M6:4293 — لذت از جوعست نه از نقل نو / با مجاعت از شکر به نان جو

Translation: Pleasure comes from hunger, not from new sweets; With hunger, barley bread is preferred over sugar.

Meaning: Rumi asserts that true pleasure arises from genuine need; when hungry, even simple barley bread is more satisfying than sugar consumed without appetite.

I have often emphasized, in my commentaries on the Masnavi and even the Divan-e Shams, that the ability to avoid weariness and satiation is key to understanding Rumi’s dynamic inner and epistemic life. This particular couplet directly addresses this point: why we tire of some repetitions but not others.

The story of human weariness is ancient. We grow weary of things that become old for us, losing their freshness. However, if something is perpetually new to an individual, or if the world appears anew each day in their eyes, and most importantly, if the person themselves discovers a new self daily, awakening from slumber, then such a person will never experience weariness in this world or with this existence. This 'renewal' (نو شدن) is fundamental, not merely a superficial refurbishment.

Rumi employs the metaphor of bread and food to illuminate this truth. You eat bread repeatedly, you consume food to repel zabol, meaning to ward off weakness, fatigue, and hunger. But why do you not grow tired of eating? Why do you not say, “I’ve eaten once, twice, how much more can I eat?” The secret lies in the fact that your hunger itself is 'renewed' each time. Fresh hunger arises, and consequently, the next meal also becomes fresh and palatable to you. Dar to ju'i miresad naw ze'telal – a new hunger, arising from suffering (of privation), rekindles your craving. When the dard-e maja'at naqd shod – when the pain of hunger becomes real and immediate once more – then this renewal intertwines with every fiber of your being, rejuvenating you from within.

Thus, Ladhdhat az ju'ast na az naql-e naw – true pleasure, the profound joy that settles in the soul, arises from a hunger that has been renewed, not from a new or exotic sweet consumed merely for variety. When you are hungry, bā maja'at az shekar be nān-e jow – you prefer simple, unadulterated barley bread over sugar when eaten without appetite. Barley bread becomes far more delightful and satisfying.

This is not merely an analogy for food. This principle governs all aspects of human spiritual and epistemic life. If you are 'hungry for truth,' if you thirst for reality, then each time you turn to the Masnavi, or incline your heart to righteous discourse, those truths will be fresh and life-giving. The very water that might taste bland to a satiated and indifferent person is new to a thirsty one whose hunger and thirst have been renewed, and it renews them in turn. Truth is never wearisome for a seeker who discovers new insights within it each time. But if you approach it from a state of satiety and self-sufficiency, you will mistakenly assume these are old and tedious words; this misconception stems from your own inner deficit, not from any flaw in the truth itself.

Rumi implicitly reproaches those who grow weary of divine truth but find no weariness in gossip, deceit, worldly clamor, or deceiving others, remaining robust and cheerful with such trivialities for sixty years. The problem is not with truth itself, but with the human being's misdirected, mirage-like 'hunger.' Pleasure comes from genuine hunger, not from the deceptive appearance of novelty.

Key takeaways

• True pleasure originates from inner need and hunger, not from apparent abundance or novelty.
• The secret to avoiding weariness from repeated truths is the continuous renewal of spiritual hunger and thirst.
• If the inner self of an individual is renewed, the world and all within it will also appear new.
• Simple barley bread with hunger is superior to sugar consumed without appetite; the quality of experience stems from one's inner state, not the external object.
• Being unwearied by trivialities and weary of truths indicates a dysfunction in one's spiritual hunger.