Impossible Harmonization

Speculative Theology versus Sacramental Theology

Is it possible to reconcile speculative theology—with its abstractions, metaphysical deductions, and philosophical constructs—with sacramental theology, which is rooted in ritual, presence, and embodied grace? The contrast is not merely academic; it cuts to the core of how we understand divine action, human participation, the role of intuition or inspiration, and the nature of revelation itself. What one system treats as mystery, the other seeks to explain; what one reveres in silence, the other analyzes with reason.

This essay argues that any attempt to harmonize the two is not only fraught with tension but fundamentally impossible without compromising the essence of one or both traditions.

The Second Vatican Council documents reveal a particular openness toward non-Christian religions. For example, the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy states:

“The Church respects and fosters the spiritual adornments and gifts of the various races and peoples. Anything in their way of life that is not indissolubly bound up with superstition and error she studies with sympathy and, if possible, preserves intact. Sometimes, in fact, she admits such things into the liturgy itself as long as they harmonize with its true and authentic spirit.”

[Non-Christian Revelation and Christian Worship, pp. 257–303, in Gispert-Sauch, S.J. (ed.) God’s Word Among Men, papers in honour of Fr. Joseph Putz, S.J., Delhi: Vidyajoti, 1973, Sacrosanctum Concilium, n. 37; Abel, p. 303]

Drawing from this, Abel urges Christians to engage in patient and sincere dialogue to learn about the treasures that “a bountiful God has distributed among the nations of the earth.” Yet he immediately adds that these treasures must be “illuminated by the light of the Gospel,” set free, and brought under the dominion of “God their Saviour” (ibid., p. 303).

Frankly, I was not surprised by this tone—simultaneously patronizing and hegemonic. On one hand, Catholic theologians acknowledge that what is good and noble in other traditions are “God’s bountiful treasures.” On the other, these very treasures must be liberated—set free—by the Gospel, so they may be rightly claimed under the lordship of the Christian God.

Some might think I am reading too much into this—perhaps even twisting the intent. But let’s look closely. There seems to be an assumption of two Gods at work: a universal God who distributes such treasures across cultures, and then the Christian God, to whom these treasures must ultimately be brought into submission. Why this need to transfer ownership? Why this theological sleight of hand?

Let’s step back. Even if we agree with the Christian claim that sin entered into a good creation—created by a common, pre-Christian God (a premise most Christians will accept)—why then are these good treasures seen as tainted by superstition and error? Why must they be redeemed or preserved by the Church, as though those who lived within those traditions never cherished or protected them?

Of course, as Christian doctrine would assert, all beautiful gifts from God are now marred by the Fall and await redemption through the Saviour. I acknowledge the internal consistency of that belief. However, since not all share this doctrinal premise, it would be more honest—when speaking across traditions—to make such assumptions explicit. The claim that others failed to preserve their gifts in original purity is unlikely to persuade any non-Christian. If all Christians do hold this view, then it would be more charitable to acknowledge these as divine gifts nonetheless, rather than dismissing them—as many Evangelicals do—as works of the devil, a position often held without introspection.

This tension becomes even more acute when someone like Abel proposes including non-Christian scriptures in Christian liturgy. Such a gesture forces a choice: either these texts are accepted only when they conveniently align with the Christian reading for that day, or they must first be “illumined by the light of the Gospel,” effectively Christianized and brought under the dominion of “God their Saviour.” In that case, non-Christians would rightly claim that these are no longer their scriptures, but altered versions reinterpreted for Christian use. This dilemma is hard to resolve honestly if one wants to respect both traditions while acknowledging that true harmonization may be impossible—especially when “the Other’s scripture” is appropriated without regard for what it originally was.

For example, suppose that on Good Friday, alongside the appointed the Uttara Veda [New Testament] readings  theologians like Abel wish to include a passage from a Hindu scripture that touches on sin and expiation—perhaps on prāyaścitta, the ritual means to atone for wrongdoing. Thematically, there may seem to be common ground. But theologically and liturgically, such inclusion would be incoherent. In Hinduism, prāyaścitta is an individual’s responsibility for specific sins—often related to social duty, caste violations, or ritual lapses. The burden is on the person to rectify these lapses through penance or ritual purification. In contrast, Good Friday proclaims the once-for-all atonement made not by the sinner, but by the sinless Lord on behalf of all humanity. It is not penance for personal sin but an act of divine substitution transcending ritual categories. These two visions of redemption are not just different; they are mutually exclusive in their logic, purpose, and theological grammar.

