I just finished reading Lawrence Weinstein’s book, “Grammar for a Full Life,” which I plan to review later this week. Spoiler alert: I highly recommend it. The book delves into the intriguing topic of the spirituality of grammar.
You might be wondering how grammar and spirituality connect. There’s actually a lot to it, but I’ll expand on that in the review. For now, let me give you a taste of this connection with an example from the book. It starts with ordinary grammar, which many of us think of as important but boring, and then leads to a fascinating way of thinking about meditation that could make it more meaningful.
First, let’s talk grammar basics: you’ve probably heard of the “active voice” and the “passive voice” in writing. In the active voice, the subject does the action, like in “I drove the car.” The subject “I” is driving the car. In the passive voice, the action happens to the subject, as in “The car was driven.” Here, the driving happens without mentioning who did it.
People often use the passive voice to avoid taking responsibility. For instance, a politician might say, “Mistakes were made,” without specifying who made them. This creates the impression that responsibility has been acknowledged, without actually admitting guilt. Similarly, when I ask my kids about a broken vase, they might say, “It broke,” evading who caused it.
Weinstein argues that switching to the active voice can be empowering by reminding us of our agency. For example, instead of saying, “I’m being kept on hold,” which sounds passive, you could say, “I’m waiting to talk to my bank,” which makes you an active participant. This shift in language can give you a sense of freedom and responsibility, highlighting that we are the makers of our fate.
However, Weinstein also notes that the passive voice can show “creative passivity.” Sometimes being too active can be counterproductive, such as when too much effort creates tension, as Weinstein experienced in his early singing lessons. Learning to let go allowed his voice to flow naturally.
The passive voice can also indicate modesty and interdependence. For example, saying “I was awarded the Oscar for best actress” recognizes that success often involves luck, support from others, and many factors beyond just personal effort. This acknowledgment can move the focus away from oneself.
Furthermore, the passive voice accurately represents the creative process. Writers and artists often feel like passive recipients of inspiration, as if creativity flows through them rather than being actively controlled.
Now, about love and magic: the word “glamour,” which once meant enchantment, originates from “grammar.” Both concepts involve using signs, symbols, and letters to create desired effects, making grammar a form of magic.
Weinstein also discusses a special grammatical form used in meditation, which he calls the “active-passive hybrid.” This form starts with the auxiliary subjunctive verb “may,” like in “May your spirits lift.” Here, the speaker invokes some unnamed force to act, making it both active and passive simultaneously.
In lovingkindness and compassion meditation, phrases like “May you be at peace” are common. This form of expression helps us feel like channels for forces capable of bringing about positive change. Love flows through us but is also invited by us, making us active conduits of these blessings.
By viewing grammar as a form of magic, our meditation practices can transform from mere exercises into something deeply enriching. We open ourselves to love, becoming conduits for it, and allowing it to impact our world.
In summary, recognizing grammar as both practical and magical can enhance our meditation experience, turning it into an act of inviting and bestowing blessings upon the world.