From the April - June 2022 Jersey Sierran
By George Moffatt
Why are Sierrans, other environmentalists, and most of humanity so concerned about protecting nature? There may be as many reasons as there are thoughtful people, but why do we have this feeling at all?
Well, we do have centuries-old theological imperatives. The Old Testament urges, “But ask the beasts, and they will teach you; the birds of the heavens, and they will tell you; or the bushes of the Earth, and they will teach you; and the fish of the sea will declare to you.” The mystic and preacher Saint Francis of Assisi has written, “Praised be You, my Lord, through Sister Earth our Mother who sustains and governs us.” And the metaphysics of Islam teach about hima, conservation of land; ayat, the many signs of God; and khilafah, or stewards of the world.
These are just a few examples of what is called biophilia—the human desire to connect with nature and the many creatures of the Earth.
Secular, current-day appreciation of nature encompasses a wide range of mental states: serenity, contemplation, appreciation, fondness, otherworldliness, humility, and thankfulness.
For many decades, our environmental reverence and sense of connectedness with nature have been the subject of a wide range of disciplines, including evolutionary psychology, education, medicine, anthropology, and even workplace design, all part of the growing study of biophilia.
The basis for this study grew from a theory that maintains our affinity for nature is genetic, an affective part of us that can be traced back to the prehistoric evolution of our species. Other human traits, such as why we hunt and are aggressive, have also been linked to our genetic makeup, but not without controversy.
The term biophilia was first used in 1973 by the psychologist and sociologist Erick Fromm in his book, “The Anatomy of Human Destructiveness,” to describe our psychological attraction to all that is alive and vital. The term was popularized by the naturalist Edward O. Wilson, who described biophilia as “the connections that human beings subconsciously seek with the rest of life” and humanity’s “innate tendency to focus on life and lifelike processes.”
Wilson espoused a conservation or environmental ethic based on the innate relationships we humans share with nature. His theory included our ancient dependence on nature, the pleasures nature provides us, the physical appeal of nature, its challenges, our esthetic attachment to landscapes, and our emotional attachment to animals, even those we hunt for food.
Other studies have shown that even a simple connection with nature—sometimes just gazing out of a window—increases our productivity and health, promotes healing in hospital patients, sharpens creative thinking, and even reduces the frequency of sickness in prisons. Even small parks and playgrounds have this effect.
The hypothesis of our biophilic attachment to nature maintains that it evolved over eons to become part of our genetic makeup because of our relationships with nonhuman species. Because our ancestors remained closely connected to and attuned to nature throughout our species’ evolution, we exist today. (The lack of dinosaurs helped.)
Wilson and others cautioned, however, that our increased reliance on technology these last few centuries has adversely affected our biophilic respect for and connectedness to the natural world. And as any Sierrian or other environmentalist will tell you, we are losing that vital connectedness. This diminution has led to Homo sapiens’ indifference to the environmental destruction and rapid extinction of species that we are causing.
We know that our appreciation of nature has been a human trait for eons, and, in theory, restoring our biophilic connection with nature is a driving factor in the modern environmental movement, whether we accept its prehistoric origins or not. Or so the hypothesis goes.
But, yes, even committed nature lovers can occasionally be adversely affected by nature, a condition called biophobia. An example would be our sudden fear while hiking, when we stumble upon a coiled snake—staring at us.