Posts Tagged ‘Spain’
“I imagine one of the reasons people cling to their hates so stubbornly is because they sense, once hate is gone, they will be forced to deal with pain”*…
Your correspondent is off again, so (R)D will be on hiatus until Friday the 4th. In the meantime…
Dr. Sam Goldstein with an all-to-timely reminder…
Hate is often described as an emotion, but it is actually a learned behavior. Unlike fear, sadness, or love—emotions that are instinctive and universal—hate does not exist independently. It is shaped by fear, anger, stress, and social conditioning, developing over time rather than emerging naturally. Hate can be directed at people, ideas, or entire groups, influencing individuals and societies in ways that range from casual dislike to extreme violence. But if hate is learned, can it be unlearned? To break the cycle, we must understand how hate forms, how it manifests in our language and actions, and what we can do to replace it with something better.
The word “hate” has deep historical roots, originating from the Old English hatian, meaning “to despise” or “to wish evil upon.” It stems from the Proto-Germanic hatajan and the Proto-Indo-European kad, which means “to grieve” or “to suffer.” This connection suggests that hate was initially tied to pain, not necessarily hostility.
Over time, its meaning evolved. Today, people use “hate” casually—saying things like “I hate traffic” or “I hate Mondays”—to express mild annoyance. On social media, phrases like “haters gonna hate” trivialize the concept, making it seem inevitable and dismissing criticism as a product of jealousy or negativity.
But the same word is also used to describe serious moral opposition, such as “I hate injustice” or “I hate oppression.” In its most dangerous form, hate leads to profound social and political divisions, fueling discrimination, violence, and even war. While language shapes how we perceive hate, the real question is why it develops in the first place.
If hate isn’t an emotion, what is it? At its core, hate is a response to fear, stress, and anger. It is reinforced through experience, social pressure, and cultural narratives. Hate is not something we are born with—it is something we learn.
Fear plays a significant role. People often hate what they don’t understand or perceive as a threat. This is why xenophobia and racial prejudice exist. The unfamiliar makes people uncomfortable, and in that discomfort, hate is cultivated.
Stress and anger also fuel hate. When individuals feel powerless, overwhelmed, or frustrated, they search for something to blame. Hate becomes a means to direct negative emotions outward. This is evident in scapegoating, where specific groups are held responsible for economic hardship, crime, or societal decline.
The us vs. them mentality fuels hatred. Humans are inherently tribal, creating groups based on identity—race, nationality, religion, or ideology. This fosters the belief that our group is superior while viewing their group as the enemy. Hatred deepens this divide, making it easier to rationalize discrimination and violence.
Personal experience can turn resentment into hate. A betrayal, ongoing mistreatment, or a history of injustice can lead someone to develop deep-seated hostility. In many cases, what starts as personal pain becomes generalized toward an entire group, reinforcing division cycles.
Hate is also learned. From childhood, individuals absorb beliefs from family, media, and society. When a child grows up in an environment that demonizes certain groups, that perspective often becomes deeply ingrained. This is why racism, sexism, and religious intolerance persist across generations.
Finally, the internet has amplified hate like never before. Social media allows people to express extreme views without accountability. Hate spreads through online mobs, echo chambers, and misinformation, making it more difficult to challenge false narratives and prejudices.
Hate is destructive not just to its targets but also to those who hold it. It consumes energy, distorts reality, and fosters resentment. Research shows that people who cling to hate experience higher levels of stress, anxiety, and even physical health issues. Hate undermines mental and emotional well-being.
On a larger scale, hate causes social division. It tears families apart, fuels political and racial tensions, and makes it nearly impossible for societies to progress together. Hate-driven violence—including hate crimes, terrorism, and genocide—has tragically shaped history, demonstrating that unchecked hatred leads to devastating consequences. However, if hate is learned, it can also be unlearned. The cycle is not inevitable.
The first step in breaking free from hate is awareness. Recognizing that hate is not an emotion, but a response driven by fear, stress, and conditioning allows us to question the origins of our biases. Education plays a crucial role in this process. Exposure to diverse cultures, perspectives, and ideas challenges misconceptions and diminishes fear.
