The conflict between the United States, Israel, and Iran has caused severe disruption to global energy markets, particularly affecting the production and distribution of oil and gas from the Persian Gulf region. Oil output across several OPEC member states has fallen sharply, with Qatar suspending the majority of its LNG operations and Saudi Arabia halting activity at certain refineries.Trade through the strategically vital Strait of Hormuz is now under threat, as Iran has signalled its intention to close the waterway to shipping — a route through which approximately 20% of the world's oil exports pass. This has placed considerable strain on global supply whilst driving oil and gas prices sharply upward.The surge in energy prices has rippled outwards into inflation and production costs worldwide, given that oil is a fundamental input across transport, industry, and commodity pricing more broadly. This uncertainty has likewise affected macroeconomic investment decisions across numerous countries, including those across Asia and the developing world.The closure of airspace across the Gulf region, combined with heightened security threats, has led to the cancellation or rerouting of thousands of flights, with significant consequences for tourism and trade in services. Major carriers — including Emirates, Qatar Airways, and Etihad — have suspended routes to and from the conflict zone, whilst operational costs have risen considerably owing to lengthened flight paths and elevated insurance risk.Tourism across the Gulf, which represents a significant pillar of regional economies (most notably in the United Arab Emirates), has been severely affected. The number of international visitors is expected to fall dramatically by tens of millions, with economic losses projected to reach tens of billions of pounds.A considerable number of countries across the Global South have condemned the conflict as an unlawful and potentially imperialistic intervention, arguing that it destabilises global order and bypasses diplomatic channels. Such criticism has been voiced by nations including China, Brazil, South Africa, and Pakistan, who have also drawn attention to the risk of eroding international legal norms — particularly in light of the extrajudicial killing of a foreign head of state.The political ramifications of this conflict carry implications for bilateral relations and global alliances, with growing scepticism towards United States foreign policy and an increasing impetus among developing nations to seek alternative diplomatic alignments.The conflict has resulted in civilian evacuations, casualties, and infrastructure damage across several major cities in the Middle East, including Dubai, Abu Dhabi, and Tel Aviv. Iranian retaliatory strikes have also struck neighbouring states such as the United Arab Emirates, causing civilian casualties and physical damage.The instability has further fuelled concerns over broader escalation, with the potential involvement of pro-Iranian militia groups or their affiliates in other countries raising the spectre of significantly greater regional risk.The geopolitical uncertainty has generated considerable volatility across global financial markets, with sharply rising oil prices prompting investors to seek safe-haven assets such as gold and US Treasury bonds. This turbulence has also affected equity prices, exchange rates across emerging market currencies, and overall market sentiment.Furthermore, the global insurance sector is under acute pressure, as war risk now looms over major shipping lanes and maritime trade routes — assets of critical importance to global commerce and the manufacturing industry.The consequences of this conflict extend well beyond the military and geopolitical spheres, having spread into the global economy, energy supply, aviation and tourism, diplomatic relations, financial markets, and public security worldwide. As the conflict persists and strategic chokepoints such as the Strait of Hormuz remain under threat, its effects are expected to deepen and broaden considerably should hostilities fail to abate in the near term.
Based on historical precedent and established geopolitical patterns, we can analyse the structural consequences such a conflict would typically generate.
In the short term, the most immediate effects of a war involving the United States, Israel, and Iran would be acute instability in energy markets, heightened military alertness across the Middle East, and intense diplomatic polarisation. Oil prices would likely surge rapidly, particularly if maritime routes such as the Strait of Hormuz were threatened or partially disrupted. Financial markets would respond with volatility, investors would seek safe-haven assets, and insurance premiums for shipping and aviation would rise sharply. Militarily, neighbouring states would increase defensive readiness, while proxy actors might escalate limited engagements, raising the risk of miscalculation. Politically, global institutions would face paralysis as major powers align along strategic interests rather than consensus.
In the medium term, assuming the conflict does not immediately spiral into a full regional war, the consequences would likely consolidate into structural economic and geopolitical shifts. Energy-importing countries would accelerate diversification strategies, investing more heavily in renewables or alternative suppliers in order to reduce dependence on Gulf routes. Defence spending across the region would increase, entrenching an arms build-up dynamic. Proxy networks could expand in scope and autonomy, producing prolonged instability even if direct interstate clashes diminish. Domestically within the belligerent states, political narratives would harden, and public opinion could become more polarised, either consolidating leadership through wartime nationalism or fuelling dissent if casualties and economic hardship mount. Diplomatic relations between Western powers and segments of the Global South might deteriorate further, reinforcing bloc-like alignments reminiscent of earlier geopolitical rivalries.
In the long term, the consequences would depend on whether the war results in decisive transformation or unresolved tension. If the conflict reshapes the balance of power decisively, it could redefine regional security architecture for decades, much as previous Middle Eastern wars altered alliances and deterrence doctrines. Alternatively, if the war ends inconclusively, it may institutionalise a prolonged state of managed hostility, characterised by recurring flare-ups, sanctions, cyber operations, and proxy warfare. Economically, sustained instability could accelerate the global transition away from fossil fuel dependence, while also deepening economic fragmentation between rival geopolitical blocs. Socially and culturally, collective memory of the conflict would likely become embedded in national narratives, shaping education, political identity, and intergenerational attitudes toward the opposing side.
