Making Godly Nations: Church-State Pathways in Poland and the Philippines Anna Grzymala-Busse and Dan Slater How does religious nationalism arise? How do national and religious identities meld? Two cases of such fusion, Poland and the Philippines, show how national and religious identities can become nearly coterminous. Located at opposite ends of the Earth, these are two of the world’s godliest nations.1 In both countries, close to 80 percent of respondents say it is important to be Catholic to be Polish or Philippine, respectively.2 Not only are these societies deeply religious, with rates of belief and church attendance far higher than average in the Christian world, but the churches enjoy a great deal of societal and elite deference. Since the early 1990s, when new democracies were struggling to find their feet in both countries, over 80 percent of Poles and over 90 percent of Filipinos have expressed “a great deal” or “quite a lot” of confidence in the Church.3 This deep moral authority had translated into religious notables becoming critical leaders in anti-authoritarian resistance,4 and has allowed the Church to gain enormous policy influence in the newly democratic regimes.5 This article leverages the Poland-Philippine comparison to offer a political and historical analysis of the merging of religious and national identities. Much of the scholarship on the fusion of religion and nationalism makes one of two analytical moves: it either 1) focuses on an external religious threat as the inspiration for religious nationalism, or 2) demonstrates how national identity and religious belief hold elective affinities, allowing church and state to work together harmoniously. In the first set of accounts, an alien threat both mobilizes and sanctifies religious nationalism as a coherent identity and political project.6 Here, religious nationalism arises in direct, fierce opposition to a “power committed to another religion.”7 A notable example is British Protestant rule in predominantly Catholic Ireland.8 The second set of accounts traces how religion can collaborate with the state, as church and state construct interlocking mechanisms of social and moral regulation.9 In this scenario, church and state eliminate internal religious rivals en route to building godly nations.10 545 Yet neither external religious threat nor Church-state collaboration quite captures the key catalysts for religious nationalism in Poland and the Philippines. In Poland, religious nationalism arose primarily through the church’s popular struggles against a domestic state founded on avowed secularism rather than against an alien religion or actor. We call this fusion by struggle. In the Philippines, by contrast, we see a broader overall pattern of church authority replacing a succession of weak states in the provision of symbolic and material sustenance. We dub this fusion by substitution. Thus, divergent paths of church-state relations can ironically lead to a convergent outcome. Both paths rely on conducive demographics as enabling conditions: religious hegemony and ethnic homogenization (whether through relatively peaceful assimilation and intermixing or through the territorial marginalization of ethnic minorities as in the Philippines, or more violent exclusion and elimination as in Poland) are virtually prerequisites for fusing nation and religion. The difference in the subsequent paths lies in the role of the state—specifically, how interventionist, hostile, and powerful it is—and the divergent ways in which church fuses with nation in response. Although we offer a theoretical distinction between fusion-by-struggle and fusionby-substitution, the two paths are not mutually exclusive. Struggle and substitution have been the primary mechanisms for the fusion of nation and religion in Poland and Philippines, respectively, but they were not the only ones. As we explore below, at junctures in Polish history when the state was unusually weak or absent, we see evidence of church-state substitution, and at moments when the Philippine state became uncharacteristically interventionist and despotic, we witness bouts of church-state struggle. Such moments of within-case variation help to illustrate our argument: when the state is weak and the church substitutes for its educational, welfare, and other roles, the nation may travel one path to godly nationalism. When the state is more powerful and hostile, the church can join in the nation’s struggle against the state and travel a different path toward the same end. Political Pathways to Godly Nationalism: Poland and the Philippines Compared Religious nationalism may rely on, but does not simply reflect, relative demographic homogeneity. It always arises through historical pathways that are political, non-linear, contingent, and complex. One version of this pathways story, which we call fusion by struggle, is exemplified by Poland. In Poland, the Church has a history of publicly confronting hostile and powerful antagonists, whether a colonial power or the domestic state, on behalf of the nation. The Church thus defends and protects national identity over time, fusing the two in popular perception. Where the state was overbearing and opposed to the articulated interests of the nation, the Church could defend the nation through series of confrontations and crises. Faced with a common secular enemy—especially a foreign occupier—the Church gained enormous moral authority as a result of its struggles against a strong and secularizing state. This is the historical narrative of the Roman Catholic Church in Poland, Ireland, Lithuania, and Croatia. In 546 Comparative Politics July 2018 all of these cases, the Church publicly and dramatically stood in opposition to hostile regimes. It protected national identity as well as a democratic opposition that mobilized through nationalist symbols. That being said, another path to religious and national fusion is also possible. As the Philippine case shows, this is the path of fusion by substitution. Where the state was persistently weak in its governing infrastructure or “standoffish” in its intentions toward society,11 it conceded everyday tasks such as education, health care, and adjudication of disputes to the Church. It also failed on a national scale to develop any secular symbolic alternative to religious attachments. Whether in its colonial or postcolonial guises, the Philippine state has consistently floundered at the “primitive accumulation of symbolic power,”12 leaving the Church in a more elevated and pivotal position of moral authority. An ineffective and uninspiring state thus allowed the Church to insert itself into social life as a more constant source of solace, service, and protection than the state itself. The Church built moral authority through a mix of quotidian and inspirational roles, without having to defend the nation from the kind of oppressive and secularizing state that catalyzed religious-nationalist fusion in Communist Poland. Thus, the relative strength of the secular state conditioned how the Church would build ties with society and how intensely society would identify with the religion. In one scenario we have a confrontation between a hostile state and a defense of national identity. In the other scenario, we have a far more mundane substitution for the state that fuses religious identity with a less triumphant version of national identity, but which nonetheless establishes strong moral authority for the Church. Such substitution, and the subsequent support it garners the religious group, is not unique to Catholicism. It has also been a critical factor in the legitimation of Islamist movements and in the growth of “strict” religions more generally.13 Even when religious organizations merely provide citizens with more “sustained contact” and presence than their secular rivals, they can generate mass loyalty without necessarily becoming highly generous service providers.14 The fusion of national and religious identities does not require an unblemished historical record. The Church in both of our cases collaborated with seemingly hostile secular politicians and political forces, whether Communist or colonial. In Poland, the Church acquiesced to foreign imperial demands during the period of partitions (1792–1918), and defended itself rather than society in the earlier decades of