Awe

Awe Plot Summary

Introduction

Have you ever felt that spine-tingling sensation when gazing at a star-filled sky, or the lump in your throat while witnessing an act of extraordinary kindness? These moments of awe—when we encounter something vast that transcends our understanding—aren't just pleasant experiences; they're powerful psychological states that fundamentally transform how we think, feel, and connect with others. For decades, science largely ignored this profound emotion, focusing instead on more "basic" feelings like fear, anger, and happiness. But a growing body of research now reveals that awe might be essential to human flourishing, with measurable effects on our bodies, minds, and communities. What makes the science of awe particularly fascinating is its accessibility. While we often associate awe with rare, dramatic experiences like standing at the edge of the Grand Canyon, research shows that most people experience awe two to three times per week in ordinary moments—hearing a moving piece of music, witnessing a child's first steps, or noticing the intricate patterns of frost on a window. These everyday encounters with wonder reduce inflammation, enhance creativity, increase generosity, and help us find meaning in life's challenges. By understanding the science behind these experiences, we can learn to recognize and cultivate awe in our daily lives, transforming not just our individual well-being but our connections to others and the world around us.

Chapter 1: The Eight Wonders: Universal Sources of Awe

What exactly triggers that transcendent feeling we call awe? Through extensive cross-cultural research spanning twenty-six countries, scientists have identified eight primary "wonders of life" that consistently evoke awe across diverse human populations. Surprisingly, the most common source isn't nature or religious experience, but moral beauty—witnessing extraordinary acts of courage, kindness, or overcoming adversity. When we see someone risk their life to save another or observe a person triumph over tremendous hardship, we feel awe at the heights of human potential and goodness. The second wonder is collective effervescence—that electric feeling when we move in synchrony with others during dance, protest, ceremony, or celebration. This sensation of merging with a larger whole through coordinated movement appears across cultures as a reliable pathway to awe. Nature forms the third wonder, with its breathtaking landscapes, powerful storms, and star-filled skies triggering profound wonder. Music represents the fourth wonder, transporting us beyond ourselves through rhythm, melody, and harmony in ways that transcend cultural and linguistic boundaries. Visual design—from magnificent architecture to intricate art—constitutes the fifth wonder, allowing us to perceive patterns and relationships that normally escape our awareness. Spiritual and religious experiences form the sixth wonder, though interestingly, they weren't as commonly reported as one might expect. The seventh wonder involves our encounters with life and death—witnessing birth, confronting mortality, and contemplating the cycle of existence. Finally, epiphanies—those sudden realizations or insights that transform our understanding—complete the eight wonders as profound sources of awe. What's remarkable about these sources is their universality. Despite vast differences in culture, geography, and belief systems, humans around the world experience awe through these same eight pathways. Even more surprising, research shows that we encounter these wonders regularly—about two to three times per week—often in ordinary moments and everyday settings. This challenges the notion that awe requires extraordinary circumstances or exotic locations. The wonders of life that inspire awe are all around us, if we simply pause to notice them.

