“The Only True Living God”:What Do We Mean?

A Personal Reflection

Whenever I hear or read Christians speak, write, or pray using the expression “the only true living God,” I am not surprised. But at the same time, it gently amuses me and makes me think.

What exactly do we mean when we say “living”?

Does it imply that there is something like a “dead” God?

As far as I understand the Bible, it often speaks about the “living God.” But I do not recall it speaking anywhere about a “dead God.” Even when it refers to other gods worshipped by different people, or to the presence of evil forces and Satan, they are not described as dead. They are spoken of as active and present.¹

So I began to wonder whether the phrase “living God” is really about contrasting with something “dead,” or whether it is trying to say something else—something more about how we relate to God.

As I reflect on this, I realize that even asking such a question requires some kind of reasoning. After all, whenever we write or think seriously about anything, we naturally try to make sense of it.

But I am not trying to argue or defend any one position. I am only trying to understand.

In my own experience, especially in bhakti, there comes a point where reasoning becomes secondary and experience becomes primary. Yet even there, expression cannot be without some form of order. We cannot simply write at random in the name of expressing our experience.

For example, when I write a poem to express my reflections, the inner experience may come in a spontaneous and overflowing way. But when I give it words, I still have to follow a certain discipline—keeping a basic structure like four lines in a stanza, and following poetic patterns like alliteration and internal sound echo (known as edhugai and monai in Tamil). Without this, the expression may remain personal, but it may not communicate.

There is no exact one-word equivalent in English, but the closest poetic terms are:

• எதுகை (edhugai) → alliteration across lines (repetition of similar sounds, usually at the beginning or second syllable in successive lines)
• மோனை (monai) → alliteration / initial rhyme (repetition of the same starting sound)

Simple way to express in your article:

You can say:

“…observing poetic patterns such as alliteration and sound harmony (edhugai and monai in Tamil).”

Or slightly more explanatory:

“….”

So perhaps it is not a question of reason versus experience. Both are present. One gives form to what we express; the other gives life to it.

Even within Christian thought, this balance is recognized. Augustine of Hippo speaks of faith and understanding as going together—believing and understanding supporting each other.²

In many Hindu traditions, an image is never just an object. It becomes meaningful only when it is approached as a living presence.

Through prāṇa pratiṣṭhā, what appears to be stone becomes, for the devotee, a living reality. Without that approach, it remains stone. With that approach, it becomes divine. In the Sri Vaishnava tradition, the archāvatāra is not merely symbolic. It is the very presence of the deity.

This way of seeing is beautifully captured in a Tamil proverb:

“கல்லைக் கண்டால் நாயைக் காணோம்; நாயைக் கண்டால் கல்லைக் காணோம்.”

What we see depends on how we see.

The same idea comes out even more powerfully in the words of Thirumoolar:

மரத்தை மறைத்தது மாமத யானை
மரத்தில் மறைந்தது மாமத யானை
பரத்தை மறைத்தது பார்முதற் பூதம்
பரத்தில் மறைந்தது பார்முதற் பூதம்

When we look at a wooden elephant, we see the elephant and forget the wood. When we think of the wood, the elephant disappears.

In the same way, the world we see can hide the deeper reality behind it. But that deeper reality is not somewhere else—it is present within what we see.

So form does not only hide—it also reveals.

This brings me back to the idea of “living” and “lifeless.”

From one point of view, an image may appear lifeless. But for the devotee who stands before it, speaks to it, and relates to it, it is anything but lifeless.

So who decides whether something is living?

Perhaps it depends on the relationship.

Even in Christian theology, thinkers like Thomas Aquinas say that God is not just one being among many, but Being itself—beyond our simple categories of living and non-living.³

I remember a gathering where a very learned person tried to prove, using many arguments, that Jesus Christ alone is the true living God.

After he finished, a simple village man said:

“How can I speak to someone who is not living? I spoke to Him this morning.”

That one line said more than all the arguments.

I have also seen something else that made me think.

In certain Christian traditions, especially Catholic, it is believed that after consecration, the bread and wine become the body and blood of Christ. I have seen priests bow down before it with deep reverence, as before a living presence.⁴

From a Hindu point of view, this looks very similar to prāṇa pratiṣṭhā. Before prayer, it is ordinary; after prayer, it is sacred. Of course, I understand that Christian theology explains this differently. Still, from the outside, we naturally understand through our own experience.

At the same time, I noticed another difference.

In many Christian settings, only baptized members receive this sacred offering. But in Hindu practice, prasāda is usually shared with everyone. For the devotee, it may be saving grace; for others, it is still a blessing.

This made me reflect—not to compare, but to understand how differently grace is shared.

So when I hear the phrase “the only true living God,” I do not argue against it. I understand that it comes from deep faith.

But I quietly wonder:

Are we describing God? Or expressing our way of relating to God? Because for any devotee, the one they pray to is always living.

In many traditions, this idea is already present. The Qur’an speaks of God as the Ever-Living. The Guru Granth Sahib speaks of the One beyond death.

So perhaps the question is not whether God is living. Perhaps the question is how we experience and speak about that living reality.

In the end, it feels very simple.

God does not become living because we prove it.
God is living because we relate.

And maybe the limitation is not in God—but in the words we use.

“கல்லைக் கண்டால் நாயைக் காணோம்.”

What we see depends on how we see.

[Also see: https://dayanandbharati.in/reductionism/]

Ashram, March 21, 2026

Footnotes [Note: The footnotes in this article were generated with the assistance of ChatGPT. While the original reflections are my own, the references were suggested and later reviewed for accuracy.]

1. See, for example, Psalm 115:4–7; Jeremiah 10:10; Acts 14:15 in the Bible.
2. Augustine of Hippo frequently emphasizes the relationship between faith and understanding; see Confessions, Book I, and Tractates on the Gospel of John, where this theme is developed.
3. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, Part I, Questions 3–4 (on the nature of God as not a being among beings, but Being itself).
4. Catechism of the Catholic Church, §§1373–1376 (on the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist after consecration).