The Road to Nirvana Is Paved with Skillful Intentions

– Thanissaro Bhikkhu

There’s an old saying that the road to hell is paved with good intentions, but that’s not really the case. The road to hell is paved with intentions that are careless, lustful, or mean. Good intentions — in proportion to their true goodness — tend toward heavens of pleasure. So why do they have such a bad reputation? For three main reasons. One is that not all good intentions are especially skillful. Even though they mean well, they can be misguided and inappropriate for the occasion, thus resulting in pain and regret. A second reason is that we often misunderstand the quality of our own intentions. We may mistake a mixed intention for a good one, for instance, and thus get disappointed when it gives mixed results. A third reason is that we easily misread the way intentions yield their results — as when the painful results of a bad intention in the past obscure the results of a good intention in the present, and yet we blame our present intention for the pain. All these reasons, acting together, lead us to become disillusioned with the potential of good intentions. As a result, we either grow cynical about them or else simply abandon the care and patience needed to perfect them.

One of the Buddha’s most penetrating discoveries is that our intentions are the main factors shaping our lives and that they can be mastered as a skill. If we subject them to the same qualities of mindfulness, persistence, and discernment involved in developing any skill, we can perfect them to the point where they will lead to no regrets or damaging results in any given situation; ultimately, they can lead us to the truest possible happiness. To train our intentions in this way, though, requires a deep level of self-awareness. Why is that? If you look carefully at the reasons for our disillusionment with good intentions, you’ll find that they all come down to delusion: delusion in how we formulate our intentions, delusion in how we perceive our intentions, and delusion in how we attend to their results. As the Buddha tells us, delusion is one of the three main roots for unskillful mental habits, the other two being greed and aversion. These unskillful roots lie entangled with skillful roots — states of mind that are free of greed, aversion, and delusion — in the soil of the untrained heart. If we can’t isolate and dig up the unskillful roots, we can never be fully sure of our intentions. Even when a skillful intention seems foremost in the mind, the unskillful roots can quickly send up shoots that blind us as to what’s actually going on.

If we were to sketch this state of affairs, the picture would look something like this: The straight road to hell is paved with bad intentions, some of which may look good to a casual glance. Roads paved with good intentions, leading to heavens of pleasure — some of them quite skillful — branch off on either side of the way, but all too often they get lost in an underbrush of unskillfulness and we find ourselves back on the road to hell. The Buddha’s discovery was that if we nourish the skillful roots, they can grow and effectively block the road to hell; if we cut away the underbrush of unskillfulness and dig out its roots, we can develop our good intentions to higher and higher levels of skill until ultimately they bring us to a happiness totally unlimited, beyond any further need for a path.

The most basic step in this process is to make sure that we stay off the road to hell. We do this through the practice of generosity and virtue, consciously replacing unskillful intentions with more skillful ones. We then refine our intentions even further through meditation, digging up the roots of greed, aversion, and delusion to prevent them from influencing the choices shaping our lives. Greed and anger are sometimes easy to detect, but delusion — by its very nature — is obscure. When we’re deluded, we don’t know we’re deluded. That’s why meditation has to focus on strengthening and quickening our powers of mindfulness and alertness: so that we can catch sight of delusion and uproot it before it takes over our minds.

The Buddha’s most basic meditation instructions for refining intention start, not on the cushion, but with the activity of daily life. They are contained in a discourse to his young son, Rahula, and attack the Catch-22 of delusion through two approaches. The first is what the early Buddhist texts call “appropriate attention” — the ability to ask yourself the right questions, questions that cut straight to the causes of pleasure and pain, without entangling the mind in needless confusion. The second approach is friendship with admirable people — associating with and learning from people who are virtuous, generous, and wise. These two factors, the Buddha said, are the most helpful internal and external aids for a person following the path.

