2.3.5. Māra

“Māra, the Evil One, approaches him who has not removed the stain, who has not mastered his senses, who knows not moderation in eating, who is indolent and weak.”

— Dhammapada 7.9 (translation from the Pāli)

There comes a delicate stage on this path where I must look honestly at what still holds me back. In Buddhist symbolism, this is captured in the figure of Māra — not so much a single demon but the personification of all that keeps beings bound to saṃsāra, the endless wheel of birth and death. Māra represents ill-will, greed, and delusion — the very energies that sustain our conditioned existence.

Unlike the Christian Satan, Māra is not primarily a ruler of hells, though those realms lie within his domain. His true sphere is the aggregate of the skandhas — form, feeling, perception, mental formations, and consciousness — the building blocks of our conditioned life. Māra himself does not trouble to manage the mechanics of saṃsāra. He resides instead in the highest of the desire heavens, a kind of renegade prince among celestial pleasures, surrounded by a retinue that delights in ever subtler creations.

In this, Māra is profoundly materialistic, eager to keep beings fascinated by the parade of conditioned phenomena. Of particular interest to Māra are those who begin to slip his net. The old suttas are strikingly clear on this point: as one progresses along the path to awakening, Māra takes notice. Certain stages of advancement invariably provoke his attention, and skandha demons — perhaps residues of the self left behind by each realisation — arise almost as if the universe itself whispers, “Are you sure?”

For the seeker, the greatest hazard at this point is pride. Insight can swell into conceit all too easily, and Māra exploits this with subtle skill. Whether one believes in an actual malign tempter or not matters little; the reality of spiritual pitfalls is undeniable. Lose your footing in pride, and before long you may find yourself gathering followers and spinning doctrines — the makings of a cult. The simplest safeguard is to refrain from identifying with anything at all. See yourself as this very emptiness. You will not miss awakening by doing so, but it is dangerously easy to mistake a fleeting jhānic absorption or pride-soaked identity for the final fruit.

Before any ultimate realisation, the mind must learn to fall silent. Conceptual ideas of success are Māra’s playground. Whenever I catch my mind wandering into grand fantasies — building futures, rewriting the past, imagining what I could become — I try to gently return to emptiness. Even the notion of having “no identity” is still a concept, yet it serves as a kind of gatekeeper against Māra’s wiles.

It is worth understanding that Māra both exists and does not exist. He is a personification of aspects of saṃsāra that will do almost anything to reclaim our attention. I have found it helpful to develop a kind of relationship with these temptations — not to indulge them, but to recognise them for what they are. Those familiar with the New Testament will hear the echoes: the final temptations in the wilderness, the promise of dominion and glory. We will return to this parallel when we explore the crucifixion and the last temptations in a later chapter.

Recognising Māra’s presence is often enough to disarm him. When something intrudes on meditation with insistent distraction, it is sometimes easier to smile inwardly and name it Māra than to become irritated — which is, after all, precisely his intent. His influence reaches beyond the desire realm, even stirring trouble in the lower Brahmā worlds.

Māra should not be confused with Yama, king of the dead. Yama became a judge of the underworld by simply being the first mortal to die, a reluctant sovereign who listens to cases of lesser wrongdoing. Those whose deeds are monstrous stand little chance, but if mitigating circumstances exist, Yama may yet hear the plea — though he is just as likely to lock one away all the same. It is a faint reminder that mercy has its place even in the cosmic order.

Meanwhile, the king of the North commands fierce beings called yakṣas — demonic yet strictly bound by harsh laws. These earthbound elementals operate under precise codes, tormenting beings only as permitted. Though Māra is lord of materiality, even he does not command this band outright. They remain tied to the dense fabric of the earth.

Throughout, Māra’s aim remains the same: to distract the disciple from progress. He tempts until the gross fetters of material clinging are cut — until one undergoes the crucifixion of the lower appetites upon the Tree of Life and emerges from the Abyss. From that point, Māra’s tactics shift, sending subtler skandha demons tailored to the seeker’s evolving vulnerabilities, continuing to lurk as a “threat” until full arahantship or the later stages of the Bodhisattva path.

So do not trouble overly about whether Māra is real in a literal sense. There is something in the path that tests or seeks to trick you, and it often wears the face of your own thoughts. Recognise this, and you will walk on safely. Fail to see it, and distractions arise that can easily draw you from your work.

In the next chapter, we’ll enter the Dark Night of the Spirit — the last shadows of nigredo before the dawn of albedo.

Māra is both the personification of the forces that bind us to saṃsāra and the subtle play of our own clinging mind. By recognising these temptations without fear or indulgence, the path clears itself. Pride and fantasy fall away, and we continue our journey unburdened, one quiet step at a time.

This text is excerpted from the upcoming book Albedo: A Course in Modern Alchemy. The complete volume will include additional study guides, glossaries, and extended teachings. Learn more about the book here.