Jealousy

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From The Decameron (1353)

  There was once, then, in Arezzo, a rich man called Tofano and he was given to wife a very fair lady, by name Madam Ghita, of whom, without knowing why, he quickly waxed jealous. The lady, becoming aware of this, was despited thereat and questioned him once and again of the reason of his jealousy; but he was able to assign her none, save such as were general and naught; wherefore it occurred to her mind to cause him die of the disease whereof he stood without reason in fear. Accordingly, perceiving that a young man, who was much to her taste, sighed for her, she proceeded discreetly to come to an understanding with him and things being so far advanced between them that there lacked but with deeds to give effect to words, she cast about for a means of bringing this also to pass; wherefore, having already remarked, amongst her husband's other ill usances, that he delighted in drinking, she began not only to commend this to him, but would often artfully incite him thereto. This became so much his wont that, well nigh whensoever it pleased her, she led him to drink even to intoxication, and putting him to bed whenas she saw him well drunken, she a first time foregathered with her lover, with whom many a time thereafter she continued to do so in all security. Indeed, she grew to put such trust in her husband's drunkenness that not only did she make bold to bring her gallant into the house, but went whiles to pass a great part of the night with him in his own house, which was not very far distant.

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  First Moses says, “I WILL MAKE YOU JEALOUS OF THOSE WHO ARE NOT A NATION (Gentiles); WITH A NATION THAT LACKS UNDERSTANDING I WILL MAKE YOU ANGRY .” [Deut 32:21 ] 20 Then Isaiah is very bold and says, “I HAVE BEEN FOUND BY THOSE WHO DID NOT SEEK ME ; I HAVE SHOWN MYSELF TO THOSE WHO DID NOT [consciously] ASK FOR ME .” [Is 65:1 ] 21 But of Israel he says, “ALL DAY LONG I HAVE STRETCHED OUT MY HANDS [in compassion] TO A DISOBEDIENT AND OBSTINATE PEOPLE .” [Is 65:2 ] Romans 11 Israel Is Not Cast Away 1 I SAY then, has God rejected and disowned His people? Certainly not! For I too am an Israelite, a descendant of Abraham, of the tribe of Benjamin. [1 Sam 12:22 ; Jer 31:37 ; 33:24–26 ; Phil 3:5 ] 2 God has not rejected His [chosen] people whom He foreknew. Or do you not know what the Scripture says of Elijah, how he pleads with God against Israel? [Ps 94:14 ; 1 Kin 19 ] 3 “Lord, THEY HAVE KILLED YOUR PROPHETS , THEY HAVE TORN DOWN YOUR ALTARS , AND I ALONE AM LEFT [of the prophets], AND THEY ARE SEEKING MY LIFE .” 4 But what is God’s response to him? “I HAVE KEPT for Myself SEVEN THOUSAND MEN WHO HAVE NOT BOWED THE KNEE TO BAAL .” [1 Kin 19:18 ] 5 So too then, at the present time there has come to be a remnant [a small believing minority] according to God’s gracious choice. 6 But if it is by grace [God’s unmerited favor], it is no longer on the basis of works, otherwise grace is no longer grace [it would not be a gift but a reward for works]. 7 What then? Israel failed to obtain what it was seeking [that is, God’s favor by obedience to the Law], but the elect [those chosen few] obtained it, while the rest of them became hardened and callously indifferent; 8 just as it is written [in Scripture], “GOD GAVE THEM A SPIRIT OF STUPOR , EYES THAT DO NOT SEE AND EARS THAT DO NOT HEAR , [a spiritual apathy that has continued] TO THIS VERY DAY .” [Deut 29:4 ; Is 29:10 ] 9 And David says, “LET THEIR TABLE (abundance) BECOME A SNARE AND A TRAP , A STUMBLING BLOCK AND A RETRIBUTION TO THEM . [Ps 69:22 ] 10 “LET THEIR EYES BE DARKENED SO THAT THEY DO NOT SEE , AND MAKE THEIR BACKS BEND [under their burden] FOREVER .” [Ps 69:23 ] 11 So I say, have they stumbled so as to fall [to spiritual ruin]? Certainly not! But by their transgression [their rejection of the Messiah] salvation has come to the Gentiles, to make Israel jealous [when they realize what they have forfeited].

• From Another Country (1962)

  But how long did it take for those guys to bang off a quick one, in the middle of the afternoon, in their inviolable offices? He tried to concentrate on Cass and her trouble. Perhaps he had taken her out for a drink; perhaps he had persuaded her not to go to work, and had invited her for dinner; perhaps they were together now. (Where?) Perhaps Ellis had persuaded her to meet him at midnight in a theatrical bar, the kind of place where it would do her good to be seen with him. But no, not that; it would certainly not do Ellis any good to be seen with her . Ellis was far too smart for that—just as he was far too smart to make any verbal comparisons between his power and Vivaldo’s. But he would lose no opportunity to force Ida to make these comparisons for herself. He was making himself sick with his fears and his fantasies. If Ida loved him, then Ellis and the whole great glittering world did not matter. If she did not love him, there was nothing he could do about it and the sooner everything came to an end between them, the better. But he knew that it was not as simple as that, that he was not being honest. She might very well love him and yet—he shuddered and threw down his drink—be groaning on some leather couch under the weight of Ellis. Her love for him would in no way blunt the force of her determination to become a singer—to pursue the career which now seemed so easily within her grasp. He could even see the truth of her loving and vehement assertion that it was he, his love, which had given her the courage to begin. This did not cheer him, the assertion containing to his ears the suggestion that his role now was finished and he was fouling up everything by failing to deliver his exit lines. He shook his head. In half an hour—no, an hour—he would call the restaurant. “Oh, Cass,” he heard himself saying, “I wish I could do something to help.” She smiled and touched his hand. The tiny arrows on her wrist had not moved. “Thank you,” she said—very gravely. Then, “I don’t know if Richard loves me any more or not. He doesn’t see me any more—he doesn’t see me. He hasn’t touched me”—she raised her eyes to Vivaldo’s and two tears spilled over and rolled down her face; she made no move to check them—“he hasn’t touched me in, oh, I don’t know how long. I’ve never been very aggressive; I’ve never had to be.” She struck at her tears with the back of her hand. “I sit in that house like—like a housekeeper.

