As Western powers continue to provide and approve Ukraine’s use of advanced weaponry against Russia, the veracity of Vladimir Putin’s deterrent threats against such provocations is increasingly called into question. 

Throughout the war, each step up the escalation ladder taken by the West—whether supplying Ukraine with fighter jets, long-range missiles, and, most recently, $20 billion in aid funded by seized Russian assets—was preceded by warnings of dire consequences from Moscow. However, no retaliation against the United States or its NATO partners has resulted. Now, this anticlimactic pattern has led many, including President-elect Donald Trump’s designated envoy to Ukraine-Russia, to believe that Putin’s nuclear threats are more bluff than bluster, arguing that the United States should “lean in” to challenge Russia rather than back down. Now, many contend that the unexpected fall of Bashar al-Assad’s regime in Syria dealt a blow to Russia’s geopolitical standing, fueling more calls to capitalize on Moscow’s weakened position.

Yet, assuming limited risk or expected advantage in continuing escalation against Russia is dangerously flawed. This hardline approach misreads and oversimplifies the dynamics of escalation and overlooks Russia's increasing conventional military capabilities.

Contrary to the bravado on display, crisis escalation is non-linear and inherently unpredictable. Despite the analytic investment by scholars to study its dynamics, our grasp of escalation games remains limited, at best, while our understanding of nuclear escalation is virtually non-existent. Not only are there no standard units of measurement to gauge and evaluate the mechanics that underpin escalation, but also, the rules are not governed by simple cause-and-effect frameworks, fixed interests, or stable perceptions. In continuously adaptive feedback, the context, stakes, and calculations evolve with each new development and maneuver.

Likewise, the difficulties inherent in interpreting signals add another layer of complexity to understanding escalation. For instance, the assertion that Putin is bluffing wrongly conflates rhetoric with policy and behavior. Most likely, Moscow’s deterrent threats directed toward the West serve as tools of coercive diplomacy—signals meant to manage escalation from spiraling out of control—rather than represent triggers of an imminent military response. Still, to cross a so-called “red line” doesn’t necessarily nullify the threat or confirm the bluff. Indeed, repeated provocations could aggravate and intensify Russia’s threat perceptions, gradually building deferred pressure among decision-makers in Moscow. Eventually, this could lead to a tipping point, where Russia might act decisively to reaffirm its credibility.

Needless to say, Russia’s decision to invade Ukraine on February 24, 2022, was itself a dramatic act of escalation. It was marked by many instances of its warnings going unheeded by the United States and NATO until it provoked a response. In effect, what held true in the past may not hold true in the future—and assuming otherwise invites miscalculation.

Certainly, escalation doesn’t necessarily mean recklessness. Sometimes, it’s a rational choice in militarized crises. In such cases, meeting specific criteria can justify advancing the escalation ladder. First, the stakes must be vital enough to warrant the risks. Second, escalation must be controllable or manageable to ensure strategic advantage, a position referred to as “escalation dominance.” Finally, diplomacy must be exhausted or unviable at that juncture of the crisis to render escalation a last resort.

However, last month’s approval by Western powers for Ukraine to launch long-range strikes inside Russia—through American-supplied ATACMS, British-supplied Storm Shadow missiles, and French-supplied SCALPs—disregarded these principles. Such provocations prompted Russia to rattle its nuclear saber, revising its nuclear doctrine to expand the conditions for deployment.

No doubt, the odds of Russia resorting to nuclear weapons are slim—but slim odds are still far from an impossibility. With the world’s largest nuclear arsenal, Russia’s modern warheads include “dial-to-yield” technology, enabling adjustable explosive power to be reduced down to a fraction of its potential. This makes tactical nukes more suitable for limited battlefield engagements or demonstrating resolve. Hence, even a trivial probability warrants caution.

Paradoxically, overconfidence in the stability of the “nuclear taboo” has emboldened the provocative actions that prompted Russia’s nuclear threats—behavior the taboo is meant to prevent. Indeed, many Western policymakers and pundits alike dismiss any risk of nuclear use by Russia, categorizing it as suicidal. However, this argument fails to connect the premise to its conclusion logically.