Chapter 2: The Vanishing Self: How Awe Dissolves Ego Boundaries

When we experience awe, something remarkable happens to our sense of self—it temporarily dissolves. This "small self" effect represents one of the most consistent findings in awe research. In one fascinating study, tourists at Yosemite National Park drew themselves significantly smaller when asked to represent themselves on paper compared to tourists at Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco. In another experiment, people standing beneath towering eucalyptus trees were more likely to help a stranger who dropped items and reported feeling less entitled than those who looked at a tall building. This vanishing of the self isn't about low self-esteem or self-deprecation. Rather, it represents a quieting of what psychologist Aldous Huxley called "the interfering neurotic who, in waking hours, tries to run the show." Our default self—focused on independence, control, and competitive advantage—temporarily recedes. Brain imaging studies confirm this, showing reduced activity in the default mode network, regions associated with self-referential thinking, during awe experiences. As our preoccupation with ourselves diminishes, our awareness expands to include broader patterns and connections. As self-focus decreases, our minds open to wonder. People experiencing awe become more curious, more receptive to new ideas, and more comfortable with mystery and the unknown. Studies show they're better at distinguishing strong arguments from weak ones and perceive natural phenomena as part of complex, interconnected systems rather than isolated events. This mental shift helps explain why scientists like Isaac Newton and René Descartes made some of their greatest discoveries while contemplating awe-inspiring natural phenomena—their minds were freed from habitual patterns of thought. Awe also transforms how we relate to others. As our sense of being separate and independent fades, we perceive ourselves as more connected to others and part of a larger whole. Studies show that people who experience awe are more generous, more willing to volunteer their time, and more likely to help strangers. In one experiment, participants who watched awe-inspiring nature videos shared more resources with anonymous partners than those who watched amusing videos. These "saintly tendencies," as William James called them, emerge because awe expands what philosopher Peter Singer terms our "circle of care"—the network of people we feel kindness toward. The transformative power of awe works like an inside-out process: it begins by quieting our self-focus, which opens our minds to wonder, which in turn expands our sense of connection to others and the world. This pattern unfolds whether awe comes from witnessing moral courage, experiencing collective movement, standing in nature, or encountering any of the eight wonders of life. In an age of increasing self-focus and social division, awe offers a powerful antidote by reminding us that we are part of something larger than ourselves.

Chapter 3: Embodied Wonder: The Biology of Awe Responses

Why do we tear up at a beautiful sunset or get chills during a powerful piece of music? These bodily responses during awe aren't random side effects—they're evolutionary clues to awe's ancient origins and fundamental purpose. When we trace these physical reactions back through our mammalian history, we discover something remarkable: the biological foundations of what many call the "soul" are written in our bodies' responses to wonder. Tears of awe, distinct from tears of physical pain or basic sadness, typically emerge when we perceive vast things that unite us into community. Anthropologist Alan Fiske proposes that we tear up when witnessing acts of "communal sharing"—moments that demonstrate our interdependence and common humanity. This explains why we might cry at a stranger's kindness, a moving speech about justice, or when returning to a meaningful place. Physiologically, these tears involve activation of the parasympathetic nervous system, which calms the body and promotes feelings of connection. Our tears signal an awareness of vast patterns that unite us with others. The chills—those tingles up the spine and goosebumps on the skin—have an equally fascinating evolutionary story. When our mammalian ancestors faced extreme cold, their first response was piloerection (the raising of body hair), which both conserved heat and signaled to others to huddle together for warmth. This huddling activated neurochemicals of connection, including oxytocin and vagus nerve stimulation. Today, when we experience awe, this ancient response activates, but now signals our recognition that we are joined with others in facing vast mysteries together. The pleasant sensation of chills encourages us to pay attention to significant patterns in our environment. Our vocal expressions of awe—those spontaneous "whoas" and "wows"—represent another evolutionary thread. These sounds, technically called "vocal bursts," predate language by millions of years. When researchers played recordings of these sounds to people from ten different countries, including remote villages in Bhutan, listeners correctly identified the sounds of awe nearly 90% of the time—making them the most universally recognized emotional sounds. These vocalizations likely evolved as social signals, alerting others to significant discoveries or events that deserved collective attention. The facial expression of awe shows similar universality. Across five cultures studied, people expressed awe with raised eyebrows and upper eyelids, a slight smile, jaw drop, and head tilting up. About half of these movements were identical across cultures, with some cultural "accents" adding variation. This expression likely evolved to communicate the recognition of something vast and mysterious, helping coordinate group responses to significant environmental events. These bodily responses reveal awe's primordial meaning: it evolved to help us recognize vast forces that require us to unite with others. When early humans encountered powerful storms, roaring rivers, or other overwhelming phenomena, these physical responses helped them coordinate their actions, share resources, and face challenges together. The poet Walt Whitman captured this connection when he wrote that the soul follows "the beautiful laws of physiology." Our tears, chills, and whoas are indeed the embodied language of the soul—the biological foundation of our capacity to transcend ourselves and connect with something larger.