Historically, wars involving major powers rarely remain confined to purely military outcomes. They recalibrate institutions, alliances, economic priorities, and moral vocabularies. Thus, the short term would be defined by shock and volatility, the medium term by strategic realignment and hardened structures, and the long term by either transformation of the regional order or entrenchment of a chronic and unstable equilibrium.
Of all the dimensions through which this conflict touches Indonesia, the economic consequences are arguably the most immediate and visceral. Indonesia's economy faces acute exposure to the crisis, given that crude prices climbed more than 10 per cent in a matter of days following the US and Israeli strikes on Iran in early 2026, trading near multi-month highs. This matters enormously for Indonesia because, as analysts at the Institute for Energy Studies and Research (IESR) have noted, Indonesia consumes 1.7 million barrels of oil each day whilst producing only 0.86 million barrels domestically, meaning roughly half of the country's oil needs must be met through imports — a significant portion of which come from countries affected by the conflict. Saudi Arabia alone has historically accounted for 38 per cent of Indonesia's crude oil imports, worth approximately US$1.21 billion annually.
The fiscal implications of this supply shock are severe. Indonesia's 2026 state budget was calculated on an assumed oil price of US$70 per barrel, yet prices have already surpassed US$80. For every one-dollar rise in the Indonesian Crude Price, energy compensation subsidies require an additional Rp10.3 trillion, whilst state budget revenues increase by only around Rp3.6 trillion — leaving a deficit gap of roughly Rp6.7 trillion per dollar of price increase. Meanwhile, Indonesia's energy subsidy bill, already at Rp203 trillion, could exceed Rp250 trillion, forcing the government to choose between raising fuel prices and risking social unrest, or expanding subsidies and straining its fiscal resources.
Beyond the subsidy burden, the broader inflationary consequences are equally troubling. A weaker rupiah makes dollar-denominated imports more expensive, pushing up inflation for food items such as wheat, soybeans, and meat that rely on global supply chains. This is compounded by the fact that higher logistics costs—resulting from shipping companies rerouting tankers and raising war-risk insurance premiums — filter through into prices for manufactured inputs as well as consumer goods. For ordinary Indonesian households, the war in the Persian Gulf is therefore not a distant abstraction; it is felt directly in the price of cooking oil, fuel at the petrol station, and electricity bills.
The conflict has placed Indonesia in an acutely uncomfortable diplomatic position. President Prabowo Subianto had recently been cultivating closer ties with Washington, having joined Trump's so-called "Board of Peace" initiative in February 2026 and signing a reciprocal trade agreement during his visit to Washington. Indonesia's motivation to join was linked to its ongoing trade negotiations with the US government, which culminated in the signing of the US-Indonesia Reciprocal Trade Agreement during Prabowo's visit. However, the outbreak of the Iran war immediately complicated this alignment.
In response to the strikes, Indonesia's Ministry of Foreign Affairs called on all parties to exercise restraint and to prioritise dialogue and diplomacy, adding that the Indonesian government expressed its readiness to facilitate dialogue and, if agreed by both parties, that President Prabowo was prepared to travel to Tehran to carry out mediation. Yet this offer was met with swift scepticism. A prominent former Indonesian diplomat described the proposal as "highly unrealistic" and "politically suicidal," arguing that the United States' ego as a superpower would preclude acceptance of third-party mediation, that Indonesia had no meaningful diplomatic channel to Iran, and that any mediation would require Prabowo to meet Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu — a country with which Indonesia has no diplomatic relations.
The political fallout domestically has been considerable. As the war raged on, pressure grew domestically for Indonesia to withdraw from the US-led Board of Peace, with Islamic communities and lawmakers questioning the body's commitment to peace in the region. Ultimately, Indonesia's foreign minister confirmed that Board of Peace discussions had been put on hold, as all diplomatic attention had shifted to the situation in Iran. This episode illustrates the profound tension within Indonesia's foreign policy between its aspirations for closer economic alignment with Washington and the deeply held sentiments of its Muslim-majority population.
Indonesia, as the world's largest Muslim-majority democracy, cannot be indifferent to a war in which a fellow Muslim nation is the target of military strikes by the United States and Israel. Protests took place outside the United States Embassy in Jakarta on 3 March 2026 to condemn the US-Israeli attack on Iran and to urge the government to revoke its membership of the Board of Peace. These demonstrations reflect a broader public mood in which the conflict is experienced not merely as a geopolitical event, but as a matter of religious and civilisational solidarity.
