Chapter 17: The Lion, the Fox, and the Death of “I”

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Welcome to the Deep Dive.

We're the place you come to unpack complex ideas, explore fascinating topics, and hopefully find some of those surprising bits of wisdom.

Today, we're really diving deep, plunging into the profound world of Rumi's amazing work, the Maznavi, Book One.

Our mission really is to pull out the key spiritual lessons, those powerful metaphors, and timeless insights, and crucially, see what they mean for us right here, right now.

It's fascinating, isn't it, how Rumi uses these, well, seemingly simple stories and really vivid images, but they convey such deep philosophical and spiritual truths.

It's it invites you to look beyond the surface.

Absolutely.

A hidden map.

I like that.

Okay, so let's jump right in.

Rumi doesn't waste any time.

He throws us straight into the deep end.

Right near the start, he has these lines.

If like the day you wish to shine so bright, burn up your being, for that's like the night.

And then like, copper, burn yourself with alchemy, and that one who gives being generously.

Wow, that's quite an opening image.

It really is intense, and it raises this immediate important question.

What does he mean by burn up your being or burn yourself with alchemy?

It connects directly to what he says next, which is key.

You've clung fast to the self of I and you, although all wretchedness stems from these two.

Right, so I and you are separate egos.

Exactly.

That sense of me versus you.

So Rumi's saying that this very sense of self, our individuality, is actually the root of all our problems, our wretchedness.

That's the core idea, this concept of effacement he introduces.

It's about dissolving the ego, letting go of those limited identities.

It's a central theme in many spiritual traditions, of course, but Rumi paints it so vividly.

He really does.

It's not about destroying yourself, but transforming yourself, like that copper turning into something brighter shining like the day.

Precisely.

By letting go of the limits we place around me and you.

Okay, so how do we grasp this?

He doesn't just leave it as an abstract idea, does he?

He gives us stories.

Oh, absolutely.

And this is where it gets really interesting.

He tells this captivating story about a lion, a wolf, and a fox who go hunting together.

An unlikely team.

Definitely.

And they manage to catch quite a haul.

An ox, a goat, and a fat hare.

Now, this immediately sets up a dynamic, right?

Power, perception.

The lion is the king, obviously.

But Rumi notes the lion still allowed the wolf and fox to join him, suggesting even the greatest, maybe like the prophet consulting others, Rumi implies,

can gain from association, even with, let's say, lesser companions.

There's a blessing in groups.

That's an interesting point.

Humility even in strength.

But this isn't just any lion.

Rumi calls him the lion of the mysteries.

Whatever thoughts you have, he clearly sees.

Exactly.

So this suggests more than just an animal king.

It's like a symbol of divine presence and awareness that sees right through us into our inner thoughts.

And then comes the test, the crucial moment.

The wolf's division.

He tells you everything.

He says essentially, okay, king, the big ox is for you.

The goat, well, that's mine.

And hey, fox, you can have the hare.

Seems logical on the surface, maybe.

Fair share.

But that's the point.

He's still thinking in terms of I and you.

He sees himself, his share, separate from the lion, even in this incredibly powerful, all -seeing presence.

He failed to completely submit to dissolve his sense of self before the lion's authority.

He's still operating from ego.

And the lion's reaction is, well, it's terrifying.

Utter fury.

How dare you speak near me of I and you.

And then you failed to pass away before my face.

Breaking your neck was thus an act of grace.

Good grief.

Grace.

Snark, isn't it?

But it drives home the spiritual lesson.

If we connect it back, the wolf's fate illustrates that imperative.

All parishes accept his face.

Submit.

Don't claim existence.

You've no part of it.

It's a harsh reminder that clinging to our limited self, our ego, especially in the face of the divine,

is, well, it's fatal to spiritual progress.

True existence comes from surrender.

Wow.

Okay.

So that's one powerful illustration of needing to dissolve the ego.

Does he offer other ways to understand this?

Perhaps less.

Yeah.

Violent ones.

He does.

He shifts tone completely, actually, with this really beautiful allegory.

A man knocking on his beloved's door.

Ah, the lover and beloved theme.

Classic roomie.

Exactly.

So the first time he knocks, the voice inside asks, who is it?

And he replies confidently, it's me.

And the response?

Sharp and immediate.

Leave it once.

There isn't room for such raw arrogance.

