Joanna of Castile: Madness or Marginalization?

Based on “Johanna de Waanzinnige” by Johan Brouwer

Joanna of Castile

History has often remembered Joanna of Castile—better known by her posthumous moniker Juana la Loca, or Joanna the Mad—as a queen who lost her mind for love and lingered in madness until death. She is imagined wandering with her husband’s coffin, clutching it as if unwilling to release him to the realm of the dead. But is this image accurate, or merely a convenient fiction woven by those who profited from her silence?

The Dutch historian Johan Brouwer takes this well-worn tale and turns it on its head. In his thoughtful and evocative account, Brouwer offers not a sensationalized depiction of a madwoman, but a portrait of a tragic and complex figure whose alleged insanity may have been less a medical reality than a political strategy. Through his lens, Joanna becomes not only a grieving widow but a woman undone by the forces of dynastic ambition and patriarchal politics.

Born in 1479 to the powerful Catholic Monarchs Ferdinand of Aragon and Isabella of Castile, Joanna was educated in a rich intellectual tradition. She was fluent in Latin, trained in philosophy and theology, and exposed to the ideals of Renaissance humanism. This was not the upbringing of a passive or weak-minded woman, but one meant to prepare her for the responsibilities of rule. Yet from the outset, Joanna’s destiny was never truly hers to shape.

Her marriage to Philip the Handsome, son of the Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian I, was orchestrated for political gain. What began as a passionate union quickly deteriorated into a fraught relationship riddled with betrayal and manipulation. Joanna’s deep emotional bond to Philip—intensified by his infidelities and her own growing isolation at his court—set the stage for her later image as a woman “mad with love.”

When Philip died suddenly in 1506, Joanna was just twenty-seven years old and mother to six children. Her grief was profound, but it also became a weapon used against her. Her father Ferdinand soon claimed she was mentally unfit to govern, declaring himself regent of Castile. Her son Charles, later Charles V, would do the same. She spent nearly five decades confined in the Convent of Tordesillas, where she was visited rarely, ruled never, and gradually erased from public life.

Brouwer challenges us to reconsider the term “madness” as applied to Joanna. Were her behaviors truly pathological, or were they the natural reactions of a sensitive and bereaved woman in a political world that offered no space for emotional authenticity? Her supposed mental breakdowns often occurred in contexts where her authority was being questioned or usurped. Was her madness real—or constructed?

Importantly, Brouwer situates Joanna’s downfall within the broader context of gender and power. Early modern Europe was not kind to strong-willed women. A queen regnant like Joanna, who claimed her own authority and did not bend easily to the will of male advisors or relatives, was a threat to established norms. Declaring her insane was not only a means of control but a way to reinforce societal expectations about the roles women were meant to play—docile, devoted, dependent.

The tragedy of Joanna’s life lies not only in her suffering, but in the way that history has misunderstood and misrepresented her. By focusing on the supposed irrationality of her grief, traditional narratives have overlooked the rationality of her confinement. In silencing Joanna, her family secured their thrones—but in doing so, they condemned her to half a century of political and emotional imprisonment.

Brouwer’s work stands as a vital corrective to centuries of simplistic portrayals. It is both a historical inquiry and a philosophical meditation on how we define mental illness, especially in those who disrupt the status quo. His Johanna de Waanzinnige invites us to listen for the voice beneath the legend—the voice of a woman unjustly cast as mad, and long denied her place in the story of Europe.

Further Reading

·      Johan Brouwer, Johanna de Waanzinnige.

·      Bethany Aram, Juana the Mad: Sovereignty and Dynasty in Renaissance Europe

·      Manuel Fernández Álvarez, Juana la Loca: La cautiva de Tordesillas

The Terrible 17th-Century Europe

Battle of Rocroi (1643), painted in 2011 by Augusto Ferrer-Dalmau.

The 17th century was a time of extraordinary hardship across Europe. War, famine, plague, and rebellion tore through kingdoms and empires. From the Thirty Years’ War in Central Europe to the English Civil War, revolts in Spain and France, and the collapse of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, the entire continent seemed engulfed in crisis.

Historians have long debated whether these events were isolated or interconnected. One compelling explanation is the General Crisis Theory, which sees the 17th century as a systemic upheaval across Europe—a convergence of economic, political, social, and environmental pressures that reshaped the continent.

Crisis Everywhere

The Thirty Years’ War (1618–1648) devastated large parts of the Holy Roman Empire, killing millions and leaving towns and fields in ruins. France faced civil conflict in the Fronde, Spain lost Portugal and faced revolts in Catalonia, and England executed its king after a bloody civil war. Poland was invaded repeatedly, while Russia dealt with uprisings and instability. Even relatively stable northern states like the Dutch Republic and Sweden saw food riots and unrest.

