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Carlton Hayes, who painstakingly researched national ideas in the classic texts of modern thought, had concluded in the 1920s that “the upshot of the whole process is that a nationalist theology of the intellectuals becomes a nationalist mythology for the masses.”⁴⁴ To this Tom Nairn, a much later scholar, no less original and, significantly, a Scot, added, “The new middle-class intelligentsia of nationalism had to invite the masses into history; and the invitation-card had to be written in a language they understood.”⁴⁵

These two working hypotheses can stand, insofar as we succeed in shaking on the long scholarly tradition of viewing the ideas of its leading thinkers as the causes, or points of departure, for the actual historical development. Nationalism is not a theoretical product that germinated in scholars’ studies and was then adopted by the masses yearning for ideology, thereby becoming a way of life.⁴⁶ To understand the way nationalism spread, we must define the role of intellectuals in this phenomenon, and perhaps begin by considering their differing sociopolitical status in traditional and in modern societies.

There has never been an organized society, except perhaps in the early tribal stages, that did not produce intellectuals. While the noun “intellectual” is a fairly late one, born at the end of the nineteenth century, the most basic divisions of labor had already seen the rise of individuals whose main activity or livelihood was the production and manipulation of cultural symbols and signs. From the sorcerer or shaman, through the royal scribes and priests, to the church clerics, court jesters and painters of cathedrals, cultural elites emerged in all agrarian societies. These elites had to be capable of providing, organizing and disseminating words or images in three major areas: first, the accrual of knowledge; second, the development of ideologies that would preserve the stability of the social order; and third, the provision of an organizing metaphysical explanation for the seemingly magical cosmic order.

Most of these cultural elites, as noted earlier, were in some ways dependent on and entangled with the politically and economically dominant strata. The dependence could be lesser or greater; here and there, a measure of autonomy—and even, given a solid economic basis, a degree of independence—was achieved. Nor was the dependence one-sided: political power, which in traditional societies intermeshed with the web of economic production differently than it does in modern societies, needed cultural elites in order to maintain control.

By combining the explanation given by Antonio Gramsci for the various ways in which intellectuals exist in the world of production with Gellner’s theory of modernization, we gain further insight into their role in the formation of nationalism and the nation. According to the Italian Marxist,

Every social class, coming into existence on the original basis of an essential function in the world of economic production, creates with itself, organically, one or more groups of intellectuals who give it homogeneity and consciousness of its function.⁴⁷

To retain control for a long time, it is not enough to possess visible power; it is necessary to produce ethical and legal norms. An educated stratum provides a hegemonic consciousness to underpin the class structure, so that it will not need to keep defending that structure by violent means. In the premodern world the traditional intellectuals were the court scribes, artistic protégés of a prince or a king, and the various agents of religion. Above all it was the clergy in historical societies who helped consolidate a consensual ideology. Gramsci, in his time, admitted that it was still necessary to investigate the rise of the intellectuals in the feudal and classical world, and indeed his writing on the subject is tentative and rather disappointing. Gellner, on the other hand, ventured a more interesting hypothesis.

As stated earlier, before the invention of printing, court scribes and priests did not have the means of communication to reach the masses, nor did they need them. The divine right of royalty conveyed ideological legitimacy primarily to the administrative circles and landed aristocracy, and these groups controlled the territory. It is true that the religious elite slowly began its effort to reach the generality, namely, the peasant population, but it also avoided close contact with it. Gellner gives a good description of the intellectual mechanism in agricultural societies:

The tendency of liturgical languages to become distinct from the vernacular is very strong: it is as if literacy alone did not create enough of a barrier between cleric and layman, as if the chasm between them had to be deepened, by making the language not merely recorded in an inaccessible script, but also incomprehensible when articulated.⁴⁸

Unlike the relatively small priestly circles in the polytheistic royal courts around the ancient Mediterranean, the spreading monotheism gave rise to broader intellectual strata. From the ancient Essenes through the missionaries, monks, rabbis and priests, to the ulema, there were increasing numbers of literate individuals who had extensive and complex contact with the masses of agricultural producers—one reason that the religions survived through the ages while empires, kingdoms, principalities and peoples rose and fell. Religious bodies that did not fully blend with secular authorities acquired varying degrees of autonomy vis-à-vis the political and social classes. They cultivated lines of communication and were always perceived to be the servants of society as a whole, hence the impressive survival of the beliefs, cults and icons they disseminated. Another reason for the longevity of religions was that the value of the spiritual merchandise they provided to the masses must have been more meaningful than the earthly (and exploitative) security provided by the political powers: “divine providence” secured for believers the purity, grace and salvation of the next world.

