Sanus/Sanitas,Specter/Spectacle:

Locating Sovereign Power in the Madness/Filthiness of the

Taong-GrasaLucian Alec L. Dioneda

II-AB POS POS61A

I. Introduction: The Taong Grasa- A Different Kind of FeralThe year was 1724 when a strange creature was found near the outskirts of

the fields of the current town of Hameln, Germany. The thing, which was described as “a naked, brownish, black-haired creature, who was running up and down…and was about the size of a boy of twelve” (Candland 1993, 9), was enticed with a prize of apples and lured into the town, whereupon he was “first received by a mob of street boys, but was very soon afterwards placed for safe custody in the Hospital of the Holy Ghost, by the order of the Burgonmaster [Mayor] Severin” (Candland 1993,9). It, or rather, he, was nicknamed Peter, and he was the first fully documented case of a feral child wherein “Feral” is defined as “untouched by human contact, human demands, and human forms of socialization” (Candland 1993, 9).

According to Candland, the discovery of Peter at the time reignited the timeless debate of nature/nurture, or the debate over “What, and how much, of ourselves is innate, unlearned, cleaned of the effects of experience and socialization, and what can and do human beings learn from their experiences, their teachers, the environment” (Candland 1993,13). In Candland’s own words: “Peter provided a seemingly unusual opportunity for his fellow human beings to examine the effects of socialization as separate from what human humankind knows and does by nature” (Candland 1993,10).

Now, historically speaking, Candland was correct when he said that the discovery of Peter reignited the nature/nurture debate, the debate on what is learned and what is instinctively known, and the demarcation between the two. But this is not the debate with which this paper is concerned about. Rather, this paper centers on a demystification of the dominant paradigm that the fullest realization of man only happens when he is civilized.

The dominant paradigm at the time, and of all periods before, and perhaps until this very day, was that man could only realize his humanity to its fullest only when he was civilized, and that conversely, he would be reduced to his most feral when he was uncivilized, or isolated outside of society. Such was the distinction, Arendt notes, that Aristotle made (using speech) between barbarians and civilized Greeks (Arendt 1977). This is even more the case in Rousseau’s Discourse on Inequality: “Savage man, when left by nature to bare instinct alone…will then begin with purely animal function” (Yousef 2001, 245).

But the questions which will destroy the traditional standpoint regarding social isolation and ferality, and civilization and humanity are these: Will man become feral if and only if he is isolated outside of society? Or is it perhaps possible that man becomes feral if he is isolated within society? How and why is it possible for man to be isolated within society? Or, taking the question to its most extreme and logical conclusion: Does society itself, by isolating its people within it, reduce human beings to “bare instinct alone” (Yousef 2001, 245)?

The answer to the final question, regarding the relationship between ferality and civilization is a clear and definitive yes. In fact, we see them every day on the streets, usually rambling and exceptionally filthy. A majority of the time we avoid them: we ignore them, and we fear them.

It is the specter which haunts the darkest recesses of highways, roads, and the collective Filipino consciousness. It mindlessly roams the jungles of concrete and

steel, forever lost in a liminal of neither here nor there, neither completely hidden nor completely displayed, neither feral nor human, and finally, neither mania nor melancholia.

I refer to, of course, none other than the Philippine phenomenon of the taong grasa.

Foucault writes, in Madness and Civilization: “Madness borrowed its face from the face of the beast” (Foucault 1961, 72). It is through madness that man becomes feral. Or more specifically, it is through madness that the animal in man is released.

This paper is interested in formulating a theory of madness not just as a psychological phenomenon, wherein madness can be designated as a psychological breaking point resulting from socio-environmental factors, but also as a political phenomenon, more specifically and more importantly, as an application of sovereign power. In other words, what this paper wishes to achieve is an explanation of why the taong grasa becomes insane. In this paper, I will return to the belief that “power makes mad” (Foucault 1979, 27), which Foucault abandoned in Discipline and Punish (In Foucault's own words, “Perhaps we must abandon the belief that power makes mad” [Foucault 1975, 27] ), if only to illustrate the raw brutality of power- that power at its most brutal turns men mad; that power does not only destroy the body, as was the case with Damiens the regicide (Foucault 1979, 3), or of the numerous others before him, but, as is the case with the taong grasa, withers self-consciousness, perverts desires, unleashes the beast, in short, targets and destroys the mind and makes men mad.

How then, will this aim be achieved? How, then, will the phenomenon of madness be approached? First, this paper will locate madness within Philippine culture, in both its realities and its representations, by simultaneously traversing into Philippine literature and case-studies of taong grasa. Second, this paper will then analyze these realities/representations from a Hegelian/Foucaultian perspective. That is, this paper will critique and analyze madness and its representations using Kojeve's An Introduction to the Reading of Hegel, Daniel Berthold Bond's Hegel of Madness and Tragedy and from Foucault's Madness and Civilization. Finally, this paper will discuss the ways in which these causes of madness are used as tactics in modern day capitalist Philippine society, notably from the Marxist concept of alienation and the Arendtian concept of atomization, embodied in the discourses surrounding the filthiness of the taong grasa, and in doing so, attempt to connect madness to the discourse othe taong grasa.

What are the implications of this methodology and this paper? In doing these steps, this paper will pinpoint not only the sovereign cause of madness, but also the madness of modern day Philippine capitalist society. For if according to Foucault, power is everywhere, then madness is everywhere. Madness is the norm, not the exception: “Madness is the rule, sanity the exception. To be normal, to be sane is the most difficult thing in the world to be” (Arcellana 1973, 90)

Thus, the primary and ultimate tasks of this paper are clear: On the one hand, the primary goal of this paper will be to prove that madness, or more specifically, its causes, are an application of sovereign power, by a sovereign distortion of the subject On the other hand, the ultimate goal of this paper will be to point out the madness in modern day Philippine capitalist society- to paint a picture of the taong

grasa not as the irrational man in the rational world, but as the most visible extremity of madness in modern day Philippine capitalist society, to illustrate the madness inherent in modern society- in short, to reformulate the taong grasa not as a madman, but a madman of the madness of our civilization. Now is the time to illustrate what Marx meant when he said that “The nation feels like that mad Englishman in bedlam” (Marx 1935, 17)

Jose Rizal, in the preface to Noli me Tangere, once wrote about the social cancer in Philippine society:

“In the catalog of human ills there is to be found a cancer so malignant that the least touch inflames it and causes agonizing pains…To this end, I shall endeavor to show your condition, faithfully and ruthlessly. I shall lift a corner of your veil which shrouds the disease…for as your son your defects and weaknesses are also mine” (Rizal, trans. by Guerrero 1961, ix)Now it is no longer a social cancer, but a social madness in the capitalist

system of modern day Philippine society which has gripped the country and has manifested itself in the form of the taong grasa, the madmen of the madness of our civilization. Therefore: In lieu of what Rizal endeavored to expose and to achieve during his time, so shall I “endeavor to show [my country’s] condition. For as in the admirable words of the great Dr. Rizal, “as your son, your defects and weaknesses are also mine” my country’s suffering is my suffering; my country’s defects are my defects; my country’s madness is my madness; and my country’s cross is my cross to bear.

Those words were written not only to set the tone of this paper, but also to hopefully, hopefully illustrate to the reader in a few words the conundrum of the madman; For the problem of the madman is that he can neither speak nor be spoken for; he can only be spoken of- The madman's speech is speech which mocks our speech; And praise be the fool who claims to “represent” the madman. No, the madman, and the taong grasa can perhaps only be spoken of- illustrated in art, re-presented in literature.

But to admit self-defeat is intolerable. For us to speak for the madman, we must assume, and even embrace the role of the madman, the life of madness, of the empty smile which haunts- and pray that we escape, unscathed! And we must illustrate the madness of society, if only to show that in our being human, we all have the potential for madness, and we are in fact are all, already, and perhaps unknowingly, insane.

In conclusion: Dear reader, realize your madness! Realize the madness of the abscess of your soul, in the emptiness your desires, and from which capitalism seeks to profit from; As Michel Foucault cited Pascal in his preface, so shall I: “Men are so necessarily mad, that not to be mad would amount to another form of madness” (Foucault 1965, ix).

II. Sanus/Sanitas: On the Condition of the Taong GrasaFor now we will abandon the relationship between madness, civilization, and

ferality. But we will return to them later, when we relocate ferality, and thus madness, in the realm of being- or rather, in the realm of non-being and of negativity.

We begin with a specific year- 1982, in fact. This year is important because it marks the year in which Anton Juan’s one-act play garnered the1982 Doc Carlos Palanca Award For Literature. This text is crucial for what is written within is central to this paper: “Pagliko natin sa kantong ‘yan makikita nating muli and isa sa kanila, batong gawa sa laman at buto, maitim, maitim, binalutan ng araw at gabi, dura’t ihi. Anong tawag sa kanila? Taong Grasa, sabi mo...” (Juan 1982, 246)

There are two distinctions which characterize the “being” of, and the experience of being, a taong grasa (if there is such a thing, which will be put into doubt in this paper): he is insane and unsanitary. The latter has been pointed out quite clearly in the passage I quoted above. The former, on the other hand, is not seen in the same passage, but is also seen throughout the text. For example: “Biglang may kakausapin bagamat walang tao maliban sa kanya” (Juan 1982, 247)”.

