Riders in the Chariot: Chariot Metaphors as a Means for Illustrating Self-Cultivation and the Ends of Life in Early Buddhism
Riders in the Chariot: Chariot Metaphors as a Means for Illustrating Self-Cultivation and the Ends of Life in Early Buddhism
Jens Schlieter
ramante ’smin ratham iti
“‘Chariot’ [means:] One has affection for it.”
Patañjali, Mahābhāṣya ad Pāṇini, Aṣṭādyāyī I.4, 24
1. Introduction
The following deliberations aim to approach the question how in Early Buddhism the “ends of human life” – understood as a system of practices and goals to be pursued in order to render human life meaningful – are described. Searching for the ends of human life as described in Early Buddhism, one becomes aware that many passages imply a dividing line between ascetic virtuosi, aiming for ultimate awakening and final liberation, and lay practitioners, for whom more mundane goals are formulated. But even there, concepts such as artha, worldly benefits, wealth, or kāma – especially in the sense of sexual pleasure, but also “pleasures” in general – are only moderately endorsed. In the Lakkhaṇa-Sutta, it is narrated that the Tathāgata, i.e. the Buddha, approached an ascetic and asked him: “‘Sir, what is the good, what is the bad? What is blameworthy, what is not? Which course is to be followed, which not? What, if I do it, will be to my lasting sorrow and harm, what to my lasting happiness?’” (D III. 157). Rather than outlining a straightforward worldtranscending goal, the questions reveal that the Buddha first of all aims to introduce a central criterion, the unsurpassable “strong evaluator” of what leads to lasting happiness. Although “lasting happiness” seems to be identifiable with nibbāna, the sutta also mentions an after-life existence in heaven, where the fruits of the good action are to be enjoyed (D III. 176). Interestingly, elaborate descriptions even of this central goal, “lasting happiness,” are rare. Certain peculiarities of the Buddhist outlook and theory have hindered a straightforwardly positive description of that final goal.3
Instead of a top-down-approach that would begin with nirvāṇa (final liberation) and bodhi (awakening) as the highest ends of human life, I will in this contribution review early Pāli Buddhist passages that formulate a positive system of the ends of life, namely, the effect of cultivating “mindfulness,” or an attitude of raising ethical awareness by constantly “looking at oneself.” These, I will argue, imply a sense of cultivating oneself, or self-cultivation. The term of “self-cultivation,” however, has so far only rarely been used to describe Early Buddhist attitudes. The reason is obvious: As it stands, the term seems to presuppose a strong sense of an existent “self” to be cultivated – a “self” that the Buddhist mainstream denies. To describe certain strands within Tibetan, Chinese, or Japanese Buddhism, authors have adopted concepts of “self-cultivation” (e.g., as a translation of Jap. shugyō, gyō; cf. Yuasa 1993: 7-8), or “self-transformation” (reference to Tibetan concepts such as “self-creation,” Tib. bdag bskyed, “mind-training,” Tib. blo sbyong, and other concepts, cf. Schapiro 2012). In general, the concept of self-cultivation has often been used in works on Confucian and Daoist practice; in respect to Theravāda Buddhism, it is comparatively rare (cf., however, Gombrich 2006: 90). In other words, the semantics of the term self-cultivation presuppose – probably even stronger than “self-transformation” – an underlying substrate, an uncultivated self that shall be cultivated. This “self” will in the end take “profit” of its achievements. To steer clear form the dangers of getting lost in the mare magnum of canonical sources of Early Buddhism or a too selective reading of randomly selected passages, I will take a closer look at a certain metaphor or allegorical imagery, namely, the chariot, which is used in Buddhist texts as a model for self-cultivation and progression towards liberation. This focus will provide the opportunity to review how a certain imagery has been applied to describe the cultivation process and its human ends. The metaphor and allegory of the “salvific chariot,” however, is by no means a Buddhist invention, but Buddhist authors adapted it skillfully to their purposes, as will be shown below.
2. General Contexts and Remarks on Method
As indicated above, I will set out to analyze the idea of “self-cultivation” as a means to achieve the ends of life by analyzing how Buddhist sources made use of chariot metaphors and chariot allegories, respectively. Chariot imagery is indeed omnipresent in mythical, ritual, epical and philosophical texts of Early India. That may not be astonishing, considering that the use of real chariots was a major cultural and technological achievement. Expensive, prestigious and potentially dangerous, they also required skillful drivers – especially in their use in sports and war.
As is well known, early Indian sources make use of chariot imagery in various layers (cf. Sparreboom 1985; Raulwing ed. 2000). Chariots appear as vehicles of gods such as the sun (sūrya) – as such, a symbol of cosmic stability; chariots form the model structure of Vedic rituals or serve as symbols of royal power and social prestige, e.g. of Brahmins – suffice to mention that the entire dialogue of the Bhagavadgītā takes place on a chariot. Finally, and this will be most important for the context below, chariots were used as metaphors for the travel of the “person,” or the “mind” on its “way to liberation.”4
description of a goal, it is argued, will lead to an attachment to the goal, a “desire” that will lead to anything but the intended goal (cf. Vetter 1988). 4 E.g., Kaṭhaka-Upaniṣad [KaU] 1. 3; Aitareya Āraṇyaka (2. 3,8), Chāgaleya U, Maitrāyaṇīya U (2. 3.6; 6,28) cf. Magnone 2016: 167. Cf. also Śvetāśvatara U (2.9).
Although it has been often noted that chariot-imagery emerges also in soteriological contexts of Buddhism – the use of the chariot analogy for the “selflessness” of persons in the Milindapañha being surely the most prominent –, there is to my knowledge no study so far that takes a more comprehensive look at the highly revealing Buddhist use of chariot-imagery in these salvific contexts. As I have tried to show elsewhere (Schlieter 2016), chariot imagery evolved in India (in several aspects parallel to its development in Ancient Greece) as follows:
A. in the beginning, there is the myth of the chariot of the sun (and chariots of the dawn, moon); based on
B. the actual chariot use in cult, war, travel, and sports (e.g., race); and,
C. chariots as symbols of royal power and aristocratic prestige (often combined with A.).
These three semantic contexts enabled the use of
D. chariot imagery as an anthropological and soteriological meaningful metaphor of steering or cultivating the mind, and the transport of the ātman, the “Self,” towards heaven and liberation.
