liberates reconciles, and the one who reconciles liberates.”97 Elsewhere, Roberts states, “The gospel is a reconciling as well as a liberating gospel, and Christ is at once Liberator and Reconciler. At the same time that black Christians are set free, they are called together with all other Christians to a ministry of reconciliation.”98 The wording and tone in these passages indicate an equal status given to these goals. However, there are other places where Roberts implicitly suggests that, while equal goals, reconciliation should flow out of liberation in practice. For example, he explains, “Reconciliation between equals, no less than liberation, is the mission of the black church.”99 The fact that Roberts clarifies that reconciliation would be between equals is critical. In this sense, liberation must happen before meaningful reconciliation is possible. Later in his seminal Liberation and Reconciliation, Roberts asserts, “For whites to expect blacks to be reconciled to them under oppressive  Roberts, Liberation and Reconciliation, 11.  Roberts, Black Political, 72–73. 96  Roberts, Black Theology, 70. 97  Roberts, Liberation and Reconciliation, 20. 98  Ibid., ix. 99  Ibid., 34. 94 95

202 

K. BUHRING

conditions, while they themselves continue to disregard the humanity of the black man, is inhuman and unchristian.… There can be no Christian reconciliation between oppressors and the oppressed.”100 In these last two passages, Roberts makes it clear that reconciliation is possible only between equals. Thus, in substance on these ideas, Cone and Roberts are not as different as some make them out to be. While similar in content, the tone of their writing on reconciliation does differ. Throughout his theology, Roberts strives for a more inclusive tone and purpose along racial lines. He explains, “While Cone confesses an indifference toward whites, I care.… It is my desire to speak to blacks and whites separately, but in the long run it is hoped that real intercommunication between blacks and whites may result from this hermeneutical program.”101 Like Cone, Roberts reasonably recognizes that he is speaking out of his black experience and fundamentally to a black audience, but unlike Cone, Roberts also thinks it is important to speak out of a broader Christian experience and to a wider Christian audience. Thus, he argues, “It is the goal of a worthy Black Theology to lead both blacks and whites to an authentic Christian existence.”102 In short, though Cone allows that his theology may elicit positive white responses, such a result is certainly not a goal. Further, Roberts clarifies that this authentic existence looks different for blacks and whites. “Authentic life for blacks is a movement through liberation to reconciliation. Authentic life for whites is a movement through humaneness to reconciliation. Reconciliation between blacks and whites must henceforth be in ‘deed and truth’; it must be through humaneness and liberation, and it must be between equals.”103 Again, stressing that reconciliation is possible only between equals indicates some degree of priority for liberation. Along similar lines, by comparison with Cone, Roberts also tends to be more comfortable in drawing from non-black and non-Christian resources in his theology. While especially in his early work Cone tapped into European and white sources for his theology, by the early 1970s, he grew increasingly uncomfortable doing so and believed such a methodology for black theology was flawed. In distinction, in part based on his notion of the importance of racial reconciliation and his study on the history of  Roberts, Black Political, 222.  Roberts, Liberation and Reconciliation, 5. 102  Ibid., 7. 103  Ibid. 100 101

6  THE SPIRIT IN MODERN BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

203

religions, Roberts recognized some value in non-black and non-Christian resources. Even in regard to black theological sources, Roberts argued that they had in part been impacted by the “Euro-American” context.104 Similarly, Roberts believed it was optimal to study a tradition from the “inside,” but that it was also valuable to draw “supplementary” insights and criticisms from “outside.” This idea was expressed in response to Cone’s idea that only the oppressed can really do/understand liberation theology.105 Though we will later explore Roberts’ use of aspects of African traditional religions, he does concur with Cone when he states, “only the oppressed may write the agenda for their liberation.”106 While Roberts recognizes the importance of the context of the black experience, he also often shows his neo-orthodox influence. In his theological methodology, Roberts seeks to balance the primacy of divine revelation with the contextual nature of all theology. In regard to the first piece, Roberts argues, “Theology has to do with divine revelation. It is not based upon a human quest for God. We have been found by God.… His finding us is the motive behind our seeking him.”107 Explaining how humans “do” theology, or how we may relate revelation to the human condition, Roberts draws in the value of context. He writes, “We have before us an eternal gospel, communicated through scripture, tradition, and the witness of the Spirit in Christian life through the ages.… But we have, at the same time, a context of thought: life and belief in which the Christian faith must be ‘appropriated,’ adapted, or understood—this is our black religious experience.”108 While other theologies may begin with the question of the existence of God, this is taken as a given for black theology. “The problem of God, for blacks,” Roberts says, “has more to do with the divine character”109 and “nature.”110 Roberts’ theology displays a largely “classical” model of God. In other words, Roberts affirms God as all-present, all-good, and all-powerful.111 As mentioned earlier, this theology is shaped by both what God reveals to humanity and the human condition itself. Roberts writes, God “is a  Ibid., 6.  Ibid., 6–7. 106  Ibid., 11. 107  Roberts, Black Political, 19. 108  Roberts, Liberation and Reconciliation, 3. 109  Ibid., 4. 110  Roberts, Black Theology, 38. 111  Ibid., 39. 104 105

204 

K. BUHRING

revealer-God,” who reveals Godself through the Bible and, “Through the agency of the Spirit, God within, the self-disclosure and unveiling of the mind and will of God is an experience of Christians in their personal lives.”112 Thus, divine revelation is understood as ongoing, within the lives and experiences of the oppressed.113 Further, for Roberts, “Revelation, the address of God to blacks, is both personal and social. It is existential and political. It is connected with earthly (material) things as well as with heavenly (spiritual) things.”114 Roberts explains this sense of revelation is consistent with a holistic understanding of humanity as both body and spirit. Echoing Cone then, Roberts asserts while revelation emanates from God, “No statement on God that does not emerge out of our cultural history or that does not take sides regarding oppression and liberation will be meaningful to the oppressed today.”115 Revelation originates in God, while theology must be rooted in the experiences of the oppressed. Roberts admits his theology may not always be logical, but rather that it is often a matter of faith. For Roberts, God is all-present, simultaneously transcendent and immanent, or “near and far,… absolute and related.” While he criticizes process theology for sacrificing divine transcendence,116 he describes the High God of ATRs as only transcendent. Roberts contrasts these models with the God of the Bible. He writes, “The biblical record affirms, at once, the distance and nearness of God. … The God of the Bible is creator. This God is also a provident God who is savingly present. The God of the exodus, the God of the exile, the God of the prophets of social justice, the God of Jesus had a special appeal to this people of bondage.”117 Thus, Roberts points to the Bible as expressing a perfectly integrated and cohesive concept of divine transcendence and immanence. Continuing to express a classical, traditional theism, Roberts maintains the idea of a God who is all-good. While the notion of an all-good God may seem to be at odds with racial oppression, Roberts explains, “It has been the conviction of black Christians that in spite of all the social evil  Roberts, Liberation and Reconciliation, 37–38.  J. Deotis Roberts, “Black Theology in the Making,” in Black Theology: A Documentary History: Volume One: 1966–1979, edited by James H.  Cone and Gayraud S.  Wilmore (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1993), 121. 114  Roberts, Liberation and Reconciliation, 39. 115  Roberts, Black Theology, 39. 116  Roberts, Liberation and Reconciliation, 42. 117  Ibid., 43. 112 113

6  THE SPIRIT IN MODERN BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

205

they have experienced at the hands of whites, God is good and only good.”118 He continues, saying, We know that the Biblical God is not the god of Aristotle, a remote abstraction, an unmoved absolute, but that he is one who shares our griefs and bears or sorrows. He is a personal God of infinite compassion and suffering love. He identifies with those who bear the mark of oppression.… This understanding of God brings not merely resources to endure hardship but a determination to seek freedom from all forms of bondage. God has identified with their liberating struggle.119

Though he seems to open door to a refined sense of power here, Roberts then abruptly shuts it in his description of divine love as related to divine power. He argues, “We need to know that everlasting love in God is sustained by absolute power. God’s love will prevail because God’s power is unchallenged ultimately by all opposing power. God is the Lord of history and will have the last word.”120 Thus, Roberts’ sense of divine power is rooted in his understanding of divine love. Though at times he tries to qualify and temper it, Roberts’ sense of divine power affirms the idea of omnipotence. With process theology again as an interlocutor, Roberts dismisses the idea of “an impotent God” as “not very appealing.” Leaving aside a debatable characterization of the process view of divine power, Roberts’ claim about the nature of divine power is biblically based and responsive to what he believes to be the needs of black Americans. He writes, “What is needed to inspire faith in the oppressed under the sustained domination of the oppressor is belief in a God of all-power who is able to promise the ultimate vindication of the good and the defeat of evil and injustices. The God of the Bible, the God is Jesus, is such a God.”121 Elsewhere, he adds, “All-power is a precious attribute of God for black people; for them impotent goodness has little appeal. … I submit that a God who is absolute in both power and goodness makes sense to blacks. … Absolute power ensures the ultimate triumph of the good; but absolute goodness assures us that absolute power will not be abused.”122 Finally, Roberts clarifies, “Theology … must hold  Roberts, Black Political, 109.  Ibid. 120  Ibid., 113–114. 121  Roberts, Liberation and Reconciliation, 43. 122  Ibid., 44. 118 119

206 

K. BUHRING

to the all-goodness and all-power of God … out of sheer necessity.”123 It seems that Roberts’ theology is built on rather shaky ground here as he asserts God must be all-powerful simply because blacks need God to be all-powerful. The idea that something is needed does not make it actual. Further, in virtually identical fashion to Cone, Roberts appeals to the idea of divine self-limitation in regard to power. He explains, “God, however, enters into self-limitation insofar as power is concerned in order to share power with men and grant them the freedom of selfhood and the responsibility of persons.”124 Like Cone, Roberts cites John Macquarrie’s idea of a God who “lets be.” Roberts says, “Power is the means through which [God] accomplishes his purpose as creator, redeemer, and sanctifier.”125 But, like Cone, Roberts still quickly asserts divine omnipotence: “Only omnipotence can guarantee redemption. God is a promise-­ keeping God. Faith can become an actual triumph over the world because God is a God of power.”126 This sense of divine power as limited, but still ultimate, seems like a type of security blanket for Roberts, as it does for many theists. To his credit, Roberts admits some tension, though not contradiction, in this regard. Roberts argues that, while Christian theology may have some illogical elements, the vision of God that emerges is based ultimately on faith, not always on reason. Roberts asks, “Does God care? … Why does One who is all-good and all-powerful permit one race of men to victimize another race unjustly and incessantly when both are one in his creative and redemptive purposes?”127 In response to his own question, Roberts acknowledges, “I have no final answer for questions relating to the pain and power of God. … In spite of all appearances to the contrary, God does care.”128 While he writes, “there is no logical way out of the dilemma that God is both all-good and all-powerful,”129 Roberts offers, “The only final answer to the ‘problem of Job’ is some type of ultimate trust. But this does not preclude a rigorous intellectual quest for some answer to the problem of human suffering. Here is one instance among others where it is better to trust God than to put confidence in man. Without this faith, blacks would  Ibid, 47.  Roberts, Black Political, 110. 125  Ibid. 126  Ibid., 112. 127  Ibid., 97. 128  Ibid., 101. 129  Roberts, Black Theology, 96–97. 123 124

6  THE SPIRIT IN MODERN BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

207

not have survived” suffering.130 In addition to the appeal to Job’s sense that “God’s will transcends human comprehension,”131 Roberts offers a Christian “faith response” to moral evil. He explains, “It centers around God’s redemptive work in Christ. The Easter story, rightly understood, enables us to engage evil and suffering, transmute it for constructive ends, and move forward in hope to God’s future and ours.”132 Though not entirely spelled out in detail, Roberts asserts, “Christians have found their faith solution in the cross and resurrection of Jesus. Evil is not explained logically, it is transmuted spiritually. It is faced and it is conquered.”133 Again, like Cone, Roberts acknowledges that his theodicy may transcend reason and not be entirely logical on an abstract level; rather, he firmly plants his treatment of theodicy in the faith lives, needs, and reality of black Christians. Roberts explains, “This faith is childlike, but it is not immature or childish. It is mature; it has endured much suffering and it has been the means to personal and social salvation of a long-suffering people.”134 From this point of view, suffering is a fact to deal with, not to analyze. Roberts argues that blacks have not simply been passive victims; rather, they have “transmute[d] suffering itself into a victory.”135 For Roberts, such a response is possible because of the nature and activity of God, especially in the person of Jesus Christ. “A divine being who cares, sustains, and redeems human life inspires in us a believing trust precisely because there is an interrelationship between love, justice, and power in our understanding.”136 Though he does not clearly explain why, Roberts asserts, “There needs to be an understanding of human suffering and of God that strengthens confidence in the One worthy of trust.”137 Implicitly, Roberts believes, if black Christians did not maintain that God is transcendent and powerful, the hope that provides the basis for human liberation efforts would erode.138 Likewise, if blacks did not experience God as

 Roberts, Black Political, 98.  Roberts, Liberation and Reconciliation, 49–50. 132  Roberts, Black Theology, 96. 133  Ibid., 96–97. 134  Roberts, Liberation and Reconciliation, 49–50. 135  J. Deotis Roberts, Black Religion, Black Theology: The Collected Essays of J. Deotis Roberts, Edited by David Emmanuel Goatley (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2003), 77. 136  Roberts, Black Theology, 88. 137  Ibid., 94. 138  Ibid., 87. 130 131

208 

K. BUHRING

immanent and loving, the trust that sustains such liberation efforts would wither. While suffering and evil are a part of life, they need not be seen as necessary for liberation or redemption. Roberts explains, “At the same time that we use suffering creatively and redemptively, we must seek to render it unnecessary as a way of life. Not all our suffering has been an ‘act of God,’ nor has it been ‘redemptive suffering’.”139 Offering the common sense idea that much human suffering is “caused by the abuse of freedom,” Roberts adds that “much healing can flow from God’s grace working through that same freedom. Human beings can be agents of good as well as evil.”140 For Roberts, a vibrant expression of the integration of divine transcendence and immanence, goodness and power, and divinity and humanity is the person of Jesus Christ. In line with the rest of his theology, Roberts views Jesus as Liberator and Reconciler.141 Roberts asserts, “The genius of the Christian religion is that it is at once particular and universal, personal and social.”142 Roberts based this understanding of Christianity on the person of Jesus. Roberts explains, “The universal Christ is particularized for the black Christian in the black experience of the black Messiah, but the black Messiah is at the same time universalized in the Christ of the gospel who meets all persons in their situation. The black Messiah liberates the black person. The universal Christ reconciles the black person with the rest of humankind.”143 While Roberts adds the role of reconciler to his Christology, his view of Jesus as Liberator is similar to Cone’s. Roberts points out that liberation should be understood to impact the entire person, physically and spiritually, and to effect systemic change even beyond the personal level. Though “Whites, generally, have a personal and otherworldly understanding of Jesus,” Roberts explains, “The meaning of Jesus Christ for blacks is different.”144 In black theology, liberation means “setting free the whole person, mind, soul, and body.”145 Agreeing with Cone, Roberts argues that this liberation is both personal and political.146  Roberts, Black Religion, 78.  Roberts, Black Theology, 96–97. 141  Roberts, Liberation and Reconciliation, 80. 142  Ibid., 68. 143  Ibid., 69. 144  Roberts, Black Political, 128–129. 145  Ibid., 119. 146  Ibid., 130–133. 139 140

6  THE SPIRIT IN MODERN BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

209

He interprets that Jesus “had a concern for human welfare that reached beyond the interpersonal to the systemic. His ministry was a public ministry, in that he opposed systems of power that were dehumanizing.”147 Roberts adds, “To free the slave without destroying the system that enslaves is not to bring a new order into being.… The Jesus who brings personal salvation also brings into being a more humane order.”148 Thus, the saving and liberating efficacy of Jesus is personal and social or political.149 The nature of Jesus is displayed through his life, death, and resurrection. In these realms, Jesus personifies divine love, justice, and power, according to Roberts. In his life, Jesus is empathetically present with the poor and marginalized.150 Present as a “Divine Friend,”151 in his priestly role Jesus heals, comforts, and “consoles the troubled.”152 While not to be minimized, Jesus not only empathizes with the poor, but also in his prophetic role he speaks truth to power, bringing justice and liberation for the oppressed. This solidarity with the outcast during his life was also manifested dramatically in Jesus’ crucifixion. Roberts explains, “The cross involves suffering, shame—even death. But the cross is also revelatory of the love of God—of ‘love divine, all loves excelling.’ It is through the window of the cross that we see the face of God. And the God who is revealed through the cross is just, righteous, and loving—mighty to save.”153 For Roberts, the resurrection conveys Jesus’ regal, mighty, and transcendent character.154 For it is through the resurrection that God triumphs and good conquers evil.155 Roberts highlights, “For black Christians the resurrection has much to say about God’s direction of human affairs. It reveals God’s providence as well as God’s salvific work among humans. A righteous, just, merciful, loving, powerful God still runs history.”156

147  J.  Deotis Roberts, The Prophethood of Black Believers: An African American Political Theology for Ministry (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1994), 1–2. 148  Roberts, Black Political, 136. 149  Ibid., 137. 150  Roberts, Black Theology, 88, 46. 151  Roberts, Black Theology, 36. 152  Roberts, Black Political, 136. 153  Roberts, Liberation and Reconciliation, 77. 154  Roberts, Liberation and Reconciliation, 77–78. 155  Roberts, Black Theology, 88. 156  Roberts, Liberation and Reconciliation, 77.

210 

K. BUHRING

This reality becomes the basis for hope in the present as well as the future.157 For both Cone and Roberts, the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus are the basis of human faith, hope, and liberation work. Despite setbacks, the oppressed know that God will be victorious ultimately. But this should not result in an apathy or inaction that waits for God to liberate. Instead, this faith in God is the inspiration for human efforts to join God in the struggle for liberation. For me, this notion again raises questions, such as “If God is all powerful, why does God need help?” and “Why is liberation a struggle?” Cone and Roberts seem to believe if God’s ultimate power is questioned or reinterpreted, then human liberation efforts have no ground on which to stand. Roberts writes, “A powerless people living under oppressed conditions needs to know that things can be otherwise—that a more humane and just order is possible. Our understanding of the Messiah-Savior is that he is a part of this liberation struggle of the oppressed.”158 Interestingly, here Roberts describes Jesus as being “part” of the struggle. This indicates his sense of human potential and responsibility in acting as coworkers with God. Provocatively, Roberts expresses, “we are agents of liberation and reconciliation in the world and among men because we share in the love, justice, and power of God.”159 While humans can contribute to liberation and reconciliation, fundamentally Roberts views Jesus as Liberator and Reconciler in this world and the next. Somewhat oddly, Roberts argues that Cone overemphasizes liberation efforts in this world and does not give enough consideration to the eschatological quality of the Christian message.160 Contrasting himself with Cone, Roberts maintains it is this eschatological aspect of liberation and reconciliation that gives hope and grounds earthly liberation and reconciliation efforts.161 Though I do not interpret Cone and Roberts as differing greatly on this point, as they both give attention to this worldly and other worldly realities, Roberts does highlight other important distinctions from Cone. For example, Roberts raises good questions about whether and how a Jesus who sides with the oppressed may “save the privileged, the rich, the  Roberts, Black Political, 185.  Ibid., 124. 159  Ibid., 189. 160  Roberts, Liberation and Reconciliation, 86. 161  Roberts, Black Political, 180–183. 157 158

6  THE SPIRIT IN MODERN BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

211

oppressor in white skin.” Further, what does the idea of liberation mean for “blacks who are no longer among the poor?”162 While Cone either dismisses these ideas or largely ignores them, at least in his earlier work, Roberts addresses them with attention to the particularity and universality of Jesus. For Roberts, Jesus’ identification with and liberation of the poor and oppressed does not exclude those who are not poor or oppressed. Again, we can circle back to Roberts’ notion of Jesus as both particular and universal. As Jesus liberates the oppressed, all may be liberated from the debilitating structures of oppression and reconciled with God and one another. In addition to these issues related to race and class, Roberts challenges what he sees as Cone’s Christocentrism. Roberts asserts, “Jesus Christ is the norm of the Christian revelation, but he is not the limit. … A narrow Christocentric view of revelation that distinguishes between religion and the Christian faith is unworthy. It is obviously inadequate for a theological program that traces its heritage to the Third World.”163 Roberts suggests it is Cone’s Barthianism, meaning mostly his Christocentrism, which is an obstacle to fuller engagement with non-Christian religions.164 When Roberts cites “narrow” Christocentrism as problematic, he implies that broader, or inclusive, Christocentrism would be acceptable. He writes, “Christocentrism must be ‘inclusive’ if it is to be viable. The ‘exclusive’ Christocentrism of Cone is inadequate for the contextualization of black and African theologies.…[Christ] is incarnate among all peoples.”165 Roberts seems to critique Cone for being exclusivist, which is not really fair to Cone, and then stakes out a basically inclusivist position. The position developed later in this work will argue that pluralism could be a better perspective to integrate African and Afro-Caribbean ideas more fully and meaningfully. Some of these same dynamics that emerge in a conversation between Cone and Roberts are manifested also in their views of the third person of the Trinity, the Holy Spirit. In his treatment of the Holy Spirit, Roberts both roots the third person of the Trinity in relation to both God the Father and Jesus Christ and extends the Spirit within humanity, and particularly the church. While Roberts gives more attention to the Holy Spirit than other first-generation  Ibid., 133.  Ibid., 19–20. 164  Ibid., 20. 165  Roberts, Black Theology, 41. 162 163

212 

K. BUHRING

black theologians do, his pneumatology remains underdeveloped. That said, he does provide promising leads for further exploration. Roberts affirms traditional, Chalcedonian Trinitarian theology166 and examines the biblical options for ways of understanding the relationship between Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit. He explains the Synoptic Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke tend to prioritize the Spirit over Jesus, or at least put them on relative equal footing. Jesus is “anointed by God with the Spirit.” In distinction, the Gospel of John portrays the Holy Spirit as “the Spirit of Christ or the Spirit of the Son.” Roberts argues, “These two relationships of Christ and the Spirit are complementary. Jesus is the sender of the Spirit because he has first been the receiver and bearer of the Spirit.”167 He asserts these two perspectives should be held together, but are sometimes separated by theologians. Thinkers who wish to stress the humanity of Jesus have emphasized Jesus “as bearer of the Spirit,” whereas thinkers who want to highlight the divinity of Jesus have shown him to be the “one who sends the Spirit as a gift to the church.”168 Roberts calls this accurate and integrated sense of Jesus, and the Holy Spirit the pneumatic approach to Christology. While this view was evident in the early Christian community, it was soon overshadowed by a logos Christology in the second century. Roberts does not really explain what logos Christology is, saying only that it was preferred by the majority who were under the influence of Hellenistic thought. The implication is that this Christology separated Jesus from the context of his relation with the Spirit.169 In expressing his perspective of the relationship between Jesus and the Holy Spirit, Roberts writes, “Jesus is conceived by the Spirit, guided by the Spirit, filled with the Spirit. The Spirit rests on Jesus and goes out from Jesus. The one on whom the Spirit remains baptizes with the Holy Spirit.”170 After the time of Jesus, “The Spirit is an extension of Jesus’ mission in the world.”171 For Roberts, this means the Spirit “empowers,…comforts, guides, and strengthens.”172 He refers to the Holy Spirit as “God within the life of the individual Christian and the fellowship of believers in  Roberts, Prophethood, 6.  Roberts, Black Theology, 55. 168  Ibid., 55–56. 169  Ibid., 56. 170  Ibid. 171  Roberts, Liberation and Reconciliation, 67. 172  Ibid., 64. 166 167

6  THE SPIRIT IN MODERN BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

213

Christ.”173 Importantly for Roberts, the Spirit is vibrant both within the individual Christian and within the church. The Spirit’s “presence and power” are efficacious individually and communally,174 internally and externally. Roberts highlights, “Black Christians have always been concerned about the relationship of the Spirit’s presence and power to what happens between persons and not merely to what happens inside them.”175 Thus, for Roberts, the Spirit may be manifested within human individuals, among human interpersonal relationships, and throughout just structures and systems. Roberts’ emphasis on the potential for the Spirit’s presence and power on the political level, and not only the personal, leads him to be critical of black churches, such as Pentecostal communities, which stress the personal, spiritual, or internal effects of the Spirit. He argues, “We cannot rest in a private and intense religious experience that does not lead us to public action against oppressed structures of power. A privatized, quietistic version of theology is inadequate for the oppressed. What we need is a political theology—a theology of power.”176 Speaking of black churches in general, Roberts asserts, “black churches are often burning up with piety and emotionalism while those who are concerned about social change operate outside the church, believing it is not in the nature of the black church to be where the action is.… The black church should have become a revolutionary power for liberation, but with few exceptions it has become a dispenser of spiritual aspirins.”177 This sentiment is related to Roberts’ critique of Pentecostalism. Roberts believes that most Pentecostals overemphasize the baptism in the Spirit and as a result do not fully develop the role of works, and especially social justice activities, in the life of the Christian. First, he is concerned that the Pentecostal emphasis on baptism in the Spirit can “easily become faith’s center” rather than a “supplement to faith.” The Pentecostal view of baptism in the Spirit also tends to privilege Christians who have received this second blessing over those who have not. Instead, Roberts argues for a view in which Christ’s atoning efficacy is central and “faith and works are interdependent.” In this way, those who have not received  Ibid.  Ibid. 175  Roberts, Black Theology, 64. 176  Roberts, Black Political, 26. 177  Roberts, Black Religion, 73. 173 174

214 

K. BUHRING

baptism in the Spirit are still understood as full and worthy Christians. Second, and related, Roberts asserts that Pentecostalism “is notoriously short on social conscience and social justice.”178 Roberts does acknowledge some exceptions among Pentecostals, for example, James Forbes discussed in the previous chapter, who recognize that “the Spirit works outside as well as inside the organized churches. The Spirit’s work is not limited to individual souls and ‘spiritual things.’”179 As mentioned before, though Roberts includes treatments of the Holy Spirit and calls for greater attention to pneumatology in black theology, he himself tends not to follow his call. He acknowledges, “While the Spirit has had a central place in the black church tradition, there has been a virtual neglect of this doctrine by black theologians. There needs to be serious theological development of many of the insights of the black Pentecostal scholars.”180 In other words, the Holy Spirit is alive and well in black churches, but largely absent in published academic black theological works. Though Roberts is to be commended for accurately pointing out this lacking in black theology, he does not do much to fill it. Though the Spirit is underdeveloped in his work, Roberts makes several statements that could indicate promising directions. For example, he writes, “in the black church tradition, the Spirit is not merely a dove but wind and fire also. The Comforter is also the Strengthener. Justice in the social order no less than joy and peace in the hearts of believers is, for the black church, evidence of the Spirit’s presence and power.”181 Roberts clearly affirms the notion of the Spirit’s presence and power, even within humanity, but this statement seems more focused on providing evidence of the Spirit instead of unpacking the theological character manifested. In fact, he never explains the nature of such presence and power. Elsewhere, he offers, “The Spirit that comforts and heals in black worship renews and empowers us as we oppose the evils in the society that would humiliate and destroy us.”182 Speaking of a divine presence that empowers begs for further explanation of the nature of divine power and human agency. Does this “God within” overwhelm human freedom, work in partnership with human efforts, or simply inspire purely human activities? Likewise, in what  Roberts, Black Theology, 58–59.  Ibid., 61. 180  Ibid., 62. 181  Ibid., 64. 182  Ibid., 63. 178 179

