Racial Politics by Way of the 1940’s and the 16th Century

So, I just recently started reading Samuel Shellabarger’s Captain From Castile, which I’ve desperately wanted to read for years. Shellabarger is an incredible writer of historical swashbucklers, and the Tyrone Power movie (which the above picture is from) had just the right mix of spectacle, excitement, and an incredibly disappointing ending that left the viewer with the certainty that the book would be better.

I had heard the novel–an account of the conquest of Mexico–described as one of the first times in popular fiction that the Conquistadors were shown as the greedy bastards that they were, and so naturally I hoped it would be good. I’ve been reading the 640 page monster at a maddening pace, and so far it is extremely good. What’s interesting, though, is Shellabarger’s view of history. The 2002 introduction by critic Jonathan Yardley warns current readers against a bit of racist talk, but so far I’m not convinced of how true that is as, despite the third person narrative, most of the sections are clearly from one or another character’s perspective: many things said in the prose are clearly opinion, and often clearly wrong opinion. What’s intriguing, however, is one little passage that I had seen slightly quoted once as a description of the Conquistadors, but upon coming to it found something much more general.

When two of the main characters are at a port in Spain, watching all the people drawn by the idea of traveling over to the New World, (and this is in 1518, mind you) Pedro, our hero, wonders why it is that so many are so drawn. His friend García first rhapsodizes about gold, on and on about gold. But he then amends it by saying that not only that, some sort of curiosity that’s hard to explain also plays a part. Then, Shellabarger waxes in the clear voice of the historian, no longer within any one character’s perspective:

Without realizing it, García had touched on what gave real significance to the crowded harbor. Behind this western beach lay all the past of the white race: its wars and wanderings, its unceasing nostalgia for beyond-the-horizon, its inveterate dissatisfaction with what it was or had or knew. Having reached the limits of its continent, it could not stop there. Avaricious, cruel, brutal, blind, but always doing and daring, it was driven to set out on crazy planks for unknown continents, different from other races only in this, that it has been the supreme tool for the obscure, creative purpose expressing itself in life.

It’s had to peg what exactly is being said here, in a way, for characterizing white folks as “avaricious, cruel, brutal,” and “blind” certainly doesn’t smack of 1940’s casual white supremacy. It sounds as though the author is genuinely trying to look at the past without bias: that is, neither the pro-European bias of his time, or the more politically correct bias of our own. Shellabarger’s native characters are certainly fully fleshed as well, and very sympathetic concerning what is being done to them. While his hero clearly believes in God and country and so on, at least at first, the novel concerns his moral education, and even as Pedro’s traditional viewpoints are challenged in the first few chapters it becomes clear that Shellabarger’s opinions are extremely nuanced. The introduction warns that he does “rattle the saber of imperialism” a bit, but I certainly haven’t gotten there yet. We shall see.

What makes the above quote so interesting is that it really can be read as not at all any sort of pro-colonial, pro-European, or pro-anything sort of a statement, that is if we take its final sentence to mean that Europeans were the ones who would shape the modern world, for better or for worse. It is probably pretty clear to anyone who reads a good deal of what I write here that I fall strongly on the “fuck those motherfuckers” side when it comes to the Conquistadors and their like, but Shellabarger seems on his way (remember, I’m not too far in yet) to doing a good job of showing them as genuinely courageous and able yet morally heinous, men. That the priest with them sees his most important job to be protecting the natives from the Spanish, with converting natives coming as a far lower priority, is telling.

But that’s just what I think so far, and I’m still not entirely sure that I’m reading the above quote right. Any other interpretations?