I. What This Concept Is About
First, let us unpack the term "御者" literally. "御者" (damaka) in Sanskrit originally means a charioteer or horse-tamer—the one who holds the reins on the carriage and makes several galloping horses run in the same direction. The Buddhist scriptures borrowed this image, but quickly turned the steering wheel around—what the scriptures ask is not how to make horses obey, but how to make this mind of ours obey, and how a person who has already made their own mind obey goes on to guide others who are still running wild.
Thus "御者" in Buddhist texts has never been a purely technical skill. It has two interlocking faces, and neither can stand without the other:
The first face: self-taming (自調). In the *Saṃyuktāgama* (*雜阿含經*), there is an especially sobering verse: "盛恚能自持，如制逸马车，我说为善御，非谓执绳者。" In plain language: one who can steady themselves amid blazing anger, like controlling a runaway horse—such a person I call a "good charioteer" (*善御*), not one who merely holds the reins. The sharpness of this line lies entirely in its last six characters: "非谓执绳者"—"not the one who merely holds the reins." The scripture explicitly warns: do not equate "knowing how to tame horses" with being a "good charioteer." Anyone can learn the outward technique; the real threshold is whether the mind has been genuinely subdued within.
The *Saṃyuktāgama* also spells out the content of "good charioteering" in considerable detail—one who can steady themselves in anger must refrain from harming others, must not let hatred form a knot in the mind, must not utter harsh words even when rage is at its peak, must not expose others' faults, and must be able to protect oneself and return to reflection on principles (*義*). This is a complete set of inner operations, not a simple "take three deep breaths."
The second face: taming others (調他). How does a person who has already tamed themselves apply this skill to guiding others? The *Saṃyuktāgama* offers three "expedient means of taming" (*三種調御方便*). Remember these three terms, for in the life checks below we will match each situation to them one by one:
- 柔軟 (*mṛdu*, "gentle")—not a mild temperament, but "proclaiming the wholesome deeds of body, speech, and mind and their wholesome fruits," covering specifically heavens, humans, the blissful realms, apparitional birth, and nirvāṇa. It is presenting the good way of living and the good destination. - 麁澁 (*kaṭhora*, "harsh"; rendered as "剛強" elsewhere)—likewise not a rough attitude, but "proclaiming the unwholesome deeds of body, speech, and mind and their unwholesome fruits," covering specifically hells, animals, hungry ghosts, the miserable realms, and falling into miserable realms. It is laying out the other side of things. - 柔軟麁澁 (or "柔軟剛強," "gentle and harsh combined")—speaking both of the former two at once, so that the one being taught sees both the luminous path and the dark path.
This structure is very elegant: taming is not a single mode of instruction, but fitting the teaching to the person (*看人下菜碟*)—for beings of different faculties, one may apply only the gentle, only the harsh, or both side by side. The scripture also specifically notes that "剛強" and "麁澁" are two terminological forms within the same set of descriptions and should be preserved side by side, not collapsed into one word replacing the other—this too is saying: the semantics of taming is not monochrome.
**The very title "調御師" (*damaka-sārathi*, "charioteer-tamer") itself conceals a sequence.** The *Mahāratnakūṭa Sūtra* (*大寶積經*) consistently uses the three characters "調御師" as a fixed title, placing "調" (taming) before "御" (driving)—this means tame first, then drive (*先調後御*). Only when one's own mind has been tamed can one go on to guide others. A verse makes this sequence explicit: "以度无诤行，调心大牟尼，能调未调者，我礼调御师。"—"Having crossed over through the practice of non-contention, the great sage tames his own mind; who can tame the yet-untamed—I bow to that charioteer-tamer." The taming of one's own mind is the precondition for all taming of others.
There are also two easily overlooked points that must be made clear:
The first is the true meaning of "killing" (殺). Horse-tamers have an old saying: "if it cannot be tamed, kill it." The *Saṃyuktāgama* uses this to ask: what does the Tathāgata mean by "killing"? The answer is—not killing living beings, but "no longer speaking with him, no longer teaching him, no longer admonishing him" (不復與語，不復教授，不復教誡). That is, when all three methods have been exhausted and the one being taught still refuses to turn back, the teacher ceases verbal instruction, teaching, and admonishment. This is in fact the final form of compassion—for one who still needs to be taught, being cut off from the Tathāgata's dialogue is heavier than any punishment. Hidden here is a profound idea: the true medium of taming is sustained verbal instruction; so-called "killing" is merely the severance of the teaching relationship.