6  THE SPIRIT IN MODERN BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

215

sense might events of the Spirit’s presence be compared with possession? Roberts’ work sets the stage for these sorts of questions to be asked, but he does not give the reader enough to discern what his answers may be. Of course, related to such matters is Roberts’ understanding of humanity. Roberts’ theological anthropology draws primarily from the Bible and the wider Christian tradition and takes steps toward engagement with African thought as well. Roberts refers to humans as “the crown of God’s creative act”183 and maintains the traditional idea of being created in God’s image. Roberts explains being created in the image of God “implies free will and moral responsibility, personal and social.”184 He also holds that all of creation, including humanity, was good.185 Though affirming our goodness, Roberts also acknowledges “human nature is ‘a good thing spoiled.’”186 Since we have free will, we are capable of bad things and great things. The misuse of our free will makes us sinful. Roberts writes, “Sin is universal and therefore must be faced frankly and honestly. Blacks must face their sins and whites must face theirs. Only thus may we understand human nature and assume the task of its remaking with God’s help.”187 For Roberts, the notion of the human task of remaking ourselves and our world means that we can and should contribute to liberation and reconciliation. Though Roberts asserts divine omnipotence, he still develops the idea that humans have power and that “we are cocreators and coworkers with God as Christians.”188 He explains, “As faith in God confronts collective evils and mass human suffering, we human beings, especially Christians, work as fellow sufferers and co-laborers with God for beneficent ends.”189 The conception of humans as coworkers with God in the struggle for both liberation and reconciliation is a recurring idea in Robert’s theology. Related to this human role, Roberts also maintains the claim that we are most accurately understood as inherently communal creatures. On this point especially, Roberts draws not only from what he calls “the Biblical understanding of man,” but also “the African view” of humanity. He emphasizes a holistic understanding of humanity that stresses the  Roberts, Liberation and Reconciliation, 41.  Roberts, Black Religion, 170. 185  Roberts, Liberation and Reconciliation, 41. 186  Roberts, Black Religion, 171. 187  Roberts, Liberation and Reconciliation, 56. 188  Roberts, Black Religion, 177. 189  Roberts, Black Theology, 103. 183 184

216 

K. BUHRING

communal nature of each of us. Each individual is “a member of a family or tribe.”190 Roberts explains, “Vital participation in a living community is involvement in sacred life—and all life is sacred. One participates in the life of the ancestors in the life of one’s forbears, and one prepares for one’s own life to be carried on in one’s offspring.”191 While Roberts writes on the black family and the church and talks about African ideas of community, including veneration of ancestors,192 he uses it mostly to stress the need for community among humanity today, in a way that echoes Martin Luther King, Jr. He does not particularly utilize African ideas of ancestors or spirits in his own theology though. The way that Roberts relates his theological anthropology and ecclesiology to African thought is representative of his tendency to express an openness to drawing in African traditional religions but an undeveloped or unrealized execution of doing so. In short, Roberts acknowledges the importance of African thought for black theology,193 but rarely actually taps into ATRs in his own theology.194 While he focuses on black Christianity, Roberts does give attention to what he calls black religion, implying a broader category. He writes, “‘Black religion’ refers to Afro-­ American religion. It is African and it is American in a vital sense. It is African because its historical roots are there, and it is American because it has developed now or several centuries within the American environment.”195 While here he sides with Herskovits instead of Frazier in their classic debate, Roberts’ work on “black religion” is really about black Christianity, not the resources within ATRs or Afro-Caribbean religions, nor the wider variety within black religions. Interestingly, Roberts even mentions the notion that, in becoming Christian, some African Americans may have begun to develop “the perception of Africa as a foreign place.”196 By this he alludes to the notion that by accepting Christianity some blacks also accepted a dualistic identification of everything Christian with being saved or good and everything non-Christian (African) with being damned or evil. While there may still be such a deep-seated association for some blacks, Roberts affirms a positive symbolism to Africa. He explains, “To  Roberts, Black Political, 74–75.  Roberts, Black Religion, 141. 192  Roberts, Black Theology, 39–41. 193  Roberts, Black Political, 45. 194  Ibid. 195  Roberts, Black Religion, 62. 196  Ibid., 119. 190 191

6  THE SPIRIT IN MODERN BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

217

black Americans, Africa will perhaps always be a foreign place. It is, however, the place we came from. There exist blood ties and shared genetic characteristics between Africans and blacks, as well as a common experience of oppression. There is a similar temperament, a corresponding oral tradition, and much in the musical and folkloric traditions that is similar.”197 Though Roberts affirms the value of Africa, acknowledges Africanisms in black religion, and draws African Christian theologians into conversation, he still does not make the move this work intends, which is to use ATRs and Afro-Caribbean religions as resources for black theology. Roberts seems to intend to be more open than Cone along these lines, but he is not much more so. In addition to not using theological ideas from ATRs or Afro-Caribbean religions in any substantive way, he often will clarify his rather strong Christocentrism. For example, he writes, “this does not mean that God’s revelation in Christ is no longer the norm for all authentic Christian revelation. Indeed, God’s revelation in Christ is the key that unlocks the meaning of all revelation.”198 Elsewhere, Roberts explains, “What would be helpful is an understanding of the revelation of God as manifest in all creation and all history as measured by the supreme revelation of God in the incarnation.”199 Roberts expresses an inclusivist sense of non-Christian religions. That is to say, he acknowledges some validity and value to non-Christian religions, but still insists that Christianity be the norm by which these other traditions are measured. While such a stance is not inherently flawed, it may not be the best perspective to have if one is truly interested in tapping into the resources of other religions. In fact, when placing him in conversation with Charles H.  Long, Roberts critiques Cone for some tendencies I am identifying in Roberts. In short, Roberts calls for a middle path between Cone’s narrow Christocentrism and Long’s almost relativistic exploration of world religions. Roberts contrasts what he characterizes as Cone’s “provincialism,” which he fears will limit the value of his theology, with “Long’s concern for a universal theological expression,” which he thinks is important.200 Though Roberts frequently brings in Long because of his study of a diversity of religions, he also says Long’s approach is not ideal as a resource for  Roberts, Black Political, 52.  Ibid., 20. 199  Ibid. 200  Roberts, Black Religion, 42. 197 198

218 

K. BUHRING

theology because Long’s “interest is almost completely anthropological, historical, and phenomenological.”201 At one point, Roberts writes almost wistfully of a way forward: Long, who discounts revelation, stresses the study of religious experience as phenomena. Cone, on the other hand, insists on the normative character of Jesus Christ as the revelation from God. If Cone could view the study of religious experience as valid for his interest, Long could open up many doors in traditional African thought for Cone. If, on the other hand, Long could understand the importance of revelation to include God’s self-­ disclosure in all of creation and all of history as well as in Jesus Christ, their views could be complimentary [sic].202

To my reading, Roberts is much more similar to Cone in this regard than he would like to admit. Nevertheless, I agree that a more open and substantive engagement with ATRs and Afro-Caribbean religions could enrich and invigorate black theology.

Gayraud S. Wilmore Unlike James Cone or J.  Deotis Roberts, Gayraud Wilmore frames his work around black religion rather than black theology. In doing so, Wilmore broadens the focus of inquiry beyond what Dwight N. Hopkins refers to as the church theology of Cone and Roberts.203 In fact, Hopkins explains, “Wilmore does not view theology as merely a church discipline.… It includes aspects of black life and culture, contends Wilmore, which white scholars would call secular, non-Christian, and sometimes anti-Christian.”204 Thus, black religion is not only black theology and black theology need not be only overtly Christian. Like Cone and Roberts,  Roberts, Black Political, 21.  Roberts, Black Religion, 143. 203  In a similar way, though from the perspective of the history of religions discipline, Charles H. Long criticizes black theologians for too narrowly restricting their sense of black religiosity to Christianity. More recently, Anthony B. Pinn has articulated this argument as well. While Wilmore views Black Theology as only one strand of black religion, Long challenges the acceptance of the structures of (white) theology. Alternatively, Long calls for new structures of thought and language that more accurately reflect the unique nature of black religion. See especially Charles H.  Long, Significations: Signs, Symbols, and Images in the Interpretation of Religion (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1986), 7, 188, 209–210. 204  Hopkins, Introducing, 68. 201 202

6  THE SPIRIT IN MODERN BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

219

Wilmore recognizes the centrality of the idea of freedom in the experience and aspirations of African Americans and explores this theme within black Christianity. In addition though, Wilmore also taps into non-Christian black religions and secular black expressions of this central idea. The manner in which Wilmore more broadly conceives of black religion opens up exciting possibilities for the fuller engagement of black theology with African traditional religions and Afro-Caribbean religions this work intends. Given the fact that Wilmore develops substantive ideas in distinct ways and, in some sense, unique topics than Cone and Roberts, this section on Wilmore will be structured somewhat differently than the previous ones on Cone and Roberts. At the opening of his seminal Black Religion and Black Radicalism, Wilmore writes, “The religion of the descendants of the Africans who were brought to the Western world as slaves has, from the very beginning, been something less and something more than what is generally regarded as the Christian religion.”205 While he does not take this idea as far as it might lead, with this assertion, Wilmore broadens, nuances, and complicates the work of Cone and Roberts. Wilmore understands black religion to predate slavery and to encompass more than just Christianity. In this way, black Christian theology is just one strand within the broader framework of black religion; in fact, black Christian theology grows out of this larger reality. Recognizing the unique and rich amalgamation of resources and expressions of black religiosity, Wilmore explains, “Black religion is a complex concatenation of archaic and modern belief systems, mythologies, symbols and attitudes, none of which can be claimed as the exclusive possession of any one religious tradition.”206 In this way of approaching his study, Wilmore views black religion as rooted in Africa, influenced by European Christianity, and fundamentally forged in the experiences of slavery, as well as resistance and liberation efforts.207 In short, black religion encompasses black manifestations of Christianity, as well as non-­ Christian religions, folk traditions, and secular expressions.

205  Gayraud S.  Wilmore, Black Religion and Black Radicalism: An Examination of the Black Experience in Religion (Garden City, NY: Anchor Press, 1973), 1. 206  Ibid., 4. 207  Ibid., xii.

220 

K. BUHRING

While Wilmore intends to reshape the focus of black theology,208 deepening the historical and geographical scope and broadening the range of what is included, in practice he still tends to limit his scope to black Christianity in the United States from slavery forward.209 For example, in an interview with Dwight Hopkins, Wilmore refers to the category of his work as “black religious thought.”210 This is a telling way of labeling his focus as it is mostly concerning the ideas of African Americans as expressed in writings and speeches. In other words, Wilmore devotes little, if any, attention to the actions, practices, rituals, or broader religious experiences of African Americans. In this way, his unconscious bias toward Christianity is expressed. While he certainly devotes more attention to African traditional religions and Africanisms within black religion than, say, Cone or Roberts, Wilmore still unintentionally limits his work and effectively cuts off many African-based practices or rituals that would fit well in his broader scheme.211 Likewise, at the outset of Black Religion and Black Radicalism, Wilmore curiously limits his study to black religion in America, which means he starts in the period of slavery. While theoretically this definition of scope does not close off Africa, since obviously ATRs exist after 1600s, in practice it effectively puts up a fence of sorts.212 In this way, he does not tap into the full richness of African religions in a way that would even further strengthen his treatment. Pointing to the work of Charles Long, Wilmore admits as much when he acknowledges, “It is not the purpose of this discussion to make a comparative analysis of Christianity vis-à-vis the 208  Wilmore calls the broader tradition Black religion, Black religious thought, Black theology, or African-American theology, reserving “Black Theology” for the more formal, academic expressions of thinkers such as Cone and Roberts, See Gayraud S.  Wilmore, “Connecting Two Worlds: A Response to James Henry Harris,” Christian Century, 107 no 19 Jun 13–20 1990, 602. See also Gayraud S.  Wilmore, “Black Religion: Strategies of Survival, Elevation, and Liberation,” The Journal of the Interdenominational Theological Center, 1 no 1–2 Fall-Spr 1993–1994, 161. 209  Likewise, even the definition of African-American religious studies he provides is really centered on church-based black Christianity. See Gayraud S. Wilmore, Pragmatic Spirituality: The Christian Faith Through an Africentric Lens (New York: New  York University Press, 2004), 17. 210  Hopkins, Introducing, 66–67. 211  Long expresses a similar critique in his Significations. He writes, “The religion of any people is more than a structure of thought; it is experience, expression, motivations, intentions, behaviors, styles, and rhythms. Its first and fundamental expression is not on the level of thought. It gives rise to thought, but a form of thought that embodies the precision and nuances of its source. This is especially true of Afro-American religion” (7). 212  Wilmore, Black Religion, 4.

6  THE SPIRIT IN MODERN BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

221

traditional religions of West Africa and the Caribbean islands during the slave period. Such a task belongs to the fields of cultural anthropology and the history of religions.”213 One might reasonably ask, why? Why should theology not move in such a direction? While perfectly reasonable to restrict his own treatment as he does, it is curious to me that he defines such comparative exploration as beyond the scope of theological inquiry. It is valid to say much of this work has been done by cultural anthropologists and historians of religion, but unnecessarily limiting to say or imply that it should remain that way. For all of these reasons, much of Wilmore’s attention is on black Christianity, or at least African Americans shaped in a Christian context. Though I have expressed criticisms of the fact that I do not think Wilmore accomplishes all that he intended, undoubtedly he very profoundly encourages and fosters important development of the work of Cone, Roberts, and others by his explorations of broader and deeper expressions of African American religion. In short, Wilmore vitally taps into Africa as a resource in ways that few other black theologians had done, and he recognizes ways of being religious that are not restricted to Christianity. Further, Wilmore explains that, in the black experience, these elements are connected. He writes, “There was, from the beginning, a fusion between a highly developed and pervasive feeling about the hierophantic nature of historical experience, flowing from the African religious past, and a radical and programmatic secularity, related to the experience of slavery and oppression, which constituted the essential and most significant characteristic of Black religion.”214 In brief, Wilmore argues that black religion “was born in Blackness.”215 Similarly to Cone, for Wilmore blackness is “a symbol of the human struggle against the sterile, oppressive ‘whiteness’ of the principalities and powers. Thus, blackness takes on positive theological meaning grounded in the experience of the human struggle for liberation and redemption.”216 Very importantly, not even considering the wider sense of black religion Wilmore lays out, he asserts that black Christianity differs from white Christianity. It draws from different sources, the same sources dissimilarly,  Ibid., 19.  Ibid., 4. 215  Ibid., 18. 216  Gayraud S. Wilmore, “The Black Messiah: Revising the Color Symbolism of Western Christology,” The Journal of the Interdenominational Theological Center, 2 no 1 Fall 1974, 11–12. 213 214

222 

K. BUHRING

and was shaped in unique contexts,217 to the point that they are effectively almost distinct religions.218 Provocatively, Wilmore offers, “God himself is white for Western man and the Christian faith, inextricably bound in its development to the history and culture of the great Western powers, is a white religion—a religion of, by and for white people.”219 In this sense, Christianity is a white religion, so black Christianity is something more, something else, and something inclusive of non-Christian perspectives.220 Explaining the development of black Christianity, Wilmore writes, “Blacks have used Christianity not as it was delivered to them by segregated white churches, but as its truth was authenticated to them in the experience of suffering, to reinforce an ingrained religious temperament and to produce an indigenous religion oriented to freedom and human welfare.”221 Thus, black religion is composed mostly of black Christianity, in Wilmore’s sense, and partly of non-Christian traditions, including ATRs and folk religions, as well as secular ways of thinking and being. In each of these expressions, the themes of “freedom and human welfare” are central. Wilmore argues that the themes of survival, elevations, and especially liberation are evident throughout the history of black religion. For Wilmore, liberation includes not only economic and political liberation, but also cultural and what might be called spiritual modes of liberation.222 As his sense of black religion is broader and more nuanced than what Cone and Roberts developed, Wilmore’s understanding of sources for black theology reflects this scope. At the end of his Black Religion and Black Radicalism, Wilmore proposes three sources for black theology moving forward. Hopkins explains that Wilmore assumes the Bible and church tradition as obvious sources that have received plenty of attention, to the point that he does not even include this area in his formal list.223 The three sources he explicitly highlights are:

 Wilmore, Black Religion, 2–3.  Ibid., 5. 219  Wilmore, “Black Messiah,” 10. 220  Interestingly, Wilmore later makes the case that Christianity had early and deep roots in Africa, highlighting the development of the religion in Ethiopia and Egypt in the first few hundred years after the time of Jesus. See Wilmore, Pragmatic, Chapter 7. 221  Wilmore, Black Religion, 5. 222  Wilmore, “Black Messiah,” 12, 223  Hopkins, Introducing, 69. 217 218

6  THE SPIRIT IN MODERN BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

223

1) black folk religion, which is sort of a miscellaneous collection of African religions, Voodoo, and secular political movements. Wilmore explains that this realm is usually at odds with institutionalized churches, but “merg[es] with it at times.”224 He adds that this source is also evident in black music and literature. 2) “the writings and addresses of the Black preachers and public men of the past,”225 such as Nat Turner, Richard Allen, W.E.B. DuBois. These include both religious and secular figures. Wilmore believes black theology needs to move beyond limits of white theological categories. He asserts, “The theology of the Black community is developed not in theological seminaries, but on the streets, in the taverns and pool halls, as well as in the churches.”226 3) “the traditional religions of Africa, the way those religions encountered and assimilated, or were assimilated by, Christianity, and the process by which African theologians are seeking to make the Christian faith indigenous and relevant to Africa today.”227 While Wilmore’s recommendations for source material for black theology are intriguing and promising, especially in the ways they develop, nuance, and broaden the theological starting points of Cone and Roberts, there are also some problems. First, the sources are not entirely distinct from one another. While some blurring and overlap are inevitable, these seem rather unhelpfully mixed together. For example, the work of DuBois is mentioned specifically in the second source, when it could just as easily fit in the first source. Further, African religions are included in both the first and third sources to my reading. A second issue is that, while Wilmore aims to move black theology beyond a strictly Christian nature, he does not do so as much as he seems to think. Notice in his second source, Wilmore prioritizes the “writings and addresses” of “preachers and public men.” As noted earlier, such phrasing belies his preference for ideas and words, or thought, over practices and rituals, or actions. This preference tends to mitigate the import of non-Christian religions and secular resources. In explaining his third source, Wilmore points to a goal of a “new and creative Theologica Africana which can unveil the reality of the  Wilmore, Black Religion, 298.  Ibid., 300. 226  Ibid., 302. 227  Ibid. 224 225

224 

K. BUHRING

Eternal Christ in the life and destiny of his Black people.”228 As was evident in Roberts’ work, Wilmore’s effort to stretch black theology beyond Christianity is worthwhile, but his own identity as a Christian and his preference for Christianity emerge here and throughout his work, which is still focused largely on the history and theology of black Christianity. Related to this critique, especially in terms of including secular resources, ordinary people in the streets, taverns, and pool halls generally do not have the opportunity to produce writings and addresses.229 Despite his intention, Wilmore still focuses on Christian “elites.” As a third and final critique, Wilmore calls these “sources,” but to me they seem more like images, manifestations, or expressions of black religion rather than sources per se. Based on the rest of Wilmore’s work, one could conclude that he uses ATRs and Christianity as sources, and that these sources are filtered through experiences of slavery, which serve as a theological norm of sorts. Then, with slave experiences of oppression, resistance, and freedom as the norm, Wilmore explores black religion as expressed in black Christianity, folk religion, and in secular and cultural ways. Again, Wilmore’s development of black religion as a broader, more inclusive concept is a very significant enhancement of the early work of Cone and Roberts. I just do not feel as though he pushed this direction as much as possible. Despite these critiques, Wilmore’s work is incredibly worthwhile and helpfully develops black theology in exciting ways that still have not been fully realized. I want to highlight especially Wilmore’s understanding and use of African traditional religions and Christianity as sources for black religion. In the context of the Herskovits/Frazier debate regarding the survival of Africanisms in North America, Wilmore sides clearly with Herskovits. Wilmore specifies a few particular Africanisms, including “a deep sense of the pervasive reality of the spirit world, the blotting out of the line between the sacred and the profane, the practical use of religion in all of life; reverence for ancestors and their real or symbolic presence with us, the corporateness of social life, the source of evil in the consequences of an act rather than in the act itself, and the imaginative and creative use of rhythm—singing and dancing—in the celebration of life and the  Ibid., 304.  When Hopkins lays out Wilmore’s sources, he labels the first category the “lower-class black community’s folk religion” (Introducing, 69). Though Wilmore may have this in mind, he does not say so. Still, again, if Hopkins is correct, it’s not clear how different this is from what Wilmore describes as black religious thought that emerges from the street, tavern, and pool halls. 228 229

6  THE SPIRIT IN MODERN BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

225

worship of God.”230 Especially important in Wilmore’s thought is the sense of the spirit world and the robust notion of freedom. Wilmore explains that a primary feature of the religions of West and Central Africa, as well as Caribbean regions from which most North American slaves came,231 was “a profound belief that both the individual and the community had a continuous involvement with the spirit world in the practical affairs of daily life.”232 This belief was manifested in developing forms of black Christianity as well. In Wilmore’s words, “The defining characteristic of that spirituality was its spontaneous fascination with, and unself-conscious response to, the reality of the spirit world and the intersection between that world and the world of objective perception.”233 The spiritual world was not separate, but rather permeated the physical world in many ways, including the divine, which was manifested in God as well as various spirits. For many enslaved blacks, Wilmore explains, this God “was deeply involved in the practical affairs of man’s life, but in a different way than the Christian God. This Being was approachable through many intermediaries, but he was known to them also as Father—as one who loved and protected his children and whose power was available against the elemental spirits of the universe.”234 God interacted with humanity both directly and indirectly through intermediary spirits, including the ancestors235 and “an interminable variety of the ghosts, witches, talking animals and supernatural experiences which comprise the antebellum folklore of the southern Negro.”236 It was both God and the wider community of spirits who inculcated the virtue of freedom. Wilmore characterizes the African worldview as “call[ing] for the release of the human spirit, as the sacred vessel in which the vital forces of the universe coalesce, from every power—whether of man or the gods—that would seek to exercise tyranny over it. … Freedom is intrinsic to its very nature.”237 Wilmore adds that this sense is “the untrammeled, unconditional freedom to be, to exist, and to express the power of Being fully and

 Wilmore, Black Religion, 303.  Ibid., 26. 232  Ibid., 19–20. 233  Ibid., 36–37. 234  Ibid., 25–26. 235  Ibid., 37. 236  Ibid., 15. 237  Ibid., 36–37. 230 231

226 

K. BUHRING

creatively for the sheer joy and profound meaning of Muntu, man.”238 It is this feature of freedom as a vital and existential category that is central to black religiosity for Wilmore. As this value is found not only in the black Christian tradition, black religion includes also “the wit and wisdom, the music and literature, the politics and prophecy of a wide spectrum of Black life in the highly secularized urban areas of the North, as well as in the rural communities of the Bible Belt.”239 While Wilmore recognizes the value of any realm of African American life in which the character of freedom is expressed, he highlights especially ways in which the variety of these aspects “can be appropriated as correctives to the deficiencies of the western version of the Christian faith”240 and enrich black Christian theology and, implicitly, Christian theology more broadly. Black religion then, for Wilmore, emerges from these sources; it is expressed in folk religion, secular movements, and black Christianity, from the period of slavery through the present day. Again, as Wilmore understands it, black Christianity is effectively a different religion than white Christianity, especially than the white version of Christianity promoted by slave masters; as indicated earlier in his discussion of sources, such black Christianity evolved out of both African religions and reinterpretations of the white Christianity introduced to enslaved blacks. Wilmore explains that enslaved blacks would integrate elements of African religions with liberative aspects of Christianity and forge new modes of religiosity that were relevant to their experience of oppression and the impulse for freedom.241 As evident in Chap. 4, enslaved blacks would take on “the outward appearance of Christian conversion” sought by their masters, while simultaneously developing their own version of the religion.242 While from early on this version of Christianity tapped into biblical categories of oppression and liberation,243 Wilmore explains that some enslaved blacks were reluctant to fully embrace the Bible as it was filtered through the slave masters’ lens; however, they did put faith in their own

 Ibid., 37.  Ibid., 38. 240  Gayraud S.  Wilmore, “The New Context of Black Theology in the United States,” Occasional Bulletin of Missionary Research, 2 no 4 Oct 1978, 141. 241  Wilmore, Black Religion, 33–34. 242  Ibid., 14. 243  Ibid., 50. 238 239

6  THE SPIRIT IN MODERN BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

227

personal experience with God and tapped into “the Spirit within.”244 Wilmore explains, “Reverence toward the Supreme Being was, for the slave, first of all, the joyous affirmation of his presence and protection. Once the gods had come near, one opened himself to them with a vivaciousness and abandon that were expressed most satisfactorily in song and dance.”245 It is notable that Wilmore expresses an interesting blurring of God and “gods” here. Again, though often expressed in Christian terms, this religion implicitly tapped into African notions as well. The use of African sentiments was particularly evident in the sense of resistance to oppression that was fostered. Wilmore points out that, at least early on in the slave trade, there was a tendency for African priests and shamans who “made trouble” in Africa to wind up enslaved. Citing Herskovits’ work, in brief Wilmore explains that, as a result of intertribal wars in Dahomey, for example, religious figures from losing tribes who resisted repressive conditions were more likely to be sold into slavery and sent to the Western Hemisphere. Wilmore asserts that, in part, it was these very African priests who brought with them and fostered a spirit of resistance to oppression.246 Often drawing from these sources of the Bible, personal experience, and African views, “the slave preacher understood the awe-inspiring power of the Spirit. For him it was not only the source of personal freedom, it also represented the judgment, the holy vengeance of God, who required the blood of sacrifice as the propitiation of mortal sin.”247 Amidst slavery in the South, the theme of survival was understandably more dominant than that of liberation, though there were exceptions.248 For example, Wilmore highlights the best-known slave rebellions of Gabriel Prosser, Denmark Vesey, and Nat Turner.249 While “few white abolitionists understood or were prepared to accept the role of what they considered to pagan religious practices and superstitions, and most of them deplored the complicity of this kind of religion…in the slave revolts,”250 each of these insurrection leaders tapped into not only biblical categories but also folk

 Ibid., 11.  Ibid., 15–16. 246  Ibid., 8–9. 247  Ibid., 70. 248  Wilmore, “Black Religion: Strategies,” 154. 249  Wilmore, Black Religion, 74–102. 250  Ibid., 62. 244 245

228 

K. BUHRING

religion and the religions of Africa and the Caribbean.251 This often involved what Wilmore refers to as “some volatile combination”252 or “fierce amalgam” of African religion and “radical” Christianity.253 While examples of overt and covert resistance to slavery flowed out of the “invisible institutions” of the South, the same could be said of the free churches of the North.254 Wilmore argues that in each area there developed “a religion suffused with a sublimated outrage that was balanced with a patient cheerfulness and boundless confidence in the ultimate justice of God.”255 Despite appearances to the contrary, Wilmore contends that northern black churches were not otherworldly focused. He explains, “The Black preacher was most relevant to this world when he was telling his people what to expect in the next one, because he was whetting appetites for what everyone knew white people were undeservedly enjoying in the here and now, and because he was talking about a just God from whom everyone gets his due—including Black folks.”256 As such, Wilmore refers to the black independent Northern churches as “ipso facto, an expression of Black resistance to white oppression—the first Black freedom movement.”257 After the civil war and into the early 1900s, the black middle class grew and the focus of many black churches shifted somewhat. Wilmore highlights the themes of survival, elevation, and liberation in the history of black Christianity, explaining that each of these goals might be more or less emphasized in various contexts and periods. In postbellum churches, especially in the North, “The primary impulse behind these Northern developments was a desire for autonomy, racial solidarity, self-help, and personal and group elevation.” In short, “their concerns went beyond mere survival.”258 Wilmore explains that these “elevation oriented churches” tended to look down at ecstatic movements, such as Pentecostalism which was deemed too spiritual and primitive, and more  Ibid., 42.  Ibid., 66. 253  Ibid., 101. 254  Ibid., 118, 121. 255  Ibid., 18–19. 256  Ibid., 106. 257  Ibid., 108. James Cone agrees with Wilmore’s assessment of the independent black churches of the North. See Cone, Black Theology & Black Power, 91–103 and Cone, Speaking, 91–96. 258  Wilmore, “Black Religion: Strategies,” 156–157. 251 252

6  THE SPIRIT IN MODERN BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

229

radically oriented movements, such as black nationalist groups which were seen as too political and radical.259 These latter movements were expressed through back-to-Africa sentiments, Pan-Africanism, and black missionary efforts in Africa.260 Here, Wilmore explores leading figures such as Martin R.  Delany, Alexander Crummell, Edward Wilmot Blyden, and Henry McNeal Turner. Using interpretations of the Bible, and drawing out especially Psalms 68:31 (“the promise is that princes shall come out of Egypt, and that Ethiopia shall soon stretch forth her hands unto God”),261 these leaders “eloquently repudiated the argument that God had forsaken Black people and looked toward Africa, which would experience a revival of ancient glories in the name of Jesus Christ.”262 Such thinkers also viewed “God as the liberator of oppressed Black people,”263 but also argued that justice and racial equality would be brought about, not by God alone but by human effort.264 Wilmore argues that from the end of the nineteenth century and until the mid-twentieth, black nationalist sentiments became secularized,265 while the black church was de-radicalized. Wilmore asserts that Booker T. Washington’s gradualism, accommodation, nonviolence, and patience dominated black churches during this period.266 He explains, “Most Black churches retreated into enclaves of moralistic, revivalistic Christianity … [and] were too otherworldly, apathetic, or involved in the business of ‘being church’ to deal with [social and political] problems. The socially involved, ‘institutional’ church was the exception rather than the rule.”267 This remained the case until the advent of the Civil Rights Movement, with the leadership of Martin Luther King, Jr., and the indirect influence of Malcolm X. These leaders tapped into older traditions and drew together the themes of survival, elevation, and liberation.268 From these strands of King and Malcolm X emerged the Black Power Movement and black theology.  Ibid., 159.  Wilmore, Black Religion, 136–186. 261  Ibid., 166–167. 262  Ibid., 165. 263  Ibid., 154. 264  Ibid., 152. 265  Ibid., 184–185. 266  Ibid., 194–195. 267  Ibid., 221. 268  Wilmore, “Black Religion: Strategies,” 160. 259 260

230 

K. BUHRING

Wilmore’s theology shares much with that of Cone and Roberts while also consciously making an effort to expand more inclusively, drawing not only from the Bible and the Christian tradition, but also African religions, black folk traditions, and secular philosophies. When he expresses his theological ideas, they are very similar to those of Cone’s and Roberts’. For example, appealing to biblical stories of the Exodus and the Gospels, Wilmore understands God as Liberator269 and Christ as the black Messiah, who saves fallen humanity from our sinful condition, in traditional Protestant terms.270 The differences between Wilmore and other first-­ generation black theologians then are less in terms of content and more in terms of source material and sense of the future of the field. Riffing off Cone’s theology, Wilmore envisions: the possibility of a Black theology which is neither Protestant nor Catholic, but the way Black people think, feel, and act with the intensity of ultimate concern about their liberation from oppression and racism. Such a theology is rooted in the resistance of the historic Black church, but it extends beyond organized religion. It embraces also the attempt of Black secular and non-­ Christian groups to express verbally and to act out the meanings and values of the Black experience in America and Africa.271

Wilmore argues that such theology must be “oriented toward an indestructible belief in freedom.” This freedom is holistic and includes not only economic and political freedom, but also cultural and spiritual liberation and “existential deliverance”; broadly, this means “liberation from every power or force that restrains the full, spontaneous release of body, mind and spirit from every bondage which does not contribute to the proper development of the whole person in community.”272 What would black Christian theology from this perspective look like? Cone and Roberts restrict themselves to “church theology,” while Wilmore does not really develop a theology from this vantage point very fully. Though Cone, Roberts, and Wilmore lay the groundwork for such theology, the first-­generation of black theologians leave some  Wilmore, “New Context,” 141; “Black Messiah,” 13, 17.  Wilmore, “Black Messiah,” 13–18. 271  Wilmore, Black Religion, 297. 272  Ibid., 298. 269 270

6  THE SPIRIT IN MODERN BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

231

work to be done. The following chapter will examine a few secondgeneration black theologians who build from the work of this earlier generation while developing and augmenting black theology in exciting ways.

