The other night, I sat by the firepit in my backyard, watching the flames lick the air and the embers float upward into the night sky. Nobody had built that fire for me. No divine voice whispered, “This is for you.” And yet, I felt this swell of gratitude. Deep, full, unprovoked.
But grateful to whom? Or what?
Growing up, I learned that gratitude was almost always a transaction. Someone gives you something, you say “thank you.” In church, that gratitude extended to God, if something good happened without an obvious human cause, you thanked Him. It was as natural as breathing. In fact, the Bible’s pretty direct about it: “Give thanks in all circumstances” (1 Thessalonians 5:18).
We’re taught early that gratitude is meant to be aimed. It’s a social and spiritual reflex. Philosopher David Hume suggested that thanking others isn’t just polite, it’s evolution’s way of keeping us connected. Gratitude strengthens relationships. It tells people, you matter to me. That same instinct may be why so many believers automatically thank God for the good in their lives, it’s relationship maintenance at a cosmic scale.
But lately I’ve been wondering: can gratitude exist without a recipient? Can it just… be?
Ambient Gratitude
I’ve started thinking about something I’ll call ambient gratitude. It’s not directed toward a person, deity, or even “the universe” as some conscious force. It’s just the feeling itself, untethered, present in a moment that doesn’t need an author.
Like the sound of rain hitting the window at night. Or an old song in the grocery store that stops you in your tracks. Or the fact that I can still walk around my yard despite my sore hips, slower than I used to, sure, but still moving.
Nobody “gave” me that moment. Yet the gratitude is there, whole and unbothered by the lack of a recipient.
Why We Still Want Someone to Thank
Psychologists like Robert Emmons have shown that gratitude boosts mental health, reduces stress, and even improves physical well-being. But they also point out something fascinating: our brains are wired to want to direct gratitude somewhere. It’s a loop that feels more complete when there’s a target.
That’s why people who aren’t religious still find themselves saying, “Thank you, Universe,” or thanking “luck” or “fate.” We want to hand the feeling off. It’s as if gratitude is a letter we’ve written and we can’t rest until it’s in someone’s mailbox.
Faith, Philosophy, and the Pull to Aim Our Thanks
In Christianity, gratitude toward God is both a command and an act of worship. Some believers see it as part of a divine economy, gratitude may invite more blessings.
In Buddhism, gratitude isn’t always person-centered. It’s often gratitude for the interdependent web of life, the conditions that allow this moment to be what it is.
In Judaism, gratitude can be about acknowledgment, naming what is good and recognizing its source, even if that source is as wide as creation itself.
Philosophers like Hume and Kant placed gratitude in the realm of moral duty. For Kant, being grateful wasn’t about feelings so much as acting rightly toward those who’ve helped us, a practice that can spill over into how we treat the world itself.
My Own Shift
I still thank God for answered prayers. I still thank my wife who helps me with pretty much everything. But I’ve also learned to let gratitude exist without having to hand it to someone.
Sometimes I just hold it like a warm mug on a cold night, no need to pass it along, no urge to stamp it with a name. Gratitude can be its own presence.
This is an interesting perspective that I've never really considered before. But I think you're right. I think gratitude can be... just a feeling. And it can still be gratitude even if you never direct it at anything or anyone. It's an interesting thing to think about.
Sometimes I just feel randomly (or maybe just generally) grateful for certain things, and I'm thinking that could be close to what you're describing.