For a long time, the problem in Northern Ireland was that nationalists were wedded to the glory of defeat. Now the problem seems to be that unionists can't accept victory. With the most extraordinary prize - the end of the IRA - within their grasp, they can't bring themselves to accept it. There could be no more telling sign of the change that has happened in the politics of Northern Ireland than the fact that unionism has taken on the self-pitying mentality that used to be exclusive property of nationalism.
One of the few things that is clear amidst all the spinning, recrimination and jockeying for position that have characterised the last two days of negotiations is that David Trimble wants a deal. Since he was prepared to accept what was on offer at Downing Street last month, there can be little doubt that he would take what's going now.
He is prepared for a deal because he understands three things. One is that Tony Blair is going to be in power for the foreseeable future and that the political geometry is not going to get much better for unionists than it is now. He knows, secondly, that Sinn Fein entering a "partitionist" executive and the IRA accepting a commitment to decommission its arms by next April represents an epic moment in the history of Irish republicanism, a genuine point of no return. For the Provos, if these two things happen, there is no way back. Trimble knows, lastly, that if the peace process ultimately collapses because, in spite of the full implementation of the Belfast Agreement, the IRA does not in fact decommission its weapons, unionists will have the Irish, British and American governments on their side for the first time.
The puzzling question, then, is why it is proving so difficult for David Trimble to make that deal. Why is his broader constituency so apparently wary that there is a real possibility that the UUP might dump the best leader it has had since Carson if he signs a deal that unionists ought to regard as a victory?
It is not as if, from listening to Ulster Unionist spokesmen through out yesterday, there is any fundamental objection to the likely deal being articulated. The basic principles are agreed. The objections are matters of detail. When exactly will IRA decommissioning begin? How firm are the guarantees that it will take place as promised? What exactly will happen if Sinn Fein is eventually excluded from the executive because decommissioning has not happened?
These are important issues. But they are surely well within the bounds of what is negotiable. Compared to cross-Border bodies or prisoner releases, both of which the UUP acceded to in the Belfast Agreement even though they involved compromise on its fundamental principles, they ought to be relatively easy to deal with. After all, the very fact that meetings between the UUP and Sinn Fein have become a routine part of the political landscape even before the IRA has even accepted decommissioning in principle, means that, in effect, the UUP recognises Gerry Adams and his colleagues as an unavoidable aspect of the governance of Northern Ireland.
So why the enormous reluctance to declare victory and get on with it? The most likely answer is that most of us have massively underestimated the sheer depth of the sense of loss which persists even within mainstream unionism. Anybody watching the DUP or the Drumcree protesters can see the rage, the bitterness, the feeling that the world you once knew has been taken away.
That part of the Protestant community is still in mourning for the old illusion of superiority. Those around David Trimble seemed to have moved beyond that mixture of grief and rage and to have seen the tremendous opportunities that peace creates for the Protestant community. They seemed to have accepted the survival of their community with its identity and aspirations intact as a cause for celebration.
But there is, apparently, a much larger residue of suspicion, fear and uncertainty than was obvious a year ago. It is as if the big push for the Belfast Agreement moved mainstream unionism to a position it had accepted intellectually but had not prepared for emotionally. When the momentum stopped, as it has done for over a year now, they looked around and saw themselves in an unfamiliar place.
Whatever happens now, the last few days have revealed a frailty in mainstream unionism that has to make the eventual business of governing Northern Ireland all the more difficult. The hope must be, of course, that when the institutions provided for under the agreement are eventually established, the day-to-day experience of working together will create its own dynamic. But the sheer anguish of the last few days is a reminder that none of this can be taken for granted.
It's a reminder, too, that Northern Ireland does not have a healthy political system or even a functioning democracy. If, even with the help of the heads of three governments, the pro-agreement parties can't make a civilised compromise without such agony, what will they be able to do on their own? And what kind of democracy is it when the clear wish of a large majority of the electorate, expressed in last year's referendum, finds so few echoes in the conduct of the negotiations?
Frustration and exhaustion, of course, are petty emotions. When lives are at stake, the tedium of apparently endless argument ought to be bearable. When the future of an entire society is in the balance, no one has a right to be impatient. But the real danger is not that the political leaders are becoming irritable and tired. It is that the wishes of the people are being frustrated and that the reservoir of hope, courage and good will that will be needed to see Northern Ireland through to the end of its dark days is being allowed to run dry.