Deceptions - Part 2

Before we explore the remaining forms of subtle deception in the mind, let’s briefly recall what we covered in Part 1. There we looked at how unwholesome states can masquerade as wholesome qualities: how attachment to lust might feel like loving-kindness, how grief can appear as compassion, how even equanimity can be shadowed by indifference and so on. The Buddha’s teachings point out these deceptions so that we become more aware of how easily the mind can be led astray when we mistake the unwholesome for the wholesome. With that foundation, we now turn to the remaining disguises: the ways the unwholesome hides under pleasing appearances, subtly diverting us from genuine development on the Noble Eightfold Path.

21. Unfriendliness disguised as noble restraint in speech.

Mitabhāṇitāpatirūpatāya asammodanasīlatā vañceti - Unsociable conduct deceives by taking on the appearance of measured speech.

It is admirable to speak after careful reflection, choosing one’s words with care and wisdom. Yet this same quality can quietly slide into a fault when one begins to value one’s own speech too highly and becomes overly restrained. When that happens, simple and friendly words fall away, and the warmth that sustains human connection is lost. What presents itself as restraint then becomes a lack of basic courtesy and friendliness.

In everyday encounters, people naturally exchange simple phrases such as, “How are you? Are you well? Is everything going smoothly?” This warm and connecting way of speaking is known as sammodaniyā-kathā, speech that gladdens and builds harmony. Even the Buddha greeted monks in this way, asking, “Bhikkhu, are you keeping well? Are you managing comfortably?” He was never cold or distant, and he never ignored those who came before him.

By contrast, a person who is excessively reserved may see such greetings as unnecessary and avoid them altogether. At that point, restraint stiffens into coldness, and one falls into asammodanasilatā: poor social conduct. Measured speech is wholesome, but it must not become extreme. There is a proper time for friendly and joyful speech, and when warmth is called for, one should speak with warmth rather than stand back calculating every word.

22. Friendly speech disguised as deceit and fraud (māyā-sāṭheyya).

Sammodanasīlatāpatirūpatāya māyā sāṭheyyañca vañceti – One seems to be expressing appreciation for good actions, but in fact one is deceiful and fraudulent (māyā-sāṭheyya).

Māyā means hiding one’s faults, covering up what is actually present. A familiar example is a thief who presents himself as honest. He remains a thief, yet wears the appearance of virtue.

Sāṭheyya, by contrast, is the active disguising of one’s true nature. It is the pretence of possessing qualities one does not have, such as someone without virtue acting as though they are virtuous, or someone without concentration presenting themselves as deeply meditative.

Although distinct, māyā and sāṭheyya operate together as forms of deception. When a person speaks sweetly and sociably while hiding faults or pretending to virtues they do not possess, hypocrisy takes on the appearance of friendliness and quietly deceives the mind. A smooth and charming manner can easily conceal inner dishonesty. For example, a teacher may praise others warmly and speak in gentle tones while privately pursuing status, money, or admiration, using pleasant words to secure loyalty rather than to express genuine goodwill. So, when maintaining good relations becomes the highest priority, a person may begin to say whatever pleases others, blending truth with untruth. In this way, what looks like friendliness gradually hardens into māyā and sāṭheyya.

23. Harsh speech disguised as admonishment.

Niggayhavāditāpatirūpatāya pharusavācatā vañceti – One seems to be giving admonishment, but in fact one is indulging in harsh speech.

The Buddha said: “Associate with the wise teacher who points out your faults and admonishes you, like one who shows you hidden treasure. Do not associate with those who merely flatter you.” A true teacher points out faults clearly and firmly, warning of the consequences of unwholesome behaviour. Such admonishment is valuable and should be welcomed.

However, there is a danger here. Firm correction can be overtaken by harsh speech (pharusavācā). When the tone becomes rough, cutting, or cruel, what should have been compassionate guidance turns into unwholesome speech. Harshness then disguises itself as helpful admonishment. Harsh speech includes swearing, insulting, belittling, or speaking with cruelty. It usually arises from anger. Saying, “You fool, you are worse than an animal,” when driven by anger, is harsh speech. But saying calmly, without anger, “If you continue behaving like this, you will become a person of no more worth than an animal,” is admonishment aimed at correction.