Here is further proof of the unity of these two elements in the taong grasa: “Taong Grasa… it is a derisive term in Filipino slang used to refer to individuals occasionally seen wandering aimlessly on the streets, clothed in the dirtiest of rags, and covered in enough grime to have recently taken a dip in a pit of blackened grease and soot. The usual presumption is that the Taong Grasa is insane- which is not far off, considering that the sort is given to sudden outbursts and ravings…” (Ramos 2003, 11) Interestingly enough, these characteristics are both negations: the prefix “-in”

negates the word “sane”, whereas the prefix “-un” negates “sanitary”. The characteristics which define the taong grasa are purely negative.

This “negativity” is also intrinsic in the label of the taong grasa as a “taong grasa”. When it is not conjugated, the label “taong grasa” takes the form of “tao-na-grasa” (UP Diksyunaryong Filipino 2010, 3582), which literally means “man-of-grease”, or in my preferred translation, “man-of-filth”. It is as if the being of the taong grasa is worth nothing, and even less than nothing. He is pure negativity. He is not even “human”- he has been defined by, and also, as filth. He is not a “tao” but a “tao-na-grasa”, not a man but a man-of-filth, a man whose being is non-being. This is important because it is connected with madness: madness, according to Foucault, “became the paradoxical manifestation of non-being…confinement merely manifested what madness, in its essence, was: a manifestation of non-being. In the words of Foucault: “by confinement, madness is acknowledged to be nothing” (Foucault 1961, 115).

Which brings us to my proposition: If madness is related to non-being, then perhaps non-being is the cause of madness, more specifically the madness of the taong grasa. Sovereignty, then, is related to madness by way of non-being, the negation (and thus reduction) of a man’s being to non-being.

Let us now return to the taong grasa. Earlier on, we have said that the taong grasa is characterized by two negations: his in-sanity and his un-cleanliness (or un-sanitary characteristic). But now I suggest that the two are related, more specifically that the negation of the Sanitas (unsanitary) is what caused the taong grasa’s madness, the negation of his Sanus. I suggest that perhaps there is something in being a taong grasa that made him mad.

However, I do not claim that it is merely filthiness which causes madness. Rather I believe it is in the stigma of filthiness- that it is just that the filthiness of the tang grasa is that which fully illustrates this condition. Thus, we must look for how filthiness alienates, or atomizes, or separates. But considering this, we must study how the taong grasa became nothing, the conditions in which he lost himself. Perhaps there is a stigma in filthiness, that by being filthy, or under similar conditions, man is reduced to nothing, simultaneously in the eyes of others and within the self, thereby leading to madness- that by being filthy the being became filth, the being became non-being, that the being became earth once more- and by this process, madness sprung forth. III. Sanus: Étre, Pauvre et L’aile de Folié – Locating the Root of Madness

Let us first begin from the standpoint of Sanus with an examination and analysis of a few words from Francisco Arcellana, taken from his short story entitled The Wing of Madness (I). Arellana writes: “As long as I know that I am mad, then I am safe” (Arcellana 1973, 89).

These words, when taken at face-value, appear to be an absurd contradiction. For in that sentence, there seems to be an epic clash of the diametrically opposed domains of reason and un-reason.

How is it possible for one to know that one is mad? Or rather, if madness is, in the words of Foucault, “consorted indiscriminately with all the forms of unreason” (Foucault 1965, 70), then how can an unreasonable man reasonably know that one is unreasonable How is it possible for the madman to know that he is mad despite the fact that he is mad and unreasonable?

The “contradiction” in Arcellana’s baffling statement is resolved in a few words: “Man is self-consciousness” (Kojeve 1969, 3). Let us examine Kojeve's words in their entirety:

“Man is Self-Consciousness”. He is conscious of himself, conscious of his human reality and dignity; and it is in this that he is essentially different from animals, which do not go beyond the level of simple Sentiment of the self...Man becomes conscious of himself when…he says ‘I’ ” (Kojeve 1969, 3)Now Arcellana’s statement makes sense. It is clear that we must no longer

interpret his statement as a contradiction, that it is a statement which falls between rationality and irrationality and thus fails to satisfy either of them and is thus irrational and absurd, nor should we interpret madness as primarily categorized with unreason. Instead, we must now instead locate madness in self-consciousness.

And this is not a contradiction! It is entirely possible for one to be simultaneously self-conscious and completely irrational. No better example can be found than the madman who thinks he is something else, or who attaches special qualities to himself. A madman may walk stark naked and filthy into the middle of the street with incoming traffic coming his way and declare that he is the “King of the World” (or something to that aspect), and in that scenario, he is equally irrational and self-conscious. In the words of Foucault, “at a deeper level, we find [in madness] a rigorous organization dependent on the faultless armature of a discourse” (Foucault 1965, 96).

Madness does not deny logic- what actually confounds is that it is so logical, yet illogical. But regardless, what is not lost is self-consciousness. “The man who imagines he is made of glass is not mad...but he must be mad if he, believing he is made of glass, he thereby concludes he is fragile, that he is in danger of breaking” (Foucault 1965, 94)- here we see the madman's logic as correct, for if one is made of glass, then he is liable to be be fragile. Yet it is in its rationality that it appears irrational. “The marvelous logic of the mad which seems to mock that of the logicians because it because it resembles it so exactly” (Foucault 1965, 95). But still, regardless of the rational irrationality or the irrational rationality of madness, the madman still knows himself- “I am made of glass, I am king of the world!”

This view of madness as intertwined with self-consciousness is supported and complemented by Arcellana when he says that “Madness begins consciously as a loss of control [of the self]1” (Arcellana 1973, 89). For this statement alone not only verifies our theory that madness is connected with consciousness; it also makes the distinction of madness as a conscious loss of control over the self, a self-conscious struggle. Arcellana also made a further specification of this distinction later in the same text:

“...First it was like a shadow: I was unmoved; Second, it was like a breath: I hardly felt it; Third, it was like a wind: I was warm with love, but the wind chilled me; Fourth, it was like a wing...it struck me again and again; Fifth, it is a huge bird- ugly, hateful, obscene...” (Arcellana 1973, 91) Pay attention to how the madness progresses: In the earlier stages, madness

is not felt. When madness is still a shadow, it is “unmoving”. Later on, the madness progresses morbidly: Madness shifts from an “unmoving madness” to a madness of perpetual movement. Notice how the degree of violence increases from wind (“First to go were my eyes. They were always raging everywhere...I lived only in my eyes and only my eyes were alive in me” [Arcellana 1973, 89]) to wing (“Then my hands went. My berserk hands! Now that they have stirred, when finally they have lifted, they are monsters” [Arcellana 1973, 89]) to bird (“Finally, the body, and loss of control2, partial or total; and a state of anarchy...” [Arcellana 1973, 89]).

Furthermore, it can perhaps be concluded that the degree of violence increases as the degree of madness increases. We can perhaps deduce that the strength of the hold of madness is inversely proportional to the amount over control of the self- that is, as the degree of control over the self decreases, the degree of violence increases. Each successive increase of the degree of violence is the outward reaction to the inward loss of control of the self.

Madness then, for Arcellana (and this paper) is clearly associated with the loss of the self, or a loss of control over the self. The violence of madness progresses slowly, but surely, moving from an “unmoving” madness to a madness of permanent movement, to a madness of violence (or perhaps even a violence of madness). This analogous to what Foucault points out in Discipline and Punish, what he called as “a slackening of the hold on the body” (Foucault 1979, 10). The roots of madness and the violence associated with it are rooted deep within the core of the self.

1 All words located in a “ [ ] “ from this point forward are mine. 2 All italicizations from this point forward are all mine.

But this explanation of madness as a self-conscious struggle against a loss of control is not enough. Because if this was to suffice, it would lack a crucial element: the element of desire. Self-consciousness pre-supposes desire. In Kojeve's own words:

“The (conscious) Desire of a being is what constitutes that being as I and reveals it as such by saying “I...”... The human I is the I of a Desire or of Desire...The very being of man therefore implies and presupposes desire” (Kojeve 1969, 3). This statement makes more sense when mentioned with another one: “Man

becomes conscious of himself at the moment when-for the 'first time'- he says 'I'”But although desire is crucial, it is not enough: “animal Desire is the

necessary condition of Self-Consciousness; it is not the sufficient condition. By itself, this Desire constitutes only the sentiment of the Self” (Kojeve 1969, 3).Kojeve notes that there is another kind of Desire which will transforms simple “sentiment of the Self” into true self-consciousness.