The second is "taming Māra" (御魔). The *Mahāratnakūṭa Sūtra* has a very vivid line: "善学深智处，安住正法中，能乘魔波旬，如车驾调马。"—"Skillfully learning in the place of deep wisdom, abiding in the true Dharma, one can ride Māra the Evil One as a carriage drives a tamed horse." The objects of taming are not only sentient beings, but also the inner demonic foes—the afflictions (*kleśa*), habits, and those recurring tugs and pulls. The original meaning of the charioteer driving a carriage is here used directly to express the skill of taking the true Dharma as one's carriage and taming the inner demons of the mind.
Finally, the basis of attainment. How does one come to be called a "charioteer-tamer"? The *Mahāratnakūṭa Sūtra* gives the path: "所有诸佛子，观察法相故，彼知法相已，成就调御师。"—"All the sons of the Buddha, because they observe the characteristics of dharmas; having known the characteristics of dharmas, they accomplish the status of charioteer-tamer." It is by observing the characteristics of all dharmas, by truly knowing what dharmas look like, that one accomplishes the position of charioteer-tamer. True observation (如實觀) is the foundation underneath all taming skill. Without observation, there is no taming.
And the procedure for taming others is: "先观于众生，过去之所行，信乐及与界，然后治众生。"—"First observe the sentient being—what he has done in the past, his faith and delight, and his realm (*dhātu*)—then guide the sentient being." Observation comes first, guidance comes after. This is not the vague wisdom of "move them first, then enlighten them," but a sequence with clear steps—first understand the person's background, then decide what admonishment to use.
Placing this concept within the whole path of liberation: the charioteer is not an isolated role, but the convergence point of the skills of benefiting oneself and benefiting others, of taming oneself and taming others. On the śrāvaka path, it is the patience and self-restraint that subdues anger; on the bodhisattva path, it is the skillful means (*upāya-kauśalya*, 善巧方便) of first taming one's own mind and then skillfully delivering sentient beings; in the fundamental view of the Mahāyāna, the phrase "破有调御师" ("charioteer-tamer who destroys existence") links the charioteer to "destroying the view that clings to existence"—only one who can break the clinging to self and dharmas and tame the view of existence is, in the Mahāyāna sense, a fully accomplished charioteer-tamer.
II. A Walk-Through in Daily Life
Definitions alone are not satisfying. We must run the concept through concrete contemporary scenarios to see whether it holds up. I have chosen four of the most common situations, matching each step strictly to the classical definitions, and pointing out along the way where people most often map it wrong.
Scenario One: Someone cuts you off in traffic, or you scroll into a post that ignites you
This is the most frequent "blazing anger" scene for contemporary people—not a real-life confrontation, but blood pressure spiking behind a screen or a steering wheel.
Following the classical check, the key is not "how to dissipate anger," but the self-taming face: the *Saṃyuktāgama*'s standard is very concrete—
- Do not harm others: do not trade insults in the comment section, do not transfer your aggression to the people around you. - Do not let anger form a knot: when anger arises, know it has arisen, acknowledge it is there, but do not let it condense in consciousness into a looping replay of "resentment." - Do not harbor hatred for long: even if your hands shake from fury at that moment, do not nurse a long-term grudge afterward, do not ruminate. - Do not utter harsh words: do not curse, do not write comments you would blush to recall at night. - Do not expose others' faults: do not dig up your opponent's past, do not resort to personal attacks. - Self-protection: be able to remove yourself from the stimulus—close the post, put down the phone, roll down the window and breathe. - Reflection according to principle: once the anger subsides, return to the matter itself—why did this post hit me? Is there some thorn in my own mind that got touched?
