At Least They're Committed

I apologize if the title of this blog is misleading, I do not envy people who conduct research. It’s a rather arduous and dirty business actually. And sometimes there are bugs.

Instead, I’m researching envy because it’s an emotion I do not have. I do sort of understand it, but since I don’t feel envy it’s hard for me to conceptualize any kind of three-dimensional character with believability.

This from a random search: Saint Thomas Aquinas said of envy: “Envy according to the aspect of its object is contrary to charity, whence the soul derives its spiritual life… Charity rejoices in our neighbor’s good, while envy grieves over it.” … What it is: Envy is the desire for others’ traits, status, abilities, or situation.

I’m typically happy for everybody. And if I’m not it’s certainly not because I’m envious, it’s because what they perceive as meaningful I find trite or meaningless or, worst of all, destructive.

For instance, you might ask if I’m happy for a friend who marries a wealthy man. Well, I suppose, but what if I know he’ll beat her? Then it would be illogical and, for that matter, unethical for me to be truly happy. I’d most likely act cautiously ecstatic and slip a contact number for the nearest shelter in her pocket.

Or not. We all make choices.

I’m sure, if anyone were to ever read this, they could question me, saying, “Oh, come on! Weren’t you ever jealous of a woman who got a man you wanted?” Eh, no. Because typically either she’d be a friend, for whom I’d be happy until he did her wrong and then why would I want him anyway, or a skank, which would immediately diminish his virtue and value in my eyes. So, why bother.

Cain and Abel would be the most notable parable of envy. It, of course, ended with deadly consequences. A rock to the head. Gruesome! This tale has been retold myriads of ways in literature such as A Separate Peace by John Knowles. Failed rite of passage.

East of Eden, by John Steinbeck, and Ordinary People by Judith Guest are tragic stories, yet ultimately successful rites of passion, that I find reminiscent of Cain and Abel. They are brilliant tales of brotherly envy and loss in which the resentment is realized and reconciled.

Because of this, if I am to create a compelling, fresh depiction of envy, I’m going to have to go to some of the more subtle elements of it. Maybe I’ll be able to find something in myself even to capitalize and examine! Or not.