We might add that the autonomy of religious bodies in the premodern world was achieved not only thanks to their reputation and widespread universal message, but also to the direct material support they received from the devout producers of food. Moreover, many literate individuals combined physical labor with their spiritual occupations, and those who belonged to the upper reaches of the establishment became in time a socioeconomic class and even a judicial establishment—for example, the Catholic Church.

Despite the growing popularity of religious elites in the agrarian world, and their devotion to the human fock, they took good care of the working tool that enabled them to maintain their authority. Reading and writing, as well as the sacred tongue, were preserved by the “book people,” and there was neither the will nor the means to propagate these practices throughout the populace. Anderson puts it well: “the bilingual intelligentsia, by mediating between vernacular and Latin, mediated between earth and heaven.”⁴⁹ Not only did the religious elites know the sacred languages and, in some cases, the language of the administration, but they were also familiar with the peasant dialects. This mediating function of bilingual or trilingual intellectuals gave them a power they would not readily give up.

But the process of modernization—the decline in the power of the church, the shrinking of the religious communities, the disappearance of the patron-protégé relations that had sustained the medieval producers of culture, and the formation of a market economy in which almost everything might be bought and sold—inevitably contributed to the transmutation of all cultural morphologies, leading to major alterations in the place and status of the intellectuals.

Gramsci repeatedly emphasized the links between these new literati and the rising bourgeoisie. These intellectuals, whom he described as “organic,” were not large capitalists but came mainly from the urban and rural middle strata. Some became skilled experts who administered production, while others followed the free professions or became public officials.

At the top of the pyramid Gramsci placed the “creators in the various fields of knowledge: philosophy, art, etc.,”⁵⁰ but he used the term “intellectual” broadly, including in effect the politicians and bureaucrats—that is, most of the modern state’s organizers and directors. In fact, although he does not say so, for him the new state apparatus as an intellectual collective replaced the rational “Prince,” the famous, idealized autocrat depicted by Niccolò Machiavelli. But unlike that mythological figure, the modern prince is not a single and absolute ruler, but rather a corps of intellectuals who control the apparatus of the nation-state. This body does not express its own interests but is supposed to represent the totality of the nation, for which purpose it produces a universal discourse claiming to serve all its members. In bourgeois society, Gramsci argued, the political-intellectual prince is a dependent partner of the property-owning classes that control production. Only when the party of workers comes to power—a new intellectual prince—will the universal dimension be realized in society’s upper political spheres.⁵¹

It is not necessary to believe in Gramsci’s political utopia—designed to justify his work as an intellectual in a workers’ party—to appreciate his theoretical achievement in analyzing the intellectual function that characterizes the modern state. Unlike the powers that ruled agrarian societies, modernization and the division of labor required that the political apparatus perform diverse, ever-multiplying intellectual functions. While the majority of the populace remained illiterate, this apparatus expanded and cultivated within it the bulk of the literate population.

Which social classes produced these first “intellectuals” in the growing state bureaucracy? The answer might help solve the question of the historical differences in the formation of civil and ethnic nationalisms. In Britain, after the Puritan revolution, the state apparatus was staffed by members of the new minor aristocracy and commercial bourgeoisie. In the United States the staff came mainly from wealthy farming families and prosperous city dwellers. In France it was mainly educated members of the commercial class and the petty bourgeoisie who filled the ranks of the “gown nobility,” while the upheavals of the Revolution continued to inject new social elements into the body politic.