The most common mis-mapping: many people think "self-regulation" means suppressing emotions ("I want to be a person who shows nothing"), or purely psychological distraction ("scroll something else so I don't think about it"). Neither of these is "good charioteering" in the classical sense. Suppression is shoving anger into the basement—superficially fine, but next time it explodes harder. Distraction is temporarily moving attention away from the problem—but the problem has not disappeared. The *Saṃyuktāgama* says "盛恚能自持，如制逸马车"—note that word "如" (like): you do not snuff out anger, you let it return to its place the way a charioteer steadies the reins on a galloping carriage. Anger is an object that can be observed, not an enemy to be destroyed. This difference is enormous: treating anger as an enemy is warfare; treating anger as a horse to be tamed is charioteering.
Scenario Two: Two children at home, one needs coaxing, one needs scaring
This is the situation contemporary parents/managers/teachers know best—"sentient beings have different faculties." Walk through it strictly according to the classical "three expedient means of taming":
- The gentle (柔軟) branch: for this child's disposition, speak positively of the wholesome deeds of body, speech, and mind and their results. A sensitive child, for example—tell him what the joy of honesty is, what the echo of kindness is; he can take it in and be encouraged. - The harsh (麁澁) branch: for another child's disposition, lay out the other side. A child who fears nothing, for example—you must let him see clearly the cost of recklessness and the consequences of dishonesty before he can be shaken into attention. - The gentle-and-harsh (柔軟麁澁) branch: for a third child, you must let him see both sides—let him see the beauty of goodness and also look directly at the destination of wrongdoing.
The most common mis-mapping (and the most classic one): taking "柔軟" to mean "a gentle attitude" and "麁澁" to mean "a stern attitude." This is thoroughly wrong. In the classics, 柔軟 and 麁澁 never refer to attitude, but to the direction of the content of the teaching—柔軟 means teaching wholesome deeds and their wholesome rewards; 麁澁 means teaching unwholesome deeds and their unwholesome rewards. A teacher who is all smiles but whose every word describes retribution—is he "gentle-and-harsh"? No. Is he "gentle"? Also no. A practitioner who is fierce in voice and expression but speaks throughout of wholesome rewards—is he "harsh"? No. A Dharma master who, with a cold face, lays out both good and evil thoroughly—only he can be "gentle-and-harsh combined."
Once this misreading is corrected, looking at family education and team management becomes immediately clearer—the key is not "was my tone soft or hard today," but "which direction did the content I conveyed point to today." The tone can be soft while the content points to hell; the tone can be hard while the content points to nirvāṇa. The charioteer's skill lives in the content, not in the tone of voice.
Scenario Three: You parachute in as a new leader at a company—observe first, then guide
Walk through it strictly according to the *Mahāratnakūṭa Sūtra*'s "先观于众生，过去之所行，信乐及与界，然后治众生":
- 過去之所行 (what they have done in the past): what projects has this subordinate done, what pitfalls have they fallen into, what is the underlying texture of their track record. - 信樂 (faith and delight): what do they believe in, what do they identify with, what are they passionate about. Are they a technical type, a relationship type, or an achievement type? - 界 (realm): which "realm" does their disposition belong to—this term borrows the traditional Buddhist classification of sentient beings' faculties; mapped to the contemporary context, it means their underlying personality structure, cognitive habits, and the limits of the pressure they can bear.
Once these three are clearly understood, then and only then discuss how to divide work, how to talk, how to assign tasks.
The most common mis-mapping: contemporary management loves to talk about "empowerment," "agility," "coaching leadership," but often skips the "observation" step and jumps straight to "guiding"—running all kinds of workshops, demanding all kinds of tools. This is not a charioteer; this is a assembly-line operator. The charioteer's starting point is always observation—observing the person, not observing the method. "What magical methods do I have" is not the question; "what kind of person is this specific person" is the question.
The second common misreading is narrowing "信樂" to "whether he believes in me". The "faith and delight" of the Buddhist texts is much broader than that: what does he believe in (values), in what does he find joy (motivation), in what does he have confidence (potential). This is a far more complex matter than "does he respect me or not," and it is precisely the real threshold of the charioteer's skill.
Scenario Four: Long-term struggle with a bad habit of your own
Quitting smoking, quitting staying up late, quitting binge eating, quitting phone addiction, quitting emotional shopping—these are the real arenas where contemporary people face "demonic foes." The *Mahāratnakūṭa Sūtra*'s "能乘魔波旬，如车驾调马" ("able to ride Māra the Evil One as a carriage drives a tamed horse") applies here directly:
- 正法為車 (the true Dharma as carriage): find a set of self-discipline rules that can withstand scrutiny (not a slogan, but a dharma with sources and operable steps). - 魔波旬為馬 (Māra as horse): treat the habit that repeatedly pulls at you as a horse that needs taming, not an enemy that needs defeating. - 善學深智處 + 安住正法中: first learn clearly where this habit comes from (psychological mechanisms, trigger conditions), then put the method into daily practice.
