On: Has Trump lost control of the Iran war?

The news from the East reached me as the lamps were being trimmed for the night. Israel and Iran have traded fire again, the ceasefire dissolved like salt in the rain. I felt the familiar tightening in my chest - the desire for a world that stays settled, for borders that remain quiet while I attend to the grain supply and the petitions of the poor.

I caught myself in this weakness. Why do I crave a stillness that the universe does not provide? To be surprised that men at war return to war is like being surprised that a fig tree produces figs. It is the nature of the thing. I asked myself: Does this “loss of control” by the American leader change my own standing? It does not. Whether he holds the reins or the horses bolt, my province remains the same: my own mind, my own reactions, my own duty to the Roman people.

Antoninus would not have paced the floor over reports from distant satrapies. He would have looked at the map, assessed the supply lines, and asked, “What is the next just act?” He never mistook the noise of the world for the voice of reason.

The missiles fly; the earth remains. In a hundred years, the names of these generals will be dust, and the grievances they kill for will be footnotes in a lost ledger. This is not to say the suffering is nothing - it is everything to those who bleed - but for me, the governor, the perspective must be wider. I cannot control the fire in the Levant. I can control the justice in my heart. I must return to the work at hand. The camp is cold, my joints ache, and the morning will bring more petitions. To do the work of a man, now, without complaint - that is the only victory available.