This is an AI-generated transcript from auto-generated subtitles for the video Victory Over Māra with Diana Clark (1 of 3). It likely contains inaccuracies.
The following talk was given by Diana Clark at the Insight Meditation Center in Redwood City, California. Please visit the website www.audiodharma.org for more information.
So, welcome to this class, “Victory over Māra.” This is our first class, and I’m quite excited to explore this with you all. There’s something fun about just poking around in the suttas, taking a theme, and really looking at it from different directions, and then considering how it might be a support for our practice. This is something that I used to do a lot of. I haven’t been doing as much lately as I’ve been doing different types of teaching, but it’s been a lot of fun for me to pull this together and to look at this.
I’m going to share my screen to start because I’m going to throw around the titles of things and names, and these names are in Pāli,1 and it’s hard to remember them. I just want you to be able to read them. There’s no requirement to remember this, but I thought I would share a screen because otherwise, it just starts to feel like a bunch of gobbledygook if you’re hearing all these words in Pāli that you aren’t accustomed to hearing.
Okay, so “Victory over Māra.” This is a distinct saying. I think it’s Māra-vijaya, and it’s something that comes up in a number of places. I just want to give a high-level objective of the course. I don’t want to make this too formal, but I want to point out what this whole idea means for us as practitioners. What does this idea of Māra2 and what does victory even mean for us as practitioners, and how can it be a support for us?
The other part is poking around in some of the early Buddhist literature and exploring different depictions of this story. I first discovered this a number of years ago. Gil Fronsdal3 and I were teaching at a university, a semester-long course on the life of the Buddha, and I was pulling together some canonical sources and some other sources to talk about what happened on the night of the Buddha’s awakening. I discovered there are a number of different versions of this story of Māra encountering the Buddha. I became really interested in this. Usually, in the dharma talks I hear one version, and yet there are a couple of them. Why are there more than one, and how are they different?
So we’ll explore these different depictions and what it means, if anything, that there isn’t a single one. For us as practitioners, do we care? There was a part of me that kind of wants things to be neat and tidy, like, “Okay, this is the story.” But then when you discover there’s a lot of variation, what does that mean about our textual tradition or the authority of the textual tradition? Or do we even care? Do we take a little bit from this story that we like, a little bit from this other story that we like, and make our own story? Or maybe we just don’t even think about it and let the scholars or the dharma teachers worry about that. All of us get to have our own relationship with this, and maybe this can be an opportunity to discover, investigate, and explore what our relationship is to some of these textual traditions, and then, of course, what version of the story is most supportive for our practice.
So what do I mean by this idea of “victory over Māra”? I’m referring to a particular story. This expression has four elements:
This is a really high-level generalization about the story, but I just wanted to set the stage. For me, as practitioners, it’s kind of interesting because if our tradition holds that there was a human being that became awakened, well, what did this human being do that helped them become awakened? If we aspire to have more freedom, peace, and ease in our own life, then it’s helpful to look at the exemplars or the people who have gone before us and what they did. That’s part of what’s interesting about this story for me and for a number of people. There have been a number of scholarly works written about this, but don’t worry, we’re not going to get too scholarly.
This story is depicted in different texts.
This course is three classes, so we’ll do one class on each in this order. Tonight will be the Padhāna Sutta. Next week will be the Nidānakathā, and the Buddhacarita will be the third week.
Just to put this in perspective, here’s the time frame: The Padhāna Sutta is from the Pāli Canon. Scholars like to argue about this, but we could say it’s about the 3rd or the 4th century before the Common Era. The Buddhacarita is the next piece that scholars agree was written, which could be up to 600 years later. And then the Nidānakathā is even after that. All scholars agree the Padhāna Sutta is the earliest version. For us, we can talk about what it means that it’s the oldest. Does it matter? For some people, that is meaningful because they want to get as close to the Buddha as possible. They feel like that’s going to be most authentic.
So this is the end of the PowerPoint presentation. I just wanted you to be able to see these words that I’m throwing around: Padhāna Sutta, Buddhacarita, Nidānakathā.
Before we go on, I’ll just pause for a moment. Are there any questions about the territory that we’ll be covering?
