William Topaz McGonagall, (March 1825-29 September 1902), quite possibly the world’s worst poet, yet an admirable man well worth the knowing.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author’s program note. I first became aware of William McGonagall in 1967 when I was a student at Scotland’s oldest and proudest university, St. Andrews. “You must read McGonagall” people said with a twinkle. “He’s undoubtedly Scotland’s worst poet… indeed, quite possibly the single worst poet who has ever lived.”

Every person who told me — and there were many — offered their fervent recommendation, tongue firmly in cheek, with high good humor… but there was (odd mixture) more than a dollop of respect in their words, even admiration… and never, ever derision. McGonagall compelled their respect, and so while everyone smiled at his execrable verses… there wasn’t a soul who begrudged him a hard-earned encomium for his persistence, his tenacity in pursuing his evanescent, shimmering dream, and most of all his unyielding determination, a potent combination which made him an unlikely celebrity and a man about whom I now say to you in my turn “You must read McGonagall.”

For the incidental music to this article I have selected a tune from the 1954 musical “Brigadoon”, that magic place in the sweet-smelling heather, the pertinacious flower of Scotland; a place that emerges once every 100 years to remind you of a people, their unquenchable zest and undeniable genius. McGonagall deserves his hard-won place amongst the revelry and pageantry of Brigadoon… it would no doubt have inspired him to another (admittedly God-awful) effusion.

You will find my selection — “Heather on the hill” — in any search engine. Go now… for at this party we shall eat, drink, be merrie… and if we compel a tear, then it’s a willing tribute we pay to a land we revere and remember fondly too… and because McGonagall shared that sentiment he is always and forever one of us.

Born in Edinburgh, in 1825, or maybe 1830.

Like many aspects of McGonagall’s checkered career, his basic facts are either unknown or in dispute. He was, for instance, born in the Greyfriars Parish in Edinburgh in March, but just what date is not known… indeed the very year itself of his birth cannot be determined. What of it? He came to his Irish parents on a particular day… and it’s sufficient that he did so… and so began his race, a race for which he was well equipped in only one thing — true grit and assiduity.

… And sad to say, that wasn’t enough to win, as he wanted to win. But he refused to recognize this fact, and that’s the point of this tale…

The Weaver Poet.

If he were born today, McGonagall, hard-working weaver of long-wearing cloth, would no doubt qualify for a grant from some well-meaning foundation of liberal tendencies… but such like did not exist then… and so, despite the wife and 7 children he acquired along the way, he left his uncertain craft… in pursuit of… what? Different people said very different things about what he did. He never heard them, didn’t care, and didn’t let their advice, however earnest and sensible, determine his direction… and that, too, is the point of this tale.

And so his quest for himself and for the words that always eluded him began…

… appropriately enough with a role in “Macbeth” where he played the title role… embellishing it in this way: having paid Mr. Giles for the right to play this role at his theatre, he understandably wished to get his money’s worth. And so at Macduff’s great moment, McGonagall, as Macbeth, refused to die and stayed on the stage, extemporizing, to the consternation and amusement of all. Ah, this was most assuredly a portent of things — and poetry — to come.

A pivotal moment in 1877.

There comes to all people with a mission a moment of epiphany, a moment when they know beyond a shadow of doubt what they will do, what they must do to fulfill their destiny and high purpose. This moment occurred in 1877 for McGonagall, and it determined his fate. “I seemed to feel a strange kind of feeling stealing over me and remained so for about five minutes.” Another man must have seen it as dyspepsia brought on by a too fine dinner… McGonagall saw it as destiny…. his fate, poetry.

And now, then, we must unveil some of this poetry, ultimately about 200 works, perhaps the worst ever written, God bless him.

McGonagall, fervent royalist that he was, wrote often about his sovereign princess and lady, Queen Victoria. Indeed, on one well-known occasion he thought nothing of walking about 60 miles from Dundee to Balmoral where Her Majesty then resided. Undaunted by her failure to receive him, drenched to the skin though he was, not even gifted with a wee, warming dram, he still revered, for his loyalty was abiding and profound.

Thus for her Golden Jubilee of 1887, celebrating 50 years upon the throne, he wrote:

“Therefore let all her subjects rejoice and sing, Until they make the welkin ring; And let young and old on this her Jubilee be glad, And cry, ‘Long Live our Queen!’ and don’t be sad.’