communism (1945–1960). In the Philippines, the Church was a Spanish colonial import, and powerful Catholic friars thus became the chief targets of anticolonial mobilization. Rather than rescuing the Philippine nation from the colonial state, Church officials were the state itself for more than three centuries. Anti-friar dissent would gradually catalyze the replacement of statist religion with nationalist religion in the Philippines, but it would not reduce the centrality of religion in political life. These ambivalent records did not preclude religious and national identity fusion for two reasons: First, there were no other organizations, especially competing religious organizations in these two virtual Catholic monopolies, which had the spiritual authority to unite the nations. Second, the Church in both countries expended considerable efforts 547 Anna Grzymala-Busse and Dan Slater in religious education that presented an image of the Church as united with society, bound by a common religious identity, to generation after generation of Poles and Filipinos. In both cases, historical narratives that fused nation and religion were transmitted through formal and informal schooling by clerics, at religious services, family visits, and religious classes. In Poland, popular religious rituals that invoked both religious and national symbols further reinforced the connection between religion and nation; in the Philippines, religious rituals retained an everyday ubiquity and resonance that no secular-nationalist narratives ever approximated. It is these strikingly similar outcomes of extreme religious nationalism in both nations that motivate our paired comparison. Both countries are overwhelmingly Catholic, in both patterns of religiosity and in the fusion of national and religious identities. Close to 80 percent of respondents in both countries attend church once a month or more.15 In fact, as Figure 1 shows, they are outliers—other traditionally Catholic countries, such as Ireland and Italy, show lower levels of popular identification Figure 1 Poland and the Philippines as Religious Nationalist Outliers 548 Comparative Politics July 2018 with religion or religious observance. The high rates of fusion and religiosity, however, coexist with almost equally high disapproval rates of Church involvement in politics.16 Strong identification with a religion does not invite its institutional influence, even as the Church in both countries has heavily influenced democratic policymaking. As intriguing as these similarities in religious nationalism are, Poland and the Philippines travelled different paths to get to this point. For instance, the timing and sequencing of key events in the two countries’ nation-building processes differed in significant ways. Critically, the demographic dominance of Catholicism emerged at very different points in time: after World War II in Poland, and much earlier, arguably as early as the late sixteenth century, in the Philippines. For that reason, the analysis below focuses on distinct time periods, when fusion could have taken place given these demographics. Another major difference lies in how religious and ethnic homogenization unfolded in the two cases. Poles came to comprise over 95 percent of the Polish population through the wartime horrors of genocide and expulsion. The Philippines has never remotely approximated such extraordinary ethnic homogeneity, but historical processes of intermixing, assimilation, and the physical marginalization of the country’s Moro-Muslim minority in the far south meant that ethnic divisions would not serve as a major obstacle to national-religious fusion in the Philippines despite its substantial “objective” diversity. Perhaps most importantly, the macro-historical sequence of nation-building and state formation differed. In Poland, the nation (and the religion) preceded the Sovietbacked state, allowing church and nation to fuse in self-defense against secularizing alien rule. In the Philippines, the Spanish colonial state preceded any notion of nation (or world-religion). This different sequencing meant that in Poland, Catholicism could serve as a counterweight to foreign domination; in the Philippines, it would arrive on Spanish galleons as the very weight of imperialism itself. Before church and nation could fuse in the Philippines, over three centuries of church-state fusion would have to be undone. We seek to illuminate the multiple political pathways through which religiousnational fusion occurs. This fusion provided the Catholic Church with the moral authority it used to facilitate democratic transitions in the 1980s and to cultivate religious political influence in the 1990s and beyond. We identify two critical paths: religious struggle against the state and religious substitution for the state. The critical factors that explain why we see these paths to religious nationalism as distinct are the stance and strength of the state. Thus, the argument is less about causes (or the “why”) of religious nationalism than about the different mechanisms by which it arises (the “how”). By exploring this equifinality through a paired historical comparison, our research design does not allow us to explore or explain the fascinating global variation in levels and types of religious nationalism. Nonetheless, we stand to gain a much deeper understanding of how Poland and the Philippines could travel along their distinct pathways to a similar fusion of religious and national identities. This is, to our knowledge, the first time that the world’s two most resolutely Catholic nations have 549 Anna Grzymala-Busse and Dan Slater been placed in direct and systematic juxtaposition. Further, the broader theoretical and comparative considerations here suggest that fusion by struggle and fusion by substitution are not unique to these two settings. Poland: Fusion by Struggle In Poland, a complex historical calculation became a simple equation of “Pole 5 Catholic.” The final fusion of national and religious identities was contingent on both demographics (an eventually homogenous population) and an antagonistic historical relationship to the secular (and seemingly alien) state. The resulting fusion is so salient that some observers conclude the “tight bond between the Roman Catholic Church and the Polish nation is a widely known fact.”17 Yet despite the close contemporary intertwining of Polish and Catholic identities, these lands were multilinguistic, multiethnic, and multidenominational for all but the last fifty years of Poland’s thousand-year history. Thus, it is clear that the “bond between faith and fatherland in Poland was more complicated than it might appear.”18 The fusion of nation and religion in Poland is recent, contingent, and reliant on a reinterpretation (or denial) of many aspects of history. Nonetheless, it became a powerful force behind the authority and influence the Church commands in Polish society and politics. Some analysts identify the origins of the fusion between Polish national identity and Roman Catholicism in the imperial partitions of Poland that began in the late eighteenth century when Poland lost its status as a sovereign state and was repeatedly divided among Prussia, Austria, and Russia.19 The Church protected expressions of Polish national identity such as language and literature and allowed a nation without a state to survive.20 To summarize this view, “when the Polish state ceased to exist after the partition of 1795, the Church became the guardian of Polish national identity and a symbol of freedom and opposition to foreign powers. . . . Catholicism became equated with Polish patriotism.”21 The Church frequently called upon this history to bolster its claims and to reinforce its moral authority. And it is true that during this period of imperial rule, when no domestic sovereign state existed, the Church could substitute for the state: Catholic clergy repeatedly opposed foreign influence, siding with local notables in resisting Prussian education initiatives, for example, and subsequently supporting Polishlanguage instruction with a Catholic curriculum. In the absence of a sovereign state under the partitions, priests helped to substitute for the state with the “organic” work of social assistance and welfare, education, health care, and support for the cooperative movement.22 Further, the Church was the one institution that crossed imperial boundaries and linked Poles under Russian, Prussian, and Austrian rule. However, both during and after imperial rule, Poland was a multinational and multidenominational entity, with less than two-thirds ethnic Poles and Catholics. 