• From Another Country (1962)

  He raised his arms high and yawned and stretched. “You’re giving quite a show this afternoon,” Vivaldo said, and threw him a pair of shorts. Rufus put on the shorts and an old pair of gray slacks and a faded green sport shirt. “You should have made it to that party,” he said, “after all. There was some pot on the scene that wouldn’t wait.” “Well. I had my troubles last night.” “You and Jane? As usual?” “Oh, she got drunk and pulled some shit. You know. She’s sick, she can’t help it.” “I know she’s sick. But what’s wrong with you?” “I guess I just like to get beaten over the head.” They walked to the table. “This your first time in the Village, Leona?” “No, I’ve walked around here some. But you don’t really know a place unless you know some of the people.” “You know us now,” said Vivaldo, “and between us we must know everybody else. We’ll show you around.” Something in the way Vivaldo said this irritated Rufus. His buoyancy evaporated; sour suspicions filled him. He stole a look at Vivaldo, who was sipping his beer and watching Leona with an impenetrable smile—impenetrable exactly because it seemed so open and good- natured. He looked at Leona, who, this afternoon anyway, drowning in his bathrobe, her hair piled on top of her head and her face innocent of make-up, couldn’t really be called a pretty girl. Perhaps Vivaldo was contemptuous of her because she was so plain—which meant that Vivaldo was contemptuous of him. Or perhaps he was flirting with her because she seemed so simple and available: the proof of her availability being her presence in Rufus’ house. Then Leona looked across the table and smiled at him. His heart and his bowels shook; he remembered their violence and their tenderness together; and he thought, To hell with Vivaldo. He had something Vivaldo would never be able to touch. He leaned across the table and kissed her. “Can I have some more beer?” asked Vivaldo, smiling. “You know where it is,” Rufus said. Leona took his glass and went to the kitchen. Rufus stuck out his tongue at Vivaldo, who was watching him with a faintly quizzical frown. Leona returned and set a fresh beer before Vivaldo and said, “You boys finish up now, I’m going to get dressed.” She gathered her clothes together and vanished into the bathroom. There was silence at the table for a moment. “She going to stay here with you?” Vivaldo asked. “I don’t know yet. Nothing’s been decided yet. But I think she wants to—” “Oh, that’s obvious. But isn’t this place a little small for two?” “Maybe we’ll find a bigger place. Anyway—you know—I’m not home a hell of a lot.” Vivaldo seemed to consider this.

• From Another Country (1962)

  Vivaldo walked over to Ida. “I’ve been trying to find out about your novel,” Loring said, “but your young lady here is most cagey. She won’t give me a clue.” “I keep telling him that I don’t know anything about it,” Ida said, “but he won’t believe me.” “She doesn’t know much about it,” Vivaldo said. “I’m not sure I know an awful lot about it myself.” Abruptly, he felt himself beginning to tremble with weariness. He wanted to take Ida and go home. But she seemed pleased enough to stay; it was not really late; the last rays of the setting sun were fading beyond the river. “Well,” said Loring, “as soon as you do have something, I hope you’ll get in touch with me. Richard thinks you’re tremendously talented and I’d certainly trust his judgment.” He knew that Ida was puzzled and irritated by the mediocrity of his response. He tried to pump up enthusiasm, and watching Ida’s face helped. He could not imagine what she thought of Ellis, and rage at himself, his jealousy, his fear, and his confusion, contributed a saving intensity to his evasive reply. Loring seemed more certain than ever that he was a diamond in the rough, and Ida more certain than ever that he was in need of hands to push him. And he himself felt, in a way he had not felt before, that it was time for him to take the plunge. This was the water, the people in this room; it impressed him, certainly, as far from fine, but it was the only water there was. Miss Wales now looked over toward him, but he avoided her eyes, giving all of his attention to Ida. “Let’s go,” he said, in a low voice, “let’s get out of here. I’ve had it.” “You want to go now? You haven’t talked to Miss Wales.” But he watched her eyes flicker toward the bar, where Ellis stood. And there was something in her face which he could not read, something speculative and hard. “I don’t want to talk to Miss Wales.” “Why on earth not? You’re being silly.” “Look,” he said, “is there someone here you want to talk to?” Oh, you idiot! he groaned to himself. But the words were said. She looked at him. “I don’t know what you mean. What are you talking about?” “Nothing,” he said, sullenly. “I’m just crazy. Don’t mind me.” “You were thinking something. What were you thinking?” “Nothing,” he said, “really nothing.” He smiled. “I don’t care. We can stay if you want to.” “I was only staying,” she said, “on account of you.” He was about to say, Well then, we can go, but decided that it would be smarter not to. The doorbell rang.

