The partisan vitriol is likely to increase during the coming years. In many respects, the United States is moving toward an election system that has much in common with a parliamentary one. Never before has the opposition party settled on its presidential candidate so early. (Democrats chose Kerry in March.) Gone are the days when the presidential campaign began with Labor Day rallies in Detroit's Cadillac Square, and the public began to focus on the candidates following the World Series. This year, 78 percent of voters told exit pollsters that they had made up their minds about the Bush-Kerry race months before they went to the polls.

Moreover, the partisan divide extended to all levels of government. According to a postelection Zogby poll conducted November 3-5, partisanship ruled in races for Congress and the state houses. In the Senate races, 90 percent of Democratic voters supported their party's nominees; only 9 percent backed the Republican candidate. Republicans were just as united: 86 percent backed the GOP Senate candidate; only 12 percent voted Democratic. In the House races, the picture was much the same: 91 percent of Democrats supported their party's congressional candidates; only 9 percent voted Republican. Republicans presented a mirror image: 84 percent supported the GOP House candidate; 14 percent defected to the Democrats. In the governors' races, 90 percent of Democrats voted for their party's nominees; only 7 percent sided with the Republican candidate. Republicans were just as united: 84 percent voted for their party's gubernatorial candidates; just 13 percent backed the Democratic nominee.

Can the divisions be healed? History provides a guide. We began by describing the roiling partisanship that characterized the presidential elections of 1796 and 1800. When Jefferson finally triumphed, he did not gloat. In his inaugural address, he famously intoned, "We are all republicans; we are all federalists." Four years later, all signs of partisanship had disappeared. Jefferson enlightened the country with a grand vision of exploration (the Lewis and Clark expedition was the modern-day equivalent of traveling to Mars) and destiny (Jefferson's unilateral decision to purchase the Louisiana Territory from the French). The result was the collapse of the Federalist Party. In 1804, the Federalists nominated a token candidate for the presidency who received fourteen electoral votes. By 1820, the party disappeared altogether. Assessing Jefferson's first term, John Randolph wrote: "Never was there an administration more brilliant than that of Mr. Jefferson up to this period. Taxes repealed; the public debt amply provided for… sinecures abolished; Louisiana acquired; public confidence unbounded." The so-called Era of Good Feelings began, lasting through James Monroe's election in 1820.

Like the public following the raucous elections of 1796 and 1800, Americans say they want a change of spirit. At the end of a long campaign, both George W. Bush and John Kerry recognized this. Speaking to his supporters the day after the election, Bush declared: "We have one country, one Constitution, and one future that binds us." In his concession speech, Kerry agreed, saying, "America is in need of unity and longing for a larger measure of compassion." In making their pleas, Bush and Kerry echoed Jefferson's long-ago call for national unity.

But can Bush succeed? His 2004 victory was unthinkable to most Democratic partisans. Likewise, the prospect of a Kerry presidency was anathema to Bush supporters. No wonder it was said that the 2004 election was "the most important of our lifetimes." Most Americans agreed: 67 percent told ABC News and the Washington Post in September that the outcome of the Bush-Kerry race was "one of the single most important elections" of their lifetimes; only 15 percent belittled the election as unimportant.

During his first term, George W. Bush squandered two chances to bring the country together. The first was of his own making. Introducing himself to the American electorate in 2000, Bush frequently described himself as a "compassionate conservative." The very phrase suggested that he wanted a more compassionate, tolerant, and even activist government. In his 2001 inaugural address, Bush pledged the nation (and his administration) to a great goal: "When we see that wounded traveler on the road to Jericho, we will not pass to the other side." Yet in that very same speech, Bush acknowledged the partisan divide: "Sometimes our differences run so deep, it seems we share a continent, but not a country."

Compassionate conservatism could have been more than a literary device. It could have been a legacy to a twenty-first century Republican Party governing at a time of enormous demographic and social change. True, President Bush established the White House Office of Faith-Based Initiatives. But Republicans never took compassionate conservatism seriously. No one at the Republican-oriented think tanks saw much merit in devoting attention to the notion of compassionate conservatism as a governing philosophy. Republican members of Congress have never organized themselves into a caucus of "compassionate conservatives." Indeed, the party faithful have made their position clear, saying, in effect, "We will cede the poetry of politics to moderate-minded spokespersons. But we will never cede the prose." Thus, Republican conventions have featured the moderate poetic voices of Arizona senator John McCain, former New York City mayor Rudolph Guiliani, New York State governor George Pataki, and California governor Arnold Schwartzenegger. But the prose contained within the GOP platform remains decidedly less compassionate and more conservative.

The other opportunity Bush had to stitch the country together came after the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks. The most picturesque bipartisan moment came when Senate Majority Leader Tom Daschle hugged Bush following his congressional speech. Democrats, including former vice president Al Gore, implored their followers to support Bush. But that changed in 2002, when Bush decided to cast any Democratic resistance to his war plans—including his desire to make war against Iraq—as unpatriotic. The most egregious example of Bush's political overreach occurred when Republicans ran television advertisements against Georgia U.S. Senator Max Cleland, comparing him to Osama bin Laden and Saddam Hussein, all because Cleland wanted labor protections written into the new Homeland Security Department. Cleland, a Vietnam War veteran and triple amputee, lost. Mary Landrieu, a Louisiana Democrat, says, "For Democrats who were trying to work with the president on national security issues and support a more hawkish stand than might seem natural for a Democrat, this president discounts it, ignores it…. Unfortunately, the president has earned this polarization. It hasn't just happened. He pushed it to happen."