Why is the ceasefire between the U.S. and Iran destined to be unsustainable?

Original Title: The Ceasefire Neither Side Can Keep

Original Author: Thomas Aldren

Translation: 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 rather the meaning of "the contract itself" is being rewritten. This article starts from the 1988 ceasefire in Iran, tracing how Khomeini made a crucial turn between theology and reality, and juxtaposes this logic with the ceasefire decision in 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 today's ceasefire is fragile not only because of the lack of trust between both sides but also because this "untrustworthiness" has been solidified by their respective systems and historical paths. On one hand, Iran retains the space for "revoking commitments when necessary" in its political theology; on the other hand, the United States, after withdrawing from the Iran nuclear agreement (JCPOA) and turning to maximum pressure and military strikes, has also weakened its credibility as a party to the contract.

Under such premises, the ceasefire is no longer "a path to peace," but rather a form that has been preserved: 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 established? This may be the most critical starting point for understanding this ceasefire.

The following is the original text:

How the Logic of 1988 Replays 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.

At that time, Speaker Akbar Hashemi Rafsanjani proposed another solution: to unilaterally end the war, and then Khomeini would use this as a reason to imprison him. The two men at the pinnacle of theocratic state power had to find an excuse for "retreat"—because the theological system they constructed made concessions logically almost 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 hurriedly 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 Mohammad Ayatollahi Tabaar recorded in "Religious Statecraft," just days before the ceasefire, the Iranian commentary community had consistently rejected this analogy; but once it became "useful," it was quickly employed to "save the regime."

Within months, Khomeini sent a delegation to the Kremlin and issued a religious decree against Salman Rushdie. This external action mirrored the Prophet's letters to various monarchs after Hudaybiyyah. Tabaar believes that both are essentially political actions—repairing the previously damaged theological system by demonstrating the "continuity" of religious positions. The war stopped, but the revolutionary narrative did not end; instead, 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, after both sides had been in conflict for forty days. The official statement called it a "major victory" and stated that Iran "forced the criminal United States to accept its ten-point plan." One phrase, familiar to those who remember 1988, was: "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 cited the Treaty of Hudaybiyyah—Mojtaba Khamenei, personally ordered the ceasefire. At the same time, the committee he leads expressed "complete distrust of the U.S. side." 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" dropped 14 bunker busters and 75 precision-guided munitions on three nuclear facilities. In the military operation of February 2026, the strike covered 26 of Iran's 31 provinces. Iran's eventual acceptance of the ceasefire seems to confirm a conclusion: military force achieved what five rounds of Oman-mediated diplomatic negotiations could not.

When the State is Above the Contract: All Commitments Can Be Revoked

Doubts about Iran's potential "breach of contract" are not unfounded. This evidence can even be traced back to the founder of the regime himself. On January 8, 1988, six months before the ceasefire, Khomeini made a statement. As Tabaar noted, this "may be his most revealing and consequential statement": "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 interests of the state and Islam as a whole, 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 early writings regarded the state as a tool for realizing divine law, while this decree inverted that relationship—the state itself became the purpose and had the right to override the laws it was supposed to serve.

This can be seen as the core theological logic of the regime, continuing under the system of "absolute guardianship" (Velayat-e Faqih, where the Supreme Leader holds complete authority). As Amin Saikal pointed out in "Iran Rising," this pattern recurs: whenever faced with significant decisions, the Supreme Leader adds "reservations" while supporting the decision, allowing for a reversal when necessary.

In the prophetic tradition, a limited institution that claims loyalty should only belong to God has a clear name: idolatry. For treaties, the consequences are also very specific—the form of commitment remains, but the real basis for fulfillment has disappeared, because the party making the commitment has long declared its right to revoke it.

Supporters of "Operation Midnight Hammer" may see this pattern in Tehran. But the prophetic tradition never allows people to diagnose "idolatry" solely in external enemies.

Under 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 agreement (JCPOA). Under this agreement, Iran significantly reduced its stockpile of enriched uranium and accepted international Atomic Energy Agency inspections under the Additional Protocol. The agency confirmed Iran's compliance in report after report. The agreement indeed had flaws: some restrictions had "sunset clauses," and there were gaps regarding missile issues; from a prudent perspective, the withdrawal was not without reason. However, the verification system itself was functioning effectively.

Yet Washington still chose to withdraw. Regardless of how this decision itself is evaluated, its structural consequences are very clear: the countries now demanding Iran's compliance in a new agreement are the same ones that previously tore up the old agreement. When subsequent diplomatic efforts failed to yield results under the U.S. "maximum demands," the answer became escalating conflict.