Challenging stereotypes is another powerful tool. Many forms of hate are based on false generalizations. Real-life interactions with people from different backgrounds help dissolve these misconceptions and build bridges instead of walls.
Empathy is the most potent antidote to hate. When we take the time to understand another person’s experiences, it becomes difficult to hold onto hostility. Compassion takes the place of resentment when we realize that those we dislike have struggles, dreams, and fears just like our own.
Letting go of hate requires emotional regulation. Practicing mindfulness, engaging in therapy, or using basic stress management techniques can help individuals break free from cycles of anger and resentment. Though challenging, forgiveness often serves as the key to moving forward.
Constructive dialogue is essential. Many people avoid discussions about complex topics because they fear conflict. But avoiding conversation only deepens the divide. Engaging in open, respectful discussions about race, politics, and ideology can break down barriers and create understanding.
We all share the responsibility of taking action against hate. This can be as simple as opposing discrimination when we see it or supporting organizations that work to dismantle hate. Every act of kindness, every moment of patience, and every attempt to understand another perspective contributes to a world with less hate.
Hate is neither an emotion nor an instinct—it is a habit, a behavior, a learned response. It represents a destructive way of thinking. Just like any habit, it can be changed. While it may feel powerful in the moment, hate ultimately weakens the person who harbors it. It isolates, consumes, and destroys. But we have a choice. Instead of hate, we can choose curiosity. Instead of division, we can select understanding. Instead of anger, we can opt for growth. The opposite of hate isn’t necessarily love—it’s the willingness to listen, learn, and let go. That is something every single one of us can strive for…
How to break a habit that isolates, consumes, and destroys: “Why Do We Hate?” from @drsamgoldstein.bsky.social in @psychologytoday.com.
(Image above: source)
* James Baldwin, The Fire Next Time
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As we look beyond loathing, we might recall that it was on this date in 1492 that the joint Catholic Monarchs of Spain (Isabella I of Castile and Ferdinand II of Aragon, the patrons of Columbis) issued and “executive order” commanding the expulsion of practising Jews from the Crowns of Castile and Aragon and its territories and possessions within four months, by July 31 of that year– the Alhambra Decree (AKA, the Edict of Expulsion). It had been strongly advocated by the Inquisitor General of Spain, Tomás de Torquemada, “the hammer of heretics, the light of Spain, the saviour of his country, the honor of his order,” per Spanish chronicler Sebastián de Olmedo. Subsequent history has been less kind. By virtue of his approval, even advocacy, of practices including torture and burning at the stake, his name has become synonymous with cruelty, religious intolerance, and fanaticism.
“As for us Indians, we have our own problem before us. It is the problem of the world in miniature. India is too vast in its area and too diverse in its races. It is many countries packed in one geographical receptacle.”*…
The current approach to this challenge seems to be (to oversimplify, if only slightly) to create a majoritarian Hindu state that homogenizes those differences. But it wasn’t always so. Scott Stroud tells the story of Bhimrao Ambedkar, an Indian student of John Dewey, who worked for a very different, more inclusive, kind of country…
When one thinks of American pragmatism, one often puts too much emphasis on the American part. It might even stunt our enquiry, irrevocably fixating on thinkers such as John Dewey, William James, and Jane Addams. But there is more to the story of pragmatism than what happened in the United States around the turn of the 20th century. Pragmatism itself was a flexible, loosely allied approach to thinking that held few maxims in common other than the idea that our theorising and arguing ought to come from lived experience and ought to return back to experience as the ultimate test of its value. Its advocates such as Dewey greatly affected nations such as China through his teaching and lecturing, leading us to see that pragmatism has a global narrative connected with it. Is there a similar tale to be told about pragmatism and its interactions with India?