As I will aim to show below, Early Buddhists criticized A. and B., and deconstructed C. and D. The term “deconstruction” shall be taken in a simplified meaning here, indicating that the Buddhist texts made use of the salvific imagery, but criticized in the same breath central presuppositions of the real use and the metaphysical meaning of chariots. As such, an analysis of the Buddhist chariot-imagery is in my eyes a promising way to highlight certain new attitudes in regard to the ends of human life, and the way how these ends shall be achieved. Yet, one might ask, why should chariot-imagery reveal more than a
straightforward analysis of the passages that describe the practices of ethical or meditational self-cultivation? My underlying premise of the analysis of metaphors holds with cognitive and conceptual metaphor theory (Lakoff and Johnson) and “metaphorology” (Blumenberg) that metaphors fulfill indispensable functions for religious texts. According to these theories, metaphors rely on a “source domain” usually grounded in everyday human experience. Concepts and relations of elements in the source domain are then used to visualize a “target domain,” which is often the otherwise “unimaginable” quality of mental activity, the human mind, the psyche, or emotions. This pertains also to more abstract concepts such as “time,” the “beyond,” “afterlife,” etc. Obviously, the use of chariots, and chariots themselves, secure as a “source domain” an enormous richness: wheels, the wheel pivots, the reins, the pole, hub, the chariot body, the horses, the road, etc., but also the activity of steering the chariot and rejoicing the respective experience (speed, the wind, the road, the whirling sound and heat of the axle). In addition, the prestige of royal chariots, or the dangers of fast driving – chariot accidents were already described in Vedic literature – can enter into the metaphoric process. An important aspect in this respect is the fact that over the centuries, chariots saw a decline as war-machinery, while more practical carts or representative royal carriages seem to have been in continuous use. These changes unfolded over a longer period of time. However, its impact seems to be mirrored in the
Buddhist sources to be discussed below that roughly stem from the fourth century BCE up to the fourth century CE. A final presupposition of metaphor theory that should be mentioned here (a more elaborate introduction to metaphor theory in its application to Indian texts can be found in Schlieter 2013, 2016), is Hans Blumenberg’s observation that a metaphor “demands a faithful interpretation of all of its functional moments; if this is violated, the metaphor regresses
into allegory, in which the wheels of the wagon of any goddess may be designated as the four cardinal virtues” (Blumenberg 2001: 183). If I am not mistaken, it is exactly such an evolution into allegory that can be witnessed in the younger strands of “chariot/wagon”-imagery in Buddhist texts. The latter matches very well with emerging ideas of a “great” (mahā) “vehicle” (yāna) in which no longer the aristocratic activity of self-driving is the dominant feature but being steered by the Bodhisattva all the way towards a common salvific goal.
3. Chariot use and chariot imagery in Early Buddhist texts
Apart from the metaphorical use that will concern us here, there is in Nikāyan texts mention of the real use of chariots (P., as in Skt., ratha) in sports, cults, journey, combat, for postal services, or for representative purposes. In the famous “four encounters” – initially part of the hagiography of the former Buddha Vipassī but in consequence part of every Buddha’s stereotypical life –, the royally pampered young Bodhisattva, locked in the palace, longs for a ‘journey to the real world,’ in which he is taught by his charioteer that suffering is a universal reality (D II. 25-6). Here, as in the Gītā, the chariot appears a means of aristocratic travel, but, interestingly, also as an elevated platform of instruction.
In addition, several suttas describe how kings and Brahmins visit the Buddha, arriving on their chariots. However, it is diligently mentioned that they had to park their chariot (and accompanying chariots) somewhere nearby and had to make the final way on foot. Most probably, this shall underline that they approached the Buddha humbly and respectfully. One could, however, also imagine that these texts wish to suggest that the Buddha preferred secluded places not in reach of roads. However, other texts mention that the Buddha and other advanced ascetics were able to meditate without being disturbed by – or not even perceived – the
noise of 500 warchariots passing by on a near-by road (e.g., in the Mahāparinibbāṇa Sutta). As said above, chariot driving was dangerous, and fatal accidents, e.g., deviating chariots falling from cliffs, are mentioned in the canon (cf. K IV., I. 122; Mahānidesa 1. 7. 51). On the other hand, the fascination of “freedom” that may be experienced by a charioteer mounting his vehicle, ‘ready to go in whichever direction he wants,’ is equally conveyed in canonical sources.8 In Jātaka narratives, chariot rides to heavens and hells are depicted; Buddhist sources also mention stellar or heavenly chariots (cittaratha).10 Moreover, the Buddha – and later other Buddhist practitioners – is addressed as the “chariotdriver” or “charioteer on the path of dhamma” (sārathi; dhammasārathi), which connects to his quality as “the one who knows the way.” The Buddha depicts himself as one who has gone the way, knows the way, and had
the way let become apparent (cf. M III. 8). Accordingly, his disciples are the “way-followers” of that way (magga). The “charioteer” carries sometimes also the meaning of a “trainer” or “tamer of horses,” which may result, metaphorically, in the taming of others, or the taming of oneself (cf. Thg 355-9; K II. 296-7).
Finally, in Buddhist and non-Buddhist sources, old and dysfunctional chariots appear as metaphorizing the old and aged human body (cf. BaU 4. 3. 35, and Gombrich 1987). Such a context is present in the following verse (S I. 164, Bodhi, trl. 2000: 167, 384): “The beautiful chariots of kings wear out, This body too undergoes decay. But the Dhamma of the good does not decay: So the good proclaim along with the good.” This implies already a metaphorical use, dealt with in the next section.