Delicious.

Sadly such loyal sentiments so rendered did not enrich this most unpoetic of poets, no indeed. Thus his expedients were many. For instance, he took a job at a circus where he gave readings from his oeuvre and allowed his discriminating listeners to signify their disapprobation by pelting him with offal, dead cats, rotten tomatoes, lamb carcasses and other disagreeables. It was never enough, not even close, to making a living.

…. But still the torpid words, the wrong words, the words that mangled and hurt to hear kept coming, for this was a man possessed, though not gifted.

Until the collapse of the great Tay Bridge, one of the great engineering marvels of the age, gave him his great opportunity — and he seized it.

“Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay! Alas! I am very sorry to say That ninety lives have been taken away On the last Sabbath day of 1879, Which will be remember’d for a very long time.”

And so he rendered the catastrophe of 28 December 1879 when the bridge collapsed, taking with it the fast-speeding express and every passenger. McGonagall’s words were the high point of his bathetic career.

Let us leave it so, for now you know of McGonagall and his works, each one you can read, savor, and enjoy… though never, ever deride. For though he was a bad poet, perhaps the worst ever known, he was adamant in pursuit of his dream; perhaps more adamant than you. And so in the end, he endures; his awkward verses, every one of them, still in print…

“I am your gracious Majesty ever faithful to Thee, William McGonagall, the Poor Poet, That lives in Dundee.”

… And in our hearts.

The lady from Maine laments and quits; the gentleman from Oklahoma says shoot ‘em, and we revisit the savage beating — on the Senate floor no less — of Sen. Charles Sumner by Rep. Preston Brooks

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author’s program note. There’s a whole lot of lamenting going on in Washington, D.C. It goes like this: once upon a time the Congress of the Great Republic was a genteel place where ladies and gentlemen put on their white gloves and best manners, taking tea while cozily arranging America’s affairs… thence home to a Dickens novel and well-earned slumber. The problem is that such a time never existed in the Congress of these factious United States. It’s the merest myth… for all that the poor lads and lassies who represent us yearn for such a place, such a time, and such amiable, thoughtful, sympathetic colleagues on both sides of the aisle.

And so, these folks give way to frequent tears and even more frequent sighs and vapors… with lamentations loud, frequent, poignant, heart-rending — and silly.

The most recent to give way to this “feel sorry for me” rubbish is the lady from Maine, senior Republican Senator Olympia Snowe. On February 28, 2012 the Honorable Olympia announced her inability to stomach the poisonous, internecine, downright nasty senatorial environment for another term. And so, lamenting, petulant, self-pitying, she said “basta!”… and started packing her valises with the accumulated treasures and heirlooms — not to mention the pensions and emoluments — of over 33 years in Congress. These will be substantial indeed.

As for me, I cannot find a single tear for the lady, rather the reverse. She says she was armed for another campaign, had money aplenty to fight the good fight… but she clearly lacked the stomach for so much closeness to her feisty and outspoken Mainers. Senators are revered, coddled, kowtowed to in Washington, D.C. Back home amidst the problems and bleakness of Portland, they are asked, insistently too, just what have you done for us lately, Missie… and you’d better have a detailed answer at the ready. Demigods like Senator Olympia find such directness rude, and long for fragrant camomile in a fragile cup of Old Worcester while aides fan her with cooling air…. unlimited incense… and deference to every word and wish.

Ms. Olympia says she’s a Greek from Spartan stock… and while that might have been true 30 years ago in her elected salad days, it is most assuredly true no longer. She’s gone Athenian, and now demands reverence, not the stark choice of returning with her shield — or on it. And so she must retire… because she is no longer able to fight the good fight for Maine, for Mainers, and for the Great Republic which needs visionaries, fighters, not aging voluptuaries who crave comfort, not confrontation.

Enter Congressman John Sullivan (R-Oklahoma).

February 22, 2012 Representative Sullivan made a few red-blooded observations during one of his regular “town hall” meetings with constituents. The subject was how to get the Senate of the Great Republic to get serious, I mean really serious, about balancing the out-of-control federal budget.

“I’d love to get them /the senators/ to vote for it. Boy, I’d love that, you know. But other than me going over there with a gun and pointing it to their head and maybe killing a couple of them, I don’t feel they’re going to listen unless they get beat.”