The conflict also carries the risk of radicalising elements of Indonesian society, particularly if the war is perceived as a Western assault on the Muslim world. Indonesia must limit the spread of extremist ideology that could threaten the stability of society, and one avenue for doing so is through the Organisation of Islamic Cooperation, by striving to achieve consensus on the recent developments and calling for an immediate cessation of all forms of violence. At the same time, Indonesia's Muslim community is not monolithic, and the Sunni-majority population does not necessarily share theological or ideological alignment with Shia Iran; nonetheless, the optics of a superpower attacking a Muslim state resonate deeply across denominational lines.
From a strategic standpoint, the conflict compels Indonesia to navigate between competing great-power interests at a moment when it can ill afford geopolitical miscalculation. As a peace-loving country that adheres to its "free and active" foreign policy, Indonesia has taken a neutral stance towards the US and Israeli attacks—a posture that reflects both principled non-alignment and pragmatic self-preservation. However, maintaining that neutrality has become increasingly difficult as the war deepens and domestic pressures mount.
The security of Indonesian nationals abroad is also a direct concern. According to official data, 329 Indonesian citizens were in Iran at the time of the conflict, mostly in the cities of Qom and Isfahan, and the Indonesian Embassy in Tehran stated that the community had not reported any direct threats but had been advised to remain vigilant. Beyond citizen welfare, Indonesia must also reckon with the possibility that regional instability could embolden proxy actors or extremist networks with links to Southeast Asia, creating a security overspill that reaches Indonesia's own shores.
The broader financial contagion from the conflict adds yet another layer of difficulty for Indonesia's economic managers. Investors tend to reduce risk exposure when geopolitical tensions rise, seeking the safety of US Treasuries and other haven assets — and for Indonesia, that dynamic means weaker capital inflows and downward pressure on the rupiah. A depreciating currency, in turn, raises the cost of servicing Indonesia's dollar-denominated external debt and makes imported capital goods more expensive, dampening investment activity precisely when the country needs it most.
The Indonesian government needs to draw up a roadmap to mitigate the impacts of the global economic disruption, including expanding export markets to safer regions, seeking alternative energy supplies, strengthening strategic reserves, and accelerating the transition to renewable energy. Coordination between fiscal and monetary policy must also be strengthened to maintain exchange rate stability and control inflation. These prescriptions from Indonesian economists point to a deeper structural vulnerability: the country's dependence on fossil fuel imports and its exposure to global commodity price cycles, which this conflict has thrown into sharp relief.
Taken together, the conflict between the United States, Israel, and Iran confronts Indonesia with challenges that are simultaneously economic, diplomatic, social, strategic, and financial. The country faces higher energy bills, a weaker currency, inflationary pressures on household consumption, political embarrassment over its association with the Board of Peace, domestic public anger, and the ever-present risk of security spillovers. What makes Indonesia's position particularly delicate is that it lacks the diplomatic leverage to shape the course of the conflict, yet is far too deeply embedded in the global economy—and the Islamic world—to remain untouched by it. The war, as one analyst has aptly observed, is not Indonesia's war, but its consequences have arrived at Indonesia's door all the same.
Based on the most recent reports and analytical models available, it is extremely difficult to determine with certainty how long the war between Iran and the coalition of the United States and Israel will last. However, historical comparison, military capability, and current strategic goals allow analysts to outline several plausible timelines.Recent reporting suggests that some officials in Israel initially expected the campaign to last only several weeks, particularly if the objective was limited to destroying Iran’s missile infrastructure and military facilities. At the same time, internal assessments within the American national security community indicate that the conflict could extend for several months, possibly continuing until late summer if political and strategic complications arise. These differing expectations already reveal one of the classic patterns of modern warfare: wars that are expected to be short frequently become longer and more complicated than planners originally imagined.From a strategic perspective, the duration of the war will depend on several structural factors. First, the war is currently being fought largely through air power, missiles, and long-range strikes, rather than through massive ground invasions. More than two thousand targets inside Iran have already been struck, while Iran has responded with thousands of missile and drone attacks across the region. Conflicts dominated by air campaigns often unfold as wars of attrition, in which the decisive question becomes which side exhausts its missiles, interceptors, and logistical capacity first.Second, the political goals of the belligerents will heavily influence the war’s length. If the objective of the United States and Israel is limited to weakening Iran’s military capabilities, the conflict could plausibly end relatively quickly once key missile systems and command structures are destroyed. However, if the strategic aim expands toward regime destabilisation or long-term containment, the war may evolve into a prolonged confrontation involving sanctions, proxy conflicts, cyber operations, and intermittent military strikes.Third, wars in the Middle East historically tend to expand beyond their original scope through regional proxy networks. Iran maintains connections with several non-state armed groups across the region, and if those actors intensify their participation, the conflict could evolve into a broader regional war. Such escalation would greatly extend the timeline of the conflict, potentially transforming it from a short campaign into a multi-year geopolitical confrontation.When historians compare the present conflict with earlier wars, a familiar pattern appears. Many conflicts begin with the expectation of a rapid and decisive victory. Yet war rarely obeys the optimistic predictions of