Deceptions - Part 1

The Buddha said: “Pāpasmiṃ ramati mano — the minds of people delight in what is unwholesome.” Pāpa does not only mean unwholesome deeds; it can also mean the mind delights in the unwholesome qualities that arise within it. 

If you look honestly, you will notice this in yourself. The mind delights in lobha, but not in alobha. It delights in dosa, but not in adosa. It delights in moha, but not in amoha. These are all unwholesome qualities. And when māna (conceit), issā (envy) and macchariya (stinginess) arise, the mind enjoys them too. That is why people sometimes say, “Don’t push me, you’ll see my anger." or “No one is better than me." and so on, and secretly enjoy these states. When the mind joins with such unwholesome qualities, it actually feels satisfied.

Throughout saṃsāra, over an immeasurably long time, the mind has developed a strong habit of flowing along with lobha, dosa and moha, together with other associated unwholesome qualities such as hiri‑ottappa (moral shame and moral dread), paṭigha (ill‑will) and strong sensual desire (rāga). Because of this conditioning, even a mind described as pure still tends to delight in pāpa out of sheer habit. If you look carefully, you will notice that even while meditating the mind can cling to unwholesome thoughts without your realising it. Only through wise attention can you recognise this and gently return the mind to the meditation object so that it becomes wholesome again.

When the mind is drawn away from the unwholesome and steadied on wholesome qualities, it becomes pure and peaceful. For example, when it is joined with ānāpāna practice, the mind becomes free from unwholesome, unskilful states (temporarily). Simply noting the in‑breath and out‑breath allows the mind to settle calmly on the breathing. As the minds of beings tend to lean towards the unwholesome, they must be lifted and drawn towards the wholesome with right effort. Only then do wholesome states occur. Yet, even when the mind has been lifted and placed upon what is wholesome, the unwholesome can still slip in and persuade that it too is wholesome, all the while quietly carrying the mind away. These deceptions are often so subtle that they pass unnoticed. In Pāli literature, this kind of deception is called vañcana.

In the material world we speak of what is genuine and what is imitation. People create imitations that closely resemble the real thing. Although the true and the false may look alike on the surface, their actual value is very different. In the same way, within the realm of Dhamma and reality, there are conditions that resemble the truth so closely that they can easily be mistaken for it. The false may wear the appearance of the true. The unwholesome may wear the appearance of the wholesome.

There are said to be 38 such forms of deception that lead one to mistake the unwholesome for the wholesome. They are mentioned in the commentary to the Nettippakaraṇa in Khuddaka Nikāya. In what follows, we will explore them briefly in two parts.

1. Lust disguises itself as mettā.

   
   

Pāli: Mettāyanāmukhena rāgo vañceti — lust deceives under the guise of loving‑kindness.

This means that lust can take on the appearance of loving‑kindness and deceive the mind.

One must be careful that one’s loving‑kindness is genuine. If it is not true loving‑kindness and one mistakes lust for loving‑kindness, then lust — which is unwholesome — is accepted as wholesome. These two states give completely different results, yet outwardly they can look very similar. Lust and mettā resemble one another, so lust can imitate loving‑kindness and deceive the mind.

When we develop mettā, its “near enemy” is rāga (lust). They look similar, but they are completely different. Mettā is a pure wish for others’ welfare without attachment, arising from clarity and wisdom, and it does not seek anything in return. Mettā is unconditional. Rāga, by contrast, is craving rooted in lobha; it clings and looks only for its own gratification. Because they can appear similar on the surface, lust may disguise itself as loving‑kindness and deceive us. The difference lies in the attachment itself. When sending mettā, if you notice attachment, then it is no longer mettā. The practice ceases to be wholesome and becomes unwholesome.

