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This was the view from the tent my wife and I shared under the shadow of Mt Harmakh in Kashmir back when it was possible to travel safely in that now troubled region.

The water surging along the nullah right at our door made a constant low roar but we were completely untroubled by it. In fact, the sound was pleasantly soothing by day and soporific by night.

Something of this long-ago experience came back to me when I clicked on this link, got rid of the ad and played the video with my eyes closed. Try it for yourself and then decide what you think about this statement:

“When you listen to the tranquil sounds of nature and the great outdoors, you feel more relaxed.”

Most people would likely take that statement to be true, primarily because it makes sense intuitively. It may also be a “reality” that many have actually experienced.

But is it actually true? Can it be demonstrated scientifically? It seems likely that the answer to both questions will turn out to be, “Yes”. This is certainly the direction in which research evidence is pointing.

Some of this evidence comes from experimental studies in which subjects who had been stressed (by undertaking a difficult mental arithmetic task, for example) were then exposed to different auditory conditions including natural sounds such as birdsong, moving water and soft wind. The consistent message from these studies is that natural sounds are more effective in reducing the signs, symptoms and negative feelings of stress.

Other studies have shown that natural sounds are more effective than alternatives in reducing stress during surgical procedures.

Natural sounds may also hold the key to masking the distracting noise of conversation in open-plan office settings. Workers were found to perform better on a task requiring sustained attention when they were exposed to the sound of a mountain stream rather than a soundscape of artificial “white noise” and another of no masking noise at all. The sound of the stream also elicited more positive feelings about the work environment. By a very decisive margin, workers preferred the mountain stream sound to the standard white noise signal.

In a very recent study, researchers from the Brighton and Sussex Medical School investigated the effect of natural sounds on the workings of the brain. They did this by performing brain scans on subjects listening to artificial and natural soundscapes. Natural sounds were found to activate the network in the brain associated with the mind-wandering and reflective thinking that is experienced in moments of tranquillity (the default mode network). The study also found evidence that natural sound triggered the anti-stress, calming “rest-and-digest” system of the body. Interestingly, the amount of change in nervous system activity was dependent on the participants’ baseline state. Individuals who showed evidence of the greatest stress before starting the experiment showed the greatest bodily relaxation when listening to natural sounds,

Given the consistency of the evidence, it is fairly safe to assume that the human brain has evolved to find at least some natural sounds calming. According to evolutionary theory, this would have happened because sounds such as the gurgle of running water, the murmur of wind in trees, the song of birds and the roar of surf helped our ancestors identify safe, secure and supportive habitats. These were, for our ancestors, sounds of connectedness, affinity, intimacy and belonging – not consciously registered as such perhaps but deeply affecting none-the-less.Sounds roar of surf

And this is exactly the way these same sounds work for us – as subliminal reminders of our embeddedness in the natural world. They are the sounds of “home”.

So, as we hear and savour natural sounds and benefit from their soothing and restorative effects, let us also dwell on the awesome thought that what we are experiencing arises directly from our complete and timeless oneness with the whole of nature

 

 

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What is it about rock?

I am indebted to my bushwalking friend, Ross Norrie, for these magnificent photos.

Both were taken on the “roof of Australia”, the Main Range of the Snowy Mountains where Mt. Kosciuszko is located.

It is intriguing that we find such barren jumbles of rocks singularly attractive. The rocks in the photos are not part of universally loved “rocky” landscape features such as cliffs, canyons, mountain ridges and peaks. This means that they are not getting their appeal by way of association.  No – Ross’ photos elicit an emotional and aesthetic response to rock as rock and not rock as part of anything else.

What are we to make of this response? Is it telling us something important about rock, and indeed about ourselves?

I hope I can convince you that it is.

We know that rocks or stones have served symbolic and religious purposes from pre-historic times. In a great many of the world’s cultures, highly revered stones or stone monuments have spiritual or religious significance and form integral parts of what can be described as “sacred landscapes”.

Generally speaking, sacred features in the landscape come into being when humans acknowledge some form of spiritual presence or property. Even before there is any awareness or acknowledgment of a place’s sacredness, simply being in the place can elicit quite powerful emotions including awe and fear. I can recall, for example, an experience of unexpectedly coming upon a group of large granite tors in a relatively remote bushland clearing and immediately feeling a mixture of excitement and awe. Before I could violate the place by taking photos, my companion identified the place as an Aboriginal sacred site – rightly as we later learned.

