I just finished reading Lawrence Weinstein’s book, “Grammar for a Full Life,” and I plan to write a detailed review of it later this week. Spoiler alert: I’ll be recommending it highly. The book might seem to cover an unusual topic—it’s about the spirituality of grammar.
You might wonder how grammar and spirituality are connected. They actually have a lot to do with each other, but I’ll explore that more in the review. For now, I want to give you a taste of that connection using an example from the book. It starts out in the familiar territory of grammar (which many of us consider necessary but boring) and leads us into an area of magic, showing a new way of thinking about meditation that could make it more vibrant and meaningful.
First, let’s delve into the ordinary grammar. You likely know the difference between the “active voice” and the “passive voice.” In the active voice, as in the sentence “I drove the car,” the subject “I” is the doer—actively performing the action. The car is simply the object.
In the passive voice, the same sentence becomes “The car was driven.” Here, the doer is unspecified, making the sentence less direct about who performed the action. The passive voice is often used by those wanting to dodge responsibility. For instance, a politician might say, “Mistakes were made,” to avoid specifying who made those mistakes—often themselves. It’s a way to imply that responsibility has been taken without actually owning up to it. Likewise, when I ask my children about a broken vase and they say, “It broke,” they skillfully avoid admitting fault.
Weinstein suggests that shifting from passive to active voice can be empowering as it reinforces our sense of agency. Take his example: if someone questions why you’re holding a phone to your ear without speaking, you might say, “I’m being kept on hold.” This implies helpless passivity. Instead, if you say, “I’m waiting to talk to my bank,” you frame yourself as an active participant making a choice to wait. Weinstein argues that using active language can grant you more freedom—such as deciding to hang up and call back later—reminding us we have control over our fate.
However, Weinstein also notes that passivity can be creatively empowering. Being overly active may cause us to exert unnecessary effort, getting in our own way. He shares how his own singing attempts were stifled by tension until a skilled teacher taught him to let go, allowing his voice to flow naturally.
Active voice can feed our egos, while passive voice can demonstrate modesty and an understanding of interdependence. For example, saying, “I won the Oscar for best actress,” focuses solely on individual effort. On the other hand, saying, “I was awarded the Oscar for best actress,” acknowledges other factors like luck and support from coaches, judges, and mentors, recognizing that success often involves a collective effort. The passive voice thereby serves to move the individual out of the story’s center.
The passive voice also aptly represents the creative process. Writers often describe their characters taking on lives of their own, and artists talk about inspiration flowing through them. The passive construction reflects the reality of how creation happens—something I’ve discussed in terms of the illusion of owning our actions.
Now on to love and magic. In Scots, an old word for a magical spell is “glammer,” which evolved into “glamour,” the spell beauty casts on us. “Glammer” originally came from “grammar,” linked to the Greek “grammatikē tekhnē,” meaning the art of letters. Just as magical signs and symbols can conjure results, grammar transmits meaning from one mind to another, making it a form of telepathy. Thus, grammar can be seen as a kind of magic.
Weinstein also talks about a grammatical form that’s neither strictly passive nor active but has a touch of magic, commonly used in meditation—the “active-passive hybrid.” This form starts with the auxiliary subjunctive verb “may,” such as in “May your spirits lift.” Here, the speaker doesn’t state “I raise your spirits” or “I hope your spirits lift.” Rather, an unnamed force is invoked to do the lifting. It seems passive because the action isn’t directly performed by the speaker, yet it also feels active as the speaker is making an invocation.
This “blessing formula” is prevalent in lovingkindness and compassion meditation, using phrases like “May you be well” or “May you be free from suffering.” We often recite these phrases without fully contemplating their power. Weinstein suggests that understanding this form can enrich our practice, encouraging us to feel that we’re channeling unknown forces capable of bringing peace and kindness.
In passive terms, love flows through you. In active terms, you’re inviting and directing these forces. You become a willing conduit, actively bestowing blessings upon the world. Imagine and feel this as you meditate; you open yourself to love, becoming a conduit and consciously allowing it to impact the world.
Lovingkindness and compassion practices are part of what’s known as the “brahma-viharas” or “divine abidings.” This term suggests a profound, almost god-like state of love, but also love dwelling within and flowing through us.
Adopt the perspective that in lovingkindness and compassion practice, you’re inviting blessings to arise within you, bestowing them upon the world. Recognizing grammar as a form of magic can transform your meditation practice into something deeply powerful.