M1:270 — این ندانستند ایشان از عَمی / هست فرقی درمیان بی‌مُنتَهی

Translation: From blindness, they did not know this: There is an endless difference in between. Meaning: Rumi warns that people, due to spiritual blindness and a focus on superficialities, often fail to perceive the profound, infinite differences between individuals or actions that appear similar on the surface.

This verse presents a foundational warning from Rumi, one that speaks to the perils of superficial comparison. As I have often noted, the way of the wise in beholding the world transcends mere surface-level observation and reductionism. Ordinary people, out of their ʿamā—spiritual blindness, not physical—perceive incompletely, believing that whatever appears similar on the outside must be identical within. It is as if they mistake a ferocious lion for a cup of milk, simply because their names share a similar script.

This unawareness stemming from blindness, as Rumi elaborates in both preceding and subsequent verses, is the very root of universal delusion. Many have equated prophets and saints with themselves, arguing: 'Behold, we are human, they are human; we and they are bound by sleep and food.' What difference, they asked, is there between us and this prophet, who also eats, sleeps, and walks in the marketplaces? It is here that Rumi asserts with conviction: 'From blindness, they did not know this: / There is an endless difference in between.' A difference exists, not a trivial one, but an 'endless' (bī-muntahā), boundless, and infinite one.

Rumi illuminates this infinite difference with profound examples. Two bees feed from the same flower, yet one yields a 'sting' and the other 'honey'. Two deer consume the same grass and water, yet one produces 'dung' and the other 'pure musk'. Two reeds draw water from the same source, one remains 'empty' while the other fills with 'sugar'. I emphasize that these are not mere allegories, but expressions of a deep ontological and ethical principle: the inner quality of being transforms a singular raw material into entirely different products. It is our internal 'nature' (ṭabʿ) that determines what we create from what we receive—is it stinginess and envy, or the love of the One (ʿishq-i ahad)?

The same logic applies to humans. A stingy and envious person, no matter what they eat or learn, will only see their stinginess and envy grow. As Rumi puts it, a dung-eating crow, even if it lives for a thousand years, will yield nothing but further dung-eating. Instead of asking God to 'rid me of crow-ness,' it seeks a longer life for the sake of its ignoble habit. This resonates with the Quranic statement: 'And We send down of the Quran that which is healing and mercy for the believers, but it does not increase the wrongdoers except in loss.' The Quran itself, a source of healing and mercy, only increases the loss for oppressors. The 'food' is singular, yet two distinct natures derive two entirely different outcomes from it.

This profound distinction is not limited to an individual's inner state but extends to their actions. Rumi provides the example of Moses's magicians and their staffs: the outward appearance of the staff is identical, but 'between this staff and that staff, there is a deep difference.' Or consider the hypocrite praying alongside a true believer: the outward act is the same, yet one performs out of genuine need and the other out of pretense and hypocrisy. Ahmad (the Prophet) and Abu Jahl both enter the idol temple, but one prostrates to God (implicitly), while the other is prostrated to by idols. This 'surface-gazing' is the work of reductionists, those who diminish everything to its shallowest form.

To discern these infinite differences, one requires a 'person of taste' (ṣāḥib-i dhawq); someone with a healthy palate who can distinguish sweet water from bitter. This 'taste' is not merely intellectual, but an inner intuition, a spiritual and heartfelt knowing. Through this verse, Rumi wishes to teach us to free ourselves from the snare of 'superficial similarity' and to contemplate the 'inner reality' of things. This is the most crucial lesson the Masnavi offers, enabling us to truly extract our portion from the ocean of truth.

Key takeaways

• Appearances can be deceiving; superficial similarities should not obscure the infinite differences of inner realities.
• Spiritual blindness (ʿamā) is the inability to perceive depths, focusing instead on the surface of phenomena.
• The inner quality and 'nature' (ṭabʿ) of each being determines the outcome of what it receives from the world; the same raw material yields different products in different natures.
• Longevity or multiplicity of actions without an internal change of 'nature' is futile, even detrimental; what matters is inner orientation and existential quality.
• Discerning true differences is possible not through superficial rational comparison, but through inner 'taste' (dhawq) and insight.
• This verse serves as a warning against reductionism and an invitation to a deeper, more comprehensive view of humanity and existence.