In essence, the Buddha told Rahula to use his actions as a mirror for reflecting the quality of his mind. Each time before he acted — and here “acting” covers any action in thought, word, or deed — he was to reflect on the result he expected from the action and ask himself: “Is this going to lead to harm for myself and others, or not?” If it was going to be harmful, he shouldn’t do it. If it looked harmless, he could go ahead and act. However, the Buddha cautioned Rahula, he shouldn’t blindly trust his expectations. While he was in the process of acting, he should ask himself if there were any unexpected bad consequences arising. If there were, he should stop. If there weren’t, he could continue his action to the end. Even then, though, the job of reflection wasn’t finished. He should also notice the actual short- and long-term consequences of the action. If an action in word or deed ended up causing harm, then he should inform a fellow-practitioner on the path and listen to that person’s advice. If the mistaken action was purely an act of the mind, then he should develop a sense of shame and disgust toward that kind of thought. In both cases, he should resolve never to make the same mistake again. If, however, the long-term consequences of the original action were harmless, he should take joy in being on the right path and continue his training.

From this we can see that the essential approach for uncovering delusion is the familiar principle of learning from our own mistakes. The way the Buddha formulates this principle, though, has important implications, for it demands qualities of self-honesty and maturity in areas where they are normally hard to find: our evaluation of our own intentions and of the results of our actions.

As children we learn to be dishonest about our intentions simply as a matter of survival: “I didn’t mean to do it,” “I couldn’t help it,” “I was just swinging my arm and he got in the way.” After a while, we begin to believe our own excuses and don’t like to admit to ourselves when our intentions are less than noble. Thus we get into the habit of not articulating our intentions when faced with a choice, of refusing to consider the consequences of our intentions, and — in many cases — of denying that we had a choice to begin with. This is how addictive behavior starts, and unskillful intentions are given free rein.

A similar dynamic surrounds our reactions to the consequences of our actions. We start learning denial at an early age — “It wasn’t my fault,” “It was already broken when I lay down on it” — and then internalize the process, as a way of preserving our self-image, to the point where it becomes our second nature to turn a blind eye to the impact of our mistakes.

As the Buddha points out, the end of suffering requires that we abandon craving and ignorance, but if we can’t be honest with ourselves about our intentions, how can we perceive craving in time to abandon it? If we can’t face up to the principle of cause and effect in our actions, how will we ever overcome ignorance? Ignorance is caused less by a lack of information than by a lack of self-awareness and self-honesty. To understand the noble truths requires that we be truthful with ourselves in precisely the areas where self-honesty is most difficult.

It also requires maturity. As we examine our intentions, we need to learn how to say no to unskillful motives in a way that’s firm enough to keep them in check but not so firm that it drives them underground into subconscious repression. We can learn to see the mind as a committee: the fact that unworthy impulses are proposed by members of the committee doesn’t mean that we are unworthy. We don’t have to assume responsibility for everything that gets brought to the committee floor. Our responsibility lies instead in our power to adopt or veto the motion.

At the same time, we should be adult enough to admit that our habitual or spontaneous impulses are not always trustworthy — first thought is not always best thought — and that what we feel like doing now may not give results that will be pleasant to feel at a later date. As the Buddha said, there are four courses of action that may be open to us at any particular time: one that we want to do and will give good results; one that we don’t want to do and will give bad results; one that we want to do but will give bad results; and one that we don’t want to do but will give good results. The first two are no-brainers. We don’t need much intelligence to do the first and avoid the second. The measure of our true intelligence lies in how we handle the last two choices.