20 percent of Polish citizens were Orthodox Ukrainians and Belarusians (or, more precisely, Orthodox and Easter-Rite Catholics), 10 percent were Jewish, and 2–3 percent 550 Comparative Politics July 2018 were German Protestants.23 Less than two-thirds were ethnically Polish and Catholic. Catholicism was only one strand of Polish national identity, and one whose public articulation began in earnest only in the late nineteenth century—100 years after the first partitions.24 The National Democratic stream of political thought equated Polishness with Catholicism, but there was no widespread elite or popular consensus about either the nature of Polish identity or its link to a particular religion.25 For its part, the Church’s behavior was not of pure protection or defense of the nation or individual Poles against the imperial rule. The Church ministered to its flock and reinforced Polish identity through both informal education and religious services, but the institutional Church also often sided with the Prussian or Austrian imperial administrations rather than with the populace. In the 1870s, for example, Church officials protested Bismarck’s Kulturkampf policies, since they targeted the Church and its institutional autonomy. However, they responded much more mildly to compulsory Germanization in the 1900s, even admonishing Poles to obey their secular Prussian authorities.26 The Church thus served as a complement to imperial rule as much as a nationalist alternative. Consequently, when Poland gained independence in 1918 after World War I, anticlericalism erupted.27 Religious nationalism was questioned by important political forces, including the man who dominated interwar politics, General J´ozef Piłsudski. Anticlerical parties rose in popularity as the Church began to side with successive interwar governments.28 Even ultra-nationalists such as Roman Dmowski distinguished the “national ethic” from the “religious ethic.”29 Catholics themselves voted for a variety of parties in the interwar period, backing parties across the ideological spectrum.30 The Church was a powerful societal institution, and most Poles were Catholic. Yet the demographic facts on the ground, and the deep splits within the political elite, meant that national identity was not coterminous with religion the way it would become after World War II: “it would be many decades before it became unquestioned common sense that Poles were necessarily Catholic.”31 Even if “in the minds of many Poles today, their nation has always been religiously and ethnically homogenous,”32 that was not the lived experience of Poles before World War II. National and religious identities would not fuse fully until Poland both became an ethnically homogenous country and faced a foreign and hostile state. As the result of both the devastation of World War II and the population transfers that followed, postwar Poland became a uniformly Catholic nation. Earlier episodes of national defense took place in a heterogeneous demographic context, where the religion was identified with the dominant ethnic group. Now, in a homogeneously Polish country, religion could fuse with the nation. If demographics enabled religious and national identities to fuse, the catalyst for the overwhelming identification of Poles with Catholicism was the postwar establishment of an overbearing communist state. Communism was seen as an alien imposition that violated tenets of both sovereignty and faith. The communist governments and the Catholic Church repeatedly clashed over who was the real and legitimate representative of the Polish nation—and the communists were widely perceived as Soviet stooges, 551 Anna Grzymala-Busse and Dan Slater lackeys of the historical enemies of Poland.33 Despite the best efforts of Polish communist governments to present themselves as “true” Poles, the result was a renewed consensus about a “conflation of the ideas, institutions, and so to speak, behavioral displays of religion with nationality in Poland.”34 Communist rule had three consequences: First, it pitted a nation against its state, with multiple clashes between representatives of civil society and the communist rulers. It further allowed the Church to struggle against the state in the name of national defense, as both a target of communist oppression and an ally of an embattled nation in its confrontations with the despised rulers. Finally, it precluded the Church from substituting for the state in ways that it had both in pre-war Poland and in other cases where the state was weak, such as in the Philippines. First, in Stalin’s immortal phrasing, establishing communism in Poland was like “putting a saddle on a cow”: foisting upon Poland a set of institutions that were not only alien, but made even more suspect by their origin in a historically hostile Russia and the Soviet Union. The new communist rulers faced an enormous challenge: their rule was seen as illegitimate because it was secularist and because it was a foreign import. Consequently, state and society clashed on multiple occasions.35 In 1956, 1968, 1970, 1976, and most notably, in 1980–1981, civil society rose up against the much-despised Communist Party, in the name of the nation and its interests. Second, the hostility between the Communist Party and a large part of society meant new opportunities for the Church to side with Poles against their government. Over time, the antagonism between state and society meant that the Church could portray itself as an ally of the “real” Poland, a representative and a defender of the nation. A clear distinction emerged between “us”—society and the Church, protector of the Catholic nation—and “them”—the Communist Party, an alien and secular regime. While in the Philippines Church and state could stay on the same side without antagonizing society, in Poland the relationship between Church and nation on the one hand, and the state on the other, was openly hostile. In the popular narrative, the Polish nation and the Church sided together against a foreign-sponsored and widely distrusted Communist Party-state. The Church took on this role gradually. It repeatedly resisted state incursion into its affairs during the 1950s and 1960s,36 but in the 1970s the Church moved beyond selfdefense and began to speak out more forcefully in favor of human rights.37 Its moral authority greatly increased with the rise of public anti-communist mobilization, the second pilgrimage of the Black Madonna icon around Poland in the late 1970s, and the triumphant return of Pope John Paul II to Poland in 1979. These events reinforced the notion that Polish identity was inextricably linked to Catholicism.38 As a result, even as religiosity varied across Polish regions, and with it the anticommunist effect of Church attendance on popular attitudes, the fusion of national and religious identities became widely, and uniformly, shared.39 The rise of the independent trade union Solidarity in 1980 cemented these ties. Rising up from strikes in coastal cities, Solidarity eventually grew to ten million members, or nearly half the adult population of Poland. During the opening salvo, the 552 Comparative Politics July 2018 August 1980 strike, the workers immediately affixed a cross, a picture of the Virgin Mary, and a photograph of Pope John Paul II to the gates of the shipyards as symbols of victory.40 The Church negotiated and mediated between the Communist Party and Solidarity and continually called for moderation from the opposition, civility from the state, and neutrality by the clergy.41 Subsequently, after the military crackdown in 1981 and the collapse of Solidarity, the Church became even more of a protective umbrella for anti-communist opposition. The bishops emphasized the need for unity and stability, and churches offered physical protection for individual dissidents and broader opposition activity. The message was clear: Poles found shelter in the Catholic Church. Third, the communist state precluded the Church from providing its own public services. The communist state instead reached deep