Okay. So, let me ask you. I used this whole idea of the “story” of victory over Māra. The story of Māra approaching the Buddha while he’s trying to become awakened. What does “story” mean to you, as opposed to, let’s say, “myth” or “allegory”? What relationship do you have, what thoughts do you have, what ideas do you have about this idea of a story as opposed to a factual representation? I could have said that too, right? This is coming out of the suttas. Some people would say what’s in the suttas is actually what happened.
(The following is a summary of a discussion with the audience.)
One person suggested that a story can be a teaching tool, like an allegory, for the purpose of conveying a message. It can be helpful without every detail being factually true. Another participant added that a story represents the values and thinking of whoever is telling it, and its truth is internalized through personal experience.
When asked if using the word “myth” would feel different, one person noted that stories and myths are related; one can contain the other. Another participant said they had already assumed it was a myth because the version they heard, with arrows turning into flowers, contained supernatural elements. For them, the literal truth doesn’t matter as much as the teaching behind it.
Another view was that the story of Māra is an invitation to be flexible and apply its meaning as it seems appropriate at any given time, using it as a tool to support practice and understanding of oneself and others. Someone else pointed out that these stories have been handed down over many years, passing through many people and cultures, so it’s hard to know what’s literally true. The value is in taking what we can from them as lessons.
I hold it this way too, and I also want to respect that there are individuals and communities that really hold the Pāli Canon as very sacred and take parts of it, if not all of it, literally. I come from a different viewpoint. Myths are not meant to be taken literally; they are more symbolic and usually have something to do with the cosmos or cultural truths. They are often filled with archetypes and metaphysical truths. A story, on the other hand, could be as simple as, “The Buddha’s back was bothering him, so he went to go lay down and asked Ānanda to teach instead.”
Myths often have these archetypal figures in them. In some ways, maybe we can consider that the Māra figure is an archetype, and maybe the Buddha is an archetype too.
I want to say a little bit about Māra and how he shows up in the Pāli Canon. Many of you are familiar with the trope where Māra goes up to the Buddha, they have some exchange, and the Buddha says, “I see you, Māra,” and then Māra disappears. This appears in a number of different suttas.
There’s also a whole chapter in the Saṃyutta Nikāya where Māra goes up to nuns. In every single one of these encounters, the nun says, “Oh, that’s Māra.” He tries to trick or tempt her, showing up disguised in different ways, and every single one of these nuns says, “I see you, Māra,” and he disappears, unable to dissuade them from their practice. In contrast, there’s another chapter where Māra goes up to the Buddha and some monks. The Buddha, of course, always sees Māra. But it’s fascinating to me that in this chapter, not a single monk recognizes Māra. He tricks every single one of them, and the Buddha has to go and clean it up, saying, “No, no, no, that actually was Māra.”
For me, this is kind of fun and a little bit funny. Sometimes Māra would try to frighten these monks. One time he turned himself into an ox and threatened to stomp on all their alms bowls. They were afraid, but the Buddha said, “No, you don’t have to worry about that.” Another time, Māra made a huge noise that sounded like an earthquake, and all the monks became afraid. The Buddha said, “Oh, no, no, don’t worry. That’s just Māra making sounds.” From my perspective, it’s a playful way that Māra shows up.
I’ll also say that sometimes in the Pāli Canon, Māra shows up representing death, the end of life. I’m not going to say a lot about that because that’s not really the version that we’re going to be looking at in this course. Scholars can tease apart where Māra represents death versus where he represents… well, we’ll talk about what he represents.
With that as an introduction, let’s jump in and start looking at this story, “Victory over Māra.”
I’m going to share the Padhāna Sutta. This is Bhikkhu Bodhi’s translation, but I’ve done some annotations on it to help us.
The suta begins with the Buddha telling a story in the past tense, though the timeline gets a little inconsistent.
“When resolved upon striving I had gone to the Nirañjarā river, as I was meditating very strenuously to attain security from bondage, Namuci4 approached me speaking compassionate words.”
He states that he’s striving for awakening. Namuci is an epithet for Māra. The commentary states that it means “non-releaser.” Isn’t this interesting? Often, we don’t think of the character of Māra as being compassionate. The Pāli word here is karuṇā,5 the word we often associate with compassion.
Māra goes up to the Buddha and says:
“You are thin, pale. You’re on the verge of death. A thousand parts belong to death, one fraction of your life remains. Live, sir. Life is better. And while living, make merits. While you’re living the spiritual life and performing the fire sacrifice, abundant merit is stored up. Why devote yourself to striving?”