Even the Buddha, when firmly admonishing monks who acted wrongly, sometimes used the term mogha-purisa, meaning an empty or worthless person. This was not abuse, but niggayha-vācā, strong corrective speech spoken with compassion and wisdom, aimed at stopping harm and awakening the person to their own conduct rather than humiliating them.

The key difference lies in intention and purpose: words arising from anger seek to wound, dominate, or discharge irritation are harsh speech. But, words arising from compassion and wisdom seek to correct, protect, and guide are genuine admonishment.

24. Negative fault-finding disguised as censuring unwholesome actions.

Pāpagarahitāpatirūpatāya paravajjānupassitā vañceti – One seems to be pointing out what is wrong for others’ benefit, but in fact one is indulging in fault‑finding.

To censure or denounce what is unwholesome is to censure unwholesome dhamma: misconduct, wrong behaviour, and corrupt states of mind. Even the Blessed One himself spoke in denunciation of bad and unwholesome states. The unwholesome mental states that arise in one’s own mental continuum must also be censured. One should repeatedly and mindfully reflect:“It is not good to maintain such an unwholesome state of mind; it is not good to act in this way.” However, very close to this wholesome censure is paravajjanupassitā: the tendency to look for the faults of others. What begins as pointing out what is unwholesome can subtly become mere fault-finding. If one constantly searches for faults and sees only faults, this is not beneficial.

“Paravajjanupassissa niccaṃ ujjhānasaññinoāsavā tassa vaḍḍhanti ārā so āsavakkhayā.”

For one who is always fault-finding and who continually looks at the faults of others, the defilements increase, and that person moves further away from their destruction.

Looking at the faults of others and condemning what is unwholesome appear similar, but they are not the same. What is unwholesome should indeed be condemned; no unwholesome dhamma deserves praise. Yet merely looking at the faults of others brings no benefit to the one who looks.

When we wish to point out wrongdoing, misconduct, or unwholesome states, there are two possible ways of speaking:

• Dhamma-adhiṭṭhāna - speaking about the unwholesome quality itself.

• Puggala-adhiṭṭhāna - speaking about the person who possesses that quality.

It is far better to speak in terms of dhamma rather than to judge the person. Speaking against a person is often unwholesome when we do not know the right conditions, the right time, or the right way to speak.

Sometimes, however, a person and their qualities cannot be separated. For this reason, even the Buddha at times spoke directly about individuals. In the case of Devadatta, rather than speaking only about the unwholesome states that had arisen, the Buddha explicitly stated that Devadatta would fall into the lower realms and could not be helped. Such speech would be extremely difficult for an ordinary person to accept. 

Why, then, did the Buddha speak in this way? Because he knew precisely the right time, the right audience, and the right effect that such words would have. His speech was not impulsive, emotional, or careless; it was measured, deliberate, and rooted in complete knowledge of conditions. Even if Devadatta disliked what was said, the Buddha knew that it was the only truthful and appropriate thing to say at that moment. Ordinary people do not possess such perfect insight into timing and conditions, and therefore it is far safer and wiser for us to avoid speaking against persons. In this matter, the Buddha is the exception.

Another example is Venerable Subhūti, a fellow monk of Anuruddha. He never spoke in terms of persons. He would say that greed is bad, but not that a greedy person is bad. He would say that hatred is bad, but not that a hateful person is bad. He spoke only of the fault in the quality itself: greed, hatred, delusion, and conceit. This is dhamma-adhiṭṭhāna. One who speaks in this way is said to live without stirring up defilements in oneself or in others.

It should also be understood that the Buddha and the arahants have completely destroyed all defilements and are entirely free of faults. Yet when we hear their words, especially when they admonish, it can sometimes sound as though faults are still present. This is only a matter of appearance; their intentions are always perfectly pure.

