The evening before giving the State of the Union address three weeks ago, Bill Clinton sat through a White House screening of The Apostle, a new movie directed, produced, written by, and starring Robert Duvall. For those who had followed the story of how Mr. Duvall spent years trying to break past some Hollywood clichés by making a film about a pastor who does not fleece his flock, the Clinton viewing was a hopeful sign. Maybe a powerful movie that depicted sin, repentance, and redemption would break through in a way that politicians, pundits, and carefully selected preachers have not.

This year, Presidents' Day on Feb. 16 provides an opportunity to reflect on not only the dignity of the presidency in good times, but the way that some presidents have responded to challenges in bad times.

Has the discussion of President Clinton's purported adultery been gossip we need to avoid or news we need to know?

Clearly, endless speculation about uncorroborated, salacious detail is gossip. It's good that we have judicial proceedings where testimony can be taken under strict ground rules designed to ferret out the truth while protecting the innocent. But what about the basic charge of presidential wrongdoing? For an answer, let's go first to the Bible, then to some classical exegesis, then to some American history.

I grew up in the Boston area, and the great Massachusetts leader Samuel Adams is a major character in a couple of the history books I wrote. The Boston that sticks with me is a bit of accent and a bond of suffering with the Red Sox. Occasionally, I also wax curious as to how my old townsmen have treasured not only the beer that bears Adams's name but the cultural legacy he left.

John F. Kennedy, C.S. Lewis, and the drug-praising novelist Aldous Huxley all died on the same day, November 22, 1963. That nonharmonic convergence has led to some fanciful yarn-spinning by popular philosopher Peter Kreeft concerning after-death discussions among the three.