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the city. The organized Catholics of Vizcaya province, mostly drawn from the emerging middle classes in the capital together with middling farming families in rural areas, immersed themselves in the celebrations to confirm the Catholicism of the region. The local Catholic periodical Ecos Religiosos dedicated a special themed issue to the festival, in which can be found the powerful and active expression of National Catholic ideas, based on a confessional defence of regionalism which had been gaining ground during the nineteenth century. The vast majority of the articles were fervent in their adherence to the Virgin Mary as ‘Reina coronada y Madre de Vizcaya’ [‘crowned Queen and Mother of Vizcaya’], and some contributors, such as the Augustinian canon Eustoquio de Uriarte, denounced:

the invasion of exotic customs . . . a thousand times more dangerous and prejudicial to national or regional independence than the invasion of the most savage hordes, because while it multiplies a hundredfold the energies and qualities of the race, it dissolves and discolours the red corpuscles of the most intense aspects of regional or national life.61

The rapidity of the modernization process in the region had brought about a social divide, and generated a fear of immigrant workers bringing disorder and impiety. It was indeed in the mining and industrial areas that the anti-clerical minority was making headway among members of labour organizations and the Republican and Socialist parties. The myth of the Catholic Basque Country was being undermined, leading Arturo Mena´n y Garibay of the Claretian order to assert that ‘in its breast are growing and multiplying germs which kill holy traditions; building plots where foreign or bastard peoples have erected dwellings, forming a people which does not belong here’. And he concluded his homily thus: ‘Vizcaya is always the same. The hour will strike for a new Gothic re-conquest, and Vizcaya would respond [sic] to its heroic traditions. Among all this, it will accomplish its mission’. There was nothing extraordinary about this utterance, in that it connected the present work with the Basque contribution to defending the nation against the Muslims, in ‘the Gothic re-conquest’.

These statements drank from the neo-Catholic ideas which the writer Francisco Navarro Villoslada had advocated in his successful novel of 1879, Amaya o los vascos en el siglo VIII, which had been so much to the taste of Spanish Catholic circles. Thus the novel put these words in to the mouth of Garcı´a Jime´nez, first King of Navarre, in the face of the Muslim invasion: ‘If Spain, if religion is in peril, the Goths are as Christian as the Basques. So much are we obliged, each as much as the other, to save them both’.62 But this discourse did not only emanate from the Basque Country, in that the Madrid daily newspaper El Debate, which became the unifying voice of Spanish Catholics, repeated this idea in the crisis of the Restoration settlement in 1917: ‘in so far as the personality of that region is able to become more clearly defined, stronger and recognized by law, we shall have greater guarantees that the bastion of the Basque provinces will never fail to support the Catholic cause’.63 This powerful image would continue to evolve over the

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next two decades to become part of popular Basque Catholic culture in the Second Republic. In fact, the well-known priest Jose´Miguel de Barandiara´n noted in his diaries that one of the visionaries of Ezquioga, a village in the Basque province of Guipu´ zcoa where the Virgin Mary was said to have made several appearances during 1931, had predicted a future war in which the Basque Catholics would triumph in order to bring about the liberation of Spain, within the conventions of the discourse of national salvation which had developed over the decades.64

