A Prayer for the Rational World

Welcome to the August edition of Future Intelligence: Field Notes—a research-informed newsletter exploring how we thrive in body, mind, and the choices that shape who we become.

A few months ago, Harvard released the first of its findings from its $43.4 million Human Flourishing Study—one of the most ambitious investigations into well-being ever conducted. Spanning 22 countries and over 200,000 people, its most unsettling revelation was this:

Wealthy nations, despite material comforts, report some of the lowest levels of meaning and purpose on Earth.

Sweden, often cited as a model society, ranked 19th out of 22 countries on life purpose. Meanwhile, Mexico, India, and Brazil—places often caricatured as struggling—reported stronger senses of meaning, spiritual connection, and social bonds.

The pattern is clear: in richer countries, people say their lives are going well. But when asked if their lives matter, the answers dim.

This raises an uncomfortable question: What’s the point of all this “stuff” if the “stuff” still leaves us feeling empty?

The Faith Gap

In high-income nations, this decline in meaning correlates not just with affluence—but with a collapse in belief. Researchers now refer to the “faith gap”as a new vital sign of societal malaise.

Across all 22 countries, one of the most consistent predictors of flourishing wasn’t wealth, education, or healthcare. It was faith—not always in a monotheistic God, but in something larger than the self.

In cultures where spiritual practice is woven into daily life—through ritual, prayer, or community—people report greater resilience, stronger social ties, and longer lives. Even in poverty. Even through war.

Of course, faith hasn’t always been medicine. For many—myself included—it’s been both a balm and a bruise. I was raised to believe holiness meant obedient silence. That to be good was to be small. That to question was to risk exile. That women shouldn’t lead or doubt.

Faith, for years, felt like a locked room.

And yet—across cultures—faith, when freely chosen, remains one of the most resilient pathways to meaning.

Meaning Is Medicine

A landmark meta-analysis of 10 longitudinal studies (over 136,000 participants) found that individuals with a high sense of purpose had about a 20% lower risk of all-cause mortality and significantly lower risk of cardiovascular events.

A 2019 cohort study (nearly 7,000 adults over 50) found those without a sense of life purpose were more than twice as likely to die over the follow-up period, especially from cardiovascular causes—even after controlling for wealth, age, and health behaviors.

Researchers believe purpose impacts both psychology and physiology. It lowers cortisol and nighttime blood pressure. Strengthens immune response. And behaviorally, it motivates positive routines—exercise, sleep, treatment adherence.

We’ve professionalized health. Intellectualized fulfillment. Optimized everything from our sleep to our skincare.

But meaning?

We’ve outsourced that. And the cost is showing.

What That Cost Looks Like

Kyrie Irving hit the game-winning shot in Game 7 of the 2016 NBA Finals. Confetti rained. Cleveland erupted. He was a champion. Days later, he said: “I felt empty. I achieved everything I had put on my list… but I didn’t feel fulfilled” The parade ended. The house was quiet. And in that silence, his soul whispered: this isn’t it.

He still plays. But now, his journey includes fasts, books, sacred symbols, and seeking. Not for the ring—but for a root.

Mike Tyson, the youngest heavyweight champ in history, once owned tigers, Lamborghinis, mansions. And cried himself to sleep. He later said: “I created this monster because that’s what they wanted… But inside, I was broken.”

These days, he speaks of ego death, plant medicine, and what it means to become whole. In his own words, “Being Mike Tyson was a burden… Now, I’m just learning to be a man.”

Or the founder who had the big exit. Hailed as a visionary. But now? He’s chasing the next build—not from inspiration, but fear. Fear of irrelevance. Of vanishing. Applause once fed him. Now the silence terrifies him.

Or the high performer who’s achieved and led… but still feels she hasn’t done the thing. The call in her chest grows louder. And she wonders: what am I missing?

These are not stories of failure. These are people who won—and still felt the ache.

The Intelligence of the Body

We are a culture that reveres the rational. We train our intellect like weaponry—sharp, strategic, unsentimental.

But then interoception enters the chat: the body’s ability to sense itself—heartbeat, breath, emotion.

In neuroscientist Antonio Damasio’s card game experiment, participants played a simple gambling task involving four decks—two of which were rigged with steep penalties.

What researchers found was extraordinary.

By the tenth card, participants’ bodies had already registered distress—measured through skin conductance. Palms began to sweat. Heart rates subtly shifted. The body knew something was wrong.

But it wasn’t until around the fiftieth card that participants consciouslyrecognized the bad decks and altered their behavior.

The body knew 40 cards before the mind caught up.

That is the danger of a society obsessed with cognition but divorced from sensation.

How many of us keep pulling from the same bad deck—in relationships, in careers, in habits—because our body whispers no, but we wait for logic to write us a memo?

This isn’t about blind trust in emotion. It’s about rebuilding relationship. Learning to distinguish intuition from inherited fear.

In cultures that tie physical practice to spiritual meaning—Qi Gong, Islamic prayer, or African dance—movement becomes more than aesthetic maintenance. It becomes memory. Connection. A conversation between cells and spirit.

In The Extended Mind (selected as 100 Notable Books by the New York Times), science journalist Annie Murphy Paul reveals how intelligence extends beyond the skull. Through the lens of embodied cognition, she shows that the brain doesn’t work alone—it thinks in tandem with the body, the environment, and the humans we engage with.

In one groundbreaking study, students who used hand gestures while learning math were more than twice as likely to solve new problems correctly—beating even those who got extra verbal instruction. Their hands didn’t just move—they helped their minds leap forward.

It’s not that their minds were sharper. It’s that their minds were connected—to the body’s rhythm, to the instinct that precedes thought.

We don’t teach this. We train people out of it.

We tell children to sit still to be smart. We reward leaders for repressing emotion in the name of “professionalism.”

But what if our most untapped edge wasn’t more focus—but more felt sense?

What might we save—what might we become—if we listened at the tenth card?

Bringing Spirit Back

In Mexico’s Copper Canyons, the Tarahumara (Rarámuri) people people treat movement as devotion. They don’t run to train. They run to commune.

Rarámuri footraces—rarajípare—are ancient celebrations: families chase a small wooden ball across mesa trails, their feet shod in huaraches, torches held high under a distant sky. These races stretch for hours, sometimes into the next day. Hundreds gather—men, women, children—to shout praise in their language: “Iwériga!” (“Breath! Soul!”) and “Iwérisa!” (“Stamina!”).

For the Tarahumara, running is not exercise—it is embodied devotion. On these runs, they enter trance-like states. And why not? Each run is a blessing to the earth. A prayer with feet. A ritual of vitality.

And their outcomes? Strong cardiovascular health. Low chronic disease. Vibrant community bonds.

I’m not arguing for a return to religion.

But I am arguing we return to meaning. To the sacred. To the idea that our breath is not just oxygen—but orientation.

Because when movement becomes prayer, the body doesn’t just repair. It remembers.

How to belong. How to honor. How to heal.