On the reign of rationalism 

and the chains of contemporary culture

for NicOtiNe, New York

To be self-hypnotised by one’s own intellect induces a particular kind of trance. Symptoms include: the employment of critical thinking, preoccupations with proof, and a strong taking to the epistemological view of rationalism. Individuals who exhibit said tendencies can usually be found engaged in activities involving the making of calculations, the taking of measurements, and the exploration of analytics, in endless pursuit of all things that make common sense. To exist in such a state of intellectual entrancement is to regard reason as the chief source and test of knowledge; to curtail calm and chaos into pretty shapes and patterns that can be lucidly justified. In the Western world—a preconceived cosmos preoccupied with the practical and enchanted by the efficient—such states of (seemingly subconscious) hypnotisation are alarmingly widespread, albeit undetectable to the human psyche. Mostly because, more often than not, to be rational is to be respected and revered, and to be irrational socially scorned. But amid the dominance of data and the symphony of sound judgement, we risk the debilitation of the intuition that rests dormant within. 

Our collective consciousness has lost itself to logic, to the detriment of our individual souls.

It’s hard to know when exactly the reign of rationalism began. But at some point in time between German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche announcing the death of God and the Digital revolution, we began instead to worship material things that could be seen (and thus safely believed), building respectable lives steeped in common sense, and anchored in rigid reason. Existences defined by concepts and ideas that can be physically understood, and thus socially accepted. Perhaps it was the lingering influence of the Greek thinkers of the classical age, such as Plato and Aristotle, who believed rational knowledge to be intrinsically connected to man’s morality. Or maybe it was the thoughts of philosophers such as Baruch Spinoza, who once said that the endeavor to understand is the first and only basis of virtue. But no matter the root, the bloom of reason no longer blossoms tame and tenderly, instead growing wild in our ways of thinking, eroding the internal environment required to foster, and to trust, our most pure instincts.

The employment of rational thought in moderation is not, in itself, a harmful exercise. From a young age we’re told that the process of rational thinking derives a host of benefits, such as helping us perfect new skills, allowing us to analyze data, and lessening our reliance on taking blind guesses about things that are important. Essentially, it is taught that rational thinking helps us to succeed, and also to impress. As we learn from the fictitious character John Keating, played by Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society, medicine, law, and engineering—which require the human faculty of reason—are all noble pursuits, and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. In focusing on the virtuosity of the former to the extreme extent that (most) modern Westerners are (unconsciously) guilty of, we forget to have faith in the validity of what we feel. And in forsaking the sentimental in favour of the scientific, we sacrifice sympathy in favour of sense. Thus, while the mind is busy thinking, a mild malaise ever-so-slowly permeates the abandoned heart, leading to the deterioration of one’s love of self, and our love for what is other.

Our focus on form, fact, and function may serve our modern, materialistic nature, but in believing that we are simply just because we think—compare, contrast, and consume—we stray from the path of self-actualization towards the (seemingly très en vogue) advancement of our own self-interest. But for Jean-Jacques Rousseau, doing what we’re told is reasonable—so as to most effectively replicate the modern notion of the perfect, normal life—is not necessarily always the same as doing what is right, for the heart as well as for humankind. As far as the Genevan philosopher was concerned, morality had nothing to do with rational knowledge at all, but rather, everything to do with our ability to remain sympathetic—the virtue of pitié —something that cannot be measured, mapped, or quantified. As he writes in Discours sur l'inégalité (1754):

... pitié will be all the more powerful, the more intimately the observing animal identifies itself with the suffering animal. Now it is evident that this identification must have been infinitely more close in the state of nature than in the state of reasoning. It is reason that engenders amour-propre [vain selfishness], and it is reflection that strengthens it; it is reason that turns man back upon himself; it is reason that separates him from everything that disturbs or afflicts him…

For Rousseau, it is not rational thinking that is the most useful to the advancement of humankind, but rather, pitié, so natural (a state of being) that even the beasts at times show visible signs of it. But by trusting mostly in what we “know” (and have been told) many of us in the West have lost touch with our inherent human nature; we’ve lost faith in what we feel. Enslaved to the intellect, we lack the freedom to nurture our intuition, isolating us not only from ourselves but also from each other. As Rousseau once famously said, “man is born free and everywhere he is in chains,” restraints that have (arguably) resulted from the worship of reason. 

The chains of contemporary culture are, in the strictest sense of the word, not really chains at all. But there is no denying that our pursuit of power, position, and pretty possessions, in conjunction with our obsession with appearance, analytics, and accuracy, has tethered us to the railing of a garden path that has been paved with questionable intentions. In our being led to believe that the most important things in life are the proofs that we’ve been told, we miss out on tuning into the things that, somewhere deep inside of us, we’ve always known. Life is not a problem to be solved, as Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard once said, but a reality to be experienced. Only once we wake from the trance of the intellect can we surrender to the hidden beauty, and inner knowing, of what we feel.

The difficulty of waking to oneself rests not in the act itself, but rather, in trusting the unknown nature of what may or may not come next. Born into a world of rules and regulations—a world of supposed structure and routine—we in the West have been led to believe that the way we are shown is the way that is best, the triple cross-checked route that will keep us safe from harm. The rational mind—the voice that we’ve been taught to trust—thus subconsciously obeys, leading us into external temptation, and delivering us from our intuition. As Serbian artist Marina Abramović says, doing what you know is easy, but if you journey instead into the things you are afraid of, the things that inevitably take you into unknown territories, then you may find an experience that will truly change you. But no one will be there to guide you, not a soul to reassure you that it can be done because it has been done before. To feel the way towards your truth, sans quantifiable evidence to reassure you that you’re headed in the right direction, is a perfectly irrational endeavour. But it is the only one that serves the soul, not the status quo. To be rational may best serve the socially acceptable self-image—the one defined by the belief that knowledge is power, and that power is important—but for those who dare to open their eyes to what cannot be seen, true freedom awaits. 

As Canadian psychologist Marion Woodman once said, “kill the imagination and you kill the soul. Kill the soul, and you’re left with a listless, apathetic creature who can become hopeless or brutal or both”. It may be respectable to remain rational, and to behave safe and sensibly—these are indeed all noble traits. But the soul can only survive so long on logic, before it begins to yearn for love.  

This story was first published in issue four of NicOtiNe, New York