• From Another Country (1962)

  “I guess I just like to get beaten over the head.” They walked to the table. “This your first time in the Village, Leona?” “No, I’ve walked around here some. But you don’t really know a place unless you know some of the people.” “You know us now,” said Vivaldo, “and between us we must know everybody else. We’ll show you around.” Something in the way Vivaldo said this irritated Rufus. His buoyancy evaporated; sour suspicions filled him. He stole a look at Vivaldo, who was sipping his beer and watching Leona with an impenetrable smile—impenetrable exactly because it seemed so open and good-natured. He looked at Leona, who, this afternoon anyway, drowning in his bathrobe, her hair piled on top of her head and her face innocent of make-up, couldn’t really be called a pretty girl. Perhaps Vivaldo was contemptuous of her because she was so plain—which meant that Vivaldo was contemptuous of him. Or perhaps he was flirting with her because she seemed so simple and available: the proof of her availability being her presence in Rufus’ house. Then Leona looked across the table and smiled at him. His heart and his bowels shook; he remembered their violence and their tenderness together; and he thought, To hell with Vivaldo. He had something Vivaldo would never be able to touch. He leaned across the table and kissed her. “Can I have some more beer?” asked Vivaldo, smiling. “You know where it is,” Rufus said. Leona took his glass and went to the kitchen. Rufus stuck out his tongue at Vivaldo, who was watching him with a faintly quizzical frown. Leona returned and set a fresh beer before Vivaldo and said, “You boys finish up now, I’m going to get dressed.” She gathered her clothes together and vanished into the bathroom. There was silence at the table for a moment. “She going to stay here with you?” Vivaldo asked. “I don’t know yet. Nothing’s been decided yet. But I think she wants to—” “Oh, that’s obvious. But isn’t this place a little small for two?” “Maybe we’ll find a bigger place. Anyway—you know—I’m not home a hell of a lot.” Vivaldo seemed to consider this. Then, “I hope you know what you’re doing, baby. I know it’s none of my business, but——” Rufus looked at him. “Don’t you like her?” “Sure, I like her. She’s a sweet girl.” He took a swallow of his beer. “The question is—how much do you like her?” “Can’t you tell?” And Rufus grinned. “Well, no, frankly—I can’t. I mean, sure you like her. But—oh, I don’t know.” There was silence again. Vivaldo dropped his eyes. “There’s nothing to worry about,” said Rufus. “I’m a big boy, you know.” Vivaldo raised his eyes and said, “It’s a pretty big world, too, baby. I hope you’ve thought of that.” “I’ve thought of that.” “Trouble is, I feel too paternal towards you, you son of a bitch.” “That’s the trouble with all you white bastards.”

• From Another Country (1962)

  “Oh, please. I didn’t come dressed for anything. Cass picked me up at work, and we just came on as we were.” Ellis looked around the table. “Does anyone object to the way Miss Scott is dressed?” “My God, no,” said Mrs. Barry, swooping and buckling and perspiring and breathing hard, “she’s perfectly charming.” “If a man’s word means anything,” said Mr. Nash, “I couldn’t care less what Miss Scott took it into her beautiful head to wear. There are women who look well in—well, I guess I better not say that in front of my wife,” and his heavy, merry laugh rang out, almost drowning the music for a few seconds. His wife did not, however, seem to be easily amused. “Anyway,” said Ida, “they’ve got a vocalist, and she won’t like it. If I was the vocalist, I wouldn’t like it.” “Well. We’ll see.” And he took her hand again. “I’d much rather not.” “We’ll see. Okay?” “All right,” said Ida, and took her hand away, “we’ll see.” The waiter came and set their drinks before them. Cass looked about her. The band was out, the stage was empty; but on the dance floor a few couples were dancing to the juke box. She watched one large, ginger-colored boy dancing with a tall, much darker girl. They danced with a concentration at once effortless and tremendous, sometimes very close to one another, sometimes swinging far apart, but always joined, each body making way for, responding to, and commenting on the other. Their faces were impassive. Only the eyes, from time to time, flashed a signal or acknowledged an unexpected nuance. It all seemed so effortless, so simple; they followed the music, which also seemed to follow them; and yet Cass knew that she would never be able to dance that way; never. Never? She watched the girl; then she watched the boy. Part of their ease came from the fact that it was the boy who led—indisputably—and the girl who followed; but it also came, more profoundly, from the fact that the girl was, in no sense, appalled by the boy and did not for an instant hesitate to answer his rudest erotic quiver with her own. It all seemed so effortless, so simple, and yet, when one considered whence it came, it began to be clear that it was not at all simple: on the contrary, it was difficult and delicate, dangerous and deep. And she, Cass, who watched them with such envy (for first she watched the girl, then she watched the boy) began to feel uneasy; but they, oddly, on the gleaming floor, under the light, were at ease. In what sense, and for what reason, and why would it be forever impossible for her to dance as they did?

• From Another Country (1962)

  I didn’t come dressed for anything. Cass picked me up at work, and we just came on as we were.” Ellis looked around the table. “Does anyone object to the way Miss Scott is dressed?” “My God, no,” said Mrs. Barry, swooping and buckling and perspiring and breathing hard, “she’s perfectly charming.” “If a man’s word means anything,” said Mr. Nash, “I couldn’t care less what Miss Scott took it into her beautiful head to wear. There are women who look well in—well, I guess I better not say that in front of my wife,” and his heavy, merry laugh rang out, almost drowning the music for a few seconds. His wife did not, however, seem to be easily amused. “Anyway,” said Ida, “they’ve got a vocalist, and she won’t like it. If I was the vocalist, I wouldn’t like it.” “Well. We’ll see.” And he took her hand again. “I’d much rather not.” “We’ll see. Okay?” “All right,” said Ida, and took her hand away, “we’ll see.” The waiter came and set their drinks before them. Cass looked about her. The band was out, the stage was empty; but on the dance floor a few couples were dancing to the juke box. She watched one large, ginger-colored boy dancing with a tall, much darker girl. They danced with a concentration at once effortless and tremendous, sometimes very close to one another, sometimes swinging far apart, but always joined, each body making way for, responding to, and commenting on the other. Their faces were impassive. Only the eyes, from time to time, flashed a signal or acknowledged an unexpected nuance. It all seemed so effortless, so simple; they followed the music, which also seemed to follow them; and yet Cass knew that she would never be able to dance that way; never. Never? She watched the girl; then she watched the boy. Part of their ease came from the fact that it was the boy who led—indisputably—and the girl who followed; but it also came, more profoundly, from the fact that the girl was, in no sense, appalled by the boy and did not for an instant hesitate to answer his rudest erotic quiver with her own. It all seemed so effortless, so simple, and yet, when one considered whence it came, it began to be clear that it was not at all simple: on the contrary, it was difficult and delicate, dangerous and deep. And she, Cass, who watched them with such envy (for first she watched the girl, then she watched the boy) began to feel uneasy; but they, oddly, on the gleaming floor, under the light, were at ease. In what sense, and for what reason, and why would it be forever impossible for her to dance as they did? Mr. Barry was saying, “We have been hearing the most wonderful things about your husband, Mrs. Silenski.

