Latin Root Word Origins of Tolstoy's War and Peace

Welcome back fans of Latin roots as they relate to English vocabulary words, and great talks about life-changing books, with a focus on great literature! In this series that I'm offering, I am expounding upon books that have made an impression upon myself and many other readers, and the Latin root words inherent in their English titles. Last week I took a look at the word origins of Italo Calvino's book The Nonexistent Knight, which, next to Don Quixote, is one of the funniest books I've ever read, and most certainly one of the strangest. This week I shall expound upon Leo Tolstoy's War and Peace, focusing on the etymology of the word "peace," and then moving on to some commentary about certainly one of the great novels of all time. Taking a look at the Latin roots of the word peace, we come to the following two Latin roots:

Pax, pacis—peace {pay, peac, peas}

Paciscor, pacisci, pactus sum—to agree, make a bargain

Let's look now at some of the general, SAT, and GRE vocabulary words that come from these roots:

pay: To pay is etymologically to make ‘peace’ with a merchant after receiving a product; we all know what happens when we do not pay our bills!

pacify: to "make peace" with someone is to "pacify" him

appease: to "appease" someone is also to "make peace" with her, or to calm or soothe her

pacifist: a "pacifist" is a "peacemaker," that is, someone who does not want to war with anyone. She or he is a proponent of "pacifism."

pact: a "pact" is an agreement between two people; when you agree with someone else, you etymologically "make peace" with them

compact: an "agreement with: another person; note the Latin-based prefix "com," root word of such SAT vocabulary items as commiserate, compassion, compliance, and commensurate. For more English vocabulary words that come from this prolific Latin prefix, check out www.wordempire.com, a site where you can find the most comprehensive Latin roots dictionary of English vocabulary words available today.

Now on to Leo Tolstoy's seminal work, War and Peace.

Immense. This novel cannot and should not really be termed a novel, at least not in today’s sense of the novel, which can be practically anything that publishers think can make money. Rather, is should be denominated a “trans” or “supra” novel, because it almost, in parts, seemed more real than life itself, almost as if nature herself wrote it. So many insights into human nature are bruited with great wisdom and perspicacity; such complexities of every sort of human conduct and interrelationship are untied in a true Gordian knot fashion. It’s almost as if Tolstoy somehow knew all the secrets of human nature, and was able to expound upon them, bringing them to light. I was particularly struck by the meaninglessness of it all; the senseless slaughter of war, the silliness of the young men who want to go to war, caught up in an isopraxis of startling dimensions, only realizing what war was really like when they ineluctably pay a visit to the hospital. During Manichaeanistic glimpses in the novel, one saw the meaning of life among the poshlost of war (quite Gogolian, really)—one soldier, Prince Andrew, I believe, was shot, and is lying on the field after Austerlitz (I think). He opens his eyes and perceives the clarity of the sky above him, melting, as it were, into it, and becoming one with it, and is truly surprised at himself that he has never noticed that before (a great example of yogic attention, nearing samadhi). Somehow the approach of eternity via leaving this bardo brings him towards the revelation. Peacetime pursuits are just as inane for the most part as the bellicose undertakings, although the maturation and change of Pierre is one very noticeable and encouraging part; he becomes human, being able to throw off the dross of society (as Percival lost his humanity with Gornemant de Goort, thereby failing at the Grail Castle). Kutuzov, the supreme commander of the Russian forces, is an island onto himself, is ridiculed as doing nothing, but then his wisdom is later apprehended—sometimes the noetic convictions of true geniuses are not cognizable by the masses, such as in the instant when Kutuzov realizes that he need do nothing at all to defeat the retreating French—they are auto-destructing, and yet the soldiers about him feel, or are coerced by that “je ne sais quois” into doing something, when the doing should have been nothing at all. Sometimes doing nothing is the best policy, although this is not readily cognizable by the mediocre mind. Napoleon, the buffoon, is a Hitler of sorts, a monster who is directly responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands—or, as Tolstoy argues, was he really? Or was the power that moved the French and the Russians alike unknown, and indeed beyond epistemological rigor, making Napoleon a mere puppet, thereby making him more foolish than ever, since he doesn’t even realize it? And in his heart of hearts feels guilty causelessly? Sometimes the force that moves nations is beyond even the most charismatic.

