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At a high-stakes meeting at the White House on August 18, the US president, Donald Trump, and his Ukrainian counterpart, Volodymyr Zelensky, tried to hammer out the broad contours of a potential peace agreement with Russia. The tone of their encounter was in marked contrast to their last joint press conference in Washington back in February which ended with Zelensky’s humiliation by Trump and his vice president, J.D. Vance. The outcomes of the presidential get-together, and the subsequent, expanded meeting with leaders of the European coalition of the willing, were also a much more professional affair than Trump’s summit with his Russian counterpart, Vladimir Putin, on August 15. The results of the meetings in the White House were still far from perfect. But they are a much better response to the reality in which Ukrainians have lived for the past more than three-and-a-half years than what transpired during and after the brief press conference held by the two leaders after their meeting in Alaska. This relatively positive outcome was not a foregone conclusion. Over the weekend, Trump had put out a statement on his Truth Social platform that: “President Zelenskyy (sic) of Ukraine can end the war with Russia almost immediately”. But this came with the proviso that Zelensky would need to accept Ukraine’s loss of Crimea to Russia and forego his country’s future Nato membership. This, and similar ideas of land swaps between Russia and Ukraine, have already been roundly rejected by the Ukrainian president. Importantly, Kyiv’s position has been fully backed by Ukraine’s European allies. Leaders of the coalition of the willing issued a joint statement on August 16 to the effect that any territorial concessions were Ukraine’s to make or refuse. On Nato membership, their statement was more equivocal. European leaders asserted that Russia should not be allowed to have a veto on Ukraine’s choices. But the coalition’s reiteration of the commitment that it is “ready to play an active role” in guaranteeing Ukraine’s future security opened up a pathway to Trump to “Article 5-like protections” for Ukraine against future Russian aggression and promising “a lot of help when it comes to security”. Nato’s Article 5 guarantees that an attack on one member is an attack on all and commits the alliance to collective defence. A possibly emerging deal – some territorial concessions by Ukraine in exchange for peace and joint US and European security guarantees – appeared to become more certain during the televised meeting between Trump and his visitors before their closed-door discussions. In different ways, each of the European guests acknowledged the progress that Trump had made towards a settlement and they all emphasised the importance of a joint approach to Russia to make sure that any agreement would bring a just and lasting peace. As an indication that his guests were unwilling to simply accept whatever deal he had brought back with him from his meeting with Putin in Alaska, the US president then interrupted the meeting to call the Russian president. Signals from Russia were far from promising with Moscow rejecting any Nato troop deployments to Ukraine and singling out the UK as allegedly seeking to undermine the US-Russia peace effort. Peace remains elusive When the meeting concluded and the different leaders offered their interpretations of what had been agreed, two things became clear. First, the Ukrainian side had not folded under pressure from the US, and European leaders, while going out of their way to flatter Trump, held their ground as well. Importantly, Trump had not walked away from the process either but appeared to want to remain engaged. Second, Russia had not given any ground, either. According to remarks by Putin’s foreign policy advisor, Yuri Ushakov, posted on the Kremlin’s official website, Russia would consider “the possibility of raising the level of representatives of the Ukrainian and Russian parties”. His statement falls short of, but does not rule out, the possibility of a Zelensky-Putin summit, which Trump announced as a major success after the White House meetings yesterday. Such a meeting was seen as the next logical step towards peace by all the participants of the White House meeting and would be followed, according to Trump, by what he called “a Trilat” of the Ukrainian, Russian and American presidents. The lack of clear confirmation by Russia that such meetings would indeed happen raises more doubts about the Kremlin’s sincerity. But the fact that a peace process – if it can be called that – remains somewhat intact is a far cry from an actual peace agreement. Little if anything was said in the aftermath of the White House meeting on territorial issues. Pressure on Russia only came up briefly in comments by European leaders, whose ambitions to become formally involved in actual peace negotiations remain a pipe dream for the time being. And, despite the initial optimism about security guarantees, no firm commitments were made with Zelensky only noting “the important signal from the United States regarding its readiness to support and be part of these guarantees”. Peace in Ukraine thus remains elusive, for now. The only tangible success is that whatever Trump imagines as the process to a peace agreement did not completely fall apart. But as this process unfolds, its progress, if any, happens at a snail’s pace. Meanwhile the Russian war machine deployed against Ukraine grinds forward. At the end of the day, yesterday’s events changed little. They merely confirmed that Putin keeps playing for time, that Trump is unwilling to put real pressure on him and that Ukraine and Europe have no effective leverage on either side. Trump boldly claimed ahead of his meetings with Zelensky and the leaders of the coalition of the willing that he knew exactly what he was doing. That may be true – but it may also not be enough without knowing and understanding what his counterpart in the Kremlin is doing.

Abstract To deliver low-carbon transitions, we must understand the dynamics of capital. To this end, I develop a theory of energy-capital relations by reading Adam Smith’s The Wealth of Nations from an energy-analysis perspective. I argue that, for Smith, capital is any resource used to support production with the intention of generating profits through market exchange. In The Wealth of Nations, capital enables access to new sources of energy and increases energy efficiency. This theory of energy-capital relations explains trends seen in historical energy data: because it is profit driven, capital does not save energy, it redirects it to new uses. This suggests that low-carbon investment can only enable a low-carbon transition if coupled to a systematic challenge to the profit drive.JEL Classification: B12, O44, P18, Q43, Q57Keywordseconomic growth, low-carbon transitions, Adam Smith, history of economic thought, capital, energy, capitalism 1. Introduction: Energy, Capital and Low-Carbon Transitions Under Capitalism To date, the green rhetoric of states and companies has not led to meaningful reductions in carbon emissions. In absolute terms, annual global carbon emissions from fossil fuels increased from ~6 gigatons of carbon per year in 1990 to ~10 gigatons of carbon per year in 2022 (Friedlingstein et al. 2023). Carbon emissions are largely driven by the energy system that supports the capitalist economy, and there is no evidence that this is decarbonizing at the global scale. In 2020, fossil fuels accounted for around 80 percent of total world energy supply, the same figure as in 1990 (IEA 2022). In 2022 carbon emissions from fossil fuels accounted for around 90 percent of total global carbon emissions, up from 80 percent in 1990 (Friedlingstein et al. 2023). Carbon emissions from energy and industrial processes hit an all-time high in 2023 (IEA 2024). To change this increasingly dire picture, it is essential that we understand the economic drivers of emissions, and what economic changes are needed to reverse current trends. There is disagreement over the extent and nature of economic change needed to facilitate a low-carbon energy transition. Radical economists agree that the global reliance on fossil fuels will require going beyond market-based solutions (Li 2011; Pianta and Lucchese 2020; Pollin 2019). But this still leaves us with a broad spectrum of options (Chester 2014). Can a low-carbon transition be implemented within a broadly capitalist framework if it is guided by an interventionist industrial strategy (Pollin 2015)? Or does it require changes to fundamental capitalist dynamics (Davis 2019; Riley 2023)? To cast new light on these debates, I take a step back from the immediate issues and take a history of economic thought approach. To this end, I explore the relationship between capital and energy in Adam Smith’s (1975) The Wealth of Nations. I use the resulting view of energy-capital relations to put forward an explanation of how energy use has developed under capitalism, and to explain why a low-carbon transition is unlikely without addressing core capitalist dynamics. The decision to develop the analysis of energy-capital relations from The Wealth of Nations is grounded in the more general epistemological claim that returning to older works of economic theory is a useful way to conduct economic analysis. Blaug (1990) reminds us that all current economic theory is built from seldom read historical texts, and historians of economic thought have argued that revisiting these texts offers the opportunity to uncover new ways of interpreting key ideas, providing theoretical context that may have been forgotten (Bögenhold 2021; Schumpeter 1954). Additionally, actively engaging with historical thought presents the possibility for moments of creativity as old and new ideas are brought together. For example, Mair, Druckman, and Jackson (2020) use an analysis of economic ideas in utopian texts from the twelfth to nineteenth centuries to develop a vision of work in a post-growth future, and Stratford (2020, 2023) develops a theory of rents and resource extraction grounded in an analysis of the historical evolution of the concept of rent. The general approach of critical engagement with history of thought is perhaps best developed in the Marxist literature, where a substantive body of work draws on Marx’s writings to critically explore environment-economy relationships (e.g., Malm 2016; Moore 2017; Pirgmaier 2021; Saitō 2022). On the other hand, relatively little attention has been paid to Adam Smith in the context of ecological or environmental economic analysis. Most recent interest in Smith’s environmental thought has come from environmental historians (see Steeds 2024 for a review). However, Steeds (2024), building on Jonsson (2014), has made the case for reading Smith as an ecological economist, arguing that Smith shares core ontological precepts of the discipline—notably that it is the environment that underpins all economic activity. Smith (1975) is particularly relevant to debates about low-carbon transitions because The Wealth of Nations is the starting point for an interpretation of capital theory that has become widely used in energy-economy analyses. Capital theory itself has a long and storied history, with analysts giving it a variety of characteristics (Cannan 1921; Kurz 1990; Mair 2022). Contemporary economic analyses of energy generally use a physical concept of capital. A common position for economists who focus on energy is that energy is important because energy use and capital are “quantity complements”: all else equal, when capital increases the energy used in production increases (Elkomy, Mair, and Jackson 2020; Finn 2000; Sakai et al. 2019). Conceived of as “representative machinery,” capital is seen as the physical stuff that channels energy use into production (Keen, Ayres, and Standish 2019: 41). Or as Daly (1968: 397) puts it, “physical capital is essentially matter that is capable of trapping energy and channeling it to human purposes.” This physical conception has its roots in the dominant interpretation of capital from The Wealth of Nations. Prior to The Wealth of Nations, capital was a predominantly monetary construct, but historians of economic thought argue that after The Wealth of Nations, capital is taken to be predominantly physical (Hodgson 2014; Schumpeter 1954). However, I argue that Smith’s view of capital is actually a long way from the almost purely physical views seen in much energy-economy work. Rather, Smith’s view of capital is proto-Marxist. As Evensky (2005: 141) puts it, “Whether or not it was from Smith that Marx developed his notion of capital as self-expanding value, the outlines of that conception were certainly available to him in Smith.” From Smith’s perspective, capital is defined primarily as a socio-physical construct (Blaug 1990; Evensky 2005; Meek 1954). Capital sometimes has physical forms, which enables it to interact with flows of energy, but these are always conditioned by the social dynamics of profit and exchange. Making a direct connection to energy requires reading Smith from the contemporary perspective of energy-economy analysis as developed by the subdisciplines of ecological, biophysical, and exergy economics (Brockway et al. 2019; Jackson 1996; Keen, Ayres, and Standish 2019; Smil 2017a). This is because, as a construct, “capital” pre-dates “energy,” and Smith was writing before the first recorded use of the term energy as we would understand it today (by physicist Thomas Young in 1807, see: Frontali 2014). So although work into energy—particularly among ecological economists and their forerunners in energy systems analysis (Cleveland et al. 1984; Odum 1973; Sakai et al. 2019)—uses a concept of capital that has its roots in an interpretation of Smith’s capital theory, explicit links are missing in Smith’s text. Despite this, Steeds (2024) argues that Smith’s analysis of agriculture shows an understanding of what contemporary analysts would call energy, a theme I develop here focusing on Smith’s conceptualization of capital. The rest of this article is structured as follows. In section 2, I set out an interpretation of Smith’s capital theory from The Wealth of Nations that emphasizes the way it sees physical elements of capital as defined by social forces. In section 3, I outline the ways that energy fits into Smith’s theory of capital. This is the first contribution of the article, as I make novel links between Smith’s capital theory and contemporary energy-economy analysis. In section 4, I apply this interpretation of energy-capital relations to the historical evolution of energy use under capitalism, and the question of low-carbon transitions. This is the second contribution of the article, as I argue that Smith’s capital theory highlights the importance of the social context of energy systems. Specifically, it provides compelling explanations for the phenomenon of “energy additions”—where past “transitions” under capitalism have been associated with the overall growth of energy use (York and Bell 2019). This implies that the challenge of a low-carbon transition is not only investment in low-carbon energy systems but in challenging the logic of capitalism such that low-carbon energy can replace, rather than add to, the use of high-carbon energy. 2. Capital as a Socio-physical Construct in The Wealth of Nations Interpretations of Smith’s capital theory generally emphasize its physical aspects (e.g., Cannan 1921; Hodgson 2014; Schumpeter 1954). These readings focus on Smith’s initial description of capital as a subset of the accumulation of the physical outputs of production (in Smith’s terminology “stock” [cf. Smith 1975: 279]), and the skills and abilities of workers (Smith 1975: 282). The focus on physical aspects of Smith’s capital theory makes sense from a history of ideas perspective. The physical aspects of Smith’s capital stand in contrast with earlier definitions that were primarily monetary (Hodgson 2014). There is also an intellectual lineage that can be traced in Smith’s views on capital, principally through Smith’s relationship with the French Physiocratic school whose own economic analysis emphasized physical flows (Meek 1954; Schumpeter 1954). However, the fact that Smith introduced a new role for physical goods within a broader concept of capital does not imply that Smith’s theory of capital was purely physical (Robinson 1962). Rather, Smith views capital as the accumulated monetary and physical resources that are brought into production to generate a profit. To see this, let us look first at Smith’s view of circulating capital. Smith splits capital into two forms, circulating and fixed, and he is explicit that circulating capital has both monetary and physical forms. For Smith, circulating capital is defined by the fact that to turn a profit from it, its owner must give it up in exchange for something else. Consequently, circulating capital takes multiple forms: it is the money that will be used to pay wages to a worker, the product produced by that worker, the money realized at the point of sale of the product, and the commodities purchased using the money realized. As Smith (1975: 279) puts it, circulating capital is continually going from the capitalist “in one shape, and returning to him in another. . . it is only by means of such circulation. . . that it can yield him any profit.” Circulating capital is a process of purchasing and selling resources, often with a monetary form, in order to make more money (Evensky 2005). Circulating capital has different forms (some physical, some not) at different points in its circulation, but it is consistently capital. Even when capital takes on its physical form, for Smith it is the underlying social dynamics of exchange and profit that define it as capital. In his opening to book 2, Smith argues that capital is an emergent property of exchange-based economies (Smith 1975: 276). In a society with no division of labor, he argues, people are self-sufficient, and there is very little exchange. But once you have a division of labor, you get exchange because each worker uses their labor to produce a subset of the goods needed to live. Other workers use their labor to produce a different subset of goods. The two then trade with one another to ensure all their needs are met. Drawing on the work of the Physiocrats, Smith then observes that production takes time (Schumpeter 1954). Consequently, in a market system, the purchasing of goods from other people “cannot be made till such time as the produce of his own labor has not only been completed, but sold” (Smith 1975: 276). This means that in either a monetary or barter economy, there has to be a stock of physical goods previously accumulated in order to enable work to happen before the products of that work have been sold (or are available for barter). For Smith, these goods are a form of capital. In this sense, capital can be physical commodities—but physical commodities accumulated in order to support exchange. For Smith, profits are also an essential part of the definition of capital (Meek 1954). Whether fixed or circulating, physical or monetary, what makes something capital is the desire of the capitalist to earn money from it (e.g., Smith 1975: 281, 332). Smith’s theory of profit is scattered through The Wealth of Nations and is not entirely comprehensive (Blaug 1990; Christensen 1979). However, Smith does identify a construct called profits with some core tendencies that are sufficient to group him in the classical approach to profit as surplus and deduction (Hirsch 2021; Kurz 1990; Meek 1977). For Smith, surplus is primarily derived from the value that labor adds to raw materials. This value then goes to pay the wages of the worker and other costs of production, one of which is “the profits of their employer” (Smith 1975: 66). So, Smith’s theory of profit is deductive. Profit is the money capitalists attempt to gain back from production after all costs—including wages—have been accounted for (Meek 1977). An important addition here is that the profit drive for Smith is speculative: capitalists bring capital to support production because they “expect” to generate more money (Smith 1975: 279, 332)—it is not guaranteed. The attempt to gain profit is because capitalists use this as their income (cf. Smith 1975: 69, 279). This attempt is central to the dynamics of capital because profit is the “sole motive” that a capitalist has for bringing their resources into the exchange cycle of the economy (Smith 1975: 374). To summarize, for Smith, capital is the accumulated resources (whether physical or monetary) brought to bear in support of exchange-based production, the ultimate aim of which is to provide the owner of capital with an income (profits). Consequently, it is not correct to view Smith’s capital theory as purely or even predominantly physical. Rather Smith’s capital is a socio-physical construct. This interpretation is not a refutation of other readings that emphasize the physical aspect of Smith’s theory. The physical elements are present, are important, and are relevant to our discussion of energy. However, the underlying premise is always that these physical elements are defined by social relations of profits and exchange. This analysis fits with readings of Smith that see his capital theory as proto-Marxist because of the way it frames capital in terms of social relations (Hodgson 2014; Pack 2013; Tsoulfidis and Paitaridis 2012). But it strongly cautions away from discussions of capital that abstract from these social relations in ways that leave capital as purely physical things. As with Marx (2013), when Smith talks about capital as physical things, his focus is on the way the physical interacts with social relations. 3. How Does Energy Fit into Smith’s Capital Theory? Having sketched an interpretation of Smith’s capital theory focusing on the interplay of profit, exchange dynamics, and monetary and physical resources, we can turn to the question of how energy fits into Smith’s capital theory. In this section, I draw on energy-economy analysis to suggest two key ways in which energy might fit into Smith’s capital theory: 1. Capital is used to bring new energy sources into production.2. Capital is used to make existing energy flows more efficient. 3.1. Accessing new energy sources For Smith, one of the key ways that capitalists aim to generate profits from capital is by using it to increase labor productivity (in Smith’s terms “abridging” labor, see: Smith 1975: 17, 282). Here we have a link to energy-economy analysis, where labor productivity is often described in terms of substituting human labor for other forms of energy—since the industrial revolution this has typically happened through some form of fossil fuel–powered machinery (Smil 2017a). Smith discusses machinery in a number of places across The Wealth of Nations. Indeed, Kurz (2010: 1188) writes that one of Smith’s key growth mechanisms is the replacement of “labor power by machine power.” In chapter 11 of book 1 of The Wealth of Nations (Smith 1975: 263), Smith discusses how cloth production in Italy was made more productive than in England by employing wind and water mills in the former, while the latter treaded it by foot. This is the same example pointed to by energy scientist Vaclav Smil (2017a), who argues that the introduction of waterwheels into industrial production were a source of substantive labor productivity growth. Energy-analysis allows us to say why the wind and water is more productive than the treading. Energy provides a variety of functions, known as “energy services,” which are essential for production processes (Grubler et al. 2012). These are intuitive when put in the context of everyday experiences: achieving a comfortable temperature in an office or workplace requires thermal energy. Transporting goods or people requires kinetic energy. In the case of cloth production, the fulling process requires kinetic energy to manipulate the fibers of the cloth. To deliver energy services, energy sources go through a series of transformations, known as the conversion chain (Brockway et al. 2019; Grubler et al. 2012). Energy is accessible to us through different carriers—known as primary energy sources (such as food, oil, or gas). In most use cases primary energy sources are then converted into other forms before delivering their service (Smil 2017b). This conversion is done by “conversion technologies.” Muscles are a “technology” that can be used to convert the chemical energy in food into mechanical energy. Oil or solar energy may be converted into electricity. Different economic processes may use multiple forms of energy with energy from multiple carriers requiring transformation multiple times. From the perspective of increasing labor productivity, what is important is having energy available to do “useful” work (meaning provide the specific energy services that serve the interests of the system) (Brockway et al. 2019). The more energy available to do useful work, the more economic activity can be carried out per person. One way to increase the amount of useful energy available is by adding new primary energy sources to the system. This process often requires new conversion processes that enable the energy in the primary energy sources to be accessed and converted into energy services. In the case of cloth production, the introduction of wind or water mills is an example of capital taking the form of a new conversion technology that enables access to a different primary energy source (Smil 2017b). In the human-powered treading process, solar energy is converted into chemical energy through the agricultural system. The chemical energy in food products acts as the primary energy source. People then eat this food, converting it to mechanical energy that manipulates the cloth as they tread it under foot. On the other hand, a wind or water mill introduces a new conversion technology that enables access to the energy available in wind and water by converting it into mechanical energy. Note that this process is not only about energy efficiency. Wind and water mills are typically more energy efficient than human-power, but just as crucially they are more powerful: they bring a greater quantity of energy into the process of cloth production (Smil 2017b). The importance of scale is seen across energy-economy analysis. Hall and Klitgaard (2012: 117) draw on Polyani’s (1944) substantive definition of an economy to argue that all economic activity is the application of work to transform natural resources into goods and services. In the past, most of the work of transformation was done through muscle-power, but today muscle-power is a much smaller proportion of total work carried out because of the development of machinery that allows us to supplement our muscles with the “‘large muscles’ of fossil fuels.” 3.2. Increasing energy efficiency There are places in The Wealth of Nations where we might hypothesize about energy efficiency gains explicitly. For instance, Smith tells an apocryphal tale involving a child and a fire engine, presented as an example of innovation leading to labor productivity growth. Smith writes that in the earliest fire engines a boy would be employed to open and shut different valves, until one such boy finds a way to connect the valves such that they “open and shut without his assistance” (Smith 1975: 20). Such an innovation adjusts capital in order to enable it to convert more of the primary energy source into useful energy. Prior to the boy’s innovation, the system required two primary energy inputs: the fossil energy to power the machine, and the food energy to power the boy. Once the boy innovates, the primary energy associated with his action is removed from the process and the machine uses only the fossil energy, thus increasing its overall energy efficiency. But machinery is not the only way in which humans’ access and turn energy flows toward growth of the economy in Smith’s capital theory. Smith considers the useful abilities of workers to be a form of capital and here we can see another place where energy efficiency may fit into Smiths capital theory. When defining the useful abilities of workers Smith refers to dexterity: the skills and abilities acquired by workers through the repetition and simplification of tasks. When defining dexterity Smith talks about it in terms of efficiency gains. For example, a worker specializing in the production of nails will become more skilled in their production, and hence more efficient (Smith 1975: 18). But nowhere does Smith imply that an increase in dexterity is miraculous. And although it is intimately bound up with social organization through the division of labor, we can see how energy may fit into the process. Specifically, the increase in dexterity can be understood as partly a function of the fact that energy flows are being used more efficiently. Workers learn the best way to stir the fire, to heat iron and shape the head of the nail. An increase in the skill of a worker enables them to use energy more efficiently. In this way, more efficient use of energy flows can be seen as one of the ways that the division of labor enables increases in productivity. 3.3. Summary of the energy-capital relation in The Wealth of Nations Smith views capital as the monetary and physical resources that are brought by capitalists into exchange processes with the intention of generating an income for themselves. Smith, like Marx, is clear that all production ultimately rests on inputs from the natural environment, so it is not surprising that in The Wealth of Nations we found examples of a subset of capital that generates profits by changing the way energy is used in production processes. Specifically, I presented two mechanisms that can be identified in The Wealth of Nations: bringing new energy sources into the economy (the transition from human power to wind and waterpower in the fulling process), and being made more energy efficient (through machinery innovations and specialization of labor). We can now apply this interpretation of Smith’s energy-capital theory to the question of low-carbon transitions. The examples I have elaborated support Steeds (2024: 35) notion that Smith has an “intuitive” understanding of energy. Some of the critical functions of Smith’s conception of capital can be explained in terms of how it mediates our relationship to energy. In this way, Smith’s reading is close to more modern accounts of the role of energy (Keen, Ayres, and Standish 2019, Sakai et al. 2019). But what differentiates Smith’s from these accounts is an explicit emphasis on the social context in which energy is used by capital. Some accounts of the energy-economy relationship effectively, or explicitly, reduce production to energy use. In Smith’s account by contrast, energy use is framed and shaped by social forces. Recalling Smith’s core understanding of capital from section 2, it is clear that energy is being harnessed by capital in an attempt to generate profits within a market process. In other words, in a capitalist economy where most production follows the logic of capital, the major driver of energy use will be the attempt to generate incomes for the owners of capital. This insight, though simple, is often overlooked and has profound implications for a low-carbon transition. 