into Polish society—and targeted the Church. Beginning in 1947–1948, once the Communist Party felt more certain of its hold on power, several years of repression followed, including the imprisonment of Cardinal Stefan Wyszy´nski.42 The regime censored Church publications, took over Caritas (the Catholic charitable network), nationalized hospitals, and seized Church property. The Church could no longer influence the educational curriculum—it was not even allowed to offer religious education classes in public schools. The communist government wrested schools, hospitals, and charity homes from the Church, and instead built up an overwhelmingly public, secular, and government-run educational and health sector. Some religious education outside of the public school system survived, as did private Catholic schools and welfare organizations, but none of these substituted for the state. At best, they complemented the dominance of secular state institutions and services. The state did not abnegate these responsibilities. As a result, the Church could play a symbolic role as a bold defender of the people but did not provide the everyday health, educational, and welfare care that churches extended in many other countries. Over time, communist harassment further built up the Church’s credibility. If the foreign-sponsored and widely distrusted Communist Party identified the Church as its foe and rival, then the Church became a de facto ally of the nation. The Church worked assiduously to strengthen these bonds, evangelizing and creating a national identity that would withstand communist assimilation. This is not to say the Catholic Church was always a vociferous critic of the communist regime. In the period 1956–1980, the Church tended to be cautious in regard to the opposition and suspicious of any alternative movements that had leftist tendencies such as the 1976 Committee to Defend Workers.43 Yet time and again, the Church acted as a counterweight and alternative to the communist narrative. This took the form not only of brave confrontations in the national arena, but also of simple yet powerful gestures, such as deliberately celebrating alternative holidays that combined religious and national (but not communist) motifs. Further, a network of informal catechism classes for children and adults, religious communities for lay Catholics, and Catholic university student ministries all inculcated the ideals of a free Catholic Poland in generations growing up under communist rule, combing the dual missions of religious salvation and anti-communist resistance. The conflicts between the communist regime and society reinforced the notion that the Church was on the side of the nation. The communist state even began to reach out 553 Anna Grzymala-Busse and Dan Slater to the Church as a stabilizing force, recognizing its moral authority. A pattern emerged where the communist party would grant privileges to the Church and try to appease it during times of social instability, such as 1956, 1970, or 1976, only to curb those privileges and concessions when the church’s mediating and stabilizing role was no longer necessary.44 As a result, whenever the “Polish state went through a serious political crisis . . . the significance of the Church rose, and society gathered herself around her.”45 The communist years put the Church in the position of heroic defender of the nation. It played this role both because it was a target, along with society, of the Communist Party’s expansion of power and because this expansion of power eliminated the purely quotidian areas where the church could have substituted for the state. By the time the communist regime collapsed in 1989–1990, national and religious identities had effectively fused. Society had overwhelmingly rejected the communist regime (the communists lost every seat they could in the 1989 elections), and democratic political party competition began to flourish, with over one hundred parties competing in the first fully free elections in 1991. Debates over policy and over the Church’s influence were bitter. Yet as a result of religious and national homogeneity, there was no secularist backlash; in contrast to the prewar period, no serious anticlerical party arose in the post-1989 Polish democracy.46 In sum, the hostility, secularism, and powerful interventionism of the communist state had a dual effect. On the one hand, it precluded the Church from substituting for the state and ministering to its flock through formal education, health care, and charity more broadly. On the other, it reified the role of the Church as a valiant ally of the Polish people who shared their fate and minimized popular criticism of the Church. Having acquired enormous moral authority in a hostile communist regime, the Church now stood ready to continue to minister to its flock, maintain the fusion of religious and national identities, and shape public policy. The Philippines: Fusion by Substitution If any nation is imagined as being as resolutely Catholic as Poland, it is the Philippines: “Philippine nationalism, the Philippine identity, the Filipinos’ value system, and the economic and social fabric of the society are all directly linked to the Roman Catholic experience.”47 As in Poland, the Church fused national and religious identity. Yet, if the Polish Church primarily gained its exalted position through national struggle against the state, its Philippine counterpart did so primarily through processes of state substitution. Its status and centrality grew from filling in for feckless state authority, not from fighting off the kind of totalizing and secularizing state authority witnessed in communist Poland. The Philippine Church did not gain its moral standing by opposing alien occupiers. To the contrary: “Among the major historical roles of the Roman Catholic and Protestant churches in the Philippines was the legitimation of the political control of the colonizing powers—Spain (1565–1898) and the United States (1898–1946).”48 554 Comparative Politics July 2018 Philippine nationalism also failed to emerge as a fiercely anti-imperial ideology. In a speech ushering in the Philippines’ self-rule as a commonwealth in 1937, president Manuel Quezon declared that “we owe to Spain the foundations of our national unity.” He then extravagantly exhorted his nation’s citizens to “raise in every heart . . . a monument of undying gratitude to the memory of Spain side by side with that which we should erect in honor of the American people.”49 While neither Church nor nation has been defined in the Philippines in fiercely antiimperial terms, the Philippine state failed to successfully deliver public goods such as physical protection and public services. Famously portrayed as “an anarchy of families,”50 the Philippines has chronically seen local clans substituting for the state’s lack of muscle while Church authorities substitute for its failures at moral leadership. The Church generated this moral authority, initially, by forcibly introducing the Philippines to global modernity through its singular ideology and, over time, by providing the basic services that state authorities have largely failed at extending. To be sure, the Church’s moral authority since democratization rests in no small part on the oppositional role it played during the dictatorship of Ferdinand Marcos (1971–1986), especially in its final phases.51 Some in the Church, most notably Cardinal Jaime Sin, actively defended the nation against a hostile state in a manner that paralleled the Polish Church. Consistent with our argument, periods of relative state strength and authoritarian interventionism allow the Church to side with the nation against the state and gain moral authority. Yet such moments in the Philippines have been few and far between. The Church-led struggle against the Marcos regime was predicated on centuries of religious substitution for secular authority. This fusion of nation and religion long before the Marcos years was a long-term effect of nationbuilding and state formation that converged with Poland in its outcome, but diverged in its political path to that destination. As its Iberian coinage suggests, the Philippines was not an identifiable geographic or national entity until the Spaniards made it so. The islands that comprise the Philippines were never united under any single