4. The Chariot-imagery in Salvific Contexts
One of the probably earliest Buddhist instances of the metaphorical use of chariot-imagery for salvific purposes is the following verse from the Dhammapada:
“Whose senses have gone to rest, like horses [or: stallions] well tamed [or: trained] by a charioteer, who has abandoned pride and has no āsavas [i.e., effluents], him, being of such a kind, even the gods envy” (Dhp 94; trl. Norman 1997: 14, here and below with alternative translation in brackets; cf. S I.
56). The next two verses make it clear that for the accomplished practitioner there is no “traveling on” – he is stable like “Indra’s pillar,” pacified and released through right knowledge. For the application of the chariot-imagery that details with the allegory the means and ends of the Buddhist path, I will now turn to what seem the most pertinent examples in the Pāli Nikāyas. This first of these is found at S I. 33 (Accharāsutta; 46, 6; “Nymphs”):
“149. Resounding with a host of nymphs, Haunted by a host of demons!
This grove is to be called ‘Deluding’:
How does one escape from it?
150. ‘The straight way’ that path [[[magga]]] is called, And ‘fearless’ [[[abhaya]]] is its destination.
The chariot [[[ratha]]] is called ‘unrattling’:
Fitted with wheels of wholesome states [or: “wheels of righteousness”: … dhammacakkehi …].
151. The sense of shame [[[hiri]]] is its leaning board [or a break, apālamba],
Mindfulness [[[sati]]] its upholstery [parivāraṇa]; [or: drapery]
I call the Dhamma the charioteer [sārathi],
With right view [[[sammādiṭṭhi]]] running out in front [purejava = “controlled by” ].
152. One who has such a vehicle [[[yāna]]], whether a woman or a man has, by means of this vehicle [yānena],
Drawn close to nibbāna.” (trl. by Bodhi Vol. I: 122).
The first thing to note is, of course, the structural similarity that the verses share with the simile in the Kaṭha-Upaniṣad (cf. KaU 3.3-9; Skt. and trl. Olivelle 1998: 238-40). Although I will not be able to scrutinize these similarities here more thoroughly, it is highly likely that the Buddhist author/s were aware of these famous verses. Yet, there are considerable differences that turn the whole simile into a Buddhist one. While the KaU focuses on the demanding process of steering the chariot by the mind and well-yoked horses (=the senses), of which the “buddhi,” and the substantial “Self,” will take advantage in form
of arriving at liberation, the Buddhist simile is no longer in close contact to the “source domain” of actually steering a fast chariot. The horses, reins, or the abilities of the charioteer and other elements of steering are not explicitly named. Instead, we find “mindfulness” in a more ornamental function – as “drapery,” probably pointing to a more comfortable carriage (chariots are steered by standing charioteers). The simile somewhat implicitly metaphorizes the horses as the “right view” – a central element of the eightfold path – and, significantly, the “road” again as the “path” (magga). While the wheels are depicted with reference to “righteous effort” or “wholesome states,” it is finally the Buddhist dhamma that serves as charioteer. Instead of a personal driver, the doctrine becomes the steering agency!
Having the KaU in mind, one may ask: If dhamma is the driver, who will be the passenger? Passengers of this vehicle – first named a “chariot” (ratha), and later a “vehicle” (yāna) – seem to be all those men and women that simply possess such a vehicle. This may be taken to suggest that the sutta was addressed to lay people, who in principle could own chariots (whereas monks and nuns, at least according to Vinaya rules, should not). However, the verses appear without
narrative contexts, apart from the Devatā as interlocutor. So, it is not clear who the original addressees of the sutta were. Yet, we are informed that women are explicitly included. In sum, I assume that it was composed for a broad audience including monks, nuns, and lay persons alike. The final destination, or goal, of the journey departing from the “grove of delusion” is first called the “fearless” (abhaya), pointing to the subsequently mentioned nibbāna. Significantly, the simile does not name any purely monastic or professional practice apart from sati, “mindfulness,” that may, but must not necessarily, point to the whole system of vipassanā-practice. However, sati, parallel to “drapery” for the real chariot, seems not “functionally” necessary for the metaphorical chariot to reach its goal. It is only a comfort-providing factor.
What has been outlined above allows to formulate a hypothesis: We may probably witness here one of the birthplaces of the idea of a yāna as “vehicle” for passengers (cf. Harrison 1987). It makes way for the idea of a “large vehicle” (mahāyāna) that can be mounted by lay followers who are no longer engaged in professional monastic ascetic practices or the strict observance of Vinaya rules. If dhamma is the charioteer, and every man and women who decides to follow the dhamma possesses one, then it should follow that actually everybody is able to reach nibbāna.
With these aspects in mind, I shall now turn to the second of the three relevant chariot similes, to be found in the Brāhmaṇasutta (S V. 4-7). The sutta starts with the Venerable Ānanda watching on his alms-round the Brahmin Jāṇusoṇi, as he departs, clad in white, in an impressive white chariot, drawn by equally white mares. Ānanda has to notice that the people watching this bright ensemble passing away exclaim excitedly that it is a “divine vehicle” (brahmayāna). Back from h
is alms round, Ānanda informs the Buddha that people praised the Brahmin and his vehicle as “divine,” and wants to know if the dhamma has also a “divine vehicle” to offer. Oh yes, the Buddha replies: the “divine vehicle,” he explains, is a designation for the noble eightfold “path” (magga). It is the “vehicle of dhamma,” demonstrating “unsurpassed victory in battle” (Bodhi 2000, vol. II: 1526). To clarify his identification with the “path,” the Buddha comments that the eight practices (right view, speech, etc.) share a common goal, namely, to remove greed, hatred, and delusion. This is probably also meant as a warning for Ānanda not to indulge in material objects such as dazzling white chariots. Having said this, the Buddha utters the concluding verses:
“Its qualities of faith and wisdom [[[saddhā]] ca paññā] Are always yoked evenly together.
