We are assured by the Americans that peace has broken out in Lebanon. How reassuring. A ceasefire agreement has been reached, they say, which means both parties have solemnly sworn to stop shooting at each other—at least on Tuesdays, or perhaps only during business hours. The exact terms remain mysterious, which is always a good sign. When diplomats speak of "frameworks" and "understandings," one understands that they understand nothing, but everyone has agreed to pretend otherwise. This is the essence of modern statecraft: two sides cease fire not because they've resolved anything, but because everyone's equally exhausted and paperwork has piled up.

The beauty of such arrangements is their elegant absurdity. A ceasefire is what happens when both belligerents realize that continuing to kill each other is far more expensive than simply stopping, filing the proper documents, and waiting six months before resuming hostilities with renewed vigor. It's not peace—that would require something as demanding as actually wanting peace. It's merely an intermission, a commercial break in the theatre of the absurd we call international relations. The missiles will sleep. For now. And isn't that enough?