I’ve always been drawn to older spiritual texts. There is something about their language that feels settling, especially when compared with much of what we read today.
That’s because language does more than pass along information. It shapes attention. It affects the nervous system of the listener.
This got me thinking about the differences between modern language and older spiritual language.
Modern Language and the Need to Win
Much of modern language is structured around assertion and opposition. It assumes there is a position to defend, a point to prove, a listener to convince, a problem to fix, a side to take.
Even when the subject is benign, the structure often carries pressure. Sentences build toward a point. The reader is subtly asked to agree, disagree, or decide.
This shows up in common phrases such as:
- Here’s why this matters.
- What you don’t understand is…
- The truth is…
- If you really think about it…
While they can be useful in certain settings, they also carry a directional force to move the reader toward a conclusion. The language is oriented toward a win, even when the topic is personal growth or spirituality.
This communication style has evolved in environments where winning mattered. Law. Politics. Advertising. Debate. Social media. Each rewards speed, certainty, and dominance of attention.
The result is language that often feels like an assault, even when no harm is intended. Over time, this way of speaking trains both speaker and listener to stay braced.
The Language of the Rishis
The rishis were early seers whose insights were recorded in the Upanishads. These texts are among the earliest contemplative writings we have. They are records of direct seeing, often conveyed through dialogue between teacher and student.
The language they used is strikingly different from modern speech because they approached it from a very different perspective. It wasn’t to win or persuade but to point.
Their statements are often simple, declarative structures. They are not pushing for agreement or anticipating objections.
They assume that understanding comes on its own when the mind is quiet enough to receive it.
Examples from the Upanishads sound like this:
- “That which cannot be seen by the eye, but by which the eye sees.”
- “It is known when it is not grasped.”
These sentences do not explain themselves. They are meant to be sat with.
In teacher-student exchanges, the pattern is similar:
Student: What is that by knowing which all this is known?
Teacher: That which words do not reach, and by which words arise.
The answer, rather than resolving the question, redirects attention.
A Difference in Intention
The difference between modern language and early contemplative language lies in intention.
Modern language often works toward an outcome. Understanding is treated as something to reach.
The language of the rishis assumes understanding emerges when interference quiets. Speech is used to orient attention and then release it. Nothing is pushed forward. Nothing is tightened.
Why the Older Language Feels Calming
The nervous system responds to safety before it responds to meaning.
Language that does not press allows the body to settle. Language that does not argue allows attention to widen. When words do not demand a response, awareness has room to move on its own.
This is why the Upanishads and other early contemplative texts often feel calming, even when they address complex questions. They do not activate defense or urgency. They assume the listener is capable of seeing. Modern language rarely makes that assumption.
Sharing Experience Rather Than Winning a Point
When language is used to establish a position or “win,” the listener becomes an enemy to be conquered.
When language is used to share experience, the listener becomes a companion.
The rishis were sharing what they saw and leaving space for others to see for themselves. They trusted that recognition could not be forced. That’s a big difference.
Remembering Another Way to Speak
This is not a rejection of modern language. Precision, analysis, and debate have their place. But something essential is lost when every conversation becomes a contest, and every sentence carries an edge.
This is just a reminder that there is another way to communicate. Words can convey understanding without force. They can share experience without ownership. And, perhaps most importantly, they can invite awareness without telling anyone what to think or asking for agreement.
In a culture shaped by urgency and persuasion, this older way of speaking can feel forgotten. And yet, when encountered, it is often recognized immediately.
Because the body knows it.