Original Title: The Ceasefire Neither Side Can Keep
Original Author: Thomas Aldren
Translated by: Peggy, BlockBeats
Editor's Note: The achievement of a ceasefire does not mean the end of conflict.
In the confrontation between Iran and the United States, what has truly changed is not the situation on the battlefield, but the meaning of "the covenant itself" is being rewritten. This article takes the ceasefire of 1988 in Iran as a starting point, tracing how Khomeini completed a crucial shift between theology and reality, and aligning this logic with the ceasefire decision of 2026, pointing out a deeper structural issue: when the state is placed above the rules, any agreement will lose its binding force.
The article argues that the fragility of today's ceasefire is not just due to a lack of trust between the two sides, but because this "unreliability" has been solidified by each side's institutions and historical paths. On one hand, Iran reserves the space for "revocable commitments when necessary" in its political theology; on the other hand, the United States, after withdrawing from the Iran nuclear agreement (JCPOA) and shifting to maximum pressure and military strikes, has also undermined its own credibility as a party to the covenant.
Under these circumstances, the ceasefire is no longer "a path to peace," but more like a form that has been preserved: it still exists, but lacks the moral and institutional foundation that supports it.
When both sides view their power as the ultimate foundation, is it still possible for an agreement to be established? This may be the most critical starting point for understanding this ceasefire.
Below is the original text:
How the Logic of 1988 Reappears Today
Before accepting the ceasefire with Iraq in 1988, Ruhollah Khomeini reportedly considered resigning from the position of Supreme Leader. He was the founder of the Islamic Republic of Iran.
Then-Speaker Akbar Hashemi Rafsanjani proposed another solution: he would unilaterally end the war, and then Khomeini would use this as a justification to imprison him. The two men standing at the pinnacle of clerical state power had to find an excuse for "retreat"—because the theological system they constructed made concessions logically almost impossible. But reality had forced them to retreat.
Khomeini did not accept this "political performance," but rather personally "drank the poison." On July 20, 1988, he announced acceptance of the UN ceasefire. Subsequently, the government hastily sought religious legitimacy. At that time, President Ali Khamenei cited the "Treaty of Hudaybiyyah"—an agreement signed by the Prophet Muhammad in the 7th century with his enemies, which ultimately led to victory.
As noted by Mohammad Ayatollahi Tabaar in "Religious Statecraft," just days before the ceasefire, the Iranian commentary circles had consistently rejected this analogy; but once it became "useful," it was quickly utilized to "save the regime."
Within months, Khomeini sent a delegation to the Kremlin and issued a religious ruling against Salman Rushdie. This diplomatic action directly followed the Prophet's practice of writing to monarchs after Hudaybiyyah. Tabaar believes that both actions are essentially political, repairing a previously damaged theological system by demonstrating the "continuity" of religious positions. The war stopped, but the revolutionary narrative did not end; it continued in an adjusted form.
On April 8, 2026, Iran's Supreme National Security Council accepted a two-week ceasefire agreement with the United States, following forty days of fighting. The official statement called it a "significant victory," stating that Iran "forced the criminal United States to accept its ten-point plan." One phrase would not be unfamiliar to those who remember 1988: "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 quoted the Treaty of Hudaybiyyah back then—Mohammad Baqir Khamenei—ordered the ceasefire himself. Meanwhile, the committee he leads also expressed "complete distrust of the U.S." A conditional acceptance, a retained revolutionary narrative. The two Supreme Leaders, spanning thirty-eight years, present the same pattern.
For observers with a conservative stance, this judgment is not difficult to understand. "Operation Midnight Hammer" unleashed 14 bunker-buster bombs and 75 precision-guided munitions on three nuclear facilities. In the military operation of February 2026, the strike area covered 26 out of Iran's 31 provinces. Iran's eventual acceptance of the ceasefire seemed to confirm a conclusion: military power achieved results that had eluded five rounds of diplomatic negotiations mediated by Oman.
