Can suffering transform us? Is it true, as Rumi, the great Persian poet of the 13th century, said, that “a wound is a place where light enters”? From the pre-Hislamic myth of Siyavash to the Sufi mysticism of the annihilation of the self or the Shiite obsession with martyrdom, Persian and Iranian thinkers have been thinking about suffering as a transformative force for thousands of years. It is a rich, lyrical, wild and sometimes very dangerous tradition.
Therefore, it is curious that thousands of years of such a rich relationship with pain comes to us filtered and converted into Instagram stories.
What Rumi didn’t say. Let’s start at the beginning: most likely, Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi never wrote those words. And, in this case, it should not surprise us either. In 1995, the recently deceased Coleman Bryan Barks published a book titled ‘The Essential Rumi‘ and, without anyone yet being able to explain it, it sold more than half a million copies.
The only real problem with this is that Barks didn’t know Persian. He wasn’t even a really specialized translator. He took previous translations, he cleaned them of references to Islam and He adapted the verses to Western taste. It was a huge success that advanced something we are used to today: the probability that a date we see on the internet be false it is getting higher and higher.
And yet, the quote has some truth. Because, in effect, today’s Iran is the repository of an ancient tradition that sacralizes transformative suffering. When Yazid I’s army ambushed and murdered Husain ibn Ali and his 72 companions near KarbalaThey had no idea what they were about to do.
They thought they were resolving once and for all the thorny issue of Muhammad’s succession, but the martyrdom of the third imam of the Shiites would germinate in a strange cultural substrate: the idea that suffering is not an accident, it is a battlefield.
Thus spoke Zarathustra. That’s where you can best see the ‘Zoroastrian substrate‘: in this religion, Ahura Mazda creates the world as a battle in which humans have to take sides. For old Persian philosophy, evil is not something inherent to the world: it is an army that must be defeated.
Therefore, suffering, sacrifice and pain are part of the process that, if we are successful, will lead us to good. It is not the absence of love (as it might seem in the Judeo-Christian mentality), it is a definitive ethical filter.
That is the archetype, then came its incarnations. When Islam takes hold in Persia, that substrate is there and takes many forms. While for the Shiites, martyrdom is redemptive and intercedes for us before Allah; For Sufi mysticism, suffering becomes a vehicle towards God, towards the annihilation of the ego and its arrival at divinity.
To us, today, all these details don’t matter a little to us, honestly. What is relevant is how hundreds of philosophers resolved the “problem of evil“in a completely different way than what we are used to. Evil is not an error that must be explained by appealing to the unfathomability of God, Evil is the path by which the universe is renewed.
No self-help. And in this context, Rumi’s dubious quote (“a wound is a place where light enters”) would be much more radical than any self-help manual would be willing to go. Suffering does not make us wiser, stronger, or smarter. It is simply the price to pay: there is no point in trying to justify it.
Today, even knowing how dangerous this line of thought is, it is impossible not to look at those thinkers thinking how much of them really remains in our way of living.
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