The Essence of Humane Pedagogy and Theology

An Essay by Rev. Andria Sarias

Photo by Anthony Da Cruz 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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Throughout my school years, I came to understand that a teacher’s love for their students is the cornerstone of humane pedagogy. As Christine Hong aptly asks, “What does it mean to teach in this particular time and place?”¹ Love and pedagogy were always intertwined, as if inseparable in my mind. It became clear that while much depends on the teacher’s knowledge, their approach to the student is equally, if not more, important. A teacher must never direct anger toward a student—openly or subtly. Physical punishments are legally forbidden, and raising one’s voice or causing undue stress falls outside the role of a true educator. However, more covert forms of violence, such as the misuse of grades, remain in practice and cause far greater harm. A poor grade, like a permanent scar, leaves lasting psychological damage.

Being merely “kind” is not enough. Over the years, I have observed that teaching is often reduced to lectures, with meaningful student-lecturer engagement limited to rushed office hours or momentary chats. Rather than aiming for “goodness” through kindness, educators should strive for more: they should see the role as an opportunity for real transformation. When teaching devolves into a method of asserting power—where subtle forms of “violence” are used to mark and diminish students—it poisons the pedagogical process. Something as small as a B+ can overshadow a student’s achievements, undermining motivation and casting doubt over their success amidst a sea of A’s. The relationship between grades, justice, grace, and human dignity is crucial to the teaching process. As Hong notes, “If not for a component in the assignment’s requirements that asked students to consider justice and human dignity, they might have technically earned an A.”² For students, learning goes beyond research and grades; it is about the approach, the personality, gestures, and tone of the professor, and how they shape our understanding of justice, humanity, and our self-worth. As Paulo Freire notes, “No one goes anywhere alone . . .We carry with us the memory of many fabrics, a self soaked in our history . . . a memory, sometimes scattered, sometimes sharp and clear, of the streets of our childhood, of our adolescence.”³ A teacher shapes this ethical journey by weaving justice and care into the fabric of a student’s education. While it is true that students and teachers are not identical for countless reasons, they should strive for equality in their educational partnership.⁴

If pedagogy did not carry the weight of impact, grades would lose their power. How a teacher wields authority can foster love and justice or inflict harm. As a Christian educator, Hong asks, “Do we ever want to claim ‘mastery’ and the violence it suggests?”⁵ Is the biased feeling of a teacher who claims to be a sage on the stage the only accepted version of pedagogy? Humanity is central to education, particularly in the context of historical oppression. As Hong observes, “All have studied people of color without acknowledging them as fully human.”⁶ Many teachers categorize students by status or caste, with some not even bothering to learn their names, claiming they are too busy with more important projects. This begs the question: For whom are these projects if not for overlooked students? Are such initiatives designed to bolster the teacher’s image, even as they perpetuate injustice?

In Sanskrit philosophy, the term Mānava (human) refers to a mortal being who seeks Amṛtatva (immortality) by realizing their divine essence, Ātman. Through knowledge (Jñāna) and spiritual discipline, the human transcends mortality (Martyā) and unites with Brahman (the ultimate reality). Paulo Freire’s critical pedagogy further enriches this understanding by asserting that a human being does not merely exist but is a creator of their own path.⁷ This journey embodies the inherent potential within each person to rise above material confines and uncover eternal truths. The Upanishads encapsulate this idea in the profound declaration, “Tat Tvam Asi” (Thou art That), which affirms the essential unity of the individual soul with the universal.

In this light, pedagogy and theology concern themselves with forming the human spirit. Hong echoes this idea, stating: “A shared goal as educators in theological education, no matter the specific field, is to help our students transform and grow in ways that positively impact our world . . . It’s about curiosity, the desire to know and be known.”⁸

Like spiritual discipline, pedagogy can lead to Moha (delusion) or Avidya (ignorance)⁹ when exercised without compassion. Paulo Freire states, “the educator must not be ignorant of, underestimate, or reject any of the ‘knowledge of living experience’ with which educands come to school.”¹⁰ Just as individuals may lose sight of their divine essence through ignorance, educators, blinded by authority, can misuse their power, too. When a teacher’s authority is driven by ego or the desire to control, it poisons the educational process, leaving deep wounds in the student’s psyche. This pedagogy estranges students from their potential, much like ignorance separates a person from spiritual development. Therefore, both teaching and spiritual leadership demand a conscious use of power grounded in love, wisdom, and the recognition of each individual’s inherent worth.¹¹

Teachers who neglect this responsibility undermine their students and the entire educational system. They disengage students rather than inspire them, leading to a collapse in the learning process. Pedagogy has reached a critical juncture. It is not a spontaneous process but one meticulously crafted by those who shape its essence. A school, in this sense, is not merely an institution but a Jñānalatikā—a “ladder of knowledge.”¹² This metaphor encourages us to view education as a dynamic ascent toward enlightenment, where each step elevates the learner. Just as a ladder provides structure and support, educators must serve as guides, facilitating a transformative journey scaffolded toward self-discovery and empowerment.

