Sci-Fi and the Soul of the Species: How Awe Might Be America’s Most Underrated Export
Friday, March 28, 2025.
New research suggests that science fiction fosters global empathy through awe.
But what happens when we see this through the lens of American culture?
Let’s be honest: few nations have done more to both fragment and re-imagine humanity than the United States.
On one hand, American culture promotes hyper-individualism, a relentless focus on personal success, and what sociologists call expressive individualism—the belief that your life’s purpose is to express your unique self.
On the other hand, the U.S. also happens to be the birthplace of much of the world’s most widely consumed science fiction. Think Star Trek, Star Wars, Black Panther, The Matrix, Interstellar, Avatar, Her—the list goes on and on.
So here’s the paradox: how is it that a society obsessed with the individual also creates art that is uniquely capable of dissolving the boundaries of self?
That’s what makes the findings from the recent Communication Research study by Wu and Zhang so striking.
Conducted in China—a collectivist culture with very different values from those dominant in the United States—the researchers found that science fiction evokes awe more powerfully than any other genre, and that this awe, in turn, promotes a deep identification with all of humanity.
Now imagine what that means in an American context.
Awe as an Antidote to American Narcissism
America has always been torn between two grand mythologies: the rugged individualist and the utopian visionary.
On one side: the cowboy, the CEO, the influencer, the “I did it my way” mythos.
On the other: the civil rights activist, the moon landing, the "we're all in this together" ethos of war bonds and climate marches. These stories coexist—uneasily—in our collective consciousness.
And science fiction? It’s one of the few genres that still insists we imagine both the individual and the collective, not as enemies, but as entangled fates.
In Interstellar, a father risks his life for his daughter and the species.
In Arrival, understanding an alien language rewires our perception of time—and nudges us toward peace. In Star Trek, exploration is always both personal and planetary.
Awe doesn’t obliterate the self. It de-centers it. It makes room for others.
And in a culture dominated by self-promotion and algorithmic echo chambers, science fiction might just be the last cultural space where Americans are invited to consider humanity as a single fragile project.
The Emotional Physics of Awe
Wu and Zhang’s study revealed that awe was the only consistent emotional mediator linking science fiction narratives with increased identification with all humanity. Not compassion. Not hope. Not empathy. Just awe.
That’s significant.
Awe operates differently than more familiar emotions. Compassion tends to focus attention on suffering.
Empathy aligns us with others’ feelings. Awe, however, does something more radical: it changes the scale at which we process meaning.
It’s not just that we feel small—it’s that we feel repositioned in the universe.
That shift, research shows, makes us more generous, less tribal, and more willing to accept people unlike ourselves (Piff et al., 2015).
For a nation grappling with political polarization, Cultural Narcissism, and the loneliness of a hyper-competitive culture, awe might be a kind of psychological reset button—a momentary lapse in ego that allows something bigger to speak.
American Science Fiction as Moral Infrastructure
This begs the question: has American science fiction always been a vehicle for awe and global consciousness, or is this a new development?
Historically, U.S. science fiction has been both an expression of its cultural anxieties and a speculative tool for moral evolution.
Cold War fears gave us alien invasions. Civil Rights unrest gave us mutant metaphors. Climate anxiety gave us dystopias. But always underneath the fear, there was a flicker of hope: maybe we can survive, maybe we are one species, maybe empathy can be scaled.
Even when dystopian, American sci-fi has a strangely resilient core of optimism. That’s not a bug—it’s a feature.
As literary theorist Fredric Jameson once put it, “It is easier to imagine the end of the world than the end of capitalism”—and science fiction tries to do both, sometimes simultaneously. In doing so, it invites American audiences to imagine themselves as more than just consumers, competitors, or citizens of a nation-state.
It asks: What if you were a citizen of the cosmos?
That’s not just entertainment. That’s a moral reorientation.
The Algorithm Isn’t Designed to Inspire Awe
Here’s the rub: awe isn’t anywhere near viral.
It’s slow. It lingers.
It doesn’t always compress into 30-second TikToks or fit neatly into 280 characters.
That means the awe-inspiring function of science fiction often competes—poorly—with the attention economy’s more dopamine-driven content: hot takes, influencer drama, rage bait.
In America, where media is both democratized and commodified, sci-fi that evokes awe has to fight for airtime against much louder, flashier contenders. The algorithm isn’t designed to foster moral elevation. It’s designed to keep you scrolling.
So if awe is one of our best tools for building a sense of planetary solidarity, then we have a collective responsibility to protect the kinds of stories that evoke it.
The Stars Are Not a Distraction
In a fractured and often cynical culture, science fiction offers a strange and necessary gift: a portal to awe that doesn’t require religious belief, political agreement, or even optimism. Just imagination.
And that might be the most American idea of all.
Be Well, Stay Kind, and Godspeed.
REFERENCES:
Piff, P. K., Dietze, P., Feinberg, M., Stancato, D. M., & Keltner, D. (2015). Awe, the small self, and prosocial behavior. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 108(6), 883–899. https://doi.org/10.1037/pspi0000018
Wu, F., & Zhang, Z. (2025). Entertainment for Cosmopolitism: Science Fiction Fosters Identification With All Humanity via Awe. Communication Research.