Ultimately the Catholic argument was that the Basques would be willing to struggle for their faith to the bitter end, in what was presented as a new Reconquest by a Catholicism which saw itself as besieged in a new context of conflict. Thus, it only needed a violent confrontation to complete the forging of such an identity, with its obvious tinge of martyrdom, among the Vizcayan Catholics. And it was not slow to arrive, as such an opportunity unfolded three years after the canonical coronation of Begon˜a, when the Virgin of Begon˜a was proclaimed as patron saint of Vizcaya. On 11 October 1903, the most important day of the Begon˜a pilgrimage, Catholics and anti-clericals confronted each other in the streets of Bilbao, and a death resulted which was regarded as a martyrdom, alongside around a hundred arrests and injuries.65 The tone of the speeches associated with the pilgrimage became more exalted, announcing that the Reconquest was approaching, and converting Begon˜a into a new Covadonga.66 Local Catholics were breathing the atmosphere of martyrdom. According to the local press, before the celebration of the anniversary of the pilgrimage two daughters of a well-known Bilbao family had memorial photographs taken, in case they ended up giving their lives for their faith during the pilgrimage. As the Catholic daily La Gaceta del Norte indicated, ‘piety is nothing if it is not complete and clear. All or nothing’.67 In the following year the commemoration of the Gloriosa Jornada [Glorious Day], as it was beginning to be called, claimed that its celebration would serve as ‘a gust of air into all the corners of Spain, [which] will awaken the sleeping and debilitated spirit of so many soldiers of the faith’.68

This conflict of values was presented as an authentic political and cultural struggle to reinstate the kingdom of Christ in Spain. This ecclesiastical necessity was beginning to create a belligerent confessional militancy which provided an apprenticeship in participatory political citizenship, while at the same time contributing to the rise of national sentiments among the Catholic masses.69 As true Catholic soldiers, as well as patriots, they were defending not only religion, but also the Catholic identity of the nation. As the pilgrimage homilies a rmed, the nonbeliever, he who did not love the Virgin of Begon˜a, was not a true Vizcaı´no, and never could be; and in a situation of emergent dualism Vizcaya became identified with either Spain or Euzkadi, the nationalist version of the Basque Country, depending on the recipient of the message. Within the civil war between Catholicism and anti-clericalism, the devotion to the Virgin of Begon˜a united rather than divided. In Portugal, as Anto´nio Teixeira Fernandes has shown, in the heat of the discussions of the visions of the Virgin Mary at Fa´tima, there was also a confrontation between two ideological positions in the search for a model of

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national regeneration.70 In this case, too, positions were adopted proposing the exclusion of unbelievers from the right to citizenship, as expressed in an eloquent and popular Manual do Peregrino de Fa´tima: ‘na˜o se chame portugue´s/quem crista˜o de fe´ na˜o ser’ (‘no one may call themselves Portuguese without faith in Christ’),71 which is strikingly reminiscent of the Catholic discourse marked out in the Vizcayan pilgrimages, but also to Article 10 of the Ecuadorian Catholic constitution of 1869, the work of the dictator Gabriel Garcı´a Moreno, which denied Ecuadorian citizenship to anyone who was not a Catholic.72

Such references to the cult of the Virgin Mary remained inescapable throughout the first third of the twentieth century, as demonstrated by the Civil War manifesto ‘the mobilization of the Virgins’ for ‘the restoration of the national religion’, issued

more than simply an instrumental political recourse to religious symbols, but rather an identification of the Catholic masses with the desire to achieve victory in what was now defined as a Crusade, and we cannot ignore the important providentialist element in Spanish Catholicism. This fed into the important conservative capacity for mobilization, based on the depiction of a constant threat from revolutionary violence, which was founded in personal experience and historical memory, and which sparked o a strong emotional response through fear of the dangers which were now identified as a result of attacks on certain images and symbols which represented regional traditions and the local universe.74

On the other hand, on the opposite bank of the conflict, we have already shown that anti-clericalism had also been erected into a component of the secular definition of the nation.75 Since the military defeat in Cuba, a narrative had been constructed, disseminated in pamphlets, newspapers and novels, which blamed the Church for the nation’s ills and pointed out the dangers of clerical domination. An example could be read in an editorial in the Castello´n republican newspaper El Clamor just before the ‘Tragic Week’: ‘Gambetta called clericalism ‘‘the enemy’’. In Spain it is something more: it is the element of national dissolution, the cancer which eats it away and will kill it’.76 This was a discourse which did not disappear with the end of the anti-clerical cycle of the first decade of the twentieth century, for it came back in strength during the Second Republic. An example was the characterization of the Confederacio´n Espan˜ola de Derechas Auto´nomas (CEDA) as ‘the anti-Spanish Spain, prostrate at the feet of Rome; the Spain that is governed from the pulpits’.77 In this way, and during the first third of the twentieth century, the anti-clerical discourse was permeating through broad sectors of the urban middle classes and among the working class. This was a shared world of experience and sociability, which fortified a specific anti-clerical and patriotic selfidentification.