politicians or generals. The First World War was expected to last only a few months in 1914, but it continued for four devastating years. Likewise, the Iraq War began with a swift military invasion in 2003, yet evolved into a prolonged conflict lasting nearly a decade.For these reasons, the most cautious analytical conclusion is that the war between Iran and the United States–Israel coalition could follow one of three general trajectories. In the most limited scenario, the conflict might end within several weeks, particularly if military objectives are quickly achieved and diplomatic mediation intervenes. In a more realistic scenario, many analysts believe the conflict could last several months, especially if both sides continue exchanging long-range strikes while avoiding a full ground invasion. In the most pessimistic scenario, the war could transform into a prolonged regional confrontation lasting years, sustained by proxy warfare, sanctions, and intermittent military escalation.Therefore, the most honest answer from a historical and strategic standpoint is that the war's duration cannot yet be predicted with precision. War is not a mechanical process but a political and human one, shaped by decisions, miscalculations, and unexpected events. As the Prussian strategist Carl von Clausewitz famously observed, war unfolds within a realm of uncertainty that he described as “friction,” where the plans of states collide with the unpredictable realities of human conflict.If this war could be predicted, could Iran be the victor? To answer this question honestly, one must first recognise that “victory” in modern war is rarely absolute. The outcome depends on how victory itself is defined: whether it means military domination, political survival, strategic deterrence, or simply avoiding defeat. When the conflict between Iran and the coalition of the United States and Israel is analysed through this lens, the possibility of Iran becoming the clear military winner appears very limited. However, other forms of strategic outcome remain possible.From a strictly conventional military perspective, the balance of power strongly favours the United States–Israel side. The United States possesses the most technologically advanced military force in the world, including stealth bombers, global satellite surveillance, cyber warfare capabilities, and highly integrated air-defence systems. Israel, meanwhile, maintains one of the most sophisticated regional militaries, built around the doctrine of maintaining a qualitative military edge over its neighbours. Iran, by contrast, operates a much older air force and weaker air-defence infrastructure, which limits its ability to control the skies or conduct sustained long-range air campaigns.Recent reports from the ongoing conflict indicate that joint American and Israeli strikes have already destroyed large numbers of Iranian missile launchers and military targets, severely reducing Iran’s capacity to launch further attacks. At the same time, advanced surveillance systems, cyber operations, and missile interception technologies have allowed the coalition to intercept many Iranian missiles and drones before they reach their targets. These developments illustrate a fundamental asymmetry: one side relies heavily on technological superiority and air dominance, while the other relies more on missile saturation, proxy networks, and regional leverage.However, war is rarely determined solely by technological superiority. Iran possesses certain advantages that could complicate the conflict. The country has a very large population, a sizeable armed force numbering hundreds of thousands of personnel, and a vast geographical territory that makes rapid occupation extremely difficult. In addition, Iran has developed a strategy of asymmetric warfare, which means that it does not necessarily attempt to defeat its adversaries in conventional battles but instead tries to impose costs through missile attacks, proxy groups, maritime disruption, and economic pressure.For this reason, the real strategic question may not be whether Iran can win the war in the traditional sense, but whether it can prevent the coalition from achieving its objectives. History provides several examples where weaker states did not defeat stronger powers militarily but still achieved strategic survival. During the Vietnam War, for example, North Vietnam did not defeat the United States in conventional military terms, yet it ultimately achieved its political objectives. Similar patterns appeared in Afghanistan, where technologically superior powers struggled to impose lasting political outcomes.In the present conflict, therefore, three broad scenarios can be imagined. In the first scenario, the United States and Israel achieve overwhelming military success by destroying Iran’s missile infrastructure, command centres, and strategic facilities, thereby forcing Iran into a position of strategic weakness. In the second scenario, Iran survives the initial military campaign and shifts the conflict into a prolonged regional confrontation through proxy warfare and economic disruption, preventing its adversaries from achieving a decisive victory. In the third and most destabilising scenario, the conflict escalates into a wider regional war involving multiple states, which could fundamentally reshape the balance of power in the Middle East.Consequently, if victory is defined as complete military dominance, the probability of Iran defeating the combined power of the United States and Israel appears relatively low. Yet if victory is defined more broadly—as political survival, strategic endurance, or the ability to impose long-term costs on stronger adversaries—then the outcome becomes far less predictable. In modern geopolitics, the weaker power sometimes does not need to win the war outright; it only needs to ensure that the stronger power cannot achieve a decisive and lasting victory.Some well-known works in the field of international relations and strategic studies help to explain why analysts usually treat the question of an outright Iranian “victory” over the United States and Israel with caution. One of the most frequently cited theoretical frameworks comes from The Tragedy of Great Power Politics (2001) by John J. Mearsheimer, published by W. W. Norton. In this book, Mearsheimer argues that the international system is shaped by power asymmetries among states and that major powers possess structural advantages in prolonged conflict. From this perspective, a state such as the United States, with its vast military, economic, and alliance networks, retains structural leverage that smaller regional powers struggle to overcome in conventional warfare. Analysts, therefore, tend