The Grand Theory Driving Putin to War

March 22, 2022
https://www.nytimes.com/2022/03/22/opinion/russia-ukraine-putin-eurasianism.html


President Vladimir Putin’s bloody assault on Ukraine, nearly a month in,
still seems inexplicable. Rockets raining down on apartment buildings and
fleeing families are now Russia’s face to the world. What could induce
Russia to take such a fateful step, effectively electing to become a pariah
state?

Efforts to understand the invasion tend to fall into two broad schools of
thought. The first focuses on Mr. Putin himself — his state of mind, his
understanding of history or his K.G.B. past. The second invokes
developments external to Russia, chiefly NATO’s eastward expansion after
the Soviet Union’s collapse in 1991, as the underlying source of the
conflict.

But to understand the war in Ukraine, we must go beyond the political
projects of Western leaders and Mr. Putin’s psyche. The ardor and content
of Mr. Putin’s declarations are not new or unique to him. Since the 1990s,
plans to reunite Ukraine and other post-Soviet states into a
transcontinental superpower have been brewing in Russia. A revitalized
theory of Eurasian empire informs Mr. Putin’s every move.

The end of the Soviet Union disoriented Russia’s elites, stripping away
their special status in a huge Communist empire. What was to be done? For
some, the answer was just to make money, the capitalist way. In the wild
years after 1991, many were able to amass enormous fortunes in cahoots with
an indulgent regime. But for others who had set their goals in Soviet
conditions, wealth and a vibrant consumer economy were not enough.
Post-imperial egos felt the loss of Russia’s status and significance keenly.

As Communism lost its élan, intellectuals searched for a different
principle on which the Russian state could be organized. Their explorations
took shape briefly in the formation of political parties, including rabidly
nationalist, antisemitic movements, and with more lasting effect in the
revival of religion as a foundation for collective life. But as the state
ran roughshod over democratic politics in the 1990s, new interpretations of
Russia’s essence took hold, offering solace and hope to people who strove
to recover their country’s prestige in the world.

One of the most alluring concepts was Eurasianism. Emerging from the
collapse of the Russian Empire in 1917, this idea posited Russia as a
Eurasian polity formed by a deep history of cultural exchanges among people
of Turkic, Slavic, Mongol and other Asian origins. In 1920, the linguist
Nikolai Trubetzkoy — one of several Russian émigré intellectuals who
developed the concept — published “Europe and Humanity,” a trenchant
critique of Western colonialism and Eurocentrism. He called on Russian
intellectuals to free themselves from their fixation on Europe and to build
on the “legacy of Chinggis Khan” to create a great continent-spanning
Russian-Eurasian state.

Trubetzkoy’s Eurasianism was a recipe for imperial recovery, without
Communism — a harmful Western import, in his view. Instead, Trubetzkoy
emphasized the ability of a reinvigorated Russian Orthodoxy to provide
cohesion across Eurasia, with solicitous care for believers in the many
other faiths practiced in this enormous region.

Suppressed for decades in the Soviet Union, Eurasianism survived in the
underground and burst into public awareness during the perestroika period
of the late 1980s. Lev Gumilyov, an eccentric geographer who had spent 13
years in Soviet prisons and forced-labor camps, emerged as an acclaimed
guru of the Eurasian revival in the 1980s. Mr. Gumilyov emphasized ethnic
diversity as a driver of global history. According to his concept of
“ethnogenesis,” an ethnic group could, under the influence of a charismatic
leader, develop into a “super-ethnos” — a power spread over a huge
geographical area that would clash with other expanding ethnic units.

Mr. Gumilyov’s theories appealed to many people making their way through
the chaotic 1990s. But Eurasianism was injected directly into the
bloodstream of Russian power in a variant developed by the self-styled
philosopher Aleksandr Dugin. After unsuccessful interventions in
post-Soviet party politics, Mr. Dugin focused on developing his influence
where it counted — with the military and policymakers. With the publication
in 1997 of his 600-page textbook, loftily titled “The Foundations of
Geopolitics: The Geopolitical Future of Russia,” Eurasianism moved to the
center of strategists’ political imagination.

In Mr. Dugin’s adjustment of Eurasianism to present conditions, Russia had
a new opponent — no longer just Europe, but the whole of the “Atlantic”
world led by the United States. And his Eurasianism was not anti-imperial
but the opposite: Russia had always been an empire, Russian people were
“imperial people,” and after the crippling 1990s sellout to the “eternal
enemy,” Russia could revive in the next phase of global combat and become a
“world empire.” On the civilizational front, Mr. Dugin highlighted the
long-term connection between Eastern Orthodoxy and Russian empire.
Orthodoxy’s combat against Western Christianity and Western decadence could
be harnessed to the geopolitical war to come.

Eurasian geopolitics, Russian Orthodoxy and traditional values — these
goals shaped Russia’s self-image under Mr. Putin’s leadership. The themes
of imperial glory and Western victimization were propagated across the
country; in 2017, they were drummed home in the monumental exhibition
“Russia, My History.” The expo’s flashy displays featured Mr. Gumilyov’s
Eurasian philosophy, the sacrificial martyrdom of the Romanov family and
the evils the West had inflicted on Russia.

Where did Ukraine figure in this imperial revival? As an obstacle, from the
very beginning. Trubetzkoy argued in his 1927 article “On the Ukrainian
Problem” that Ukrainian culture was an “individualization of all-Russian
culture” and that Ukrainians and Belarusians should bond with Russians
around the organizing principle of their shared Orthodox faith. Mr. Dugin
made things more direct in his 1997 text: Ukrainian sovereignty presented a
“huge danger to all of Eurasia.” Total military and political control of
the whole north coast of the Black Sea was an “absolute imperative” of
Russian geopolitics. Ukraine had to become “a purely administrative sector
of the Russian centralized state.”

Mr. Putin has taken that message to heart. In 2013, he declared that
Eurasia was a major geopolitical zone where Russia’s “genetic code” and its
many peoples would be defended against “extreme Western-style liberalism.”
In July last year he announced that “Russians and Ukrainians are one
people,” and in his furious rant on the eve of invasion, he described
Ukraine as a “colony with a puppet regime,” where the Orthodox Church is
under assault and NATO prepares for an attack on Russia.

This brew of attitudes — complaints about Western aggression, exaltation of
traditional values over the decadence of individual rights, assertions of
Russia’s duty to unite Eurasia and subordinate Ukraine — developed in the
cauldron of post-imperial resentment. Now they infuse Mr. Putin’s worldview
and inspire his brutal war.

The goal, plainly, is empire. And the line will not be drawn at Ukraine.
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