political authority before they were colonized in the late sixteenth century. The weakness of indigenous political authority allowed Spain to subdue the Philippines with relative ease and baptize over half the population by the 1590s.52 Since “Spain’s ‘right’ to the Philippines had been granted by the pope on condition of Christianizing its inhabitants,”53 the Church was immediately decreed to become the primary pillar of colonial governance. Successive kings and queens entrusted governance of the vast and distant archipelago to friars and missionaries, who were far more eager than Spanish bureaucrats to lay down roots across the Philippine hinterland. Friars were granted “all-embracing authority . . . as much as they should judge opportune and expedient for the conversion of the sad Indians [sic].”54 Spanish imperial rule equaled friar rule. Far from opposing alien and secular rule, Catholicism in the Philippines would be coterminous with imperial religious domination for over three centuries. The Church was not a guardian against alien influence, but that influence’s vehicle. Yet, it avoided 555 Anna Grzymala-Busse and Dan Slater becoming morally discredited by its hand-in-glove relationship with Spanish colonialism, as well as its quiescent role under American rule. The historical experiences of Poland and other European cases of religious nationalism provide little guidance as to how a Church may transform from a state’s partner in repression into a people’s champion of liberation. The key lies in state substitution. The Church never confronted a powerful secular source of national political legitimation that relegated religious authority to the private sphere in countries such as France and strove, but failed to do so, in Poland. The Philippine state has also never built interventionist governance institutions that could reliably fulfill poor Filipinos’ “strategies of survival.”55 State weakness at both secular legitimation and public-goods provision allowed the Church to insert itself into domains that modern states tend to claim as virtual monopolies. Wherever religious organizations are the primary source of “sustained contact” for poor citizens,56 they become a critical source of security, solace, and social connection. The archipelago’s long tale of state weakness began with the elimination of any indigenous dynastic claimants to state authority. Friars replaced local strongmen as the local spiritual and corporeal authorities, acting with the imprimatur of the Vatican and Spanish crown. With no lineage of indigenous rulers from any precolonial state to draw upon, Philippine nationalists would eventually tap into their shared Catholicism as their primary source of common identification. This common religiosity did not distinguish Filipinos from their Spanish overlords like Catholicism distinguished Polish society from their communist rulers. A Polish-style struggle against an alien secular state was thus precluded as a route to fusing Philippine nationhood and religion during Spain’s long rule. Spanish authorities never crafted a vision of the new Philippine polity in which either crown or blood superseded the Church. It would only be with the Bourbon reforms that Spanish authorities would make any serious attempt to temper friar power in the Philippines. The Jesuits were expelled in the 1760s, but by the 1820s local government was once again entirely in the hands of the friars.57 Although Madrid could appoint the Catholic leadership in the Philippines, its influence rarely went broader or deeper. “Whenever the archbishop of Manila attempted to impose his will on the friars, they formed a cartel and threatened resignation en masse. They always won.”58 Friars remained indispensable for protecting Spanish hegemony in its most distant outpost. The Spanish Crown’s failure to build a ruling apparatus capable of superseding friar rule in the Philippines would make state substitution by Church authority possible. Education exemplifies this substitution. Unlike most colonial education systems, Spain’s friar-run version in the Philippines was so fixated on evangelization that virtually no Spanish was taught, fearing the liberalizing potential of the Iberian written word.59 While rural dwellers learned no Spanish beyond what was necessary to memorize their prayers, a sliver-thin layer of Filipinos (an estimated 0.2 percent of the local population) had gained access to a secular higher education in the nation’s capital by the second half of the nineteenth century.60 The friars resisted initiatives pronounced by authorities in Madrid and Manila to establish new elementary, secondary, and 556 Comparative Politics July 2018 collegiate schools in 1863:61 “like other government reforms, these were strongly opposed by the religious orders, which viewed them as infringements on their monopoly of education.”62 The Church dominated the adjudication of disputes as well, as the Bourbon-era effort “to tame the friars and gain control of the judicial system . . . was wholly unsuccessful because the church rejected limits on its judicial role and the state soon abandoned the attempt.”63 Under the Spanish imperium, encountering authority always meant encountering the crucifix. This left the Philippines intensely Catholicized, but only thinly Hispanicized. It would be well into the nineteenth century before the first concerted indigenous challenges to colonial power would emerge. The consistent theme of these challenges was that they were at least as fiercely pro-Catholic as they were anti-Spanish. The Philippines’ first anticolonial uprising, the Cofradia de San Jose, occurred in the 1830s under the leadership of a devout teenager who had been denied entry to a monastic order because of his native status. The movement’s followers were massacred in 1841 as punishment for challenging Spain’s monopoly over defining faith. The violent statist enforcement of imperial religious monopoly would inspire a new indigenous fusion of religion and nationalism, paralleling Poland’s fusion by struggle, to overcome it. The Philippine nationalist movement arose in the second half of the nineteenth century as a loose alliance of Filipino priests and Spanish-speaking ilustrados (enlightened ones). While tyrannical friars were a frequent target, Catholicism would provide their common language of resistance. The Cavite Uprising of 1872 was driven by anti-friar sentiment, but it was also motored by “an intense religious fervor” in which “the holy love of God was demonstrated more than in normal times.”64 After the insurrection’s defeat, the Spaniards exiled much of the Filipino clergy and executed its three most prominent figures despite their lack of direct involvement in the violent events. The sacrifice of innocent Catholic martyrs stood at the heart of the Philippines’ budding national consciousness. Similar themes replayed in the Philippine Revolution that helped terminate Spanish rule and unwittingly usher in American empire. The Katipunan-led revolution would permanently fracture the Spanish-made marriage between Church and state in the Philippines. Yet the revolution would help deepen the fusion of Church and nation, even though the institutional Church never decisively sided with the Philippine nation against its occupiers in Polish (or Irish, or Croatian) fashion. On the one hand, the revolution relied deeply on Catholic symbols to mobilize mass support. Philippine revolutionaries adopted and adapted the pasyon [Passion] play, a ubiquitous feature of local ritual, to legitimize revolt. Katipunan founder Andres Bonifacio explicitly compared the suffering of the Filipino masses to that of Christ and the Virgin Mary through the traditional pasyon form.65 On the other hand, devout local parishioners tended to defend Spanish priests rather than attack them as the Katipunan captured territory.66 Filipino clergy supported the revolt only insofar as it promised to remove barriers to their own ascendancy in a fully indigenized Church. As Philippine nationalists gathered to write the country’s first constitution in 1898, anticlerical sentiment ran high in 557 Anna Grzymala-Busse and Dan Slater understandable reaction to the Church’s long history of collaboration with alien authoritarian rule.67 The Spaniards made their forced departure from the archipelago at the hands of the Americans rather