How is human self-consciousness achieved? It is achieved via a dialectical process: Desire is a negativity which must be negated in order to realize self-consciousness and escape ‘simple sentiment of the Self’. In his own words, “…the’ I of Desire’ is an emptiness that receives a real positive content only by negating action that satisfies Desire in destroying, transforming and 'assimilating the desired non-I” (Kojeve 1969, 4). Furthermore: “The I created by the active satisfaction of such a Desire will have the same nature as the things toward which that Desire is directed: it will be a 'thingish' I...an animal I” (Kojeve 1969, 4)

Thus if the “I of Desire” is characteristically negative, then dialectically speaking, the only way to “realize” the “I” is to “negate the negativity” of Desire, “not like the animal 'I', be 'identity', or equality to itself, but 'negating-negativity'” (Kojeve 1969, 5). These are the crucial passages in understanding the dialectic of desire: First, “For there to be Self-Consciousness, Desire must therefore be directed to a non-natural object... [but] the only thing that goes beyond the given reality is Desire itself” (Kojeve 1969 5). It is made clear here that the only thing which can negate desire, and will thus realize self-consciousness is another desire: “Desire directed toward another Desire, taken as Desire, will create, by the negating and assimilating action which satisfies it, an I essentially different from the animal 'I'” (Kojeve 1969, 5)”. Finally, and in conclusion, “Desire is human only if the one desire not the body, but the Desire of the other; if he wants 'to possess' or to 'assimilate'...if he wants to be 'desired', or 'loved', or better, 'recognized', in his human value, in his reality as a human individual” (Kojeve 1969, 6).

There are two kinds of desire- first, an animal desire, and second, a human desire. The former is a desire of objects, the latter a desire of desire or better, a desire to be desired. And in order to move away from the negativity of the animal self, in order to be human, the negativity of animal desire is to be negated, and the only thing which can negate desire is desire. Therefore, this desire to be desired, this desire to be recognize, this desire to be the object of another person’s desire, is what makes us human.

But what does this relationship of desire and self-consciousness mean for this paper? How shall this desire be connected with madness? The answer to those

questions lies in Arcellana and Foucault. We now know that, for Arcellana, “madness begins consciously as a loss of

control” (Arcellana 1973, 89). But that citation was a mere fragment of the whole. The entire statement is rendered thus:

“Madness begins consciously as a loss of control. First to go were my eyes. I do not know when first they pounced on breasts and thighs, but since they sought nothing else. My runaway eyes!...They were always ranging everywhere seeking only breasts and thighs and secret places...how I would wrench and twist so that they could feed long and deep on dark parts and secret places, how in my world only breasts and thighs existed” (Arcellama 1973, 89)Here is desire, equated with madness: breasts and thighs equated with thloss

of control of the self. And in the words of Foucault: “The savage danger of madness is related to the

danger of the passions and to their fatal concantenation...The distraction of our mind is the result of our blind surrender our desires” (Foucault 1965, 85).

This connection between the power of desire and madness is verified by a short story entitled “The Banana Jewel” which was included by Maximo D. Reyes in his anthology of Philippine folklore entitled Legends of Lower Gods (1990). “The Banana Jewel” tells the story of a man who is driven mad by desire. In this story, it is said that whoever takes a fallen banana jewel, which is also known as Mutya, which apparently hangs from a banana flower facing east at midnight, will grant great strength, on the condition that the person who claims it will be able to place it in his mouth and keep it there- while fighting a hideous monster. Now, the main character of the story, a young man decides to take the test. Upon putting the banana jewel in his mouth, the monster appears, and the two fight. The battle at first appears to be close, as the banana jewel had granted the young man strength; but carelessly, the young man started to taunt the monster. The jewel fell to the ground, the monster vanished- And lo and behold! :

“...from then on, the man was never the same...he was often seen walking at the town square singing and laughing. He would leap into the air and hurl insults at no one in sight. He was fighting the demon who owned the jewel that he had captured and lost” (Ramos 1990, 3).Now, this story at first appears to be a story of immaturity, that the moral

here is that the young man deserved his fate because he was too immature. Or perhaps it may be interpreted as a warning against pride. But the truth is that in the end, madness is there because of a desire which cannot be satisfied- that his entire body is fighting the demon who owned the jewel. What causes the madman to fight the demon in his mind is the desire for the jewel, to possess it once more.

This connection between desire and madness is also seen in Anton Juan's Taong Grasa. The monologue throughout the play is filled with references to the madness of the taong grasa, more specifically the habit of the taong grasa of speaking to someone who is not there.

Thus it is written that “Biglang may kakausapin, bagama walang tao maliban sa kanya”. But it is made clear later on that the taong grasa is referring to his stomach, or to the acid which churns in his gut. Observe:

“Narrator: Masusuka siya

Taong Grasa: 'Huwag! Huwag mong iluwa ang binigay ko sa'yo! Pag niluwa mo 'yan, 'yang pinagaksayahan ko ng pagod...sige, iluwa mo. Iluwa mo't kakainin ko ulit 'yan. Hihigupin ko, baka sa akala mo...'

N: Kukunin ang bayong. Ibabalasa ang balutan may lamang mga ulo ng isda kakainin.

T: Sige, kumain ka na ” (Juan 1982, 257)

It is clear in this monologue that the taong grasa could not have been talking to anyone other than his gut.

It is Foucault who gives the most definitive words on the link between desire and madness, or rather, passion and delirium.

Madness, Foucault points out, begins with the unity of the body and soul through passion. Primarily, he notes: “the mind's movements obey a mechanical structure which is that if the movement of spirits” (Foucault 1973, 86). (The spirits which Foucault refers to here are “animal” spirits). “Before the sight of the object of passion, the animal spirits were spread throughout the entire body...but at the presence of the new object, the majority of spirits are impelled into the muscles of the arms, legs...” (Foucault 1965, 86). “...under the effects of passion...the spirits circulate...one more step, and the entire system becomes unity in ehih body and soul communicate immediately” (Foucault 1965, 86). Desire overcomes the body, and it is what causes it to move. Passion has taken hold of the body and controls its movements: “...Desire dis-quiets him and moves him to action...action tends to satisfy it, and can do so only by the 'negation'...of the desired object” (Kojeve 1969, 4).

This is what we have been looking for- a condition in which self-consciousness is overcome or consumed by desire, yes, man is self-conscious. He is still conscious or aware of himself in the act of saying “I desire...” Yet at the same time, when man is moved by desire, his self is no longer his. It is not he that moves, but his desire, which moves him, which controls his body.

Again we return to the scene in the one-act play Taong Grasa, in which the taong grasa is revealed to be talking to his gut His actions are dictated by the acid shooting from his gut, to eat. In doing so, he surrenders his self- “Sige kumain ka na” (Juan 1982, 257). Here, “Sige” is a sign of the acceptance of defeat and of surrender to necessity- he loses his self, he is alienated from his self. He struggles self-consciously against himself in a fight to retain control over himself. But this struggle is in vain, for his desire has already taken over his body.

It is also in the reversion of the Self into the animal self in which the ferality of madness appears. For when the self is reduced to its animal desires, then the body will essentially revert to its animal form; “madness threatens modern man only with that return to the bleak world of beasts and things” (Foucault 1965, 83). Furthermore, “...it was this animality of madness which confinement glorified...” (Foucault 1965, 78).

Finally, Foucault writes, “Madness borrowed its face from the mask of the beast....this model of animality prevailed in the asylums and gave them their cage-like aspect, their look of the menagerie” (Foucault 1965, 72)

It is from the subjection to the desire of objects in which the two faces of madness appear: mania and melancholia. For both forms of madness are occupied by desire. Melancholia is characterized by a sense of longing: “Melancholia is ‘a madness without fever or frenzy, accompanied fear and sadness” (Foucault 1965, 121). Furthermore: “melancholia is a long, persistent delirium during which the sufferer is obsessed by one thought” (Foucault 1965, 118). Mania on the other hand is the opposite: “While the melancholic’s mind is fixed upon a single object, imposing unreasonable proportions upon it, but upon it alone, mania deforms all concepts and ideas” (Foucault 1965, 125). The opposition between mania and melancholia is stated as thus: “Melancholia…is always accompanied by sadness and fear....in the maniac, we find audacity and fury” (Foucault 1965, 125).

It is clear that madness in the Philippines is primarily associated with mania. This is the case with Arcellana, who associates madness with a loss of control .As is the case with the taong grasa (“The usual presumption is that the Taong Grasa is insane- which is not far off, considering that the sort is given to sudden outbursts and ravings…” [Ramos 2003, 11]). And most curiously, madness is associated with the phenomenon of the Amok.