4. A Smithian Analysis of Low-Carbon Transitions Under Capitalism In this section, I apply the insights from the reading of Smith’s capital theory to historical data on energy use under capitalism. I argue that the theory provides a simple and compelling explanation for the constant expansion of energy use as new forms of energy have been added to the mix. Capitalists seek to use energy to grow their profits; therefore, they invest in efficiency measures or new energy sources in order to increase the total energy available to them. Energy is never saved in the sense of not being used. Rather, it is made available to new profit-seeking ventures. Across both mainstream and radical interventions into low-carbon transition debates, there is often a focus on the investment needed to grow low-carbon and energy efficiency programs (e.g., Hrnčić et al. 2021; Pollin 2015, 2019; Qadir et al. 2021). The central argument in these works is that low-carbon transitions require substantial but not unreasonable levels of investment in low-carbon energy and energy efficiency programs. Approaching this from the perspective of energy-capital relations developed in this article, we are looking at the need to transition capital from one conversion technology to another. Today, much capital takes the form of conversion technologies designed to access the energy in fossil fuels. For a low-carbon economy we need capital to take the form of conversion technologies that can access energy in wind, solar, or other low-carbon forms. It is tempting to think about this in terms of the transition described by Smith from labor power to wind power in the fulling process. However, there is a fundamental difference between the transition from one energy source to another as developed in The Wealth of Nations, and that needed in the low-carbon transition. Historically, transitions between dominant energy sources under capitalism have been consistent with Smith’s argument that capital is only motivated by the desire for profit. Past energy transitions under capitalism have been driven by a search for greater profits enabled by the new energy sources, not by pro-social or pro-ecological values. For example, Malm (2016) argues that the English transition from wood to water was driven by the desire of capitalists to concentrate and better control their workforce, simultaneously reducing losses from theft, making workers more efficient, and bringing a greater scale of energy into the production process. The consequence of the consistent searching for profits in capitalist energy transitions is that we have very few examples of energy sources declining under capitalism at the macro-scale. Under capitalism, energy transitions are better described as energy additions (York and Bell 2019). In recent decades, there has been a remarkable growth in the use of low-carbon energy sources, but at no point in this period has energy production from fossil fuels decreased (figure 1; Malanima 2022). Indeed, looking at the evolution of 9 categories of primary energy sources since 1820 (figure 1), only fodder has seen a prolonged decrease under capitalism. For instance, in absolute terms, energy from coal overtakes fuelwood as the largest primary energy carrier in the late 1800s. But after this point the energy supplied by fuelwood continues to grow. Even in the case of fodder, although it has been in decline for approximately sixty years it still provided more than twice as much energy in 2020 than it did in 1820. Looking specifically at low-carbon fuels, the charts for renewables and nuclear energy show dramatic spikes and rapid growth. But these spikes do not coincide with declines in any other fuel source, and the International Energy Agency (IEA 2023a, 2023b) reports that 2022 was an all-time high for coal production, and forecasts record oil production in 2024.   Figure 2 depicts global energy efficiency, the scale of global production, and the total primary energy use 1820–2018. Energy efficiency of the global capitalist economy has improved drastically over the two-hundred-year period covered: in 2018, producing one unit of output took only 40 percent of the energy it would have taken in 1820. But as energy efficiency has grown, so has total energy use and total output, and these changes dwarf the gains in energy efficiency. In 2018, 41 times as much energy was used as in 1820, while global production grew by 2 orders of magnitude over the same period.   From the lens of our interpretation of Smith’s capital theory, the constant expansion of fossil fuel use alongside renewables and energy efficiency gains is not surprising. The purpose of capital development and deployment in our Smithian lens is to increase income for capitalists by facilitating exchange. So, we would expect capitalists to invest in capital that enables them to access new sources of energy, like renewables, in order to bring a greater scale and quantity of energy into production. But we would also expect them to continue to invest in fossil fuels for the same reasons. More energy means more production means more profit. Likewise, we would expect capitalists to use their capital to increase energy efficiency: this reduces their costs. But we would also expect capitalists to take subsequent energy savings and use them to increase production further. As energy is used more efficiently in any given process, more energy is available to be used elsewhere in the economy or, as new energy sources are brought into production, the old sources are made available for new processes (Garrett 2014; Sakai et al. 2019; York and Bell 2019). As long as the capitalist appetite for greater incomes is present, they will seek to direct energy “savings” into new or expanded forms of production. The practical implication of this theoretical analysis is that investment in low-carbon energy sources and energy efficiency measures—no matter how bold the proposals—will not succeed without a change to the social dynamics of capitalist production. Achieving a low-carbon transition therefore requires the formidable task of coupling a large and sustained investment program in renewables and energy efficiency with a challenge to the structural logic of capital. This requires wide-ranging shifts within capitalist economies to build low-carbon energy infrastructure and develop ways of producing that disrupt the constant profit chasing of capital. The former is required to ensure action can begin now, while the latter is needed to ensure that low-carbon investments do not simply continue to expand the energy base of capitalist production. Elaborating on such possibilities is beyond the scope of this article. However, there are research programs that seek to understand alternatives to profit-driven capitalist production, notably work in post-capitalism and the post-growth/degrowth literatures that identify noncapitalist logics of production (Gibson-Graham 2014; Colombo, Bailey, and Gomes, 2024; Mair 2024; Vandeventer, Lloveras, and Warnaby 2024). A useful future direction for research lies in asking how such non-capitalist modes of production might be scaled and applied to the global energy system. 5. Conclusion In this article I have used a history of economic thought approach to analyze the relationship between energy and capital. Rereading The Wealth of Nations, I argued that Smith’s theory of capital is fundamentally socio-physical. Smith views capital as any accumulated resource that is used to support the exchange cycle of the market economy with the expectation that this will return a profit for the owner of the resource. Based on this reading, I argued that there are two ways in which energy might enter into Adam Smith’s capital theory: (1) capital is used to bring new energy sources into production; and (2) capital is used to make existing energy flows more efficient. Using this view of energy-capital relations, we can explain the major trends in historical energy-capital relations under capitalism. Over the last two hundred years, energy use has grown continuously, and the incorporation of new primary energy sources has not systematically led to reductions in older primary energy sources. This is consistent with the idea that capital is used to bring new energy sources into production. Investment in renewables is what we would expect: renewable energy technology allows capitalists to access new primary energy sources. They use this to generate more profits. They continue to invest in fossil fuel technology for the same reasons. Over the last two hundred years, there have been substantive gains in energy efficiency, and these have not led to reductions in energy use. This is consistent with the idea that capital is used to make energy use more efficient. The motivation of capitalists to make energy more efficient is to be more profitable. They then take energy savings from energy efficiency gains and use these to increase production, in an attempt to make more profits. The implication of this analysis is that investment in low-carbon technology and energy efficiency is the (relatively!) easy part of achieving a low-carbon transition. These dynamics are fundamentally compatible with the logics of capital. The barrier to achieving a low-carbon transition is that as long as this investment takes the form of “capital” (i.e., it chases profits and supports exchange processes), then it is unlikely that investment in renewables or energy efficiency programs will reduce energy use from fossil fuels. To achieve a low-carbon transition we must invest in low-carbon technology and energy efficiency, while simultaneously developing new organizational forms that challenge the capitalist dynamics of expansion and accumulation. AcknowledgmentsI would like to thank Christiane Heisse, Don Goldstein, and Robert McMaster, for their careful reviews and Enid Arvidson for her editorial work, all of which greatly improved the article. I would like to thank participants of the workshops Economic Theory for the Anthropocene (organized by the Centre for the Understanding of Sustainable Prosperity and the University of Surrey Institute for Advanced Studies) and The Political Economy of Capitalism (organized by the Institute for New Economic Thinking Young Scholar Initiative working groups on the Economics of Innovation and Economic History). Particular thanks to Richard Douglas, Angela Druckman, Ben Gallant, Elena Hofferberth, Tim Jackson, Andy Jarvis, Mary O’Sullivan, and Elke Pirgmaier for fruitful discussions. I would like to thank the Marxist Internet Archive for making The Wealth of Nations freely available.Declaration of Conflicting InterestsThe author declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.FundingThe author disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: This work was partly funded by the Economic and Social Research Council through the Centre for the Understanding of Sustainability, grant no. ES/M010163/1.ORCID iDSimon Mair https://orcid.org/0000-0001-5143-8668Note1 The full sources for the Maddison Project Database are Abad and Van Zanden (2016); Álvarez-Nogal and De La Escosura (2013); Baffigi (2011); Barro and Ursúa (2008); Bassino et al. (2019); Bértola et al. (2012); Bértola (2016); Broadberry et al. (2015); Broadberry, Custodis, and Gupta (2015); Broadberry, Guan, and Li (2018); Buyst (2011); Cha et al. (2022); Chilosi and Ciccarelli (2021); De Corso (2013); de la Escosura (2009); Díaz-Bahamonde, Lüders, and Wagner (2007); Eloranta, Voutilainen, and Nummela (2016); Fourie and Van Zanden (2013); Fukao et al. (2015); Fukao, Ma, and Yuan (2007); Gregory (2004); Grytten (2015); Herranz-Loncán and Peres-Cajías (2016); Ivanov (2008); Kostelenos et al. (2007); Krantz (2017); Malanima (2011); Malinowski and van Zanden (2017); Markevich and Harrison (2011); Milanovic (2011); Pamuk and Shatzmiller (2011); Pamuk (2006); Prados De la Escosura (2017); Ridolfi (2017); Santamaría (2005); Scheidel and Friesen (2009); Schön and Krantz (2016); Shah (2017); Smits, Horlings, and Van Zanden (2000); Stohr (2016); Sugimoto (2011); Van Zanden (2012); Van Zanden and Van Leeuwen (2012); Ward and Devereux (2012); Wu (2013); Xu et al. (2017).ReferencesAbad Leticia Arroyo, Luiten Jan, Zanden Van. 2016. Growth under extractive institutions? Latin American per capita GDP in colonial times. 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Pashinyan and Aliyev sign groundbreaking agreements with Trump on peace and infrastructure projects between Armenia and Azerbaijan On August 8, Armenian Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan and Azerbaijani President Ilham Aliyev met with U.S. President Donald Trump at the White House for a “historic peace summit.” Both countries declared a permanent renunciation of war, endorsed 17 negotiated provisions of a future peace treaty, and formally withdrew from the OSCE Minsk Group. At the heart of the agreement lies the “Trump Route for International Peace and Prosperity” (TRIPP), an infrastructure initiative in Armenia’s Syunik region encompassing railways, pipelines, and fiber-optic networks. In exchange, the United States receives exclusive development rights for 99 years, while Armenia retains formal sovereignty over the territory. The deal diminishes Russia’s regional influence, strengthens Turkey’s strategic position, and provokes discontent in Iran. For Armenia, the agreement opens up new trade opportunities but also entails risks due to the rupture with traditional partners and domestic political criticism. Azerbaijan gains a direct land corridor to Turkey, access to new markets, and enhanced international prestige. For the United States, the deal offers economic and security benefits as well as a boost in global political standing. The European Union sees potential for regional stabilization and new trade routes but must acknowledge its diminished role as a mediator compared to Washington. If successfully implemented, the agreements could mark a historic turning point for the South Caucasus. Three-Way Summit at the White House While the world was watching the American tariff ultimatum to Putin, wondering whether a ceasefire in Ukraine might be imminent, an unexpected high-level meeting took place at the White House on August 8—one that could also make history and is at least indirectly linked to the larger conflict in Eastern Europe. Donald Trump personally received Armenian Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan and Azerbaijani President Ilham Aliyev for what he—never shy of grand words—had announced as a “historic peace summit.” Against the backdrop of the nearly four-decade-long, geopolitically charged conflict between the two countries and the resulting blockade in the South Caucasus, this represented a breakthrough in efforts toward a peace treaty between Yerevan and Baku. Several agreements and contracts were signed. In addition to separate bilateral economic and investment deals with the U.S., and the official withdrawal of both capitals from the OSCE Minsk Group (a format established in 1992 to resolve the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict), two documents stand out in particular. Letter of Intent: Peace Treaty The first is a letter of intent in which both governments—under the symbolic mediation and patronage of the U.S.—reaffirm their commitment to finalize the ongoing peace treaty. The 17 points already negotiated are set as binding. Both parties declare their intention to end all wars permanently and renounce any acts of revenge. The core issue remains the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict, which since the late 1980s has claimed up to 50,000 lives and caused the displacement of hundreds of thousands. After more than thirty years of fruitless international mediation, Azerbaijan had created facts on the ground through its (re)conquest of Nagorno-Karabakh in two offensives in 2020 and 2023. Since then, Pashinyan’s government has sought a peace treaty, aiming to open borders not only with Azerbaijan but also with its close ally, Turkey. This effort entails effectively relinquishing claims to the Nagorno-Karabakh region, historically inhabited by Armenians for centuries. However, Baku had repeatedly made additional demands, such as amending the Armenian constitution or granting a corridor to its exclave of Nakhchivan through Armenian territory in the strategically sensitive Syunik/Zangezur region.[1] This long, narrow strip of land in southern Armenia—only about 30 km wide at its narrowest—separates Azerbaijan’s mainland from its western province and also forms Armenia’s direct border with Iran, a crucial lifeline for the historically beleaguered landlocked state. Granting the Azeris a “corridor” here had long been a red line for Yerevan. Mutual distrust remains high after decades of hostile propaganda, and Armenian society is deeply traumatized by the recent war’s displacement, cultural destruction, and fears of a potential annexation of the province by Baku. It is at this juncture that the U.S. steps in as a kind of “neutral” guarantor power for the so-called corridor. Trump Route for Peace and Prosperity In the second, and arguably most important, Washington agreement, the U.S. is granted 99-year exclusive special rights to develop infrastructure in the Syunik/Zangezur region. Through an Armenian-American joint venture, led by a consortium of private companies (including potential third-country partners), the so-called “Trump Route for International Peace and Prosperity” (TRIPP) is to be built. In addition to restoring a disused railway line for passenger and freight traffic, plans include new oil and gas pipelines and fiber-optic cables. Unlike some earlier proposals, the territory itself is not being leased to the U.S.—this is a commercial project in which Armenia retains full sovereign control. However, the use of private American security firms to protect the infrastructure is possible. After the meeting, all three leaders hailed the results as “historic,” and the European Union also voiced strong approval. But while the immediate participants stand to benefit significantly from implementing the deals, the likely losers are in Moscow and Tehran. Yerevan Distances Itself from Moscow Opening borders with long-hostile neighbors offers significant economic potential. Access to the Turkish market in particular could stimulate new growth. Geopolitically, it opens previously closed avenues for diversification; notably, the already ongoing strengthening of ties with the EU and the West could reach a new level. Since autumn 2023, Yerevan has been promoting its “Crossroads of Peace” project, a plan to expand cross-border infrastructure in the South Caucasus, in which the Syunik region is a crucial puzzle piece. The Washington deals also come with American investment commitments—not only in energy and infrastructure but also in fields such as semiconductor production and AI. Germany and the EU have also long pledged investments in Armenia’s transport links and regional connectivity. At the same time, bringing a U.S. presence into such a geostrategically vital chokepoint is a clear affront to both Russia and Iran, historically important partners for Armenia. Until recently, Moscow was considered Armenia’s indispensable security guarantor and still maintains a military presence in the country. Yet since 2023, Yerevan has been openly turning away from Russia. Until early 2025, Russian FSB forces still controlled Armenia’s border crossings to Turkey and Iran—a Soviet-era legacy—but Armenians have since taken over. In July, Pashinyan’s government even claimed to have foiled a Russian-backed coup attempt. At the end of August, Armenia will host joint military exercises with the U.S. for the third time under the name “Eagle Partner.” This is also unwelcome news for Tehran. Despite stark cultural and political differences, the Islamic Republic and Armenia share an interest in keeping trade routes open to Europe and Russia in light of their rivalry with Azerbaijan and Turkey. A U.S. presence right on its doorstep in Syunik would be a security nightmare for Iran and could disrupt this export route. For Yerevan, given Trump’s unpredictability in foreign policy, it is not without risk to damage relations with a friendly neighbor and openly break with Russia. Domestically, Pashinyan faces fierce criticism over the agreement. The opposition accuses him of having completely abandoned the Nagorno-Karabakh issue, failing to secure any prospect of return for the 100,000 displaced Armenians, and not holding Baku accountable for alleged war crimes. Voices from the Syunik region itself fear a sell-out of their land, new political tensions, and economic harm from a collapse in trade and tourism with Iran. Nevertheless, the Armenian Prime Minister hopes to benefit politically from the agreement. In the 2026 parliamentary elections, he aims for re-election, but his approval ratings recently stood at just over ten percent. A breakthrough in the peace process—which he has long declared the top priority of his foreign policy—could give him a vital boost, as the overwhelming majority of Armenians want peace. Baku’s Interests Critics had accused Baku of using a “salami tactic” of making ever-new demands to extract maximum concessions from Pashinyan’s government without genuine interest in a peace treaty—especially if it would bring economic growth and stability to its long-time enemy, and democratic, systemic rival, Armenia. But Azerbaijan’s own economic prospects are also a strong driving force. A direct land link from Azerbaijan’s heartland through Nakhchivan to Turkey offers major potential for trade and energy exports to Europe. At the same time, Aliyev wants to position his country for the post-fossil era as a hub for transit and trade. This requires open borders and international trust. With Pashinyan’s government seen as Baku’s “best chance” to secure a deal quickly and on favorable terms, Aliyev also has an interest in finalizing the agreement soon. For a government that has recently tightened the screws on what remains of a free press and democratic civil society, positioning itself on the world stage as part of a major peace initiative is a welcome image boost. Events like COP-29 (2024) and the Global Media Forum (2025) have already been used by Aliyev to polish his image and sideline human rights issues. Partners like Beijing have little concern for such matters, and Azerbaijan’s location on the “Middle Corridor” is already paying off: trade with China rose 25 percent in the first quarter of 2025. Relations with Moscow, however, have sunk to a new low since the downing of an Azerbaijani passenger plane in December 2024 and further escalations. By signing the Washington deal—paired with the lifting of U.S. arms export restrictions—Baku makes clear that it has finally emancipated itself from its former colonial power, Russia. U.S. Interests For the U.S. President, the “historic peace deals” are partly about business. Businessman Trump sees the opportunity and named as the goal of the route bearing his name “to fully unlock the potential of the South Caucasus region.” An American presence in such a geostrategically important area, right on Iran’s doorstep, is also a significant security move. Even if no state “boots on the ground” are planned to secure the project, joint military exercises are already taking place, and private security companies would still count as a U.S. presence. The new rapprochement between Washington and Baku also fits neatly into broader Middle East dynamics. While Baku’s relations with Tehran fluctuate between occasional cooperation and open rivalry, Azerbaijan is considered Israel’s most important partner among Muslim countries—particularly in security and intelligence cooperation. With Washington now lifting arms export restrictions for Baku, some observers see a possible new trilateral alliance between Washington, Tel Aviv, and Baku against Iran. Not least, the very name “TRIPP” suggests prestige plays a role for the U.S. President. With the “one day” in which Donald Trump said he would end the Russian war in Ukraine now in its eighth month, it suits the self-proclaimed Nobel Peace Prize candidate to claim that his genius has solved a nearly forty-year conflict through infrastructure projects (paid for by others) where the world’s major powers—and most recently Joe Biden—had failed. The White House promptly tweeted a photo after the summit captioned: “THE Peace President.” Europe’s Interests EU representatives and leading member states explicitly welcomed the Washington agreements. Not only German President Steinmeier and EU foreign policy chief Kallas had advocated for a peace treaty during visits to the region earlier this year, but Macron also expressed his support during a summer meeting with Pashinyan. The fact that the Europeans failed to take Washington’s place as guarantors of a peace deal—even though a similar offer involving a Swiss company was reportedly on the table—is as sobering as it is unsurprising. However, given that a qualitatively new U.S. presence could help stabilize this vital region in the EU’s neighborhood, weaken Putin’s war-waging Russia, diversify energy sources, and ultimately channel many of the new trade routes into the European heartland, the EU stands to gain much from the agreement. If the Armenians now get a boost to pursue their European ambitions, this offers an opportunity for greater engagement from Brussels and member states—especially through economic investments that expand the European footprint in the region and reduce Armenia’s painful dependence on Russia in trade and energy. Already Historic? Although Trump’s self-congratulatory statements after the meeting might have led some to believe the peace treaty was already a done deal, there are still hurdles to the final signing. Aliyev emphasized that Pashinyan’s government must first “do its homework,” referring primarily to the politically contentious constitutional amendment in Armenia. The planned “Trump Route” currently exists only on paper. Russia and Iran see their interests in the region directly threatened by the project, and although Russia’s weakness is largely self-inflicted—starting (at the latest) with its 2022 invasion of Ukraine, which has since tied up most of its resources—both countries can be expected to take steps to disrupt or even block TRIPP’s construction. Tehran has already declared it will “turn the project into a grave.” Turkey, by contrast, stands to benefit if it can use the new economic links to expand its role as a regional power in the Caucasus. It will also be interesting to see how the deal might indirectly affect Georgia, an EU candidate country that is rapidly drifting away from the West. The expansion of alternative transport routes could undermine Georgia’s current monopoly on direct overland links between the EU, Azerbaijan, and Central Asia—the overhaul of the key Baku–Tbilisi–Kars railway is nearly complete. The “businessman”-controlled Georgian Dream government might thus become more “receptive” to economic pressure aimed at steering it back toward a democratic, pro-European course. If both agreements—a peace settlement, an open border, and the comprehensive development of planned infrastructure projects in the Syunik region under U.S. patronage—are implemented, the label “historic” would be entirely appropriate, with significance far beyond the region. Economically, it would make an important contribution to boosting connectivity between Europe and Central and East Asia via the “Middle Corridor” and the Caspian Sea. [1] The official name of the Armenian province is Syunik. The term Zangezur, on the other hand, is mainly used by Azerbaijan and Turkey and refers to a historical region that extends beyond the present-day province of Syunik.

Donald Trump declared his Alaska summit with Vladimir Putin a success, despite contrasting evidence suggesting otherwise. On Truth Social, he said a peace agreement over Ukraine, not a mere ceasefire, was the right path, claims he echoed during follow-up talks in Washington with Volodymyr Zelensky and European leaders. “Potentially, millions of people’s lives will be saved,” Trump said. That optimism looks misplaced. For Putin, Ukraine is not merely a bargaining chip but a territory he views as part of a Russian “civilization-state.” When he meets with Western leaders, he is not negotiating over land; he frames the war as a defense of Russian civilization and its values. As a result, Putin cannot easily “make a deal” involving land swaps to end the conflict.  Russia’s civilisational project  In addition to civilisational rhetoric, other factors contribute to Putin’s intransigence. Strategic concerns about NATO, fears for regime security, and the material importance of Crimea and the Black Sea all shape Moscow’s stance. Yet the language of civilisation turns these into matters of identity and survival. It fuses practical interests with existential claims, making retreat even harder. Even if compromises were possible on security or economics, the civilisational frame casts them as betrayals of Russia’s destiny.  Some American policymakers have tended to read Russia as a state with interests that can be traded. However, Putin accounts for Russia not simply as a nation-state, but as a civilization rooted in Orthodoxy, empire, and the memory of Soviet power. Viewed through this prism, Ukraine is not a foreign neighbour, but an inseparable part of Russian history and identity, which must be defended against Western encroachment.  In his 2021 essay On the Historical Unity of Russians and Ukrainians, Putin claimed that Russians and Ukrainians are “one people,” and that Ukraine is “an inalienable part of our own history, culture, and spiritual space.” Whatever his private convictions, the function of this language is clear. It justifies annexation and occupation, and it raises the political cost of retreat by treating territorial issues as matters of civilisational survival.   Putin himself insists that “the West” does not understand that “the Ukraine crisis is not a territorial conflict … and not an attempt to establish regional geopolitical balance.” Instead, he says, it is rooted in “the principles underlying the new international order” he is building. Peace, in this new order, is possible only “when everyone feels safe and secure, understands that their opinions are respected” and when “no one can unilaterally force …others to live or behave as a hegemon pleases even when it contradicts the sovereignty …traditions, or customs of peoples and countries.”    This framing lets the Kremlin portray the West as the aggressor imposing alien norms on unwilling Ukrainians. Russia, by contrast, is said to be fighting for itself on behalf of all nations who wish to see western hegemony end and the birth of a new multipolar world. Moreover, it portrays Ukraine’s status as a civilisational question tied to identity and resistance to Western liberal norms. As a result, only a settlement that Putin present domestically as recognition of Russia’s civilisational standing is acceptable, which complicates compromise beyond what standard diplomatic formulas suggest.  Challenges to Trump’s pursuit of peace  Trump has made no secret of his desire to be remembered as a peacemaker. However, he also admires strong leaders and has shown sympathy for post-liberal arguments that liberal democracy is exhausted. These affinities bring him closer, at least rhetorically, to elements of Putin’s stance.  Admiration and aspiration alone are insufficient in bridging the gap between Putin and Trump’s positions on Ukraine’s independence. Putin frames the conflict as existential, defending Russian civilisation against Western encroachment. This  makes compromise especially difficult. If the war is understood in these terms, how can Moscow return occupied territories without undermining its own civilisational claim? How can it accept a Ukraine that leans towards the European Union, or tolerate an American presence on its soil?  Trump may want peace, but Putin has tied his legitimacy to a narrative that resists it. Unless that framing is abandoned, or radically reinterpreted, any settlement will remain elusive.  A wider trend  “Russia’s approach is part of a wider pattern in which civilisational claims have become central to how leaders justify power and resist compromise. Xi Jinping frames China as a five-thousand-year-old civilisation whose territory includes Taiwan and the South China Sea. He presents the Communist Party as the guardian of a civilisational tradition stretching back to Confucius, giving contemporary disputes an aura of timeless legitimacy. Narendra Modi portrays India as an ancient Hindu civilisation restoring its rightful place after centuries of foreign domination. Each case is distinct, but the message is similar: our civilisation is exceptional, our sovereignty absolute, and our values not up for negotiation.    A troubled summit  Against this backdrop, the Alaska meeting was never likely to produce more than gestures. Trump may genuinely want peace and to be remembered as the leader who ended the war. Yet he is dealing with a counterpart who has justified the invasion of Ukraine in civilisational and existential terms. For Putin, Ukraine is not only territory but a symbol of Russia’s identity and sovereignty, cast as a bulwark against Western encroachment. Within this frame, Russia would view restoring Ukraine’s borders, accepting its European orientation, or tolerating a long-term American presence in the region as defeats of principle rather than concessions of interest.  Trump’s ambition to end the war faces an almost insoluble dilemma. Europe will reject a settlement that rewards aggression, while Putin refuses to surrender territory he has cast as integral to Russian civilisation. Land swaps seem practical but please neither side. If the conflict were to remains frozen, Ukraine will be fractured and the deeper issues unresolved. Peace demands compromise, but compromise undermines the very narratives on which Moscow has built its legitimacy. As a result, unless Putin retreats from his civilisational framing of the war, any settlement will remain elusive and Ukraine’s future uncertain.  Dr Nicholas Morieson is a Research Fellow at the Deakin Institute for Citizenship and Globalisation, Deakin University, Melbourne. He is the author of three books, including Weaponizing Civilizationalism for Authoritarianism: How Turkey, India, Russia, and China Challenge Liberal Democracy (Palgrave 2025).  This article is published under a Creative Commons License and may be republished with attribution.

