"Had it not been for the Atlantic Ocean and the virgin wilderness, the United States would never have been the Land of Promise"
About this Quote
Croly is puncturing a patriotic fairy tale with a geographic reality check. “Land of Promise” usually arrives wrapped in moral destiny - a nation chosen, a people uniquely virtuous. He reroutes the credit to two blunt, almost impersonal forces: the Atlantic Ocean and “the virgin wilderness.” One is a moat, the other a stockpile. Together they made American exceptionalism less a character trait than a set of advantages.
The Atlantic functions as insulation. It buys time away from Europe’s constant wars, aristocratic entanglements, and crowded social hierarchies. Distance doesn’t create innocence, but it does create room: room to improvise institutions, to fail without immediate invasion, to imagine the republic as a fresh start because the old world’s pressures were buffered by water.
The “virgin wilderness” is the more loaded phrase. Croly is writing in an era when Frederick Jackson Turner’s frontier thesis is in the air and Progressive thinkers are trying to diagnose what made America dynamic and what might happen when the frontier “closes.” Calling the land “virgin” signals the era’s willful erasure of Indigenous nations and the violence of settlement. The subtext is that promise was materially underwritten by abundance - cheap land, extractable resources, the psychological release valve of westward expansion.
Croly’s intent isn’t to sneer at aspiration; it’s to demystify it. If promise depended on isolation and conquest-ready space, then the moral lesson is uncomfortable: once the ocean shrinks via technology and the wilderness is used up, the country can’t rely on luck and latitude. It has to build the promise deliberately, through politics, not providence.
The Atlantic functions as insulation. It buys time away from Europe’s constant wars, aristocratic entanglements, and crowded social hierarchies. Distance doesn’t create innocence, but it does create room: room to improvise institutions, to fail without immediate invasion, to imagine the republic as a fresh start because the old world’s pressures were buffered by water.
The “virgin wilderness” is the more loaded phrase. Croly is writing in an era when Frederick Jackson Turner’s frontier thesis is in the air and Progressive thinkers are trying to diagnose what made America dynamic and what might happen when the frontier “closes.” Calling the land “virgin” signals the era’s willful erasure of Indigenous nations and the violence of settlement. The subtext is that promise was materially underwritten by abundance - cheap land, extractable resources, the psychological release valve of westward expansion.
Croly’s intent isn’t to sneer at aspiration; it’s to demystify it. If promise depended on isolation and conquest-ready space, then the moral lesson is uncomfortable: once the ocean shrinks via technology and the wilderness is used up, the country can’t rely on luck and latitude. It has to build the promise deliberately, through politics, not providence.
Quote Details
| Topic | Freedom |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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