There is an old parable about a scorpion that asks a frog to carry him across a river. The frog hesitates. He knows the scorpion. He knows what it is capable of. He knows that one sting would kill him.
“If I carry you,” the frog says, “you will sting me.” The scorpion smiles and offers the language of reason. “Why would I do that? If I sting you, we both drown.”
The argument sounds logical. It sounds practical. It sounds like diplomacy. The frog wants to believe that self-interest will overcome instinct. He wants to believe that survival will defeat nature. So he agrees.
For a time, the bargain appears to hold. The river is calm. The scorpion is quiet. The frog begins to think he was right. Perhaps the warnings were exaggerated. Perhaps circumstances have changed. Perhaps the scorpion has changed.
Halfway across the river, however, the scorpion strikes. As the poison spreads and both begin sinking, the frog asks the only question left: “Why?” The scorpion replies, “Because it is my nature.”
This simple parable explains more about international affairs than many chapters of diplomatic theory.
For more than a century, Western leaders have repeatedly made the same mistake: assuming adversaries are ultimately motivated by the same considerations that shape our policy preferences – prosperity, stability, security, and peaceful coexistence.
They assume that economic incentives will tame ideology and that self-preservation will always outweigh dogma. Time and again, history teaches the opposite.
When someone tells you who they are – believe them. Adolf Hitler laid out his ambitions long before much of the world was willing to recognize them; some dismissed his words as domestic rhetoric and paid a catastrophic price.
Joseph Stalin spoke of free elections and self-determination at Yalta; leaders who wanted to believe were disappointed when Soviet behavior contradicted those promises, and an Iron Curtain descended across Europe.
The lesson is not merely that diplomacy can fail but that it fails when it is predicated on ignoring consistent behavior in favor of politically convenient hope.
The same pattern reappeared with the rise of Communist China.
When hope replaces strategy
Many Western policymakers convinced themselves that economic integration would naturally yield political moderation. Factories were relocated, supply chains realigned, and industries offshored in the belief that prosperity would produce a responsible stakeholder.
Instead, the West helped to finance the growth of a strategic competitor that kept its long-term ambitions largely undeclared but unmistakable in action. The assumption was that China would become more like the West; the reality was that China became more powerful while remaining itself.
Today the same temptation recurs in how many view Iran.
For nearly half a century, Iran’s ruling clergy and security apparatus have stated their objectives plainly.
They have sponsored militias and terrorist groups across the region, armed proxies in Lebanon, Iraq, Syria, and Yemen, attacked neighboring states when expedient, and brutally suppressed domestic dissent.
They have repeatedly defined Israel and the United States as enemies. None of this required secret intelligence to uncover; it has been public and persistent.
Yet every few years the West persuades itself that a diplomatic breakthrough is around the corner. New agreements are negotiated, promises are made, markets exhale, and leaders declare progress.
The underlying assumption remains that Iran ultimately wants what we want and that a sufficiently attractive bargain will overcome decades of ideological commitment and strategic practice.
Perhaps, one hopes, sometimes nations do evolve, and leaders do change. But a prudent strategy must weigh actions much more heavily than words.
Psychology offers a blunt aphorism that should be central to any strategic calculus: the best predictor of future behavior is past behavior. It’s a warning against wishful thinking dressed up as realism.
If a regime has for decades invested in proxies, in regional expansion by stealth and force, and in rhetorical hostility toward neighbors and the West, then promises of moderation should be verified, enforced, and backed by credible consequences – not accepted on faith.
Diplomacy is not the enemy. Agreements can be useful, even necessary. But they must be rooted in realistic expectations and robust mechanisms: verification, meaningful leverage, and clear punitive measures for violations.
Without those, concessions become signs of weakness, rewards for coercion, and incentives for further aggression.
The scorpion does not need to be persuaded that cooperating will be in his long-term interest if short-term pressure reliably extracts concessions. He merely adapts tactics to secure advantage.
The road to strategic failure is often paved with good intentions. Leaders understandably seek to avoid war, protect markets, and preserve peace. Those aims are noble. But noble aims do not alter a rival’s nature.
They do not rewrite ideological commitments or erase historical patterns of behavior. Confusing temporary calm with permanent change is a recurring error that can cost lives and strategic positions.
History shows that successful deterrence hinges on the credible willingness to act when promises are broken. Words without consequences are cheap. Agreements without enforcement are illusions.
The relevant question is not only whether Iran signs an agreement but also whether Tehran believes that violations will invite swift, meaningful, and proportionate responses that outweigh whatever short-term gains it sought through deception or coercion.
The scorpion and the frog endure as a parable because they capture a human temptation: to believe reason will prevail over nature. Sometimes it does. Sometimes it does not.
The art of statesmanship is in knowing the difference – being willing to negotiate when change is real and to deter when promises have repeatedly proven hollow.
The most dangerous assumption in foreign policy is not overestimating an enemy’s strength; it is assuming an enemy secretly wants what we want.
The frog made that mistake. The question before us now is whether policymakers will learn from history, weigh past behavior heavily in their judgments, and structure diplomacy so that it cannot be exploited by those who thrive on exploiting hope.
If not, the river will claim another pair of travelers.
Dr. Michael J. Salamon is a psychologist specializing in trauma and abuse and director of ADC Psychological Services in Netanya and Hewlett, NY.
Louis Libin is an expert in military strategies, wireless innovation, emergency communications, and cybersecurity.