Erratic behavior and unpredictability is having a moment in foreign policy circles. In the White House and elsewhere, it is seemingly being viewed as a strategic asset rather than a weakness.
But it is far from a new strategy. Wild threats, sudden policy reversals and intentionally confusing language have long been used to keep adversaries off balance and gain leverage.
In fact, the concept has its own name in international relations: “madman theory.” As outlined by Cold War strategists Daniel Ellsberg and Thomas Schelling, it holds that projecting a readiness to take extreme action can shape an opponent’s calculations by heightening fears of escalation.
While the theory was meant to be explanatory, in the sense that observers used it to explain apparently irrational behavior, it has sometimes been used in a prescriptive way, as an approach consciously adopted by leaders.
The madman theory has historical roots going back to Machiavelli, but it is most closely associated with Richard Nixon, who, as incoming president, reportedly used the term to explain his approach to trying to force North Vietnam’s surrender in the Vietnam War.
Historians see evidence of the theory’s limited applicability in episodes such as Nixon’s 1969 placing of the U.S. military on nuclear alert, which appeared to have reinforced Soviet caution even if it did not bring about an end of the Vietnam War.
The theory was more applicable in Nixon’s era because of three background conditions that were in place.
The first was information scarcity. During the Cold War, signals traveled more slowly than they do today and through narrow channels. Messages were filtered by professional diplomats, intelligence analysts and military officers.
Ambiguity could be sustained. A country’s leader could appear possibly unhinged without being instantly decoded, contextualized or publicly dissected. “Madman” signaling depended on this controlled opacity.
The second condition was a stable adversary with a shared notion of risk. Nixon’s gambit worked, when it worked at all, because Soviet leaders were deeply conservative risk managers operating inside a rigid hierarchy. They feared miscalculation because they believed it could lead to the Soviet Union’s fall — or at least their fall within it.
The third condition was credibility built through restraint elsewhere. The madman pose only works if it is exceptional. Nixon appeared dangerous to adversaries precisely because the American system normally appeared controlled. His apparent erratic behavior was exceptional in a context of bureaucratic orderliness.
But the world of those three conditions is gone.
Threats today are tweeted, clipped, reframed, leaked, mocked and talked about in real time. Unpredictability doesn’t have time to breathe public fear into existence. Rather, it can devolve into noise.
And nations such as Iran, Russia and China operate in a world they already regard as unstable and unjust. Volatility does not frighten them; it is the environment they expect. In such conditions, apparent irrationality can invite probing, hedging or reciprocal escalation.
Meanwhile, erratic behavior is no longer exceptional or unexpected.
Many a madman would struggle today
Unpredictability only works if it’s strategic rather than designed on the fly. Trump has blustered, contradicted himself publicly, ramped-up rhetorically and then backed down, mostly without receiving obvious concessions.
The more this happens, the more predictability he creates about unpredictability.
And once unpredictability becomes expected, it loses its coercive force.
This dynamic is evident in Trump’s handling of both Iran and Greenland. In the Iranian case, pressure — including military strikes — has been applied without clearly defining where escalation would end.
With Greenland, coercive threats aimed at an ally only strained NATO without producing compliance.
In neither instance did unpredictability translate into durable leverage. Instead, it generated uncertainty about objectives and limits.
A bigger problem for any leader wishing to adopt a madman strategy is that today’s international order and media ecosystem are more inured to volatility. Threats no longer freeze opponents into caution. Friendly nations hedge their bets. For example, faced with U.S. threats over tariffs, India strengthened ties with China. Meanwhile, enemies test boundaries. Russia, for example, has treated Trump’s ambiguous signaling on Ukraine as little more than a green-light for it to continue its campaign to conquer the Donbas region. There are still limited circumstances in which ambiguity can serve a strategic purpose. Limited uncertainty about specific responses can reinforce deterrence by keeping adversaries cautious. U.S. strategic ambiguity toward Taiwan, for example, leaves it unclear whether Washington would intervene militarily in the case of an attack by Beijing, discouraging the locking of any side into automatic escalation. That part of the madman approach remains effective. But what no longer works is volatility untethered from clear objectives and visible limits. The madman theory was built for a rigid, rule-bound world. It is least effective precisely where today’s politics feels most chaotic. This article is part of a series explaining foreign policy terms commonly used but rarely explained. Andrew Latham, Professor of Political Science, Macalester College This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
Does the madman have a future?
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