Kopperregel nr 7

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This rule reminds us of the teachings given in Moral Culture, a very significant compilation of Inayat Khan’s teaching on the “horizontal” dimension of spiritual development. These teachings are given in three sections, the titles of which are Reciprocity, Benevolence, and Renunciation—three distinct stages of moral evolution.

Here, as in other places in Inayat Khan’s teaching, the course of spiritual development is described as a threefold process. But if one looks further in Inayat Khan’s teaching, one will find reference to a fourth stage. And so eventually one learns to “read between the lines.” When Inayat Khan speaks of three stages, one senses the invisible presence of a fourth stage.

The three stages of Moral Evolution, plus the “invisible” fourth stage, correspond to four renunciations (tark) described by the great Persian Sufi poet Farid al-Din ‘Attar, the famous author of The Conference of the Birds.

The first renunciation is called the renunciation of the world (tark-i dunya). This does not imply a rejection of the earth plane as such (jahan). Rather, it is the renunciation of the world of false appearances (dunya), the prison of illusion that the Buddhists call maya. It means giving up the misguided pursuit of fulfillment through possession, consumption, self-aggrandizement, and domination.

This renunciation corresponds to Inayat Khan’s teaching on reciprocity. To learn reciprocity is to move beyond the presumption of one’s own superior prerogative; to live in balance, in harmony, on an equitable basis; consuming but also providing, receiving but also giving.

Having outgrown crude forms of satisfaction, one’s sensibilities become refined. Instead of demanding immediate gratification, one sees there are deeper, larger issues at stake. Rather than ephemeral ersatz pleasure, one prefers abiding peace. And one sees the possibility of not merely accommodating the world, but actually contributing positively. There is greater attraction in extending kindness to others than in advancing one’s own private interests.

There is joy in service. And the reward is not an earthly reward. It is a heavenly reward, a reward that will prove its enduring value in the hereafter. The foretaste of it already exists, however, in the savor of moral victory. This is the beginning of the second stage, the stage of beneficence.

But then, at a certain moment, one realizes that there is a cryptic selfishness hidden under one’s generosity. Beneath one’s moral excellence is an expectation of recompense, albeit recompense in heaven rather than on earth. Then comes a breakthrough. One realizes that, irrespective of the outcome, love is its own reward. One realizes that, as Inayt Khan says, “You are love. You come from love. You are made by love. You cannot cease to love.”

This realization marks the renunciation of heaven (tark-i akhira). One turns away from the prospect of heavenly reward in favor of the experiencing the presence of the Divine Beloved directly. Whether that presence is healing or wounding, luminous or fiery, makes no difference. All that matters is the proximity of the One, the Real.

In this stage the seeker approaches the Divine Presence through the intermediacy of revolving apparitions of the Divine Face, intimations of the ineffable presence of the One in the form of the Qualities of Power and Beauty. Each countenance, upon attainment, dissolves, and the horizon recedes to reveal a new splendor. The seeker advances until the last boundary, where every trace of difference, every wisp of the substance of manifestation, dissolves. And with that dissolution comes the dissolution of self and other, an experience which ‘Attar calls the renunciation of the Lord (tark-i mawla), a state of complete annihilation and subsistence in eternity. This is what Inayat Khan has indicated by “renunciation”, the heading of the final section of Moral Culture—beyond reciprocity, and beyond beneficence, absorption in the One.

But there is a further stage, invisible in Moral Culture, but visible elsewhere in Pir-o-Murshid Inayat Khan’s teaching, and present in ‘Attar’s series of renunciations. The fourth is the renunciation of renunciation itself (tark-i tark). The renunciate now returns to the outer plane, re-entering the limitations of personal life and the delicate nexus of relationships that it engenders. The world, however, is no longer experienced as a place of confinement, for the renunciate of renunciation sees that through the narrow birth canal of this world, a new life is straining to be born, a life that is glorious beyond words.