In Germany, on the other hand, the Prussian imperial state system was made up principally of conservative members of the Junker class, their offspring, and their associates, and things did not immediately change when Prussia became part of the German Reich after 1871. In Russia, too, the Tsarist state drew its public servants from the traditional nobility. In Poland, the first social class that aspired and struggled for a national state were the aristocrats. Without revolutions to introduce educated, dynamic elements and members of the new mobile classes, the early stages of state formation did not include intellectuals who were commoners in the political game or, therefore, in the dominant protonational ideologies.

The French thinker Raymond Aron wondered whether racism is not, among other things, the snobbery of the poor.⁵² This observation not only diagnoses a familiar mental state of the modern mass; it can also point to the historical sources of the concept of “blood ties,” which dictated the boundaries of certain national groups. Before the modern age it was the nobility that marked blood as the measure of kinship.⁵³ Only the aristocrats had blue blood in their veins, which they inherited from their precious ancestral seed. In the old agrarian world, biological determinism as the criterion for human classification was perhaps the most important symbolic possession of the ruling classes. It was the basis of the legal customs that served as the infrastructure of its prolonged, stable power over the land and the realm. As Alexis de Tocqueville observed in his time, upward mobility during the Middle Ages was possible only in the church: it was the only system not based exclusively on genealogy and was thus the source of modern egalitarianism.⁵⁴

The dominant presence of members and associates of the declining nobility among the new intellectuals in the government systems of Central and Eastern Europe apparently affected the direction of the future national identities that were then developing. When the Napoleonic wars forced the kingdoms east of France to don national costumes, their loyal and conservative literate circles sowed the ideological seeds that exchanged the horizontal concept of blue blood for a vertical one, and the reversal of aristocratic identity initiated the hesitant beginnings of a protonational identity. This identity, assisted by later intellectuals, soon led to the ideological and legal principle defining the membership of the “ethnic” nationality as blood-based (jus sanguinis). The national membership granted in the West on grounds of birth in the territory (jus soli) was entirely absent in the nation-states of Eastern Europe.

Yet here, too, the Italian example flies in the face of overconfident schematization. Why did civil-political nationalism succeed here at such an early stage? Surely the first intellectuals of the state apparatus throughout the future Italy also derived from the traditional aristocracy? A possible, if inadequate, explanation for the relative restraint of ethnicism in the consolidation of Italian identity could be the tremendous weight of the papacy and the Catholic universalism that it imbued in all the strata from which the Italian bureaucracy arose. Perhaps also the clearly political myth of the ancient Roman republic and empire helped immunize this unusual civil identity; moreover, the marked differences between northern and southern Italians could have prevented a dubious ethnic nationalism.

Or we may ditch all of Gramsci’s analyses and choose a firmer basis on which to clarify the role of the intellectuals in national modernization. We can limit the term “intellectuals” to the producers, organizers and propagators of culture in the modern state and its extensions in civil society. With this approach, it will still be possible to discover how indispensable they were for the consolidation of nationalism and the formation of nation-states.

As Anderson pointed out, one of the major developments leading up to the age of nationalism was the printing revolution that began in Western Europe at the end of the fifteenth century. This technocultural revolution weakened the status of the sacred languages and helped spread the languages of state administration that would eventually become national languages. The position of the clergy, whose use of the sacred languages was their main symbolic possession, declined. The clerics, who had attained their status and even earned their living thanks to their bilingualism, lost their historical role and were forced to seek other sources of income.⁵⁵

The symbolic properties inherent in the national languages offered an expanding market of fresh opportunities. Flourishing book production required new specializations and new intellectual endeavors. Philosophers, scientists, and, before long, writers and poets abandoned Latin and turned to French, English, German and other vernaculars. The next stage, the rise of journalism, would hugely increase the number of readers, and thus the corps of writers catering to the public. But the real catalyst of national language and culture was the state, whose nature kept evolving. To promote production and compete with other national economies, the state apparatus had to take on the task of educating the populace and turn it into a national enterprise.

