- The Noble Eightfold Path
- The Way to the End of Suffering
- by
- Bhikkhu Bodhi
- Copyright © 1994 Buddhist Publication Society
Preface ![[go to toc]](return-to-text.gif)
The essence of the Buddha's teaching can be summed up in two principles: the Four Noble
Truths and the Noble Eightfold Path. The first covers the side of doctrine, and the
primary response it elicits is understanding; the second covers the side of discipline, in
the broadest sense of that word, and the primary response it calls for is practice. In the
structure of the teaching these two principles lock together into an indivisible unity
called the dhamma-vinaya, the doctrine-and-discipline, or, in brief, the Dhamma.
The internal unity of the Dhamma is guaranteed by the fact that the last of the Four Noble
Truths, the truth of the way, is the Noble Eightfold Path, while the first factor of the
Noble Eightfold Path, right view, is the understanding of the Four Noble Truths. Thus the
two principles penetrate and include one another, the formula of the Four Noble Truths
containing the Eightfold Path and the Noble Eightfold Path containing the Four Truths.
Given this integral unity, it would be pointless to pose the question which of the two
aspects of the Dhamma has greater value, the doctrine or the path. But if we did risk the
pointless by asking that question, the answer would have to be the path. The path claims
primacy because it is precisely this that brings the teaching to life. The path translates
the Dhamma from a collection of abstract formulas into a continually unfolding disclosure
of truth. It gives an outlet from the problem of suffering with which the teaching starts.
And it makes the teaching's goal, liberation from suffering, accessible to us in our own
experience, where alone it takes on authentic meaning.
To follow the Noble Eightfold Path is a matter of practice rather than intellectual
knowledge, but to apply the path correctly it has to be properly understood. In fact,
right understanding of the path is itself a part of the practice. It is a facet of right
view, the first path factor, the forerunner and guide for the rest of the path. Thus,
though initial enthusiasm might suggest that the task of intellectual comprehension may be
shelved as a bothersome distraction, mature consideration reveals it to be quite essential
to ultimate success in the practice.
The present book aims at contributing towards a proper understanding of the Noble
Eightfold Path by investigating its eight factors and their components to determine
exactly what they involve. I have attempted to be concise, using as the framework for
exposition the Buddha's own words in explanation of the path factors, as found in the
Sutta Pit@aka of the Pali Canon. To assist the reader with limited access to primary
sources even in translation, I have tried to confine my selection of quotations as much as
possible (but not completely) to those found in Venerable Nyanatiloka's classic anthology,
The Word of the Buddha. In some cases passages taken from that work have been
slightly modified, to accord with my own preferred renderings. For further amplification
of meaning I have sometimes drawn upon the commentaries; especially in my accounts of
concentration and wisdom (Chapters VII and VIII) I have relied heavily on the Visuddhimagga
(The Path of Purification), a vast encyclopedic work which systematizes the
practice of the path in a detailed and comprehensive manner. Limitations of space prevent
an exhaustive treatment of each factor. To compensate for this deficiency I have included
a list of recommended readings at the end, which the reader may consult for more detailed
explanations of individual path factors. For full commitment to the practice of the path,
however, especially in its advanced stages of concentration and insight, it will be
extremely helpful to have contact with a properly qualified teacher.
Bhikkhu Bodhi
Abbreviations
Textual references have been abbreviated as follows:
DN ..... Digha Nikaya (number of sutta)
MN ..... Majjhima Nikaya (number of sutta)
SN ..... Samyutta Nikaya (chapter and number of sutta)
AN ..... Anguttara Nikaya (numerical collection and number of sutta)
Dhp ..... Dhammapada (verse)
Vism ..... Visuddhimagga
References to Vism. are to the chapter and section number of the translation by Bhikkhu
Ñanamoli, The Path of Purification (BPS ed. 1975, 1991)
Chapter I
The Way to the End of Suffering
The search for a spiritual path is born out of suffering. It does not start with lights
and ecstasy, but with the hard tacks of pain, disappointment, and confusion. However, for
suffering to give birth to a genuine spiritual search, it must amount to more than
something passively received from without. It has to trigger an inner realization, a
perception which pierces through the facile complacency of our usual encounter with the
world to glimpse the insecurity perpetually gaping underfoot. When this insight dawns,
even if only momentarily, it can precipitate a profound personal crisis. It overturns
accustomed goals and values, mocks our routine preoccupations, leaves old enjoyments
stubbornly unsatisfying.
At first such changes generally are not welcome. We try to deny our vision and to
smother our doubts; we struggle to drive away the discontent with new pursuits. But the
flame of inquiry, once lit, continues to burn, and if we do not let ourselves be swept
away by superficial readjustments or slouch back into a patched up version of our natural
optimism, eventually the original glimmering of insight will again flare up, again
confront us with our essential plight. It is precisely at that point, with all escape
routes blocked, that we are ready to seek a way to bring our disquietude to an end. No
longer can we continue to drift complacently through life, driven blindly by our hunger
for sense pleasures and by the pressure of prevailing social norms. A deeper reality
beckons us; we have heard the call of a more stable, more authentic happiness, and until
we arrive at our destination we cannot rest content.
But it is just then that we find ourselves facing a new difficulty. Once we come to
recognize the need for a spiritual path we discover that spiritual teachings are by no
means homogeneous and mutually compatible. When we browse through the shelves of
humanity's spiritual heritage, both ancient and contemporary, we do not find a single tidy
volume but a veritable bazaar of spiritual systems and disciplines each offering
themselves to us as the highest, the fastest, the most powerful, or the most profound
solution to our quest for the Ultimate. Confronted with this melange, we fall into
confusion trying to size them up -- to decide which is truly liberative, a real solution
to our needs, and which is a sidetrack beset with hidden flaws.
One approach to resolving this problem that is popular today is the eclectic one: to
pick and choose from the various traditions whatever seems amenable to our needs, welding
together different practices and techniques into a synthetic whole that is personally
satisfying. Thus one may combine Buddhist mindfulness meditation with sessions of Hindu
mantra recitation, Christian prayer with Sufi dancing, Jewish Kabbala with Tibetan
visualization exercises. Eclecticism, however, though sometimes helpful in making a
transition from a predominantly worldly and materialistic way of life to one that takes on
a spiritual hue, eventually wears thin. While it makes a comfortable halfway house, it is
not comfortable as a final vehicle.
There are two interrelated flaws in eclecticism that account for its ultimate
inadequacy. One is that eclecticism compromises the very traditions it draws upon. The
great spiritual traditions themselves do not propose their disciplines as independent
techniques that may be excised from their setting and freely recombined to enhance the
felt quality of our lives. They present them, rather, as parts of an integral whole, of a
coherent vision regarding the fundamental nature of reality and the final goal of the
spiritual quest. A spiritual tradition is not a shallow stream in which one can wet one's
feet and then beat a quick retreat to the shore. It is a mighty, tumultuous river which
would rush through the entire landscape of one's life, and if one truly wishes to travel
on it, one must be courageous enough to launch one's boat and head out for the depths.
The second defect in eclecticism follows from the first. As spiritual practices are
built upon visions regarding the nature of reality and the final good, these visions are
not mutually compatible. When we honestly examine the teachings of these traditions, we
will find that major differences in perspective reveal themselves to our sight,
differences which cannot be easily dismissed as alternative ways of saying the same thing.
Rather, they point to very different experiences constituting the supreme goal and the
path that must be trodden to reach that goal.
Hence, because of the differences in perspectives and practices that the different
spiritual traditions propose, once we decide that we have outgrown eclecticism and feel
that we are ready to make a serious commitment to one particular path, we find ourselves
confronted with the challenge of choosing a path that will lead us to true enlightenment
and liberation. One cue to resolving this dilemma is to clarify to ourselves our
fundamental aim, to determine what we seek in a genuinely liberative path. If we reflect
carefully, it will become clear that the prime requirement is a way to the end of
suffering. All problems ultimately can be reduced to the problem of suffering; thus what
we need is a way that will end this problem finally and completely. Both these qualifying
words are important. The path has to lead to a complete end of suffering, to an end
of suffering in all its forms, and to a final end of suffering, to bring suffering
to an irreversible stop.
But here we run up against another question. How are we to find such a path -- a path
which has the capacity to lead us to the full and final end of suffering? Until we
actually follow a path to its goal we cannot know with certainty where it leads, and in
order to follow a path to its goal we must place complete trust in the efficacy of the
path. The pursuit of a spiritual path is not like selecting a new suit of clothes. To
select a new suit one need only try on a number of suits, inspect oneself in the mirror,
and select the suit in which one appears most attractive. The choice of a spiritual path
is closer to marriage: one wants a partner for life, one whose companionship will prove as
trustworthy and durable as the pole star in the night sky.
Faced with this new dilemma, we may think that we have reached a dead end and conclude
that we have nothing to guide us but personal inclination, if not a flip of the coin.
However, our selection need not be as blind and uninformed as we imagine, for we do have a
guideline to help us. Since spiritual paths are generally presented in the framework of a
total teaching, we can evaluate the effectiveness of any particular path by investigating
the teaching which expounds it.
In making this investigation we can look to three criteria as standards for evaluation:
(1) First, the teaching has to give a full and accurate picture of the range of
suffering. If the picture of suffering it gives is incomplete or defective, then the path
it sets forth will most likely be flawed, unable to yield a satisfactory solution. Just as
an ailing patient needs a doctor who can make a full and correct diagnosis of his illness,
so in seeking release from suffering we need a teaching that presents a reliable account
of our condition.
(2) The second criterion calls for a correct analysis of the causes giving rise
to suffering. The teaching cannot stop with a survey of the outward symptoms. It has to
penetrate beneath the symptoms to the level of causes, and to describe those causes
accurately. If a teaching makes a faulty causal analysis, there is little likelihood that
its treatment will succeed.
(3) The third criterion pertains directly to the path itself. It stipulates that
the path which the teaching offers has to remove suffering at its source. This means it
must provide a method to cut off suffering by eradicating its causes. If it fails to bring
about this root-level solution, its value is ultimately nil. The path it prescribes might
help to remove symptoms and make us feel that all is well; but one afflicted with a fatal
disease cannot afford to settle for cosmetic surgery when below the surface the cause of
his malady continues to thrive.
To sum up, we find three requirements for a teaching proposing to offer a true path to
the end of suffering: first, it has to set forth a full and accurate picture of the range
of suffering; second, it must present a correct analysis of the causes of suffering; and
third, it must give us the means to eradicate the causes of suffering.
This is not the place to evaluate the various spiritual disciplines in terms of these
criteria. Our concern is only with the Dhamma, the teaching of the Buddha, and with the
solution this teaching offers to the problem of suffering. That the teaching should be
relevant to this problem is evident from its very nature; for it is formulated, not as a
set of doctrines about the origin and end of things commanding belief, but as a message of
deliverance from suffering claiming to be verifiable in our own experience. Along with
that message there comes a method of practice, a way leading to the end of suffering. This
way is the Noble Eightfold Path (ariya atthangika magga). The Eightfold Path stands
at the very heart of the Buddha's teaching. It was the discovery of the path that gave the
Buddha's own enlightenment a universal significance and elevated him from the status of a
wise and benevolent sage to that of a world teacher. To his own disciples he was
pre-eminently "the arouser of the path unarisen before, the producer of the path not
produced before, the declarer of the path not declared before, the knower of the path, the
seer of the path, the guide along the path" (MN 108). And he himself invites the
seeker with the promise and challenge: "You yourselves must strive. The Buddhas are
only teachers. The meditative ones who practise the path are released from the bonds of
evil" (Dhp. v. 276).
