Dr. Muhammed Erkan Karabekmez
When small children fall and hurt themselves, the first thing they do is look around. If they see adults rushing over in panic, they learn that this is a moment to cry. Fear often works the same way: children of calm parents tend to develop a more natural, untroubled relationship with things like bugs or animals. A child doesn’t primarily learn from events, but from how to respond to them. The Stoic expression, “It is not things themselves that disturb people, but their judgments about those things,” sums up this phenomenon well. The fact that people can grow used to conditions they initially found intolerable shows that our reactions can be shaped and transformed.
So how much should we be shaken by what happens to us? In cultures influenced by Eastern thought, particularly those shaped by Stoic or Zen principles, harmony and adjustment are emphasized. We cannot change the world or events, but we can change how we respond to them. Therefore, we must learn to be resilient. These traditions praise a form of serenity and endurance that often celebrates emotional suppression, quiet submission to the world, and staying completely still in the face of crisis.
In contrast, the dominant Western paradigm markets precisely the opposite. To be an individual means to be loud, assertive, and active; not to surrender to the world, but to dominate it. The Western individual is characterized by desire, speed, visibility, indulgence, impatience, and emotional expressiveness. Emotional control is only celebrated in select contexts—such as never giving up in the corporate world or in military roles where self-restraint serves professional order. Even the Protestant work ethic’s based capitalist slogan “never give up” isn’t truly about emotional discipline, but about turning the feeling of defeat into a hedonistic ambition — a compulsive drive toward success fueled by desire.
Freud’s often-cited theory of “repressed emotions” is also part of this dynamic. The Western individual, having “released” those repressed emotions, is now captive to speed, immediacy, and impulse. This archetype has seeped into every corner of daily life. Advertising glorifies this type: “You’re not you when you’re hungry,” ” Image is Nothing. Thirst is Everything. Obey your Thirst,” “Live for the moment,” “Be yourself.” Psychologists pathologize forbearance, framing it within Freudian frameworks as a problem to be solved. On social media, speed, edginess, and emotional extremity are rewarded. It’s almost impossible for forbearance to make you go viral. In popular dramas, the more the leading man loses control when something happens to his loved ones, the more admirable he becomes. In the past, punching a wall out of anger was rare; now, not punching a wall can make you seem abnormal. People who can’t control their anger in traffic or who attack doctors when a relative dies are all byproducts of this “just let your emotions out” propaganda. In places like the United States, where deterrents are stronger, the threshold for such violence is higher—not because of a cultural value of forbearance. Yet once that threshold is crossed, people can become brutally violent.
The antidote to all of this is forbearance. But not the version promoted in Eastern traditions that emphasize serenity through alignment with nature or the universe, which often leads to the suppression of emotion. The forbearance Islam teaches is a system of emotional discipline shaped by patience, perseverance, trust in God (tawakkul), and moral character. The Qur’anic verse, ” But perhaps you hate a thing and it is good for you; and perhaps you love a thing and it is bad for you.” (Al-Baqarah, 2:216), teaches us not to jump to definitive conclusions about events. Another verse states: ” Who, when disaster strikes them, say, ‘Indeed we belong to Allah, and indeed to Him we will return’” (Al-Baqarah, 2:156), which offers a clear model for how we should respond to hardship.
This is the Muslim stance: trusting in God, relying on Him, submitting to His infinite knowledge and justice, and striving within one’s means before placing the rest in divine hands. That is forbearance.
Forbearance does not exclude effort and perseverance; rather, they are its very components. The forbearing person disciplines their emotions. They do not chase speed or pleasure; they remain calm. They do not suppress anger entirely, but control it, using it only in the right way and in the right measure. They do not speak without thinking or act in haste. They do not behave excessively in pain or in joy.
Forbearance is not a passive stance. Serenity does not mean being a docile sheep. Even one’s righteous rebellion, if they are truly forbearing, must have a morality and an etiquette. Forbearance is a method of feeling—a discipline of emotion. It is neither total suppression nor complete release. It is the middle path between excess and deficiency. And it is this middle path that we must once again learn to praise.