Iran war has become a lesson in how power really works

For months, the Iran war was framed through the language of military success. This was shaped in part by longstanding orientalist assumptions reflected in the rhetoric of leaders such as Donald Trump and Benjamin Netanyahu about the relative weakness and fragility of states such as Iran.

Encouraged by Israeli intelligence capabilities, precision strikes and overwhelming American military superiority, many policymakers appeared to assume Tehran would eventually collapse under pressure. Iran, in this view, was too isolated, internally divided and economically weakened to withstand sustained US-Israeli escalation. Some even suggested American troops would be welcomed by sections of a population frustrated with the regime.

But this hasn’t been the reality of the past two months. The Trump administration now appears to be groping for any settlement it can sell as a “win”. This may be hard if, as has been reported, the US military campaign ends without Iran being forced to make any meaningful concessions over its nuclear programme.

If that transpires, it will suggest that the German chancellor, Friedrich Merz, was right when he said that the US has been humiliated by Iran in a lesson about how power really works.

The problem was not simply military miscalculation. It was strategic incoherence rooted in assumption that Iran could not meaningfully endure prolonged confrontation. As the war progressed, the fantasy of decisive victory collapsed under the weight of economic, political and strategic reality.

No clear objective

At the same time, at least in public, America’s leadership appeared regularly to change its mind about what would represent a “win”. Was it destroying Iran’s nuclear and ballistic missile programmes, neutralising its armed forces, forcing regime change, or ending Tehran’s regional influence? Throughout the conflict, the objectives shifted constantly. That ambiguity was not a minor flaw in strategy. It was the strategy’s central weakness.

Modern wars require a clear objective and a realistic path to achieving it. Throughout this conflict, the US and Israel never convincingly defined either.

If the aim was regime change, there was never serious appetite for the kind of occupation and state reconstruction that had in Iraq and Afghanistan already proved disastrously costly.

If the aim was simply degrading Iran’s military capabilities, that was always going to be a temporary fix – Iran has spent decades building a system designed around resilience, decentralisation and survival under pressure.

And if the aim was to end Iran’s role as a regional power, that has clearly failed. Iran remains intact. Its institutions survived and were able to install a new generation of leadership. And, as we’ve seen over Tehran’s ability to control the Strait of Hormuz, Iran’s strategic relevance survived.

This was never going to be a conventional war about controlling territory. It was a clash between two very different understandings of victory. The US and Israel wanted a decisive and demonstrable victory. Iran wanted to endure. That distinction changed the entire war and handed the strategic advantage to Tehran.

Iran understood something many policymakers in Washington continue to underestimate: weaker states do not necessarily need to defeat stronger powers militarily in order to succeed. They simply need to avoid collapse while imposing sufficient economic, political and strategic costs that the stronger actor eventually recalculates.

This is not a new lesson. It runs through modern history, from Vietnam to Afghanistan. Superior military power does not automatically produce political victory. But more importantly, the conflict also revealed the increasing cost of escalation in an interconnected global economy.

Global battlefield

The war’s consequences spread across the global economy as oil prices surged, shipping routes faced disruption and already fragile supply chains came under renewed pressure. The closure of the Strait of Hormuz – through which roughly one-fifth of the world’s seaborne oil supply passes – was enough to trigger market anxiety. Iran does not need to fully close the strait to create economic shockwaves. In the modern global economy, uncertainty itself is a weapon.

The longer the war continued, the harder it was to remain politically sustainable – not just regionally, but globally. That is why, despite aggressive rhetoric, neither side now appears eager to return to full-scale war.

There is a broader lesson here that western powers repeatedly struggle to absorb: military power can destroy infrastructure and impose suffering, but it cannot easily manufacture legitimacy, political order or strategic clarity. That is why “winning” modern wars has become increasingly elusive even for the most powerful states on earth. Wars without realistic theories of victory tend to end the same way: through exhaustion, recalculation and negotiation. That increasingly appears to be where this conflict is heading.

The limits of power

Perhaps the greatest irony of the Iran war is that all sides now appear to recognise what should have been obvious from the beginning: total victory was never truly achievable. The war became a demonstration – not of the absence of power, but of its limits.

That matters in an increasingly fragmented global order where wars are becoming less about decisive triumph and more about endurance. States shaped by sanctions and prolonged isolation often develop a capacity to absorb pressure beyond what outside powers anticipate. Iran’s resilience was not created during this war. It was built over decades.

Military superiority still matters enormously. But the ability to endure politically, economically and socially matter just as much. Iran is a state with a complex, resilient structure, and depth of legitimacy especially when it comes to conflicts with the US and Israel. Iran understood that from the beginning.

It has taken Iran’s opponents too long to grasp the same facts. But they have now been educated by experience.

The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.