Chapter 4: Moral Beauty: Finding Transcendence in Human Goodness

When asked what gives them awe, people across cultures most frequently mention the moral beauty they witness in others. This isn't about physical attractiveness, but rather the exceptional virtue, character, and ability that moves us to transcendence. We feel awe when we see a parent's strength in dealing with a child's illness, a stranger risking their life to save someone in danger, or a young refugee showing remarkable courage in the face of overwhelming adversity. These moments reveal what humans are capable of at their best, providing living proof that we can transcend self-interest and act from a place of profound connection. Moral beauty takes many forms. There's the courage shown by those who face suffering with dignity or stand up for others despite personal risk. There's the kindness of strangers who help those in need without expectation of return. There's the strength of overcoming, as when we witness someone triumph over physical limitations or social barriers. And there's the rare talent that pushes the boundaries of human potential, whether in athletics, art, or intellectual pursuits. What unites these diverse expressions is that they all reveal what novelist Toni Morrison called "allowing goodness its own speech"—they demonstrate the heights of human possibility. The impact of moral beauty extends beyond momentary feeling. Studies show that witnessing acts of courage, kindness, strength, or overcoming leads people to feel more inspired and optimistic about humanity. Their faith in fellow humans rises, and they hear a calling to become better people themselves. Even more remarkably, exposure to moral beauty can reduce prejudice and promote helping behavior across social divides. In one study, white participants with anti-Black attitudes gave more money to the United Negro College Fund after watching videos about extraordinary acts of forgiveness by Black individuals who had been wronged. Our response to moral beauty involves a unique neural signature. Unlike physical beauty, which activates reward centers, moral beauty activates cortical regions where emotions translate to ethical action. It triggers oxytocin release and vagus nerve activation—the neurochemistry of connection. When moved by others' moral beauty, we often respond with acts of reverence—expressions of gratitude, subtle head bows, warm touches, or symbolic gestures that mark what we've witnessed as sacred. These reverence displays appear across cultures, suggesting they tap into something fundamentally human. Perhaps most powerfully, moral beauty can transform even the harshest environments. In prisons, hospitals, refugee camps, and war zones, acts of courage, kindness, strength, and overcoming become lifelines of hope. They remind us that even in the most difficult circumstances, humans can find ways to allow goodness its own speech. And in witnessing this goodness, we discover our own moral compass and capacity for transcendence. As philosopher Iris Murdoch observed, moral beauty helps us see "the world as it really is"—not just a place of suffering and struggle, but also a realm where extraordinary goodness reveals the heights of human potential.

Chapter 5: Collective Effervescence: The Power of Moving Together

Have you ever felt that electric buzz when dancing with others, cheering in a stadium, or marching in a protest? That sensation—what sociologist Émile Durkheim called "collective effervescence"—is a powerful source of awe that emerges when we move in synchrony with others. It's the feeling that we're buzzing and crackling with some life force that merges us into a collective self, a tribe, an oceanic "we." This phenomenon represents one of our most reliable pathways to transcendence and connection. This phenomenon begins with our remarkable capacity to synchronize with others. From infancy, humans mirror others' movements, postures, and expressions, often without conscious awareness. Four-month-olds imitate adults' tongue protrusions and smiles, while adults unconsciously adopt the postures and speech patterns of those around them. This mirroring dissolves the boundaries between self and other, creating what poet Ross Gay calls the "porosity" of human bodies—"how so often, and mostly unbeknownst, our bodies are the bodies of others." As our bodies align, so do our biological rhythms. Studies show that sports fans' heart rates synchronize when watching games together. The same is true for villagers witnessing fire-walking rituals or audience members at musical performances. Our feelings converge as well, through the process of emotional contagion. And our attention shifts from an egocentric view to a shared awareness of what's happening around us, what psychologist Michael Tomasello calls "shared attention." These synchronized states create a powerful sense of connection and belonging. Throughout human history, cultures worldwide have developed rituals that harness this power of synchronized movement. Religious ceremonies incorporate rhythmic chanting, swaying, or dancing. Military training includes precision marching. Traditional cultures worldwide feature circle dances and communal movements. These practices aren't arbitrary—they tap into the human capacity for collective effervescence to create social cohesion and shared identity. By moving together, we become something larger than our individual selves. The awe generated through collective effervescence serves vital social functions. Studies show that after moving in synchrony with others, people demonstrate increased cooperation, greater generosity toward strangers, and enhanced problem-solving abilities when working together. Even brief experiences of synchronized movement can reduce prejudice between groups and create lasting social bonds. This explains why movements for social change often incorporate synchronized activities—from protest marches to freedom songs—as ways of building solidarity and collective power. In our increasingly isolated modern world, opportunities for collective effervescence offer a powerful antidote to loneliness and disconnection. Whether joining a dance class, participating in a community walk, attending a concert, or simply being mindful of how we move through public spaces with others, these experiences of synchronized movement reconnect us to our deeply social nature and the awe that emerges when individual boundaries dissolve into collective harmony. As philosopher William James observed, these moments reveal "the great primitive force of sympathy" that binds humans together in common purpose and shared wonder.