Yet madness is associated with melancholy in the Philippines too. The taong grasa’s cry in “Taong Grasa” is more than sufficient to illustrate this:

“N: May biglang tunog ng nagprenong kotse. Magmumura ang nagmamaneho

T: Anak ng buwaya ka! Tinuloy mo na sana! “ (Juan 1982, 251)Or perhaps the anguished cries of Sisa in Guillermo Tolentino’s opera version of Noli Me Tangere (1944) will suffice:

“N: …Awit ng Gabi ang kanyang inawit, awit na kalunuslunos

Sisa: Gabi, Oh! Gabing gabi/ Gabi ng kalungkutan: Bituin ma’y wala, wala ring ang buwan

Ganyan, Oh! Ganyang-gaanyan; Ang bulaklak ng buhay; Ang halimuyak ay sagana, Ang talutot ngayo’y lagas/Lanta’t kupas” (Tolentino 1944, 36-37)

Or perhaps we might return to “Taong Grasa”:

“N: Tatawang papaiyak

T: Tumatawa ako, pero hindi ko alam, nalulungkot din ako, matagal nang hindi ko nadama ng hapdi sa aking mga mata ” (Juan 1982, 254)

And it should perhaps be noted here that it is in melancholia that the madman laughs;

“Sisa: Crispiiiiin! Basiliooooo! Hindi po, huwag po, hindi po, tunay maawa kayo.Hoo- hoo-hoo (Hagulhol ng iyak at tuloy hahalakhak)

Ha, Ha, Ha …anak ko, halikayo. Ha, Ha, Ha…Dios ko!” (Tolentino 1944, 19)

It is also from the unity of body of soul achieved in passion in which the fragmented images of madness arise. According to Foucault: “beginning with passion, madness is still only an intense movement in the unity of soul and body...but this intense movement quickly escapes the reason of the mechanism, and becomes, and irrational movement....the Unreal appear...”(Foucault 1965, 93). “...the totality of madness is parceled out...according to figures, images...fragments which isolate man from himself... [and] from reality” (Foucault 1965, 93).

In order to fully appreciate the connection between desire, madness and the production of madness, perhaps we should consult not a Filipino poem, but a poem by the French poet Jacques Prevert's, entitled “Late Rising”:

“Terrible is the soft sound/ of a hardboiled egg/cracking on a zinc counter... terrible is that sound/ when it moves in the memory/ of a man who is hungry/Terrible also is the head of a man...when he looks at six o'clock in the morning/in a smart shop window and sees/a head the color of dust/ But it is not his head he sees in the window.../he dreams imagining another head, calf's-head for instance/ with vinegar sauce/ head of anything edible...”3

(Prevert, 1988)On the other, the fragmentary experience of madness is also verified by

Arcellana. He writes: “But the moment that you see the bird...you know that the shadow, the breath, the wind, and the wing, are parts of the bird, and have no reality apart from the bird” (Arcellana 1973, 86). It is made clear in Arcellana's text that everything other than the bird itself is just a fragment, that they 'have no reality apart from the bird'. The bird is the totality, and everything prior to the bird is a mere fragment.

And Arcellana is ambiguous regarding the question of the way in which the images add up. It is not presented as if the images of prior to the bird add up such that it is first a, then a+b, and then a+b+c, leading to a summation of a+b+c+...+x = bird. The images are experienced individually- It is first a, wherein a is experienced alone, and then it is b independent of a, and then c independent of both a and b, with a conclusion in a+b+c+...+x = bird. “It is first shadow, then it is breath...then it is a wind...then it is a wing... then it is a bird....but the moment you see the bird...you know that [everything prior] are parts of the bird and have no reality apart from the bird” (Arcellana 1973, 86 [my italics]).

This bleak situation- when desire cannot be satisfied, but in which desire remains, and in which desire consumes the self – is neither mere literary fantasy nor hypothetical situation. Hannah Arendt, in On Revolution, puts it best: “Poverty is more than deprivation, it is a state of constant want and acute misery whose ignominy consists in its dehumanizing force; poverty is abject because it puts man under the absolute dictate of their bodies, that is, under the absolute dictate of

3 I apologize if my poem selection suddenly shifted to French poetry. It's just that Prevert's poem perfeclt illustrates how images of madness can come from hunger. It recalls the image of starving cartoon characters who see other people as food when they are hungry.

necessity...” (Arendt 1963, 54). Arendt's statement on poverty is the key to the search for a situation in which

animal Desire overpowers the Self, and it is in poverty wherein desire overpowers man, where man is put under the absolute dictate his body.

Yet is there not another kind of desire which must be satisfied, the desire of desire, and the desire to be loved or to be recognized?

Fear not, for poverty also provides a situation in which the desire to be loved is recognized. Citing John Adams, Arendt writes:

“‘The poor man's conscience is clear; yet he is ashamed...He feels himself out of the sight of others, groping in the dark. Mankind takes no notice of him. He rambles and wanders unheeded... he is only not seen...to be wholly underlooked, and to know it, are intolerable' ” (Arendt 1963, 63-64). Poverty subjects man to desire, regardless of whether it is animal desire or

human desire. This is because the former, animal desire, can drive man mad by subjecting man to desire- that is, by putting man under the absolute dictate of his body – whereas the latter, human desire, can drive man mad by turning man into nothing, or more specifically, by making man undesirable: “He feels himself out of the sight of others... Mankind takes no notice of him... to be wholly underlooked, and to know it, are intolerable” (Arendt 1963, 63-64).

But poverty is not also a subjection to the dictate of desire. It also includes an awareness of the great disunity between desire and the satisfaction of desire arises. It is in the condition of poverty in which man is becomes aware of the great disunity of the world, when man realizes the separation between himself and his objects of desire The taong grasa in “Taong Grasa seems to be aware of this great disparity between him and those around him: “Mga demonyo, kung kalian dapat tumawa, hindi tatawa. Ngayong wala nang nakakatawa, doon naman tatwa. Pag ako naman tatawa, bawal!” (Juan 1982, 252)

But this knowledge of the disunity in the world is, in itself, enough reason for madness to exist.

Daniel Berthold Bond, in the essay Hegel on Madness and Tragedy, states that Madness for Hegel begins with an awareness of the chaos in the world, and a desire for unity in the face of such disunity. Berthold-Bond quotes Hegel and states that: “Human consciousness is a 'craving for...unity” (Berthold-Bond 1994, 74). “Yet this yearning is perpetually frustrated ...the world is never a simple mirror of our inner desires, but throws them into question” (Bertold-Bond 1994, 74).

And it is in this attempt of the mind to impose order that man becomes mad: “...the broken character of of the world effects a similar inner division of consciousness” (Berthold-Bond 1994, 74). Furthermore, Berthold-Bond states that it is this desire for unity in the world that the images of madness arise: “...[madness] achieves the desired state of self-reunification through a projective dream life which directly expresses it's desire” (Berthold-Bond 1994, 75). Furthermore, Berthold-Bond notes that “Hegel sees the mad self as replacing reality with a substitute formation...madness in fact, is described as a sort-of 'dreaming while wake'” (Berthold-Bond 1994, 75). Ultimately, in the attempt of the mind to impose unity upon the chaotic world, the mind itself is divided

And oh, how the mind withers, how the mind is alienated from itself! Madness is when the mind withers into itself, is alienated from itself, and reverts into a primitive condition. The first condition, the withering of the mind into itself is noted as such: “His [Hegel's] general view of madness is a state of withdrawal of the mind into itself: (Berthold-Bond 1994, 74); “[madness is] a state in which the mind has sunk into itself, has sunk into itself” (Berthold-Bond 1994, 75). Following the withering of the mind into itself, the second condition is that the mind is alienated from itself, “…consists in its being positively separated from itself” (Berthold Bond 1994, 75). And the third condition, that of a return to the feral state, is explained as such: insanity is described by Hegel as “...a final capitulation in the face of the alienating character of existence, where the mind 'reverts back to'...a primitive way of being” (Berthold-Bond 1994, 74).

This primitive way of being is noted as a condition “...where the role of nature, the body, and the unconscious dominates” (Berthold-Bond 1994, 74). “[madness is]...the sinking inward into what Hegel calls nature...basically apre-rational level of mental life, the 'life of feeling'...” (Berthold-Bond 1994, 81) Here, once again, we can locate ferality in madness, a return which is thus analogous to Kojeve's “sentiment of the Self”, or Arendt's “necessity”.

To be poor is a hundredfold worse than to be a slave, for the master still relies on the slave- “He [the master] merely destroys the products of the slave's work” (Kojeve 1969, 24)- and the slave can still realize the fullness of self-consciousness by working and by overcoming himself and his master- for “it is only through work that man is a supernatural being that is conscious of his reality” (Kojeve 1969, 25). But in poverty, the chance to change is taken away: the poor man cannot change or “dialectically overcome” himself for he has already been transformed- into nothing. He cannot strive for recognition- in fact it is almost impossible to be recognized, for he is forever an “Other”.

