The Four Voyages

I’ve had little experience with reading this type of literature, the journal/letter style, though I find it very interesting. Mostly because I do enjoy history, and so find first hand accounts of things intriguing. Still, the closest thing I have to compare this to would be a collection of letters from Toussaint L’Ouverture that I read this past year for an assignment on the Haitian Revolution. And that’s still a few centuries after Columbus, meaning this was a fairly unique read to me. Not to mention that reading something as a “primary source” versus as literature has a slightly different feel.

I’ll admit, I felt fairly judgmental as I read this. At every turn I was looking down on Columbus as he wrote back to Spain of his exploits. The way he talked as if he was so incredibly respective of the people he encountered, then casually mentioning that he ‘seized some natives” for information. I suppose that’s not an ideal mindset to read The Four Voyages with though, not that I know entirely what that would be. But I guess I should try to think of things more from his perspective? Imagine the mindset of the time and all. I’m never sure what place modern perspectives have when reading old texts. Should I try to read objectively, or just let go and allow my views to alter my reading of the text? Anyway, on the topic of wondering at Columbus’ mindset, I couldn’t help but laugh a little to myself at all his exaggerations. He was very desperate to seem successful of course, and so resorted to spinning propaganda, essentially. If I were to highlight every line involving gold or converting natives to christianity, I would have a fairly colourful copy of The Four Voyages. His sponsors had clear reasons for funding his voyages of course, so he would cater to their interests. He makes himself out to be quite the conqueror.

I wonder what a discussion of monsters will be like in the context of this text. How will we define a monster this time? On a side note, I find our various definitions of monsters very interesting, and really like that each text merits a new definition and understanding of the term. I’m always tempted, with each of our texts, to just throw my hands up and call everybody and everything monstrous.


Beowulf

Reading Beowulf was very reminiscent of our first book, The Odyssey. That might be one of the reasons that I really enjoyed Beowulf, as the epic tale is one of action. The edition from the bookstore is absolutely gorgeous, and the pictures and illustrations inside give the book a lot of depth and context in helping understand the objects and culture of Beowulf’s world. A large part of why I enjoy reading stories like The Odyssey and Beowulf is because there is a central hero which the story tends to follow.

As it says in the tale, Beowulf is “no mere hanger-on in a hero’s armour.”, and he is continuously lauded for his feats of strength and courage. The presence of a character like this, a powerful and wise hero is calming, and really gives me someone to cheer for. It might be a really simple thought, but I like having a “good guy” and especially a community which is ultimately “good”. Whether it is because we as people always strive for a happy community, or if it’s just easier to see who the is monster in the story, having a character like Beowulf or Odysseus makes stories much more enjoyable for me.

And what more could you ask from a character like Beowulf? He is truly the peak of a man, travelling to slay evil, and restore peace throughout the world. It is from this that we also see how exchanges and gifts were made in the tale. Once Beowulf kills Grendel he and his men are greatly rewarded by the king Hrothgar, who also is happy to let them stay in Heorot for as long as they wish. These exchanges show respect and gratitude in their true form, giving treasures and gold stories behind them rather than just meaningless objects with a predetermined amount of value. It reminds me why I like concrete gifts more than just receiving money from relatives.

Yet ultimately the story of Beowulf is a tragic one. While the Odyssey might end in (relative) happiness, Beowulf seems to be quite different as our hero who fought so valiantly for the community is abandoned and left to die. While this is pretty sad, I really loved Beowulf as the story is a great example of what an epic tale should be like.

Christopher Columbus

So, I’m not the world’s biggest history buff. When reading a text, my mind is automatically drawn to the symbolic, figurative aspects of the work, and I rarely regard the reality of it. However, with The Four Voyages, I found that I needed to break free of this quest for metaphor, and adopt a more practical way of looking at the work. I can’t argue the alliteration or allegory, as Columbus did not intend for these letters and logs to be read in such a manner. This aspect challenged me.

However, I actually enjoyed reading this work. I was immediately drawn to Columbus’ irony. He keeps talking about how every one of these places he visits is more beautiful than the last, due to their native, unaltered state. However, that’s exactly what he wants to change. He wants to alter not only the landscape, but the lives of the peoples. Yes, he does believe that bringing Christianity to the natives will save them from damnation, but in reality, his whole quest is to abuse and reap the benefits of their homeland. No wonder he ended up becoming so hated.