Cornered by the ever present Thought Police, Representative Sullivan, that able and forthright member for Tulsa, backed down. He didn’t mean it….shouldn’t have said it… certainly didn’t imagine… and would never, ever do… You get the picture. The Honorable John was tripping over himself, back pedaling to beat the band. But why?

After all, he is far more what we actually want in our elected representatives, even while we say we prefer the Olympia model. No, we want our reps to represent us robustly, directly, rudely, shrewdly, without limits … because unless they do that our share of the pie — and the extra bucks we covet — will go to others more able to bring home the bacon than our shrinking violets… and that will never do.

The great example of Representative Preston Brooks.

In 1856, the great issue of the day was slavery. It was a question which overshadowed all others. It was intractable, divisive, perhaps insoluble… certainly unavoidable. And because moderates could not prevail in resolving the matter, it was left to the zealots on both sides to see what they could do, using whatever means they chose to use.

And so on May 18, 1856 the Honorable Charles Sumner, the Senator from Massachusetts, arose to see what he could do to resolve the irresolvable… his vehicle being his great speech “The Crime Against Kansas” given to ensure that slavery did not encroach into the Kansas Territory and so augment the South and the slave owners he despised.

It was a great speech in every way — 50 single-spaced pages in length, a detailed analysis of the problem, the most brilliant, vituperative language; language meant to insult, to scald, to enrage, with a position that absolutely no one could misunderstand, whatever side they supported.

Picture the scene. Not a cup of camomile to be seen.

Great Sumner rises sustained by sanctimony, rectitude and rage; each word is sonorous, delivered with venom, designed to sting, outrage, rebuke, condemn, no quarter asked, none given.

And so this man of Harvard, of Boston, of Massachusetts, this man of certainty, no doubt or hesitation rose to challenge the nation and to reshape the Great Republic.

Every eye was on the man, a mere man no longer, but the agent of a stern, implacable God, God the Avenger, majestic, awe-inspiring, I Am that I Am.

“Mr. President,” he began, “You are now called to redress a great transgression.”

And every word that followed in that vast torrent of words beat home this point.

There was no note of accommodation, no politics as usual, nothing less than total victory would do.

In the course of this great philippic, which ultimately saw one million copies distributed, Senator Sumner attacked Senator Andrew Butler of South Carolina, not just the man or his ideas but his stroke-impaired physique. It was brutal, it was hurtful; it was insulting… and a few days later inspired the Senator’s outraged nephew, South Carolina congressman Preston Brooks to enter the Senate Chamber and, with his gutta-percha cane with solid gold knob, beat Sumner insensate, even when Sumner was comatose, lying in his puddling blood.

So did immoderate Sumner make his case…so did immoderate Brooks retaliate.

And so was the Congress of the Great Republic shortly peopled by representatives carrying devices of every kind, guns, knives, and of course the gutta-percha sticks with gold knobs made fashionable — or abhorrent — by this incident which moved the Civil War appreciably closer.

That is why, Senator Snowe, your decision to leave is a bad decision. The people of Maine need you.. the Congress needs you… the Great Republic still has great need of your services. No, it is not convenient for you; not least because you must present yourself again to your constituents, and, being Mainers, they will question you closely, for they are no respecters of persons and so may affront you. What of it? You have the Great Republic’s work to do. And that is far more important and pressing than your own personal feelings or comfort. They count for nothing against what you can do, must do and cannot abandon now.

Thus I give you this song, “John Brown’s Body”, a rousing tune which arose from the American camp meeting tradition in the early 19th century and, after many changes of words, became the marching tune for people who understood the implementation of Truth was a long, difficult, often dangerous process. Go now to any search engine and find the rendition you like… and bookmark it, for you will have need of it in the work ahead:

“John Brown’s body lies a-mouldering in the grave His soul’s marching on.”

And so must you, too, Senator Olympia Snowe, for your work for the people is most assuredly not finished yet.

Dedication: The author is pleased to dedicate this work to Joshua Aaron Sumner and Roshelle Elena Sumner, descendants of the magnificent Yankee who alerted the world to “The Crime Against Kansas,” children of dear friend, Lance Sumner, fellow Internet argonaut.