Mettā is does not depend on whether the other person behaves well, agrees with us, pleases us or remains close to us. It simply wishes, “May this being be happy and free.” Rāga, however, is conditioned in many ways. It depends on certain qualities, moods, appearances and benefits of oneself and the other. With rāga, we like a person because they satisfy our preferences, support our views or give us pleasure. When those conditions change, the craving weakens, turns into disappointment and can become anger. This is one reason why many relationships fall apart: what was assumed to be love rooted in mettā was just rāga, seeking gratification for oneself. When the expected gratification is no longer there, the so‑called love fades. True mettā, grounded in wisdom, does not fade in this way because it is not built upon conditions.

2. Grief disguises itself as karuṇā.

   
   

Pāli: Karuṇāyanāpatirūpena soko vañceti — grief deceives under the guise of compassion.

Karuṇā means compassion, a gentle, caring response to suffering. Soka means sorrow or anxious grieving. They sit very close together. Sorrow tends to arise towards those to whom we are attached, while compassion is simply care for one who suffers. Compassion is pure. Sorrow, however, is mixed with distress and aversion. What begins as compassion can quietly turn into sorrow, and sorrow can pretend to be compassion and mislead the mind.

So karuṇā means simply caring for others and wishing that they be freed from suffering. It arises from seeing suffering as it is with wisdom, and responding to it with gentleness and empathy. Grief, however, is not like this. It carries a sense of heartbreak, tightness and heaviness about what has happened. It is often bound up with attachment and aversion — we grieve because we cannot accept what has occurred or fear losing what we hold dear. In true karuṇā there is no such grieving. One does not delight in seeing another suffer because there is only the noble and unwavering wish that they be released from suffering, whether or not our wish is fulfilled.

3. Craving disguises itself as muditā.

   
   

Pāli: Muditāvihārapatirūpena pahāso vañceti — craving deceives under the guise of appreciative joy.

Muditā means this: when we see someone who is growing, progressing, successful or prosperous, we are truly glad for them. It is noble and pure. We rejoice in their success. For example, when someone succeeds, we sincerely congratulate them and genuinely share their happiness.

Its opposite is called pahāsa, which is laughter and excited pleasure driven by craving. That kind of pleasure can imitate muditā. So when you are not simply happy for others’ success but the mind clings to it, wanting yourself to be in that position and enjoy those fortunes, it is no longer muditā.

4. Indifference disguises itself as upekkhā.

   
   

Pāli: Upekkhāvihārapatirūpena kusalesu dhammesu nikkhittachandatā vañceti — indifference deceives under the guise of equanimity.

Upekkhā as a brahmavihāra is a noble state of calm balance. True upekkhā means remaining even‑minded towards the behaviour of people and conditioned phenomena. Whether others praise or blame us, we remain calm. Whatever happens around us, we keep our inner attitude steady. This even‑mindedness, not reacting with liking or disliking, is called upekkhā. When criticised we do not fall into hatred; when praised we do not cling. We keep the same balanced mind in all situations.

However, there is another kind of so‑called “upekkhā” that is actually indifference. This is when we simply do not care. Whether things are wholesome or unwholesome, we ignore them, we do not value them, and we do not acknowledge good qualities. When it turns into this kind of careless disregard, we can lose interest even in wholesome actions. For example, we no longer feel inclined to give, to help or to do good. We become a person who does not care about anything.

So upekkhā means equanimity towards beings, not indifference towards goodness. If we are indifferent even towards wholesome qualities that we should cultivate when living with others, we fall into an unwholesome state. The absence of the desire to do good masquerades as upekkhā.

5. Sensual craving disguises itself as freedom from repulsiveness.

   
   

Pāli: Appaṭikkūlasaññāmukhena kāmacchando vañceti — sensual craving deceives under the guise of non‑repulsiveness.

When the mind labels something as “not unpleasant”, sensual desire (kāmacchanda) can quietly slip in and mislead the mind. Even when something is naturally unattractive or disgusting, simply viewing it as not repulsive can be enough for craving to arise.