This is the key to Kojeve's ending, for it first appears that the master has won, yet in the end, the slave wins and becomes the “truth”. But poverty has “mastered” the poor and is thus even less than a slave. He can neither transform himself nor the world. How can one still become 'supernatural', a being of his own reality, when one is not even recognized, or when it is through poverty in which man takes a step towards a return to the Hegelian “natural”, the pre-rational state?

Thus, in conclusion, we can perhaps say that Madness is a paradox; madness, as we have seen, is still a form of self-consciousness, for we have shown that madness is a self-conscious struggle to keep control of the body. But simultaneously, madness is a loss of control, a form of surrender to our desires, to the point in which we no longer self-consciously control our bodies, but in which our bodies are controlled by our desires, such that our very body becomes analogous to a puppet wherein the puppeteer is our desires. Furthermore, madness can also result from an attempt of the mind to impose a unity upon the disorders of the world. Yet it is in this attempt of the mind to impose order in which the mind itself fragments, and withers into its pre-rational form.

In addition, madness can either be the end of a reduction to nothing, or can be the means to which man is reduced to nothing. Madness itself reduces the self to nothing, but the reduction of the self to non-being can also lead to madness.

Madness is either the result of insignificance or is insignificance in its purity. Finally, we can conclude that it is from the barren condition of poverty from

which the fountain of madness gushes forth. Whether it is through an attempt of the mind to unify the world, or through the subjection to desire, it is in poverty where we can find the possibility of madness. Man is reduced to nothing and becomes mad in poverty through the domination of his desires and the disorders of society. Yet simultaneously, it is in madness in which man becomes purely nothing, in which his being becomes non-being, in which self-consciousness yields consciously to the abscess of desire.

From this perspective, John Adams was perhaps, prophetic. For in his words: “He rambles and wanders unheeded... he is only not seen...to be wholly underlooked, and to know it, are intolerable” (Arendt 1963, 93). It should be clear that Adams was not merely referring to poverty; he had foreshadowed its madness- and perhaps predicted the taong grasa, he who “rambles and wanders unheeded".

Wherein can we locate sovereignty? If madness is the result of a reduction to nothing, then sovereign is he who reduces man to nothing; the ways by which this reduction is achieved is discussed in the next chapters. IV. Sanitas: Sovereignty, Madness, Taong Grasa's body.

We have henceforth established a few things about the taong grasa: First, that he is by name and association someone that is negated, by virtue of his reduction from tao to tao-na-grasa and his negative aspects as in-sane and un-sanitary. Second, we have established how madness is nothingness, and how the reduction of man to nothing, be it his animal desire or his human desire, is the possible cause of madness, how the dictate of necessity, or the emptiness of the “I of Desire” leads to the nothingness of madness. Finally, we have also shown how poverty is the possible root of madness, and how poverty in itself can bring about madness, when one attempts to impose an order upon a disordered world.

Yet we have only discussed one aspect of the taong grasa so far-his madness. To end our discussion on the component of Sanus only would do injustice to the taong grasa, because we have yet to locate sovereignty. Therefore, in order to locate sovereignty, we must now turn our eyes to the other, but no less important part of the taong grasa: Sanitas, or the un-cleanliness of the taong grasa. At this point, we must begin to ask: in general, “what is the body saying?”, and in the case of the taong grasa, “what is the taong grasa's body saying? What does the excessive filthiness of the taong grasa say? What are the discourses of the Filipino body?” And how does the discourses of the body of the taong grasa relate to sovereignty, and this sovereignty to madness?

Foucault begins Discipline and Punish with the gruesome, graphic narrative of the execution of Damiens the regicide. What has been cited there by Foucault does not need to repeat anymore. But what is important is that there is something analogous between Damiens' excessive execution and the taong grasa's excessive filthiness. Just as Foucault saw a spectacle of blood and gore, flesh and bone in Damien's execution, we see a similar element of spectacle in the taong grasa. This is emphasized in the following lines from “Taong Grasa”:

“N: Nakangaga, bulok ang mga ngipin, sugatan ang labi, sunog ang balat ng ng pissngi...kumapit na ang libag sa kanyang balat, mahaba't

maiitim ang kuko, namumuo ang naghalong grasa't alabok sa buong katawan. May galis sa pwet, na bahagyang nasisilip dahil sa kaluwagan ng pantalon. Pisi ang kanyang sinturon...” (Juan 1982, 247)Does this not compare to the excessiveness of Damien's execution? Is it only

by mere coincidence that the taong grasa in “Taong Grasa”'s cheeks and and skin has some similarity to the sulfur, oil, wax and lead poured unto Damien's gaping wounds?

In addition to the spectacle of filth, we must forget that madness itself is a spectacle. As Foucault wrote: “Here is madness elevated to spectacle above the silence of the asylums, becoming a public scandal for the general delight....madness continued to be present on the stage of the world” (Foucault 1965, 69)

And Foucault goes on: “Madness became pure spectacle...until the nineteenth century...madmen remained monsters- that is, etymologically, beings or things to be shown” (Foucault 1965, 70). And Foucault goes on and on, until we come full circle to the image of the madman as beast (see Foucault 1965, 70-71).

We can find, therefore, the thread of sovereignty in the expressiveness of the taong grasa, both in the spectacular excess of his madness and his filthiness. But is the same model of excess seen in Damiens the same modality of sovereign power in the taong grasa?

No- this explanation is lacking. Why? Because there is glaring distinction which we must not and cannot overlook between the execution of Damiens and the excessive filthiness of the taong grasa: what we see in Damiens is punishment applied directly to the body itself. Power and sovereignty is found in the application of supplice. But unlike the public execution of Damiens, the filth of the taong grasa is not an applied filth, and the sovereign power which can be found in the taong grasa is not an application of supplice. Unlike Damiens, in the case of the taong grasa, power is not applied- at least not directly.

In short, unlike Damiens, in the case of the taong grasa, overeignty is not the application of supplice. However, it can be asserted that sovereignty can be found in the discourses of the filthiness of the taong grasa himself, in the values, meanings and symbolism attached which render that filthiness analogous to sin and the taong grasa analogous to a leper. Sovereignty is in the economy of filth itself.

What is the evidence of this claim? It is in the fact that we ignore the taong grasa. It is in the fact that we think that the taong grasa is “so-yucky, napaka-eew naman, so kadiri!” As we have said, the taong grasa is both a spectacle and a specter. His filth is spectacular. His madness is spectacular. Yet we refuse to watch the spectacle. The spectacle of the taong grasa elicits shame and disgust. The taong grasa becomes a specter, a ghost which lingers ever so closely, something which is so very real, but something which we prefer to categorize with the phlegm and dirt of the streets.

In short, my claim is that we have allocated a space for the taong grasa within society, but isolated from everyone, through the discourses of his filthiness. This isolation through filthiness is sovereignty. This is power-knowledge.

Under what criteria do we categorize the taong grasa as untouchable? And who made these criteria? Why does the taong grasa offend us so much? Why does

he disgust us? Sovereign power is found in the discipline which tells us to avert our eyes from the taong grasa, that which instantly repels us away. For isn’t disgust also something which can be affected by power-knowledge? The gag reflex is often thought of as a mere biological apparatus. But to think of the gag reflex as a mere biological object is wrong. Indeed, disgust can induce the gag reflex, can induce vomiting, but disgust is not always merely psychoanalytically or biologically triggered. As Wilson notes:

“Disgust is not simply a ‘moral sentiment’…but also a proto-legal activity, a necessary condition for the legal system as well as civilization. Disgust teaches you to keep certain things at a distance, to avoid contact… ‘disgust rules’, the socially inscribed prohibitions of specific contacts and acts, evolve everywhere, and everywhere possess socio-cultural purposes” (Wilson 2002, 50)Our task, therefore, will be to connect this analysis of disgust to the madness

of the taong grasa. The key to the historicization of the taong grasa lies in Foucault’s analysis of

Kantorowitz’s “the King’s Body”. On one side of the spectrum, we see “The King's Body”. “At the opposite pole one might imagine placing the body of the condemned man...in the darkest region of the political field represents the symmetrical, inverted figure of the king” (Foucault 1979, 29).

This is the spectrum, along with its historicity, which we must locate. For the discourses of the excessive filthiness of the taong grasa do not merely create discourses for disgust and isolation- they construct and inaugurate another kind of body: the docile, productive body. We already know the unideal, the inverse, the in-sane and the un-sanitary. Now we must locate the ideal, the sane and sanitary. On one hand of the spectrum, there lies the taong grasa, hidden but spectacular, volatile, filthy and unproductive. On the other end lies not the productive, docile docile, healthy in both mind and body. Sovereign is he who created the criteria from which we isolate the taong grasa. Thus, we must look through history and witness the fall of the taong grasa, and the creation of boundaries which lead to his madness, and which simultaneously allow the taong grasa to be both spectacle and specter.

Before we begin our re-construction of the historical fragments of the taong grasa, we must point out a few junctures which must be highlighted:

First, we must identify the junctures in which the trinity of productivity, cleanliness , and mental health are related to productivity, with the goal of establishing a possible link or common theme throughout the history of the taong grasa.

