It appears that Israel’s Operation Rising Lion has dealt a significant blow to the military
and security infrastructure of the Islamic Republic. As of this writing, the prospect of
regime change remains uncertain. Yet what is beyond doubt is that the Islamic Republic
is at its weakest point since 1979. The fragility of the current moment makes it difficult to
forecast the future of this conflict. But perhaps the more productive question is not what
comes next—but how we got here. Importantly, by understanding that, we may also
glimpse the shape of what is to come.
To grasp the strategic mindset prevailing in Tehran today, one must revisit a key
dynamic from the Iran–Iraq War: the moment when Iran, isolated and under-equipped,
received rudimentary missile systems from North Korea, Syria, and Libya. Confronted
with the limitations of foreign support, IRGC military planners began reverse-
engineering the imported missile systems. Not only did they replicate this technology,
but they quickly surpassed the capabilities of their original suppliers. This success in
technological mimicry bred a kind of institutional euphoria within the Islamic Republic’s
security establishment. Reverse engineering evolved from a technical tactic into a
broader strategic philosophy. What if Iran could reverse-engineer not just
equipment—but every threat itself? And of course, the primary threat was Israel.
The Cause of Palestine and Asymmetric Deterrence
The 1979 revolution was fueled by a strong undercurrent of anti-American and anti-
Israeli sentiment. That shared animus became the organic link between the leftists and
the Islamists led by Ayatollah Khomeini. Even seemingly more moderate groups such
as Nehzat-e Azadi maintained deep ties to the PLO. Some were trained by the PLO in
operations sponsored by Muammar Gaddafi. After the revolution, the so-called Arman-e
Felestin—“the cause of Palestine”—became central to the Islamic Republic’s ideological
identity. During the Iran–Iraq War, Khomeini famously said, “The path to Quds passes
through Karbala” implying that victory in Iraq was a necessary precursor to conquest in
Palestine. For the revolutionary left, Palestine symbolized anti-imperial struggle. For the
Islamists, it was a religious obligation. And while the Islamists repressed and sidelined
the left, they appropriated the left’s discourse on Palestine as their own.
The Islamic Republic’s obsession with Palestine became the basis for a decades-long
proxy strategy aimed at encircling and eventually destroying Israel—not because Israel
posed an immediate threat, but because ideological fulfillment required it. Rational
strategy would have favored an alliance: Iran, Turkey, and Israel were the region’s three
major non-Arab powers, and their cooperation could have counterbalanced Arab states.
But revolutionary fervor overrode any such pragmatism.
By the 1990s, Iran had cultivated new actors in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict: Hamas
and Hezbollah. These proxies expanded through the 2000s and 2010s, forming
concentric rings of Iranian influence, joined by the Houthis in Yemen, the Hashd al-
Shaabi in Iraq, and the Assad regime in Syria. This network—the so-called Shia
Crescent—embodied Iran’s hegemonic ambition: to remake the Middle East in its own
ideological image, expel the United States, and surround Israel. The crown jewel of this
strategy was its nuclear program—an insurance policy meant to guarantee regime
survival and regional leverage.This approach was part of an asymmetric deterrence strategy that positioned Iran’s
nuclear capabilities, missile arsenal, and regional proxies as the central pillars of its
strategic posture. At its core, this doctrine represented an indigenized adaptation of
Cold War logic—a mindset grounded in deterrence through escalation dominance. Yet
ironically, this same framework made the Islamic Republic a prime candidate for
containment by both regional actors and global powers. Over time, the regime’s
strategic myopia—its fixation on nuclear enrichment, proxy networks, and missile
development—became a critical blind spot. It diverted attention from emerging domains
of warfare, including AI-enabled defense systems, cyber capabilities, and advanced air
defense. Compounded by crippling sanctions, Iran’s security establishment found itself
technologically decapitated, unable to modernize or optimize its defense infrastructure
in a rapidly evolving battlefield environment.
The Cost of Resistance and the Two-Fronts War
Iran’s natural resource wealth enabled it to fund this expansion. But pouring public
wealth into foreign adventurism increased tensions at home. The regime sought to
govern domestically with the same ideological rigidity it applied abroad. For example,
Khamenei-linked clerics routinely described women showing their hair as an act of
infiltration by Iran’s enemies—foremost among them, Israel. What emerged was a
security doctrine built around reverse-engineering threats: contain the enemy at the
borders, and deflect its influence before it reaches home. This was also referred to as
‘forward defense.’ This doctrine had a second layer: create instability abroad, then use
that instability to justify repression at home. Iranians jokingly refer to this condition as
the perpetual state of “the current sensitive period” (dore-ye hassas-e konooni)—a
phrase used by officials for decades to explain away censorship, surveillance,
crackdowns, and economic hardship. But while the regime thought it could reverse-
engineer threats, it could not reverse-engineer the costs. Its strategy brought about
devastating sanctions and international isolation, weakening both the regime and the
state and amplifying internal discontent.