25. Stinginess regarding one’s family (kula-macchariya) disguises as kindness and concern for the family.

Kulānuddhayatāpatirūpatāya kulamacchariyaṃ vañceti – One seems to be wanting to protect a family from being overburdened or pressured to give, but in fact one is trying to keep the donors for oneself.

To have loving-kindness and concern for one’s family is wholesome. In the same way, a friend may care deeply for a close companion and genuinely wish for their happiness. Yet when that care turns into a need to ‘own’ the relationship, becoming uneasy when the friend spends time with others, or quietly resenting new connections, then a subtle possessiveness has arisen. This is kula-macchariya. Kula-macchariya, a type of macchariya (stinginess), means disliking it when those one feels are ‘one’s own’ form close relationships elsewhere.

Whether it concerns a family, friends, or companions, if loving-kindness becomes mixed with possessive jealousy, it is no longer wholesome. If one genuinely wishes for the welfare of others, it does not matter with whom they associate; there will be no jealousy. However, if one discourages an association because the other person is harmful, that is not jealousy, it is just concern for their welfare.

26. Stinginess regarding one’s dwelling (āvāsa-macchariya) disguises as protecting and maintaining a place.

Āvāsaciraṭṭhitikāmatāmukhena āvāsamacchariyaṃ vañceti – One seems to wish for a dwelling to last a long time, but in fact one is unwilling to let others make use of it.

Being attached to a place — one’s house, a donated monastery building, or a community hall — can masquerade as a wish to preserve it. Wanting a place to be well cared for, clean, and long-lasting is wholesome. But āvāsa-macchariya arises when that good intention quietly turns into possessiveness.

Common signs include:

• Feeling irritated when others use a hall you helped to build or donate.

• Disliking certain people visiting your home, not because they cause trouble, but because the place feels “yours”.

• Insisting that only your own group should use a public Dhamma hall, and resenting others who do.

Outwardly this can look like responsible stewardship. Inwardly it is jealousy and possessiveness that is āvāsa-macchariya. What we should cultivate instead is simple, wholesome care: maintain the building properly, keep it clean and in good condition, and rejoice that others can benefit from it.

That's why if we're not careful, two things can become mixed together: the wholesome wish to look after a place, and the unwholesome possessiveness of āvāsa-macchariya. When they are mixed, stinginess can quietly deceive the mind.

27. Stinginess regarding Dhamma (Dhamma-macchariya) disguises as protecting the Dhamma.

Dhammaparibandhapariharaṇamukhena dhammamacchariyaṃ vañceti – One seems to be avoiding the dangers of being a Dhamma teacher, but in fact one is unwilling to share one’s Dhamma knowledge with others.

Here, Dhamma refers only to worldly or mundane Dhamma (lokiya-dhamma), not supramundane Dhamma (lokuttara-dhamma). Noble disciples do not have macchariya. From the moment of Stream-entry, envy and stinginess are eradicated, so there is no Dhamma-macchariya. A Stream-enterer who has realised the Dhamma naturally wishes others to realise it too. Thoughts such as “I do not want others to know this” or “I will not share what I have realised” simply do not occur. Dhamma-macchariya exists only in ordinary worldlings. It means understanding some aspect of the Dhamma yet not wanting to explain it to others, even when asked, out of a grudging attitude. Not wanting others to learn what one has learnt, or to know the texts one knows, is Dhamma-macchariya.

Wanting to protect the Buddha’s teaching from distortion is noble. If one refrains from teaching someone because they would misuse, corrupt, or twist the Dhamma, that restraint is wholesome. Guarding the purity of the Dhamma in this way is right. However, if this slips into a possessive attitude — not wanting others to know what one knows — then it becomes Dhamma-macchariya. It can disguise itself as if one is guarding the Dhamma from harm, but in reality it is meanness of heart towards the Dhamma, and it deceives the mind.

28. Delighting in talking disguises as delighting in teaching the Dhamma.

Dhammadesanābhiratimukhena bhassārāmatā vañceti – One seems to delight in teaching the Dhamma, but in fact one is taking pleasure in talking.