Second, we must identify a situation or an event which enabled the taong grasa to be simultaneously a spectacle and a specter and attempt to locate this event with the historical trinity of hygiene, mental health and productivity. Only then, can we begin to trace the thread of the taong grasa's fragmented history.

What are the two junctures which illustrate the holy trinity of cleanliness, mental health, productivity and their relation to docility? Here are the two critical junctures: the first can be found in a term called tropical neurasthenia, or in the case of the Philippines, Philippinitis (Anderson 2007, 131). The second can be found in a survey created by the Philippine Mental Health Institute entitled Happiness is a State

of Mind, dated June 29, 1952. At this point, it must be specified that tropical neurasthenia is not directly

connected to filthiness- it is more closely related to the incapability of the body of the American man to acclimatize itself to tropical conditions, thus leading to a loss in productivity, termed by the Americans as a loss of “nerve force” (Anderson 2997, 131). But what will be made clear later on is that tropical neurasthenia is deeply embedded in a colonial formulation of civilization plus hygiene, which Anne McClintock notes in her essay entitled Soft-Soaping Empire: Commodity Racism and Imperial Advertising. But regardless of this distinction, what the concept of tropical neurasthenia offers is the fact that climate and hygiene factor into productivity, in turn reducing the productivity of the body.

Mental health is also related to productivity. As pointed out by Happiness is a State of Mind:

“Mentally healthy people are able to meet the demands of life. They do something about their problems as they arise. They accept their responsibilities…they make use of their natural capacities. They are able to think for themselves and make their own decisions. They put their best effort into what they do and get satisfaction out of doing it” (Philippine Mental Health Institute 1952, 33)Mental health, hygiene and productivity, the holy trinity which the taong

grasa so violently opposes. All three are the marks of the efficient, docile body. All three are violently opposed by the violent, insane, unsanitary taong grasa. This docile body is the one which we must locate in Philippine history. Under what circumstances did the docile body rise and the taong grasa fall?

Yet there are other things at work, and other questions which must be answered, such as: what event caused the taong grasa to be simultaneously a specter and a spectacle?

In the case of Madness and Civilization, there was an event which enabled madness to be both a specter and a spectacle, which Foucault called “The Great Confinement”. He, in fact, begins with these words: “By a strange act of force, the classical age was to reduce to silence the madness...” (Foucault 1969, 38). But this act of silencing achieved two things: it hid unreason from the realm of the visible, yet thrusted madness into the public eye. Thus, two things were achieved: unreason became a specter, yet madness became a spectacle. Thus, Foucault writes: “By a strange act of force, the classical age was to reduce to silence the madness...”, yet later he cites: “Confinement hid away unreason, and betrayed the shame it aroused; but it explicitly drew attention to madness...a strange contradiction” (Foucault 1969, 70)

But this silencing of madness was not an exclusive event; The Great Confinement itself has its pretexts; madness had its “sacred” circles. Foucault writes that the great confinement did not begin spontaneously: “The asylum was substituted for the lazar house” (Foucault 1969, 57). What is this “lazar house” that Foucault refers to? It pertains to leprosariums, houses in which those infected with leprosy were put in. For according to Foucault, the meanings of confinement have a similarity to the rites of exclusion applied to the leper.

“From the High Middle Ages to the end of the Crusades, leprosariums had multiplied their cities of the damned over the entire face of Europe” (Foucault 1965, 3). Soon the lepers disappeared throughout Europe: “...from the fifteenth century on, all were emptied...by the time Edward III ordered an inquiry into the hospital of Ripon...there were no more lepers” (Foucault 1969 4-5).

Indeed, the lepers disappeared slowly, but not without “first being inscribed within a sacred circle” (Foucault 1969, 6). Foucault notes that “...his [the leper's] existence was yet a constant manifestation of God, since it was a sign both of His anger and His grace” (Foucault 1969, 6). Foucault cites this rather amusing prayer for evidence: “ 'My friend', says the ritual of the Church of Vienne, 'it pleaseth our lord that thou shouldst be infected with this malady'...and at the very moment when the priests and his assistants drag him out of the church with backward step, the leper is assured that he still bears witness for God” (Foucault 1969, 6)

Wherein can we find this sacred circle in the Philippine context? Where can we find a similar attempt to banish unreason to oblivion? The former question, on the one hand, forms the beginning of our history of the taong grasa, towards how cleanliness became a fetish and a discipline, and how these are related to productivity. The latter question,on the other hand, points towards the culminating point of our history: Imelda Marcos' construction of whitewashed walls around depressed areas in the 1970's in the name of the good and the beautiful, a symbolic ritual of the sovereign construction of boundaries around the taong grasa. V. Can the Filipino Body Speak?

I'd like to draw the reader's attention towards three inter-connected images which will display an intertextuality vis-a-vis the discourses of the Filipino body. The first, of course, is Anton Juan's portrayal of the taong grasa. The second is the “Taong Putik Festival” in Aliyaga, Nueva Ecija. The third is from an essay by Mayel P. Martin entitled History as Rumor: The Political Fantasy of the Negrese Elite in Vicente Groyon's 'The Sky over Dimas', wherein she highlights the connection between labor and filth.

I have cited, re-cited and re-iterated lines from Juan's “Taong Grasa” repetituvely in the paper. But now I'd like to draw attention towards a single line: “Lupang hinugis sa anyo ng tao...parang anino, parang bato” (Juan 1982, 246). It is obvious that Juan's imagery in that line invokes a connection between religion and cleanliness similar to the rite and procedure of the Church of Vienne, the difference being that, on one hand, the rite of the Church of Vienne attempts to justify the suffering of the leper by saying that the plight of the leper pleaseth the lord, while on the other hand, Juan's imagery suggests that filthiness is opposed to, and thus cleanliness is connected with, divinity. This distinction is supported by the fact that the line in question, “lupang hinugis sa anyo ng tao”, is preceded and succeeded by images which emphasize the deplorable filthiness and general conditions of existence of the taong grasa, such as “...binalutan ng araw at gabi, dura't ihi” (Juan 1982, 246).

Juan's imagery recalls that of the Book of Genesis, in which it said that man was formed from the earth by God: “...t'il thou return to the earth, out of which thou

return” (Genesis 3:19)4. Yet Juan's imagery serves a different purpose: the creation of man was supposed to highlight a certain sacredness in man; Juan's imagery serves otherwise, as it is made clear that the taong grasa was created from the filthiness around him. Pay attention to the syntax, for it is stated that the taong grasa is filth shaped into the form of man, not man shaped by some divine force from the earth. Juan's imagery was not meant to highlight divine intervention, but designed to highlight man in the most despicable, pathetic state possible. It marks a shift from tao-na-grasa to grasa-na-tao.

The book of Genesis itself points towards this distinction: in Genesis, man is said to have been created uniquely in the image of God himself. This distinction is also found when one finds that the creation of man is the only part of the creation story which does not begin with “....[and] God said, let there be [x]”. Man's creation is the only one with the distinction “God created man in his image; in his divine image he created him” (Genesis 1:27). But in the case of the taong grasa, there is no such distinction. The taong grasa was neither made nor given an image, he was mere filth in the form of man.

This distinction between image and form is crucial. “Image” suggests a kind of distinction, a kind of visual identity. But form does not necessarily denote that kind of distinctiveness. A shadow, for instance, possesses a form, not a distinguishable image. It is completely possible for the shadow of Object A to have the same form as Object B, yet still remain complely distinct in image from Object B. But the taong grasa in “Taong Grasa” has no such distinction. He has only form, no image. He is non-distinct in image from the filth around him.

Yet filth has other dimensions in the Philippine context: let us examine the case of the “Taong Putik” festival in Aliyaga, Nueva Ecija.

What is the “Taong Putik” festival? It is essentially a ritual which is observed annually on the 24th of June. In this festival, the faithful wear a garment of banana leaves and slather themselves with mud (Quismoro, 2010):

“On Thursday morning, nearly 1,000 Taong Putik (literally “mud people”), individuals who daubed different parts of their bodies with mud engaged in a procession around [barrio] Bibiclat with the image of Saint John the Baptist...Aside from their mucky skin, the other thing that made the mud people such a striking sight were their thick and highly abrasive “coat” fashioned out of banana leaves...By tradition, the mud people go from house to house, collecting either candles or money, which they would use to buy even more candles”(Quismoro, 2010) It is clear that there is a religious connotation attached to the spectacle of

filth. In the case of the “Taong Putik” festival, the connection is emphasized by the fact that the “Taong Putik” festival is a commemoration the feast of St. John the Baptist. This implies a connection to cleansing power of baptism. This is proven by a statement from one of the faithful: “I present myself to him all dirty, but in the end I am cleansed” (Quismoro, 2010)

Filth stains; it clings to the body. It is a visual reminder that one is not to be

4 All bible citations are from The New American Bible, 1991 edition.

touched, that one is to be separated from everyone. Filthiness implies a stigma which separates one from everyone else. In the case of the “Taong Putik Festival”, the usage of mud recalls the stain of sin. This dimension of filth is also seen in the ritual of Ash Wednesday, in which men are marked with a cross of ash on their forehead to remind them and all those around them of their sinfulness

But the image of the stain of filth contains yet another dimension, in the form of the stain of labor. Martin offers us an analysis of the usage of the image of ground or earth in Vicente Groyon's novel entitled The Sky Over Dimas: “The three contiguous expressions of ground in the novel, referring to the worker's feet...resonate with the melodramatic Filipino derogatory expressions hinugot ka lang sa putik, and hampas-lupa” (Martin 2010, 24). Filth is used as a derogatory term in the Philippine context.

