Verified by 
To be possessed in the English language can hardly be good: it means being out of control, acting like a fool, doing something dangerous or criminal. A notable exception is to be possessed by love but, as fiction and common experience go, this is all too likely to end in tears or tragedy.
Within Abrahamic religions, to be possessed is just about the worst thing that can happen in this life: an entity of a malignant nature has taken control of your body and mind—you are not aware of what you are doing but, even if you were (unimaginable horror), you would not be able to intervene, like watching someone else taking over the steering wheel of your body, senses, and volition.
So how can possession possibly be a good thing? In many places of the world, including the wealthy West, many individuals seek the healing and advice of mediums who claim to channel or be possessed by spiritual entities. And within Evangelical Pentecostal and Charismatic Catholic churches you may also be possessed by the Holy Spirit. When I first learned about dissociation and possession states in my undergraduate days in sunny Lisbon, I asked the lecturer about the mental health of those who communicate with spirits or think to be possessed by them. ‘It’s a cultural phenomenon’, he answered, ‘not a pathology’.
Not so long ago that wasn’t the case. In Brazil, where possession religions of various kinds thrive—inspired by African and indigenous religions or French spiritism—spiritual possession has historically been considered a pathology or a phenomenon largely confined to the ‘lower classes’. But with over 4 million people in the latest Brazilian census reporting affiliation with a possession religion, not to mention many other millions of Catholics who visit mediums to seek healing or advice, the mindset is changing. Leading this change is a young generation of academics who were exposed to or raised within these traditions and have committed their careers to understanding the relationship between possession states and mental health (e.g. NUPES and Inter Psi).
Possession in Brazil
The first time I visited Brazil, I was taken by a Danish anthropologist deep into the sprawling suburbs of Rio de Janeiro to watch a ritual of Candomblé, a religion where individuals are possessed by nature spirits (not of deceased humans). I had recently read a description of a similar ritual in one of Umberto Eco’s novels, Foucalt’s Pendulum, where a Marxist woman falls into a trance, possessed by a spirit. An atheist being spiritually possessed was not only a literary joke of Eco’s, I soon found out. One of the people taking part in the ritual, a man in his mid-40s who danced energetically for two hours, told me afterwards that he was a Buddhist, and before that he had been a Freemason. He didn’t believe in gods of any kind but enjoyed the ritual. ‘Do you remember what you did while being possessed?’, I asked. ‘No, nothing at all. But I always come out of it feeling energised.’
For the past few years, I have been collaborating more closely with Brazilian academics studying this topic. This year we published a case study focusing on Dona Sara, a leader of an Umbanda group, a possession religion born in the early 20th century in Rio de Janeiro. Dona Sara has experienced trance and possession states from an early age, but these caused her considerable distress—her Catholic parents and community looked down on these unusual behaviours. But they didn’t stop. As a young adult she visited a possession ritual and, like the Marxist in Eco’s book, involuntarily fell into a trance and was possessed. She was told she had a gift and should develop it, which she did.
Ever since Dona Sara has been accepted into a possession religion, she has thrived. White middle class individuals line up to get advice and healing from this woman; a favourite spirit she claims to receive is that of a Brazilian cattle herder and Dona Sara shows up fully dressed as a Brazilian cowboy before ‘losing consciousness of herself’ (her own words). To that lecturer of my undergraduate days, her possession experiences would fit into the category of a ‘cultural phenomenon’. This is supported by the American Psychiatric Association criteria of dissociative identity disorder: possession should not be considered a disturbance, if it lies within a broadly accepted cultural or religious practice. But here is the problem: when Dona Sara was growing up, possession was not part of her Catholic cultural or religious practice and these experiences brought her considerable distress. Had she been taken to a psychiatrist at that stage, would she have been diagnosed as mentally ill? That is very likely; her experiences lacked social acceptance and a cultural framework to make them meaningful and controllable.
So can possession be a good thing? Dona Sara would say it has been very good for her, at least from the moment that she found a supporting group. But can her experience be extended to the millions of people in Brazil and elsewhere that allow what are regarded as invisible entities to take over their bodies—can this experience foster a balanced sense of self and positive mental health? A question to be explored in further posts.
References
Delmonte, R., Lucchetti, G., Moreira-Almeida, A., & Farias, M. (2016). Can DSM 5 differentiate between non-pathological possession and dissociative identity disorder? A case study from an Afro-Brazilian religion. Journal of Trauma and Dissociation, 17(3), 322-337. DOI: 10.1080/15299732.2015.1103351
Check out my website: https://miguelfarias.co.uk