Works Cited Cone, James H. Black Theology & Black Power: 20th Anniversary Edition. San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1989. Cone, James H. A Black Theology of Liberation: Fortieth Anniversary Edition. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2010. Cone, James H. For My People: Black Theology and the Black Church. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1996. Cone, James H. God of the Oppressed. Rev. ed. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1997. Cone, James H. Speaking the Truth: Ecumenism, Liberation, and Black Theology. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1999. Cone, James H. The Spirituals and the Blues. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1992. Hopkins, Dwight N. Introducing Black Theology of Liberation. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1999. Long, Charles H. Significations: Signs, Symbols, and Images in the Interpretation of Religion. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1986. Roberts, J. Deotis. A Black Political Theology. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1974. Roberts, J. Deotis. Black Religion, Black Theology: The Collected Essays of J. Deotis Roberts. Edited by David Emmanuel Goatley. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2003. Roberts, J.  Deotis. Black Theology in Dialogue. Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1987. Roberts, J.  Deotis. “Black Theology in the Making.” In Black Theology: a Documentary History: Volume One: 1966–1979, edited by James H. Cone and Gayraud S. Wilmore, 114–124. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1993. Roberts, J.  Deotis. Liberation and Reconciliation: A Black Theology, Revised Edition. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1994a. Roberts, J.  Deotis. The Prophethood of Black Believers: An African American Political Theology for Ministry. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1994b. Turner, William C., Jr. “Contributions from African American Christian Thought to the Pentecostal Theological Task.” In Afro-Pentecostalism: Black Pentecostal and Charismatic Christianity in History and Culture, edited by Amos Yong and Estrelda Y.  Alexander, 169–189. New  York: New  York University Press, 2011.

232 

K. BUHRING

Wilmore, Gayraud S. “The Black Messiah: Revising the Color Symbolism of Western Christology.” The Journal of the Interdenominational Theological Center, 2 no 1 Fall 1974, 8–18. Wilmore, Gayraud S. Black Religion and Black Radicalism: An Examination of the Black Experience in Religion. Garden City, NY: Anchor Press, 1973. Wilmore, Gayraud S. “Black Religion: Strategies of Survival, Elevation, and Liberation.” The Journal of the Interdenominational Theological Center, 21 no 1–2 Fall-Spr 1993–1994, 145–164. Wilmore, Gayraud S. “Connecting Two Worlds: A Response to James Henry Harris.” Christian Century 107 no 19 Jun 13–20 1990, 602–604. Wilmore, Gayraud S. “The New Context of Black Theology in the United States.” Occasional Bulletin of Missionary Research, 2 no 4 Oct 1978, 140–142. Wilmore, Gayraud S. Pragmatic Spirituality: The Christian Faith Through an Africentric Lens. New York: New York University Press, 2004.

CHAPTER 7

The Spirit in Contemporary Black Theology and Religion

This chapter moves the conversation of the previous one into the contemporary period and focuses on three theologians: Dwight N.  Hopkins, Karen Baker-Fletcher, and Monica A. Coleman. These three develop and nuance the work of the earlier generation in several ways. Tapping into a wide array of sources in their theologies, these three offer extensions of earlier ideas and resources for new directions. While Hopkins’ theology appears to be consistent with the earlier generation of thinkers, especially Cone, he in fact opens up new, creative possibilities. Particularly in his concept of the Spirit of Total Liberation in Us, Hopkins envisions a God who co-labors with humanity in bringing forth a new self and a new Common Wealth. Hopkins and Baker-Fletcher overtly utilize a Trinitarian framework and more fully develop the person of the Spirit than is evident in earlier black theology. Baker-Fletcher especially gives the Spirit its due and offers a sense of the dynamism and fluidity of the divine. While she is in conversation with more progressive theological voices, including process theologians, Baker-Fletcher still tends to operate with a rather classical, traditional theology in the end. In her work, she presents a sense of human freedom in the context of a God who is still all-powerful; Baker-­ Fletcher gives us a God who dances within itself and the rest of creation, but who is fundamentally transcendent. Finally, grounded in womanist thought and experience like Baker-Fletcher, Monica Coleman crafts a theology that embraces helpful resources from process theology more © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 K. Buhring, Spirit(s) in Black Religion, Black Religion/Womanist Thought/Social Justice, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-09887-1_7

233

234 

K. BUHRING

consistently and comfortably than Baker-Fletcher does. Coleman decenters Jesus and reconceives of divine power, presence, and activity in such a way that humans are empowered and inspired to struggle in making a way out of no way or striving toward creative transformation. Her softened Christocentrism and her attention to the role of ancestors also provide a firm foundation for a full treatment of the Spirit. Each of these thinkers adds important elements to the conversation; each is committed to creating theology that is grounded in and speaks meaningfully to being black or oppressed in society; each offers dynamic, creative resources for a way forward, whether that be Hopkins’ new self and new Common Wealth, Baker-Fletcher’s Spirit-infused divine dance, or Coleman’s creative transformation.

Dwight N. Hopkins In works such as Shoes That Fit Our Feet and Down, Up, and Over, Dwight N. Hopkins picks up many of the themes initiated by the first-generation of black religious scholars discussed in the previous chapter. In addition, Hopkins develops and nuances this early work, especially in regard to ideas of the Spirit. Specifically, his formulation of God as the Spirit of Liberation in Us provides exciting possibilities in regard to thinking of divine presence and power, along with divine–human interaction. While he directly examines the influence of West African religions on what he calls slave religion, he only indirectly utilizes these African traditions in his own theological formulations. Hopkins also typically develops his theology with attention to God, Jesus, and human purpose. In this way, Hopkins’ work can be somewhat vague when it comes to the Holy Spirit. Nevertheless, Hopkins’ Spirit of Total Liberation for, with, and in us is a good, powerful, present, and active divinity that includes aspects of what Christians call the Holy Spirit, while still being inclusive of other non-Christian concepts of the divine.1 I believe Hopkins’ theology could be even more dynamic if further grounded in African and Afro-Caribbean ideas of spirits as they may be intriguing resources for a fuller exploration of the (Holy) Spirit in the context of a Black Theology of Liberation. Hopkins’ Shoes That Fit Our Feet reflects the influence of James Cone, Deotis Roberts, and Gayraud Wilmore. While much of the content of his 1  My analysis of these aspects of Hopkins’ work is based in part on an email exchange I had with him in June and July of 2020.

7  THE SPIRIT IN CONTEMPORARY BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

235

theology develops along the lines of Cone especially, Hopkins clearly integrates important perspectives from Wilmore. In particular, Hopkins gives greater attention to the role of West African religions in the formation of black Christianity during slavery and also makes conscious and explicit efforts to integrate non-Christians into his framework than Cone or Roberts did. At the opening of this work, like Wilmore, Hopkins explains that black religion reaches back to before the period of slavery and into the African worldview. He writes, “A faith in freedom originated in Africa. … Thus from slavery until today, the liberation impulse has penetrated and infused and energized black life in different ways.”2 In part because this value of freedom and justice predates the introduction of a white version of Christianity to enslaved blacks in North America, Hopkins can reach beyond the narrow confines of black Christianity. Again echoing Wilmore, he offers, “I hope to enhance a closer working relationship between the black church and non-church segments of the African American community; both are united by a common faith in justice.”3 In fact, Hopkins also mentions links with “non-African Americans” and expresses a broad theological focus, saying Shoes “travels toward a systematic and constructive black theology of liberation and embraces the global poor and, through them, all humanity.”4 In regard to his openness to comparative religion and inclusion of the global poor, Hopkins shows similarities to Roberts as well.5 Hopkins’ perspective is evident in his usage of particular sources for his theology in Shoes. Reflecting the influence and development of first-­ generation thinkers, Hopkins refers to vital “strands” for constructive black theology. He specifies “the African American church, black women, African American cultural folklore, major black political representatives, and an analysis and vision coming out of the African American legacy of struggle,” especially the work of W.E.B. DuBois, Martin Luther King, Jr., and Malcolm X.6 While the first three chapters of Shoes, devoted to the writing of Toni Morrison, African American folklore, and slave religion, open up African, or non-Christian, sources, Hopkins does not really flesh out such resources in his own later constructive work, for example, in Down, Up, and Over. 2  Dwight N. Hopkins, Shoes That Fit Our Feet: Sources for a Constructive Black Theology (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1994), 3. 3  Ibid., 9. 4  Ibid., 9–10. 5  Ibid., 214–217. 6  Ibid., 4.

236 

K. BUHRING

In a chapter devoted to black women’s spirituality of the funk, Hopkins delves into the novels of Toni Morrison and finds rich resources for doing theology. Hopkins asserts that Morrison’s writing presents a “poor black women’s spirituality” in which the “spirit of liberation [is] incarnated.” This divine presence and activity is evident especially among “poor African American women’s values and traditions,” but “knows no boundaries.”7 Hopkins highlights the themes of connectedness and community, including brief mentions of ancestors,8 and conjurers and healers.9 In this way, Hopkins’ exploration of Morrison’s novels draws out theological possibilities beyond distinctively Christian sources. In a similar way, Hopkins examines African American folk culture, particularly folklore, and finds many parallels between themes in these folktales and African ideas and traditions. In particular, Hopkins’ treatment of the figures of the Way Maker and the Trickster elicit comparisons with African views of the divine. The Way Maker, as the title indicates, is an entity of great power and efficacy. Hopkins writes that the Way Maker is “the ultimate power in African American folk culture, … a being so infinite in abilities that anything is possible.”10 Further, and clearly identifying this being as God, Hopkins explains, “The essence of the Way Maker, then, is definitely the highest deliverer, because God’s name means the ultimate one who makes a way.”11 While the Way Maker can be stern, it is also righteous, just, and compassionate.12 Intriguingly, to nuance the idea of the Way Maker more, Hopkins adds that it is a “co-laboring” being. Specifically, the Way Maker “actively and physically participates with human beings” in their struggle.13 Hopkins writes, “The Way Maker is a relational power that has to use human instruments to materialize the sacred will.”14 While this statement indicates the co-laboring nature of the divine–human interaction, it may be taken in at least two differing ways. On the one hand, it may indicate a limitation of the Way Maker in the sense that it has to use humanity to carry out its will. On the other hand, it may limit genuine free will if humans are effectively only instruments  Ibid., 82.  Ibid., 69. 9  Ibid., 73. 10  Ibid., 84. 11  Ibid., 93. 12  Ibid., 91–93. 13  Ibid., 89. 14  Ibid. 7 8

7  THE SPIRIT IN CONTEMPORARY BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

237

being used by the Way Maker to carry out its will. Though Hopkins also extends this relationship between Creator and created beyond just humanity,15 it is clear that humans have a special capacity to work with the Way Maker for Hopkins. He highlights the idea of humans being created in God’s image, which for Hopkins means we are “co-laborer and co-­ maker with the Way Maker.”16 In this passage, Hopkins seems to integrate the divine and human rather fluidly and dynamically. In addition to the Way Maker, Hopkins also elucidates Trickster intermediary figures in African American folklore. As evident in the previous paragraph, the Way Maker may interact rather intimately with humans, but sometimes it uses the Trickster character as a go-between. In fact, the Trickster shares characteristics with both the Way Maker and humanity. Hopkins writes, “On the one hand, the Trickster exhibits exceptional cunning, unbelievable bravery, and a special relation to the Way Maker or Way Made. On the other, this intermediary individual shares the ups and downs of the human predicament, whether in the form of human finitude, circumstances, or striving for the fulfillment of aspirations.”17 In this way and others, the Trickster is a liminal figure who expresses “extreme ambiguity.”18 Tricksters appear in folktales as both animal and human characters. One of the best known animal Tricksters is Brer Rabbit. Brer Rabbit can outwit other animals, but can still be knocked down by God’s superiority. Hopkins writes, “Though the Way maker situates and subordinates Brer Rabbit beneath divine trickiness, Rabbit is still God’s benevolent emissary to the remaining forest brothers and sisters.”19 Hopkins also calls Brer Rabbit a “servant-leader.”20 Among human Trickster figures such as Uncle Wallace, Shine, Stackolee, and Karintha, Hopkins unpacks especially the persona of High John the Conqueror.21 Hopkins views High John as a parallel to Jesus. In particular, both serve as a bridge from oppression to liberation, bring the “possible out of the impossible,”22 and provide joy and a hopeful vision and liberate psychologically if not physically. Finally, Hopkins notes, in some stories High John returns to Africa with the promise to come  Ibid., 90.  Ibid., 89. 17  Ibid., 100. 18  Ibid., 110. 19  Ibid., 101. 20  Ibid., 102. 21  Ibid., 106. 22  Ibid., 113. 15 16

238 

K. BUHRING

again back to his people.23 Whether in animal or human form, the Trickster for Hopkins fills a complementary role to that of Jesus. In a sense, the Trickster has both a “Christian and non-Christian nature.” Hopkins argues that “God uses other savior intermediaries in addition to Jesus in black folk culture,” and believes that “within the folk’s culture, salvific work entails complementary representations of savior. The folk do not pit Jesus’ centrality or decisive revelation over against the Way Maker’s abundant capacity to choose diverse vessels in which to carry divine liberation.”24 Ultimately, the Way Maker is similar to the High God in African and Afro-­ Caribbean religions, while the Trickster evokes parallels with subdivinities of these traditions as well as with Jesus and the Holy Spirit within Christianity. Some of these similarities are later implicitly folded into his Christian theology in Down, but many others are left undeveloped, at least explicitly. Alongside sources such as black women’s literature and African American folklore, Hopkins focuses especially on slave religion as a source for constructive black theology in Shoes. As this was treated largely in Chap. 4, the material will not be repeated here. However, it is worth noting that slave religion constitutes a primary source for Hopkins’ constructive theology25 and is the essential way in which African religions indirectly manifest themselves in his Christian perspective of God. Hopkins asserts that slave religion involves the “convergence of a reinterpreted white Christianity with the remains of African religions under slavery.”26 In other words, while he acknowledges African religions as a source for slave religion27 and slave religion as a source for constructive black theology, Hopkins does not directly utilize African religions in his constructive black theology.28 In the introduction to Shoes, Hopkins explains that his theological sources are assessed by their “contributions to three commitments: theology (God), Christology (Jesus Christ) or appropriate intermediaries, and theological anthropology (human purpose).”29 For example, in his  Ibid.  Ibid., 106. 25  Ibid., 13. 26  Ibid., 15. 27  Dwight N.  Hopkins, Down, Up, and Over: Slave Religion and Black Theology (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2000), 109–116. 28  See ibid., Chapters 4–6. 29  Hopkins, Shoes, 4. 23 24

7  THE SPIRIT IN CONTEMPORARY BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

239

chapter on “slaves’ black theology,” Hopkins frames his treatment around God, Jesus Christ, and “human purpose.”30 This prefigures his approach in Down, where he describes God as the Spirit of Total Liberation. Though not explicitly so, Hopkins hints at a Trinitarian framework in describing God as the Spirit of Total Liberation for Us, with us, and in us. Hopkins first examines God as the Spirit of Total Liberation for Us; it is inferred that this is referring to the first person of the Trinity. Hopkins asserts that we know who God is by what God does. Fundamentally for Hopkins, God is Liberator because God liberates. God is all-good and just and God’s justice is expressed through “partiality to the groans of those who are heavy laden with unjust oppression.”31 Hopkins has a holistic sense of liberation, as it involves both material and spiritual levels.32 Related to this, a strength of Hopkins’ theology is his attention to both systemic, structural realities and personal, individualized dynamics. In this regard, Hopkins notes, “Not only do we know God through major issues of power, wealth, and macroresources, God also reveals the divine liberating spirit for us in smaller, more focused social relations.”33 This idea of God as Liberator is rooted in the Bible, especially in the story of the Exodus and the life of Jesus. Importantly, while Hopkins echoes much of Cone’s theology in his view of God as Liberator, Hopkins also devotes more attention to the notion that when God liberates the oppressed, it is expressed through the efforts of the oppressed themselves. Hopkins writes, The Spirit of total liberation or holistic freedom of Yahweh is never in itself, but is always an empowering ‘ruach’ (breath) for poor humanity… The work of God is actively present for us in the attempts of the poor to construct themselves anew. God for us is always socially located with the poor communities on this earth.… Divine activity is revealed in the voice of the marginalized fighting to make a way out of no way. There is the action of Yahweh.34

Even in his chapter on the Spirit of Total Liberation for us, Hopkins includes a strong sense of human agency and the idea of God working  Ibid., 22.  Hopkins, Down, 165. 32  Ibid., 159. 33  Ibid., 167. 34  Ibid., 158–159. 30 31

240 

K. BUHRING

with humanity. Notice his use of the word “with” in the following description: “In a word, God works with us through the act of freedom as we constitute ourselves from oppression to a full reality of the highest potential of a liberated humanity… The intertwining of divine act, human faith, divine gift, and human agency is the empowering covenant for a God-­ human co-constitution of oppressed humanity.”35 Thus, in ways in which I believe Cone would concur, Hopkins expresses the integrated sense of the divine–human struggle for liberation. All this said, while there is a stronger sentiment of ways in which God shares power with humanity than was evident in Cone’s theology, for Hopkins, as for Cone, God is still “omnipotent.”36 For example, Hopkins offers, “The beauty of God’s justice voice accompanying the downtrodden is that God’s righteousness does not depend on our strength. Quite the contrary, our weakness is God’s present strength.… Because the full victory of material and spiritual freedom requires a co-constitution of both human effort and divine effort, we cannot make it alone.”37 As was seen in Cone’s theology, for Hopkins, God’s power acts as something of a safety net. In other words, while human action is important, it is not sufficient,38 and if humanity fails to bring about liberation, God’s transcendence and power will win out in the end, making liberation a virtual inevitability. I believe this sense of divine power as it relates to liberation is connected to Hopkins’ understanding of grace and salvation. Like Cone, Hopkins expresses a traditionally Protestant view of grace. He writes, “Grace is an undeserved gift coming from the holy. The spirit for us grants us the gift of liberation.… Only through belief and faith in the Spirit for us will total liberation eventuate. It is in this sense that grace is not contingent on human efforts.”39 Since he links salvation and liberation here, implicitly what applies to one applies to both. Given the idea that we do not merit salvation and that it comes only as an “undeserved” gift of God, the same may be said about liberation. Thus, for Hopkins, it seems as though liberation is undeserved gift. Further, though he refers to humans as co-agents and co-laborers with God, liberation ultimately depends on divine, not human, efforts. Human efforts are certainly  Ibid., 160–161.  Ibid., 160, 179. 37  Ibid., 175. 38  Ibid., 183. 39  Ibid., 181–182. 35 36

7  THE SPIRIT IN CONTEMPORARY BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

241

important, but almost as “fruits” of a new state of being. For example, he explains, “[O]nce grace pervades the human person of faith, her or his actions for freedom fall within the sphere of and are anointed by the efforts of divine grace. The efforts of the poor at constituting the new self of freedom become purposeful when they base their struggle on the faith in the Spirit of freedom for us.”40 The understanding that human effort must be contextualized in divine grace humbles humanity and undermines any sense of hubris.41 In addition to understanding God as the Spirit of Total Liberation for Us through divine acts, Hopkins also explores features of “the Being of God,” or who God is in essence. Interestingly, Hopkins sees God as a dynamic figure who may be understood almost more as fluid becoming rather than static being. He writes, “God is an emancipating being for the oppressed of the earth and frees humanity spiritually and materially in an ongoing manner. This suggests the total and holistic being of the divinity as a constant dynamic, a process without beginning and without end.”42 While Hopkins gives attention to the idea of God as a dynamic process, he also describes God’s eternal, timeless nature in rather traditional terms, saying, “the divine can reach back into time, intervene in the contemporary time, and stretch forth the long hand of justice into the future.”43 Finally, for Hopkins, God is wise, patient,44 and “assumes both parental genders.”45 In these ways, Hopkins’ Spirit of Total Liberation for Us both encompasses many classical theological characteristics and displays several more progressive traits. God is omnipotent Liberator, while also co-agent with humans who have agency and responsibility; God is omnibenevolent, but this goodness is expressed as a righteous siding with the oppressed; God is eternal and transcendent, yet also dynamic and immanent. Such theological traits are evident not only in the Spirit of Total Liberation for Us, but also in the manifestation of this Spirit with us. According to Hopkins, the Spirit of Total Liberation with Us, Jesus, has always been present46 and acts as liberator and savior. Expressing a degree of Christocentrism, Hopkins refers to Jesus as “the decisive  Ibid., 182.  Ibid., 183. 42  Ibid., 162–163. 43  Ibid., 176. 44  Ibid., 185. 45  Ibid., 164. 46  Ibid., 232. 40 41

242 

K. BUHRING

revelation of God with us.”47 Borrowing language from enslaved blacks, he also calls Jesus doctor,48 pilot,49 and “soul sweetener.”50 From his first public sermon in Luke 4:18–19, Jesus manifests divine presence that heals and liberates holistically, in both macro and micro ways, according to Hopkins.51 In other words, Jesus acts as savior and liberator, both spiritually and politically.52 Hopkins writes, “Jesus brings salvation along with earthly freedom. An evangelical spirit-filled soul parallels and dovetails with a spirit-induced social transformation. The fuller salvation and liberation manifest together, the fuller the presence of Jesus with us. Salvation (evangelical witness) and liberation (political witness) are both exemplars of the Spirit of total liberation revealed to be with us as fruits on the journey to a total spiritual and material humanity.”53 Expressing a fairly traditional sense of the efficacy of Jesus’ redemptive suffering, Hopkins graphically describes that Jesus “offers the gift of his sacrificial blood of love,… Because blood was shed and victory gained, the ultimate systems of domination and dehumanization have no authority and no lasting power.… Blood drippings of love remind and comfort the weak to not surrender themselves to the fear of evil’s presence, because ‘joy will come in the morning.’”54 Further, Hopkins adds, “On the cross, the Spirit goes to war with the old dead selves of the poor and the brokenhearted. And, consequently in triumph, the resurrection of the Spirit carries the poor along their journey to their new selves of a full humanity.”55 Here, through both the crucifixion and the resurrection, Jesus metaphysically transforms humanity, saving us and also liberating the oppressed. Though Hopkins employs fairly strong language to emphasize the power of the blood of Jesus and the unequivocal victory over sin and oppression that results from the resurrection, like Cone, he still asserts a significant role for humans to play in liberation. In particular, Hopkins speaks of Jesus as primary agent in salvation and liberation while also developing the notion of Jesus as empowering the poor and oppressed.  Ibid., 193.  Ibid., 206. 49  Ibid., 207. 50  Ibid., 208. 51  Ibid., 194–195. 52  Ibid., 220–221. 53  Ibid., 223. 54  Ibid., 201–202. 55  Ibid., 233. 47 48

7  THE SPIRIT IN CONTEMPORARY BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

243

Hopkins explains, “Jesus manifests power, but, at the same time, this Spirit of liberation with us chooses to share this power with those accepting the mandate to serve others—‘being chosen to show the power’.”56 In many ways then, Hopkins implies that both salvation and liberation are processes, and already/not yet achieved by Jesus. The divine gift of the person and event of Jesus is necessary for our salvation and liberation, yet we also work with the Spirit to fulfill divine aims.57 Those who are empowered are then equipped to transform the self and others, moving toward a new self and a new Common Wealth. Hopkins calls such transformation conversion. He writes, “Jesus comes as a process of action and dynamism and literally re-turns the poor to the path of their full potential. Conversion, that re-turning, defines the most decisive work of the Spirit with us.”58 Such conversion is the foundation for a new self and a new Common Wealth. Hopkins’ vision of the new Common Wealth evokes the ideal of a just society, especially in terms of economic justice. Rooting his discussion in Matthew 25:31–46, Hopkins argues, “At the end of time, when Jesus the Spirit of liberation with us comes to co-constitute the new spiritual and material humanity for the new Common Wealth on earth, the sole criterion will be justice for the poor and weak in society.”59 Again employing the idea of the Spirit as co-laborer with humanity, Hopkins asserts that we “defin[e] our humanity based on the full attainment of others’ humanity. We should do unto others what we desire to have done to ourselves by others.… One person cannot be fully human, spiritually and materially, until all others achieve their full humanity.” This is true in terms of race, gender, and sexual orientation, and, most especially for Hopkins, socioeconomic class.60 While in the journey toward the new self and new Common Wealth “Jesus remains with us,”61 Hopkins also maintains that, in a second coming, “Jesus will return to radically overturn the old world and establish a new world for the least in society.”62 Though Hopkins’ theology on this point is largely in line with most Christian theologians, the relationship between Jesus and the other persons of the Trinity is somewhat unclear in  Ibid., 196.  Ibid., 225. 58  Ibid., 226. 59  Ibid., 197. 60  Ibid., 210. 61  Ibid., 233. 62  Ibid., 234. 56 57

244 

K. BUHRING

Hopkins’ work. For example, why speak of the “return” of Jesus if he is still present? Perhaps the nature of Jesus’ presence now and in the second coming will differ qualitatively in some way. At any rate, my confusion, or Hopkins’ lack of clarity, on this point is typical of much of Christian theology in my view. Are both Jesus and the Holy Spirit fully present now, or does the Holy Spirit effectively “take over” from Jesus? To complicate matters further, in Hopkins’ writing he rarely speaks of the Holy Spirit. Instead, when the reader is primed for his treatment of the Holy Spirit to follow discussions of God and Jesus, Hopkins examines what he calls human purpose. For example, Chap. 6 of his Down, Up, and Over is titled “Human Purpose—The Spirit of Total Liberation in Us.” While the book as a whole has roughly half a dozen mentions of the Holy Spirit, there are none in this particular chapter. Though this may indicate that Hopkins has left the Holy Spirit out entirely, I interpret something like the Holy Spirit to pervade the entirety of the work, but as “Spirit.” If this interpretation is accurate, then we may in fact read Chap. 6 as exploring the idea of the Holy Spirit in humanity. In this case, Hopkins’ theology provides a very immanent and intimate sense of the divine. As was evident in his treatments of the Spirit of Total Liberation for and with Us, the Spirit of Total Liberation in Us is both powerful and empowering. In fact, this chapter seems to portray a sense of the divine that is almost dependent on human action in order for full manifestation of presence and activity. A corollary to the importance of human action is the robust notion of human freedom Hopkins emphasizes. He asserts that we are “created to be free,” and that “the imago dei, therefore, is the Spirit of total liberation in all humanity.”63 Every human being is created with this Spirit inherent to our identity. Obviously, this Spirit has often not been allowed to flourish fully as a result of human oppression, such as slavery. Nevertheless, Hopkins argues, it was “the subversive embedded freedom impulse [that] permeated [the slave’s] identity and self,” which “enabled and empowered [slaves] to continually run away, suffer bodily violence from white owners of black flesh, and run away again.”64 Thus, Hopkins asserts, by virtue of being human, we each have this Spirit of Total Liberation within us that struggles against powers that oppress the self. Furthermore, Hopkins maintains, we are fully human when we resist on behalf of the oppressed. He writes, “To be a human is to work with the  Ibid., 239.  Ibid., 243–244.