Introduction Geopolitical tensions are making global trade increasingly difficult. In order to reduce the associated risk of default, companies are shifting their trade relations to trading partners that are politically similar to them. In the course of the beginnings of geo-economic fragmentation, politically and economically like-minded countries are also gaining in importance for German and European decision-makers. Liaison countries1 in particular can form a counterforce to the trend towards polarization in foreign trade - especially between the USA and China: they are characterized by a pronounced economic and trade policy openness that overrides differences between geopolitical or ideological camps. Consequently, the question arises: How can relevant connecting countries for Germany and Europe be identified? What opportunities and risks do closer trade relations with these countries offer in order to strengthen foreign trade resilience in geopolitically uncertain times?  With a high degree of openness - defined as the sum of imports and exports in relation to gross domestic product - of over 80 percent2 , the German economy is strongly integrated into global trade. Accordingly, the disruptive effect of geo-economic fragmentation on the German economy would be above average. The defensive strategy to strengthen Germany's economic security by pushing for trade policy independence would only reinforce geo-economic fragmentation. Against the backdrop of comparatively high economic vulnerability, it is necessary to focus on those potential partner countries with which German and European foreign trade could be developed and expanded even under the condition of increasing fragmentation.  Geoeconomic Fragmentation  The term "geo-economic fragmentation" is used to describe the politically motivated reorganization of global goods and financial flows, in which strategic, economic and political interests primarily determine the choice of countries of origin and destination for trade flows.3 In the scenario of geo-economic fragmentation, the result would be the formation of a bloc within the global community of states, which would fundamentally change the regulatory structure of global economic networking. In this case, trade and investment would probably concentrate from a previously diverse range of economic partner countries - prior to the formation of the bloc - on those countries that now - since the formation of the bloc - belong to the same bloc.  The likelihood of this scenario occurring and leading to an increased fragmentation of the global economic order has increased again in the recent past. For example, Donald Trump's second term as US president is causing increasing geopolitical uncertainty worldwide.  Statements on the concrete form of a possible demarcation of potential blocs are subject to a great deal of uncertainty. However, the division of a large part of the global economy into a "US bloc" and a "China bloc" is a conceivable scenario for which German politics and business should prepare.  Data already shows that, at a global level, foreign trade openness has decreased in the recent past. Data from the World Trade Organization (WTO) illustrates the increasing hurdles in global trade in goods. While 3.1% of global imports were still affected by tariff or non-tariff barriers to trade in 2016 - including under WTO rules - this figure rose to 11.8% in 2024 over the following years.4 This development goes hand in hand with a noticeable loss of importance and enforcement of the WTO since the 2010s, which previously played a central role as the guardian of the rules-based global economic order.  Studies by the International Monetary Fund (IMF) have already found indications of an incipient geo-economic fragmentation along potential bloc borders. It shows that trade in goods and foreign direct investment between countries that would belong to the opposing camp in the event of a bloc formation declined on average in 2022 and 2023 - in contrast to foreign trade between countries that are geopolitically close.5  In this initial phase of geo-economic fragmentation, liaison countries are beginning to establish themselves as a counterforce, holding the fragmenting global community of states together with new trade and investment routes.  Identification of liaison countries Specifically, liaison countries have the following characteristics: a pronounced openness to foreign trade in the form of a high foreign trade quota and low tariff and non-tariff trade barriers, as well as pronounced economic relations with partner countries from different geopolitical camps. The geopolitical orientation of countries can be examined using data on voting behavior within the United Nations.6 This involves analyzing whether a country can be assigned to the US or Chinese camp - or whether there is no pronounced proximity and therefore political neutrality or "non-alignment" in the sense of ideological independence. The data-based identification of connecting countries is relatively new. Empirical analyses are also limited to connecting countries in the context of US-Chinese foreign trade - specifically US imports from China. In this case, the characteristics of a connecting country can be broken down into (1) "non-alignment" - i.e. a geopolitical distance to both a Western and an Eastern bloc - as well as (2) an increase in imports and foreign investment from China and (3) a simultaneous increase in exports to the United States. In a narrower sense, this is an evasive reaction to trade restrictions, i.e. circumventing trade. If the foreign trade indicators - specifically the trade and investment data relating to the US and China - of "non-aligned" countries for the period from 2017 to 2020 show corresponding characteristic-related changes compared to previous years, these can be identified as countries connecting the US and China.  The analysis of trade data shows that the value of direct exports from China to the USA fell during Donald Trump's first term in office. At the same time, both Chinese exports to some of the "non-aligned" countries and exports from these countries to the USA have increased significantly. These countries have presumably stepped in as a link on the export route from China to the US after the previously direct trade flow was interrupted by trade barriers and had to find a new route. Companies producing in China are therefore likely to have sought new, indirect ways to maintain access to the US sales market.  A certain statistical inaccuracy in the foreign trade data makes it difficult to draw a definitive conclusion in this context. It should be noted: No single commodity can be tracked across national borders in trade data collection. Whether the additional goods imported from China actually found their way to the United States can only be assumed approximately. However, if the trade flows are aggregated, a clearer picture emerges and the circumvention trade via selected connecting countries - including Vietnam and Mexico - becomes visible.  Data on foreign direct investment rounds off the analysis.7 "Non-aligned" countries in which an increase in Chinese investment can be seen between 2016 and 2020 in addition to trade flows can be identified as connecting countries. Here, too, available data suggests that the companies concerned either exported their goods to the United States via a stopover or even outsourced parts of their production destined for the US market to connecting countries. Five connecting countries between the US and China Based on the 2017-2020 study period, various connecting countries can be empirically identified that were used to indirectly maintain access to the US market. In terms of foreign trade volume, the economically most important connecting countries include Mexico, Vietnam, Poland, Morocco and Indonesia.8 All five countries are characterized by the fact that both their exports of goods to the US and their imports of goods from China increased significantly between 2017 and 2020. In addition, greenfield investments (foreign direct investment to set up a new production facility) have risen significantly compared to the period before 2017.  However, the five countries show different priorities in their development, which differentiate them in their role as connecting countries between the USA and China. In Vietnam, exports to the USA in particular have risen sharply. China has been the most important procurement market for Vietnamese companies for years. Poland, Mexico and Indonesia are characterized as connecting countries primarily by the significant increase in imports from China. Morocco, in turn, was able to attract more Chinese foreign investment in particular. Greenfield investments have almost tripled here since 2017. However, Poland - a rather surprising candidate for the role of liaison country, as it is intuitively assigned to the US-oriented bloc - is positioned fairly centrally between the US and China according to the analysis of voting behavior within the United Nations9. In addition, Poland qualifies primarily due to the sharp rise in greenfield investments from China, primarily in the expansion of domestic battery production.10  It cannot be concluded from the previous studies on the USA and China whether German companies are also circumventing trade barriers from the USA via the countries identified. As the trade policy conflicts between the US and China differ significantly from those between the EU and China, there has been a lack of comparable empirical data to analyze connecting countries in the EU context. Opportunities and challenges As the German economy is strongly oriented towards foreign trade and is closely networked with both the USA and China, German companies play a particularly exposed role in the area of tension between the USA and China. Increased economic exchange with potential connecting countries would offer German companies an opportunity to mitigate the expected shock of a geopolitical bloc. They could at least maintain international trade to a certain extent and thus secure some of the endangered sales and procurement markets. On the other hand, there are also costs associated with expanding foreign trade relations with potential connecting countries. The greater complexity also increases the risk in the value chains. Companies that position themselves wisely within this trade-off buy themselves valuable time in the event of a shock to reorganize themselves against the backdrop of changed foreign trade conditions.  From the perspective of foreign trade policy, it is also possible to examine the extent to which stronger foreign trade cooperation with (potential) connecting countries could have advantages. The trade-off between resilience and complexity must then be assessed at a macroeconomic level, beyond individual company interests. In order to make it easier for companies to connect to potential connecting countries and to create appropriate framework conditions, German and European policy can build on existing comprehensive strategies at national and European level. Both the China Strategy11 and the National Security Strategy12 focus foreign policy on connecting countries as part of a stronger economic and political risk diversification. There is also a similar framework at European level with the EU's Strategic Compass13 . Following on from this, the German government could create targeted incentives to open up new markets in liaison countries, which would diversify critical supply chains and reduce one-sided dependencies.  At the same time, connecting countries pose a challenge. These can be used to circumvent foreign trade measures such as sanctions if flows of goods can find alternative routes via connecting countries more easily than before.  In order to realize opportunities and overcome challenges, close cooperation between science, politics and companies is required. This first requires the identification of a selection of potential connecting countries through scientifically sound analysis. This creates the basis for the subsequent steps in which European and German policymakers work closely with companies to create attractive framework conditions for trade with potential connecting countries - for example through bilateral trade agreements.  Attractive foreign trade framework conditions can create the necessary incentive to actually expand trade relations with potential connecting countries. Companies need to weigh up individual cases and make forward-looking decisions: To what extent is there a risk of a loss of production triggered by geopolitical conflicts? And how much would the complexity of the value chain increase if more potential connecting countries were included? Ultimately, the actual choice of preferred sales and procurement markets lies with the individual companies. LicenseThis work is licensed under CC BY 4.0 References1. Verbindungsländer werden im Sinne von Connectors verstanden, vgl. Gita Gopinath/Pierre-Olivier Gourinchas/Andrea F Presbitero/Petia Topalova, Changing Global Linkages: A New Cold War?, Washington, D.C.: IMF, April 2024 (IMF Working Paper) <https://www.imf.org/en/Publications/WP/Issues/2024/04/05/Changing-Global-Linkages-A-New-ColdWar-547357/>. 2. Statistisches Bundesamt (Destatis), Außenwirtschaft. 2025, <https://www.destatis.de/DE/Themen/Wirtschaft/Globalisierungsindikatoren/aussenwirtschaft.html#246 078/>.  3. Shekahar Aiyar/Franziska Ohnsorge, Geoeconomic Fragmentation and ‚Connector’ Countries, Online verfügbar unter:  <https://mpra.ub.uni-muenchen.de/121726/1/MPRA_paper_121726.pdf>.4. WTO, WTO Trade Monitoring Report, Genf, November 2024, <https://www.wto.org/english/tratop_e/tpr_e/factsheet_dec24_e.pdf/>. 5. Gita Gopinath/Pierre-Olivier Gourinchas/Andrea F Presbitero/Petia Topalova, Changing Global Linkages: A New Cold War?, Washington, D.C.: IMF, April 2024 (IMF Working Paper) <https://www.imf.org/en/Publications/WP/Issues/2024/04/05/Changing-Global-Linkages-A-New-ColdWar-547357/>.  6. Michael A. Bailey/Anton Strezhnev/Erik Voeten, »Estimating Dynamic State Preferences from United Nations Voting Data«, Journal of Conflict Resolution, 61 (2017) 2, S. 430-456, <https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/0022002715595700/>.7. Gita Gopinath/Pierre-Olivier Gourinchas/Andrea F Presbitero/Petia Topalova, Changing Global Linkages: A New Cold War?, Washington, D.C.: IMF, April 2024 (IMF Working Paper) <https://www.imf.org/en/Publications/WP/Issues/2024/04/05/Changing-Global-Linkages-A-New-ColdWar-547357/>. War-547357. 8. Enda Curran/Shawn Donnan/Maeva Cousin, »These Five Countries are Key Economic ‚Connectors‘ in a Fragmenting World«, in Bloomberg (online), 1.11.2023, <https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2023-1102/vietnam-poland-mexico-morocco-benefit-from-us-china-tensions/>.9. Michael A. Bailey/Anton Strezhnev/Erik Voeten, »Estimating Dynamic State Preferences from United Nations Voting Data«, Journal of Conflict Resolution, 61 (2017) 2, S. 430-456, <https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/0022002715595700/>.  10. Enda Curran/Shawn Donnan/Maeva Cousin, »These Five Countries are Key Economic ‚Connectors‘ in a Fragmenting World«, in Bloomberg (online), 1.11.2023, <https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/202311-02/vietnam-poland-mexico-morocco-benefit-from-us-china-tensions/>.11. Auswärtiges Amt, China‐Strategie der Bundesregierung, Berlin, Juli 2023, <https://www.auswaertigesamt.de/resource/blob/2608578/810fdade376b1467f20bdb697b2acd58/china-strategie-data.pdf/>.  12. 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I. Introduction Russia invaded Ukraine in February 2022. As the Russian invasion of Ukraine enters its fourth year, its most immediate and visible consequences have been loss of life and large numbers of refugees from Ukraine. However, given the interconnected structure of the international political, economic, and policy systems, the ramifications of the Ukraine conflict can be felt well beyond Ukraine and Russia. Much of the recent literature and commentaries have focused on the military and strategic lessons learned from the on-going Ukraine conflict (Biddle 2022; 2023; Dijkstra et al. 2023). However, there are not many quality analyses of economic effects of the Ukraine war on Eastern European countries, including Russia and Ukraine. This paper focuses on the economic effects of the Ukraine war on nine Eastern European countries, including Russia and Ukraine. This is because although Eastern European countries are neighbors of Russia and Ukraine and have had significant negative economic outcomes from the Ukraine war, these countries were mainly ignored by researchers. II. The Economic Effects of the Ukraine war The impacts of war are far-reaching and devastating. War causes immense destruction of property and loss of life. It also creates psychological trauma for those who have experienced it firsthand. War can also have long-term economic impacts, such as higher unemployment and increased poverty. War can also lead to the displacement of people, as we have seen the millions of refugees who had been forced to flee their homes due to conflicts. War can also have political effects, such as creating new states or weakening existing nations. It can also lead to the rise of authoritarian regimes in many post-war nations. War can also lead to increased militarization as nations seek to protect themselves from future conflicts. The Ukraine war might have broader economic consequences. The supply chains may be affected because of the destruction of infrastructures and resources. War mobilization may affect the workforce and economic production. Actors in the economy may also act strategically to deploy resources elsewhere or to support the war effort because the war has affected incentive structures of workers and business. These effects can be local to geographical areas engulfed in conflict but also cause ripple effects to a wider regional area and to the global economy. Trade, production, consumption, inflation, growth and employment patterns may all be influenced. Peterson .K. Ozili.(2022) claimed that the scale of the Ukraine war had its negative impact on the economies of almost all countries around the world. According to Ozili, the main effects of the Ukraine war on the global economy are several, but this paper focuses on two below: Rising Oil Gas Prices  and inflation – European countries import a quarter of their oil and 40% of their natural gas from the Russian Federation. The Russian Federation is the second largest oil producer in the world and the largest supplier of natural gas to Europe, and after the invasion, European oil companies will have problems getting these resources from the Russian Federation. Even before the Russian invasion, oil prices were rising because of growing tensions between countries, the COVID-19 pandemic, and other factors, but remained in the $80–95 per barrel range. After the invasion, this price reached the value of $100. Natural gas prices rose 20% since the war began. Rising gas & oil prices can drive high inflation and increase public utility bills. Decline in production and economic growth. Rising oil and gas prices lead to high inflation and, therefore, a decline in consumption, supply and demand, thereby causing decline in growth and production. This paper focuses on inflation and GDP growth of nine Eastern European countries regarding the economic effects of the Ukraine war. Ozili (2022) claimed that very high inflation was a perceived negative consequence of the Russian invasion of Ukraine. As Figure 1 shows, inflation in the EU jumped in the first month of the invasion, and the increasing trend continues. EU inflation in 2022 peaked in October and amounted to 11.5% that was a historical record. However, inflation has slowly declined as energy prices have gone down. This higher inflation in Europe basically resulted from energy price increase. As Figures 2, 3, and 4 show, energy prices in Europe skyrocketed in 2022. As Figure 2 shows, energy prices have been the most important component of high inflation in the EU.  Figure 1: Average inflation rate in the EU (%). Source: EurostatCreated with Datawrapper     Figure 2: Main components of inflation rate in the Euro areas.  Figure 3: Natural gas prices in Europe, January 2021- end 2024  Figure 4: Crude oil price, January 2020-January 2025 Source: Eurostat Created with Datawrapper Inflation skyrocketed not only in the EU member countries, including Eastern European countries, but also in Russia and Ukraine.  Figure 5: Inflation rate in Russia, 2021-2025 As Figure 5 shows, inflation rate in Russia averaged 8.16 % from 2003 until 2025, but it reached an all time high of 20.37 % in April of 2022 just after the Russian invasion of Ukraine. In 2022, Russia experienced high inflation, with the average annual rate reaching approximately 13.75%. This surge in inflation was largely attributed to the economic impact of Western sanctions and increased government spending related to the war in Ukraine. From end of 2022 and throughout 2023, however, inflation was brought under control, but in 2024 inflation started to climb again. The inflation rate in Russia has been moderately high in 2024 and 2025, reaching to 9.5% in 2024 and 9.9% in May 2025 and 9.4% in June 2025.   Figure 6: Inflation rate in Ukraine, 2021-2025 The Ukrainian economy has undergone harsh conditions with the onset of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022. Following the start of the invasion, inflation skyrocketed to 26.6% in October 2022 from 10.0% in 2021. Inflation in Ukraine started to slow down from the end of 2022 throughout 2023, reaching 5.1% in November 2023. However, inflation began to rise from early 2024 and then grew to 12% in December 2024. As Figure 5 & 6 shows, inflation rates in Russia and Ukraine do not follow the pattern of EU countries in which inflation skyrocketed in 2022 and then has slowly declined over time. Rather inflation in Russia and Ukraine skyrocketed in 2022 and then slowed down in 2023 and started to climb again in 2024 and 2025. As Figure 7 shows, inflation in Eastern European countries has been also very high just after Russia invaded Ukraine. Hungary’s annual inflation rate surged in 2022, reaching a peak of 26.2 % in January 2023. By mid-2023, it began to decline, and by 2024, it showed a gradual decline trend, reaching 3.7 % in 2024. And inflation in Hungary slightly increased in 2025, reaching 4.6% in June 2025 and 4.4% in May 2025.  The Czech Republic(Czechia) experienced a significant surge in inflation in 2022, with the average inflation rate reaching 15.1%. This marked the second-highest inflation rate since the Czech Republic’s independence in 1993.  Two factors mainly contributed to this surge: High energy prices:The global energy crisis, exacerbated by the war in Ukraine, significantly impacted energy prices in the Czech Republic.  Increased food prices: The rising energy costs also led to higher food prices, with some sectors experiencing inflation rates as high as 26%.  The inflation rate in the Czech Republic in 2023 was relatively high, reaching 10.7%. However, inflation significantly declined in 2024 and 2025. The average annual inflation rate in the Czech Republic for 2024 was 2.4%. The inflation rate in 2025 was also low, recording 2.7% in July 2025. Poland also experienced a significant increase in inflation in 2022, with the average inflation rate reaching 14.2%. The inflation was down to 11.47% in 2023, but it was still high. The rate continued to fall, reaching 3.72% in 2024. In July 2025, inflation dropped to 3.1%. Similarly, Bulgaria experienced a significant surge in inflation in 2022, reaching a peak of 18.7 % in September 2022. However, Bulgaria’s annual inflation rate continued to decline from 13.02% in 2022 to 8.6% in 2023 and 2.6% in 2024. The inflation in June 2025 was 3.1%.  Romania experienced a significant surge in inflation in 2022, reaching a peak of 14.6 in November 2022. However, the annual inflation rate in Romania declined from 13.8% in 2022, recording 10.4% in 2023 and 5.58% in 2024. The inflation rate reached a more moderate rate of 5.8% in June 2025.  Slovakia experienced a significant surge in inflation in 2022, reaching a peak of 15.4 % in November 2022. However, the annual inflation rate in Slovakia declined to 10.96% in 2023, and 3.15% in 2024. The inflation rate in Slovakia reached a more moderate rate of 4.3% in June 2025.  Slovenia had much lower inflation rate than other Eastern European countries. The annual inflation rate in Slovenia was 8.83% in 2022, 7.45% in 2023, and 1.97% in 2024. The inflation rate in Slovenia reached a relatively low rate of 2.2% in June 2025.  Unlike Russia and Ukraine, these Eastern European countries followed the pattern of EU countries in which inflation skyrocketed in 2022 and then has slowly declined over time.   Figure 7: Inflation rate in Eastern Europe during the Ukraine war Very high inflation in Europe during the early stage of Ukraine war basically resulted from energy price increase as Figures 2, 3, and 4 show. It is because European countries were heavily dependent on Russian energy. Figure 8 shows that a number of Eastern European countries were significantly dependent on Russian energy in 2020 before the Ukraine war. For example, Slovakia and Hungary depended on Russia for more than 50 % of their energy use. Moreover, Europe was the largest importer of natural gas in the world. Russia provided roughly 40% and 25% of EU’s imported gas and oil before the Russian invasion of Ukraine. As Figure 9 shows, major gas importers from Russia in 2021 were European countries.  Figure 8: EU member country’s dependence on Russia energy  Figure 9: Major EU importers from Russian Gas in 2021. However, since the Russian invasion of Ukraine in 2022, more than 9,119 new economic sanctions have been imposed on Russia, making it the most sanctioned country in the world. At least 46 countries or territories, including all 27 EU nations, have imposed sanctions on Russia. EU trade with Russia has been strongly affected by the sanctions, resulting in a 58% decline in exports to Russia and an 86% drop in imports from Russia between the first quarter of 2022 and the third quarter of 2024. In the response, as Figure 10 shows, Russia cut its gas exports to the EU by around 80% since the Russian invasion, resulting in higher gas price in Europe.  Figure 10: Monthly Russia-EU pipeline gas flows, 2022-2025 Nonetheless, Figure 11 show that Hungary, Slovakia, and Czech Republic have been major  importers of Russian gas and oil after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, while Figure 12 shows that Hungary, Bulgaria, Slovenia, Slovakia, and Czech Republic have been major importers and consumers of Russian gas after the Ukraine war. Figure 11: Largest importers of Russian fossil fuels (January 1, 2023 to February 16, 2025)  Figure 12: Selected European countries’ imports of Russian natural gas as shares of total consumption. As energy prices in Europe skyrocketed, inflation, including food price also skyrocketed in Europe. As a result, consumption in Europe was down and GDP growth declined in Europe after the Russian invasion of Ukraine. As Ozili claimed, lower growth rate was also a perceived negative consequence of the Russian invasion of Ukraine. As Figure 13 shows, GDP in EU was down to 3.5 % in 2022 compared to 6.3% in 2021, and it was further down to 0.8 % in 2023 because of economic stagnation and high inflation caused by the Ukraine war.  Figure 13: Average annual GDP growth rate in EU, 1996-2025. Like EU countries, Russia, Ukraine and some Eastern European countries experienced negative growth rates in 2022 & 2023 after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in February 2022. Russia’s economy has undergone significant transformation since its full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022. As Figure 14 shows, Russia GDP growth rate for 2022 was -2.07%, a 7.68% decline from 2021. This decline in GDP was due to international sanctions, the withdrawal of foreign companies and overall economic uncertainty. However, the impact was largely offset by a favourable terms-of-trade from higher commodity prices and support from third countries – especially China, Turkey, the UAE and countries bordering Russia – which have served as conduits for sanctions evasion.  Figure 14: Russia GDP Growth Rate By 2023, the Russian economy had increasingly shifted to a war footing. As Figure 15 shows, military spending significantly increased after the Russian invasion of Ukraine. Surge in government spending such as military spending, counter-sanctions measures and credit growth boosted investment, construction and overall economic activity in Russia. The military-industrial sector benefitted the most, as did private consumption driven by war-related payments and high real wage growth resulting from the tight labor market. Meanwhile, sectors reliant on Western markets or foreign companies continued to struggle. As a result, Russia’s GDP grew by 3.6 percent in 2023 and 4.3 percent in 2024. Economic expansion resulted from rising government expenditure and investment in its military as it continues its war against Ukraine.  Figure 15: Russia military spending By the end of 2024 and in early 2025, however, signs of economic stagnation had become evident. Even the military-industrial sector began to stagnate. The economy had butted up against its supply-side constraints. In the first quarter of 2025, annual growth slowed to an estimated 1.4 % (from 4.5 % in the last quarter of 2024. Economic contraction was driven by falling activity in trade, mining, real estate and leisure, which growth in agriculture, manufacturing and public administration were not able to offset.  Figure 16: Ukraine GDP growth rate Russian invasion of Ukraine in February 2022 significantly affected Ukraine economy. As Figure 16 shows, Ukraine’s GDP growth rate for 2022 was -28.76%, a 32.08% decline from 2021. GDP growth rate in Ukraine averaged 1.33% from 2000 until 2025, reaching a record low of -36.60 % in the second quarter of 2022. Ukraine’s economy started to bounce back in 2023 and the GDP growth rate in Ukraine for 2023 was 5.32 %, a 34.08 increase in 2022. GDP growth rate reached an all time high of 19.30% in the second quarter of 2023. The GDP growth for 2024 was down to 2.9%. In the first quarter of 2025, Ukraine’s GDP grew 0.9%. However, the Ukrainian economy has been propped up by financial support from Western countries, including military and humanitarian aid, as well as loans from frozen Russian assets. Financing from abroad has been essential in sustaining Ukraine’s ability to survive. Ukraine’s 2024 public sector deficit rose to a record 1.832 trillion hryvnia, or almost 24 % of GDP. Over 60 % of spending went to defense and domestic security. Ukraine’s foreign partner countries provided approximately $42 billion in direct budget support in 2024, of which a large chunk ($17.5 billion) was provided via the EU’s Ukraine Facility. In 2025, Ukraine’s financing situation looks brighter compared to the beginning of 2024, when the EU’s 50-billion-euro Ukraine Facility and America’s over-60-million-dollar Ukraine aid package were blocked due to legislative intransigence. The structure of 2025 deficit financing in Ukraine represents a big change from 2024 as a substantial part of the deficit will be covered out of the yield on Russia’s frozen assets. Last summer, G-7 leaders agreed on an Extraordinary Revenue Acceleration (ERA) arrangement allowing for the use of 183 billion Euro of frozen Russian assets (end-2024) in the EU area to help Ukraine. The ERA program does not draw on the Russian assets directly but uses its proceeds to finance payments and costs of a $50 billion loan. As Figure 17 shows, ERA disbursements allocated to Ukraine will come to nearly $22 billion in 2025 and $11 billion in 2026. The new Trump administration has yet to withdraw from the ERA program, even if substantial cuts have already been made in e.g. USAID financing to Ukraine. The US remains the ERA program’s largest supporter, accounting for a total disbursement commitment of $20 billion. Figure 17: ERA program for Ukraine from Western countries, 2023-2026 Moreover, according to the Ukraine Support Tracker from Kiel University, Ukraine has received 267 billion euros in aid over the past three years. Half of this has been in weapons and military assistance, with 118 billion euros in financial support and 19 billion euros for humanitarian aid. European countries contributed more than the US: 62 billion euros in arms and 70 billion euros in other aid from Europe, compared with 64 billion euros in arms and 50 billion euros in other aid from the US. On the other hand, the Ukraine war caused a massive refugee crisis to Eastern European countries. The Ukraine war made millions of Ukraine people cross the border into neighboring countries in Eastern countries, affecting the economy of each nation. Table 1 shows the number of Ukraine refugees settled in Europe. Most of the Ukraine refugees settled in Poland and the Czech Republic, followed by Romania, Slovakia, and Moldova. These Ukraine refugees had significant impacts on Eastern European economy, in particular on Poland and Czech Republic. Table 1: Number of refugees from Ukraine settled in EuropeSource: UNHCR Operational Data The Ukraine war affected Poland’s economy in several ways, creating both difficulties and opportunities. First, there were problems with energy supplies that could threaten Poland’s access to power. The conflict in Ukraine has shaken up Poland’s energy market quite a bit, affecting its gas and oil supplies and leading to a spike in prices. Right after the conflict began, gasoline prices in Poland jumped by more than 40% as Figure 18 shows. This is mainly because Poland used to get a lot of its energy from Russia, and now, because of the Ukraine war and the sanctions that followed, there’s been a big disruption. As Figure 19 shows, food prices also skyrocketed just after the Ukraine war.  