Every American ought to read a Supreme Court opinion from time to time. I’m not kidding. Read past the citations of obscure case law and the reams of footnotes, and you find a robust, free-wheeling debate on constitutional issues that is not for the faint of heart.

The men and women sitting in the highest court in the land may seem imposing, aloof and impossible to decipher, but their opinions can read like verbal wrestling matches (or, when Justice Antonin Scalia is involved, a round of boxing). Read them to remember that, whatever else plagues the condition of civic debate in America, it’s alive and tussling behind The Bench.

Read the two opinions issued this week on whether the Ten Commandments can be displayed on public property – yes in the Texas case, no in Kentucky – and you’ll encounter wildly differing views on what it means for the government to be neutral about religion, and whether that is even desirable. You’ll find justices trying hard to consider the devilish details of case law, context and intent.

And you’ll find this challenge by Justice Sandra Day O’Connor: “Those who would renegotiate the boundaries between church and state must therefore answer a difficult question: Why would we trade a system that has served us so well for one that has served others so poorly?”

Why, indeed? The world around us presents stark evidence of the violent consequences of mixing religion and political power. America has been relatively free from sectarian struggle and oppression, precisely because government has stayed out of the God business and allowed the private exercise of religion to flourish without constraint or direction.

As a result, Americans worship more frequently than citizens of other developed nations, and are more likely to say that religion plays a major role in their lives. This is a believing nation. In a poll last year by the Pew Forum on Religion & Public Life, even those who considered themselves secular were evenly split about the propriety of publicly displaying the Commandments.

Nonbelievers can afford to be blase about public display of religious texts precisely because they have no official authority. One reason the justices upheld the Decalogue monument on the grounds of the Texas statehouse was that it has been in that setting with other monuments for 40 years and never compelled anyone to do anything.

But put the text in a privileged spot, ally it with governmental power and emphasize its religious message, and the line’s been crossed. That’s what occurred in Kentucky, Justice David Souter wrote in striking down the Commandments display there. It was placed alone in a courthouse, the county executive’s pastor spoke at its dedication, and local lawmakers affirmed Jesus Christ as the “Prince of Ethics.”

The religious object was inescapable, and therefore violated the principle of neutrality – in which, Souter reminded us, “government may not favor one religion over another, or religion over irreligion.” Religious belief, he rightly noted, “is reserved for the conscience of the individual.”

Why trade away that precious right? Those who believe that society will be better off if there is more religion rather than less – or more of their religion, let’s be honest – are sincere in that belief. But I’ve often wondered why they seek the imprimatur of government, and whether they’ve considered the consequences of such an alliance.

“Tying secular and religious authority together poses risks to both,” warned Justice O’Connor.

It poses risks not only to those who don’t share the dominant faith, or any faith at all. Even that dominant faith is put at risk by affiliating too closely with a government composed of flawed people forced to compromise with a less than ideal world.

As the debate over religion’s place in the public square continues, we’d do well to remember O’Connor’s challenge. We mess with success at our peril.