The sheer power of natural disasters always leaves me stunned. Despite incredible scientific and technological progress in recent millennia, humans remain at the mercy of Mother Nature when she decides to set cataclysmic events into motion. I am often struck by something else that also occurs amid these tragedies: the outpouring of human compassion.
As an emotions researcher and professor in the Departments of Neurology and Psychiatry and Behavioral Sciences at the University of California, San Francisco (UCSF), I spend a lot of time thinking about how people feel and act.
Emotions often drive our decisions and actions—sometimes without us realizing it. When faced with a disaster, emotions like sadness, anger, and fear are expected. But none of these explains the extraordinary generosity and sacrifice of so many people.
The question arises: What compels total strangers to help others in moments of crisis?
Some situations—especially those that remind us of our small yet interconnected place in the universe—trigger a different emotion: awe.
Awe arises when we are in the presence of something vast that we cannot immediately understand. While it often stems from positive experiences with nature, art, or spirituality, awe can also emerge from destruction and crisis.
During experiences of awe, our focus shifts outward. It expands our awareness, fosters curiosity, and, crucially, strengthens our sense of connection to others.
I reflected on the power of awe as I scrolled through photographs of the wildfires that ravaged Los Angeles County this past January. Fanned by Santa Ana winds, the flames moved fast, reducing entire communities to ashes. Like many, I was horrified by the unforgettable images—relentless firestorms, grieving families, howling dogs, and impromptu shelters filled with people who had lost everything.
First responders raced into danger to battle the fires and rescue victims. Strangers across the world mobilized—chefs at the World Central Kitchen prepared meals, GoFundMe pages raised millions, and firefighters from across the U.S., Canada, and Mexico rushed in to battle an inferno that raged unchecked for weeks.
But why would these individuals go to such lengths for people they did not know?
Humans are social creatures, equipped with highly sophisticated “social brains” that allow us to understand, connect with, and care for others. Yet when we are stressed or overwhelmed, our attention narrows. Negative emotions, while crucial for self-preservation, can make us more focused on our own survival and less attuned to those around us.
Awe counteracts these self-focused tendencies and motivates empathy and compassion. In a study I conducted with my colleagues, participants took weekly 15-minute “awe walks” for eight weeks, while a control group took similar walks without focusing on awe (our study is also described here and here in Psychology Today).
Those who intentionally sought out awe—by “tapping into their childlike sense of wonder” and exploring new places when possible—reported increased feelings of compassion, gratitude, and admiration. These emotions drive prosocial behavior, encouraging us to prioritize others before ourselves.
Luckily, natural disasters are relatively rare, and awe is seldom intermingled with feelings of fear and lack of control. Instead, awe is more often an enticing experience that fills us with joy.
Although in everyday life it is easy to get caught in our heads, ruminating about something we said or worrying about our to-do list, there are simple steps that we can take to cultivate pleasant feelings of awe in our day-to-day lives. By slowing down and paying attention to the details of the world around us, we can use our senses and appreciate the wondrous texture of a tree’s bark or the unbelievably rapid buzz of a hummingbird’s wings. We might marvel at hearing the first words of a child, or at the mind-blowing feats of technology that allow us to communicate with people near and far.
Each of these brief experiences of awe can help us to feel like we are part of something larger than ourselves. When we sense that we, like other people, are but small parts of a connected world, our similarities become more apparent than our differences. Empathy and compassion arise more easily when we can see ourselves in others.
Even when awe stems from something frightening, such as natural disasters, it still motivates us to do good. Research by psychologists Amie Gordon and Dacher Keltner has shown that awe evoked by threatening events can unite people, inspiring them to help in ways they might not otherwise. By shifting our perspective from “me” to “we,” awe fosters a collective sense of purpose and action.
During the LA wildfires, this impulse was everywhere. My college roommate organized a fundraising campaign for her son’s school, which had burned down. A local eighth grader launched Altadena Teen Girls Fire Recovery to help displaced teenage girls rebuild their wardrobes and regain a sense of normalcy. Animal shelters up and down the West Coast saw an influx of volunteers fostering or adopting lost pets. Each day, new grassroots efforts emerged to support those in need.
Like the smoldering embers that remained even after the wildfires were contained, empathy lies dormant under the pressures of everyday life—waiting for the right conditions to ignite. And once sparked, kindness is contagious and spreads. As LA rebuilds, we can only hope that the recent waves of awe and compassion that surged in the wake of the disaster will not be extinguished but will continue to burn brightly, reminding us of our shared humanity.