For starters, Ukraine doesn’t possess nuclear weapons. Moreover, while unlikely, Russia’s use of a tactical nuke in Ukraine is still more plausible than a U.S. retaliation through direct war, especially in response to nuclear use against a third country. Such a scenario would compel any American president to confront the stark reality of nuclear escalation and the grave risks of direct conflict with Russia. Thus, assumptions about the existential risk to Putin’s survival in response to nuclear use overestimate NATO’s ability to credibly deter Russia on behalf of a non-treaty partner. In fact, NATO has no extended deterrence over Ukraine and has ruled out direct defense of the country, having refrained from deploying its own ground forces.

Of course, Russia isn’t likely to go nuclear so long as it’s not losing the war. But even if nuclear fears are overstated, to rely on its improbability to justify further escalation precariously overlooks Russia’s formidable conventional power. Indeed, Western hardliners fail to grasp that Moscow still has ample room to turn up the dial and escalate below the nuclear threshold. Moreover, this stratum of high-tech conventional capability only grows more dynamic and potent, with no clear countermeasures on the horizon.

Undoubtedly, Russia's November 21 debut of its “Oreshnik” missile, which targeted a weapons factory in the central Ukrainian city of Dnipro, was a powerful display of its developing conventional forces. An intermediate-range hypersonic ballistic missile with multiple reentry targeting capabilities is reported to exceed speeds of Mach 10, bypassing any air defense system. Putin regards this weapon system as a versatile tool, enabling flexible and calibrated responses against Western escalation and allowing Russia to avoid the troubles of going nuclear.

“Oreshnik is not a weapon of mass destruction,” Putin declared on November 28, adding that if deployed “several missiles at once, in a cluster, their single strike will be comparable to the use of nuclear weapons.” On December 10, he emphasized that “what we need now is not to improve the nuclear doctrine, but to advance the Oreshnik,” claiming that with enough of these advanced systems, Russia would be “on the brink of virtually no need to use nuclear weapons.” Now entering mass production, with plans to potentially forward-deploy the weapon to Belarus in 2025, Russia has signaled its intent to rely on this system more extensively.

Contrary to its intended purpose, escalation by Western powers hasn’t degraded Russia’s military. Instead, the war of attrition intensified and prolonged by Western aid, has worked to transform Russia’s massive latent power into tangible military strength. Today, Moscow has a range of tools to intensify and expand the war within Ukraine and beyond, if necessary. This toolkit includes advanced development in hypersonic missile technology, precision-guided munitions, anti-missile defense, armored vehicles and tanks, and drone, cyber, and electronic warfare.

Apart from its advanced technological expertise, Russia’s vast reserves of critical minerals, energy resources, and industrial metals provide the raw materials necessary to sustain large-scale weapons production, which hasn’t yet reached its potential output. In a war where artillery remains “King of the Battlefield,” Russia produces artillery shells three times faster—and at a quarter of the cost—compared to American and European NATO members combined. To boot, Russia’s strategic partnerships with states like China, Iran, and North Korea have bolstered its access to key military ingredients, such as machine tools and microelectronics, in addition to combat-ready weapons like drones and artillery. This ensures its ability to sustain a high-intensity war even longer.

By all metrics, Russia’s war-making capacity has grown stronger, whereas Ukraine’s has progressively weakened. This vulnerability stems from the cascading risks inherent in a protracted war of attrition. It’s no surprise that Russia’s strategy centers on grinding down Ukraine’s military at a favorable casualty-exchange ratio while hindering it from replenishing and reproducing the quality of its forces. Since the war’s onset, Ukraine’s military has been forced to rev its engines and run on all cylinders. This relentless pressure and tempo have left its military with no auxiliary capacity to regulate its intensity or manage escalation within what it’s able to sustain organizationally. Over time, institutional breakdown or capitulation becomes a more plausible scenario for Ukraine than for Russia. 

Today, Washington is urging Kyiv to address its critical shortages in manpower and lower the conscription age to eighteen as Russian military advances accelerate on the ground.

Equally important, Moscow’s capacity for conventional escalation is matched by its willingness to act. Despite talk in Western capitals about Moscow’s reluctance to enforce its threats, Russia has instead managed its escalation with calibration, minimizing overexposure and mitigating risks of overreach and overheating. Against evolving and emerging threats, Russia has expanded its political aims, intensified its firepower, and further mobilized troops to correspond with changes in goals and strategy. But its will to fight stems from the balance of resolve in Ukraine, where Russia’s stakes outweigh those of NATO. Again, it’s not a coincidence that Western commitment to Ukraine remains distant, limited to support from afar rather than direct defense.