One of the most powerful arguments members of the Ulster Unionist Council will be asked to bear in mind today is what might be described as the economic imperative.
Northern Ireland, they will be told, cannot prosper unless it's peaceful. And if that means power-sharing between traditional enemies, the question is whether it's worth the risk.
David Trimble is convinced it is. He's not asking the Ulster Unionist Party to believe Gerry Adams and Mitchel McLaughlin have been converted to unionism. Their republican critics may say they have, that that's what power-sharing does for you. But they're wrong.
Trimble is asking his colleagues to accept that Adams and the rest are prepared to recognise the North's institutions, and share power with unionists, because it offers them two clear advantages.
These are equality for their constituents and freedom of political action for their party. (Some call them the civil rights demands of the 1960s.)
There are, of course, other advantages to be gained from the leaders on either side getting to know each other. But what they trust most, for the time being at least, is the framework which allows trust to grow. And an escape hatch if it doesn't.
So, if the UUC members want to act in the interests of those who have a stake in the North, they must vote today in favour of the Belfast Agreement.
And if the republican movement is to take advantage of the political stability the pact provides, it must ensure the obligations set by the agreement, especially on decommissioning, are meticulously fulfilled.
To point to the UUP's economic interests and the room for manoeuvre for Sinn Fein is not to suggest that the unionists' only interests are economic or that the republicans' are simply political.
But most of the property destroyed in the last 30 years belonged to unionists.
And most of the paramilitaries who destroyed it, like most of those who were killed in the fighting, were working-class; the people whom Sinn Fein, the Progressive Unionist Party and the Ulster Democratic Party claim to represent.
Some on the left argue that the link between economics and politics in the North is at least as strong as the link between politics and religion.
I doubt if the members and supporters of Ian Paisley's Democratic Unionist Party would agree, though the answer may be clearer when, sooner than they expect and in spite of their thundering, they take their seats in the executive and modernisation begins.
With reports of financial shenanigans and slyly creeping racism swirling in on every breeze, it's difficult these days to persuade anyone - not even ourselves - of the advantages of modernisation as we find it here.
As we celebrate the scattering with a mixture of anger and nostalgia, watching the Irish poor make their way to the ends of the Earth, we hear of other explorers in the wider world.
These are the moneyed classes who travel from the Cayman Islands to Cyprus and from the Channel Islands to Liechtenstein or Switzerland in search of a cave in which to stash their loot.
Meanwhile, their representatives at home bleat about responsibility and restraint, whinge about public service wages and mutter hopelessly when the failures of our so-called regulators are pointed out to them.
Bertie Ahern says he prefers the American or Far East systems of financial deregulation to the European model of mildly social democratic controls, as if this were something to be proud of.
And in this land of plenty, which would do better with deregulation, according to Ahern, John O'Donoghue and his allies favour imposing strict regulation - European-style - on refugees.
Those who've helped refugees for years say the Department of Justice swallows the most fearful EU line on the issue - immigrants flooding in on every tide - and is ready to adopt the most extreme EU "solutions".
The opponents of immigration - defenders of O'Donoghue - say the problem has taken everyone by surprise. No one expected migrants to arrive in such numbers. The problem is one of logistics and administration.
The campaign on immigration began well before the last election and, if some of the campaigners spoke up only on the canvass and usually in sensitive areas (say Dublin West or Dublin North Central) others were not so shy.
Colm McGrath, in Dublin South West, introduced himself in a leaflet boasting experience, commitment and enthusiasm, with the words: "Fianna Fail councillor and general election candidate Colm McGrath is demanding an urgent review of the allocation of houses to illegal immigrants in his constituency."
HE spoke of "a ritual involving the slaughter of a lamb" and how "local people in Tallaght and Clondalkin are incensed at the behaviour of these alleged political refugees, many of whom they suspect of being economic refugees here to milk our social welfare system".
Of a house in Tallaght where he said up to 30 were sleeping, refugees were "engaging in various forms of anti-social behaviour" and "taxis bring new arrivals on a regular basis".
In the general election he polled 2,898 votes. When he wasn't nominated in the local elections he stood as an Independent and won a seat on the county council.
On Finlay and Gallagher the other night was Gay Mitchell, who complained about speeches by the chairman of the Eastern Health Board, Ivor Callely, Noel Ahern and others during this week's Dail debate.
But he was prepared to bet that they'd find extra support for their views in the post.
And he was probably right.
This set me thinking about Notting Hill Gate, a far cry in the 1950s from the residences lately desired by Peter Mandelson, among others.
Then it was well known to Irish migrants and a growing number of West Indians. But neither the Irish nor their neighbours were prepared for the outburst which, on a sultry night in the autumn of 1958, turned Notting Hill into a synonym for racist bigotry.
The place was crowded. The social services were poor. First there was muttering among some local people, the poorest who felt under threat. Then there were minor skirmishes between West Indians and Londoners, bottles thrown, a family attacked.
Then the National Front arrived from the East End. And by the time they'd finished Britain had had its first experience of race riots on an American scale.
Scores were injured, dozens arrested; fighting spread to cities and towns as far off as the midlands. Notting Hill was stunned and shamed. And those of us who worked there spent a long time asking why.
It couldn't happen here, of course. Of course not.
Dick Walsh can be contacted at dwalsh@irish-times.ie