For example, if someone said, “If you collect ten bags of rotting food waste, I will give you ten thousand dollars,” many people would go and collect it. In that moment, the rotting waste no longer appears disgusting because the mind is already focused on the reward. What was previously repulsive now seems acceptable, even attractive. In this way sensual desire arises. The mind of an ordinary worldling changes like this again and again, because a worldling cannot yet fully master the mind. By contrast, the mind of a Noble disciple who has seen the Noble Truths does not sway about in this way; perception remains more stable, and twisted craving cannot so easily intrude. This is also how distorted sensual desire develops in beings: when the sense of repulsiveness fades, they begin to find delight even in objects that are naturally repulsive, and may be drawn towards dangerous actions and misconduct without fully recognising the danger. 

When sensual desire enters on the basis of this “non‑repulsive” perception, it does not stop there. It grows into craving and strong desire. As a result, the valuable perception of repulsiveness, which normally helps restrain the mind, is lost, and sensual craving takes its place.

6. Ill‑will disguises itself as perception of repulsiveness.

   
   

Pāli: Paṭikkūlasaññāpatirūpatāya byāpādo vañceti — ill‑will deceives under the guise of the perception of repulsiveness.

Perceiving something as repulsive or unattractive means cultivating paṭikkūla‑saññā, something the Buddha advised in order to eliminate sensual craving. In contrast to the above point, when the perception of repulsiveness give rise to a strong sense of rejection because of unwise attention, it can turn into ill‑will and hatred.

For example, in the perception of the repulsiveness of food (āhāre paṭikkūla‑saññā), one deliberately views food as unattractive so that craving for taste does not arise. But if one keeps noting food as “disgusting, disgusting”, this perception can gradually turn into dislike, and from dislike into anger due to unwise attention. It no longer remains simply a meditation perception. It can grow until it becomes full‑blown ill‑will.

This is how byāpāda (ill-will) deceives us under the guise of paṭikkūla‑saññā. Therefore, when contemplating the repulsive, it is very important to be mindful so that anger does not arise.

7. Sloth and torpor disguise themselves as samādhi.

Pāli: Samādhimukhena thinamiddhaṃ vañceti — sloth and torpor deceive under the guise of concentration.

Samādhi means one‑pointedness, the gathering and settling of the mind on a single object. However, when the mind becomes settled on one object, thīna‑middha — sloth and torpor — can creep in while pretending to be samādhi. As soon as the mind becomes still, drowsiness may arise. Some even fall asleep. Because the mind is calm and tranquil, thīna‑middha can slip in unnoticed and deceive us in the form of calm. That is why it is said that when samādhi becomes excessive, sloth and torpor enter. So when practising meditation, effort (vīriya) must rouse and energise the mind. When effort slackens, thīna‑middha tends to arise.

For easier understanding: Samādhi is clear, awake tranquillity. Thīna‑middha is heavy, dull stillness. In samādhi, the mind is bright and steady, but in sloth and torpor, it is clouded and unresponsive. Samādhi supports wisdom, but sloth and torpor block it by "sinking" and "suppressing" the mind and associated mental states.

8. Restlessness disguises itself as vīriya.

Pāli: Vīriyārambhamukhena uddhaccaṃ vañceti — restlessness deceives under the guise of energetic effort.

Because energetic effort and restlessness can look similar, uddhacca can deceive us under the appearance of effort. When effort becomes excessive, restlessness arises because samādhi weakens.

Effort is naturally active. It lifts the mind, energises it and keeps it engaged with the meditation object. Restlessness is also active, but in a different way. Instead of directing the mind to the object, it scatters it in many directions. Because both involve movement and mental activity, they can feel similar from the inside. That is why it is easy to mistake restlessness for effort. Proper effort must therefore be balanced with samādhi. Only then is the practice fruitful. If we cannot balance them and effort goes too far, it turns into restlessness, which then hides behind the appearance of energy and deceives the mind.

For easier understanding: Vīriya (right effort) is steady, purposeful energy directed to the object. Uddhacca (restlessness) is scattered energy that keeps jumping from one thing to another. With right effort, the mind feels uplifted yet calm. With restlessness, the mind feels busy and unsettled. Effort supports samādhi. Restlessness weakens and breaks it.m If effort is too weak, the mind will drift or sink; if it is too strong, the mind will also scatter. Therefore, balance is the key.

