I’m writing this on the day of the Translacion, of the Feast of the Black Nazarene.1 The Philippine Catholic Church has always been on the fence about this particular practice because on the one hand it promotes worship, and on the other it incorporates deeply animist traditions.2 The statue itself, said to have survived a fire, is believed to possess magical powers, particularly of healing. Hundreds of thousands of people flock to Quiapo to follow it as it moves locations. They throw towels, which the attendants on top wipe on the statue and throw back into the crowd. People carry their devotions and intentions as they brave the intensity of this event. I read somewhere that Catholicism isn’t actually the dominant local religion—it’s still animism, dressed up to look Christian. Resil Mojares used the term “Christianized Animism. In any case, this is a very clear example of modern anito devotion.
I remember visiting Quiapo Church many years ago. Outside were merchants selling rosaries, mysterious potions, folk amulets, and adult toys. I visited Poong Nazareno in a dark, humid room. Elderly people and the disabled were on their knees, in a trance state, mumbling prayers as their eyes flickered. A force I can’t explain compelled me to kneel with them. I don’t remember much after that. Actually, now that I think about it, I don’t even remember what else happened to me on that day.
Ancient Spirituality
When we really look at the transformation of spirituality in the Philippines, it’s hard to ignore clearly animist practices integrated in what we think of as “Catholicism.” People have their cars blessed by Our Lady of Good Voyage in Antipolo. People hang rosaries on a tree for each intention in the chapel of Padre Pio in Quezon City. People wipe towels on Poong Nazareno to receive his healing power. These saints operate with the same ancient powers, and perhaps we never did make distinctions between the mysterious forces that can help or harm us. Maybe “animism” is in fact a state of mind, a psychospiritual framework with which we view the world—and it’s not just one of many symbolic choices we make when we answer the question, “What’s your religion?” The modern animist might answer “Christian” anyway, yet they would find no dissonance within them when they ask for permission to cross spiritual territories (such as forests and rivers) or when they use the Santo Niño statue like a witch’s familiar.3 This is what the Jesuit psychologist Jaime Bulatao called “Split-level Christianity.”
If we want to understand how intensely our ancestors were in their devotions (panata), observe how our current practices echo animist worldviews. It makes me think of the thick roots of an ancient tree, breaking through the concrete of modernity. Our folk devotions are timeless and truly hardcore, and not for the faint of heart. Religious statues walk in hallways at midnight, and we hear their laughter and little footsteps. St. Benedict medals in house foundations protect the family from aswang. Folk healers call on any archipelagic variety of Our Lady. I once met a surwano who said that she gets her healing powers directly from God the Father—yet her practice, with mysterious herbs, prayer-spells, and household guardians (in the form of Catholic saints) are all aligned with traditional (that is, indigenous) practice.
If you know about our folklore, then you know that the spirits of nature are very generous but not always nice: they frequently possess and harass. Local exorcists know this well, since they also deal with the kapre, duwende, and mangkukulam—just as the folk healers do!4 Old rituals were basically spiritual negotiations. “Here’s some food, please stop making us sick!” I’ve always been scared of folk spirituality precisely because of this. Spirits don’t like rude know-it-alls who trespass into their territory. Eventually, there will be consequences. Eventually, there will be what the Visayans call “gaba.”
I’m a psychologist and researcher, so of course I value alignment with reality. I am also aware of how beliefs and practices are constructed through collective meaning-making (I am a constructivist by heart). But I am also no stranger to the strange. I was raised in a place where we constantly had to deal with “spirits.” Call it what you want—there is some kind of phenomenon, that seems supernatural, but it is up to us to interpret it. Critical analysis of experience is important. I just hope that when we go seeking for “indigenous” spirituality, we avoid romanticizing it as only being about “love and light.” There are real spiritual and psychological dangers here.
So, when we go through the religious symbols, we see that there is an underlying framework that adapts whatever seems to work, depending on the practitioners’ preferences. Animism is not just another psycho-spiritual “costume,” but a way of intuitively relating with the world that uses whatever symbol allows the practitioner to connect with transcendental realities.
More Resources
9 January 2024.
I recommend this reflection by Clemente Ignacio, which is a Catholic take on this ancient practice.
A “familiar” is an entity that assists the witch in their magical practice, usually disguised as an animal, like a black cat.
A fascinating book to read is The Exorcist Files, published by St. Pauls, which is a collection of interviews of Filipino exorcists as they deal with native horrors. They published a second volume recently.