Examining the results of our actions requires maturity as well: a mature realization that self-esteem can’t be based on always being right, and that there’s nothing demeaning or degrading in admitting a mistake. We all come from a state of delusion — even the Buddha was coming from delusion as he sought Awakening — so it’s only natural that there will be mistakes. Our human dignity lies in our ability to recognize those mistakes, to resolve not to repeat them, and to stick to that resolution. This in turn requires that we not be debilitated by feelings of guilt or remorse over our errors. As the Buddha states, feelings of guilt can’t undo a past error, and they can deprive the mind of the strength it needs to keep from repeating old mistakes. This is why he recommends an emotion different from guilt — shame — although his use of the word implies something totally unlike the sense of unworthiness we often associate with the term. Remember that both the Buddha and Rahula were members of the noble warrior class, a class with a strong sense of its own honor and dignity. And notice that the Buddha tells Rahula to see his past mistakes, not himself, as shameful. This implies that it’s beneath Rahula’s dignity to act in ways that are less than honorable. The fact that he can see his actions as shameful is a sign of his honor — and is also a sign that he’ll be able not to repeat them. This sense of honor is what underlies a mature, healthy, and productive sense of shame.

At first glance, we might think that continual self-reflection of this sort would add further complications to our lives when they already seem more than complicated enough, but in fact the Buddha’s instructions are an attempt to strip the questions in our minds down to the most useful essentials. He explicitly warns against taking on too many questions, particularly those that lead nowhere and tie us up in knots: “Who am I? Am I basically a good person? An unworthy person?” Instead, he tells us to focus on our intentions so that we can see how they shape our life, and to master the processes of cause and effect so that they can shape our life in increasingly better ways. This is the way every great artist or craftsman develops mastery and skill.

The emphasis on the intentions behind our actions and their resulting consequences also carries over from daily life onto the meditation seat, providing our meditation with the proper focus. In examining our actions in terms of cause and effect, skillful and unskillful, we are already beginning to look at experience in line with the two sets of variables that make up the four noble truths: the origination of stress (unskillful cause), the path to the cessation of stress (skillful cause), stress (unskillful effect), and the cessation of stress (skillful effect). The way the Buddha recommended that Rahula judge the results of his actions — both while doing them and after they are done — echoes the insight that formed the heart of his Awakening: that intentions have results both in the immediate present and over time.

When we look at the present moment from this perspective, we find that our experience of the present doesn’t “just happen.” Instead, it’s a product of our involvement — in terms of present intentions, the results of present intentions, and the results of past intentions — in which present intentions are the most important factor. The more we focus on that involvement, the more we can bring it out of the half-light of the subconscious and into the full light of awareness. There we can train our intentions, through conscious trial and error, to be even more skillful, enabling us to lessen our experience of suffering and pain in the present. This is how skillful intentions pave the road to mental health and well being in the ordinary world of our lives.

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Why Intention Is So Important in Meditation

– Christina Feldman

With samadhi, there is a space to investigate and understand Mara, the personification of the patterns of mind that bind us to distress. We can begin to do this with applied intention and attention. We set the intention to be present with just one breath, one moment, but we find that our attention does slip away. So we reapply it. We renew those intentions. We don’t make one intention to be kind or one intention to be patient and think that that’s it. We learn to apply and reapply, moment to moment, with an effort that is calm and caring.

Attitude is so important. We are on a path that requires depths of patience and caring, and it is a path that has a direction: awakening and the end of distress.

Take this quote from the Digha Nikaya. The Buddha says: 

When there is appreciation, joy is born. When the mind is joyful, the body calms down. When the body calms, it feels happiness, and when there is happiness, the mind gathers.

Through the willingness to apply and reapply intention and attention, we begin to see the emergence of our capacity to sustain intention and attention, and the possibility of samadhi. This has profound implications, not only just for our practice but also for the whole of our lives.

A well-trained mind is one that is no longer governed by Mara but is guided by sustained intention. It is a mind that has the capacity to see clearly and reflectively. 

The Buddha speaks of the three wise intentions to cultivate and sustain: the intentions of kindness, compassion, and nonclinging. These intentions can guide our speech, thoughts, and actions. They also have extended families. A well-trained mind is a mind that’s a true friend. A place of ease, stillness, spaciousness, and responsiveness. 

A Practice

Settle into a posture where you can feel easeful and wakeful, where the body feels to be a friend. Establish a sense of groundedness, collectedness, and gatheredness. Intentionally cultivate calm abiding in the midst of all things, whatever agitations might be present, whatever sense of contractedness or busyness might be present. 