June 2025: 7 B-2 bombers, 14 bunker busters, 75 precision-guided munitions struck three nuclear facilities. Officially described as "a spectacular military success." However, the Defense Intelligence Agency assessed that these strikes only "set back Iran's nuclear program by a few months." At the main target, Fordow, the IAEA found no damage. Iran's stockpile of 60% enriched uranium (440.9 kg) is unaccounted for: either still under the rubble or transferred 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 breaks out, strikes cover 26 provinces, the Supreme Leader dies. According to HRANA statistics, a total of 3,597 people died, including 1,665 civilians. Forty days later, a ceasefire was reached—but the uranium enrichment issue remains unresolved, and there is no written agreement in the public domain.

After the airstrikes, Iran suspended cooperation with the IAEA. Director General Rafael Grossi informed the council that the agency had lost "knowledge continuity" regarding Iran's uranium stockpile, and this loss is "irreversible." Now, the IAEA "cannot provide any information about the scale, composition, or location of Iran's high-enriched uranium stockpile." Iran has completely halted cooperation. But the withdrawal from the agreement, the imposition of sanctions, and then military strikes—this chain of events was initiated by the very party now demanding a new agreement.

An imprudent leader may misjudge; yet a structural orientation will repeat the same logic at every decision point: withdraw from the agreement, impose extreme pressure sanctions, bomb facilities, and then demand a country recently proven "untrustworthy" to re-sign the agreement. At every point, the choice is force rather than contract, destruction rather than trust. This consistency reveals a belief: that U.S. military power can achieve an order that should rely on moral structures to maintain.

Khomeini's decree placed the Islamic state above prayer and fasting; while the U.S. behavioral model places military advantage above the contract. Both are essentially the same: treating limited power as the ultimate reliance, "idolatry."

It is here that these two forms of "idolatry" intersect: the U.S. can no longer demand a trust that it has destroyed; Iran cannot provide a commitment that its system itself reserves the right to revoke.

The verification system that once bridged the gap between the two sides 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 a text of the agreement that has never been made public. Iran's Supreme National Security Council demands to be bound by a UN Security Council resolution; just hours before the ceasefire was announced, Russia and China vetoed a more moderate resolution regarding the Strait of Hormuz.

On the Iranian side, the chief representative in the 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 now he has become the lead negotiator—the one executing the agreement, as well as the one formulating it.

In the "ten-point plan" proposed by Iran, the Persian version includes a statement recognizing "uranium enrichment," while the English version for external use omits this sentence; Trump claimed he "would not allow any enrichment." Forced submission has never cured "idolatry." The history since 1988 has repeatedly proven this.

George Weigel, in "Tranquillitas Ordinis," named this mechanism "substituting the infinite"—that is, treating limited political arrangements as ultimate, thereby destroying the foundation on which an orderly political community exists.

To view this ceasefire as a victory of U.S. power, or to simply assume that Iran will inevitably breach the contract, is actually the same error: both treat the judgment of a limited arrangement as an ultimate judgment.

Those who firmly believe that military force can compel obedience, the "hawks," and those who firmly believe that diplomacy can change relations, the "doves," 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 demands is a more difficult path.

In the scriptures, the prophet always begins with Israel. Because only the "covenant people" possess the concept of identifying "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 justice, but because the audience will nod in agreement with the condemnation of "the other"—then he turns to Judah, and then to Israel, and the nodding stops.

Identifying the common pattern of the two countries means using these judgment tools in order: first pointing out one's own "idolatry," then judging the other.

This tradition is called "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, it should start with "acknowledgment"—withdrawing from the JCPOA was the first breach of contract by the party demanding a new covenant; "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 problems, first acknowledge these facts. Tehran's issues are not smaller, but if judgments always start from the other's mistakes, they are no longer honest.

Iran's unreliability has long been written into its institutional theology, and examining the ceasefire terms remains necessary. But an honest assessment of the U.S. must come first. Only by simultaneously identifying the two forms of "idolatry" can one understand the true nature of this arrangement, rather than treating it as a reaffirmation of existing positions.

This ceasefire is essentially a ruin. It may also be the only negotiating table that still exists. The tradition of just war has a real priority for peace, which means that people must engage in this hollow arrangement rather than simply abandon it.

Augustine defined peace as "the tranquility of order." And the current reality is a two-week pause mediated by Pakistan: no common text, no effective verification, both sides hold differing views on the content of the agreement. The ruins can be repaired, but on the condition that people do not mistake it for a grand cathedral.