America’s Unofficial Civic Religion

From the Editor

One of the pleasures of working with Dr. Gary Kellner is listening to him reminisce about an America that many of us remember and others know only through stories. Mention baseball, neighborhood games, summer afternoons, or lessons learned from a grandfather and his eyes light up, and a lifetime of memories come rushing back. As I listened to this conversation, I was reminded that the values we spend so much time debating today—responsibility, character, community, and perseverance—were once learned naturally on ball fields, front porches, and around family dinner tables.

The late historian Jacques Barzun once famously observed:

“Whoever wants to know the heart and mind of America had better learn baseball.”

That statement may sound exaggerated in today’s world of streaming services, social media, and endless entertainment options. Yet for much of the twentieth century, it was undeniably true.

Baseball emerged as America’s national pastime in the decades following the Civil War. Soldiers from different regions carried versions of the game home with them. Growing cities-built ballparks. Newspapers devoted increasing space to covering games. Before radio, before television, and long before the internet, baseball provided a common cultural experience.

A factory worker in Baltimore could discuss the same players as a banker in Chicago.

An immigrant family newly arrived in New York could embrace the same game as families whose ancestors had been here for generations.

The game became a shared language.

That common language mattered.

Democracies depend upon more than constitutions and elections. They depend upon citizens possessing enough common experiences to understand one another.

A nation cannot remain united if its people share nothing.

For generations, baseball helped provide that shared experience.

Stories Passed Down

Many of us inherit our deepest loyalties.

Not through institutions.

Not through textbooks.

But through stories.

One generation tells stories to the next.

A grandfather teaches a grandson how to throw a ball.

A father explains why a certain player mattered.

A mother recalls a championship season she witnessed as a child.

These moments seem ordinary while they are happening. Only later do we realize they were shaping us.

For many American families, baseball became one of the vehicles through which those stories traveled.

A grandfather born in the nineteenth century could speak of legends whose names now feel almost mythical: Babe Ruth, Ty Cobb, Tris Speaker, Shoeless Joe Jackson, and Cy Young.

Those names were not merely statistics on a page. They were living memories.

The stories connected generations separated by decades.

In many households, baseball was less about the score than about belonging.

A child learned where he came from by listening.

A family learned who they were by remembering.

The Vanishing Neighborhood

There was once a time when spring meant something very specific for American children.

The snow melted.

The weather warmed.

The baseball gloves came out.

Kids spent endless afternoons outside. Some played Little League. Others organized pickup games on vacant lots, schoolyards, or neighborhood streets.

Many children practiced alone for hours.

A hard rubber ball.

A wall.

Hundreds of repetitions.

Ground balls.

Fly balls.

Throwing.

Catching.

Improving.

The game demanded patience.

It demanded discipline.

Most importantly, it demanded participation.

Today’s children inhabit a radically different world.

Entertainment arrives instantly.

Screens dominate attention.

Algorithms increasingly determine what people see, hear, and think about.

None of this is entirely negative. Technology offers remarkable opportunities.

Yet something has undeniably been lost.

Many Americans no longer share the same experiences.

The neighborhood itself has become less central.

The common spaces where generations once interacted have steadily diminished.

The consequences reach far beyond sports.

Baseball During Times of Crisis

Baseball’s role in American life became particularly evident during periods of national hardship.

During World War II, many of the game’s greatest players entered military service.

The nation faced enormous uncertainty.

Some wondered whether professional baseball should be suspended entirely.

President Franklin D. Roosevelt disagreed.

In what became known as the “Green Light Letter,” Roosevelt encouraged baseball to continue.

His reasoning was revealing.

He believed Americans needed recreation.

They needed diversion.

They needed reminders of normal life during extraordinary times.

Baseball could provide that.

Even in war, the game helped sustain morale and reinforce a sense of national identity.

The lesson extends beyond baseball.

Every society requires institutions that remind people they belong to something larger than themselves.

When those institutions weaken, social trust often weakens with them.

What Holds a Society Together?

Modern Americans spend considerable time discussing division.

Political division.

Economic division.

Cultural division.

Religious division.

Geographic division.

Every election seems to deepen the conversation.

Every controversy appears to widen the gap.

Certainly those divisions are real.

But they are not the whole story.

Healthy societies also possess forces that pull people together.

Historically, America benefited from many such institutions.

Churches.

Neighborhoods.

Civic organizations.

Little League teams.

Community celebrations.

Local newspapers.

Volunteer groups.

Veterans organizations.

Shared traditions.

These institutions created relationships among people who might otherwise never have met.

A banker sat next to a mechanic.

A teacher coached alongside a contractor.

A child learned from an elderly neighbor.

Communities became stronger because people participated together.

Many of these institutions have declined over the past several decades.

The result is not simply loneliness.

The result is fragmentation.

Citizens increasingly encounter one another as political opponents rather than neighbors.

The common experiences that once softened disagreements are becoming rarer.

That should concern all of us.

Four Generations

One of the most remarkable aspects of baseball is its ability to connect generations.

A grandfather teaches a son.

A son teaches a daughter.

A daughter teaches her children.

The uniforms may change.

The stadiums may change.

The cities may change.

Yet the ritual continues.

One generation passes something meaningful to the next.

Perhaps that is why baseball occupies such a unique place in American memory.

It is rarely just about the game itself.

It is about who we watched it with.

It is about the stories we heard.

It is about the people who introduced us to it.

A grandfather explaining a curveball.

A father keeping score.

Children falling asleep during an extra-inning game only to awaken when the crowd erupts.

Years later, those memories remain vivid.

The box scores are forgotten.

The relationships endure.

The Need for Shared Stories

Every civilization depends upon shared stories.

Without them, societies become collections of individuals rather than communities.

The challenge facing modern America is not simply political disagreement.

Democracies have always contained disagreement.

The deeper challenge is preserving enough common ground to sustain a shared national life.

We need experiences that remind us we are fellow citizens before we are political rivals.

We need institutions that bring generations together rather than separating them.

We need traditions capable of surviving the rapid pace of technological change.

For some families, that tradition may be baseball.

For others, it may be church, community service, music, military service, family gatherings, or local traditions.

The specific institution matters less than the principle.

A healthy society requires places where people learn to belong.

More Than a Game

Baseball alone cannot solve America’s problems.

No sport can.

But baseball reminds us of something important.

Not everything in American life is designed to divide us.

Some things still unite us.

Some experiences still create bonds across generations.

Some traditions still remind us who we are.

On Memorial Day, Americans remember those who sacrificed to preserve a free society.

Perhaps that remembrance should inspire another question.

What are we doing to preserve the institutions, traditions, and relationships that make that freedom meaningful?

Freedom is not sustained by law alone.

It is sustained by culture.

It is sustained by memory.

It is sustained by the countless connections that bind one generation to the next.

And sometimes, those connections begin with something as simple as a baseball glove, a summer afternoon, and a story passed from grandfather to grandchild.

Reflections

1. What traditions from your childhood continue to shape your identity today?
2. Which institutions in your community still bring people together across generations, backgrounds, and beliefs?
3. What shared stories and experiences are we passing on to the next generation—and what might be lost if we fail to pass them on?

Step In. Speak Up. Stay in the Game.