9. Remorse and worry disguise themselves as a sincere wish to train well in the discipline.

Pāli: Sikkhākāmatāmukhena kukkuccaṃ vañceti — remorse deceives under the guise of keen commitment to training.

Here, “training” (sikkhā) means the Threefold Training taught by the Buddha: sīla, samādhi and paññā. 

Remorse and worry mean anxiety about unwholesome actions one has done, or wholesome actions one has failed to do. This kukkucca easily disguises itself as a noble wish to practise the training perfectly. A sincere desire to follow the precepts and the Dhamma carefully is truly wholesome, arising from confidence and wisdom. The wholesome desire to train (sikkhākāmatā) is calm, steady and confident.

By contrast, excessive self‑questioning, worry and fault‑finding are driven by anxiety (dosa) rather than wisdom; what appears like careful discipline is actually kukkucca unsettling the mind. Outwardly it appears as careful devotion to discipline, but inwardly it is driven by anxiety rather than wisdom.

Kukkucca is tense, worried and unsettled — the mind keeps going back over mistakes or imagined faults. Wholesome desire is supported by faith and wisdom. Excessive self‑questioning is driven by anxiety and subtle aversion. With wholesome desire, training uplifts the mind but with kukkucca, training feels burdensome and stressful. If you notice such mental tension, heaviness or tightness, self‑criticism and doubt is dominating the practice.

10. Doubt disguises itself as careful examination.

    
    

Pāli: Ubhayapakkhasantīraṇamukhena vicikicchā vañceti — doubt deceives under the guise of weighing up both sides.

Careful examination means properly investigating both sides: one’s own opinion on the one hand, and the opinion of others on the other. This kind of careful consideration is good in itself. It is wise to reflect on both sides before deciding. However, vicikicchā is not healthy. In the Buddhist teachings, vicikicchā mainly refers to doubt about what is truly worthy of confidence — such as the Buddha, Dhamma and Saṅgha, the Threefold Training of sīla, samādhi and paññā, and the Four Noble Truths. It is the kind of inner wavering where the mind cannot trust or commit to the path of practice. It does not simply mean ordinary indecision about what to eat or what to do next, although the same hesitant quality can appear there too.

As the saying goes, for the one who keeps analysing, difficulty arises. When we keep thinking but never reach a conclusion, the mind becomes tired and strained. That tired, circling indecision is vicikicchā. Genuine investigation looks, reflects and then allows the mind to settle on what is true; doubt, by contrast, never commits. It keeps questioning the Buddha, Dhamma, Saṅgha, the training in sīla, samādhi and paññā, and even the Four Noble Truths themselves without being able to land on a conclusion. So doubt deceives us by pretending to be balanced investigation, but in reality it weakens confidence and prevents the practice from deepening.

So, outwardly doubt looks like thoughtful reflection, but inwardly it is simply indecision and uncertainty that never settles. With careful examination through proper learning, wise association and reflection, there can still be certainty.

11. Delusion disguises itself as even‑mindedness.

    
    

Pāli: Iṭṭhāniṭṭhasamupekkhanamukhena sammoho vañceti — delusion deceives under the guise of equanimity toward the pleasant and unpleasant.

True even‑mindedness (upekkhā) means that when pleasant things arise, the mind does not chase after them, and when unpleasant things arise, the mind does not resist or collapse. It stays balanced, steady and clear in both situations. This kind of calm impartiality is a sign of a well‑trained and mature mind. But there is another state that looks similar: moha, dull confusion or ignorance. In this state the mind is indifferent not because of wisdom, but because it simply cannot distinguish what is wholesome from what is unwholesome. It ignores both good and bad alike. This is not upekkhā. It is delusion.

So delusion can hide behind the outer appearance of equanimity. Outwardly a person may seem calm and unmoved, but inwardly the mind is dull and unclear, unable to recognise right and wrong.

