Buddhism, Ego, and the Comment Section

The Teachings and the Contradictions

When I first arrived in Asia, I carried with me a quiet admiration for Buddhism. Not in the devotional sense, but as a value system—something that seemed to offer what the West had forgotten: calm, clarity, and compassion.

There was something serene about the way monks moved. Something profound in the simplicity of temple life. Something that suggested depth beneath the surface.

I remember sitting in the shade of a bodhi tree in Siem Reap, watching as novice monks swept leaves with wooden-handled brooms. There was no urgency, no rush—just presence. It felt like a form of truth most of us have forgotten.

But the more time I’ve spent online—especially in comment threads connected to Buddhist-majority cultures—the more I’ve noticed a disconnect between the teachings and the tone.

What happens to compassion when a keyboard is involved? What becomes of mindfulness when someone feels attacked over history or identity?

There’s a contradiction that seems almost too sharp to ignore. In nations where Buddhism forms the moral backbone, comment sections are often filled not with metta (loving-kindness), but with mockery. Not with right speech, but with insults. Not with humility, but with ego.

This blog post is not an exposé. Nor is it a complaint. It’s an attempt to understand how such dissonance emerges—and what it reveals about modern spirituality in a digital world.

Let’s go back to the source.

Buddhism, at its core, is not about belief. It’s about liberation. It’s a method of training the mind—to observe suffering, to understand its roots, and to let go of the clinging that causes it.

Ethically, it’s grounded in clear precepts:

The Five Precepts:

1. Do not kill

2. Do not steal

3. Do not commit sexual misconduct

4. Do not lie

5. Do not cloud the mind with intoxicants

And when we zoom in on communication, Buddhism offers Right Speech as a guiding light:

• Speak truthfully

• Speak gently

• Speak with purpose

• Speak without division

These aren’t lofty ideals—they’re practical disciplines. But today, when many people express themselves through comments, tweets, and reactions, these disciplines are under constant strain.

How do ancient principles survive in a world of algorithms and outrage?

We can begin by acknowledging that many people relate to Buddhism not as a daily discipline, but as a cultural inheritance. In many Buddhist-majority countries, children grow up going to temples on holidays, offering food to monks, and chanting sutras by memory. These rituals are meaningful—but they don't always cultivate self-awareness, emotional intelligence, or reflective communication.

In the comments section, these gaps become glaring. Cultural Buddhism may look like tradition on the outside, but it doesn’t always prepare someone for the emotional maturity that spiritual life demands.

Which raises a question worth sitting with: what does it mean to identify as Buddhist in a digital world? And what kind of Buddhism are we bringing with us into our online lives?

The Comment Section and the Cultural Disconnect

There’s something about the internet that untethers us. It removes context. It strips nuance. It amplifies emotion.

What might have been an internal disagreement becomes a public clash. What could have been a question becomes an accusation. And often, the most reactive voices are also the ones speaking in defence of their culture, their nation, or their religion.

In the Southeast Asian context, especially between countries like Cambodia and Thailand, historical wounds and unresolved tensions frequently surface online. A video about a temple, a map, or even a piece of clothing can trigger a wave of nationalistic fury. Sometimes that fury comes with Buddhist language. Sometimes it comes from Buddhist accounts.

It’s easy to forget: identity is powerful. And fragile.

Many people grow up within Buddhist traditions. They attend rituals, make offerings, and learn about karma and rebirth. But this cultural Buddhism doesn’t always translate into internalised practice. It becomes a badge, not a compass.

The comments section becomes a kind of battlefield—not just of opinions, but of pride. And when pride is mistaken for principle, speech turns sharp.

Mockery, sarcasm, nationalism—these aren’t just personality traits. They’re symptoms of something deeper: a disconnection from the inner work that Buddhism requires.

Temples teach silence, contemplation, restraint. The internet teaches performance, certainty, and speed. The two value systems are fundamentally at odds.

And when we add the layer of cultural or national identity—especially in post-colonial or historically contested regions—Buddhism can be co-opted into something it was never meant to be: a symbol of superiority.

We have to be clear here: this is not a uniquely Southeast Asian phenomenon. Every tradition, every nation, every identity struggles with this temptation. But Buddhism, which centres the concepts of impermanence, non-self, and compassionate action, offers a particularly stark contrast when its principles are abandoned.

We often speak about the gap between tradition and modernity. But perhaps the more dangerous gap is between appearance and embodiment. You can wear the robe, light the incense, and still act from ego. You can quote scripture and still defend ignorance. The rituals may be intact, but the root may be withering.

Ego, Identity, and a New Way Forward

The Buddha taught that suffering arises from craving and clinging. But beneath that, what drives craving?

Often, it’s ego—the belief in a fixed self. The idea that I am this, I am right, I must defend myself.

This sense of self gets layered with national identity, historical narrative, and religious affiliation. And online, when any of these are questioned, the ego reacts with fire.

That reaction is understandable. But it’s also exactly what the Buddha warned against.

If our Buddhist identity causes us to attack others, we’ve missed the point. If our patriotism overrides our ability to listen, we’re clinging to something impermanent and calling it truth.

So how do we reclaim the values—not as slogans, but as practices?

We can begin small.

• Notice the impulse to reply in anger.

• Pause before pressing send.

• Ask: Is it kind? Is it true? Is it necessary?

These are not modern ideas—they’re ancient. But they’ve never been more relevant.

Buddhism doesn’t ask us to be perfect. It asks us to wake up. To see clearly. To become aware of our mind’s movements, especially when they’re driven by fear or pride.

And maybe that’s the deeper practice here—not silence, not withdrawal, but conscious participation. Can we engage with others, even online, without becoming entangled in our own ego?

This doesn’t mean avoiding difficult conversations. It means approaching them with honesty and care. It means seeing disagreement not as a threat, but as a mirror. It means recognising that the more we cling to being “right,” the further we drift from being free.

If we are to honour these teachings, it begins with humility. Not public displays of piety—but private disciplines of restraint, reflection, and honesty.

The way forward is not louder. It’s quieter.

It’s not about being correct. It’s about being free.

And if we truly believe in the path, we walk it not just in temples—but in comments sections too.

May we all walk with awareness. May we all learn the art of letting go. May we all speak with wisdom—even when it’s difficult.