Figure 18: Gasoline price in Poland Figure 19: Food inflation in Poland Food inflation in Poland averaged 4.11 % from 1999 until 2025, reaching an all time high of 24.00 % in February of 2023. Moreover, there has been the arrival of more than 1 million Ukraine refugees, which put pressure on jobs and public services in Poland. The Polish government has had to increase its public spending significantly to provide housing, healthcare, and social services for the newcomers. This sudden increase in spending seemed overwhelming at first, but it also brought potential economic benefits in the long run. For example, the influx of Ukraine refugees boosted demand for local goods and services, which in turn stimulated the Polish economy. Despite both difficulties and opportunities that the Ukraine war brought to Poland, Poland’s GDP growth rate in 2022 was 5.3%. This indicates a strong economic performance, although it was slightly lower than the 6.9% growth rate in 2021. However, Poland's GDP growth rate in 2023 was down to 0.2%. This signifies a significant slowdown compared to the 5.3% growth in 2022. The slowdown was attributed to factors like energy inflation-induced decline in household spending and stagnant consumption. Poland’s real GDP grew by 2.9% in 2024, exceeding initial expectations, which were set at 2.8%. As inflation was down, it allowed for consumer spending and contributed to economic expansion. The Polish economy continues to grow by 3.2% in the first quarter of 2025. Figure 20: annual GDP growth rate in Poland, 2016-2024 The Czech economy has experienced significant impacts from the Ukraine war due to supply chain disruptions and rising energy & food prices. As Figure 21 and 22 show, gasoline and food prices in Czech Republic skyrocketed just after the Russian invasion of Ukraine. Gasoline prices in Czech Republic skyrocketed in June 2022 at 2.05 USD/Liter from 1.12 USD/Liter in May2020. Gasoline prices in Czech Republic averaged 1.48 USD/Liter from 1995 until 2025, reaching a high of 2.05 USD/Liter in June of 2022 and a record low of 0.72 USD/Liter in December of 1998. Figure 21: Gasoline price in the Czech Republic  Figure 22: Food inflation in the Czech Republic As a result, after a solid recovery from Covid-19 pandemic in 2021 with 4.0% growth rate, economic activity slowed down in 2022-2023 as a result of the consequences of the war in Ukraine, including EU sanctions on Russia and rising energy & food prices. Nonetheless, the Czech achieved a moderate growth in 2022 with a growth rate of 2.8% but the Czech economy contracted by -0.1% in 2023 and has been weak with a growth rate of 1.1% in 2024 and 0.7 % in the first quarter of 2025. Figure 23: annual GDP growth rate in Czech Republic, 2016-2024 Hungary’s economy has faced significant challenges due to the war in Ukraine, including increased energy costs, inflation, and disruptions to trade and supply chains. Hungary economy grew by 4.6 % in 2022, but declined to -0.91% in 2023 due to the extremely high inflation and weak consumptions. The consumer price in Hungary rose to a peak of 25.7% in January 2023, the highest rate in the EU. High inflation was driven by surging energy and food prices as Figures 24 and 25 show. The Hungary economy has been weak with the growth rate of 0.5 % in 2024. The GDP expanded by 0.1% in the second quarter of 2025. Figure 24: Gasoline price in Hungary Figure 25: Food inflation in Hungary  Figure 26: annual GDP growth rate in Hungary, 2016-2024 Bulgaria’s economy has faced challenges from the Ukraine ware, due to increased energy prices and disruptions in trade. As Figure 27 shows, the initial economic recovery was stronger than anticipated, with a 4.0% GDP growth in 2022, but the Ukraine war’s impact, coupled with inflation and global economic headwinds, led to a slowdown. Bulgaria’s economy expanded by 1.89 % in 2023. Then Bulgaria GDP bounced back to 2.8 % in 2024 and by 3.1% in the first quarter of 2025. Figure 27: annual GDP growth rate in Bulgaria, 2016-2024 Romania’s economy has experienced both positive and negative impacts from the Ukraine war. As Figure 28 shows, the Romanian economy displayed unexpected strength in 2022, with a 4.8% growth rate thanks to strong private consumption and investment. However, the Ukraine war’s effects, particularly on energy prices and supply chains, dampened Romanian growth. Romanian growth rate for 2023 was 2.2%, but it moderately rebound in 2024 with a 2.8% growth rate. The Romanian GDP increased by 0.3% in the first quarter of 2025. Romania faced challenges related to fiscal deficits, public debt, and inflation. Romania’s ability to navigate these challenges and capitalize on opportunities, such as EU support and its strategic geographic location, will be crucial for its long-term economic prosperity.  Figure 28: annual GDP growth rate in Romania, 2016-2024 Slovakia’s economy has faced significant challenges due to the war in Ukraine, mainly through energy & food price shocks and disruptions to trade and supply chains. As Figure 29 and 30 show, gasoline and food price in Slovakia significantly increased. Slovakia’s economy grew by 0.45% in 2022, a 5.28% decline from 2021. GDP growth rate for 2023 was 1.38 %. GDP growth in Slovakia moderately bounced back in 2024 with a growth rate of 2.0. In the first quarter of 2025, Slovakia economy grew by 0.2 %.  Figure 29: Gasoline price in Slovakia Figure 30: food inflation in Slovakia Figure 31: annual GDP growth rate in Slovakia, 2016-2024 In 2022, Slovenia experienced a slow economic growth with 2.7%, a 5.69% decline from 2021. due to the Ukraine war and subsequent energy price hikes and supply chain disruptions. Slovenia’s economy has been hurt by the Ukraine war and subsequent flooding in 2023 and 2024 with a 2.1 % and 1.5 % growth rate, respectively. Slovenia’s GDP growth was down to -0.7 % in the first quarter of 2025.   Figure 32: annual GDP growth rate in Slovenia, 2016-2024 III. Conclusion  This paper analyzed the economic effects of the Ukraine war on Russia, Ukraine, and Eastern European countries with a focus on inflation and GDP growth. The paper showed that after the Russian invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, inflation skyrocketed not only in the EU member countries, including Eastern European countries, but also in Russia and Ukraine. However, the pattern of inflation was different. Inflation in Russia and Ukraine did not follow the inflation pattern of EU member countries in which inflation skyrocketed in 2022 and then has slowly declined over time. Rather inflation in Russia and Ukraine skyrocketed in 2022 and then slowed down in 2023 and started to climb again in 2024 and 2025. Inflation in Eastern European countries followed the pattern of EU member countries in which inflation skyrocketed in 2022 and has then slowly declined over time. On the other hand, the pattern of GDP growth was different, depending on the individual conditions of each nation, although most countries experienced economic decline in 2022 relative to 2021. Some countries such as Ukraine and Russia experienced negative growth in 2022 and then recovered from 2023. Other countries such as Hungary, Romania, Bulgaria, and Czech Republic experienced moderate growth in 2022 and then slowed down over time. Still other countries like Slovakia and Slovenia experienced very low GDP growth over the period of 2022-2025.  References Biddle, Stephen D. 2022. “Ukraine and the Future of Offensive Maneuver.” War on the Rocks. November 22. https://warontherocks.com/2022/11/ukraine-and-the-future-of-offensive-maneuver/.Biddle, Stephen D. 2023. “Back in the Trenches: Why New Technology Hasn’t Revolutionized Warfare in Ukraine.” Foreign Affairs 102 (5): 153–164.Dijkstra, Hyllke, Myriam Dunn Cavelty, Nicole Jenne, and Yf Reykers. 2023. “What We GotWrong: The War Against Ukraine and Security Studies.” Contemporary Security Policy 44(4): 494–496. https://doi.org/10.1080/13523260.2023.2261298Ozili, P.K., 2022, Global Economic Consequence of Russian Invasion of Ukraine. Available online at: https://ssrn.com/abstract=4064770(open in a new window)

Abstract This analysis examines European diplomatic efforts to support Ukraine’s territorial integrity amid the ongoing Russia-Ukraine war, highlighting the EU’s evolving role as a security actor. The August 18, 2025, White House summit marked a key moment, with EU leaders pledging "ironclad" security guarantees modelled after NATO’s Article 5, without formal NATO membership for Ukraine, and proposing a "reassurance force" of European troops post-ceasefire. The EU commits to unrestricted Ukrainian military capabilities, sustained economic and military aid, and intensified sanctions against Russia. While the EU aims to bolster Ukraine’s self-defence and facilitate peace talks, challenges persist, including funding, coordination with the U.S., and Russia’s rejection of guarantees involving Western troops. The EU’s approach reflects a strategic shift toward a more assertive Common Foreign and Security Policy, though institutional limitations remain. The guarantees are intertwined with Ukraine’s EU accession ambitions, carrying significant geopolitical and financial implications for the European security architecture and regional stability.Key Words: Ukrainian War, European Security, EU, U.S., Russia Introduction The ongoing war in Ukraine likely marks the end of the post-Cold War security environment in Europe and the rest of the world. The old international system, based on the benign hegemony of the United States and its dominance in international institutions, is witnessing the vanishing of the pretence of the leading role of international law and international regimes before our eyes. What is emerging brings back memories of the 19th-century Concert of Europe, where the great powers of Europe— Austria, France, Prussia (later Germany), Russia, and the United Kingdom —came together to maintain the European balance of power, political boundaries, and spheres of influence. This time around, however, there are fewer players, and the gameboard is genuinely global. The U.S., China and Russia do not leave much space for other players, at least in the global context. The EU declares itself to be a global player, matching the influence of the big three, but in all honesty, it is not treated as such by them.  This analysis looks at the latest developments regarding the ongoing war between Russia and Ukraine (a proxy war between NATO and Russia) and specifically at the role of the EU and its proposed security guarantees offered to Ukraine. The August 18 Meeting On August 18, 2025, a meeting took place at the White House. It included U.S. President Donald Trump, Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy, and leaders from Germany, France, Italy, the UK, Finland, the European Commission, the European Council, and NATO. They talked about ways to stop Russia's invasion of Ukraine. A key topic was security guarantees for Ukraine. The EU promised strong protection for Ukraine's independence and borders. This is intended to prevent future Russian attacks, even though Ukraine is unlikely to join NATO soon. These promises build on earlier security agreements but demonstrate a more unified European effort, with the U.S. providing support but not leading with troops or NATO membership.  Ironclad Security Guarantees Equivalent to NATO's Article 5 (Collective Defence) The EU promised to give firm, long-term security promises to Ukraine, similar to NATO's Article 5. This means an attack on Ukraine would be seen as an attack on those who promised to help. However, these promises would not be part of NATO to avoid upsetting Russia or requiring all NATO members to agree. European leaders, including those from the "Coalition of the Willing," are prepared to deploy a "reassurance force" or peacekeepers to Ukraine once the fighting ceases. This force would comprise troops from different European countries, taking turns to monitor and enforce any peace agreement, with a primary focus on preventing new attacks. EU officials stated that Russia cannot halt these plans or Ukraine's future aspirations to join the EU and NATO. Trump said the U.S. will work with Europe and might provide air support, but will not send American ground troops, making Europe the "first line of defence." Meanwhile, the U.S. will support by selling weapons.[1]  No Restrictions on Ukraine's Military Capabilities   EU leaders want Ukraine's military to have no limits on size, type, or actions. This means Ukraine can make weapons at home and get more from Western countries without Russia stopping them. The aim is for Ukraine to have a strong army for many years. Europe will also increase its own military production to help. Ukraine plans to buy $90 billion in U.S. weapons, mostly paid for by Europe. This includes planes, air defence systems, and drones. A formal agreement is expected within 10 days of the meeting.[2]  Sustained Economic and Military Support, Including Sanctions The EU has pledged to continue providing Ukraine with military, financial, and humanitarian assistance until a lasting peace is achieved. They will also increase sanctions and economic actions against Russia to maintain pressure. Leaders say they will support Ukraine as long as the fighting continues, and they will not force Ukraine to give up any land. Only Ukraine can decide about its territory. Europe is prepared to undertake most of this effort and may allocate an additional €40 billion for weapons if necessary. They will work with the U.S. to get support from Trump.[3]  Facilitation of Further Talks and Peace Efforts EU leaders aim to facilitate a meeting between Trump, Zelenskyy, and Putin. They say any agreement must include Ukraine's views and protect Europe's safety. They are glad Trump is pushing for peace, but say a ceasefire is not needed for security promises. Moscow's complaints, like those about NATO forces, will not stop their plans. This shows Europe is united. Leaders like Ursula von der Leyen and António Costa have stated that there will be no official changes to borders, and they fully support Ukraine's membership in the EU.[4] There were concerns that Trump might pressure Ukraine to make concessions during his meeting with Putin on August 15, 2025, in Alaska. European leaders quickly organised a meeting at the White House to influence Trump. This was seen as a way to win him over. Russia does not want NATO or Western troops in Ukraine, seeing it as a threat. Some experts argue that there is a "security guarantee paradox": if the protection is too weak, it will not benefit Ukraine; if it is too strong, Russia may not agree to any deal.[5] EU officials are hopeful, but they face several challenges. These include securing funding (Europe will cover most costs), managing rotating forces, and ensuring the U.S. remains committed after Trump's term.[6] Recent Military and Diplomatic Developments The Russia-Ukraine war started in February 2022. In August 2025, fighting and diplomatic talks increased. Russian troops are moving forward in eastern Ukraine, especially in Donetsk, with many attacks. Ukraine is hitting Russian targets. U.S. President Donald Trump is leading peace talks after meeting Russian President Vladimir Putin in Alaska on August 15. Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy and European leaders are also involved. However, significant disagreements persist regarding land, security, and ceasefires. There is no quick solution yet. Russian Advances and Territorial Gains Russian forces have concentrated on Donetsk and taken more land. From July 8 to August 5, 2025, Russia gained 226 square miles, continuing its slow progress in the area.[7] By mid-August, Russia controls large parts of Donbas and continues to advance, even though Ukraine is fighting back.[8]   Source: https://www.russiamatters.org/news/russia-ukraine-war-report-card/russia-ukraine-war-report-card-aug-6-2025  On August 19, Russia launched its most significant attack of the month, using drones and missiles against Ukrainian targets, resulting in civilian casualties and infrastructure damage.[9] On August 18, there were similar long-range attacks. On August 19, Ukraine and Russia swapped the bodies of dead soldiers. Ukraine has increased attacks on Russian energy sites to cut off war funding.[10] After the Trump-Putin meeting in Alaska, Trump met with Zelenskyy and leaders from the EU and UK on August 18 to discuss peace. Trump seems to support giving some Ukrainian land, like parts of Donbas, to Russia for peace. He also suggests U.S. air support as a security promise. A U.S. envoy stated that there is progress: Putin has agreed to U.S. security guarantees for Ukraine and has relinquished some territory.[11] Plans for direct talks are being made. Putin suggested Moscow as the meeting place, but this has not been confirmed yet (as of August 20).[12] European leaders, including EU figures, seem to welcome these efforts but insist on continued sanctions against Russia and reject Budapest (Hungary) as a site due to past failed assurances.[13 ] In the meantime, Ukraine demands robust security guarantees (e.g., deterrence against future attacks) and $90 billion in aid.[14 ] Russia, however, rejects European guarantees, insists on territorial concessions, and maintains unchanged objectives. As of now, no ceasefire has been agreed upon; however, Russia claims to be open to one.[15 ] Where Does the EU Stand in General? EU leaders stress that a strong Ukraine is the best guarantee against Russia. According to the statement of 12 August, issued by the European Council and the Council of the European Union: “The European Union, in coordination with the U.S. and other like-minded partners, will continue to provide political, financial, economic, humanitarian, military and diplomatic support to Ukraine as Ukraine is exercising its inherent right of self-defence. It will also continue to uphold and impose restrictive measures against the Russian Federation. A Ukraine capable of defending itself effectively is an integral part of any future security guarantees. The European Union and its Member States are ready to further contribute to security guarantees based on their respective competences and capabilities, in line with international law, and in full respect of the security and defence policies of certain Member States, while taking into account the security and defence interests of all Member States. The European Union underlines the inherent right of Ukraine to choose its own destiny and will continue supporting Ukraine on its path towards EU membership”.[16]  According to EU top diplomat, Kaja Kallas (High Representative/Vice-President (2024-2029) responsible for Foreign Affairs and Security Policy),[17] the idea of letting Russia keep Ukrainian territories (proposal as signalled by Trump) was a "trap that Putin wants us [the EU] to walk into".[18] She stressed that Russia has offered no concessions and that credible security measures, such as bolstering Ukraine's military, are essential—though specifics on contributions remain up to individual member states. In a like-minded fashion, French President Emmanuel Macron rather hawkishly and not very diplomatically echoed this, describing Putin as a "predator, and an ogre at our [Europe] doorstep" and expressing "the greatest doubt" that he would be willing to work towards peace. In short, the foremost European leaders are still ready to challenge Russia. They enjoy peace at home while using Ukraine as a battleground. Their new ideas about Ukraine's safety and Europe's security are bold and raise concerns about possible problems. The “Devil Lies in Details” The European Union is part of the "Coalition of the Willing" due to its key members. According to Wikipedia, this group comprises 31 countries. They have promised to support Ukraine more strongly against Russia than the Ukraine Defence Contact Group. They are ready to join a peacekeeping force in Ukraine by sending troops or providing other forms of support.[19] The peacekeeping force is envisaged to be deployed only once Ukraine and Russia sign a "comprehensive ceasefire agreement" or "peace deal" to settle the ongoing Russo-Ukrainian War. The initiative, led by the United Kingdom and France, was announced by British Prime Minister Sir Keir Starmer on 2 March 2025, following the 2025 London Summit on Ukraine under the motto "securing our future".[20] The EU has been developing plans for Ukraine's security in the aftermath of the war. The primary goal is to stop future Russian attacks, short of offering NATO membership to Ukraine. Recent plans include military, diplomatic, and financial help, with the EU and U.S. working together. These plans are still changing due to ongoing talks, Russian objections, and questions about their enforcement. The focus is on helping Ukraine defend itself and providing additional support, including air and sea protection. The EU wants Ukraine to be able to defend itself. This is important for any promises they make. The EU and its member states are ready to provide assistance based on their capabilities. They will follow international law and their own defence rules.[21] This includes ongoing military aid but does not specify sending troops or creating new plans. In this context, European Council President Antonio Costa has called for faster work on "NATO-like" guarantees. These could be similar to Article 5, where an attack on Ukraine would lead to talks and actions from allies.[22] NATO and European leaders are discussing a new plan similar to "Article 5." This plan would prompt allies to discuss within 24 hours in the event of an attack. They would work together on responses, such as increasing military forces and providing aid for rebuilding. This idea is similar to agreements with countries like the UK and France, which focus on building strength and recognising borders.[23] EU accession for Ukraine could trigger the bloc's mutual defence clause, offering a "strong guarantee" in principle, although its practical enforcement is debated.[24] Air and sea security are important. A "sky shield" is planned to protect the air over western and central Ukraine, including Kyiv. European fighter jets, with possible U.S. support, will enforce this. The jets might be stationed in Poland or Romania. There will be rules for dealing with Russian actions, like missile attacks. In the Black Sea, measures will prevent Russian naval threats and keep shipping safe from ports like Odesa using intelligence and patrols.[25] Some countries, such as France and the UK, may deploy a small number of troops. These troops could help with training in cities like Kyiv or Lviv, or they might help secure ports and airbases.[26] Sending large numbers of troops is not feasible due to Ukraine's vast size and Russia's demands. Instead, the focus is on training, sharing information, managing supplies, and equipping Ukraine's military with weapons. Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskiy said that guarantees might be ready by August 29, 2025. These include U.S. assistance, valued at $90 billion, which includes weapons such as planes and air defences. Europeans will be the "first line of defence," with the U.S. helping in other ways. However, there are concerns: Russia wants to be part of the talks and does not want foreign troops. Some reports also question the coalition's strength and clarity, particularly in the absence of firm U.S. promises. Possible Broader Geopolitical Ramifications First, supporting Ukraine’s borders could strengthen the EU’s role in European security. This would indicate a shift towards a stronger EU foreign and security policy, as well as a more unified European defence system. However, the EU’s current tools, such as Article 42(7) TEU and PESCO, are not particularly robust. They have limitations in how they operate and face financial and organisational problems. This makes it challenging for the EU to establish itself as a strong security force without assistance from NATO and the U.S.[27] Second, the EU’s security guarantee to Ukraine is likely to intersect closely with NATO’s role, as the EU’s defence efforts currently complement but do not replace NATO’s collective defence framework. The EU remains dependent on NATO (especially the U.S.) for significant military capabilities, and the guarantee could deepen cooperation but also create institutional competition or overlap. The transatlantic alliance’s unity and the U.S. continued engagement are critical factors in the guarantee’s effectiveness.[28] Third, an EU guarantee of Ukraine’s security could also send a strong geopolitical signal to Russia, potentially deterring further aggression and affirming the EU’s commitment to the European security order. However, it may also escalate tensions with Russia, which views such guarantees as a threat to its sphere of influence.[29] This dynamic affects not only Ukraine but also other countries in the EU’s neighbourhood, such as Georgia, which is vulnerable to Russian pressure and exclusion from security arrangements.[30] Fourth, guaranteeing Ukraine’s security is linked to its EU accession ambitions. While Ukrainians see EU membership as essential recognition of their sovereignty and security, many Europeans view it as a component of a future negotiated settlement with Russia. The EU’s guarantee thus has implications for the pace and nature of enlargement, potentially affecting the EU’s cohesion and its relations with neighbouring countries.[31] Fifth, the EU’s security guarantees would likely entail substantial financial commitments, including military aid, reconstruction support financed through mechanisms such as the European Peace Facility (EPF), and the utilisation of frozen Russian assets. These financial undertakings have implications for EU budgetary policies, fiscal solidarity, and the development of a European defence industrial base, which is currently fragmented and underfunded. Conclusion The EU declares itself to be a global player and consequently engages as a broker in preparing peace talks with Russia. Moreover, it envisions itself as a guarantor of peace on the European continent and Ukrainian security, as well as its territorial integrity.  Two important questions, however, remained unanswered.  First, given the EU's engagement against Russia alongside Ukraine, as well as its most prominent member states' support for the Ukrainian war effort, one would be correct to question the intentions of at least some European political leaders. On one hand, the openly adversarial stance against Russia may produce some deterrence-like effects (although, in all honesty, it is difficult to prove). On the other hand, it definitely does prolong the conflict at the expense of Ukraine and its people.  Second, the following analysis will examine the extent to which the EU's guarantees for Ukraine are in reality. Political declarations and paper documents can convey a wide range of statements, including the most hawkish and resolute. The real test, however, always involves actual acting in the face of challenges and dangers. Will Europeans actually be ready to back their words with actions? Will they be able to perform at the required level militarily and economically? The 20th-century experience would suggest otherwise. References1  Roth, A., & Sauer, P. (2025, August 19). Trump rules out sending US troops to Ukraine as part of security guarantees. The Guardian. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2025/aug/19/european-leaders-ukraine-russia-trump 2  Magramo, K., Kent, L., Lister, T., Edwards, C., Chowdhury, M., Sangal, A., Hammond, E., & Liptak, K. (2025, August 18). Trump meets Zelensky and European leaders at White House. CNN. https://edition.cnn.com/politics/live-news/trump-ukraine-zelensky-russia-putin-08-18-25 3  Europe must shoulder ‘lion’s share’ of Ukraine’s security, Vance says. (2025, August 21). AlJazeera. https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2025/8/21/europe-must-shoulder-lions-share-of-ukraines-security-vance-says 4  Mangan, D., Breuninger, K., Doherty, E., & Wilkie, C. (2025, August 18). Trump-Zelenskyy meeting paves the way for Ukraine security guarantees, trilateral talks with Putin. CNBC. https://www.cnbc.com/2025/08/18/trump-zelenskyy-ukraine-putin-live-updates.html 5  Rutland, P. (2025, August 22). The ‘security guarantee’ paradox: Too weak and it won’t protect Ukraine; too robust and Russia won’t accept it. The Conversation. https://theconversation.com/the-security-guarantee-paradox-too-weak-and-it-wont-protect-ukraine-too-robust-and-russia-wont-accept-it-263518 6  Schwartz, F., Barigazzi, J., & Webber, E. (2025, August 13). Trump tells European leaders US could provide security guarantees for Ukraine. Politico. https://www.politico.com/news/2025/08/13/trump-european-leaders-security-ukraine-00508598 7  The Russia-Ukraine War Report Card, Aug. 6, 2025. (n.d.). Russia Matters. Retrieved August 21, 2025, from https://www.russiamatters.org/news/russia-ukraine-war-report-card/russia-ukraine-war-report-card-aug-6-2025 8  A timeline of territorial shifts during Russia’s war on Ukraine. (2025, August 18). PBS News. https://www.pbs.org/newshour/world/a-timeline-of-territorial-shifts-during-russias-war-on-ukraine 9  Ukraine hit by multiple Russian strikes amid US-led push for end to war. (2025, August 19). Aljazeera. https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2025/8/19/ukraine-hit-by-multiple-russian-strikes-amid-us-led-push-for-end-to-war 10  Harvey, A., Mappes, G., Novikov, D., Sobieski, J., Young, J., Barros, G., Kagan, F. W., & Trotter, N. (2025, August 19). Russian Offensive Campaign Assessment, August 19, 2025. Institute for the Study of War. https://www.understandingwar.org/backgrounder/russian-offensive-campaign-assessment-august-19-2025 11  Smolar, P. (2025, August 19). War in Ukraine: Diplomatic efforts intensify ahead of possible Zelensky-Putin meeting. Le Monde. https://www.lemonde.fr/en/international/article/2025/08/19/war-in-ukraine-diplomatic-efforts-intensify-ahead-of-possible-zelensky-putin-meeting_6744508_4.html 12  Magramo, K., Yeung, J., Lau, C., Kent, L., Edwards, C., Chowdhury, M., Powell, T. B., Sangal, A., & Hammond, E. (2025, August 20). August 19, 2025: White House says Putin-Zelensky meeting plans are ‘underway’ following Trump meetings. CNN. https://edition.cnn.com/world/live-news/trump-ukraine-russia-zelensky-putin-08-19-25 13  European Union Leaders’ Statement on Ukraine. (2025, August 12). European Council, Council of the European Union. https://www.consilium.europa.eu/en/press/press-releases/2025/08/12/statement-by-european-union-leaders-on-ukraine/ 14  Hatton, B., & Davies, K. M. (2025, August 19). Despite a flurry of meetings on Russia’s war in Ukraine, major obstacles to peace remain. AP. https://apnews.com/article/russia-ukraine-war-trump-europe-next-steps-527983fab40e58208e9e18c943de696a 15  Westfall, S., & Ilyushina, M. (August 19). Here’s what Russia and Ukraine have demanded to end the war. The Washington Post. https://apnews.com/article/russia-ukraine-war-trump-europe-next-steps-527983fab40e58208e9e18c943de696a 16  European Union Leaders’ Statement on Ukraine. (2025, August 12). European Council, Council of the European Union. https://www.consilium.europa.eu/en/press/press-releases/2025/08/12/statement-by-european-union-leaders-on-ukraine/ 17  See more at: https://commission.europa.eu/about/organisation/college-commissioners/kaja-kallas_en 18  Wilson, T., & Lau, S. (2025, August 22). Proposed Ukraine land concessions are Putin’s trap, EU’s top diplomat tells BBC. BBC. https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/cp8zdezm507o 19  Coalition of the willing (Russo-Ukrainian War). (n.d.). Wikipedia, the Free Encyclopedia. Retrieved August 22, 2025, from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coalition_of_the_willing_(Russo-Ukrainian_War) 20  Martin, D. (2025, March 2). Britain and France to lead ‘coalition of the willing’ to save Ukraine. The Telegraph. https://www.telegraph.co.uk/politics/2025/03/02/britain-france-lead-coalition-willing-save-ukraine/ 21  European Union Leaders’ Statement on Ukraine. (2025, August 12). European Council, Council of the European Union. https://www.consilium.europa.eu/en/press/press-releases/2025/08/12/statement-by-european-union-leaders-on-ukraine/ 22  Tidey, A. (2025, August 19). EU and allies must “accelerate” work on Ukraine’s NATO-like security guarantees, Costa says. Euronews. https://www.euronews.com/my-europe/2025/08/19/eu-and-allies-must-accelerate-work-on-ukraines-nato-like-security-guarantees-costa-says 23  Webber, M. (2025, August 20). Ukraine war: what an ‘article 5-style’ security guarantee might look like. The Conversation. https://theconversation.com/ukraine-war-what-an-article-5-style-security-guarantee-might-look-like-263475 24  Is EU accession a security guarantee for Ukraine? (2025, August 22). The New Union Post. https://newunionpost.eu/2025/08/21/ukraine-security-guarantee-eu-accession/ 25  Gardner, F. (2025, August 19). What security guarantees for Ukraine would actually mean. BBC. https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/cx2qr08l1yko 26  Harding, L. (2025, August 19). What security guarantees might Ukraine get in return for a peace deal? The Guardian. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2025/aug/19/what-security-guarantees-might-ukraine-get-in-return-for-a-peace-deal 27  Genini, D. (2025). How the war in Ukraine has transformed the EU’s Common Foreign and Security Policy. Yearbook of European Law. https://doi.org/https://doi.org/10.1093/yel/yeaf003 28  Genini, D. (2025). How the war in Ukraine has transformed the EU’s Common Foreign and Security Policy. Yearbook of European Law. https://doi.org/https://doi.org/10.1093/yel/yeaf003 29  Beta, S., Hetherington, K., Contini, K., Zajda, M., Smyrnova, H., Bidnyi, I., Lipska, N., Bahno, M., Tsios, I., Lysenko, L., & Zimmerman, L. (2025, February 5). The Legal Basis for EU Security Guarantees for Ukraine. PILPG. https://www.publicinternationallawandpolicygroup.org/lawyering-justice-blog/2025/5/2/xebqjexqu8ccgsvbo2rmcv4w5an13q 30  Brotman, A. (2025, August 22). The Importance of Security Guarantees for Ukraine and Europe. Geopolitical Monitor. https://www.geopoliticalmonitor.com/the-importance-of-security-guarantees-for-ukraine-and-europe/ 31  Brotman, A. (2025, August 22). The Importance of Security Guarantees for Ukraine and Europe. Geopolitical Monitor. https://www.geopoliticalmonitor.com/the-importance-of-security-guarantees-for-ukraine-and-europe/  