63 64

7  THE SPIRIT IN CONTEMPORARY BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

245

Spirit of liberation within us on behalf of the oppressed,… [T]he fundamental purpose of the Spirit of liberation in us is to work in us to help constitute the new self and the new Common Wealth.”65 The journey toward the new self and new Common Wealth Hopkins envisions is communal and multipronged, including both systemic/structural realities and personal/individual levels, in this world and the next.66 Hopkins points out that this ideal sense of communalism is rooted in both the early church and an African worldview. Through it all, the Spirit of Total Liberation in Us is present, active, and powerful in us as humanity resists oppression and struggles for liberation both in this world and the next. At the macro-level, the new Common Wealth takes the shape of just political and economic structures and institutions, in which the sense of communalism or the common good is central. Hopkins argues that such communalism “cuts directly against the self-centered grain…of privatization and monopolization.”67 Likewise, efforts to co-constitute the self and society take place on micro-levels as well. On these levels, “the Spirit’s presence [is] revealed on smaller everyday experiences of liberation beliefs and practices that accompany the struggle for liberation in the systems of the political state and the economic wealth complexes.… Micro comprises, but is not exhausted by, instances of humor, communication, space and time, and architecture.”68 Communalism is valued on micro-levels also. For example, Hopkins relates the efficacy of humor to community also. He offers, “[L]aughing does not exist as a solitary act of the isolated victim. On the contrary, it gains a great deal of its power of survival and resistance and draws on the liberating Spirit from within when it grows among family, friends, and allies. … Restated, the notion of being fully human via laughter can only attain its fullness by interacting with community.”69 Thus, at both a larger scale and on a personal level, the importance of communalism is evident and the Spirit is at work, co-laboring in humanity. In these many ways, Hopkins understands the nature of oppression and liberation and the activity of the Spirit holistically. While Hopkins clearly makes the case that the divine is in us, empowering and healing holistically and in multifaceted ways, he is somewhat vague  Ibid., 238–239.  Ibid., 248. 67  Ibid., 251. 68  Ibid., 254. 69  Ibid., 256. 65 66

246 

K. BUHRING

in his descriptions of what such Spirit–human interaction looks like. Importantly, he does assert that one has to be receptive to the power and presence of the Spirit within in order for it to manifest fully. To illustrate, he writes, “By opening oneself to and delighting in the grace of the Spirit of liberation, poor and working people can, indeed, undertake the frightening but rewarding path to a newness of life.”70 In other words, one must be open to the experience. Hopkins points to the experience of Frederick Douglass as exemplary. Though given Douglass’ later critiques of theism he seems like an odd choice, Hopkins discusses Douglass’ description of being inspired by God. Hopkins says, “At times spiritual inspiration takes the form of a thought. In another instance it operates as an itching and guiding ‘impelling’ which translates into unplanned action.”71 Though one would not expect an exact blueprint of the workings of the Spirit, Hopkins leaves a few important questions unaddressed. For example, must one recognize inspiration as rooted in the Spirit? How does one know such inspiration is from God? Implicitly, Hopkins seems to say it is a matter of faith. In the end, Hopkins’ theology provides a concept of God as Spirit of Total Liberation for, with, and in us. In each of these three manifestations, God is good, powerful, active, and present. Hopkins stresses especially the idea of God as a Liberator, who is both powerful and empowering. Hopkins’ God creates humanity to be free and works with humanity to bring all humanity to full freedom in the face of various forms of oppression. Like his predecessors in the first-generation of black theologians, Hopkins argues for a Black Theology of Liberation that calls for human effort to realize liberation. He differs in degree from thinkers like Cone and Roberts in the sense that he tends to put more weight on the human aspect of the struggle for liberation. That is, Cone and Roberts image God as Liberator, and because of their implicit sense of divine omnipotence, such liberation is virtually inevitable, calling for humans to contribute little in actuality. In contrast, though Hopkins still tends to hold on to a sense of omnipotence, especially in his treatment of God as Spirit of Total Liberation for and with Us, his theology also creates more of a sense of God as empowering humanity to carry out liberative efforts, especially in his description of God as Spirit of Total Liberation in Us. In addition, Hopkins follows Wilmore’s lead in devoting greater attention to the  Ibid., 270.  Ibid., 271.

70 71

7  THE SPIRIT IN CONTEMPORARY BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

247

influence of African religions on black Christianity, though this impact tends to be indirect. Hopkins shows ways that Africanisms appear in slave religion and how slave religion is a significant source for black theology, but rarely do elements of African religions manifest directly in his Black Theology of Liberation. I believe it could be interesting and beneficial to develop further both Hopkins’ theological trend toward Spirit-based human empowerment, agency, and responsibility in liberation struggles and parallels and resources within African and Afro-Caribbean religions.

Karen Baker-Fletcher Like Hopkins, Karen Baker-Fletcher crafts black theology along Trinitarian lines, developing a full treatment of the Holy Spirit. Referring to the Christian Trinity as the divine dance, Baker-Fletcher taps into a wide range of theological perspectives to create what she calls an integrative, relational theology. Viewing God as Spirit, Baker-Fletcher writes, “The dance of the Spirit is a creative, renewing, and liberative dance.”72 Though the theology she develops is relatively conservative and traditional in some ways, in other ways her attention to the Holy Spirit creatively opens up new horizons for black theology. Baker-Fletcher’s work can most easily be categorized as womanist theology, but that would be an oversimplification. She admits, “I feel that my own work is difficult to categorize into one school of thought or another. This is intentional on my part, because… I am attracted to understandings of truth that appear in works of diverse authors and traditions.”73 Some of the many strands of thought she integrates are process thought, “the more traditional open and relational Wesleyan Christian understanding of Thomas J. Oord,” Korean Christian theologies, and womanist theology. At one point, Baker-Fletcher offers, “my theology is, first, Christian. Second, it is a type of relational and integrative theology. Third, it is a womanist approach to theology.”74 In fact, Baker-Fletcher’s work illustrates the way that most womanist theology is integrative, relational, concrete, and interdisciplinary.75 72  Karen Baker-Fletcher, Dancing With God: The Trinity from a Womanist Perspective (St. Louis: Chalice Press, 2006), 47. 73  Ibid., 6. 74  Ibid. 75  Ibid., ix.

248 

K. BUHRING

I understand Baker-Fletcher’s theology to be womanist theology that seeks a middle path of sorts between more traditional orthodox and evangelical Wesleyanism and more progressive process theology. She explains, “the type of integrative, relational theology I am proposing conserves orthodox and evangelical understandings of divine omnipotence and omniscience. I do, however, define these terms in a relational and integrative understanding in light of process theistic understandings.”76 Process theology challenges or denies these classical understandings of divine nature, along with other elements of traditional Christian orthodoxy. In contrast, Baker-Fletcher says she wishes to hold on to central aspects of Christian doctrine, including “resurrection, healing, effective prayer, Trinitarian understanding of God, and the primacy of scripture.”77 She writes, “I am too committed to Christian orthodoxy to become an orthodox Whiteheadian or Hartshornian. The type of theology I propose here may be closer to open theism.”78 Throughout her work, Baker-Fletcher draws from Thomas J. Oord’s “open and relational” thought. Baker-­ Fletcher quotes that Oord’s God is “almighty, perfectly loving,” performs miracles, persuades “gently and strongly,” and is not “culpable for failing to prevent genuine evils occasioned by essentially free creatures.”79 Though she makes an effort to chart a path between more conservative and more progressive theologies, seeming to want the best of both worlds, essentially she tends to craft a womanist version of Oord’s open theism that is in conversation with process theology, but not really comfortable accepting its theological implications. In regard to theological methodology, Baker-Fletcher stresses that the Bible, written by humans and inspired by God,80 is the primary source for her work.81 In addition to scripture, she also cites tradition and reason. Importantly, Baker-Fletcher argues that human experience is common to these three sources, saying, “Experience…is a unifying relation of interlocking sources of tradition, scripture, and reason.”82 In other words, these sources always occur and are interpreted within the context of experience. Though not exclusively so, Baker-Fletcher derives her theology  Ibid., 3.  Ibid., 4. 78  Ibid., 5. 79  Ibid. 80  Ibid., 26. 81  Ibid., 22. 82  Ibid., 16. 76 77

7  THE SPIRIT IN CONTEMPORARY BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

249

especially from the experiences of African American women.83 Based on these sources, understood through the lens of the experiences of black women, Baker-Fletcher presents a concept of God that is Trinitarian and largely classical (all-good, all-powerful, all-present, all-knowing), though also dynamic, relational, empowering, and immanent. Baker-Fletcher understands God as a Spirit who is a Trinity84 of relations85 or actions engaged in a “divine dance,” which is “God’s dance within the divine community.”86 For Baker-Fletcher, this dynamic sense of divine dancing applies to both the immanent and economic Trinity. Following the interpretation of the Trinity within Eastern Orthodox Christianity, she describes “three relations (hypostases),” rather than three persons, “in one being (ousia).”87 In this light, the Trinity is more dynamic and relational, and less static and substantialist. Baker-Fletcher explains, “The three hypostases dynamically, relationally dance around and within one another. Each dynamically and interrelationally participates in the one work of divine love, creativity, justice, and righteousness through distinctive actions.”88 Baker-Fletcher’s view of the Trinity as dynamic and relational applies to both the immanent Trinity—God in God’s self—and the economic Trinity—God in relation to the world. She asserts, “God is a Spirit who moves in and through creation in at least three movements, with three distinctive personalities and functions. One might say that God is one community of at least three movements,” or relations.89 While Baker-Fletcher acknowledges that many black Christian women sometimes “conflate” God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit in their everyday interactions with the divine, she insists on distinctive characteristics among the three persons or relations.90 Baker-Fletcher’s understanding of God, including the first person or relation of the Trinity, is largely classical in that she affirms traditional divine attributes; at the same time, she is careful to develop these classical attributes in light of a nuanced reading of the Bible, the experiences of black women, and the insights of process thought. Baker-Fletcher refers to  Ibid., 23.  Ibid., 62. 85  Ibid., xi. 86  Ibid. 87  Ibid., 55. 88  Ibid., 56. 89  Ibid., 44–45. 90  Ibid., 110. 83 84

250 

K. BUHRING

God as Father, as well as Mother, or Parent.91 She also interprets God in the Hebrew Bible as both powerfully transcendent and intimately immanent.92 Similarly, Baker-Fletcher asserts that God is both eternal and impassible, as well as relational. For Baker-Fletcher, saying God is impassible means simply that God’s nature is unchanging and that we “cannot affect God in our sin or in our process of sanctification.” She explains that God’s eternal and impassible character means that “creatures cannot control God,” but not that “God is insensitive.” In fact, Baker-Fletcher asserts, God is compassionate and empathetic.93 She writes, “That God is relational, responsive, compassionate, discerning, judging, forgiving, and merciful is an unchanging truth. God does not change in God’s own nature. God changes in creaturely experience of God only in the sense that God may change God’s response to particular events and situations as God changes others and us through our prayers.”94 She continues, saying in the human experience of God, “it does appear that when we pray, God does change God’s mind. We affect God and one another through prayer. Yet, that Gods hears and responds to prayer is changeless.”95 While she clearly intends to soften the classical view of divine impassibility and stress God’s relationality, and succeeds to a degree, Baker-Fletcher’s language here belies the sense that she would prefer to maintain traditional ideas of God’s unchanging nature. Saying that our prayer “appears” to change God’s mind, Baker-Fletcher conveys the notion that God is not really changing, and thus not very relational, at all. As is the case with divine impassibility, divine omnipotence proves a difficult subject for Baker-Fletcher to clarify. She argues that the first relation of the Trinity is both omnipotent96 and empowering. Like other womanists, especially Delores Williams, Baker-Fletcher is reluctant to name God as Liberator unequivocally. She claims that while God liberates sometimes, it does not always do so. Though God may be experienced as a liberator, in the experiences of many black women God is more often “Provider/Nurturer,”97 sustaining and offering resources for survival that  Ibid., 63.  Ibid., 59. 93  Ibid., 27. 94  Ibid., 29. 95  Ibid. 96  Ibid., 3. 97  Ibid., 60. 91 92

7  THE SPIRIT IN CONTEMPORARY BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

251

may be utilized to move toward healing and wholeness. She writes that God is “persuasively inviting us to receive God’s vision for quality of life and survival resources to stay on spiritual ‘battlefields’ as participants in divine justice.”98 In sum, Baker-Fletcher sees God as “empowering, sustaining, life-giving, and strengthening.”99 On the point of divine power, Baker-Fletcher appeals to the Bible. She argues that, while the Bible images a powerful God, omnipotence is not clearly conveyed there and that, in fact, “scripture is ambiguous” on the issue.100 Baker-Fletcher also taps specifically into process thought, saying, “the freedom present in the physical world indicates selectivity or choice. Therefore, if the physical world as God’s creation reveals something of God’s nature, then God must share power or there can be no freedom in the universe. God, then, is not coercive, but persuasive.”101 Elsewhere she describes “God as persuasive and constantly calling or luring us into participation in divine love.”102 This is important for Baker-Fletcher to maintain, as free will seems linked to our choice to reject or accept God. She says, “When we reject God, God is still present, persuading us to receive divine grace and love, to participate fully in it. When we consciously choose to receive God, God empowers us to participate in God’s activity of creativity, justice, and rigorous love.”103 While in places Baker-Fletcher agrees with process theology that God shares power and acts persuasively, elsewhere it seems she really does want to maintain a sense of divine omnipotence. Baker-Fletcher frequently appeals to a process-influenced view; however, at times, including when speaking about evil and theodicy, she tends to fall back on classical theological positions. For example, while she argues for the notion of shared power, she also qualifies that “it is all God’s power and knowledge to share. All power and knowledge come from God.”104 Implicitly then, God could decide at any point or in particular circumstances not to share power with creatures. Elsewhere, Baker-Fletcher asserts that God persuades, but does not “control.” She writes, “God is in control, but God is not a control freak! God is not a ‘tyrant,’ puppeteer,  Ibid., x.  Karen Baker-Fletcher, Sisters of Dust, Sisters of Spirit: Womanist Wordings on God and Creation (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1998), 116. 100  Baker-Fletcher, Dancing, 82. 101  Ibid., 21. 102  Ibid., 82–83. 103  Ibid., 49. 104  Ibid., 29. 98 99

252 

K. BUHRING

or robotic engineer.”105 In what sense is God “in control”? In regard to the problem of suffering and evil, Baker-Fletcher is careful to clarify that God is not responsible for evil; instead, she appeals to a free-will defense of sorts.106 She asks, “Did God create evil? Is God responsible for evil? If God creates creation in freedom and freedom is evil, then God is responsible for evil. … Freedom as such is neutral, neither good nor evil.” It is how freedom is used “that leads to experiences of good and evil.”107 However, this seems like odd logic. If God creates free creatures who may choose evil, how is God not at least partially responsible for evil. One could argue it is a trade worth making, and that freedom is “good” to have, but that still makes God indirectly linked to our evil. Elsewhere, Baker-Fletcher maintains, “It is not that God has created, willed, or allowed evil. … Evil is a result of the freedom inherent in all of creation. God did not create evil, but God created all of creation in freedom.”108 How is this not allowing evil then? Finally, Baker-Fletcher appeals to the view that, in the end, suffering and evil will be overcome. In one place, she holds, “God calls the world to overcome evil and shares power with the world to realize such overcoming.”109 Yet in another passage, she tends to make such overcoming sound like the unilateral work of God. She asserts that God experiences and “overcomes pain and suffering to create new healing realities.…healing is a process.”110 While certainly not a triumphalistic or a simplistic dismissal of real experiences of suffering and evil, it is not clear how God “overcomes” our pain and suffering here and now. In all of these ways, Baker-Fletcher draws from theological insights of process views of divine power, but ultimately feels the need to maintain a sense of divine omnipotence. In a parallel way, Baker-Fletcher apparently recognizes the tension between the claim of human freedom and divine omniscience. In brief, if God knows what we will do, do we truly have freedom in choosing to act in particular ways, especially in regard to our relationship with God? She admits, “Freedom does not exist if God decides for us whether or not we receive salvation, healing, and wholeness.” However, she then adds that, “in the sense that God knows all possibilities and probabilities, then God  Ibid., 80.  Ibid., 72–73. 107  Ibid., 83. 108  Ibid., 79. 109  Ibid., 9. 110  Ibid., 112. 105 106

7  THE SPIRIT IN CONTEMPORARY BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

253

knows the final outcome of each possibility and probability. In this sense, one can argue that God is omniscient.”111 Again, she takes up a conversation with principles of process theology and seems to accept common tenets of this theological mode of thought, However, when push comes to shove, she tends to back away from accepting the ideas and their implications fully. While there is nothing wrong with staking out the theological territory Baker-Fletcher does, it feels rather disingenuous to a degree. If she does not believe God is omnipotent or omniscient, why maintain the terms? If in fact she does hold on to rather classical views of God, it would be preferable for her to admit as such more clearly and clarify more helpfully exactly how she differs from these positions. The reality of God as Spirit that is evident in the first relation of the Trinity flows also into the second relation, the Logos, Word, or Wisdom, according to Baker-Fletcher. The second person or relation of the Trinity is present in Jesus Christ, the incarnation or “embodiment of the Spirit of God.”112 As such, Jesus is fully human (dust) and fully divine (spirit), or as Baker-Fletcher writes, “spirit embodied in dust.”113 The incarnation is an expression of God’s love and a force for healing and justice in the world.114 Divine love is manifested in profound empathy for humanity. Baker-Fletcher asserts, “There is hope in the knowledge that God is compassionate, not sympathetic, but empathetic. God is passionate with us.”115 God affects us and we affect God;116 both Jesus’ human and divine natures experience joy and suffering. And, such empathy has transformative efficacy. Baker-Fletcher explains that Jesus “empathetically shares our suffering and transforms it into joy beyond words. He forgives our sins. He heals our wounds. He justifies us to share in the realm of God. … Jesus’ life and ministry manifest God’s gift of abundant life for all who open their hearts to receive it.”117 Moving toward abundant life, healing, and justice is often a struggle that involves suffering.

 Ibid., 28.  Baker-Fletcher, Sisters, 7. 113  Ibid., 18–19. 114  Ibid., 19. 115  Baker-Fletcher, Dancing, 122. 116  Ibid., 121. 117  Ibid., 124–125. 111 112

254 

K. BUHRING

Agreeing with womanists such as Delores Williams, who argues for the significance of the life and ministry of Jesus,118 Baker-Fletcher asserts that it is not the suffering of Jesus or others that is redemptive, but overcoming such suffering and evil.119 Though Baker-Fletcher makes this distinction, she still recognizes the metaphysical significance of Jesus’ sacrificial death on the cross. Affirming the notion of original sin, Baker-Fletcher maintains the idea that “Jesus does indeed give his life for a debt we can never pay.”120 However, this view should not result in the perspective that suffering is good, according to her. She writes, “Jesus asks God to forgive; and God forgives, rather than condemns, the world that crucifies God.”121 It is divine forgiveness that is redemptive; it is “God’s overcoming evil in Christ is [that is] redemptive.”122 Baker-Fletcher recognizes that evil and suffering still exist in the world and that the person of Jesus has already, though not yet, conquered such realities.123 She writes, “One might say that the world is in a process of rebirth and that Christ’s reign is a reign of labor pangs, in which the world resists the truth that evil is overcome and the world is already in the process of being born again in the Spirit.”124 Using this idea of a redemptive process, Baker-Fletcher explains that “the entire Trinity is with us,”125 “overcoming evil” in every moment,126 present in our suffering and our joy, working with us to heal and transform. Significantly, while as a Christian Baker-Fletcher prioritizes the divine incarnation of Jesus in this redemptive process, she also sees Jesus as “a great ancestor,” and admits, “it is possible that there have been embodiments of God in other religions.”127 Appealing to the idea of divine ­presence everywhere, Baker-Fletcher opens up opportunities for dialogue and a broader sense of the Spirit of God. Baker-Fletcher notes that the Spirit of God was present at creation,128 and was the ruach, or breath breathed into all living things.129 She explains,  Ibid., 140.  Ibid., 134. 120  Ibid., 140. 121  Ibid., 139. 122  Ibid. 123  Ibid., 143. 124  Ibid., 144. 125  Ibid., 143. 126  Ibid., 135. 127  Baker-Fletcher, Sisters, 18. 128  Baker-Fletcher, Dancing, 62. 129  Ibid. 118 119

7  THE SPIRIT IN CONTEMPORARY BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

255

while the Spirit of God is present and active in the Hebrew Bible and New Testament “as the creative, prophetic, and renewing power of God.… Our first introduction to the ‘Holy Spirit,’ however, is found in the story of Mary in Matthew 1:18–25. In Matthew, an angel appears to a virgin, Mary, and tells her that she will bear a son who is conceived by the Holy Spirit.”130 Despite this example, Baker-Fletcher admits that the New Testament writers say more about God the Father and Jesus than the Holy Spirit.131 Nevertheless, Baker-Fletcher recognizes the significance and distinctiveness of the third person, or relation, of the Trinity. She describes that the Holy Spirit, to whom Baker-Fletcher often refers as “she,” comforts, heals, encourages, empowers,132 persuades,133 instructs, renews,134 and sanctifies.135 She writes, “The Spirit is a healing, reviving source of positive power that gives new insight, courage, endurance and meaning in the midst of the trials and tribulations of life.” While sometimes understood as deliverer and liberator, the Holy Spirit is more commonly experienced by black women as a provider of “vision for new resources of survival,”136 or what Baker-Fletcher calls “resurrection power.”137 Describing typical occurrences and understanding by black women of finding God as Spirit within the self or within creation or nature,138 Baker-Fletcher explains, “God is perpetually present, always immanent. Even as God transcends particular human situations, God is present in our everyday lives, and infinite possibilities for healing and wholeness are in our midst. … [H]ope and salvation are experienced in connection with God as Spirit within ­creation—in skies, trees, water, land, birds, family, friends, humanity, the body.”139 While some other womanist theologians give attention to environmental issues, Baker-Fletcher especially emphasizes God’s presence in nature and includes all of creation in the redemptive, healing process.

 Ibid., 148.  Ibid., 160. 132  Ibid., 56. 133  Ibid., 162. 134  Ibid., 163. 135  Ibid., 162. 136  Baker-Fletcher, Sisters, 112. 137  Baker-Fletcher, Dancing, 160. 138  Baker-Fletcher, Sisters, 113. 139  Ibid., 115. 130 131

256 

K. BUHRING

To illustrate her understanding of how the Holy Spirit works in the life of an individual, she uses the example of a lupus patient who sees ways that God has entered his life, transforming him and empowering him to transform others.140 Interpreting this example, Baker-Fletcher argues, “The Holy Spirit…is not a genie we can manipulate to make all wishes come true. There is a difference between answer to prayer and the granting of wishes. Prayer may be answered in unexpected ways.”141 In addition to ways the Holy Spirit lives within the experiences of individuals, Baker-­ Fletcher also discusses “concrete social manifestations of the healing movement of the Holy Spirit.” She writes, “The Holy Spirit inspires the dance of God, calling all to participate in the dance of divine love, creativity, healing, justice, and renewal.”142 Here, she highlights the example of Mamie Till-Mobley, Emmett Till’s mother, who she explains was empowered by the Holy Spirit to advocate for healing and racial justice in the wake of the tragic murder of her son.143 Baker-Fletcher argues that this sort of transformative activity is “salvific and communal.”144 While these specific examples are very helpful, to an extent, Baker-Fletcher seems to attribute anything good, just, or positively transformative to presence and activity of the Holy Spirit in concert with human efforts. In fact, she admits that one must be careful about discerning the Spirit, as such an idea can be used to justify negative or unjust actions. Though she touches on this problem, Baker-Fletcher does not provide very clear guidelines for discernment.145 Admittedly, this is not an issue that lends itself to a crystal-­ clear blueprint, and her examples are helpfully illustrative of what she has in mind. Finally, Baker-Fletcher creatively nuances ideas of sin and oppression. First, she recognizes that, for many black women and other oppressed individuals, a lack of self-love or self-worth is often a more fundamental problem than the sin of pride. She writes, “Surely if we are created in the likeness of God, we can love ourselves as we are scripturally challenged to do. If that likeness of God is within us, surely we can find God in ourselves, realizing empowerment and our full potential as we learn to love God and ourselves. Such love is the first order of business before we can  Baker-Fletcher, Dancing, 157.  Ibid., 159. 142  Ibid., 163. 143  Ibid., 165. 144  Baker-Fletcher, Sisters, 118. 145  Ibid., 112. 140 141

7  THE SPIRIT IN CONTEMPORARY BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

257

go on to love others.”146 Thus, fundamental in the move from personal transformation to social transformation discussed earlier is a robust appreciation for the sense of being created by God as an inherently worthwhile creature who is deserving of love. Second, Baker-Fletcher employs the Korean concept of han to offer a sophisticated analysis of sin and oppression. Citing Andrew Sung Park’s work on han, or the “feelings of the ‘sinned against,’”147 Baker-Fletcher highlights ways that oppression often involves a complicated matrix of cause and effect, or interdependence. Rather than characterizing people simply as oppressed or oppressor, this idea brings to light that “Sinners and the sinned against … are caught up in a common heritage of original sin.”148 One might be oppressor in one relationship, while oppressed in another. The idea of han focuses attention less on the person committing a sin and more on the damaging aftermath in the community of individuals impacted by such an act. Finally, Baker-­ Fletcher makes the strong case that the earth must be given greater attention than it has been in much of liberation theology.149 She argues, “Ecological justice is essential to the survival, liberation, and wholeness of all our communities and of the earth. Environmental abuse cannot be separated from socio-economic and racial discrimination. These diverse forms of structural, systemic injustice are deeply interrelated.”150 In short, the earth too is oppressed and we are called to strive toward its liberation and renewal.151 Along with her attention to environmental issues, Baker-Fletcher’s theology provides one of the only in-depth treatments of the full Trinity in womanist and black theologies. In comparison with Hopkins’ work, Baker-Fletcher more clearly and straightforwardly develops the person, or the relation, of the Holy Spirit. She also makes a strong case for a dynamic, fluid, and relational Trinity. While she is in conversation with themes and claims from process theology that might helpfully invigorate and nuance womanist and black theologies, Baker-Fletcher never seems entirely comfortable straying from basically conventional and traditional theological claims. One womanist thinker who more successfully and effectively  Ibid., 113–114.  Baker-Fletcher, Dancing, 95. 148  Ibid., 92. 149  Baker-Fletcher, Sisters, 53. 150  Ibid., 55. 151  Ibid., 19. 146 147

258 

K. BUHRING

integrates womanist and process thought in order to develop a fresh, creative theology is Monica Coleman.