100% sales. The ‘must read’ for business people who want more money and want it NOW!

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author’s program note. I have the inestimable privilege of training some of the brightest business people on earth… people of wit, intelligence, good humor… and a fierce determination to be successful, climbing the greasy pole, making more money, and living just the way they want. I find this work enthralling, exhilarating… and (I’ll admit it) frequently frustrating… as I watch even the best and the brightest muff it.

And so, today, I am writing about the one essential thing these fine folks — and that now includes YOU — must do every single minute of every single day that you want more money. For, let’s not kid ourselves… if you understand this crucial article and follow its directives… you are going to make more money, lots more, and leave your lackadaisical and languid colleagues in the dust. And won’t that be sweet?

To put you in the mood for my insistent message, I have selected a dance number that once made you gyrate and awe… “I Want Your Love” by a group named Chic. It hit the charts in 1978, and it made its point early and often:

“I want your love. I want your love. I want your love. I want your love.”

In other words, they kept on message, driving home the point of their endeavors until even the most mentally challenged “got it”. As a teacher with a sledgehammer, repetitive delivery, I like that… I like it a lot.

And so to set the stage for what follows, look this tune up in any search engine now and move that overweight, arthritic body; because you’re about to recapture your alluring youth… and be the person who got what you wanted, oh yeah!

Painful, so painful.

It happened again yesterday… and it gets me, right in the solar plexus, each and every time I see this fundamental error. The sales person I was training was operating solo. In other words, they had progressed sufficiently far in their instruction to where they get to fly all alone. I am there, of course; I am always there… but I try to remain as silent as the grave and unobtrusive so that I am seeing the student and just the student. And make no mistake about it… this situation (as every parent knows) can make you as nervous and frustrated as all get out.

Lights, camera… think!

Picture the scene. All parties are on the ‘net. I am present in my video box, the student is in his… and the “real life” prospect enters… like a bull at a corrida. Everything happens in real time…. and has real world implications, for good… or for ill.

Ok… the student (and, remember, my students are established business people, not wet-behind-the-ears kids) goes into closing mode. This starts by greeting each and every prospect by name; then asking each prospect to watch a 20-minute video packed with the vital data that both excites the prospect and instructs her.

These steps are crucial… and the students know I am a stickler for ensuring that they occur. In other words, make SURE the prospect has the critical facts before any further action can occur.

The prospect is prepped… are you?

“As soon as you’ve finished the video, return to me for a spectacular one-time-only offer.”

These words usher in the next phase of the operation. We make it clear what must be done (watch video) and what is coming thereafter (spectacular offer). So far… so good.

Close but no cigar.

The first mistake the students make is to present the offer before the prospect has been adequately prepped. This is a critical error. Prospects must have the necessary facts… or they end up asking a ton of unnecessary questions; questions which have already been answered — and in precise, clear detail, too — in the video.

The video, the whole video, nothing but the video.

As soon as you have confirmed that the prospect has watched the ENTIRE video, proceed to the “Big rock candy mountain,” your scintillating offer. It IS scintillating, isn’t it? For if it doesn’t snap, crackle, and pop you’ve just thrown away a sale. Sales occur because the offer sizzles, excites, is just too thrilling to decline. You ARE making such an offer, I trust. And if you’re not, you’d better make its improvement “Action this day,” which is what Winston Churchill did when as Prime Minister of England he demanded instant attention and RESULTS.

And now… the critical moment that turns you into a master… and puts another sale in your pocket: 100% sales.

To remain an average closer, keep doing what you’re doing.But to fly high as one of the world’s sales masters you must set the desired goal… then do everything possible, everything necessary to achieve it.

That is… 100% sales.

Is this what you do?

Make your objective immediately clear to the prospect: “I want you to get the benefits of this widget… and I’m going to do everything I can to make it happen.” Don’t just say these words… mean them. Because once the prospect knows you’re serious, they can be serious too, working with you for fastest, most complete mutual advantage.

At this moment, the prospect may well start back peddling saying things like this:

“I don’t have any money.”

“I can’t do it today.”

“I need to tell the little woman. We’re a team.”

And so forth. Your job is to thrust these obstacles out of the way and CLOSE THAT DEAL.