Māra approaches the Buddha-to-be and says, “Stop working so hard. You’re working yourself to near death.” He suggests just doing the fire sacrifice, which was part of Brahmanism, the dominant religion of the time. Their idea was just to make merit through the right sacrifices and rituals; you don’t have to work so hard.
“Hard to travel is the path for striving. Hard to practice, hard to achieve.” And speaking these verses, Māra stood in the presence of the Buddha.
This sutta is called “The Striving Sutta.” Isn’t it interesting that it’s not titled after Māra, or about the time right before the Buddha-to-be became awakened? It’s about striving. This notion of striving is repeated a number of times, setting a clear message that the Buddha is working hard. He’s dedicated to this; he’s not being lazy at all. And then Māra comes up to him and says, “You don’t have to work so hard.”
Then a narrator says, “When Māra had spoken in such a way, the Blessed One said this to him,” which is a little curious because he’s not the Blessed One yet. The Buddha-to-be addresses Māra and calls him “kinsman of the heedless, evil one. You came here with a purpose.” It’s like the Buddha is saying, “I see you. I know what you’re up to.”
The Buddha-to-be says:
“I don’t have any need even for the slightest merit. It’s fitting for Māra to speak to those who have need of merits.”
He’s saying, “Go talk to somebody else that might believe what you’re saying. I don’t have any use for what you’re saying.”
The Buddha-to-be continues:
“I have faith and energy too, and wisdom exists in me. When I am so resolute, why do you ask me to live? The wind might dry up even the streams of the rivers. So why, when I’m resolute, should it not dry up my blood? When the blood is drying up, the bile and phlegm dry up. When my muscles are wasting away, my mind becomes even more serene, and my mindfulness and wisdom and concentration become more firm.”
It’s fascinating that the Buddha is talking about how resolute he is and that he’s working with the five faculties: faith, energy, wisdom, mindfulness, and concentration. It’s interesting that he doesn’t call it “the five faculties” and they’re not in the usual order. Scholars would say that these elements showing up not in the usual order and not given the title is often an indicator that the sutta is very early in the tradition of Buddhist literature, before the teachings got systematized and codified into all the lists.
The Buddha-to-be continues:
“While I’m dwelling in such a way, I have experienced extreme pain, yet my mind does not turn to sensual pleasures. Behold the purity of the being.”
Then, the Buddha-to-be says to Māra:
“Sensual pleasures are your first army. The second is called discontent. Hunger and thirst are the third. The fourth is called craving. The fifth is dullness and drowsiness. The sixth is called cowardice. Doubt is your seventh. Your eighth, denigration and pride. Gain, praise, and honor, and wrongly obtained fame is ninth. The tenth is when one extols oneself and looks down at others. This is your army, Namuci, the squadron of the dark one. A weakling does not conquer it, but having conquered it, one gains bliss.”
I would probably translate this word “bliss” as happiness; it’s the Pāli word sukha.6
These armies are not the usual armies we might be used to, like the idea of arrows that get turned into flowers. This is something very different. It’s a list of very human things: sensual pleasure, discontent, hunger and thirst, craving, dullness and drowsiness, cowardice, doubt, denigration and pride, gain, praise, honor, wrongly obtained fame, and extolling oneself while looking down on others.
(Discussion with the audience about the nature of Māra’s armies, with participants noting they are worldly, internal struggles that we do to ourselves, and that Māra acts as a “cheerleader for comfort” rather than a malicious, satanic figure.)
One way to understand it is that the Buddha wants people to become free, and Māra wants people not to become free. The Buddha wants people to no longer be in saṃsāra, this cycle of rebirth. When they are no longer in saṃsāra, Māra has no control over them. But if you’re in saṃsāra, Māra has control over you. So Māra just doesn’t want anybody to leave his domain.
The Buddha-to-be then re-emphasizes his commitment to winning this battle:
“I wear muñja7 grass. Wretched would life be to me. It’s better that I die in battle than live on defeated.”
According to the commentaries, warriors would wear muñja grass to show that they will not retreat. It’s the opposite of a white flag. Incredible determination.
“Some ascetics and brahmans engulfed here are no longer seen. They do not know the path by which the disciplined ones travel… I’ve been seeing the bannered army all around, and Māra with his vehicle ready. I will go out to meet him in battle. May he not dislodge me from my place.”