than Philippine rebels. The McKinley Administration duly crushed Philippine nationalism and brutally imposed a new form of colonial rule. The transition from Spanish to American colonialism ended rule by an alien Spanish Church that had long substituted for any kind of secular state and commenced the moral ascendancy of an indigenous Philippine Church enjoying substantial autonomy and moral authority. Very much like their Spanish friar predecessors, Philippine religious authorities found ample room to maneuver throughout the twentieth century due to the weakness of state institutions. That American colonialism began in the absence of any secular Leviathan able to overawe both Church and society is captured by the First Philippine Commission’s report to President McKinley upon the advent of American control in 1900: “There is scarcely any branch of the municipal government in which the reverent parochial priest does not play an important part.”68 The colony’s top Franciscan official summarized the local-level parish priest in the report as “inspector of primary schools; president of the health board and board of charities,” and “examiner of the scholars attending the first and second grade in the public schools,”69 among multiple other central roles in local governance. As the report put it in a nutshell: “It is easy to see from this that the priest was not only the spiritual guide, but that he was in every sense the municipal ruler.” Like the Spaniards, the Americans had no intention of deploying bureaucrats across the vast archipelago and built one of the most standoffish states in the annals of colonial history.70 Although universal English-language primary education was introduced, its implementation was spotty and deeply dependent on local powerholders whose only experience with education was resolutely Catholic.71 Hence, despite the replacement of a Catholic colonizer preaching church-state fusion by a predominantly Protestant power purveying church-state separation, “the Catholic Church retained a hegemonic position in the realm of elite schooling in the Philippines, its head start an advantage in the face of efforts to implant a nationwide system of secular education in the archipelago.”72 American-led modernization did not lead to substantial societal secularization or religious diversification. While leaving undeniable imprints of Protestantism and formal church-state separation, these were pale shadows of the laicization agenda pursued by Poland’s communist rulers. Once again, education was critical. The Church “laid claim to the newer middle classes by greatly expanding its secondary and tertiary educational institutions” under American rule. “Modern subjects and professional degrees offering possibilities of upward mobility (e.g., business, chemistry, and nursing) were offered in settings infused with Catholic traditions.”73 In its colonial guise, even secular education did not provide the kind of nationalist socialization that might contest religion’s existential grip on a community. Far from planting the seeds of a new Philippine national consciousness, “mass education would inculcate the merits of ‘benevolent assimilation’” to American rule.74 In sum, the American colonial Leviathan was neither 558 Comparative Politics July 2018 intrusive enough in its reach nor secularizing enough in its ambitions to upset the Catholic definition of the Philippine nation. Upon full independence in 1946, the Philippines inherited American-style political institutions and even shared its rulers’ day of independence. There was no decolonization struggle through which alternative forms of national identification could contest or supersede the Church’s authority.75 The Church did not accrue nationalist authority during nearly fifty years of American rule by positioning itself as an anti-imperial force. If the Polish Church’s anti-Soviet posture was fierce, if not entirely consistent, the Philippine Church’s posture toward American rule was never strongly oppositional. Church authority remained unsurpassed because the postcolonial Philippine Leviathan would only make feeble attempts to surpass it. Lacking autonomy from the landed upper class that possessed the bulk of national wealth, the Philippine state trudged along in a low-tax, no-redistribution equilibrium.76 Social services and public goods remained limited in scope. “The Philippine health care system has generally followed the U.S. pattern: a low-budget government sector” for the poor, and “a commercial private sector . . . that mainly caters to the affluent.”77 The gap is filled by religious organizations, which dominate the Philippines’ community-based health sector. Even the Family Planning Association of the Philippines (FPAP) was founded by devout Catholic physicians drawing upon liberation theology in ministering to their flock.78 Civil society organizations derived their strength more from partnerships with grassroots Church organizations than from providing a parallel, secular structure of activism and assistance.79 Ordinary Filipinos thus remained highly dependent on Church-run institutions. At the more symbolic level, the independent Philippine state did little to craft a new civic nationalism that might have given citizens new symbols to rally around. Prayer remains mandatory in schools and courts, and the Department of Education explicitly seeks “to enable the teaching of religion in all public elementary and secondary schools over the country.”80 After American colonialism as well as under it, talented Filipinos desiring a top-notch secular education overwhelmingly went abroad.81 The state’s continued infirmity meant the Church served as its sovereign substitute, materially and symbolically. It was upon this long history of state substitution that the Church finally assumed an oppositional stance in the 1980s, against the Marcos regime.82 Marcos aimed to build a stronger secular state through his own self-styled heroic persona. As our theory suggests, such moments of relative secular state strength allow Church leaders to stop substituting for state authority and begin struggling against it instead. It would indeed be active Church opposition that sounded the death knell for the Marcos regime in the popular uprising that introduced “People Power” to the world in February 1986.83 The Church then rose to a position of unprecedented political influence under the democratically elected government of Corazon Aquino.84 Conclusion A secular state often provides the people of an entire nation with the security, sustenance, and symbolic solace they need. Where it fails to do so, churches can take 559 Anna Grzymala-Busse and Dan Slater over the provision of these valued material and symbolic goods either by struggling against a hostile state or by substituting for a weak one. Religious nationalism is a likely result. The modern world is filled with more nation-states than godly nations because it is usually the state and not the Church that fuses most tightly with the nation. Four implications follow from our discussion of the Polish and Philippine paths. First, there are multiple paths to religious nationalism and to the Church’s moral authority and legitimation. These paths are explicitly political: fusion of identities requires more than their mere correlation. The heroic cases of churches defending the nation have been discussed widely. In places such as Ireland, Poland, and Croatia, the Roman Catholic Church took on the mantle of national protector and shield, but the Philippines demonstrates a very different path: that of a quotidian and localized service. In both of the cases discussed here, the church became a counterweight, or an alternative, to the secular state, but for very different reasons. State weakness led to the church substituting for the state in delivering services to the nation, and state intrusion led to the church defending the nation against the state. Nor are the two paths mutually exclusive. In Ireland, for example, a relatively weak and newly independent Irish state handed over education, health care, and welfare sectors to the far stronger and more institutionalized Roman Catholic Church in the 1920s. Similarly, in Poland the Church substituted for a sovereign state in the nineteenth century, but struggled against an imposed one in the second half of the twentieth. In