Noble Eightfold Path

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