to interpret any Iranian strategy not as an attempt to defeat such powers outright, but rather as an attempt to raise the cost of intervention high enough to discourage or limit it.Another useful reference comes from classical strategic theory. In On War (1832) by Carl von Clausewitz, widely available in modern English editions, one of them translated by Col. J.J. Graham. New and Revised edition with Introduction and Notes by Col. F.N. Maude, in Three Volumes (London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner & C., 1918). Clausewitz explains that war is fundamentally “a continuation of policy with other means”. His argument implies that victory in war is rarely absolute; instead, it is measured by whether a state achieves its political objectives. If Iran were able to deter regime change, maintain internal stability, and preserve its regional influence despite confrontation with stronger adversaries, some strategists might interpret this as a form of strategic success even without military dominance on the battlefield.Historical and strategic scholarship also emphasises the importance of asymmetric warfare in conflicts between unequal powers. Lawrence Freedman discusses this dynamic in The Future of War: A History (2017), published by Allen Lane. Freedman notes that weaker states often rely on indirect strategies—such as proxy forces, missile deterrence, cyber operations, and political influence—to offset the conventional superiority of stronger opponents. In the context of Iran, analysts frequently point to the country’s network of regional allies and non-state partners, as well as its missile and drone capabilities, as instruments designed to complicate the strategic calculations of adversaries rather than defeat them directly.The structural logic of alliances also plays a significant role in strategic assessments. In Theory of International Politics (1979), published by McGraw-Hill, Kenneth Waltz explains that states rarely operate in isolation within the international system. Power is distributed across alliances, which means that a conflict involving the United States or Israel could potentially draw in additional partners and resources. This structural factor tends to reinforce the conclusion among many scholars that a direct military victory by Iran over a broad coalition would be highly unlikely, although Iran might still achieve limited political aims through deterrence or prolonged resistance.Finally, classical historical analysis reminds us that the deeper causes of war often lie in enduring psychological and political motives rather than purely military calculations. The famous triad of “fear, honour, and interest”, described by Thucydides in History of the Peloponnesian War (5th century BCE; many modern editions, including the Penguin Classics edition), continues to shape the way historians interpret modern conflicts. Fear may drive states to strike pre-emptively or build deterrence, honour may push leaders to resist humiliation or demonstrate resolve, and interest reflects the pursuit of power, resources, and security. When scholars analyse tensions involving Iran, Israel, and the United States, they often see these same forces operating simultaneously, making the outcome of any conflict dependent not only on military strength but also on political endurance, alliances, and the willingness of each side to bear the costs of war.
Thursday, March 5, 2026
War : Survivors, Memory, and Moral Responsibility (4)
War : Survivors, Memory, and Moral Responsibility (3)
[Part 4]The war between Russia and Ukraine can indeed be interpreted as involving an ideological dimension, although it is also shaped by geopolitical, historical, and security considerations. At its core, the conflict reflects competing visions of political order, national identity, and the organisation of international power.On one side, the Russian leadership has frequently framed the war in terms of defending a civilisational sphere that resists Western political and cultural influence. This perspective is often associated with ideas of sovereignty, traditional values, and a multipolar world order in which Western liberal institutions do not dominate global governance. Russian rhetoric has sometimes portrayed Ukraine’s alignment with Western institutions such as the European Union and NATO as a threat to this vision.
On the other side, Ukraine’s political leadership and many of its supporters describe the conflict as a struggle for democratic self-determination and integration with the liberal international order. In this narrative, Ukraine represents the aspiration of a sovereign nation to choose its own political and economic orientation, including closer ties with European democratic institutions.
Thus, at the ideological level, the war is frequently framed as a contest between two broad political narratives: one emphasising sovereign spheres of influence and resistance to Western liberalism, and another emphasising national self-determination, democratic governance, and integration with Western political structures.
However, historians and political scientists generally caution that wars rarely arise from ideology alone. Strategic security concerns, historical grievances, economic interests, and regional power dynamics also play significant roles in shaping the conflict.
The war between Russia and Ukraine did not emerge suddenly in 2022, but rather developed from a long chain of historical, political, and geopolitical tensions that accumulated over several decades.
One major background factor is the historical relationship between the two countries during the era of the Soviet Union. For much of the twentieth century, Ukraine was one of the republics within the Soviet Union, and its political, economic, and military systems were closely integrated with Moscow. When the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991, Ukraine became an independent state, which fundamentally changed the geopolitical map of Eastern Europe.
After independence, Ukraine faced an internal debate about its strategic orientation. Some political groups preferred closer relations with Russia, while others advocated integration with Western institutions such as the European Union and the North Atlantic Treaty Organization. This division within Ukrainian society became a recurring theme in the country’s politics.
A major turning point occurred in 2014 during the political upheaval known as the Euromaidan. Mass protests erupted in Kyiv after the Ukrainian government suspended plans to sign an association agreement with the European Union. The protests eventually led to the removal of President Viktor Yanukovych, who was widely viewed as favouring closer ties with Russia.
