Suprarationalism

Recognizing how we are not simply "thinking things"

Photo by Dan Cristian Pădureț on Unsplash

(An eight-minute read.)

In his 2016 book You Are What You Love, philosopher James K. A. Smith introduced me to a new phrase that captures so much of what characterizes the type of religion I have been shaped by. Pointing to French philosopher René Descartes, who coined the famous, Cogito, ergo sum (“I think, therefore I am”), Smith submits that most of Western society has implicitly assumed that we are nothing more than thinking things.

Thus, according to Smith, “we view our bodies as (at best!) extraneous, temporary vehicles for trucking around our souls or ‘minds,’ which are where all the real action takes place. In other words, we imagine human beings as giant bobblehead dolls; with humungous heads and itty-bitty unimportant bodies.”

This has further affected how we form people spiritually. Believing we are simply thinking things, we view discipleship as “primarily a matter of depositing ideas and beliefs into mind-containers.”

What Smith means by this is that we think spirituality is merely an intellectual exercise. We think we just need to give people the right information and that will make them better people.

I’ve seen this over and over again in the religious circles I’m a part of—and slide into such thinking a lot myself. Within my particular branch of Christianity, we focus a great deal on making sure people hear and become convinced of the right theological ideas. We are very preoccupied with intellectual and biblical correctness.

But we are not, as Smith points out, simply thinking things. We are emotional things, physical things, social things, feeling things.

We must therefore seek to form people not only intellectually; we must seek to form them emotionally, physically, socially.

God’s Spirit and our spirit?

I thought of all this again last week as I was reading Paul’s letter to the Christians in Rome. I’ve been slowly making my way through this letter once again lately and I came to Romans 8, which is packed with all sorts of beautiful goodness.

What caught my eye the most, however, was a passage I’ve read many times before but hadn’t thought much about.

The context is that Paul is trying to convince his readers that they are sons and daughters of God—that they are no longer slaves of fear, but they have been adopted into the family of God through the work of Jesus.

But how can they know this?

Paul doesn’t try to logically work them through the concept, presenting equations or syllogisms. Instead, he appeals to something that can’t be explained rationally, noting simply that God’s “Spirit bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God” (v. 16).

It’s a provocative idea. What, exactly, is “our spirit”?

This is what I wondered and got me curious—prompting me to do an old-fashioned “word-search” throughout the Bible.

To make a long story short, though the Bible doesn’t use the term “our spirit” anywhere else, it does use the term “my spirit” a number of places when referring to human beings. And what it seems to point to is something other than a person’s intellect—something other than their rationality.

Instead, it seems to speak of a person’s inner emotional reality.

For example, Job speaks of his spirit being “anguished” (Job 7:11). The Psalmists repeatedly talk about their spirit being “overwhelmed” (Psalm 77:3; 142:3; 143:4). Perhaps most interestingly, Daniel mentions that his spirit was “grieved . . . in the midst of my body” (Daniel 7:15) after experiencing a very troubling vision.

More positively, Mary, when she is told that she would bear the Messiah (which is an appropriate reminder during this Advent season), declares that her spirit “rejoices” in God her Savior (Luke 1:47).

I take all this to mean that one’s spirit is, at the very least, the “place” where emotionality is experienced. It’s not a purely intellectual experience.

I’m reminded of what Paul elsewhere wrote to believers in Philippi as well when he was trying to help them overcome anxiety. He invited them to submit their anxiety to God through prayer, expressing their gratitude to him. And as a result, they would experience God’s “peace, which surpasses all understanding” (Philippians 4:7).

That English word “surpasses,” and the original Greek word which it translates, means to “go beyond” or “above.”

Thus, what Paul was trying to communicate to his readers is that there is a way in which we can experience peace that can’t be explained—it goes beyond our understanding and just inhabits us in a non-rational way.

It is, in a word, suprarational.

This may sound a bit strange to many of us who have been schooled in strictly rationalistic versions of faith—believing that we must have a rational explanation for everything we do, think, or feel. It may even sound like “emotionalism,” or perhaps a bit like Pentecostalism or charismatic Christianity.

I think there are certainly pitfalls in such versions of faith—which seem to reduce faith to strictly emotional forms.

But it seems like there are two ditches: on the one hand, there’s a way of relating to God and faith that gives preeminence to one’s emotions, apart from any significant rational content. On the other hand, there’s a way of relating to God and faith that essentially makes it a purely intellectual experience, looking skeptically at anything that gives too much emphasis to feelings and emotions.

