Many Western leaders press allies and partners not to hit back hard when their enemies attack. After the foiled Iranian attack on Israel last month, for example, U.S. President Joe Biden told Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu to “take the win” instead of retaliating. Ukraine has been similarly pressured by its Western supporters not to strike targets in Russia—such as oil refineries—even if their unobstructed functioning directly aids Russia on the battlefield. Restraint has become the West’s guiding strategic principle, seemingly preserving a modicum of international stability by keeping wars from escalating out of control.
Many Western leaders press allies and partners not to hit back hard when their enemies attack. After the foiled Iranian attack on Israel last month, for example, U.S. President Joe Biden told Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu to “take the win” instead of retaliating. Ukraine has been similarly pressured by its Western supporters not to strike targets in Russia—such as oil refineries—even if their unobstructed functioning directly aids Russia on the battlefield. Restraint has become the West’s guiding strategic principle, seemingly preserving a modicum of international stability by keeping wars from escalating out of control.
Even if Israel and Ukraine don’t heed them, such requests to practice restraint are dangerous. They incentivize the attacker to be more aggressive, not less. By conveying to Russia or Iran—and by extension, China—that Western partners will be pressed to absorb the attack and fight a strictly defensive war on their own territory, Western policymakers achieve the opposite of what their risk aversion intends: They elevate the risk of a widening war. They are making aggression relatively cost-free for imperial powers, to be fought only on the attacked country’s land or thwarted by expensive defensive means. Paradoxically, restraining allies that have been attacked is destabilizing; the Western attempt to control escalation ultimately makes it more likely.
Take, for example, the recent case of Iran’s onslaught on Israel. Deterrence clearly failed as Iran directly attacked Israel for the first time using a substantial and layered package of missiles and drones. Iran chose to attack despite a standing Israeli policy to punish every attack on its territory and citizens—and despite the effective denial technologies fielded by Israel. It was the largest drone and missile attack in recent history, more substantial than anything Russia has launched against Ukraine in a single night.
But whereas deterrence failed, Iran’s missiles and drones were almost completely intercepted by Israel with the aid of the United States, Britain, France, Jordan, and Saudi Arabia. Only a few missiles fell on two Israeli air bases, causing minimal damage; one civilian was wounded by shrapnel in the Negev desert. Such a failure should cause relief and be a source of celebration. After all, what could have been horrific devastation in Israel turned into an embarrassing turkey shoot for Iran. Punishment for such a failed attack, the argument goes, was not warranted: Defense was a success, the strategic interaction was over. Restraint ought to prevail.
Undoubtedly, the restraint advocated by many in the West is appealing. It may bestow a veneer of moral superiority to a country willing to suffer attacks without responding in kind. Tit-for-tat, after all, seems childish, and revenge even worse. In the case of a successful defense such as Israel’s interception of Iran’s missiles, retaliation may even look unnecessary.
But erecting the air defense necessary to deny such attacks comes at great cost, and the shield is not perfect. The resources necessary to develop, deploy, and operate a complex, multilayered defensive system capable of intercepting ballistic missiles, cruise missiles, and drones are substantial. Iran’s attack probably cost it around $100 million, whereas the bill for Israel’s defense during that single night probably reached something in the $1 billion range. Israel is estimated to have incurred more than half of these costs, with most of the rest borne by the United States. The fiscal equation clearly favors the attacker.
Beyond the sheer expense, there is the unquantifiable cost in potentially greater insecurity. The more successfully a defensive system protects a country—even as it fails to deter the attacker in the first place—the less credible the threat of punishing retaliation will be. This invites the attacker to strike again, while the defender is pressured to absorb the attacks without responding in kind. Given how cheap drones and even ballistic missiles have become, Iran can seek to saturate Israeli defenses and increase the likelihood that missiles get through. Alternatively, too many attacks could bankrupt the target. And yet, Biden seems to think that one failed Iranian attack will deter further assaults. “Israel demonstrated a remarkable capacity to defend against and defeat even unprecedented attacks,” he said in a statement, “sending a clear message to its foes that they cannot effectively threaten the security of Israel.”
The Biden administration’s approach to Russia’s attack on Ukraine is analogous. U.S. defense official Celeste Wallander recently said that “Ukraine holds itself to the highest standards of observing the laws of armed conflict.” Although the laws of war say no such thing, the administration considers Russian oil refineries out of bounds for Ukraine to strike, with the Ukrainians supposed to limit themselves to the exchange of fire on the front line. Behind the moralizing, the administration seeks to control any escalatory dynamics by holding the Ukrainians back—albeit not entirely successfully. The logic or hope behind this reasoning is that a restrained Ukraine will limit Russian escalation and contain the war. A more aggressive Ukraine that strikes deep inside Russia, or so this argument goes, will only result in greater Russian escalation against Ukraine and perhaps even against countries supporting Ukraine. The unmistakable message to Moscow is that Washington and other Western capitals would rather see Ukraine under military duress than Russia under attack. The same thing holds for the red lines the West imposes not on Ukraine but on itself—German Chancellor Olaf Scholz refusing to provide Ukraine with Taurus long-range cruise missiles, for example—all of which emboldens Russia even further.
The Biden administration’s obsession with restraining front-line allies and partners is misplaced. Taking offensive actions off the table—by not providing the appropriate weapons, by sending them under the strict condition that they only be used on Ukraine’s territory, or by telling Israel to “take the win”—is highly likely to produce the opposite of the intended effect. By limiting Russia’s and Iran’s risks and costs, it lowers the bar for further aggression.
The repercussions of this faulty Western understanding of escalation go far beyond Europe and the Middle East. With its pressure on Israel and Ukraine, Washington is sending a signal to China that a potential attack on Taiwan will be met only by defensive measures such as intercepting incoming missiles and that force will only be wielded along a thin line of contact. Maybe Taiwan will be told to “take the win” if not much damage is done in an initial Chinese strike or that the “highest standards” require it to refrain from striking Chinese ports or logistical nodes.
It is dangerous to believe that a regional equilibrium will be maintained simply by pouring a lot of money into defensive systems and denial technologies. Front-line states must have the ability—and support of their allies—to strike the enemy behind the apparent safety of its borders and not just absorb its attacks. For deterrence to be restored or strengthened, these states have to be able to retaliate with offensive actions.
Stability does not arise exclusively out of the ability to parry the enemy’s blows, but out of the credible promise of hurting him back.
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