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Europe is spending far more on defence because its leaders increasingly believe that Russia’s war could spread beyond Ukraine. Yet budgets and weapons are only part of deterrence. The harder question, Nathalie Tocci argues, is whether societies at peace can develop the psychological readiness to fight before a crisis forces it upon them.

The preparedness gap

Europeans often admire Ukraine’s resilience while doubting that they could match it. A 2024 Gallup poll found that roughly one-third would be unwilling to fight even if their own country were attacked; in Italy, Tocci’s home country, the share was 78%. Those figures can look like evidence of cowardice, but she offers a more complicated explanation. People living in peace have not had their attention, institutions and emotions reorganised around survival in the way Ukrainians have.

Geography matters. Northern and eastern Europeans, who live closer to Russia and Ukraine, tend to take the danger more seriously than people farther west and south. So do public institutions. Estonian volunteers regularly train for a possible attack, whereas Italian media often treat preparedness with indifference or ridicule and give space to voices sympathetic to Russia. When governments, political parties and broadcasters do not present war as a plausible threat, voters naturally resist conscription, higher military spending or cuts elsewhere to pay for defence.

Ukraine’s experience also shows what existential pressure can unlock. War has forced sacrifice, sustained courage through exhaustion and redirected talented people towards rapid military innovation. That does not mean Ukrainians possess a special national bravery that other Europeans lack. It means circumstances have made the stakes immediate. Many Europeans who say they would not fight may be expressing an understandable hatred of war, rather than revealing how they would actually behave under attack.

Deterrence’s peacetime paradox

This creates a trap. Europe is less likely to face war if it can convince Russia that it is physically and psychologically prepared to fight. But the absence of war makes that preparation feel unnecessary, which weakens deterrence and can make conflict more likely.

Tocci applies this logic to the proposed European “reassurance force” for Ukraine. Governments have discussed deploying several thousand troops after a ceasefire, partly to demonstrate solidarity with Kyiv and keep America engaged. Such a force, stationed far from the front, would add little to Ukraine’s defence. A ceasefire also remains remote, and European hopes of reliably influencing Donald Trump have faded.

Her more provocative proposal is to deploy European troops before a ceasefire. The main beneficiary would not be Ukraine but Europe itself. Putting soldiers in harm’s way would bring the conflict closer to public consciousness, force governments to confront the risk honestly and help societies cultivate some of the seriousness and adaptability that Ukraine has developed under fire.

The risks are plain. Moscow would view the move as an escalation, European troops could be attacked and the deployment might intensify the very conflict it is meant to deter. Tocci’s answer is that Europe is already in a hybrid confrontation with Russia, even if much of the continent prefers not to acknowledge it. In her view, a forward deployment would not be an act of charity towards Ukraine. It would be an uncomfortable investment in Europe’s own capacity to prevent a wider war.