Abstract The Arctic has been identified by scientists as a relatively promising venue for controversial ‘solar geoengineering’ – technical schemes to reflect more sunlight to counteract global warming. Yet contemporary regional security dynamics and the relative (in)significance of climate concerns among the key Arctic states suggest a different conclusion. By systematically juxtaposing recently published schemes for Arctic geoengineering with Arctic security strategies published by the littoral Arctic states and China, we reveal and detail two conflicting security imaginaries. Geoengineering schemes scientifically securitise (and seek to maintain) the Arctic’s ‘great white shield’ to protect ‘global’ humanity against climate tipping points and invoke a past era of Arctic ‘exceptionality’ to suggest greater political feasibility for research interventions here. Meanwhile, state security imaginaries understand the contemporary Arctic as an increasingly contested region of considerable geopolitical peril and economic opportunity as temperatures rise. Alongside the entangled history of science with geopolitics in the region, this suggests that geoengineering schemes in the Arctic are unlikely to follow scientific visions, and unless co-opted into competitive, extractivist state security imaginaries, may prove entirely infeasible. Moreover, if the Arctic is the ‘best-case’ for geoengineering politics, this places a huge question mark over the feasibility of other, more global prospects. Introduction ‘The Arctic region plays a key role in the global climate system acting as a carbon sink and a virtual mirror’ (Carnegie Climate Governance Initiative (C2G), 2021: 1) – thus reads a typical introduction to the rationale for solar geoengineering (SG) in the Arctic. To most, SG – any large-scale intervention that seeks to counteract anthropogenic global warming by reflecting sunlight – is still an obscure idea. However, it is quickly gaining traction among some groups of climate scientists, entrepreneurs and even some governments as climate impacts provoke an ever-increasing sense of alarm and urgency. Debates concerning potential governance of SG routinely acknowledge its potential international governance challenges, but have tended to leave security dimensions mostly unexamined (but see Nightingale and Cairns, 2014), usually by framing the challenge primarily in terms of coordinating efforts and dealing with potentially unwanted side effects (Corry et al., forthcoming). While climate change itself is often understood as a potential security threat, it has not yet motivated exceptional or decisive state action, but rather seems to produce a series of routine practices through which ‘climate change is rendered governable as an issue of human security’ (Oels, 2012: 201). Geoengineering could potentially change this situation. The potentially high-leverage, transboundary nature of large-scale SG has led to suggestions that it would involve disagreements over the methods and intensity of interventions (Ricke et al., 2013) and could lead to international conflicts, not least from uni- or ‘mini’-lateral deployment (Lockyer and Symons, 2019). In addition, with its potential to make climatic changes and catastrophes attributable to (or able to be blamed on) the direct and intentional actions of states, SG could also make the rest of climate politics a more conflictual field (Corry, 2017b). Other scholars have examined geoengineering itself through a human security frame – recently developed as ‘ecological security’ with ecosystems as the main referent object (McDonald, 2023), where the insecurity arising from climate change is seen to go beyond the particularity of state interests. This casts geoengineering as a potential ecological security measure, or even as a potentially ‘just’ one, if it would protect groups otherwise vulnerable to climate threats (Floyd, 2023). However, the entanglement of geoengineering, even if framed as an ‘ecological security’ measure, with national and international security dynamics, would remain a distinct risk, in similar ways to how humanitarian aid and development have become entangled with, and for some historically inseparable from, security (Duffield, 2007). In this article, we seek to move beyond theoretical speculation about the International Relations of geoengineering abstracted from historical or regional security dynamics, using a case study of the Arctic to investigate how geoengineering might (not) enter this political space and to derive conclusions of broader relevance to the international debate. We make use of the empirical richness revealed by schemes for Arctic geoengineering to identify how security imaginaries – ‘map[s] of social space’ (Pretorius, 2008: 112) reflecting common understandings and expectations about security – are already implicit in scientific and technical visions of geoengineering. We contrast these scientific security imaginaries with current state security imaginaries that play a dominant role in the anticipation of Arctic futures more generally. As we will show, scientific security imaginaries consider the Arctic as a best case for geoengineering in terms of political feasibility. This allows for analytical inference based on critical case selection (Flyvbjerg, 2006): if even in the Arctic these scientific security imaginaries have little compatibility with current state security imaginaries, geoengineering faces major obstacles of political feasibility in other regions and globally, unless deployed in pursuit of security rather than global environmental protection. Many different ideas for SG have been explored as ways to cool the Arctic. These include marine cloud brightening (MCB): spraying salts from sea vessels to make marine clouds more reflective (Latham et al., 2014) or covering ocean or ice surfaces with reflective materials (Field et al., 2018). Related ideas involve using wind power to pump water onto ice to help thicken it (Desch et al., 2017), underwater ‘curtains’ to protect ice from warmer water streams (Moore et al., 2018) or reintroducing large animals to graze and trample so that dark boreal forest is replaced by reflective snow-cover, protecting permafrost (Beer et al., 2020).1 The technique of stratospheric aerosol injection (SAI) – spraying reflective aerosols like sulphur or calcite into the stratosphere – is also included as an option by some organisations working with Arctic geoengineering2 or explored in simulations or other research (Jackson et al., 2015; Lane et al., 2007; Robock et al., 2008). In practice, however, aerosols distributed in or near the Arctic would likely spread over much of the Northern hemisphere, and model studies of Arctic-targeted SAI generally conclude that is it not a desirable option due to particularly severe negative side effects outside the Arctic (Duffey et al., 2023). While geoengineering scientists seek to distance their work from geopolitical concerns (Svensson and Pasgaard, 2019), scientific research in the Arctic – even that involving cooperation between Cold War adversaries – has long been deeply entangled with state security objectives and military interests (Doel et al., 2014; Goossen, 2020). Similarly, weather modification schemes have a history of (largely failed) entanglement with military purposes (Fleming, 2010), while climate modelling evolved partly through and with military scenario-making (Edwards, 2010). Climate modelling occupies a more civilian location in multilateral institutions now but still shares its particular way of seeing the climate – as a space of geophysical flows – with a military gaze (Allan, 2017). More importantly, the interrelated environmental, economic and geopolitical interests in opening up the Arctic that are emerging with global warming make for a particular set of contradictions and tensions in the region that we argue will be much more likely than global environmental concerns to determine what role (if any) geoengineering could or would play. Arctic SG ideas are emerging largely oblivious to this context, which is understandable, but makes for an interesting comparative analysis that, as will we show, raises questions concerning the overall feasibility of SG in the Arctic, especially deployment of it in line with scientific imaginaries. Since scientific literature tends to be central to governance-oriented assessments of SG (e.g. National Academies of Sciences, Engineering, and Medicine, 2021), a mismatch between assumptions has potentially serious policy implications, not least in terms of overall feasibility, which in turn augments risks of such schemes failing and contributing to mitigation deterrence (when they were hoped or planned for, delaying emissions reductions (McLaren, 2016)). Attention to the geopolitical complexities of Arctic geoengineering could prevent scientific work being translated into policy prescriptions in unintended ways or having unexpected effects – if the complexities can be foregrounded when interpreting such work and be considered in designing future research. Approach We analyse both Arctic geoengineering schemes and state strategies for the Arctic as security imaginaries. This concept draws on Charles Taylor’s (2004) notion of the social imaginary, ‘the ways people imagine their social existence, how they fit together with others, how things go on between them and their fellows, the expectations that are normally met, and the deeper normative notions and images that underlie these expectations’ (p. 23). Imaginaries, in this sense, are worldviews – sets of assumptions that may or may not correspond to social reality but affect it in significant and material ways. They are not simply subjective constructions to be weighed against some objective reality, but (often competing) ways of constructing and institutionalising the world. Following Pretorius (2008), a security imaginary is then ‘that part of the social imaginary as “a map of social space” that is specific to society’s common understanding and expectations about security and makes practices related to security possible’ (p. 112). Regrettably, social imaginaries are often theorised through ‘internalism’: as if a society is determined by factors originating within that society alone (Rosenberg, 2016).3 This makes it difficult to explain why different societies often have similar security imaginaries. By breaking with internalism, national imaginaries can be understood as inherently international in the sense that they are deeply affected by coexistence with other societies. For Pretorius (2008), ‘the security imaginary is . . . open to influence from perceptions, beliefs and understandings of other societies about security’ due to ‘trans-societal exchanges’ such as travel (p. 112). But in a deeper way, the mere existence of multiple societies is fundamental to the whole idea of (national) security (Rosenberg, 2016). In addition, if the Arctic is considered a ‘regional security complex’ (Lanteigne, 2016) such that the security imaginary of societies in a region ‘cannot be reasonably analysed or resolved independently of each other’ (Buzan and Wæver, 2003: 44), then relations between societies become constitutive, even, of security imaginaries of that region. Scientific communities – in this case geoengineering researchers – can produce a different ‘map of social space’ from national ones, since the groups (in one version ‘epistemic communities’ (Haas, 1992)) producing these are not necessarily national, and use different tools and concepts than national security communities. At the same time, scientists are rarely unaffected by their backgrounds, and their technical and conceptual tools for producing such a ‘map’ reflect traces from state priorities and international structures, including colonial legacies (Mahony and Hulme, 2018). State and scientific security imaginaries are thus distinct but not separate, and as we shall see, they can clash or draw upon each other, often implicitly. The security imaginary concept captures three important characteristics of our empirical materials. First, geoengineering ideas and state security strategies are performative (rather than purely descriptive) in their anticipation of (Arctic) futures (Anderson, 2010). Second, they are based on understandings of social order which merge factual and normative claims – what is and what should be (Taylor, 2004). Third, they construct threats and necessary responses in terms of the security of that social order, irrespective of whether those threats are of a military nature or otherwise (e.g. a climatic threat); in other words, they can securitise a variety of referent objects (Buzan et al., 1998). In investigating scientific and state security imaginaries, we focus on the difference in the construction of two objects: climate and the international order. We ask: how is the ‘Arctic climate’ articulated and made legible in relation to the planetary climate and other factors, and further, how is the Arctic climate problematised and related to concerns of desirable or undesirable futures? What political, economic and international infrastructures are presumed? In sum, what threatens and what defends Arctic and international order? To explore the security imaginaries of Arctic geoengineering, we gathered materials that construct Arctic futures through searches in the peer-reviewed literature with the search terms ‘Arctic’ and ‘geoengineering’ using , as well as search hits on the term ‘Arctic’ in the archive of the Climate Engineering Newsletter run by the Kiel Earth Institute,4 which also covers grey literature and press coverage on the topic.5 We manually excluded texts exclusively focused on carbon removal forms of geoengineering, except those with positive effects on the surface albedo. For the state security imaginaries of the Arctic, we consulted policy documents and other official government publications looking for the most recent policy statement in each of the littoral states: Canada, the United States, Russia, Norway and Denmark (which controls the security and foreign policy of Greenland) concerning their respective Arctic security strategy.6 Public documents are often used as data in security studies as testaments to state preferences or intentions, despite the often performative character of such documents. Such documents generally attempt to portray the institutions that produce them as competent and coherent – and of value to particular external audiences. As such they are potentially unreliable as sources for underlying intentions, levels of capacity and commitment behind policy goals. However, as documents set out to perform a future which is seen as desirable – either by the authors themselves or the audiences they appeal to – they are a useful guide to the underlying assumptions of social and international order guiding Arctic security politics – the state security imaginaries, in other words. We therefore study them for their performative content, with particular emphasis on the intended audiences and messages (Coffey, 2014). Similarly, geoengineering publications also perform a material and political Arctic future to advance scientific or research agendas, and we therefore analyse the underlying imaginary of their desired futures, without prejudice to the climatological or technical feasibility of the envisioned schemes. However, as the imaginaries of many researchers typically invoke global benefits from Arctic geoengineering, in particular through preventing tipping events, it bears mentioning that recent literature questions these benefits. Research indicates that that some techniques (ice restoration in particular) would have limited impacts on the global climate (Van Wijngaarden et al., 2024; Webster and Warren, 2022; Zampieri and Goessling, 2019), and a recent comprehensive review finds only limited support for the claim that Arctic sea ice is a tipping element in the climate system (Lenton et al., 2023: 58–60, 66–68). Even so, it should not be assumed that scientific considerations alone will drive decisions to geoengineer the Arctic, and the growing interest in these ideas makes it important to examine their political imaginaries. Finally, we must acknowledge the highly consequential difference in the power to securitise between the actors which produce the imaginaries. The state apparatuses producing the state security imaginaries are more aligned with, and therefore more likely to influence, actors with the power to securitise (Floyd, 2021). We read both sets of imaginaries in this light. The ‘great white shield’: scientific security imaginaries In geoengineering studies and policy papers, the Arctic is foremost understood as a part of the global climate system (Corry, 2017a), with focus placed on potential tipping points in terms of alarming above-average warming, the sea ice albedo feedback and the potential release of methane and carbon dioxide from thawing permafrost or undersea clathrates. These may push the Earth into feedback cycles of further warming. The Arctic is therefore seen as a ‘great white shield’ for the global climate, but a fragile one: ‘the weakest link in the chain of climate protection’ (Zaelke, 2019: 241). Many of those advocating exploration of Arctic geoengineering argue that emissions cannot be reduced in time to prevent tipping points. One paper contends that cryospheric tipping points ‘are essentially too late to address by standard political processes [for climate management]’ (Moore et al., 2021: 109). This pessimistic assessment spawns a complementary opposite: hopes that geoengineering might prove especially feasible and desirable in the Arctic, with associated aspirations for near-term experimentation and potential deployment. One researcher coined the term ‘Arctic Premium’, arguing that the particular climatic characteristics of the region will enable ‘a dividend for regionally based climate interventions that could be less expensive, more effective and achieve faster results than if they were targeted over the whole earth’ (Littlemore, 2021: 2) – the Arctic imagined as an effective and relatively accessible lever for operating on the global climate system as a whole.7 While regional benefits such as the preservation of ice-dependent Indigenous ways of life are sometimes mentioned (Moore et al., 2021: 110), this tends to occur when regional benefits align with what are understood as global climatic interests. This instrumental attitude can also be seen in proposals that, echoing some of the early literature on SG (Lane et al., 2007; Robock et al., 2008), see the Arctic as a testing ground. These include ‘SCoPEx’, which would have tested SAI equipment over Indigenous Sámi land, and the suggested use of the Sermeq Kujalleq glacier in Greenland – Inuit territory – as a prototype for more substantial glacial geoengineering in the Antarctic. The Sermeq Kujalleq proposal is justified on the basis of ‘fewer global environmental impacts’, despite the considerable amount of local socio-environmental impacts and acknowledgement that ‘the reactions of local people would be mixed’ (Moore et al., 2018: 304). In a quote that sums up the assessment of most researchers Bodansky and Hunt (2020) argue that ‘as bad as Arctic melting is for the Arctic itself, its global effects are more concerning’ (p. 601). The concern with global effects infuses scientific security imaginaries with urgency. The ostensible ‘speed’ (Zaelke, 2019: 244) of SG is contrasted with the slowness of politics, emissions reductions and large-scale carbon removal.8 In many cases, such invocations of urgency lead to claims that geoengineering is necessary: that ‘excluding polar ice restoration could make the 1.5° C goal impossible to achieve’ (Field et al., 2018: 883) or that ‘more and more people see geoengineering as a necessity more than an option, making it a matter of when rather than if’ (Barclay, 2021: 4). One proposal notes that ‘these are expensive propositions, but within the means of governments to carry out on a scale comparable to the Manhattan Project’ (Desch et al., 2017: 121); others also specify funding by rich states as the way to move forward on research and deployment (Moore et al., 2021). The urgent threat of Arctic climate change is seen as a job for decisive state action, and thus, it is argued to be salient in so far as it appears as a universal threat to state interests. At the same time, the causes of climate change are downplayed and depoliticised across the literature. Attributing climate change to emissions from ‘human societies’ (Beer et al., 2020: 1), the literature frames out the vastly unequal responsibility for climate change and the social and economic dynamics driving historical and continued emissions.9 One policy paper neglects social causes of climate change altogether, contrasting geoengineering only to ‘conventional mitigation policies’ (Bodansky and Hunt, 2020: 597) and ‘decarbonisation of the global economy’ (p. 616). In this way, Arctic climate change is constructed as a global security threat, seen as stemming from the ‘tight couplings within global systems, processes, and networks’ (Miller, 2015: 278) rather than the actions of any specific group of humans, and as a threat to global ‘human security’ and therefore not subject to the division and distrust of international politics. In this, the imaginary resembles much liberal environmentalism in International Relations, characterised by a ‘global cosmopolitanism’ which does not seriously engage with inequalities of power and intersocietal difference (Chandler et al., 2018: 200). This imaginary is probably adopted to construct scenarios for technical research, since it fits neatly with modelling tools that produce visions of geoengineering in purely technical Earth system terms. But the liberal imaginary also shapes assessments of political feasibility and could impinge on the technical design of geoengineering schemes, including in ways that can be hard to unpick when the research enters the political sphere. Most publications entirely omit considerations of state security, including some papers that focus on governance (Bodansky and Hunt, 2020; Moore et al., 2021). The mentions of security that do exist are brief and vague: C2G (2021) notes that ‘evidence suggests potential security issues may arise’ (p. 2) in the case of SAI. Another paper notes as an example of ‘geo-political . . . friction’ that ‘Arctic regions such as Russia, Alaska and the Canadian Yukon would be providing a global public good . . . which would add a major new dimension to international relations’ (Macias-Fauria et al., 2020: 10), suggesting that geoengineering can be adequately grasped through rationalist decision frameworks where global public goods offer non-rival and universal benefits, which is disputed (Gardiner, 2013). In the research, the omission of geopolitics is justified by relegating it as a problem which only concerns the ostensibly more controversial techniques such as SAI deployed globally. There is a hope that ‘Arctic interventions pose less of a governance challenge than global climate interventions’ (Bodansky and Hunt, 2020: 609). This rests on the twin claim that the physical effects of Arctic interventions will be more limited and therefore less risky and that the Arctic’s political environment is more conducive to geoengineering than the ‘global’ polity as a whole. In terms of physical effects, many Arctic interventions are argued to be ‘low-risk’ (Barclay, 2021: 4) due to fewer and less severe environmental side effects. What Zaelke (2019) calls ‘soft geoengineering’ (p. 243) approaches are presented as ‘more natural’ (Littlemore, 2021: 2) than the most commonly considered SG techniques such as SAI or MCB which involve physical and chemical manipulation of the atmosphere.10 In particular, efforts to restore sea ice without atmospheric interventions are promoted highlighting the ostensibly more ‘natural’ character of their intervention (Field et al., 2018: 899). ‘Unlike other [SG] methods, thickening sea ice is attractive because it merely enhances a naturally ongoing process in the Arctic’, claims one proponent (Desch et al., 2017: 112). Efforts at ecological intervention in ecosystems to halt permafrost thaw are also described as ‘a return to a more “natural state”’ (Moore et al., 2021: 111). ‘Soft’ geoengineering concepts are in many cases linked to discourses of conservation, with the sometimes-explicit expectation that this will make them more benign and less politically controversial: ‘Since it is rooted in the preservation of the existing state rather than introducing new and undeniably controversial elements into the atmosphere, it likely presents easier governance challenges’ (Moore et al., 2021: 116). Such distinctions between ‘natural’ and ‘unnatural’ interventions may well facilitate cooperation around some methods, but notions of ‘natural’ are also situated, making distinctions inevitably difficult to maintain in practice. While aiming to preserve select parts of the Arctic environment (such as land ice, sea ice or permafrost), geoengineering interventions will likely also introduce significant changes and risks to Arctic ecosystems (Miller et al., 2020; Van Wijngaarden et al., 2024).11 In this way, ostensibly ‘natural’ Arctic interventions would lead to unprecedented anthropogenic – and for others therefore ‘unnatural’ – impacts on ecosystems in the Arctic and possibly beyond, since remote impacts are plausible but not yet well understood.12 This reveals an imaginary prevalent among proponents of Arctic geoengineering, where a distinct construction of ‘natural’ emerges to bridge aspirations of technical manipulation of the climate with what scientists see as palatable to (or believe to be) social ideals of ‘nature’. In addition, the adjectives used to describe ‘soft’ geoengineering – ‘targeted’ (Moore et al., 2021: 108), ‘localized’ (Latham et al., 2014: 3), ‘reversible’ (Barclay, 2021: 4) and ‘intelligent’ (Field et al., 2018: 900), all point to an imaginary where aspirations towards the ‘natural’ are combined with expectations of fine-grained, scientifically calibrated control. As Zaelke (2019) explicitly suggests, ‘in other words, we have control over soft geoengineering’ (p. 243) – the ‘we’ here left ambiguous. The idea of having a relatively large degree of control originates in restraint vis-a-vis ‘global’ SG, in that it recognises large risks from attempting to control the global climate system as such. But this sense of fine-grained control may also encourage more Promethean dreams of a ‘designer climate’ (Oomen, 2021), as speculation over future possibilities of ‘fine-tun[ing] the flows of heat, air and water’ using localised MCB indicates (Latham et al., 2014: 10). In terms of the Arctic’s political environment, discourse on the feasibility of geoengineering reveals further elements of a liberal imaginary, relying on (existing or imagined) international law and institutions, distributive justice and consequentialist ethics (Baiman, 2021; Barclay, 2021), a focus on cost minimisation (Desch et al., 2017; Field et al., 2018) and market-based approaches such as payments for ecological services (Moore et al., 2021) or carbon credits (Macias-Fauria et al., 2020) in the implementation of geoengineering schemes. Taken together, such measures rather well resemble a ‘liberal cosmopolitan framework through the advocacy of managerialism rather than transformation; the top-down coercive approach of international law; and use of abstract modernist political categories’ (Chandler et al., 2018: 190). Distributive notions of justice and consequentialist ethics are arguably also at the root of claims that local populations in the Arctic, including its Indigenous peoples, may be uniquely receptive to geoengineering schemes. While many advocate public engagement (Desch et al., 2017; Macias-Fauria et al., 2020) and stress that ‘Northern people who use and depend upon the existing landscape need a strong voice’ (Littlemore, 2021: 3), there is a general expectation that such engagement will not be prohibitively conflictual. One policy scholar suggested that ‘given that Northern people are already seeing the effects of climate change, the North may be a place for a more pragmatic, constructive, and legitimate deliberative discussion on Arctic interventions’ (Ted Parson, quoted in Littlemore, 2021: 5). Other researchers have concluded that using SAI would conserve ‘indigenous habits and lifestyles’ in the Arctic (Chen et al., 2020: 1) as a direct consequence of reducing permafrost thaw. These assumptions were strained by the SCoPEx controversy, where the Sámi Council strongly opposed the experiment planned in their territory (Cooper, 2023). Equally, Arctic populations (Indigenous and non-Indigenous) have varied interests that cannot be assumed to be oriented to preventing or reversing Arctic climatic change, some seeing new opportunities for economic development and potentially political independence in the case of Greenland (Jacobsen, 2020). Political feasibility of geoengineering plans is often assessed through legal analyses that weigh up specific techniques and target environments in relation to existing treaties and other legal regimes (Barclay, 2021; Bodansky and Hunt, 2020). Some place hope in techniques such as permafrost/glacier preservation that may be deployed within the bounds of a single nation’s territory, which would, in their view, sidestep the need for international governance altogether: ‘for example, Russian and Canadian policies could change the carbon released from thawing permafrost. Similarly, Greenland’s ice sheet would be the primary responsibility of the Greenlanders’ (Moore et al., 2021: 109). While such techniques might be localised in effect, and only intended to slow climate feedback effects such as the rate of ice loss, inclusion of such measures in market credit schemes, as attempted by the Real Ice project,13 could prove controversial and under some conditions undermine any SG-based climate effect (Fearnehough et al., 2020: Chapter 3). For cross-border geoengineering schemes, the Arctic Council14 is in some cases highlighted as a favourable site for governance (Desch et al., 2017). One paper calls it an ‘obvious institution’ for international governance of Arctic geoengineering in general, contending that ‘because of its relatively small size, the Arctic Council has been a relatively effective forum to develop regional policies relating to the Arctic’ (Bodansky and Hunt, 2020: 610). However, in a later article, one of the authors described the Arctic Council as ‘an informal institution that lacks any regulatory powers and shows no signs of being up to the task of taking significant action’ on Arctic climate change (Bodansky and Pomerance, 2021: 2). Moore et al. (2021) similarly contend that ‘the Arctic Council is not a true international organization with rule-making power’ (p. 113). Yet Moore et al. (2021) still argue the Arctic is a politically tractable space for geoengineering due to the low number of states that would need to come to an agreement – in contrast to global SG which ‘would ideally need at least near-global consensus’ (p. 109). This reveals an important complexity in the concept of globality that permeates the geoengineering imaginaries. While the Arctic, as we showed above, is instrumentalised for a global community – operated on to mitigate climatic effects across the planet – it is also differentiated from ‘global interventions’ that take the global Earth system as their direct object of intervention (Bodansky and Hunt, 2020: 597). As Moore et al. (2021) state explicitly, ‘targeted geoengineering is done on regional scales but aims to conserve the various parts of the global climate and earth system’ (p. 109). The politically salient objects are imagined to be the methods of intervention, spatially bounded in the Arctic region while the intended global climatic effects are in effect rendered unproblematic and therefore without need for governance. Arguably this reflects a common assumption that governance is only relevant in the case of ‘adverse or unintended effects’ (Barclay, 2021: 5) – the intended effect of albedo modification implicitly understood as an unambiguous global public good. On a technical level, this assumption is questionable – since remote consequences of Arctic geoengineering are not yet well understood. But more crucially, the assumption projects exactly those liberal rationalist norms which are argued to be especially present in the Arctic on to the wider geopolitical context. The specific imaginary constructed to justify regional geoengineering interventions as politically feasible while still being part of a global solution to climate change cannot work without a general liberal imaginary of international politics. Otherwise, the global effects of regional interventions would threaten to undo the validity of the ‘regional feasibility’ argument. Arctic state security imaginaries The history of scientific research in the Arctic reveals the liberal security imaginaries underlying Arctic geoengineering to be a relatively recent phenomenon. Doel et al. (2014) describe the intertwinement of 20th-century Arctic research projects and three broad state goals, shared to varying degrees by all littoral states: national security, exploitation of natural resources and extension of territorial sovereignty to disputed areas. When intercontinental and submarine-launched ballistic nuclear missiles were introduced from the late 1950s, the Arctic became a ‘buffer zone’ between the Cold War powers, experiencing a continuous period with low military activity and absence of conflict that likely paved a way for increased cooperation after the Cold War, with Mikhail Gorbachev famously declaring the Arctic a ‘zone of peace’ (Gjørv and Hodgson, 2019: 2). The Arctic came to be seen as an ‘exceptional’ region in the post-Cold War period, where institutionalised multilateral cooperation on regional issues, particularly environmental and scientific activities, could blossom (Lackenbauer and Dean, 2020). In this section, we examine recent state strategies and developments in the Arctic to assess the contours of the current leading security imaginary among Arctic states. The key characteristic of Arctic exceptionalism is that geopolitical conflicts and tensions from outside the Arctic are excluded from affecting cooperation on internal Arctic issues and that, as a corollary, specifically ‘Arctic issues’ are compartmentalised: ‘Actors . . . can talk about everything except contentious issues, not least military security’ (Gjørv and Hodgson, 2019: 3, original emphasis). However, this compartmentalisation is hard to find in recent state assessments. The US emphasised in 2019 that ‘The Arctic remains vulnerable to “strategic spillover” from tensions, competition, or conflict arising in these other regions’ (United States Department of Defense (USDOD), 2019: 6). In 2020, the Danish Minister for Foreign Affairs spoke of ‘a new security-political dynamic in the region. Disagreements and conflicts originating in other areas of the world are also being expressed in the Arctic’ (Kofod, 2020: 1).15 For the four North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) members in the Arctic littoral, such concerns were obviously directed at the only non-NATO state: Russia (even before the invasion of Ukraine). Denmark expressed concern over ‘the Russian build-up of military capabilities’ (Kofod, 2020: 2); Norway stated that ‘Russian build-up of forces and military modernisation can challenge the security of Norway and allied countries directly’ (Royal Ministry of Foreign Affairs (RMFA), 2020: 23) and cited the Russian annexation of Crimea as a key moment in increased tensions and deteriorating optimism regarding peaceful cooperation in the Arctic (RMFA, 2020: 10). Russia, for its part, described ‘military buildup by foreign states in the Arctic and an increase of the potential for conflict in the region’ as a ‘challenge’ (Office of the President of the Russian Federation (OPRF), 2020: 5). Among the NATO states, these assessments have for several years been accompanied by a call for deeper military cooperation. Denmark has pledged to ‘support NATO’s role in the Arctic and the North Atlantic’ (Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Denmark, 2022: 23), a change from previous strategy documents which stressed that ‘enforcement of the realm’s sovereignty is fundamentally the responsibility of the realm’s authorities’ (Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Denmark, Greenland and the Faroe Islands, 2011: 20). Canada aims to ‘increase surveillance and monitoring of the broader Arctic region’ in collaboration with the United States, Denmark and Norway (Government of Canada, 2019: 77), while Norway in 2021 negotiated a deal with the United States to allow it access to two Arctic military installations – the Ramsund Naval Base and the Evenes Airfield. Trust has only deteriorated further since Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022. All Arctic Council member states except Russia announced they would suspend participation in council meetings because of the invasion, subsequently announcing a ‘limited resumption’ of projects without Russian participation (Global Affairs Canada, 2022). The recent US Arctic strategy describes ‘increasing strategic competition in the Arctic . . . exacerbated by Russia’s unprovoked war in Ukraine’ (The White House, 2022: 3) and claimed that ‘Russia’s war of aggression against