DMITRI SHOSTAKOVICH is supposed to have told his biographer that the bombastic triumphalism of the last movement of his Fifth Symphony, which Stalin compelled him to write, was actually a parody: "It's as if someone were beating you with a stick and saying, 'Your business is rejoicing, your business is rejoicing.'" I thought of this (probably apocryphal) story Tuesday as Barack Obama strained to project an image of pragmatic, bipartisan optimism in his state-of-the-union address. Given how frustrating the past year has been for Mr Obama, one might have expected him to mount the podium and vow eternal vengeance on the Republican party, cursing its leadership to the deepest circles of hell. But nobody rewards a president for pouring out his indignation upon the opposition. The American people want sunny confidence from their leaders, and Mr Obama's calm demeanor is one of the reasons his popularity ratings aren't lower than they are, after a year in which Republicans have deployed scorched-earth resistance to his every proposal, brought his agenda to a grinding halt, damaged the economy by imposing needless austerity measures, and nevertheless convinced much of the country that Mr Obama is largely to blame for Washington's paralysis. The closest Mr Obama got to denouncing the GOP's strategy of total resistance came early on, when he noted that Washington "has been consumed by a rancorous argument over the proper size of the federal government". He conceded that this is "an important debate—one that dates back to our very founding", but he chided Congress (without pointing fingers) for allowing this argument to shut down the government. This rhetorical stance encapsulates everything that makes Mr Obama a successful politician, and also what what drives both parties crazy. Mr Obama has built his career on standing above the political fray, acknowledging that he has a partisan agenda, but calling for both sides to compromise wherever possible for the country's sake. This is his vaunted "adult in the room" ploy. Tuesday night, for example, after plugging the achievements of Obamacare, he cracked that he "do[es] not expect to convince my Republican friends on the merits of this law," drawing a round of laughs. Then he scolded Republicans for continuing to stage hopeless votes to repeal the law, and said he would welcome any positive ideas they have to improve it.

It's obvious why Mr Obama's wry, pedagogical tone angers Republicans. Increasingly, though, it also angers Democrats, who are tired of having to throw their weight behind the president's call for reasonable compromise. Over the past three years, America's political system has descended into all-out partisan warfare. Democrats want a general in that fight; they are increasingly dissatisfied that their leader has to spend his rhetorical energy playing the role of the UN envoy calling on all sides to exercise restraint. Since the day after his re-election, pundits have been calling on Mr Obama to act more like LBJ: take strong ideological positions, propose major legislation, twist arms off and beat people's heads in with them (in Senator Russell's immortal words), and so forth. (Our Lexington argued that case a few months back.) Earlier this month Isaac Chotiner bemoaned the president's habit of forever presenting both sides of every argument, accusing him of "talk[ing] to us like we're children": "It's as if the reader can't be trusted to just hear one side from the president, because that might (heaven forbid) make him or her think Obama hasn't considered every angle."

I find this argument unpersuasive. Ed Luce made the key point a year and a half ago: LBJ had liberal Republicans and conservative Democrats to work with, whose decision about whether to vote with or against the president on different bills could be influenced by a variety of political considerations. Those legislative cross-loyalties don't exist anymore. Neither do earmarks, the budget goodies targeted to individual districts that were once a widespread currency of congressional dealmaking (something we lamented here). The parties today are ideologically sorted, and there is almost nothing Mr Obama can do to convince or compel Republicans to vote with him. Republicans are able to halt the president's agenda in its tracks, and they have every reason to do so. There simply isn't any reason to believe that more aggressive legislative arm-twisting would have generated more success for Mr Obama; it seems entirely possible that if he had aggressively tried to dictate the terms of health-care reform legislation rather than allowing various senators to rewrite (and weaken) the bill, he might have lost even that signature achievement. Last year, Mr Obama decided to throw his entire weight behind gun-control legislation, taking on just the sort of ambitious and improbable crusade Mr Ignatius had advised him to attempt. The result was that he lost, squandered political capital, and mired his party in the mud.

The fact is that, as unsatisfying as it may be for his partisans, Mr Obama's above-the-fray stance is his best political play. It taps into his natural character strengths and practiced rhetorical gestures. It safeguards him from being side-lined as a marginal, extremist figure by the media and commentariat—always a danger for black politicians who embrace strong ideological agendas. It allows him to take up themes like inequality and help bring them into the mainstream once they have been advanced by more ideological players.

At the same time, though, it's inevitable that by positioning himself in the centre, Mr Obama will sap some of the momentum of his progressive base, and prompt them to look elsewhere for more energetic leadership. David Remnick's recent profile of the president found him musing on the hunger among liberals for a new standard-bearer, and how many are now turning to more combative progressive leaders such as Elizabeth Warren and Bill De Blasio. Liberals may have wanted Mr Obama to be their champion, but both strategically and by inclination, Mr Obama doesn't belong down in the lists, breaking lances and smashing heads; he's better off up on the podium trying to maintain some sovereign dignity. As Robert Frost put it, it's very hard to keep from being king when it's in you and in the situation.