Almost certainly, the behaviour we are talking about is universal – displayed by people regardless of geographic location, culture or historical time.

While science has not demonstrated this directly, the indirect evidence is compelling, especially evidence from what we know about the human brain’s capacity to obtain and use sensory information from the natural environment.

We humans possess visual prowess that is unsurpassed as far as detecting and making sense of patterns and shapes are concerned. Working together in bewilderingly complex ways, our eyes and brains help us to make sense of the world by enabling us to discover meaningful patterns with extraordinary efficiency, fidelity and flexibility.

Our pattern-detecting ability is so developed that we are able to see meaningful images where objectively (or mathematically) there are none – in, for example, many naturally occurring random configurations such as clouds, cracks in the ground, the surface of the Moon and, yes, rocks. As a case in point, it is not hard to guess what this rock in The Royal National Park south of Sydney is called.

The “creative” perception that enables you to see why “Eagle Rock” is so called is known as pareidolia.

Interestingly, when we are experiencing pareidolia, the activity in our brain is the same as when shapes and patterns in the form of actual objects are being observed.

The merest hint of a pattern or shape can be enough for the human brain to “see” something meaningful. This is because evolution has endowed us with brains that are fine-tuned to detect the naturally occurring patterns of nature. These patterns are familiar to all us:

  • Symmetry – one shape balanced by its inverse around an axis
  • Fractals
  • Spirals
  • Meanders – repeated flowing curves
  • Waves – in water and sand
  • Bubbles – as in froth or foam
  • Tessellations
  • Cracks
  • Spots and stripes

Because it is wired to detect patterns, our brain does so “fluently” and with minimum effort. Associated with the fluency is pleasure. When our brain is doing something it is meant to do, feel-good chemicals including dopamine are discharged, bringing the emotions of pleasure and reward into play. As a result, we find looking at natural patterns and the shapes they form an attractive and agreeable thing to do.

If they are anything, rocks are the repository of patterns – wonderful and varied patterns. That, surely,  is why we like them. Look again at Ross’ photos. See the repetition of flowing curves in the first and the repeated angular as well as the flowing lines in the second. And see in both the hint of fractal shapes along the jagged edges of the formations. There is also symmetry to be enjoyed in both, along with the emphatic repetition of cracks and spherical forms.

And if we were able to look more closely at the surfaces of Ross’ rocks, we might find more attractive patterns there – formed, for example, by different coloured crystals and chemicals in the rock or by colonising lichens and mosses.

To the question, What is it about rocks?, one answer is clear – aesthetic patterns and shapes.

Go rock!

The renowned nature photographer and author, Joel Sartore,  is on a mission. He has set out to photograph every species of animal currently housed in the world’s zoos. With portraits of over 6000 species already taken, he is halfway towards completing his project, which he calls Photo Ark. His quest is to create a photo archive of global diversity with the hope that his portraits will stir in people a deep empathy with animals and an active desire to protect them from extinction. He is undertaking the project against the background of the calamitous species loss almost everywhere on Earth. It has been estimated that unless massive remedial action is taken, half the animal species currently inhabiting the planet will be gone by the end of the century.

Sartore’s portraits are both beautiful and moving. He tries to take his shots with the animal looking

A photo from Photo Ark

directly into the lens, so creating the impression that the animal is making eye contact and forming a connection with the viewer.

While we are all genetically programmed to pay attention to animals, we are more attracted to, and more empathic with, species that share similar features and/or behaviours to ourselves. This is sometimes referred to as the “similarity principle”.

Regardless of the enormous range of size, shape and other differences that separate our species from others, the main features of the human face (especially the eyes) have their counterparts in mammals, birds and other members of the animal kingdom. By focussing on the faces of his animal subjects, Sartore is making clever (but entirely appropriate) use of the similarity principle.

There is something of a tragic irony in the fact that we humans evolved to live with other animals and to share our ancestral forest and grassland habitats with them. There was nothing in this arrangement that required the extinction of species. The web of life is intended to remain intact – not to have great holes in it.