Ukraine has rendered government-to-government cooperation with Russia in the Arctic virtually impossible at present’ (The White House, 2022: 14). Russia interprets Arctic politics on similar terms; the Arctic ambassador has stated that the Finnish and Swedish bids to join NATO ‘will of course lead to certain adjustments in the development of high altitude [sic] cooperation’ (quoted in Staalesen, 2022). This dynamic of de-exceptionalisation, where the Arctic is increasingly reintegrated into great power politics, is the contemporary context in which the littoral states interpret the region’s present and future climatic changes. The state goals associated with early and mid-20th century Arctic science are reappearing as a background for envisioning the impact of climate change. Of the three goals identified by Doel et al. (2014), assertion over disputed territories is arguably of lesser importance today. All states have indicated a willingness to settle territorial continental shelf disputes via international law, and such statements are generally accepted by commentators as genuine (Østhagen, 2018). But the goals of military national security and extraction of natural resources are growing in salience, and changing in character, as the ice melts and the permafrost thaws. In contrast to the geoengineering literature, climate change is rarely addressed as a primary threat in state policies but described in more restricted terms. Adaptation problems from ‘sea-ice loss, permafrost thaw and land erosion’ (Government of Canada, 2019: 63) are emphasised, and both Canada (Government of Canada, 2019: 18) and Norway (RMFA, 2020: 14) describe climate change as a cultural threat to Indigenous peoples. Nonetheless, the task of emission reductions does not figure as a specifically Arctic objective (e.g. RMFA, 2020: 14). In this way, climate change figures less as a problem that must urgently be dealt with and more as an unavoidable condition of Arctic politics. In the context of military security objectives, climate change is understood primarily as a driver of increased navigability and accessibility of the Arctic. The US Navy anticipates an increasingly ice-free ‘blue Arctic’, where ‘peace and prosperity will be increasingly challenged by Russia and China, whose interests and values differ dramatically from ours’ (United States Department of the Navy, 2021: 2). Cold War-era interpretations of the Arctic’s geographical significance are being reinvigorated: Canada stresses the importance of maintaining air and missile capabilities in its Arctic region due to its location along the shortest path from Russian to US territory (Government of Canada, 2019: 77). And as the region becomes more accessible, it rises in strategic importance. The US Department of Defense presents the Arctic as ‘a potential corridor – between the Indo-Pacific and Europe, and the U.S. homeland – for expanded strategic competitions’ (USDOD, 2019: 6) and stresses that ‘maintaining freedoms of navigation and overflight are critical to ensuring that . . . U.S. forces retain the global mobility guaranteed under international law’ (USDOD, 2019: 13). The increased accessibility of the Arctic also brings new hopes of further use of the region’s natural resources as a vehicle for economic growth (Keil, 2014). Such goals have become intertwined with development discourses and policies that focus on lack of modern infrastructure, low employment and population decline and, in this way, align the economic objectives of faraway capitals with local concerns. Canada aims to ‘close the gaps and divides that exist between this region, particularly in relation to its Indigenous peoples, and the rest of the country’ (Government of Canada, 2019: 36) and presents these gaps in a consumerist national imaginary where being ‘full participants in Canadian society’ means having ‘access to the same services, opportunities and standards of living as those enjoyed by other Canadians’ (Government of Canada, 2019: 36). The Russian government frames its Arctic policy goals in terms of avoiding a dystopia of a depopulated region lacking economic growth, and such fears are directly presented in security terms: ‘population decline’ and ‘insufficient development’ of infrastructure and business are named ‘primary threats to national security’ (OPRF, 2020: 4–5). In Norway, Northern depopulation is presented as a key concern to be addressed through investment in public education and business infrastructure (RMFA, 2020: 11). The emphasis in such ‘development’ is on natural resources such as fossil fuels and rare earth minerals, trans-Arctic shipping routes and tourism. Russia is particularly clear in its focus on fossil fuels; ‘increasing oil and gas extraction rates, advancing oil refining, and producing liquefied natural gas and gas-chemical products’ are considered ‘primary objectives for the economic development of the Arctic zone’ (OPRF, 2020: 7). The development of the Northern Sea Route as a ‘competitive national transportation passage in the world market’ is named a ‘primary’ Russian national interest (OPRF, 2020: 4). Other states also emphasise ‘new economic opportunities, for example in the form of new maritime routes and extraction of natural resources’ (Kofod, 2020: 1). In some states, the role of fossil fuels in extractive ambitions is arguably receding. In its previous Arctic strategy, the US anticipated the Arctic’s role in ‘future United States energy security’ through its ‘proved and potential oil and gas natural resources that will likely continue to provide valuable supplies to meet U.S. energy needs’ (The White House, 2013: 7). Now, ‘the Arctic’s significant deposits of in-demand minerals essential to key technology supply chains’ (The White House, 2022: 6) have ostensibly replaced fossil fuels as the main extractive interest. Yet such shifts leave intact visions of major extractive operations dependent on (or facilitated by) a warming Arctic. More generally, there is an assumption of compatibility between interests in extractivism and economic growth and climate and environmental policies. Imagined futures contain ‘safe and environmentally-responsible shipping’ (Government of Canada, 2019: 49), ‘the sustainable use of natural resources’ (OPRF, 2020: 9) and ‘sustainable tourism’ (Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Denmark, Greenland and the Faroe Islands, 2011: 24). Technological innovation is, unsurprisingly, anticipated as the main way to realise the sustainability of these activities. In contrast to this assumed compatibility with environmental objectives, the economic opportunities are portrayed as in need of protection against interests from other states. The US expresses commitment to protect ‘freedom of navigation’ in the Arctic against perceived Russian threats, alleging that Russia ‘is attempting to constrain freedom of navigation through its excessive maritime claims along the Northern Sea Route’ (The White House, 2022: 6). As described above, this interest in freedom of navigation is partly military, but also acts to protect an economic order. The US argues for ‘a shared interest in a peaceful and stable region that allows the Arctic nations to realise the potential benefits of greater access to the region’s resources’ (USDOD, 2019: 4), underpinned by US military power. Russia, for its part, has named ‘actions by foreign states and (or) international organizations to obstruct the Russian Federation’s legitimate economic or other activities in the Arctic’ a ‘primary challenge to national security’ (OPRF, 2020: 5). Here, China is also constructed by Western states as an economic security threat. While under the President Biden, the US threat perception in the Arctic appears to have shifted to an almost exclusive focus on Russia (The White House, 2022); the prior Trump administration indicated strong concerns that ‘China is attempting to gain a role in the Arctic in ways that may undermine international rules and norms, and there is a risk that its predatory economic behavior globally may be repeated in the Arctic’ (USDOD, 2019: 6), a sentiment shared by Denmark and Norway (Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Denmark, 2022: 23; RMFA, 2020: 11). China is certainly explicit about its ambitions in the Arctic, which it portrays as an increasingly ‘global’ space. It argues that due to the changing environment and increased accessibility, ‘the Arctic situation now goes beyond its original inter-Arctic States or regional nature’, and the stress on ‘global implications’ is used to justify China’s identification as a ‘Near-Arctic State’ and ‘important stakeholder in Arctic affairs’ (english.gov.cn, 2018). Yet contrary to the impression given by Western states, Chinese material and institutional visions for the future are strikingly similar to those of the littoral states: development of shipping routes, materials extraction and tourism under promises of sustainable development and governed by international law (english.gov.cn, 2018). Hence, the mistrust expressed by other states does not concern explicit differences in visions of Arctic futures. Rather, the imaginary of economic development is securitised along the lines of geopolitical blocs, with economic cooperation across these blocs rendered problematic. Implications for the security politics of solar geoengineering Our analysis has revealed stark differences between scientific security imaginaries in the geoengineering literature and the security imaginaries of Arctic states. First, climate change is constructed as a concern in different ways. In the scientific imaginaries, climate change, and especially the prospect of Arctic tipping points, are front and centre. The Arctic is primarily interpreted through its climate-restorative potential, as imagined through computational Earth system models that imagine futures of controlled Arctic climates – and by extension, controlled global climates. By contrast, state imaginaries of the Arctic are not oriented towards preventing climate change but anticipate a mixture of desirable and undesirable outcomes from rising temperatures, which are seen as an inevitable background for the region’s future. Responses to climate change – such as increased demand for rare earth minerals – are becoming issues of concern and questions of security, more so than climate change itself (cf. McLaren and Corry, 2023), which stands as an unquestioned precondition for other strategic decisions. Whether the Arctic should be a venue of increased activity is not in doubt. This stands in sharp contrast to ideas of geoengineering which presuppose that hindering accessibility in the region for economic and military purposes, for example, by restoring sea ice, would be acceptable to all states involved. Second, the scientific security imaginaries exhibit a liberal institutionalist understanding of international politics and rely on a view of the Arctic as a global commons to be leveraged for the needs of an ostensible global humanity. In this, imaginaries of Arctic geoengineering do not differ from their planet-scaled counterparts (McLaren and Corry, 2021), except perhaps in the immediacy of imagined experimentation and deployment. Yet the Arctic case contains a unique contradictory claim. Geoengineering in the Arctic is justified partly by claims that it would be more politically tractable, drawing on discourses of Arctic exceptionalism that see it as a special region where inter-state cooperation on common interests can be shielded from exterior geopolitical dynamics and conflicts. But while the envisaged methods of geoengineering are bounded in the Arctic, they still aim to achieve global climatic effects.16 Prospective geoengineers thus make two further assumptions: that effects outside the Arctic are overall benign and/or that governance is only relevant in the case of unfavourable effects. The latter relies on a liberal rationalist imaginary of world politics, where costs and benefits are readily identified and acted upon, coordinated by institutions if required, undermining the initial presumption that the Arctic can be shielded from global conflictual geopolitics. Especially with the Russian invasion of Ukraine, this idea of Arctic exceptionalism is also increasingly obsolete – the Arctic is undergoing de-exceptionalisation, as indicated by the de facto collapse of the flagship of Arctic multilateralism, the Arctic Council. Schemes that envision deployment of Arctic geoengineering as market-driven are also likely to be less immune to geopolitical obstacles than their developers imagine. Such interventions assume an international order governed by multilateral institutions including markets for carbon removals or ‘cooling credits’. But even for those states which subscribe to similar liberal aspirations, this order is subject to uncertainty, in the Arctic and elsewhere, and is consequently understood as something which must be secured. The mistrust from Western states about China’s interests in the Arctic, although ostensibly similar and compatible with Western aspirations of Arctic futures, highlights the current and increasing uncertainty over the future of such a Western-dominated liberal economic order. Taken together, these differences reveal a deep disjuncture between the security imaginaries of Arctic geoengineering and state strategies. Given the relative strength of state security actors and institutions compared to environmental ones, the political feasibility of Arctic geoengineering appears to preclude a purely environmental logic driving development and/or deployment. It raises the question of which rationales and scenarios would become subject to modification – or disappear completely – to take account of economic, geopolitical, security and other aims. In this light, it is notable that there is one point of convergence between the state and scientific security imaginaries: technological solutionism. States might conceivably adopt geoengineering to partly mitigate Arctic warming (or ice degradation) while still leaving the environment accessible enough for increased resource extraction, transcontinental shipping and tourism. However, such a scenario – a form of mitigation deterrence (McLaren, 2016) – is hardly an expression of the scientific security imaginary, which, having securitised Arctic tipping points as a threat to a global humanity, sees the protection and restoration of the Arctic climate as the overarching priority. Furthermore, far from prospective geoengineers’ expectations that envision the interventions as supported by local and Indigenous populations, this scenario would further instrumentalise the Arctic to the ends of interests outside the region, which clearly amounts to a continuation and intensification of the neo-colonialism that characterises many parts of the Arctic to this day (Greaves, 2016). As clearly indicated by Sámi-led opposition to SCoPEx and opposition to the Arctic Ice Project led by Arctic Indigenous organisations,17 many Arctic Indigenous persons consider SG incompatible with their understandings of sustainability. As a case study, the Arctic provides more general lessons for SG and security. The region has attracted the attention of geoengineering researchers in part because they understand it as a political best case, and the legacy of multilateralism and science diplomacy in the region might seem to support such an assessment. However, even in a such a best case, the underlying imaginaries of geoengineering clash directly with the political ambitions of the states which would need to support, if not implement, the geoengineering interventions. In other words, SG is unlikely to be implemented for the purposes envisioned in scientific circles, in the Arctic context or elsewhere, least of all in the kind of globally ‘optimal’ manner envisaged in computer model experiments. Should further climatological research reveal SG to be technically feasible and climatically desirable – a question not yet settled – the technology would enter the quagmire of an increasingly competitive and conflictual planetary geopolitics and would need to be integrated with state policies that, for the moment, show no signs of adopting climate change as a primary issue. Our conclusions also have implications for McDonald’s (2023) contemplation of geoengineering albeit only ‘in the service of ecological security: a concern with the resilience of ecosystems themselves’ (p. 566). While McDonald acknowledges the problem of finding political purchase for making nature itself the object of security, he does not explore in detail the particular form geoengineering would take as a security measure. Here, we have studied the work of researchers and others who, arguably, invoke ecological security through appeals to necessity or emergency with Arctic ecosystems as the referent object. Through their work to develop geoengineering from general principles into workable interventions (i.e. which technique would be used, how it would be designed, who would be deploying it and where and with what purpose), they appeal to particular understandings of international security. This demonstrates how even attempts to make nature itself the referent object of security in practice depends on understandings about human societies – here theorised as imaginaries. Importantly, these scientific security imaginaries do not appear to align with state security imaginaries. In drawing our conclusions, we do not suggest that state imaginaries alone will determine the future of Arctic geoengineering. We afford them more power relative to the scientific imaginaries, since the former are backed by considerably more institutional, material and discursive power. But imaginaries are dynamic entities subject to change in unpredictable ways. There are prior examples of scientific cooperation between nations under geopolitical strife, including in the Arctic during the Cold War (Bertelsen, 2020), and a scenario where technical cooperation on SG leads to ‘spillover effects’ inducing restorative and sustainable forms of peacebuilding has been suggested as a hypothesis to be investigated (Buck, 2022). Still, there is also a long and consistent history of science being a proxy for and entangled with geopolitics and economics in the region (Doel et al., 2014; Goossen, 2020), and our analysis of Arctic de-exceptionalisation suggests that ‘geoengineering peacebuilding’ is getting increasingly unlikely as tensions continue to rise. A different vein of uncertainty concerns the internal contradictions of state security imaginaries – between the willingness to seize new opportunities for resource extraction and shipping, and other policy goals of environmental protection and national security. How these contradictions are managed, and which aspects are ultimately prioritised, will play a key role in forming the future of the Arctic (cf. Albert and Vasilache, 2018) and in deciding the opportunities for and political desirability of geoengineering interventions. Therefore, while analysing imaginaries can only take us so far in anticipating the security implications of SG, they provide an important foundation for conceptualising the very problems at stake in this anticipation. As climate impacts intensify and the incentives for geoengineering deployment increase – whether as a technocratic ‘climate policy option’ (Irvine and Keith, 2021), as a way of defending empire (Surprise, 2020) or “fossil fuel-dependent ‘ways of life’” (McLaren and Corry, 2023: 1), the imaginaries outlined in this article will be increasingly likely to collide, in the Arctic and elsewhere. AcknowledgmentsThe research for this article was part of the International Security Politics and Climate Engineering (ISPACE) project hosted at the Department of Political Science, University of Copenhagen. The authors thank the three anonymous reviewers for their insightful comments and suggestions and are grateful for comments given to an initial presentation of the research idea at the International Congress of Arctic Social Sciences (ICASS X) in June 2021. N.K. thanks the Copenhagen Center for Disaster Research for hosting him while conducting the analysis for this article in 2022.FundingThe author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: This research was carried out with funding from the Independent Research Fund Denmark (Danmarks Frie Forskningsfond).Footnotes1. The latter approaches may also be categorised as ‘nature-based solutions’ or adaptation. In this sense, they are hybrid measures, and we include them here because they also directly or indirectly affect the radiation balance.2. See Centre for Climate Repair. Available at: https://www.climaterepair.cam.ac.uk/refreeze (accessed 5 March 2024).3. For an influential example of internalism, see Jasanoff (2015).4. Now, the ‘carbondioxide-removal.eu’ newsletter. Available at: https://carbondioxide-removal.eu/news/ (accessed 1 August 2023).5. Searches were conducted in the spring of 2022.6. We later chose to include China’s Arctic policy for important additional context.7. In terms of technical effectiveness, some estimates in fact suggest interventions in the Arctic may be less effective than at lower latitudes (Duffey et al., 2023).8. For the latter, see Desch et al. (2017).9. There are some limited exceptions (Baiman, 2021; Moore et al., 2021).10. Although many invocations of soft geoengineering explicitly exclude SAI and MCB, arguments that employ the core distinction between global, risky approaches and more targeted benign ones have also been used to justify Arctic-specific MCB, due to the ‘vastly reduced levels of seeding’ making negative side effects ‘vastly reduced or eliminated’ (Latham et al., 2014: 9). The former UK Chief Scientific Advisor David King has also recently referred to MCB as ‘a biomimicry system’ (The Current, 2022). While much rarer, arguments about reduced side effects have also been applied to Arctic-targeted SAI (Lee et al., 2021).11. Van Wijngaarden et al.’s full review of environmental risks is found in their supplemental compendium (https://doi.org/10.5281/zenodo.10602506).12. We thank an anonymous reviewer for the insight on remote impacts. In the extreme case, strong Arctic cooling without proportional cooling of the Antarctic would create a change in hemispheric heat balance which would most likely shift the Intertropical Convergence Zone southwards, leading to severe decreases in rainfall across the Sahel, parts of the Amazon and Northern India; however, this risk is usually discussed as an outcome of SAI specifically, due to its higher cooling potential (Duffey et al., 2023).13. 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ABSTRACT This article discusses the legitimacy of differentiated integration in the European Union (EU). By dovetailing three sources of legitimacy, i.e. legal, social and political justification, we plait various strands of literature in an interdisciplinary, multi-facetted and systematic approach. We distinguish between the two extreme ideal types of differentiation, i.e. multi-speed Europe and Europe à la carte. In our analysis, we take normative intergovernmentalism and supranationalism by considering the legitimacy effects of differentiation for EU citizens and member states. We plead for an interdisciplinary approach by hypothesising a virtuous and a vicious circle of differentiation for further EU integration. We argue that differentiation as such does not help to solve problems due to the heterogeneity of member states` preferences but tends to postpone conflicts, thereby prompting further challenges for European integration rather than easing them.KEYWORDS:Integration, disintegration, differentiation, interdisciplinary, Europe à la carte, multi-speed Europe 1. Introduction Differentiation has been vital to European integration in the previous decades. It served to reconcile disparate preferences among member states pertaining to the deepening European integration. Initially, differentiated integration (DI) was expected to be a temporary deviation from uniform integration, prompting other states to join later. And indeed, there have been rather unlikely cases of member states eventually attempting to join the vanguard, such as the Danish entry to the European Security and Defence Policy in June 2022 in response to Russia's attack on Ukraine. Despite some cases of continuous integration, DI proved to be a persistent feature of the EU´s evolving institutional architecture (see Radunz & Riedel, Citation2024). Even though DI constitutes a decision of member states to integrate further in small groups, it raises the question of whether it can provide for appropriate solutions for numerous common challenges in the EU. Should DI become the standard procedure for finding compromises, whereas uniform solutions remain rare exceptions? Is it fair for both the vanguard and the outsiders if deepening takes place asynchronously? In short, the article addresses the question of how legitimate is DI in the EU. The bulk of literature on the democratic legitimation of the EU has long paid little attention to differentiation (Moravcsik, Citation2002, Follesdal & Hix, Citation2006, Müller, Citation2016; Craig, Citation2021; but see De Witte et al., Citation2017; Heermann & Leuffen, Citation2020) while contributions to DI have been largely conceptual (Stubb, Citation1996, Holzinger & Schimmelfennig, Citation2015, Klose et al., Citation2023) or explanative (Lavenex & Krizic, Citation2022; Schimmelfennig et al., Citation2023a, Citation2023b Schimmelfennig & Thomas, Citation2020;). We do not contribute to this literature but seek to dovetail different existing strands of research by proposing a systematic approach to the legitimacy of DI in the European Union. We do not present primary sources but take stock of existing studies and develop a multifaceted heuristic to approach the phenomenon of DI legitimacy. Our approach complements existing analyses of DI by explicitly integrating legal, social and political dimensions in a single interdisciplinary framework. When studying legitimacy, we take an interdisciplinary perspective by distinguishing between legal, social and political sources to justify DI. In conclusion, we plead for more research into their interplay.Footnote1 We proceed as follows. First, we define DI and derive from a plethora of conceptions the two most disparate ideal types of multi-speed Europe and Europe à la carte. Second, we discuss differentiation along its legal, social and political sources for justification. Finally, we argue that differentiation needs to be vindicated based on all three sources. After all, differentiation as such does not help to solve problems due to the heterogeneity of member states preferences but tends to postpone conflicts, thereby prompting further challenges for European integration rather than easing them. 2. Models of EU differentiation In a basic understanding, European integration becomes differentiated as soon as at least one member state does not fully participate in a common policy field. The more policy fields this concerns, the more the EU is differentiated vertically, the more member states abstain from further deepening the more it is differentiated horizontally (Schimmelfennig et al., Citation2015). In the following, we focus on formal and internal DI, i.e. among EU member states, and neglect forms of external DI, which also embraces non-members (Cianciara & Szymanski, Citation2020) and informal DI (Genschel et al., Citation2023; Kovar & Katerina, Citation2022). Yet, DI remains a highly ambiguous term. Empirically, Frank Schimmelfennig and Thomas Winzen (Citation2020, p. 48) count as many as 230 cases of (primary law) differentiation in EU history. Conceptually, Alexander Stubb (Citation1996) observes more than 30 alternative labels for forms of asynchronous integration. To deal with this plethora of competing descriptions of various forms of differentiation, Stubb proposed in his seminal work three Weberian ideal types, which are by definition rarely fully matched in reality: In multi-speed Europe, a core group of member states pursues common objectives to be later caught up by other member states. In variable geometry, the EU irreversibly separates between a core and a periphery. In Europe à la carte, member states are free to pick-and-choose while pursuing a minimum number of common objectives. Katharina Holzinger and Frank (Citation2012) criticise this threefold conceptualisation as not being analytically distinct and incomplete given the lack of purely functional conceptions. They single out six dimensions, along which DI models may vary: (1) permanent v. temporary differentiation, (2) territorial v. purely functional differentiation, (3) differentiation across nation states v. multi-level differentiation, (4) differentiation within v. outside the EU treaties, (5) decision-making at EU v. regime level and (6) only for member states v. also for non-member states. They then assign ten models to these different categories. Although we acknowledge this categorisation is much more nuanced and consistent than Stubb’s ideal types, we will nonetheless restrict our discussion of the legitimacy of DI to the most extreme models, i.e. multi-speed Europe and Europe à la carte. First, they are associated with the most extreme finalité conceptions. Second, these two models differ with regard to four out of six categories (1, 4, 5 and 6) as proposed by Holzinger and Schimmelfennig. Third, they both appear to resonate well among political actors, as we show in a German-Polish case study (Mehlhausen et al., Citation2024). Multi-speed Europe: In this model, all member states must commit to common goals of further integration, which every may accomplish at individual speeds. Asynchronous integration would be merely temporary since every state is expected to catch up eventually. Due to its flexibility, this mode of constitutional transformation is likely to overcome deadlocks and propel further integration. It is why decisions would still be reached by the community method based on EU treaties and would apply to the entire EU, at least prospectively. Prime examples of multi-speed Europe would be the pre-ins in the European Monetary Union: All member states, which accessed the EU in 2004 and 2007 committed to introducing the Euro as soon as they meet the accession criteria. Europe à la Carte: In such an approach, any member state is entirely free to decide to cooperate with other member states more closely in selected policy fields. Given the heterogeneity of preferences among EU member states, such a pick-and-choose approach likely result in numerous islands of integration and, most likely, set free disintegrative dynamics. Due to membership incongruence across policy fields, supranational bodies are no longer representative. It fosters intergovernmental decision-making in coalitions of the willing within or beyond EU treaties. A prime example in the European Monetary Union is Danish opt-outs combined with prospective opt-ins at a later moment. 3. Legitimacy of differentiation integration Legitimacy is at the core of any political rule. The more legitimate a political order, the higher its efficacy and the lower its control and compliance costs, since citizens voluntarily follow collectively binding decisions. In short, legitimacy is the precondition of both efficient and liberal governance (Scharpf, Citation2004, p. 5). Many conceptions exist as to what legitimacy means. To take account of the multifaceted nature of this pivotal term, we propose to distinguish three sources of legitimacy (cp. Beetham, Citation1991, pp. 4–8; Føllesdal, Citation2004, pp. 8–9; Wimmel, Citation2009, pp. 192–194): a legal, a social and a political one. This especially resonates with Beetham’s (Citation1991, pp. 3–15) distinction of legitimacy as legal validity, moral justifiability and belief in legitimacy, but it does not overlap with it. Legal justification rests on the juridical basis applying to a specific legal entity. Political action is legally legitimate only insofar as it adheres to positively stated rules. In the context of the EU, it determines whether decisions taken by the EU institutions or member states have a legal basis in the Treaties. From this perspective, the EU law permits or does not permit a given action. Notably, an action must be clearly specified in EU primary law to be taken by EU institutions or member states, especially in the context of differentiated integration. Given the current state of EU law and CJEU case law, the doctrine of implied competence has no basis in this area. Social justification refers to the citizens’ belief in legitimacy (‘Legitimitätsglaube’) (Weber, Citation1964). The higher the support of a polity, its politics or single policies, the better political rule can be vindicated socially. In contrast to Føllesdal (Citation2004) and Wimmel (Citation2009), we restrict our analysis to the citizens´ attitudes in terms of opinion polls and neglect their compliance with political rules since we regard the cognitive level causally prior to the behavioural level. Compliance constitutes the link between citizens` attitudes and its effects on the political order. Political justification relies on shared values, the adherence to which is widely regarded as a duty for community members. The more these values resonate among community members, the more imperative their implications for political action are in following norms and principles. An unequivocal and repeated breach of such norms or principles has severe ramifications for the collective identity and its cohesion (Mehlhausen, Citation2015). In the context of European integration, the value arguably most debated has been the EU’s democratic nature. Moreover, any evaluation of legitimacy must state its legitimacy standard. Evaluating the EU`s democratic legitimacy depends on whether we compare it to international organisations, nation states or conceptions of democracy (Wimmel, Citation2009, pp. 192–194). We propose adopting two normative standards to analyse how far European integration can be justified. Normative intergovernmentalism rests on the notion of states` sovereignty being the foundation of international organisations. Its application to the European Union can be justified by the fact that member states are its constituents as ‘masters of the treaties’. Beyond the nation state, governments are seen as bearers of democratic legitimacy since public discourses, election campaigns and collective identities are predominantly shaped within nation states (Scharpf, Citation1999, Citation2004). Normative supranationalism considers citizens and, thus, popular sovereignty as the ultimate source of democratic legitimacy. European citizenship and the supremacy of EU law serve as arguments for applying such a cosmopolitan approach to the EU (Eriksen, Citation2019, pp. 163–186). In our analysis, we will adopt both standards to assess the legal, social and political justification of DI. We proceed in this order since European integration – in contrast to revolutionary constitutionalisation – has been initiated by EU treaties (legal dimension), instilling incrementally a weak European collective identity (social dimension) and eventually raising normative questions of its legitimation (political dimension). Although these three sources of legitimacy are presented separately for analytical clarity, they are interdependent in practice. 