Chapter 6: Wild Awe: Nature's Healing Effect on Mind and Body

When we step into nature—whether a vast wilderness or a small urban park—something remarkable happens to our bodies and minds. Our heart rate slows, our blood pressure drops, our stress hormones decrease, and our immune function improves. We think more clearly, feel more connected, and experience a profound sense of well-being. This isn't just poetic sentiment; it's biological reality. We have a fundamental need for "wild awe"—the awe we experience in nature—that appears hardwired into our physiology through millions of years of evolution. This need has deep evolutionary roots. For most of human history, we lived intimately with the natural world, timing our migrations and settlements to the cycles of the sun, weather, seasons, and animal movements. Our brains and bodies evolved to find meaning, guidance, and healing in natural settings. Harvard biologist E.O. Wilson called this innate affinity for nature "biophilia"—the love of life and living systems. When this need is satisfied, we thrive; when it's thwarted, we suffer in measurable ways. The evidence for our biological need for wild awe is compelling. Children naturally gravitate toward exploring the outdoors, collecting bugs and leaves, climbing trees, and marveling at rain and clouds. Our bodies respond to nature like an antenna: the sounds of water activate the vagus nerve; certain scents calm our stress-related physiology; plants emit phytoncides that boost immune function; and images of nature activate dopamine networks in the brain that animate exploration and wonder. Studies show that hospital patients with window views of trees recover faster and need less pain medication than those facing brick walls. Wild awe awakens us to what Indigenous scholars call traditional ecological knowledge (TEK)—an understanding of our relationship to the natural world developed over thousands of years of observation and experience. Within TEK, species are recognized as interdependent, all things are animated by a vital life force, impermanence is assumed, and the natural world is to be revered. When we stand beneath towering trees, gaze at star-filled skies, or listen to rushing water, we sense that we are part of something much larger than ourselves—one member of many species in an interdependent, collaborating natural world. For those suffering from trauma, nature offers unique healing potential. Combat veterans, survivors of abuse, and people battling depression often find that wild awe helps them process their experiences and find meaning. One study found that veterans and underserved teenagers who participated in a white-water rafting trip showed significant reductions in stress and PTSD symptoms one week later. It was specifically the awe they experienced during the trip—rather than physical exertion or social connection—that accounted for these benefits. In the words of Rachel Carson, "Those who dwell, as scientists or laymen, among the beauties and mysteries of the earth are never alone or weary of life." Wild awe returns us to our rightful place in the web of life, offering what Emerson called an antidote to "mean egotism" and what Carson described as "an unfailing antidote against the boredom and disenchantments of later years." In an age of increasing screen time and indoor living, intentionally seeking experiences of wild awe—whether through forest bathing, urban nature walks, or simply pausing to notice the patterns of clouds—represents not a luxury but a biological necessity.