Henry Kissinger once argued that revolutionary regimes are destined to moderate under
the weight of their own inertia: “Revolutions, no matter how sweeping, need to be
consolidated and, in the end, adapted from a moment of exaltation to what is
sustainable over a period of time.” This never happened in Iran. On every ideological
front, the regime doubled down. “Death to America” and “Death to Israel” remained
official slogans. Not even moments of acute domestic crisis prompted a rethink of proxy
funding or anti-Western posturing. In his landmark statement titled The Second Phase
of the Revolution, issued on the 40th anniversary of the 1979 uprising, Islamic
Republic’s Leader Ali Khamenei emphasized the necessity of exporting the
revolutionary model beyond Iran’s frontiers, and warned: “In the case of the United
States, no problem with them is seen to be resolved, and any negotiation with the U.S.
will have no outcome but material and spiritual harms.” This vision was not just
ideological—it became the operational doctrine behind Iran’s regional posture.
When political figures within the regime raised concerns about the risks of maintaining
the IRGC’s entrenchment in Syria, Khamenei reportedly dismissed them, asserting: “We
should not limit ourselves to our immediate region… the extension of strategic depth is
sometimes even more necessary than the most pressing domestic duties.”
This ideological rigidity stems from what might be called Khamenei’s ideo-strategic
fatalism: the belief that conceding even a khakriz—a sand embankment in battlefield
terminology—is a slippery slope to collapse. That mindset locked the Islamic Republic
into a regional status quo that was unsustainable.
October 7th and the Death of the Status Quo
The reckoning came on October 7, 2023. To Israelis, October 7 marked the moment
when Iran’s long-standing rhetoric about Israel’s destruction became action. The long-
simmering security dilemma between the two states ceased to be theoretical—it
became a lived reality. For Israel, survival now meant dismantling Iran’s vast proxy
network. For Iran, it meant accelerating its ballistic missile program and nuclear
ambitions. A cycle of escalation was set in motion.
If ever there was a time to deploy the logic of reverse-engineering the threat, this was it.
But events quickly revealed the limitations—indeed, the hollowness—of that doctrine.
Tehran soon recognized that its so-called asymmetric deterrence strategy was anything
but deterrent. It lacked escalation dominance, yet it could neither abandon its proxies
nor credibly reassure Israel of restraint. The disparity between strategic ambition and
operational capacity became starkly evident, underscored by a reported rift between
proxies and Iran. Proxies allegedly pushed for greater direct Iranian involvement in the
war; Iran, wary of the risks, held back.
The doctrine that once guided Iran’s regional expansion had become a source of
paralysis. Yet even this moment of strategic reckoning did not lead the Islamic Republic
to rethink its security posture. On the contrary, these clashes complicated its position in
negotiations with the second Trump administration, which demanded zero uranium
enrichment and ballistic missile restrictions. This removed Tehran’s strategic wiggle
room and kept its core conflict with Israel unresolved.
If October 7 marked the beginning of the end for the Islamic Republic’s regional
architecture, June 13 may signify the beginning of its internal unraveling. As of this
writing, the outlook for a sixth round of U.S.–Iran nuclear negotiations remains
uncertain. The U.S. position reportedly demands the complete cessation of uranium
enrichment, severe restrictions on missile development, and the transfer of all enriched
uranium out of Iran. The so-called pragmatist factions inside the regime are betting that
Iran’s weakened state can create room for flexibility. But even if the regime wants to
make concessions, it may no longer have the institutional cohesion to follow through. Its
internal factions are so numerous and mutually hostile that their balancing act may
cancel out any strategic clarity.
In a sense, the regime that mastered the art of reverse-engineering threats has now
become a victim of its own design. The architecture it built to export instability has
begun to implode from within. The Islamic Republic’s long-standing strategy of exporting
revolution, manufacturing external enemies, and conflating ideological purity with
national interest has now reached its terminal contradiction. What began as a
revolutionary mission to shape the region has circled back as an existential crisis at
home. If the Islamic Republic falls, it will not be because of any single military strike or
foreign intervention—but because it failed to adapt, to moderate, or to heed the
fundamental lesson of statecraft: that no ideology, however fervent, can indefinitely
override the demands of survival and the logic of governance.