Flawed Heroes, Mixed Legacies
The Complexity of Columbus
Last year, I wrote an essay arguing that Christopher Columbus is not worth defending, on the basis of texts by Dr. Warren Carroll, a prominent and respected Catholic historian who heavily influenced my high school education, and for whom I hold great respect.
This year, I wish to reflect on one of the most interesting criticisms that was raised against my argument — that is, the words of Dr. Carroll himself, who published a 1992 essay on “Honoring Christopher Columbus” at nearly the very same time he also published “Isabel of Spain: The Catholic Queen” (1991) and “A History of Christendom, Vol. 3: The Glory of Christendom” (1993), the two texts upon which my argument heavily relied.
At the conclusion of his 1992 essay, Dr. Carroll summarizes his thesis:
Columbus was a flawed hero — as all men are flawed, including heroes — and his flaws are of a kind particularly offensive to today’s culture. But he was nevertheless a hero, achieving in a manner unequalled in the history of exploration and the sea, changing history forever.
…Heroes need not be perfect; indeed, given the fallen nature of man, none can be perfect. It is right to criticize their failings, but wrong to deny their greatness and the inspiration they can give.
Christopher Columbus is the discoverer of America, and by that discovery ultimately responsible for America’s evangelization; and for this we should forever honor him.
This is certainly a high vision of Columbus — and indeed, it echoes the same vision advanced by Pope Leo XIII’s 1892 Encyclical Quarto Abeunte Saeculo, given on the Columbus Quadricentennial, precisely 100 years earlier. But it is worthwhile to pause and carefully examine the lines of argumentation that are at play in Dr. Carroll’s conclusion.
None Without Fault
At the outset, Dr. Carroll and I share a common, crucial starting point — and this, a starting point seemingly not even acknowledged by the lofty vision of Pope Leo XIII — that is, the acceptance of Columbus as “flawed”. This coexists with an acknowledgment that “all men are flawed, including heroes”, and that even among heroes “it is right to criticize their failings”. These are no small concessions, and they harmonize well with the opening sentence of my original essay, which affirmed that: …the truth is often complex and nuanced, requiring careful distinction, particularly when the virtues and vices of Fallen humanity are involved.
The real difference, then, is less about the facts — less about the reality of Columbus’ flaws — and far more about the moral weight that we assign to those facts, ultimately culminating in the critical question: Does the gravity of Columbus’ flaws outweigh his merits?
Indeed, my thesis that Columbus is not worth defending does not logically amount to a claim that Columbus has absolutely no merits to speak of — this is simply not what the argument requires, or otherwise implies. The claim that someone is (or: is not) worth defending reduces to nothing more than a judgment that their known sins and failings are outweighed by (or: outweigh) whatever merits or accomplishments can also be credited to them.
The central fact to remember is simply that fallen persons are not cartoon heroes and villains. Thus we must carefully make distinctions, and avoid obscuring the truth — whatever that might ultimately be. Heroes can have remarkable flaws. Villains have incredible virtues. Heretics can accomplish great things. Saints can sin gravely. If we value the truth, we have nothing to fear from exploring doubts, encountering complexity, and embracing nuance.
The necessity of this approach applies to Christopher Columbus, and it applies to Isabella of Spain. It applies to Saints Louis IX, Junipero Serra, Josemaría Escrivá, Mother Teresa, and Pope John Paul II. It applies to the Catholic Church, the Great Schism of 1054, the Crusades, Inquisitions, the Protestant Reformation, and recent histories of Church-sponsored missions and residential schools. It applies to the French Revolution, the Founding Fathers of the United States, and to every last one of our favored political heroes and villains. It applies to Dr. Warren Carroll, and it applies to myself.
What Heroism?
Columbus was a flawed man — this is beyond doubt. Should we nevertheless judge Columbus to be a hero, despite his flaws? Dr. Carroll argued in the affirmative. And yet we must ask: On what basis does he argue this? Subsequently, do we find that basis persuasive? After all, Columbus is certainly not a saint. Columbus was never canonized by the Church for his heroic virtue, and — if we simply accept the horrible truth of Dr. Carroll’s concession that Columbus was guilty of “persistent attempts to enslave those whose souls he [claimed] to have gone there to save” — it becomes very easy to see why he never will be canonized.
