Jealousy is not at all low, but it catches us humbled and bowed

There is a haunting truth in the words of Sidonie Gabrielle Colette, when she wrote, “Jealousy is not at all low, but it catches us humbled and bowed down, at first sight.” In her insight, we find not condemnation but revelation. She did not dismiss jealousy as a base impulse belonging to the weak; rather, she saw it as a force that exposes our deepest humanity — the trembling awareness of our own vulnerability. The emotion is not “low,” she says, because it springs from love, from admiration, from the aching recognition of what we might lose or never possess. But when it strikes, it humbles us, bending even the proudest hearts beneath its invisible weight.

Colette, who lived and wrote in the glittering yet turbulent world of early twentieth-century France, knew well the passions that both elevate and destroy. As a novelist, actress, and lover of great intensity, she studied the human heart as one studies fire — drawn by its beauty, yet scarred by its flame. To her, jealousy was not a shameful disease but a moment of truth — the instant when the armor of pride falls away, and one stands naked before the mirror of one’s own longing. It is the emotion that reveals how deeply we care, how fragile our illusions of control truly are.

The ancients, too, understood this paradox. The Greeks spoke of phthonos, a divine jealousy that could afflict even the gods. Hera, queen of Olympus, was not lowly when consumed by jealousy, but wounded in her dignity, made painfully human despite her divinity. In her story, as in Colette’s words, jealousy is not base — it is tragic, because it exposes the soul’s hunger for love, loyalty, and recognition. To feel jealousy is to be reminded that one’s heart is still alive, still capable of fear, still yearning to be chosen.

Yet Colette’s wisdom also carries a subtle warning. Though jealousy is not low, it humbles us. It bends the spirit toward the ground, pressing upon it the weight of inadequacy. It is a teacher — cruel, but honest — reminding us that love cannot be possessed like treasure, nor admiration commanded like obedience. The moment jealousy seizes us, we stand “bowed down,” stripped of illusions of grandeur, forced to see how much of our worth we have entrusted to another’s gaze. The proud discover their dependence; the strong, their tenderness.

History offers many examples of souls undone or transformed by this revelation. Othello, the Moor of Venice, was not a man of low character; he was noble, courageous, and honorable. Yet when jealousy entered his heart, it humbled him, bowing his greatness beneath suspicion and despair. It was not the baseness of jealousy that destroyed him, but his inability to face its truth — that love makes us vulnerable, and vulnerability demands humility. If he had embraced that truth, his story might have been one of redemption rather than ruin.

To feel jealousy, then, is not to fall into sin but to encounter the shadow of one’s own heart. The wise do not deny it, nor do they let it rule them. They examine it, asking: “What does this pain reveal about my fears, my pride, my longing to be seen?” For within that question lies the path to understanding. Jealousy becomes noble when it awakens awareness, when it drives us not to possess others, but to deepen our own soul.

Therefore, let this be the teaching: when jealousy catches you — as it surely will, “at first sight” — do not curse yourself for feeling it. Instead, stand still within it. Look closely, and you will see that beneath the ache is love, beneath the fear is hope, and beneath the humiliation is the quiet opportunity for growth. Accept the humbling it brings; for only those who have bowed down in truth may rise again in wisdom.

Thus, Colette’s words echo through the centuries as both consolation and command. Jealousy is not low; it is the mirror in which the heart recognizes its own depths. It humbles so that we may be refined, it wounds so that we may awaken. The task of the soul is not to flee from such pain, but to learn from it — and in learning, to love more purely, without chains, without fear, without pride.