• From Another Country (1962)

  His shorts were like a rope between his legs, he pulled them up, and felt that he was glued inside them. He zipped up his fly, holding his legs wide apart. The sky had faded down to purple. The stars were gone and the lights on the Jersey shore were out. A coal barge traveled slowly down the river. “How do I look?” she asked him. “Fine,” he said, and she did. She looked like a tired child. “You want to come down to my place?” “If you want me to,” she said. “Well, yes, that’s what I want.” But he wondered why he was holding on to her. Vivaldo came by late the next afternoon to find Rufus still in bed and Leona in the kitchen making breakfast. It was Leona who opened the door. And Rufus watched with delight the slow shock on Vivaldo’s face as he looked from Leona, muffled in Rufus’ bathrobe, to Rufus, sitting up in bed, and naked except for the blankets. Let the liberal white bastard squirm, he thought. “Hi, baby,” he called, “come on in. You just in time for breakfast.” “I’ve had my breakfast,” Vivaldo said, “but you people aren’t even decent yet. I’ll come back later.” “Shit, man, come on in. That’s Leona. Leona, this here’s a friend of mine, Vivaldo. For short. His real name is Daniel Vivaldo Moore. He’s an Irish wop.” “Rufus is just full of prejudice against everybody,” said Leona, and smiled. “Come on in.” Vivaldo closed the door behind him awkwardly and sat down on the edge of the bed. Whenever he was uncomfortable—which was often—his arms and legs seemed to stretch to monstrous proportions and he handled them with bewildered loathing, as though he had been afflicted with them only a few moments before. “I hope you can eat something,” Leona said. “There’s plenty and it’ll be ready in just a second.” “I’ll have a cup of coffee with you,” Vivaldo said, “unless you happen to have some beer.” Then he looked over at Rufus. “I guess it was quite a party.” Rufus grinned. “Not bad, not bad.” Leona opened some beer and poured it into a tumbler and brought it to Vivaldo. He took it, looking up at her with his quick, gypsy smile, and spilled some on one foot. “You want some, Rufus?” “No, honey, not yet. I’ll eat first.” Leona walked back into the kitchen. “Ain’t she a splendid specimen of Southern womanhood?” Rufus asked. “Down yonder, they teach their women-folks to serve.” From the kitchen came Leona’s laugh. “They sure don’t teach us nothing else.” “Honey, as long as you know how to make a man as happy as you making me, you don’t need to know nothing else.” Rufus and Vivaldo looked at each other a moment. Then Vivaldo grinned. “How about it, Rufus. You going to get your ass up out of that bed?” Rufus threw back the covers and jumped out of bed.

• From Every Woman's Battle: Discovering God's Plan for Sexual and Emotional Fulfillment (2003)

  [image file=image_rsrc244.jpg] Lacy has been married seven years and has two young children. Even though she and her husband, David, got along great while they were dating, things have steadily gone south in their marriage because of financial pressures. Since David got laid off last year, he’s had to do odd jobs to make ends meet. He took one job throwing a paper route in a neighborhood across town. He gets up at 4 A.M. to take care of the paper route responsibilities and then goes to whatever job the temporary agency has for him that day. Lacy complains: All David wants to do is work, come home to eat, and then go straight to bed. He shows little interest in spending time with me or helping out with the kids. It’s a good thing that we don’t want any more children because we rarely ever have sex anymore. I get jealous when I see other husbands grocery shopping with their wives, going to church with their families, taking their kids to the park, and stuff like that. I confessed this to a friend one day, and she said that the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. She preached me a little sermon about coveting thy neighbor’s husband, so I just shut up. Even though I would never divorce because I take my wedding vows seriously, I often wonder if David will die before me so that maybe I can have the chance at a happier marriage with a more successful and attentive husband someday. I often dream about that, usually as I lie in bed by myself in the morning after David has already left for his paper route. Somewhere between being fully awake and fully asleep, I have dreams about going on a date with a new guy who wants to take us all out to eat or about a new husband who is in the kitchen preparing to bring me breakfast in bed. SEEDS OF COMPROMISE, HARVESTS OF DESTRUCTION Even though none of these women could be tried in a court of law for marital unfaithfulness and convicted of adultery, haven’t they been sowing seeds of compromise? Doesn’t emotional and mental unfaithfulness still compromise our sexual integrity? Scripture warns about this very thing: The one who sows to please [her] sinful nature, from that nature will reap destruction. (Galatians 6:8) But each one is tempted when, by [her] own evil desire, [she] is dragged away and enticed. Then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death. (James 1:14-15) In these scriptures we are called to righteous living. This is the principle: The pursuit of fleshly desires will end in our ultimate demise. When we sow emotional and mental seeds of compromise, we reap a harvest of relational destruction. Just ask Jean. CAUGHT IN THE WEB OF INTRIGUE

