The war in Ukraine is not merely a geopolitical contest over territory, security arrangements, or energy corridors. At its core, it is a civilizational clash between two fundamentally different conceptions of political life: the Hobbesian model, grounded in hierarchy, centralized power, and fear of chaos; and the Lockean ideal, rooted in individual rights, limited government, and the capacity for self-governance. Russia and Ukraine, despite their shared post-Soviet heritage and similarly fragile institutions, have come to represent opposing trajectories on this spectrum. While Russia doubles down on autocracy and imperial restoration, Ukraine—however inconsistently—is struggling toward a more Lockean model by aligning itself with the European project.

This distinction is not merely philosophical; it explains the radically different worldviews that shape each side’s goals, fears, and self-conceptions. And it offers a profound rebuttal to anarchist critiques, such as those found in Troy Keith Preston’s Attack the System, which romanticize the collapse of state structures without recognizing that in some regions, especially those historically Hobbesian, such collapse does not lead to liberty but to renewed authoritarianism.

Russia has long embodied Hobbes’s pessimistic view of human nature and politics. Its political culture is built on the premise that people cannot be trusted to self-organize without descending into chaos. The strong state—personified by the Tsar, the General Secretary, or today, Vladimir Putin—is seen as the guardian of order, not the servant of rights. This is not accidental. Russia’s geography, history of invasion, weak feudal institutions, and Orthodox religious tradition have all fostered a centralized, vertical conception of authority. The state has historically been the only effective organizing force, while civil society has been weak or nonexistent. The collapse of the Soviet Union, rather than resulting in a liberal flowering, brought about economic shock, criminality, and humiliation. For many Russians, the lesson was not that freedom must be deepened, but that the state must be feared and obeyed once again. Putin’s regime capitalized on this sentiment, combining Hobbesian logic with nostalgic imperialism. His war against Ukraine is justified not in Lockean terms—protection of rights or voluntary association—but in the name of order, heritage, and state sovereignty, enforced by raw power.

Ukraine, too, is shaped by a Hobbesian past. As part of the Russian Empire and then the Soviet Union, it inherited many of the same patterns: bureaucratic corruption, weak rule of law, distrust of institutions, and political cynicism. The Orange Revolution in 2004 and Euromaidan in 2014 were not Lockean in the classic sense—they were not spontaneous eruptions from a mature civil society—but they were popular uprisings against arbitrary power, which is where Locke’s tradition begins. What makes Ukraine exceptional is not that it has already achieved liberal democracy, but that it has consciously chosen that path, even at enormous cost. The 2014 Revolution of Dignity was sparked not by a tax or a war, but by President Yanukovych’s refusal to sign an association agreement with the European Union. The people took to the streets not to demand a new dictator, but to defend the idea of becoming European—in short, to live under rules grounded in Lockean ideals: rule of law, property rights, decentralized governance, and civil liberties. This Lockean impulse, however fragile and inconsistent, is what Russia seeks to extinguish. For Putin, a democratic Ukraine allied with Europe represents an existential threat—not because it poses a military challenge, but because it shows that Slavic peoples can choose liberty over hierarchy, pluralism over obedience.

Ukraine’s westward ambitions are shaped by the examples of countries like Poland and Slovakia, both of which have made remarkable progress since the fall of communism. Poland, once a deeply Hobbesian society under Soviet control, has embraced liberal-democratic norms, joined NATO and the EU, and cultivated a robust civil society. While still wrestling with challenges—such as right-wing populism and judicial independence—Poland has proven that a post-totalitarian state can transition toward Lockean governance. Poland’s transformation was enabled in part by Protestant influences, including its Catholic-Protestant hybridity and the legacy of the Solidarity movement, which combined traditional moral values with a Lockean emphasis on voluntary association and nonviolence. Slovakia, though slower to develop politically, has also moved steadily toward institutional stability, market liberalism, and civil liberty. These countries demonstrate that geography is not destiny. A Hobbesian society can evolve—through education, institutional reform, and economic integration—into a functioning liberal democracy. Ukraine aspires to follow this path, not because it wishes to imitate the West blindly, but because it recognizes that its own survival depends on escaping the gravitational pull of the Russian Leviathan.

In light of this,  Keith Preston’s Attack the System and similar anarchist manifestos fall flat. These arguments often presuppose that the state is inherently evil, coercive, and unnecessary—that if it were torn down, communities would spontaneously self-organize into peaceful, cooperative networks. But this view is profoundly Lockean in aspiration and yet blind to the Hobbesian realities of many societies. In Russia, Somalia, or post-Gaddafi Libya, the collapse of state structures did not lead to liberty—it led to warlordism, repression, and tribal violence. In such environments, the state—even a flawed one—often protects more rights than it violates. The idea that hierarchy can simply be wished away ignores the reality that many societies lack the cultural preconditions for voluntary cooperation: trust, legal consciousness, pluralism, and a tradition of civic responsibility. Ukraine understands this. It is not choosing the EU because Brussels is perfect. It is choosing Europe because it wants to build the Lockean infrastructure that anarchism assumes but cannot create: impartial courts, protected property, accountable government, and rule of law. This is not the abolition of authority—it is its limitation and moral grounding.

The war in Ukraine is thus more than a contest over borders or energy pipelines. It is a struggle between two worldviews: one rooted in coercion and order, the other in consent and liberty. Russia represents a civilization that sees the state as an extension of national power and cultural destiny. Ukraine, even with its flaws and contradictions, aspires to a different model: a state that serves its citizens, limits itself, and integrates into a broader Lockean order. This is why Ukraine matters. If it fails, the lesson will be that Hobbes was right—that in some parts of the world, only the Leviathan can rule. But if Ukraine succeeds—even imperfectly—it will show that Lockean principles are not a Western artifact, but a universal possibility.