This is the flaw: unless those treasures had already been faithfully guarded by the communities that received them, there would be nothing left for the Church to redeem or preserve today. There’s a lack of humility in failing to recognize that.

I know my view may seem skeptical or even cynical. But after reading several pages (pp. 293–303) on the “Universal Salvific Will of God”—where all faiths are included—it’s disheartening to see the conclusion revert back to a closed formula: of the Church, for the Church, and by the Church. Now, even openness to other traditions must be “sacramental,” officially endorsed by the Sacred Liturgy, and subject to Catholic approval before Christians are even allowed to think in that direction.

So I ask: What is the need? Why not let others remain as they are? If their paths are not acceptable to Christians, can they at least be tolerated—without the need to “redeem” them for Christian use? Do non-Christians feel the need to contextualize the Muktiveda or any Christian scripture for their own worship? If their scriptures are sufficient for their spiritual lives, why must Christians appropriate them?

Non-Christians may welcome respectful study and shared insights. But they will never accept a patronizing spirit disguised as openness—especially one that insists on “setting free” their traditions and bringing them under the dominion of a foreign God.

There is another layer to this: Even if speculative theologians are willing to abstract away differences in the realm of “essences,” sacramental theology cannot do this. As Michael Amaladoss rightly points out:

“The sacramental theologian cannot but deal with man living in history, in a given culture and in given conditions of space and time…”
(Michael Amaladoss, Adaptation in Liturgy and the Problem of Meaning, pp. 311–312 in God’s Word Among Men)

So even if the Church admits certain non-Christian elements into the liturgy (SC 37), it does so only when they harmonize with its “true and authentic spirit.” But what if they don’t? What if the theology simply cannot be harmonized?

This is my point: No matter how much one tries to contextualize or inculturate Hinduism into Christianity—or vice versa—they are fundamentally different in theology. The Gospel proclaims that the Covenant promise is fulfilled in Muktinath (Christ). That alone sets it apart. Terms like grace, sin, and salvation may appear across traditions, but their meanings and contexts are not interchangeable. Unless one is prepared to abandon that core difference, any attempt at theological synthesis will ultimately fail.

As a bhakta of Muktinath, I honor every scripture for its own message. I do not feel the need for Christian theology to include Hindu scripture in its sacramental theology. However, I freely use references from other traditions—not to harmonize, but to highlight common spiritual insights, such as how bhakti expresses a personal relationship with the divine across many traditions.

So instead of trying to include non-Christian scriptures into sacramental theology by force-fitting them into Christian categories, why not first respect them as they are? That is what most Hindus already do.

I am not against dialogue or mutual enrichment. But turning other scriptures into mere “woodcutters and stone-dressers” in the temple of Christian theology—only to set them free and bring them under Christian dominion—is neither necessary nor acceptable. It betrays the very spirit of reverence that true interfaith engagement demands.

Concluding Reflection: Holding the Tension, Not Resolving It

The impulse to harmonize speculative and sacramental theology—to tie every thread into a seamless system—is understandable. Human reason longs for coherence, for closure. But theology, at its most honest, does not always serve coherence; it often serves reverence. It is here that sacramental theology offers a corrective.

Sacraments do not explain grace; they enact it. They do not unravel mystery; they immerse us in it. In sacramental imagination, meaning is not extracted through abstraction, but encountered in gesture, symbol, and presence. It does not flatten differences for the sake of system, but leaves room for divine excess—for that which cannot be contained in words or grasped by logic.

Thus, rather than attempting an impossible harmonization between speculative and sacramental theologies, we might ask a deeper question: Can we live with the discomfort of unresolved difference? Can we allow other traditions—other articulations of truth, beauty, and goodness—to exist without needing to explain, subsume, or sanctify them under our own categories?

Perhaps this is not a call to harmonize, but to witness—to be attentive to the sacred in unexpected places, even where our theology lacks language. And perhaps, it is only when we stop needing to own the mystery, that we become capable of standing before it—with open hands, and holy awe.

Ashram, May 15, 2025