Below is the quoted segment of an article found in "Pastoral Psychology" at this link
https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s11089-008-0146-x#Sec4
The story of Cain and Abel is about two brothers. Their offerings are not just a sign of gratitude but also a request for the recognition and confirmation needed to live in a threatening world ruled by doubt and uncertainty. In a world such as theirs, gods must be propitiated. To learn that one brother is accepted and preferred and that the other is disregarded and rejected in what appeared to be a peaceful offering out of simple thankfulness but turned out to be a struggle for love and confirmation is disturbing and threatening. To be able to live with such ambiguity and uncertainty the rejected brother’s very ignobility must be made strikingly and painfully clear by the other’s apparent innocence. However, despite appearances, there are no innocents in the arena of love and rejection, of fear and acceptance. Abel is not innocent, for his very existence determines the conflict. Abel is Cain’s brother, and none of his brother’s desires are alien to him. Abel is just like Cain, only more successful (Drewermann 1989). Yet in order to be successful, he must clearly do his best to remain silent about the competition in which they are locked and refrain from speaking about the victory so gained.
This paradox of a victory won by denying the competition, might all too easily be recognized wherever there is a silent protest against meaningless violence. Notwithstanding the silence, this kind of protest is a resounding proclamation of the moral superiority of Abel, and all those peaceful, grateful people like him, to the perpetrators of that horrible crime. Celebrating silence as a reaction to meaningless, random violence may also be understood as a dubious attempt to repay guilt with shame. The exemplary meaning of a silent protest is akin to that of the depressive blackmail to correct the wrongdoings of a wayward child, which is imposed by a mother who is not angry but sad. What is tragic about this kind of protest, however, is that it presumes that the dilemma is irreconcilable. An ontological deficit—the culprit is worthless—is put in the place of failing pragmatics: the culprit just did something wrong.
Jealousy and envy
The story of Cain and Abel demonstrates that there are no innocents. Every Abel needs his Cain in the struggle for recognition and admiration if he is to take pride in himself. Likewise, every Cain is aroused to anger by envy of the silent pageantry of the sanctimonious, self-effacing brother called Abel.
Yet perhaps it was not envy but jealousy that consumed Cain. Cain was rejected even though he loved God. Being rejected without reason by someone you love, someone you wanted to and thought you could trust is perhaps the worst thing that can happen to a person. Cain experiences the rejection of his offering as a traitorous act. God commits adultery (Berke 1986). Cain’s love implied that love to be exclusive. But it turns out there are others who share in God’s love, and are even loved more, who are preferred. Then the world comes crashing down. Disappointment in the former love object is transformed into hatred of the intruder who stole the love to which one believed oneself solely entitled. Incomprehension feeds a raging jealousy. A jealousy driven by love and the desire to be loved is radically different from envy. The distinctive nature of this jealousy is determined by the triadic character of the relations in question. Jealousy ensues when love’s monopoly is broken, a love based on the simple promises: I love you and you love me. When the reciprocity of love turns out to be an illusion, when one must believe that one’s love has been stolen by somebody else, then revenge must be taken.
Jealousy, stemming from lost love, should be distinguished from vulgar envy. Jealousy expresses disappointment at what was incorrectly understood to be a reciprocal relationship. Thus disappointed, but still in love, one blames a third party for having stolen one’s love. Envy, however, knows nothing of altruistic love, but is fascinated by monomaniacal self-love. Envy is dyadic. In envy, one is envious of what another, in one’s eyes unjustly, possesses. We may recognize this in the behavior of that mother who says nothing when Solomon proposes chopping the disputed child in half: If I can’t have the child, then nobody else will. Cain is not envious, he is jealous. Jealousy can perhaps be understood as a helpless attempt to excuse the one who unexpectedly and suddenly gives his love to somebody else by attributing that dramatic loss to the power of the intruder. Lethal hate for the intruder expresses the continuing love for the original love object. Jealousy desperately tries to secure the love that appears to be lost. Betrayed, rejected, and humiliated, Cain is overwhelmed by hatred for the rival who steals the object of his love. He kills his brother Abel out of jealousy. This appears to be senseless violence, but it is not without meaning.
To protect him from revenge by those who fear an explosion of violence, Cain is marked with a significant sign, a sign warning others not to repay evil with evil. While Abel’s ostensibly senseless murder seems to threaten the foundations of civil society, Cain’s mark is an act of consequence. It shows Cain’s vulnerability and returns as a blessing in disguise, the love he thought was lost. The murder of Abel, an act stemming from disappointed love, must not be avenged; otherwise, a fearful spiral of violence will evolve. The mark protects Cain from those who fail to recognize how disappointed love has led to murder, from those who cannot appreciate the drama in which Cain has forfeited love on account of love. Cain’s mark is an expression of compassion for the injured heart at the core of the fratricidal tragedy.