Secondly, he was so damn whiny. In one particular letter, all he said was just how terrible his lot in life was. Well, unfortunately for him, it’s a direct correlation between fate and his treatment of other individuals. However, it is necessary to view things from his perspective. Maybe he really wasn’t trying to play the victim, and firmly thought that his ordeal was unjust.

Finally, the obsession with gold. It’s rather astonishing to see just how enthralled society is with this shiny substance. This love of the metallic extends even into our modern society, but is rather seen as capitalist profit. Humans love to put such immense value on ridiculously pointless things. Does gold actually help society in anyway? No, it cannot save lives or provide any necessity, just as money itself is completely pointless. This correlation between Columbus’ society and our modern one was very fascinating, as it demonstrates a certain characteristic of humanity. We place so much value on the intangible, but for what? In my opinion, its merely a matter of pride. Nowadays, it is a necessity, but I believe that it originates from a want to possess beauty (in the beauty of gold) that later developed into a means of survival via currency.

All in all, Columbus’ writings were a definite change from the classic idea of literature that we’ve been engrossed with, and proved an interesting and eye-opening reading.

Christopher Columbus

I don’t like reading history. The reason—because reading it is basically nothing more than studying the entire, mostly boring existence of people you most likely don’t care about anyway. Now, I’m well aware that a lot of not boring history is out there (and people you would actually care about), but a small speck of gold does little to brighten a dreary pile of coal. With that said, Christopher Columbus is rated quite high on the list of historical figures I don’t care about. In fact, seeing some books on him was one of the main reasons I passed on the other Arts One group, which I suppose was a futile attempt as I still have to read him in this group. But who knows; maybe this compilation of letters is actually interesting? Maybe I’ve been missing out on the wonders of history all this time? Maybe the tale of Admiral Columbus taking his ships, going out to semi-unexplored lands, and subjugating Indians is in fact a great epic story of fascinating discovery and amazement? Maybe reading a hundred pages of his Excellency whining about how awful his life is, how selfless he is, and how subjugating Indians is a great rehabilitation method is actually a hundred pages of deep, philosophical text? Yeah…no; it was pretty boring overall. I can’t deny that I went into it with biased (and fully realized) standards, so maybe I’m just not reading it properly. Of course, this text does its job as a historical record—it shows us the viewpoint of Columbus and his questionable mental state at all stages of his journey, giving us insight into his thoughts and emotions at the time. It also shows us…no, that’s about it. Since these are letters written solely from Columbus’ point of view, we really can’t believe anything that he says. He obviously left out many crucial and potentially damning events that he may or may not have incited, and he quite overbearing tries to victimize himself whilst antagonizing everyone and everything that is against him. He is playing suck-up to the majesties throughout, and as such wouldn’t tell them anything he doesn’t think they need to know. Personally, the most irritating thing about this book for me was the incessant need to tie god to everything. Even the footnotes contained crosses or double-crosses, and the people who compiled this book are also clearly Christian. Not that I have anything against Christianity in general, but objectivity was clearly the least of anyone’s worries in the creation of this book. It certainly does reflect the historical context, but this leads to my other major problem with history—it is, and always will be, biased. The record of “objective” events will always be recorded by a subjective writer, and thus, nothing read in a history book should ever be taken as is. There is always another side.


Christopher Columbus

Value. That’s what I found the most interesting about this book. Although i’ve always had this fairly basic idea of the contrast between the new world explorers and the natives of the new world, this book is so full of the concept of value, and questions concerning value that you could, y’know, write an essay on it or something. When Columbus gets to the new world he is surprised to find that the natives are willing to hand over something that could be worth a lot of money in exchange for trinkets. Why is he surprised? Different systems assign different values in whatever way they please: worth is completely relative. I know this is no revelation, but to see it (read it) in action was fascinating. One asks which system is more ridiculous, monetary value in small gold coins or monetary value in things that are ornamental, or, useful. But it really has nothing to do with which is more ridiculous because  it’s entirely based on perception.

When it comes to Columbus and his view of the natives his values get even more convoluted. He values these natives for their use to him and their ability to be converted to Christianity. But like the rest of the book there is and undercurrent of idealism. In this case it is concerning monsters. Columbus writes “I have not found the human monsters we expected” which is great, but I got the feeling that in many ways Columbus wanted to find monsters, or wanted the local people to be monsters. It would add to the romance, the adventurism of his story. In this expedition he really wanted something foreign and different, and in a way no hostilities at the beginning may have come across as a bit of a letdown. When Columbus and his sailors meet the Caribs, the cannibals, the letters really play up their atrociousness and their monstrosity, writing about all the horrendous things they do and such. I think these types of things were largely written for the comfortable white “audience” that waited in Spain, so they could say “Ooh look at that, there’s monsters over there, how foreign and romantic.”