3.1. Legal sources of legitimacy When defining legal justification, we follow the concept of integration through law (ITL), according to which law is perceived both as an instrument and subject of European integration (Byberg, Citation2017; Mac Amhlaigh, Citation2012). In the first dimension, the EU legal system consists of the EU Treaties and the case-law developed by the Court of Justice of the European Union (CJEU). ITL propels European integration through common legal rules and fundamental principles, e.g. the principle of direct effect or the principle of primacy of EU law. In the second dimension, the emphasis is put on national legal systems subject to harmonisation coordinated by a central authority, e.g. the European Commission. We argue that if any mode of differentiation shall be justifiable within the EU legal order, it must be based on the EU primary law. Legal justification, defined as such, is inextricably intertwined with the notion of the uniformity of EU law. On the one hand, this principle envisions that the EU constitutes a new legal order, separate from international law (judgement of 5 Feb. 1963, C-26/62, EU:C:1963:1), establishing its basis for action. Accordingly, integration is governed by the EU Treaties and can only derive justification from them. On the other hand, the principle of uniformity obliges the national courts and the public administrations of member states to disapply any domestic provisions contrary to EU law (judgement of 9.03.1978, Simmenthal SpA., EU:C:1978:49). This is of profound significance for the existence of the EU as a legal system, which must be uniform and equally applied in all member states. In addition to guaranteeing the effectiveness of EU law, legal uniformity entails the principle of equality of member states, since all shall set aside national legislation, which might prevent EU law from having full force and effect. Accordingly, each member state has the same rights and obligations under the Treaties and cannot derogate from their enforcement. From a legal perspective, differentiation is thus justified only insofar it does not, in the long term, undermine the uniformity of EU law and equality of member states and EU citizens. Moreover – based on art. 20 (1) TEU – we claim that any differentiation instrument must aim to further the objectives of the Union, protect its interests and reinforce its integration process. The legal basis for DI is mainly contained in the primary law. In particular, the Treaties lay down clear conditions for member states that wish to pursue it through the mechanism of enhanced cooperation (art. 326-334 TFEU). First, it is permitted only within the shared competences of the EU. Second, it is approved by the EU institutions and must not undermine key EU policies (e.g. the competition law or the freedoms of the internal market). Third, to avoid long-term fragmentation, enhanced cooperation must remain open to all member states. On the other hand, primary law also recognises individual opt-outs, which exclude a member state from selected policy areas (e.g. the euro area). These are always subject to intergovernmental negotiations. As such, they should not be regarded as the guiding logic of European integration but are simply documenting the exceptions to the rule. The central tenets of a multi-speed Europe are legally justified within the current EU legal framework. In theory, forms of cooperation between member states based on this ideal type are permissible under the Treaties as long as they do not undermine the uniformity of EU law and the equality of member states. Regarding these principles, enhanced cooperation provides for temporary differentiation in the application of the laws established within its framework, provided that the project is inclusive and fosters uniform integration in the long term. Europe à la carte, on the other hand, stands in contrast to the principles of legal uniformity and equality of member states. First, it is difficult to imagine that a uniform application of EU law is upheld when the Union is divided into numerous islands of integration. Second, if member states are allowed to opt in and out of common policies, there is no equality before EU law between them, as each has different rights and obligations. Even though there is some manifestation of this vision in the primary law in the form of opt-outs, these should be merely regarded as a mechanism of last resort to break serious political stalemates during treaty negotiations. As all member states have agreed in the Treaties to continue the process of creating an ever-closer union, the pick-and-choose approach has no legal justification as a general instrument of differentiation. Adherence to the doctrine of uniform interpretation and application of EU law has a profound effect on the functioning of the EU and its member states, and on the legal status of their citizens. In general, the more uniform the application of EU law, the better the protection of citizens’ rights under it. Moreover, a common understanding of EU law in the member states increases legal certainty for EU citizens, as it is possible to predict how national authorities across Europe interpret it. Since the concept of a multi-speed Europe is based on the premise that uniform application of EU law is the ultimate goal, it has a much higher justification from the perspective of the legal status of EU citizens than Europe à la carte. Theoretically, even though the scope of application of EU law enshrining citizens’ rights may slightly differ across the EU due to the varying participation of member states in multi-speed projects, they all still participate in core EU policies (e.g. the internal market) and ultimately aim for a homogeneous EU. It does not mean, however, that the ideal type of a multi-speed Europe fits perfectly into the logic of the existing Treaties. Instead, its acceptance arises from the need to find a compromise between EU principles and political realities in the member states. In contrast, the completion of a Europe à la carte would arguably lead to a differentiation of the legal status of EU citizens depending on their country of origin, e.g. the freedom of movement applying only to nationals of certain member states. In addition, this finalité conception may significantly decrease the legal certainty of EU citizens, as there is little or no common denominator between member states in the application of EU law. It would, therefore, be difficult for citizens to anticipate the outcome of a legal dispute concerning their rights in different national jurisdictions within the EU. Therefore, the answer to the question of whether DI is legally justified is highly theoretical and speculative. Regarding Europe à la carte, we do not find any direct justification in the EU primary law for this finalité conception. It contradicts the EU principles of uniform integration, which guarantees a coherent legal system, ensuring equal rights and obligations of all member states and EU citizens. The pursuit of such an approach would entail a substantial revision of the Treaties. In contrast, the concept of a multi-speed Europe respects the uniformity of EU law and equality of member states and EU citizens in the long term. Nonetheless, even multi-speed Europe requires vigilant legal oversight to prevent permanent deviations from uniformity and to ensure compliance with Article 20 TEU objectives. In addition, some multi-speed projects have already been initiated under the Treaty-based procedure of enhanced cooperation (e.g. concerning the divorce law, patents and the financial transaction tax). On the other hand, any of the scenarios do not fit into the logic of the existing Treaties, as uniform integration is the preferred mode. 3.2. Social sources of legitimacy Social justification refers to the citizens’ approval of political rule by their democratically elected representatives. In a democracy, political decisions are expected to broadly reflect the citizens’ preferences by means of free and fair elections, channels of direct democracy, and a high responsiveness of political representatives. Further European integration is widely accepted to hinge on public support (Hobolt & de Vries, Citation2016 Leuffen et al., Citation2020;). The social justification of EU differentiation raises the question to what extent its citizens approve of differentiation. Nevertheless, we need to specify the model of differentiation we refer to and the exact group of people we address when speaking of citizens. On the one hand, outcomes of opinion polls vary considerably depending on the specific differentiation concept and wording applied (Schüssler et al., Citation2021, p. 19; Stahl, Citation2021). On the other hand, we might address either EU citizens, regardless of their national affiliation, or EU member citizens in terms of state people. In short, we may apply either normative intergovernmentalism on the attitudes of EU member states` citizens or normative supranationalism on the dispositions of EU citizens, each time distinguishing between the competing models of multi-speed Europe and Europe à la carte. Normative intergovernmentalism focuses on EU member states’ people, whose national representatives are held accountable by their electorate. Approval rates for multi-speed Europe vary across space and time. A positive perception of differentiation is consistently and substantially much higher among Northern than Southern member states. Based on Eurobarometer 86.1 fielded in September and October 2016 (Leuffen et al., Citation2020, p. 9; similar Schüssler et al., Citation2021, p. 17; Stahl, Citation2021, p. 10f.), we observe that support for DI among citizens in Southern Europe is about 21 percentage points lower than in Northern Europe and remains largely stable even when testing against individual-level covariates. The concept of Europe à la carte is more controversial among EU member states. Attitudes among citizens in EU member states vary considerably, with no apparent pattern between Southern and Northern member states and net contributors and recipients. For example, in their analysis of eight EU member states, Schüssler et al. (Citation2021, p. 12) find that in Germany and Ireland citizens disapprove of such a pick-and-choose approach while those in Denmark, Netherlands, Poland, Greece, France and Italy are supportive. Similarly, Anna Stahl (Citation2021, p. 10) sees Southern member states divided on the possibility of building coalitions of the willing. Which implications does this have for the social justification of differentiation? The regional cleavage regarding multi-speed Europe correlates with the divide between EU budget net contributors and recipients and is likely to be the result of the Eurozone crisis (Leuffen et al., Citation2020, p. 2). Should such tensions occur due to citizens’ anxiety about being left behind or permanently discriminated (Schüssler et al., Citation2021, p. 19), the EU could take appropriate measures to alleviate such concerns. If an asynchronous approach is taken simply due to economic asymmetries, redistributive funds could help those member states less off to swiftly catch up with the avant-garde. This could lead to higher public support for (differentiated) integration in these states. In contrast, Europe à la carte likely drive a wedge between member states. A systemically applied pick-and-choose approach would hardly be acceptable as a modus vivendi for European integration in key policy fields. Not only is it hard to discern any patterns regarding which political measures might be addressed to raise public support. Also, resistance appears to be of rather principled nature. Schüssler et al. (Citation2021, p. 13) argue that Germany’s disapproval seems to be the expression of ‘a greater normative-cultural preference towards a unified Europe’. And yet, if sparsely granted, opt-outs or pre-ins could serve as a (permanent or temporary) compromise between full membership and no membership and bring those in favour and against further integration closer again (Schraff & Schimmelfennig, Citation2020). Normative supranationalism considers EU citizens to be the only constituents of the EU (Eriksen, Citation2019). Most EU citizens are in favour of either model of differentiation. While approval rates for multi-speed Europe have mostly reached an absolute majority in the past years (Leuffen et al., Citation2020, p. 8), support for Europe à la carte remains only slightly short of such a majority, with 19 per cent more supporters than opponents (Schüssler et al., Citation2021, p. 13). Leuffen et al. (Citation2020) used Eurobarometer data from 2011 and 2017 and Schüssler et al. (Citation2021) present own data from early 2021. Schüssler et al. (Citation2021) use the term two-tier Europe but it does not differ semantically from our understanding of multi-speed Europe. Yet, this does not imply that differentiation is undisputed among EU citizens. On the one hand, every differentiation model is associated with diverging expectations regarding further integration. Proponents of multi-speed Europe display integrationist dispositions, while advocates of Europe à la carte take a nationalist stance and reject further integration (Schüssler et al., Citation2021, p. 15; De Blok & de Vries, Citation2023). The choice for specific forms of differentiation appear to mainly reflect integration preferences: Those critical of further integration endorse Europe à la carte as the model in which each member state is allowed to stay behind. Those favouring multi-speed Europe would see it as a compromise of deeper integration and a guarantee for a uniform structure in the long term. In other words, if differentiation is perceived as the only way forward, in a multi-speed Europe divisions would be only temporary. There is no broad majority for differentiation per se, but there are two camps opposed to each other with different finalité conceptions of European integration (De Blok & de Vries, Citation2023, p. 19). On the other hand, the support for each differentiation model is associated with certain ideological dispositions. Leuffen et al. (Citation2020, p. 11) argue that economic liberals, who prefer freedom of choice and autonomy over social equality and solidarity, tend to support differentiation, whereas economic egalitarians are generally more sceptical regarding an asynchronous approach. Schüssler et al. (Citation2021, p. 15) further qualify this by distinguishing between alternative models. They find that economic liberals prefer à la carte over multi-speed Europe. In contrast, economic egalitarians tend to endorse the latter. In sum, the high support of both models suggests that differentiation is generally accepted as an appropriate strategy to deal with stalemates in the EU. Nevertheless, EU citizens know the consequences of alternative forms of differentiation. In the long run, public support for differentiation will likely reflect opposing views on certain values and EU finalité notions. The answer to the question of which effects further differentiation would have on the attitude of citizens in the EU must be nuanced. Depending on their nationality and ideological beliefs, support for differentiation varies across the competing models. Regardless of the evaluation standard, multi-speed Europe is expected to cause less potential for conflict than Europa à la carte due to higher overall approval rates, smaller variance in public support and presumably merely temporal national divisions due to the Eurozone crisis. Even though there is a relative majority for both differentiation models when juxtaposed to uniform integration, it seems likely that any form of differentiation would deepen the frontlines between proponents and opponents of further integration. Therefore, differentiation is about to release centrifugal rather than centripetal effects for the future of European integration and may enhance politicisation regarding the future of the EU rather than reduce it (De Blok & de Vries, Citation2023, p. 5). 3.3 Political sources of legitimacy The political justification of differentiation raises the question of whether DI provides plausible arguments for justifying the political order of the European Union. The values it commits to are enshrined in article 2 of the Treaty on the European Union. In the following, we focus on democracy as one of the EU fundamental values. In line with Fritz Scharpf (Citation1999, Citation2004) we distinguish between an input and an output dimension of political justification (see also Schimmelfennig et al., Citation2023a). The input dimension indicates the extent to which the outcome of a political decision matches the citizens’ preferences. In a democracy, this is usually ensured by direct and indirect participation, i.e. through referenda and elections. In order to generate well-informed and reflected preferences in terms of an enlightened understanding of the consequences of a policy (Dahl, Citation1989, p. 307) citizens have to engage in public debates before they vote for the adoption of a policy or a representative. However, should individual preferences be disregarded through majority voting, only the prevalence of a collective identity might convince those being outvoted to accept the decision. For this, individual preferences need to aim at a collective good so that a willingness to act in solidarity evolves (Scharpf, Citation2004, p. 8). The output dimension concerns the requirements of those in power. First, in liberal democracies, the prevention of an abuse of power is guaranteed through checks and balances. Due to a high number of veto players involved, power concentration and, thus, the abolition of democracy itself becomes unlikely. Second, the elected representatives provide a problem-solving capacity to enhance security and welfare (Scharpf, Citation2004, p. 8). The effectiveness of decision-making in a political order indicates the number of social goods the political system can generate. So, what effects could differentiation have on the EU's input and output dimensions? At first glance, it enhances the EU’s political justification in both respects compared to a situation, where no differentiation is allowed. On the one hand, the renunciation from a uniform approach appears in specific policy fields to be a fair solution when the heterogeneity of collective preferences leads to stalemates (von Ondarza, Citation2013, p. 15). Differentiation could serve as a means to respect the preferences of both those member states, which want to move forward, and those, which do not. On the other hand, the output should increase for the avant-garde, which move ahead. It might convince those left behind to catch up in due time. Therefore, the effectiveness of a political order should increase due to differentiation as a mutually acceptable means to overcome stalemates, particularly in crises with high expectations of any agreement. Nonetheless, asynchronous integration comes at a price. Irrespective of the specific differentiation model, an asynchronous approach has its pitfalls. European integration can be understood as a means to manage externalities as a product of structural interdependence between its member states (Eriksen, Citation2019, Citation2022; Lord, Citation2015, Citation2021). From a club theoretical perspective, the European Union is meant to provide club goods to which only its members are entitled. In contrast to private goods, club goods are only partially rival but differ from pure public goods in that they are divisible and excludible (see Cornes & Sandler, Citation1986 Olson, Citation1965;). Producing club goods likely generate negative externalities for non-members who are denied access. With regard to the input dimension, asynchronous integration might thus cause a serious breach of democratic self-rule when negative externalities force member states, which do not participate in a differentiated policy field, to adopt rules they cannot shape. A politically differentiated EU deprives some of the citizens of their right to co-determine decisions, the effects of which they cannot avoid. Dominance occurs when the citizens do not have equal opportunity to wield political influence; when they are subjected to laws they cannot amend. (Eriksen, Citation2019, p. 122) If freedom means non-domination (Pettit, Citation1997; Mehlhausen, Citation2015, p. 144f.), an incongruence between those who are governed and those who govern violates the very core of modern democracy. Eriksen (Citation2019, p. 127; see also Keleman, Citation2021, p. 678) points out that dominance is twofold: Not only is there a lack of correspondence between citizens and decision-makers (input congruence), but also is there a gap between the territory that rules are made for and the territory within which they de facto apply (output congruence).Dominance is even more concerning if member states cannot join the avant-garde. Such ‘discriminatory differentiation’ can be deemed unfair in comparison to ‘exemptive differentiation’ (Schimmelfennig, Citation2014), when member states do not want to join: For John Rawls (Citation1971), claims can be deemed fair, if they are based on prior decisions and not circumstances (Kymlicka, Citation1990). Within the European Union, the unequal distribution of resources, particularly the structural interdependence, are sound arguments for mutual obligations including compensation (Beitz, Citation1979, pp. 141–142). For example, Romania and Bulgaria are not allowed to join Schengen as they are not seen as sufficiently prepared to fulfil the accession criteria (discriminatory differentiation). In contrast, the Danish population voted down the Maastricht Treaty in 1992 and accepted it a year later once Denmark opted out of the EMU (exemptive differentiation). It was their own volition to prefer the externalities of staying outside over EMU obligations. If member states even prefer multi-speed Europe to opt out (see Jensen and Slapin, Citation2012), however, negative externalities are justified. There are also dilemmas regarding the output dimension. European integration also causes positive externalities that allows non-members to avoid participation costs through free-riding, e.g. when not participating in punitive actions against third actors. For example, the decision of eleven member states to introduce a finance transaction tax as enhanced cooperation might be advantageous for member states staying outside since this increases their competitiveness in the capital market. Even more concerning are the consequences of the vicious circle of enhancing the output at the expense of the input dimension: The more the EU’s political structure is scattered due to vertical differentiation (polity), the less European citizens understand its decision-making process (politics) and develop a collective identity. This further reduces the chances of ambitious political projects (policies) such as Social Europe, which will produce winners and losers and necessitate solidarity among EU citizens. Beyond these considerations regarding the process of differentiation as such, each specific model of differentiation is linked to specific challenges of political justification. Multi-speed Europe ensures that divisions in the EU due to differentiation are merely temporary. It is the reason why the input dimension remains comparably high: Both elections to the European Parliament and forms of direct democracy, such as European Citizens Initiatives, are based on the premise of the equality of EU citizens. As long as the pre-ins catch up with the avant-garde in due time, differentiation should be a manageable obstacle to developing a European collective identity, since the eventual goal of unity remains. However, the postponement of the obligation to implement a certain policy leads with increasing time to a potential generational conflict among those states expected to catch up with the avant-garde. First, in these states future generations are deprived of the right of self-determination, since decisions of previous governments bind them. For example, the ‘pre-ins’ such as Poland, Czechia and Hungary accepted the full implementation of the EMU as a condition to enter the EU in 2003, but have not yet introduced the Euro. The agreement legally binds the younger generations in these countries, while those in other member states can stay outside (Denmark) or leave the Eurozone (Euro countries) without contradicting binding law. Second, the longer the temporal gap between the decision to join a particular policy and the moment of accession persists, the more severe becomes dominance by either the pre-ins or the avant-garde. On the one hand, if the avant-garde is allowed to deepen a policy further without the consent of the pre-ins (exclusive differentiation), those states later entering the policy must accept an institutional structure they had never had the opportunity to shape. In 2011, Poland, as a pre-in and rotating EU Presidency, was forced to leave the Ecofin Council when it was to decide how to deal in the Euro crisis (Gostyńska & Ondarza, Citation2012). On the other hand, entitling the pre-ins with the same rights as the avant-garde (inclusive differentiation) seems unfair as long as there is no guarantee that the pre-ins will eventually join the Eurozone. In Poland, for instance, neither the government nor the majority of the opposition plans to introduce the Euro soon (Mehlhausen et al., Citation2024). In such a scenario, the pre-ins’ full participation could eventually lead to their permanent control of the avant-garde. With regard to the output, the competences of EU institutions are not undermined through differentiation and provide a high level of checks and balances. The production of social goods is likely to be higher than in uniform integration since member states reluctant or unprepared to take part in the integration of a policy field might refrain from lodging a veto if they can postpone the costs of immediate accession into the distant future (see Plümper et al., Citation2007). Yet, unanimity on common goals is still likely to produce compromises based on the smallest common denominator, since the hesitant member states have to accept that they will adopt the policy at some time in the future and might face negative externalities in the meantime. Therefore, stalemates might not be as likely as in uniform integration in this model but are still probable. In sum, as long as the member states left behind catch up quickly with the avant-garde, this ideal type has little impact on the EU as a polity. However, the potential of differentiation to enhance the EU’s effectiveness in dealing with the heterogeneity of preferences in an EU-27 is limited by the requirement to find consensus among all EU member states on common integration goals. Europe à la carte: Due to its flexibility in forming coalitions of the willing to integrate any policy regardless of other member states, the main promise of this ideal type is to adjust the EU’s institutional structure to the individual preferences of its member states. Therefore, the key incentive is to maximise the EU’s output by enhancing the production of social goods as long as the political will for it among a number of member states prevails. This, in turn, allows for a high input by ensuring that any member state may stay outside to guarantee that the preferences of member states will be respected. Still, such a pick-and-choose approach severely affects the EU as a polity. Concerning its input dimension, participation in referendums and the elections to the European Parliament lose its justifying power, the lower the congruence between EU citizenry and the territory within which policies in such differentiation mode would apply. Moreover, the more scattered the institutional structure mirroring the heterogeneous preferences of EU member states, the less likely it is that EU citizens will develop a European collective identity. Regarding the EU’s output, cherry-picking limits the scope of integration and induces instability. On the one hand, the lack of European solidarity (Kleger & Mehlhausen, Citation2013) remains an obstacle to integrating ‘sensitive’ or redistributive policy fields, such as social, labour or tax policies. On the other hand, differentiation reduces checks and balances. The decreased representativeness of the European Parliament in a growing number of incongruent islands of integration facilitates intergovernmental decision-making and, thus, a dominance of member states’ preferences. Not only does this reduce the number of potential veto players, but it also undermines the stability of the EU when rival coalitions struggle over power in an increasingly fragmented EU (Eriksen, Citation2019, p. 152). In other words, the political structure of Europe à la carte tends to reproduce itself as it cements the trend towards a rather loose and regulative international organisation rather than a federal polity in the making. 4. Conclusions The article has aimed to unearth the legitimacy resources and deficits of DI from a legal, social and political perspective. Our findings have also implications for policymakers. Any form of DI must remain exceptional, treaty-based, and oriented toward eventual uniformity to safeguard the legal certainty of EU citizens and the integrity of EU law. In general, any differentiation allows compromises, which adjust the institutional structure to the disparate interests of EU member states. However, such deviations from uniform integration are likely to produce new challenges for European integration. From the legal vantage point, European integration can only be deemed legitimate if it respects the uniformity of EU law and the equality of member states and EU citizens. While multi-speed Europe generally satisfies these criteria in the long-term, Europe à la carte does not. From a sociological perspective, differentiation not only makes the EU more opaque but is also highly controversial. Even if an absolute or nearly absolute majority of EU citizens approve of multi-speed Europe and Europe à la carte respectively, citizens appear to be divided over the specific model rather than supportive of DI as general. We assume that ongoing DI will cause a growing rift among EU citizens. From a political perspective, the democratic legitimacy would only be enhanced with increasing differentiation at first glance due to a better match between national preferences and further integration as well as a provision of additional social goods. In the long run, however, Europe à la carte, would undermine European solidarity, prevent cooperation in more ambitious policy fields with substantive redistributive effects and entail free-riding and negative externalities. Even multi-speed Europe could cause such effects and severe intergenerational frictions within pre-in member states, the longer the delay prevails. From the perspective of normative intergovernmentalism, which assumes that the member states are the EU`s constituencies, Europe à la carte appears to be preferable. Such an approach to European integration would, par excellence, mirror the national preferences of EU member states. Given the decreasing representativeness of supranational bodies, intergovernmental decision-making would appear ever more legitimate in a loose and fluid confederation of European states. In the long run, however, it remains to be seen whether particular national interests can indeed be pursued in such a political setting with low legal certainty, little predictability due to high volatility of coalitions and shrinking bargaining power on the global scene. From the perspective of normative supranationalism, which considers the EU’s citizens as its constituencies, only multi-speed Europe would ensure legal certainty in the long term, the representativeness of supranational bodies and the perspective of continuous integration. A crucial prerequisite would be that the temporal deviation from uniform integration does not take decades but rather a few years at best and that the EU takes adequate measures to return as soon as possible to uniform integration by assisting member states to join in. Otherwise, social support might dwindle, undermining the implicit vision of a federal state in the making. In this regard, a promising approach represents the theory of demoicracy (Bellamy et al., Citation2022 Cheneval & Schimmelfennig, Citation2013;), which proposes a third, synthetic standard to assess the legitimacy of the European Union. Whichever model the EU adopts, it faces a dilemma: When aspiring multi-speed Europe, further integration might nurture the creation of a solid European identity, which is a prerequisite for substantial progress in European integration. However, negotiations among member states would be bound to be based on the smallest common denominator. The alternative of a Europe à la carte promises more flexibility and a growing number of multilateral initiatives. In the long run, however, this undermines the very basis for any ambitious initiatives. Moreover, even though we treat each strand of justification separately, we expect various spill-over effects. We hypothesise two scenarios. On the one hand, from the perspective of normative intergovernmentalism we might expect a virtuous circle: a better match of member states citizens (political legitimacy) could lead to their increasing support (social legitimacy), causing centripetal effects on increasing integration. On the other hand, from the vantage point of normative supranationalism, a vicious circle seems also possible: decreasing legal certainty (legal legitimacy) and transparency of decision-making (political legitimacy) might have an adverse influence on EU citizens’ support (social legitimacy) with centrifugal impact on increasing disintegration (Malang & Schraff, Citation2023). Unlike prior work focusing narrowly on legal permissibility or political feasibility, this article highlights the interplay of normative standards shaping the legitimacy of DI in EU law and practice. More empirical and interdisciplinary research is however needed to ascertain what dynamic DI unleashes in the EU in which policy fields (Schimmelfennig & Thomas, Citation2023; Vergioglou & Hegewald, Citation2023). The two extreme alternatives of multi-speed Europe and Europe à la carte constitute fragmented forms of traditional finalité conceptions, i.e. either a state-like polity (United States of Europe) or a flexible international organisation (Europe of Nations). Multi-speed Europe and federal visions share the political objectives and the need to subordinate national interests to European ones, with the former allowing for more flexibility. Europe à la carte and confederal finalité conceptions share the idea of intergovernmental decision-making based on national sovereignty and unanimity but differ in their horizontal extension. Consequently, pro-European parties favour multi-speed Europe, whereas Eurosceptics prefer Europe à la carte (Mehlhausen et al., Citation2024; Moland, Citation2024). DI seems to be unable to overcome profound discrepancies of finalité conceptions among member states as the tensions between national autonomy and European governance remains (see Lord, Citation2021). Rather, DI postpones them while creating new challenges such as an intergenerational democracy deficit. Even though allowing short-term solutions in deadlocked negotiations, further challenges arise from a legal, social and political perspective. In sum, DI should be regarded as a means of last resort and at best a temporary deviation from uniform integration. For those in favour of normative intergovernmentalism, Europe à la carte would be one among many forms of accepted international cooperation. In contrast, those preferring normative supranationalism might seek instruments to use multi-speed Europe to promote uniform integration, e.g. by introducing certain funds setting incentives and providing resources for those states, which are supposed to catch up. For further EU enlargements, DI has also significant implications. Candidate states are likely to prefer uniform integration since the full accession is associated with the complete set of rights. Whichever DI model prevails within the EU, candidate states have less incentives to adopt the acquis communautaire since they are excluded from a number of social goods. Multi-speed Europe entails the promise of joining these at a certain time, while Europe à la carte does not. Whichever DI model the EU promotes, it is certain to impact on the EU's own constitutional shape. AcknowledgementsThis paper is part of the research project ‘Germany and Poland in a Differentiated European Union’ funded by the German-Polish Science Foundation.Disclosure statementNo potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).Additional informationFundingThis work was supported by The German-Polish Science Foundation.Notes1 We use the terms legitimacy and justification interchangeably.References1. Beetham, D. (1991). The legitimation of power. Macmillan.2. Beitz, C. R. (1979). Political theory and international relations. Princeton University Press.3. Bellamy, R., Sandra, K., & Lorimer, M. (2022). Flexible Europe. Differentiated integration, fairness, and democracy.4. Byberg, R. (2017). The history of the integration through law project: Creating the academic expression of a constitutional legal vision for Europe. German Law Journal, 18(6), 1531–1556.5. 