Original Author: Thomas Aldren

Original Compilation: Peggy, BlockBeats

Editor’s Note: The achievement of a ceasefire does not signify 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 very meaning of “the contract itself” being rewritten. This article begins with the 1988 Iran ceasefire, tracing how Khomeini completed a crucial pivot 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 the rules, any agreement loses 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’s political theology reserves the space to “revoke commitments when necessary”; on the other hand, the U.S., after withdrawing from the Iran nuclear deal (JCPOA) and shifting to maximum pressure and military strikes, has also undermined its own credibility as a contractual party.

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 to support it.

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

The following is the original text:

How the Logic of 1988 Repeats Itself Today

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

The then-Speaker of Parliament, Akbar Hashemi Rafsanjani, proposed an alternative: he would unilaterally end the war, and then Khomeini could imprison him for it. Two men at the pinnacle of power in a 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 instead personally “drank the poison.” On July 20, 1988, he announced acceptance of the UN ceasefire. Subsequently, the government hastily sought religious justification. The then-President Ali Khamenei invoked the “Treaty of Hudaybiyyah”—a pact Prophet Muhammad signed with his enemies in the 7th century, which ultimately led to victory.

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

Within months, Khomeini sent a delegation to the Kremlin and issued a fatwa against Salman Rushdie. This external action mirrored the Prophet’s letters to various monarchs after Hudaybiyyah. Tabaar argues that both were essentially political moves—repairing the previously damaged theological system by demonstrating the “continuity” of the religious stance. 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 with the United States, after forty days of fighting. The official statement called it a “major victory,” stating Iran had “forced the criminal United States to accept its ten-point plan.” One sentence was familiar to those who remembered 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 invoked the Treaty of Hudaybiyyah—Mojtaba Khamenei—personally ordered the ceasefire. Simultaneously, the committee he leads 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 leaning conservative, this judgment is not difficult to understand. “Operation Midnight Hammer” dropped 14 bunker-buster bombs and 75 precision-ガイドd weapons on three nuclear facilities. By February 2026, military strikes had covered 26 of Iran’s 31 provinces. Iran’s eventual acceptance of the ceasefire seemed to confirm a conclusion: force achieved what five rounds of Oman-mediated diplomatic talks could not.

When the State is Above the Contract: Every Promise Can Be Recalled

Suspicions that Iran might “breach” the agreement are not unfounded. This evidence can be traced back to the regime’s founder himself. On January 8, 1988, six months before the ceasefire, Khomeini made a statement. As Tabaar notes, this was “perhaps his most revealing, and most consequential, statement”: “The state, as part of the Prophet Muhammad’s ‘absolute governance,’ is one of Islam’s most fundamental ordinances, its status above all secondary religious 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 religiously binding 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 viewed the state as a tool to implement divine law, but this ruling inverted the relationship—the state itself becomes the end, with the right to override the laws it was meant to serve.

This can be seen as the core theological logic of the regime, continuing to this day under the “Guardianship of the Islamic 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,” allowing reversal if necessary.

In the prophetic tradition, a limited institution claiming loyalty due only to God has a clear name: idolatry. For treaties, the consequence is also concrete—the form of the promise remains, but the real foundation for fulfillment has vanished, because the party making the promise has already declared its right to recall 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 Shell of the Ceasefire, 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 drastically reduced its stockpile of highly enriched uranium and accepted International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) inspections under the Additional Protocol. The agency confirmed Iran’s compliance in report after report. The deal had flaws: some restrictions had “sunset clauses,” missile issues were left unaddressed; from a prudent perspective, withdrawal was not without reason. But the verification system itself functioned effectively.

Yet Washington chose to withdraw. Regardless of how one evaluates that decision itself, its structural consequence is clear: the country now demanding Iran comply with a new agreement is the same one that tore up the old one. When subsequent diplomatic efforts failed to yield results within the framework of American “maximum demands,” the answer became escalating conflict.