These weren’t isolated troubles. In many places, multiple crises overlapped—military conflict, religious division, famine, and economic collapse—making the century one of the most chaotic in European memory.

Explaining the Crisis

Historians Eric Hobsbawm and Hugh Trevor-Roper argued that the 17th-century crisis was driven by deep-rooted tensions: the decline of feudalism, the rise of capitalism, and struggles between monarchs and emerging bourgeois forces. Geoffrey Parker expanded the theory by emphasizing the role of climate: the Little Ice Age brought colder weather, failed harvests, and famine, which fueled popular discontent and revolt.

Examples abound:

• Drought contributed to revolts in Portugal (1637) and Catalonia (1640).

• Bread riots erupted in Naples and Palermo (1647–48).

• Failed harvests triggered unrest in Ireland, Sweden, and Central Europe.

These environmental shocks didn’t cause every war or rebellion, but they intensified existing tensions, tipping struggling societies into crisis.

Economic and Religious Shifts

Spain’s imperial decline, triggered by inflation, overreliance on American silver, and lost wars, marked a shift in European power. Economic leadership moved northward to England and the Dutch Republic, which embraced trade, finance, and capitalist enterprise.

Religious conflict also remained a driving force. The Thirty Years’ War began as a Catholic-Protestant conflict, and in Britain, tensions between Anglicans, Puritans, and Catholics fed into civil war. Witch hunts, particularly in Scotland and Germany, reflected a climate of fear and scapegoating.

Was There Really a “General Crisis”?

Some historians argue the “general crisis” idea stretches too far—local causes mattered, and not all regions suffered equally. Yet the sheer simultaneity of upheaval across Europe is striking. Even if causes varied, many societies were under extraordinary pressure from multiple directions.

Conclusion

The 17th century was more than just a century of disasters—it was a time of transformation. From its upheavals emerged modern Europe: stronger states, capitalist economies, and new political structures. The General Crisis Theory doesn’t offer a single cause, but a framework for understanding how a range of pressures combined to make the 1600s so uniquely destructive—and transformative.

Further Reading

1. Geoffrey Parker – Global Crisis: War, Climate Change & Catastrophe in the Seventeenth Century

2. Hugh Trevor-Roper – The General Crisis of the Seventeenth Century

3. Eric Hobsbawm – The Age of Revolution

4. John H. Elliott – The Count-Duke of Olivares

5. Peter H. Wilson – Europe’s Tragedy: A History of the Thirty Years War

The Lingering Shadows of Spain’s Civil War

Though Spain’s Civil War ended in 1939, its echoes still resonate through the country’s streets, politics, and family histories. Unlike other European nations that confronted their past through trials or truth commissions, Spain adopted a pact of forgetting (Pacto del Olvido) during its transition to democracy. This silence allowed wounds to remain unhealed, with mass graves still being uncovered and historical memory laws stirring controversy. The legacy of Franco’s dictatorship lingers in political debates, street names, and even in family conversations where loyalties remain divided. As Spain grapples with how to remember its past, the war remains not just history but a presence—just below the surface.

Alfonso el Sabio: too Wise to Rule?

Based on Joseph F. O’Callaghan, “Paths to Ruin: The Economic and Financial Policies of Alfonso the Learned”.

Alfonso X of Castile, from his Libro de los Juegos.

King Alfonso X of Castile and León (1221-1284), known to history as Alfonso el Sabio (“the Learned”), reigned from 1252 to 1284 and left behind a legacy that is both brilliant and burdened. On one hand, he was a visionary patron of science, law, and the arts, producing monumental works like the Siete Partidas, the Cantigas de Santa María, and the Libro de los Juegos (Book of Games). On the other hand, as historian Joseph F. O’Callaghan explains in his chapter “Paths to Ruin”, Alfonso’s reign was also marked by a catastrophic failure in financial and economic policy—a failure that weakened the Castilian crown and sowed unrest for decades to come.

A Scholar on the Throne

Alfonso X was not the typical medieval monarch. Fluent in Latin, Arabic, and Castilian, he was as much a scholar as a sovereign. Under his rule, a vibrant court at Toledo became a center of translation and intellectual activity, where Christian, Muslim, and Jewish scholars collaborated. One of the most remarkable products of this atmosphere was the Libro de los Juegos (Book of Games, 1283)—an illustrated treatise on chess, dice, and board games. More than a manual, it is a philosophical and cultural text that blends entertainment, moral education, and cosmology, reflecting Alfonso’s fascination with the interplay of chance, reason, and fate.

But the grandeur of his cultural ambitions stood in sharp contrast to the reality of his kingdom’s finances.