The most common mis-mapping: understanding "fighting your bad habit" as a war of willpower—gritting your teeth, swearing vows, "I will never again…". This willpower-based approach has a high failure rate, as the great majority of contemporary psychological research and Buddhist tradition alike point out. The reason: a war of willpower treats the opponent as an enemy, every success as a victory, every failure as a defeat—the emotional burden is enormous. The charioteer metaphor is completely different: the charioteer does not fight the horse, but understands the horse's nature, finds the right shaft and reins, and establishes a stable driving relationship. The bad habit is not "beaten to death"; it is "tamed"—that is, it receives no violent suppression, but loses its dominance within a new driving relationship.
There is another error contemporary people especially love: isolating "self-taming." They think "tame your own mind first" means cultivating oneself alone—refine yourself, then talk about others. But the *Mahāratnakūṭa Sūtra*'s sequence is clearly "调心大牟尼——能调未调者" ("the great sage tames his own mind—able to tame the untamed"). Self-taming is for the sake of taming others; benefiting oneself is for the sake of benefiting others. To cultivate your own emotional stability while remaining blind to the suffering of the beings around you—that is not the fulfillment of the charioteer, only half of him.
III. Why Contemporary People Need It
The world today has several features that make the concept of "御者" more urgent than it was in ancient times—not because it has changed, but because the age has pushed it into a more conspicuous position.
First, the density of stimulation has turned "blazing anger" into a daily state. Commute screens, social media, the 24-hour news stream, performance pressure, the blurring of boundaries between family and work—contemporary people live in a state of continuous low-grade provocation. In ancient times, "blazing anger" was mostly event-based; today's "blazing anger" can be event-free—a single push notification that does not match your preference can ignite it. So the line "盛恚能自持，如制逸马车" reads today almost as a survival skill. It is not a question of whether to cultivate or not, but whether one can live, relate, and work stably at all. The charioteer's "self-taming" today is not a luxury; it is basic competence.
Second, the granularity of management demands "observe first, then guide," but this is precisely what the contemporary workplace lacks most. Today's work situations are highly individualized—two colleagues hired in the same year may find one needing a push and the other needing a pull; within the same team, people of different generations, different backgrounds, different motivations have completely different expectations of a "good leader." This makes the procedure "先观于众生，过去之所行，信乐及与界" a hard requirement of management practice, not merely a principle of Buddhist pedagogy. Managers who cannot observe and only push methods are increasingly ineffective in contemporary organizations.
Third, the threefold division of "柔軟 / 麁澁 / 柔軟麁澁" corresponds, in contemporary terms, to what cognitive science calls "growth-oriented feedback / defensive feedback / integrative feedback"—but note, this is only an analogy, not a scientific proof. Cognitive science is still in ongoing research; there is no settled final conclusion on "which kind of feedback is most effective." The threefold division the Buddhist texts give is more explicit in content and clearer in boundaries (they state plainly what counts as wholesome reward and what as unwholesome reward), while contemporary feedback theory is still in a loose conceptual phase. In other words: what the Buddhist texts offer is not rhetoric but structure.
Fourth, the dimension of "破有調御師" ("charioteer-tamer who destroys existence") is something contemporary people badly need but rarely think of. "破有"—destroying the view that clings to existence—applied to the contemporary context, means destroying views such as "I am attached to my opinion being right," "I am attached to my lifestyle being the only normal one," "I am attached to my boundaries being objective facts." If a charioteer himself clings to existence, the one he tames will unconsciously cling to existence along with him. This is why the classics repeatedly emphasize "無諍行" (the practice of non-contention) and "無上調御丈夫" ("the unsurpassed tamer of persons")—the charioteer is not at war with sentient beings, but must first destroy that "existence" within his own mind. This is the rarest capacity in all contemporary public life: the ability to work amid difference without turning difference into a battlefield.
