Original Title: The Ceasefire Neither Side Can Keep

Original Author: Thomas Aldren

Original Compilation: Peggy, BlockBeats

Editor's Note: The achievement of a ceasefire does not mean the end of the conflict.

In this confrontation between Iran and the United States, what has truly changed is not the battlefield situation, but the meaning of "the contract itself" being rewritten. This article takes the 1988 Iran ceasefire as a starting point, tracing how Khomeini completed a critical turn between theology and reality, and applies this logic to the 2026 ceasefire decision, pointing to a deeper structural issue: when the state is placed above rules, any agreement will lose its binding force.

The article argues that the fragility of today's ceasefire is not only due to a lack of trust between the two sides, but because this "untrustworthiness" itself has been solidified by their respective systems and historical paths. On one hand, Iran reserves the space in its political theology to "revoke commitments when necessary"; on the other hand, the United States, after withdrawing from the Iran nuclear deal (JCPOA) and turning to maximum pressure and military strikes, has also weakened its credibility as a party to the contract.

Under these premises, a ceasefire is no longer a "path to peace," but more like a preserved form: it still exists, but lacks the moral and institutional foundation that supports it.

When both sides view their own power as the ultimate reliance, can an agreement still be possible? This, perhaps, is the most critical starting point for understanding this ceasefire.

Below is the original text:

How the 1988 Logic Repeats Itself Today

Before accepting the 1988 ceasefire with Iraq, Ruhollah Khomeini was reportedly considering resigning as Supreme Leader. He was the founder of the Islamic Republic of Iran.

Then-Speaker of the Parliament Akbar Hashemi Rafsanjani proposed an alternative: he would unilaterally end the war, and then Khomeini would imprison him for it. Two men at the pinnacle of power in the theocratic state had to find an excuse for "retreat"—because the theological system they had constructed made concession almost logically impossible. But reality forced them to concede.

Khomeini did not accept this "political performance" but personally "drank the poison." On July 20, 1988, he announced acceptance of the UN ceasefire. Subsequently, the government hastily sought religious justification. Then-President Ali Khamenei invoked the "Treaty of Hudaybiyyah"—a 7th-century agreement signed by the Prophet Muhammad with his foes that ultimately led to victory.

As documented by Mohammad Ayatollahi Tabaar in "Religious Statecraft," Iranian commentators had rejected this analogy until just days before the ceasefire; but once it became "useful," it was quickly mobilized to "save the regime."

Within months, Khomeini sent a delegation to the Kremlin and issued a fatwa against Salman Rushdie. This external action mimicked the Prophet's letters to various monarchs after Hudaybiyyah. Tabaar argues that both were essentially political moves—demonstrating the "continuity" of religious stance to repair the previously damaged theological system. The war stopped, but the revolutionary narrative did not end; it adjusted and continued.

On April 8, 2026, Iran's Supreme National Security Council accepted a two-week ceasefire agreement with the United States, after forty days of fighting. The official statement called it a "major victory" and stated that Iran "forced the criminal United States to accept its ten-point plan." One sentence, familiar to those who remember 1988, stood out: "It must be emphasized that this does not mean the end of the war."

The new Supreme Leader, also the son of the one who invoked the Hudaybiyyah treaty—Mojtaba Khamenei—personally ordered the ceasefire. Simultaneously, his committee expressed "complete distrust of the American side." A conditional acceptance, a preserved revolutionary narrative. Two Supreme Leaders, thirty-eight years apart, present the same pattern.

For observers with a conservative stance, this judgment is not hard to understand. "Operation Midnight Hammer" dropped 14 bunker busters and 75 precision-guided munitions on three nuclear facilities. By February 2026, military operations had covered 26 of Iran's 31 provinces. Iran's eventual acceptance of the ceasefire seemed to confirm one conclusion: force achieved what five rounds of Omani-mediated diplomatic negotiations could not.

When the State Is Above the Contract: Every Promise Can Be Revoked

Suspicions that Iran might "default" are not without basis. This evidence can even be traced back to the regime's founder himself. On January 8, 1988, six months before the ceasefire, Khomeini made a statement. As Tabaar calls it, this was "perhaps his most revealing and consequential pronouncement": "The state, as part of the Prophet Muhammad's 'absolute governance,' is one of Islam's most fundamental decrees, its status above all secondary sharia laws, even above prayer, fasting, and pilgrimage... When existing agreements conflict with the overall interests of the state and Islam, the state has the right to unilaterally revoke any sharia-based agreement made with the people."

Here it is: the Islamic state is placed above prayer and fasting, and granted the power to revoke any agreement. Khomeini's earlier writings had viewed the state as a tool to implement divine law, but this ruling reversed the relationship—the state itself becomes the end and is empowered to override the laws it should serve.

This can be seen as the core theological logic of the regime, continuing under the "Absolute Guardianship of the Jurist" (Velayat-e Faqih, the system where the Supreme Leader holds complete authority). As Amin Saikal points out in "Iran Rising," this pattern recurs: whenever facing major decisions, the Supreme Leader supports the decision while adding "reservations" to allow reversal if necessary.

In the prophetic tradition, a limited system that claims loyalty due only to God has a clear name: idolatry. For treaties, the consequence is also specific—the form of the promise remains, but the real basis for fulfillment has vanished, because the party making it has already declared its right to withdraw it.

Supporters of "Operation Midnight Hammer" might see this pattern in Tehran. But the prophetic tradition never allows diagnosing "idolatry" only in external enemies.

Beneath the Ceasefire Shell, Trust No Longer Exists

Before "Operation Midnight Hammer," before this forty-day war, before the ceasefire, the United States had already withdrawn from the Iran nuclear deal (JCPOA). Under that agreement, Iran significantly reduced its stockpile of highly enriched uranium and accepted inspections by the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) under the Additional Protocol. The agency confirmed Iran's compliance in report after report. The deal had flaws: some restrictions had "sunset clauses," and missile issues were left unaddressed; from a prudent perspective, withdrawal was not without reason. But the inspection system itself worked effectively.