• From Survival of the Prettiest: The Science of Beauty (1999)

  This may be one reason why women often dislike it when their mates indulge in watching pornography. It most certainly is one reason why beautiful women have a tougher time holding on to female friends. We try to control our social environment to make ourselves look good, or at least better than the other choices, and no one wants her own light dimmed by having a beacon next to her. In the guppy world, males are the brightly colored and ornamented sex. Male guppies prefer to hang around with other males who will not outshine them. Scientists rigged up a setting in which male guppies could either swim where they wanted (which was next to females) or were kept away from the females by an invisible barrier. Other males watched this and assumed that the males who were swimming far away had been rejected by the female. Later, the observing males were put into the water to roam freely. They spent more of their time around the “rejected” male, presumably hoping to profit by the comparison. They hoped to produce a contrast effect. What about the sexual mystique of beauty? It turns out that good-looking men and women are more sexually experienced and engage in a greater variety of sexual activities. Both good-looking men and women begin to have sex earlier, although for women this does not necessarily translate into more partners. Studies by scientists Randy Thornhill and Steven Gangestad suggest that good-looking men are more likely to bring their women to orgasm, and to simultaneous orgasm. Intriguing, yes. Sorry to drop it now but we will return to this in Chapter 6 where we discuss the many advantages of the symmetrical body. All of this suggests that the good-looking may indeed be having more fun, at least in bed. Good-looking people don’t have any monopoly on great sexual technique. But they do have more opportunities, and without much effort they’ve already engaged the fantasies of their partners. As we’ve seen from the behavior of women who, during ten-minute phone calls, suddenly act more alluring, better performance can easily be coaxed by a partner. It is not uncommon for people to fantasize about sex with a more beautiful stranger while making love to their partners, probably for this very reason. One of the interesting upshots of work on stereotypes of the attractive is that these stereotypes exist for both sexes. Beauty is an advantage for men as well as for women, although the magnitude is greater for women. We are told that women bear the burden of appearances when, in fact, so do men. But there are some differences that are not small in magnitude. One is that men make many more sexual inferences about women based on appearance than women do. Men are much more likely to believe that attractive women are sexually permissive, high in sex drive, and sexually confident. Women aren’t so sure based on appearances alone.

• From Who Wrote the Bible? Searching for Its Origins and Authors (2025)

  47 8. The David Story The Apology Genre Centuries before David lived, a Hittite king from ancient Turkey named Hattusilis III left an account of how he came to the throne. Hattusilis was the younger brother of the reigning Hittite monarch—a position of significant power but one that did not lead to the throne. His brother had a son, so the kingship would pass down to Hattusilis’s nephew. In this text, Hattusilis explains how he had been in charge of the Hittite armies under the reign of his elder brother and enjoyed success in battle with the divine assistance of his patron goddess. Upon gaining the throne, Hattusilis’s nephew saw his uncle’s military victories and the favor bestowed on him by the goddess, and he became envious. According to Hattusilis, his nephew soon sought his destruction. When Hattusilis did eventually take over the kingship by capturing his nephew in battle, he did so with the blessing of the deity, who “had already early foretold kingship for me,” and of the populace at large. To anyone who knows the story of David, this narrative should sound familiar. The authors of the David story in Samuel would have known that there was a well-established literary genre to express an unexpected—maybe even illegitimate—king’s claim to the throne. The name of that literary genre is apology. The Hittite text is the Apology of Hattušili III, and scholars call much of the David story in Samuel the Apology of David. What the name apology suggests is that even though the facts may look bad for the hero, a perfectly good explanation exists, and in the end, he will be justified. Saul versus David Consider David’s early career, before he was king. The story establishes from the beginning that—on Yahweh’s specific instructions—David has been secretly anointed king by the prophet Samuel, but no one in the story knows that. Readers know the ending before they’ve even read the narrative. Now, it almost doesn’t matter what happens: David has been divinely chosen. David ends up in the court of Saul—Israel’s first monarch—and it isn’t long before the king’s young attendant establishes himself as a great warrior, winning battles against the Philistines. David is so effective as a warrior that

• From Survival of the Prettiest: The Science of Beauty (1999)

  Why is there so much self-denigration and envy? Because every woman somehow finds herself, without her consent, entered into a beauty contest with every other woman. No matter how irrelevant to her goals, how inappropriate to her talents and endowments, or how ridiculous the comparison, women are always compared one to another and found wanting. Hillary Clinton’s haircuts and the length of Marcia Clark’s skirts get as much press coverage as their words and actions. Oksana Baiul captured the gold medal in skating, but this did not make her acceptable in her own eyes for the camera. She held up the ceremonies to apply additional makeup, while her exasperated competitor, the silver medalist Nancy Kerrigan, snickered. It highlighted a mean little thought some people harbored: Oksana’s performance might have been better, but Nancy looked better. Men have greater freedom to compete on many playing fields. Athletes, political figures, and CEOs do not fight it out over the Mr. Universe prize. But ask a politician or an athlete about his opponent, and you can see envy as venomous as that of one woman appraising the looks of another. Envy is always focused on competition for prime resources, and, for women, looks play a prime role in their fate in life. As Aristotle Onassis said, “All the money in the world would make no difference if women did not exist.” The spoils of success are sexual success, and, for women, this still revolves around the way they look. Competition among women based on looks is bruising. As Fran Lebowitz has said, most women respond to envy “by being upset, by feeling guilty, by feeling that they’ve hurt people’s feelings. Men recognize envy for what it is—a sign of success. And it spurs them on.” Consumer cultures have brought the beauty competition among women to frenzied heights. We don’t compare ourselves to people whose attainments are out of reach, but the idea of the level playing ground is that anything and anyone are within reach. As Bertrand Russell said, “Envy is the basis of democracy.” By making all seem attainable, it puts many people in a craving state that is ultimately impossible to satisfy. Russell writes, “If you desire glory, you may envy Napoleon. But Napoleon envied Caesar, Caesar envied Alexander, and Alexander, I dare say, envied Hercules, who never existed. You cannot therefore get away from envy by means of success alone, for there will always be in history or legend some person even more successful than you are.” Today the average woman compares her genetic physical endowments with a few hand-picked models. Despite their surreal beauty, the media insist that their beauty is attainable through hard work and effort and buying the right product. At one time we envied only our neighbors because they were all the world we knew. It must have been a little more comforting: it’s one thing to win the neighborhood beauty contest, quite another to be put up against the top one percent in the world.