In this way, in the Catalun˜a of the first decade of the twentieth century, anticlericalism became a keystone of opposition to Catalanism, in a process similar to what happened in Vizcaya, where socialists and republicans conflated anticlericalism with furious opposition to Basque nationalism.78 In the case of Vizcaya, some of the anti-clerical protests of this period were transformed into a

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defence of the Spanish nation, even finishing up with choruses in support of liberty in front of the meeting places of the Partido Nacionalista Vasco (PNV) which, as we have seen, had adopted many of the political and cultural values of nineteenthcentury Basque traditionalism.79 In practice, the rhetoric of the anti-clerical critique confused and mingled the goals of traditionalism and nationalism, which shared a similar political culture based on the politics of religion and the defence of the traditional practices of the fueros. Even so, the Carlists themselves subscribed to a vision of Basque nationalism which embraced the Spanish state, although marked by their strong identification with their region, while Basque nationalism as such focused its ideology on political secession from Spain. Hence, for example, meetings in defence of secularism were even decorated with colours of the Spanish flag, as happened at the anti-clerical protest in Bilbao which reacted to the pilgrimage of 1903.80 Felipe Carretero, a leading socialist in the region, wrote that he thought of himself as ‘more Spanish than Basque and [this is] why I believe that in response to the cry of ‘‘Up the Basques!’’ [Gora Euzkadi!], those who believe in democracy should shout out: ‘‘Long live Biscay!’’, ‘‘Long live Spain!’’’ [ı´Viva Vizcaya!, ı´Viva Espan˜a!].81 The democratic defence of the republican ideal was being clearly linked with Spanish national identity.

It was this transformation of the nature of debate, in transit between the moral and the political, which provided the basis for a Monist gaze which invited the demonization of the other side, which gave fuel to the violent impulses of the confrontation. Moreover, the political power attained by the Spanish anti-clericals was significantly less than that of their French equivalents, whose achievements they sought to emulate.82 Their successes were few and not at all prominent, and the public profile of anti-clericalism was extinguished until the Second Republic. In reality this period of relative harmony arose from the displacement of the question from the top of the political agenda by other themes, such as social problems, the outbreak of the First World War and disputes over Catalan and Basque nationalism. Moreover, the installation of the Primo de Rivera dictatorship seemed to demonstrate the victory of the Catholics’ confessional model of government.83 Even so, the potential power of anti-clericalism was sustained in various social settings and in growing collective self-identification, as during these years the Left was actively developing its anti-clerical dimension. In fact, Spain was one of the few European countries which had not resolved this religious conflict by the beginning of the 1930s. At the same time contemporary observations showed continuing high levels of religious participation in northern Spain, where Catholicism maintained an essential role in communities, and a progressive decline in the agricultural regions of the south and among the urban working and lower middle classes.

Thus the city became one of the main battlefields. Urban space had to be occupied, and found itself at the epicentre of social, cultural and political conflicts.84 It is therefore not surprising that many anti-clerical meetings demanded that members of the government should support the suppression of all public religious demonstrations,85 Many anti-clericals favoured the elimination of the physical presence of everything religious, as in the case of some French mayors during

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the Third Republic who had tried to prohibit the passage of funerals through the streets, religious processions, the ringing of church bells and even the wearing of the cassock.86 Nor should we forget that the Catholics had a multitude of religious observances with special significance and symbolism directed to the ‘sanctification of urban space’. Recognizing this, the Republicans tried to reconstruct their own civic ceremonial, which had previously been filled with a strong anti-Carlist component.87 At times such demonstrations were envisaged in direct opposition to Catholic events, but following a similar pattern. Juan Buisa´n, a Bilbao republican politician and well-known local freemason, even proposed: ‘Let us imitate our enemies, naming Our Lady of Liberty, and crowning her in Somorrostro! Let us raise a monument to demonstrate our liberal faith!’88 Above all this was an attempt to counteract, in the public sphere, the religious demonstrations which were loaded with politico-cultural significance.