Taking joy in teaching the Dhamma is wholesome. But if one neglects reflection and practice, and spends all one’s time only speaking, then delight in talking has taken over. The Buddha said that delighting in talk is a cause of decline.

A person may become satisfied merely by lecturing and explaining the Dhamma, and there is definitely merit in such wholesome speech, but there must also be time for study, contemplation, and practice. When these are neglected, talking becomes a habit that does not benefit one's progress on the Path. A person who enjoys addressing audiences but does not practise what should be practised can fall into this trap. Then delight in talking, rooted in lobha, disguises itself as delight in teaching and deceives the mind.

After the Blessed One’s Parinibbāna, Venerable Ānanda returned to the places where the Buddha had stayed. At Jetavana he opened the shrine hall, cleaned it, prepared the bedding, and arranged the water vessels. He was deeply devoted and still grieving, being only a Sotāpanna at that time. People came to him in sorrow, asking about the Blessed One. He spoke about the Buddha, comforted them, and gave Dhamma talks that stirred urgency. The day passed in this way.

A deva then warned him: “Why do you spend all your time talking like this? What benefit will it bring? You must also do the work that you yourself need to do.”

“Venerable sir, if you keep spending all your time talking and teaching, it will be difficult for you to attain arahantship. Put forth effort in the practice.”

Even wholesome activities, when done without balance, can become causes for decline. Thus delight in talking can masquerade as delight in teaching the Dhamma. The Buddha taught that one should listen to the Dhamma at the proper time, and discuss the Dhamma at the proper time, as stated in the Mangala Sutta. Because something is good does not mean it should be done at every moment. Right timing is part of the practice.

29. Delighting in company disguises as supporting people.

Apharusavācatāgaṇānuggahakaraṇamukhena saṅgaṇikārāmatā vañceti – One seems to be using warm and friendly speech to support others, but in fact one is delighting in company and socialising.

Enjoying being with others, liking groups, and feeling content only when surrounded by people easily becomes an obstacle. The Buddha did not praise dependence on company. For those in training, delighting in company is a cause of decline because some essential work must be done alone: meditation, reflection, and development of concentration and insight.

Teaching, guiding, and encouraging one’s community out of kindness is wholesome. Yet if, while doing so, one becomes unable to remain quietly alone, then attachment to company has developed. When happiness depends on being with people, rather than on inner steadiness, it becomes unwholesome and quietly undermines the practice.

30. Delighting in activities disguises as a wholesome wish to perform meritorious deeds.

Puññakāmatāpatirūpatāya kammārāmatā vañceti – One seems to be devoted to making merit, but in fact one is delighting in being busy and absorbed in work.

Work and service, when done at the right time and in the right measure, are wholesome. But if one becomes absorbed only in activity — cleaning, organising, repairing, serving — and neglects meditation, study, and reflection, then wisdom does not grow. A common example is someone at a meditation centre who constantly volunteers for chores yet quietly avoids sitting, listening, or contemplating. While others deepen in concentration and insight, this person remains outwardly helpful but inwardly unchanged. Wanting to help others is good, but staying busy all the time can become a way for someone to avoid the inner work that leads to real understanding and insight.

The wish to make merit through service and volunteering is wholesome, but when one never sets aside time for the cultivation of mind and wisdom, delight in work has taken over. This does not create unwholesome kamma, but it does lead to stagnation and gradual decline on the path.

31. Mental distress disguises as sense of urgency (saṃvega).

Saṃvegapatirūpena cittasantāpo vañceti – One seems to be practising with urgency, but in fact the mind is distressed and agitated.

Saṃvega is the deep stirring of the heart and mind that arises from wise reflection on the nature of existence. It is a kind of inner shock born of mindfulness and wisdom, when one sees clearly the danger and futility of saṃsāra and the peril of unwholesome states. For example, someone close to you dies. You suddenly realise that death can come at any moment, without warning. You reflect: “This world is truly fragile and perilous, and I too will soon die.” The mind is shaken with urgency and clarity. This wise, reflective trembling is called saṃvega.