War and Peace was an event. It taught me that much will happen during one’s life, warlike and tranquil, and to be prepared for almost anything, such as Natasha losing Prince Andrew because of her momentary madness over the popinjay Anatole, which then precipitates the Prince’s weltschmerz, which causes him to be wounded, which later causes the grief of Natasha and Princess Mary, which then allows Pierre to marry Natasha, the only woman he has ever loved (how could one love Helene?).

The best scene in the novel was the fatuous Pierre “observing” the war, much as the American Civil War was attended by picnickers, although he does become seriously transformed by this, especially after he is wounded, so his silliness transmutes to wisdom (was this his purification from fatuousity?).

I don’t know how Tolstoy did it. This was a simply gripping novel—some of the characters were alive in their own right, and are still alive (like what Shakespeare could do, especially with Hamlet, Falstaff, and Rosalind).

Pierre, in a moment of fulgurous insight, realized that, no matter how hard one might try, one can never convince another person to change his thoughts or his conduct (except a child). Hence, whenever he spoke with people, he simply observed them, smilingly, without trying to expostulate with them. This seems to me an excellent and non-aggressive way to live—Ryle Hira, or Buddhistic acceptance of others, with an ironic smile, of course!!

Take a gander at War and Peace, but get a good translation. I find that David Magarshack and especially the dynamic duo of Larissa Volokhonsky and Richard Pevear are nonpareil.

Fascinated with English vocabulary words? Want to pick them apart into their constituent Greek and Latin roots? Want to know even more words that come from the Latin root words pax, pacis and paciscor, and most especially the prolific prefix cum? Studying hard for the SAT or GRE verbal section, and just can't get a handle on all of those vocabulary words, which are truly legion? Check out www.wordempire.com, where you will find the most comprehensive Greek and Latin roots dictionaryavailable today, and also the most beautiful...it's in full color, and artistically designed. There's even a Greek and Latin roots posteravailable, which nicely illustrates the full power of what Greek and Latin root words can do for you.

Latin Root Word Origins of Italo Calvino's The Nonexistent Knight

Welcome back fans of Latin roots as they relate to English vocabulary words, and great talks about life-changing books, with a focus on great literature! In this series that I'm offering, I am expounding upon books that have made an impression upon myself and many other readers, and the Latin root words inherent in their English titles. Let's look today at the great Italian writer Italo Calvino's book The Nonexistent Knight, which, next to Don Quixote, is one of the funniest books I've ever read, and most certainly one of the strangest.

The word nonexistent comes from the Latin verb existere: to come forth, be, come into being, a compound verb of the Latin verb sistere, stand firm, stand still, both of which are the source of the following SAT vocabulary words:

consistent: If one exhibits consistent excellence, one etymologically ‘thoroughly stands firm’ in that laudable behavior.

subsist: When one "subsists" on the bare minimum, she "stands firm under" a small amount of sustenance. Note the Latin prefix sub, which I chatted about in my last blog entry which discussed the word origins of Crime and Punishment. "Subsistent" is the related adjective.

irresistible: Etymologically "not capable of standing back," that is, something that one must have, and cannot "stand firm" against.

desist: As in "stand firm from," as in stopping oneself from doing something, from the common phrase "cease and desist."

coexist: When people can "coexist," they can live together peacefully, from the Latin prefix cum with, together, thoroughly, the spelling of which gives us the following SAT word list: coagulate, coerce, cohesive, cohort, coherent, coalesce, etc. For more English vocabulary words that come from this prolific Latin prefix, check out www.wordempire.com, a site where you can find the most comprehensive Latin roots dictionary of English vocabulary words available today.

consist: When something "consists" of a particular ingredient, like dark chocolate for instance (eat dark chocolate, my friends; not only does it taste great, but it's very good for you...try cacao content of at least 70% or above; Green and Black's makes an excellent organic variety!), it "thoroughly stands firm" in it. Note the Latin prefix "con," which is yet another spelling permutation of the Latin preposition, cum, giving us the following SAT vocabulary word list: concord, congregate, conglomeration, concomitant, contemptuous, etc. etc.: for more, check out where you can find the most extensive list of SAT vocabulary available.

