The man suffered. His suffering was average. His suffering wasn’t acute: no terminal brain tumour that left him writhing in agony and screaming for the sweet release of death. But his suffering wasn’t trivial either: no hangnails or gastro-intestinal discomfort. His was a modest suffering that allowed him to smile when he met his friends, but filled him with a private foreboding.
One day his suffering became intolerable.
But how can that be? asked his friends. It’s not as if you have a terminal brain tumour that leaves you writhing in agony and screaming for the sweet release of death.
His friends did not understand. While it was true that his was not an acute suffering, its persistence had a cumulative effect. It was like being stretched on a rack by the Grand Inquisitor. It was impossible to say which turn of the gear would be the turn that finally broke the heretic, but every turn contributed to the torture. The man suffered greatly and begged for an end.
Three of his best friends decided they should collaborate. They would take turns visiting their suffering friend.
When the first friend arrived, he suggested that the suffering was a kind of payment. He used the old expression: paying your dues. Suffering would earn the man something. It would earn him the right to talk about important things. It would earn him authenticity. It would earn him credibility.
You should be a poet, the first friend suggested. Poetry is never any good unless the poet has suffered. Maybe your suffering is a sign that you are destined to become a great poet.
The suffering man tried to write poetry, but his suffering caused his hand to twitch whenever he took up his pen. The man tried to dictate his poems, but his friend winced. The words were clumsy and clattered inside the ear just as his pen had clattered on the floor.
You should sell the story of your suffering, the second friend suggested. People pay a lot of money to hear about the suffering of others.
The suffering man didn’t understand.
His friend bowed his head and tried his best to explain. Think of it as an act of charity, he said. People pay for books and movies about people who suffer as a way to send them money. It unburdens them. If you sold the rights to the story of your suffering, the money might ease your pain, but more importantly it would ease their guilt.
The suffering man was skeptical. He failed to see how money could ease the pain. Nor how it could relieve the guilt of those who live a carefree life. As he viewed it, people pay money to reassure themselves that there are others who suffer more than they do. Any guilt people feel vanishes each night as they sleep.
The third friend listened as the suffering man described what the two previous friends had said. He nodded, then said it was more complicated than that. Suffering is the source of all meaning, he said. The friend laid a sheaf of papers before the suffering man and set a pen upon the sheaf. This is a contract, he said. You’ll be great on reality TV. Our advertisers will love you. Through your suffering, we will be persuaded to buy more stuff, and that will fill our lives with meaning.