To see the Noble Eightfold Path as a viable vehicle to liberation, we have to check it
out against our three criteria: to look at the Buddha's account of the range of suffering,
his analysis of its causes, and the programme he offers as a remedy.
The Range of Suffering
The Buddha does not merely touch the problem of suffering tangentially; he makes it,
rather, the very cornerstone of his teaching. He starts the Four Noble Truths that sum up
his message with the announcement that life is inseparably tied to something he calls dukkha.
The Pali word is often translated as suffering, but it means something deeper than pain
and misery. It refers to a basic unsatisfactoriness running through our lives, the lives
of all but the enlightened. Sometimes this unsatisfactoriness erupts into the open as
sorrow, grief, disappointment, or despair; but usually it hovers at the edge of our
awareness as a vague unlocalized sense that things are never quite perfect, never fully
adequate to our expectations of what they should be. This fact of dukkha, the
Buddha says, is the only real spiritual problem. The other problems -- the theological and
metaphysical questions that have taunted religious thinkers through the centuries -- he
gently waves aside as "matters not tending to liberation." What he teaches, he
says, is just suffering and the ending of suffering, dukkha and its cessation.
The Buddha does not stop with generalities. He goes on to expose the different forms
that dukkha takes, both the evident and the subtle. He starts with what is close at
hand, with the suffering inherent in the physical process of life itself. Here dukkha
shows up in the events of birth, aging, and death, in our susceptibility to sickness,
accidents, and injuries, even in hunger and thirst. It appears again in our inner
reactions to disagreeable situations and events: in the sorrow, anger, frustration, and
fear aroused by painful separations, by unpleasant encounters, by the failure to get what
we want. Even our pleasures, the Buddha says, are not immune from dukkha. They give
us happiness while they last, but they do not last forever; eventually they must pass
away, and when they go the loss leaves us feeling deprived. Our lives, for the most part,
are strung out between the thirst for pleasure and the fear of pain. We pass our days
running after the one and running away from the other, seldom enjoying the peace of
contentment; real satisfaction seems somehow always out of reach, just beyond the next
horizon. Then in the end we have to die: to give up the identity we spent our whole life
building, to leave behind everything and everyone we love.
But even death, the Buddha teaches, does not bring us to the end of dukkha, for
the life process does not stop with death. When life ends in one place, with one body, the
"mental continuum," the individual stream of consciousness, springs up again
elsewhere with a new body as its physical support. Thus the cycle goes on over and over --
birth, aging, and death -- driven by the thirst for more existence. The Buddha declares
that this round of rebirths -- called samsara, "the wandering" -- has
been turning through beginningless time. It is without a first point, without temporal
origin. No matter how far back in time we go we always find living beings -- ourselves in
previous lives -- wandering from one state of existence to another. The Buddha describes
various realms where rebirth can take place: realms of torment, the animal realm, the
human realm, realms of celestial bliss. But none of these realms can offer a final refuge.
Life in any plane must come to an end. It is impermanent and thus marked with that
insecurity which is the deepest meaning of dukkha. For this reason one aspiring to
the complete end of dukkha cannot rest content with any mundane achievement, with
any status, but must win emancipation from the entire unstable whirl.
The Causes of Suffering
A teaching proposing to lead to the end of suffering must, as we said, give a reliable
account of its causal origination. For if we want to put a stop to suffering, we have to
stop it where it begins, with its causes. To stop the causes requires a thorough knowledge
of what they are and how they work; thus the Buddha devotes a sizeable section of his
teaching to laying bare "the truth of the origin of dukkha." The origin
he locates within ourselves, in a fundamental malady that permeates our being, causing
disorder in our own minds and vitiating our relationships with others and with the world.
The sign of this malady can be seen in our proclivity to certain unwholesome mental states
called in Pali kilesas, usually translated "defilements." The most basic
defilements are the triad of greed, aversion, and delusion. Greed (lobha) is
self-centered desire: the desire for pleasure and possessions, the drive for survival, the
urge to bolster the sense of ego with power, status, and prestige. Aversion (dosa)
signifies the response of negation, expressed as rejection, irritation, condemnation,
hatred, enmity, anger, and violence. Delusion (moha) means mental darkness: the
thick coat of insensitivity which blocks out clear understanding.
From these three roots emerge the various other defilements -- conceit, jealousy,
ambition, lethargy, arrogance, and the rest -- and from all these defilements together,
the roots and the branches, comes dukkha in its diverse forms: as pain and sorrow,
as fear and discontent, as the aimless drifting through the round of birth and death. To
gain freedom from suffering, therefore, we have to eliminate the defilements. But the work
of removing the defilements has to proceed in a methodical way. It cannot be accomplished
simply by an act of will, by wanting them to go away. The work must be guided by
investigation. We have to find out what the defilements depend upon and then see how it
lies within our power to remove their support.
The Buddha teaches that there is one defilement which gives rise to all the others, one
root which holds them all in place. This root is ignorance (avijja).[1] Ignorance is not mere absence of knowledge, a lack of knowing particular
pieces of information. Ignorance can co-exist with a vast accumulation of itemized
knowledge, and in its own way it can be tremendously shrewd and resourceful. As the basic
root of dukkha, ignorance is a fundamental darkness shrouding the mind. Sometimes
this ignorance operates in a passive manner, merely obscuring correct understanding. At
other times it takes on an active role: it becomes the great deceiver, conjuring up a mass
of distorted perceptions and conceptions which the mind grasps as attributes of the world,
unaware that they are its own deluded constructs.
In these erroneous perceptions and ideas we find the soil that nurtures the
defilements. The mind catches sight of some possibility of pleasure, accepts it at face
value, and the result is greed. Our hunger for gratification is thwarted, obstacles
appear, and up spring anger and aversion. Or we struggle over ambiguities, our sight
clouds, and we become lost in delusion. With this we discover the breeding ground of dukkha:
ignorance issuing in the defilements, the defilements issuing in suffering. As long as
this causal matrix stands we are not yet beyond danger. We might still find pleasure and
enjoyment -- sense pleasures, social pleasures, pleasures of the mind and heart. But no
matter how much pleasure we might experience, no matter how successful we might be at
dodging pain, the basic problem remains at the core of our being and we continue to move
within the bounds of dukkha.
Cutting Off the Causes of Suffering
To free ourselves from suffering fully and finally we have to eliminate it by the root,
and that means to eliminate ignorance. But how does one go about eliminating ignorance?
The answer follows clearly from the nature of the adversary. Since ignorance is a state of
not knowing things as they really are, what is needed is knowledge of things as they
really are. Not merely conceptual knowledge, knowledge as idea, but perceptual knowledge,
a knowing which is also a seeing. This kind of knowing is called wisdom (pañña).
Wisdom helps to correct the distorting work of ignorance. It enables us to grasp things as
they are in actuality, directly and immediately, free from the screen of ideas, views, and
assumptions our minds ordinarily set up between themselves and the real.
To eliminate ignorance we need wisdom, but how is wisdom to be acquired? As indubitable
knowledge of the ultimate nature of things, wisdom cannot be gained by mere learning, by
gathering and accumulating a battery of facts. However, the Buddha says, wisdom can be
cultivated. It comes into being through a set of conditions, conditions which we have the
power to develop. These conditions are actually mental factors, components of
consciousness, which fit together into a systematic structure that can be called a path in
the word's essential meaning: a courseway for movement leading to a goal. The goal here is
the end of suffering, and the path leading to it is the Noble Eightfold Path with its
eight factors: right view, right intention, right speech, right action, right livelihood,
right effort, right mindfulness, and right concentration.
The Buddha calls this path the middle way (majjhima patipada). It is the middle
way because it steers clear of two extremes, two misguided attempts to gain release from
suffering. One is the extreme of indulgence in sense pleasures, the attempt to extinguish
dissatisfaction by gratifying desire. This approach gives pleasure, but the enjoyment won
is gross, transitory, and devoid of deep contentment. The Buddha recognized that sensual
desire can exercise a tight grip over the minds of human beings, and he was keenly aware
of how ardently attached people become to the pleasures of the senses. But he also knew
that this pleasure is far inferior to the happiness that arises from renunciation, and
therefore he repeatedly taught that the way to the Ultimate eventually requires the
relinquishment of sensual desire. Thus the Buddha describes the indulgence in sense
pleasures as "low, common, worldly, ignoble, not leading to the goal."
The other extreme is the practice of self-mortification, the attempt to gain liberation
by afflicting the body. This approach may stem from a genuine aspiration for deliverance,
but it works within the compass of a wrong assumption that renders the energy expended
barren of results. The error is taking the body to be the cause of bondage, when the real
source of trouble lies in the mind -- the mind obsessed by greed, aversion, and delusion.
To rid the mind of these defilements the affliction of the body is not only useless but
self-defeating, for it is the impairment of a necessary instrument. Thus the Buddha
describes this second extreme as "painful, ignoble, not leading to the goal."[2]
Aloof from these two extreme approaches is the Noble Eightfold Path, called the middle
way, not in the sense that it effects a compromise between the extremes, but in the sense
that it transcends them both by avoiding the errors that each involves. The path avoids
the extreme of sense indulgence by its recognition of the futility of desire and its
stress on renunciation. Desire and sensuality, far from being means to happiness, are
springs of suffering to be abandoned as the requisite of deliverance. But the practice of
renunciation does not entail the tormenting of the body. It consists in mental training,
and for this the body must be fit, a sturdy support for the inward work. Thus the body is
to be looked after well, kept in good health, while the mental faculties are trained to
generate the liberating wisdom. That is the middle way, the Noble Eightfold Path, which
"gives rise to vision, gives rise to knowledge, and leads to peace, to direct
knowledge, to enlightenment, to Nibbana."[3]
Chapter II
Right View
(Samma Ditthi)
The eight factors of the Noble Eightfold Path are not steps to be followed in sequence,
one after another. They can be more aptly described as components rather than as steps,
comparable to the intertwining strands of a single cable that requires the contributions
of all the strands for maximum strength. With a certain degree of progress all eight
factors can be present simultaneously, each supporting the others. However, until that
point is reached, some sequence in the unfolding of the path is inevitable. Considered
from the standpoint of practical training, the eight path factors divide into three
groups: (i) the moral discipline group (silakkhandha), made up of right speech,
right action, and right livelihood; (ii) the concentration group (samadhikkhandha),
made up of right effort, right mindfulness, and right concentration; and (iii) the wisdom
group (paññakkhandha), made up of right view and right intention. These three
groups represent three stages of training: the training in the higher moral discipline,
the training in the higher consciousness, and the training in the higher wisdom.[4]
The order of the three trainings is determined by the overall aim and direction of the
path. Since the final goal to which the path leads, liberation from suffering, depends
ultimately on uprooting ignorance, the climax of the path must be the training directly
opposed to ignorance. This is the training in wisdom, designed to awaken the faculty of
penetrative understanding which sees things "as they really are." Wisdom unfolds
by degrees, but even the faintest flashes of insight presuppose as their basis a mind that
has been concentrated, cleared of disturbance and distraction. Concentration is achieved
through the training in the higher consciousness, the second division of the path, which
brings the calm and collectedness needed to develop wisdom. But in order for the mind to
be unified in concentration, a check must be placed on the unwholesome dispositions which
ordinarily dominate its workings, since these dispositions disperse the beam of attention
and scatter it among a multitude of concerns. The unwholesome dispositions continue to
rule as long as they are permitted to gain expression through the channels of body and
speech as bodily and verbal deeds. Therefore, at the very outset of training, it is
necessary to restrain the faculties of action, to prevent them from becoming tools of the
defilements. This task is accomplished by the first division of the path, the training in
moral discipline. Thus the path evolves through its three stages, with moral discipline as
the foundation for concentration, concentration the foundation for wisdom, and wisdom the
direct instrument for reaching liberation.