So why did Dr. Carroll ultimately deem Columbus a hero, despite this? An initial reading of his argument suggests that Columbus was heroic on account of his navigational skills “unequalled in the history of exploration and the sea, changing history forever.” But this fact alone — however impressive in its historical context — is hardly sufficient to ward off all criticism of the man’s actions and legacy. It seems, instead, that the deeper heart of the claim for heroism rests on the argument that Columbus “is the discoverer of America, and by that discovery ultimately responsible for America’s evangelization; and for this we should forever honor him.”
But is that conclusion persuasive? Does it follow from the premise? Now, in raising this question I am not referring to the premise that Columbus should be considered “the discoverer of America”. Let that (highly disputed) premise be qualified, nuanced, or simply granted outright, for the sake of the argument. Let Christopher Columbus be heralded as the discoverer: Does it follow that he is, as a result of that discovery, “ultimately responsible for America’s evangelization”?
It simply does not.
The more sober truth is that Christopher Columbus — the man who “asked without apology for the full legalization of a slave trade in Indians” — the man who “in personal command, ranged over the island killing, capturing, and terrorizing the Indians into submission” — the man who “seemed interested in baptizing Indians only after bringing them to Spain” — this man was not personally responsible for America’s evangelization in any meaningful sense, and cannot in hindsight be honestly credited with this.
True Evangelization
The Christianization of the Americas was not Columbus’ achievement. But it would be the responsibility and accomplishment of the men and women who came after him: those who actually lived among the Native Americans, preached Christ to them, baptized them, loved them, and defended them against unjust enslavement and exploitation — those are the men and women who are “ultimately responsible for America’s evangelization”. Or perhaps the flourishing of Christianity in the Americas should be most properly credited to Our Lady of Guadalupe, seeing as there were no less than “five million Indian baptisms in Mexico in the first five years after she appeared on the hill of Tepeyac” (Warren H. Carroll, “Our Lady of Guadalupe and the Conquest of Darkness” pg. 113), and perhaps as many as nine million conversions within 8–10 years of her apparition, according to other authors.
In any case, the inexorable conclusion is that Christopher Columbus can only be deemed accidentally responsible for the accomplishments of the holy men and women who followed in his wake. Indeed, it seems we should hold that the subsequent Christianization of the Americas did not happen because of Columbus’ personal actions, but despite his personal actions. His navigational skills — however extraordinary they might have been — do not allow him to be credited retroactively as a sort of quasi-evangelist, when honestly weighed alongside his publicly-documented sins.
We must also remember that the ends never justify the means. Thus, as we embrace nuance in the face of complex legacies, we can, and should, and must be willing to entertain the possibility that some great goods (such as the Christianization of the Americas) may have at times been historically pursued through gravely evil means (such as unjust colonization and exploitation). Accordingly we can, and should, and must condemn the men and women who chose to use those means, or who did not raise their voices to resist what they could and should have known was a grave evil. Even the greatest good — the eternal salvation of souls — cannot immunize from criticism every means taken to reach that end. Indeed it is simply depraved and blasphemous to suggest that authentic evangelization ever requires grave moral evils, justifies the temporal suffering of innocent lives, or otherwise necessitates certain worldly injustices at the expense of innocent populations.
This brings us directly to Dr. Carroll’s strangely-framed concession that Columbus’ flaws were “of a kind particularly offensive to today’s culture”. For on the contrary, as a friend of mine once observed: the fun thing about the natural law is that it doesn’t depend on what year it is. It is always gravely wrong to pursue the subjugation or enslavement of innocent persons, or to tolerate their rape and exploitation by the men under your command. Personal sins that inflict grave harm upon innocent persons — and they are sins, not mere character flaws — should be “particularly offensive” to every culture, especially a culture that wishes to describe itself as Christian.