Distress, however, is something different. It is anxious worrying about oneself or others, accompanied by agitation and emotional turmoil. This is unwholesome. Because both saṃvega and distress involve a kind of mental shaking, they are often confused.

Saṃvega arises together with wisdom, moral sensitivity, and clear seeing. One recognises the danger in unwholesome states and the saṃsāra, and feels a strong, lucid urgency to practise. Distress and worry, by contrast, are merely restless agitation and emotional pain. They are rooted in aversion and are accompanied by mental suffering. Therefore, it is important to recognise which state is present in your own mind. If there is only worry and agitation, it is sorrow, not saṃvega. Such distress is bound up with resistance and is therefore unwholesome.

32. Lack of reflection disguises as strong faith.

Saddhālutāpatirūpatāya aparikkhatā vañceti – One seems to be filled with faith or inspiration, but in fact one cannot analyse things objectively.

When faith becomes excessive, the ability to reflect wisely becomes weak. Then one may even believe in things that should not be believed in. Therefore faith and wisdom must be kept in balance. That’s why it is said, “Wisdom makes faith straight.” But, not every kind of faith is always good. Faith without wisdom is blind faith. One may believe in things that should not be believed in, simply because faith has grown too strong while reflection has become weak. Then one will accept and believe anything.

33. Lack of faith disguises as careful investigation.

Vīmaṃsanāpatirūpena assaddhiyaṃ vañceti – One seems to have an analytical mind, but in fact one lacks faith.

A person with the tendency to investigate and analyse does not accept something immediately. They think, “Is this true? Is it not true? Could it be so? Could it not be so?” But when this habit of analysing becomes excessive, it may reach the point where a person no longer believes in anything at all. All faith disappears.

For example, we say there are the three Piṭaka, the five Nikāya. These are recorded in scriptures. Someone may think: “How do we know that the Buddha actually taught these things 2,500 years ago? Who can prove it? How can we be sure this is truly the Buddha’s word?” Thinking like this again and again, the conclusion finally becomes: “I don’t believe it.” Another way this lack of faith appears is when a practitioner refuses to rely on any teacher, instruction, or method unless every step can be verified by their own limited experience or tangible evidence, so they keep changing techniques, doubting guidance, and never committing long enough to anything for understanding to mature. So, if investigation goes too far, you will end up not being able to believe anything.

If you insist that something must be directly seen before it can be believed, then there will be countless things in life you cannot accept. How can you prove through direct experience that there were past lives, or that there will be future lives? If investigation becomes extreme, lack of faith arises.

In many matters, we must act on the basis of faith. Without faith, nothing would function, not even trade or human relationships. And faith is not always wrong; many good things come from trust. This does not mean there should be no reflection. Reflection is needed, but in the right measure.

34. Inability to accept instructions respectfully disguises as self-reliance.

Attādhipateyyapatirūpena garūnaṃ anusāsaniyā appadakkhiṇaggāhitā vañceti – One seems to have confidence in one’s own views, but in fact one does not properly accept the instructions of worthy teachers.

Normally, we should carefully remember and respectfully accept the advice of our teachers, and also value and honour the good guidance of our parents and elders. But if someone does not value their beneficial and valuable instructions, does not remember or follow them, that is unwholesome (here we are talking about worthy instructions only, not harmful ones).

On the other hand, self-reliance in the right sense means guarding one’s morality, cultivating concentration, developing wisdom, and taking responsibility for one’s conduct. However, even those who practise sincerely can slowly fall into an overblown sense of self-importance, measuring their progress against others and feeling conceited, or assuming their understanding is already sufficient. When thoughts such as “I know best” or “Only I know what is good for me” grow strong, respect for teachers, respectable elders or those who are well-informed fades, and one stops listening and applying guidance. Though it appears to be self-reliance, it is actually a lack of respectful acceptance that deceives the mind.