• From Who Wrote the Bible? Searching for Its Origins and Authors (2025)

  20. Acts: What Came after the Gospels? John—goes to Samaria, where the Samaritan community is the first to accept the gospel. Two chapters later, in Caesarea, Peter receives a vision and delivers a speech making it clear that there are no obstacles, ethnic or national, to his task: “I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him” (Acts 10:34–35). Just as with the Samaritans, the Gentiles in Caesarea immediately see the light. The holy spirit falls upon them. That is, God is making sure that Jesus’s instructions to the disciples—to proclaim his message far and wide—will be fulfilled. While the apostles are off spreading the gospel, Acts states that the main group that opposes their efforts is the Jews. Herod arrests Peter because “it pleased the Jews” (Acts 12:3). In Antioch, the whole city gathers to hear Paul and Barnabas speak. “But when the Jews saw the crowds, they were filled with jealousy; and blaspheming, they contradicted what was spoken by Paul” (Acts 13:45). Then, the Jews “stirred up persecution against Paul and Barnabas, and drove them out of their region” (Acts 13:50), and they also “stoned Paul and dragged him out of the city” (Acts 14:19). The big message here is given to Paul and Barnabas to articulate, speaking to the Jewish community in Antioch: “It was necessary that the word of God should be spoken first to you. Since you reject it and judge yourselves to be unworthy of eternal life, we are now turning to the Gentiles” (Acts 13:46). The accusation is not the standard trope that the Jews killed Jesus, but rather that they declined the chance to accept Jesus. Everyone else was happy to receive the apostles’ message, which was why the church spread so rapidly around the ancient Mediterranean world. Once the Jews rejected the message of Jesus, appeals could be made directly to the Gentile communities without any requirement that they become Jewish first. How Acts Came To Be Two models are important to keep in mind when thinking about how Acts was written. The first of these is the Deuteronomistic history. In Joshua through Kings, the historian gathered together all kinds of written sources and gave them a consistent theological message by putting speeches in the mouths of his characters. Speeches are not only obvious spaces for lengthy 122

• From Another Country (1962)

  “Oh, please. I didn’t come dressed for anything. Cass picked me up at work, and we just came on as we were.” Ellis looked around the table. “Does anyone object to the way Miss Scott is dressed?” “My God, no,” said Mrs. Barry, swooping and buckling and perspiring and breathing hard, “she’s perfectly charming.” “If a man’s word means anything,” said Mr. Nash, “I couldn’t care less what Miss Scott took it into her beautiful head to wear. There are women who look well in—well, I guess I better not say that in front of my wife,” and his heavy, merry laugh rang out, almost drowning the music for a few seconds. His wife did not, however, seem to be easily amused. “Anyway,” said Ida, “they’ve got a vocalist, and she won’t like it. If I was the vocalist, I wouldn’t like it.” “Well. We’ll see.” And he took her hand again. “I’d much rather not.” “We’ll see. Okay?” “All right,” said Ida, and took her hand away, “we’ll see.” The waiter came and set their drinks before them. Cass looked about her. The band was out, the stage was empty; but on the dance floor a few couples were dancing to the juke box. She watched one large, ginger-colored boy dancing with a tall, much darker girl. They danced with a concentration at once effortless and tremendous, sometimes very close to one another, sometimes swinging far apart, but always joined, each body making way for, responding to, and commenting on the other. Their faces were impassive. Only the eyes, from time to time, flashed a signal or acknowledged an unexpected nuance. It all seemed so effortless, so simple; they followed the music, which also seemed to follow them; and yet Cass knew that she would never be able to dance that way; never. Never? She watched the girl; then she watched the boy. Part of their ease came from the fact that it was the boy who led—indisputably—and the girl who followed; but it also came, more profoundly, from the fact that the girl was, in no sense, appalled by the boy and did not for an instant hesitate to answer his rudest erotic quiver with her own. It all seemed so effortless, so simple, and yet, when one considered whence it came, it began to be clear that it was not at all simple: on the contrary, it was difficult and delicate, dangerous and deep. And she, Cass, who watched them with such envy (for first she watched the girl, then she watched the boy) began to feel uneasy; but they, oddly, on the gleaming floor, under the light, were at ease. In what sense, and for what reason, and why would it be forever impossible for her to dance as they did?