Universal education and the creation of agreed cultural codes were preconditions for the complex specializations demanded by the modern division of labor. Therefore every state that became “nationalized,” whether authoritarian or liberal, made elementary education a universal right. No mature nation failed to declare education compulsory, obliging its citizens to send their children off to school. This institution, which became the central agent of ideology—rivaled only by the military and by war—turned all subjects into citizens, namely, people conscious of their nationality.⁵⁶ If Joseph de Maistre maintained that the executioner was the mainstay of social order in the state, Gellner’s provocative insight was that the decisive role in the state belonged to none other than the educator.⁵⁷ More than to their rulers, the new national citizens became loyal to their culture.

Yet Gellner’s argument that this has turned the modern state into a community made up entirely of priests/scribes is imprecise.⁵⁸ Though literacy has become universal, there is a new division of labor in the nation—between those who create and disseminate literacy and make their living doing so, and those who consume its products and make use of it. From the elected minister of culture through the university scholar and lecturer to the schoolteacher, a hierarchy of intellectuals serves the state, filling the roles of director and playwright, and even leading actors in the immense cultural spectacle called the nation. Agents of culture from the fields of journalism, literature, theater and, later, cinema and television form the supporting cast.

In the kingdoms that preceded the consolidation of nations, notably those in Western Europe, the agents of culture constituted an efficient corps that worked in tandem with administrative officialdom, the judiciary, and the military, and collaborated with them in the nation-building project. Among minority groups—cultural-linguistic or religious, and generally defined as ethnic—that had suffered discrimination under the supranational kingdoms and imperial powers, the intelligentsia were almost the only midwives of the new, rapidly rising nations.

Within the broad boundaries of the Austro-Hungarian, Tsarist Russian and Ottoman empires, and later the British, French, Belgian and Dutch colonies, there arose small circles of vigorous intelligentsia characterized by an acute sensitivity to cultural discrimination, linguistic repression, or exclusion on religious grounds. These groups arose only when the nationalist ferment was already seething in the metropolitan center—still weak and fictive in the crumbling kingdoms, but authentic and hegemonic in the new empires. These circles were familiar with the high culture that was taking shape and spreading in the centers of power, but still felt inferior to it, because they had come in from the margins and were constantly reminded of that fact. Since their working tools were cultural and linguistic, they were the first to be affected and thus formed the vanguard of the nationalist revolt.

These dynamic groups started a long campaign to lay the foundations for the emerging national movements that would claim sovereignty over the nations they represented while, at the same time, bringing them into being. Some of these intellectuals retrained to become the political leaders of the new mass movements. Others clung to their intellectual occupations and passionately continued to delineate the contours and contents of the new national culture. Without these early literati, nations would not have proliferated, and the political map of the world would have been more monochromatic.⁵⁹

These intellectuals had to utilize popular or even tribal dialects, and sometimes forgotten sacred tongues, and to transform them quickly into new, modern languages. They produced the first dictionaries and wrote the novels and poems that depicted the imagined nation and sketched the boundaries of its homeland. They painted melancholy landscapes that symbolized the nation’s soil⁶⁰ and invented moving folktales and gigantic historical heroes, and weaved ancient folklore into a homogeneous whole.⁶¹ Taking events related to diverse and unconnected political entities, they welded them into a consecutive, coherent narrative that unified time and space, thus producing a long national history stretching back to primeval times. Naturally, specific elements of the various historical materials played a (passive) part in shaping the modern culture, but it was principally the intellectual sculptors who cast the image of the nation according to their vision, whose character was formed mainly by the intricate demands of the present.

Most of them did not see themselves as the midwives of the new nation but as the offspring of a dormant nation that they were arousing from a long slumber. None wanted to see themselves as a baby left on a church doorstep without an identifying note. Nor did the image of the nation as a sort of Frankenstein’s monster, composed of organs from different sources, especially disturb its devotees. Every nation had to learn who its “ancestors” were, and in some cases its members searched anxiously for the qualities of the biological seed that they propagated.

Genealogy gave added value to the new identity, and the longer the perceived past, the more the future was envisioned as unending. No wonder, then, that of all the intellectual disciplines, the most nationalistic is that of the historian.