12. Conceit disguises itself as self‑understanding.

Pāli: Attaññutāmukhena attani aparibhavane māno vañceti — conceit deceives under the guise of self‑knowledge.

Understanding one’s own true benefit means knowing what is genuinely wholesome and conducive to sīla, samādhi and paññā, and then acting in line with that understanding. This kind of self‑knowledge is guided by wisdom and humility. Sometimes, however, what we assume to be for our benefit is not beneficial at all. Holding tightly to the view, “I know what is good for me,” a person may refuse to humble themselves or listen to good advice. They may end up putting themselves first, promoting themselves and placing their own advantage above everything else. What looks like confidence is, in fact, māna (conceit). In this way they become self‑centred, unable to bow, to learn, or to recognise their remaining faults.

There are times when one must deliberately lower oneself. If conceit is not softened, we cannot genuinely respect or honour others, nor admit that we still have more to learn. In the end we only deceive ourselves — and that is the worst deception of all.

13. Wrong view disguises itself as investigation and analysis.

Pāli: Vīmaṃsāmukhena hetupatirūpaka‑pariggahena micchādiṭṭhi vañceti — wrong view deceives under the guise of investigation, by grasping at causes that only seem to be true causes.

Wrong view does not arise only in those who never think. It often arises in those who do think, but whose wisdom is not yet sufficient. When their reflection falls short, they mistake false or fabricated explanations for true causes. Their thinking may appear intelligent and well‑reasoned, yet wrong view quietly creeps in and deceives them.

For example, during the Buddha's time, a monk named Sāti reflected in a wrong way after reading the Jātakas and the Buddha’s life stories. He read that the ascetic Sumedha met the Buddha Dīpaṅkara, received the prediction of Buddhahood, fulfilled the perfections throughout countless lives, and in the end became the Buddha Gotama. Seeing the Bodhisatta appear again and again through many lifetimes, he concluded that the very same person — as if a single little “soul” — passed from life to life and finally entered the body of the Buddha Gotama. This is how the monk Sāti reasoned.

By thinking like this, he grasped at an imitation of a real cause: false cause (hetu-patirūpa). He could not see the true nature of ultimate realtiy (nāma-rūpa) and so, he clung to the idea that the very same hermit Sumedha became the very same Buddha Gotama, as if the mental and material phenomena of Sumedha somehow turned into those of the Buddha. In this way, the wrong view of eternalism (sassata‑diṭṭhi) arose.

How can one be freed from wrong view? Only by seeing with insight knowledge (vipassanā‑ñāṇa). Material and mental phenomena arise, and as soon as they arise, they perish. What has perished does not arise again; it ceases completely. But, because the causes (avijjā and taṇhā) have not yet been exhausted, new phenomena arise continuously. Thus, there is only the continuous process of cause and effect. Nothing permanent passes from one life to another.

So when adequate and proper wisdom is lacking, under the guise of investigation and analysis, by grasping at false or imitation causes, micchādiṭṭhi: wrong view deceives the mind.

14. Divisive speech disguises itself as truthful speech.

Pāli: Saccavāditāpatirūpatāya pisuṇavācā vañceti — divisive speech deceives under the guise of frank truthfulness.

Speaking truthfully means saying what is factually correct. But even if words are true, if they cause division and break harmony, they are still unwholesome.

Divisive speech is when someone hears something from one person and repeats it to another in a way that creates dislike and mistrust. The intention is not to help, but to drive them apart. Usually there is a double aim: the first is to make the two people fall out, and the second is to make both of them favour and trust the speaker instead. So even if the words reported are exactly what was said, the wrong intention turns truthful speech into divisive speech.

This kind of speech is included among the four types of wrong verbal conduct. A person who habitually causes division creates unwholesome kamma, and if the people being turned against each other are virtuous — endowed with good conduct, concentration and wisdom — the fault becomes even heavier. It is like striking something hard: a soft object does little harm, but a stone causes real damage. In the same way, dividing good people, especially Noble ones, causes great damage.