• From Real Life (2020)

  Maintenant tout le monde est là. Super. » Lukas et Nathan sont allongés côte à côte, main dans la main. Vincent et Cole, à côté du potager, parlent à mi-voix. Tout est calme, parfait. « Très bien, Miller, viens, viens. » Yngve agite sa main plusieurs fois pour faire signe d’approcher à Miller, qui finit par céder. Wallace le regarde s’éloigner. Klaus parle en allemand au téléphone à côté de l’arbre. Yngve oriente Miller dans la direction de Zoe, qui a enfilé un super cardigan sombre, oversize, avec un trou à l’épaule. « Wallace », commence Roman. Wallace lève les yeux sur lui, qui prend la place de Miller. Il hoche la tête. Roman sent le gin. Il pose les yeux sur Klaus, puis de nouveau sur Wallace. « Je suis dans la merde, là. » Il dit ça avec un sourire, un clin d’œil. « Ça arrive, faut croire. — Ça se propage, en plus », dit Roman en regardant Cole et Vincent avec insistance. « C’est la saison, commente Wallace. — Tu me surprends », fait Roman. Emma tourne la tête pour le regarder. « Je me surprends moi-même. — Chut, fait Emma. Yngve fait l’entremetteur. » Wallace essaie d’écouter. Zoe parle avec les mains. Des grands gestes fluides. Elle mime une technique d’escalade. Elle a les paumes en avant et fait mine d’agripper la roche pour escalader une quelconque surface hostile. Miller hoche la tête. Imite ses gestes. Zoe place ses mains sur les hanches de Miller, ajuste sa posture, corrige sa prise. Elle prend fermement son poignet. Yngve rit à gorge déployée et donne une tape dans le dos de Miller. « Je ne savais pas que tu étais sur l’appli, Wallace. Je pensais que tu étais au-dessus de ce genre de trucs. Je t’y ai jamais vu. — Je t’ai bloqué », réplique Wallace sans quitter Miller et Zoe des yeux. Ils ressemblent au genre de personnes qu’il croise parfois à la jetée ou dans les cafés, avec des poussettes. Le genre de couple que le monde attend bras ouverts. Une sensibilité commune, à ce qu’on dirait. Miller a croisé les bras sur sa poitrine et appuie le menton sur son poing. « Ça fait mal, fait Roman. — J’en doute. — Pourtant si. Ça ne fait pas très mal. Mais ça pique. On est amis, non ? — C’est pour ça que tu utilises l’appli, Roman ? Pour l’amitié ? — Parfois. Et toi, tu l’utilises pourquoi ?

• From Another Country (1962)

  “Well,” said Loring, “as soon as you do have something, I hope you’ll get in touch with me. Richard thinks you’re tremendously talented and I’d certainly trust his judgment.” He knew that Ida was puzzled and irritated by the mediocrity of his response. He tried to pump up enthusiasm, and watching Ida’s face helped. He could not imagine what she thought of Ellis, and rage at himself, his jealousy, his fear, and his confusion, contributed a saving intensity to his evasive reply. Loring seemed more certain than ever that he was a diamond in the rough, and Ida more certain than ever that he was in need of hands to push him. And he himself felt, in a way he had not felt before, that it was time for him to take the plunge. This was the water, the people in this room; it impressed him, certainly, as far from fine, but it was the only water there was. Miss Wales now looked over toward him, but he avoided her eyes, giving all of his attention to Ida. “Let’s go,” he said, in a low voice, “let’s get out of here. I’ve had it.” “You want to go now? You haven’t talked to Miss Wales.” But he watched her eyes flicker toward the bar, where Ellis stood. And there was something in her face which he could not read, something speculative and hard. “I don’t want to talk to Miss Wales.” “Why on earth not? You’re being silly.” “Look,” he said, “is there someone here you want to talk to?” Oh, you idiot! he groaned to himself. But the words were said. She looked at him. “I don’t know what you mean. What are you talking about?” “Nothing,” he said, sullenly. “I’m just crazy. Don’t mind me.” “You were thinking something. What were you thinking?” “Nothing,” he said, “really nothing.” He smiled. “I don’t care. We can stay if you want to.” “I was only staying,” she said, “on account of you.” He was about to say, Well then, we can go, but decided that it would be smarter not to. The doorbell rang. He said, “I just wanted to avoid getting involved in a supper deal with any of these people, that’s all.” “But who,” she persisted, “did you think I wanted to talk to?” “Oh,” he said, “I thought if you were really serious about that singing business, you might have wanted to make an appointment with Ellis. I imagine he could be helpful.”

• From Another Country (1962)

  When confronted with Ida, who was so visibly rejected from the only world they knew, this manner was forced to become relatively personal, self-conscious, and tense. It became entangled with an effort to avoid being called into judgment; with a fear that their spiritual and social promissory notes might suddenly be called up. By being pressed into the service of an impulse that was real, the manner revealed itself as totally false and because it was false, it was sinister. Then, as Ellis poured himself another applejack and he poured himself another Scotch, he realized that the things which Ellis had, and the things which Richard was now going to have, were things that he wanted very much. Ellis could get anything he wanted by simply lifting up a phone; headwaiters were delighted to see him; his signature on a bill or a check was simply not to be questioned. If he needed a suit, he bought it; he was certainly never behind in his rent; if he decided to fly to Istanbul tomorrow, he had only to call his travel agent. He was famous, he was powerful, and he was not really much older than Vivaldo, and he worked very hard. Also, he could get the highest-grade stuff going; he had only to give the girl his card. And then Vivaldo realized why he hated him. He wondered what he would have to go through to achieve a comparable eminence. He wondered how much he was willing to give—to be powerful, to be adored, to be able to make it with any girl he wanted, to be sure of holding any girl he had. And he looked around for Ida. At the same time, it occurred to him that the question was not really what he was going to “get” but how he was to discover his possibilities and become reconciled to them. Richard, now, was talking, or, rather, listening to Mrs. Ellis; Ida was listening to Loring; Cass sat on the sofa, listening to Miss Wales. Paul stood near her, looking about the room; Cass held him absently and yet rather desperately by the elbow. “Anyway—I’d like to keep in touch with you, maybe you’ve got something.” And Ellis handed him his card. “Why don’t you give me a ring sometime? and I meant what I said to Miss Scott, too. I produce pretty good shows, you know.” He grinned and punched Vivaldo on the shoulder. “You won’t have to lower your artistic standards. ” Vivaldo looked at the card, then looked at Ellis. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll bear it in mind.” Ellis smiled. “I like you,” he said. “I’m even willing to suggest an analyst for you. Let’s join the party.” He walked over to Richard and Mrs. Ellis. Vivaldo walked over to Ida. “I’ve been trying to find out about your novel,” Loring said, “but your young lady here is most cagey.

