There was a time in America when debate mattered. It was a period when declamation was standard fare of a youngster’s education, when people knew about disputation and rhetoric and dialectics, when beyond a mastery of a subject, how one expressed an opinion, whether with wit or humor or insight, was important.

In the mid-19th century, for example, a national phenomenon called the Lyceum Movement flourished, especially in New England and the Midwest. In houses across the land, citizens gathered, often less than 20 at a time, to debate not only the burning political issues of the day, but also important questions of philosophy, racial and sexual equality, finance and international relations. Over the years such notables as Mark Twain, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Susan B. Anthony and Henry Thoreau took up the cudgels in their local lyceums. After the debate a vote would be taken, and there could be no doubt afterwards which side of the question prevailed, and who personally had won.

The Republicans would do well to look back on this American institution of old, if they want to enliven their standoffs and get us to listen.

I know about the Lyceum Movement, because my family owns a house in Edgartown, built in 1836. Called the Davis Academy, after its owner David Davis, it has a lyceum — a large, airy, sunny room off the kitchen, large enough to accommodate a quorum of neighbors. Last summer, after my neighbor Courtney Brady had asked if we would host her Old House group for tea and cookies and a little discussion about the history of the house, I went over to the Martha’s Vineyard Museum to do some research. Since I was a debater in college, I was especially interested in what kind of debates might have been held in the Davis House. Nancy Cole, the museum’s research librarian, found a file on the Davis House from Arthur Railton, the definitive historian of the Vineyard — and there, jumping out at me were about 20 pages of these most wonderful topics, with the votes on each question.

I found the topics that were debated there in the 1830s and 1840s amazingly relevant today. In 1840, they thrashed out this question: “Which has caused more bloodshed in world history, religion or politics?” The vote then was one for politics, 12 for religion. Given their appeal to the evangelicals, how would Michele Bachmann and Rick Santorum argue that? A year earlier, the academy had considered this: “Which is a greater incentive to human action: fear or hope?” In the era of attack ads and China baiting, how might Huntsman and Romney differ in their approach?

The organizers of these Republican debates seem to have forgotten the purpose of their exercise. As voters we want to judge fairly whether a candidate is worthy of the office (and of our vote), whether she or he possesses the intelligence and moral fiber to hold that exalted office, whether the aspirant has an agreeable world view and sound character. But in this format, like the weekend’s debates Manchester, N.H., with candidates arguing from essentially the same more-conservative-than-thou ideology, we get statements not debate, and statements that are repeated over and over, from one forum to the next. The process needs variety. It needs spontaneity. It cries out for something more entertaining and elevating.

Why not this from the Davis Academy in 1849: ”Judging from the history of past Republics and the present condition of our own, is it probable that the U.S. will continue to flourish as a nation?” Wouldn’t it be fun to see Santorum and Gingrich square off on that one?

And squaring off is exactly what we’re not getting here. When seven aspirants stand like stick figures behind podiums in front of a stage set awash in red, white, and blue, and wait for few minutes to repeat their well-known position on the same subjects, we get rhetoric and bickering but no dialectic. We get no insight into character or measure of intelligence or political skill. The spectacle is not only boring after a while, but also profoundly unfair. Now that the field has settled to the major six candidates, why should should fickle poll numbers determine where a candidate stands, or the degree of attention for each? Was it fair last month in Iowa to exclude Jon Huntsman, their only true internationalist, when his poll numbers — there and at that time — did not “qualify” him for the stage?

In the past two months wouldn’t it have been more revealing to have a tournament of one-on-one debates. Give each candidate a chance to take on another, mano a mano. Make them go through a series of Davis Academy-like topics over a period of an hour and a half. Have more audience participation like the British Parliament or the Oxford Union. And afterwards, make the audience of the uncommitted vote on who won the debate and why. At the end of the season of gabble we would know who the true champion was. Like a baseball statistician we could calibrate hits and errors, saves and strikeouts and home runs. We would know more than merely Perry’s “oops” moment, Romney’s $10,000 bet, and Ron Paul’s facial expressions. And it would be fair.

My lyceum would reprise the pre-Civil War debates in Edgartown. Huntsman vs Romney: “Are corporations injurious to individuals?” (1845) Gingrich vs Santorum: “Is the intellectual education of women conducive to domestic happiness?” (1845) And Paul vs Perry: “Is party spirit beneficial?” (1838)

Now those are debates I would watch.

James Reston Jr. lives in Washington, D.C., and Edgartown and is the author of 15 books. His latest, The Nineteenth Hijacker, will be published later this year. A version of this piece was published earlier this week in USA Today. It appears here with permission.