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Stories like the infected blood and Post Office scandals offer rare moments of moral clarity in public life. The issue’s clear, the wrong egregious, and the victims clearly blameless. So we unite in outrage. But something troubles me. Why do we identify with the victims rather than seeing ourselves in the legions of failing officials? And what about issues where it’s less clear who’s to blame, like homelessness or the cost of living?

Moral reasoning is important in addressing such questions, but Buddhism, my own tradition, also approaches them in mythic language. Its central myth is the Buddha’s journey to Enlightenment, which Buddhists recall today on the Buddha Day, or Wesak, festival.

The story begins when the Buddha becomes disillusioned with worldly life. He seeks answers in various spiritual traditions, but eventually realises he’ll only find them by looking directly into his own mind. He must set aside prior assumptions, and even the subtlest preferences and reactions.

What happens next is described in various ways. In one version a figure appears named Mara, which means ‘death’ or, sometimes, ‘the Lord of Limitations’. In Buddhist art he’s usually a monster leading an army of demons who hurl their weapons at the Buddha. But, entering his aura, they transform into petals and flutter down harmlessly. In another version, Mara is a silver-tongued tempter who tells the Buddha, ‘Stay in the world. Become a respected citizen. Enjoy the good things. Enlightenment is such hard work.’ The Buddha is unmoved and Mara slinks off saying he feels unsatisfied, like a crow who tries to get food by pecking at a rock.

Mara has no power over the Buddha because the Buddha recognises Mara as a part of himself, his lower nature. The Buddha is immune to temptation because he no longer tells himself a story in which he’s a good person, a plucky outsider, a truth-speaking hero. The famous image of the utterly peaceful seated Buddha represents a state of complete wholeness and integration; but the story of his encounter with Mara suggests that we aren’t entirely pure, wise or compassionate. We should recognise ourselves in Mara as well.

I wonder what it might mean to respond to public scandals and personal struggles in that spirit: not just siding with the victims and demonising the culprits, but recognising our own contribution to the whole big mess.

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