• From Another Country (1962)

  He looked at Ida and Vivaldo. “Anyway, I think we ought to keep them in suspense for awhile. If they don’t think I’m the greatest thing they ever saw in this movie, why, then, I think we just ought to let them find out what’s happening when the general public finds out.” And he threw his chin in the air and swaggered toward the box office. “Oh, Eric,” cried Cass, “can’t I tell them?” She said, to Ida and Vivaldo, “It’s got something to do with this movie we’re going to see.” “Well, you’ve got to tell us,” Ida said, “or we simply won’t go in.” She raised her voice in the direction of Eric’s back: “We do know other actors.” “Come on, Cass,” said Vivaldo, “you’ve got to tell us now.” But Cass looked again in Eric’s direction, with a small, frowning smile. “Let me tell them, sweetheart.” He turned, smiling, with the tickets in his hand. “I don’t know how to stop you,” he said. He moved over to Cass, and put one arm around her shoulder. “Well,” said Cass, smaller than ever, and more radiant—and, as she spoke, Eric watched her with an amused and loving smile—“Eric doesn’t have much of a part in this movie, he only appears in one or two scenes and he’s only got a couple of lines—” “Three scenes,” said Eric, “one line. If one of you sneezes, you die.” “—but on the strength of this—” cried Cass. “Well, not only on the strength of this,” said Eric. “Will you let the girl talk?” asked Vivaldo. “Go on, Cass.” “—on the strength of this particular performance”— “—exposure,” said Eric. “Oh, shit,” cried Vivaldo. “He’s a perfectionist,” Cass said. “He’s going to be a dead one, too,” said Ida, “If he doesn’t stop hogging this scene. Lord, would I hate to work with you. Please go on, Cass.” “Well, telegrams and phone calls have been coming out of Hollywood asking Eric if he will play—–” and she looked up at Eric. “Well, don’t stop now,” cried Ida. Eric, now, was very pale. “They’ve got some wild idea out there of making a movie version of The Possessed—” “The Dostoievski novel,” said Cass. “Thanks,” said Vivaldo, “and—–?” “They want me to play Stavrogin,” said Eric. A total silence fell, and they all stared at Eric, who looked uneasily back at them. There gleamed a small crown of sweat on his forehead, just below the hairline. Vivaldo felt a mighty tug of jealousy and fear. “Wow!” he said. Eric looked at him, seeming to see into his heart; and his brow puckered slightly, as though he were stiffening himself for a quarrel. “It’s probably going to be an awful movie,” he said, “can you imagine them doing The Possessed?

• From Another Country (1962)

  He smiled at her from a great, tolerant distance. “Belfast,” he said. “Oh,” cried Ida, “I have a friend whose father was born in Dublin! Do you know Dublin? Is it very far from Belfast?” “Geographically? Yes, some distance. Otherwise, the distance is negligible—though the population of either city would hang me if they heard me say so.” And he laughed his cheerful, lubricated laugh. “What have you got against us?” Cass asked. “I? Why, nothing,” said Mr. Nash, laughing, “I make a great deal of money out of you.” “Mr. Nash,” said Ellis, “is an impresario who no longer lives in Belfast.” “Free enterprise, you see,” said Mr. Nash, and winked at Mr. Barry. Mr. Barry laughed. He leaned toward Mr. Nash. “Well, I’m on the side of Mrs. Silenski. What have you got against our system? I think we’ve all made great strides under it.” He raised one bony hand, one manicured finger. “What would you replace it with?” “What,” asked Cass, unexpectedly, “does one replace a dream with? I wish I knew.” Mr. Nash laughed, then stopped, as if embarrassed. Ida was watching her—watching her without seeming to watch. Then Cass sensed, for the first time in her life, the knowledge that black people had of white people—though what, really, did Ida know about her, except that she was lying, was unfaithful, and was acting? and was in trouble—and, for a second, she hated Ida with all her heart. Then she felt very cold again, the second passed. “I suppose,” said Ida, in an extraordinary voice, “that one replaces a dream with reality.” Everybody laughed, nervously. The music began again. She looked again toward the dance floor, but those dancers were gone. She grabbed her drink as though it were a spar, and held it in her mouth as though it were ice. “Only,” said Ida, “that’s not so easy to do.” She held her drink between her two thin hands and looked across at Cass. Cass swallowed the warm fluid she had been holding in her mouth, and it hurt her throat. Ida put down her drink and grabbed Ellis by the hand. “Come on, honey,” she said, “let’s dance.” Ellis rose. “You will excuse us,” he said, “but I am summoned.” “Indeed you are,” said Ida, and smiled at them all, and swept onto the dance floor. Ellis followed, rather like something entangled in her train. “She reminds me of the young Billie Holiday,” said Mr. Barry, wistfully. “Yes, I’d love to hear her sing,” said Mrs. Nash—rather venomously, and most unexpectedly. They all turned expectantly toward her, as though this were a seance and she were the medium. But she sipped her drink and said nothing more. Cass turned again toward the dance floor, watching Ida and Ellis.