White Gods Myth In Latin America

One of the most enduring stories about the Spanish conquest of Mexico is that the Indigenous people, particularly the Mexica (often called the “Aztecs”), believed Hernán Cortés and his fellow conquistadors were gods. Hernán Cortés (1485–1547) was a Spanish conquistador best known for leading the expedition that resulted in the fall of the Mexica (Aztec) Empire and the eventual colonisation of much of present-day Mexico by Spain. His conquest, between 1519 and 1521, marked one of the most significant events in world history, leading to the collapse of one of the most powerful Indigenous civilisations in the Americas and the expansion of Spanish imperial power. The white gods myth suggests that when the Cortes and his men arrived in 1519, the Mexica mistook them for divine beings—especially the god Quetzalcoatl, who was said to have left Mexico centuries earlier with a prophecy of return. He had promised, so the story goes, to return from the east, and when Spanish ships appeared on the horizon in 1519, the prophecy was supposedly fulfilled. This narrative has long been used to explain the rapid fall of the Mexica Empire, suggesting that the Indigenous population submitted not because of Spanish military superiority or political cunning, but because they were deceived by their own religious beliefs.

For generations, this story has shaped how people understand the conquest, portraying Indigenous peoples as naïve, passive, and doomed by their own beliefs. But historian Camilla Townsend, in her article “Burying the White Gods: New Perspectives on the Conquest of Mexico”, argues that this myth has little basis in historical fact. Instead, it was a narrative created after the conquest to justify Spanish imperialism and explain an otherwise shocking defeat.

The idea that Indigenous people saw Cortés as a god didn’t appear immediately during the conquest. The first time this narrative was written down was in 1552, more than 30 years after the conquest, by Spanish historian Francisco López de Gómara. Gómara had never been to the Americas but published an account claiming that the Mexica mistook Cortés for the returning god Quetzalcoatl.

This version quickly gained popularity in Europe. It made the Spanish conquest seem inevitable and even peaceful—the Indigenous people had supposedly surrendered not because of military defeat but because they believed the Spanish were divine. This narrative justified the violence and exploitation that followed, presenting the Spanish not as brutal conquerors but as almost chosen figures in a preordained encounter.

However, Camilla Townsend challenges this interpretation, arguing that the prophecy of Quetzalcoatl’s return was likely a post-conquest invention. There is no evidence that such a prophecy existed before the Spanish arrival. The earliest written accounts linking Cortés to Quetzalcoatl—such as those by Francisco López de Gómara in 1552—appeared decades after the events and were often shaped by Spanish political motives. These narratives painted the conquest as almost fated, reinforcing ideas of European superiority and divine approval.

Contradictions in the Myth

One of the clearest contradictions in the Quetzalcoatl myth comes from the behaviour of Indigenous groups who actively worshipped the god. The city of Cholula, a major centre of Quetzalcoatl’s cult, did not greet the Spaniards as returning deities. Instead, the Cholulans planned an ambush against Cortés and his forces. When Cortés learned of the plot, he and his Indigenous allies carried out a massacre in 1519, killing thousands. It’s hard to reconcile this resistance with the idea that the locals saw Cortés as a divine figure. Why would worshippers of Quetzalcoatl attempt to kill the very god they were supposedly expecting?

This example highlights how political strategy, not religious awe, shaped Indigenous responses to the Spaniards. The Cholulans, like many other groups in the region, saw the Spaniards as foreign invaders—dangerous and powerful, but still mortal. Their decision to resist, even violently, undercuts the idea that the Spanish victory was due to mistaken identity or prophecy.

Rewriting History

The figure of Quetzalcoatl himself was not even central to the Mexica religion at the time of the conquest. While important in earlier Mesoamerican cultures like the Toltecs, Quetzalcoatl had a relatively minor role in Mexica religious practices. The European portrayal of him as a peaceful, bearded god who abhorred human sacrifice was likely a Spanish invention, designed to make the myth of Cortés as a returning deity more believable to European audiences.

The myth also served Indigenous elite purposes. After the conquest, some Indigenous elites embraced and propagated elements of the Quetzalcoatl story. For them, it provided a way to explain their defeat without admitting to military or political failings. By claiming that their ancestors had been deceived by cosmic forces, they could rationalise the collapse of their empire and maintain some degree of legitimacy under Spanish rule.

A More Complex Reality

Moctezuma II, the ruler of the Mexica empire during the Spanish arrival, has often been depicted as a passive and superstitious leader who simply submitted to Cortés, believing him to be a god. But Townsend challenges this portrayal, showing that Moctezuma was far more strategic and aware than the myth suggests.

From the moment Spanish ships were sighted along the coast in 1517 (two years before Cortés arrived), Moctezuma had messengers and scouts watching the newcomers. When Cortés landed in 1519, Moctezuma sent emissaries and court painters to record what the Spaniards looked like, what weapons they carried, and how many there were. He was gathering intelligence, not waiting for a prophecy to unfold.

Yet the idea that Moctezuma believed the Spaniards to be gods was merely a way to justify his capture by Cortes and his men. Spanish sources claim that Moctezuma willingly became a vassal to the Spanish king and cooperated with Cortés. In reality, Moctezuma was likely taken hostage as a political prisoner, used by the Spanish to control the city. His death, which occurred during a Mexica uprising in 1520, remains controversial—some sources say he was killed by his own people for collaborating, while others suggest the Spanish murdered him when he was no longer useful. Even if he wasn’t captured, but collaborated, Moctezuma’s caution wouldn’t have been based on fear of gods—it would have been rooted in political strategy. His empire was vast but fragile, held together through alliances and tributes from rival city-states. A hasty military response could risk uprisings from within, especially if the Spaniards formed alliances with his enemies (which in fact that they did).

The Spanish conquest was therefore not the result of Indigenous superstition but of more grounded factors—technological disparities in weaponry, political alliances, and strategic decisions. The Spaniards had advantages like steel weapons, horses, and firearms, but they also relied heavily on Indigenous allies, such as the Tlaxcalans, who were longstanding enemies of the Mexica. These alliances, combined with the devastating effects of European diseases like smallpox, played a far greater role in the fall of Tenochtitlán than any supposed prophecy.

By dismantling the myth of the White Gods, Townsend shifts the narrative from one of passive Indigenous submission to one that acknowledges the agency, resistance, and strategic decisions made by Mesoamerican peoples. The conquest was not a story of gods and prophecies but of politics, war, and human choices—on both sides.