A simple Persian saying has survived for centuries because it reminds us of something we constantly forget: nothing stays the same forever.
Few phrases appear more often during difficult times than “This too shall pass.” We hear it after the loss of a loved one, during illness, in moments of financial uncertainty, or when life seems to be falling apart. At first, the words can feel strangely unsatisfying. When you’re grieving, anxious, or overwhelmed, being reminded that things will eventually change doesn’t necessarily ease the pain you’re feeling right now. In fact, the phrase can sound almost dismissive, as though someone is suggesting that your suffering is simply a matter of waiting long enough.
Yet there is a reason these four words have endured for centuries. They have crossed cultures, religions, and generations because they point toward something far deeper than optimism. They remind us of a truth that applies equally to our greatest triumphs and our darkest moments: nothing remains exactly as it is. Every experience, whether joyful or painful, exists within a life that is constantly unfolding.
A Story That Began in Medieval Persia
Although the exact origin of the saying is difficult to trace with certainty, historians generally agree that one of its earliest known forms appears in medieval Persian literature, particularly in stories associated with the twelfth-century Sufi poet Farid ud-Din Attar of Nishapur. Similar versions later appeared in Jewish folklore and eventually spread throughout Europe, but the Persian story remains the one most people know today.¹
It tells of a powerful king who seemed to possess everything a person could desire. His kingdom was prosperous, his wealth was immense, and his authority appeared unquestionable. From the outside, his life looked complete. Yet privately, he recognized a problem that no amount of power could solve.
When life went well, he became consumed by pride. Success convinced him that he was invincible, wiser than everyone around him, and somehow exempt from life’s uncertainties. But whenever fortune turned against him, the opposite happened. He didn’t simply become disappointed—he fell into despair, convinced that everything worthwhile had been lost.
Unable to find peace in either success or failure, the king summoned the wisest advisors in his kingdom and presented them with an impossible challenge. He asked them to give him a single sentence—short enough to engrave inside a ring—that could accomplish two completely opposite things. Whenever success tempted him toward arrogance, it should humble him. Whenever suffering threatened to overwhelm him, it should restore his hope.
After much deliberation, the advisors returned with a ring bearing four simple Persian words:
این نیز بگذرد (īn nīz bogzarad)
“This too shall pass.”
The brilliance of the inscription was not that it solved the king’s problems. It changed the way he related to them. During moments of victory, the ring reminded him that triumph was temporary and therefore not something upon which to build his identity. During moments of heartbreak, the very same words offered comfort by reminding him that suffering was equally impermanent. The sentence never changed. Only the king’s circumstances did.
Why Such a Simple Sentence Has Lasted So Long
The reason this story continues to resonate is that it speaks directly to one of the mind’s oldest habits.
We constantly mistake temporary experiences for permanent realities.
When life is going well, it is easy to assume that the good times will continue indefinitely. We begin identifying ourselves with our accomplishments, believing that our success reflects who we fundamentally are. Confidence slowly becomes certainty, and certainty can quietly become arrogance.
The opposite happens just as easily during hardship. A painful season begins feeling like an unchangeable future. Grief convinces us we will always feel this way. Anxiety whispers that life will never become manageable again. Heartbreak suggests we will never love another person as deeply as the one we’ve lost.
Notice what both extremes have in common.
They both assume that the present moment tells us everything we need to know about the future.
The wisdom of “This too shall pass” gently interrupts that assumption. It doesn’t promise that every story will have a happy ending, nor does it deny the reality of joy or suffering. Instead, it reminds us that every emotional state exists within something larger than itself. Life is movement, not permanence.
It Doesn’t Promise That Everything Gets Better
One reason people sometimes misunderstand this phrase is that they hear it as a promise that difficult situations will eventually become wonderful.
That isn’t what the saying actually claims.
Some losses remain with us forever. The death of someone we love cannot be undone. Certain illnesses permanently change our lives. Relationships sometimes end without reconciliation, and opportunities occasionally disappear for good.
What changes is not always the situation itself.
What changes is our relationship to it.
The grief that once made it difficult to get out of bed may eventually become a quiet sadness we carry with tenderness. The heartbreak that once felt unbearable may slowly make room for gratitude. The uncertainty that once terrified us may become something we discover we are capable of navigating.
Time doesn’t erase every wound.
It transforms the way we live with them.
Continue the Exploration
“This too shall pass” points toward a deeper insight than simple optimism. It reminds us that every experience—joy, grief, success, failure, certainty, and confusion—is temporary. The stories we build around those experiences often feel permanent, yet they too are continually changing.
If these ideas resonate with you, Proof That You’re God explores how the mind becomes attached to identity, certainty, and the stories it tells about reality. Rather than asking you to escape life’s changing circumstances, it invites you to discover the awareness that remains present through every passing moment. When we begin seeing from that perspective, impermanence no longer becomes something to fear. It becomes one of life’s greatest teachers.
