The title does not refer to the current state of Iranian politics. Rather, it’s the title of a story. Here’s the version that appears in Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning:
A rich and mighty Persian once walked in his garden with one of his servants. The servant cried that he had just encountered Death, who had threatened him. He begged his master to give him his fastest horse so that he could make haste and flee to Teheran, which he could reach that same evening. The master consented and the servant galloped off on the horse. On returning to his house the master himself met Death, and questioned him, “Why did you terrify and threaten my servant?” “I did not threaten him; I only showed surprise in still finding him here when I planned to meet him tonight in Teheran,” said Death.
Frankl refers to the story a couple times in this book, at times when a seemingly unfavorable event or choice saved his life. For example, he and another doctor were left off a list of evacuees from a concentration camp to be delivered to the Red Cross. He finds out later that they were, in fact, killed by the SS.
The point of this story isn’t to embrace passivity and trust simply to fate. What I take away is that there are times when nothing we do, or not do, can guarantee the outcome we seek.
Conversely, there are times when a wonderful outcome comes from what initially appear to be terrible circumstances. This is the point Frankl emphasizes in Man’s Search for Meaning in particular, and logotherapy in general.
It reminds me of an international friend I had at Cornell. At some point, she broke up with her boyfriend of 12 years. It was her first and only boyfriend, and she found herself completely shocked by how ill-equipped she felt. After all, by some measures, she was about as experienced and uncertain in relationships as some 16-year old girls.
Through plenty of conversations, I think she eventually came to recognize that those 12 years weren’t wasted. They helped her develop, they helped her grow, and determine what it was she did and did not want in her life. As it turns out, she didn’t want this man.
I’d like to think that she came to believe that, whatever she had been through, it made her the person she was today, a person that she could be proud of, a person who was strong enough to make choices and face challenges, a person capable of and worthy of the struggle to find happiness and peace.
I don’t know for sure how far she’s gotten with that; she moved to another country and we lost touch. But the change I saw in her over the course of a year and a half gave me hope, both for her life and for mine, of the ability of an individual to grow and progress from gnawing fear to courage and happiness.
Frankl emphasizes that meaningful suffering – unavoidable, not self-inflicted, not easily remediable – is in fact an important way for us to find meaning and purpose in life. Pain isn’t necessarily a sign of weakness – it is in fact a signal, a by-product of our humanity, and something that, perhaps only retrospectively, can be appreciated as a guide to a better tomorrow.
It’s odd, but I seem to be having a lot more deep conversations with people ever since my academic/career plans derailed. Maybe, knowing that I’m going through a rough time, people feel more comfortable talking to me about their disappointments and struggles. Maybe I’ve been humbled and are a better listener, and more sympathetic to challenges experienced by others. Or maybe I’m just older, and these uncles and friends are sharing stories they couldn’t tell me when I was a kid.
But these stories, and the people telling them, remind me that everyone struggles, that greatness isn’t born from an easy life. And sharing these tales has made me love them even more. It’s possible that, when we share our own tales, we will appear more human, more three-dimensional, and more lovable. By hiding them, we do everyone a great disservice.
Everyone reading this deserves someone to remind them that the journey isn’t straightforward, that present difficulties can often lead to better outcomes. This is Frankl’s story. It’s the story of countless people that have lived and died on this earth. It’s your story, too, and you should share it. By doing, you might learn about those nearest to you, and they might be able to provide context and consolation.
This is the story of Life in Tehran. What’s your story?
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