To do this, you must remind yourself AT ALL TIMES that you have a 100% closing goal… and that you are going to make this close. If the prospect stalls or blocks you, keep things going by asking for the prospect’s undivided attention and for an all- important OPEN mind. Make sure the prospect understands what the offer is…. and if necessary improve it; always making it clear that this offer expires the second the prospect leaves. In other words, there is a premium for staying, working things out, but irrevocable loss if they won’t.

Now, gun it.

Keep in mind at all times, with the terrific offer you are making, the prospect will be better off… if… and only if… they take immediate action. It is your job to drive this home NOW… making it abundantly clear that action now is the only sensible course.

Do this, and do it with enthusiasm, gusto, and good humor, and you will not only want that sale… you will get it! For as Chic sang, “a better love you won’t find today…” or a better offer either.

*** What do you think? We invite you to post your comments below.

The first, the last, the epic journey of RMS Titanic, and you are there. Some centennial observations.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author’s program note. You know Titanic. It is the most famous ship that ever sailed… and the most famous ship that foundered, listed, and sank. It is this ship I ask you to board with me now, having cleared your mind of everything you know, every thought and impression you have ever had about this great ship, and so recapture the state of mind you would have had when you boarded her at Southampton, England 10 April, 1912. For you are weighing anchor towards destiny… but do not know it, no one does.

The Ritz afloat.

The White Star Line was an enterprise that dreamed dreams of magnitude, dreams of floating palaces, of luxury that made you catch your breath and hurry back to record what you saw in your diary, which your grandchildren would savor, a treasured heirloom forever. They brought the very idea of awe to their work… and it was nothing but the very truth, a source of pride to an empire that existed solely because of its command of the seas.

Born in Belfast.

The idea for Titanic and her sister ships RMS Olympic and RMS Britannic commenced in mid-1907 when White Star Line’s chairman, J. Bruce Ismay, met with American financier J. Pierpont Morgan, the man who controlled White Star Line’s parent corporation, the International Mercantile Marine Co. These men had everything… and so, of course, they wanted more. And they had the means to get it.

They insisted, they were adamant, Titanic must be the ultimate in every single element, every feature, every component, the dernier cri, the ship for which even the word acme was not good enough.

Thus they hired the renowned firm of Harland and Wolff, giving them carte blanche, with but a single command: the result must be the best, unrivalled, unexampled; colossus in the age of colossi, the incontrovertible symbol of this greatest age of man and his wondrous works.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, was stinted for Titanic, and if six men were killed constructing her, with 246 injuries overall, 28 of them “severe” (meaning loss of limb), why, what did that signify… great enterprises have great costs.

Launched 31 May, 1911.

Of the many proud days in Belfast, this was amongst the proudest for this was a day when the intricate skills of the men of this turbulent city were on best display. Project supervisor Lord Pirrie, J. Pierpont Morgan and J. Bruce Ismay were joined by over 100,000 jubilant, God-fearing people who cheered to the very echo the ship, its sublime grace, the officials who dreamed, the designers who imagined, and the small army of workers who constructed this masterpiece.

So you who read of these happenings longed to be part of Titanic and its gilded future… rather impulsively buying two tickets, a present (rather expensive to be sure) for your wife, for an event you would never forget, of that you were sure.

Thus you found yourself in Southampton… head high, walking up the gangway… where you heard the unmistakable sound of a fashionable waltz, “Songe d’Automne”… it was exquisite… if a trifle sad for such a glad occasion. Yes, haunting, beautiful… mentally noting you would ask the band to play it en route when you wanted just the right sound for a perfect evening…

Thus did the great ship sail on… with no one imagining that she would soon become renowned not for every aspect of nautical expertise, but for hubris, arrogance, ineptitude and for an end that would rival the very essence of Hell itself.

11:40 pm 14 April, 1912. The end begins.

At 11:39 pm of its final night afloat, the magnificent Titanic was a glorious vision, lighting heaven itself, steaming to a ceremonial entrance in New York City, the happy berth of 2,223 people, including the creme de la creme of European and American Society, names you knew, admired, envied.

Just one minute later, suffering a glancing blow from an iceberg whilst maneuvering to avoid it, Titanic began its transformation into a metaphor, not for man’s greatness and technical abilities but for his littleness in the face of unkind and unrelenting Nature, becoming a matter of myth, not merely history.

