This book does not pretend to be an exhaustive study of Filipino nationalism in the period before the outbreak of the Revolution, as it focuses its attention on the European scene, not on the penetration of nationalist ideals in the Philippines, nor the activities and organizatinos at home which took their inspiration from the Propagandists abroad.
Given the conditions of Philippine society then, the effective contact with European liberalism and nationalism and fruitful cross-fertilization towards a Filipino nationalist ideology were bound to take place largely outside the Philippines.
Yet, the ultimate steps, as Rizal came to realize, and Andres Bonifacio was to prove, had to be taken in the Philippines. Without the work of the Propagandists, without the laborious efforts to formulate and express their ideals, without their success in giving form to the nationalist ideal in the minds of many back home, however, there could have been a revolt in 1896, but there would not have been the Revolution. For a revolution presupposes a people with a consciousness of its own identity and unity as a nation. The creation of that sense of national self-identity was the work of the Propaganda Movement.
(Caveat: once again reading a history book for literary and aesthetic value.) What The Reverend Fr. Schumacher lacks in style and mastery in effective storytelling is more than made up for by a) his historical analysis, and more importantly, b) the specters and voices of del Pilar and Rizal — the reader can project their own dose of dramatic vitality on this text, once they allow the Rizalista-Pilarista love-hate affair to unfold in the theater of their minds, notwithstanding Fr. Schumacher’s starchy-stiff and dispassionate erudition. The priest has an unintentionally humorous tic of absolving the Jesuits from the onslaught of historical judgment every chance he gets, and one is pressed to oblige and agree; a sanguine touch in an otherwise phlegmatic account. Plod through the first 80% of the work to get to the closing chapters, which reveal the aesthetic merits of del Pilar and Rizal’s personas shine through their quoted letters (together with the tetchy Antonio Luna, Ponce the Horatio to Plaridel’s Hamlet, and the petulant Lopez Jaena, the only dramatically interesting character in all these grave, somber proceedings) — imagine them not as the subjects of a historian’s cold writing, but as tragic figures in a poignant, crushing drama of men sacrificing their lives for a thankless, amnesiac nation.