Monica A. Coleman Like Hopkins and Baker-Fletcher, Monica Coleman develops a theology that features an impetus for progressive social and political action; further, Coleman provides a more detailed sense of how God grounds and sustains such efforts by tapping into a wider sense of divine activity and the role of spirits/ancestors and humans. All of these actors contribute to what Coleman calls “making a way out of no way,” or the process of salvific creative transformation. Further, Coleman is very inclusive of non-­ Christian, and especially African-based, perspectives in her theology, which broadens the scope and power of her work. Coleman refers to her theology as constructive “postmodern womanist theology,”152 and draws significant elements from process thought. Coleman writes, “The constructive work here feels like braiding hair. I’m pulling together different strands of conversations, scholarship, stories, and experiences into a unity.”153 As was evident in Karen Baker-Fletcher’s work, such integration of wide-ranging elements and sources is representative of womanist thought in general. Like other womanist theologies, Coleman’s theology uses black women’s experiences as “the foundation.”154 Based on this foundation, Coleman explains that alongside the ideals of liberation and justice, “womanist theologies add the goals of survival, quality of life, and wholeness.”155 Fundamental to the communal struggle toward these goals are teaching and healing that benefit all peoples, though especially the oppressed.156 Coleman’s use of womanism also acknowledges, addresses, and appreciates “the religious pluralism within the black community.”157 Referring to her experiences with friends and acquaintances in an “Ifa” community that honors the órísá,158 Coleman asserts the need for a postmodern 152  Monica A. Coleman, Making a Way Out of No Way: A Womanist Theology (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2008), 3. 153  Ibid., ix–x. 154  Ibid., 7. 155  Ibid., 11. 156  Ibid., 12. 157  Ibid., 9. 158  Ibid., 4–5

7  THE SPIRIT IN CONTEMPORARY BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

259

womanist theology that “would hold the truths of women” who practice Christianity, Islam, and Ifa.159 She cites the work of Shani Settles and Tracey E Hucks as positive examples of integrating African traditional religions into a sense of black religiosity.160 Coleman also says that Baker-­ Fletcher “is the only womanist theologian to explicitly reference the inclusion of African traditional religious elements in her construction of salvation”; however, in Baker-Fletcher’s treatment there are still “roadblocks to a more in-depth consideration of African traditional religious elements.” Coleman argues that Baker-Fletcher’s theology is still Christocentric, as she refers to Jesus as “the greatest ancestor,” and does not offer a clear sense of how ancestors interact with people.161 Coleman asserts that such Christocentrism, typical of most womanist theologies, manifests in the lack of a clear distinction between God and Jesus Christ,162 which can be problematic.163 Alternatively, Coleman holds that “we must distinguish between Jesus and God” and clarify that God is the divine agent who makes a way out of no way.164 Such a shift away from Christocentrism opens up new paths. Coleman writes, “a womanist theology cannot require a belief in Jesus Christ for salvation, and it must uphold a religious framework that can discuss the relationship between God and the world for more than one single religious tradition.”165 Such openness to other traditions can provide a stronger basis for a greater emphasis on spirit rather than a narrowly focused view of Jesus. While at its core Coleman’s theology is womanist, she also argues that because it is womanist it must attend to postmodernism. She points out that postmodern theology holds that “new perspectives,” especially in science, “change the way we think about God’s role in the world.”166 As a postmodern womanist theology, Coleman’s work thus attends to and integrates current scientific perspectives. In making this methodological move, Coleman turns our attention to the rich resources of process thought. Though Coleman acknowledges that integrating womanist and process theologies is not typically done, she asserts they can be “potent  Ibid., 5–6.  Ibid., 40. 161  Ibid., 40–41. 162  Ibid., 37. 163  Ibid., 38. 164  Ibid., 41. 165  Ibid., 36. 166  Ibid., 7. 159 160

260 

K. BUHRING

conversation partners.”167 Coleman points to black scholars such as William R. Jones and Thandeka as criticizing process theology as inadequate because it is neutral. In Thandeka’s words, “Whitehead’s God has the manners of an English gentleman.”168 However, Coleman sides with Henry Young, who argues that while Whitehead may not have addressed structural evils of oppression or racism, process thought does have the ability to address these forcefully.169 In this regard, Coleman asserts that “a postmodern theology must depict a God whose vision for the world resists oppression, and describe ways in which justice can be achieved in the world.”170 In short, Coleman draws from process theology but always with the theological norm of seeking justice, wholeness, or creative transformation. Coleman argues that black theology can benefit from the philosophical framework provided by process thought and that process theology can “account for the complexity of black religion” and offer an image of God who stands with the oppressed and opposes injustice.171 Coleman affirms many aspects of process theology, including the ideas of God’s goodness, relationality, persuasive power, and human free will. She explains that God is unchanging in the sense that “God is always good,”172 but God is also “changing” in the sense of having genuine relationality with and responsiveness to the world. Tapping into a view of the world as constantly evolving and becoming, Coleman writes, “Because the events of the world are always changing, there is a part of God that is ever changing, ever growing, with the inclusion of the occurrences of this world. In this sense, God is a true companion as God absorbs the experiences of the world into God’s self.”173 The idea that God is also becoming and always in relation to the world, rather than fixed, static, and unchanging, is a sign of true perfection in this view. Further, Coleman explains, “Affirming the goodness of God asserts that God’s vision is for the common good of the world.”174 She argues that a postmodern womanist theology must advocate for a God who resists injustice and fights for justice. God is not a God of the oppressed for Coleman though. Rather, she  Ibid., 8–9.  Ibid., 80–81. 169  Ibid., 81. 170  Ibid., 78. 171  Ibid., 8–9. 172  Ibid., 60 173  Ibid., 61. 174  Ibid., 76. 167 168

7  THE SPIRIT IN CONTEMPORARY BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

261

writes, “God is…the God of all,” who resists all forms of injustice. “A God who resists oppression does not love or hate, accept or despise one person in this scenario more than another. God resists the oppressive activity and calls each party to justice in their future actions.”175 As divine goodness is manifested in God’s fostering of justice, human freedom should be utilized in making contributions to the common good. Coleman also agrees with process theology’s robust sense of human freedom. In her words, “In process theology, everything that happens is a product of the past, what’s possible, and what we do with those things… We are not bound by the past. It is not a deterministic system. We can do something new. God is the one who offers the possibilities to the world, urging us to choose paths that lead to a vision of the common good.”176 We have genuine free will to follow God or not. God is constantly calling us to participate in striving toward the good, but “To the extent that we use our freedom to diverge from God’s calling, there is evil in the world,”177 such as oppression and injustice. Evil and suffering, as well as joy, affect all—we are interdependent and “radically relational.”178 In a sense, in process theology, God is limited to what is possible. Coleman explains, “God works with what the world provides. Some situations give very few options. … God’s calling toward the more preferable of the available options may still result in loss, pain, and suffering.”179 It is important to point out that process theology differs from classical versions of theology in regard to both divine power and divine knowledge. Coleman notes that though in classical theology the “highest form of power is an authoritative or coercive power, in process thought, God’s power is persuasive power. God cannot make us do one thing or another. Rather, God influences, persuades, lures, or ‘calls’ us to embrace the principles of God’s vision in every context.”180 Again, from the process perspective, such persuasive power is an expression of a more perfect form of divine love that is consistent with the God of the Bible as well as modern science. Likewise, God in process theology “has more knowledge than we do”181 but is not all-knowing in the classical sense. We have genuine  Ibid., 82.  Ibid., 51. 177  Ibid., 54. 178  Ibid., 54–55. 179  Ibid., 57. 180  Ibid., 59. 181  Ibid., 61. 175 176

262 

K. BUHRING

freedom, therefore “the future is not guaranteed [and] God does not know what we are going to do before we do it. Thus, the end is not guaranteed or foreordained. In this sense, process is an open system.”182 The future has not yet happened, and God cannot know that which cannot be known. Process theology also stresses divine immanent presence and constant activity.183 Expressing a form of panentheism,184 Coleman offers that “God is in us, and we are in God.” In this way, Coleman continues, “incarnation is universal.” She explains, “Because God is one who offers us possibilities—indeed offers Godself to us—in God’s calling to the world, God is a part of who we are. In every moment, God breathes into us, helps to create who we are. There is something of God in everyone.”185 Consequently for Coleman, there should be greater acceptance of religious pluralism. She writes, “There is…no cause to assume that there is only one option that will embrace God’s calling.”186 As God is immanently present in all, God is dynamically active within all that is. In a way, Coleman writes, “the roles that we play in producing evil, or resolving it, are not neatly separated from God’s calling to and vision for the world. We act in response to God, and God acts in response to us; there can be cooperation between God and the world.”187 This sense of cooperation puts an enormous and exciting burden on human shoulders in that “we can contribute to the content and vision of heaven,” or the common good, or, in her later language, creative transformation.188 Coleman holds that, “Some evil, some loss can only be overcome in God, in the kingdom of God, in God’s self, and in God’s offering of Godself to the world.”189 Nevertheless, “We must combat evil and try to overcome it.” Somewhat paradoxically, even though “We can’t [overcome evil]…we must”190 work with God and contribute to the struggle against evil and oppression and toward justice and creative transformation.191  Ibid., 74.  Ibid., 75. 184  Ibid. 185  Ibid. 186  Ibid., 76. 187  Ibid., 53. 188  Ibid., 63. 189  Ibid., 77. 190  Ibid. 191  Ibid., 82. 182 183

7  THE SPIRIT IN CONTEMPORARY BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

263

While she also employs the process label of creative transformation,192 like other womanists, Coleman describes salvation as “making a way out of no way.” She writes, ‘Making a way out of no way’ is an expression that acknowledges God’s presence in providing options that do not appear to exist in the experiences of the past.…[It] acknowledges both the role of God and of human agency as new ways break forth into the future. There are four characteristics of ‘making a way out of no way’: (1) God’s presentation of unforeseen possibilities; (2) human agency; (3) the goal of justice, survival, and quality of life; and (4) a challenge to the existing order.193

Importantly, Coleman emphasizes that we work with God toward making a way out of no way.194 She notes that, while full liberation is not always possible, “survival and quality of life are.”195 Coleman details that “The good includes justice, equality, discipleship, quality of life, acceptance, and inclusion.”196 Though this list gives a clear direction of goals Coleman has in mind, she also consciously notes that “creative transformation is particular for each context”;197 in other words, Coleman avoids giving a one-­ size-­fits-all sense of specific and concrete ethical positions. That said, Coleman’s notion of making a way out of no way is very much grounded in the life of Jesus. She explains that her theology “draws from the womanist emphasis on the life and ministry of Jesus to highlight the ways in which teaching and healing positively bring about change in the world.”198 At the same time, Coleman claims, this theology “de-­ centers Christ and Jesus in order to expand the notion of divine-­creaturely cooperative change beyond the scope of particular Christologies and Christianity in general.”199 She also points out that, while making a way out of no way is based in the experiences of black women, there is a broader sense of creative transformation that it is not unique to black women.200 That is, God is present and active among all peoples seeking  Ibid., 86.  Ibid., 33. 194  Ibid., 86–87. 195  Ibid., 85. 196  Ibid., 86. 197  Ibid., 89. 198  Ibid., 86. 199  Ibid., 93. 200  Ibid., 94. 192 193

264 

K. BUHRING

and inspiring creative transformation. Further, this reality extends even to “nonhuman communities.”201 As do other womanists, Coleman stresses that salvation, or creative transformation, is always a communal and active process.202 She asserts, “A constructive womanist concept of salvation states that community is a vehicle and goal of salvation for black people. … That is, salvation aims at bringing communities together, and there is no salvation unless the entire community is saved.”203 We must work with one another and with God in community to foster just relations and full flourishing. Coleman focuses on the communal nature of teaching and healing communities that transform and save.204 Though she advocates for a sense of salvation, Coleman broadens the role of savior beyond Jesus. She writes, “it is not the person of Jesus, but rather the activities of teaching and healing that are exhibited in the life and death of Jesus that makes Jesus a savior. The activities of a community leader who demonstrates salvation make for a savior.”205 In this way, Coleman encourages us to be attentive to each community’s savior-­ figure,206 who is often found in “unlikely places.”207 Though she advocates for a notion of a savior, Coleman is also careful to clarify that “responsibility” of creative transformation “lies with all of us,” and that we should each “participate in teaching and healing communities that promote the social transformation of the world.”208 While she maintains a distinctively Christian sense of salvation, that is the assumption of original sin and the necessity to be saved, Coleman does not develop her communal emphasis toward a fuller treatment of the Trinity, which might be expected. She is clearly rooted in Christianity and speaking especially to a Christian audience, but seems uncomfortable with making claims that would be too uniquely Christian. Instead of drawing out the Trinitarian overtones in her view of community, Coleman emphasizes the African-based idea of the ancestors as a vital element of community.

 Ibid.  Ibid., 86. 203  Ibid., 97. 204  Ibid., 125. 205  Ibid., 99. 206  Ibid. 207  Ibid. 208  Ibid., 167. 201 202

7  THE SPIRIT IN CONTEMPORARY BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

265

Coleman taps into the African notion of ancestors as a way to discuss the interaction between God and humans as well as among humans, living and dead. She explains, “I use the term ancestor as a philosophical term to refer to a spiritual force or soul that is disembodied, at times because of the death of the mortal body. … This term also refers to the lesser deities and culture heroes who are more properly objects of worship and have a larger role in African Traditional Religions.”209 Coleman thus discusses two ways of thinking of ancestors. First, she addresses ways that the living can help to keep the ancestors alive in our practices of remembering and honoring them.210 In fact, she explains that remembering and honoring the past, as we “incorporate it into our process of becoming,” is one method for making a way out of no way.211 This sense of the ancestor is focused on the thoughts and practices of the living, as we fondly remember and incorporate the lives and lessons on loved ones. In addition to this view of ancestors, Coleman highlights a second sense, which is based on “the practice of the traditional religion of the Yoruba people and its expression in the United States” that focuses on the presence and activity of the ancestors, who “are closely related to the divine and are active in the everyday and ceremonial lives of practitioners.”212 This sense of the ancestors focuses more on the actual presence and activity of those who are no longer physically embodied, but who are alive in a new way and efficacious in and through God. Coleman offers that, in this second way, the ancestors share in the experiences of God and influence God, including what possibilities God offers to the world.213 In other words, “an ancestor can be fully present in God with knowledge and agency and then influence the present.”214 In this way, Coleman argues, “ancestors are not simply human beings who maintain activity after death. … Ancestors are transformed in the afterlife; they have a divine quality to them … [they] have special knowledge.”215 The ancestors may “come to” the living independently, and the living can evoke the presence and activity of the ancestors.216 As is the case in African  Ibid., 114.  Ibid., 113. 211  Ibid., 101. 212  Ibid., 102. 213  Ibid., 117. 214  Ibid., 107. 215  Ibid., 114. 216  Ibid., 119. 209 210

266 

K. BUHRING

traditional religions and Afro-Caribbean religions, Coleman holds that there is reciprocal relationship between the ancestors and the living. In a manner, the ancestors depend for the existence on the memories and honoring of the living, while the living are inspired and sustained in the process toward creative transformation by the work of the ancestors. And, as in these religions, Coleman offers that we can access the ancestors through various means, including “rituals of remembrance, rites of divination, or spirit possession.”217 In Coleman’s view, God is constantly seeking to guide or lure a person toward the good. The ancestor can participate in this divine guidance. Coleman writes, “When we embrace new possibilities offered to us in God’s calling, we may be ‘possessed’ with a spirit of an ancestor.”218 In this dynamic, human free will is stressed. The ancestor freely contributes to God’s calling, and the living person freely accepts and follows this call from the ancestors and the divine. Though spirit possession may involve a displacement of one’s “normal sense of consciousness,”219 Coleman understands the living individual to be receptive and to have agency in the process.220 She explains, “Through spirit possession, the ancestors strive to guide the present generation toward creative transformation. This is the purpose of possession.”221 While grounded in African religious ideas, Coleman frames her discussion of ancestors and spirit possession in a Christian context. She suggests that “visions, dreams, [and] charismatic embodiments of the Holy Spirit”222 be understood within this framework. Even further, Coleman explains, “In the way that I have used the term ancestor, the Holy Spirit can be understood as an ancestor.”223 Coleman’s expression of a postmodern womanist theology is firmly grounded in the experiences of black women, while also tapping into African-based ideas and process perspectives of God and humanity. While she gives less direct attention to the Spirit than either Hopkins or Baker-­ Fletcher, Coleman clears the path for greater development of the idea in contemporary theology. She provocatively decenters Jesus, taps into

 Ibid., 114.  Ibid., 117. 219  Ibid., 115. 220  Ibid., 118. 221  Ibid., 120. 222  Ibid., 102. 223  Ibid., 121. 217 218

7  THE SPIRIT IN CONTEMPORARY BLACK THEOLOGY AND RELIGION 

267

process theology and African thought, and creates a theology in which God and humanity work together to make a way out of no way. Hopkins, Baker-Fletcher, and Coleman are three of the most important theologians in the realm of contemporary black and womanist thought. Each thinker adds a great deal to the conversation and inspires future development and creativity. Hopkins’ treatment of the Spirit of Total Liberation in Us is especially important. This theology provides a robust sense of divine–human collaboration that was missing or underdeveloped in the earlier generation of black theology. Baker-Fletcher gives us a rare, direct consideration of the full Trinity, exploring how the relations of the Trinity relate to one another and to the world. While I find aspects of her theology problematic in the sense that they are rather traditional, one comes away from her work with an understanding of God as vibrant, fluid, and dynamic in very powerful ways. Finally, like Hopkins, Coleman draws from African thought; like Baker-Fletcher, she taps into womanist and process perspectives; unlike either, Coleman uses these resources to burst out of the limits of Christianity and to craft a promising theocentric sense of a God who lovingly works with all of humanity toward fulfillment. The next chapter will take up some of the strands of this chapter and earlier ones to continue the conversation toward a theology of the Spirit(s) in black religion.

Works Cited Baker-Fletcher, Karen. Dancing with God: The Trinity from a Womanist Perspective. St. Louis: Chalice Press, 2006. Baker-Fletcher, Karen. Sisters of Dust, Sisters of Spirit: Womanist Wordings on God and Creation. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1998. Coleman, Monica A. Making a Way Out of No Way: A Womanist Theology. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2008. Hopkins, Dwight N. Down, Up, and Over: Slave Religion and Black Theology. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2000. Hopkins, Dwight N. Shoes That Fit Our Feet: Sources for a Constructive Black Theology. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1994.

CHAPTER 8

A Theology of the Spirit(s)

Drawing from ideas of the spirit(s) in African traditional religions (ATRs), Afro-Caribbean religions, African American Christianity during slavery, Pentecostal movements, and modern and contemporary black theology, this chapter will begin to lay out a Theology of the Spirit(s). I believe this theology may help to address what I perceive to be an underdeveloped aspect of black theology, namely pneumatology. In moving toward this Theology of the Spirit(s), I argue for a radical rethinking of classical Christian perspectives of Christocentrism and original sin. While assumed by most black theologians, such perspectives limit the possibilities for tapping fully into vibrant and powerful resources within ATRs and Afro-­ Caribbean religions, as well as ideas in the Jewish and Eastern Orthodox traditions. In contrast, the Theology of the Spirit(s) I develop here draws from these rich resources and conveys the idea of the Spirit(s) as vibrantly present and dynamically active in the world. This theological perspective offers a vision of a God who is one, though experienced in many ways; a God who is immanently present within the world and lovingly active; a God who is enormously powerful, yet is interactive and even interdependent with humanity in the journey toward liberation, wholeness, and positive transformation. As mentioned earlier in the book, there has not been enough attention paid to the Holy Spirit within modern or contemporary black theology. To be clear, within the religious lives of many African Americans, the Holy © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 K. Buhring, Spirit(s) in Black Religion, Black Religion/Womanist Thought/Social Justice, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-09887-1_8

269

270 

K. BUHRING

Spirit is dynamically present and active; however, this phenomenal reality has rarely been reflected in the published works of academic black theologians. This lacuna was noted decades ago by prominent thinkers such as J. Deotis Roberts and Major Jones. Jones explains, “Black Christians have experienced the Holy Spirit more fully than Black theologians have adequately reflected, and the Holy Spirit is still an undernourished theme in Black Theology—which is also the case among White theologians.”1 Though since Jones made this claim there has been a great deal of attention to the Holy Spirit in Christian theology broadly, within black theology direct and full treatment of the Holy Spirit has still remained rare. More recently, Anthony Reddie has concurred, saying that while black theology has always spent a great deal of time and effort on Jesus, there has been “comparatively little on the Holy Spirit.”2 This matters, Reddie argues, because “greater attention to the Spirit can provide a helpful means for enabling Black Theology to better engage with the lived realities of ordinary Black people.”3 There are a few positions within black theology that illustrate why and how the Holy Spirit has been underdeveloped. First, the Holy Spirit may be understood as too theoretical or abstract an idea to which to devote much attention. Reddie explains that this may be partly due to the focus of black theology, particularly in its early forms, on practical, rather than theoretical, issues.4 In black theology, “priority is placed on God’s spirit of liberation in the bodies and the consciousness of oppressed Black peoples rather than in fossilized doctrines often created by the powerful.” As has been evident in earlier chapters, within black religion, including ATRs and the Pentecostal movement, the emphasis has been on orthopraxy rather than orthodoxy.5 While virtually no black theologian would deny the presence and activity of the Holy Spirit in black Christianity, full and direct academic exploration of the idea of the Spirit has been viewed with some suspicion and skepticism. Simply put, while the Spirit might be acknowledged, for thinkers such as James Cone, one almost gets the sense that delving too deeply into a theology of the Spirit may be unnecessary or uselessly abstract and theoretical. 1  Major J. Jones, The Color of God: The Concept of God in Afro-American Thought (Macon, GA: Mercer Press, 1987), 109–110. 2  Anthony G. Reddie, Black Theology (London: SCM Press, 2012), 114. 3  Ibid. 4  Ibid., 115. 5  Ibid., 28.

8  A THEOLOGY OF THE SPIRIT(S) 

271

However, as Jones and Reddie argue, a theology of the Spirit can be concrete and practical when considering the faith lives of black Christians. Jones argues, “The task of Black theologians is to develop Black Theology in response to the current life of Black people. To do this, Black theologians need to take seriously the traditional importance of the Holy Spirit for the Black church.”6 The Spirit matters, and it matters practically in the lives of black people. Throughout his work, Reddie has persuasively advocated for the importance of “creat[ing] a practical model of the discipline that engages with ordinary people in their attempts to live out and give expression to their faith.”7 In a great example of how Reddie applies this sensibility to his own life, he explains, despite being almost embarrassed by the practice, that he leaves “a copy of an NSRV Bible laid open at the Psalms on my bed in my flat, in order to ward off unclean spirits while I am absent from my home.” He adds, “Do not ask me to deconstruct this for you.”8 Even if it may be difficult, or possibly embarrassing, from a scholarly perspective, the importance of the spirit(s) should be acknowledged and further explored. To put it simply, if greater attention is paid to the practices of black people, more material on the spirit(s) might emerge. A second possible reason for the dearth of treatment of the Spirit may be that many black theologians feel “the need to counter the worst excesses of the privatized and spiritualized notion of personal experience within evangelical Protestantism.”9 In this area, Reddie admits, “one witnesses more of the individual’s personal encounter with the Spirit and the settling for that in and of itself than on a committed and determined stance to use that sense of transformation for the purposes of radical, social change.”10 In this way, the significance of the Spirit is sometimes limited to, or misunderstood to be limited to, the personal lives of individuals. That is to say, even in traditions such as Pentecostalism that emphasize the work of the Spirit, the Spirit is thought to inspire personal transformation, not social transformation along the lines of liberation. Hence, and in part because of the typically narrow focus of Evangelicals and Pentecostals themselves, black theologians of liberation have undervalued the potency and efficacy of the Spirit in regard to social and political action. Reddie  Jones, Color, 116–117.  Reddie, Black Theology, 73. 8  Ibid., 43. 9  Ibid., 125. 10  Ibid., 124. 6 7

272 

K. BUHRING

adds that, even when examined in the literature of black theology, it is the “faith-inspired actions” of individuals inspired by the Spirit rather than the dynamic of the theology of such a reality that has been given attention.11 Despite such real or perceived flaws within Evangelical and Pentecostal traditions, echoing James Forbes position examined in Chap. 5, Reddie argues for the possibility of an integration of the power of personal transformation and “practical models of collective living and communitarian action that seek to harness the emotive power of religious change within the broader framework of freedom for all people, irrespective of faith or none.”12 Reddie offers worship as a place where these strands come together: “I believe that creative attempts to see worship as the grounding and inspired source for liberative praxis in the Black Theology tradition can provide the practical framework for the Black liberation struggle.” He uses Jeremiah Wright as an example of this effort, “to capture the raw intensity of Black struggle and to link that with the power of the Spirit.”13 Reddie asserts, “Through seeing worship as the Spirit-filled response to a liberative God, ordinary Black people can be enabled to connect the social and political with the religious and the spiritual. The convergence of the personal and the collective,…can be achieved through the context of weekly worship in the church.”14 While Evangelical and Pentecostal traditions have tended to emphasize personal and spiritual elements at the expense of communal and political aspects and black theologians have stressed the social justice import of the Gospel but ignored the power of the Spirit in individual transformation, it may be possible to integrate the best of both worlds, so to speak. Finally, a third reason that the Holy Spirit has been underdeveloped within black theology is that many black theologians have been working with a particular understanding of the Christian Trinity in which the Holy Spirit plays only a secondary, or tertiary, role. In other words, most black theologians have either ignored the Holy Spirit or linked it so closely to Christology that it lacks autonomy. Though of course there are exceptions, including a few discussed earlier in this book, such as Karen Baker-Fletcher, it is not easy to find a chapter, let alone an entire book, written by a black or womanist theologian focused  Ibid., 121.  Ibid., 127–128. 13  Ibid., 137. 14  Ibid., 139. 11 12

8  A THEOLOGY OF THE SPIRIT(S) 

273

fully and directly on the Holy Spirit.15 For example, throughout James Cone’s roughly dozen published books and copious articles and essays, one is hard pressed to locate a treatment of the Holy Spirit. For instance, in his seminal A Black Theology of Liberation, Cone includes chapters on God, Jesus Christ, and the human being. Even in his The Spirituals and the Blues, there is a chapter titled “God and Jesus Christ in the Black Spirituals,” yet, surprisingly, not one on the Holy Spirit. Of course, the lack of a chapter on the Holy Spirit does not mean the Spirit is absent from Cone’s theology. But it is indicative of what I find to be a gap in his Christocentric work, and certainly he is not alone in this tendency. While the Holy Spirit is absent or underdeveloped in much of black theology, sometimes the Spirit is included, but subsumed under or conflated with Christology. One example among many of this tendency is an essay on slave narratives by George C. L. Cummings, subtitled “The Spirit and Eschatology.” There, Cummings writes, “The ultimate aim [of his scholarship] is the discernment of the Spirit of Christ the Liberator.”16 While there is nothing inherently flawed about this assertion, it seems to me to be an odd way to set up a piece on the Spirit and eschatology. The Holy Spirit apparently has no significance that is autonomous from Jesus Christ for Cummings. In supporting this approach, Cummings argues that this way of seeing the Spirit is biblically based, saying, “the Christian tradition stresses that the Spirit is the Spirit of Christ (Luke 1:35; John 16:13–15; Rom. 1:4).”17 Further, he adds, “the Oppressed One of God— the resurrected One—whose presence is celebrated in the community of faith, is the one who is witnessed to in the slave narratives as the Spirit of the Lord.”18 Despite the fact that Jesus is often named specifically in many slave testimonies as his own figure, and not simply equated with the Spirit, Cummings makes the dubious claim that any reference to the Spirit in these sources should be understood as actually talking about Jesus. In this way, Cummings effectively conflates the Spirit and Jesus. He then links this idea to Cone’s “insistence on the distinctively Christian character of