Raw arrogance just for saying it's me.

Well, think about it in this context.

The raw arrogance isn't necessarily malice.

It's the simple persistence of the separate self, the I, claiming its space where only unity should exist.

The separation, the rejection causes pain.

Roomie says, his heartburn.

And that pain, that suffering is actually the process that cooks the rawness out of him.

It matures him, purifies the ego.

So the suffering has a purpose.

It burns away the I.

That's the idea.

So he goes away, endures this process, and then he returns.

He knocks again.

Same question.

Who is at the door?

And this time?

This time, transformed, he answers, none love but you.

Oh, lovely.

Isn't it?

And instantly, the beloved says, now you are I.

Please enter in this place.

Because for two eyes here, there isn't space.

That's such a powerful image of union, complete merging, no separation left.

It's beautiful.

It really is.

It captures that essence of spiritual union where the individual self dissolves into the divine beloved.

But then the practical question arises, right?

How does one actually achieve this?

How do you go from being the confident it's me to the surrendered, none love but you?

Yeah.

How do you make that leap?

It and the camel.

He says, a needle can accommodate split thread.

To enter thread must have a single head.

Makes sense.

Then to fit a needle to it is suitable.

For camels, needle eyes are much too small.

Right.

The famous eye of the needle.

So the ego or sense of self is the camel.

Too big, too bulky to pass through that narrow gate of spiritual union.

Exactly.

The camel's being must be cut to size, he says.

How?

With scissors of religious exercise.

So spiritual practices, discipline, self -denial, prayer, meditation.

That's the work we need to do, the scissors.

Yes, that's our part.

But crucially, Rumi adds, for that to work, God's hand is necessary.

His B solves each impossibility.

So it's not just our effort.

We do the work, the cutting, the striving.

But the ultimate transformation, the final passage through the needle's eye, that requires divine grace.

God's intervention, his creative command B, it's a partnership between human effort and divine gift.

That feels more balanced.

Effort and surrender, working together.

It is.

And Rumi then kind of zooms out, broadens the perspective.

He reminds us that God isn't static.

He works on something new each day.

Creation isn't a past event, it's continuous.

He talks about God sending three armies daily.

From loins to wombs, it's conception, the start of life.

Then from wombs out into the world, that's birth and our earthly existence.

And finally, from the earth back to above, that's death and the ratoon, where hopefully good actions are rewarded.

It shows this constant divine activity, this flow of being.

That's a fascinating way to see it.

Life as this continuous cycle orchestrated by the divine and all this constant creation, it leads back to unity somehow, even though it looks like constant change and movement.

Exactly.

That's the paradox.

Within all this apparent multiplicity, this constant flow, there's an underlying unity.

Remember the beloved telling the transformed lover, make fewer errors.

Now there's just one thread.

If you see two, no, there's just one ahead.

Seeing the one thread.

Yes.

And Rumi gives these great everyday examples, like two blades of scissors.

They look like two separate things, right?

But they act as one to cut the paper.

Okay.

Yeah.

I see that.

Or he mentions two laundry men who might seem to be arguing or competing, but really, Rumi says, both act and think as one.

They're one at heart.

They have a shared purpose that unites their actions despite appearances.

So look beyond the surface duality to find the underlying unity, the shared purpose.

Precisely.

And this applies spiritually to, he says, each prophet and each saint has his own way, but all lead to the one to whom they pray.

That's a huge statement.

All paths leading to the same one.

It is.

It suggests a fundamental unity beneath the diversity of religious expression.

All these different paths are just different routes up the same mountain, heading towards the same summit.

Which ties into why he says the physical world, the sensual world can be limiting, right?

Because it emphasizes the differences, the multiplicity.

Exactly.

He calls it more cramped, the most restrictive prison cell.

Precisely because of this multiplicity,

our senses naturally focus on the many different things, the appearances.

To truly grasp the underlying unity, he suggests this realm you must leave.

Not necessarily physically, but - Beyond just the senses.

That's how I read it.

You need that inner sight, that spiritual discernment to perceive the oneness that the physical sense is often obscure.

Okay.

So this brings us back to the fox.

We saw the wolf fail the test, clinging to his eye.

What happens with the fox?

Right.

So after the wolf meets his rather grisly end, the lion turns to the fox.

Same question.

Okay, Fox, you divide the spoils.

The pressure must've been immense.

