The solace of a thousand arms
An introduction to Avalokiteshvara, the Bodhisattva of Great Compassion, and what their story means to activists and organizers.
Even if you have no real familiarity with Buddhism, chances are that you have at least heard the word “bodhisattva,” although you may have never seen it defined. A bodhisattva, to put it in broad terms and in my limited understanding, is a person working toward enlightenment; in other words, an aspiring Buddha. Someone who is committed to achieving Buddhahood is thus said to be “on the bodhisattva path.”
Buddhist traditions vary as to the precise definition of a bodhisattva, and who exactly qualifies as one. Strictly construed, a bodhisattva is a Buddhist monastic who has reached the precipice of enlightenment and has been confirmed as such by a living Buddha. In more liberal lineages, anyone can consider themselves a bodhisattva if they have committed to the bodhisattva path, since the Buddha-nature—the capacity to become a Buddha—is innate to us all. Although you might raise a few eyebrows if you went around calling yourself a bodhisattva. As for me, I’m a little too attached to craft beer and other vices to consider my feet firmly planted upon the path, at least for now.
If I had to make an analogy to Christianity, for no other purpose than to help people understand the concept, I would say that the bodhisattva is Buddhism’s closest analogue to the saints—devout individuals who, through courageous and selfless acts, become exemplars of the faith, their names and stories cataloged to inspire successive generations of the faithful. I draw this comparison fearfully, since, in all honesty, I know little to nothing about Christianity, and rather little even about my own religion. But the comparison, on its face, seems to make sense to me.
Like with saints, there are some bodhisattvas who are so respected and well-known that they have become household names, and often have followers of their own. One such bodhisattva is the subject of today’s conversation, which explains why I’ve been thinking on this topic. This figure is dear to me and inspires me, as well as many others. I am referring here to Avalokiteshvara, the Bodhisattva of Great Compassion.
Avalokiteshvara is perhaps the most widely known and revered bodhisattva. Their name, loosely translated, means “Lord who looks down upon the world.” I use gender-neutral pronouns to refer to them here, as is my personal preference when talking about Avalokiteshvara. While I know this is probably unconventional, and I have no cause to believe that the intent of the ancient Buddhists was to create a gender-neutral bodhisattva, it is to me the most accurate set of pronouns to use for them. Being widely diffused throughout the Buddhist world, and having been interpreted uniquely by each culture their story has touched, Avalokiteshvara has been depicted in masculine, feminine, and androgynous forms. In Buddhist lineages originating from China, for example, Avalokiteshvara manifests as Guanyin— “Perceiver of Sounds,” known to the West as the Chinese Goddess of Mercy—a beautiful woman in flowing robes who carries a jar of holy water.
Avalokiteshvara, in essence, represents the greatest extent of the human capacity for compassion. Their story serves as a model for all Buddhists to aspire to. Avalokiteshvara got their start as one of the Buddha’s disciples. They were uniquely selfless, constantly searching for opportunities to render aid. They gained the supernatural ability to hear cries for help from any distance. They used this ability to travel the world, offering their assistance to those in danger. They even went so far as to morph their appearance to suit the needs of each person they approached. A bodhisattva of malleable shape and form, Avalokiteshvara relieved great suffering.
According to one popular telling of the story, this power brought Avalokiteshvara extreme grief. The weight of the world’s suffering became excruciating; the relentless cries of its people became deafening. No matter how many people they saved, more were always screaming in pain, and new miseries surfaced at every moment in every corner of the Earth. When finally they could take it no longer, and the point came where they were completely overwhelmed, Avalokiteshvara desperately reached out and attempted to touch all those who were suffering at the very same time—only for their arms to split and shatter into pieces. Avalokiteshvara refused to accept defeat, however, and was rewarded for their sacrifice. The Buddha Amitabha, with his spiritual power, caused one thousand new arms to sprout in place of the two the bodhisattva had lost. Each palm housed an eye for seeking out those in need. Each hand held a tool that could be used to rescue people from misfortune.
Now in this powerful, all-seeing form, Avalokiteshvara traveled the world anew, saving people everywhere they went. Like the other great bodhisattvas, Avalokiteshvara reached the precipice of nirvana only to turn back at the last moment. They vowed not to ascend to Buddhahood until they had liberated all remaining living beings from samsara. the cycle of death and rebirth. Only when everyone else had escaped would they themselves depart. Avalokiteshvara would have likely agreed with Fannie Lou Hamer when she said, “Nobody’s free until everybody’s free.”
