Awe

It was everyday moral beauty that transformed him. In solitary confinement in prison, he encountered a knowing librarian who fed Steven’s hunger for reading; Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, and its archiving of courage—“I love the name of honor more than I fear death”—was an epiphany for him. Upon his release from prison, at a halfway house, Steven tells me, a biker got him off drugs and a job clearing brush for seventy dollars a day. More moral beauty. Later, at a community college, a Shakespeare teacher named Larry taught Steven to read Milton like a literary critic, and that the self-loathing in his mind was just that, thoughts, fleeting notions from parents who could have done better. Steven, now in graduate school, would cofound the Underground Scholars Initiative (USI) at UC Berkeley. This is a network of formerly incarcerated students guiding people in prison and just out to make their way to college. USI allows these unlikely college students to find opportunities to allow their goodness its own speech.

Within the study of morality it has long been the view that we find our moral compass in the teaching of abstract principles, the study of great texts, or the leadership of charismatic gurus and great sages. In fact, we are just as likely to find our “moral law within” in the awe we feel for the wonders of others nearby.

Illumination

About 4,000 of the 700,000 unhoused people in the United States live on the streets of Oakland, California. Dr. Leif Hass devotes much of his day to caring for their health problems—mental illness, diabetes, hypertension, festering wounds, poor nutrition, drug addictions, and the deterioration of the brain that the cold nights and hard pavement of homelessness bring.

Many health professionals get burned out from this work. Leif Hass stays resilient and close to the Hippocratic oath—to reduce harm—through the moral beauty of the people he cares for. Here is a story of awe he sent me called “A Ray of Light,” about a patient who was born with cerebral palsy and lost the use of his hands due to a surgery. The following exchange moved Hass to awe.

“Hey! How you been, Ray?”

He replied: “I just wake up every day and think about what I can do to make people happy.”

The goose bumps rise on my arms . . .

“Wow, Ray, you are an amazing person, my friend. Now tell me about what brought you in to the hospital?”

Ray fills me in on the details in the slightly strained and slurred speech that sometimes comes with cerebral palsy. My mind goes to work trying to diagnose this mysterious case of happiness.

We chat for another ten minutes about God and love and looking out for one another.

Finally, I say, “Sorry Ray, I gotta go . . .”

Leaving the room, I feel enlivened, yet also strangely humbled.

Encounters with moral beauty can take us aback, as in Leif’s story of awe—they have the power of an epiphany or unforgettable scene in a novel or movie. Philosophical analyses of spiritual epiphany, and novelists’ portrayals of personal epiphany, find that the experience is imbued with a sense of light, clarity, truth, and the sharpened recognition of what really matters. Leif’s story is titled accordingly—“A Ray of Light”—and follows the patterned unfolding of awe. Ray’s overcoming cerebral palsy strikes Leif as vast and mysterious. Ray’s generosity shifts Leif from his default self’s doctor-patient checklist to appreciating Ray’s kindness. Leif wonders why Ray is so happy. His body registers Ray’s goodness in goose bumps, a bodily reminder of being part of something larger than the self. He feels “enlivened” and humbled.

Empirical studies have charted the power of witnessing others’ courage, kindness, strength, and overcoming. In a study typical of this literature, people first view a brief video of an inspiring act—of Mother Teresa, for example, or Desmond Tutu—or a moving teacher. Or participants are asked to simply recall a personal encounter with everyday moral beauty. These encounters lead people to feel more inspired and optimistic. They feel more integrated in their community—that expanding circle of care. Their faith in their fellow humans and hope for the human prospect rises. They hear a voice akin to a calling to become a better person, and they often imitate others’ acts of courage, kindness, strength, and overcoming. Or they share stories of moral beauty with others, like the Norwegian who read the news story about the courageous Yemeni girl. Witnessing acts of moral beauty prompts us more generally to be ready to share and lend a helping hand.