Any narrative of pragmatism’s influence and evolution in India will centre on Bhimrao Ambedkar, a student of Dewey’s at Columbia University in New York. Some might recognise Ambedkar (1891-1956) as a chief architect of the Indian constitution in the 1940s. Others might recognise him as the indefatigable leader of India’s ‘untouchables’ (now denoted by the self-chosen label ‘Dalit’), given his constant advocacy for the rights of those oppressed by the complex and long-rooted caste system. Ambedkar himself was a so-called untouchable, which only fortified his commitment to seeking justice in the law and in social reforms for India’s most vulnerable populations. At the end of his life, he channelled his frustration at the prevailing caste consciousness within Hindu society into a conversion effort that tried to convince his fellow Dalits to convert away from Hinduism and into a more egalitarian Buddhism. On 14 October 1956, just weeks before he died, he led what was at the time one of the world’s largest voluntary mass conversions. This event held in Nagpur featured Ambedkar, his wife Savita, and an estimated 500,000 Dalits converting to Buddhism. For reasons such as these, Ambedkar was voted the ‘greatest Indian’ in post-independence India in a poll that included more than 20 million votes being cast.
Ambedkar was not merely a political figure or leader. He was also a philosopher. One can see the evidence for this in the reconstructed Buddhism that he advanced in his final years, coalescing in his rewritten ‘Buddhist Bible’, The Buddha and His Dhamma, which was completed just before his death on 6 December 1956. In this book, Ambedkar reconstructed the narrative of the Buddha, de-emphasising traditional formulas such as the four noble truths, and foregrounding poverty, injustice and the building up of social communities. In short, he reconstructed the Buddhist tradition and its myriad texts to show how it could function as a social gospel, or an engaged philosophy that could even meet the growing waves of those inspired by Karl Marx and Russian communism in the 1950s…
The politician and thinker whose philosophy of democracy challenged the caste system: “The Indian pragmatist,” from @scottrstroud in @aeonmag.
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As we contemplate community, we might recall that it was on this date in 1492 that all remaining Jews were expelled from Spain. On March 31 of that year, the joint Catholic Monarchs of Spain (Isabella I of Castile and Ferdinand II of Aragon, the patrons of Christopher Columbus) had issued an edict– the Alhambra Decree— ordering the expulsion of practicing Jews from the Crowns of Castile and Aragon and its territories and possessions by this date that year.
“On any given day… 5% of Americans will consume a fresh orange, 21% will consume orange juice.”*…
How concentrated and ready-to-pour orange juice– originally a dumping ground for extra oranges– conquered the morning menu…
The staid carton of orange juice has long sat next to tea and coffee at the breakfast table. It’s bright, but somewhat boring, and bears the dubious halo of being something good for you. Few of us give it much thought, other than to recall its oft-trumpeted Vitamin C content.
But processed orange juice as a daily drink, you might be surprised to learn, is a relatively recent arrival. Its present status as a global phenomenon is the creation of 20th-Century marketers, dealing with a whole lot of oranges and nowhere to put them…
“How orange juice took over the breakfast table,” from @BBC_Future. [TotH to friend MK.]
* USDA
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As we get sweet, we might recall that it was on this date in 1821 that Spain formally transferred sovereignty over the territory we now know as Florida– the center of the orange juice industry– to the United States. (Spain had, of course, traded Florida to England [for Cuba] in 1763, but had regained it as a product of the Treaty of Versailles in 1783.)
“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition”*…
On the long-term effects of suppression and persecution…
From Imperial Rome to the Crusades, to modern North Korea or the treatment of Rohingya in Myanmar, religious persecution has been a tool of state control for millennia.
While its immediate violence and human consequences are obvious, less obvious is whether it leaves scars centuries after it ends.
In a new study we have attempted to examine the present day consequences of one of the longest-running and most meticulously documented persecutions of them all – the trials of the Spanish Inquisition between 1478 to 1834…
Details at “Extraordinarily, the effects of the Spanish Inquisition linger to this day.”
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As we tolerate, we might recall that it was on this date in 1492 that Catholic monarchs, King Ferdinand II of Aragon and Isabella I of Castile took control of the Emirate of Grenada (1238-1492), the last Moorish stronghold in Spain. King Boabdil surrendered to Spanish forces in the Alhambra palace, surrendering the key to the city– an event Christopher Columbus witnessed as he received the support of the monarchy to sail to the Indies.
