Let nothing be called natural
In an age of bloody confusion,
Ordered disorder, planned caprice,
And dehumanized humanity, lest all things
Be held unalterable!The Exception and the Rule (1937), Bertolt Brecht
There’s a pervasive cult of false optimism—a stubborn commitment to ideas that don’t work and to pursuits that lead nowhere. This belief system asserts that anything can succeed with enough dedication, overlooking or dismissing inherent limits like biological constraints and resource scarcity.
In French, there is a word that captures this perfectly: déréel \de.ʁe.ɛl\. Unlike delusion, which can be fleeting, déréel describes a system of thought wholly incompatible with reality. It is a self-contained worldview with its own laws, logic, and rules, detached from the constraints of the real world. It is an alternative reality, offering reassurance and refuge, but only if one abandons the fundamental laws of nature and the tangible world.
This attachment to le déréel is particularly apparent in foreign policy. In politics, two cardinal sins stand above all: clinging to unsupported ideas and persisting with failed ones. Western foreign policymakers, remarkably, have managed to embody both.
Contrary to popular belief, this trend didn’t emerge solely after the Cold War. A glance at the histories of the Roman Empire, the Babylonians, the Ottomans, the Prussians, and so on, reveals a recurring historical pattern: in times of relative ease, leaders grow complacent, permitting themselves errors that, while seemingly minor, often prove irreparable.
This idea is echoed in The Counselor, a film written by Cormac McCarthy. Some lines stand out:
“Actions create consequences, which produce new worlds, and they are all different. These worlds, heretofore unknown to us, must have always been there. Must they not? I would urge you to see the situation you’re in.
The world in which you seek to undo your mistakes is different from the one in which they were made. You’re now at a crossing, and you want to choose—but there is no choosing. There’s only accepting. The choosing was done a long time ago.”
In U.S. foreign policy, the "cult of false optimism" emerges as a commitment to seemingly attractive policies that, in reality, lack true viability. Instead of advancing national interests, these policies consume resources in pursuit of goals that are fundamentally out of reach.
The most insidious aspect of this false optimism, however, is its cult-like resistance to criticism—a quality that shields it from necessary scrutiny and prevents honest assessment. This self-protective stance, I believe, is visible in the current approach of U.S. foreign policymakers toward the Middle East.
Many argue that U.S. policy in the Middle East has struggled because Americans lack a deep understanding of the region—a view with some merit, as the U.S. is, after all, a relatively young nation with limited historical ties to the Middle East. However, I believe the core issue runs deeper: it’s not merely a knowledge gap, but rather a pervasive false optimism that consistently undermines U.S. interests.
This pattern is unmistakable—nation-building and democracy promotion in Iraq, diplomatic overtures to Iran, and outreach to the Houthis (whose slogan openly proclaims “Death to America!”) all reflect a recurring, unrealistic belief that the U.S. can somehow, almost magically, win over adversaries without taking meaningful steps to weaken them.
The cult of false optimism overlooks a fundamental truth in human nature that is also valid for states: weakening an adversary’s influence often precedes any path to genuine cooperation. President Theodore Roosevelt famously often quoted a West African proverb to emphasize this principle: “Speak softly and carry a big stick; you will go far.”
By prioritizing ungrounded optimism over a strategic, clear-eyed approach, the U.S. wastes resources, chases illusions, and becomes entangled in crises of its own making.
It's unclear what it will take for the cult of false optimism to dissipate, but one thing is certain: it often fades when reality delivers a harsh wake-up call, when resources grow scarce, and when once-popular utopian ideals crumble as dissenting voices refuse to self-censor.