Ethical Conduct

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
fulfillment. 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 fulfill 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 “loving-kindness,” 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 centered 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 loving-kindness, 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 practice 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
loving-kindness, one of the most important kinds of Buddhist meditation.
The meditation begins with the development of loving-kindness towards
oneself.19 It is suggested that one take oneself as the first object of
metta because true loving-kindness for others only becomes possible when
one is able to feel genuine loving-kindness 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 practiced 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 loving-kindness “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 loving-kindness. Whereas
loving-kindness 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 — practicing 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 [go up]

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 practice 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 favorable 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.thical Conduct