15. Not caring about the welfare of others disguises itself as refraining from divisive speech.

    
    

Pāli: Apisuṇavāditāpatirūpatāya anatthakāmatā vañceti — indifference to others’ welfare deceives under the guise of avoiding divisive speech.

Someone may think, “I avoid divisive speech. I do not stir people up. I do not make one person and another fall out.” This is good conduct. However, using this as a justification, they may also remain silent when speech is actually appropriate — when it is true, beneficial and timely — and not speak even with loving‑kindness or compassion. Hiding behind the attitude, “I am merely avoiding divisive speech,” such silence slips into anattakāmatā: an attitude that does not truly care about the welfare of others and does not act for the good of the many. 

Suppose that, between two people, one is planning to harm the other. If we know this and, fearing divisive speech, say nothing, one side may fall into suffering, or even both may suffer. Depending on the situation, we must weigh things carefully. Extremes are dangerous. Our intention matters, as do truthfulness, the right timing, the way we speak and the actual effect our words will have.

From a single action that appears good, harm can still arise. In the same way, when we stay silent even though we ought to speak — simply because we fear it might count as divisive speech — this becomes an attitude of not truly wishing for the other person’s good. So it is essential that our inner attitude is sound, and that when we do speak, we do so in a way that genuinely benefits others.

16. Flattery disguises itself as pleasant speech.

    
    

Pāli: Piyavāditāpatirūpatāya cāṭukamyatā vañceti — flattery deceives under the guise of kindly speech.

One who speaks kindly uses pleasant speech in a gentle, loving way, with mettā, using words that bring happiness. They say things people like to hear. When pleasant speech is spoken with genuine mettā, it is very wholesome indeed and is a form of speech everyone should cultivate. However, although pleasant speech is good, flattery is different. It means lowering oneself and saying whatever will please the other person, praising them excessively. In doing so, one ends up speaking falsely or deceitfully.

Flattery means raising the other person up while putting oneself down, simply to win their approval. The Buddha taught four qualities that keep communities, organisations and groups united, and one of them is kindly, pleasant speech that brings people together. But when someone speaks only to please, always sweet talking, always agreeing and always saying what the other wishes to hear, that is no longer wholesome pleasant speech. It is flattery.

Whenever one lowers oneself and speaks merely to win favour, saying only what the other person likes to hear, it deceives both speaker and listener and becomes a form of verbal misconduct that is unwholesome.

17. Lack of compassion disguises itself as detachment.

    
    

Pāli: Virattatāpatirūpakena sattesu adayāpannatā vañceti — lack of compassion deceives under the guise of detachment from beings.

Under the appearance of detachment — seeming to be free from attachment — adayāpannatā: the state of being without compassion for living beings, deceives the mind.

We must cultivate karuṇā and empathy towards all living beings; these are noble, wholesome qualities. To lack them, to be unmoved by the suffering of others, is not a right form of mental conduct. At the same time, it is good to be free from attachment and clinging to beings. Freedom from craving and bondage is wholesome. But freedom from attachment is not the same as being without compassion. Non‑attachment is right; heartlessness is not.

So, detachment, in an unwise way, is when someone outwardly appears detached and free from clinging, but inwardly has no compassion and no concern for the welfare of others. That cold indifference disguises itself as detachment and deceives the mind. True detachment always walks together with compassion.

18. Sensual indulgence deceives a rightful sense of use.

Pāli: Anuññāta‑paṭisevanapatirūpatāya kāmasukhallikānuyogo vañceti — indulgence in sensual pleasure deceives under the guise of rightful use of requisites.

19. Not sharing deceives a sense of pure livelihood.

Pāli: Ājīvapārisuddhi‑patirūpatāya asaṃvibhāga‑sīlatā vañceti — unwillingness to share deceives under the guise of purity of livelihood.