Thus we have located the connotations of filth in the Philippine context. But where did these meanings come from? From what historical moment did they arise? And in what historical moment did these meanings attach themselves to the Filipino body? When and where can we find their sacred circles, and when were they inscribed in them?

There have been two major historical movements which mark paradigm shifts in the representations of the Filipino body: the Spanish and the American colonizations of the Philippines. We can find in the former the roots of the fetishism of cleanliness and the beginnings of disciplinary systems. These disciplinary mechanisms were further developed in the American regime. Furthermore, these shifts also indicate a shift in the mode of production, in which the perception of the body must have changed. Therefore, we must now study how those two regimes and paradigm shifts and changes in the mode of production inaugurated a new body, and how the taong grasa forms its inverse.

The body, of course, has not been completely subdued. Yet, the body is no longer easy to read, caught up as it is not just in the art of 'speaking for the self' but in the crafts of deception and disguise. Stranded between images of Hollywood and memories of ancient sorcery: 'What is the Filipino body saying'” (Mojares in Arriola 1993, 192) Julius Bautista and Ma. Mercedes Planta (2009) have identified for us three

variations in the perceptions and representations of the Filipino body: the “native” [or rather, pre-colonial] body, characterized by its usage as a canvas, the sacred body, inaugurated by the Spanish colonization and marked by a turning away from the body, and the sanitary body, marked by the American colonization and characterized by its medicalization.

The pre-colonial body is know for its eloquence, notably in its ornamentation, such that Bautista and Planta call it a “canvas” (Bautista and Planta 2009, 149). Such was the case with the Visayans, who were called pintados due to the amount of tatooing they did to their bodies (Mojares cited in Arriola 1993, 197).

Bautista and Planta also note another interesting observation about the precolonial Filipino body:

“...it is significant to not that early Spanish accounts are replete with descriptions of the people's good health and meticulous hygienic practices....What

we consistently find in such descriptions is a pleasured, cleansed, decorated and indulged native body” (Bautista and Planta 1993)

Notice that this cleanliness close to Foucault's “arts of existence” (Foucault 1990, 10). By this virtue, cleanliness is not necessarily a negative object when viewed from this paper. It is an art, not a category by which men such as the taong grasa is reduced to nothing. Rather, it is an example of “those intentional and voluntary actions by which men do not only set themselves rules of conduct, but also seek to transform themselves, to change themselves in their singular being....”(Foucault 1990, 10). This “art of existence” is located throughout out the history of pre-colonial Filipino bodies. As Mojares notes:

“Take the filing and blackening of teeth, for example...blackening the teeth was not simply cosmetic, it was a way of defining the human. The rationale goes this way: Savage beasts...have white teeth; so do the demons of the spirit world....hence, ceremonies at the time of puberty often involved the filing and blackening of teeth to ensure that one would not be mistaken at death for an evil spirit” (Mojares cited in Arriola, 1993, 197)

What we have then, in the precolonial Filipino body is the embodiment of art. “In all these examples, one sees that the care and embellishment of the body were charged with a great deal of meaning. The body was a medium of art, magic, status, power” (Mojares cited in Arriola 1993, 198). Yet sadly:

“Seeing how the body was space on which culture was on which culture was inscribed, the European colonizers...proceeded to 'colonize' the body....the colonizers proceeded to eradicate [practices of individuality]: long hair, tatooing, elongated earlobes, teeth filing and 'nakedness'...We lost our tattoos. They have been either criminalized or sublimated....we lost our body as a source of magical potency and began to look at it either as the earthly receptacle of a transcendent soul or secular instrument for pleausure, vanity, or gain”(Mojares cited in Arriola 1993, 198). Thus began the rise of the production of docile bodies in the Spanish era.

Disciplines were produced upon the Filipino body, turned it into something which can be subjected, used, transformed and improved” (Foucault 1969, 136).

“....religous books of the Spanish period carried admonitions as to how the natives, suppressing his natural friskiness, should carry his head, arms or feet or use his eyes or mouth. Indeed, colonialism did not only impact on economies or politics, it imprinted itself on bodies” (Mojares cited in Arriola 1993, 198)Herein is our foremost example of disciplinary systems in the Spanish era:

Pag susulatan ng Dalawang Binibini na si Urbana at Felisa na Nagtutro ng mabutinng ugali by Modesto de Ocampo, hencforth called in this paper as Urbana at Felisa. What is Urbana at Felisa? It is a proto-novel written by Modesto de Castro in 1864, which takes the form of a fictional correspondence from Urbana, who went to study in Manila, addressed to her younger sibling, Felisa, which details a list of “virtues”, “morals” and guides for proper etiquette and socialization for her brother

Honesto, who wishes to study in Manila. Yet if read from a Foucaltian perspective, Urbana at Felisa is a handbook on discipline. As Bautista and Planta note, “In the Spanish colonial regime, administrative control depended largely on the role of the clergy who prescribed that the body's physical upkeep must correspond with certain codes of religious piety and spiritual purification. These presciptions were deployed through manuals...” (Bautista and Planta 1993, 150).

But this unification of bodily care with spiritual cleanliness was located in a shift on the perspective about the body. As Bautista and Planta say, “In describing manuals...we discover as much about the vissictudes of missionary and colonial agency as we do about the bodies they sought to regulate” (Bautista and Planta 1993, 152). Read from this standpoint, Urbana at Felisa serves as a manual for discipline and the production of docile bodies. Let us interrogate its contents.

There are two letters which we must pay attention to: the first, is a section which details the discipline which takes place at mealtime. The second, is a section which deals with cleanliness. In the first case, it is written:

“Sa isang piging ay maraming lubha ang masasamang gawang nakikita, na laban sa kalinisan sa kabaitan at sa kamahalan nang asal....iilagang marumihan ang mantel, lamesa...nang 'di mapahamak...ang magpakita nang lambing at magpairi-iri ay nakamumuhi sa bata. Ang humimod sa daliri, hipan ang mainit na sabaw, lamasin ang ulam...ay pawang kasalauaang nakapandidiri sa nakakakitang tao” (de Castro, 1864)It is made clear that certain acts can lead to shame- shame, which Foucault

has noted, must be hidden away. Yet Urbana at Felisa also follows the “control of activity” (Foucault 1979, 149), specifically “The body-object articulation”(Foucault 1979, 152). “Discipline defines each of the relations that the body must have with the object” (Foucault 1979, 152). Such is seen in Urbana at Felisa: “kung ang hinahawakan ay baso, kutchara, kopa, ay huwag punuin, at nang di mabubo...kung darampot nang baso nang tubig, ay tingnan muna kung malinis ang daliri...sa pag-inom, kung mangyayari ay gamitin ang dalawang kamay, ang mga daliri ay sa dakong puno...” (de Castro 1864).

Urbana at Felisa also obeys “...the correlation of the body and the gesture” (Foucaault 1979, 152) But in this case, it serves to remove certain gestures.

Sa pagkain, ay iilagan ang paguubo, at kung hindi mangyari ay tumindig, gayon din naman ang pagluwa, pagdahac, pagsinga...kung 'di maiilagan at kung minsan ay mabiglaanan, lumingon sa kabila, takpan ang bibig nang panyo.... Ilagan ang pagkamot kamot.... Huwag magpapauna sa matatandá sa pagsubo... kung matanong naman ay sumagot nang maikli at banayad; ngunit, lilinisin muna ang bibig nang servilleta kung mayroon, at kung wala ay panyó at huwag sasagot nang lumilinab ang bibig at namumualan...” (de Castro 1864)

Bautista and Planta explain the rise of this discipline as “a repression of the body's most natural impulses” (Bautista and Planta 2009, 152). Yet ironically, “native bodies are defined by the unreflective impluse to act upon and appease them” (Bautista and Planta 2009, 152).