The funny thing is that not much has changed. Humans still like to see those who are actually very similar to them as monsters and something non-human. It makes it easier to control them, kill them, or other nasty things. That’s how wars start.

Columbus himself reminded me greatly of Medea. He’s smooth talking in a whiny sort of way, and his letters are like a phsycological study of human self justification. Again, it comes back to value. “Value me” says Columbus. “Value what i’ve done” Hmm.

There was line about one island that spoke of native people with tails. It is never spoke of again. What the heck! I want to here more about that.

Oh yes, and God is still here, shaping peoples destinies and such. I’m starting to think this guys is more trouble than he’s worth.

 

Sam

 

Christopher Columbus

Even though I don’t find Christopher Columbus to be a likeable character at all, one thing that I found interesting about this book The Four Voyages was being able to see things from Columbus’ perspective. In high school, we were taught how Spain, Britain and France’s quest for colonization brought down much suffering on the First Nations people who originally lived where the European nations later colonized. In this book, you get to see things from the perspective of the first European who “found” America. And of course, Columbus conveniently omitted how the Indigenous people were actually treated, focusing on how he would convert them into Christians. In fact, he doesn’t seem to show any remorse about the way he was treating the Aboriginals. He talks about how he traded with them, but he calls his business trade. A far better word to call his conduct would be how he cheated the Indigenous people.

Many wars have been waged over religion. The feuds over whose religion was “true” and “better” have existed for centuries and continues to this day. Perhaps this is why I find the topic of religion rather intriguing. I doubt Isabella of Castile would have approved of Columbus’ actions if she knew the extent of the Natives’ suffering. She’s obviously a very religious woman, but religious doesn’t always equate to being a good person. Most of the Europeans in The Four Voyages are so-called devout Christians, devoted to converting the heathens to embracing Christianity. But sometimes you wonder if this conquest for colonization is really about religion, or whether it’s really a quest to make a financial profit. Does religion = quest for riches? Does religion = power and domination? The questions are answered to a certain extent in The Four Voyages.

I think one should take into account that Columbus has a dual personality in this book. One side to Columbus is that he’s a God-loving, religious man. He has no other desire in exploring other than to convert heathens into religious people and devoted to serving the monarchs of Spain. The other side is the selfish Columbus, who wants money and fame. This would be the interweaving of religion and desire for wealth.

And notice how desire for wealth later subsumes religion. Columbus rather reminds me of Kurtz in Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. He just lacks Kurtz’s epiphany at the end, because I don’t remember him showing any regret or guilt for his actions.


hoard

Beyond the fact that they make for a rather more attractive package, the many illustrations in the Norton edition of Seamus Heaney's Beowulf translation rightly turn our attention to the poem's obsession with things, with physical objects.

On every other page, facing the text itself, are bowls, ships, goblets, shields, arrows, helmets, jewelry, chainmail and the like, all lovingly photographed for our visual pleasure. The pictures neatly reflect and resonate with the poem's own concern with objects that are sometimes so distinctive that they even earn a name for themselves--such as Hrunting, the weapon lent to Beowulf before his fateful encounter with the monster Grendel's frightful mother. Hrunting is described as "a rare and ancient sword," an "iron blade" whose "ill-boding patterns had been tempered in blood" (1458, 1459-60). It fits well with the warrior's "mighty, hand-forged, fine-webbed mail" and his "glittering helmet [. . .] of beaten gold, / princely headgear hooped and hasped / by a weapon-smith who had worked wonders" (1444, 1448, and 1150-52).

In the gift-exchange economy of Dark Ages Europe, heroic deeds and political alliances lead to the accumulation of still more stuff. Once Beowulf has slain the monster and his mother, a grateful King Hrothgar promises that "for as long as I rule this far-flung land / treasures will change hands and each side will treat / the other with gifts" (1859-61). And good as his word, he showers the young prince and his men with artifacts of the highest quality so that by the time Beowulf heads for home he is "glorious in his gold regalia" and their ship is "cargoed with treasure, horses and war-gear" (1881, 1897).