The changes of the last third of the nineteenth century had transformed Catholic attitudes to the city, as they focused their e orts on urban conquest even as they remained ambiguous in their messages about it. As the Mallorcan priest and folklorist Antoni Maria Alcover indicated in a political speech, Spanish Catholicism had to forget the ‘armed struggle through mountains and besieged peninsulas’ to concentrate on ‘the political struggle in towns and cities, organizing ourselves politically’.89 And in this respect the worship of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, which had been revived by the French counter-revolution and popularized at the end of the nineteenth century, occupied a central place.90 The Jesuits gave this cult a Spanish identity, as in 1733, according to a recovered tradition, the Castilian Jesuit Francisco Bernardo de Hoyos received a divine revelation in which the Sacred Heart of Jesus had explained that it would reign in Spain, receiving more veneration than anywhere else. Its spread was marked by plaques on the fac¸ ades of buildings, pictures in domestic interiors, the development of enthroning rituals in schools and confessional associations, and, finally, by the inauguration of monuments in its honour in Spanish towns and cities, which reached its zenith with the dedication of Spain to the Sacred Heart by Alfonso XIII and the construction in

´

1919 of a large statue in Cerro de los Angeles, where the ‘soul of the Nation’ was to be found.91

The Sacred Heart thus represented much more than simple piety, as it embodied an ideal of society and the nation. It constructed a pyramidal structure based on the personal and familial, which reproduced itself through domestic consecrations and enthronements. It also moved beyond the private sphere to show itself in every aspect of public life, from teaching to legislation, culminating in institutional ceremonies in Town Halls and provincial governments. At the apex of the pyramid, or more precisely at the geographical centre of Spain, was placed the monument of the

Catholic ideal of the People of God with special symbolism. On the pedestal, together with the legend ‘Reign in Spain’, the Immaculate Conception held beneath its feet the national heraldic shield, displayed by a group of angels. On either side of the monolith were two allegories, representing Humanidad santificada: on the right,

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with e gies of several saints associated with dedication to religious practice, such as St Margarita Marı´a Alacoque, St Francis of Assisi, St Augustine and Father Hoyos, among others; and on the left with depictions of Humanidad que tiende a santificarse, aiming to achieve sanctity through good works, expressed through charity, love, humility and repentance, which marked out ‘the path which led to heaven’.93

Since the establishment of the Second Republic with an explosion of popular jubilation in April 1931, the cultural war between Catholicism and Laicism was igniting through mass mobilization and the struggle for the public sphere.94 The supportive attitude of the Primo de Rivera Dictatorship towards Catholicism fanned the flames of anti-clerical activity. For the Left, the Church continued to be the principal enemy of the Spanish nation, which ensured that the coming of the Second Republic revived the religious confrontation in the public sphere.95 For the first time, anti-clericalism had the capacity to impose its secular definition of the nation, which was, of course, strongly opposed. Although it is clear that at the beginning both the Government and the ecclesiastical hierarchy tried to maintain conciliatory positions of negotiation, on both sides a considerable majority was more inclined to confrontation than dialogue. As noted above, for the Spanish Republican forces and socialists the religious question was the main national problem.96 Despite the intense secularization of society, the hegemony of the Church had been undisputed, and the institution was associated with the ancien re´gime. These contradictions led the Republican-Socialist government to undertake a reform programme contrary to existing assumptions of Catholic supremacy, without reaching the necessary constitutional consensus. The Republicans even thought they could maintain power over an extended period of time. However, during the 1933–35 biennium the political pre-eminence of the centre-right changed the situation. However, the tension was rising. For many Catholics the Republic had become an unjust regime which attacked their established religious rights; for the Republican-Socialist organizations, however, reforms were not producing the desired transformation. Ultimately, frustration took over both groups and fed the widespread political violence which broke out in 1936, when over fifty churches were burned.97

