War Without Peace, Peace Without War: Russia’s Non-Binary Conception of Conflict

By Matthew Parish, Associate Editor

Wednesday 15 July 2026

Western political and legal thought has long tended to distinguish clearly between war and peace. States are either at war or they are not. Armed conflict is declared or acknowledged. Treaties are signed. Ceasefires are monitored. International law, diplomacy and commerce all function more easily when this binary distinction is maintained.

Russia has rarely viewed the world in such uncomplicated terms.

Instead Russian strategic culture has traditionally understood conflict as a continuous spectrum in which military force, political coercion, espionage, economic pressure, propaganda, organised crime, cyber operations and diplomacy all form parts of the same strategic enterprise. Peace is not necessarily the absence of conflict. Nor is war necessarily characterised by armies meeting on conventional battlefields. Between these two apparent opposites lies an extensive grey zone in which the Kremlin has often proved most comfortable operating.

This perspective did not begin with Vladimir Putin. It has deep historical roots.

Imperial Russia constantly managed frontiers that were only partially pacified. Expansion into the Caucasus, Siberia and Central Asia involved decades or even centuries of intermittent violence, negotiation, alliance-building and economic penetration. Borders shifted gradually rather than through single decisive wars. Military conquest was accompanied by colonisation, religious influence and administrative integration. There was seldom a moment at which conflict simply ended.

The Soviet Union inherited much of this mentality.

Even during periods officially described as peaceful coexistence with the West, Moscow regarded ideological competition as permanent. Intelligence operations expanded. Political influence campaigns intensified. Communist parties abroad received assistance. Proxy wars erupted across Africa, Asia and Latin America. Arms control negotiations proceeded alongside nuclear expansion. Diplomatic engagement and strategic confrontation existed simultaneously without contradiction.

From Moscow’s perspective there was no inconsistency.

The Soviet leadership believed history itself constituted an ongoing struggle between competing political systems. Military conflict represented only one manifestation of that broader competition. Victory depended as much upon economics, technology, ideology and political influence as battlefield success.

Modern Russia has preserved this intellectual inheritance while adapting it to contemporary technologies.

The annexation of Crimea in 2014 demonstrated the effectiveness of operating below the traditional threshold of declared war. Soldiers without insignia, coordinated information campaigns, political manipulation and carefully calibrated military deployments created facts on the ground before much of the international community fully appreciated what was taking place. Formal declarations mattered far less than controlling events.

The subsequent conflict in the Donbas further illustrated this approach. Official denials coexisted with extensive military involvement. Volunteers, contractors, intelligence personnel and local proxy forces blurred distinctions between domestic unrest and interstate conflict.

Legal ambiguity became a strategic asset rather than an inconvenience.

Cyber operations have expanded this philosophy still further.

A cyber attack may disable critical infrastructure without a single soldier crossing an international frontier. Disinformation campaigns may alter elections without occupying territory. Financial pressure may weaken governments without firing artillery. Each tool contributes towards strategic objectives while remaining below thresholds that traditionally trigger military responses.

The distinction between civilian and military domains correspondingly becomes less meaningful.

Russian military writings frequently describe information itself as a battlefield. Public opinion, media narratives, cultural identity and social cohesion become strategic assets to be defended or attacked. Modern conflict therefore extends into universities, financial markets, religious institutions, social media platforms and international organisations.

The objective is not always outright victory.

Often it is sufficient to generate uncertainty.

If opponents cannot determine whether they are under attack, they may hesitate. If governments disagree over whether an incident constitutes aggression, collective responses become slower and less coherent. Ambiguity creates opportunities. Confusion becomes an instrument of statecraft.

This differs markedly from much Western strategic thinking, which has traditionally relied upon legal definitions and institutional thresholds. NATO’s collective defence provisions, for example, were originally conceived around the image of conventional armed attack. Grey-zone activities deliberately complicate such frameworks by remaining just below clearly defined red lines.

The invasion of Ukraine in February 2022 appeared at first sight to represent a return to conventional interstate warfare. Tanks crossed borders. Missiles struck cities. Large armies fought openly.

Yet even this war has retained profoundly non-binary characteristics.

Alongside conventional combat have come cyber attacks, energy coercion, manipulation of food supplies, maritime disruption, political influence operations, prisoner exchanges, diplomatic negotiations, sabotage, covert operations and sustained information campaigns directed at both domestic and foreign audiences. Economic sanctions imposed by Western governments have become another theatre of conflict. International legal proceedings represent yet another.

The battlefield extends from trenches in Donetsk to banking systems in Brussels, internet servers in California, shipping routes through the Black Sea and electoral debates throughout Europe.

From Moscow’s perspective these are not separate contests.

They are components of a single strategic confrontation.

This helps explain why negotiations frequently disappoint Western observers. Diplomatic talks are often interpreted in Europe or North America as attempts to conclude conflict. Russian negotiators may instead regard diplomacy as another mechanism through which conflict is pursued. Agreements can provide breathing space, divide opponents, consolidate territorial gains or create political opportunities without necessarily representing permanent settlements.

Accordingly ceasefires do not always signify peace.

They may simply represent another phase of continuing competition.

Nor should sanctions necessarily be understood as alternatives to war. From the Russian viewpoint they are often perceived as acts of war conducted through financial instruments rather than artillery. Conversely, Russia’s own use of energy exports, migration pressures or cyber operations may be regarded in Moscow as legitimate strategic tools rather than escalatory military actions.

Each side therefore risks misunderstanding the other’s assumptions.

Western policymakers frequently seek definitive endings to conflict because their political systems reward visible settlements and legal certainty. Russian strategic culture often assumes that competition among great powers is perpetual, with periods of reduced violence representing merely temporary pauses in an enduring geopolitical contest.

History reinforces this outlook.

Russia has experienced repeated invasions from the West, devastating civil wars, revolutionary upheaval and prolonged struggles across enormous frontiers. Strategic patience became a necessity. Survival often depended less upon decisive victories than upon endurance. Time itself became a weapon. If conflict is expected to continue indefinitely in one form or another, there is little incentive to distinguish rigidly between war and peace.

Understanding this mindset does not require accepting it.

Indeed the invasion of Ukraine represents a profound violation of international law and the principles of sovereign equality upon which the post-1945 international order rests. Yet successful strategy begins with accurately understanding an opponent’s intellectual framework rather than projecting one’s own assumptions upon it.

For Ukraine and her allies, this carries uncomfortable implications. Even if active hostilities eventually diminish, competition with Russia is unlikely simply to cease. Reconstruction, intelligence, cyber security, economic resilience, political stability and information integrity will remain integral components of national defence. Peace, in the traditional Western sense, may prove elusive because Moscow may continue to regard these domains as legitimate arenas of strategic competition.

The challenge for democratic societies is therefore not merely to prevail in conventional military operations but to adapt intellectually to an adversary that rejects conventional categories. Success requires recognising that conflict today may begin long before the first missile is launched and continue long after the final artillery round has been fired.

Russia’s conception of international affairs dissolves the comfortable boundary separating war from peace. It substitutes a continuum of competition in which violence rises and falls but seldom disappears altogether. Whether this approach ultimately strengthens or weakens Russia remains open to debate. It undoubtedly imposes immense burdens upon her own economy and society, while encouraging international isolation and distrust.

Nevertheless as long as this strategic culture endures, policymakers who continue to think only in binary terms may repeatedly find themselves surprised by events that Russia has long regarded as entirely consistent. In the twenty-first century, understanding the nature of conflict may prove almost as important as possessing the means to wage it.