Beowulf has already himself presented Hrothgar with a thing of considerable value: not merely the service he rendered in ridding the land of its demons, but also the hilt from a sword that he had grabbed during the melée in the mother's watery refuge. If anything this "relic of old times" is even more impressive and fascinating than Hrunting, with its "rare smithwork" and its "rune-marking correctly incised" and its engravings in gold that tell the story of "how war first came into the world / and the flood destroyed the tribe of giants" (1688, 1679, 1695, 1689-90). This is an object that can be read to reveal something of days long gone by. The weapon's adornment is more than mere decoration or ostentatious display; it recounts the history that makes the weapon necessary in the first place.

Likewise the hoard guarded by the dragon in the later sections of the poem also comes from an epoch long before the time when the action the narrative describes takes place. It is buried by the last survivor of a once-great civilization who realizes that, with the community that gives it meaning gone, "his joy / in the treasure would be brief" (2240-41). Interring "all the goods and golden ware / worth preserving" this last survivor consigns them to the earth, from which the raw material had originally been taken: "It was mined from you first / [. . .] I am left with nobody / to bear a sword or burnish plated goblets, / put a sheen on the cup" (2248, 2252-54).

In pre-capitalist societies, treasure is not fully fungible. It doesn't circulate with ease--only as the result of either heroic action or as pillage of war. When the community founders, the meaning it confers wavers and is soon lost. Indeed, when Beowulf in turn dies, he has nobody to whom he can bequeath his armour. With his funeral, his treasure will be consumed as "his royal pyre / will melt no small amount of gold: / heaped there in a hoard" (3010-12).

All that is left is the rather more precarious medium of speech and song, the lament of the woman mourner who cries out in "a wild litany of nightmare and lament" (3152-53). And of course the poem, Beowulf: passed down orally for a couple of centuries before it is transcribed somewhere around 1000AD, whose one manuscript copy is almost itself consumed by fire in 1731, and which now survives, a precious object in its own right, in the British Museum. As the Museum website explains, "the manuscript remains incredibly fragile, and can be handled only with the utmost care."

Fortunately, mass production and the publishing industry ensure that the text and this beautiful book now circulate freely, if at a fairly hefty price. A New York Times bestseller and sumptuously illustrated edition, this is a coffee-table book of distinction. No doubt more displayed and admired than read, it shows that cultural capital and presumed status still adhere to and are conveyed by objects as stubbornly today as in feudal Britain.

Posted in Uncategorized

hoard

Beyond the fact that they make for a rather more attractive package, the many illustrations in the Norton edition of Seamus Heaney’s Beowulf translation rightly turn our attention to the poem’s obsession with things, with physical objects.

On every other page, facing the text itself, are bowls, ships, goblets, shields, arrows, helmets, jewelry, chainmail and the like, all lovingly photographed for our visual pleasure. The pictures neatly reflect and resonate with the poem’s own concern with objects that are sometimes so distinctive that they even earn a name for themselves–such as Hrunting, the weapon lent to Beowulf before his fateful encounter with the monster Grendel’s frightful mother. Hrunting is described as “a rare and ancient sword,” an “iron blade” whose “ill-boding patterns had been tempered in blood” (1458, 1459-60). It fits well with the warrior’s “mighty, hand-forged, fine-webbed mail” and his “glittering helmet [. . .] of beaten gold, / princely headgear hooped and hasped / by a weapon-smith who had worked wonders” (1444, 1448, and 1150-52).

In the gift-exchange economy of Dark Ages Europe, heroic deeds and political alliances lead to the accumulation of still more stuff. Once Beowulf has slain the monster and his mother, a grateful King Hrothgar promises that “for as long as I rule this far-flung land / treasures will change hands and each side will treat / the other with gifts” (1859-61). And good as his word, he showers the young prince and his men with artifacts of the highest quality so that by the time Beowulf heads for home he is “glorious in his gold regalia” and their ship is “cargoed with treasure, horses and war-gear” (1881, 1897).

Beowulf has already himself presented Hrothgar with a thing of considerable value: not merely the service he rendered in ridding the land of its demons, but also the hilt from a sword that he had grabbed during the melée in the mother’s watery refuge. If anything this “relic of old times” is even more impressive and fascinating than Hrunting, with its “rare smithwork” and its “rune-marking correctly incised” and its engravings in gold that tell the story of “how war first came into the world / and the flood destroyed the tribe of giants” (1688, 1679, 1695, 1689-90). This is an object that can be read to reveal something of days long gone by. The weapon’s adornment is more than mere decoration or ostentatious display; it recounts the history that makes the weapon necessary in the first place.

