


Vladimir Putin, in his own telling, is no ordinary leader. He’s a lawyer on the throne. From the very beginning of his tenure, he has leaned on his legal background as part of his presidential persona. The reflex never left him. “After all, I have a law degree,” he told a group of businessmen in May, responding to concerns that a peace deal might bring Western competitors back into Russia. “If you give me the agreement, I’ll flip through it and tell you what needs to be done.”
We tend to think of a dictator as someone who tramples the law — and that’s absolutely true. But for a dictator like Mr. Putin, who rose from the disciplined ranks of the security services to the presidency by following orders, it is just as important to be able to cite the law as to break it. Today, every new wave of political repression in Russia is preceded by the passage or revision of a law — so that more and more people can be punished “according to the law,” rather than in violation of it.
The endless expansion of the legal order in service of one man’s power eventually calls for a higher justification. Indeed, Mr. Putin’s entire political career has been a search for a source of legitimacy deeper than the law itself, a personal obsession with proving his authority. This, as much as conquest, is what drives his war on Ukraine: The aim is to turn military victory into Russia’s return ticket to the club of the world’s great powers. But that remains impossible without recognition from the West. And increasingly, that seems like something Mr. Putin can’t get.
Legitimacy is a perennial problem for dictators. However strong they may appear, they always suffer from a deficit of it. Their power, after all, is not the result of popular preference. This explains autocrats’ fondness for rigged referendums and elections: A referendum was how Mr. Putin extended his tenure in 2020, and elections, held every six years, are used to provide a veneer of popular consent to his rule. Yet there’s only so much succor a dictator can draw from rubber-stamping. For many dictators, credibility truly comes on the world stage. Official visits and summits, along with successful military campaigns, are proof of their legitimacy.
In the early years of Mr. Putin’s tenure, this worked. He held court with Western leaders and won victories in the second Chechen war. But when his decision to return to the presidency in 2012 set off major protests, he began a new fight for so-called traditional Russian values against corrosive Western influence. This shift in emphasis entailed direct confrontation with the West, with Ukraine the proving ground. The annexation of Crimea, presented as the correction of a historical injustice, soon followed, along with the incursion into eastern Ukraine. The full-scale invasion of the country in 2022, conceived as a brilliant blitzkrieg, consummated the adversarial approach.
These were strikingly successful attempts to win support at home. But they were also efforts to refashion, not break, Russia’s relations with the West. Even after the annexation of Crimea and the conflict in eastern Ukraine, the Kremlin still pursued negotiations — most notably the Minsk agreements — aiming to end diplomatic isolation and reclaim its seat at the table of major powers. Those efforts foundered and Mr. Putin chose to up the stakes. Yet even today, the Kremlin is willing to show some degree of flexibility.