Shame [[[hiri]]] is its pole, mind [[[manas]]] its yoke-tie,
Mindfulness [[[sati]]] the watchful charioteer [… ārakkhasārathī].
The chariot’s ornament is virtue [[[sīla]]],
Its axle jhāna, energy [[[vīriya]]] its wheels; Equanimity [[[upekhā]]] keeps the burden balanced, Impermanence [anicchā] serves as upholstery.
Good will, harmlessness [or: non-harming], and seclusion [avyāpāda-avihiṃsā-viveka]:
These are the chariot’s weaponry [āvudha],
Forbearance [or: endurance, titikkhā] its [leathern] amour and shield,
As it rolls towards security from bondage [yogakkhema = ‘uttermost safety’ = nibbāna].
This divine vehicle unsurpassed [brahmayānaṃ anuttaraṃ]
Originates from within oneself. [etadattani sambhūtaṃ]
The wise depart from the world in it,
Inevitably winning the victory” (Bodhi, trl. 2000, Vol. II. 1526; with additions).
Again, there is no longer “intellect” of a substantial ātman that will drive the chariot and will finally enjoy liberation. In contrast, the Buddhist chariot, disconnected from former martial functions in war, consists of the continuous activity of meditational cultivation, adorned by ethical selfcultivation. And again, there is no person as “passenger” or “driver” – apart from the more abstract mention of the “wise” that may use the chariot. Special mention in this version deserves the charioteer, metaphorized not as the “intellect” (Skt. buddhi) of the KaU, but as “mindfulness” (P. sati). Moreover, by naming “meditation” (jhāna) as “wheel,” and other virtues of meditational practices, e.g. “equanimity” (upekhā) or “impermanence,” to be trained or acknowledged in meditation, it
becomes clear that this chariot is a rather abstract vehicle. Several elements of the source domain, the real chariot, are no longer “functional” in the sense that they do not have a clear correspondence with the elements of the target domain. It is rather difficult, for example, to imagine “non-harming,” and even more so, “seclusion” (avihiṃsā, viveka), as the chariot’s weapons. In contrast to the KaU, the metaphors head obviously towards allegory. This is probably also reflected in the depiction of the chariot as a “vehicle” (yāna, see above) – a term that is also applicable to carriages, or even to ships. Nevertheless, in its overall meaning, this Buddhist chariot is still on its way. The respective term, yogakkhema, “utmost safety,” is a synonym for final liberation, nibbāna. The chariot consists of nothing more than mental activities, behaviors, and practices that lead the wise out of the world, which is a structural parallel to the Accharāsutta discusses above, and also of the final goal of the “well-yoked” chariot described in the KaU.
The third example – if I am correct, these three are the only Pāli Buddhist examples that share such an evolved metaphorical structure – is to be found in the Nārada-Jātaka (no. 544, verses 181190; J V. 252-255). King Aṅgati, moved by skepticism, receives teachings by the Bodhisattva Nārada Brahmā. After being instructed on morality, the Bodhisattva ponders that “the king will be delighted when his person is compared with a chariot [[[rājā]] attano attabhāve rathena upametvā],” which is followed by his verses:
““Your body is known as a carriage, the mind its agile coachman [manosārathiko], its turning axle is a lack of cruelty and its covering is generosity. (181) The rim of the wheel is restraint of the feet, the trimming restraint of the hands, the nave is restraint of the belly, and its soft noise is restraint of speech. (182) The completeness of its parts is true speech, and it is well held together by lack of slander,
Its faultless parts are kind speech and it is bound with measured speech. (183) Its ornaments are faith and non-greed, and the frame is humble reverent greetings, the unbent pole is lack of hardness, and the strap is moral restraint [silasaṃvara]. (184) Its not shaking is the lack of anger, the pale sunshade is virtue, the brakes are great learning, and the cushion a steady mind. (185)
Its heart is a mind that knows the appropriate time, the triple rod is self-confidence, the tie of the yoke is humble conduct and the light yoke non-pride. (186) The flooring is sincerity of mind, the lack of dust is the increase of wisdom, the goad is the mindfulness of the wise, resolve and spiritual work are the reins.
The tame mind follows the path with evenly tamed horses.
Greed and desire are the wrong path; restraint is the straight path. (188) [253] Whilst the vehicle is running forth at forms, sounds, tastes and smells, wisdom [[[paññā]]] is the spur, O king, and he himself is the charioteer. (189)
If he goes in such a vehicle, peaceful living is firmly established;
the bringer of all happiness [sabbakāma] will not lead to birth in hell, O King.” (190) (trl. Appleton 2016: 452, cf. Cowell, Rouse 1907, Vol. VI: 125).
Again, only some aspects of this rich allegory can be discussed. First of all, it is obviously younger than the similes found in the Saṃyutta-Nikāya. In part, it is even more allegorical (or, in terms of metaphor-theory, dysfunctional) than the other similes from which certain elements are drawn. With the depiction of the pulling force of forms, sounds, tastes (= the horses), a faint allusion to the KaU seem to be present. In certain respects, this “chariot” is no longer a chariot (ratha), and the translation of ratha as “carriage” most appropriate. It has been transformed into a prestigious vehicle – with a sunshade, cushions,
and all necessary royal comfort. On the other hand, and probably due to the fact that the addressee is a (skeptical) king, the allegory does not include dhamma as the charioteer – instead, it is the “mind” (manas; in the KaU, it serves as the reins). In other words, the king is reminded of his own agency of being the charioteer, and the simile advances what he shall do: basically, to practice Buddhist techniques of ethics, self-restraint, and even meditation (cf. verses 182; 187). Moreover, it is predominantly the king who is transported with the carriage to a better place (or, at least, not to hell). As in S V.6 above, the simile stresses that it is “mindfulness” (sati) that is the most important steering capacity, supervising other powers and faculties (cf. Anālayo 2003: 55).
