A story of an empire that never liked the horizon—because on the horizon, it always saw horsemen. Then as now
As we know, Russia is the largest country in the world by land area, spanning more than 17 million square kilometers, taking up one-eighth of the Earth’s total land surface. It crosses 11 time zones and borders 16 countries—more than any other country on Earth. Yet, in terms of population, it’s only the ninth-largest, with around 145.5 million people.
But how did Russia become so vast? The answers lie in its history.
Russia, of course, wasn’t always this large. It began in the 9th century, centered around Kyiv—now the capital of Ukraine—as the first East Slavic state, Kievan Rus. It was a small kingdom (certainly small compared to modern Russia) and remained so for several centuries until the arrival of the Mongols, who took over the entire region.
It wasn’t until the 13th and 14th centuries that Russians began to defeat the Mongols. Yet, the centuries under Mongol rule proved significant, as they brought new knowledge and technologies from the East, which the Russians adopted.
Later, Moscow (first mentioned in 1147) grew into a prosperous and powerful city, becoming the center of the Grand Duchy of Moscow, a medieval Russian state (from 1283). But looking east from Moscow revealed a significant problem…
A quick note on Moscow: yes, it was the center of its duchy, which evolved into the Russian Empire. The capital was moved to St. Petersburg in 1712, remaining there until the October Revolution, when it shifted back to Moscow.
So, what could one see looking east from Moscow? Vast, flat, endless plains—with no natural barriers until China. These open steppes were perfect for mounted armies like the Mongols. In fact, they were ideal for any horseback invader, but a nightmare to defend…
Where do you put defenses? How? Any fortress would eventually fall to a persistent enough invader. In those ever-warring times, natural strongholds and obstacles were crucial—rivers, and above all, mountains—the taller, the better.
If you look at a topographic map of Russia, you’ll notice how flat it truly is. About 1,300 km east of Moscow, you reach the Ural Mountains, an old and long mountain range stretching north–south. But the Urals are not very high (their tallest peak, Narodnaya, is 1,895 meters) and not a sufficient barrier to protect Russia from future invaders.
So Russian rulers—the tsars—concluded that this situation left them with only two options: conquer or be conquered. And so they chose conquest. Naturally, expansion meant pushing eastward, conquering until reaching a physical barrier that could offer security. Eventually, that barrier was the Pacific Ocean.
Of course, they didn’t reach it right away. But by 1700, they had already conquered most of Asia’s steppe.
A key turning point came in 1547, when Ivan IV, better known as Ivan the Terrible (a more accurate translation would be Ivan the Fearsome), declared himself the first Russian Tsar. That marked the transformation of the Grand Duchy of Moscow into the Russian Empire, which then began its relentless expansion.
They conquered Siberia, the frozen northern expanse of Asia. The main “conquerors” here were hunters and fur traders, seeking valuable pelts that sold well in European cities. Were there major conflicts? Not really. The region was home to indigenous peoples—not Russians—who had no organized defense. Russia easily absorbed Siberia and assimilated its people. But that move forever changed Russia, turning it into a multiethnic empire.
Only after feeling secure in the East did Russia begin expanding westward, where the tsars also aimed to push to strong natural boundaries. In this western expansion, they absorbed parts of modern-day Ukraine, Belarus, and much of Poland. Then came southern expansion toward the Caucasus Mountains, where they took over the ancient kingdoms of Armenia and Georgia.
They completed their expansion by conquering Central Asia, fearing that if they didn’t do it, the British would—probably rightly.
But this all makes it sound like Russia expanded with ease. How was that possible? For several reasons. The main one was geography—the areas Russia expanded into were very sparsely populated. At the time, “expansion” wasn’t a big legal-political act—you just had to arrive somewhere no one was defending or claiming. Once freed from Mongol rule, Russia had a relatively easy job all the way to the Pacific.
On the way, they mostly encountered nomads and herders who just wanted to be left alone to continue their way of life, regardless of whether the region was called the Russian Empire or something else.
Looking at a map, Russia is made up of two huge plateaus—the European Plain and Siberian Plateau. Of course, Russia isn’t the only country with vast geographic expansion. Canada, for example, is also enormous by area, though small in population. In fact, the Indian state of Uttar Pradesh has more people than Russia and Canada combined.
By 1633, Russia had already reached the Pacific.
In the west and southwest, Russia took large territories that once belonged to the Ottoman Empire. As the Ottomans pushed too far into Europe, powers like Austria worked to drive them back. Russia seized on the Ottoman Empire’s weakness, fighting 11 wars against them over 300 years. In these long Russo-Turkish wars, Russia expanded as the Ottomans declined.
In the early 18th century, Russia fought Sweden in the Great Northern War, capturing the Baltic states (Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia). Later, in the 19th century, Russia also took Finland from Sweden. The 11 wars fought between Sweden and Russia ultimately led to Sweden’s fall as a major power.
In 1828, Russia won the Russo-Persian War, taking control of Azerbaijan, Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan—part of its push toward India. By 1860, they were even at war with China’s Qing dynasty, taking Manchuria…
So, Russia’s history could be summarized as a cycle of war and preparation for the next war. With what goal—world conquest? That depends on who you ask. Imperialism by nature always seeks expansion. But in Russia’s case, the dominant idea was what Tsar Ivan the Terrible once defined: Russia must expand until it reaches natural borders, to ensure security.
And indeed, today’s Russian borders reflect that logic.
- To the south, they expanded to the Caucasus Mountains to defend against threats from the Middle East.
- In Central Asia, they reached the Elbrus and Tian Shan mountains, to defend against Persia (Iran) and China.
- In the east, they reached the Pacific to protect against China, Japan, or other maritime powers.
- In the west, they extended to the Carpathians and the Black Sea, where Crimea was and remains strategically vital.
- Later, they even entered Germany (Eastern Prussia during WWI, and East Germany as a satellite state after WWII) to defend against France, Britain, the U.S.…
But was that ever enough for Russia? Were they ever satisfied? It would be naive—and quite Russophile—to think any empire is ever “satisfied.” There’s always another horizon to conquer. Why not push to the Adriatic Sea? That might have happened if the Red Army had liberated Yugoslavia…
Imperialism in the 21st century should be a thing of the past—but we know it’s not. In Russia’s case, there’s a centuries-old idea still lingering: that Russia must be “wedged” between natural barriers to feel safe and survive as an “inward empire.” That idea suffered a major shock with the collapse of the USSR.
Today, Russia looks at the lands around it the way it once looked out from Moscow—across vast, threatening plains—knowing that sooner or later, new horsemen will appear on the distant horizon.
From that perspective, Ukraine appears as a major threat: a wide, undefended lowland through which future invasions might come. Some say this is just Russian paranoia. Maybe it is, partly. But as long as the memories of Napoleon and Hitler are alive, Russia will continue to view every open plain around it as a potential battleground—and NATO as a new threat amassing at its borders.
And maybe… they’re not entirely wrong.
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