 Ibid., 125. Reddie makes this same point.  George C.  L. Cummings, “The Slave Narratives as a Source of Black Theological Discourse: The Spirit and Eschatology,” in Cut Loose Your Stammering Tongue: Black Theology in the Slave Narrative, 2nd ed., ed Dwight N. Hopkins and George C. L. Cummings (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2003), 33. 17  Ibid., 44. 18  Ibid., 43. 15 16

274 

K. BUHRING

Black Theology.”19 While in places in the essay Cummings gives more of a Trinitarian sense of the Spirit, he still expresses the sense that “the Spirit” is how Jesus is present now.20 In the end, Cummings asserts that he is justified in “interpreting the Spirit in the slave narratives as the Spirit of Christ.”21 It is unclear to me what alternative position Cummings has in mind that he seems to fear or dispute as inaccurate. What is the danger theologically in recognizing and affirming the autonomy of the Holy Spirit? It need not be separated entirely from Jesus, but it seems to be rather unorthodox simply to “fold” the Holy Spirit into Christology, which Cummings and other black and womanist theologians often do. While some theologians largely ignore the Holy Spirit or treat it under the cover of Christocentrism, another, less problematic, version of this third tendency within black and womanist thought is to refer to spirituality or the Spirit in rather generic terms and avoid explicit language about the Holy Spirit.22 While this may basically minimize the status or role of the Holy Spirit, it might instead emphasize the ways that the Holy Spirit is integral to the divine. This is evident, for example, in Dwight N. Hopkins’ Down, Up, & Over. Seemingly following the lead of his mentor, James Cone, Hopkins builds his constructive theology in the work with three chapters, titled “God: The Spirit of Total Liberation for Us,” “Jesus: The Spirit of Total Liberation with Us,” and “Human Purpose: The Spirit of Total Liberation in Us.” Though the last chapter seems to beg for something like “The Holy Spirit: The Spirit of Total Liberation in Us,” Hopkins instead moves into theological anthropology. So, it appears to me that Hopkins either largely skips over the Holy Spirit, as I read Cone as doing, or actually sees the Holy Spirit as coursing throughout his entire treatment of the “Spirit of Total Liberation.” When asked in personal correspondence with him, Hopkins clarified for me that his theological vision is more in line with the latter direction. For Hopkins, God is the Spirit of Total Liberation. This Spirit is holy, whether Hopkins uses the adjective or not. While recognizing the meaning and power of the designation for many Christians, he shies away from using it at times because it is unnecessary, it lends itself to a limited focus on beliefs rather than practices, and it leads to cutting off non-Christians in an exclusivist fashion. In Hopkins’  Ibid., 44.  Ibid. 21  Ibid., 45. 22  Reddie, Black Theology, 125. 19 20

8  A THEOLOGY OF THE SPIRIT(S) 

275

theology, God is revealed to Christians as the Spirit of Total Liberation for, with, and in us as God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit, and also revealed to non-Christians in other ways. In referring to God in this way, Hopkins creates more space for realities of non-Christian religiosity.23 While the Christocentric approach exemplified earlier by George Cummings tends to reinforce a sort of closed-off Christian identity that devalues non-­ Christians, the approach taken by Hopkins and others24 opens up possibilities for fruitful exchange among religions. My suggestion is that black theology, and especially its pneumatology, would be enriched by tapping into resources from non-Christian traditions, including ATRs, Afro-Caribbean religions, and Judaism, as well as Eastern Orthodoxy. This move may be viewed through the lens of interfaith dialogue. Dwight Hopkins writes, “Interfaith dialogue is an urgent call for the present and future for all of us concerned about the future of the world community.”25 If the “work and words of Jesus [are taken] seriously,” then the presence and activity of God are not limited to Christian communities.26 “Among the cries of all the marginalized peoples, God reveals God’s self in all faiths around the globe. To deny this is to possibly participate in a new form of imperialism—a Christocentric imperialism against the majority of the other faiths on earth.”27 In short, suffering and oppression occur not only among Christians; likewise, liberation occurs not only among Christians either. Hopkins argues that “it is the spirit of liberation that is the common basis for an interfaith dialogue whose  Based on an email exchange with Dwight N. Hopkins in June and July 2020.  For example, in the same anthology as Cummings’ essay, Will Coleman explores theological language of enslaved blacks and argues that their use of metaphorical language that drew at least in part from African religions is a rich reservoir of resources today. Coleman suggests, “This provides contemporary African American theologians with an opportunity to explore new possibilities for black theology via metaphors taken from both non-Christian and Christian sources.” Will Coleman, “‘Coming Through ‘Ligion’: Metaphor in Non-­ Christian and Christian Experiences with the Spirit(s) in African American Slave Narratives,” in Cut Loose Your Stammering Tongue: Black Theology in the Slave Narrative, 2nd ed., ed Dwight N.  Hopkins and George C.  L. Cummings (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press), 48. 25  Dwight N. Hopkins, “A Black American Perspective on Interfaith Dialogue,” in Living Stones in the Household of God: The Legacy and Future of Black Theology, ed. Linda E. Thomas (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2004), 169. Unfortunately, ATRs and Afro-Caribbean religions are often not seen as relevant participants in interfaith dialogue. 26  Ibid., 171. 27  Ibid., 172. 23 24

276 

K. BUHRING

­ urpose is liberation. When we meet other faiths, how is the spirituality of p liberation manifested in them?”28 Again, here, I have in mind ideas from ATRs, Afro-Caribbean religions, Judaism, and Eastern Orthodoxy. The notion of the value of interfaith dialogue is also related to embracing a broader sense of black religion generally, and black theology in particular. Like Charles Long and Gayraud Wilmore before him, Anthony Pinn has long argued for a more expansive sense of black religion, which has largely been identified with black Christianity. Thus, Pinn’s work seeks to examine such diverse traditions as Vodou, Santeria, Islam, and humanism. He bemoans the fact that “Much of the discussion concerning these traditions has been conducted by anthropologists, sociologists, historians of religion, and those in the arts. … This is tragic in that theologians are best equipped to explore the theological issues underlying the practices of these traditions.”29 Anthony Reddie clarifies that there is even a range of perspectives within the more narrowly conceived field of black theology, saying, “not all scholars who seek to work within the framework of Black Theology would necessarily describe themselves as people of Christian faith. Indeed, Black theologians have attempted to write within a variety of religious frameworks and none.”30 Further, some scholars such as Dianne Stewart and Michael Jagessar argue that many blacks cannot be simply categorized as belonging to only one religious tradition at all. Reddie cites Stewart, who highlights the “eclectic and complex interaction and the incorporation of alternative epistemologies and schemas of thought, which have long been a part of the theological and hermeneutical repertoire of Black people.”31 Reddie also mentions the notion of “limbo space,” developed by Michael Jagessar. Jagessar “draws on the metaphor of Caribbean cultural space in which plural and heterodox notions of identities reject the fixed binaries often imposed on ordinary Black  Ibid., 180.  Anthony B.  Pinn, Varieties of African American Religious Experience (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998), 1. 30  Reddie, Black Theology, 9. 31  Anthony G.  Reddie, Theologising Brexit: A Liberationist and Postcolonial Critique (London: Routledge, 2019), 191. 28 29

8  A THEOLOGY OF THE SPIRIT(S) 

277

people by traditional models of Christianity that have been inherited from the imperial past.”32 In other words, one might be Christian and something else; or one could identify as Christian and also borrow elements from other traditions. Jagessar suggests that, in limbo, or inbetween, space, black people might move fluidly and freely among various religious identities,33 or, I would add, perhaps even none at all. Thus, a sort of interfaith reality may be found within black individuals as well as within black communities. Pinn validly asserts that non-Christian perspectives, such as those explored in this work, have not received as much acknowledgment and attention within the dominant realms of black theology as they should. Explaining why this matters, Pinn says, “I am convinced that theological challenges posed by these traditions and their various structures can greatly enhance constructive theological reflection and ethics. In short, there is much to learn from these traditions because of the ways in which they push theological boundaries and force a reevaluation of what the term religion describes.”34 While I do not engage Pinn’s last point regarding the nature of religion, I do want to advance the idea of using these traditions to push theological boundaries. I assert that Christocentrism, evident in black theology as well as virtually the entirety of the Christian tradition, is a major obstacle in recognizing and engaging with the diversity of ways of being religious; this obstacle to interreligious encounter consequently also stunts the development of pneumatology.35 Of course, Jesus should be understood as vitally significant to the nature of Christianity. However, the way that Jesus came to be understood and reified in creedal statements, especially within Protestant Christianity, overemphasized his centrality and thus led to an underdevelopment of the idea of the Holy Spirit and to an exclusivist Christology that denigrates non-Christian religions in an effort to elevate the status of

 Reddie, Black Theology, 110.  Michael N.  Jagessar, “Is Jesus the Only Way? Doing Black Christian God-Talk in a Multi-Religious City (Birmingham, UK).” Black Theology 7 2 2009, 221. 34  Pinn, Varieties, 2–3. 35  Reddie, Black Theology, 10. 32 33

278 

K. BUHRING

Christianity.36 Jawanza Eric Clark makes the point that exclusivist Christology is rooted in Greek, rather than Jewish, thought. He explains that the Council of Nicea expressed the idea that “Jesus Christ is coequal, coeternal, and consubstantial with God the Father, [which] contradicts the original Hebrew definition of the term ‘messiah’ and constructs Christ as the supreme expression of divinity.”37 In addition, Brad Braxton questions the very validity of the seminal Church councils of Nicea and Chalcedon. He writes, “the presence and patronage of Roman emperors at those councils have left ruling-class fingerprints all over those creeds.… In short, the Christology of those early creeds comes from imperial contexts designed to suppress plurality.”38 Such exclusivist Christology characterizes much of the Protestant Christian tradition, including black theology. As a result of its exclusivist Christology, black theology for the most part has not really engaged other religions, including ATRs, in a deep or comprehensive way. For example, Clark points to Cone’s Christocentrism as an obstacle in his theology, which tends not to tap into African resources.39 Clark argues that, while other first-generation thinkers, such as Long, Wilmore, and Cecil Cone, also critiqued Cone for this, none of them constructed a black theology that draws from African sources either.40 In addition, Clark implies that this shortcoming is also characteristic of 36  For example, much of my position is grounded in recognizing the Jewish roots of Christianity, particularly ideas of spirit(s) and human nature. Provocatively, J.  Kameron Carter argues that modern racism is grounded in the early Christian community’s move away from Judaism in seeking to define itself. He writes, “My fundamental contention is that modernity’s racial imagination has its genesis in the theological problem of Christianity’s quest to sever itself from its Jewish roots. … First, Jews were cast as a race group in contrast to Western Christians, who with the important assistance of the discourses of Christian theology and philosophy, were also subtly and simultaneously cast as a race group. … Second, … Jews were then deemed inferior to Christians of the Occident or the West. … Within the gulf enacted between Christianity and the Jews, the racial, which proves to be a racist, imagination was formed.” J.  Kameron Carter, Race: A Theological Account (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 4. 37  Jawanza Eric Clark, Indigenous Black Theology: Toward an African-Centered Theology of the African American Religious Experience (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012), 62. 38  Brad R.  Braxton, “‘Every time I feel the spirit’: African American Christology for a Pluralistic World,” in Radical Christian Voices and Practice: Essays in Honour of Christopher Rowland, ed. Zoe Bennett and David B.  Gowler (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 188. 39  Clark, Indigenous, 12. 40  Ibid., 13.

8  A THEOLOGY OF THE SPIRIT(S) 

279

c­ontemporary black theologians, such as Dwight Hopkins.41 While I would argue that Hopkins and others actually do utilize ATRs, I do agree that this method is still carried out with a mostly Christocentric bias. From the basis of his critique then, Clark calls for a breaking down of the Christocentric door that has held back “traditional African religious sources,”42 and, I would add, resources from Afro-Caribbean religions, Judaism, and Eastern Orthodoxy. On the first page of the preface to his book, Clark plaintively asks, “What was lost, discarded, and rejected by the masses of black people in America who converted to Protestant Christianity? And what traditional African resources lie dormant, subjugated, and buried under the hegemony of Western religious knowledge that could aid in constructing an empowering religious faith for a people still in need of ‘taking control of their own destinies?’”43 Likewise, Braxton urges, “fuller appropriation of African cosmology,” especially the ideas of Spirit and spirits, is “the key to a liberating African American Christology.”44 While African retentions are certainly evident in African American religion during slavery and through today, it has been noted that these have overwhelmingly been retentions of practices rather than theological  Ibid., 13–14.  Ibid., 9. 43  Ibid., ix. Many scholars have pointed out how, in converting to Christianity, some blacks themselves came to see Africa and African traditions as “primitive” and “heathenistic.” For example, Antipas L.  Harris writes, “Felton O.  Best quotes Richard Allen, … teaching his congregation that ‘most of ecstatic worship such as dancing and excessive clapping were motivated by ‘satanic’ influences and rendered one to appear ignorant.’ This means that some black Christians, post-slavery, looked to whites as the models of civilization. They unwittingly adopted ideas that there was no sacred value in their indigenous religious expressions; and that these should be shunned because they were incompatible for adaptation with the Christian worship and praise experience. … Many African American Christians were blindfolded to the sacred worth of their African heritage because they were convinced that Christianity is less ‘heathenistic’ than their African-ness. Consequently, extreme emotion and ecstatic expressions of practice and worship became offensive and inferior expressions for many African American mainline denominations, such as Baptists, Methodists, Episcopalians, etc.” Antipas L. Harris, “Elements of African Religious Spiritual Practices in African American Worship: Resounding Practical Theological Implications,” in Christianity in Africa and the African Diaspora: The Appropriation of a Scattered Heritage, edited by Afe Adogame, Roswith Gerloff, and Klaus Hock (London: Continuum, 2008), 224–225. Likewise, Dianne Stewart points out that still today, “The ultimate tragedy is that, as a general rule, African-­ Caribbean populations, having come under the influence of White Christian culture, perpetuate Afrophobic and anti-African ideas and attitudes regarding African-derived religious traditions.” Stewart, Three Eyes, 179. 44  Braxton, “‘Every’,” 189. 41 42

280 

K. BUHRING

perspectives. Clark asks why this has been the case historically and why it must continue to be so.45 I would note that Protestant forms of Christianity tend to focus on orthodoxy rather than orthopraxy. That is to say, while Protestant Christianity could allow some variation in religious practices, even to the point of African retentions, it could not abide variation in doctrine and theology. Clark notes that while the “institutional black church” has been critical of “the white church’s liturgical, ethical, and sociopolitical practices,” it “has never been as critical of traditional Protestant approaches to theological anthropology, and exclusive Christology, or traditional definitions of salvation and salvation history.”46 Consequently, Clark calls for a new examination of these ideas. The idea of original sin as the fundamental problem facing humanity and the understanding of the salvific figure of Jesus Christ as the exclusive solution are interrelated doctrines with a long history and central role in the Christian tradition. Based in Pauline Christology, developed by the Church Fathers, and most fully articulated by Augustine, in the Western tradition the doctrine of original sin holds that the disobedience of Adam and Eve fundamentally and ontologically scarred all humanity for all time. After the sin of Adam and Eve, humanity is inherently fallen, depraved, and incapable of choosing or doing good of its own accord. According to the Christian tradition, the only solution to original sin is the salvation realized by Jesus Christ with his death and resurrection. In Pauline terms, as sin entered the world through one man (Adam), it is overcome by one man (Jesus). With these events, God has saved humanity from its fallen condition and redeemed our sinfulness. It is important to recognize, however, that this understanding of Jesus as fully human and fully divine savior developed only after decades and centuries of debate within the early Christian community. Further, the view of Jesus that “wins the day” was worked out before the doctrine of original sin, as it is understood by the majority of Western Christianity, took full form. In other words, the solution (the idea of a saving Jesus) was developed before the problem (the idea of original sin). If this doctrine of original sin were not accepted, the dominant view of Jesus as exclusive savior would also come into question. The Western doctrine of original sin is overly pessimistic and racist. The idea has been understood to mean that we are not good, nor can we do good, either ethically or salvifically, without the saving nature of God in  Clark, Indigenous, 22–25.  Ibid., 24.

45 46

8  A THEOLOGY OF THE SPIRIT(S) 

281

Jesus Christ. Clark argues that the doctrine of original sin was understood by both white and black Americans during slavery in such a way that depended on viewing the African human as particularly fallen and deficient. He argues that “mainstream Protestant Christianity promote[d] and justifie[d] … anti-African sentiment”47 among not only whites but also blacks. In part, the slave trade was justified by imagining that God used it as a tool to rescue “pagan, primitive” souls from Africa and to bring them to salvation in the New World.48 Conversion to Christianity involved defining two communities: the converted and unconverted. Clark argues that if conversion brought one to full humanity in Jesus, implicitly one was subhuman prior to this conversion.49 He explains the complexities of the dynamic, saying, “For the enslaved African, conversion was humanizing and transforming, in one sense, yet also ultimately denigrating, in another sense, because it resulted in alienation from his indigenous religious roots, and also led her to accept her low status within the American racial hierarchy since American Christian discourse was insolubly related to discursive racial rhetoric.”50 As evident in Chap. 3, while some forms of Catholicism allowed for a degree of continuity between African religions and expressions in the Caribbean, Protestantism defined African religiosity as anathema to true Christianity. Such an either-or dichotomy made African religions evil in order to present Christianity as good. In a way that repeats the pattern from early in the history of Christianity, Clark explains that, in the person of Jesus, Christianity gave enslaved blacks an appealing solution (salvation) to a problem (original sin) that had not existed prior to the introduction of Christianity. Enslaved blacks came to a profound experience of Jesus, but only through the path of accepting the notion of their own sinfulness and the need for salvation offered by Jesus.51 In summary, as Clark argues, “black Christians, even to themselves, have been perceived of as especially sinful and uniquely depraved, thus contributing to African anthropological impoverishment and, specifically, black anti-African sentiment. As a result, orthodox notions of ontological sin demand deconstruction and Black church  Ibid., xi.  Ibid., 7. This is also based in classical theological notions, critiqued later, that God is all-powerful and all-knowing, and that everything happens for a reason. 49  Ibid., 30. Of course, despite conversion, the institution of slavery and its foundational claim of black inferiority persisted. 50  Ibid., 30. 51  Ibid., 28–9. 47 48

282 

K. BUHRING

t­heologies need an alternative anthropology.”52 Significantly, although this doctrine of original sin has been fundamental in Western Christianity, it is not accepted by African traditional religions,53Afro-Caribbean religions, or Judaism;54 in these traditions, while it is acknowledged that humans are imperfect, there is a much more positive appraisal of our status, our potential, and our relationship with the divine. Such anthropological ideas can become the basis for a fuller and healthier concept of the spirit(s), as well serve as a basis to question traditional views of Jesus. Though still evident in some religious forms, much of the African-­ based perspective of humanity and God faded over time among African Americans and was replaced with Christian views of humanity and Jesus. Positively, such views stressed creation in the image of God and redemption through Jesus, which are seen as the bases for claims of equality and a sense of freedom, and the foundation for resistance against social evils and for justice. Nevertheless, acceptance of Christianity also meant buying into the doctrine of original sin, along with its implicit racism and sense of limited human capability to do good or positively transform world. Again, acceptance of the idea of original sin goes hand in hand with the view of Jesus as exclusive savior. Clark makes this very argument, succinctly stating, “exclusive Christology is a logical extension of a faulty anthropology.”55 He explains, “If sin is not essentialized, there is no theological need for Jesus Christ, the one and only God-man, to overcome ontological sin, and thus no need to exclusively associate Christ with redemption/salvation.”56 Further, as with the link between the doctrine of original sin and racism, Clark validly makes the case that the idea of Jesus as exclusive savior “bolsters anti-African sentiment among black Christians, because it suggests, indeed, that Africans had no knowledge of God or ultimate truth in their homeland and were destined for hell prior to European capture and enslavement in the Americas. It is a doctrine that delegitimizes non-­ Christocentric truth.”57

 Ibid., 16.  Ibid., 6. 54  Nor is this the view of the Eastern Orthodox Church, which traditionally sees humans as incomplete rather than ontologically fallen. 55  Clark, Indigenous, 17. 56  Ibid., 57. 57  Ibid., 55. 52 53

8  A THEOLOGY OF THE SPIRIT(S) 

283

If the doctrine of original sin is not accepted, then there is no need for salvation, effected by Jesus Christ or anyone else. As Clark says, the absence of the idea of original sin undermines an exclusivist Christology, in which Jesus is seen as the unique savior. What Clark seems to be challenging here is the idea that Jesus is uniquely salvific. In fact, though, without the idea of original sin, we need not be “saved” by anyone or anything, as there is nothing from which to be saved. In theory, Jesus might still be the exclusive answer to the question of human existence. It is just that the question need not be sin. As Clark develops though, once original sin disappears, the idea of any one figure or tradition as exclusive key to human fulfillment seems provincial and rather absurd. Within black theology, many black theologians, including Cone and Roberts, express what is essentially an exclusivistic Christology. They fully affirm the doctrine of original sin and the idea that Jesus saves. Cone in particular has been critiqued by womanists and other thinkers, for example Delores Williams, for attaching salvific significance primarily to his death rather than his life of ministerial vision. However, Williams still maintains a sense of sin and salvation. It is just that it is the life, rather than the death, of Jesus that is salvific. Clark accurately points out that Williams’ work implicitly opens up the possibility that the lives of other humans might be salvific.58 In his words, “If Jesus’s value lies in his ethical posture, his ministry, and his acts and teachings in life on earth, then perhaps other human beings who communicated similar ministerial visions are equally as salvific.”59 Note, however, that even in this radical critique of traditional Christology, salvation is still the goal. It is the means, not the end, that is challenged. I concur with Clark that the doctrine of original sin is deeply problematic. I would push even further though in saying that once original sin is denied, salvation should not be seen as a necessary goal. Jesus should not be seen as exclusive savior, because he is not entirely unique, and should not be understood as savior because we need not be saved. In the end, the critiques of Clark and others are helpful catalysts to powerful revisions of black theology. In short, black theology could be more progressive theologically. As Anthony Reddie admits, this may sound odd. But, he says, “One of the ironies of Black Theology as a largely Christian movement committed to radical, liberative change is that, while its central reworking of Christian faith and doctrine is radical in thought  Ibid., 69.  Ibid., 70.

58 59

284 

K. BUHRING

and practice, this work has still largely operated from within conventional Christian-inspired frameworks.”60 Though not exactly what Reddie means, this idea might be used as a stepping off point for more radical theological moves. Black theology could adopt and adapt many theological and anthropological ideas from ATRs and African-derived religions while still remaining Christian. By incorporating ideas from earlier chapters in the work into a Theology of the Spirit(s), I am calling for a broader, fuller, and stronger sense of Spirit. This Spirit is evident within the divine, ancestors, humanity, and all of nature.

A Theology of the Spirit(s) The theology I am proposing is pluralist in that it is a Christian position that is enriched by encounter with and integration of ideas from other religions. In Chap. 3, scholars asserted that religions such as Santeria should not be understood as syncretic, but rather as symbiotic. That is, for many individuals and communities, Santeria and Catholicism can coexist, without merging into one another. Recall also that the population of Haiti was described as one hundred percent Catholic and ninety percent Vodouisant. There is a pushback against characterizing the religions of the Caribbean as syncretic because of the connotation that this would involve a simplistic throwing together of elements into something less than either religion, and especially something weaker than Christianity. While not advocating for syncretism, certainly not in this pejorative sense, I am calling for a thoughtful and meaningful integration of ideas from various sources into a Christian framework. This is consistent with the practices of enslaved blacks as described in Chap. 4. Enslaved blacks did not give up ATRs when they converted to Christianity, but instead integrated elements from both, often on the basis of strong similarities among traditions, beliefs, and practices that lay under racist and polemical denials of value in ATRs. Further, and consistent with the best of a pluralist understanding of religion, we might push beyond noticing similarities and appreciate the value of real differences among religious ideas and practices. For it is often in the midst of this encountering of differences that the most creative insights emerge. This understanding is also found in African views of religion, where distinct, and even contradictory, ideas may be held together  Reddie, Black Theology, 123.

60

8  A THEOLOGY OF THE SPIRIT(S) 

285

in tension. In addition, as explained earlier throughout this work, most ATRs and Afro-Caribbean religions emphasize practices over beliefs and lack a centralized authority. As a result, these realities have also historically allowed for much greater freedom and flexibility to craft, consider, and develop different religious ideas and beliefs, for example in creation stories. Similar to a Jewish view of textual interpretation, valuable ideas often emerge in the paradoxical interplay of contradictory notions. Such variety is not simply tolerated, but appreciated and valued as revelatory. Helpfully, Reddie refers to ways in which blacks have been “dialectical improvisers.” Such dialectical improvisation is a skill developed through being black in a white world, which created blackness and whiteness and denigrated the former. Echoing DuBois’ sense of double consciousness, Reddie applies this idea to the ability to hold in dialectical tension seemingly opposing realities, such as the immanence and the transcendence of God.61 I would claim that this paradoxical tension is also evident in the African-based idea of reciprocity between God and humanity. To claim that God depends on humanity does not weaken divine greatness; in fact, it could be understood as nuancing and enhancing our sense of God. Given the pluralist perspective I advocate, a Theology of the Spirit(s) draws from a wide range of sources. These sources include much of the material from earlier chapters in this work. First, this theology taps into liberative and positive aspects of the Christian tradition and the Bible, read with a hermeneutic of suspicion. Again, a Theology of the Spirit(s) is a Christian theology, viewing the person of Jesus as powerfully revelatory, but this need not mean that it is orthodox or that it straightforwardly accepts every aspect that many Christians might take as normative. (I am thinking especially of my denial of the doctrine of original sin and the consequent understanding of Jesus as Savior.) Second, a Theology of the Spirit(s) draws significantly from African traditional religions, especially from traditions in West Africa, as well as from Afro-Caribbean religions, particularly Vodou and Santeria. More specifically, I tap into the sense of the Spirit(s) as present and active everywhere, manifested in multiple ways, and as interactive with the world, especially humanity. Third, this theology is informed by various multiple currents both within the Christian tradition, such as Pentecostalism, process theology, and Eastern Orthodoxy, and outside Christianity, including Judaism and Hinduism. While not always explicitly present, my experiences studying these expressions are in  Reddie, Theologising, 226.