Following these events, Russia annexed the peninsula of Crimea in 2014, a move that was widely condemned by many countries and international organisations. At the same time, armed conflict began in eastern Ukraine, particularly in the regions of Donetsk and Luhansk, where separatist groups declared independence and received varying degrees of support from Russia.
Another key factor involves security concerns related to NATO expansion. Russian leaders have repeatedly argued that the eastward enlargement of NATO since the 1990s threatens Russia’s strategic security. Ukraine’s growing cooperation with NATO intensified these concerns and became a central issue in diplomatic tensions.
The situation escalated dramatically in February 2022 when Russia launched a large-scale military invasion of Ukraine. Russia described the operation as necessary for its security and for the protection of Russian-speaking populations, while Ukraine and many Western governments characterised it as an act of aggression against a sovereign state.
Thus, the war between Russia and Ukraine cannot be attributed to a single cause. Instead, it reflects a complex interaction of historical legacies, geopolitical rivalry, competing political orientations, and security anxieties within the post-Cold War international order.
The deeper historical roots of the conflict between Russia and Ukraine extend far beyond the events of the twenty-first century. To understand the persistence of tension between the two nations, historians often trace the story back several centuries, where questions of identity, empire, and political sovereignty gradually intertwined and shaped the region’s historical memory.
One of the earliest foundations of this tension lies in the shared historical heritage of Kievan Rus', a medieval federation centred in the city of Kyiv. Both Russians and Ukrainians regard this early state as a formative source of their civilisation. However, the interpretation of that heritage differs significantly. Russian historical narratives have often presented Kievan Rus' as the ancient cradle of the Russian state, while many Ukrainian historians emphasise it as the origin of a distinct Ukrainian historical identity. This divergence in historical interpretation has contributed to competing claims about cultural and political continuity in the region.
Another major historical turning point emerged during the expansion of the Russian Empire in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Large parts of present-day Ukraine gradually fell under imperial Russian control, particularly after the decline of the Cossack Hetmanate and the partitions of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. Under imperial administration, policies of centralisation often sought to integrate Ukrainian lands into a broader imperial structure. Ukrainian language and cultural expression were periodically restricted, and political autonomy was limited. These developments planted early seeds of nationalist consciousness among Ukrainian intellectuals, who began to articulate the idea of Ukraine as a separate nation with its own cultural heritage.
The twentieth century introduced another layer of historical trauma and political complexity. After the collapse of the Russian Empire during the Russian Revolution, Ukraine briefly attempted to establish an independent state. However, the region soon became a battleground in the broader struggles of the revolution and civil war. Eventually Ukraine was incorporated into the newly formed Soviet Union as the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic. During this period, relations between Moscow and Ukraine were shaped by both integration and repression. One of the most tragic episodes remembered in Ukrainian history is the famine known as the Holodomor, which caused millions of deaths and remains a deeply sensitive subject in historical memory.
When the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991, Ukraine emerged as an independent state for the first time in many decades. However, the long history of shared institutions, intertwined economies, and overlapping identities meant that the separation was politically complex. Some regions of Ukraine retained strong linguistic and cultural ties with Russia, while others looked increasingly towards Europe. This internal diversity of identity contributed to political debates about the country’s orientation in the international system.
In this sense, the contemporary war cannot be understood merely as a dispute over territory or military strategy. Rather, it reflects centuries of historical narratives, imperial legacies, and competing visions of national identity. The conflict illustrates how unresolved historical questions can persist across generations, shaping political decisions long after the original events have faded into the past. What appears today as a geopolitical confrontation is therefore also a struggle over memory, history, and the meaning of sovereignty in Eastern Europe.
One noticeable pattern in the war between Russia and Ukraine is the recurring struggle between a major regional power and a neighbouring state seeking stronger integration with Western institutions. Since the end of the Cold War, Russia has consistently reacted with suspicion and resistance whenever former Soviet or post-Soviet territories attempt to align themselves more closely with organisations such as NATO or the European Union.
Another pattern is the strategic importance of geography. Ukraine occupies a significant position between Russia and Europe, and historically it has served both as a cultural crossroads and a geopolitical buffer. For Russian leadership, particularly under Vladimir Putin, Ukraine is often viewed not merely as a neighbouring country but as a territory deeply connected to Russia’s historical identity and security considerations.
A further pattern lies in the transformation of modern warfare itself. The conflict demonstrates that contemporary wars are not fought solely with tanks and missiles. They also involve information warfare, cyber operations, economic sanctions, and global media narratives. Ukraine, under the leadership of Volodymyr Zelenskyy, has been particularly effective in mobilising international sympathy and support through communication strategies and diplomacy.
Another recurring feature is the internationalisation of the conflict. Although the war is fought primarily on Ukrainian territory, it has become a wider geopolitical confrontation involving Western military assistance, economic sanctions against Russia, and diplomatic alignments across the globe. In this sense, the conflict resembles earlier proxy struggles in world history where great powers compete indirectly through regional wars.