20. Wrong livelihood disguises itself as a spirit of generosity.

Pāli: Saṃvibhāga‑sīlatāpatirūpatāya micchājīvo vañceti — wrong livelihood deceives under the guise of generosity and sharing.

These three teachings are especially directed towards monastics, because they relate closely to the use of the four requisites — robes, food, lodging and medicine — and to the purity of livelihood that the Buddha laid down for the Saṅgha. However, some aspects may still be relevant for lay meditators, especially those staying in monasteries or meditation centres under eight or ten precepts.

#18: In brief, the Buddha allowed monastics to make rightful use of the four requisites. They may use what is offered to them in a proper, moderate and mindful way. However, indulgence in sensual pleasure can easily hide beneath this rightful use. When one begins to seek comfort, delight and luxury through pleasant sights, sounds, smells, tastes and bodily sensations, striving for sensual pleasure arises. Without careful reflection, this attachment to pleasure disguises itself as ordinary, permitted use of requisites and deceives the mind.

#19: For monks, purity of livelihood means living honestly and receiving — and also giving — support in a clean and blameless way. Monks are bound by monastic rules that forbid taking, sharing and giving at certain times, under certain conditions and with certain things. Even so, purity of livelihood is undermined when appropriate sharing is withheld under the pretence of maintaining proper conduct and following the rules. For example, when lay people offer alms out of faith, monks should never treat donors as if they were hosts, nor try to extract further gain from what has already been given. If such an attitude arises, purity has already been lost. Sometimes monks even refuse to share and tell themselves, “I am protecting discipline and following the rules.” In truth, that is simply stinginess concealed beneath a noble appearance.

Once during the Buddha’s time, a man arrived at the monastery after the monks had already eaten. He had not eaten all day because he was searching for his lost ox. The Buddha told the monks to give him food first. After eating, his mind became calm, he listened to the Dhamma, and attained stream‑entry. So sharing at the right time is a great blessing. Sometimes sharing even prevents danger. For example, if a ruler or even a bandit arrives and nothing is given, harm may follow.

#20: This leads to the final deception in this group: wrong livelihood hiding under the appearance of generosity. Wrong livelihood for monastics means obtaining material support through improper means, such as inviting people, entertaining them, doing favours with the hidden intention of receiving offerings in return or even handing out things improperly. A monk should simply make use of what has been properly received and share appropriately, always within the boundaries of the discipline. 

For example, it is a wholesome deed for monks to hand out requisites or other necessary things to those in need. But, if something is given or distributed at the wrong time and in the wrong way — for instance, handing Saṅgha property to lay people before it has been properly offered to or shared among the monks, giving money straightaway to other monks or lay people, or storing food beyond the permitted time for sharing — it becomes wrong livelihood. Whatever the practice may be, however kind it may appear, it must not break the monastic rules. When discipline is ignored, even something that seems wholesome and generous can quietly turn into wrong livelihood and deceive the mind.

This same principle also applies to laypeople in relation to the five precepts. At times it may appear kind or convenient to bend a precept — for example, telling a so‑called “white lie” in order to spare someone’s feelings. However, even if the intention seems gentle on the surface, it is still a breach of the training rule against false speech. What looks like compassion can in reality be a subtle form of delusion. If one cannot say agreeable things truthfully, it is better to say nothing at all. Repeatedly breaking the precepts — even in small ways — weakens integrity and creates obstacles in one's meditation practice.

__________

These first twenty deceptions show how easily the mind can mistake the unwholesome for the wholesome. Some of these states appear refined, gentle or even noble on the surface, yet when we look more carefully, we find many unwholesome intentions hiding underneath. Without mindfulnes, wise reflection and wise association, it is very easy to walk in the wrong direction while believing we are on the right path.

The purpose of recognising these deceptions is to deepen clarity so that when we start to clearly understand see how the mind is being tricked, the deception can lose its power. 

In Part 2, we will explore the remaining deceptions and look more deeply so that our journey on the Noble Eightfold Path is powered by confidence in oneself and the Dhamma, understanding and remains unobstructed.