It is not surprising, then, that during the Second Republic e orts were made to eliminate the Sacred Heart monoliths in several places, or that the monument of

´

Cerro de los Angeles was destroyed, which Spanish Catholicism judged to be an enactment of the passion and crucifixion of Christ.98 At that point the rival mobilizations and discourses played a fundamental role in the transformation of the two national definitions, generating the confrontation between the people of God and the popular community, which we should understand as ‘a struggle between collective identities for their exclusive definitions of the condition of citizenship’.99

Conclusions

In conclusion we must make clear that, as Pamela B. Radcli has indicated, ‘the symbolic religious universe was converted into one of the most spectacular

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battlefields – perhaps the crucial one – in the broader cultural struggle for Spanish identity’.100 In fact, religion was the principal element which divided Right and Left. It is clear that, as this brief and perhaps (necessarily) over-simplified approach to the subject has tried to demonstrate, it would be necessary to reassess the confrontation between the confessional and the secular in modern Spain not only to shed further light on explanations for the religious origins of the Spanish Civil War, a cultural fracture which had been deepening over several decades, but also to question some established (if controversial) assumptions about the diverse processes of Spanish nation-building.

As in other European nations with a Catholic tradition, the construction of Spanish national identity developed through antagonism and conflict. Despite the variety of di erent political cultures which developed during the period, the main confrontation was between two great and mutually incompatible visions of the nation. In this dispute the conflict between Catholicism and secularism or laicism took centre stage. It is undeniable that attempts were made to transcend this sealed-o narrative of the ‘Two Spains’, which has its equivalents in other narratives of national construction, but they were unable to overcome this dominant narrative. It is therefore evident that in countries with a Catholic tradition two contradictory and incompatible symbolic and cultural traditions came into conflict during the late nineteenth century and the first third of the twentieth. Each attempted to define the nation exclusively in its own image, in what Sudhir Hazareesingh sought to define in the French case as adversarial nationalisms.101 The definition of the Civil War by the architects of the coup, and by the Church, as a ‘Crusade in defence of the Catholic religion’, had important implications for the subsequent brutal repression of their opponents, while the crude and uncontrolled anti-clerical violence which erupted within the collapsed Republican state, provided no less powerful evidence of the potential for conflict that was enshrined in the rival definitions of the nation that confronted each other during the first third of the twentieth century.

Acknowledgements

This article forms part of a research project on nation-building processes in Spain and the Basque Country within the Research Group IT-286-07 of the Basque University System, directed by Professor Luis Castells Arteche (UPV/ EHU). I am particularly grateful to Professor John Walton (Ikerbasque-UPV/EHU) for his translation.

Notes

1.Alardo Prats, Tres dı´as con los endemoniados. La Espan˜a desconocida y tenebrosa (Madrid 1929), page unnumbered.

2.For further details, see Enrique A. Sanabria, Republicanism and Anticlerical Nationalism in Spain (New York 2009).

3.For a suggestive discussion of the struggle in France, see Herman Lebovics, True France: The Wars over Cultural Identity, 1900–1945 (Ithaca, NY 1992).

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4.An analysis with case studies of Europe in Christopher Clark and Wolfram Kaiser, eds,

Culture Wars: Secular-Catholic Conflict in Nineteenth-century Europe (Cambridge 2003).

5.The state of the investigation in Benoıˆ t Pellistrandi, ed.L’Histoire, religieuse en France et en Espagne (Madrid 2004); Feliciano Montero, ‘La historia de la Iglesia y del catolicismo espan˜ol en el siglo XX. Apunte historiogra´fico’, Ayer, Vol. 51 (2003), 265-82.