Perplexity sometimes arises over an apparent inconsistency in the arrangement of the
path factors and the threefold training. Wisdom -- which includes right view and right
intention -- is the last stage in the threefold training, yet its factors are placed at
the beginning of the path rather than at its end, as might be expected according to the
canon of strict consistency. The sequence of the path factors, however, is not the result
of a careless slip, but is determined by an important logistical consideration, namely,
that right view and right intention of a preliminary type are called for at the outset as
the spur for entering the threefold training. Right view provides the perspective for
practice, right intention the sense of direction. But the two do not expire in this
preparatory role. For when the mind has been refined by the training in moral discipline
and concentration, it arrives at a superior right view and right intention, which now form
the proper training in the higher wisdom.
Right view is the forerunner of the entire path, the guide for all the other factors.
It enables us to understand our starting point, our destination, and the successive
landmarks to pass as practice advances. To attempt to engage in the practice without a
foundation of right view is to risk getting lost in the futility of undirected movement.
Doing so might be compared to wanting to drive someplace without consulting a roadmap or
listening to the suggestions of an experienced driver. One might get into the car and
start to drive, but rather than approaching closer to one's destination, one is more
likely to move farther away from it. To arrive at the desired place one has to have some
idea of its general direction and of the roads leading to it. Analogous considerations
apply to the practice of the path, which takes place in a framework of understanding
established by right view.
The importance of right view can be gauged from the fact that our perspectives on the
crucial issues of reality and value have a bearing that goes beyond mere theoretical
convictions. They govern our attitudes, our actions, our whole orientation to existence.
Our views might not be clearly formulated in our mind; we might have only a hazy
conceptual grasp of our beliefs. But whether formulated or not, expressed or maintained in
silence, these views have a far-reaching influence. They structure our perceptions, order
our values, crystallize into the ideational framework through which we interpret to
ourselves the meaning of our being in the world.
These views then condition action. They lie behind our choices and goals, and our
efforts to turn these goals from ideals into actuality. The actions themselves might
determine consequences, but the actions along with their consequences hinge on the views
from which they spring. Since views imply an "ontological commitment," a
decision on the question of what is real and true, it follows that views divide into two
classes, right views and wrong views. The former correspond to what is real, the latter
deviate from the real and confirm the false in its place. These two different kinds of
views, the Buddha teaches, lead to radically disparate lines of action, and thence to
opposite results. If we hold a wrong view, even if that view is vague, it will lead us
towards courses of action that eventuate in suffering. On the other hand, if we adopt a
right view, that view will steer us towards right action, and thereby towards freedom from
suffering. Though our conceptual orientation towards the world might seem innocuous and
inconsequential, when looked at closely it reveals itself to be the decisive determinant
of our whole course of future development. The Buddha himself says that he sees no single
factor so responsible for the arising of unwholesome states of mind as wrong view, and no
factor so helpful for the arising of wholesome states of mind as right view. Again, he
says that there is no single factor so responsible for the suffering of living beings as
wrong view, and no factor so potent in promoting the good of living beings as right view
(AN 1:16.2).
In its fullest measure right view involves a correct understanding of the entire Dhamma
or teaching of the Buddha, and thus its scope is equal to the range of the Dhamma itself.
But for practical purposes two kinds of right view stand out as primary. One is mundane
right view, right view which operates within the confines of the world. The other is
supramundane right view, the superior right view which leads to liberation from the world.
The first is concerned with the laws governing material and spiritual progress within the
round of becoming, with the principles that lead to higher and lower states of existence,
to mundane happiness and suffering. The second is concerned with the principles essential
to liberation. It does not aim merely at spiritual progress from life to life, but at
emancipation from the cycle of recurring lives and deaths.
Mundane Right View
Mundane right view involves a correct grasp of the law of kamma, the moral efficacy of
action. Its literal name is "right view of the ownership of action" (kammassakata
sammaditthi), and it finds its standard formulation in the statement: "Beings are
the owners of their actions, the heirs of their actions; they spring from their actions,
are bound to their actions, and are supported by their actions. Whatever deeds they do,
good or bad, of those they shall be heirs."[5] More
specific formulations have also come down in the texts. One stock passage, for example,
affirms that virtuous actions such as giving and offering alms have moral significance,
that good and bad deeds produce corresponding fruits, that one has a duty to serve mother
and father, that there is rebirth and a world beyond the visible one, and that religious
teachers of high attainment can be found who expound the truth about the world on the
basis of their own superior realization.[6]
To understand the implications of this form of right view we first have to examine the
meaning of its key term, kamma. The word kamma means action. For Buddhism
the relevant kind of action is volitional action, deeds expressive of morally determinate
volition, since it is volition that gives the action ethical significance. Thus the Buddha
expressly identifies action with volition. In a discourse on the analysis of kamma he
says: "Monks, it is volition that I call action (kamma). Having willed, one
performs an action through body, speech, or mind."[7] The
identification of kamma with volition makes kamma essentially a mental event, a factor
originating in the mind which seeks to actualize the mind's drives, dispositions, and
purposes. Volition comes into being through any of three channels -- body, speech, or mind
-- called the three doors of action (kammadvara). A volition expressed through the
body is a bodily action; a volition expressed through speech is a verbal action; and a
volition that issues in thoughts, plans, ideas, and other mental states without gaining
outer expression is a mental action. Thus the one factor of volition differentiates into
three types of kamma according to the channel through which it becomes manifest.
Right view requires more than a simple knowledge of the general meaning of kamma. It is
also necessary to understand: (i) the ethical distinction of kamma into the unwholesome
and the wholesome; (ii) the principal cases of each type; and (iii) the roots from which
these actions spring. As expressed in a sutta: "When a noble disciple understands
what is kammically unwholesome, and the root of unwholesome kamma, what is kammically
wholesome, and the root of wholesome kamma, then he has right view."[8]
(i) Taking these points in order, we find that kamma is first distinguished as
unwholesome (akusala) and wholesome (kusala). Unwholesome kamma is action
that is morally blameworthy, detrimental to spiritual development, and conducive to
suffering for oneself and others. Wholesome kamma, on the other hand, is action that is
morally commendable, helpful to spiritual growth, and productive of benefits for oneself
and others.
(ii) Innumerable instances of unwholesome and wholesome kamma can be cited, but the
Buddha selects ten of each as primary. These he calls the ten courses of unwholesome and
wholesome action. Among the ten in the two sets, three are bodily, four are verbal, and
three are mental. The ten courses of unwholesome kamma may be listed as follows, divided
by way of their doors of expression:
1. Destroying life
2. Taking what is not given
3. Wrong conduct in regard to sense pleasures
4. False speech
5. Slanderous speech
Verbal action
6. Harsh speech (vacikamma)
7. Idle chatter
8. Covetousness
9. Ill will
10. Wrong view
The ten courses of wholesome kamma are the opposites of these: abstaining from the
first seven courses of unwholesome kamma, being free from covetousness and ill will, and
holding right view. Though the seven cases of abstinence are exercised entirely by the
mind and do not necessarily entail overt action, they are still designated wholesome
bodily and verbal action because they centre on the control of the faculties of body and
speech.
(iii) Actions are distinguished as wholesome and unwholesome on the basis of their
underlying motives, called "roots" (mula), which impart their moral
quality to the volitions concomitant with themselves. Thus kamma is wholesome or
unwholesome according to whether its roots are wholesome or unwholesome. The roots are
threefold for each set. The unwholesome roots are the three defilements we already
mentioned -- greed, aversion, and delusion. Any action originating from these is an
unwholesome kamma. The three wholesome roots are their opposites, expressed negatively in
the old Indian fashion as non-greed (alobha), non-aversion (adosa), and
non-delusion (amoha). Though these are negatively designated, they signify not
merely the absence of defilements but the corresponding virtues. Non-greed implies
renunciation, detachment, and generosity; non-aversion implies loving-kindness, sympathy,
and gentleness; and non-delusion implies wisdom. Any action originating from these roots
is a wholesome kamma.
The most important feature of kamma is its capacity to produce results corresponding to
the ethical quality of the action. An immanent universal law holds sway over volitional
actions, bringing it about that these actions issue in retributive consequences, called vipaka,
"ripenings," or phala, "fruits." The law connecting actions
with their fruits works on the simple principle that unwholesome actions ripen in
suffering, wholesome actions in happiness. The ripening need not come right away; it need
not come in the present life at all. Kamma can operate across the succession of lifetimes;
it can even remain dormant for aeons into the future. But whenever we perform a volitional
action, the volition leaves its imprint on the mental continuum, where it remains as a
stored up potency. When the stored up kamma meets with conditions favourable to its
maturation, it awakens from its dormant state and triggers off some effect that brings due
compensation for the original action. The ripening may take place in the present life, in
the next life, or in some life subsequent to the next. A kamma may ripen by producing
rebirth into the next existence, thus determining the basic form of life; or it may ripen
in the course of a lifetime, issuing in our varied experiences of happiness and pain,
success and failure, progress and decline. But whenever it ripens and in whatever way, the
same principle invariably holds: wholesome actions yield favourable results, unwholesome
actions yield unfavourable results.
To recognize this principle is to hold right view of the mundane kind. This view at
once excludes the multiple forms of wrong view with which it is incompatible. As it
affirms that our actions have an influence on our destiny continuing into future lives, it
opposes the nihilistic view which regards this life as our only existence and holds that
consciousness terminates with death. As it grounds the distinction between good and evil,
right and wrong, in an objective universal principle, it opposes the ethical subjectivism
which asserts that good and evil are only postulations of personal opinion or means to
social control. As it affirms that people can choose their actions freely, within limits
set by their conditions, it opposes the "hard deterministic" line that our
choices are always made subject to necessitation, and hence that free volition is unreal
and moral responsibility untenable.