The evidence that our brain has an “animal bias” is irrefutable. We are hard-wired to notice animals and to pay attention to them involuntarily. When people are shown pictures of animals, a specific part of the amygdala – a brain structure that is central to pleasure, pain, fear and reward – reacts almost instantly. This may explain why we very rapidly detect animals in nature scenes and why we are more sensitive to changes in the movement and positioning of animals than we are to other objects, including objects as familiar as vehicles.

In infants, the animal bias shows up in a number of ways including more animation, vocal activity and social interaction when they are engaged with animals rather than toys.

None of this should be surprising as humans have been in the company of animals for two million years or more. Instantaneously obtaining and processing information about an animal’s intent was obviously very important for not becoming prey or being bitten, scratched, thumped or trampled. Not only that, the same ability could be turned to using animals as food and as indicators of where water, edible plants and other food sources might be located. Our ancestors were well served by their genetic disposition to pay close attention to animals.

About 14,000 years ago, these same ancestors found another use for animals, particularly for dogs. Bonding with dogs proved to very beneficial. Apart from providing protection and helping with hunting and shepherding, dogs proved to be great companions and promotors of mental health. Interacting with a friendly dog increases the production of oxytocin, a powerful “feel-good” hormone. A surge of oxytocin facilitates social bonding, co-operation, caring and empathy. It also decreases stress, depresses fear and enhances a sense of security, trust and pleasure. Not surprisingly the presence of a dog has been found to improve the effectiveness of therapeutic counselling (the “dog in the room” phenomenon).

Similar benefits come from interactions with cats and indeed other pets including horses. And it is almost certain that the “oxytocin response” is triggered, to some degree at least, in most of our benign encounters with non-domestic animals.

It is also the case that dogs get something of the oxytocin lift from an engagement with humans (maybe cats and other pets do as well).

Not a great deal is known about the specific animal attributes that attract our attention and elicit the oxytocin response. Common experience suggests that beauty of form, colour and movement is an obvious candidate. Superiority to humans in size, strength and physical skill is another. One attribute that has received some research attention is the “cuteness” factor.

We tend to prefer animals that we perceive as “cute”, an attribute we usually associate with babies, infants and young children. In scientific terms, cuteness is thought to be bound up with the “baby schema”, a set of features including large head, round face, high forehead, large eyes and small nose and mouth. In combination, these features automatically trigger nurturing, care-giving and empathic behaviour in both adults and children. Animals displaying these features, can look forward to being patted and cuddled on a regular basis.

Even though I have never seen one in the wild, I have a special place in my heart for snow leopards. These magnificent animals thrive in some of the most hostile landscapes on earth. I am fascinated by their beauty and awed by their capacity to survive. Needless to say, I was delighted when a recent blog post by Josh Gosh contained this link to a stunning video that features wonderful images of snow leopards. Take time to view it; you won’t be disappointed.

 

I have just had the great good fortune to view Jennifer Peedom’s documentary film, Mountain.

A product of her collaboration with Robert Macfarlane (script), Enan Ozturk (cinematography) and Richard Tongnetti leading the Australian Chamber Orchestra (music), Mountain is a feast for the eyes and ears. It is the most sensuously sumptuous film I have ever viewed. Not to be missed!!

Macfarlane drew the deeply insightful and poetic script from his bestselling book, Mountains of the Mind: A History of a Fascination. Although written very much from a mountaineer’s perspective, the book is also about the human experience of mountains more generally.

Unlike Macfarlane, I have not had the climber’s extreme engagement with mountains, but I have trekked around them, across them and even into the glacial hearts of some. So I know first-hand the fascination about which he writes and can relate totally to his well-informed analysis of that fascination.

The label, “mountain”, is attached to all sorts of elevated landforms, some more hills than mountains.

Genuine mountains are characterised not just by height but also by the way ecosystems vary in layers across their vertical expanse (vertical or altitudinal zonation). To ascend a mountain is to pass from relatively warm forests to cooler grasslands and heaths, to cold, vegetation-free rock and scree and then, in many instances, to regions of permanent ice and snow.

Even the “baby” mountains making up the Australian Alps display something of this zonation.