For a comparative overview, the following table may be of help:
(Accharāsutta) S V.7 (Brāhmaṇasutta) J V. 252-255 (Nārada-Jātaka)
chariot passenger, serving commander every man, every woman (ev.) the wise (who depart the world) the king (or the king’s self); chariot box = the king’s body
charioteer (sārathi) dhamma mindfulness (sati) mind (manas)
reins // yoke [--- not given ---] mind (manas) resolve and firmness
horses right view
(sammādiṭṭhi)
(implicit) faith and wisdom (saddhā ca paññā) tamed horses = tamed mind;
‘restrained’ sense-organs [cf. KaU]
axle // wheels --- // dhammacakka meditation (jhāna) // energy (vīriya) non-harming (avihiṃsā), generosity // restraint of feet (wheel rim)
ornaments/drapery mindfulness (sati) impermanence (anicchā) mindfulness (sati) – metaphorized additionally in other elements; nongreed; roof = ‘sharing of gifts’ (saṃvibhāga); sunshade = virtue
end of road nibbāna yogakkhema (nibbāna) peaceful, happy living (the road); ‘no rebirth in hell’ (na jātu nirayaṃ) (end of road)
5. The Deconstruction of the Soteriological Chariot-Imagery
Although the “self” as charioteer is to a certain extent maintained in the Nārada-Jātaka, it remains open if this example shall be read as a skillful adaptation of non-Buddhist imagery (convincing to non-Buddhist audiences, too), or an anachronistic appeal to the KaU. The “dysfunctional” metaphor usage in the Nārada-Jātaka, I would hold, can best be described as a final allegorical phase of the chariot-imagery, which results in a thorough deconstruction of the “chariot” itself (or the “chariot-self”). However, as seen, the idea of “transportation” toward a “destination of liberation” is still prominent, which implies a more transcendent concept of final release from suffering and delusion. This being said, one might be tempted to say that the instances discussed above
reaffirm to a certain extent a more traditional soteriology of a “progressing soul,” which seems to counter the critical attitude of (evolved Theravāda-) Buddhism declaring that there is no “person,” or “Self” that shall enjoy nibbāna. Things – I mean: the “chariot-person” – look different in this prominent chariot-imagery that shall be dealt with now, its application as a model for the selflessness of the person (S I.134-5, and especially the Milindapañha 25-6), i.e., for highlighting the “non-substantial self.” The first of the few canonical instances of a pronounced teaching of “no-self” appears again in the Saṃyutta-Nikāya. Here (S I. 296), a Buddhist nun, bhikkhunī Vajirā, explains the view of the “bundle-personality” (the five khandha). Every human being, she holds, consists of feelings, volitions, etc., but a being (satta) is not found there. And she continues: “When there is a collection of parts
the word ‘chariot’ is used (yathā hi aṅgasambhārā hoti saddo ratho iti); In the same way, when the aggregates exist (khandhesu santesu), the conventional term ‘being’ (satto) [is applied to them]. (554) Only suffering (dukkham eva) comes into existence, and only suffering endures.
Nothing apart from suffering comes into existence, and nothing apart from suffering ceases to exist” (555) (cf. Buddhaghosa, Vism. 18.25 ff., Warren/Kosambi ed. 1950: 508).
While the Buddha had largely refused to give a definite answer in regard to “metaphysical” questions inquiring into the (non-) existence of the “Self” (and especially the status after death), Vajirā seems to go a step further. She declares that the “aggregates,” i.e. the empirical person, collectively form something that can then be conventionally called “being.” That “being” has nothing but a conventional existence. We may say, it is an emergent phenomenon only. This is clearly a nominalist stance towards language that had in principle already been declared by the Buddha. To illustrate the purely conventional existence, Vajirā provides the example of the “chariot” (ratha) – one may speak of a “chariot” if all parts of a chariot are assembled (in the right way). So, what happens here is that the “person,” identified with the chariot, is “deconstructed” – together with the chariot.
This line of thought is even more explicit in the famous para-canonical text Milindapañha. The monk Nāgasena is questioned by king Milinda (who had, of course, traveled with a royal chariot to the encounter). In one occasion they touch upon the nature of persons and their names. Nāgasena argues that he is known by the name “Nāgasena,” but a “person is not to be found there” (na h’ettha puggalo upalabbhati, Mil [ed. Trenckner 1880 I. 25,13]). Milinda replies that in such case one wonders who will receive alms, acts morally or improper, and, most drastic, if someone may be accused of murder if no puggala is killed, because simply there is none (cf. Mil 25-6). Interestingly, Milinda moves from a first-person perspective on ethics (What does mean to me to act without affirming a
substantial person?) to a third-person perspective, i.e., what does it mean in respect to humans as victims of action? The latter leads, as Milinda suggests, to nihilistic consequences. According to Buddhist sources, however, the “selflessness” of persons, as I have argued elsewhere, is not an ontological “free pass” for killing (cf. Schlieter 2016). In other words, the agent has to realize “no-self,” but it does not change the status of human beings as such. The king, still not convinced, proceeds by asking whether or not a person can be identified with his hair. Nāgasena denies. The king lists all possible elements of a person, including consciousness, always receiving a negative reply. He even includes the option of a fully transcendent, unbound soul, and, this being also denied, concludes that there is simply no Nāgasena (Mil 26).