Some of the implications of the Buddha's teaching on the right view of kamma and its
fruits run counter to popular trends in present-day thought, and it is helpful to make
these differences explicit. The teaching on right view makes it known that good and bad,
right and wrong, transcend conventional opinions about what is good and bad, what is right
and wrong. An entire society may be predicated upon a confusion of correct moral values,
and even though everyone within that society may applaud one particular kind of action as
right and condemn another kind as wrong, this does not make them validly right and wrong.
For the Buddha moral standards are objective and invariable. While the moral character of
deeds is doubtlessly conditioned by the circumstances under which they are performed,
there are objective criteria of morality against which any action, or any comprehensive
moral code, can be evaluated. This objective standard of morality is integral to the
Dhamma, the cosmic law of truth and righteousness. Its transpersonal ground of validation
is the fact that deeds, as expressions of the volitions that engender them, produce
consequences for the agent, and that the correlations between deeds and their consequences
are intrinsic to the volitions themselves. There is no divine judge standing above the
cosmic process who assigns rewards and punishments. Nevertheless, the deeds themselves,
through their inherent moral or immoral nature, generate the appropriate results.
For most people, the vast majority, the right view of kamma and its results is held out
of confidence, accepted on faith from an eminent spiritual teacher who proclaims the moral
efficacy of action. But even when the principle of kamma is not personally seen, it still
remains a facet of right view. It is part and parcel of right view because right
view is concerned with understanding -- with understanding our place in the total scheme
of things -- and one who accepts the principle that our volitional actions possess a moral
potency has, to that extent, grasped an important fact pertaining to the nature of our
existence. However, the right view of the kammic efficacy of action need not remain
exclusively an article of belief screened behind an impenetrable barrier. It can become a
matter of direct seeing. Through the attainment of certain states of deep concentration it
is possible to develop a special faculty called the "divine eye" (dibbacakkhu),
a super-sensory power of vision that reveals things hidden from the eyes of flesh. When
this faculty is developed, it can be directed out upon the world of living beings to
investigate the workings of the kammic law. With the special vision it confers one can
then see for oneself, with immediate perception, how beings pass away and re-arise
according to their kamma, how they meet happiness and suffering through the maturation of
their good and evil deeds.[9]
Superior Right View
The right view of kamma and its fruits provides a rationale for engaging in wholesome
actions and attaining high status within the round of rebirths, but by itself it does not
lead to liberation. It is possible for someone to accept the law of kamma yet still limit
his aims to mundane achievements. One's motive for performing noble deeds might be the
accumulation of meritorious kamma leading to prosperity and success here and now, a
fortunate rebirth as a human being, or the enjoyment of celestial bliss in the heavenly
worlds. There is nothing within the logic of kammic causality to impel the urge to
transcend the cycle of kamma and its fruit. The impulse to deliverance from the entire
round of becoming depends upon the acquisition of a different and deeper perspective, one
which yields insight into the inherent defectiveness of all forms of samsaric existence,
even the most exalted.
This superior right view leading to liberation is the understanding of the Four Noble
Truths. It is this right view that figures as the first factor of the Noble Eightfold Path
in the proper sense: as the noble right view. Thus the Buddha defines the path
factor of right view expressly in terms of the four truths: "What now is right view?
It is understanding of suffering (dukkha), understanding of the origin of
suffering, understanding of the cessation of suffering, understanding of the way leading
to the cessation to suffering."[10] The Eightfold Path
starts with a conceptual understanding of the Four Noble Truths apprehended only obscurely
through the media of thought and reflection. It reaches its climax in a direct intuition
of those same truths, penetrated with a clarity tantamount to enlightenment. Thus it can
be said that the right view of the Four Noble Truths forms both the beginning and the
culmination of the way to the end of suffering.
The first noble truth is the truth of suffering (dukkha), the inherent
unsatisfactoriness of existence, revealed in the impermanence, pain, and perpetual
incompleteness intrinsic to all forms of life.
This is the noble truth of suffering. Birth is suffering; aging is suffering; sickness
is suffering; death is suffering; sorrow, lamentation, pain, grief, and despair are
suffering; association with the unpleasant is suffering; separation from the pleasant is
suffering; not to get what one wants is suffering; in brief, the five aggregates of
clinging are suffering.[11]
The last statement makes a comprehensive claim that calls for some attention. The five
aggregates of clinging (pañcupadanakkandha) are a classificatory scheme for
understanding the nature of our being. What we are, the Buddha teaches, is a set of five
aggregates -- material form, feelings, perceptions, mental formations, and consciousness
-- all connected with clinging. We are the five and the five are us. Whatever we identify
with, whatever we hold to as our self, falls within the set of five aggregates. Together
these five aggregates generate the whole array of thoughts, emotions, ideas, and
dispositions in which we dwell, "our world." Thus the Buddha's declaration that
the five aggregates are dukkha in effect brings all experience, our entire
existence, into the range of dukkha.
But here the question arises: Why should the Buddha say that the five aggregates are dukkha?
The reason he says that the five aggregates are dukkha is that they are
impermanent. They change from moment to moment, arise and fall away, without anything
substantial behind them persisting through the change. Since the constituent factors of
our being are always changing, utterly devoid of a permanent core, there is nothing we can
cling to in them as a basis for security. There is only a constantly disintegrating flux
which, when clung to in the desire for permanence, brings a plunge into suffering.
The second noble truth points out the cause of dukkha. From the set of
defilements which eventuate in suffering, the Buddha singles out craving (tanha) as
the dominant and most pervasive cause, "the origin of suffering."
This is the noble truth of the origin of suffering. It is this craving which produces
repeated existence, is bound up with delight and lust, and seeks pleasure here and there,
namely, craving for sense pleasures, craving for existence, and craving for
non-existence.[12]
The third noble truth simply reverses this relationship of origination. If craving is
the cause of dukkha, then to be free from dukkha we have to eliminate
craving. Thus the Buddha says:
This is the noble truth of the cessation of suffering. It is the complete fading away
and cessation of this craving, its forsaking and abandonment, liberation and detachment
from it.[13]
The state of perfect peace that comes when craving is eliminated is Nibbana (nirvana),
the unconditioned state experienced while alive with the extinguishing of the flames of
greed, aversion, and delusion. The fourth noble truth shows the way to reach the end of dukkha,
the way to the realization of Nibbana. That way is the Noble Eightfold Path itself.
The right view of the Four Noble Truths develops in two stages. The first is called the
right view that accords with the truths (saccanulomika samma ditthi); the second,
the right view that penetrates the truths (saccapativedha samma ditthi). To acquire
the right view that accords with the truths requires a clear understanding of their
meaning and significance in our lives. Such an understanding arises first by learning the
truths and studying them. Subsequently it is deepened by reflecting upon them in the light
of experience until one gains a strong conviction as to their veracity.
But even at this point the truths have not been penetrated, and thus the understanding
achieved is still defective, a matter of concept rather than perception. To arrive at the
experiential realization of the truths it is necessary to take up the practice of
meditation -- first to strengthen the capacity for sustained concentration, then to
develop insight. Insight arises by contemplating the five aggregates, the factors of
existence, in order to discern their real characteristics. At the climax of such
contemplation the mental eye turns away from the conditioned phenomena comprised in the
aggregates and shifts its focus to the unconditioned state, Nibbana, which becomes
accessible through the deepened faculty of insight. With this shift, when the mind's eye
sees Nibbana, there takes place a simultaneous penetration of all Four Noble Truths. By
seeing Nibbana, the state beyond dukkha, one gains a perspective from which to view
the five aggregates and see that they are dukkha simply because they are
conditioned, subject to ceaseless change. At the same moment Nibbana is realized, craving
stops; the understanding then dawns that craving is the true origin of dukkha. When
Nibbana is seen, it is realized to be the state of peace, free from the turmoil of
becoming. And because this experience has been reached by practising the Noble Eightfold
Path, one knows for oneself that the Noble Eightfold Path is truly the way to the end of dukkha.
This right view that penetrates the Four Noble Truths comes at the end of the path, not
at the beginning. We have to start with the right view conforming to the truths, acquired
through learning and fortified through reflection. This view inspires us to take up the
practice, to embark on the threefold training in moral discipline, concentration, and
wisdom. When the training matures, the eye of wisdom opens by itself, penetrating the
truths and freeing the mind from bondage.
Chapter III
Right Intention
(Samma Sankappa)
The second factor of the path is called in Pali samma sankappa, which we will
translate as "right intention." The term is sometimes translated as "right
thought," a rendering that can be accepted if we add the proviso that in the present
context the word "thought" refers specifically to the purposive or conative
aspect of mental activity, the cognitive aspect being covered by the first factor, right
view. It would be artificial, however, to insist too strongly on the division between
these two functions. From the Buddhist perspective, the cognitive and purposive sides of
the mind do not remain isolated in separate compartments but intertwine and interact in
close correlation. Emotional predilections influence views, and views determine
predilections. Thus a penetrating view of the nature of existence, gained through deep
reflection and validated through investigation, brings with it a restructuring of values
which sets the mind moving towards goals commensurate with the new vision. The application
of mind needed to achieve those goals is what is meant by right intention.
The Buddha explains right intention as threefold: the intention of renunciation, the
intention of good will, and the intention of harmlessness.[14]
The three are opposed to three parallel kinds of wrong intention: intention governed by
desire, intention governed by ill will, and intention governed by harmfulness.[15] Each kind of right intention counters the corresponding kind
of wrong intention. The intention of renunciation counters the intention of desire, the
intention of good will counters the intention of ill will, and the intention of
harmlessness counters the intention of harmfulness.
The Buddha discovered this twofold division of thought in the period prior to his
Enlightenment (see MN 19). While he was striving for deliverance, meditating in the
forest, he found that his thoughts could be distributed into two different classes. In one
he put thoughts of desire, ill will, and harmfulness, in the other thoughts of
renunciation, good will, and harmlessness. Whenever he noticed thoughts of the first kind
arise in him, he understood that those thoughts lead to harm for oneself and others,
obstruct wisdom, and lead away from Nibbana. Reflecting in this way he expelled such
thoughts from his mind and brought them to an end. But whenever thoughts of the second
kind arose, he understood those thoughts to be beneficial, conducive to the growth of
wisdom, aids to the attainment of Nibbana. Thus he strengthened those thoughts and brought
them to completion.
Right intention claims the second place in the path, between right view and the triad
of moral factors that begins with right speech, because the mind's intentional function
forms the crucial link connecting our cognitive perspective with our modes of active
engagement in the world. On the one side actions always point back to the thoughts from
which they spring. Thought is the forerunner of action, directing body and speech,
stirring them into activity, using them as its instruments for expressing its aims and
ideals. These aims and ideals, our intentions, in turn point back a further step to the
prevailing views. When wrong views prevail, the outcome is wrong intention giving rise to
unwholesome actions. Thus one who denies the moral efficacy of action and measures
achievement in terms of gain and status will aspire to nothing but gain and status, using
whatever means he can to acquire them. When such pursuits become widespread, the result is
suffering, the tremendous suffering of individuals, social groups, and nations out to gain
wealth, position, and power without regard for consequences. The cause for the endless
competition, conflict, injustice, and oppression does not lie outside the mind. These are
all just manifestations of intentions, outcroppings of thoughts driven by greed, by
hatred, by delusion.