Likewise the hoard guarded by the dragon in the later sections of the poem also comes from an epoch long before the time when the action the narrative describes takes place. It is buried by the last survivor of a once-great civilization who realizes that, with the community that gives it meaning gone, “his joy / in the treasure would be brief” (2240-41). Interring “all the goods and golden ware / worth preserving” this last survivor consigns them to the earth, from which the raw material had originally been taken: “It was mined from you first / [. . .] I am left with nobody / to bear a sword or burnish plated goblets, / put a sheen on the cup” (2248, 2252-54).

In pre-capitalist societies, treasure is not fully fungible. It doesn’t circulate with ease–only as the result of either heroic action or as pillage of war. When the community founders, the meaning it confers wavers and is soon lost. Indeed, when Beowulf in turn dies, he has nobody to whom he can bequeath his armour. With his funeral, his treasure will be consumed as “his royal pyre / will melt no small amount of gold: / heaped there in a hoard” (3010-12).

All that is left is the rather more precarious medium of speech and song, the lament of the woman mourner who cries out in “a wild litany of nightmare and lament” (3152-53). And of course the poem, Beowulf: passed down orally for a couple of centuries before it is transcribed somewhere around 1000AD, whose one manuscript copy is almost itself consumed by fire in 1731, and which now survives, a precious object in its own right, in the British Museum. As the Museum website explains, “the manuscript remains incredibly fragile, and can be handled only with the utmost care.”

Fortunately, mass production and the publishing industry ensure that the text and this beautiful book now circulate freely, if at a fairly hefty price. A New York Times bestseller and sumptuously illustrated edition, this is a coffee-table book of distinction. No doubt more displayed and admired than read, it shows that cultural capital and presumed status still adhere to and are conveyed by objects as stubbornly today as in feudal Britain.


Posted in Uncategorized

hoard

Beyond the fact that they make for a rather more attractive package, the many illustrations in the Norton edition of Seamus Heaney's Beowulf translation rightly turn our attention to the poem's obsession with things, with physical objects.

On every other page, facing the text itself, are bowls, ships, goblets, shields, arrows, helmets, jewelry, chainmail and the like, all lovingly photographed for our visual pleasure. The pictures neatly reflect and resonate with the poem's own concern with objects that are sometimes so distinctive that they even earn a name for themselves--such as Hrunting, the weapon lent to Beowulf before his fateful encounter with the monster Grendel's frightful mother. Hrunting is described as "a rare and ancient sword," an "iron blade" whose "ill-boding patterns had been tempered in blood" (1458, 1459-60). It fits well with the warrior's "mighty, hand-forged, fine-webbed mail" and his "glittering helmet [. . .] of beaten gold, / princely headgear hooped and hasped / by a weapon-smith who had worked wonders" (1444, 1448, and 1150-52).

In the gift-exchange economy of Dark Ages Europe, heroic deeds and political alliances lead to the accumulation of still more stuff. Once Beowulf has slain the monster and his mother, a grateful King Hrothgar promises that "for as long as I rule this far-flung land / treasures will change hands and each side will treat / the other with gifts" (1859-61). And good as his word, he showers the young prince and his men with artifacts of the highest quality so that by the time Beowulf heads for home he is "glorious in his gold regalia" and their ship is "cargoed with treasure, horses and war-gear" (1881, 1897).

Beowulf has already himself presented Hrothgar with a thing of considerable value: not merely the service he rendered in ridding the land of its demons, but also the hilt from a sword that he had grabbed during the melée in the mother's watery refuge. If anything this "relic of old times" is even more impressive and fascinating than Hrunting, with its "rare smithwork" and its "rune-marking correctly incised" and its engravings in gold that tell the story of "how war first came into the world / and the flood destroyed the tribe of giants" (1688, 1679, 1695, 1689-90). This is an object that can be read to reveal something of days long gone by. The weapon's adornment is more than mere decoration or ostentatious display; it recounts the history that makes the weapon necessary in the first place.

Likewise the hoard guarded by the dragon in the later sections of the poem also comes from an epoch long before the time when the action the narrative describes takes place. It is buried by the last survivor of a once-great civilization who realizes that, with the community that gives it meaning gone, "his joy / in the treasure would be brief" (2240-41). Interring "all the goods and golden ware / worth preserving" this last survivor consigns them to the earth, from which the raw material had originally been taken: "It was mined from you first / [. . .] I am left with nobody / to bear a sword or burnish plated goblets, / put a sheen on the cup" (2248, 2252-54).