When the State is Above the Covenant: All Commitments Can Be Revoked
Skepticism about Iran potentially "defaulting" is not without basis. This evidence can even be traced back to the very founder of the regime. On January 8, 1988, six months before the ceasefire, Khomeini made a statement. As Tabaar noted, this "may be his most revealing and consequential expression": "The state, as part of the Prophet Muhammad's 'absolute rule,' is one of the most fundamental decrees of Islam, its status is above all secondary 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 religious agreements made with the people."
Here: the Islamic state is placed above prayer and fasting and is granted the power to revoke all agreements. Khomeini's earlier writings regarded the state as a tool for implementing divine law, while this decree reversed that relationship—the state itself became the purpose and had the authority to override the laws it was supposed to serve.
This can be viewed as the core theological logic of the regime, continuing under the "absolute guardianship" (Velayat-e Faqih, a system in which the Supreme Leader holds complete authority). As Amin Saikal pointed out in "Iran Rising," this pattern appears repeatedly: whenever facing significant decisions, the Supreme Leader adds "reservations" when supporting decisions, allowing for reversals when necessary.
In prophetic tradition, a limited institution that claims loyalty should be given only to God has a clear name: idolatry. For treaties, the consequences are also very specific—the form of commitment still exists, but the true basis for compliance has disappeared, as the party making the commitment has long declared itself entitled to withdraw it.
Supporters of "Operation Midnight Hammer" may observe this pattern in Tehran. But the prophetic tradition never allows people to diagnose "idolatry" only in external enemies.
Trust Has Vanished Beneath the Shell of the Ceasefire
Prior to "Operation Midnight Hammer," in the lead-up to the forty-day war and before the ceasefire, the United States had withdrawn from the Iran nuclear agreement (JCPOA). Under this agreement, Iran had significantly reduced its stockpile of enriched uranium and accepted verification by the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) under the Additional Protocol framework. The agency confirmed Iran’s compliance in numerous reports. The agreement indeed had flaws: some restrictions had "sunset clauses," and the missile issue was left ambiguous; from a prudential standpoint, the withdrawal wasn't without reason. However, the verification system itself was working effectively.
Yet Washington still chose to withdraw. Regardless of how this decision is assessed, its structural consequences are very clear: the country now demanding Iran to comply in a new agreement is the same one that previously tore up the old agreement. When subsequent diplomatic efforts failed to achieve results within the framework of the U.S.'s "maximum demands," the answer became escalating conflict.
June 2025: 7 B-2 bombers, 14 bunker-buster bombs, 75 precision-guided munitions struck three nuclear facilities. Officially described as "a spectacular military success." However, the Defense Intelligence Agency assessed that these strikes merely "set back Iran's nuclear program by several months." At the main target, Fordow, the IAEA found no damage. Iran's stockpile of 60% enriched uranium (440.9 kilograms) was unaccounted for: either still under the rubble or had been moved to Isfahan 13 days before the first round of strikes. This sophisticated airstrike left the question: What exactly did we hit?
February 2026: total war broke out, strikes covered 26 provinces, the Supreme Leader died. According to HRANA statistics, there were 3,597 deaths, of which 1,665 were civilians. Forty days later, a ceasefire was reached—but the uranium enrichment issue remained unresolved, and there was no written agreement in the public domain.
After the airstrikes, Iran suspended cooperation with the IAEA. Director General Rafael Grossi told the council that the agency had lost "knowledge continuity" regarding Iran's uranium stockpile, and this loss was "irreversible." Now, the IAEA "cannot provide any information regarding the scale, composition, or location of Iran's enriched uranium stock." Iran completely halted cooperation. But it was the same party now demanding a new agreement that initiated this chain process of withdrawal, sanctions, and then military strikes.
An imprudent leader may misjudge; while a structural orientation may repeat the same logic at every decision node: withdraw from the agreement, impose maximum pressure sanctions, bomb facilities, and then demand a nation just proven "untrustworthy" to re-sign the agreement. At each point, the choice is between force rather than covenant, destruction rather than trust frameworks. This consistency reveals a belief: that U.S. military power can achieve what should rely on moral structures to sustain.
