Other-Power Can Be Ridden

5.2 Other-Power Can Be Ridden

The words "other-power" are heard often in the Buddha's gate, and heard crooked nearly as often.

One hearing takes it for indolence: since there is a Buddha's power to lean on, my end has nothing left to do—the Buddha will come for me of himself, and I lie back and wait. Another hearing takes it for a transaction: my end pays out a quantity of recitation, the Buddha's end delivers the result of rebirth; recite enough, and exchange it for a ticket. The two hearings look opposite; underneath is one and the same error: both set other-power up as the contrary of self-power—self-power is "I do," other-power is "I do not, and another does."

The one who spoke other-power most thoroughly is Master Tanluan of the Northern Wei. He wrote the Commentary on the Treatise on Rebirth, annotating Vasubandhu's treatise. This chapter follows him, and hears the words "other-power" set straight.

Were It Not for the Buddha's Power, the Forty-Eight Vows Would Be Set Up in Vain

First, pick up the thorn from the end of the last chapter. Discoursing on how the land of Peace-and-Bliss can bring all who are born there to non-retreat, Tanluan says: it is because of the original vow-power. How is this known? He follows at once with one sentence:

"Were it not for the Buddha's power, the Forty-Eight Vows would be set up in vain."

Set up in vain—established for nothing. The sentence has two faces. One faces the last chapter: even with the vow accomplished as a land, if no one can ride that land, no way onto it, the forty-eight clauses of "if, when I attain buddhahood" become provisions idling in place—the vow's accomplishment still lacks the end at which it is ridden. The other face matters more: Tanluan assigns the key of "not in vain" to the Buddha's power—not to whether the practitioner "recites enough." The Buddha's power is prior and foundational—it precedes practice and upholds practice; it is not a wage that practice earns. We will come back to this face before the chapter ends.

The Feeble Man and the Wheel-Turning King

Then where exactly do self-power and other-power differ? Tanluan struck a simile, and in fifteen hundred years no one has said it plainer. Suppose, he says, a man who fears the sufferings of the three lower realms, and therefore receives and keeps the precepts; by the power of the precepts he can cultivate meditation; by meditation, he attains the spiritual powers; by the spiritual powers, he can roam the four continents—step by step, everything earned by himself: this is called self-power. Then Tanluan changes the picture:

"And again, it is like a feeble man who cannot so much as mount a donkey; yet following in the train of a wheel-turning king, he rides through the air and roams the four continents, with nothing to obstruct him. Such things are called other-power."

A man so feeble he cannot even get up onto a donkey's back; yet keeping company with a wheel-turning sage-king, he is carried by the king's majestic power up into the air, and roams the four continents without obstruction.

Set the two pictures side by side. Roaming the four continents is one and the same destination; the difference is what one goes by. The man of self-power climbs the ladder himself—precepts, meditation, powers, rung by rung. The man of other-power cannot even mount the donkey—yet he has ridden a power already present, already in motion, far greater than himself. And notice: the feeble man was not lying by the roadside. He did one thing, and it was the decisive thing—he kept up with the king's train.

The simile told, Tanluan lets out one exclamation:

"How foolish! Let later students, hearing that other-power can be ridden, give rise to faith, and not confine themselves to their own portion."

Students of later ages—hearing that other-power can be ridden, give rise to faith; do not confine yourselves to your own small portion of strength. Three movements stand inside this sentence, and they take "entrusting" apart with full clarity.

First, "can be ridden." To ride is a directional act—one rides a boat, rides a carriage. The one who rides the boat has not vanished: he set his own destination, he boarded the boat himself; what he hands over is the carrying of the passage, not the direction of the passage. Second, "give rise to faith." What follows "can be ridden" is not "do nothing at all" but "give rise to faith"—faith must be given rise to: an actively initiated movement of the mind. If other-power were truly a lying-back to be fetched, why would Tanluan teach the giving-rise of faith? Third, "do not confine yourself to your own portion." To confine oneself is to wall oneself inside the narrow thought that everything must be carried on this one lone measure of strength. What Tanluan rebukes is not effort—it is that wall, built by one's own hand.

The Practitioner's End Also Holds a Vow

Inside the structure of other-power there is one end besides, often read right past—the practitioner's own vow.

