A reflection from A Month of Sundays.
If there were an archaeology of consciousness, fieldworkers would sooner or later discover that prayer lies at the deepest layer of our urge to language. Before we knew we had selves to talk to, I’m sure our fears and longings found their expression in the supplication of unknown powers, as strange and various, and as ever-present, as the weather. To raise one’s own voice in prayer, or even to consider the invocations of others, is to strip the paint of irony from the soul’s abode: the effect can be startling, frightening, purifying—if only for a moment.