Yet Washington still chose to withdraw. Regardless of how one evaluates this decision, its structural consequence is clear: the country now demanding Iran comply with a new agreement is the same one that tore up the old agreement. When subsequent diplomatic efforts failed to yield results under the U.S. "maximum pressure" framework, the answer became escalating conflict.

June 2025: 7 B-2 bombers, 14 bunker busters, 75 precision-guided munitions, striking three nuclear facilities. Officially called "a spectacular military success." However, the Defense Intelligence Agency assessed that these strikes only set back Iran's nuclear program "by months." At the main target, Fordow, the IAEA found no damage. 60% of Iran's highly enriched uranium stockpile (440.9 kg) was unaccounted for: either still under the rubble or moved to Isfahan 13 days before the first strike. The most technologically advanced airstrike in years left the question: What exactly did we hit?

February 2026: Full-scale war breaks out, strikes cover 26 provinces, the Supreme Leader is killed. According to HRANA, 3,597 people died, including 1,665 civilians. After forty days, a ceasefire is reached—but the uranium enrichment issue remains unresolved, and there is no written agreement at the public level.

After the airstrikes, Iran suspended cooperation with the IAEA. Director General Rafael Grossi told the Board of Governors that the agency had lost "continuity of knowledge" regarding Iran's uranium stockpile, and this loss was "irreversible." Now, the IAEA "cannot provide any information on the scale, composition, or location of Iran's highly enriched uranium stockpile." Iran fully halted cooperation. But the party that withdrew from the deal, imposed sanctions, and then launched military strikes is the same one now demanding a new agreement.

An imprudent leader might miscalculate; but a structural orientation repeats the same logic at every decision point: withdraw from the agreement, impose maximum pressure sanctions, bomb facilities, then demand that a country just proven "unable to trust you" sign a new agreement. At every node, the choice is force over contract, destruction over trust architecture. This consistency reveals a belief: U.S. military power can achieve the order that should rely on moral structures to sustain.

Khomeini's ruling placed the Islamic state above prayer and fasting; the U.S. behavior pattern places military superiority above contract. Both are essentially the same: "idolatry" that treats limited power as the ultimate reliance.

It is here that these two "idolatries" converge: the United States can no longer demand a trust it has destroyed; Iran cannot offer a commitment its system reserves the right to revoke.

The verification system that once bridged the gap between the two has been destroyed in a series of decisions by both countries. What remains is a shell of an agreement that retains form but lacks moral support.

Both sides talk about a protocol text that has never been made public. Iran's Supreme National Security Council demands binding through a UN Security Council resolution; just hours before the ceasefire announcement, Russia and China vetoed a milder resolution on the Strait of Hormuz.

On the Iranian side, the chief negotiator in Islamabad talks is Parliament Speaker Mohammad Bagher Ghalibaf, also a member of the interim leadership committee. In late March, he stated that there had never been negotiations with the U.S., but now he leads the negotiations—the person executing the agreement is also the one making it.

In Iran's "ten-point plan," the Persian version includes the phrase "recognition of uranium enrichment," while the external English version omits it; Trump claims "will not allow any enrichment." Forced submission has never cured "idolatry." History since 1988 has repeatedly proven this.

George Weigel, in "Tranquillitas Ordinis," names this mechanism "substitute infinity"—treating limited political arrangements as ultimate, thereby destroying the foundation of an ordered political community.

Viewing this ceasefire as a victory of U.S. power, or simply认定 Iran will必然 default, is the same error: both treat judgment of a limited arrangement as ultimate judgment.

The "hawks" who believe force can compel obedience and the "doves" who believe diplomacy can change relations are essentially mirror images—both refuse to acknowledge the fact: no human tool can accomplish redemption on its own.

Tradition never gives this certainty. It demands a more difficult path.

In scripture, the prophets always start with Israel. Because only the "covenant people" possess the concept to recognize "idolatry"; and when they refuse to apply this concept to themselves, their guilt is greater. Amos's proclamation starts with Damascus, not because of its justice, but because the audience would nod at the condemnation of the "other"—then he turns to Judah, then to Israel, and the nodding stops.

Recognizing the common pattern of both countries means using these judgment tools in order: first point out one's own "idolatry," then judge the other.

This tradition calls it "the discipline of repentance"; it has a clear practical form: whether in church, at the table, or in group chats with news feeds, when discussing this ceasefire, start with "acknowledgment"—withdrawing from the JCPOA was the party demanding a new contract first违背 the contract; "Operation Midnight Hammer" reflected a belief that sufficient destruction could establish order; the forty-day war, 1,665 civilian deaths, 170 children killed in a single school attack, and the conflict's starting point—the uranium enrichment issue—still unresolved. Before pointing out Tehran's problems, acknowledge these facts. Tehran's problems are no smaller, but if judgment always starts with the other's errors, it is no longer honest.

Iran's unreliability is written into its institutional theology, and scrutiny of the ceasefire terms is still necessary. But honest assessment of the United States must come first. Only by recognizing both "idolatries" can one understand the true nature of this arrangement, not mistake it for reaffirmation of existing positions.

This ceasefire is essentially a ruin. It might also be the only negotiating table left. The just war tradition has a real preference for peace, which means people must engage with this hollowed-out arrangement, not simply abandon it.

Augustine defined peace as "the tranquility of order." The current reality is a two-week, Pakistan-mediated pause: no common text, no effective verification, both sides dispute the agreement's content. Ruins can be repaired, but only if people don't mistake them for a cathedral.

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