61

286 

K. BUHRING

the background of many of the ideas in this work. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, a Theology of the Spirit(s) draws from experiences of black and other oppressed peoples. In a significant sense, this is not only a vibrant source for my theology, but also the norm. While certainly not simple or monolithic, the experiences of oppressed people are the lens through which I encounter the aforementioned sources and the measure of various religious insights. In this, I have been influenced profoundly by the thinkers discussed in Chaps. 6 and 7, especially James Cone and Dwight Hopkins. As asserted by Gayraud Wilmore and Anthony Pinn, this source includes not only Christian, but also non-Christian and secular experiences, as obviously not all oppressed people are religious, let alone Christian. With the very self-conscious caveat that I am white, male, upper middle-class, and straight, my work is rooted in African American thought and history and strives to participate in the conversation driven by black theologians regarding liberation and justice-oriented positive transformation of society. Tapping into these sources and this norm, I concur with Carlton John Turner, who, though speaking of an Afro-Caribbean perspective only, expresses my own views well. Using Turner’s language, a Theology of the Spirit(s) “firstly, does not make a separation between sacred and secular, and sees the Spirit as pervading all spheres of existence. Secondly, it leaves space for the mystery of the Spirit’s work with its incomprehensible multiplicity, and tries not to institutionalize God into neat Western doctrinal formularies. And thirdly, it upholds that however the Holy Spirit operates, whatever the manifestation, it should be for the good of the community, for the Spirit both affirms the individual and inspires resistance to oppression.”62 Loosely following the structure of Chaps. 2 and 3, I will now unpack a Theology of the Spirit(s). A Theology of the Spirit(s) is holistic and integrative. As evident throughout this work, I am arguing that a Theology of the Spirit(s) draws together elements that are often seen in distinction or even in opposition to one another. This includes the sacred and the secular, this world and another world (that is not really “other” at all), the soul and the body, the spiritual and the practical, and the Spirit(s) and humanity. For the sake of discussion, it is possible to distinguish between these elements, but in reality, the distinctions are blurred, often to the point of integration. For example, a Theology of the Spirit(s) draws the best from both the black 62  Carlton John Turner, “Taming the Spirit? Widening the Pneumatological Gaze within African Caribbean Theological Discourse.” Black Theology 13 2 2015, 144.

8  A THEOLOGY OF THE SPIRIT(S) 

287

Pentecostal tradition and Black Liberation Theology, despite their real differences. A Theology of the Spirit appreciates the vibrant sense of the presence and activity of the Spirit in Pentecostalism, while also maintaining the urgency of Black Liberation Theology that God liberates not only the individual soul but also the entirety of the oppressed community on earth now. While critiquing the traditional view of divine omnipotence held by each of these currents, a Theology of the Spirit(s) affirms the work of Leonard Lovett and James Forbes, who represent vital elements from both of these approaches. In a Theology of the Spirit(s), God is understood as loving, just, powerful, immanently present, dynamically active, and relational. The relational or communal nature of the divine is expressed in different ways in different traditions, including in Trinitarian thought in the Christian tradition. Here, I would highlight Karen Baker-Fletcher’s sense of the Trinity, influenced by Eastern Orthodox thought, as inherently dynamically relational, both within itself and in its interactions with creation, including humanity. As expressed in ATRs, God is in all. While the Spirit(s) pervade all that is, even greater presence can be evoked by human activity, including in rituals and activities that move toward liberation, wholeness, and justice-based positive transformation, on both micro- and macro-levels. Furthermore, God may be understood as an energy, force, or power in all. While in many West African cultures the idea of this force or energy is not identified with the divine, for example ase/ashe in Yoruba traditions, I am suggesting that this energy or force is in fact God. This is more in line with perspectives found in East and South African cultures, as well as more integrative of scientifically informed theologies. For example, the Brazilian liberation theologian Leonardo Boff describes God as energy that undergirds the universe, flowing through and potentially incorporated into all.63 Boff writes, “The concept of spirit invites us to see God as a process, as becoming, as the Energy that upholds the universe, humanity, and every person.… God is always in relationship, a source of life, love, and unconditional self-giving. New manifestations of God are always being revealed in this endless ocean of energy.”64 As do Baker-Fletcher and other theologians, Boff explains that Christian doctrine was developed in the context of Greek metaphysics, in which categories of substance, essence, and a 63  Leonardo Boff, Come, Holy Spirit: Inner Fire, Giver of Life, and Comforter of the Poor (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2015), 54. 64  Ibid., 47.

288 

K. BUHRING

sense of reality as static were dominant. In contrast, he calls for “a different paradigm, more in line with modern cosmology.”65 What results from this new, scientifically informed paradigm is a view of the divine as energy. Boff adds, “Energy is everything and in everything, just as spiritus, mana, and axé are in everything. Nothing can survive without energy. As conscious and spiritual beings, we are a complex, subtle, and extremely interactive manifestation of energy.”66 Along these lines, a Theology of the Spirit(s) is panentheistic and understands God as an energy or force that both transcends creation and is evident in immanent ways throughout creation, including manifestations among spirits, ancestors, humans, and other aspects of nature. In its transcendence, God in this Theology of the Spirit(s) may be likened to the High God or Supreme Being in ATRs and Afro-Caribbean religions. It is the aforementioned energy, force, or power of the world, the first principle of the universe. Like the African Supreme Being, this God is the impersonal God beyond God, or at least beyond human conceptions of God. Unlike West African ideas of the Supreme Being, God is not aloof or distant, but rather omnipresent. In part, this divine omnipresence is manifested most dynamically and tangibly through the Spirit(s). This includes subdivinities, or lesser deities, ancestors, humans, and other natural elements. In other words, in its immanence, the one God in a Theology of Spirit(s) is also manifested in a multiplicity of particular, personal, anthropomorphic, and sometimes tangible or incarnate ways to humanity. This would include vodun, orisa, loa, orisha, abosom, and ancestors, as well as Yahweh, Allah, Hindu avatars, and the three persons of the Christian Trinity, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. From the pluralistic perspective of a Theology of the Spirit(s), these multiple divine personae are simply particularized ways that God interacts with humanity through a range of historical and cultural contexts. Importantly, such revelation is always partial and fragmentary. Joseph Murphy helpfully addresses ways of conceiving the dynamic between God and its manifestations. He writes, “In explicating the relationship between the one God and the multiple spirits of veneration, members of [ATRs and Afro-Caribbean religions] have offered metaphors of electrical generators and receptors, or fragmentation of one being into many pieces, or sons and daughters of a single parent. The  Ibid., viii.  Ibid., 57.

65 66

8  A THEOLOGY OF THE SPIRIT(S) 

289

Christian metaphors of several persons or hypostases of one God might be applied to diasporan ideas of spirit.” He continues, “From this point of view, belief in one and in many spirits among the diasporan traditions is not contradictory but rather a question of different emphases or contexts of theological reflection.”67 I agree with Murphy’s point that the belief in one God and many manifestations or Spirit(s) may be logically maintained. Further, I would argue that one should also acknowledge the reality of the many manifested Spirit(s) both in one’s own tradition and those of others. Along these lines, Michael Lodahl calls for grounding the idea of the (Holy) Spirit in its proper Jewish context, including notions of ruach and Shekhinah: “With this approach, Christians could confess the Spirit to be the originating source of Torah, of Jesus, and of any other means through which or whom God calls human beings to transformation of themselves and of their societies toward the divine vision which the ancient Hebrews characterized as shalom.”68 In concurrence with Lodahl, I am calling for a Christian reimagining of the divine as expressed through the Trinity, as well as through non-Christian, and even secular, ways. This is one way in which I believe that African and African-derived ideas of the spirit(s) may enrich not only the Christian notion of the Holy Spirit, but also Christian conceptions of God more broadly. In Chaps. 2 and 3, subdivinities were understood in at least three ways: as agents independent from the Supreme Being, as intermediaries between the Supreme Being and the world, and as manifestations of God. For example, in the third vision, the Vodou loa are viewed as manifestations of Bondye, the “one cosmic Principle.” Likewise, in Santeria, the orisha may be understood as different modes, paths, or caminos of God. Again, in Joseph Murphy’s words, they “derive their power from one source, a power so beyond categorization that it can be conceived only as a unity. They are different in the ways that people of different cultures approach them.”69 I am encouraging a consideration of this third theological model of relation between God and divine expressions of the Spirit(s). In other words, there is one God who is expressed, manifested, and understood in a variety of ways. As 67  Joseph M.  Murphy, Working the Spirit: Ceremonies of the African Diaspora (Boston: Beacon Press, 1994), 181. 68  Michael E. Lodahl, Shekhinah/Spirit: Divine Presence in Jewish and Christian Religion (New York, Paulist Press, 1992), 73. 69  Joseph M. Murphy, Santeria: An African Religion in America (Boston: Beacon Press, 1998), 124.

290 

K. BUHRING

described in Vodou, no one loa encompasses the entirety of God, but each gives a fragmentary glimpse of the divine. As we saw in Chaps. 2 and 3, taken individually and separately, the subdivinities are limited, flawed, and imperfect. While this notion of the divine might seem problematic to adherents of Abrahamic traditions, in Santeria, such flaws are appreciated as indicative of the ability and willingness of the divine to relate genuinely with humanity. In Christian terms, this is part of the powerful appeal of a God incarnate as Jesus. As fully human, Jesus can literally embody and empathize with the human condition. While separately the expressions of God as subdivinities are imperfect, it is in community and in interrelationship that they are better and stronger. This sense of God as communal and relational provides a powerful model for humanity to emulate. While God is omnipresent, God can be “concentrated” in certain ways or manifestations, sometimes in people, places, or objects, as in Santeria. In my view, throughout history, such concentrated energy or presence is what we have come to understand as various gods, including the loa, the orisha, and the Trinity. Significantly, many of the traditions included in this work insist that divine presence is also manifested especially among the poor and oppressed and in examples of resistance against oppression and toward wholeness. This is true of the African-derived religions discussed in Chap. 3 as well as consistent with many of the Christian black theologians examined in Chaps. 6 and 7, including Cone, Roberts, Hopkins, and Coleman. Further, as Coleman calls for in Chap. 7, this perspective of the divine also means God is accessible through multiple religions and no religion at all. In Christian and biblical terms, what I am referring to as the God beyond God may be understood with the Spirit of God language in the Hebrew Bible and New Testament. While in the Hebrew Bible, the spirit or ruach is sometimes characterized as presence or activity of the one God,70 Yahweh, I am suggesting that Yahweh is a way the writers of the Hebrew Bible experienced God beyond God, or what I am calling the Spirit of God. In this view, the Spirit of God, understood by Jews as Yahweh and by Christians as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, created the universe, liberated the Israelites from slavery, spoke to and through the prophets, was incarnated in Jesus, and is present still today as the Holy 70  Alasdair I. C. Heron, The Holy Spirit: The Holy Spirit in the Bible, the History of Christian Thought, and Recent Theology (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1983), 7–20.

8  A THEOLOGY OF THE SPIRIT(S) 

291

Spirit. I believe this is consistent with how the authors of the Synoptic Gospels in the New Testament refer to the Spirit (pneuma) of God in Jesus, or even the way in which Jesus “gives” the Spirit, referred to as the Spirit of Christ, to his followers, who are then able to manifest it.71 So, to be clear, from this perspective, the persons of the Christian Trinity may be likened to the subdivinities or lesser deities of ATRs and Afro-Caribbean religions. I think this is similar also to the way Hopkins describes the Spirit of Total Liberation (God/Spirit of God/Supreme Being) for us, with us, and in us (subdivinities of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit). In particular then, Jesus is God incarnate or a manifestation of the God beyond God. In Christian expression, Jesus was fully human and fully divine. In Chap. 4, we saw how some enslaved blacks understood this duality of Jesus. I am suggesting that this is a Christian way of articulating the nature of God and the subdivinity of Jesus; Jesus is God, yet does not fully encompass God; he is a human incarnation of God; one manifestation of the divine that, to be clear, is the most significant manifestation from a Christian perspective. This view is also consistent with what Cone and Roberts describe as Christianity’s universal and particular emphasis. The universal God is manifested in the particularity of the persons or relations of the Trinity, including Jesus Christ. As many black theologians have explained, Jesus is centrally important to many African American Christians. In short, according to Reddie, this is “because he matters so intensely to the material poverty and acute suffering of Black people over the past 500 years. … The answer I believe lies in the experiential way in which Black people have identified with Jesus … seeing him as one of them,” and “as a liberator,” one who “willed their freedom.”72 As an alternative, “middle path” between the Christocentric approach typical of most black and womanist theology and the pushing of Jesus to the margins approach evident among some critical voices, like Victor Anderson, Reddie advocates for Trevor Eppeheimer’s “strategic essentialism.” Reddie explains that he is still “pushing for the category of Christology because of the embodied and practical role that Jesus can play as an inspiration for radical Black action for the sake of liberation. The Jesus that is modelled 71  Veli-Matti Kärkkäinen, Pneumatology: The Holy Spirit in Ecumenical, International, and Contextual Perspective (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2018), 18; Heron, Holy Spirit, 42–47. Such “Spirit Christology” is more heavily Jewish-based and in distinction from the “Logos Christology” of the Gospel of John, which is Greek-based. 72  Reddie, Black Theology, 86.

292 

K. BUHRING

in this strategic essentialist model of Black Theology is one who remains a potent inspirer of revolutionary change, but he does so while not claiming any absolutism for his own self that has often been claimed on his behalf by his followers, including the Black ones!”73 I agree with this approach that insists on the centrality of Jesus for Christians, but does not claim that Jesus is the exclusive way that God is manifested. Accordingly, one may say that the presence of God within Jesus differs in degree rather than in kind from the presence of God in others. Further, one may also recognize divine presence and activity not only among the conceptions of the divine among multiple religions but also within and throughout humanity. This is what may be described as possession or being filled with the Spirit, or even more subtle senses of the divine presence within us. I have in mind here the way that ancestors are active among humanity, as well as ways in which the spirit(s) may be active in historical figures, including Nat Turner and Martin Luther King, Jr., and contemporary people. This is not to say that King, for example, is divine or a subdivinity, but rather that God was present and active through and with his efforts at bringing about justice and peace. This direction of thought is also relevant to the issue of theodicy. Regarding theodicy, a Theology of the Spirit(s) maintains that God is all good and that in this goodness has created entities other than itself with genuine free will. Once this creative act commences, by definition God is no longer the sole power in the universe, and thus cannot be accurately understood as omnipotent. Instead, this Theology of the Spirit(s) understands divine power in ways that are consistent with process theology. That is, God is powerful, but in a persuasive rather than coercive manner. God works with and through free creatures, including humans, to encourage the best possible outcomes in every moment. This is not a simple “free will defense,” which is usually motivated by the intention of letting God off the hook for the problems of suffering and evil. Instead, in a Theology of the Spirit(s), suffering and evil are due to the failings of God and humanity. God has created a universe in which there is something other than God, with its own identity and agency. God is at least indirectly involved in whatever we do with our freedom. God is also now constantly active, encouraging us and persuading us toward doing and being our best. When we fail, it is a shared failure of humanity and God. In an earlier work, I more fully explore this position, the label of which, humanocentric

 Ibid., 107–108.

73

8  A THEOLOGY OF THE SPIRIT(S) 

293

theism, I take and develop from William R. Jones.74 This theology depends on an assertion, consistent with ATRs and Afro-Caribbean religions, as well as Judaism and Eastern Orthodoxy, that humanity is flawed, yet capable of greatness when working with God. One way in which such work may be manifested is through the presence and activity of the ancestors. In a Theology of the Spirit(s), the idea of the ancestors is very much like that found in ATRs and Afro-Caribbean religions, as well as that expressed in the Christian thought of Jawanza Clark75 and Monica Coleman. The ancestors are those who are no longer physically embodied, but who are still alive and active after physical death. Effectively they can operate in ways similar to subdivinities, interacting with both the divine and the physically living. As in these other traditions, the ancestor is someone who lived an exemplary life,76 though unlike these traditions, as Clark advocates, they need not have died a “good death.”77 Clark explains, “The ancestors model human fulfillment and simultaneously work to save individuals from destruction, chaos, and confusion in life”.78 Though still problematically holding to a sense of salvation, Clark helpfully envisions the ancestors as mediators between the divine and human, as role models for us to emulate, as well as vibrant and dynamically active forces within the world, helping to foster freedom, justice, peace, and positive transformation. While Clark expresses a sense of Jesus as an ancestor,79 and Coleman says the Holy Spirit may be understood as such,80 I still categorize Jesus and the Holy Spirit as subdivinities,81 though, as was evident in Chaps. 2 and 3, the lines between such categories can be blurred. Finally, 74  Kurt Buhring, Conceptions of God, Freedom, and Ethics in African American and Jewish Theology (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008). 75  Clark highlights three Atlanta churches that practice the sort of the theology he advocates. For example, these communities hold to African views of the human and deny the doctrine of original sin. They also envision Jesus as an ancestor and “make the ancestors central to the worship experience” (20). See Clark, Indigenous, 150–162. 76  Ibid., xii. 77  Ibid., 118–119. 78  Ibid., 73. 79  Ibid., 115. 80  Monica A. Coleman, Making A Way Out of No Way: A Womanist Theology (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2008), 121. 81  Caleb Oluremi Oladipo, The Development of the Doctrine of the Holy Spirit in the Yoruba (African) Indigenous Christian Movement (New York: Peter Lang, 1996), 107–111. Oladipo explains how ideas of the Holy Spirit among some Nigerian Christians are very similar to ideas of ancestors in Yoruba traditions.

294 

K. BUHRING

as in ATRs, Afro-Caribbean religions, and Coleman’s theology, the relationship between the ancestors and humans is reciprocal. The ancestors help us, and we, in turn, can bring the ancestors to life through our remembrance and actions that evoke and honor them. This sense of the ancestors and the Spirit(s) more broadly places a great deal of responsibility on humanity. A Theology of the Spirit(s) includes a perspective of humanity that is based on Christian theological anthropology, which should be rooted in Jewish thought. It also draws ideas from ATRs and Afro-Caribbean religions and has similarities with Eastern Orthodox conceptions of humanity. We are created by God in the image and likeness of God. In a Theology of the Spirit(s), being created in the image of God means that, though we are flawed, we are capable of goodness. We are vested with the responsibility to work with God and one another to make the world a better place. There is a reciprocity between God and humanity in which we have genuine free will and power to act with God to strive toward liberation, wholeness, harmony, and positive transformation. Though we may have a proclivity to sin, we are not marked by original sin in a Theology of the Spirit(s). As in Jewish thought, we have a tendency toward both the good and the bad. In part, this is what genuine freedom means. We may follow either impulse, but we always have the power and responsibility to act morally and ethically. As in the Eastern Orthodox tradition then, our sinfulness is best understood as an incompleteness rather than a depravity. It is our life’s pursuit to work with God and toward God. Importantly, we are also communal creatures who must work with one another in such development. In addition to this Christian and Jewish grounding for a Theology of Spirit(s), I would like briefly to highlight some relevant aspects of theological anthropology from ATRs, Vodou, and Santeria as especially helpful resources in crafting an alternative theological anthropology for black Theology and integrating into a Theology of the Spirit(s). As was evident throughout Chap. 2, there is both great variety and also some fundamental unity within African traditional religious views of the spirits: the Supreme Being, subdivinities, and ancestors. The same can be said regarding African traditional religious concepts of humanity. In most African traditional religions, humans are created by god(s) as good, worthwhile, and interrelated with the rest of existence. In some African creation stories, humanity is the apex of creation, while in others, humanity is seen

8  A THEOLOGY OF THE SPIRIT(S) 

295

as but one aspect of a greater, integrated whole.82 Dominique Zahan goes as far as saying that African thought “maintains a kind of equality between the human and God.”83 Humanity is significant as both a creation of God and as a “moral being with a sense of right and wrong.”84 As in Judaism, though not inherently sinful, we are certainly capable of immorality. In most African traditional theological anthropologies, the human is an integrated whole of spiritual and physical aspects, though the spiritual does tend to be primary in understanding one’s identity and destiny. Along these lines, there is a common belief in a God-given destiny. Nevertheless, this idea coexists with the notion of free will and agency. In many cultures, one’s destiny is more of a map or plan for one’s life; in some societies, a person may even choose her own destiny.85 Thus, there is a robust sense of fate, but also human agency, and consequently still human accountability. Many adherents of African traditional religions might think of destiny as providing the broad strokes of one’s life, while human free will is significant in daily decisions.86 We are capable of choosing to act morally and to live in harmony with the spirits, creation, and the rest of humanity. When compared to Christianity, African traditional religions have a much more balanced and positive view of humanity, which is much more empowering. It is thought that we are imperfect, but we are also capable of goodness and well-being. For example, in the Ubuntu concept of humanity in South, Central, and East Africa, there is the notion of our communal nature, our interrelatedness with the rest of the universe. We have a capacity for goodness, care, and forgiveness. Humans are seen as co-creators with God. While in East and South Africa humans are regarded very positively as whole and good from the outset, in West African traditions humans tend to be viewed as incomplete and morally neutral. Instead of sinful and in need of fixing though, the human in West African religions is imagined as developing and in search of fulfillment.87 Each individual has the ability to strive toward such fulfillment, with the help of the 82  Kwesi A. Dickson, Theology in Africa (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1984), 59; Robert Awusu Agyarko, “God of Life: Rethinking the Akan Christian Concept of God in the Light of the Ecological Crisis.” The Ecumenical Review 65 1 March 2013, 52. 83  Dominique Zahan, “Some Reflections on African Spirituality,” in African Spirituality: Forms, Meanings, and Expressions, ed. Jacob K. Olupona (New York: Crossroad, 2000), 4. 84  Dickson, Theology, 60. 85  Clark, Indigenous, 78–79; Pinn, Varieties, 63–64. 86  In Clark, Indigenous, 46. 87  Clark, Indigenous, 109.

296 

K. BUHRING

c­ ommunity, the ancestors, and the divine. Relative to traditional Christian theological anthropology, West African views of humanity are inspiring and empowering, while still realistic; in these ways, they are significant for an understanding of our status in a Theology of the Spirit(s). As Africans were taken as slaves into the Western Hemisphere, they brought their traditional religious beliefs and practices and continued to develop them in the context of slavery and resistance into unique religious expressions such as Vodou in Haiti and Santeria in Cuba. As in ATRs, the human in Vodou and Santeria is understood as a holistic, communal, and multifaceted entity that integrates aspects of the divine within the self.88 Every human has the capacity for goodness and for developing a reciprocal relationship with the divine. According to Vodou, there are four “parts” to the human self: the physical body, the gwo-bòn-anj (gros-bon-ange), the ti-bòn-anj (ti-bon-­ ange), and the mèt tèt (maît’ tête) or guardian loa. The gwo-bòn-anj, “the grand soul,” literally “big-good-angel,” is “the immortal, cosmic spirit of Bondye, which is manifested in the body;”89 in short, it is the soul.90 It is the gwo-bòn-anj that is “temporarily displaced” during spirit possession.91 The ti-bòn-anj, “the little, good soul,” “allows for self-evaluation, ethical and moral conduct.”92 Desmangles offers, “It is personality, conscience, the moral side of one’s character, which reveals itself through one’s general deportment; it is that element in a person which is the physical manifestation of his or her gwo-bon-anj.”93 Finally, in addition to the body and the two souls, there is the mèt tèt. This is “the guardian lwa, which throughout the person’s life has protected him or her from harm.”94 This guardian loa is “usually the first to have possessed him and throughout his life it is his most familiar and intimate divinity.”95 Akin to the image of God concept in Judaism or Christianity, the mèt tèt is even a more robust expression of the immanent presence of the divine inherent 88  Leslie G.  Desmangles, The Faces of the Gods: Vodou and Roman Catholicism in Haiti (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1992), 64. 89  Ibid., 66. 90  Pinn, Varieties, 28. 91  Ibid., 81. 92  Ibid., 28. 93  Desmangles, Faces, 67. 94  Ibid., 69. 95  Maya Deren, Divine Horsemen: The Living Gods of Haiti (New York: McPherson and Company, 1953), 44.

8  A THEOLOGY OF THE SPIRIT(S) 

297

within human nature. Thus, from birth through initiation, the person has close contact with a present, immanent divine aspect that stays close to the individual throughout her life and beyond. Through reclamation, the gwo-­ bòn-­anj remains “an important influence in the lives of the members of the community”96 and “serves the community by interceding with the deities.”97 In its ancestral aspect, the gwo-bòn-anj is passed on to its descendants also.98 In these ways, the gwo-bòn-anj of the person is honored and even active as an ancestor. Even more profoundly, in some cases, the gwo-­ bòn-­anj of a person can also “be assimilated into the concept” of a particular loa, or, in special instances, become a new loa, or a variation of a persona of a loa.99 As in Vodou and other African-derived religions, in Santería, humans are understood as both physical and spiritual entities. While we have spiritual natures, we are understood holistically as a single reality that includes the body, mind, and spirit. There is no stark distinction between the physical and the spiritual. Within the physical head of each human there is a spiritual “head,” or ori. Humans have an ori, which is similar to a soul, as do all animate and inanimate elements of nature.100 In Santería, “at the beginning of time,” each ori negotiated its destiny with Olódùmarè. “The ultimate responsibility of each person and the purpose of their spiritual journey” is to take responsibility and realize one’s destiny.101 Thus, as was seen in ATRs, there is a strong sense of destiny in Santería, but it is a destiny which one has selected for oneself. In addition to the person we are born as, Santería devotees also initiate a unique relationship with an orisha in the asiento (initiation) ceremony. In this ritual, discussed earlier, the orisha is “seated” on or inside the initiate’s ori. This spirit of the divine within the self becomes of critical importance. This orisha guides the development of the devotee’s ori throughout life.102 Murphy explains further, saying, “the orisha becomes an alternate personality, a more powerful and authentic dimension of the self. The dominant orisha is both the [initiate’s] ‘parent’ and herself or himself, for the spirit  Desmangles, Faces, 69.  Ibid., 85. 98  Deren, Divine, 45. 99  Pinn, Varieties, 28; Deren, Divine, 28–29. 100  Miguel A.  De La Torre, Santería: The Beliefs and Rituals of a Growing Religion in America (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2004), 18–19. 101  Ibid., 19. 102  Murphy, Working, 91. 96 97

298 

K. BUHRING

is within her or him.”103 Though the god remains other to the devotee, in a sense, fascinatingly, the god also is integrated into the human self. While there is certainly a sense of good or bad actions in Santería, more central is the idea of harmony or balance,104 and it is both the human and the divinity within that work toward realizing this ideal. So, in contrast to Christianity, which tends to mitigate the human role in redemption, Santería views the human as central to the goal of attaining and maintaining harmony.105 While theodicy, in terms of the Abrahamic traditions, is not really a concern for Santería, human action has cosmic importance. In the end, the human in ATRs and Afro-Caribbean religions is understood to be valuable, capable of goodness, an integrated whole of the spiritual and physical, and able to assert free agency within the bounds set by one’s destiny. Further, there is a much stronger sense of the presence of the divine within humanity and the rest of creation, as well as a more robust call for human action and responsibility for the development of the self and the well-being of others. While some elements of African views of the human are evident within African American theology, for the most part black theology has assumed traditional Protestant concepts of the person, including the doctrine of original sin.106 I concur with Jawanza Clark when he offers African and African-based theological anthropology as a better way of understanding ourselves than what traditional Christian belief, especially Protestant belief, offers us. He argues that African traditional religions give us “a doctrine of the human being that is more empowering than established Protestant approaches to theological anthropology, since it imbues the human being with a level of agency that does not exist in the traditional Christian conception.”107 A more positive appraisal of human character and potential can go hand in hand with a sense of the Spirit(s) that is immanent, good, and powerful, in subtle and persuasive ways as well as a sense of responsibility and a call to action as we  Ibid., 112.  Ibid., 16. 105  Ibid., 4–5. 106  While most African Americans rejected racist arguments of black inferiority and divinely willed servitude during the period of slavery, the majority of enslaved blacks tended to accept the Christian doctrine of original sin. That said, there is some scholarly debate and disagreement on whether the doctrine was fully accepted. For example, see Eugene D. Genovese, Roll, Jordan, Roll: The World the Slaves Made (New York: Pantheon Books, 1974). Genovese argues that some enslaved blacks did not fully buy into the idea of original sin (246). 107  Murphy, Working, 103. 103 104

8  A THEOLOGY OF THE SPIRIT(S) 

299

evoke and interact with the Spirit(s) in our drive toward liberation, wholeness, and positive transformation. Integrating these African and African-based views of God and humanity into a Theology of the Spirit(s), one recognizes the reciprocal relationship between the divine and human. God is within us and all creation. We depend on God, and God, effectively, depends on us. In short, we are interdependent. In Working the Spirit, Joseph Murphy highlights these ideas especially in ceremonies of religions in the African diaspora. He explains, In the language of candomblé and santería, the spirit is ‘made’ by human action. This means that the spirit is made present by gestural metaphors, and can be localized or ‘fixed’ into physical objects and human bodies. But is also suggests that the spirit is manufactured by human action, ‘worked’ from more basic spiritual force into the special force or personality to be reverenced. Its life as ‘a’ spirit depends on the service of its devotees. A Yoruba proverb states this interdependence most emphatically: ‘Where there is no human being, there is no divinity.’ The biblical tradition would not speak of a spirit ‘made’ by human action, yet God ‘pours out his spirit’ (Acts 2:17) through human bodies at Pentecost. In Revival Zion and the Black Church this ‘pouring out’ comes through the movement of the community as service to the spirit. Each of the diasporan traditions emphasize the necessity of this movement to ‘show’ the spirit to themselves and others. It is this action which is condensed in space and time in the activity of ceremonies, the ‘work’ or ‘service.’108