But when the intentions are right, the actions will be right, and for the intentions to
be right the surest guarantee is right views. One who recognizes the law of kamma, that
actions bring retributive consequences, will frame his pursuits to accord with this law;
thus his actions, expressive of his intentions, will conform to the canons of right
conduct. The Buddha succinctly sums up the matter when he says that for a person who holds
a wrong view, his deeds, words, plans, and purposes grounded in that view will lead to
suffering, while for a person who holds right view, his deeds, words, plans, and purposes
grounded in that view will lead to happiness.[16]
Since the most important formulation of right view is the understanding of the Four
Noble Truths, it follows that this view should be in some way determinative of the content
of right intention. This we find to be in fact the case. Understanding the four truths in
relation to one's own life gives rise to the intention of renunciation; understanding them
in relation to other beings gives rise to the other two right intentions. When we see how
our own lives are pervaded by dukkha, and how this dukkha derives from
craving, the mind inclines to renunciation -- to abandoning craving and the objects to
which it binds us. Then, when we apply the truths in an analogous way to other living
beings, the contemplation nurtures the growth of good will and harmlessness. We see that,
like ourselves, all other living beings want to be happy, and again that like ourselves
they are subject to suffering. The consideration that all beings seek happiness causes
thoughts of good will to arise -- the loving wish that they be well, happy, and peaceful.
The consideration that beings are exposed to suffering causes thoughts of harmlessness to
arise -- the compassionate wish that they be free from suffering.
The moment the cultivation of the Noble Eightfold Path begins, the factors of right
view and right intention together start to counteract the three unwholesome roots.
Delusion, the primary cognitive defilement, is opposed by right view, the nascent seed of
wisdom. The complete eradication of delusion will only take place when right view is
developed to the stage of full realization, but every flickering of correct understanding
contributes to its eventual destruction. The other two roots, being emotive defilements,
require opposition through the redirecting of intention, and thus meet their antidotes in
thoughts of renunciation, good will, and harmlessness.
Since greed and aversion are deeply grounded, they do not yield easily; however, the
work of overcoming them is not impossible if an effective strategy is employed. The path
devised by the Buddha makes use of an indirect approach: it proceeds by tackling the
thoughts to which these defilements give rise. Greed and aversion surface in the form of
thoughts, and thus can be eroded by a process of "thought substitution," by
replacing them with the thoughts opposed to them. The intention of renunciation provides
the remedy to greed. Greed comes to manifestation in thoughts of desire -- as sensual,
acquisitive, and possessive thoughts. Thoughts of renunciation spring from the wholesome
root of non-greed, which they activate whenever they are cultivated. Since contrary
thoughts cannot coexist, when thoughts of renunciation are roused, they dislodge thoughts
of desire, thus causing non-greed to replace greed. Similarly, the intentions of good will
and harmlessness offer the antidote to aversion. Aversion comes to manifestation either in
thoughts of ill will -- as angry, hostile, or resentful thoughts; or in thoughts of
harming -- as the impulses to cruelty, aggression, and destruction. Thoughts of good will
counter the former outflow of aversion, thoughts of harmlessness the latter outflow, in
this way excising the unwholesome root of aversion itself.
The Intention of Renunciation
The Buddha describes his teaching as running contrary to the way of the world. The way
of the world is the way of desire, and the unenlightened who follow this way flow with the
current of desire, seeking happiness by pursuing the objects in which they imagine they
will find fulfilment. The Buddha's message of renunciation states exactly the opposite:
the pull of desire is to be resisted and eventually abandoned. Desire is to be abandoned
not because it is morally evil but because it is a root of suffering.[17] Thus renunciation, turning away from craving and its drive for
gratification, becomes the key to happiness, to freedom from the hold of attachment.
The Buddha does not demand that everyone leave the household life for the monastery or
ask his followers to discard all sense enjoyments on the spot. The degree to which a
person renounces depends on his or her disposition and situation. But what remains as a
guiding principle is this: that the attainment of deliverance requires the complete
eradication of craving, and progress along the path is accelerated to the extent that one
overcomes craving. Breaking free from domination by desire may not be easy, but the
difficulty does not abrogate the necessity. Since craving is the origin of dukkha, putting
an end to dukkha depends on eliminating craving, and that involves directing the mind to
renunciation.
But it is just at this point, when one tries to let go of attachment, that one
encounters a powerful inner resistance. The mind does not want to relinquish its hold on
the objects to which it has become attached. For such a long time it has been accustomed
to gaining, grasping, and holding, that it seems impossible to break these habits by an
act of will. One might agree to the need for renunciation, might want to leave attachment
behind, but when the call is actually sounded the mind recoils and continues to move in
the grip of its desires.
So the problem arises of how to break the shackles of desire. The Buddha does not offer
as a solution the method of repression -- the attempt to drive desire away with a mind
full of fear and loathing. This approach does not resolve the problem but only pushes it
below the surface, where it continues to thrive. The tool the Buddha holds out to free the
mind from desire is understanding. Real renunciation is not a matter of compelling
ourselves to give up things still inwardly cherished, but of changing our perspective on
them so that they no longer bind us. When we understand the nature of desire, when we
investigate it closely with keen attention, desire falls away by itself, without need for
struggle.
To understand desire in such a way that we can loosen its hold, we need to see that
desire is invariably bound up with dukkha. The whole phenomenon of desire, with its
cycle of wanting and gratification, hangs on our way of seeing things. We remain in
bondage to desire because we see it as our means to happiness. If we can look at desire
from a different angle, its force will be abated, resulting in the move towards
renunciation. What is needed to alter perception is something called "wise
consideration" (yoniso manasikara). Just as perception influences thought, so
thought can influence perception. Our usual perceptions are tinged with "unwise
consideration" (ayoniso manasikara). We ordinarily look only at the surfaces
of things, scan them in terms of our immediate interests and wants; only rarely do we dig
into the roots of our involvements or explore their long-range consequences. To set this
straight calls for wise consideration: looking into the hidden undertones to our actions,
exploring their results, evaluating the worthiness of our goals. In this investigation our
concern must not be with what is pleasant but with what is true. We have to be prepared
and willing to discover what is true even at the cost of our comfort. For real security
always lies on the side of truth, not on the side of comfort.
When desire is scrutinized closely, we find that it is constantly shadowed by dukkha.
Sometimes dukkha appears as pain or irritation; often it lies low as a constant
strain of discontent. But the two -- desire and dukkha -- are inseparable
concomitants. We can confirm this for ourselves by considering the whole cycle of desire.
At the moment desire springs up it creates in us a sense of lack, the pain of want. To end
this pain we struggle to fulfil the desire. If our effort fails, we experience
frustration, disappointment, sometimes despair. But even the pleasure of success is not
unqualified. We worry that we might lose the ground we have gained. We feel driven to
secure our position, to safeguard our territory, to gain more, to rise higher, to
establish tighter controls. The demands of desire seem endless, and each desire demands
the eternal: it wants the things we get to last forever. But all the objects of desire are
impermanent. Whether it be wealth, power, position, or other persons, separation is
inevitable, and the pain that accompanies separation is proportional to the force of
attachment: strong attachment brings much suffering; little attachment brings little
suffering; no attachment brings no suffering.[18]
Contemplating the dukkha inherent in desire is one way to incline the mind to
renunciation. Another way is to contemplate directly the benefits flowing from
renunciation. To move from desire to renunciation is not, as might be imagined, to move
from happiness to grief, from abundance to destitution. It is to pass from gross,
entangling pleasures to an exalted happiness and peace, from a condition of servitude to
one of self-mastery. Desire ultimately breeds fear and sorrow, but renunciation gives
fearlessness and joy. It promotes the accomplishment of all three stages of the threefold
training: it purifies conduct, aids concentration, and nourishes the seed of wisdom. The
entire course of practice from start to finish can in fact be seen as an evolving process
of renunciation culminating in Nibbana as the ultimate stage of relinquishment, "the
relinquishing of all foundations of existence" (sabb'upadhipatinissagga).
When we methodically contemplate the dangers of desire and the benefits of
renunciation, gradually we steer our mind away from the domination of desire. Attachments
are shed like the leaves of a tree, naturally and spontaneously. The changes do not come
suddenly, but when there is persistent practice, there is no doubt that they will come.
Through repeated contemplation one thought knocks away another, the intention of
renunciation dislodges the intention of desire.
The Intention of Good Will
The intention of good will opposes the intention of ill will, thoughts governed by
anger and aversion. As in the case of desire, there are two ineffective ways of handling
ill will. One is to yield to it, to express the aversion by bodily or verbal action. This
approach releases the tension, helps drive the anger "out of one's system," but
it also poses certain dangers. It breeds resentment, provokes retaliation, creates
enemies, poisons relationships, and generates unwholesome kamma; in the end, the ill will
does not leave the "system" after all, but instead is driven down to a deeper
level where it continues to vitiate one's thoughts and conduct. The other approach,
repression, also fails to dispel the destructive force of ill will. It merely turns that
force around and pushes it inward, where it becomes transmogrified into self-contempt,
chronic depression, or a tendency to irrational outbursts of violence.
The remedy the Buddha recommends to counteract ill will, especially when the object is
another person, is a quality called in Pali metta. This word derives from another
word meaning "friend," but metta signifies much more than ordinary
friendliness. I prefer to translate it by the compound "lovingkindness," which
best captures the intended sense: an intense feeling of selfless love for other beings
radiating outwards as a heartfelt concern for their well-being and happiness. Metta
is not just sentimental good will, nor is it a conscientious response to a moral
imperative or divine command. It must become a deep inner feeling, characterized by
spontaneous warmth rather than by a sense of obligation. At its peak metta rises to
the heights of a brahmavihara, a "divine dwelling," a total way of being
centred on the radiant wish for the welfare of all living beings.
The kind of love implied by metta should be distinguished from sensual love as
well as from the love involved in personal affection. The first is a form of craving,
necessarily self-directed, while the second still includes a degree of attachment: we love
a person because that person gives us pleasure, belongs to our family or group, or
reinforces our own self-image. Only rarely does the feeling of affection transcend all
traces of ego-reference, and even then its scope is limited. It applies only to a certain
person or group of people while excluding others.
The love involved in metta, in contrast, does not hinge on particular relations
to particular persons. Here the reference point of self is utterly omitted. We are
concerned only with suffusing others with a mind of lovingkindness, which ideally is to be
developed into a universal state, extended to all living beings without discriminations or
reservations. The way to impart to metta this universal scope is to cultivate it as
an exercise in meditation. Spontaneous feelings of good will occur too sporadically and
are too limited in range to be relied on as the remedy for aversion. The idea of
deliberately developing love has been criticized as contrived, mechanical, and calculated.
Love, it is said, can only be genuine when it is spontaneous, arisen without inner
prompting or effort. But it is a Buddhist thesis that the mind cannot be commanded to love
spontaneously; it can only be shown the means to develop love and enjoined to practise
accordingly. At first the means has to be employed with some deliberation, but through
practice the feeling of love becomes ingrained, grafted onto the mind as a natural and
spontaneous tendency.