That said, it is important to accept that our experience of mountains has to do more with how we perceive them rather than the facts of their geology, climatic variation and ecology.

As Macfarlane writes, What we call a mountain is thus in fact a collaboration of the physical forms of the world with the imagination of humans – a mountain of the mind.

In his book, Macfarlane plots how the imagining of mountains has changed over time. In so doing, he draws our attention to the rich and unique impact that mountains have on the human mind and spirit.

These excerpts from Mountains of the Mind convey something of the extent and power of that impact.

  • Ultimately and most importantly, mountains quicken our sense of wonder. The true blessing of mountains is not that they provide a challenge or a contest, something to be overcome and dominated (although this is how many people have approached them). It is that they offer something gentler and infinitely more powerful: they make us ready to credit marvels – whether it is the dark swirls that water makes beneath a plate of ice, or the feel of the soft pelts of moss that form on the lee side of boulders and trees.

Mountains return to us the priceless capacity for wonder which can so insensibly be leached away by modern existence and they urge us to apply that wonder to our own everyday lives.

  •  By speaking of greater forces than we can possibly invoke, and by confronting us with greater spans of time than we can possibly envisage, mountains refute our excessive trust in the man-made. They pose profound questions about our durability and the importance of our schemes. They induce, I suppose, a modesty in us.

At bottom, mountains like all wildernesses, challenge our complacent conviction – so easy to   lapse into – that the world has been made for humans by humans.

  • Mountains also reshape our understandings of ourselves, of our interior landscapes. The remoteness of the mountain world – its harshness and its beauties – can provide us with a valuable perspective down on to the most familiar and best-charted regions of our lives. It can subtly reorient us and readjust the points from which we can take out bearings. In their vastness and in their intimacy, mountains stretch out the individual mind and compress it simultaneously: they make it aware of its own immeasurable acreage and reach out, at the same time, of its own smallness.

 

  • Nowhere but in the mountains do you become aware of the incorrigible plurality of light, of its ability to alter its texture rapidly and completely.

The sky and the air, too, were found to be magnificently different in the mountains. At altitude, on a clear day, the sky was no longer the flat ceiling of the lowlands, but an opulent cobalt ocean, so sensuously deep  that some travellers felt themselves falling up into it.

  •  In the mountainous world things behave in odd and unexpected ways. Time, too, bends and alters. In the face of the geological time-scales on display, your mind releases its normal grip on time. Your interest and awareness of the world beyond the mountain falls away and is replaced with a much more immediate hierarchy of needs: warmth, food, direction, shelter, survival.

It is little wonder that people are still flocking to mountains in their millions, most to savour rather than climb them. As a friend of mine recently discovered, Yosemite Valley in the Sierra Nevada Mountains of Northern California is crawling with sightseers during the summer season. A comparable influx of visitors occurs in iconic mountain locations and resorts in other countries including Nepal, India, Switzerland and Canada.

Is my friend’s experience telling us that people’s love of nature is well and strong and that the evidence pointing to a declining involvement with nature in many Western countries is, in fact, misleading?

Regrettably it doesn’t – in part, because the evidence is from a range of reliable studies including large-scale surveys, and also in part, because the evidence can be linked to (and partially explained by) broader changes in lifestyle and recreational preferences within Western societies.

And then there is the fact that the allure of mountains, especially the awesomeness of them, is like the Sirens’ call – very hard to resist even by those who are not otherwise drawn to nature. People will still be visiting mountains, even when other forms of nature experiences have little or no part in their lives.

Nevertheless, we can always hope that people will come away from their mountain visit with a new, restored or re-vitalised love of nature.

We modern humans (Homo sapiens) have been around for much longer than was previously thought – 100,000 years longer in fact.

An international team of scientists recently reported the discovery in Morocco of human remains dating back 300,000 years. Previous fossil records have put the emergence of Homo sapiens in East Africa to about 200,000 years ago. It now seems probable that our species emerged not in a single East African “Garden of Eden” but in a number of places across eastern and northern Africa.

Three hundred thousand years ago, northern Africa was not the dry and arid land it is today. Because of a wetter climate, it was clothed in woodlands, forests and grasslands similar to those known to have existed in East Africa 100,000 years later.

