War, at its core, is merely a tool to impose one side’s political will upon another, or to delay the development of a nation to ensure the dominance of another.

Those who approach it as an act of revenge, without a plan or vision, express a primitive spirit that does not belong to any mature political philosophy.

For decades, Israel has carried out military operations in Gaza, the West Bank, Syria, and most recently within Iran itself, under a familiar banner: “the right to self-defense.”

However, this concept — supposedly a cornerstone of international law — has, in Israel’s case, become a cover for all forms of excessive use of force, falsely legitimizing a systematic policy of aggression, expansion, and dominance.

In Gaza, homes are bombed over the heads of their residents, schools, hospitals, mosques, and churches are targeted, and daily assassinations are conducted under the pretext of preventing a “potential threat.”

Even convoys and sites far from any front lines are bombed, all under the rhetoric of “legitimate defense.”

In a world torn by conflict and often ruled by slogans and one-upmanship, a fundamental term in the art of coexistence is frequently misunderstood: settlement.

Many perceive settlement, or what is known in political thought as compromise, as a sign of weakness or a retreat from rights. However, in its essence, it is a pragmatic virtue that preserves dignity and prevents collapse.

At first glance, accepting part of one’s rights or relinquishing part of one’s convictions may seem unworthy of those who champion principles.

Yet life, with all its complexity and conflicting interests, shows us that rigid idealism can lead to the loss of everything. Settlement is not a defeat, but rather a deep understanding of the philosophy of the possible.

In politics, as in life, victory is not measured by the full realization of demands, but by the ability to preserve what is possible and avoid what is unbearable.

When the alternative to settlement is war, collapse, or eternal estrangement, settlement becomes not just a political stance, but a moral one.

Settlement is not a surrender of dignity. At times, it is the path to preserving it.

Consciously taking what you can protect is better than demanding everything and losing everything.

Settlement, in this sense, is not weakness; it is a condition for the survival of society itself.

Perhaps the most noble definition of settlement is that it is the art of the noble, when they recognize the limits of conflict and choose peace over ruin.

It is the meeting point between values and reality, dignity and wisdom, dreams and the possible.

Not every settlement is a virtue, and not every concession is wisdom.

Can Egypt play this historical role today, in the face of the regional crisis, through an initiative involving Turkey and Saudi Arabia?

The critical moral and political question remains: When is settlement acceptable?

Early settlement might be hasty, while late settlement might be futile.

Wisdom lies not only in accepting a middle ground but also in choosing the moment when power is not lost and conditions are not imposed externally.

Another deeply philosophical question arises: Is it permissible to commit an immoral act to reach a moral settlement?

The answer is not simple; it depends on the philosophical framework used to assess actions and outcomes.

From a utilitarian perspective, the end may justify the means if it leads to the greatest happiness for the greatest number.

Negotiating with a violent group may seem immoral, but if it saves thousands of innocent lives, it may be justified as a rational and moral act overall.

From the perspective of deontological ethics, no immoral means can be justified, no matter the result. For them, morality is judged by the act itself, not by its consequences.

From this view, a moral settlement born from an immoral act is inherently tainted.

A third pragmatic approach offers a more realistic view. Pragmatist philosophers argue that ethics cannot be separated from context.

Committing an immoral act might be acceptable as an exception, if the alternative is a greater humanitarian catastrophe — but only if the act is temporary, transparent, and subject to later accountability and review.

Thus, committing an immoral act for the sake of a moral settlement is a double-edged sword: if it is not necessary and calculated, it becomes political hypocrisy; however, if it is necessary to save lives and prevent disaster, it may be seen as part of the tragedy of moral choice in a complex world.

The true test of morality does not lie in moments of clarity but in situations where all paths are tainted and one chooses to soil one's hands as little as possible.

History offers examples where choosing a settlement saved the world; others misunderstood them.

Settlement must never be judged in isolation from its historical and human context.

History has seen pivotal moments where great leaders chose settlement over escalation, sparing humanity from certain destruction.

In the 1978 Camp David Accords, President Anwar El-Sadat chose the settlement path after the October War. He regained the entire Sinai, first through war and then through negotiation.

Though he still faces criticism today, what he achieved was unmatched by any Arab war since 1967.

In contrast, the Golan Heights remains under occupation, and the West Bank and Jerusalem remain trapped in perpetual deadlock under the banner of full rights, yet without effective tools of liberation.

This raises a painful philosophical question: Does every settlement kill the right to resist? The answer is not a simple yes or no. If resistance is possible and effective, and settlement weakens it without clear gain, it is a mistake.

However, if settlement preserves what can be saved and prevents annihilation, then it is the choice of the wise — those who value human life over the stubbornness of principle.

It is not heroic to cling to righteousness to the bitter end and lose everything.

It is also not betrayal to secure what is possible while keeping the door open for the return of justice, not just through blood but through time and wisdom.