-
- The
Noble Eightfold Path
- The
Way to the End of Suffering
- by Bhikkhu
Bodhi
- Copyright
© 1994 Buddhist Publication Society
The Nobel
Eightfold Path
122 Pages - (PDF - 1.2 MB) - Free Download
The
Noble Eightfold Path — by Bhikkhu
Bodhi
One of the best explanations of
the Eightfold path in print today... 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.
Bhikkhu Bodhi is concise, using as the framework for his
exposition the Buddha's own words in explanation of the path
factors, as found in the Sutta Pitaka of the Pali Canon. |
Contents
(^
= back to table of contents)
Preface
^
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
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