These savannah-like environments are thought to be the ones in which modern humans evolved and to which, as a consequence, our brains and bodies are most comprehensively and efficiently adapted. In other words, we are most at home in natural environments. The savannah is for our species the Environment of Evolutionary “Adaptedness” or EEA. Each living species has its particular EEA and the total or even partial loss of the EEA means extinction unless the species can adapt to any significant environmental changes.

Compared with our ancestors of 300,000 years ago, we 21st century humans are living in very different environments.  For the more than 50 per cent of us living in towns and cities, the most obvious difference has to do with geometry. Ours is mainly a world of smooth lines, regular shapes, simplicity of form and symmetry. It is principally a rectilinear world that our forebears could never have imagined.

Theirs, in contrast, was largely a world of raggedness, irregularity, complexity and apparent chaos. The familiar Euclidian geometry that can be used to describe urban environment is much less applicable to the natural world. For that world a very different geometry – fractal geometry – is also required.

Fractals are created by patterns that recur on finer and finer scales meaning that a fractal object looks very similar whether it is viewed from some distance away, close up or anywhere in between.

Fractals are readily observed in tree branches like the ones shown in the accompanying figure (which originally appeared in a research article). The red rectangles show the same tangle of branches from three different distances. While the three images are not identical, they are remarkable similar.

A better gauge of the “self-similarity” of the three views is obtained using an analytical procedure that produces a measurement called a “D”. A smooth line, which has no fractal structure, has a D value of 1 while a completely filled space, which also has no fractal structure, has a D value of 2. Once a line begins to repeat itself, it starts to occupy space and its D value falls between 1 and 2. The D value of the three images of the branching limb is the same even though the patterns formed by the branches vary slightly.

As more fine detail is added to a fractal mix, more of the space is filled and the value of D moves closer to 2, as a photo which I received recently illustrates very nicely.

D values for some common natural features are:

Coastlines                           1.05 – 1.52clouds

Woody plants and trees  1.28 – 1.90

Waves                                 1.30

Clouds                                 1.30 – 1.33

Snowflakes                        1.70

 

I have risked boring you to sobs with this technical excursion into fractals because I want to share with you some recent discoveries that illustrate how wondrously our brains have been shaped by nature.

The ability to see and make sense of fractal objects in nature was central to the survival of our species. Without it, the complexity of nature would have been mentally (and emotionally) overwhelming. But millions of years of evolution produced a brain that could “decode” nature’s fractal language and extract the information needed to solve the problems of survival and reproduction.

Because the move by modern humans from natural to urban habitats started only a matter of a few thousand years ago, we remain creatures of the wild in terms of evolutionary development. As a consequence, the ability to respond to fractal objects endures as part of our make-up.

Studies of this response have provided several arresting findings:

  • Fractal objects appeal to our senses and many elicit aesthetic pleasure (or the “beauty buzz”). Such was the genius of the artist, Jackson Pollock, that he was able to create fractal masterpieces. Inspired by the fractal patterns he observed from the verandah of his house on Long Island, New York State (The house in the top image was his), he developed his drip and scatter painting technique to capture what he saw. Typically, he would proceed by creating relatively dense clusters of lines joined by longer sweeping lines. Then, often after a period of days, he would return and add finer and finer details. D analyses have confirmed that the images produced in this way are indeed fractal in nature. While Pollock’s earlier works had low D values (e.g. 1.3), his later works, like the one shown here, had higher values (in the order of 1.7 – 1.9). This is interesting because studies have shown that fractal objects in the mid-range of D values are generally found to be most attractive (the “Goldilocks” factor again). Perhaps the extra “challenge” of Pollock’s later paintings added to their artistic appeal.
  • There is an extraordinary parallelism between fractal forms in nature and the way the human eye moves when observing them. Maps of these eye movements also turn out to be fractal in structure. Why this is so is still a matter of speculation but it may have something to do with the information gathering efficiency of scanning patterns that move from larger to smaller features (Just as Pollock did when painting). Interestingly, animal grazing patterns sometimes take on the same whole-to-part, fractal organization.
  • The brain is both relaxed and busy when observing fractals. It is thought that when our brain is doing things it is wired to do, less effort and energy are involved. The concept of “fluency” is often used to describe non-demanding mental processing of this kind. This has led some researchers to predict that when our brain is processing fractals, the visual receiving and interpreting parts of our brain will be active while the parts of the brain to do with planning, executive control and concentrating will be in a more “free-wheeling”, relaxed mode. Studies using a physiological measure of stress and brain monitoring procedures report findings squarely supporting this prediction.