“No, ‘t is not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door; but ‘t is enough, ‘t will serve.” (“Romeo and Juliet”).

And so it did… a mere gash in the pristine hull an invitation for the gelid waters of the ice-flecked Atlantic to rush in, mocking the high works of man, drowning them without any effort at all, their merest motion enough for the gravest consequences.

In such times, the very best and the very worst of man’s behaviors are evidenced… how one demands that half-filled life boats be lowered into the calm sea, the only chance to live, whist another, unbidden, gives up a place of safety in that very boat, to ensure the life of a total stranger. The remaining moments on doomed Titanic evince all, telling evidence of who we are and what we may do at anytime, to anyone, for good or ill.

Then came the moment you had to decide…a single moment that shows who you are… and determines what you must do. The moment is charged with importance; it is a life or death decision… and you must make it now, decisively, without regret or recrimination, and absolutely no opportunity to alter it, even if you could.

“Darling, get in the life boat.”

And so you, like every other passenger traveling with a loved one, must act. Must do the right thing, although that thing may cost you your life. And this action must be prompt, for the great thing that was once astonishing Titanic is sinking faster now, its frightful end apparent, and with it your fate.

Thus, you look into your beloved’s eyes and realize that your lives are now separating forever… and the pain is more than you can bear. Then, as her life boat is lowered, you remember a token, sacred now, in your pocket. A locket… with pictures of you both and the single line, “Remember, 14 April, 1912″, the happy day you meant, a lifetime ago, to memorialize… Giving this is the last time you touch her hand… a fact she will never forget and will cherish forever.

Now trapped on the sloping deck, you search your soul for whatever comfort you can derive… and resolve not to die here, passive, but to jump to your fate. As you do, you hear the band still playing; the song you first heard upon boarding, the “Songe d’Automne”, now not merely a waltz… but a hymn for a ship, an era… and now… for you.

Author’s note: Of all the people who sailed on Titanic’s only voyage, just 710 survived. The remainder heard the valiant band play on, until it reached its final arrangement. There is good reason to suppose that was the “Songe d’Automne’. It was composed by Archibald Joyce, the “English Waltz King”. We shall never know for sure, because the entire band went down with the ship. Find it now in any search engine and think on its pathetic history and its final performance on the fateful ship Titanic.

*** We invite you to post your comments to this article below

‘Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion…’; the great truth assailed by the little man from Pennsylvania, former U.S. Senator Rick Santorum; John F. Kennedy’s historic address on the matter revisited.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author’s program note. Religious fervor, religious metaphors, religious language, religious dispute, religious assertiveness, religious iconography, religious music all pulsate through every aspect of the Great Republic, its life and affairs. And that is why the Founding Fathers as their first order of business and to establish the tone and substance for all that followed, wrote the First Amendment to the Constitution. In sparse, incisive, resolute, unequivocal language they rendered their bold and well considered opinion thus:

“Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof, or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press, or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.”

These sentiments were the more necessary because of the very vibrancy of religion and all of its manifestations in the Great Republic… for every religion, (because of its adamant belief that its way to God is The way to God), is messianic, exclusive, intolerant, and so potentially divisive, disruptive, even dangerous.

And no one knew this better than the great and thoughtful Founding Fathers who had as their matter of high and abiding significance the preservation of the many great things rendered by religion… whilst avoiding the imperial tendencies of all religions, to uplift themselves, even unto the seizure of the Great Republic, whilst denigrating the rest.

The great problem set, these same Founding Fathers commenced their high business of solving it. For make no mistake about it, the objective of the Founding Fathers was not the crippling control and suppression of religion so much as it was creating an atmosphere and civic establishment in which religions — all religions — might flourish to the glory and benefit of the Great Republic they were crafting and meant to have.

Thus I give you the occasional music for this article, and a better tune one could hardly have for this subject: “Give Me That Old-Time Religion.” It’s a traditional Gospel song dating from 1873. Charles David Tillman took this song, which may have originated as a black folk song, and by his publishing and enthusiasm for its adamant, uplifting message turned it into a staple of white congregations and so it has abided, a joyful manifestation of the Good News.

To get it, go now to any search engine. You’ll find many fine renditions of this song; I prefer the get-up-and-praise Him version belted out by Mahalia Jackson, Hallelujah… for if it was good enough for my father… good enough for my mother… then it’s good enough for me!