Now Nāgasena becomes the active inquirer. He asks if the king had come in a chariot, which the latter affirms. Structurally parallel, he forces the king to deny that a chariot can be identified with the pole, the axle, the wheels, the body, the ropes, yoke, wheel-spokes, or the goad; but also with nothing outside of the assemblage. The king, after being somewhat ridiculed by Nāgasena (‘you, a potent monarch, came in a chariot, but are unable to say what it is!’) is
forced to accept the conclusion that all single parts, taken together, provide the basis for “chariot” as an “appellation, designation, as a conventional usage, as a name” (Mil 27). In the same way should the designation “Nāgasena” be understood – “according to the highest meaning a person is not to be found here” (Mil 27). Finally, Nāgasena quotes the essential verse of the Vajirā Sutta, and Milinda emphatically agrees. Unfortunately, there is no clue whether or not the two chariot similes in the SaṃyuttaNikāya were known to the author/s of the Milindapañha (100 BCE - 100 CE; however, other passages from the SN are quoted), while the Jātaka simile is highly likely younger. Therefore, it would be a bold statement to argue that they evolved exactly in the genealogical trajectory as presented here.
Nāgasena, however, does not only argue for the conventional existence of persons and chariots. He almost “extracts” the “person” out of the “chariot.” By its merely conventional meaning, the symbolic and metaphorical status of chariots is denied, too: Its prestigious dignity – the power, wealth, the weapon, and likewise the royal and Brahman ātman-passengers steering, or being transported, into final liberation – seem to fall apart. It is nothing but an assemblage, given a conventional name. On the other hand, we can witness the dawn of the Buddhist idea that even though the ontological dignity of the aristocratic chariot is gone, it is still a means of travel: a large carriage, or vehicle of the dhamma that everybody can mount.
6. Interlude: Human Ends as Permanent Training and Continuously “looking at oneself”
As seen above, the Buddhist similes are anything but consistent in their metaphorization of the different parts and chariot-horse-charioteer ensemble. However, various elements are connected to ethical and meditational self-cultivation. Given that the ascetic practice of concentration and meditation – “mindfulness” / “insight”-meditation (vipassanā), jhāna-meditation, and the practice of the “immeasurables” (appamāṇa) or “abodes of Brahma” (brahmavihāra) – was an integral
element for reaching both “awakening” (bodhi) and “nirvāṇa in life,” we may ask what Pāli discourses describe as the practice that may help lay Buddhists to reach their ends in life. Outlining the advice given to them, I may provide a short summary of the Sigālaka-Sutta (DN 31). Here, the Buddha advises Sigālaka, a “Householder’s son,” not simply to pay homage to the “six directions” (disā) as a religious practice of reverence to the sacred, the ancestors, etc., as had been requested by the dying father, but to stick to some basic moral cultivation. The Buddha stresses that it is only by certain action that he will go after death to a good, heavenly destiny (sugatiṃ saggaṃ lokaṃ upapajjati, D III. 181).
Prominently, the Buddha mentions attachment and desire, hatred, ill-will, folly, and fear as root causes – fueling (and being fueled by) gambling, drug-consumption, haunting the streets at night, or by frequently attending festivals and fairs. To abstain from these will procure that one grows in “goodness and repute” (D III. 182) – interestingly, to lose one’s “good name” is a central criterion here, as is the loss of wealth and trustworthiness. The Buddha adds, that “those who are your friends in need, they alone are truly friends” (sammiyo yo atthesu jātesu sahāyo hoti so sakhā, D III. 184). The Buddha stresses also
an obligation to “work”: “‘Too cold! Too hot! Too late!’ they cry, / Thus pushing all their work aside, / Till every chance they might have had / Of doing good has slipped away” (Walshe, trl., D III. 185). As it seems, “work” is not only meant here to be one’s obligation to work for a living, but also, to “work” as an indispensable opportunity of “doing good.” Nevertheless, there is also a certain flavor of an “economic imperative” – later in the text, the lay practitioner is advised to gather wealth as a bee collects honey, but not as a means in itself, but to devote it “to the people’s good” (188). We should note, however, that the economic imperative of the Sigālaka-Sutta does not possess any direct salvific relevance. In contrast to the famous analysis by Max Weber, identifying as the roots of Western capitalism the Christian protestant “ethics of work” of Calvin, Luther etc. (in short: the rich = the God-chosen), it possesses only an indirect imperative: the rich has riches to give, and it is only by this practice of dāna, and not wealth itself, that moral worth is accumulated.
Another down-to-earth-ethic refers to the true friends, namely, those who are there if needed; false friends, in contrast, do what they do out of fear, seeking their own ends (cf. D III.184; 186). The good friend, moreover, encourages his friend in doing good, and “points out the path to heaven” (ibid. 187). In resonance with this soteriological relevance of friendship, the Buddha advises to cherish good friends with care, “just like a mother with his dearest child”
(ibid. 188). We may add that such an emotional praise identifying the highest quality of love with a mother’s love for her child appears also as a model in the description of brahmavihāra meditation. Here, the practitioner shall generate unconditional love described with the mother’s love for her son. In respect to the relationship between lay practice and professional practice, we learn that these ethics are not only of relevance to this world, but also for the next (asmālokā parambhā ca, D III. 184).
In a recent study, John Kelley aimed to provide an account of the teachings the Buddha offered to lay Buddhists, kings, Brahmins, adherents of other teachings, etc., compiling even statistics in regard to the occurrence of these teachings in the different sections, and further parameters. For our purpose, a relevant outcome of his study is the result that the respective suttas outline different “highest goals:” namely happiness in this life (overall 13%), a good rebirth (33%), “streamentry,” i.e. the first step on the way to release from saṃsāra (9%), but than – and this is most relevant – complete liberation or nibbāna (26%). The significant number of teachings that explain nibbāna to lay persons is worth of notice, given that a considerable number of scholars of Pāli Buddhism voiced the opinion that teachings for the laity consisted predominantly of basic Buddhist morality.