Introduce that clear intention to cultivate calm abiding with kindness, compassion, and nonclinging. With each out-breath, breathe out agitation, breathe out busyness. Allow the mind to settle in, to join the body in this cultivation of calm abiding. 

Just listen to the mind-heart of the moment, sensing whether any of the veiling factors are present. Is there a sense of discontent, of wanting a better moment, a better body, or a better mind? Is there a pattern of ill will, frustration, impatience, tightness, pushing away, or resisting? Is there a mood of agitation, worrying, busyness, or restlessness in the body or mind? Is there a pattern of dullness, numbness, or disconnection? Is there a mood or a pattern of doubt, uncertainty, or floundering? 

It is in the midst of these factors that we cultivate clear intention and wise attention. In the midst of this, we give greater authority to our intentions and attention rather than to whatever mood or veiling factor is present. In the midst of this, we can settle in the groundedness of the body. In the midst of this, we can cultivate a mind-heart of kindness, compassion, and nonclinging. We explore what it is to be undiverted, to not feed those patterns of thought. We let them be: arising and passing, applying and reapplying the intention to be present in the body of the moment, to calm the agitations, to cultivate stillness, wellness, and easefulness. 

We apply and reapply those intentions and attention many times. In all the moments we find ourselves diverted or forgetful, we come back. 

We discover we can return, celebrating and appreciating a capacity to return, to come back, to collect, and to gather. Begin to steady those intentions and attention. Appreciate what it is to abide in calmness, collectedness, and gatheredness; to be ungoverned by Mara; to be ungoverned by patterns of reactivity; to calm the storms. 

Breathe in and out with kindness. Breathe in and out with care. Breathe in and out with the clarity of intention, to know this moment just as it is; to know this breath just as it is; to know this body, mind, heart, and moment just as it is. 

Continue with this practice, if you wish, or emerge if that is appropriate for you, not leaving behind that sense of gatheredness and collectedness. Not leaving behind that field of skillful intention.

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Intentional action

-The Buddha

— AN 6.63

“Intention, I tell you, is kamma. Intending, one does kamma by way of body, speech, & intellect.”

Taking responsibility for one’s actions

“‘I am the owner of my actions (kamma), heir to my actions, born of my actions, related through my actions, and have my actions as my arbitrator. Whatever I do, for good or for evil, to that will I fall heir’…

“[This is a fact that] one should reflect on often, whether one is a woman or a man, lay or ordained…

“Now, based on what line of reasoning should one often reflect… that ‘I am the owner of my actions (kamma), heir to my actions, born of my actions, related through my actions, and have my actions as my arbitrator. Whatever I do, for good or for evil, to that will I fall heir’? There are beings who conduct themselves in a bad way in body… in speech… and in mind. But when they often reflect on that fact, that bad conduct in body, speech, and mind will either be entirely abandoned or grow weaker…

“A disciple of the noble ones considers this: ‘I am not the only one who is owner of my actions, heir to my actions, born of my actions, related through my actions, and have my actions as my arbitrator; who — whatever I do, for good or for evil, to that will I fall heir. To the extent that there are beings — past and future, passing away and re-arising — all beings are the owner of their actions, heir to their actions, born of their actions, related through their actions, and live dependent on their actions. Whatever they do, for good or for evil, to that will they fall heir.’ When he/she often reflects on this, the [factors of the] path take birth. He/she sticks with that path, develops it, cultivates it. As he/she sticks with that path, develops it and cultivates it, the fetters are abandoned, the obsessions destroyed.”

— AN 5.57

Kamma should be known and understood

“‘Kamma should be known. The cause by which kamma comes into play should be known. The diversity in kamma should be known. The result of kamma should be known. The cessation of kamma should be known. The path of practice for the cessation of kamma should be known.’ Thus it has been said. In reference to what was it said?

“Intention, I tell you, is kamma. Intending, one does kamma by way of body, speech, & intellect.