The background to the First Amendment.

To a person, the men who constituted the Founding Fathers, were men knowledgeable about religion, its history, uses, practices, and tendencies. As a result, they were haunted, almost to a person, by the damages religion could deliver, as well as its comforts. And they knew, none better, that left to its own devices religion could chill individual inquiry rather than encourage it, could become the harsh means of fettering the human mind, not advancing it. And what they wanted, to the point of obsession, was a land of liberty, not a land where uniformity of view was the order of the day, and was enforced by priests, pastors, and pontiffs; different in their views, the same in their devices for achieving them; working each to control with bell, book, and candle.

They, too, were aware that such a land, so unfettered in its thoughts, a paradise for every believer not just one, had never existed in the history of mankind where uniformity of outlook reigned as the desired objective. As a result the Founding Fathers, here as elsewhere, found themselves on the cutting-edge of this crucial matter of statecraft and belief…. and they gave the matter their utmost consideration… for no question exercised them more that what they could do to place the people of the new republic into a proper, sustained relationship with their common Creator.

They selected a solution Erastian, latitudinarian, tolerant.

Tolerance for all, hegemony and control for none. This became their guiding light , and they found vital sustenance for it amongst the works of Thomas Erastus, (1524-1583), a 16th century German physician and theologian. He held that the punishment of all offenses should be referred to the civil power and that holy communion was open to all. Thus should the church and its ministers be made subservient to the officials of the government, rather than these officials of the government made subservient to the church and its ministers.

They looked, too, to the cool reason of John Locke (1632-1704), who advocated, first and foremost, a tolerance which had, perhaps, never been seen before… a latitudinarian whose profound thoughts once glimpsed became the abiding vision of all sensible people, and the basis for civil peace, not internecine strife.

From such beginnings did the idea of religious tolerance grow, until at last it was written and proclaimed in the First Amendment, as the very essence of what we stood for as a Great Republic and who we wanted to be. Thus as the Founding Fathers surveyed it, they saw their work whole… and knew it to be a great resolution to a great problem, a great policy indeed for the Great Republic.

.. and from the moment of its inception it has done its work…

JFK, admirable in Houston.

Then John Fitzgerald Kennedy ran for president… and many people worried that as a Roman Catholic he would sabotage this verity, pledging instead fealty to the Bishop of Rome, rather than the Great Republic. And so, he went to Houston where before the Greater Houston Ministerial Association he presented himself and his views. The date was September 12, 1960… and it was perhaps his most admirable day on Earth; for on this day he stated with vehemence and resolution these words:

“I believe in an America where the separation of church and state is absolute.” And if, perhaps, he did not persuade all the reverend doctors present (for some were not to be persuaded) he did persuade the people of the Great Republic, who in their turn elected him…thus proving with their ballots the kind of inclusive, tolerant, pacific society they desired and affirmed.

It is this society, this vision, the most profound ever imagined that one little man has challenged, in a way at once crude, graphic and alarming.

“I don’t believe in an America where the separation of church and state are absolute.” Rick Santorum, (College of Saint Mary Magdalen, Warner, New Hampshire, October 2011 and reaffirmed thereafter).

“The idea that the church can have no influence or no involvement in the operation of the state is absolutely antithetical to the objectives and visions of our country… to say that people of faith have no role in the public square? You bet that makes me want to throw up.”

This is the statement of a zealot, a demagogue, a radical… and thus a danger to the community, the comity, the country… and to the Great Republic itself.

The firewall called Michigan held… but barely.

The results are now counted in Michigan which Tuesday, February 28, 2012 held one of the most important presidential primaries ever, and by just the smallest of margins denied Santorum and his radical views, views that would roil the essential verities of the Great Republic and divide the people.

Is this the end of the war then? Alas, no. For this battle, which sensible citizens thought was settled centuries ago by the expansive vision of the Founding Fathers, is under attack by incendiaries like Santorum who mean to light their way to the God they arrogantly suppose they know with autos-da-fe, a ghastly light unto eternity.

That is why the rest of us must remain vigilant, for a right undefended is a right at risk… and this right has been too hard won to be threatened, much less eviscerated and destroyed, by a man like Santorum, for all that he fancies himself the agent of God and his Holy Will.

** What do you think? We invite your comments below.