Burke believed the two essential ingredients to the experience of awe are power and obscurity. On power, Burke wrote: “whereso-ever we find strength, and in what light soever we look upon power we shall all along observe the sublime the concomitant of terror.” On obscurity, Burke argued that awe follows from the perception of objects that the mind has difficulty grasping. Obscure images in painting are more likely to produce sublime feelings (Monet) than those that are clearly rendered (Pissarro). Despotic governments keep their leader obscure from the populace to enhance that leader’s capacity to evoke awe.
Today in the West, awe has been liberated; we are following in Burke’s footsteps. In my research, when I ask individuals to recount their last experience of awe, they most typically recall experiences of interest to Burke. They write about nature, art, charismatic, famous people, experiences of the sacred, powerful perceptual experiences, experiences when meditating or praying or contemplating the divine. But the spirit of democracy has spread through awe. People are also likely to recall experiences of awe when the Red Sox broke the curse, when hearing Steve Reich for the first time, after a bowl of celery soup at Chez Panisse, at the end of The Brothers Karamazov, when lifted aloft in the mosh pit at an Iggy Pop show, when an insight about their past occurs during therapy, at the birth of their children, their last experience of sex, drinking wine, a trip on LSD, a lucid dream. Awe has been used in the service of unadulterated evil—one only needs to think of Hitler’s rallies to realize how readily this sacred emotion can be used to malevolent ends.
To bring some order to this cacophony of transcendence, Jon Haidt and I offered the following analysis of the varieties of awe (see table below).
AN APPROACH TO AWE AND ITS RELATED STATES
Prototypical experiences of awe involve perceived vastness, anything that is experienced as being much larger than the self or the self’s typical frame of reference. Vastness can be physical (standing next to a 389-foot redwood, seeing Shaquille O’Neal’s size 22 hightops or the expanse of Chichén Itzá). Vastness can be acoustic (thunder, a thunderous electric organ). Vastness can be social (standing near the Dalai Lama, dining next to a celebrity). Ideas, feelings, and sensations can be vast when they transcend what has been known or felt before. Vastness becomes awe-inspiring when it requires accommodation—the process by which we update and change our core beliefs.
The spine-tingling, jaw-dropping experiences of awe involve vastness and accommodation. Our experiences of powerful, charismatic humans, our experiences in nature—when viewing mountains, vistas, storms, redwoods, oceans, tornadoes, earthquakes; our experiences of astonishing artifacts—cathedrals, skyscrapers, sculptures, fireworks, the world’s largest ball of string; our feeling of awe when immersed in the breadth and scope of a grand theory (feminism, Marxism, evolutionary theory)…are all founded on the sense of vastness and transcendence of our understanding of the world.
The varieties and nuances of awe derive from additional flavoring themes (see columns 4 through 8 in the table). The sense of threat gives rise to awe experiences that have elements of fear; charismatic leaders (Hitler, versus Ghandi) or natural scenes (an electrical storm, versus a sunset) evoke awe-related experiences that can feel dangerous or reassuring. Aesthetic properties of the stimulus (its harmony, balance, and proportionality), color awe experiences with the feeling of beauty (in hearing a symphony; viewing the mirror image of a mountain in a lake). Encounters with people of exceptional ability will trigger a related state, admiration. Encounters with extraordinary virtue will trigger the feeling of elevation, an emotional response to “moral beauty” or human goodness. Admiration and elevation are closely related to awe but typically do not involve perceived vastness or power. When supernatural ideation suffuses the experience of awe—the felt presence of nonmaterial entities such as spirits, or supernatural causal processes—the experience of awe acquires a religious flavor. Epiphanies feel awesome because they involve seemingly trivial, incidental events that reveal unexpected, vast truths: A falling leaf reminds you of your father’s death, and of your own mortality; a subtle lip pucker evident in your beloved directed toward your friend tips you off to a long-suspected secret affair.
The etymological history of the word “awe” parallels this liberation of the experience. “Awe” derived from related words in Old English and Old Norse that were used to express fear and dread, particularly toward a divine being. Now “awe” connotes “dread mingled with veneration, reverential or respectful fear; the attitude of a mind subdued to profound reverence in the presence of supreme authority, moral greatness or sublimity, or mysterious sacredness” (Oxford English Dictionary). The state has been transformed from one that centered upon fear and dread to one of reverence, devotion, and pleasure.
IN THE BEGINNING
The Greek philosopher Protagoras, source of the saying “Man is the measure of all things,” offered the following myth about human origins. For some time, only gods existed on Earth. The gods decided to create the different species, not out of a primordial molecular soup but out of earth and fire. The gods distributed the various capacities and abilities—speed, strength, thick hides, tough hooves, agility, tastes for roots or grasses or meat—to the different species so that they would each occupy specific niches and thrive in their own particular ways.
The gods ran out of abilities and talents, alas, before figuring out what to do with that thin-skinned, slow-footed species—humans—who were scattered about in semi-functioning, soon to be extinct bands. Reacting to this state of affairs, Prometheus gave the first humans technology—fire. Zeus, however, quickly realized the limitations of technology. Fire could provide warmth, a means of burning germs out of meat, and forms of defense, but humans would need more to survive; they would need to be bound together in cooperative, strong communities. So Zeus gave humans two qualities. The first is a sense of justice, to ensure that the needs of all would be met. The second was reverence, or the capacity for awe.
In his beautifully distilled book Reverence, philosopher Paul Woodruff reveals in his analysis of ancient Greek and Chinese cultures why our capacity for awe ranks so high on Zeus’s list of prerequisites for the prospects of an enduring human culture (I risk offense by summarizing his argument in the accompanying flow chart).
Awe and reverence
Awe is triggered by experiences with that which is beyond our control and understanding—that which is vast and requires accommodation. This experience, at its core, centers upon the recognition of the limitations of the self; in Confucian thought, we feel a deep sense of modesty. Around the world awe has a modest physical signature seen in acts of reverence, devotion, and gratitude: we become small, we kneel, bow, relax and round our shoulders, curl into a small, fetal ball (see Darwin’s observations on devotion in table below).