This is the overview from which we may now consider the Copper Rule, Bear no malice toward your worst enemy. To illuminate the rule we turn to the chapters on “Dealing with Our Enemies” in the sections on “Reciprocity” and “Beneficence” in Moral Culture.

Our Dealings with our Enemies 

Our dealing with our enemy should be more delicately considered than our dealings with a friend. This fact is generally overlooked by man, and he deals in any way with an enemy, while he is considerate to a friend. Sometimes one insults one’s enemy, spoiling, thereby, one’s own habit, and making the enemy still more insulting. Sometimes, by constantly dwelling on the faults of the enemy, one impresses one’s own soul with the same faults, and focuses them upon the soul of the enemy. If he lacks these faults, they may, by reflection, develop in him and cause him to become a still more bitter enemy. 

It is as unwise to underestimate the enemy’s bitterness and power to do harm, as it is to overestimate them. Very often a man, blinded by his ego, fails to estimate the power of the enemy and he says, ‘Oh, what can he do? What do I fear?’ giving way to an impulse, when driven to it by the enemy. This is a defeat. Keeping steadfast and calm under such circumstances is a victory. Complaining about the harm caused by the enemy is a weakness. Avoiding it by taking precautions, facing it with strength, and checking it with power are the things worth doing. It is wise to take advantage of the criticism made by an enemy for it can help to correct us. And it is foolish when one laughs it off, considering oneself to be too good to be like that. 

In the case of revenge, an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth is right when one is sure that kindness and forgiveness will have no power whatever upon the hard heart of the enemy, but on the contrary, will make him worse. But so long as there is a chance of meeting the enemy’s revenge by kindness, the above law must not be practiced. It is better to suppress the enemy before he can rise against us, and it is right to throw him down when he has risen against us.

It is wise to be watchful of the movements of the enemy, and to safeguard oneself against them, and it is foolish to allow oneself to be watched, and to let the enemy safeguard himself against us. It is right to decrease the power of the enemy in every way possible, and to increase one’s own power, and make it much greater than the enemy’s. It is right to know the secret of the enemy, and it is more than right to keep our secret from him.

Precautions must be taken that nobody should become our enemy, and special care must be taken to keep a friend from turning into an enemy. It is right, by every means, to forgive the enemy, and to forget his enmity if he earnestly wishes it, and to take the first step in establishing friendship, instead of withdrawing from it and still holding in the mind the poison of the past, which is as bad a retaining an old disease in the system.

When dealing with enemies, one must bear in mind that there is a possibility of exaggerated imagination. For the least little wrong done by the enemy seems to be a mountain of wrong, while the least little right done by the friend seems to be a mountain of right. It is timid to estimate the enemy above what he is, and it is stupid to estimate him at less than his real power. 

Allowing the enemy to insult or harm, according to the law of reciprocity, is a fault. Paying back insult for insult and harm for harm is the only thing that balances. In dealing with the enemy, one must first compare him with one’s own self in intelligence and power, and consider whether it is possible to stand against him and his enmity or not. In the case where this is possible, with strength and courage and with intelligence, we should bend him down before he does so to us. For in enmity, the first blow is to the advantage of the giver. 

Where we find ourselves weaker or less than the enemy, the best thing would be not to show enmity until we have developed the power of withstanding him; to wait with patience and trust until that time comes and until then to keep peace and harmony. This is not deceit in the sense of reciprocity. 

It is against wisdom to allow anybody to become our enemy if we can possibly help it. We should always refrain from this and be cautious in all affairs of life, lest we cause anybody to become our enemy, for the enemies we have in life are enough. But weakness should never be shown to the enemy. Always show him your strong side. Never give him a chance to prepare a blow. And we should see that he gets it from us before he prepares. 

But equally there must not be a moment’s delay on our part in the effort to harmonize and to be friendly should the enemy desire it. Nor must we lose one moment in becoming friends with him, if it is in our power. A man must always be ready to become a friend to the enemy, and to try his best to do it, unless, by doing so, he adds to the vanity of the enmity. 