The method of development is metta-bhavana, the meditation on lovingkindness,
one of the most important kinds of Buddhist meditation. The meditation begins with the
development of lovingkindness towards oneself.[19] It is
suggested that one take oneself as the first object of metta because true
lovingkindness for others only becomes possible when one is able to feel genuine
lovingkindness for oneself. Probably most of the anger and hostility we direct to others
springs from negative attitudes we hold towards ourselves. When metta is directed
inwards towards oneself, it helps to melt down the hardened crust created by these
negative attitudes, permitting a fluid diffusion of kindness and sympathy outwards.
Once one has learned to kindle the feeling of metta towards oneself, the next
step is to extend it to others. The extension of metta hinges on a shift in the
sense of identity, on expanding the sense of identity beyond its ordinary confines and
learning to identify with others. The shift is purely psychological in method, entirely
free from theological and metaphysical postulates, such as that of a universal self
immanent in all beings. Instead, it proceeds from a simple, straightforward course of
reflection which enables us to share the subjectivity of others and experience the world
(at least imaginatively) from the standpoint of their own inwardness. The procedure starts
with oneself. If we look into our own mind, we find that the basic urge of our being is
the wish to be happy and free from suffering. Now, as soon as we see this in ourselves, we
can immediately understand that all living beings share the same basic wish. All want to
be well, happy, and secure. To develop metta towards others, what is to be done is
to imaginatively share their own innate wish for happiness. We use our own desire for
happiness as the key, experience this desire as the basic urge of others, then come back
to our own position and extend to them the wish that they may achieve their ultimate
objective, that they may be well and happy.
The methodical radiation of metta is practised first by directing metta
to individuals representing certain groups. These groups are set in an order of
progressive remoteness from oneself. The radiation begins with a dear person, such as a
parent or teacher, then moves on to a friend, then to a neutral person, then finally to a
hostile person. Though the types are defined by their relation to oneself, the love to be
developed is not based on that relation but on each person's common aspiration for
happiness. With each individual one has to bring his (or her) image into focus and radiate
the thought: "May he (she) be well! May he (she) be happy! May he (she) be
peaceful!"[20] Only when one succeeds in generating a
warm feeling of good will and kindness towards that person should one turn to the next.
Once one gains some success with individuals, one can then work with larger units. One can
try developing metta towards all friends, all neutral persons, all hostile persons.
Then metta can be widened by directional suffusion, proceeding in the various
directions -- east, south, west, north, above, below -- then it can be extended to all
beings without distinction. In the end one suffuses the entire world with a mind of
lovingkindness "vast, sublime, and immeasurable, without enmity, without
aversion."
The Intention of Harmlessness
The intention of harmlessness is thought guided by compassion (karuna), aroused
in opposition to cruel, aggressive, and violent thoughts. Compassion supplies the
complement to lovingkindness. Whereas lovingkindness has the characteristic of wishing for
the happiness and welfare of others, compassion has the characteristic of wishing that
others be free from suffering, a wish to be extended without limits to all living beings.
Like metta, compassion arises by entering into the subjectivity of others, by
sharing their interiority in a deep and total way. It springs up by considering that all
beings, like ourselves, wish to be free from suffering, yet despite their wishes continue
to be harassed by pain, fear, sorrow, and other forms of dukkha.
To develop compassion as a meditative exercise, it is most effective to start with
somebody who is actually undergoing suffering, since this provides the natural object for
compassion. One contemplates this person's suffering, either directly or imaginatively,
then reflects that like oneself, he (she) also wants to be free from suffering. The
thought should be repeated, and contemplation continually exercised, until a strong
feeling of compassion swells up in the heart. Then, using that feeling as a standard, one
turns to different individuals, considers how they are each exposed to suffering, and
radiates the gentle feeling of compassion out to them. To increase the breadth and
intensity of compassion it is helpful to contemplate the various sufferings to which
living beings are susceptible. A useful guideline to this extension is provided by the
first noble truth, with its enumeration of the different aspects of dukkha. One
contemplates beings as subject to old age, then as subject to sickness, then to death,
then to sorrow, lamentation, pain, grief, and despair, and so forth.
When a high level of success has been achieved in generating compassion by the
contemplation of beings who are directly afflicted by suffering, one can then move on to
consider people who are presently enjoying happiness which they have acquired by immoral
means. One might reflect that such people, despite their superficial fortune, are
doubtlessly troubled deep within by the pangs of conscience. Even if they display no
outward signs of inner distress, one knows that they will eventually reap the bitter
fruits of their evil deeds, which will bring them intense suffering. Finally, one can
widen the scope of one's contemplation to include all living beings. One should
contemplate all beings as subject to the universal suffering of samsara, driven by
their greed, aversion, and delusion through the round of repeated birth and death. If
compassion is initially difficult to arouse towards beings who are total strangers, one
can strengthen it by reflecting on the Buddha's dictum that in this beginningless cycle of
rebirths, it is hard to find even a single being who has not at some time been one's own
mother or father, sister or brother, son or daughter.
To sum up, we see that the three kinds of right intention -- of renunciation, good
will, and harmlessness -- counteract the three wrong intentions of desire, ill will, and
harmfulness. The importance of putting into practice the contemplations leading to the
arising of these thoughts cannot be overemphasized. The contemplations have been taught as
methods for cultivation, not mere theoretical excursions. To develop the intention of
renunciation we have to contemplate the suffering tied up with the quest for worldly
enjoyment; to develop the intention of good will we have to consider how all beings desire
happiness; to develop the intention of harmlessness we have to consider how all beings
wish to be free from suffering. The unwholesome thought is like a rotten peg lodged in the
mind; the wholesome thought is like a new peg suitable to replace it. The actual
contemplation functions as the hammer used to drive out the old peg with the new one. The
work of driving in the new peg is practice -- practising again and again, as often as is
necessary to reach success. The Buddha gives us his assurance that the victory can be
achieved. He says that whatever one reflects upon frequently becomes the inclination of
the mind. If one frequently thinks sensual, hostile, or harmful thoughts, desire, ill
will, and harmfulness become the inclination of the mind. If one frequently thinks in the
opposite way, renunciation, good will, and harmlessness become the inclination of the mind
(MN 19). The direction we take always comes back to ourselves, to the intentions we
generate moment by moment in the course of our lives.
Chapter IV
Right Speech, Right Action, Right Livelihood
(Samma Vaca, Samma Kammanta, Samma Ajiva)
The next three path factors -- right speech, right action, and right livelihood -- may
be treated together, as collectively they make up the first of the three divisions of the
path, the division of moral discipline (silakkhandha). Though the principles laid
down in this section restrain immoral actions and promote good conduct, their ultimate
purpose is not so much ethical as spiritual. They are not prescribed merely as guides to
action, but primarily as aids to mental purification. As a necessary measure for human
well-being, ethics has its own justification in the Buddha's teaching and its importance
cannot be underrated. But in the special context of the Noble Eightfold Path ethical
principles are subordinate to the path's governing goal, final deliverance from suffering.
Thus for the moral training to become a proper part of the path, it has to be taken up
under the tutelage of the first two factors, right view and right intention, and to lead
beyond to the trainings in concentration and wisdom.
Though the training in moral discipline is listed first among the three groups of
practices, it should not be regarded lightly. It is the foundation for the entire path,
essential for the success of the other trainings. The Buddha himself frequently urged his
disciples to adhere to the rules of discipline, "seeing danger in the slightest
fault." One time, when a monk approached the Buddha and asked for the training in
brief, the Buddha told him: "First establish yourself in the starting point of
wholesome states, that is, in purified moral discipline and in right view. Then, when your
moral discipline is purified and your view straight, you should practise the four
foundations of mindfulness" (SN 47:3).
The Pali word we have been translating as "moral discipline," sila,
appears in the texts with several overlapping meanings all connected with right conduct.
In some contexts it means action conforming to moral principles, in others the principles
themselves, in still others the virtuous qualities of character that result from the
observance of moral principles. Sila in the sense of precepts or principles
represents the formalistic side of the ethical training, sila as virtue the
animating spirit, and sila as right conduct the expression of virtue in real-life
situations. Often sila is formally defined as abstinence from unwholesome bodily
and verbal action. This definition, with its stress on outer action, appears superficial.
Other explanations, however, make up for the deficiency and reveal that there is more to sila
than is evident at first glance. The Abhidhamma, for example, equates sila with the
mental factors of abstinence (viratiyo) -- right speech, right action, and right
livelihood -- an equation which makes it clear that what is really being cultivated
through the observance of moral precepts is the mind. Thus while the training in sila
brings the "public" benefit of inhibiting socially detrimental actions, it
entails the personal benefit of mental purification, preventing the defilements from
dictating to us what lines of conduct we should follow.
The English word "morality" and its derivatives suggest a sense of obligation
and constraint quite foreign to the Buddhist conception of sila; this connotation
probably enters from the theistic background to Western ethics. Buddhism, with its
non-theistic framework, grounds its ethics, not on the notion of obedience, but on that of
harmony. In fact, the commentaries explain the word sila by another word, samadhana,
meaning "harmony" or "coordination."
The observance of sila leads to harmony at several levels -- social,
psychological, kammic, and contemplative. At the social level the principles of sila
help to establish harmonious interpersonal relations, welding the mass of differently
constituted members of society with their own private interests and goals into a cohesive
social order in which conflict, if not utterly eliminated, is at least reduced. At the
psychological level sila brings harmony to the mind, protection from the inner
split caused by guilt and remorse over moral transgressions. At the kammic level the
observance of sila ensures harmony with the cosmic law of kamma, hence favourable
results in the course of future movement through the round of repeated birth and death.
And at the fourth level, the contemplative, sila helps establish the preliminary
purification of mind to be completed, in a deeper and more thorough way, by the methodical
development of serenity and insight.
When briefly defined, the factors of moral training are usually worded negatively, in
terms of abstinence. But there is more to sila than refraining from what is wrong.
Each principle embedded in the precepts, as we will see, actually has two aspects, both
essential to the training as a whole. One is abstinence from the unwholesome, the other
commitment to the wholesome; the former is called "avoidance" (varitta)
and the latter "performance" (caritta). At the outset of training the
Buddha stresses the aspect of avoidance. He does so, not because abstinence from the
unwholesome is sufficient in itself, but to establish the steps of practice in proper
sequence. The steps are set out in their natural order (more logical than temporal) in the
famous dictum of the Dhammapada: "To abstain from all evil, to cultivate the good,
and to purify one's mind -- this is the teaching of the Buddhas" (v. 183). The other
two steps -- cultivating the good and purifying the mind -- also receive their due, but to
ensure their success, a resolve to avoid the unwholesome is a necessity. Without such a
resolve the attempt to develop wholesome qualities is bound to issue in a warped and
stunted pattern of growth.
The training in moral discipline governs the two principal channels of outer action,
speech and body, as well as another area of vital concern -- one's way of earning a
living. Thus the training contains three factors: right speech, right action, and right
livelihood. These we will now examine individually, following the order in which they are
set forth in the usual exposition of the path.