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Abstract The United Nations (UN), eighty years after its creation, faces a structural crisis that reveals the tension between justice and power. This essay examines how the design of the Security Council, with its veto power, perpetuates an unequal order inherited from 1945 and limits the effectiveness of the collective security system. Through theoretical perspectives — Morgenthau, Schmitt, Habermas, Falk, and Strange — it is shown that international law remains subordinated to power interests, that proclaimed universality masks hegemonies, and that global economic dynamics lie beyond institutional reach. Cases such as Kosovo, Libya, Gaza, and Myanmar illustrate the paralysis and delegitimization of the Responsibility to Protect. Considering this scenario, two paths emerge: reforming multilateralism with limits on the veto and greater representativeness or resigning to a fragmented order. The conclusion is clear: without adaptation, the UN will become a symbolic forum, making chronic its inability to respond to current challenges. Dag Hammarskjöld, the second Secretary-General of the UN, warned: “The United Nations was not created to take us to heaven, but to save us from hell.” [1] Eighty years after its founding, that promise seems to falter in the face of multiple wars, such as those in Gaza, Ukraine, Sudan, or Myanmar, among many others, with a sense of ineffectiveness, loss of prestige, and collective impotence being perceived: does the UN no longer fulfill the role it once assumed? At first glance, blame falls solely on the nature of the institution itself. But the root of the problem seems to lie not only in New York, but also in the main capitals of the world. The UN is nothing more than what States allow it to be. Its effectiveness depends on the will of those who comprise it; and the uncomfortable truth is that the great powers prefer to limit its scope rather than cede parcels of sovereignty. As John Rawls pointed out, a just international system requires that peoples accept common principles of justice. [2] Today, by contrast, it is a constant that collective interest systematically gives way to particular interest. The Security Council is the most evident symbol of this contradiction. It remains anchored in post-war logic, with five permanent members clinging to the privilege of the veto. That power, already met with skepticism in San Francisco in 1945, turned into a tool of paralysis. As Canada denounced in 2022, the veto is “as anachronistic as it is undemocratic” and has prevented responses to atrocities. [3] Aristotle said that “justice is equality, but only for equals.” [4] In the UN, the Assembly proclaims sovereign equality, while the Council denies it in practice: some States remain “more equal” than others. The UN Charter articulates its backbone in a few luminous rules: the prohibition of the use of force (Art. 2.4), non-intervention in internal affairs (Art. 2.7), and, as a counterbalance, the collective security system of Chapter VII (Arts. 39–42), which grants the Security Council the authority to determine threats to peace and authorize coercive measures. In parallel, Art. 51 preserves the right of self-defense against an “armed attack.” [5] This normative triangle — prohibition, collective security, defense — is the promise of a world governed by law and not by force, but it must be put into practice. In the 1990s, a dilemma arose: what to do when a State massacres its own population or is unable to prevent it? The political-legal response was the Responsibility to Protect (R2P), affirmed at the 2005 World Summit (paras. 138–139). [6] Its architecture is sequential: (I) each State has the primary responsibility to protect its population against genocide, war crimes, ethnic cleansing, and crimes against humanity; (II) the international community must help States fulfill that responsibility; and (III) if a State manifestly fails, the international community, through the Security Council, may adopt collective measures — preferably peaceful ones; as a last resort, coercive — case by case and in accordance with the Charter. Properly understood, R2P is not a license to intervene; it is a duty to protect framed within International Law. The historical record shows both its necessity and its perverse effects. Kosovo (1999) inaugurated, without authorization from the Council, the narrative of “humanitarian intervention,” based on a supposed “legitimate illegality.” [7] The precedent left a dangerous standard: humanitarian purposes invoked to circumvent the hard core of the Charter. Libya (2011) seemed to be the “ideal case” of R2P: the Council authorized “all necessary measures” to protect civilians. [8] However, the shift toward regime change eroded the trust of Russia and China, which since then have blocked robust resolutions on Syria, hollowing out the effectiveness of R2P. [9] The lesson is bitter: when protection is perceived as a vehicle of hegemony, the norm is delegitimized, and the veto becomes reflexive. Gaza and Myanmar display the other face of paralysis. In Gaza, the Council’s inability to impose sustainable ceasefires — despite patterns of hostilities that massively impact the civilian population — has shifted the debate to the General Assembly and the International Court of Justice through interstate actions and provisional measures. [10] In Myanmar, the genocide of the Rohingya mobilized condemnations, sanctions, and proceedings before the International Court of Justice (hereinafter, ICJ), [11] but did not trigger a coercive response from the Council. R2P exists on paper; its implementation is captive to the veto. Thus, the “right to have rights” that Arendt spoke of still depends on geopolitics. [12] History teaches that international law has always been strained by force. Rousseau warned that the strong seek to transform their power into law. [13] That is what the winners of 1945 did by crystallizing their hegemony in the Charter. And so, what Kant dreamed of as perpetual peace remains chained to an unequal order. [14] The UN, more than a republic of law, still seems a field of power. That fragility has opened space for alternatives. The BRICS, for example, have emerged as a heterogeneous bloc that combines the cohesion of historically homogeneous powers such as China and Russia with the diversity of India, Brazil, and South Africa. Paradoxically, their strength lies in articulating that heterogeneity against a common enemy: the concentration of power in the Security Council. [15] In a multipolar world, heterogeneity ceases to be a weakness and becomes a driver of plurality and resistance. The UN crisis is not only about security; it is also economic and distributive. The universalist promise of the Charter (Arts. 1.3 and 55–56, on cooperation for development) coexists with a global financial architecture whose heart beats outside the UN: the IMF and World Bank, designed in Bretton Woods, project a structural power — in Susan Strange’s terms — that conditions public policies, access to liquidity, and investment capacity. [16] The sovereign equality proclaimed in New York becomes blurred when the asymmetry of weighted voting in financial institutions (and the conditionality of credit) makes some States more “equal” than others. This is not a recent claim. Since the 1960s, the United Nations Conference on Trade and Development and, later, the Declaration on a New International Economic Order (1974), sought to correct structural problems such as the deterioration of terms of trade and the dependence between “center” and “periphery” countries, as Prebisch had pointed out. [17] However, the results were limited: ECOSOC lacks teeth, UNDP mobilizes cooperation but fails to change the rules of the system, and the 2030 Agenda sets important goals but without mandatory enforcement mechanisms. [18] The pandemic and the climate crisis have further worsened these inequalities, highlighting problems such as over-indebtedness, the insufficiency in the reallocation of Special Drawing Rights (SDRs), and climate financing that often arrives late and under unsuitable conditions. In this scenario, the New Development Bank of the BRICS emerges, seeking to open a path toward greater financial autonomy for developing countries. [19] International economic justice is the reverse side of collective security. Without fiscal space or technological transfer, the Global South remains trapped between development promises and adjustment demands. The UN has political legitimacy to outline a Global Economic Council (as proposed by the Stiglitz Commission in 2009) [20] to coordinate debt, international taxation, and global public goods, but it currently lacks normative muscle. The result is fragmentation: fiscal minilateralism, climate clubs, and value chains that distribute risks to the South and rents to the North. The solution does not lie simply in “more aid,” but in prudent rules such as: (I) a multilateral debt restructuring mechanism under UN auspices; [21] (II) effective international taxation on intangibles and the digital economy; [22] (III) binding compliance with the loss and damage fund in climate matters; [23] and (IV) a reform of quotas in IFIs that reflects the real weight of emerging economies. [24] Without constitutionalizing — even gradually — this economic agenda, sovereign equality will remain an empty liturgy and the discontent of the Global South a political fuel that erodes the UN from within. The truth is that the United Nations of 1945 no longer responds to the challenges of 2025. As the president of Brazil recently said: “The UN of 1945 is worth nothing in 2023.” [25] If States do not recover the founding spirit — placing collective interest above particular ones — the organization will remain prisoner of the veto and the will of a few. The question, then, is not whether the UN works, but whether States really want it to work. Taking the above into account, this essay will analyze the UN crisis from three complementary dimensions. First, the theoretical and philosophical framework that allows us to understand the tension between power and law will be addressed, showing how different authors highlight the structural roots of this contradiction. Second, historical episodes and current examples will be reviewed to illustrate the paralysis and democratic deficit of the organization. Finally, possible scenarios for the future will be projected, engaging in the exercise of evaluating the minimum reforms that could revitalize multilateralism in contrast to the alternative of critical global fragmentation. Considering all together, the argument is that the UN finds itself trapped between justice without power and power without justice, and that its survival depends on its ability to adapt to an international order radically different from that of 1945. I. The contradiction between power and law: Hans Morgenthau and political realism To understand the paralysis of the UN, it is useful to turn to Hans Morgenthau, a pioneer of realism in international relations. In his work “Politics Among Nations” (1948), he warned that the international order is always mediated by the balance of power and that legal norms only survive to the extent that they coincide with the interests of powerful States. [26] His idea is provocative: international law is not an autonomous order, but a language that powers use so long as it does not contradict their strategic objectives. Applied to the UN, this analysis is clear: the institution reflects less universal ethical commitment and more correlation of historical forces. The Security Council is not a neutral body, but the mirror of the hegemony of 1945, crystallized in Article 27 of the Charter, which enshrines the right of veto. The supposed universality of the UN is subordinated to a mechanism designed precisely to ensure that no action contrary to the superpowers could be imposed. Contemporary critiques confirm Morgenthau’s intuition. When Russia vetoes resolutions on Ukraine, [27] or the United States does the same regarding Gaza, [28] it becomes evident that international justice is suspended in the name of geopolitics. The legal is subordinated to the political. In this sense, the UN crisis is not an accident, but the logical consequence of its design, and what Morgenthau pointed out seventy years ago remains valid: as long as there is no coincidence between law and power, international norms will remain fragile. Political realism helps explain why the UN fails when it is most needed. States continue to act according to their national interests, even when this contradicts the international norms they themselves have subscribed to. The Security Council has become a space where powers project their strategies of influence, blocking collective actions whenever these affect their geopolitical priorities. The war in Ukraine, the invasion of Iraq in 2003, and the inaction in the face of the Rwandan genocide show that international law is applied selectively, reinforcing the idea that rules are valid only when they do not interfere with the power of the strongest. This pattern evidently erodes the legitimacy of the UN in the eyes of societies, because it generates the perception that the organization is incapable of representing the collective interest and, instead, merely reflects the correlation of forces of each historical moment. II. Carl Schmitt and the Myth of Universal Order Another voice that resonates is that of Carl Schmitt, who in “The Nomos of the Earth” (1950) argued that every international legal order arises from a founding political decision, that is, an act of power. [29] For Schmitt, there is no “universal law” that imposes itself; what is presented as universal is, in reality, the crystallization of a particular domain. The UN perfectly embodies this diagnosis. The founding discourse of San Francisco in 1945 spoke of “we the peoples of the United Nations,” [30] but in reality the Charter was written under the predominance of the winners of the Second World War. What was presented as a universal order of peace and security was, in fact, the codification of the Allied hegemony. Schmitt helps explain why the UN has never escaped that original logic. Although the General Assembly proclaims sovereign equality in Article 2 of the Charter, the structure of the Council reproduces the privilege of a few. [31] The international law of the UN appears, in Schmittian terms, as a “nomos” imposed by the winners, not as a true universal community. The consequence is a legitimate deficit that has persisted until today and explains much of the perception of ineffectiveness. The original structure of the UN perpetuates an unequal design that remains in force. The veto privilege is not only a defensive mechanism for the winners of the Second World War, but it has also functioned as a lock — one without keys — that prevents any real evolution of the system. Over eight decades, demands for reform have clashed with the resistance of those who benefit from keeping the rules intact. The contradiction is evident: developing States, which today represent the majority in the General Assembly, lack effective power in the most important decisions on international security. The gap between the universalist discourse of sovereign equality and the hierarchical practice of the Council undermines the credibility of the multilateral order. As long as this tension persists, the UN will hardly be able to become the space of global governance that the world requires more urgently than ever in the 21st century. III. Habermas and the Need for a Deliberative Community In contrast to this pessimism, Jürgen Habermas offers a different perspective. In “The Inclusion of the Other” (1996) and in later essays, he proposed moving toward a “constitutionalization of international law,” understood as the creation of a global normative space in which decisions are not based on force, but on rational deliberation. [32] From this perspective, the UN would be an imperfect embryo of a community of world citizens. The impact of this idea is enormous: it suggests that, beyond current deadlocks, the UN embodies the possibility of transforming power relations into processes of public deliberation. Article 1 of the Charter, which speaks of “maintaining international peace and security” and of “promoting friendly relations among nations,” can be read not only as a political mandate but also as a normative ideal of cosmopolitan coexistence. [33] Criticism of Habermas is evident: his proposal errs on the side of idealism in a world where national security interests remain paramount. However, his contribution is valuable because it allows us to think of the UN not only as a paralyzed body but also as a field of normative struggle. The problem is not only the strength of the vetoes but also the lack of will to transform that space into a true deliberative forum. [34] Thinking of the UN as a deliberative community requires recognizing that its current procedures do not guarantee authentic dialogue. Debate in the General Assembly is often reduced to formal statements, while crucial decisions, as everyone knows, are taken in restricted circles. The lack of effective mechanisms for the participation of non-state actors, such as regional organizations or civil society, further limits the inclusive character of the institution. Genuine deliberation should open spaces where multiple voices can influence decision-making processes, not only through speeches but by building binding consensus. However, the most powerful States fear losing control over the international agenda, which generates a vicious circle: an elitist governance system is maintained that protects privileges, but at the cost of sacrificing legitimacy and effectiveness. Thus, the promise of a deliberative order is reduced to a normative horizon that has not yet been realized. IV. Richard Falk and the Global Democratic Deficit A more recent contribution comes from Richard Falk, jurist and former UN rapporteur, who has insisted on the “democratic deficit” of the international order. In his view, the UN suffers from a structural contradiction: while the Charter proclaims the sovereignty of peoples, in practice it concentrates power in a small club of States. [35] This not only limits its effectiveness but also erodes its legitimacy in the eyes of the peoples of the world. The case of Palestine is emblematic. The General Assembly has repeatedly recognized the right of the Palestinian people to self-determination, but the veto in the Council blocks any effective measure. [36] Falk interprets this as evidence that the UN operates under a “democracy of States” but not under a “democracy of peoples.” The impact is devastating: millions of people perceive the organization not as a guarantor of rights, but as an accomplice to inequality. This leads us to a brief analysis of the International Criminal Court (ICC), born from the Rome Statute (1998), which promised a civilizational breakthrough: that the most serious crimes (“which affect the international community as a whole”) would not go unpunished. [37] Its design is cautious: complementarity (it acts only if the State is unwilling or unable), restricted jurisdiction (genocide, crimes against humanity, war crimes, and — with limits — aggression), and jurisdiction based on territory, nationality, or referral by the Security Council. The two major milestones of the Council — referrals of Darfur (2005) and Libya (2011) —demonstrated both the potential and the limits. There were procedural advances and arrest warrants, but also contested operative clauses and very little cooperation for arrests. [38] The implicit message to the Global South was ambiguous: justice is universal, but its activation depends on the map of alliances in the Council. At the same time, key powers are not parties to the Statute (United States, China, Russia) and yet influence when the Court acts. The result fuels the argument of “winners’ justice” that several African foreign ministries have raised. The Court has tried to rebalance its map: investigations in Afghanistan, Palestine, and Ukraine, as well as arrest warrants against high-ranking authorities in cases of aggression or serious international crimes, have partly disproved the idea of a one-sided persecution. But the Achilles’ heel persists: without State cooperation, there are no executions of warrants; without the Council, there is no activation in key contexts; with the Council, there is a veto. In addition, Article 16 of the Statute allows the Council to suspend investigations for 12 renewable months, a political valve that subordinates the judicial to the geopolitical. [39] Integrating Falk’s critique into this essay makes it possible to highlight that the UN crisis is not only institutional but also democratic. Article 1.2 of the Charter proclaims respect for the principle of equal rights and the self-determination of peoples, but this ideal becomes empty when the veto power systematically contradicts it. [40] The democratic deficit of the UN is not limited to the Security Council but runs through the entirety of its institutional architecture. Developing countries have little influence on global economic governance, despite being the most affected by decisions on debt, trade, or climate financing. Unequal representation in bodies such as the IMF and the World Bank, together with dependence on international cooperation, reproduces relations of subordination that contradict the principles of equality and self-determination. Moreover, world citizenship lacks a real channel of influence: peoples see their demands diluted in state structures that do not always — or almost never — reflect their needs. This divorce between peoples and States turns the UN into an incomplete democracy, where the most vulnerable collective subjects fail to make their voices heard. Overcoming this limitation is essential to restoring the legitimacy of multilateralism. V. Susan Strange and the Geopolitics of the Economy Finally, Susan Strange adds another dimension: the economic one. In “The Retreat of the State” (1996), she argued that power in the contemporary world does not reside only in States, but also in transnational forces — financial markets, corporations, technologies — that escape institutional control. [41] The UN, designed in 1945 under the logic of sovereign States, lacks instruments to govern this new scenario. The impact is evident. While the Security Council is paralyzed in debates over traditional wars, global crises such as climate change, pandemics, or the regulation of artificial intelligence show that real power has shifted toward non-state actors. [42] Strange warns that if international institutions do not adapt to this reality, they risk becoming irrelevant. In this sense, the UN faces not only a problem of veto or representativeness, but also a historical mismatch: it was designed for a world of States and conventional wars, but today we live in a world of transnational interdependencies. The Charter, in its Article 2.7, continues to emphasize non-interference in the internal affairs of States, but this clause seems insufficient to govern global threats that transcend borders. [43] And it is vitally important to note that the global threats of the 21st century do not fit the traditional paradigm of interstate wars that has been preconceived. Challenges such as climate change, pandemics, and technological revolutions pose risks that no State can face alone. However, the UN lacks effective mechanisms to coordinate global responses in these areas. The fragmentation of climate governance, competition for vaccines during the pandemic, and the absence of clear rules to regulate large digital corporations illustrate the magnitude of the challenge. In this context, state sovereignty proves insufficient, and the principle of non-interference becomes obsolete. If the UN does not develop innovative instruments that integrate transnational actors and strengthen multilateral cooperation, it risks becoming a merely declarative forum, incapable of offering concrete solutions to the problems that most affect contemporary humanity — and it is important that these critiques be heard before it is too late. VI. Current Scenarios All the above opens up a momentous dilemma of our time: either we reform multilateralism so that law contains “force,” or we normalize “exception” forever. [44]Scenario A: A minimal but sufficient cosmopolitan reform. A critical group of States —supported by civil society and epistemic communities — agrees to self-limit the veto in situations of mass atrocities (ACT-type codes of conduct), promotes the expansion of the Council with some permanent presence of the Global South (India, Brazil, Germany, Japan, and one African seat, probably South Africa), and strengthens “Uniting for Peace” mechanisms to circumvent blockages. [45] The ICJ gains centrality with advisory opinions politically bound by prior compliance commitments, the ICC ensures interstate cooperation through regional agreements, and the UN creates a rapid civil deployment capacity for the protection of civilians, minimal cybersecurity, and climate response. [46] In the economic sphere, a Global Economic Council emerges within the orbit of the UN to coordinate debt, climate, and international taxation with common standards. [47] Scenario B: Ordered fragmentation of anarchy. Blockages become chronic. Security shifts to ad hoc coalitions and minilateralisms (NATO Plus, QUAD, expanded BRICS), economic governance is decided in restricted membership forums, and the UN remains a symbolic forum without decision-making capacity. [48] Exception becomes the rule: “preventive interventions,” widespread unilateral sanctions, proliferation of private military companies, opaque cyber-operations, and a data ecology controlled by a few platforms. [49] International law endures as a language, but its social force dissipates; incentives push toward strategic autonomy and legal security by blocs. In other words, the future of the UN will depend on its ability to balance justice and force in an international environment marked by multipolarity. I insist that one possible path is to advance toward gradual reforms that strengthen transparency, broaden the representativeness of the Council, and grant greater autonomy to the General Assembly and judicial bodies. Another, far more radical, is the consolidation of parallel mechanisms that de facto replace the role of the UN through regional alliances, ad hoc coalitions, and alternative economic forums. Both paths involve risks: reform may stagnate in the lowest common denominator, while fragmentation may deepen inequalities and conflicts. However, what seems clear is that maintaining the status quo will only prolong paralysis and further weaken the legitimacy of the multilateral system. The choice between reform or irrelevance will, ultimately, be the decisive dilemma of the 21st century. I believe that three milestones will indicate where we are headed: (1) effective adoption of commitments to abstain from vetoes in the face of mass atrocities; (2) funded and operational implementation of the climate loss and damage mechanism; (3) cooperation with the ICC in politically sensitive cases, without ad hoc exceptions. [50] VII. Conclusion: Between Disillusionment and Hope The UN marks eighty years caught in Pascal’s dilemma: “force without justice is tyranny, justice without force is mockery.” [51] The diagnosis is clear: the Security Council has turned justice into a mockery, while the great powers have exercised force without legitimacy. [52] The result is a weakened organization, incapable of responding to the most urgent tragedies of our time. However, it would be a mistake to fall into absolute cynicism. Despite its evident limitations and alongside all that has been mentioned, the UN remains the only forum where 193 States engage in dialogue, the only space where there exists even a minimal notion of common international law. [53] Its crisis should not lead us to abandon it, but rather to radically rethink it. Perhaps the path lies in what Habermas calls a “constitutionalization of international law,” as previously proposed, or in a profound reform of the Security Council that democratizes the use of force. [54] History teaches that institutions survive if they manage to adapt. [55] If the UN does not, it will be relegated to the status of a giant that humanity needs but that is paralyzed, a symbol of a past that no longer responds to the challenges of the present. [56] But if States recover something of the founding spirit of 1945, perhaps it can still save us from hell, even if it never takes us to heaven. [57] VIII. References [1] Dag Hammarskjöld. Hammarskjöld. Citado en Brian Urquhart. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1972.[2] John Rawls. The Law of Peoples. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999.[3] Permanent Mission of Canada to the United Nations. Statement on the Veto. UN General Assembly, 26 April 2022.[4] Aristóteles. Política. Traducido por Antonio Gómez Robledo. 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The End of History and the Last Man. New York: Free Press, 1992.[16] Samuel Huntington. The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1996.[17] Joseph Nye. Soft Power: The Means to Success in World Politics. New York: Public Affairs, 2004.[18] Joseph Nye. The Future of Power. New York: Public Affairs, 2011.[19] Robert Keohane y Joseph Nye. Power and Interdependence. Boston: Little, Brown, 1977.[20] Robert Keohane. After Hegemony: Cooperation and Discord in the World Political Economy. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984.[21] Stephen Krasner. Structural Conflict: The Third World Against Global Liberalism. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985.[22] Robert Cox. “Social Forces, States and World Orders: Beyond International Relations Theory.” Millennium: Journal of International Studies 10, no. 2 (1981): 126–55.[23] Robert Cox. Production, Power, and World Order: Social Forces in the Making of History. 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The Culture of National Security: Norms and Identity in World Politics. New York: Columbia University Press, 1996.[32] Friedrich Kratochwil. Rules, Norms, and Decisions: On the Conditions of Practical and Legal Reasoning in International Relations and Domestic Affairs. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989.[33] Nicholas Onuf. World of Our Making: Rules and Rule in Social Theory and International Relations. Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1989.[34] Christian Reus-Smit. The Moral Purpose of the State: Culture, Social Identity, and Institutional Rationality in International Relations. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999.[35] Martha Finnemore y Kathryn Sikkink. “International Norm Dynamics and Political Change.” International Organization 52, no. 4 (1998): 887–917.[36] Michael Barnett y Martha Finnemore. Rules for the World: International Organizations in Global Politics. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2004.[37] Ian Hurd. After Anarchy: Legitimacy and Power in the United Nations Security Council. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2007.[38] Allen Buchanan y Robert Keohane. “The Legitimacy of Global Governance Institutions.” Ethics & International Affairs 20, no. 4 (2006): 405–37.[39] Thomas Franck. The Power of Legitimacy among Nations. New York: Oxford University Press, 1990.[40] David Held. Democracy and the Global Order: From the Modern State to Cosmopolitan Governance. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1995.[41] Ian Hurd. After Anarchy: Legitimacy and Power in the United Nations Security Council. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2007.[42] Permanent Mission of Canada to the United Nations. Statement on the Veto. UN General Assembly, 26 April 2022.[43] Oliver Stuenkel. The BRICS and the Future of Global Order. Lanham: Lexington Books, 2015.[44] Naciones Unidas. World Summit Outcome Document. A/RES/60/1, 24 October 2005.[45] Corte Internacional de Justicia. Advisory Opinions. La Haya: CIJ, varios años.[46] Naciones Unidas. Report of the High-level Panel on Threats, Challenges and Change. A/59/565, 2 December 2004.[47] Samuel Huntington. The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1996.[48] Robert Keohane. After Hegemony: Cooperation and Discord in the World Political Economy. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984.[49] Thomas Franck. The Power of Legitimacy among Nations. New York: Oxford University Press, 1990.[50] Joseph Nye. The Future of Power. New York: Public Affairs, 2011.[51] Blaise Pascal. Pensées. París: Éditions Garnier, 1976.[52] Brian Urquhart. Hammarskjöld. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1972.[53] Naciones Unidas. Charter of the United Nations. San Francisco: Naciones Unidas, 1945.[54] Jürgen Habermas. The Postnational Constellation: Political Essays. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2001.[55] John Ikenberry. Liberal Leviathan: The Origins, Crisis, and Transformation of the American World Order. 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