Now, on to iItalo Calvino's rather unusual work, The Nonexistent Knight.

Agilulf is a knight who owns a beautiful white set of armor, with an iridescent plume, but does not exist; i.e., there is just a suit of armor walking around. Nevertheless, Agilulf does talk, think, fight, and strictly follow the code of chivalry of the paladins (douzepers) of Charlemagne, King of the Franks, to the great annoyance of all the other knights, who, once off the field of silliness called war (where, in a great comic scene, translators rush about from Infidel to Christian, making sure that insults are properly understood), are quite slovenly and lackadaisical. Despite the fact that Agilulf doesn’t exist, Bradamante, a knight with a periwinkle robe and superior puissance, who is also a woman because she was attracted by the ideals of knighthood, falls madly in love with him; she has become bored with the battle/bedding routine every night, and disillusioned by the glaring imperfection of all the existing knights. The narrator, a nun in a convent who is writing the story about Agilulf as a penance and as a path to perfection, says that Agilulf apparently came to life from sheer willpower on his part, or perhaps as the crystallization of the wills of all those people who exist who will themselves not to, i.e., spend meaningless lives of no renown whatsoever, and therefore melt away into nonexistence (a veiled allusion, perhaps, to the yogic notion of putting a carapace, or armor, over one's true self, and always and never not revealing the false self as a protective mechanism); Agilulf is therefore the decoction, as it were, of all the nebulousness of squandered wills and unlived lives. He does yearn to have a body, and does things, such as dine, even though he eats nothing; at one of Charlemagne’s great feasts, he spends hours upon hours cutting up his food and transferring it from dish to dish, all the while carrying on with captious remarks as the other paladins attempt to recount their glorious exploits in war (and failing utterly as Agilulf is there to remind them of what really happened, a glorious and highly comic scene). At one such banquet, his right to bear arms is questioned, as one squire named Torrismund indicates that indeed the woman Agilulf rescued from defilement was actually not a virgin, but his mother! Agilulf is incensed, and goes on a quest to find Sophronia, the woman he saved; Raimbaut, an enterprising young idealist who has joined the Frankish army, follows as well, as he is madly in love with Bradamante, who had already left to follow her beloved but nevertheless nonexistent Agilulf. Torrismund goes to find his father, the order of the Knights of the Grail, who are his “collective father;” i.e., one day Sophronia was out in the woods, came upon the knights, and came back pregnant. Agilulf clears his name, although when he returns a misunderstanding is bruited that is immediately cleared up, although not before Agilulf flees into the woods; later, after a knight has found him (Raimbaut), all that is left is his armor, so Raimbaut dons it, sees Bradamante, who thinks it is Agilulf returning at long last to her, and she gives herself to him, with her eyes closed, muttering all the time that she knew love was possible between them (even thought Agilulf is nonexistent); post coition, she opens her eyes, sees that her lover is really Raimbaut, and screams, telling him to leave at once. Agilulf is never seen again, although his squire, Gurduloo, whom everyone in the world seems to know of, except by different names, searches for him for evermore, looking in any container—the last scene of this was Gurduloo looking into an empty bottle, calling out Agilulf’s name. The nun, who has given us interesting anecdotes about her convent, is revealed at the end as Bradamante! Who, when she hears a horse’s hooves clattering upon the flagstones of the convent, looks out the window and sees her very own Raimbaut coming for her, and she gladly runs off to be with him once more (a rather startling turn of events, especially considering her former highly negative reaction to Raimbaut).

