The recent debate between Vice President Kamala Harris and the former President Donald Trump focused relatively little on foreign affairs. This was probably a good thing, as when the conversation finally did turn to foreign policy, both candidates reiterated an inherited and widespread belief that protecting vital U.S. interests depends on the perception that America is willing to wage war no matter how minor the interests, powerful the adversary, or distant the battlefield.

This shibboleth of the foreign policy elite is a version of the “domino theory,” which stipulated 50 years ago that if Vietnam fell to communism, other, more strategically significant states would soon follow. The experience of the Vietnam War and its aftermath should have disabused Americans of this superstition. Policymakers, afraid to lose face by admitting victory was impossible, pointlessly wreaked destruction on Southeast Asia.

Vietnam ultimately fell to communism and the United States was humbled, yet the other “dominoes”—Japan, South Korea, Thailand, Indonesia, etc.—didn’t fall. Instead, Vietnam soon found itself at war with communist Cambodia and China. Over subsequent decades, Vietnam developed normal diplomatic relations and strong economic ties with the United States, and is now considered by Washington to be an important partner to counterbalance China.

The lure of domino theory, however, remains deeply ingrained among the foreign policy elite and the commentariat. Two examples from last week’s debate demonstrate its persistence.

The first came when former president Trump criticized the Biden administration for the Afghanistan withdrawal—something Trump himself had promised as president—calling it “the most embarrassing moment in the history of our country,” and claiming the withdrawal was “why Russia attacked Ukraine.”

The second example was when Harris, for her part, claimed that had Trump been president when Russia invaded Ukraine in 2022, he would have appeased and emboldened Putin out of his desire for “friendship.” Harris asserted that “Putin's agenda is not just about Ukraine,” and, remarkably, that had Trump been in office, “Putin would be sitting in Kyiv with his eyes on the rest of Europe…starting with Poland.”

Politicians’ interests are primarily domestic, not international, in nature. There is little patience for foreign policy views more complicated than aphorisms that can fit on a cocktail napkin, like “peace through strength,” or “appeasement emboldens aggressors.”

These often misleading axioms are received from their advisors and policy-planners, who have both ideological and careerist motivations to maintain a U.S. foreign policy of global hegemony, what Stephen Walt has called “a full employment policy for the foreign policy elite.” For their part, commentators and media figures transform these myths into pearls of conventional wisdom, amplifying self-serving rationales for American primacy. Dissenting views are increasingly either crowded out, deemed ignorant, or simply shouted down.

A recent example is former secretary of state Condoleezza Rice’s new cover article in Foreign Affairs. Despite being one of the principals responsible for the disastrous Iraq War as a member of the Bush administration, Rice has lost no prestige or credibility on Olympus. Instead, she is given top billing in America’s most prestigious foreign policy magazine to warn against “the perils of isolationism.” According to Rice, unless the United States accepts the humble and selfless task of dominating the world, China and Russia will launch wars of conquest, “illegitimate” regimes will “sustain” themselves (i.e., remain un-invaded or un-couped by the U.S.), Saudi Arabia and Israel will never become pals, America’s economy will tank, and pirates will terrorize the seas. This is all nearly as scary as Saddam’s WMDs.

Strategy is all about distinguishing vital from superfluous ends in order to apply the limited means at hand toward what is most valued. Among most of those who direct or influence our foreign policy, however, strategy is instead equated with drawing implausible causal connections between disparate and unrelated phenomena, making everything a priority and setting no price too high.

There is plenty of scholarship disputing this ideology. “Dominoes” rarely fall and capable states rarely bandwagon with aggressors out of fear of abandonment by allies. States don’t judge the credibility of others’ commitments by past actions under separate circumstances, but according to their perceived capabilities and interests. As scholars from Paul Kennedy to Robert Gilpin have noted, diplomatic compromise—often smeared as “appeasement”—is often a successful strategy, cutting deals with rivals to avoid a worse outcome. For example, the United States and United Kingdom, previously enemies, avoided war and began their transatlantic love affair after the latter “appeased” the former by accepting their hegemony in the Western Hemisphere at the end of the 19th century.

As Upton Sinclair once said, however, “it is difficult to get a man to understand something, when his salary depends on his not understanding it.”

If your theory of international politics says you must be willing to fight for anything, anywhere, against anyone, you will probably be compelled to fight for everything, everywhere, against everyone. Looking at the scope of the United States’ present international military entanglements, it appears that the domino theory is alive and well. As the United States and its allies stare down the prospect of a direct conflict with Russia, Iran, or China (or perhaps all three at once), it’s time to ditch our national superstition about falling dominoes and instead reappraise what really matters most both at home and abroad.