Daily Archives: March 20, 2011

prayer

“How come the word ‘prayer’ has no ascenders at all?” asks Jim Taylor.

I am immediately put in mind of Claudius’s lines from Hamlet: “My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: Words without thoughts never to heaven go.” But of course the written form of prayer reaches only to the roots and not to the branches regardless of the sincerity of intention. Not that here is necessarily the right place to debate the up-is-Heaven-down-is-Hell schematization. I do remember that my mother at least used to have a plaque or poster that read “Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads,” a quote from Henry David Thoreau. And Laurie Anderson starts and ends her song “Language Is a Virus” with the aphorism (which I have always liked) “Paradise is exactly like where you are right now only much much better.”

Well, in any event, the form of this word is adventitious – regardless of how sincere the prayer of the pray-er, no matter whether, deep in the heart, there is a “why” (a y), no matter whether the prayer contains a ray of hope, and no matter whether the oral gesture of it involves the tongue in a full wave of prostration (“pray-er”) or merely a slight distancing and return (our usual “prer”), it all just happened to be so, the result of accumulated linguistic acts and facts that occurred without reference to this particular word. As with so many things, the karma runs over the dogma.

But, say, now, why is it that the noun for what you make when you pray is prayer? Shouldn’t prayer be the one who prays? Well, in fact, there is also a word prayer – often written pray-er for clarity – that means “one who prays”, but our usual word prayer does not involve the usual er agentive suffix. No, it has simply been polished down by the flowing river of time, over the centuries and by way of French, from post-classical Latin precaria.

Does that word look a little familiar? Prithee consider this situation: You are a king, and you have gained the kingship by offing your brother. Now your nephew knows you did it, and so your position is precarious: you are become prey, and must next prey on him. You will not do so without uttering precations and imprecations, however – though you may find your precations are imprecise and so will proceed unappreciated, and your imprecations simply impotent. So now, pray tell: what words are related?

Prey, that closest, best pun, is not. It’s from a different root altogether (Latin praeda). But precarious and precation – and imprecation – are. We can understand the connection with imprecation – although it’s often used now in phrases such as uttering imprecations to mean “swearing”, that is a bit imprecise. Precaria meant “entreaty, petition, request” (and the general “request” sense has persisted in pray tell and other frozen archaisms), and certainly deities were often the ones being asked. Precation is just prayer. With imprecation, one is asking for evil to come down on another, so “To hell with you!” counts, but “You stupid jerk!” does not.

But, now, what could prayer possibly have to do with a position of poise on the point of a pinnacle? We know, don’t we, that a precarious position is one where one might fall at any time, and that precariously tends to go with balanced? In fact, the original sense of the word would not even have included situations where one is at the whim of forces not susceptible to reason or persuasion. It meant that one was in one’s state at the whim or pleasure of another – that one was a suppliant, entreating the other. To be a tenant at will was to be precarious.

But senses shift, and the sense of uncertainty has been retained while the sense of volitional caprice on the part of another has largely been lost. Still, though, however inhuman the forces, many will appeal to a superhuman other when in a precarious position. And we may feel sure the prayer will be sincere – or at least the desperation will be – whether the word flies up or reaches down, and whether the thoughts should reach out or go within, flail like branches (as they often do) or dig deep for water and strength.

perigee

We were driving back from a day of skiing – my wife, my friend Trish, and I – and I looked over and saw the moon rising over the fields and low hills. It was reddish and large, and it rose perceptibly – in a matter of a few minutes it had cleared the horizon. It glowed, pregnant, like a big e: not an o, a blank face, but an e, first because it was bisected by the horizon, but afterward just because its face is not, after all, blank. And of course the moon always looks larger at the horizon, but tonight it had an even better reason for looking like a fat, tawny perogie: it was at its perigee.

Yes, the moon, the moon, the moon, the full full moon, is at a low point in its orbit – a point closer to the earth than usual. You see, our selenic satellite pursues an elliptical path in its peregrination: a Bosc pear, an egg. Imagine the earth at the back of your mouth, and the moon sometimes at your lips /p/ but sometimes at the tip of your tongue. Tonight it swings lower, lowering, closer: it appears fourteen percent wider and thirty percent brighter than average.

And as we looked at it, it was such a ruddy colour, paling only gradually as it rose: a blood moon, bloodthirsty like the one in Garcia Lorca’s Blood Wedding, or a warm one? Is it serious and noble – has it a peerage and prestige – or is it a parody? It’s not a blue moon, to leave you standing alone. And it is not cold and green; it is ripe at its perigee, appearing as a low-hanging fruit. It may be the focus of many a pagan liturgy; it could perhaps spawn a Persian peri in her imperfect pursuit of paradise. And so many songs have been written of it, perhaps to purge the urge, perhaps in pure ecstasy… And yet still it circles, now closer, now farther, planet of our planet for eternity (more or less).

Note that we are not saying it is at its nadir. Although nadir is commonly used to refer to a low point, it is celestially the point that is diametrically opposite the zenith – and hence under your feet. No, the opposite of perigee is apogee, and in both cases the gee is from Greek γῆ or γαῖα gaia, “earth”. The peri means “close” in this context – in others it often means “around”; we may say that the moon at its perigee is hanging around the earth. Yes, swing low at the sweet perigee, as I am being carried home.