The rupture caused by modernization detached humanity from its recent past. The mobility created by industrialization and urbanization shattered not only the rigid social ladder but also the traditional, cyclic continuity between past, present and future. Previously, agrarian producers had no need for the chronicles of kingdoms, empires and principalities. They had no use for the history of large-scale collectives, because they had no interest in an abstract time unconnected to their concrete existence. Lacking such a concept of development, they were content with the religious imagination that comprised a mosaic memory devoid of a tangible dimension of progressive movement. The end became a beginning, and eternity bridged life and death.

The secular, upsetting modern world, however, turned time into the main artery through which symbolic and emotional imagery entered social consciousness. Historical time became inseparable from personal identity, and the collective narrative gave meaning to the national existence, whose consolidation required heavy sacrifices. The suffering of the past justified the price demanded of citizens in the present. The heroism of the receding world prophesied a brilliant future, perhaps not for the individual but certainly for the nation. With the help of historians, nationalism became an essentially optimistic ideology. This, more than anything else, was the secret of its success.

1 Please note that the term “nationalism” when used this book should not immediately be equated with an extremist ideology.

2 Marc Bloch, The Historian’s Craft, Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1954, 28. Nietzsche had already written, “Wherever primitive men put down a word, they thought they made a discovery. How different the case really was! … Now, with every new piece of knowledge, we stumble over petrified words and mummified conceptions, and would rather break a leg than a word in doing so.” Friedrich Nietzsche, The Dawn of Day, New York: Russell & Russell, 1964, 53.

3 On connotations of this term and their evolution, see the essays in S. Remi-Giraud and P. Retat (eds.), Les Mots de la nation, Lyon: Presses Universitaires de Lyon, 1996.

4 For example, “Two nations [le’umim] are in thy womb, and two manner of people [goyim] shall be separated from thy bowels,” Gen. 25:23; and “Come near, ye nations [le’umim], to hear; and hearken, ye people,” Isa. 34:1.

5 The word am, which is translated as “people,” appears frequently in the Old Testament with a variety of meanings. It can mean a clan, or a throng gathered in the city center, or even a fighting force. See for example, “So Joshua arose, and all the people [am] of war, to go up against Ai,” Josh. 8:3; “And the people of the land [am ha’aretz] made Josiah his son king in his stead,” 2 Chron. 33:25. It can also indicate the “holy community,” namely, the People of Israel, chosen by God. For example, “For thou art an holy people [am] unto the Lord thy God: the Lord thy God hath chosen thee to be a special people [am] unto himself, above all people that are upon the face of the earth,” Deut. 7:6.

6 Exceptions to this model include certain Greek polis cities, as well as some aspects of the early Roman republic. In both, the formation of small groups of citizens bears a slight resemblance to modern “peoples” and nations. But the Greek concepts of “demos,” “ethnos” and “laos,” and the Roman “populus,” which arose in the early stages of the Mediterranean slave-owning societies, did not have the mobile and inclusive dimension of modern times. They did not include the entire population—e.g., women, slaves and foreigners—and equal civil rights were granted only to locally born, slave-owning men, meaning they were strictly limited social groups.

7 See the comments on the loose usage of this term in an important work by Dominique Schnapper, La Communauté des citoyens: Sur l’idée moderne de nation, Paris: Gallimard, 2003, 18.

8 Anthony D. Smith, The Ethnic Revival, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981, 66; and see also by Smith, The Nation in History: Historiographical Debates about Ethnicity and Nationalism, Hanover, NH: University Press of New England, 2000. See also a very similar definition in John Hutchinson, Modern Nationalism, London: Fontana Press, 1994, 7.

9 No wonder that Smith has been a godsend to Zionist historians seeking to define the Jewish nation. See, for example, Gideon Shimoni, The Zionist Ideology, Hanover, NH: Brandeis University Press, 1995, 5–11.

10 Étienne Balibar, “The Nation Form: History and Ideology,” in Race, Nation, Class, Étienne Balibar and Immanuel Wallerstein, London: Verso, 1991, 96.