Of course, we do concede that the clarity of the natural law can be obscured in the hearts and minds of men — even to the point that grave evils such as slavery or murder can become pervasive and systemic within a culture, and thereby cease to be remarkable to a majority of citizens. But another fun thing about natural law is that it rarely lurks far from the surface, especially when questions of justice and innocent lives are involved. It should be no surprise, then, that some individuals living in the very same day and age as Columbus did know better, and fiercely condemned Spanish crimes against humanity. Indeed (this merits repeating) Queen Isabel of Spain had “repeatedly made it clear” to Columbus “that she would never permit” the legalization of a slave trade in Indians. Columbus knew of her vehement disapproval. And not only this, but — in the text of his very same 1992 essay, arguing in favor of honoring Columbus for the discovery of America — Dr. Carroll transparently concedes:
Sick, frustrated, angry, and unable to control the Spaniards on the island, Columbus blamed the Indians for his troubles and the very small production of gold. In January 1495 he seized over a thousand Indians to make them slaves. There can be no excuse for this, but it is very important to remember that it was contrary to Spanish law and vigorously countermanded by Queen Isabel as soon as she found out about it. She declared firmly that no one had authorized her Admiral [i.e. Columbus] to treat “her subjects” in this manner, released the Indian captives who had been brought to Spain, and made clear her unalterable opposition to enslavement of the Indians. She then sent a former member of her household named Juan Aguado to investigate what Columbus was doing as governor of Hispaniola and report back to her.
Before Aguado could reach Hispaniola, full-scale war with its Indians had broken out because of Columbus’ seizure of the slaves. The Spaniards easily won all military engagements with the Indians, demanded from them a tribute in gold too much for them to collect, and ravaged their lands and pursued them into the mountains when they did not collect it. Aguado’s arrival forced Columbus to stop all of this, and he returned to Spain in June 1496.
Conclusions
There is simply no ambiguity upon which to build a coherent and compelling argument that Columbus did not (or could not) have known much better regarding the evils of slavery in his day and age, or that his actions were somehow broadly in line with the moral consensus of his contemporaries. And more than this: even if none of Columbus’ contemporaries had been capable of helping him identify these evils (and this is manifestly false) — even then, that would hardly be a compelling defense of his actions, much less a worthy argument in favor of our annually celebrating or honoring this man who was personally responsible for pursuing and committing these grave evils.
When it comes to our relationship with historical “heroes”, Dr. Carroll admits that none are perfect, and rightly holds that: “It is right to criticize their failings, but wrong to deny their greatness and the inspiration they can give.” And in the abstract, of course, this is perfectly true. But at the very same time, there is an equally important corollary: It is right to honor someone’s personal accomplishments, but wrong to exaggerate their achievements or downplay their personal failings. If we are committed to truth and justice, then we must be committed to speaking about historical figures in a way that is just and true: otherwise we ourselves commit an injustice, through advancing or perpetuating inaccurate historical legacies. And it is precisely a matter of questioning the greatness and inspiring value of Columbus’ actions — or in the case of Pope Leo XIII’s brief (and perfectly fallible) encyclical, questioning the historical facts serving as the foundation of the analysis — upon which this argument over the legacy of Columbus must be decided.
We cannot be afraid of the truth. Whenever we discover or encounter mixed legacies, we must not retreat from the facts that make us uncomfortable; on the contrary, we must invite this new complexity, allow ourselves to live in the tension, and draw nuanced judgments. And ultimately we must remain open to the possibility that, at a certain point, genuine respect for the truth might require us to cease praising (or defending) certain things, if we realize that they are too deeply compromised by evil. My own judgment that Columbus is not worth defending flows from this framework: it is (or so it seems to me) a simple matter of owning up to the truth of his grave sins and failures, all of which are documented and admitted even by Dr. Carroll.
Of course, it remains possible that people of good will can reach different conclusions about how to evaluate mixed legacies, and where to draw the line between “flawed hero” and “anti-villain”. But we are not slaves to the fallible opinions of individual historians, and intellectual honesty demands that we engage with and evaluate arguments, before taking them up as our own. So if anyone wishes to stand alongside Dr. Carroll and argue in favor of publicly honoring Columbus — especially with a national holiday — then they must coherently expound the greatness of his personal accomplishments without denying or downplaying his personal sins and failings.
I have yet to see a truly coherent and respectable argument to this end.