These are particularly intriguing discoveries in my view because they testify to the exquisite detail, subtlety, economy and efficiency with which evolutionary mechanisms have matched the human brain to the natural world. They also serve as a powerful reminder that if we are fully to understand ourselves and our behaviour, we need to understand the full scope and depth of nature’s imprint on the functioning of our brain. And we are not simply talking about “survival” behaviour. Just as Pollock’s art demonstrates, this imprint is to be found in the most sophisticated forms of human cultural, social and ethical behaviour. We cannot ignore the legacy of our species’ sojourn in nature – in its EEA – nor should we want to. It is a legacy to be embraced wholeheartedly because, as I argue in my book, it is a precious legacy.

 

In most Western societies, the physical distance between people and nature is growing. There are, for example, studies showing that since the 1980s, visitation per capita to national parks and other natural places has been declining in the USA, Japan and Australia. This is part of a more general trend for outdoor activities to be replaced by indoor and virtual forms of recreation. As Oliver Pergams and Patricia Zaradic have suggested, “videophilia is replacing biophilia”.

Not surprisingly, there is now growing evidence that the physical isolation from nature is showing up as a pervasive cultural disconnect. The messages our minds are receiving from the words we read, the images we see and indeed the songs we sing are directing our attention less and less to the natural world.

Does it surprise you to learn that a study of 60 Disney and Pixar animated films made between 1937 and 2009 found a decline in the depiction of outdoor scenes and less biodiversity and more human impact in the scenes that were portrayed?

And what about this? An investigation of 296 children’s books that won Caldecott awards from 1938 to 2008 reported a similar decline, accompanied by an increase in the portrayals of human-built environments.

Films and books of fiction are cultural “products” and, as such, they reflect their creators’ minds and the cultural scene on which these minds are drawing.

If these creators have limited encounters with nature in popular culture, nature is less likely to feature in their work. And as communicators, they are less likely to refer to nature if they do not expect nature to resonate with their audiences. Is this, in fact, what is going on?

The answer is, Yes, and here is a graph that illustrates the reason for this answer.

 

As you can see straight away, the graph tells a story that spans the 100 years of the 20th century. It is also easy to see that it is a story that falls into two parts, one across the years to 1950, the second spanning the following 50 years.

The story can be told because the data bases and the technology are available to chart, year-by-year, the relative frequency with which words, phrases and other units of language have appeared in selected bodies of writing. The red line in the graph is just such a chart.

It shows, as a percentage of all words, how frequently 186 nature-related words were used in all fiction books published in English between the years1900 and 2000. In 1920, for example, the 186 words accounted for 0.40% of all words published; in 2000, the figure was close to 0.34%. The black lines in the graph show the overall trends in the figures.

The nature words (nouns and verbs) were objectively and very systematically chosen to cover four categories: general – e.g., hill, river, sunset; bird names – e.g., finch, heron, lark; tree names – e.g., birch, willow, poplar; and flower names – e.g., camellia, daisy, marigold.

What is clear from the graph is that, since 1950, the appearance of nature-related words in fiction books has fallen substantially and steadily. The same trend was not displayed by words, such as building, door, curtain, highway and computer, relating to the human-made environment.

The researcher responsible for these findings is Associate Professor Selin Kesebir from the London Business School. As part of the same study, she investigated trends in the number of references to nature for two other “products” of popular culture – song lyrics and film storylines.

Professor Kesebir found that references to nature in both lyrics and storylines exhibited the same downward trend as was detected in novels. This led her to conclude:

Nature features less in English popular culture today than it did in the first half of the 20th century.

She summarises the implications of her research eloquently and powerfully.

The pattern we documented is disconcerting in light of the strong evidence documenting the positive effects of contact with nature. To the extent that the disappearance of nature vocabulary from cultural conversation reflects an actual distancing from nature, the findings suggest unrealised gains to human health and well-being, as well as lost opportunities to nurture pro-environmental attitudes and stewardship behaviours.