Khomeini's decree placed the Islamic state above prayer and fasting; while the U.S. behavior pattern places military advantage above the covenant. Both are essentially the same: both represent a form of "idolatry" that treats limited power as the ultimate foundation.
It is here that the two forms of "idolatry" intersect: the U.S. can no longer demand a trust that it has destroyed; Iran cannot offer a commitment whose institution reserves the right of revocation.
What once bridged the gap between the two sides, the verification system, 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 are discussing an unpublished agreement text. Iran's Supreme National Security Council demands constraints through a UN Security Council resolution; just hours before the announcement of the ceasefire, Russia and China vetoed a more moderate resolution regarding the Strait of Hormuz.
From the Iranian side, the chief representative in Islamabad negotiations is Speaker Mohammad Baqer Qalibaf, who is also a member of the interim leadership committee. He stated in late March that he had never negotiated with the U.S., yet he has now become the lead negotiator—the executor of the agreement, as well as its creator.
In Iran's proposed "ten-point plan," the Persian version contains a phrase "acknowledgment of uranium enrichment," while the external English version omits this sentence; Trump claimed he "would not allow any enrichment." Compelled submission has never cured "idolatry." The history since 1988 has repeatedly proven this point.
George Weigel, in "Tranquillitas Ordinis," termed this mechanism "substituting the infinite"—treating limited political arrangements as ultimate, thus destroying the foundation upon which an orderly political community subsists.
Viewing this ceasefire as a victory for U.S. power, or simply judging that Iran is bound to default, is actually the same error: both treat the judgment of a limited arrangement as an ultimate judgment.
"Hawks," who firmly believe that force can compel obedience, and "doves," who firmly believe diplomacy can change relations, are essentially mirrors—both refuse to acknowledge a fact: no human tool can achieve redemption on its own.
Tradition has never provided such certainty. What it requires is a more difficult path.
In the scriptures, prophets always start with Israel. Because only the "covenanted people" possess the concept to identify "idolatry"; and when they refuse to apply this concept to themselves, their guilt is even greater. Amos's proclamation begins in Damascus, not because of its righteousness, but because the audience would nod in agreement with the condemnation of "the other"—then he turns to Judah, then to Israel, and the nodding stops.
Identifying the common patterns of the two countries means using these judgment tools in order: first point out one's own "idolatry," then judge the other.
This tradition is called "the discipline of repentance," and it has clear practical forms: whether in church, at the dining table, or in news-feeding group chats, discussions about this ceasefire must begin with "acknowledgment"—withdrawal from the JCPOA is the first breach of covenant by the party demanding a new contract; "Operation Midnight Hammer" embodies a belief: that as long as the destruction is thorough enough, order can be established; the forty-day war, 1,665 civilian deaths, and 170 children killed in a single school attack, while the starting point of the conflict—the uranium enrichment issue—remains unresolved. Before pointing out Tehran's issues, one must acknowledge these facts. Tehran's issues are not smaller, but if assessments always begin from the other's mistakes, then they are no longer honest.
Iran's unreliability has long been encoded in its institutional theology, and scrutiny of the ceasefire terms is still necessary. However, an honest assessment of the United States must come first. Only by simultaneously identifying both forms of "idolatry" can one understand the true face of this arrangement rather than regard it as a reaffirmation of existing positions.
This ceasefire, in essence, is a wasteland. It may be the only remaining negotiation table. The tradition of just war has a real tendency towards peace, which means that people must engage with this hollow arrangement rather than simply abandon it.
Augustine defined peace as "the tranquility of order." The current reality is a two-week pause mediated by Pakistan: no common text, no effective verification, each side insists on its own interpretation of the agreement. Ruins can be repaired, but the premise is that people must not mistake them for a grand cathedral.
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