A few patriotic words on our nation’s birthday. America’s number one asset is surely its ingenious system of government, which has permitted us as a people to amass great wealth in power in a short 230 years. But America is more than that. It is just as much its people and places. The ideas, the people, and the land are a unified whole. As I spent part of this July 4th weekend visiting beautiful Homosassa State Park in Florida, I was awed again by America’s natural beauty and diverse landscapes.

Leftists often make their hatred of America explicit. Little can be done for such people. But neconservatives love America in a strange way, always emphasizing its creed, and denigrating any other expression of love as chauvinism, the worship of what Peggy Noonan calls “mud.” If neoconservatives love America, they are the patriotic equivalent of autistics.

One weird thing about their dismissal of normal patriotism as “love of mud” is that most of our patriotic songs appeal to exactly that, particularly to the way our country’s vastness, unspoiled beauty, and diversity match its enduring appeal to pioneering spirits, productive work, possibilities for the future, and our historical freedoms. For people that talk often of a “civic religion” of American patriotism, the neoconservatives arbitrarily dismiss our historical patriotic symbols and rituals.

Consider the opening stanzas of America the Beautiful:

O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!
America! America!
God shed his grace on thee
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!

Or America:

My country, ‘tis of Thee,
Sweet Land of Liberty
Of thee I sing;
Land where my fathers died,
Land of the pilgrims’ pride,
From every mountain side
Let Freedom ring.

My native country, thee,
Land of the noble free,
Thy name I love;
I love thy rocks and rills,
Thy woods and templed hills,
My heart with rapture thrills
Like that above.
Let music swell the breeze,
And ring from all the trees
Sweet Freedom’s song;
Let mortal tongues awake;
Let all that breathe partake;
Let rocks their silence break,
The sound prolong.

Or consider the chorus of This Land is Your Land:

This land is your land, this land is my land
From California, to the New York Island
From the Redwood Forest, to the gulf stream waters
This land is made for you and me.
As I was walking, a ribbon of highway
I saw above me, an endless skyway
I saw below me, a golden valley
This land was made for you and me.

For Noonan and her gang, paens to “purple mountain majesties,” “golden vallies,” “Land where my fathers died,” and “fruited plains” are indistinguishable from the crudest forms of ethnic chauvinism. It’s too bad neconservatives are so tin-eared. They can’t really love America fully if they are blind to everything other than its creed.

Our country is beautiful. Let’s celebrate that too on its birthday. Our poets long have. One wonders if the kill-joy neconservatives can even bring themselves to enjoy fireworks on the Fourth of July; after all, these rockets (as in “rockets’ red glare”) merely commemorate the prosaic achievement of our country’s deliverance from the attempted domination of another creedal nation neconservatives are so fond of, the 19th Century British Empire. No crusades for democracy in the War of 1812. Just Americans struggling to live as a distinct people with a distinct way of life in a conflict with a bullying and self-important empire.

America may be mud, but it’s our mud, and I pity any of my countrymen that sees only mud when he stops to look around. It’s more than mud and more than a disembodied creed. . . . It’s a country. Happy Birthday America!