So, there is a broader historical pattern: wars often emerge when unresolved political tensions, historical grievances, and security fears accumulate over time without a mutually accepted framework for resolution. The Russia–Ukraine war appears to follow this pattern, where decades of mistrust, competing narratives of history, and strategic anxieties eventually culminated in open conflict.
In the long tradition of political and military thought, war has often been interpreted not merely as a clash of armies but as the visible expression of deeper forces within human society. The ancient historian Thucydides, writing about the Peloponnesian War, argued that wars usually arise from three powerful motivations: fear, honour, and interest. These forces continue to appear in many conflicts across history, including the war between Russia and Ukraine. From this perspective, the conflict can be interpreted as a modern example of how states react when they perceive shifts in power and security around them.In the nineteenth century, the Prussian military thinker Carl von Clausewitz developed a famous idea that war is “the continuation of politics by other means.” His insight suggests that wars do not occur in isolation but grow out of political disagreements that have failed to find peaceful solutions. The Russia–Ukraine war illustrates this principle clearly, because it emerged from long-standing disputes over security arrangements in Eastern Europe, particularly regarding Ukraine’s potential relationship with institutions such as NATO. When diplomacy and negotiation proved unable to resolve these tensions, the conflict moved into the realm of military force.
Another philosophical pattern concerns the struggle between spheres of influence. Throughout history, powerful states have attempted to maintain influence over neighbouring regions, while smaller states have often sought autonomy or protection from rival powers. The war reflects this dynamic. Russia has historically regarded Ukraine as part of its strategic environment, whereas Ukraine has increasingly pursued closer political and economic ties with the European Union and the wider Western world. This tension between regional dominance and national self-determination represents a recurring theme in geopolitical history.
The conflict also reflects a broader historical pattern in which wars serve as moments of systemic adjustment in the international order. When the balance of power between states begins to shift, conflicts sometimes emerge as violent attempts to redefine that balance. In the case of the Russia–Ukraine war, the struggle can be interpreted as part of a wider debate about the future structure of the international system: whether it will remain centred on Western-led institutions or move toward a more multipolar arrangement involving several competing centres of power.
Finally, philosophers and historians have long observed that wars often expose underlying questions about identity, legitimacy, and historical narrative. In this conflict, both sides appeal to different interpretations of history, culture, and political destiny. Such narratives influence how populations perceive the war and justify its sacrifices. Thus, beyond military operations and territorial disputes, the war between Russia and Ukraine also illustrates how conflicts are shaped by ideas, memories, and competing visions of the past and the future.
Before explaining the deeper psychological pattern of war on the next chapter—often summarised as “fear, honour, and interest”—it is useful to mention several historical works that support both the earlier structural analysis of war and the broader interpretation of recurring patterns in conflict. Historians and political theorists have repeatedly argued that wars tend to follow recognisable patterns shaped by power transitions, strategic anxiety, ideology, and human motivations.
One of the earliest and most influential sources is the work of the Greek historian Thucydides in History of the Peloponnesian War (translated edition, 1954, Penguin Classics). In this classic account of the Peloponnesian War between Athens and Sparta, Thucydides offered one of the earliest analytical explanations of war in history rather than merely a narrative description. He argued that the real cause of the war was the rise of Athens and the fear this inspired in Sparta. This insight has become foundational for modern theories about power transitions and geopolitical rivalry.
A modern reinterpretation of this idea appears in the work of the American political scientist Graham Allison, particularly in Destined for War: Can America and China Escape Thucydides’s Trap? (2017, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt). Allison examined several historical cases in which a rising power challenged an established power and found that such transitions frequently led to war. Although his focus is on contemporary geopolitics, the historical examples he presents reinforce the argument that wars often arise from structural tensions within the international system.
To deepen the philosophical understanding of war, it is helpful to consider how several influential thinkers interpreted the nature of conflict within the broader condition of human society. Among the most significant figures in this discussion are Augustine of Hippo, Thomas Hobbes, and Carl von Clausewitz. Although they lived in very different historical periods, their reflections reveal that war has long been understood not merely as a military event but as a manifestation of deeper moral, political, and psychological realities.
The theological reflection begins most prominently with Augustine of Hippo in his monumental work The City of God (translated edition, 2003, Penguin Classics). Augustine wrote in the aftermath of the dramatic upheavals that followed the decline of the Roman Empire, and he sought to explain why violence and conflict persist in human history despite humanity’s longing for peace. According to Augustine, war ultimately arises from the disordered loves of the human heart. When individuals and societies place excessive attachment on power, domination, or earthly glory, conflict becomes almost inevitable. Augustine did not celebrate war; rather, he regarded it as a tragic consequence of human sinfulness. Yet he also acknowledged that war might sometimes be morally permissible when it is undertaken to restore justice, defend the innocent, or restrain wrongdoing. This reasoning laid the intellectual foundation for what later came to be known as the Just War tradition, a moral framework that attempts to distinguish legitimate warfare from unjust aggression.
