Leipzig, Military Keynesianism, and Permanent Near-War: The Old German Tripod No Longer Exists, a Dark Vision Takes Its Place

Germany has made a statement that, at another moment in history, might have sounded like the prelude to war: a foreign state attempted to strike one of its key logistics hubs with an explosives-laden drone. It then closed a consulate and a cultural center. It is precisely in that mismatch — between the gravity of the accusation and the modesty of the punishment — that a more important story lies than the question of who actually sent the drone.

And who stood behind, in front of, or somewhere alongside that drone really is less important. Perhaps it was recruited Serbs, as Berlin now claims, perhaps intelligence services that could have planted the story quite comfortably even without a drone ever existing, perhaps Ukrainian elements treated according to the principle of "we know it was them, but we're fine with that" — as with Nord Stream. The point is that Europe is not reacting in shock or from a vacuum, but from a position that is already wartime, or at least very close to it. But let us return to Berlin's response, because one could have predicted with a "high degree of confidence" that the accusation would ultimately point toward Russia.

Berlin is not responding "too weakly" because it is confused. It is responding with exactly the degree of force that suits it. Friedrich Merz does not need a war with Russia, but genuine peace is not particularly useful to him either. The German economy urgently needs a new engine, the political center needs an external threat around which society can once again be disciplined, and his government needs an answer to an AfD that is growing faster than the old parties can contain it. Leipzig therefore does not have to become the prelude to open conflict. It can become the template for permanently living on the edge of one — a condition we might call "permanent near-war", an entire political and economic framework within which Germany and other European systems could operate for many years to come.

Of course, the fact that the incident is politically useful to Merz — and it is — does not prove that Berlin manufactured it. It may indeed have been a clumsily executed Russian operation, it would hardly be the first. For understanding Germany's direction, what matters more is what the government does with an incident it has chosen to attribute to the Russian state.

The response has been carefully calibrated. Germany is closing the Russian consulate general in Bonn, terminating the arrangement with the Russian House in Berlin, tightening entry rules for Russian citizens, promising action against the so-called shadow fleet and calling for fresh sanctions. Moscow is retaliating by shutting down the Goethe-Institut in Russia. Diplomats leave, cultural ties are severed, yet none of these measures leads directly toward armed conflict. It is escalation with a brake built into it from the start.

The mismatch is nevertheless striking. Kaja Kallas speaks of "the hallmarks of state-sponsored terrorism", German Foreign Minister Johann Wadephul says Germany "is not at war, but is a target of war", and NATO has warned for years that a "severe hybrid attack" could, under certain circumstances, trigger Article 5. Yet Berlin has not even invoked Article 4 of the North Atlantic Treaty, which does not mean entering a war but merely initiating formal consultations among allies when a member believes its security is threatened.

Some will call that a sign of German weakness — and obviously Berlin is not going to rush lightly into war with the world's largest nuclear power. But perhaps it is not weakness at all. Perhaps it reveals Germany's actual intention. Which is what? Russia must be presented as a permanent and immediate danger, but the incident must never take a form that obliges the government to respond beyond its own control. Berlin wants a threat serious enough to mobilize the country, but not so serious that alliance mechanisms, military doctrines and public reaction begin setting the pace instead of the chancellor.

That level of tension fits neatly with the economic transformation Merz is already pursuing with considerable force. The old German model rested on cheap Russian energy, exports of industrial goods to China and the American security umbrella. All three assumptions have now been damaged. Energy is more expensive, or unavailable, Chinese industry is no longer merely a customer but an increasingly dangerous competitor, and Washington is demanding that Europe pay a growing share of the cost of its own security.

In other words, Germany is losing all three legs of the tripod on which it sat for decades.

Out of the ruins of that model, something known as military Keynesianism is emerging. Germany's DIW institute estimates that public spending and investment — including infrastructure, climate measures and defense — will account for roughly 70 percent of German economic growth this year (!). Meanwhile, the defense budget is set to rise from €82.2 billion in 2026 to a planned €109 billion in 2027, or more than €130 billion once aid to Ukraine and other security-related spending are included.

At the other end of that flow of money stands Rheinmetall. The German defense giant's revenue rose by almost 70 percent (!!) in the second quarter, while its order backlog exceeded €80 billion. While the traditional automotive industry talks about excess capacity and plants whose future is in doubt, the defense sector urgently needs factory space, workers, suppliers and long-term government contracts. Germany is changing engines: from an export power that prospered in an age of Eurasian peace into Europe's arsenal, prospering in an age of prolonged insecurity.

It now becomes clearer why Merz needs "permanent near-war." Without it, Germany is adrift. Imagine what would happen tomorrow to Rheinmetall's share price — and to this entire profitable German transformation — if peace in Ukraine were suddenly announced. It sounds somewhat cynical, but if Putin really wanted to strike Berlin a devastating blow, perhaps all he would have to do is declare the war over.

Of course, it would not be quite that simple. For years and years afterward, Europe would continue talking about the need to "prepare for the next Russian threat."

And again, none of this supports the cheap conclusion that Merz wants an open war. An actual war with Russia could destroy precisely what he is trying to rebuild: industry, infrastructure, political stability and investor confidence. Military Keynesianism works best before the war, during long years of preparation, procurement and fear. The ideal enemy is dangerous enough to unlock budgets and borrowing, yet restrained enough not to start destroying the factories that live off that spending. In that respect, Russia is — at least for now — an almost ideal adversary.

Leipzig happened — or perhaps more accurately, materialized — at an almost perfect political moment. Ahead of this weekend's election in Saxony-Anhalt, the AfD is polling above 40 percent, leading the CDU by 15 to 20 percentage points. Particularly in eastern Germany, the party has built its support around promises to restore relations with Moscow, bring back cheaper energy and reject a war that many voters do not regard as their own. What does that tell us? Forget the media labels for a moment: what the AfD is actually demanding is a return to the "original tripod" that has been broken. With enough political will, it might even be assembled again — but certainly not under Berlin's present course.

The most dangerous element of Leipzig, therefore, is not the drone that was found. It is the possibility that Berlin has discovered in permanent insecurity a functional state of affairs. And if that proves to be the case, it becomes impossible to prevent people from entertaining theories that the system dismisses as conspiratorial.

Once budgets, factories, political parties and careers begin to depend on the existence of a threat, an interest emerges in ensuring that the temperature never falls all the way back down. But the chancellor may not realize that he does not own the thermostat. Merz can seek the perfect level of escalation — enough to build a new military Germany, but not enough to trigger a war. History rarely respects such calculations. Sometimes all it takes is one more drone that, unlike the one in Leipzig, actually explodes. And when that happens — and everyone knows it could — the verdict will probably already have been written, while the consequences become harder and harder to control.