It is common to hear the claim that Europe’s foreign policy establishment, on the eve of World War I, was either blind to the horrors of war or eager for a global conflagration. It is more accurate to say that the dominant frame of mind among the core group of decisionmakers was one of fatal resignation.
Rivalry and realpolitik were the accepted rules of the game, leading all to believe their opponents devious. The realities of industrial warfare and modern technology meant that any mistake had the potential to wipe a society off the map.
These forces combined to produce a widespread assumption that war was predetermined, that the future was inexorably slipping away.
One poignant example is the Chancellor of Germany, Bethmann Hollweg, who, sitting in his garden a few weeks before war broke out, noted to an officer: “In general willful blindness [is] all around, a thick fog over the people. The future belongs to Russia, who grows and grows, and who becomes an ever more oppressive nightmare for us.”
War in the Air Again
In 2025, war is also in the air. Conflicts are spiraling across four continents, great powers are more confrontational than at any time in the last three decades, and the constant stream of negative news and social media exacerbate fears that things are getting worse.
Indeed, while public confidence and perceptions of international security are hard things to measure, there is strong evidence that global belief in the prosperity and security of the future is falling.
Ipsos polling, for example, recently found that “70% of people, on average, across 30 countries expect in the next 25 years we could see another world conflict” that echoes World War One and Two.
Most strikingly, perhaps, this sense of resignation is growing in the United States, where an increasing number of people believe that their country cannot and should not take an active role in global affairs. The most recent Chicago Council Survey found that “fewer than six in 10 Americans (56%) think the United States should play an active role in world affairs” — a near record low.
Especially after the election of Donald Trump, many left-leaning Americans feel adrift, despairing at the chance of repairing America’s role as a global bastion of freedom and democracy.
As George Packer summed it up in a recent piece in The Atlantic, “we’re now living in a golden age of fatalism.”
Real Dangers
At this point it might be tempting for a certain kind of reader to grunt and dismiss these observations as ephemeral psychoanalyzing. Some observers might perceive any critique against fatalism as willful blindness, a minimization of real threats and policy dilemmas.
Make no mistake: Just like pre-1914, there are real dangers in the world today.
But there is a powerful distinction between being guarded and being resigned, and a general trend towards fatalism is a dangerous force in international politics, no less tangible than weapon stockpiles or supply chains. Shifts in confidence and outlook can, almost imperceptibly, lead us down dangerous paths.
While we cannot see inside the minds of policymakers and reliably “deem” them fatalistic, we can parse from their actions and words an approximation of the geopolitical vision that guides them, as well as guess at the outcomes they consider most likely.
As I see it, there are three principal reasons why fatalism is, well, fatal.
Blind Spots
Firstly, it comes with analytical blind spots. If you have already accepted that a negative outcome is inevitable, or dread a certain worst case above all else, you are less likely to analyze a situation dispassionately and consider all the relevant information at hand.
Take, for example, the ongoing series of nuclear threats made by Russian President Vladimir Putin. Fearing the devastation and convinced that the inexorable pull of apocalypse is upon us, one might take these threats at face value and interpret Putin literally.
Considering the frequency and timing of these threats, however, as well as Putin’s long history of targeted statements and red herrings, it is quite clear that nuclear talk is one of Putin’s geopolitical tools, something he can deploy at critical junctures to delay or confuse his enemies. He knows the actual deployment of nuclear weapons would very well be the end of his regime, one way or another, and he knows that his Western foes tend to take any talk of nuclear war as deadly serious.
By definition, assuming that things are inevitably tending towards decline closes the mind to evidence of improvement and can lead to gross underestimation of people’s motivations and resilience.
We see this most often when it comes to interpretations of history. Fatalism, after all, comes with the implication that the past was more secure, a self-deluding nostalgia that can be precarious when we try to interpret where conflicts come from or why communities feel aggrieved.
Many Americans think of the 1990s as a time of strength and security, but this ignores great disasters like the Rwandan genocide, the first and second Congo Wars, the Yugoslav wars, and the collapse of Russian society.
I wonder if that last one is something Putin remembers?
Option Constraint
Relatedly, fatalism can constrain our sense of what is possible. If the international order faces an inexorable decline toward war, then it is hardly logical to seek out every available path, shortcut, and scenic route to peace.
We see this most painfully in the US’s ongoing stance towards Israel. The Biden administration seemed to have convinced itself that it only faced bad choices: if Washington stands by Israel unreservedly, it will become increasingly associated with the consequences of its engagements; but if we abandon Israel then we lose any capacity to meaningfully influence its policy and risk complete isolation in the Middle East. (Broadly speaking, the Trump administration looks set to continue the basic approach to Israeli relations pursued by Biden.)
The Biden administration seemed to have convinced itself that it only faced bad choices.
Again, while no one can say for certain that the Biden administration was feeling fatalistic on the issue, their actions and statements betray an essentially binary perspective.
Truthfully, the options are almost never binary. In reality, there are a whole slew of things the US could do that fall somewhere between total support and total rejection. No one can see the future and it is doubtful that any painless path to peace exists. But the fatalistic notion that it is impossible to change things is the worst of all worlds.
The same phenomenon gripped diplomats during the July Crisis, the series of diplomatic and military crises that led up to World War One. Perceiving themselves, as the historian Christopher Clark put it, to be “operating under irresistible external constraints,” the main decisionmakers considered their options extremely limited. And fearing a potential disaster more than an actual disaster, they showed a tragic lack of geopolitical flexibility.
A Future Worth Fighting For
Truly winning ideological and geopolitical battles requires idealism. Beyond the particulars of any single conflict or flashpoint, a persuasive and positive moral argument is required to attract global sympathy and talent.
Think of how China frames many of its overtures to Eurasian or African countries. As summarized in a recent piece in the Georgetown Journal of International Affairs, China has consistently “framed a narrative of shared victimhood at the hands of Western imperialism, colonization, and unequal treaties,” and has articulated a commitment where “China sets rules that support the position of the Global South rather than accepting those created by the West.”
A positive vision for humanity, clearly defined and articulated, is the moral wellspring of global progress.
There might be a bit of negativity in that moral argument, sure, but it isn’t difficult to see its positive appeal for non-Western countries.
A positive vision for humanity, clearly defined and articulated, is the moral wellspring of global progress. Vision justifies slow and steady diplomatic engagement, well-funded and locally responsive international development, and meaningful global collaborations — even when reasons for cynicism abound.
On a whole host of global problems — such as protecting biodiversity, tackling poverty, improving public health, or dealing with climate change — a degree of optimism is vital for getting people to the table and convincing them to stay there.
This doesn’t mean we have to ignore problems or minimize suffering. Nor is a positive vision something to be imposed like some universalizing mission. But foreign policy is more effective when we frame it within a vision that is empowering and appealing to a global audience.
Fatalism, on the other hand, breeds disengagement and cedes the moral high ground to opportunistic powers.
Constant Reassessment
Beyond any of the oft-cited “causes of the First World War,” fatalism is perhaps the least appreciated and most decisive. If we closely examine the key decision makers and decision moments, we see again and again how emotional and geopolitical assumptions pushed Europe into a terrible conflagration.
This should warn us to constantly reassess our assumptions about how the world works and where the future is headed. We must guard against analytic blind spots, embrace a wider sense of options, and think about what kind of future we are fighting for.
People are quick to adapt to new circumstances, assuming that a time of upheaval is bound to remain in upheaval. It takes extraordinary leadership and cultural resilience to resist the idea that collapse is a historical necessity.
If we are able, as individuals and societies, to believe that the future is malleable and that progress is attainable, then nothing is certain — and everything is possible.