11 Paradoxically, even the extreme case of the Islamic Republic in Iran does not entirely contradict this position. The Islamic revolution sought to bring the message of Islam to the whole world, but in fact succeeded primarily in “nationalizing” the Iranian masses (much as Communism had done in other areas in the Third World). On nationalism in Iran, see Haggay Ram, “The Immemorial Iranian Nation? School Textbooks and Historical Memory in Post-Revolutionary Iran,” Nations and Nationalism 6:6 (2000), 67–90.

12 John Stuart Mill, Considerations on Representative Government, Chicago: Gateway, 1962, 303. Regarding Mill and the national question, see also Hans Kohn, Prophets and Peoples: Studies in Nineteenth-Century Nationalism, New York: Macmillan, 1946, 11–42.

13 See “What Is a Nation?” available at www.cooper.edu/humanities/core/hss3/e_renan.html.

14 For more on Marxists and the nation, see Horace Davis, Nationalism and Socialism: Marxist and Labor Theories of Nationalism to 1917, New York: Monthly Review Press, 1967; and Ephraim Nimni, Marxism and Nationalism: Theoretical Origins of a Political Crisis, London: Pluto Press, 1991.

15 Quoted in G. Haupt, M. Lowy, and C. Weil, Les Marxistes et la question nationale, 1848–1914, Paris: Maspero, 1974, 254.

16 Joseph Stalin, Marxism and the National Question, first published in Prosveshcheniye 3–5 (1913).

17 On the Marxist approach to the issue of nationalism, see also John Breuilly, Nationalism and the State, New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1982, 21–8.

18 Karl W. Deutsch, Nationalism and Social Communication, New York: MIT Press, 1953.

19 Karl W. Deutsch, Nationalism and Its Alternatives, New York: A. A. Knopf, 1969.

20 Anderson, Imagined Communities, 6.

21 Gellner, Nations and Nationalism, 7.

22 See the following largely supportive but critical essay collection: John A. Hall (ed.), e State of the Nation: Ernest Gellner and the Theory of Nationalism, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998.

23 is has been done while combining other cultural elements, and with a high degree of decentralization and citizen involvement in politics. On the Swiss example, see Hans Kohn’s old book, Nationalism and Liberty: The Swiss Example, London: Allen & Unwin, 1956; and also the new work of Oliver Zimmer, A Contested Nation: History, Memory and Nationalism in Switzerland, 1761–1891, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003.

24 Gellner, Nations and Nationalism, 55.

25 Ibid, 1.

26 Eric Hobsbawm, Nations and Nationalism since 1780, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992, 10–11.

27 For a further discussion on the later nationalism in England, see Krisham Kumar, e Making of English National Identity, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003.

28 On nationalism outside the European sphere, see the two books by Partha Chatterjee, Nationalist ought and the Colonial World, Tokyo: Zed Books, 1986; e Nation and Its Fragments: Colonial and Postcolonial Histories, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993.

29 Carlton J. H. Hayes, “Nationalism as a Religion,” in Essays on Nationalism, New York: Russell, [1926] 1966, 93–125; and Nationalism: A Religion, New York: Macmillan, 1960.

30 Anderson, Imagined Communities, 10–12.

31The self-construction of nations is not the same as the self-creation of a modern working class, but the dismantling of the essentialist approach to the two “things”—nation and class—has much in common. See E. P. Thompson, e Making of the English Working Class, London: Penguin, [1963] 2002.

32 On his fascinating life and the development of his thought, see Ken Wolf, “Hans Kohn’s Liberal Nationalism: The Historian as Prophet,” Journal of the History of the Ideas 37:4 (1976), 651–72.

33 Hans Kohn, e Idea of Nationalism, New York: Collier Books, [1944] 1967. His early, pioneering work, A History of Nationalism in the East, New York: Harcourt, 1929, remains notable.

34 See also Hans Kohn, Nationalism, Its Meaning and History, Princeton: Van Nostrand, 1955, 9–90; e Mind of Germany: The Education of a Nation, London: Macmillan, 1965; and Hans Kohn and Daniel Walden, Readings in American Nationalism, New York: Van Nostrand, 1970, 1–10.

35 See Taras Kuzio, “The Myth of the Civic State: a Critical Survey of Hans Kohn’s Framework for Understanding Nationalism,” Ethnic and Racial Studies 25:1 (2002), 20–39.

