The parties to the Iran war have agreed to a ceasefire. Thus, Donald Trump loses, for now, an opportunity to bomb Iran back to the Stone Age. He must also postpone the destruction of the mausoleum of the incomparable Ferdowsi, the national poet who a thousand years ago wrote the Shahnameh, a work of some 50,000 lines.
In northeastern Iran, not far from the city of Mashhad, lie the remains of Tus, once a cultural center along the Silk Road between East and West. Today it has been reduced to ruins, earthen ramparts and silent fields. Here, on the edge of the ancient city, rests Abu al-Qasim Ferdowsi.
The mausoleum rising above his grave is anything but modest. It was built in its present form in the 20th century, under Reza Shah, at a time when Iran sought to highlight its pre-Islamic heritage. The structure is inspired by ancient Persian monuments, in pale stone with columns and reliefs that give it a classical appearance.
Ferdowsi was born in Tus around 940, at a time of transition when Islam was gaining influence and Arabic seemed poised to replace the Persian language. He probably learned Arabic, as educated men did in those days, but Persian was his mother tongue. In his hometown, memories of another Persia still lived on — and Ferdowsi transformed them into literary gold.
Islam emerged with the Prophet Muhammad in the early seventh century. In the centuries that followed, both the religion and the Arabic language spread like ripples across the region. Country after country became, to varying degrees, Arabized. But Persia largely remained Persia, thanks to Ferdowsi and other poets who devoted their lives to cultivating the Persian language and culture.
By the 10th century, Arabic had become the administrative language in Persia. It was also used in mosques and schools. The old Persian language survived among the people, but in writing and high culture, it was in retreat.
It was then that Ferdowsi stepped forward. The result, after decades of work, was the Shahnameh — “The Book of Kings.” In composing it, he drew on ancient sources, poetry and prose now lost, and on stories that had passed from mouth to mouth through generations.
The book can roughly be divided into three parts. The first deals with the mythical phase of Persia’s history — the earliest kings and the struggle between order and chaos.
The second lingers on the heroic age, when the great champions emerge, and the third recounts the historical period, with recognizable rulers and events. Along the way we encounter a whole gallery of figures — humans, birds, serpents and animals — all woven into a larger pattern of dynasties rising and falling.
What he accomplished might be called a quiet form of resistance. Many have therefore said that he “saved” the Persian language. That is probably an exaggeration, for Persian was not about to disappear. But he gave it something it lacked: a powerful literary voice capable of carrying it forward.
It is said that Ferdowsi lived a simple, at times impoverished life. Like many poets before and after him, he hoped for patronage from those in power, especially from Mahmud of Ghazni. But according to tradition, he was disappointed. We are told that he eventually received a reward far smaller than promised.
When a larger gift was later sent, it was too late. The caravan bearing gold is said to have arrived in Tus at the very moment his body was carried out of the city. The story is probably not true, but it fits well with the image of a poet who sacrificed everything for his cause.
In today’s Iran, Ferdowsi is celebrated as a national hero, and the work he left behind is regarded as a cornerstone of Iranian culture. Yet few read it from beginning to end, and with its archaic language, it can be difficult even for well-educated Iranians to understand.
It is therefore most often read in abridged or modernized versions. Still, that is enough for memorable lines to continue appearing in everyday speech, in speeches and in the media.
Ferdowsi himself was likely a Muslim. But since much of the book deals with the pre-Islamic era, when Persians followed other religions, it also contains elements that can be seen as problematic — above all because it tells of an Iran that is larger than Islam: older, broader and harder to control.
The authorities have therefore been keen to tone down aspects of the work that might challenge Islamic theology. One might say that Ferdowsi is too great to be rejected — and too powerful to be fully set free.
The same can be said of later poets such as Rumi and Hafez, who lived in the 13th and 14th centuries, respectively. All belong to the great Persian literary tradition, even if they expressed themselves in different ways.
Today, around 60% of Iran’s 93 million inhabitants have Persian as their mother tongue. Others use it as a second language, and nearly everyone can speak it in one form or another.
At least 15% have Azerbaijani (Turkic) as their first language, and 5-10% Kurdish. Only a small minority speaks Arabic, yet the language remains clearly present in Iranian society, since all religious ceremonies are conducted in Arabic.
Before the Islamic expansion in the seventh century, Aramaic was the most widespread language in the Middle East, while Persian dominated in Persia. Already a thousand years earlier, Aramaic had been used as a kind of administrative lingua franca among the region’s diverse peoples.
It originated among the Arameans, a Semitic people living in the area where Syria meets southeastern Turkey and northern Mesopotamia (Iraq). The everyday language of Jesus was most likely a Galilean dialect of Aramaic.
When Trump threatened to bomb Iran “back to the Stone Age”, he added, “where they belong.” Since the tyrant of the White House appears unaware of most things, it may be worth recalling that Persia had its first king in 559 B.C., when Cyrus the Great ascended the throne — an event that took place 2,335 years before the United States was established in 1776.
In the same breath, one might add that the word “paradise” comes from Persian — from “pairi” and “daeza,” meaning “enclosed space.” But this was no ordinary enclosure: it referred to the splendid gardens and parks of the Persian kings.
In a land that could be dry and dusty, water was channeled through advanced irrigation systems to create areas planted with fruit trees, flowers and shade-giving trees. The result was paradisiacal.
This ancient garden tradition lives on in modern Iran. In 2011, nine selected gardens were inscribed on UNESCO’s World Heritage List. In addition, thousands of others reflect the same carefully conceived design. The garden is divided into four rectangles by water channels that meet at the center, symbolizing the four rivers of paradise.
Everything is strictly symmetrical, in sharp contrast to the wild nature beyond. A true Persian garden is also enclosed, to keep out dust and noise and to create a safe, cool sanctuary.
If Donald Trump still finds himself with too little to do, he may take comfort in the fact that Iran has no shortage of gardens to bomb. But sooner or later, they will rise again.
Trump, however, will soon belong to the past.
Tor Farovik is a Norwegian historian and author who has written 12 books on Asia, several of which have been translated into foreign languages. He has been awarded Norway’s highest literary honor, the Brage Award, three times and runs the website kinaforum.com, which publishes commentary and analysis on Asian affairs.