Right Speech (samma vaca)
The Buddha divides right speech into four components: abstaining from false speech,
abstaining from slanderous speech, abstaining from harsh speech, and abstaining from idle
chatter. Because the effects of speech are not as immediately evident as those of bodily
action, its importance and potential is easily overlooked. But a little reflection will
show that speech and its offshoot, the written word, can have enormous consequences for
good or for harm. In fact, whereas for beings such as animals who live at the preverbal
level physical action is of dominant concern, for humans immersed in verbal communication
speech gains the ascendency. Speech can break lives, create enemies, and start wars, or it
can give wisdom, heal divisions, and create peace. This has always been so, yet in the
modern age the positive and negative potentials of speech have been vastly multiplied by
the tremendous increase in the means, speed, and range of communications. The capacity for
verbal expression, oral and written, has often been regarded as the distinguishing mark of
the human species. From this we can appreciate the need to make this capacity the means to
human excellence rather than, as too often has been the case, the sign of human
degradation.
(1) Abstaining from false speech (musavada veramani)
Herein someone avoids false speech and abstains from it. He speaks the truth, is
devoted to truth, reliable, worthy of confidence, not a deceiver of people. Being at a
meeting, or amongst people, or in the midst of his relatives, or in a society, or in the
king's court, and called upon and asked as witness to tell what he knows, he answers, if
he knows nothing: "I know nothing," and if he knows, he answers: "I
know"; if he has seen nothing, he answers: "I have seen nothing," and if he
has seen, he answers: "I have seen." Thus he never knowingly speaks a lie,
either for the sake of his own advantage, or for the sake of another person's advantage,
or for the sake of any advantage whatsoever.[21]
This statement of the Buddha discloses both the negative and the positive sides to the
precept. The negative side is abstaining from lying, the positive side speaking the truth.
The determinative factor behind the transgression is the intention to deceive. If one
speaks something false believing it to be true, there is no breach of the precept as the
intention to deceive is absent. Though the deceptive intention is common to all cases of
false speech, lies can appear in different guises depending on the motivating root,
whether greed, hatred, or delusion. Greed as the chief motive results in the lie aimed at
gaining some personal advantage for oneself or for those close to oneself -- material
wealth, position, respect, or admiration. With hatred as the motive, false speech takes
the form of the malicious lie, the lie intended to hurt and damage others. When delusion
is the principal motive, the result is a less pernicious type of falsehood: the irrational
lie, the compulsive lie, the interesting exaggeration, lying for the sake of a joke.
The Buddha's stricture against lying rests upon several reasons. For one thing, lying
is disruptive to social cohesion. People can live together in society only in an
atmosphere of mutual trust, where they have reason to believe that others will speak the
truth; by destroying the grounds for trust and inducing mass suspicion, widespread lying
becomes the harbinger signalling the fall from social solidarity to chaos. But lying has
other consequences of a deeply personal nature at least equally disastrous. By their very
nature lies tend to proliferate. Lying once and finding our word suspect, we feel
compelled to lie again to defend our credibility, to paint a consistent picture of events.
So the process repeats itself: the lies stretch, multiply, and connect until they lock us
into a cage of falsehoods from which it is difficult to escape. The lie is thus a
miniature paradigm for the whole process of subjective illusion. In each case the
self-assured creator, sucked in by his own deceptions, eventually winds up their victim.
Such considerations probably lie behind the words of counsel the Buddha spoke to his
son, the young novice Rahula, soon after the boy was ordained. One day the Buddha came to
Rahula, pointed to a bowl with a little bit of water in it, and asked: "Rahula, do
you see this bit of water left in the bowl?" Rahula answered: "Yes, sir."
"So little, Rahula, is the spiritual achievement (samañña, lit.
'recluseship') of one who is not afraid to speak a deliberate lie." Then the Buddha
threw the water away, put the bowl down, and said: "Do you see, Rahula, how that
water has been discarded? In the same way one who tells a deliberate lie discards whatever
spiritual achievement he has made." Again he asked: "Do you see how this bowl is
now empty? In the same way one who has no shame in speaking lies is empty of spiritual
achievement." Then the Buddha turned the bowl upside down and said: "Do you see,
Rahula, how this bowl has been turned upside down? In the same way one who tells a
deliberate lie turns his spiritual achievements upside down and becomes incapable of
progress." Therefore, the Buddha concluded, one should not speak a deliberate lie
even in jest.[22]
It is said that in the course of his long training for enlightenment over many lives, a
bodhisatta can break all the moral precepts except the pledge to speak the truth. The
reason for this is very profound, and reveals that the commitment to truth has a
significance transcending the domain of ethics and even mental purification, taking us to
the domains of knowledge and being. Truthful speech provides, in the sphere of
interpersonal communication, a parallel to wisdom in the sphere of private understanding.
The two are respectively the outward and inward modalities of the same commitment to what
is real. Wisdom consists in the realization of truth, and truth (sacca) is not just
a verbal proposition but the nature of things as they are. To realize truth our whole
being has to be brought into accord with actuality, with things as they are, which
requires that in communications with others we respect things as they are by speaking the
truth. Truthful speech establishes a correspondence between our own inner being and the
real nature of phenomena, allowing wisdom to rise up and fathom their real nature. Thus,
much more than an ethical principle, devotion to truthful speech is a matter of taking our
stand on reality rather than illusion, on the truth grasped by wisdom rather than the
fantasies woven by desire.
(2) Abstaining from slanderous speech (pisunaya vacaya veramani)
He avoids slanderous speech and abstains from it. What he has heard here he does not
repeat there, so as to cause dissension there; and what he has heard there he does not
repeat here, so as to cause dissension here. Thus he unites those that are divided; and
those that are united he encourages. Concord gladdens him, he delights and rejoices in
concord; and it is concord that he spreads by his words.[23]
Slanderous speech is speech intended to create enmity and division, to alienate one
person or group from another. The motive behind such speech is generally aversion,
resentment of a rival's success or virtues, the intention to tear down others by verbal
denigrations. Other motives may enter the picture as well: the cruel intention of causing
hurt to others, the evil desire to win affection for oneself, the perverse delight in
seeing friends divided.
Slanderous speech is one of the most serious moral transgressions. The root of hate
makes the unwholesome kamma already heavy enough, but since the action usually occurs
after deliberation, the negative force becomes even stronger because premeditation adds to
its gravity. When the slanderous statement is false, the two wrongs of falsehood and
slander combine to produce an extremely powerful unwholesome kamma. The canonical texts
record several cases in which the calumny ofan innocent party led to an immediate rebirth
in the plane of misery.
The opposite of slander, as the Buddha indicates, is speech that promotes friendship
and harmony. Such speech originates from a mind of lovingkindness and sympathy. It wins
the trust and affection of others, who feel they can confide in one without fear that
their disclosures will be used against them. Beyond the obvious benefits that such speech
brings in this present life, it is said that abstaining from slander has as its kammic
result the gain of a retinue of friends who can never be turned against one by the
slanderous words of others.[24]
(3) Abstaining from harsh speech (pharusaya vacaya veramani).
He avoids harsh language and abstains from it. He speaks such words as are gentle,
soothing to the ear, loving, such words as go to the heart, and are courteous, friendly,
and agreeable to many.[25]
Harsh speech is speech uttered in anger, intended to cause the hearer pain. Such speech
can assume different forms, of which we might mention three. One is abusive speech:
scolding, reviling, or reproving another angrily with bitter words. A second is insult:
hurting another by ascribing to him some offensive quality which detracts from his
dignity. A third is sarcasm: speaking to someone in a way which ostensibly lauds
him, but with such a tone or twist of phrasing that the ironic intent becomes clear and
causes pain.
The main root of harsh speech is aversion, assuming the form of anger. Since the
defilement in this case tends to work impulsively, without deliberation, the transgression
is less serious than slander and the kammic consequence generally less severe. Still,
harsh speech is an unwholesome action with disagreeable results for oneself and others,
both now and in the future, so it has to be restrained. The ideal antidote is patience --
learning to tolerate blame and criticism from others, to sympathize with their
shortcomings, to respect differences in viewpoint, to endure abuse without feeling
compelled to retaliate. The Buddha calls for patience even under the most trying
conditions:
Even if, monks, robbers and murderers saw through your limbs and joints, whosoever
should give way to anger thereat would not be following my advice. For thus ought you to
train yourselves: "Undisturbed shall our mind remain, with heart full of love, and
free from any hidden malice; and that person shall we penetrate with loving thoughts,
wide, deep, boundless, freed from anger and hatred."[26]
(4) Abstaining from idle chatter (samphappalapa veramani).
He avoids idle chatter and abstains from it. He speaks at the right time, in accordance
with facts, speaks what is useful, speaks of the Dhamma and the discipline; his speech is
like a treasure, uttered at the right moment, accompanied by reason, moderate and full of
sense.[27]
Idle chatter is pointless talk, speech that lacks purpose or depth. Such speech
communicates nothing of value, but only stirs up the defilements in one's own mind and in
others. The Buddha advises that idle talk should be curbed and speech restricted as much
as possible to matters of genuine importance. In the case of a monk, the typical subject
of the passage just quoted, his words should be selective and concerned primarily with the
Dhamma. Lay persons will have more need for affectionate small talk with friends and
family, polite conversation with acquaintances, and talk in connection with their line of
work. But even then they should be mindful not to let the conversation stray into pastures
where the restless mind, always eager for something sweet or spicy to feed on, might find
the chance to indulge its defiling propensities.
The traditional exegesis of abstaining from idle chatter refers only to avoiding
engagement in such talk oneself. But today it might be of value to give this factor a
different slant, made imperative by certain developments peculiar to our own time, unknown
in the days of the Buddha and the ancient commentators. This is avoiding exposure to the
idle chatter constantly bombarding us through the new media of communication created by
modern technology. An incredible array of devices -- television, radio, newspapers, pulp
journals, the cinema -- turns out a continuous stream of needless information and
distracting entertainment the net effect of which is to leave the mind passive, vacant,
and sterile. All these developments, naively accepted as "progress," threaten to
blunt our aesthetic and spiritual sensitivities and deafen us to the higher call of the
contemplative life. Serious aspirants on the path to liberation have to be extremely
discerning in what they allow themselves to be exposed to. They would greatly serve their
aspirations by including these sources of amusement and needless information in the
category of idle chatter and making an effort to avoid them.
Right Action (samma kammanta)
Right action means refraining from unwholesome deeds that occur with the body as their
natural means of expression. The pivotal element in this path factor is the mental factor
of abstinence, but because this abstinence applies to actions performed through the body,
it is called "right action." The Buddha mentions three components of right
action: abstaining from taking life, abstaining from taking what is not given, and
abstaining from sexual misconduct. These we will briefly discuss in order.