To only parade about in one's false self, and not even knowing what one's true self is, is more nonexistent than Agilulf himself,who seems much more real than most of the existent knights. If indeed one does but follow rules that society sets upon one, one indeed does not exist, but is merely a formulation of a code of societal conduct. 

     A fine edition of The Nonexistent Knight,which also includes The Cloven Viscount, is listed below. 

Fascinated with English vocabulary words? Want to pick them apart into their constituent Greek and Latin roots? Want to know even more words that come from the Latin root words existere and sistere, and most especially the prolific prefix cum? Studying hard for the SAT or GRE verbal section, and just can't get a handle on all of those vocabulary words? Check out www.wordempire.com, where you will find the most comprehensive Greek and Latin roots dictionary available today, and also the most beautiful...it's in full color, and artistically designed. There's even a Greek and Latin roots poster available, which nicely illustrates the full power of what Greek and Latin root words can do for you.

Latin Root Word Origins of Dostoyevksy's Crime and Punishment

Welcome back fans of Latin roots as they relate to English vocabulary words, and great talks about life-changing books! In this series that I'm offering, I am expounding upon books that have made an impression upon myself and many other readers, and the Latin root words inherent in their English titles. Let's look today at Crime and Punishment, a seminal novel with a very tricky ethical impasse.

The word punishment come from the Latin verb punire: to punish, which is the source of the following SAT vocabulary words:

subpoena: When one is "subpoenaed" to a court of law, one must show up under threat of punishment (if one doesn't go), via the Latin noun poena: punishment, penalty and the preposition sub: under, below, host of a legion of English vocabulary words, such as subterranean and subjugate.

impunity: When one does something with "impunity," one does not fear any "punishment" arising from one's actions.

punitive: A "punitive" action by a judge is one that "punishes" someone for doing something.

repentant: When one is "repentant" one is sorry for what one has done, and is etymologically being "punished" during this time of remorse. Via the Latin paenitens: regretting. One can also be unrepentant, penitent (undergoing penitence, or a punishment for an action), and penitential.

pine: The English word "pain" also comes from the Latin root word for "punish;" pain is a form of bodily punishment that one has to take when one has a malady. To "pine" for someone is to long greatly for them because they are not present; one feels "pain" in one's heart. To "repine" is also to yearn after something one does not have; this is a more difficult GRE vocabulary word.

Now, on to Fyodor Dostoyevksy's great novel, Crime and Punishment.

In this novel, Raskolnikov, a poor but brilliant medical student, has a relative, a fabulously wealthy old woman, who does no good for society at all, but simply hoards her wealth. Raskolnikov, whose potential to become an excellent doctor is vast, reasons to himself that if he had the old woman's money, he would be able to do better things with it because he would be able to become a doctor, and thereby heal many sick people. The old woman is parsimonious and will give him no financial aid, so he resolves to kill her, which he does eventually do, along with a witness that he did not count on having to kill as well. This ethical dilemma seems somewhat reasonable on the surface, that is, why have someone who is worthless to society have all that money who is doing no good at all with it, and have someone who could be immensely valuable to society and save many lives be thwarted because they have no means? At first blush this sounds very reasonable; however, the primary issue here is of identity. Yogic creeds teach us that we are not our mind, feelings, or body, but rather that we are something much vaster, and indeed are not separate from the rest of the people that surround one, and so, from a yogic perspective, Raskolnikov is mistaken in thinking that his obsessive focus on money forms his identity, and in doing away with the old woman he is actually doing away with himself, as he is not separate from her. So, although to our rational minds and maybe even to our humanitarian feelings Raskolnikov is justified in what he does, from a perspective of the "true self," that is, that which is, at essence, undifferentiated and nonindividuated from the rest of humanity, the doing away with the "useless" old woman is ethically wrong (ethical relativism aside here) because she is an incarnated soul just like the rest of us.
     Probably the best pair of translators into Russian these days is Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky.  Their translations of Russian literature are truly nonpareil.  Take a gander at their Crime and Punishment; even if you've already read this seminal work, it's well worth reading again by such an astounding pair. 

