Conduct-Vow Is a Single Word

6.1 Conduct-Vow Is a Single Word

At the Avataṃsaka assembly, Samantabhadra has just finished extolling the merit of the Tathāgata. Having praised it to the utmost, he turns and says to the bodhisattvas present and to the youth Sudhana a sentence of immense weight. The text records it so:

"Good son! The merit of the Tathāgata—even if all the buddhas of the ten directions were to expound it continuously, for as many aeons as there are finest dust-motes in unspeakably many, unspeakably many buddha-fields, it could not be exhausted. If you wish to accomplish this gate of merit, you should cultivate ten kinds of vast conduct-vows."

The Tathāgata's merit—the buddhas of the ten directions could speak of it for unspeakable aeons and never finish. Then where does one begin who would accomplish such merit? The gate Samantabhadra gives is ten "vast conduct-vows": first, paying homage to all buddhas; second, praising the Tathāgatas; third, making vast offerings; fourth, confessing karmic obstructions; fifth, rejoicing in merit; sixth, requesting the turning of the Dharma-wheel; seventh, requesting the buddhas to remain in the world; eighth, constantly following the buddhas in learning; ninth, ever according with sentient beings; tenth, universal transference of all.

These ten, later ages came to call the royal vows. Of them, the third—making vast offerings—and the fourth—confessing karmic obstructions—each have a world of their own: the giving volume and the repentance volume of this series have treated them at length, and this volume does not repeat that work. Here the ten are looked at together, as one face—the face of the vow.

And to see that face, one word must be looked at first—a word that slides past most easily, and is the eye of the entire chapter of scripture.

What the Text Counts Is "Conduct-Vows"

Read Samantabhadra's sentence once more: "you should cultivate ten kinds of vast conduct-vows."

Not ten kinds of "conduct," not ten kinds of "vow"—ten kinds of "conduct-vow": conduct and vow joined into one word, counted as one unit. This is no accident of phrasing. Through the whole chapter the compound holds: the ten vows told, the text gathers them as "the ocean of conduct-vows"; and the momentum running through every vow as it unfolds, the text writes uniformly as "by the power of Samantabhadra's conduct-vow"—conduct-vow-power, one phrase, not to be cut apart.

The Tang-dynasty master Chengguan, commenting on this chapter, takes the compound apart with perfect economy:

"Aspiration is the vow; undertaking is the conduct; lodged in the round number ten and so spoken as ten."

Aspiration is the leaning of the heart—that is the vow. Undertaking is the making-and-doing on the plane of affairs—that is the conduct. Only the two together are called conduct-vow. And the clause "lodged in the round number ten" asks especially close reading: lodged means borrowed, deposited—this one matter of "conduct-vow" is lodged in the round and perfect number ten, and thereby spoken apart. The ten is the aspect under which it is spoken; the conduct-vow is the body being spoken. The ten royal vows are not ten freestanding items of business; they are one conduct-vow, showing ten faces.

Like the Two Wings of a Bird, the Two Wheels of a Cart

Then what, exactly, is the relation of vow to conduct? Chengguan strikes a simile:

"These two uphold each other, like the two wheels of a cart, like the two wings of a bird; to soar through the sky and reach afar—nothing is done without them."

Vow and conduct uphold each other, like the cart's two wheels, like the bird's two wings—to soar, to go far, neither can be spared.

The virtue of this simile lies in the two things it chooses. A cart's two wheels, a bird's two wings, are not two stages, one before and one after—it is not that the left wing comes first and the right is grown later; the two wings are one body, and only so is the bird a bird that can fly. So with vow and conduct: not vow first and practice after, but vow and conduct one body—only so is the bodhisattva's practice called "conduct-vow."

Looked at more finely, this "one body" can be said with precision. The vow gives the conduct its name. The same bending of the body may be paying homage, or may be picking something up; what makes this bending "paying homage to all buddhas" is not the shape of the motion but the vow it is oriented toward. And the conduct gives the vow a body. A vow to "pay homage to all buddhas" that has never once bent the body, never once joined the palms, is only a name—a cheque never cashed; it is the conduct that fills that name into substance. The vow names what the conduct is; the conduct fills what the vow names. Apart from the vow, conduct is left mere making with nowhere to face; apart from the conduct, the vow is left a name hanging in the air. A bird's two wings, lacking either, do not fly—this is exactly that.

The Bodhisattva's Vow Is Already Conduct

Chengguan's disciple Zongmi carried this layer to its furthest point. The bodhisattva's vow, he says—

"this vow is already conduct—hence 'conduct-vow'—unlike the ordinary person's empty, dated pledge."

The bodhisattva's vow is, in itself, already conduct, and only therefore are the two named together; unlike the ordinary person's vow, which sets a date in the heart alone and never fills it with deeds—an empty pledge against a far-off term.

Here is the dividing line between the ordinary person's vow and the bodhisattva's. The ordinary person holds vow and deed as two things: the vow a thought first stored in the heart, the deed a motion to cash it later, and between them the ditch of "whether one gets around to it"—so the gap of "vowed, but never yet acted" is always there to fall into. The bodhisattva's vow has no such ditch: in the same moment the vow is aroused, it is already conduct. One homage, one praise, one offering, one confession—each, on the spot, is the vow's body, not the vow's consequence.

One Thing to See Clearly Here

Brought down to daily use, what this chapter corrects is one very common idea.

Many feel that a vow must first be brewed in the heart—the wish thought round and thought earnest—before one goes to find an outward act to cash it, as though the vow were a cheque waiting for later money to honor it. Conduct-vow-as-one says: there is no need, and it was never so. If the vow is true, the first shape it takes on landing is conduct. Open the Chapter on Conduct-Vows at the evening liturgy, and the first word is "homage": paying homage to all buddhas. The text does not begin from "first set up ten resolves"; it opens with the name of a making. Whether a vow is earnest is not measured by how long the heart has brewed it—it is measured by whether the hands come together.

Walking On

Vow and conduct are mended into one thing. But one thing has the difficulty of one thing.

If conduct-vow is one body, it cannot happen only once—one homage, one praise, cannot be called "cultivating ten kinds of vast conduct-vows." It must walk on through time. How far? The text says: to the end of all future time.

And this returns to the question many carry and cannot quite say aloud: the vow made yesterday—after a night, does it still count? Lifting it today, why has it gone half cold again? A line that must run to the end of future time—by what does it not break?

In the text of the ten royal vows, every vow closes with one and the same sentence. The next chapter looks at that sentence.