Pursuant to the Inquisition, Ferdinand and Isabella had targeted Muslims and Sephardic Jews (also called the Megorashim), forcing them either to convert to Christianity or to leave Spain within four months without any possessions. Failure to leave resulted in torture and/or death.
“History may be divided into three movements: what moves rapidly, what moves slowly, and what appears not to move at all.”*…
Out of Italy was Braudel’s attempt to… explain a historical flash in the pan: the Italian Renaissance.
For Braudel, history was a struggle to see connections across the high walls of academic disciplines. This kind of approach to the past, showing that all ‘civilisations have their feet on the ground’, is Braudel and the Annales school’s most important legacy: the value of interdisciplinary research, as exemplified by their radical programme, is now so tacitly accepted as to be hardly worth mentioning.
If Italy’s rise must be explained, so, Braudel thought, must its decline. Today, historians are not so concerned with questions of cultural supremacy and decay; they don’t view culture as a vital force that can be ‘concentrated and exhausted’ in a couple of centuries. But the explanation for the fizzling out of this creative energy in the mid-17th century vexed Braudel. He saw the seeds of Italy’s decline within its greatness, borrowing Léon Brunschvicg’s image for ancient Greece’s influence (which Brunschvicg in turn had taken from Hegel): the owl of Athena takes flight only at nightfall. ‘Rightly or wrongly,’ Braudel wrote, ‘it seems to me that there must be a kind of nightfall preceding, and determining, almost every case of cultural greatness. It is the darkness that provokes a multitude of lights.’ The catastrophes of the Italian Wars (1494-1559) and a declining economy were the shadows that prompted the brilliance of Renaissance art and culture; it was peace and economic tranquillity that ‘spread like treacle through Italian life’ after the treaty of Cateau-Cambrésis in 1559. Greatness (and influence) was born in darkness.
To make his point Braudel asks us to imagine conversations with three Baroque architects: with Agostino Barelli (from Bologna), standing outside his Theatine Church in Munich in 1660; with Carlo Antonio Carlone (from Como), as he began work on his Church of the Nine Angelic Choirs in Vienna in 1663; and with Andrea Pozzo (from Trento), while he oversaw the construction of his Jesuit Church in Vienna in 1701. Three Italians, three major building projects outside Italy. They would have been surprised to learn that Italy was on the path to decline…
How could cultures as vibrant as Baroque Italy or interwar Europe have been so radically diminished? Italy’s economic dominance would be supplanted first by the capitalist burghers of the Netherlands and then by English industrialists….
Braudel’s writing also sought to confront the inability of even the greatest historians to predict what would happen next. In this light, his pessimism about human time and human stories can be hard to face… And yet Braudel is optimistic about human civilisations:
Mortal perhaps are their ephemeral blooms, the intricate and short-lived creations of an age, their economic triumphs and their social trials, in the short term. But their foundations remain. They are not indestructible, but they are many times more solid than one might imagine. They have withstood a thousand supposed deaths, their massive bulk unmoved by the monotonous pounding of the centuries.
Nothing changes, and individual lives barely leave an imprint. But this is not tragic determinism. It is an unshakeable belief in the persistence of human history through time. ‘A Renaissance,’ Braudel writes, ‘is always possible.’
On Fernand Braudel‘s Out of Italy, and an appreciation of its insightful author, a leader of the Annales school of history: “Down with Occurrences.”
* Fernand Braudel
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As we think in time, we might recall that it was on this date in 1803 that Spanish representatives in New Orleans executed documents ceding sovereignty over the Louisiana Territory to France. Twenty days later, France transferred the Territory to the United States.
The U.S. gained possession of 828,000 square miles of territory (an area that includes all or part of 15 current U.S. states and 2 Canadian provinces). Americans had originally sought to purchase only the port city of New Orleans and its adjacent coastal lands; but Napoleon, cash-strapped by his war with England, offered the (much) larger parcel– and the U.S. quickly agreed.
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