36 On nationalism in the US, see the interesting article by Susan-Mary Grant, “Making History: Myth and the Construction of American Nationhood,” in Myths and Nationhood, G. Hoskin and G. Schöpflin (eds.), New York: Routledge, 1997, 88–106.

37 On the consciousness that France is not “Gaul’s descendant,” see the testimony of Ernest Lavisse, the “pedagogic father” of French national historiography, in the book of Claude Nicolet, La Fabrique d’une nation: La France entre Rome et les Germains, Paris: Perrin, 2003, 278–80.

38 On the nature of Polish nationalism, see Brian Porter, When Nationalism Began to Hate: Imagining Modern Politics in Nineteenth-Century Poland, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003.

39 On nationalism in the Balkans and elsewhere at the end of the twentieth century, see the interesting book by Michael Ignatieff, Blood and Belonging: Journeys in the New Nationalism, New York: Farrar, 1993.

40Hobsbawm, Nations and Nationalism since 1780, 101–130.

41See Liah Greenfeld, Nationalism: Five Roads to Modernity, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1992; and also her article “Nationalism in Western and Eastern Europe Compared,” in Can Europe Work? Germany and the Reconstruction of Postcommunist Societies, S. E. Hanson and W. Spohn (eds.), Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1995, 15–23.

42Gellner, Nations and Nationalism, 100.

43Rogers Brubaker, Citizenship and Nationhood in France and Germany, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1992, 5–11. Brubaker later rejected the conceptual distinction between civil and ethnic nationalism, preferring to distinguish between “state-framed” and “counter-state” nationalism. See “The Manichean Myth: Rethinking the Distinction Between ‘Civic’ and ‘Ethnic’ Nationalism,” in Hanspeter Kries, et al. (eds.), Nation and National Identity: The European Experience in Perspective, Zürich: Rüegger, 1999, 55–71.

44Hayes, Essays on Nationalism, 110.

45Tom Nairn, e Break-Up of Britain: Crisis and Neo-Nationalism, London: New Left Books, 1977, 340.

46Elie Kedourie’s classic, Nationalism (London: Hutchinson, 1960), embodies this approach.

47Antonio Gramsci, “The Formation of Intellectuals,” in e Modern Prince and Other Writings, New York: International Publishers, 1957, 118.

48Gellner, Nations and Nationalism, 11.

49Anderson, Imagined Communities, 15–16.

50Gramsci, e Modern Prince and Other Writings, 125.

51Actually Gramsci applied the term “prince” to a political organism seeking to seize the state structure in the name of the proletariat. I apply here the concept to the entire state apparatus.

52Raymond Aron, Les Désillusions du progrès: Essai sur la dialectique de la modernité, Paris: Calmann-Lévy, 1969, 90.

53In the ancient Jewish world, it was mostly the priesthood that demarcated its identity by blood, and in the late Middle Ages it was, strangely, the Spanish Inquisition.

54See Alexis de Tocqueville, Democracy in America, London: Oxford University Press, 1946.

55On the rise and consolidation of national languages, see Michael Billing, Banal Nationalism, London: Sage Publications, 1995, 13–36.

56ere are not enough empirical studies of the nationalization of the masses in the Western nations. One exception is the relatively early book by Eugen Weber, Peasants into Frenchmen: The Modernization of Rural France, 1870–1914, Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1976.

57Gellner, Nations and Nationalism, 34.

58 Ibid., 32.

59 On the stages in the development of national minority movements in Eastern and Central Europe, see the important empirical work by the Czech scholar Miroslav Hroch, Social Preconditions of National Revival in Europe, New York: Columbia University Press, 2000. The author himself attributed the book’s awkward title and its obsolete terminology to the fact that its first version appeared back in the early 1970s.

60 On the visual depiction of nations, see Anne-Marie Thiesse’s excellent, La Création des identités nationales: Europe xviiie-xxe siècle, Paris: Seuil, 1999, 185–224.

61 On why and how national heroes are created, see P. Centlivres, et al. (eds.), La Fabrique des héros, Paris: Maison des sciences de l’homme, 1998.