That’s one theory as to its origin, but apparently it’s not certain.
And while syphilis is bad, it’s also a good example of how the nature of a disease affects how it spreads. Since it’s a sexually transmitted disease, you kind of have to work at it to catch it, and it pretty much only spreads on a one-to-one basis (orgies notwithstanding ). Compare that to diseases spread by fleas, or respiratory diseases, which can spread much faster, on a one-to-many scale, and with little effort needed to be exposed, and great effort needed to avoid exposure.
Certainly the Incas, Mayans, and Aztecs had some urban centers in addition to far-flung agricultural hinterlands. As did the mound builders in the central USA:
But AFAIK, they were the exception that proves the rule. The Native Americans in the frozen north certainly never had large settlements, and I suspect, but do not know, that the natives common along the eastern seaboard from, say, modern Maine to Florida also did not have large settlements.
Semi-nomadism and smallish bands seems to have been the more common approach, not fixed pastoralism much less urbanization on any scale.
Robert Silverberg wrote The Gate of Worlds, an adventure set in a world where the black death was far worse, the Ottoman empire conquered most of Europe, and the Aztecs were able to repel incursions and develop technology. It was entertaining enough. I won’t comment on its plausibility.
Maybe a bit later than you’re looking for but Apacheria, by Jake Page, starts in the 1880s and has an Apache-led tribal coalition coming to terms with the US government and forming their own nation. I think events in the book come at least up to the 1930s.
Less what you’re looking for I suspect is the Hesperian Trilogy by Alan Smale. The Western Roman Empire never fell and in the 13th C it invades North America. It comes up against the Cahokian culture and, at least in v1 (Clash of Eagles), comes off a poor second. I haven’t read the other two, but I liked the extrapolation of continent-wide trails and trade routes & communication networks, etc. in the first book.
In a slightly different format, Coyote and Crow is a tabletop roleplaying game that posits a climate catastrophe that sufficiently disrupted European culture that colonization never happened. Besides its format, the other thing that sets it apart from these other examples is that it’s written by Native Americans.
An interesting question sorta parallel to the OP is whether what we consider “Native American culture” could have invented technology or could have survived fully adopting it.
ISTM that much of cultural Native America today exists in a state kind of like the Amish, rejecting large parts of modern worldwide culture & tech as foreign and outre because reasons. The analogy is far from perfect of course.
But if we pretend the Europeans had not been disease ridden beastly marauders and instead had come in health and respectful peace for all mankind, a la Star Trek’s Prime Directive, and stopped their westward progress a few miles inland, what would the term “Native American civilization” or “Native American culture” even mean here in 2023? What could it mean?
I don’t think that’s remotely true. Do you have anything specific you base that idea on? Like, look at some tribal websites–do you see anything there that looks technophobic?
I think that many folks have unexamined stereotypes about modern Native Americans that don’t hold up to close scrutiny.
That’s pretty racist. Evidence shows that Native North Americans had a fairly sophisticated culture before the plagues and genocides. Modern Native people treasure their cultural heritage and rituals, but they use computers, drive cars, get law degrees, and fully participate in 21st century life.
I’ll admit that most of my knowledge of modern Native American culture comes from TV shows like Reservation Dogs and Rutherford Falls, but it seems like any lack of advancement comes from being shoved into dirt-poor reservations, not desire for a simpler lifestyle.
Hmm… perhaps that wasn’t the one. Or I misread it: I read a few articles when I was preparing a few minutes of a lecture on the name of the disease (which is kind of fascinating).
Heh. I consider that explanation part of my sacred duty as a teacher, so that adults don’t have that misperception.
When I was a third-grader, my teacher invited a Cherokee guy to come talk to our class. When we sat in a circle to hear him, his first question was, “I’m an American Indian. How do you think I got to your school?”
We had all the answer: “You rode a buffalo!” “Horseback!” “You walked!”
After calling on a few of us, he said, “Guys. I drove my Honda. I’m a Native American, but that doesn’t mean I don’t drive a car.”
We were completely goddamned flabbergasted.
Today, I tell that story to my students–and they still guess that he rode a horse to our school. I go into classes where they’re studying the 19th-century Nez Perce, and they still think that Native Americans were part of our history, not still around today. When I pull up the Nez Perce Tribal website and show them the calendar of events (“2:30: Carseat fitting at Fire Department 3:30: Weaver Wednesday class” or the like), they’re still completely goddamned flabbergasted.
Huh. A couple of my high school teachers were part native American. They… we’re just like all the other teachers. Of course, they were culturally fully mainstream Americans, and lived in the burbs, and taught at a mostly-white school for ordinary teacher wages.
). Compare that to diseases spread by fleas, or respiratory diseases, which can spread much faster, on a one-to-many scale, and with little effort needed to be exposed, and great effort needed to avoid exposure.