“Faith Seeking Understanding” (Fides Quaerens Intellectum)

Can Theology Exist Without Faith and Justice?

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

About the author: Rev. Andria Sarias, hailing from Tbilisi, Georgia, is a scholar whose journey began at Tbilisi Theological Seminary and culminated at the University of Georgia (PhD). He specializes in church history and theology, with most recently obtaining a ThM at Columbia Theological Seminary. He has had notable roles in both academic and spiritual institutions. Passionate about advancing knowledge, Andria has authored numerous publications, reflecting his dedication to scholarly discourse.

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Theology¹ is the study of God—or, more broadly, divine discourse. In Georgian, the term translates as "ღვთისმეტყველება" (divine discourse). The concept of theology dates back to ancient Greek philosophy, where it originally referred to discourse about the gods, including their myths and histories. One of the earliest attestations of this usage can be found in Plato’s Republic, where he connects theology with the pursuit of truth, raising fundamental questions about unity, goodness, and immutable truth.²

This essay proceeds in three parts. First, I trace the historical development of theology from ancient Greek thought through scholasticism. Second, I explore theology as a lived engagement with justice, emphasizing the ethical responsibility inherent in theological discourse. Third, I ask whether one can be a theologian without explicit faith, arguing that theology can emerge from justice-centered inquiry even without personal belief. I conclude by synthesizing these strands into a vision of inclusive, justice-oriented theology.

With Aristotle, the concept of theology underwent a transformation: it became the highest form of theoretical science oriented toward the divine as the first principle of being. Thus, theology evolved from mythology into metaphysics.

In Christianity, the term theology gained prominence in the second century. Eusebius of Caesarea used it to denote the Christian understanding of God. In Patristic thought, theology did not encompass all of Christian doctrine but referred specifically to the direct study of God. Gregory of Nazianzus, also known as Gregory the Theologian, earned this title because his teachings primarily focused on the nature and understanding of God.

By the thirteenth century, theology had firmly established itself as an academic discipline. Christian scholasticism—represented by figures like Anselm of Canterbury, Peter Abelard, Peter Lombard, Albert the Great, Bonaventure, and Thomas Aquinas—marked one of its highest intellectual achievements. This period witnessed the development and systematization of numerous theological branches and subfields, thereby shaping theology as a rigorous and structured discipline.

Anyone who speaks about God can be considered a theologian, as Luther stated: “omens sumus Theologi.” We are all Theologians!³

One may approach God with simple faith, seeking a deeper relationship or understanding, but this faith seeking understanding pertains primarily to the realm of personal belief. I view the role of a theologian differently: those who engage in discourse about God within a specific context—particularly those who advocate for justice—should be recognized as theologians.

Ⅰ. Historical Foundations of Theology

Theology is more than an abstract intellectual pursuit; it is also a lived engagement with faith and justice. James H. Cone’s perspective underscores this reality. Cone understands theology as inseparable from a people’s historical and social experience. His early life in Bearden, Arkansas, profoundly shaped his faith, identity, and intellectual journey. In My Soul Looks Back, Cone reflects on how Bearden remained central to his theological vision: “It is as if the people of Bearden are present, around my desk as I think and write. Their voices are clear and inconsistent: ‘All right, James Hal, speak for your people.’”⁴

Thus, theology is not merely about God in abstraction; it is also about articulating a community’s struggles and hopes. It is both an inquiry into divine reality and a commitment to communal justice, ensuring that faith remains not just an object of study but a force that speaks contextually into and about the world.

Ⅱ. Theology and Justice as Lived Engagement

Theology can also be understood as a calling not only of faith but of justice, as Karl Barth reflected when the Nazi regime rose to power: “How dare we sit here in this prestigious, beautiful, orderly place and read and write books ‘as if nothing had happened’?”⁵ This statement gives theologians the ethical responsibility of engaging with the world’s injustices, refusing to remain passive or detached from the suffering and crises around them.