I believe the Bible promotes a wholistic approach to faith, however. We are whole creatures, comprised not only of minds, but also of bodies and hearts and “spirits” and emotions. We are thus only functioning at our full capacity, and reaching our full potential as humans, when all these parts of our existence are being engaged.

Thus, in this context, I believe faith does not involve less than the intellect, but it certainly does—or must—involve more than simply the intellect.

In must, in short, engage not only our heads, but also our hearts and hands.

A general theory of love

All this makes me think of two more things.

First, I read another book a few years ago by three psychiatrists called A General Theory of Love. It was fascinating. What they pointed out is that human bodies actually have the ability to regulate other human bodies. Essentially, our physiology can be affected and changed by simply being in the presence of other human bodies—without those other bodies even saying anything.

For example, if I’m experiencing anxiety and stress, I can have my anxiety and stress reduced simply by being in the same room as a person who has a non-anxious presence. They don’t even have to say anything (and, in fact, sometimes it’s even better if they don’t).

On a practical level, it means that in our attempts to form people spiritually, and in our attempts to disciple them in faith, giving people simply the ministry of safe, non-anxious presence can be extremely restorative and healing.

And if we want to communicate love, and specifically God’s love, some of that communication will be non-verbal and suprarational.

In short, we can communicate truth, we can communicate God’s love, by simply embodying it and not saying anything.

Secondly, I’m a slow learner, but I suddenly realized recently that regularly running has done a ton to reduce my own anxiety levels. Even though I’ve been running for a decade or so, it wasn’t until a couple months ago that I realized there was a direct correlation between how often I run and how stressed I am.

This, again, points to the fact that we’re more than simply thinking things.

Thus, when I’m stressed, I could try to rationally talk myself into not being stressed. I could quote Bible verses that remind me of God’s provision in my life.

These are all well and good and have their place, of course.

But I find that when I’m stressed, what I really need to do is go for a run—which gets the endorphins coursing through my body (though I also find, by the way, that I need to hang out with safe people, which almost always lifts my spirits as well—speaking to the suprarational and social reality of our personhood).

In short, we’re not simply thinking things, and any approach to faith which disproportionally emphasizes the intellect is a faith that’s going to leave people with significant deficits—emotionally, spiritually, socially, and otherwise.

Back to Romans

So, returning to Paul’s declaration in Romans 8: what does it even look like to have God’s “Spirit” bearing witness with “our spirit,” that we are children of God?

Not surprisingly, it’s hard to explain.

For me, I can just tell you there are moments when I’m on my bed, sitting in the “presence” of God, surrendering to the Spirit, and I just feel loved and embraced. It’s a bit mystical, I’d say.

There are also moments when I’m gathered with the people of God, sitting around a dimly-lit living room, replete with candles, and I’m overwhelmed with a sense of peace and wonder.

Or I’m lifting my voice in praise to God in song, along with the body of Christ, and I experience deep joy and gratitude.

I believe it’s those moments where God’s Spirit is connecting with my “spirit” and reminding me of my sonship—assuring me that I am his child and deeply loved.

I certainly can’t rely on this as the only basis for my spirituality. I do need to have intellectual reasons as well. But I overlook the suprarational elements of faith to my great peril—and God’s people neglect non-intellectual approaches to faith to great loss.

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Before I let you go, I wanted to invite you to consider contributing to the ministry of a couple friends of mine who are doing great and important work at the University of Oxford. They didn’t at all ask me to promote their ministry, but I thought I’d mention it anyway, since they have blessed me immensely during my trips to Oxford.

David and Alissa Williams are Americans working for InterVarsity at Oxford. They help organize, among other things, the Graduate Christian Forum at Oxford, and are funded completely by donations.

During my time at Oxford, I’ve enjoyed great fellowship with David, who is also pursuing a Doctorate of Philosophy in Theology (and someone I’ve referred to in past posts), and been extremely blessed by the ministry they’ve provided to graduate students at one of the world’s most important and influential institutions.

I know you no doubt already contribute to other worthy causes—and some of you have been very gracious in helping fund my own pursuits at Oxford—but if you find an extra dollar or two, perhaps you could help this wonderful couple continue to do awesome things at Oxford. If so, you can make a tax-deductible contribution here.

Thanks for your prayerful consideration!

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Shawn is a pastor in Maine, whose life, ministry, and writing focus on incarnational expressions of faith. The author of four books and a columnist for Adventist Review, he is also a DPhil student at the University of Oxford (what they call a PhD), focusing on nineteenth-century American Christianity. You can follow him on Instagram and Twitter, and listen to his podcast Mission Lab.