Avalokiteshvara is a prevalent character in several of the most important sutras, or Buddhist scriptures. These include the Heart Sutra and the Lotus Sutra. The bodhisattva is so revered that the Namo’valokiteshvaraya Chant, one of the main chants practiced by the Plum Village tradition, consists merely of Avalokiteshvara’s name sung rhythmically. The chant is repeated three times in each performance. During the first repetition, listeners are asked to touch the suffering within themselves—to become intimately acquainted with any anger, sorrow, or fear that is present inside them. They are challenged to embrace their suffering, to promise that they will take care of it. In the second repetition, listeners are asked to reach out and touch the suffering of the people around them. In so doing, they recognize that the people around them are suffering in many of the same ways they are—that it is possible to empathize and communicate with them as a result. The third time around, listeners are asked to open themselves up to the entire world—to hear the world’s suffering, and to let their own suffering be heard by the world. This way, we get a taste of what it might be like to be Avalokiteshvara.
The purpose of Avalokiteshvara’s story is to instill the virtues of deep listening, acts of service, kindness toward strangers, and persistence against seemingly insurmountable odds. In this respect, I think that the parable of Avalokiteshvara is distinctly relevant to activists and organizers. The kind of people we are, we often find ourselves overwhelmed by the size and scale of human suffering. It overloads our capacity for empathy, steals from us any notion that what we are doing matters. Like Avalokiteshvara, we are heartbroken by our inability to effect substantive change in the world, no matter how hard we try. Like Avalokiteshvara, our ambition invites us to overextend ourselves, and by overextending, we invite catastrophe onto our persons. Call it burnout or disillusionment, or simply giving up. Unlike Avalokiteshvara, however, we don’t have any superpowers. At least I don’t. There is (probably) no supernatural being who will descend from the heavens and rip us from the jaws of self-destruction. We will (probably) not sprout a thousand arms, nor will we gain the ability to hear cries for help half a world away. Our only hope for rescue is ourselves and one another.
It’s safe to say, if you have been engaged in movement work for any amount of time, that you have experienced burnout. Maybe it has led you to give up your organizing commitments entirely, at least for now. And if you haven’t, then you certainly know people who have. Maybe you have been so overwhelmed for so long that you don’t even know where to start. Maybe you, yourself, are suffering acutely in such a way that the best you can hope for is to take care of yourself, and even that might be asking too much. The idea of helping other people isn’t even a topic for conversation, and that’s OK. There’s nothing to be ashamed of in that. It’s natural—even commonplace. When your health and wellbeing are at risk, no one in their right mind would ask you to do anything other than attend to your needs.
We’re only human. We can only give so much of ourselves, and only so often. The trick is to figure out the how and how often. The answers to those questions differ for each of us. Even Avalokiteshvara, despite their transformation, is not omnipotent. It doesn’t matter how many arms you have—you still can’t be everywhere at once. Bodhisattvas aren’t gods; they are only people who have best cultivated the Buddha-nature that is present in us all. From the best of us down to the meekest, we must all learn to apply our compassion artfully. Any limited resources can be mismanaged, and the mismanagement of any socially important resource can result in scarcity that would otherwise have been avoided. Compassion is no exception; neither is empathy. We must be strategic in the way we deploy and replenish our stores of these most vital resources. The success of our work hinges upon it, and our work is serving the people.
Chances are, if you’re reading this, you’re a believer. Maybe you’re religious, but that’s not exclusively what I’m talking about. Perhaps what you believe in is a political ideology such as Marxism. Or you believe in something more abstract—humanity for instance, or justice, or equality. But I know for a fact that you believe in something—something greater than yourself. And if you’re a believer, then I know you want to make change. Because what is the point of having beliefs if you don’t at least try to remake the world in their image? Of course, you know and I know that your chances of achieving this, and my chances at the same, are slim. If you see things the way I do, then you’ve decided that the closest you can probably ever get to changing the world is changing the life of a single person, and then another, and then another. If enough of us help enough people every day, then by a certain point everybody will have been helped, even if it takes us forever minus one day to get there. We will have certainly changed the world by then, although it will have been a team effort. No one will get to take credit, but that’s alright. Not even Avalokiteshvara can take credit for all the good done in the world. They have us to thank for that.
The next time you feel crushed by your knowledge of the world’s suffering, remember that the burden isn’t on you alone. Remember that Avalokiteshvara, the Bodhisattva of Great Compassion, is out there. Remember that everywhere and at every moment, people invoke the name of Avalokiteshvara by helping a stranger in need. Remember all the times you yourself have been Avalokiteshvara to someone, and all the times Avalokiteshvara has appeared before you in the form of someone who helped you even when it did not benefit themselves. Remember that the mantle of Avalokiteshvara passes painlessly and instantaneously from person to person, country to country, epoch to epoch. Remember that Avalokiteshvara stands with you, and that I stand with you, that so many whose names and faces you do not even know stand with you.
What does the story of Avalokiteshvara mean to you? Can you recall a time you embodied Avalokiteshvara, or a time when Avalokiteshvara visited you? What can we do to bring more aspects of Avalokiteshvara into ourselves?
Image credit:
Richard Mortel from Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, CC BY 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons. (Edited)