I stumbled upon a light-hearted post on Facebook last Saturday that said, ‘My life is a constant battle between wanting to correct grammar and wanting friends.’
It made me smile — and reflect. Anyone who has a love for language knows this struggle. We correct mistakes almost instinctively, but often hesitate, knowing it might annoy others.
This humorous conflict, however, brings to mind two very different literary figures: Robert Browning’s grammarian and the grammarian in Adi Shankaracharya’s ‘Bhajagovindam’.
Both Browning and Shankaracharya, through their portrayal of grammarians, shed light on a deeper question: What is the purpose of knowledge, and how does one balance intellectual pursuits with the essence of life itself?
Browning’s grammarian: A life dedicated to detail
In Robert Browning’s poem ‘A Grammarian’s Funeral’, we are introduced to a scholar who devoted his life entirely to the study of grammar. Browning paints him as a man deeply committed to intellectual rigour, who sees value in understanding the finer details of language — even at the expense of life’s simpler pleasures. As Browning writes, ‘Leave now to poets a flower’s grace, / Mine be the strength of the man’s truth.’
For Browning’s grammarian, the pursuit of knowledge is almost sacred. He believes that, by perfecting his understanding of language, he can achieve a form of immortality. But at his funeral, people wonder if he truly ‘lived’ his life, or if he let it pass by, buried in books and theories.
Browning doesn’t entirely condemn this choice; he presents the grammarian with respect and regret, acknowledging the nobility and the loss in such dedication. There’s a sense that the grammarian’s focus on detail is admirable, yet cautionary. Browning asks us to consider whether the single-minded pursuit of knowledge is worth it if it means missing out on the vibrant experiences of life.
Adi Shankaracharya’s grammarian: A warning against obsession
In contrast, Adi Shankaracharya’s treatment of a grammarian in ‘Bhajagovindam’ is more critical. Shankaracharya, an 8th-century philosopher and spiritual leader, advocated the pursuit of higher spiritual knowledge over mere intellectual exercises.
Legend has it that while walking through Kashi (Varanasi), he saw an elderly man struggling to learn Sanskrit grammar. Moved, he felt that the precious, limited time left in the man’s life would be better spent in devotion rather than in language study.
This inspired him to compose Bhajagovindam, an admonition against such misguided priorities: ‘Bhaja Govindam, Bhaja Govindam, Govindam Bhaja Moodhamate, Samprapte sannihite kale, nahi rakshati dukrinkarane.’ (Worship God, worship God, worship God, you fool; rules of grammar will not save you at the time of your death.)
For Shankaracharya, intellectual pursuits like grammar were distractions if they did not lead to spiritual growth. He saw the grammarian’s focus on syntax as a poor substitute for enlightenment, arguing that life is too short for such distractions if they come at the cost of connecting with the divine.
The common thread
Though Browning and Shankaracharya present opposing views, both works raise an essential question: What should we prioritise in life? Should we chase intellectual achievement, even at the risk of isolation? Or should we focus on connecting with others and seeking a higher purpose, as Shankaracharya suggests?
The Facebook post captures this dilemma in a humorous way. Many of us struggle with the desire to correct language and maintain friendships. It’s a small reminder that while knowledge has its place, so does the warmth of human connection.
Perhaps, as these two portrayals of grammarians suggest, the answer lies in balance. We can pursue knowledge without isolating ourselves, and we can connect with others without feeling the need to correct every slip of grammar.
Both Browning’s and Shankaracharya’s grammarians remind us that life is about choices. Browning’s grammarian chose intellect; Shankaracharya’s grammarian chose correction over worship. Today, we don’t have to choose one over the other. We can appreciate language, connect with others, and remember that sometimes, it’s okay to let a mistake slide — for the sake of friendship.