6.Cited in Lorenzo Fe´rnandez Prieto, ‘De olvidos, memorias e identidades colectivas. Cro´nica del VII Congreso de la AHC’, Ayer, Vol. 56 (2004), 296. The polemic by Philip Jenkins in The New Anti-Catholicism. The Last Acceptable Prejudice (New York 2003), may also be of interest.

7.Caroline Ford, ‘Religion and Popular Culture in Modern Europe’, Journal of Modern History, Vol. 65 (1993), 175.

8.This point is discussed at length in Rene´ Re´mond, Religion and Society in Modern Europe (Oxford 1999); Hugh McLeod, Secularisation in Western Europe, 1848–1914

(Basingstoke 2000); Hugh McLeod and Werner Ustorf, eds, The Decline of Christendom in Western Europe, 1750–2000 (Cambridge 2003); Margaret L. Anderson, ‘The Limits of Secularization: On the Problem of the Catholic Revival in NineteenthCentury Germany’, The Historical Journal, Vol. 38(3) (1995), 647–70.

9.For different perspectives on religion and nationalism see Peter van der Veer and Hartmut Lehmann, eds, Nation and Religion: Perspectives on Europe and Asia

(Princeton, NJ 1999); Michael Geyer and Harmut Lehmann, eds, Religion und Nation, Nation und Religion: Beitra¨ge zu einer unbewa¨ltigten Geschichte (Go¨ttingen 2004); Heinz-Gerhard Haupt and Dieter Langewiesche, eds, Nation und Religion in der deutschen Geschichte (Frankfurt am Main 2004).

10.Adrian Hastings, The Construction of Nationhood: Ethnicity, Religion, and Nationalism

(Cambridge 1997), 2.

11.Peter van der Veer, Religious Nationalism: Hindus and Muslims in India (Berkeley 1994), ix–x.

12.See e.g. Willfried Spohn, ‘Multiple Modernity, Nationalism and Religion: A Global Perspective’, Current Sociology, Vol. 51(3–4) (2003), 265–86. See also C. A. Bayly,

The Birth of the Modern World, 1780–1914: Global Connections and Comparisons

(Oxford 2004), 362.

13.For more helpful discussions, see Timothy Mitchell, Violence and Piety in Spanish Folklore (Philadelphia, PA 1988); Richard Maddox, ‘Revolutionary Anticlericalism and Hegemonic Processes in an Andalusian town, August 1936’, American Ethnologist, Vol. 22(1) (1995), 125–43; Julio de la Cueva, ‘Religious Persecution, Anticlerical Tradition and Revolution: On Atrocities Against the Clergy during the Spanish Civil War’, Journal of Contemporary History, Vol. 33(3) (1998), 355–69; Hilari Raguer, Gunpowder and Incense: The Catholic Church and the Spanish Civil War (Abingdon 2007), 126–58; Mary Vincent, ‘The Keys of the Kingdom: Religious Violence in the Spanish Civil War, July–August 1936’, in Chris Ealham and Michael Richards, eds, The Splintering of Spain: Cultural History and the Spanish Civil War, 1936–1939 (Cambridge 2005), 68–89.

14.See e.g. Alon Confino, The Nation as a Local Metaphor: Wu¨rttemberg, Imperial Germany, and National Memory, 1871–1918 (Chapel Hill, NC 1997), and Germany as a Culture of Remembrance: Promises and Limits of Writing History (Chapel Hill, NC 2006); Xose´Manoel Nun˜ez Seixas and Maiken Umbach, ‘Hijacked Heimats. National

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Appropriations of Local and Regional Identities in Germany and Spain, 1930–1945’, European Review of History, Vol.15(3) (2008), 295–316.

15.For an intelligent discussion see Jose´ Marı´a Faraldo, ‘Modernas e imaginadas. El nacionalismo como objeto de investigacio´n en las dos u´ ltimas de´cadas del siglo XX’, Hispania, Vol. 209 (2001), 933–64.