the Philippines, the Church has consistently substituted for weak state authority, but also intermittently struggled against state authority when it assumed an especially despotic and interventionist character. Second, while the paths to religious-national fusion vary, the enabling conditions are similar: ethnic homogenization and religious monopoly. Where multiple religions compete for the loyalty of adherents, no one denomination can fuse with the nation. Such competition precludes a monopoly on representing the nation and challenges any claims that there is only one religious identity for a given ethnic or national group. As a result, while religious and ethnic or group identities may fuse in ethnically heterogeneous states, no religious institution can claim monopoly, and multiple ethnic groups historically vie for privileged status. Ethnic homogeneity renders plausible—and in extreme cases like Poland and the Philippines, taken-for-granted— the claim that a single religious and single national identity are fused. Third, godly nations are durable, but far from unbreakable. The present-day influence of Church authorities in Poland and the Philippines has deep roots in those nations’ contentious political histories. Yet because this influence is political, it is eternally vulnerable to political missteps. Moral authority can be quickly squandered when Church leaders fail to remain above the partisan fray and find themselves on the wrong side of the people during moments of major political change. As democracy in both Poland and the Philippines faces new threats from popularly elected governments whose democratic commitments are questionable at best (i.e., strongman Rodrigo Duterte’s presidency in the Philippines and the right-wing Law and Justice Party with its unprecedented majoritarian grip in Poland), Church leaders seeking to preserve their 560 Comparative Politics July 2018 authority and influence must thread the needle between entanglement in partisan fights on the one hand, and perceived aloofness from popular concerns on the other. Fourth, the substitution by religious groups for secular state provision of public goods and services is distinct from either state-church cooperation or separation. Recent work on the “twin tolerations” and mutual accommodation between religion and state (or conversely, the ways in which a “deprivatized” religion challenges the state),85 tends to focus attention on the ways in which institutions shape conflict or allow cooperation between the two actors.86 In our explanation, the one constant these accounts presuppose—a secular state that can negotiate with religious groups—is a variable.87 States vary in their presence, strength, and preferences, and these differences matter a great deal for the kind of church-state relationship that arises and its consequences for religious nationalism. The takeaway of our account is that scholarship on church-state relations needs to start taking the state as seriously as the church. State substitution has been analyzed extensively in the case of Islamist groups that deliver services their weak states cannot,88 but it also occurs in Christian settings, and over a far longer historical timeframe than has been noted so far. The result is a fusion of religious and national identities, or a route to godly nations. NOTES The authors thank Aditi Rajeev Shirodkhar for her superb research assistance and Aries Arugay and Monika Nalepa for their helpful feedback. 1. While Menchik defines “godly nationalism” as attached to religiosity in general and not necessarily to a specific religion, in Poland and the Philippines there is no question which God the godly nationalism refers to: the Catholic one. See Jeremy Menchik, “Productive Intolerance: Godly Nationalism in Indonesia,” Comparative Studies in Society and History, 56 (July 2014), 591–621. 2. World Values Survey Data, 5th wave, 2005–2009. 3. These levels of confidence have remained stratospheric in the Philippines while gradually declining toward the 60% mark in Poland. Source: World Values Surveys, Question V108, 6th Wave (2010–2014), V131, 5th Wave (2005–2009), V147, 4th Wave (200–2004), V135 3rd Wave (1995–1999) and V272, 2nd Wave (1990–1994). For a detailed account of how the Polish Church’s recent politicking has cost it popular suport, see Anna Grzymala-Busse, Nations Under God: How Churches Use Moral Authority to Influence Policy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2015). 4. Jan Kubik, The Power of Symbols Against the Symbols of Power: The Rise of Solidarity and the Fall of State Socialism in Poland (University Park: Penn State Press, 1994); Dan Slater, “Revolutions, Crackdowns, and Quiescence: Communal Elites and Democratic Mobilization in Southeast Asia,” American Journal of Sociology, 115 (July 2009), 203–54. 5. Coeli Barry, “The Limits of Conservative Church Reformism in the Democratic Philippines,” in Tunjen Cheng and Deborah A. Brown, eds., Religious Organizations and Democratization: Case Studies from Contemporary Asia (Armonk: M.E. Sharpe, 2006); Grzymala-Busse. 6. Mark Juergensmeyer, The New Cold War? Religious Nationalism Confronts the Secular State (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993); Adrian Hastings, The Construction of Nationhood (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997); Anthony Marx, Faith in Nation (New York: Oxford University Press, 2003); Anthony Smith, Chosen Peoples: Sacred Sources of Political Identity (New York, Oxford University Press, 2003); Grzymala-Busse. 7. Hastings. 561 Anna Grzymala-Busse and Dan Slater 8. Steve Bruce, Choice and Religion (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999); Smith. 9. Philip Gorski, The Disciplinary Revolution: Calvinism and the Rise of the State in Early Modern Europe (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2003). 10. Marx. 11. Dan Slater and Diana Kim, “Standoffish States: Nonliterate Leviathans in Southeast Asia,” TRaNS, 3 (January 2015), 1–20. 12. Mara Loveman, “The Modern State and the Primitive Accumulation of Symbolic Power,” American Journal of Sociology, 110 (May 2005), 1651–83. 13. Melani Cammett, Compassionate Communalism (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2014); Amaney Jamal, Barriers to Democracy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2008); Eli Berman, Radical, Religious, and Violent: The New Economics of Terrorism (Cambridge: MIT Press, 2009). 14. Tarek Masoud, Counting Islam: Religion, Class, and Elections in Egypt (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014). 15. World Values Survey Data, 5th wave, 2005–2009. % responding that religious organizations should NOT influence politics, International Social Science Programme 2003 data, % responding that it is “Important to be [Dominant Religion] to be [National Identity].” 2003 ISSP data. 16. The fusion of religious and national identities is distinct from demand for religious influence on politics. Instead, over 70% of poll respondents in Poland and in the Philippines, even very religious respondents, do not want church influence over votes, governments, or policy. 17. Wincenty Chrypi´nski, Ko´sci´oł a rza˛d i społecze´nstwo w powojennej Polsce. Odnowa 8 (1989), 15. 18. Brian Porter-Sz¨ucs, Faith and Fatherland (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011), 7–8. 19. Jarosław Gowin, Ko´sci´oł po Komunizmie (Krakow: Znak, 1995), 16. 20. Paul Froese and Steven Pfaff, “Replete and Desolate Markets: Poland, East Germany, and the New Religious Paradigm,” Social Forces, 80 (December 2001), 481–507; Sabrina Ramet, Nihil Obstat: Religion, Politics, and Social Change in East-Central Europe and Russia (Durham: Duke University Press, 1998). 21. Mirella Eberts and Peter Torok, “The Catholic Church and Post-Communist Elections: Hungary and Poland Compared,” in Irena Borowik and Mikl´os Tomka, eds., Religion and Social Change in PostCommunist Europe (Krakow: NOMOS, 2001), 129; see also Jerzy Turowicz, Ko´scioł Nie Jest Łodzia˛ Podwodna˛ (Krakow: Znak, 1990), 241–42; and Gowin, 24. 22. Jerzy Kłoczowski, “Chrzescija´nstwo polskie i jego tysia˛cletnia historia,” in Adam Chruszczewski et al., eds., Narod-Ko´sci´oł-Kultura (Lublin: KUL, 1986), 254; see also Danuta Waniek, Orzeł i krucyfiks: Eseje o podziałach politycznych w Polsce (Wydawnictwo: Adam Marszałek, 2011), 162. 