Many centuries later, the English philosopher Thomas Hobbes approached the problem from a different angle in Leviathan (1651; modern edition 1996, Cambridge University Press). Writing during the turmoil of the English Civil War, Hobbes offered a starkly pessimistic view of human nature. He argued that in the absence of strong political authority, human society would fall into what he famously described as a “war of every man against every man.” In such a state of nature, life would become “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.” For Hobbes, war is not merely the clash of armies; it is the condition that emerges whenever fear, competition, and distrust dominate human relationships. The solution, he believed, was the establishment of a powerful sovereign authority capable of imposing order and preventing the constant descent into conflict.
A third influential interpretation came from the Prussian military theorist Carl von Clausewitz in his classic treatise On War (1832; Princeton University Press edition, 1984). Clausewitz famously argued that war is “the continuation of politics by other means.” By this he meant that war should not be understood as an irrational breakdown of politics but rather as an extension of political objectives when diplomacy fails. According to Clausewitz, wars are shaped by a dynamic interaction of three forces: the passions of the people, the strategic calculations of military leaders, and the political aims of governments. This insight emphasises that war is never purely military; it is embedded within the broader structure of political decision-making.
When the ideas of Augustine, Hobbes, and Clausewitz are considered together, a striking philosophical picture emerges. Augustine explains the moral and spiritual roots of war, Hobbes reveals the psychological and social anxieties that generate conflict, and Clausewitz clarifies the political logic that directs war toward concrete objectives. Each thinker illuminates a different dimension of the same phenomenon, suggesting that war is not simply an accident of history but a recurring expression of human ambition, fear, and political organisation.
This philosophical tradition also helps explain why wars often appear tragically repetitive. Human societies continually pursue power, security, honour, and prosperity, yet these pursuits frequently collide with the ambitions of others. The result is a cycle in which peace is desired, conflict erupts, and new political arrangements emerge from the aftermath of war. From the perspective of history, war thus appears both as a destructive force and as a mechanism through which political orders are challenged, reshaped, and sometimes rebuilt.
In this sense, the philosophical reflections of Augustine, Hobbes, and Clausewitz remind us that the study of war cannot be limited to battles, weapons, and military campaigns. War is also a mirror reflecting the deepest tensions within human nature, political authority, and moral responsibility. To understand war fully, therefore, one must examine not only what happens on the battlefield but also the ideas, fears, and aspirations that lead societies to fight in the first place.
Another important historical study is The Causes of War (1989, Free Press) by the historian Geoffrey Blainey. Blainey argues that wars usually occur when states believe they can win or when there is disagreement about the balance of power between rivals. His analysis emphasises that wars are rarely the result of a single cause; rather, they emerge from a complex combination of strategic miscalculations, economic interests, and political ambitions.
A broader civilisational perspective appears in War: What Is It Good For? (2014, Farrar, Straus and Giroux) by the historian and archaeologist Ian Morris. Morris examines warfare across thousands of years of human history and argues that organised violence has paradoxically played a role in shaping large political structures and long-term stability. His work illustrates how war has historically been intertwined with the formation of states, institutions, and social orders.
Within this intellectual tradition, the psychological explanation of war offered by Thucydides remains particularly influential. In one of the most famous passages of History of the Peloponnesian War, he wrote that human conflicts are often driven by three fundamental motivations: fear, honour, and interest. These three motives, though expressed in the language of ancient Greece, describe patterns that continue to appear in modern conflicts.
Fear refers to the anxiety that one political community feels when it perceives another as becoming stronger or more threatening. In international politics, fear often arises from uncertainty about the intentions of other states. Even if a rival power claims peaceful intentions, the possibility that it might eventually use its strength aggressively can lead to defensive preparations. Ironically, these defensive preparations can themselves appear threatening to others, creating a cycle of suspicion that gradually escalates into conflict.
Honour represents the powerful role of prestige, reputation, and dignity in political life. States, like individuals, often react strongly to perceived humiliation or loss of status. Throughout history, rulers and societies have entered wars not merely to defend territory but to defend honour, restore reputation, or demonstrate strength. This motivation explains why symbolic events—such as insults, provocations, or challenges to sovereignty—sometimes trigger wars that appear disproportionate to the immediate issue at stake.
Interest refers to the tangible benefits that states seek to obtain or protect, including territory, trade routes, natural resources, and economic influence. Many wars have been fought over material advantages that promise wealth, security, or strategic leverage. Economic interests may involve access to land, control of maritime routes, or dominance over valuable resources that sustain national power.
What makes the framework of fear, honour, and interest so enduring is that these motivations rarely operate in isolation. Most wars emerge from a mixture of all three forces. A state may justify a war as a matter of honour, fear the growing power of a rival, and simultaneously hope to gain economic or strategic advantages. Because these motivations are deeply rooted in human psychology and political competition, they recur across vastly different historical periods.
Thus, when historians analyse modern conflicts—whether in Europe, the Middle East, or elsewhere—they often discover that the underlying dynamics described by Thucydides more than two thousand years ago remain surprisingly relevant. The technologies of war may change, and the political systems involved may evolve, but the fundamental motives of fear, honour, and interest continue to shape the decisions that lead societies into war.
[Part 2]