16.Dominick LaCapra, History in Transit: Experience, Identity, Critical Theory (Ithaca, NY 2004), 1.

17.On this issue, see Jeffrey K. Hadden, ‘Toward Desacralizing Secularization Theory’, Social Forces, Vol. 65(3) (1987), 587–611; Peter L. Berger, ‘The Desecularization of the World: A Global Overview’, in Peter L. Berger, The Desecularization of the World: Resurgent Religion and World Politics, (Washington, DC 1999), 1–18; Jose´Casanova, ‘Secularization’, in Neil J. Smelser and Paul B. Bates, The International Encyclopedia of Social and Behavioral Sciences (Oxford 2001), 13786–91; Karel Dobbelaere,

Secularization: An Analysis at Three Levels (Brussels 2002); Rodney Stark, ‘Secularization, R.I.P.’, Sociology of Religion, Vol. 60(3) (1999), 249–73.

18.Carlton Hayes, Nationalism: A Religion (New York 1960); Josep R. Llobera, The God of Modernity: The Development of Nationalism in Western Europe (Oxford 1994), 213-22.

19.For a complete review, see Fernando Molina, ‘Modernidad e identidad nacional. El nacionalismo espan˜ol del siglo XIX y su historiografı´a’, Historia Social, Vol. 52 (2005), 147–71.

20.Marı´a Cruz Romeo, ‘Myths of Failure, Myths of Success: New Perspectives on Nineteenth-century Spanish Liberalism’, Journal of Modern History, Vol. 70 (1998), 892–912; Jesu´ s Milla´n and Marı´a Cruz Romeo, ‘Was the Liberal Revolution Important to Modern Spain? Political Cultures and Citizenship in Spanish history’, Social History, Vol. 29(3) (2004), 284–300.

21.For further details, see David Ringrose, Spain, Europe, and the Spanish Miracle, 1700–1900 (Cambridge 1996); Mo´nica Burguera and Christopher Schmidt-Nowara, ‘Backwardness and its Discontents’, Social History, Vol. 29(3) (2004) 279–83; and the texts collected in Nigel Townson, ed., Es Espan˜a diferente? Una mirada comparativa (siglos XIX y XX) (Madrid 2010).

22.Indicative of this position is Charles Tilly, Coercion, Capital, and European States, AD 990–1992 (Oxford 1990).

23.See some recent bibliographically exhaustive overviews in Sebastian Balfour and Alejandro Quiroga, The Reinvention of Spain: Nation and Identity since Democracy (Oxford 2007); Stephen Jacobson, ‘Spain: the Iberian Mosaic’, in Timothy Baycroft and Mark Hewitson, eds, What is a Nation? Europe 1789–1914 (Oxford 2006), 210– 27; Diego Muro and Alejandro Quiroga, ‘Spanish Nationalism: Ethnic or Civil?’,

Ethnicities, Vol. 5(4) (2005), 571–90; Mary Vincent, Spain 1833–2002: People and State (Oxford 2007).

24.For this surge, see Xose´-Manoel Nu´˜nez Seixas, ‘The Region as Essence of the Fatherland: Regionalist Variants of Spanish Nationalism (1840–1936)’, European History Quarterly, Vol. 31(4) (2001), 483–518, Xose´-Manoel Nu´˜nez Seixas, ed., ‘La construccio´n de la identidad regional en Europa y Espan˜a (siglos XIX y XX)’, Ayer, Vol. 64 (2006); Fernando Molina, ‘The Historical Dynamics of Ethnic Conflicts: Confrontational Nationalisms, Democracy and the Basques in Contemporary Spain’, Nations and Nationalism, Vol. 16(2) (2010), 240–60; Ferran Archile´s and Manuel Martı´,

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‘Ethnicity, Region, and Nation: Valencian Identity and the Spanish Nation-state’, Ethnic and Racial Studies, Vol. 24(5) (2001), 779–97.

