We have all had too much practice in this still-young century in determining what should and should not be said in the wake of political violence. We’re getting too good at this.

One of the most popular and least objectionable responses has been to say that Americans need to “lower the temperature” in our political discourse. This is, of course, far better than the nakedly partisan calls for retribution and vengeance. Whether those people are sickened by grief and rage into a kind of temporary insanity, genuine lunatics, hustlers looking to milk a little more engagement or some combination of the three doesn’t really matter. The difference between stoking a civil war and pretending to stoke one is ultimately immaterial. The harm is the same, whatever the intention.

So, yes, lowering the temperature is definitely an improvement over turning up the heat. It’s also better than the facile, self-serving efforts to pretend that this is a one-sided problem. Listening to and watching people hurling the names of atrocities back and forth at each other like rhetorical grenades — “Oh yeah, well what about …” — reminds us of our species’ powerful gifts of self-deception.

It is understandable that we would like for political violence to be a problem of the right or a problem of the left rather than what it is: a problem of human nature. Murder is no more the province of one of our political parties than any other violations of the Ten Commandments. We would all like to think that our tribe is the noblest one, but human frailty is apolitical. Bipartisanship may be a virtue, but it is vice that really reaches across the aisle.

“Unfortunately the truth about atrocities is far worse than that they are lied about and made into propaganda,” George Orwell wrote. “The truth is that they happen.”

By all means, then, it is good to tell people to “bring down the temperature” rather than pretending that political violence is a one-sided problem. But it is still a pretty empty sentiment.

For a couple of seasons, the NFL had the words “end racism" painted into the backs of its endzones. Did the NFL suppose that an actually racist person — an American who understood their own actions and beliefs to be rooted in race hatred — was going to be watching the Packers and the Dolphins and say, “Hey, wait a minute … I’ve been thinking about white supremacy all wrong. Honey, throw my robe and hood away.”

The person who is raising the rhetorical temperature probably doesn’t think she or he is doing anything of the kind, or if they do know, they believe it is justified. Meanwhile, the decent people who are likely to pay attention to calls for calm and cool aren’t the ones raising the temperature anyway. Like racists, the hot heads who do the most widespread harm are the ones who don't know they’re doing it.

We get the word “bromide” for such platitudes as these from the chemical family of bromine salts, which became popular sedatives in the late 1800s, before scientists discovered their toxic qualities. A rhetorical bromide is a little like that. It can calm the user temporarily but may cause lasting damage.

So let me instead offer a disclosure against my own self-interest: It doesn’t matter that much which party wins the midterm elections next year.

Yes, I want you to subscribe to this note and hang on my every word about the big battle for control of Congress next year. My children and their college funds will thank you for watching every episode of "The Hill Sunday," downloading every podcast, retweeting every tweet. Smash that “like” button, folks.

But in truth, I would be obsessively following the current election cycle even if it wasn’t my vocation. I am, and have always been, a political obsessive. This history, demography, rhetoric and artful practice of politics has been my fascination since I was a very odd little boy. I can’t tell you why it interests me so much any more than I can tell you why I like toffee ice cream or George Jones records. I just do.

But I don’t care very much at all which party wins the elections I cover. That’s gotten easier as both of our once-great parties have faltered, but even more so as I have gotten older and taken a broader view of history.

Every four years, we are told that this is the most important election in history, which is a lot of errant nonsense. The most important election in the American system is always the next election. The fact that we will have another contest after the current one is an essential promise of the Constitution. Come pandemic, or earthquake, or civil war, the first Tuesday after the first Monday in every fourth November is a presidential election. Similarly, the promise that we get to choose new members of Congress every other year is a safeguard against tyranny.

But when we are told that the next election could be the last election or that our democracy won’t survive a victory by the party of these 65 million Americans or these 65 million Americans, we open the door to destructive violence.

American democracy is iterative. We don’t do anything all at once and frequently backtrack on the courses we do undertake. It’s a kind of dead reckoning navigation. Our leaders set out on a course for two years, and then get another sounding from the electorate. A new direction in hand, they set off again. It’s a zig-zagging way of governance that can be frustratingly slow, but it’s worth it to have a safeguard against plowing the whole ship of state into the rocks.

Politicians, though, aren’t going to tell their potential voters, “Hey, we hope you back us this time, but it’s cool if not. We’ll check back next time.” It is in........

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