(1) Abstaining from the taking of life (panatipata veramani)
Herein someone avoids the taking of life and abstains from it. Without stick or sword,
conscientious, full of sympathy, he is desirous of the welfare of all sentient beings.[28]
"Abstaining from taking life" has a wider application than simply refraining
from killing other human beings. The precept enjoins abstaining from killing any sentient
being. A "sentient being" (pani, satta) is a living being endowed with
mind or consciousness; for practical purposes, this means human beings, animals, and
insects. Plants are not considered to be sentient beings; though they exhibit some degree
of sensitivity, they lack full-fledged consciousness, the defining attribute of a sentient
being.
The "taking of life" that is to be avoided is intentional killing, the
deliberate destruction of life of a being endowed with consciousness. The principle is
grounded in the consideration that all beings love life and fear death, that all seek
happiness and are averse to pain. The essential determinant of transgression is the
volition to kill, issuing in an action that deprives a being of life. Suicide is also
generally regarded as a violation, but not accidental killing as the intention to destroy
life is absent. The abstinence may be taken to apply to two kinds of action, the primary
and the secondary. The primary is the actual destruction of life; the secondary is
deliberately harming or torturing another being without killing it.
While the Buddha's statement on non-injury is quite simple and straightforward, later
commentaries give a detailed analysis of the principle. A treatise from Thailand, written
by an erudite Thai patriarch, collates a mass of earlier material into an especially
thorough treatment, which we shall briefly summarize here.[29]
The treatise points out that the taking of life may have varying degrees of moral weight
entailing different consequences. The three primary variables governing moral weight are
the object, the motive, and the effort. With regard to the object there is a difference in
seriousness between killing a human being and killing an animal, the former being
kammically heavier since man has a more highly developed moral sense and greater spiritual
potential than animals. Among human beings, the degree of kammic weight depends on the
qualities of the person killed and his relation to the killer; thus killing a person of
superior spiritual qualities or a personal benefactor, such as a parent or a teacher, is
an especially grave act.
The motive for killing also influences moral weight. Acts of killing can be driven by
greed, hatred, or delusion. Of the three, killing motivated by hatred is the most serious,
and the weight increases to the degree that the killing is premeditated. The force of
effort involved also contributes, the unwholesome kamma being proportional to the force
and the strength of the defilements.
The positive counterpart to abstaining from taking life, as the Buddha indicates, is
the development of kindness and compassion for other beings. The disciple not only avoids
destroying life; he dwells with a heart full of sympathy, desiring the welfare of all
beings. The commitment to non-injury and concern for the welfare of others represent the
practical application of the second path factor, right intention, in the form of good will
and harmlessness.
(2) Abstaining from taking what is not given (adinnadana veramani)
He avoids taking what is not given and abstains from it; what another person possesses
of goods and chattel in the village or in the wood, that he does not take away with
thievish intent.[30]
"Taking what is not given" means appropriating the rightful belongings of
others with thievish intent. If one takes something that has no owner, such as unclaimed
stones, wood, or even gems extracted from the earth, the act does not count as a violation
even though these objects have not been given. But also implied as a transgression, though
not expressly stated, is withholding from others what should rightfully be given to them.
Commentaries mention a number of ways in which "taking what is not given" can
be committed. Some of the most common may be enumerated:
(1) stealing: taking the belongings of others secretly, as in housebreaking,
pickpocketing, etc.;
(2) robbery: taking what belongs to others openly by force or threats;
(3) snatching: suddenly pulling away another's possession before he has time to
resist;
(4) fraudulence: gaining possession of another's belongings by falsely claiming
them as one's own;
(5) deceitfulness: using false weights and measures to cheat customers.[31]
The degree of moral weight that attaches to the action is determined by three factors:
the value of the object taken; the qualities of the victim of the theft; and the
subjective state of the thief. Regarding the first, moral weight is directly proportional
to the value of the object. Regarding the second, the weight varies according to the moral
qualities of the deprived individual. Regarding the third, acts of theft may be motivated
either by greed or hatred. While greed is the most common cause, hatred may also be
responsible as when one person deprives another of his belongings not so much because he
wants them for himself as because he wants to harm the latter. Between the two, acts
motivated by hatred are kammically heavier than acts motivated by sheer greed.
The positive counterpart to abstaining from stealing is honesty, which implies respect
for the belongings of others and for their right to use their belongings as they wish.
Another related virtue is contentment, being satisfied with what one has without being
inclined to increase one's wealth by unscrupulous means. The most eminent opposite virtue
is generosity, giving away one's own wealth and possessions in order to benefit others.
(3) Abstaining from sexual misconduct (kamesu miccha-cara veramani)
He avoids sexual misconduct and abstains from it. He has no intercourse with such
persons as are still under the protection of father, mother, brother, sister or relatives,
nor with married women, nor with female convicts, nor lastly, with betrothed girls.[32]
The guiding purposes of this precept, from the ethical standpoint, are to protect
marital relations from outside disruption and to promote trust and fidelity within the
marital union. From the spiritual standpoint it helps curb the expansive tendency of
sexual desire and thus is a step in the direction of renunciation, which reaches its
consummation in the observance of celibacy (brahmacariya) binding on monks and
nuns. But for laypeople the precept enjoins abstaining from sexual relations with an
illicit partner. The primary transgression is entering into full sexual union, but all
other sexual involvements of a less complete kind may be considered secondary
infringements.
The main question raised by the precept concerns who is to count as an illicit partner.
The Buddha's statement defines the illicit partner from the perspective of the man, but
later treatises elaborate the matter for both sexes.[33]
For a man, three kinds of women are considered illicit partners:
(1) A woman who is married to another man. This includes, besides a woman already
married to a man, a woman who is not his legal wife but is generally recognized as his
consort, who lives with him or is kept by him or is in some way acknowledged as his
partner. All these women are illicit partners for men other than their own husbands. This
class would also include a woman engaged to another man. But a widow or divorced woman is
not out of bounds, provided she is not excluded for other reasons.
(2) A woman still under protection. This is a girl or woman who is under the protection
of her mother, father, relatives, or others rightfully entitled to be her guardians. This
provision rules out elopements or secret marriages contrary to the wishes of the
protecting party.
(3) A woman prohibited by convention. This includes close female relatives forbidden as
partners by social tradition, nuns and other women under a vow of celibacy, and those
prohibited as partners by the law of the land.
From the standpoint of a woman, two kinds of men are considered illicit partners:
(1) For a married woman any man other than her husband is out of bounds. Thus a married
woman violates the precept if she breaks her vow of fidelity to her husband. But a widow
or divorcee is free to remarry.
(2) For any woman any man forbidden by convention, such as close relatives and those
under a vow of celibacy, is an illicit partner.
Besides these, any case of forced, violent, or coercive sexual union constitutes a
transgression. But in such a case the violation falls only on the offender, not on the one
compelled to submit.
The positive virtue corresponding to the abstinence is, for laypeople, marital
fidelity. Husband and wife should each be faithful and devoted to the other, content with
the relationship, and should not risk a breakup to the union by seeking outside partners.
The principle does not, however, confine sexual relations to the marital union. It is
flexible enough to allow for variations depending on social convention. The essential
purpose, as was said, is to prevent sexual relations which are hurtful to others. When
mature independent people, though unmarried, enter into a sexual relationship through free
consent, so long as no other person is intentionally harmed, no breach of the training
factor is involved.
Ordained monks and nuns, including men and women who have undertaken the eight or ten
precepts, are obliged to observe celibacy. They must abstain not only from sexual
misconduct, but from all sexual involvements, at least during the period of their vows.
The holy life at its highest aims at complete purity in thought, word, and deed, and this
requires turning back the tide of sexual desire.
Right Livelihood (samma ajiva)
Right livelihood is concerned with ensuring that one earns one's living in a righteous
way. For a lay disciple the Buddha teaches that wealth should be gained in accordance with
certain standards. One should acquire it only by legal means, not illegally; one should
acquire it peacefully, without coercion or violence; one should acquire it honestly, not
by trickery or deceit; and one should acquire it in ways which do not entail harm and
suffering for others.[34] The Buddha mentions five specific
kinds of livelihood which bring harm to others and are therefore to be avoided: dealing in
weapons, in living beings (including raising animals for slaughter as well as slave trade
and prostitution), in meat production and butchery, in poisons, and in intoxicants (AN
5:177). He further names several dishonest means of gaining wealth which fall under wrong
livelihood: practising deceit, treachery, soothsaying, trickery, and usury (MN 117).
Obviously any occupation that requires violation of right speech and right action is a
wrong form of livelihood, but other occupations, such as selling weapons or intoxicants,
may not violate those factors and yet be wrong because of their consequences for others.
The Thai treatise discusses the positive aspects of right livelihood under the three
convenient headings of rightness regarding actions, rightness regarding persons, and
rightness regarding objects.[35] "Rightness regarding
actions" means that workers should fulfil their duties diligently and
conscientiously, not idling away time, claiming to have worked longer hours than they did,
or pocketing the company's goods. "Rightness regarding persons" means that due
respect and consideration should be shown to employers, employees, colleagues, and
customers. An employer, for example, should assign his workers chores according to their
ability, pay them adequately, promote them when they deserve a promotion and give them
occasional vacations and bonuses. Colleagues should try to cooperate rather than compete,
while merchants should be equitable in their dealings with customers. "Rightness
regarding objects" means that in business transactions and sales the articles to be
sold should be presented truthfully. There should be no deceptive advertising,
misrepresentations of quality or quantity, or dishonest manoeuvers.
Chapter V
Right Effort
(Samma Vayama)
The purification of conduct established by the prior three factors serves as the basis
for the next division of the path, the division of concentration (samadhikkhandha).
This present phase of practice, which advances from moral restraint to direct mental
training, comprises the three factors of right effort, right mindfulness, and right
concentration. It gains its name from the goal to which it aspires, the power of sustained
concentration, itself required as the support for insight-wisdom. Wisdom is the primary
tool for deliverance, but the penetrating vision it yields can only open up when the mind
has been composed and collected. Right concentration brings the requisite stillness to the
mind by unifying it with undistracted focus on a suitable object. To do so, however, the
factor of concentration needs the aid of effort and mindfulness. Right effort provides the
energy demanded by the task, right mindfulness the steadying points for awareness.
The commentators illustrate the interdependence of the three factors within the
concentration group with a simple simile. Three boys go to a park to play. While walking
along they see a tree with flowering tops and decide they want to gather the flowers. But
the flowers are beyond the reach even of the tallest boy. Then one friend bends down and
offers his back. The tall boy climbs up, but still hesitates to reach for the flowers from
fear of falling. So the third boy comes over and offers his shoulder for support. The
first boy, standing on the back of the second boy, then leans on the shoulder of the third
boy, reaches up, and gathers the flowers.[36]
In this simile the tall boy who picks the flowers represents concentration with its
function of unifying the mind. But to unify the mind concentration needs support: the
energy provided by right effort, which is like the boy who offers his back. It also
requires the stabilizing awareness provided by mindfulness, which is like the boy who
offers his shoulder. When right concentration receives this support, then empowered by
right effort and balanced by right mindfulness it can draw in the scattered strands of
thought and fix the mind firmly on its object.
Energy (viriya), the mental factor behind right effort, can appear in either
wholesome or unwholesome forms. The same factor fuels desire, aggression, violence, and
a