Fascinated with English vocabulary words? Want to pick them apart into their constituent Greek and Latin roots? Want to know even more words that come from the Latin root word punire, and most especially the prolific prefix sub? Studying hard for the SAT or GRE verbal section, and just can't get a handle on all of those vocabulary words? Check out www.wordempire.com, where you will find the most comprehensive Greek and Latin roots dictionary available today, and also the most beautiful...it's in full color, and artistically designed. There's even a Greek and Latin roots poster available, which nicely illustrates the full power of what Greek and Latin root words can do for you.

Latin roots of Don Quixote

Welcome back fans of Latin roots as they relate to English vocabulary words, and great talks about life-changing books! In this series that I'm offering, I am expounding upon books that have changed my life, and the Latin root words inherent in their English titles. Let's look today at Don Quixote, most likely the greatest novel ever written.

The word Don, or "lord" comes from the Latin root word dominus, which means "lord" or "master." A virtual bevy of great SAT and GRE words comes from this root, including the following English words:

domineering: when one is "domineering," one is trying to lord it over others, or trying to completely master them
demesne: a "demesne" is that land or property that a "master" owns, basically the same word as "domain," or that area of land over which one is a "master."
dominion: the "dominion" one holds is that control or power or sway or "mastery" one holds in a particular situation in which one dominates one's peers or opponents
predominant: a "predominant" soccer player is one that is "master before" all others, the creme de la creme; she or he exhibits predominance in their sport.

Related to this word "master" is the feminine version, domina, from which we get the following GRE vocabulary words in addition to words such as dame, damsel, madam, Donna, and Notre Dame:

beldam: a "beldam" is a fine old woman who commands our respect (although the meaning has morphed as well into an old woman who is particularly unattractive).
duenna: a go-between who is a mistress of a love affair between two younger aspirants. Much used in Chaucer.

Now, the word "quixotic." I believe that the word "Quixote" originally referred to armor worn on the thighs (Quixote of course was a "brave" knight). One who is "quixotic" today is rather fanciful in his or her imaginings, or has "ideals" that are highly unreachable, much like the Don possessed, and which Sancho Panza never quite understood: cf. the search for the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso.

So, what's so great about the book Don Quixote that I would dare label it the best novel ever written? Shouldn't I know better since I've read thousands of books myself? Considering it was written in the very early 17th century, how could nigh 400 years not produce a better, in any language? Let's put it this way: it's by far the funniest work I've ever read; as I was last reading the Edith Grossman translation (a perfectly fabulous translation, by the bye) on the porch, I would often guffaw out loud at the Don's crazy exploits, some of which actually brought tears to my eyes...he is so believable in his craziness that you just want to love the guy...do you remember the last time you laughed uncontrollably out loud while reading a book? The other absolutely wonderful thing about this predominant work by Miguel de Cervantes is that everyone who reads Don Quixote has a different opinion about who and what the Don actually is... I know who he is to me (note the present tense here), but I would be most interested in hearing who he was to the public at large. If one were to read any one book this year, this would be the one to read; highly accessible to the general reader (we're not talking Proust here, although that too is a worthy read) and the most literate alike, it's a book for the millennium. Or, if one were to read only one book in the next decade, and you wanted to take the decade to do it, this is the one for fiction...although paradoxically, it's also one most true to life (except for perhaps Hamlet or King Lear).  By the bye, there are many excellent translations of Don Quixote out there, and I've read a number of them.  However, I think that the best translation is the Don Quixote by Edith Grossman.  Pure, pure linguistic genius.  It had me guffawing out loud!

Fascinated with English vocabulary words? Want to pick them apart into their constituent Greek and Latin roots? Want to know even more words that come from the Latin root word dominus? Studying hard for the SAT or GRE verbal section, and just can't get a handle on all of those vocabulary words? Check out www.wordempire.com, where you will find the most comprehensive Greek and Latin roots dictionary available today, and also the most beautiful...it's in full color, and artistically designed. There's even a Greek and Latin roots poster available, which nicely illustrates the full power of what Greek and Latin root words can do for you.