He assigned debate topics and conducted the debates in class according to the strict rules of the discipline: You had to prove your argument, or at least establish the likelihood of its superiority over that of your opponents. He seemed to know which side of any particular topic I wanted to argue, and always gave me the other. Drove me nuts! and he knew it. But one day, when my frustration (or indifference) became obvious, he pointed out that if you didn’t know what other people were likely to be thinking or arguing, you were flying blind without instruments. He scribbled on the board one day a verse he’d memorized from some roadside signs:

“There’s always a faster gun and a tougher cookie in every barroom,” he said. “So do your homework, organize your arguments, get your ego out of the issue, and for God’s sake, don’t use any of those horrible fallacies we’ve already studied.” His approach must have worked; several of the guys in the class became successful preachers, businessmen, and attorneys; and one of the attorneys is still knocking down a couple of thousand an hour for what he does.

Mr. Donovan’s rhetoric class complemented the American History class of another improbable character, a very proper Oxonian named Mr. Silk (we called him, privately, Sir Hugh). Mr. Silk, the product of a constitutional monarchy which – as he occasionally reminded us – had produced the Magna Carta, establishing for the first time that governments operate at the sufferance of the governed, and was the progenitor of our – as he called it – magnificent Constitution, seemed to be quite thrilled to be living and teaching in New England, part of a republic which governed itself by towns as a democracy. It’s not only the privilege, he preached, but the duty of each responsible member of a democracy to obtain all the education he can, to inform himself on issues, and to argue them vigorously when they affect him. Also, he suggested, when an issue doesn’t affect him, a citizen might do well to, “how do you chaps say it? – Butt out?”

Raised to respect the authority of family, constabulary, judiciary, and Bible, I found that notion, at the age of sixteen, an astounding revelation. It was my duty to dissent if anything smelled fishy or someone was talking rot. My poor parents! Sir Hugh had lent my adolescent rebellions an air of legitimacy – of patriotism, even! He was gone before I knew enough to thank him.

As we’ve observed, now we are engaged in a great civil war (to coin a phrase) – one, luckily, of dueling sound bites and slogans rather than cannons and caissons. The extremes at the ends of our political spectrum are no farther apart than they’ve ever been; but with easy access to instant news and commentary, talking heads, and ideological bloviators of both left and right, the ferment at the edges often seems more important than the moderation in the middle of the political fairway. It certainly gets more attention.

Have you ever noticed how much easier it is to read the arguments of those with whom we agree than of those with whom we disagree? Just a few sentences of dissonance are enough to make us stop reading and dismiss the writer as a (pick an epithet, but keep in mind that’s one of the “horrible fallacies”; to whit, attacking the person instead of his argument). It may be hard to remember Mr. Donovan’s warning about what other people are thinking, and why; but that’s exactly what we’re supposed to do, for the sake of both debate and democracy.

A recent letter to the editor of The Times Argus castigates the newspaper for running a full-page polemic, paid for by a group called America Forever, decrying the recent vote of the Vermont Legislature and Senate to override the governor’s veto of a bill legalizing the marriage of gay and lesbian couples. The writer harrumphs that he’s even considered canceling his subscription because the paper has stooped so far beneath the First Amendment. There’s no question – from my point of view – that the long statement (you can read it on America Forever’s web site) is way over the top, even ludicrous. But it deserves careful reading.

Because it’s apparently the heartfelt opinion of a fairly large number of our fellow citizens. I find it helps to consider how I might argue that point of view if Mr. Donovan were suddenly to appear, like Marley’s ghost, and say, “Lange, take the affirmative!” And if Sir Hugh were to do the same, and say, “Never forget the unique privilege you have of living in a nation in which not only can you express any argument, but in which you are adjured by your citizenship to do so.”