Fifth, the skill of "riding and taming demonic foes" corresponds precisely to the contemporary issue of "living with emotions." The third wave of psychology (ACT, DBT, etc.) has also begun to shift from "eliminating symptoms" to "living with symptoms," a direction that resonates in some way with the Buddhist texts' approach of "taking the true Dharma as carriage to tame demonic foes"—but again note: this is an analogy, not a scientific proof. The effectiveness of ACT and DBT is still under research; for which populations they work and which mechanisms hold remain not fully clarified. The Buddhist skill of taming demons has its own traditional lineage and method of verification; it need not be endorsed by psychology, nor should psychological claims be passed off as Buddhist teachings.
In short: the objects of "taming" for contemporary people are far more complex than in ancient times—ancient people mainly had to tame horses (external objects) and their own anger (inner mind); contemporary people must also tame attention, addiction, information streams, group polarization, AI algorithms, and other new "demonic foes." Whether these new objects are truly demonic foes is, of course, not something a simple analogy can settle, but the skill structure of the charioteer—self-taming as the foundation, observation as the first step, taming as the function—is transferable.
The Four Most Common Misreadings
Misreading One: equating "御者" with "someone who is good at managing people." In popular usage, "御者" is often narrowed to "manager," "leader," "PUA expert." But the classics from beginning to end bind "good charioteering" together with self-restraint—"非谓执绳者" ("not the one who merely holds the reins"). A person who cannot tame himself, however skilled at driving others, is not a charioteer. Self-taming precedes taming others—this is the hard threshold of the charioteer.
Misreading Two: understanding "柔軟" as a gentle attitude and "麁澁" as a rough attitude. This is the classic misreading repeatedly exposed above, almost never corrected in popular discussion. In the Buddhist texts, 柔軟 and 麁澁 refer to the direction of the content of the teaching—the former teaches wholesome deeds and their wholesome rewards, the latter teaches unwholesome deeds and their unwholesome rewards. A person who smiles at you while describing retribution is not "gentle"; a person who is fierce in voice and expression but speaks throughout of wholesome rewards is not "harsh." Pin the concepts to "attitude," and you lose their true precision.
Misreading Three: understanding "殺" (killing) as killing living beings. The classics have already clarified this in the *Saṃyuktāgama*'s own words—the "kill" in "不调便杀" ("if it cannot be tamed, kill it") means "no longer speaking with him, no longer teaching him, no longer admonishing him." This is not cruelty; it is the end of compassion. For certain beings still in need of teaching, the cessation of verbal instruction is already the final warning. If later generations commit harm in the name of "taming," they have completely departed from the classical meaning.
Misreading Four: imagining "調御師" as a title of achievement. In the Buddhist texts, the charioteer-tamer is not a "status" but a state of skill—one's own mind tamed, observation accomplished, taming of others functional. Lacking any of the three, none stands. Moreover, the scriptures show that the bodhisattva's practice of "taming" is continuous, capable of advancing and retreating—it is not "once I become a charioteer-tamer, I am set." Treating it as a title rather than a practice is to throw away the word's most distinctive feature.
A related point of confusion: "調御" (taming-and-driving) and "調伏" (subduing) are sometimes used together in the *Mahāratnakūṭa Sūtra*, but the nuance differs—"調伏" emphasizes the power of subduing, "御" emphasizes the work of guiding. A subduer may merely suppress by force; a true charioteer is one who, after suppressing, can also lead toward the right path. This is why the classics in the same verse simultaneously say "調伏," "善調伏," and "破有調御師"—subduing, skillfully subduing, and being able to break the view of existence and guide: three layers advancing step by step. Contemporary readers who do not read the text closely may easily mistake all these for interchangeable synonyms.
A Final Warm Note
The word "御者" originally comes from the image of a pair of hands gripping the reins. But the finest thing the Buddhist texts did was to place the hands that grip the reins and the mind whose reins are gripped in the same person—one must steady the external object and steady the inner demon at once. And then they tell us that these two things are the same thing: the hand that cannot steady the inner demon cannot grip the reins of the external object; the hand that cannot grip the reins of the external object only leaves the inner demon more chaotic.
This is something especially timely for contemporary people. What we lack most is not one more management technique, but first seeing clearly—whether we have ever held our own reins.