While the more advanced mindfulness- and jhāna-meditation is the most effective way to achieve the goal for monastic practitioners, we may ask how these practices were adapted by lay Buddhists. According to the hypothesis that shall be advanced below, it was especially the permanent training of the “five precepts” (or, as Peter Harvey translates, the “five virtues,” pañca-sīlāni), in short, to train oneself in abstaining from killing, stealing, sexual misconduct, false speech, and intoxicating drinks. It should be noted that these “precepts” are each formulated as a “training rule” (sikkhāpada), which implies that there is no general disqualification implied if a rule is occasionally not met – as Harvey points out, the idea behind the “training precepts” is a kind of “future-directed morality” (Harvey 2000: 68), or, as we would like to term it, a continuous moral “self-cultivation.” Besides of “killing,” it is, however, “false speech” with its various aspects that seems to play a central role. What does the Buddha recommend in order to keep clear of “false speech” and the other unwholesome modes of behavior?
A prominent source expanding on this is the Ambalaṭṭhikārāhulovāda-Sutta, in which the Buddha describes how one should be continuously aware of the effects of one’s actions of the body, mind, and speech. In this text, the Buddha advises his son, who had joined the order, about the goal of continuous reflection on the moral effects of action. In a first section, the Buddha explains by means of two similes that a “deliberate lie” destroys the realm of morality as such. If a person tells a deliberate lie, “there is no evil, I say, that one would not do” – as a mighty elephant fighting with all means (M I. 415).
And the Buddha continues with another metaphor: “‘What do you think, Rāhula? What is the purpose of a mirror?’ ‘[It is] the purpose of reflection, venerable sir.’ ‘So too, Rāhula, an action with the body […] speech […] by mind should be done after repeated reflection’” (Bodhi, trl.). But not only this – every action (with body, speech, and mind) shall also be reviewed in regard to its effects on oneself and on others: “Rāhula, when you wish to do an action with the body, you should reflect upon that same bodily action thus: ‘Would this action that I wish to do with the body lead to my own affliction, or to the affliction
of others, or to the affliction of both? Is it an unwholesome bodily action with painful consequences, with painful results?’” If such painful consequences (again, also in cases of actions of speech and mind) are to be expected, the Buddha says, one should definitely not do such an action; if the “action is wholesome,” with “pleasant consequences, with pleasant results” (kusalaṃ idaṃ […] kammaṃ sukhudrayaṃ sukhavipāka), such actions may be done. This result-oriented reflection is, of course, in stark contrast to being “indifferent” (skt. sama) toward the possible outcome of actions as described, for example, in the Bhagavadgītā. The Buddha continues, that such a “reflection” shall not only been done in cases in which an action is planned for the future (kammaṃ kattabaṃ), but also in the case of one’s present action (kammaṃ karomi), and actions done in the past (kammaṃ akāsiṃ, aor.), respectively. In form of a matrix, we can group these criteria thus:
in the future in the present in the past ( )
with the body (kāyena) with the body (kāyena) with the body (kāyena)
with the speech (vācāya) … …
with the mind (manasā) … …
In regard to the argument of this sutta, which has been used by Charles Goodman and others for arguing that Buddhist ethics is “consequentialist” in the sense of Western Consequentialism, several aspects are worth mentioning:
1. The mirror-metaphor is used for presenting a “continuous reflection” on moral significance. This metaphorical use seems to be a metaphor that Western readers are familiar with – while, at the same time, its application here seems somewhat odd (I will get back this below).
2. The Buddha argues, that one should reflect on, or review continuously (paccavekkhitvā, an abs.) the moral significance – not only before the action, but also while presently acting, and after the deed is done. This is crucial, given the fact that in Western ethics usually “reflection” shall take place only before any action is executed: either in order to evaluate ones motives, as it has been theorized in intentionalist or deontological ethics, or in order to
calculate the possible effects on others (in utilitarianism and consequentialism – the “ethics of responsibility,” as Max Weber has it). Reflection on action while one continues to act is rarely discussed, whereas reflection on deeds done has, in a Western perspective, a certain moral flavor of a religious perspective to allow one’s conscience to “speak,” to confess misdeeds. In sum: Western ethics, to my knowledge, traditionally only reasons on consequences or motives before the action is executed, because this is the single, most precious moment to evaluate action (a) on a principled basis, and (b), before harm is being done.
3. One shall reflect not only on bodily and verbal kamma, but also on action “by the mind” (manasā); and this not only in regard to others affected, but also in regard to oneself – foreseeing one’s future “happy” and “wholesome” (kusala) states. The interpretation of “consequentialism” is, therefore, misleading. “Internal” effects on the perpetrator’s own mind are explicitly included – prominently, spiritual effects that cannot be sufficiently conceptualized in consequentialist terms.
Taken together, it becomes obvious that the Buddha depicts some kind of continuous awareness, in a certain parallel to the training practice of “mindfulness.” This time, however, the Buddha advises a training that does not primarily consist of a fully judgment-free, neutral observation of the body (e.g., breathing in, breathing out …) or the mind. Instead, training is devoted to the aim of observing the moral quality of the respective action. It is, we can say, not only about steering a chariot, but to continually reflect on that steering: whether or not it was, is, and will be a means to reach the right goal.
But can we conclude that the ideal expressed here can be termed “reflection,” as the mirror metaphor suggests? In a recent edited book on Buddhist ethics that quotes the crucial sentence in its title, “A Mirror is for Reflection. Understanding Buddhist Ethics” (2017), Jake H. Davis explains that the Pāli Buddhist term, paccavekkhana, has, like the term reflection in European languages, two meanings: “one referring to an image being thrown back from a surface such as water or glass, and the other referring to the process of careful consideration. These two different sets of connotations make some sense given the literal meaning […] to ‘look back,’ ‘look again,’ or ‘review’” (Davis 2017: 1; in ibid. ed.).
