Overcoming Envy and Jealousy

   Envy and jealousy: how do we look at these from a Buddhist perspective? 

 Going back to my previous entry, I looked at how being and doing are often treated as separate entities. On the one hand, a person who is 'only doing' is considered like a machine with no being, while "pure being" is considered also detrimental. To "only be" is to be considered the ultimate form of laziness, and just won't be tolerated in an industrial society.

   More often than not, jealousy and envy are related to the mode of being wanting to be in the mode of doing--especially in the case of the underemployed. How can these tendencies be overcome?

   The problem is more fundamental than simply being envious or jealous. At heart, to be "jealous" or "envious" is to be envious or jealous of something. One wants someone to talk to or something to play with, and seeing others occupied with such things reminds a person of their own terrifying singularity. This reminds me of the god who creates other beings for the sake of company, yet forgets that those "other beings" are nothing more than extensions of its own innermost being. Nobody--not even god-- wants to be alone! And this is where jealousy and envy arise. They are looking at the other as being endowed with something, then seeing oneself as nothing but a singularity, which is frightening and terrifying to the self.

   Perhaps the ultimate resolution of envy and jealousy is the love of solitude. But how does that come about, really? How does one learn the art of solitude without the threat of envy or jealousy looming behind? Love of solitude is not easy in a world where people are pressured to be liked and well esteemed in communities, to the point where the community itself assumes the highest moral standard. But the alternative of not learning to love singularity itself--the lonely "One"--is a kind of crippling dependence on communities as forms of self-affirmation. I start to depend on the community or the organization to validate my sense of worth or having "done enough". However, this is very problematic and ends up becoming a terrifying experience. I stand on a certain ground, but what happens when my sense of "being a valued member" of a community starts to wobble, whether due to circumstances beyond my control or other events? Again, the community itself is not, and never can be, a reliable source of self-esteem or existence.

   Buddhism ultimately aims at the transcendence of self. How that is done in the context of a sangha is hard to say, because people crave a sense of merit in such organizations. As humans, we want to feel a sense of belonging and the feeling that "I am on the right path". But there are times when, even in the most tightly knit communities, the sense of a community identity easily cracks and splinters. Spiritual life and practice must surely prepare people for the destruction of their own cherished identities, both individually and within the community.

   As for the love of solitude, I don't think I have perfectly achieved that. Writing, for me, is one bridge between total solitude and the partial solitude of having something tangible to reflect back on.