23. Jacek Majchrowski, “Uwagi o Praktyce Legislacyjnej Dotyczacej Stosunk´ow Pa´nstwowo-Ko´scielnych,” in Irena Borowik and Andrzej Szyjewski, eds., Religie i Ko´scioły w Społecze´nstwach Postkomunistycznych (Krak´ow: NOMOS, 1993), 75. 24. Genevieve Zubrzycki, The Crosses of Auschwitz (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2006), 53–54. 25. Zubrzycki, 76; Chrypi´nski. Ko´sci´oł a rza˛d i społecze´nstwo w powojennej Polsce, 6. 26. Porter-Sz}ucs, 162–63. 27. Jerzy Kłoczowski, Lidia M¨ullerowa, and Jan Skarbek, Zarys dziej´ow Ko´scioła katolickiego w Polsce (Warsaw: Wydawn. Znak, 1986), 255. 28. Vincent Chrypi´nski, “The Catholic Church in Poland, 1944–1989,” in Pedro Ramet, ed., Catholicism and Politics in Communist Societies (Durham: Duke University Press, 1990), 125; Gowin, 18ff. 29. Waniek, 103. 30. Jeffrey Kopstein and Jason Wittenberg, “Who Voted Communist? Reconsidering the Social Bases of Radicalism in Interwar Poland,” Slavic Review, 62 (Spring 2003), 98. 31. Porter-Sz¨ucs, 9. 32. Ibid. 33. There was a native Communist Party in Poland in the interwar period: it was widely seen as a lackey of the Soviet Union, however. Moreover, it was decimated by Stalin in the late 1930s, precluding the rise of a native post-war communist alternative. 34. Ewa Morawska, “The Polish Roman Catholic Church Unbound,” in Stephen Hanson and Willfried Spohn, eds., Can Europe Work? (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1995). 35. Grzegorz Ekiert, State Against Society (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996). 36. Morawska, 55. 37. John Anderson, “Catholicism and Democratic Consolidation in Spain and Poland,” in John T.S. Madeley and Zsolt Enyedi, eds., Church and State in Contemporary Europe: The Chimera of Neutrality (London: Frank Cass, 2003), 144. 562 Comparative Politics July 2018 38. Mikołaj Stanisław Kunicki, Between the Brown and the Red: Nationalism, Catholicism, and Communism in Twentieth-Century Poland—The Politics of Bolesław Piasecki (Athens: Ohio University Press, 2013). 39. Monika Nalepa and Grigo Pop-Eleches, “Church Infiltration and Anti-Communist Resistance: Survey Evidence from Communist Poland,” unpublished manuscript (University of Chicago and Princeton University, 2017). 40. Maryjane Osa, “Creating Solidarity: The Religious Foundations of the Polish Social Movement,” East European Politics & Societies, 11 (March 1997), 362. 41. This is not to say all bishops or clergy followed these admonishments: several were publicly and intensely anti-communist and pro-opposition. Chrypinski, 1989; Jadwiga Kr´olikowska, “Socjologiczne Problemy Obecnosci Ko´scioła Rzymskokatolickiego w Kontek´scie Społecznym w Polsce w latach 1980–1982,” in Irena Borowik and Andrzej Szyjewski, eds., Religie I Ko´scioły w Społeczenstwach Postkomunistycznych (Krak´ow: NOMOS, 1993), 199–203; Waniek, 284. 42. Mirella Eberts, “The Roman Catholic Church and Democracy in Poland,” Europe-Asia Studies, 50 (1998), 819. 43. Gowin, 24, 44. Eberts, 819; Eberts and Torok, 129. 45. Krystyna Daniel, “Church-State Situation in Poland after the Collapse of Communism,” The BYU Law Review, 401, Issue 2 (1995), 417. 46. The Palikot movement (Ruch Palikota) flashed in 2011 with about 10% of support, but it then fell apart and eventually joined a coalition that failed to clear the parliamentary threshold in the 2015 election. No other party questioned the moral authority of the Church, or the Catholic nature of Polish national identity. 47. David Joel Steinberg, The Philippines, a Singular and a Plural Place (Boulder: Westview Press, 1982), 83. 48. Robert L. Youngblood, Marcos Against the Church: Economic Development and Political Repression in the Philippines (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1990), 1. “More than 86 percent of the population is Roman Catholic, 6 percent belong to various nationalized Christian cults, and another 2 percent belong to well over 100 Protestant denominations. In addition to the Christian majority, there is a vigorous 4 percent Muslim minority, concentrated on the southern islands of Mindanao, Sulu, and Palawan.” See “Religion in the Philippines” at http://asiasociety.org/education/religion-philippines. 49. Vicente L. Rafael, The Promise of the Foreign: Nationalism and the Technics of Translation in the Spanish Philippines (Durham: Duke University Press, 2005), 1. 50. Alfred McCoy, Closer than Brothers: Manhood at the Philippine Military Academy (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993). 51. Slater, 2009. 52. John Leddy Phelan, The Hispanization of the Philippines: Spanish Aims and Filipino Responses, 1565–1700 (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1959), 37. 53. Patricio N. Abinales and Donna J. Amoroso, State and Society in the Philippines (Oxford: Anvil, 2005), 51. 54. Horacio de la Costa, Readings in Philippine History (Manila: Bookmark, 1965). 55. Joel Migdal, Strong States and Weak Societies (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1988). 56. Masoud, 10. 57. Gerald H. Anderson, ed., Studies in Philippine Church History (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1969). 58. Steinberg, 81. 59. Rafael, 9. 60. Carolyn Israel Sobritchea, “American Colonial Education and its Impact on the Status of Filipino Women,” Asian Studies, 28 (1990), 81. 61. Jos´e S. Arcilla, “Philippine Education: Some Observations from History,” Philippine Studies, 20 (April-June 1972), 273–86. 62. Abinales and Amoroso, 93. 63. Ibid., 87. 64. John N. Schumacher, Revolutionary Clergy: The Filipino Clergy and the Nationalist Movement, 1850–1903 (Manila: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 1981), 51. 65. Reynaldo Clemeña Ileto, Pasyon and Revolution: Popular Movements in the Philippines, 1840–1910 (Manila: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 1979), 103. 66. Rafael, 170. 563 Anna Grzymala-Busse and Dan Slater 67. We thank a Comparative Politics reviewer for raising this helpful point. 68. Anderson, ed., 203. 69. Quoted in Abinales and Amoroso, 92. 70. Paul Hutchcroft, “Colonial Masters, National Politicos, and Provincial Lords: Central Authority and Local Autonomy in the American Philippines, 1900–1913,” Journal of Asian Studies, 59 (May 2000), 277–306. 71. Angel C. Alcala, “Higher Education in the Philippines,” Philippine Studies, 47 (Jan.-Apr. 1999), 114–28. 72. Eva-Lotta E. Hedman, In the Name of Civil Society: From Free Election Movements to People Power in the Philippines (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2006), 28. 73. Barry, 161. 74. Abinales and Amoroso, 128. 75. Slater, 2009. 76. Dan Slater, Ordering Power: Contentious Politics and Authoritarian Leviathans in Southeast Asia (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2010). 77. Michael L. Tan, “The Development of Health NGOs in the Philippines: A Socio-Historical Review,” Philippine Sociological Society, 41 (1993), 112. 78. Ibid., 113. 79. Hedman. 80. See the full text of the Department’s order at: http://www.deped.gov.ph/orders/do-49-s-2009. 81. Sobritchea. 82. Youngblood. 83. Mark Thompson, The Anti-Marcos Struggle: Personalistic Rule and Democratic Transition in the Philippines (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995); Slater, 2009. 84. Barry. 85. Jos´e Casanova, Public Religions in the Modern World (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994). 86. David Buckley, “Beyond the Secularism Trap,” Comparative Politics, 47 (July 2015), 439–58. Also see Alfred Stepan, “Religion, Democracy, and the ‘Twin Tolerations,’” Journal of Democracy, 11 (October 2000), 37–57; Casanova, Public Religions; and Michael Driessen, Religion and Democratization (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014). 87. But see Buckley and Mantilla, who examine the impact of economic development on state capacity to regulate religion, an innovative twist on the “political economy of religion” literature, which argues that religious regulation dampens religious participation. David T. Buckley and Luis Felipe Mantilla, “God and Governance: Development, State Capacity, and the Regulation of Religion,” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion, 52 (June 2013), 328–48. 88. See, for example, Cammett, Compassionate Communalism; and Carrie Rosefsky Wickham, Mobilizing Islam (New York: Columbia University Press, 2002). 564 Comparative Politics July 2018