So, God is already present, while fuller, more dynamic and powerful presence may be evoked by human action; here, Murphy emphasizes the actions of communal religious ceremonies. He calls this a “spirituality of incarnation” that “reveals a special reciprocity of spirit and human being,” which “seeks to empower the community.”109 The two broad ways that we have seen such interaction of the Spirit(s) with humanity are possession and divination. Possession, or what Henry Louis Gates, Jr., refers to as “the most vibrant, complex, and mysterious vestige of the African cultural past retained by African Americans,”110 may  Ibid., 180.  Ibid., 199–200. 110  Henry Louis Gates, Jr. The Black Church: This is Our Story, This is Our Song (New York: Penguin Press, 2021), 213. 108 109

300 

K. BUHRING

be conceived of in different ways in various traditions; typically, though, possession involves the divine as the primary agent who overwhelms the human. However understood, whether one is fully, though temporarily, displaced by the Spirit(s) or one is filled with the fire of the Spirit(s) and transformed, “When an individual receives the spirit, a part [of] his or her inner nature is also transformed to partake of the spirit’s divinity.”111 Again, in each of the traditions examined in this work, we already have God within us; possession or being filled with the Holy Spirit involves a focused or concentrated presence of the Spirit(s) within humanity. In distinction, in divination, or in more Christian terms one might speak of prayer and discernment, the human drives the interaction with the Spirit(s) and must interpret the signs of the divine and the corresponding appropriate response. In any of these forms, Murphy emphasizes religious ceremony and the necessary communal character of the encounter between Spirit(s) and humans. Murphy goes so far as to assert, “In a sense the spirit is the action of the community.”112 While I agree that such divine–human interaction might be powerfully evident in such religious, communal activities, I would also emphasize ways that we may interact with the Spirit(s) more broadly. For example, Melissa Raphael describes the presence of God during the Holocaust as Shekhinah. Raphael asserts that God as Shekhinah was evoked whenever Jewish women in the camps acted in humane ways toward one another. She explains that acts of mutual care, such as sharing of goods, watching over one another’s children, and helping to maintain hygiene in such a horrifying and inhumane context as the concentration camps, allowed the image of God, and thus God herself, to shine through and be present in compassionate and subtle ways.113 In these vibrant examples, the women were not able to act in overtly religious ways, nor in obviously communal ways that Murphy highlights. In other words, while I agree that the Spirit(s) is active and present when humans act in religious ceremonies and communally, it is not restricted to these forms. God may be present and active in very subtle, seemingly ordinary times and places, as well as in human actions that move toward liberation, wholeness, and positive transformation.  Murphy, Working, 184–185.  Ibid., 182. 113  Melissa Raphael. The Female Face of God in Auschwitz: A Jewish Feminist Theology of the Holocaust (New York: Routledge, 2003). 111 112

8  A THEOLOGY OF THE SPIRIT(S) 

301

Other than questioning a traditional Protestant sense of salvation, I affirm much of what black theologians have expressed regarding the goals of theology and, more broadly, human purpose. A Theology of the Spirit(s) hopes to tap into ATRs and other religions and develop ways of understanding divine presence and activity and make the claim that we are capable of and responsible for contributing robustly to these goals. That is to say, a Theology of the Spirit(s) seeks to add alternative ways of conceiving of God and humanity to the conversation in black theology, but does not depart in significant ways from the goals various black theologians have affirmed and labeled differently. For example, a Theology of the Spirit(s) recognizes great value in Cone’s liberation, Roberts’ reconciliation, Hopkins’ new self and new Common Wealth, and Coleman’s creative transformation. There are various labels and some important distinctions among these theologians as they understand human purpose, but I agree with Anthony Reddie when he writes, “I am still convinced that the broader notions of emancipation and full life remain the overarching goal for all forms of genuine Black Theology.”114 While I prefer the labels of liberation, wholeness, and positive transformation, I am less concerned about the labels and more about the sense of how we achieve the goals to which they refer and how we understand God and ourselves along the way. Taking seriously Delores Williams’ argument that Cone’s sense of liberation is not the only goal of black theology and that, in fact, it is often blind to the importance of sheer survival in the lives of many black and other oppressed people,115 I still affirm the power of the motif of liberation in the Bible and throughout African American life, whether Christian,

 Reddie, Black Theology, 1.  Cone himself acknowledges, “Black theology is a theology of survival because it seeks to interpret the theological significance of the being of a community whose existence is threatened by the power of nonbeing” (James H.  Cone, A Black Theology of Liberation: Fortieth Anniversary Edition, (Maryknoll: NY: Orbis, 2010, 16). 114 115

302 

K. BUHRING

non-Christian, or secular.116 A Theology of the Spirit(s) uses the idea of liberation, and especially emancipation from economic, social, and political oppression, as a foundational starting point when considering the goals all human must pursue. Divine love for all is often expressed in God’s siding with and liberating the oppressed. Since Cone’s seminal work formalized the already ongoing conversation on human purpose among black Christians, other theologians have nuanced and enriched the discussion. I have in mind particularly many of the ideas discussed in Chaps. 6 and 7. So, this would include Roberts’ conception of reconciliation and the sense of wholeness articulated by Alice Walker in her definition of womanist and developed by many womanist theologians, including Karen Baker-Fletcher and Monica Coleman, in terms of healing and creative transformation. These ideas also share a great deal with notions of harmony evident in ATRs and Afro-Caribbean religions, as well as Jewish understandings of tikkun olam, or mending or repairing the world. A primary characteristic of what I am calling liberation, wholeness, and positive transformation is the idea that the means and the ends of achieving such goals are understood holistically. That is, a Theology of the Spirit(s) understands these goals as integrating and balancing what might seem to be either/or oppositions. In this way, liberation, wholeness, and positive transformation recognize the value of both the individual and the communal, the personal and the social, the micro-level and the macro-­ level, and this world and the next. At their best, black theologies have affirmed a holistic, African-based view of the full range of these aspects. For example, Dwight Hopkins’ work in Down, Up, & Over expresses a nuanced, thorough, and balanced sense of what a new self and new Common Wealth would involve along these lines. A Theology of the Spirit(s) asserts that humans must work toward these goals; such efforts may be inspired by God, and God is most fully present 116  I am also aware of William Ackah’s important article, “Back to Black or Diversity in the Diaspora: Re-Imagining Pan-African Christian Identity in the Twenty-First Century,” Black Theology 8:3 (2010), 341–356. Ackah explains an experience and sense of identity more complicated than race or blackness for many African migrants of the last few decades. Instead, Ackah highlights a diverse and developing notion of black identity and Pan-African Christian experience. Consequently, he argues that it is relevant to consider a broader and more diverse sense of the African diaspora, which has not been shaped exclusively by experiences of slavery and oppression. I take Ackah’s argument to indicate the shortcomings of viewing liberation or emancipation as the sole purpose of black theology, but not to undermine it entirely.

8  A THEOLOGY OF THE SPIRIT(S) 

303

and active in these human efforts. While a Theology of the Spirit(s) shares much with the perspectives explored in Chaps. 6 and 7, I believe these theological currents are enriched by the sense of God and humanity developed in this work. Again, we are flawed, but not so broken by sin that we must be “saved” by an external entity. In fact, we are responsible for and capable of contributing mightily to making the world a better place. We are interdependent coworkers with God. It is not a zero-sum game in which elevating humanity means downgrading God. Belief that God is present does not undermine a sense of transcendence. Claims that God acts to liberate need not undermine human efforts to strive toward such liberation. And, a focus of liberation need not deny the vital significance of survival, healing, and transformation. Such a view also benefits from the fuller sense of the spirit(s) evident in ATRs and Afro-Caribbean religions. God should not be understood primarily as transcendent and omnipotent. Coupled with the doctrine of original sin, such a view of God has long undermined human efforts of social justice and positive transformation. In addition, such theology has also been Christocentric and lent itself to racist and exclusionary notions of God and humanity. Humans working with one another and God toward liberation, wholeness, and positive transformation may take the form of resistance against oppression and actions that move us toward wholeness. These may be overt and “big,” but, significantly, they may also be subtle and “small.”117 In order to give a better sense of a Theology of the Spirit(s), I would like to highlight one example, from Kelly Brown Douglas. In her essay, “To Reflect the Image of God,” Douglas examines the actions and beliefs of some enslaved African American women that display aspects of what I have in mind. While I am not claiming Douglas herself expresses a Theology of the Spirit(s), her work provides specific, historical examples that model notions of God and humanity that I would emphasize. Working off of Alice Walker’s definition of a womanist as one who strives for the “survival and wholeness for entire people, male and female,”118 Douglas details ways in which enslaved women would foster “networking and

 For more on my understanding of resistance, see my earlier work, Conceptions.  Kelly Brown Douglas, “To Reflect the Image of God: A Womanist Perspective on Right Relationship,” in Living the Intersection: Womanism and Afrocentrism in Theology, ed. Cheryl J. Sanders (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), 68. 117 118

304 

K. BUHRING

strong bonds between enslaved women”119 as a means of surviving as well as moving toward wholeness. In such communal networks women cared for themselves, their families, and other enslaved people as ways of resisting the dehumanization of slavery and fostering healing and positive transformation. She explains that this “enslaved women’s culture of resistance” and sense of family were based in African culture and further developed during slavery.120 Likewise, these women displayed an African-based wider sense of family that included anyone of African descent and was especially focused on the care and well-being of all enslaved children.121 Douglas writes, “The enslaved woman cared for and nurtured the children. Even in the face of enormous odds, she was the one who provided for their daily needs, such as food and clothing.”122 For example, Douglas cites an account of a woman who would work late at night “to sew and mend” the clothes of children.123 Such actions have theological grounding for Douglas, who asserts, “as enslaved women nurtured a womanist way of relating to their families and especially their men, they were reflecting what it meant for them to have been created in the image of God.”124 She also explains that for many of these enslaved women, the presence and activity of God were “affirmed … in their efforts to promote life and wholeness for themselves and their families.”125 Given a Trinitarian sense of God as relational, Douglas adds, “For us then to reflect what it means to be in the image of God, is for us

 Ibid., 72.  Ibid., 68–69. 121  Ibid., 69–71. 122  Ibid., 70. 123  Ibid. In fascinating ways, there are many parallels between Douglas’ work and that of Melissa Raphael’s treatment of Jewish women’s mutual care networks in Holocaust concentration camps. Raphael argues that God as Shekhinah was present in such activities and that these actions further evoked greater divine presence. Raphael builds off the idea of mending of clothing especially as illustrative of how these seemingly ordinary actions were actually extraordinarily cosmic in scope as they served to mend the world and even God. Interestingly, Long reveals, “The theories of European intellectuals who dabbled in ‘ceremonial’ magic and the Jewish kabbalah appear in the magical spell books that are still popular among people of African descent in the Americas” (Long, Spiritual Merchants, 9). While I am not suggesting any direct influence of ideas, the similarities between the activities described by Douglas and Raphael are remarkable to me. 124  Ibid., 77. 125  Ibid., 76. 119 120

8  A THEOLOGY OF THE SPIRIT(S) 

305

to be in relationship.”126 I agree with Douglas’ interpretation of the theological significance of these activities and push even further. Through the lens of a Theology of the Spirit(s), while God was already present, perhaps inspiring and sustaining these acts of survival and care in the first place, I would argue that such actions were effectively the presence and activity of the divine in these instances. That is, a transcendent, all-­ powerful God did not “swoop down” and “save” these women. Instead, a loving, immanently present God acted interdependently with these women in efforts to bring about survival, if not liberation, wholeness, and positive transformation. In these relationships of mutual care that Douglas details, the image of God is made manifest and God in Godself is actualized. Such an interpretation is enhanced by a Theology of the Spirit(s)’ understanding of human potential and responsibility, as well as its sense of the divine as loving, just, immanent, and powerful in subtle and persuasive ways that complement human efforts to bring about liberation, wholeness, and positive transformation.127

Works Cited Ackah, William. “Back to Black or Diversity in the Diaspora: Re-Imagining Pan-­ African Christian Identity in the Twenty-First Century.” Black Theology 8:3 (2010), 341–356. Agyarko, Robert Awusu. “God of Life: Rethinking the Akan Christian Concept of God in the Light of the Ecological Crisis.” The Ecumenical Review Vol. 65 No. 1 March 2013, 51–66. Boff, Leonardo. Come, Holy Spirit: Inner Fire, Giver of Life, and Comforter of the Poor. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2015. Braxton, Brad R. “‘Every time I feel the spirit’: African American Christology for a Pluralistic World.” In Radical Christian Voices and Practice: Essays in Honour  Ibid., 77.  To be sure, there are dangers in making the claim to know the will of God or that one’s actions are carrying out such a clear directive. Reddie writes of Cone speaking during an address at the Queen’s Foundation in Birmingham in 1997 and paraphrases him as saying, “the most dangerous people in the world are those who claim to have an untrammeled line of communication to God and know exactly what God wants and what can be construed as God’s will. In effect, these are the scary people who later claim, ‘God told me to do it,’ when they are arrested for some extreme atrocity” (Black Theology, 54). Both Cone and Reddie appeal to a communal and skeptical sense of discernment as helpfully, though not entirely, moving closer to more reasonable claims of efforts to try to bring about liberation, wholeness, and positive transformation. See Reddie, Theologising, 240. 126 127

306 

K. BUHRING

of Christopher Rowland, edited by Zoe Bennett and David B. Gowler, 181–199. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012. Buhring, Kurt. Conceptions of God, Freedom, and Ethics in African American and Jewish Theology. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008. Carter, J.  Kameron. Race: A Theological Account. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008. Clark, Jawanza Eric. Indigenous Black Theology: Toward an African-Centered Theology of the African American Religious Experience. New  York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012. Coleman, Monica A. Making a Way Out of No Way: A Womanist Theology. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2008. Coleman, Will. “‘Coming through ‘Ligion’: Metaphor in Non-Christian and Christian Experiences with the Spirit(s) in African American Slave Narratives.” In Cut Loose Your Stammering Tongue: Black Theology in the Slave Narrative, 2nd edn, edited by Dwight N. Hopkins and George C. L. Cummings, 47–72. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2003. Cone, James H. A Black Theology of Liberation: Fortieth Anniversary Edition. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2010. Cummings, George C. L. “The Slave Narratives as a Source of Black Theological Discourse: The Spirit and Eschatology.” In Cut Loose Your Stammering Tongue: Black Theology in the Slave Narrative, 2nd edn, edited by Dwight N. Hopkins and George C.  L. Cummings, 33–46. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2003. De La Torre, Miguel A. Santeria: The Beliefs and Rituals of a Growing Religion in America. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2004. Deren, Maya. Divine Horsemen: The Living Gods of Haiti. New York: McPherson and Company, 1953. Desmangles, Leslie G. The Faces of the Gods: Vodou and Roman Catholicism in Haiti. Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1992. Dickson, Kwesi A. Theology in Africa. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1984. Douglas, Kelly Brown. “To Reflect the Image of God: A Womanist Perspective on Right Relationship.” In Living the Intersection: Womanism and Afrocentrism in Theology, edited by Cheryl J. Sanders, 67–77. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995. Gates, Henry Louis, Jr. The Black Church: This is Our Story, This is Our Song. New York: Penguin Press, 2021. Heron, Alasdair I. C. The Holy Spirit: The Holy Spirit in the Bible, the History of Christian Thought, and Recent Theology. Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1983. Hopkins, Dwight N. “A Black American Perspective on Interfaith Dialogue.” In Living Stones in the Household of God: The Legacy and Future of Black Theology, edited by Linda E. Thomas, 169–180. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2004. Jagessar, Michael N. “Is Jesus the Only Way? Doing Black Christian God-Talk in a Multi-Religious City (Birmingham, UK).” Black Theology 7:2 (2009), 200–225.

8  A THEOLOGY OF THE SPIRIT(S) 

307

Jones, Major J. The Color of God: The Concept of God in Afro-American Thought. Macon, GA: Mercer Press, 1987. Kärkkäinen, Veli-Matti. Pneumatology: The Holy Spirit in Ecumenical, International, and Contextual Perspective. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2018. Lodahl, Michael E. Shekhinah/Spirit: Divine Presence in Jewish and Christian Religion. New York: Paulist Press, 1992. Long, Carolyn Morrow. Spiritual Merchants: Religion, Magic and Commerce. Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 2001. Murphy, Joseph M. Santeria: An African Religion in America. Boston: Beacon Press, 1988. Murphy, Joseph M. Working the Spirit: Ceremonies of the African Diaspora. Boston: Beacon Press, 1994. Oladipo, Caleb Oluremi. The Development of the Doctrine of the Holy Spirit in the Yoruba (African) Indigenous Christian Movement. New York: Peter Lang, 1996. Pinn, Anthony B. Varieties of African American Religious Experience. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1998. Reddie, Anthony G. Black Theology. London: SCM Press, 2012. Reddie, Anthony G. Theologising Brexit: A Liberationist and Postcolonial Critique. London: Routledge, 2019. Turner, Carlton John. “Taming the Spirit? Widening the Pneumatological Gaze within African Caribbean Theological Discourse.” Black Theology 13 2 2015, 126–146. Zahan, Dominique. “Some Reflections on African Spirituality.” In African Spirituality: Forms, Meanings, and Expressions. Ed by Jacob K.  Olupona. New York: Crossroad, 2000.

Index1

A Abosom, 33, 288 See also God/gods African religions, 17, 18, 21, 24–26, 30, 49, 51, 86, 89, 90, 99, 100, 106, 113, 114, 136, 148, 148n16, 149n17, 220, 223, 226, 228, 230, 238, 247, 275n24, 279, 281 Akan ancestors, 33 god(s), 33 religion, 33 Ancestors, 5, 8, 9, 17, 19, 21, 23–28, 32–38, 41, 49, 51, 53, 61, 62, 67, 86–88, 90, 90n368, 92, 94, 101, 106, 108, 125, 129, 216, 224, 225, 234, 236, 254, 258, 259, 264–266, 284, 288, 292–294, 293n75, 293n81, 296, 297 Apostolic churches, 18, 145 Apostolics, 150, 151, 158, 162, 163, 169, 175n199

Ase, 287 Ashe, 69, 72–75, 83, 84, 287 Asiento, see Santeria, initiation Azusa Street Revival, 150, 153, 154, 156, 160, 163 B Babalawo, 40, 78, 82, 83 See also Santeria, divination BaKongo ancestors, 33 god(s), 33 religion, 17, 33 Baptism in the Spirit, 37–41, 61–66, 77, 79–81, 80n281, 81n290, 86, 86n330, 88–93, 95, 96, 105, 114, 126, 132, 137, 140–142, 141n225, 150, 156, 159, 160, 168, 172–174, 173n188, 197, 213–215, 219, 266, 292, 296, 299, 300 See also Holy Spirit

 Note: Page numbers followed by ‘n’ refer to notes.

1

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022 K. Buhring, Spirit(s) in Black Religion, Black Religion/Womanist Thought/Social Justice, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-09887-1

309

310 

INDEX

Bembe, 79, 80, 80n283 Bible, interpretation of, 18, 115, 229 Bondye, 53–55, 57, 58, 289, 296 Boukman, Dutty, 52, 56n67 C Cabildos, 70, 71 Chango, 74, 75 Charismatics, 1, 4, 8, 18, 90, 145, 146, 150, 158, 164–165, 266 See also Neo-Pentecostals Church of Christ (Holiness) USA, 158, 160–162 Church of God in Christ (COGIC), 147n5, 158, 160–162, 175 Conversion, 10, 91, 101, 108, 110, 111, 115, 124, 128, 130, 132–138, 137n199, 140, 147, 156, 161, 162, 168, 169, 176, 196, 197, 199, 226, 243, 281, 281n49 Cosmology, 14n51, 23, 24, 279, 288 Cuba history of religion, 17, 46, 67 revolution, 71 D Damballah, 56, 58, 59 Dessalines, Jean-Jacques, 52 Destiny, 31, 35, 57, 76, 81, 224, 279, 295, 297, 298 Dilogun, see Santeria, divination Divination, 17, 26, 31, 33, 37, 38, 38n85, 40, 40n98, 41, 41n100, 76–83, 86, 86n330, 88, 92, 266, 299, 300 E Egun, see Santeria, ancestors

Elegguá, 57, 74, 76, 78 Ezili, 56, 59, 60 F Folklore, African American, 235, 237, 238 Fon ancestors, 33 god(s), 27, 31, 33, 34, 51 religion, 30, 47, 54 Forbes, James, 146, 158, 170, 175, 177–181, 214, 272, 287 Frazier, E. Franklin, 104–107, 216, 224 G Gede, 56–58, 65 God/gods, 2, 5, 8, 9, 16, 17, 21, 23–35, 37, 38, 41, 48–50, 53–61, 67, 72–77, 93, 99, 101, 118, 119, 123, 127, 129, 141, 146, 173, 187, 204, 227, 233, 238, 269, 288–291, 293, 294 H Haiti history of religion, 50, 51 Revolution, 51, 52, 70 Herskovits, Melville, 104, 105, 107, 216, 224, 227 High God, see God/gods Holiness churches, 146, 150, 162, 174 Holy Ghost, see Holy Spirit Holy Spirit, xi, 4, 6, 7n12, 8–13, 14n51, 15, 16, 18, 54, 81n290, 90, 94, 99, 108, 116, 119, 119n98, 123, 124, 127–129, 133–135, 140–142, 147, 150, 151, 154, 156, 158, 159,

 INDEX 

161–168, 170–172, 173n188, 174, 175, 177–179, 186, 187, 192–198, 211, 212, 214, 234, 238, 244, 247, 249, 255–257, 266, 269–275, 277, 286, 288–291, 293, 293n81, 300 Hopkins, Dwight N., 3, 4, 19, 112, 117–119, 129, 139, 185, 218, 220, 222, 224n229, 233–247, 257, 258, 266, 267, 274, 275, 279, 286, 290, 291, 301, 302 Humanity, 2, 9, 10, 15–17, 19, 26–28, 31, 33, 34, 41, 48, 54–57, 59, 61, 65, 66, 72–75, 85, 87, 96, 117, 129, 131, 138, 141, 167, 172, 175n199, 189, 193, 194, 196, 199, 200, 202–204, 208, 211, 212, 214–216, 225, 230, 233, 235–237, 239–246, 253, 255, 266, 267, 269, 280–282, 284–288, 290, 292–296, 298–301, 303 I Ifa, 31–33, 40, 40n98, 76, 79, 82, 83, 258, 259 See also Divination J Jamaica, 17, 46, 48, 49, 84–87, 89, 91, 100, 109 history of religion, 17, 46, 84–96 Jesus, 6, 54, 99, 150, 188, 234, 270 Jok, 26 Jones, Charles P., 160–162 See also Church of Christ (Holiness) USA; Church of God in Christ Judaism, 2, 11, 45n2, 118, 275, 276, 278n36, 279, 282, 285, 293, 295, 296

311

K King, Martin Luther, Jr., 3, 130, 178, 187, 200, 216, 229, 235, 292 L Lango, 26 Legba, 30, 31, 56–58, 127n143 Loas, 46n5, 51, 53–66, 63n147, 66n165, 73, 84, 288–290, 296, 297 See also God/gods Long, Charles H., 186, 217, 218, 218n203, 220, 220n211, 276, 278 Louverture, Toussaint, 52 Lovett, Leonard, 146, 158, 172n187, 173n188, 174–179, 181, 287 Lucumi, see Santeria Luo, 26 M Mason, Charles H., 160–162 See also Church of God in Christ Medium, 6n11, 28, 38–40, 38n85, 80, 80n281, 133, 141, 159 Modimo, 26 Morrison, Toni, 235, 236 Myal, 17, 46, 47, 84–96 N Nana Buluku, 27, 28, 30, 54 See also God/gods Nana Nyame, 28 See also God/gods Native Baptist movement, 91 Neo-Pentecostals, 145, 151, 158, 164–165 See also Charismatics

312 

INDEX

Nyasaye, 26 Nzambi Mpungu, 33 See also God/gods O Obatala, 31, 32, 71, 74, 75 Obeah, 17, 46, 47, 84–96 Obi, see Santeria, divination Odu, see Santeria, divination Ogou, 60 Olódùmarè, 28, 31, 32, 67, 69, 72–75, 297 See also God/gods Olofi, 72, 73 Oneness churches, see Apostolic churches Oord, Thomas J., 247, 248 Ori, 297 See also Santeria, humanity Orisa, 31, 32, 34, 59, 60, 67–69, 258, 288 See also God/gods Orisha, 66n165, 69, 71, 72, 74–76, 78–80, 79n277, 80n281, 81n290, 83, 84, 288–290, 297, 298 See also God/gods Orunla, 74, 76, 82 Oshun, 59, 75 P Patakis, 72 Pentecostal Assemblies of the World, 162–164 See also Apostolics Pentecostalism, 1, 8, 17, 18, 145–148, 150, 151, 154, 155, 157, 158, 162, 163, 165–168, 165n137, 175–177, 179, 180, 213, 214, 228, 271, 285, 287

Pentecostals, 18, 142, 145–181 African influences, 168 ritual, 146, 150 theology, 19, 151, 158, 165–177, 181 women, 151, 155, 157, 161 worship, 151, 164–169 Possession, see Baptism in the Spirit Process theology, 204, 205, 233, 248, 251, 253, 257, 259–262, 267, 292 R Reddie, Anthony G., 186, 270–272, 276, 283–285, 291, 301, 305n127 Regla de Ocha, see Santeria Revival Zion, 17, 46, 47, 84–96, 299 Ring shouts, 105, 107, 108, 114, 128, 132, 138–141 S Sanctified Church, see Pentecostals Santeria, 46, 46n4, 66, 69, 70 ancestors, 67, 72 divination, 77–79, 81–84 god(s), 69, 290 humanity, 74, 85, 290 initiation, 77–79, 79n277, 80n282, 297 possession, 77, 79–81, 80n281, 80n282, 81n290 rituals, 77, 78, 297 sacrifice, 77, 78, 83 Seymour, William J., 154–156, 160, 161 See also Azusa Street Revival Simbi, 33, 34, 124–126, 126n138, 137n199, 137n200

 INDEX 

Sin, 2, 6, 7, 19, 27, 107, 108, 113, 114, 117, 133–136, 136n196, 141, 152, 153, 156, 180, 191, 201, 215, 227, 242, 250, 253, 254, 256, 257, 264, 269, 280–283, 285, 293n75, 294, 298, 298n106, 303 Slave interviews, 102n8 Slavery, history of, 104, 109–113 Cuba, 17, 296 Haiti, 17, 296 Jamaica, 109 Slavery, religious aspects of, 149 Sotho-Tswana, 26 Spirits, 1, 1n1, 2, 4, 5, 6n11, 7n12, 8–19, 9n15, 14n51, 21–41, 45–96, 99–142, 185–231, 233–267, 269–305 See also God/gods Subdivinities, see God/gods Supreme Being, see God/gods T Theodicy, 5, 7, 122, 190, 207, 251, 292, 298 Turner, William C., Jr., 158–160, 197, 197n74, 198 U Ubuntu, 295

United Holy Church of America (UHC), 158–160, 177 V Vodou ancestors, 62 god(s), 50, 51, 72, 290 humanity, 61 possession, 62–65, 79, 80n281 Vodun, 27–30, 34, 51, 55, 59, 288 See also God/gods W Womanist theology, 247, 248, 258–260, 266, 291 X X, Malcolm, 187, 200, 229, 235 Y Yemaya, 74, 75 Yoruba ancestors, 67, 293n81 god(s), 33, 34, 287 religion, 41n100, 47, 67, 68, 72, 265

313