It is most undesirable to be the first to an enmity. The one who does so is the more blameworthy, and from his side the effort of harmonizing should come. Sometimes, by thinking bitterly of someone, we produce enmity in his heart that may not have been there before. It only sprang from our imagination. The same rule applies to friendship. If we think strongly with love of someone, even of an enemy, our power of mind will turn the enemy into a friend.

These are Inayat Khan’s words on dealing with enemies from the perspective of reciprocity. His teaching is multivalent; it operates on many levels. In any situation, the course of action that is appropriate is relative to one’s level of realization. If one’s moral location is the stage of reciprocity—that is to say, if one’s concern is to maintain a balance of give and take in life—one must act accordingly, engaging in conflict when conflict is necessary and persistently protecting one’s interests albeit with discretion and restraint.

Thus he speaks here about avoiding failure in confrontations, learning from the genuine insights in the criticism that is made of us, not underestimating or overestimating the strength of the enemy, and holding out the possibility of reconciliation while refusing to accept manipulation and mistreatment.

Now Inayat Khan speaks from the perspective of beneficence.

Our Dealings with Enemies

The difference between the law of reciprocity and the law of beneficence is that, in the former, a person is justified in giving measure and measure, and in the latter one is supposed to tolerate and forgive and show kindness, so that the enemy may grow to be a friend. There are cases where one cannot show kindness, and yet one can be tolerant. There are cases where one cannot forgive, and yet revenge, for a humane person, is an unnatural thing. One can overlook the faults of another, and by that one will give less occasion for disagreement, and still less occasion for enmity. 

Then a person thinks, ’By being kind to our enemy we encourage him in his tyranny.’ But so long as we have kindness in our heart, instead of hardening the nature of the enemy, we will soften it, since we receive all that we give out. A kind word in return for a harsh word, a kind action in return for a cruel one, a kind thought in return for an evil thought make a much greater impression than measure for measure. 

The iron which cannot be broken by hammers can be melted by fire. Love is fire. Kindness is its chief expression. And if a person has sufficiently developed this in his heart, he can sooner or later change an enemy into a friend. It is unkindness, mostly, on one’s own part, that causes enmity all around, and one blames enemies and becomes horrified at their number, then blames the world and its nature and its life. And when the creation has been proved blameworthy in a person’s mind, then how can the Creator be kept free from blame? Then that man feels that he alone is blameless, and all else is blameworthy and life becomes a torture to him. He thinks it is not worth living. He becomes self righteous and everybody seems to be against him. 

It is always wise to avoid every possibility of causing enmity, and to make every effort to turn any enemy, even a person in the least degree offended, even a person who has slightly misunderstood you, or perhaps has felt vexed with you into a friend again, not for the sake of your own happiness or even of his, but for the sake of the good principle, for material benefit. For however slight an enemy he may be, he can cause you very great pain or suffering, and however little friendship you have with a person, he may become most useful someday. And apart from all material benefits, to feel, ’That person is pleased with me. He is well-disposed towards me. He is no longer my enemy,’ is in itself such a great benefit.

So, as Inayat Khan says, it is not always possible to bring our enemies over to our own side. Sometimes we are confronted, assaulted and there is the effort to subdue us, victimize us, and we need to stand up for ourselves, for our community. And yet, how can one engage in conflict? How can one oppose a domineering force without a sense of vengeance, of bitterness, of enmity, of hostility, which, as Inayat Khan says, is poison in the system?

There is story that is told of Hazrat ‘Ali. Hazrat ‘Ali was a great defender of the community of the Prophet Muhammad at a time when enemies were amassing on all sides with the intention of destroying the new faith once and for all. In a decisive battle, Hazrat ‘Ali squared off against a ferocious warrior and managed to gain the upper hand. Knocking his opponent down, Hazrat ‘Ali raised his sword to deliver the final blow. Just then spat in his face. Suddenly the blood rose to Hazrat ‘Ali’s face. He grew angry and tightened his grip on his sword. But then a change came over him; he sheathed his sword and walked away.