25.See the collection edited by Javier Moreno Luzo´n, Construir Espan˜a. Nacionalismo espan˜ol y procesos de nacionalizacio´n (Madrid 2007).

26.For further analysis, see Carolyn P. Boyd, ed., Religio´n y polı´tica en la Espan˜a contempora´nea (Madrid 2007); Pere Fullana and Maitane Ostolaza, ‘Escuela cato´lica y modernizacio´n. Las nuevas congregaciones religiosas en Espan˜a (1900–1930)’, in Julio de la Cueva Merino y Feliciano Montero, eds, La secularizacio´n conflictiva. Espan˜a (1898– 1931) (Madrid 2007), 187–213; Maitane Ostolaza, ‘La Nacio´n espan˜ola en el Paı´s Vasco, 1857–1931: el papel de la escuela’, in Luis Castells, Arturo Cajal and Fernando Molina eds, El Paı´s Vasco y Espan˜a: Identidades, Nacionalismos y Estado

(siglos XIX y XX) (Bilbao 2007), 163-84.

27.See Joseba Louzao, ‘La recomposicio´n religiosa en la modernidad: un marco conceptual para comprender el enfrentamiento entre laicidad y confesionalidad en la Espan˜a contempora´nea’, Hispania Sacra, Vol. 121 (2008), 331–54.

28.Robert J. Wuthnow, ‘Sociology of Religion’, in Neil J. Smelser, ed., Handbook of Sociology (Newbury Park 1988), 475.

29.Luca Diotallevi, Il rompicapo della secolarizzazione italiana. Caso italiano, teorie americane e revisione del paradiga della secolarizzazione (Soveria Mannelli 2001), 17.

30.William J. Callahan, The Catholic Church in Spain, 1875–1998 (Washington, DC 2000), 107.

31.Frances Lannon, Privilege, Persecution, and Prophecy: The Catholic Church in Spain, 1875–1975 (Oxford 1987), also discusses this kind of initiative.

32.Peter L. Berger, ed., The Limits of Social Cohesion: Conflict and Mediation in Pluralist Societies (Boulder, CO 1998).

33.To go deeply into this aspect, Clark and Kaiser, op. cit.; James Davidson Hunter,

Culture Wars: The Struggle to Define America (New York 1991).

34.More details in Gregorio de la Fuente Monge, ‘El enfrentamiento entre clericales y revolucionarios en torno a 1869’, Ayer, Vol. 44 (2001), 127–50.

35.See among many examples Alfonso Botti, Cielo y dinero. El nacionalcatolicismo en

´

Espan˜a (1871–1975) (Madrid 1992); Jose´ Alvarez Junco, Mater Dolorosa (Madrid 2001); William J. Callahan, Church, Politics, and Society in Spain, 1750–1874

(Cambridge, MA 1984); Lannon, op. cit.

36.Alfonso Botti, op. cit., 151–74.

37.Pedro Carlos Gonza´lez Cuevas, Historia de las derechas espan˜olas. De la Ilustracio´n a nuestros dı´as (Madrid 2000), 18.

38.Cited in Alfonso Botti, ‘Algo ma´s sobre el nacionalcatolicismo’, en Julio de la Cueva

de la restauracio´n a la transicio´n (Cuenca 2005), 197; also Daniele Menozzi, La Chiesa Cattolica e la secolarizzazione (Torino 1993).

39.Owen Chadwick, A History of the Popes, 1830–1914 (Oxford 1998), 406–83.

40.Sapientiae Christianae. Encyclical Letter of Pope Leo XIII on the obligations of Christians, promulgated 10 January 1890.

41.Cited in George M. Marsden, Fundamentalism and American Culture: The Shaping of Twentieth Century Evangelicalism, 1870–1925 (New York 2006), 142.

42.Leopoldo Eijo y Garay, Religio´n y Patria (Vitoria 1919), 20–1.

43.Andre´s Manjo´n, Los padres de familia y el problema de la ensen˜anza (Madrid 1902), 33.

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