The Buddha is using this language of battle and army; he sees it as combat, something to overcome. We don’t use this language so much today in dharma talks.
“The world with its devas8 cannot overcome that army of yours. I will destroy it with wisdom, like a fresh clay bowl with a stone.”
This is a little bit of violence, throwing a rock at something made out of clay so it collapses and can no longer function as a bowl. It’s unambiguous.
“Having gained mastery over my intention and with mindfulness well established, I will wander from realm to realm guiding many disciples. And heedful and resolute, those practitioners of my teachings, against your wishes, will go to the state where one does not sorrow.”
The Buddha is predicting that he’s going to win this battle, and not only that, he’s going to teach, and his students are going to become awakened and will no longer be within the purview of Māra. This is a very different version than the stories telling us about the Buddha’s hesitation to teach. I appreciate his confidence and this expression, “I will destroy it with wisdom.” He’s not talking about supernatural powers or violence, but wisdom.
Then Māra speaks:
“For seven years I followed the Blessed One, trailing him step by step, but I have not found an opening in the enlightened one who is mindful… There was a crow that circled around a stone that looked like a lump of fat, thinking, ‘Perhaps we’ll find something tender here.’ But finding nothing tasty there, the crow departed from that place. Just like the crow that attacked the stone, we leave Gotama disappointed.”
So much was he stricken with sorrow that his lute fell from his armpit. Thereupon that sullen spirit disappeared right on the spot.
This is a surprising ending. A lute? Was this being sung? And Māra uses a simile about a crow mistaking a stone for something tasty. It took Māra seven years to discover what the crow would discover quite quickly.
In this one sutta, Māra gets several different names or epithets:
What do you think about the Buddha saying, “I will destroy it with wisdom”?
(A summary of the final discussion with the audience, exploring the idea of Māra as an internal, conditioned self, the encouraging aspect of the Buddha’s seven-year struggle, and modern interpretations of “destroying” or “conquering” versus “integrating” or “dissolving” these internal forces through wisdom and meditative practice. The group also considered the historical context where battle imagery might have been more resonant and inspiring for people facing violence and disarray.)
Next week, we will jump forward 800 years to the Nidānakathā, the commentary to the introduction to the Jātaka tales. It’s the first full biography in the Pāli tradition and is based on the Padhāna Sutta we just looked at. We’ll see what the tradition comes up with next.
Thank you very much. This was fun for me to share with you all, and I hope to see you next week.
Pāli: An ancient Indo-Aryan liturgical language native to the Indian subcontinent. It is the language of the earliest Buddhist scriptures, the Pāli Canon, and the sacred language of Theravāda Buddhism. ↩
Māra: In Buddhism, a demonic celestial king who tempted Prince Siddhārtha (Gautama Buddha) by trying to seduce him with the vision of beautiful women who, in various legends, are often said to be his daughters. In Buddhist cosmology, Māra is associated with death, rebirth, and desire. ↩
Gil Fronsdal: A Norwegian-born American Buddhist teacher, writer, and scholar. He has been practicing in the Sōtō Zen and Vipassanā traditions since 1975 and is a co-teacher at the Insight Meditation Center in Redwood City, California. Original transcript said “Gil Fronstl.” ↩
Namuci: An epithet of Māra, meaning “he who does not let go” or “the non-releaser.” ↩
Karuṇā: The Pāli word for compassion. It is one of the four “divine abodes” (brahmavihāras). ↩
Sukha: A Pāli word often translated as “happiness,” “pleasure,” “ease,” or “bliss.” ↩
Muñja: A type of grass (Saccharum munja) that was used by warriors in ancient India as a sign that they would not retreat in battle. ↩
Deva: A Pāli word for a deity or god. In Buddhism, devas are celestial beings who inhabit heavenly realms, but they are still subject to saṃsāra (the cycle of death and rebirth). ↩
Pāpima: An epithet of Māra, meaning “the evil one” or “the wicked one.” ↩
Yakkha: A broad class of nature-spirits, usually benevolent, who are caretakers of the natural treasures hidden in the earth and tree roots. In the Pāli Canon, they are sometimes depicted as malevolent. The term is often translated as “spirit,” “goblin,” or “demon.” ↩