35. Disrespect disguises as honouring the Dhamma.

Dhammādhipateyyapatirūpena sabrahmacārīsu agāravaṃ vañceti – One seems to be applying Dhamma principles, but in fact one lacks respect for one’s companions.

Sometimes a person thinks, “I value only the Dhamma. Apart from the Dhamma, I do not care about anyone else.” On the surface, this sounds admirable — as though the person holds the Dhamma in the highest esteem. Yet if, while holding this view, they ignore, belittle, or dismiss those around them — companions, elders, teachers, or supporters — that person is quietly abandoning the duty of respect.

Such a person may say, “I honour only the Dhamma; people do not matter to me.” They may meditate diligently, study the texts deeply, and speak often about right view. But at the same time they no longer bow to his teachers, no longer listen carefully when elders speak, and no longer treats companions with courtesy. They may interrupt others, speak harshly, or behave as though he alone understands what the Dhamma truly is. In this way, a lack of respect grows while appearing to be devotion.

Consider, for example, a meditator who thinks, “Only meditation matters.” He refuses to help with communal duties, saying, “Sweeping and cooking are worldly things; I am here for Dhamma.” Or a student who disregards his teacher, thinking, “The suttas are my only teacher; I do not need to listen to anyone.” Or a practitioner who looks down on lay supporters, thinking, “They only give food and robes; they do not know real practice.” These attitudes wear the robe of reverence for the Dhamma, but underneath they are simply pride and contempt.

Giving priority to the Dhamma and practising it earnestly is, of course, correct. We should treasure the Dhamma, reflect on it, and live in accordance with it. That is wholesome and necessary. But the Dhamma itself teaches gratitude, humility, and respect. To honour the Dhamma while despising people is to contradict the Dhamma. When such devotion becomes twisted and one-sided — when a person believes that only the Dhamma deserves honour and that those who live, teach, preserve, and support it do not — then this devotion has become distorted. It turns into an extreme view. From that extreme, agārava arises: a subtle but powerful lack of respect for others.

36. Lack of social etiquette disguises itself as living in seclusion.

Asaṃsaggavihāritāpatirūpatāya asaṅgahasīlatā vañceti – One seems to delight in seclusion, but in fact one does not like helping others.

Genuine “dwelling without entanglement with others” (asaṃsaggavihāritā) is a wholesome action that supports meditation, reflection, and abandoning of defilements, and protects the mind from unnecessary stimulation and distraction. However, a lack of social etiquette and basic human consideration is not part of this practice and can sometimes be unwholesome. When a person fails to be kind, supportive, and helpful when the situation calls for it and the conditions are suitable, this is not seclusion but a deficiency of goodwill.

A person may say, “I am practising seclusion; I do not get involved with anyone,” and then neglect the welfare of fellow meditators, friends, family members, or those who are offering support. They may ignore someone who is ill, fail to respond when help is needed, or behave as though other people are merely disturbances to their practice. In reality, this is not noble withdrawal but emotional coldness and a lack of compassion.

The Buddha never taught people to be detached in this way. He did not praise indifference or unkindness. He advised reducing socialising, gatherings, and unnecessary conversation to what is truly beneficial and required for harmony and practice. But when this instruction is taken to an extreme, it produces distance, resentment, and disharmony between people. True seclusion protects one’s own mind while still allowing room for kindness, gratitude, and timely helpfulness towards others.

37. Improper association disguises as community‑mindedness.

Saṅgahasīlatāpatirūpatāya ananulomikasaṃsaggo vañceti – One seems to enjoy helping others, but in fact one is overly fond of company and socialising.

True community-mindedness is the wholesome wish to support, help, and associate with others in a wise and skilful way. It includes friendliness, cooperation, and goodwill. But association for its own sake — simply to be social, to avoid awkwardness, or to “fit in” — is not necessarily wholesome. When one mixes with people, activities, or environments that are unsuitable for the practice, under the idea of merely being friendly or broad-minded, one quietly places oneself on a path of decline.

