Astronomy has enlarged the sphere of our conceptions, and opened to us a universe without bounds, where the human imagination is lost. Surrounded by infinite space, and swallowed up in an immensity of being, man seems but as a drop of water in the ocean, mixed and confounded with the general mass. But from this situation, perplexing as it is, he endeavors to extricate himself; and by looking abroad into Nature, employs the powers she has bestowed upon him in investigating her works.
Like so many stories of awe, Bonnycastle’s about the vast mysteries of space reveals the emotion’s unfolding pattern. It begins with vastness—“universe without bounds”—and mystery—“human imagination is lost.” What follows is the vanishing of the self—“drop of water”—and the sense of being related to something larger—“immensity of being.” And as the default self fades, the mind opens to intellectual questioning and searching that awe inspires (“investigating her works”). Or wonder.
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Wonder, the mental state of openness, questioning, curiosity, and embracing mystery, arises out of experiences of awe. In our studies, people who find more everyday awe show evidence of living with wonder. They are more open to new ideas. To what is unknown. To what language can’t describe. To the absurd. To seeking new knowledge. To experience itself, for example of sound, or color, or bodily sensation, or the directions thought might take during dreams or meditation. To the strengths and virtues of other people. It should not surprise that people who feel even five minutes a day of everyday awe are more curious about art, music, poetry, new scientific discoveries, philosophy, and questions about life and death. They feel more comfortable with mysteries, with that which cannot be explained.
A stereotype of awe is that it leaves us dumbfounded and dazed, ready to subordinate reason to dogma, disinformation, blind faith, a local guru or trendy influencer. The scientific evidence suggests otherwise. In the state of wonder that awe produces, our thought is more rigorous and energized. As one historical example, Isaac Newton and René Descartes were both awestruck by rainbows. In wonder, they asked: How is it that rainbows form when the sun’s light refracts through water molecules? What is the precise angle that produces this effect? What does this say about light and our experience of color? This wonder over rainbows led these two scholars to some of their best work on mathematics, the physics of light, color theory, and sensation and perception.
Laboratory studies have captured how awe leads to more rigorous thought. In one such study, after being led to experience awe by recalling a time of looking out at an expansive view, college students were more discerning between what is a strong argument, grounded in robust scientific evidence, and a weak argument, based on a single individual’s opinions.
With our thinking energized by awe, we place vast mysteries within more complex systems of understanding. We perceive natural phenomena like tide pools, pollinating bees, or ecosystems gathering around a “mother tree” as the result of intricate interacting systems of causal forces. We see human affairs as the result of complex webs of cause-and-effect relations in history that transcend an individual’s intentions. When thinking about our own lives, we become more aware of how vast forces—our family, our neighborhood, a generous coach or teacher, a fateful encounter with a wise elder, the good health we may enjoy—shape the courses our lives take. In awe, our minds open in wonder to the systems of life and our small part in them.
Saintly Tendencies
In moments of awe, then, we shift from the sense that we are solely in charge of our own fate and striving against others to feeling we are part of a community, sharing essential qualities, interdependent and collaborating. Awe expands what philosopher Peter Singer calls the circle of care, the network of people we feel kindness toward. William James called the actions that give rise to the circle of care the “saintly tendencies” of mystical awe—to sacrifice, share, put aside self-interest in favor of the interests of others. Our studies find that these “saintly tendencies” arise in encounters with all eight wonders of life.
In one study on this theme, longtime collaborator and professor at UC Irvine Paul Piff and I led one group of participants to feel awe by watching BBC’s Planet Earth. Other participants watched the hilarious antics of dogs, bears, cats, monkeys, and apes in their natural habitats in the British comedic nature show Walk on the Wild Side. When given points that would determine a chance to win money and asked to share with a stranger, people feeling awe gave more. In fact, they gave more than half their points to a stranger.
Awe empowers sacrifice, and inspires us to give that most precious of resources, time. Memphis University professor Jia Wei Zhang and I brought people to a lab where they were surrounded by either awe-inspiring plants or less-inspiring ones. As participants were leaving the lab, we asked if they would fold origami cranes to be sent to victims of the 2011 tsunami in Japan. Being surrounded with awe-inspiring plants led people to volunteer more time. The last pillar of the default self—striving for competitive advantage, registered in a stinginess toward giving away possessions and time—crumbles during awe.
Awe awakens the better angels of our nature.
The Sequel
Perhaps there will be a sequel to Inside Out. And who knows, perhaps Awe will be a character in Riley’s mind, transforming her sense of self, opening her to wonder, and inclining her to saintly tendencies after encounters with the wonders of life. In the sequel, Riley could be older, perhaps a college student, and moved by Awe to youthful encounters with moral beauty, dancing at parties, outdoor concerts, and late-night conversations about the meaning of life, all so very fitting for a young adult.
And if I had my druthers, in this sequel Riley would be a budding neuroscientist. If so, there could be a scene in which she presents to her lab a video called “Waterfall Display,” which is narrated by her hero, Jane Goodall. In the video, a solitary chimpanzee approaches a roaring waterfall. He piloerects (fluffs up his fur). He moves in swaying, rhythmic motions, swinging from one branch to another near the rushing river. He pushes large rocks into the river. At the end of this “dance” he sits quietly, absorbed in the flow of water. Jane Goodall observes that chimpanzees do the waterfall dance near waterfalls and roaring rivers, as well as during heavy rainstorms and sudden winds. She then speculates:
I can’t help feeling that this waterfall display, or dance, is perhaps triggered by feelings of awe, wonder, that we feel. . . . So why wouldn’t they also have feelings of some kind of spirituality, which is really being amazed at things outside yourself?
At the short video’s conclusion, Riley would pose questions to her lab. Is the chimpanzee’s piloerection the same as our chills? What do those chills mean, anyway? Do chimpanzees have spiritual feelings? Why do we feel awe?
THREE EVOLUTION OF THE SOUL What Our Tears, Chills, and Whoas Tell Us about the Why of Awe