We’ve all heard the saying, “Too many cooks spoil the broth.” The same could be said of theology. When too many theological systems or schools of thought crowd our understanding of faith, they can distort what was once clear and personal. Though we often speak of “theology” as if it were one unified thing, it is in fact many. Just read a few books on any doctrine from different theological traditions and you’ll find sharp disagreements—often all in the name of clarity.
So, does this mean theology or systematic theology is useless? Not at all. It’s helpful—even necessary—to have a broad understanding of the Scripture, or Muktiveda. But that overview, however well-structured, cannot replace the living experience of faith. It cannot anchor you when you drift, or revive the love that once burned in your heart.
The First Love That Anchors Us
One of the Lord’s warnings is that we often lose our first love—the deep, personal love with which our relationship with Him began. Like any romance, a spiritual relationship must be nurtured to remain alive. But without remembering that first moment—when it all began—it slowly fades. Sometimes it’s even lost.
For me, that first love was bhakti—a love that began when the Lord came seeking me and showed me the path. That encounter remains the foundation of my faith. I once expressed it in a poem, using just eight words in Tamil:
என்னைக் கண்ட
என்னைக் கண்டு
என்னில் நானே
என்னைக் கண்டேன்
Beholding the vision
of the One who has
seen me,
I have seen me within me. [See BT Song 1673]
How would theology categorize this experience? It might sound close to Advaita, the idea of union between atman and Brahman—of not-two (a-dvaita) but one. Others might say it’s closer to Vishishtadvaita, a qualified non-duality. But truthfully, I don’t know. Even Sri Adi Shankara may not have used the term “Advaita Vedanta,” nor Ramanuja “Vishishtadvaita.” These labels were given later by followers.1 The originators were more interested in realization than in categorization.
What I do know is that this experience lies beyond the boundaries of theological systems. And yet, similar echoes exist in the Muktiveda too. Sevanand writes, “It is no longer I, but Muktanand who lives in me.” In another place: “We live and move and have our being in Him.” Whether systematic theology can accept such expressions, I do not know. I am not a theologian. But I am a bhakta—and that matters more to me.
When Doctrine Replaces Devotion
By all means, study theology. It helps form a framework to engage with the Muktiveda. But don’t let it define or confine your faith. Faith is born not from categories, but from encounters—real moments when the Divine breaks into your life.
All of us begin with some first experience of the Lord. That becomes the core of our faith. Yet, in the name of orthodoxy or tradition, when communities are gathered under a single denominational doctrine, individuals are often subtly pressured to adjust their faith to fit that doctrine. Over time, this erodes the freshness and authenticity of their encounter. The first love becomes second-hand faith.
This doesn’t only apply to how we treat fellow bhaktas within our own tradition. It should also shape how we view others who do not share our kind of faith at all. That’s why I found John Sanders’ book, What About Those Who Have Never Heard? (IVP, 1995), so thought-provoking. It challenges us to ask: Can God’s grace extend beyond our doctrinal boundaries? If the starting point is love, and not labels, then perhaps the answer is yes. However, in the book, all three contributors do not fully agree with this perspective, each offering their own genuine theological reasons for caution or limitation.
A Story with a Hint of Masala
Let me share a story—a parable, if you will. It’s imaginary, of course, but stories, like theology, leave room for interpretation.
During one of his visits to Jerusalem, Sevanand met Puraskar (Matthew, meaning “gift of God”), Smaran (Zacchaeus, “God is remembered”), and the Samaritan woman (thank God we don’t know her name—so there’s no need to “contextualize” it!).
Curious, Sevanand asked each of them to share how they first encountered the Lord.
Puraskar, always assuming leadership (as if God had assigned him that role), spoke first:
“Stay unethical in your job like I did—collect too much tax from the people. Then the Lord, walking by, will call you and save you!”
Smaran added, “No need to cheat. Just climb a tree when He’s passing. He’ll spot you and invite you down!”
The Samaritan woman said, “No need for all that. Just go draw water at the village edge. The Lord will come seeking you to save you!”
Sevanand smiled and said, “There’s an even quicker way—persecute the bhaktas! The Lord cannot bear their suffering, so He’ll come rushing to save them—by saving you. In Hinduism too, we hear that Bhagavan will go beyond even His nature to protect His bhaktas!”
But Puraskar, who by then had emerged as the natural leader of the mandali, objected:
How can you even refer to people of other faiths—especially when we don’t know if they are saved, and we’ve never even encountered them in our lives?”
Sevanand replied, with a knowing smile:
“That’s why you need to travel more! On one journey, I met some Indian merchants and sannyasis. When I shared the Gospel, they told me of their belief in a God who rushes to rescue His devotees. It reminded me of my own experience—so I now share it to strengthen the faith of other bhaktas.”
(In the original story I heard, this encounter with Hindus wasn’t part of it. But like theology, storytelling allows a little creative speculation—so I added some Hindu masala to make it more interesting!)
Conclusion: Beyond Labels, Within Love
In the end, our journey of faith is about embracing the mystery of the Divine—and allowing ourselves to be transformed by personal encounter. Theology can provide structure. But love gives it life. Faith doesn’t grow in the tight grip of labels and systems; it grows in the open field of trust, wonder, and longing.
By holding to our first love, and by adopting a more inclusive, pluralistic view of bhakti, we not only deepen our own walk with God—we also make space for others to walk their own. And in doing so, we reflect the heart of the One who first saw us… and called us His own.
Ashram, July 6, 2025
The term “Advaita Vedanta” as applied to Sankara’s philosophy was not coined by Sankara himself, but rather by later scholars and commentators. While Sankara’s teachings are based on the principle of non-dualism (Advaita), the formal designation of his philosophy as “Advaita Vedanta” came later. Similarly, “Vishishtadvaita” was a term popularized by Ramanuja to describe his own school of Vedanta, which emphasizes qualified non-dualism.—Internet Encyclopaedia of Philosophy, accessed on July 6, 2025
https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&url=https%3A%2F%2Fiep.utm.edu%2Fadvaita-vedanta%2F&psig=AOvVaw2X06Q4NVS2Iai3RjwMXL7B&ust=1751860898776000&source=images&cd=vfe&opi=89978449&ved=0CAYQrpoMahcKEwigmLuBsaeOAxUAAAAAHQAAAAAQBA
…The term visistadvaita is often translated as “qualified nondualism,” to distinguish it from the later Dvaita or “dualist” school of Madhva (1238-1317), as well as from other non-Vaisnava theistic schools such as the Saiva Siddhanta. This term was not used by Ramanuja, but was adopted by his later followers, partly on the basis of a passage in one of Desika’s treatises on logic and epistemology3….— Steven Paul Hopkins, Singing the Body of God, New York, Oxford, 2002, p.? [28?]
3.. The Nyaya Siddhanjana (Madras, 1953), jadadravyaparicchedah, p. 2. Cited in S. M. Srinivasa Chari, Fundamentals of Visistadvaita Vedanta: A Study Based on Vedanta Desika’s Tattvamukta-kalapa (Delhi, Motilal Banarsidass, 1987), p. 2.—pp. 248-49
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