Chapter 7: Cultural Archives: How Art and Spirituality Preserve Wonder

Throughout human history, we've created cultural forms to capture, preserve, and share experiences of awe. Music, art, and spiritual practices serve as "cultural archives" that allow us to communicate the ineffable and pass down our understanding of life's wonders across generations. These archives don't just document awe—they actively evoke it, helping us locate ourselves within patterns of meaning that transcend our individual lives. Music functions as a powerful archive of awe by opening our bodies to its neurophysiological profile. When we listen to music that moves us, our vagus nerve activates, dopamine circuitry engages, and we often experience tears and chills—those embodied signs of merging with others to face mystery. Music synchronizes our brains with others listening to the same sounds, breaking down boundaries between self and other. Through its patterns of pitch, rhythm, contour, and timbre, music conveys specific emotions, including awe, across cultural boundaries. Philosopher Susanne Langer proposed that music's purpose is to "objectify feeling"—to represent our experience of "life patterns," the great themes of social living such as suffering, loss, love, protest, and connection to the Divine. Music does this in a realm of symbolic meaning different from spoken language, one freed from constraints of literal truth. This allows music to follow different laws of space, time, and causality, generating fast, holistic intuitions about life's patterns. When we're moved by music, we're moved to its ways of perceiving, feeling, and being. Visual art similarly archives awe through multiple pathways. It reveals visual patterns we may not consciously notice—what artist Rose-Lynn Fisher calls "sacred geometries" of life. It subverts our default expectations about time, space, and causality, hinting at vast mysteries through techniques like profusion, repetition, and unified light or color. Art enables direct perception of awe, allowing us to see the world through the lens of transcendence, as in psychedelic art or Indigenous visual traditions. Art also creates aesthetic distance—a safe space from which we can contemplate both the wonders and horrors of life. This is why art about human atrocities can move us to awe rather than just horror, enabling us to wonder about social change. When visual art moves us to awe, it can change history by shocking us into new ways of seeing the world and our place in it. The photographs of Earth from space during the Apollo missions, for instance, helped catalyze the environmental movement by allowing us to see our planet as a fragile, interconnected system. Spiritual and religious practices represent perhaps our most elaborate archives of awe. They grow out of experiences of mystical awe—moments when we sense connection to something vast, primary, and good. Our awe-related vocalizations become sacred sounds and chants; our physical expressions of awe inspire ceremonial acts of reverence; moving in unison becomes religious ceremony. These practices create community spaces of "awe-based intelligent design" that enable collective experiences of transcendence. The process of archiving awe in cultural forms follows a pattern that Reverend Jennifer Bailey describes as "composting religion"—a cycle of decay, distillation, and growth. Old forms break down, essential feelings are distilled, and new practices grow to meet changing needs and understandings. This process continues today, as people create their own "temples" for finding mystical awe—in nature, collective activities, meditation, yoga, or music—that preserve the essential experience while adapting to contemporary contexts.

Summary

At its core, awe reveals a profound truth: we are part of systems larger than ourselves. When we experience awe—whether through witnessing moral beauty, moving in unison with others, immersing ourselves in nature, or engaging with art, music, and spiritual practices—we transcend our default self-focused perspective and recognize our place within interconnected patterns of life. This "small self" effect isn't about diminishment but expansion, as we sense our connection to communities, ecosystems, cultural traditions, and the cycle of life and death itself. The embodied responses of awe—tears, chills, and spontaneous vocalizations—represent ancient biological signals that help us recognize and respond to vast forces that transcend our individual understanding. The science of awe offers a compelling invitation to live differently. By seeking everyday awe—those two to three experiences per week that research shows are available to all of us regardless of wealth or circumstance—we can reduce inflammation, increase generosity, enhance creativity, strengthen social bonds, and find meaning in life's challenges. What might our world look like if we designed our environments, institutions, and daily practices to cultivate more awe? How might our relationships change if we approached each interaction with the possibility of witnessing moral beauty? The practice is simple: pause to notice the extraordinary in the ordinary, approach familiar surroundings with fresh eyes, and remain open to the vast mysteries that surround us. In doing so, we might discover what Rachel Carson called "a sense of wonder so indestructible that it would last throughout life, as an unfailing antidote against the boredom and disenchantments of later years."

About Author

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Dacher Keltner

Dacher Keltner is a professor of psychology at the University of California, Berkeley, director of the Greater Good Science Center, and coeditor of Greater Good magazine. His research focuses on pro-social emotions, power, and moral reasoning."

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