You'd think.

But the fox's response is completely different.

It's a master class in, well, what we've been talking about, discernment, surrender.

He says basically, oh, mighty lion, this magnificent ox, that will make a fine breakfast for your majesty.

And this goat, perfect for your royal lunch.

And this tender hare, perhaps a light supper for you.

He gives everything to the lion.

Total self -abnegation.

Wow.

No I or you there at all.

Just complete focus on the lion.

None whatsoever.

And the lion, impressed, asks him, hey, clever fox, who taught you to share like this?

Where did you learn this diplomacy?

And the fox's answer.

It's so simple, yet profound, he says, from witnessing the wolf's most tragic end.

He learned from the other guy's mistake.

A very painful mistake.

Exactly.

And Rumi draw the direct lesson for us, the readers, who he calls the blessed community.

How do we learn wisdom?

The fox learn from the deaths of friends, or more accurately, the consequences faced by others.

Rumi urges us to take heed from past punishments, the trials of past wolves.

So learn from history, learn from others' failures.

Yes.

To avoid the same harm ourselves, it's about letting go of our own existence and pretense, our own ego -driven illusions, by seeing where that path leads for others.

It's wisdom gained through observation, rather than painful, direct experience.

That's a very practical kind of wisdom.

Pay attention to the world and its consequences.

Definitely.

And this whole journey, this letting go, culminates in the example Rumi uses of the prophet Noah.

Noah, how does he fit in?

Rumi portrays Noah as the ultimate embodiment of this effacement, this true submission.

Noah declares, I am not I, and through God I live, through my own soul I'm dead.

Through my own soul I'm dead.

That's powerful.

It is.

He's saying his individual self is gone, dissolved.

He continues saying God is his hearing, his food, his sight.

Every faculty, every breath originates entirely from the divine.

To even claim you breathe on your own, Noah says he who himself breathes is an infidel.

That's how complete the surrender is.

The self is just a channel for the divine.

So it's about recognizing that the power, the life force isn't ours.

It flows through us from the source.

Precisely.

Which means, again, we have to look beyond appearances.

Rumi says, sometimes a lion's in the fox's form.

Don't judge a book by its cover, essentially.

Kind of, but deeper.

Don't be fooled by the outward form, whether it seems humble like a fox or even flawed.

Listen for the inner reality.

The lions roar inside.

Develop that spiritual ear to perceive the divine essence within.

Okay.

So, bringing it all together, what's the final takeaway from this section?

Rumi circles back to the core message, hammering it home.

Submit in front of him your eye, and we give it to him, for it's his property.

Everything we think of as ours, our self, our identity, our accomplishments, our very being,

ultimately belongs to the divine source.

The path is surrender.

And the reward for this complete surrender, this becoming a poor fakir in the spiritual sense.

It's paradoxical, but incredible.

On this path, once you are a poor fakir, the lion and his prey are yours.

It's clear.

By letting go of everything, you gain everything.

That's the essence of it.

Because the divine, Rumi explains, has no need for what's superfluous.

God doesn't need our ego, our attachments.

When we empty ourselves of that, becoming truly poor in spirit, that divine grace fills the void, all the abundance of existence, the lion and his prey, becomes accessible to us because we're aligned with the giver.

So what does this deep dive into Rumi really mean for you listening right now?

It feels like Rumi is taking us on this journey, doesn't it?

From the cramped prison cell of our ego, that constant me versus you, towards something vast, unifying this connection with the divine.

It's about, as he says, burning away that false eye so our true light can actually shine.

Absolutely.

It really challenges us, I think, to look at our own lives.

Where is that eye and you thinking holding us back?

In our relationships, in how we see the world.

It encourages that deeper awareness, looking past the surface, learning from others, even these metaphorical wolves and foxes.

Divine, you know, greater wisdom and maybe a bit more peace.

It definitely leaves us with a thought to chew on, doesn't it?

A provocative one, maybe.

What small part of your eye, your attachment to self or your you, your separation from others, what tiny piece could you offer up today?

Not to lose yourself, but actually, paradoxically, to make room, to let something much bigger, much more unifying enter your life.

A powerful question to sit with.

Thank you for joining us on this exploration.

Rumi's wisdom just keeps unfolding, doesn't it?

It really does.

We hope you enjoyed this deep dive and we look forward to exploring another fascinating topic with you next time.