In pre-capitalist societies, treasure is not fully fungible. It doesn't circulate with ease--only as the result of either heroic action or as pillage of war. When the community founders, the meaning it confers wavers and is soon lost. Indeed, when Beowulf in turn dies, he has nobody to whom he can bequeath his armour. With his funeral, his treasure will be consumed as "his royal pyre / will melt no small amount of gold: / heaped there in a hoard" (3010-12).

All that is left is the rather more precarious medium of speech and song, the lament of the woman mourner who cries out in "a wild litany of nightmare and lament" (3152-53). And of course the poem, Beowulf: passed down orally for a couple of centuries before it is transcribed somewhere around 1000AD, whose one manuscript copy is almost itself consumed by fire in 1731, and which now survives, a precious object in its own right, in the British Museum. As the Museum website explains, "the manuscript remains incredibly fragile, and can be handled only with the utmost care."

Fortunately, mass production and the publishing industry ensure that the text and this beautiful book now circulate freely, if at a fairly hefty price. A New York Times bestseller and sumptuously illustrated edition, this is a coffee-table book of distinction. No doubt more displayed and admired than read, it shows that cultural capital and presumed status still adhere to and are conveyed by objects as stubbornly today as in feudal Britain.

Posted in Uncategorized

Christopher Columbus: Spain’s Most Successful Screw-up

So after reading all of Columbus’ various letters through his travels, I have come to the conclusion that his autobiographical accounts are actually literary pieces of work. This is not due to any form of artistic flare, or use of sudden poetry. It’s because he has a bias reflection of his own experiences.
When we retell any story from our memories do we tell it how it was, or how we perceived it? Our own opinions and desire to be seen in a positive light constantly embellish our own memories to the point of notable distortion. Columbus seems to be an expert at constructing an image of himself to that of a devote Christian and a selfless explorer. Whenever things seem to run a muck on his voyages he is portrays himself as a victim of circumstance.
When writing a letter to the Governess of Don Juan Columbus moans of the cruelty of the world around him “If it is new for me to complain against the world, its habits of ill-treating me is an old one. It has made many attacks on me, many of which I have resisted until now…” He goes on to say that he is wrongly accused in his arrest and that his accusers have cited his “false crimes” in the Indies out of sheer spite and a selfish desire for wealth. He fails to acknowledge that over 23 individuals are confirming his crimes as a corrupt Governor of the Indies, and have testimonial evidence of his cruelties. Any modern historian will tell you of Columbus’ brutal treatment of the indigenous people of the Indies and his immoral tactics to pay off his investors in Spain.

One example of this is when Columbus’ actions on the Cicaoan Islands. In order to meet the needs of his gold quota, he ordered that all native inhabitants give tribute of gold every three months. Those who met this quota were granted a cooper token to worn around their necks. Those who were found lacking these tokens suffered the punishment of arm mutilation. I don’t remember him making mention of this in any of his letters.

Aside from omission of his brutal treatment of the indigenous people of the Indies, the most prevalent message Columbus is trying to report is that he is always just around the corner from hitting the sweepstakes. In his eight years of his voyages he has yet to find a substantial amount of goods to meet the investment costs of his ventures. Spain wasn’t financing his voyages for simply exploration and cartography. They demanded he bring riches and exotic goods from his travels. His first two voyages appear fruitless (apart from some acquisition of slaves and small examples of gold), but he goes on to lead Queen Isabella of Spain to the imaginative possibility that the New World may contain the “Earthly Paradise” as described in Genesis. When he is arrested on his Third Voyage he asserts that if the Hispanolia people had not revolted against him he would of brought back fathoms of pearls and gold, but his selfless nature allowed them to keep their treasures as a means to maintain the peace.

Columbus constantly comes up with excuses for his shortcomings. Despite evidence from Ptolemy’s calculation Columbus firmly believes he has discovered China, and refuses to think differently. He failed to find a Western trade route to India. He failed to bring back any gold, pissing off the Spanish monarchy and his investors. He fails as his role of Governor of the Indies and is mutinied by his people. And finally he fails as a navigator and has to call home for help on his Fourth Voyage because he shipwrecked himself and his crew.
Why do we have a day to celebrate this man?