For example, one should not repeatedly join drinkers in the neighbourhood simply to be polite, save face, or appear sociable. One should not frequent places of intoxication, gossip, or careless behaviour just to avoid seeming distant or unfriendly. In such cases the intention may sound kind — “I do not want to reject anyone” — but the effect is exposure to influences that undermine mindfulness, restraint, and clarity. A person with this attitude may think, “I am just being helpful and social,” yet in reality they are keeping unsuitable company and entering unskilful situations willingly. Over time, this erodes moral sensitivity, weakens restraint, and subtly changes one’s values. What began as friendliness ends as conformity with what is unwholesome.

True community-mindedness does not require sacrificing one’s practice or placing oneself in environments that lead away from the Dhamma.

38. Forgetting to value oneself and the Dhamma disguises as going along with the world.

Lokādhipateyyapatirūpatāya attani dhamme ca paribhavo vañceti – One seems to go along with the majority view, but in fact one lacks trust in one’s own discernment and in Dhamma principles.

This refers to the attitude of simply going along with the majority view, the social current, or what is considered normal and acceptable in the world. Outwardly it looks like flexibility and realism. Inwardly it is often a loss of confidence in one’s own discernment and in the principles of the Dhamma. One forgets to value oneself as a practitioner and to give the Dhamma its rightful place.

Sometimes a person places so much importance on society, reputation, and worldly expectations that he no longer protects his inner life. Work, status, position, and the opinions of others become central. One worries about being respected, about performing well, about appearing successful or important. Gradually these concerns take over the mind. Without noticing it, the Dhamma slips into second place.

The person still lives in the world, but now the world is living inside them. Such a person's choices are shaped more by image, fear of judgement, and the wish to belong than by mindfulness, virtue, and wisdom. This is a form of forgetfulness: the world takes centre stage, while respect for oneself as a practitioner and for the Dhamma fades into the background.

Work and responsibility are not wrong in themselves, but when they dominate the heart to the point that reflection, restraint, and practice are pushed aside, one has been misled by worldly values. True self-respect does not come from how impressive one appears to others, but from living in accordance with the Dhamma.

_________

All these many forms of deception arise because the mind is still coloured by the three poisonous roots. Craving (taṇhā) keeps whispering, “This is mine,” whether it is the body, feelings, possessions, praise, or even Dhamma-related activity. Taṇhā makes us cling so tightly that we are left restless and unsatisfied. It deceives us into thinking that security lies in ownership and possession, when in truth everything is only a passing process of causes and conditions.

Conceit (māna) deceives in another way. It creates the constant sense of “I do, I know, I am capable.” Yet if one reflects carefully, even something as simple as a seed sprouting depends entirely on conditions: soil, water, warmth, and time. In the same way, all experiences and achievements arise through conditions, not through a solid controller. Māna blinds the mind to this. It gives rise to inward boasting, comparison with others, resistance to guidance, and the quiet belief that one’s own way must be right. When this happens, the mind becomes stiff and proud, unable to bow to reality.

Wrong view (diṭṭhi) works even more deeply. It convinces one that there is a real, lasting self behind the five aggregates: a permanent “I” who owns, controls, and experiences. Because of this, beings cling either to the aggregates as self, or to a self that is imagined to exist within them. As long as this view remains, nāma and rūpa are continually misread, and wandering in saṃsāra continues.

Although the deceptions appear in many forms, they are mostly fuelled by these three poisons. They dress themselves up as devotion, diligence, faith, helpfulness, mettā, or love of the Dhamma. Yet beneath these masks, taṇhā wants to possess, māna wants to be important, and diṭṭhi wants to solidify a self. Because anicca, dukkha, and anatta are not yet clearly seen in the aggregates, the mind is easily fooled.

When right view begins to arise and the Noble Eightfold Path is lived, these poisons start to weaken, and as they weaken, the disguises lose their force. Until then, however, craving, conceit, and wrong view will continue to lead beings round and round in saṃsāra, deceived again and again by the very mind they have not yet fully understood.