A theological school is more than a collection of lecture halls. It is a space for transformation. Jesus, the ultimate teacher, exemplified this in the gospel—not by handing out diplomas but by teaching through love, compassion, and stress relief. A lecturer fixated on rigid “principles” becomes more of a doctrinal enforcer than an educator. While law and structure are necessary, dogmatism ultimately stifles the human spirit—a spirit Jesus sought to liberate.

An acquaintance once told me about his struggle in school. His father had passed away, and his mother was unable to help him, leaving him stuck in one class, unable to advance. He constantly received failing grades—2s, the lowest mark in Georgia then. But then a teacher named Varo Vardiashvili stepped into his life, asked him if he wrote poetry, and compared him to greats like Shakespeare. The student felt seen at that moment, and this recognition sparked a profound change. Varo’s belief in him inspired him to rise to the challenge. One teacher’s love and encouragement can restore faith, while another’s neglect can destroy it.

The most unsuccessful student can become excellent through a caring teacher’s approach. Varo, understanding the role of compassion as a driving force for education, gave a failing student a high mark and, after reviewing the student’s transcripts, called out: “Boy, don’t you see how awkward my single grade of 5 (highest mark in Georgia) looks next to the overwhelming number of 2s on your record? The 5 is blushing with shame.” Encouraged by this, the student gathered strength and worked hard to prove that the teacher’s faith in him was not misplaced.

In pedagogy and theology, more than merely adhering to rules or dogma is required. Authentic teaching—academic or spiritual—must be grounded in love, wisdom, and a profound appreciation of each individual’s humanity and potential. As Miroslav Volf notes, “[T]he unconditionality of divine love requires and makes possible the corresponding unconditionality of human love.”¹³ The primary goal of our lectures, both inside and outside the classroom, should be to foster “the will to give ourselves to others and ‘welcome’ them, to adjust our identities to create space for them, prior to any judgments about others, other than recognizing their shared humanity.”¹⁴ I believe it is essential to empathize and share each person’s experiences and knowledge. We should avoid becoming dogmatic, fragile theologians and instead cultivate the ability to love and share knowledge with compassion. Supertramp said it best in “The Logical Song”:

Won’t you please, please tell me what we’ve learned?
I know it sounds absurd
Please tell me who I am…
I said, now, watch what you say, they’ll be calling you a radical
A liberal, oh, fanatical, criminal
Oh, won’t you sign up your name? We’d like to feel you’re acceptable
Respectable, oh, presentable, a vegetable
Oh, take, take, take it, yeah…”

This song suggests an old struggle of how the State educates its young. Ultimately, the teacher controls the narrative, but what is left of the student in a pedagogical system without love? Remember Apostle Paul (1 Corinthians 13, NIV):

If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.

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1. Christine J. Hong, Decolonial Futures: Intercultural and Interreligious Intelligence for Theological Education ( Lexington Books, 2021), 17.

2. Hong, Decolonial Futures, 23.

3. Paulo Freire, Pedagogy of Hope: Reliving Pedagogy of the Oppressed, trans. Robert R. Barr (Continuum, 2004), 23.

4. Freire, Pedagogy of Hope, 101.

5. Hong, Decolonial Futures, 17.

6. Hong, Decolonial Futures, 18.

7. Freire, Pedagogy of Hope, 83.

8. Hong, Decolonial Futures, 22.

9. Robert E. Buswell Jr. and Donald S. Lopez Jr., The Princeton Dictionary of Buddhism 1st ed. (Princeton University Press, 2013), 1070.

10. Freire, Pedagogy of Hope, 47, 112.

11. See Parker J. Palmer, The Courage to Teach: Exploring the Inner Landscape of a Teacher's Life. 20th Anniversary, 3rd ed. (Jossey-Bass, 2017).

12. Jeaneane D. Fowler. The Bhagavad Gita: A Text and Commentary for Students (Sussex Academic Press, 2012), 89–93.

13. Miroslav Volf, Exclusion and Embrace: A Theological Exploration of Identity, Otherness, and Reconciliation, rev. ed. (Abingdon Press, 2019), xxiii.

14. Volf, Exclusion and Embrace, xxiii.