Dreams Too Expensive to Realize

According to O’Callaghan, Alfonso’s intellectual and imperial ambitions demanded money—a lot of it. His bid for the Holy Roman Empire, his extensive codification of law, and his royal patronage of scholarship all drew heavily on the royal treasury. Yet the revenue streams of 13th-century Castile were limited. To make up for the gap, Alfonso relied on aggressive taxation and damaging currency debasement—undermining both the economy and public trust.

He minted increasingly debased coinage, reducing the silver content while maintaining face value. This led to inflation, distrust in the Castilian currency, and a sharp downturn in trade. Even cities that supported the king intellectually and politically began to resist his economic policies.

Political Fallout and Fractured Authority

O’Callaghan emphasizes that Alfonso’s fiscal mismanagement led not only to economic strain, but to political fragmentation. The Cortes (Castile’s representative assembly) grew increasingly critical of the crown. Nobles, clergy, and cities resented rising taxes and the inflationary impact of bad coinage. The king’s authority—already under pressure from his failed imperial ambitions—began to erode.

Most devastatingly, Alfonso’s last years were marked by dynastic conflict, as his son Sancho rose in rebellion, supported by nobles who feared further ruin. Alfonso died in 1284, largely politically isolated, with his legal and cultural legacy overshadowed by the financial chaos he had created.

A Legacy Divided: Culture vs. Collapse

O’Callaghan’s portrait of Alfonso X is not that of a tyrant or a fool, but of a brilliant mind unmoored from financial reality. The very intellectual projects that make Alfonso celebrated today—his codification of law, his Book of Games, his support of science and vernacular literature—were funded through means that ultimately destabilized his kingdom.

In this sense, the title “Paths to Ruin” carries a double meaning: Alfonso walked a path that elevated Castilian culture and law to unprecedented heights, while simultaneously guiding his monarchy into economic and political decline.

Conclusion

Alfonso X remains one of the most paradoxical figures of the Middle Ages. He gave Europe some of its earliest and richest secular literature, codified legal systems still influential today, and preserved the intellectual heritage of three great cultures. Yet, as O’Callaghan’s analysis shows, his financial policies unraveled the very foundations of his state.

He was, perhaps, too learned to rule well—a king who left behind a library of wisdom but a kingdom in crisis.

Further Reading

• Joseph F. O’Callaghan, “Paths to Ruin: The Economic and Financial Policies of Alfonso the Learned”, in The Worlds of Alfonso the Learned and James the Conqueror (Princeton, 1985).

• Joseph F. O’Callaghan, The Learned King: The Reign of Alfonso X of Castile (University of Pennsylvania Press, 1993).

• Joseph F. O’Callaghan, Alfonso X, the Justinian of His Age: Law and Justice in Thirteenth-Century Castile (Cornell University Press, 2019).

• H. L. R. Edwards, The Book of Games: Alfonso X’s Book of Chess, Dice and Tables (Dover facsimile edition).

Nationalism in 19th Century Europe: Unity, Identity, and Conflict

Angling in Troubled Waters, by Fred W. Rose (1899).

The 19th century was the age in which nationalism emerged as one of the most transformative political ideologies in Europe. Sparked by the French Revolution and fueled by the Enlightenment’s ideals of popular sovereignty, equality, and reason, nationalism promoted the idea that people sharing a common language, culture, and history should form self-governing nations. As the century unfolded, nationalism reshaped the political map of Europe, unifying fragmented states, challenging empires, and redefining what it meant to belong.

The Roots of Nationalism

The French Revolution introduced the radical concept that sovereignty should reside not with monarchs, but with "the nation"—an entity representing the collective will of the people. Philosophers like Jean-Jacques Rousseau emphasized the "general will" as the moral and political authority of a united people. This idea was powerful and dangerous: it justified the fall of monarchies, the creation of republics, and eventually, wars of national liberation. Though the French revolutionaries failed to fully unify the population of France, they demonstrated the potential of nationalism to mobilize mass support, challenge traditional hierarchies, and inspire change​.

Unification and Resistance

Nationalism played a decisive role in the unification of Germany and Italy, two major new states that did not exist in modern form before the 1860s.

In Germany, the nationalist sentiment had been culturally nurtured by Romantic thinkers such as Fichte and Arndt, who emphasized the German language and collective identity, especially in opposition to foreign influence (notably France). Politically, unification was driven by Otto von Bismarck, the Prussian chancellor, who used a pragmatic and militaristic strategy (Realpolitik) to isolate Austria, defeat France in the Franco-Prussian War, and unite the German-speaking states under Prussian dominance in 1871. The newly formed German Empire became a powerful and industrialized state, but its unification came at the cost of suppressing internal diversity and fostering external rivalries​.

