Vengeance is a lazy form of grief

A lesson from my sangha

The Congaree Swamp, SC. 3.19.23

“Vengeance is a lazy form of grief.”

This was the opening remark for the Asheville Insight Mediation’s sangha dharma talk. Our speaker was quoting another meditation teacher, and clinical psychologist Tara Brach, who writes about this in her book, “True Refuge.”

We wouldn’t call ourselves vengeful people. Or mean-spirited, or spiteful. At least, if asked for three words to describe myself, none of those would make the list.

But in reality, I am spiteful. And I exact vengeance in a multitude of ways, large and small.

The conversation at AIM that night circled around driving as a universally-known example. An aggressive driver cuts you off, then down the road (when they’ve managed to get themselves stuck behind a semi-truck and you have the chance to let them merge), you grip your steering wheel a little tighter, clamp your mouth shut, and speed up to keep them out.

I feel most vengeful when I am convinced I deserve something. Better pay, more respect, higher treatment, whatever it is. Well, I’ll think, if you’re not gonna give me what I deserve, then I’m not gonna do xyz thing for you.

That form of vengeance is quite petty. I cling with righteous indignation to some factoid of dissatisfaction, willfully obstinant or uncooperative as a reaction. But it happens all the time.

Vengeance is normalized in our media—when I was talking to my partner about revenge as a concept and how much of a spiritual roadblock it is, he, in his wonderfully dry-humored way, countered with, “Yes, but… There are some pretty epic action movies that come from it.”

True. If we didn’t have revenge, Quentin Tarantino would be out of business. And revenge has been a focal point of human conflict since our evolution as Homo sapiens. There’s neolithic evidence of warfare in Europe, the dubious bloody history of sapiens vs. neanderthalis, and of course, our major religious texts that focus on vengeance.

Leviticus 24:19-21, reads, "And if a man cause a blemish in his neighbour; as he hath done, so shall it be done to him; breach for breach, eye for eye, tooth for tooth: as he hath caused a blemish in a man, so shall it be done to him again.”

We justify our actions with verses and philosophies like these. Tit-for-tat. It’s the way the world works. And if we didn’t think or act this way, how could we function as self-respecting human beings? Isn’t the alternative to become a doormat, to submit to every bad-natured person that comes our way?

There’s a difference between vengeance and healthy boundaries. If someone consistently treats you unfairly or unkindly, it’s not spiteful to separate yourself from that person or that environment. It’s another bad sign if, when you attempt to create healthy boundaries, they accuse you of selfishness or interpret it as a personal attack.

You’re the one to guide your responses to circumstances like these. Don’t over-invest your energy or time in a job that pays you poorly or offers you little respect. Create space, and give yourself buffers between you and people who feel like energy vampires in your life.

But then try not to stew on it. That’s where the line between boundaries and “payback” comes in.

In a past job, I was almost always indignant. I was worked up about some injustice, some flaw, or frustration that I would fixate on and magnify.

Some things were objectively unjust, and having a response to them was entirely valid. But the way the deep personal frustration I adopted as a response hurt myself and everyone around me. Dissatisfaction spread from peer to peer in an all-out gripe fest that lowered morale and increased unhappiness, without actually exacting any change.

I have a close friend who was forced into early retirement. After a 20+ year-long career, they were brusquely pushed out the door. When he began investigating the case with a union lawyer, I told him I fully supported the pursuit as long as it was for him. Sure, gain clarity and reclaim a personal sense of honor. But once it becomes a spiteful means to get back at the institution, it’ll become an energy suck. They’ve already taken so much of your energy, don’t waste any more.

He was grieving a career that he loved, though it had ups and downs. He was hurt, shocked, and mostly confused by the sudden and unforeseen shift.

The process of investigating gave him more context. More insight into what was happening in the lives and careers of other people, and more clarity on what was taking place behind closed doors. It gave him the means to channel and process his grief. And though the hurt of it hasn’t fully dissipated, the seductive desire to retaliate has cooled.

Revenge is such an enticingly hot-blooded and addictive thing. Clarity, context, and compassion are what soothes it best.

So there’s an integral structural issue at work. Or someone who keeps undercutting you and you always feel worse when you leave their company. Or someone just was riding your bumper and sped away once you changed lanes.

Expand our understanding—how does the institution function? What systems are in place, is it really your manager’s fault? How do you change things? And god, if this person is so hyper-critical of you, can you imagine how it feels to be in their head? And the person driving behind you might just be an asshole. Or maybe his job is on the line, their sister is in the hospital, or they’re about to pick up the love of their life from the airport. You’ll never know either way, so why not create a story in which they’re a fallible, forgivable human, instead of just a dickish driver.

I’m by no means an ever-patient person, I don’t mean to prosyletize. I stereotype and dismiss and judge, all the while flattering myself to be kind.

When someone is consistently short with me, I’ll begin to dismiss the relationship as unsalvageable and react shortly right back at them. Then it’s cyclical; if I maybe approached them with greater kindness, maybe the spiral of our ever-worsening interactions could reverse its spin.

Which is why I’m grateful to my sangha and spiritual community. I need these reminders. I wouldn’t call myself vengeful. But they remind me, through stories and lessons and laughter, that we all are.

They share skills and tools that I am amazed by in changing our thoughts and relaxing our minds. I listen and I gain perspective on how to wish loving kindness in a daily, habitualized way. (A favorite I heard this week was to send loving kindness to each person you pass on the road as you commute to work.)

Because to take the shortcut of dismissive spite or willful revenge does not do our grief justice. It may feel like it could. But for me to continously resent the people who failed my mother, to simmer over a systemic issue in a workplace, or to close my heart to someone who’s lashing out from pain—that makes my life worse. It makes the world seem hostile. It makes my mind and heart more rigid, more pained. And it doesn’t help my grief.

So this week I’m trying to notice my resentments and loosen my grip on them. And for goodness’ sakes, I’m going to let that angry man merge.