These disciplinary characteristics were also carried over into the discourses on cleanliness and linked with productivity and divinity: “Pagkatapos nang pagpupuri sa Diyos, ang pagpilitan nang tao ay ang paglilinis nang katauan...kalinisan at kahusayan: malinis man at marikit ang damit, kung walang kahusayan, ay di nagbibigay dilag sa dinaramtan” (de Castro 1864)

Thus we have located an important shift in the Filipino body: from an “art of existence”, or from a “canvas”, the Filipino body moved into a zone of discipline. Individuality was replaced with “virtues”, “values” and “morals”. The focus has now shifted from the body to the soul and its salvation. “The body now serves as an instrument or intermediary” (Foucault 1979, 11)”. Furthermore, “...since it is no longer the body, it must be the soul” (Foucault 1979, 16).

We can perhaps analyze the Spanish colonial treatment of the body with these words: If the corporeal body were to do wrong, the blame would be appropriated or would stain the body and the soul. Therefore, a literal stain on the body would bleed through and thus also stain the soul. Such is the case with the “Taong Putik” festival: the corporeal stains reflect the stains of sin. There is an economy of shame attached to that stain. Nakakahiya, nakakapahamak, nakakadiri- these are but some of the words which were located, and which were created in the economy of the discourses of the Filipino body in the Spanish colonial regime. What was once care was enshrouded in discourses of sin and salvation.

We have thus located the origin of the specter- shame. It is through shame in which the Filipino body is appropriated an isolated spot. What was once a care in the form of excess (“There is, on the contrary, a sense of luxurious excess in the natives technologies of care” [Bautista and Planta 2009, 150]) shifted and became a discourse of shame and oblivion.

When the focus shifted from the visible body to the hidden heart, and with the inversion of the order of heart and body, the body would perhaps have had to inevitably yield and move into the hidden realm. Thus what was once spectacular would become specter-like, and purposely made specter-like: present, but hidden away. Visible, yet ignored. The shamed Filipino body occupies a space of shame isolated within society.

McClintock notes a similar absurdity: she notes how Victorian era advertising reveals a paradox: “...as the cultural form that was entrusted with upholding and marketing abroad those founding middle class distinctions- between private and public...- advertising also began to confound those distinctions. Advertising took the intimate signs of domesticity...into the public realm” (McClintock 1998, 305).

It is in McClintock's words in which the full absurdity of specter/spectacle is shown: we have noted how the Spanish colonial regime hid the spectacle in a boundary of shame. Yet McClintock illustrates a contrary example: a distinction between the private and the public was made, but the distinction was blurred. What was once in the realm of the domestic, non-spectacular private was suddenly thrust into the public and made a spectacle.

Thus we have an irony: the Filipino body was hidden away, but the cleansing commodities which were once private were made into a spectacle. What is the link between the two?

Not to say of course that such a fetishism of cleanliness did not exist before.

Again, the Spanish regime had set it up with the junction of shame and cleanliness. But perhaps there is an epitome, or a culmination of these movements. What could it be?

“What alchemy could change the oriental quality of their blood?” (Anderson 2007, 52)- this quote is perhaps what best describes the epitome of not only the fetishism but also the discipline of cleanliness.

Foucault begins his essay entitled Panopticism with an illustration of the plague stricken town (Foucault 1979, 195). We can locate a similar even in Philippine history.

“When American forces entered Manila...what struck them were the conditions in the Philippine capital after they entered it in August 1898...The Manila Times announced the arrival of dentists, doctors, lawyers...Overnight, Manila was turned into a circus” (Bautista and Planta 2009, 157). “...the sanitation of the towns was extremely bad...The habitation sof the villagers were surrounded by filth of all kinds- slops, garbage, fecal accumulations, rubbish, and other debris. Weeds and rank vegetation were allowed to grow along the fences in the yards and the streets” (Anderson 2007, 48)

Sometime around or before the Americans entered Manila, the Americans were fighting with a combination of disciplinary tactics. “They began to retain Filipinos in the discipline of hygiene and to render sanitary their barrios” (Anderson 2007, 45). “Civilians had to be rendered obedient, not with armed force but through administration. 'We have to govern them...and government by force alone cannot be satisfactory to the Americans” (Anderson 2007, 48).

“At the height of Western colonialism in the twentieth century, medicine [and hygiene for that matter] became an essential part of the self-image of 'civilizing imperialism'” (Bautista and Planta 2009, 158). But where did this image of 'civilizing imperialism' stem from, and how was cleanliness connected ?

“Soap is civilization” (McClintock 1998, 304). This, McClintock notes, was the Unilever company slogan. The same theme of course can be found in a famous advertisement by Pears, which says that “The first step towards lightening the white man's burden is through teaching the virtues of cleanliness” (Anderson 2007, 55). The American occupation of the Philippines is the epitome that we have been looking for. It is the point in which the historical moment in which the specter/spectacle process was made fully possible: the Spanish regime plunged the Filipino body into the abyss of shame, effectively realizing the possibility of the specter. Yet the spectacle aspect was brought by the Americans. Drawing upon the Victorian fetishism of cleanliness, the spectrum which we have been looking for was perhaps completed: we have now located the civilized, docile body in Philippine history. The existence of such a body is verified by Anderson.: “It seemed possible that hygiene, education, and industry would in time uplift...groups of savages, turning natives into proletarians. From the 1880's the government had been making an effort” (Anderson 2007, 57). That plan of hygiene/education/industry was originally for American Indians, but Anderson notes that “after Aguinaldo's resort to guerilla warfare late in the 1899, the U.S army...recognized the similarity of Indians and Filipinos” (Anderson 2007, 57). “The army and the emergent colonial state thus attempted an intensive reform and disciplining of Filipino in situ, to render them

more docile and amenable to distant American control...”(Anderson 2007, 56). Thus, as Anderson concluded, so will wee: “Just as raw recruits to the army were trained and transformed into disciplined soldiers, so might the medical officer and sanitary inspector attempt to reeducate Filipinos to make them proper, retentive colonial subjects” (Anderson 2007, 71)

But simultaneously, the attempt at civilization via hygiene would have its failures. Overcivilization became a concern: “the Klima is a sort of Shylock that exacts a pound of flesh a day, while the humidity and monotony are so depressing are so I am 1/16 of what I used to be mentally” (Anderson 2007, 155). “The white man might live among the banana palms- he might trade, or for a time, fight boldly- but it was likely that....the white race would degenerate, and civilization would not thrive in the tropics”- a crucial link between madness and civilzation.

The culminating point of our history of cleanliness is the visit of Lyndon B. Johnson in the Philippines in 1970:

“The Marcoses were unrestrained in their efforts to present their Philippines as they wanted it to be seen. Potholes were filled, streets cleaned, buildings scrubbed and whitewashed walls erected so that the visiting dignitaries wouldn't have to look at the slum poverty” (Bonner 1988, 59)5. Of all of these, the construction of whitewashed walls is the most symbolic. We have said that sovereign is he who reduces man to nothing. Sovereign power would take the form of the isolation of man, of the construction of boundaries which would turn man into a specter- there but not there, present, but ignored. It is said that some of these whitewashed walls still remain, both in the real world, and in our gag reflexes.VI. Conclusion: Madness and the Modern Age, Madness of Civilization (Reflections)6

The fragmented mind reflects a fragmented world. The mind turned mad embodies a world gone mad, and a man turned mad reflects the madness of the world around him. And while it may be true that a volatile and filthy body in the form of the taong grasa is opposed to a docile and productive in our modern age, the latter said to be preferred over the former. Yet we must now ask, which are we to believe is the true madman? What does it mean to be truly mad, for is not docility already a form of madness? We have pointed out how madness stems from the reduction of man to nothing. But isn't docility already a reduction to nothing, to a mere machine of production? Is it only “the eagle and the sun”(Foucault 1979, 217) which are rendered usesless?

Poverty is the point in which man is reduced to nothing. Yet poverty is not merely being poor, for the bonds of necessity “need not be of iron, they can be made of silk”. In our modern age of consumption, and in age where we have a system in place which encourages one to be excessive, to be bound and gagged with the chains of luxury, then are we not all already mad? The I of Desire may be an emptiness, but we have system in place which balatantly tell you in your face: lose yourself, indulge,

5 I apologize if this was all the data I could dig up. Reliable data from the 1970's is hard to find, considering that the Marcoses had a stranglehold on all media at the time.

6 As of this point, the paper is partially composed of refections, and will not be as theory heavy as the parts before.

give into temptation and cosume, consume, consume. I will leave these questions suspended for now- perhaps the reader will be

moved to answer them. But for now, I leave thee with a few verses from from Almario, if only to make the reader feel the wind of the wing of madness:

Pagka't hindi ito paraiso, huwag mong hahanapin Ang katahimikan sa ingit ng muwelye

At ngisngis ng eheng naglalway sa grasa...

...Dinaglat na ngiti't kinoryenteng titig, Ang paghahanap mo'y putol na hiningang

Nilason sa eter at hinurnong buwan;Nilunod sa koro ng pangilang lagari

At adagiong teklado ng orasan. (Almario 1998, 41-42)

“I felt strange passing. I felt passing over me a wind from the wing of madness” (Baudelaire 1992, 258).

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