The warrior, who had expected a swift death, was stupefied. If there had been any hope of mercy, he thought, his last act of defiance should have squandered it. But instead, somehow, his crude insult had saved him. Perplexed by the irony, he pursued Hazrat ‘Ali and entreated him for an explanation.

Hazrat ‘Ali replied, “I had intended to kill you, but you aroused my anger, and I am duty bound never to act violently in anger. I had to use force, but it was motivated by love. As soon as my personal pride intervened, the matter was finished: I could not act.”

Hazrat ‘Ali is a paragon for us. We are called to exercise our will in the world. But when the will is enflamed by an egoic resentment, the enlightened conscience pauses and reflects and declines to act on such a motive.

Now let us bring this principle right down into the nitty-gritty of our lives, turning within.

Bring into the sphere of your awareness the presence of your worst enemy, whether it is a person who thwarted you in the past or is doing so in the present—whoever comes to your mind as the most oppositional figure in your life.

Welcome this person into the sphere of your awareness, though the welcome may be a wary and guarded one. And looking upon this person’s face, sense the effect on your state, the experience of aversion, the closing or faltering of the open radiance of the heart, the sense of frustration, disappointment, humiliation—whatever sensations arise instantaneously in the encounter. Notice your state. This person’s presence is not an emotionally neutral one. The influence is immediate.

Now internally review your side of the story. Make space for your personal vantage point vantage point. You have been wounded, and you have suffered. Acknowledge the validity of your experience. The damage that has been done is, in its own sphere, real and worthy of consideration. It has affected you, and has been a shaping influence in your life’s course. Recognize the pain that has been caused. Allow yourself to feel prick of the pain, and the sense of disappointment that surrounds it. If one has experienced a betrayal, one has watched a hope live and die. Something very different was possible, but because of this person, it could not come into being.

As you inhale, you are kindling the heat and light that illuminates these wounds. As you exhale you bear witness to your heart’s trammeled feelings, communicating them clearly, as you would to this person, if only he or she would listen. In the silence of your contemplation there is no countervailing reactivity and confusion. Buried sentiments are brought to the surface with crystal clarity, and clearing begins.

Now switch positions in your contemplation, so that you look out from the eyes of the enemy. Recognize that this person has a very different understanding of the situation: different interpretations and different intentions. This person’s mind is a product of patterns of conditioning that are foreign to you, to the point of being nearly incomprehensible. Though fate has interjected this person into your life story, he or she by no means shares your worldview. Moreover, you do not see this person as this person sees him/herself, and this person does not see you as you see yourself.

If you suspend your own judgment and look through this person’s eyes you will see that, from that vantage point, his/her actions are perfectly natural—it is now your attitude and actions that appear suspect. You will also recognize that the hostility and bitterness that this person manifests are really distorted permutations of pure impulses. As Ibn al-‘Arabi says, the origin of every impulse is a movement of love.

This person’s heart is moved by the same deep currents of love that move your heart, but these currents have become misaligned and misdirected. The result is deep, unconscious frustration. And the consequence of this frustration is the tendency to lash out. You are not really the object. The person’s pain is essentially self-referential. You have just found yourself caught up in the sphere of another’s pain.

And you have your own pain. At that level you can sympathize, because you know what it means to feel pain. You can see now that the person is coming from a place of pain, and you can unite in the solidarity of brokenness. But you can also resonate in the joy that is seeking expression in the person’s heart. Perhaps, more than he or she, you have been blessed by the abundance of that joy, whereas in his or her state, it remains un-manifest, and hence he or she acts so maliciously.

And, finally, you come to the sense that you share with this person not only wounded-ness and a deeper joy, but something even more basic. In essence, you are this person. You, minus your experiences (on all planes), plus the experiences of this person (on all planes), equal this person, your “enemy.” And your enemy minus his/her experiences, plus yours, equals you. So where, then, is the basis for resentment?

Now, for a moment in silence, look into the eyes of your “enemy”.