When comparing theological thought from the previous century to that of today, the differences are striking. In the past, theological disciplines did not exist in the formalized structure found in modern universities and seminaries. However, this structured approach has now become the norm. As Karl Barth observed in his time, theology is inherently adaptable: “Theological study and the impulse which compels it are not passing stages of life. The forms which this study assumes may and must change slightly with the times. But the theologian, if they were in fact a studiosus theologiae, remains so.”⁶

This flexibility means that theology need not be confined to institutional belief—but may breathe through communal living, ethical responsiveness, and even non confessional reflection.

Ⅲ. Theology Beyond Faith?

Let us pose a more challenging question: Can one be a theologian without believing in God? It is plausible that one can possess knowledge about God without necessarily believing in God. Knowledge of God can be derived from various sources, such as texts, resources, and intellectual inquiry, and it is not a requirement for a theologian to personally believe in God. Faith, in contrast, is a spiritual dimension that does not rely solely on knowledge. It is possible to have no formal knowledge and still believe in God’s existence, just as one can possess deep intellectual understanding, speak, and teach about God without personally believing in God. Daniel Migliore would likely critique my perspective, believing that theology without faith becomes questionable. However, I argue that a theologian does not necessarily need to believe in God but can still hold that Christian theology is a means to pursue justice. This, however, is not the kind of faith Migliore envisions. He writes: “When theology becomes mere theory divorced from Christian life and practice, it is indeed questionable. But the criticism is one-sided. If theory without practice is empty, practice without theory is blind.”⁷ Yet, faith in Christ is not a prerequisite for engaging in theological discourse about Christ, nor for investing analysis and experience into such discussions. A theologian can, moreover, critique injustices perpetrated in the name of God, taking a theological approach that challenges doctrinal claims used to justify violence. This stance requires theologians to play a critical role in preventing the abuse of religious authority, ensuring that theological inquiry contributes to justice rather than enabling harm. Theologians bear a significant responsibility, as they are not required to be believers themselves but are tasked with countering religious fanaticism through a thoughtful theological lens. Those who do not believe in God may position themselves as challengers to God, yet they believe that through their deep knowledge of theology, they can protect people and confront misguided faith.

To become a theologian, one should possess the same passionate curiosity that theologians such as Augustine, Chrysostom, Calvin, Barth, Cone, and Bonhoeffer had for theology. These figures were driven by a deep spiritual longing to learn and to share knowledge throughout their lives, but it doesn’t mean you need to only believe in God; you need to search for Justice. Without this fervent desire, one risks becoming a dry and uninspiring theologian, especially if teaching in a seminary, where most future pastors will interact with ordinary people and navigate the intersection of faith and knowledge. If this passion and spiritual fire are not passed on, a pastoral candidate will struggle to engage meaningfully with abstract concepts. Theology is not a lucrative field, and if financial gain is the primary motivation, the future theologian will likely face disillusionment. If one lacks a love for speaking about God, this vocation will become a source of torment rather than fulfillment.⁸

A theologian is not something one is born to be; it is something one must become. It is crucial not to become a so-called “privileged” theologian who writes solely for an elite audience, using language that the broader public cannot understand.⁹ It is not solely the responsibility of pastors to speak to their congregations about God, and a seminary professor who trains future theologian-pastors should not be complacent in this regard.

Instead, strive to be a simple theologian because the essence of theology lies in imitating your teacher Jesus, who sometimes sat on a mountain, other times among the people, and was never confined to a rigid office. Do not become a theologian who feels detached from both God and humanity. Whether or not you hold faith, you must recognize the need for God, actively seek God, and pass that search on to others.¹⁰

This example extends beyond Christianity. Just as followers of the Buddha and Muhammad have carried forward their traditions of inquiry and reflection, so too can theologians of any background—whether religious or secular—participate in this ongoing conversation. The key is not merely to seek answers but to remain open to the questions that shape human longing for understanding.

Avoid becoming the stereotypical theologian—constantly busy with lectures and presentations, writing books and articles, and chasing accolades. A true theologian speaks to students and engages with those genuinely interested. They do not build walls between themselves and the people, the students, or the seekers of God. If one is easily accessible to those searching for God, they can be called a theologian.

The essence of theology lies not only in listening to intuition, heart, soul, vision, and inner voice, but also in engaging with the voices of others. Through dialogue, critical self-reflection, and an openness to diverse experiences, one’s understanding will evolve, and their perception of God will transform—this is the beauty of diversity.