There is another reason why these findings are of concern. Cultural products not only reflect the prevailing culture, they also shape it. Socialization that helps people to form, maintain, and reinforce particular worldviews. The flagging cultural attention to nature means a muting of the message that nature is worth paying attention to and being talked about. It also means a loss of opportunities to awaken curiosity, appreciation, and awe for nature.

The loss of physical contact with nature, combined with a parallel loss of symbolic contact through cultural products may set in motion a negative feedback loop, resulting in diminishing levels of interest in and appreciation for nature. In this light, our findings do not look auspicious. We hope that an awareness of the existing trends will be instrumental in instigating cultural leadership to reverse it.

Valid, eloquent and powerful as these words are, they are unlikely to change anything. In the face of the tide of popular culture, they are futile. It pains me to say this because I have written hundreds of thousands of words in the same vein. Naively perhaps, I once believed that if people were made aware of the value of a nature connection for them personally and collectively and for planet Earth, they would open their lives to nature – at least to some degree.

What do I think now? Well, I am still coming to terms with what is actually happening. But one thing I still believe is that there is a part all of us nature “lovers” can play in helping others reconnect with nature. How? – simply by inviting family, friends and acquaintances to join us in our nature-based activities. We need to do this in a patient, mindful, considerate and sensible way, of course, guided always by the “gradualism” principle. Success is not guaranteed but we owe it to others, ourselves and the future of planet Earth to try.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This weekend, in cities around the world, people are marching in support of science and evidence-based policy making. As I write this, thousands of Australians have already taken part in the global March for Science. Hundreds of thousands of Americans are expected to demonstrate in the same way, largely in response to President Trump’s proposed budget cuts to science and his scepticism about the causes and consequences of climate change.

The well-being of Australians is being jeopardised by much the same governmental devaluing of science and climate change “denialism”. Emperor Economics and his sidekicks, Prince Political Power Protection and Duke Dogmatic Ideology, are reigning supreme.

Protests against these threats to informed rationality are to be welcomed but it is staggering to think that such activity is necessary after 250 years of the so-called Age of Enlightenment.

How are Trump and countless others of influence and power able to get away with making policies and decisions based on assumptions, opinions, gut-feelings and ideological prejudices rather than scientific (or factual) evidence?

Is it because too few of their constituents have the scientific literacy to question and challenge them? If the growing concern about school students’ declining performance and participation in science is anything to go by, this could be the case.

But let’s be realistic in our expectations. The formal study of science, especially at more advanced levels, is not for everyone. Nor is such study necessary in order to be scientifically literate in a very useful and powerful way. We can all “do” science.

This little girl (Zoe) is “doing” science.

She is seeking to understand her world by investigating, observing and testing it against what she already “knows” or believes. This is exactly what genuine science is about.

 

 

 

 

If she continues to do this through the formative years of childhood and adolescence, she will assemble the basic components of scientific literacy, namely:

  • a keen desire to investigate and learn about the physical and social world she occupies
  • an authentic but growing and malleable picture of that world
  • an understanding and appreciation of the kind of evidence (anchored to observation and objectively tested) that is needed to build that picture

Of these components, the last is the most important for navigating the sea of fake news, propaganda, dogma, spin, half-truths and lies that washes our way daily. I believe that a universal commitment to the principle of living under the guidance of sound evidence would make the world a much better place. And fostering that commitment in our children has to be a priority in their upbringing.

How far little ones like Zoe will travel on the road to scientific literacy depends on many factors, how they are nurtured in science at school being a key one. But parents (and grandparents) can also contribute significantly by –

  • sharing, supporting and encouraging their children’s “science” play
  • encouraging such play by locating their children in stimulating settings especially in the natural world
  • talking to their children about what they are seeing doing and discovering
  • encouraging observation, discussion and reflection when things of interest are encountered in daily life.
  • using questions to bring out the scientist in their children, such as

What is it doing? How does it feel? How are they alike? How are they different? What if…? How could we…? Why do you think…? Can you explain that?

It is worth noting that research from the USA suggests that most children form an opinion about science by the time they are seven years old. This is surely reason enough to expose children from a very early age to the scientific playgrounds to be found everywhere in the out-of-doors.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Research