In Italy, unification efforts were more ideologically fragmented. Giuseppe Mazzini championed a republican and democratic vision, while Camillo Cavour, Prime Minister of Piedmont-Sardinia, worked to expand northern Italy through diplomacy and war. Giuseppe Garibaldi added southern Italy to the fold through popular uprisings. Italy was formally unified in 1861, though it wasn’t until 1870, with the capture of Rome, that the peninsula was fully consolidated. Despite unification, deep economic and cultural divides between the industrial North and the rural South remained, and tensions with the Catholic Church lingered for decades​.

Nationalism and the Multinational Empires

While nationalism unified some regions, it posed existential threats to others—especially the Austrian, Ottoman, and Russian empires. These vast, multi-ethnic states were increasingly unstable as various ethnic groups—Hungarians, Czechs, Poles, Serbs, Bulgarians, and others—demanded autonomy or independence.

In Austria, the monarchy was forced to grant limited self-rule to Hungary, creating the Austro-Hungarian dual monarchy in 1867. Even this compromise failed to ease all ethnic tensions. In the Ottoman Empire, nationalist revolts, like the successful Greek War of Independence (1821–1830), were followed by others in the Balkans. Russia, meanwhile, responded to nationalist dissent with repression and policies of Russification, imposing Russian language and culture on its diverse populations, and conducting violent pogroms against Jews​.

Cultural and Political Implications

The spread of nationalism had profound implications for how people understood identity, citizenship, and state power. Where earlier generations had tied loyalty to monarchs or religious authorities, nationalism demanded loyalty to the nation—often defined in ethnic or linguistic terms. National identity became something to be cultivated through public education, literature, historical memory, and symbolic acts like the adoption of national flags, anthems, and holidays.

However, this also meant that those who didn’t fit the national mold—minorities, immigrants, or religious outsiders—were increasingly marginalized. Nationalism encouraged the construction of “us vs. them” dynamics. As the century progressed, this fostered antisemitism, especially in places like Germany and Russia, where Jews were cast as the internal “other.” Nationalism could therefore empower and liberate, but also divide and persecute​.

Looking Forward

By the end of the 19th century, nationalism had become a dominant political force across Europe, influencing liberal and conservative regimes alike. It enabled the formation of new states and inspired oppressed peoples to claim self-rule. But it also laid the groundwork for international rivalry, ethnic conflict, and imperialist ambitions, which would explode catastrophically in the 20th century.

Nationalism in the 19th century was thus a double-edged sword: a source of hope and unity, but also of exclusion and division. Its legacy continues to shape modern politics, making it one of the most enduring and complex ideologies of the modern era.

Pope Leo XIV

Pope Leo XIV.

Born in Chicago in 1955, Robert Prevost spent much of his life as a missionary and pastor in Peru before rising to Vatican leadership. A member of the Augustinian order, he is known for his humble, consultative style and deep commitment to pastoral care, especially for the poor and marginalized.

As leader of the Dicastery for Bishops, Prevost was instrumental in shaping the global episcopate. He listens deeply, values consensus, and avoids authoritarianism. His theology emphasizes encounter with Christ, missionary outreach, and a Church with “open doors.” He supports synodality and inclusion, while maintaining continuity with Catholic tradition.

Elected pope in 2025 (May 8, 2025) as Pope Leo XIV, he is expected to continue the reformist spirit of Pope Francis — prioritizing unity, evangelization, and social justice — with a calm, pragmatic, and quietly transformative hand.

Belgian Refugees in the Netherlands During the Great War

Belgium refugees in Amsterdam (20-10-1914).

When Germany invaded Belgium in August 1914, violating its neutrality, widespread violence and destruction drove over 1.5 million Belgians—around 20% of the population—to flee. The largest share, about 1 million, escaped to the neutral Netherlands, whose population at the time was only 6.1 million. Other refugees found shelter in France (300,000), the United Kingdom (250,000), and smaller groups in Switzerland, Luxembourg, and elsewhere in Europe.

Although many Belgians returned home after the initial chaos, roughly 100,000 to 120,000 remained in the Netherlands for the duration of World War I. Their sudden arrival overwhelmed Dutch towns, prompting the creation of large refugee camps in places like Gouda and Ede. Initially welcomed with sympathy and solidarity, the refugees soon posed logistical, economic, and social challenges.

Not all were housed in camps—some lived with Dutch families or in urban centers, where Belgian artists, lace-makers, and intellectuals contributed to cultural life. Over time, however, resentment grew due to resource shortages and labor market concerns. The Dutch government imposed restrictions to maintain neutrality and manage tensions, including the internment of Belgian soldiers and limitations on civilian movement and employment.

Despite these difficulties, the presence of the refugees fostered some lasting connections. A small number remained after the war, integrating into Dutch society. The episode stands as one of Europe’s first modern refugee crises—an extraordinary moment when a small neutral country took in a population equal to one-sixth its own.

This chapter of history remains a powerful reminder of the human cost of war and the resilience of both refugees and host societies.