The translation as “observation” or, more literal, “looking at oneself,” may conform to the metaphor of a mirror, too. This being said, a probably more context-sensitive translation would be: “‘What do you, Rāhula, think of this? What is the purpose of a mirror?’ ‘The mirror’s purpose is to look at yourself.’” This is substantiated by the commentary (Aṭṭhakathā) of the Sutta, explaining paccavekkhaṇa-attha by “[for the purpose of] seeing” (olokana-°, dassana-°). All in all, it seems therefore necessary to note that the mirror metaphor here does not imply an “image” (pratibimba; cf. Wayman 1974: 258) of sorts, reflected
from the mirror. In our case, the dominant meaning is “closely observing again and again,” being continuously mindful of, and knowing, one’s body, speech, and mind – applying the “strong evaluator” if these are conducive to lasting happiness for oneself and others. Furthermore, we may think of “seeing at one’s face” also in the sense of “seeing one’s own faults,” which would explain why the metaphor comes into play only after the Buddha had discussed the disastrous quality
of lying. This impression is confirmed in other contexts (cf. D I. 63-4). In the Sigālaka Sutta, for example, “lying” is mentioned at first rank (as one of the “four defilements”; cf. also Bhargava 2014: 174 ff. for the special focus on the fatal qualities of lying, “hate speech,” etc., in Aśoka’s edicts). Finally, noteworthy is the inclusion of “mental action,” and especially, to consider and observe how a certain state of mind may imply suffering for one self presently, and in the future. 31 While doing the mental action, one shall at the same time observe or “look at oneself.”
To conclude, we may find evidence here that the ethical idea (outlined to Rāhula, but applicable to lay Buddhists, too) of a continuous “self-cultivation,” though not in the sense of cultivating a “Self.” In that respect, the description of “ethics” comes very close to the general description of “mindfulness” (sati) – it is an attitude that one shall train on a continuous basis.32 This idea fits, as seen above, well with the continuous travel of a chariot toward liberation.
7. Conclusion: The Ends of Human Life According to Buddhist Chariot Similes
As a general conclusion, we could see how Buddhists were equally aware of the “life-world” use of chariots, including their prestige, and their well-established metaphorical use for salvation. However, the respective authors wanted to convey a new message to their audience. On the one hand, to aim for liberation shall be no longer understood as an aristocratic-ascetic enterprise but can be sought after by all that are willing to start certain practices of self-cultivation. On the other hand, reflecting the slow decline of the military use of chariots33 and the increase in use of representative, large royal carriages, the authors transformed the simile into a more allegoric appraisal of the “liberation of the many,” probably also reflecting what they assumed to be
the “one vehicle” for all, drawn by the dhamma. Only the king is provided with a peculiar chariot-carriage. Moreover, it is interesting to note that the goal of practice, the end of the road – “heaven” or “nibbāna” – is still the same (parallel to the KaU). Yet, is receives no further elucidation. One could, for example, easily imagine a description of the arrival of the chariot in heaven in the most brilliant terms. That this has not been done seems to correspond to the Buddhist conception of desire and liberation. Firstly, the end of the road is designated with worldly language, but ontologically transcendent. Secondly, a “passenger-self” that may step of the chariot runs counter to the idea that the “chariot” itself is made out of the practices that lead to liberation. Thirdly, the Buddhist use of the “chariot” as a prominent example that points to the mere conventional existence of the “self,” that, as we saw, glossed over the possibility to define things on their basis of outlining their specific function, should be kept in mind when speaking of the “chariot-passenger-self.” Joaquin
Pérez-Remón, in his attempt to argue that many passages in the Early Buddhist sources clearly presuppose the “self” (attā) as “an inner reality that gives man all the value he has, not merely a conventional idea” (Pérez-Remón 1980: 26), was convinced to have found key evidence in the respective Buddhist chariot-similes (cf. ibd. 57-63). Though it is indeed possible to interpret the
hotiyeva, atthabhedakavisaṃvādanaṃ purakkhatvā musāvādo nāma na hoti […]). Lying, in other words, is the only one of the five precepts that cannot be broken. 31 Akuppasutta, A V.95 (A III. 119), “he reflects” – or better: he “observes,” “sees” – “the manner his mind was released” (yathāvimuttaṃ cittaṃ paccavekkhati); cf. the compound of paccavekkhaṇañāṇa, as the awareness of the achievement of release (nirodha-samāpatti etc.) while being released (e.g. Sammohavinodanī CST4, 808). 32 Cf. “full of compassion he constantly dwells in the welfare of all living beings” (sabbapāṇabhūtahitānukampī viharati)” (MN 27, 38, 39 and 112; cf. Vetter 1988: 22).
33 Romila Thapar pointed out (personal communication) that due to the fact that horses were difficult to breed in India, they had to be imported from Central Asia which was a strenuous and costly endeavor. Wherever possible, they were substituted by elephants, and riding on elephants became a more common means of royal travel. – This was probably another factor contributing to the decline of chariot use.
chariot-similes in that manner (substantializing the pronoun “self” to “the Self”), the interpretation loses its coercive force if the other examples on the conventional existence of the chariot-cumperson are taken into account.
In their disregard to mirror the actual process of a charioteer steering the chariot in the respective similes (for dhamma or sati is the charioteer), it seems also to reflect a critical stance towards the “paradox of desire,” namely, that the desire to arrive at the goal will actually perpetuate the desire – the desire that shall be overcome, as we read in the Suttanipāta:
“778. Having dispelled longing for both ends [ubhosu antesu], having understood [and renounced] contact, not greedy, not doing that for which he would reproach himself, a wise man does not cling to what is seen and heard.
779. <153> Having understood [and renounced] perception, a sage should cross over the flood, not clinging to possessions. With barb pulled out, living vigilant[ly], he does not long for this world or the next” (lokam imaṃ parañcā, Norman trl. 104).
As such, it is finally the “innerworldly” quality of ethical and mindful self-cultivation that will bear fruit already in this life, while the chariot is on its way. “No-chariot”-owners, don’t be jealous of real chariots, the Buddha seems to warn – true happiness is riding with the dhamma. Significantly, there is no mention of kamma in the similes. The chariot’s arrival is simply a matter of time.
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