June 2025: 7 B-2 bombers, 14 bunker-buster bombs, 75 precision-guided weapons, 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. Iran’s stockpile of 60% enriched uranium (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 recent years left the question: What exactly did we hit?

February 2026: Full-scale war erupts, 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 publicly available written agreement.

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 size, composition, or location of Iran’s stockpile of highly enriched uranium.” Iran has completely halted cooperation. But it was the party now demanding a new agreement that initiated this chain of events: withdrawing from the deal, imposing sanctions, then military strikes.

An imprudent leader misjudges; a structural orientation repeats the same logic at every decision point: withdraw from an 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: American military power can achieve an order that should rely on moral structures to sustain.

Khomeini’s ruling placed the Islamic state above prayer and fasting; America’s pattern of behavior places military superiority above contracts. Both are essentially the same: “idolatry” that treats limited power as the ultimate reliance.

And it is here that these two forms of “idolatry” converge: America can no longer demand a trust it has destroyed; Iran cannot provide a promise its own 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, retaining form but lacking moral support.

Both sides talk about an agreement text never made public. Iran’s Supreme National Security Council demands binding through a UN Security Council resolution; yet just hours before the ceasefire announcement, Russia and China vetoed a more moderate resolution on the Strait of Hormuz.

On the Iranian side, the chief negotiator for the Islamabad talks is Parliament Speaker Mohammad Bagher Ghalibaf, also a member of the interim leadership committee. In late March, he stated there had been no negotiations with the U.S., yet now he leads the talks—the person implementing the agreement is also the one formulating it.

In Iran’s “ten-point plan,” the Persian version includes phrasing about “recognizing uranium enrichment,” while the external English version omits this sentence; Trump claims “will not allow any enrichment.” Forced submission has never cured “idolatry.” History since 1988 has repeatedly proven this.

In “Tranquillitas Ordinis,” George Weigel names this mechanism “substituting the infinite”—treating finite political arrangements as ultimate, thereby destroying the foundation upon which an ordered political community depends.

Viewing this ceasefire as a victory of American power, or simply concluding Iran will inevitably breach it, is the same error: both treat judgment of a finite arrangement as ultimate judgment.

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

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

In scripture, the prophets always begin 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 begins with Damascus, not because of its righteousness, but because the listeners would nod in agreement at the condemnation of the “other”—then he turns to Judah, then to Israel, and the nodding stops.

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

This tradition calls it “the discipline of repentance,” and it has a clear practical form: whether in church, at the dinner table, or in group chats flooded with news, when discussing this ceasefire, one should begin with “acknowledgment”—withdrawing from the JCPOA was the party demanding a new contract first breaking the contract; “Operation Midnight Hammer” embodied a belief that order can be built through sufficient destruction; the forty-day war, 1,665 civilian deaths, 170 children killed in a single school attack, while the conflict’s origin—the uranium enrichment issue—remains unresolved. Acknowledge these facts before pointing out Tehran’s problems. Tehran’s problems are no smaller, but if judgment always begins with the other’s faults, it ceases to be honest.

Iran’s unreliability is already written into its institutional theology, and scrutiny of the ceasefire terms is still necessary. But an honest assessment of the United States must come first. Only by recognizing both forms of “idolatry” can one understand the true nature of this arrangement, rather than treating it as a reaffirmation of pre-existing positions.

This ceasefire is, in essence, a piece of rubble. It might also be the only negotiating table still standing. The just war tradition has a genuine preference for peace, which means people must engage with this hollowed-out arrangement, not simply abandon it.

Augustine デフィned peace as “the tranquility of order.” The current reality is a two-week, Pakistan-mediated pause: no common text, no effective verification, both sides disputing the agreement’s content. Rubble can be repaired, but only if people do not mistake it for a cathedral.

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この記事はインターネットから得たものです。 A Ceasefire Without Trust Is Merely a PauseWhen the State is Above the Contract: Every Promise Can Be Recalled

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