Ultimately, whether you write, read, think, walk, eat, or engage in any other activity, let a single question guide your life: Do you seek a theology that speaks to the struggles and hopes of the oppressed? If your answer is yes, then the path of openness will be inevitable, for it is the pursuit of justice that shapes you into a theologian.

To be clear, when I speak of theology, I do not mean it in an exclusionary sense but as a discourse that emerges from the lived experiences of the oppressed. As an immigrant from a historically marginalized and economically disadvantaged background, my reference was not limited to a specific ethnic or national group but to all who endure systemic injustice. I intend to emphasize theology as a pursuit of justice, one that is inherently inclusive and transformative in nature.

Additionally, I firmly believe that theology is not solely the domain of believers. An atheist, too, can be a theologian, as theology fundamentally engages with questions of the divine and the structures of injustice often carried out in God's name. This broader perspective is central to my approach to theological reflection.

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1. From Greek, Theos [Θεός] “God,” and Logos [Λόγος], “doctrine,” “word,” “reason,” or “discourse.”

2. Plato, The Republic, trans. Desmond Lee (Baltimore: Penguin Books, 1995), 508d–509c.

3. Martin Luther, D. Martin Luthers Werke. Kritische Gesamtausgabe. Weimarer Ausgabe 41 (Springer-Verlag, 1990), 11.

4. James H. Cone, My Soul Looks Back (Orbis Books, 1999), 17.

5. Karl Barth, Theological Existence Today! A Plea for Theological Freedom (Hodder & Stoughton, 1933), 9.

6. Karl Barth, Evangelical Theology: An Introduction, trans. Grover Foley (Eerdmans, 1963), 172.

7. Daniel L. Migliore, Faith Seeking Understanding: An Introduction to Christian Theology, Third Ed. (Eerdmans, 2014).

8. In the Eastern Christian tradition, theology is not merely an academic discipline but a lived path of theosis, where love, not mere belief, is the gateway to divine understanding. Thus, even in the absence of formal faith, a deep love for justice and truth can echo the spirit of faith. As the Cappadocian Fathers might argue, one speaks rightly of God only when one loves rightly.

9. Mitzi Smith, “On Flourishing, Blossoming, Liberating.” In Henco van Der Westhuizen’s Letters to a Young Theologian (Fortress Press, 2022), 175.

10. Maximus the Confessor argues that “love for God is inseparable from love for justice,” even as the divine remains ultimately unknowable. One may act justly even outside of formal belief, since logos (reason) and synderesis (moral intuition) are reflections of the divine image in all human beings. Gregory of Nyssa similarly described the human moral journey (epektasis) as a ceaseless ascent toward the divine Good, whether or not one fully recognizes its source. In Islamic kalām and Sufi tradition, maʿrifa (gnosis) is embodied through ʿadl (justice) and iḥsān (compassion); as al-Farabi observes, “the virtuous city is not built on shared belief alone, but on the common striving toward goodness.” Nāgārjuna, in Buddhist Madhyamaka philosophy, deconstructs the necessity of dogmatic formulations through śūnyatā (emptiness), opening space for interdependence and compassion—thus making loving action, even without doctrinal assent, a theological gesture. As Kallistos Ware writes, the boundary of the Church is known to God alone, suggesting that those who live justly and love deeply may unknowingly participate in divine truth. For sources, see: Maximus the Confessor, Four Hundred Texts on Love, in The Philokalia, vol. 2, trans. G. E. H. Palmer, Philip Sherrard, and Kallistos Ware (London: Faber and Faber, 1981), §3.12; Gregory of Nyssa, The Life of Moses, trans. Abraham Malherbe and Everett Ferguson (New York: Paulist Press, 1978), 30–31, 55–56. Al-Farabi, The Political Regime (The Virtuous City), trans. Richard Walzer (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1985),1–15. Nāgārjuna, The Fundamental Wisdom of the Middle Way: Nāgārjuna’s Mūlamadhyamakakārikā, trans. Jay L. Garfield (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995),1-28. Kallistos Ware, The Orthodox Church (London: Penguin Books, 1993), 248–250.