In the Treatise on Rebirth, Vasubandhu lays out five gates of mindfulness for the one who aspires to be born: worship, praise, making the vow, contemplation, dedication. The third, the gate of making the vow, he defines thus:

"What is making the vow? To constantly make the vow with the mind, single-mindedly and wholly intent, to be reborn at last in the Land of Peace and Bliss."

The mind is to make the vow constantly, single-minded and wholly intent, to be born at last in the Land of Peace-and-Bliss. Look at where this gate stands: it does not describe what the Buddha's end has done; it prescribes what the practitioner's end is to do. In the picture of "riding the original vow-power," the practitioner is no passive blank—he has a vow of his own, constantly raised, definite in direction.

And with that, the full shape of other-power comes out. At one end, Dharmākara's vow already accomplished—a vow that holds. At the other end, the practitioner's vow raised day by day—a vow to be handed over. The "riding" happens exactly where the two vows mesh: the practitioner aligns his own "aspiring to be born," and slots it into that "already accomplished" vow. Other-power is not "the Buddha's vow acting upon a person who has none"; other-power is one vow upholding another vow.

So what is handed over was never the responsibility—it is the carrying of the direction. Like that feeble man: the heart set on the four continents was his own; the legs that kept up with the king's train were his own; what he rode was only the power of flight he could never have grown himself.

One Thing to See Clearly Here

By now, the two crooked hearings from the opening can be set straight together.

Other-power is not indolence. After "can be ridden" comes "give rise to faith"; within the five gates stands "constantly make the vow"—the practitioner's end was never blank. And the entrusting does not terminate at "I am saved, and that is the end of it." Tanluan teaches that dedication has two aspects: the going-forth aspect, dedicating one's virtue and aspiring to be born in that land; and another, called the returning aspect—

"As for the returning aspect: having been born in that land… one returns into the dense forest of birth-and-death, teaching all beings to turn together toward the Buddha way."

Born into that land, one is to turn back—re-entering the dense forest of birth and death, teaching all beings, turning together toward the Buddha way. The one who has reached the shore is precisely the one who goes back into the water. If other-power were indolence, where would this fold come from?

Nor is other-power a transaction. A transaction runs "practice first, fruit after, deeds exchanged for results"; the order Tanluan speaks runs exactly the other way—the Buddha's power first, founding the practice. The original vow-power was not piled up out of recitations; it was accomplished ten aeons ago. To recite the Name, to make the vow, is not to pay out chips for goods; it is the act of aligning oneself with a vow already given. There is no machine in the Buddha's gate that takes a coin and dispenses a ticket. To treat the Name as currency and rebirth as merchandise is to misplace, from the root, what the original vow-power is.

And one more sentence, said in the open: the road of self-power and the road of other-power are both true roads of the Buddha's gate. Tanluan distinguished the two powers so that each structure might be seen clearly, not so that the two might be ranked. This book, through the whole volume, passes no verdict of higher and lower upon them—capacities differ by the ten thousand, conditions vary one by one; the roads seen clearly, each walks his own.

Part Five, to This Point

With these two chapters, the vow-face of Amitābha's original vows has been seen whole.

Chapter one saw accomplishment: the monk Dharmākara relinquished country and throne; forty-eight clauses of "if, when I attain buddhahood" staked Buddhahood on the benefit of beings; through inconceivable aeons he filled the vow with deeds—and the vow burned into a land: has now already become a Buddha, dwells at present in the West, ten eons in all. Chapter two saw riding: were it not for the Buddha's power, the Forty-Eight Vows would be set up in vain; the feeble man who cannot mount a donkey roams the four continents in the train of the king—other-power is one vow upholding another, and what is entrusted is the carrying of the direction, not the direction itself.

A vow can accomplish; a vow can be ridden—here the vow's power comes full in both directions.

And yet, even here, the vow remains a "vow." The gate of making the vow teaches "constantly make the vow"; the returning aspect teaches "return and liberate"—and both of these are no longer a single point of arousal, but a line to be walked, deeds to be done, one after another. A person who has entrusted his direction does not, next, sit down to rest; he takes this vow and lives it into conduct.

Vow and conduct—how do they become one thing? In the Buddha's gate, the one who spoke this to its summit is a bodhisattva whose very name is all but the embodiment of the word "conduct": Samantabhadra, the bodhisattva of Great Conduct. The next part tells Samantabhadra's vows of practice.