A Need for Wild Awe
In 1984, Harvard biologist E. O. Wilson called the “strange sympathies” Emerson felt in the Gallery of Comparative Anatomy biophilia, the love of life and living systems. Biophilia encompasses a rich palette of passions we feel in relation to nature. The most widely studied of these is the feeling of beauty, which we experience in viewing familiar and pleasing landscapes, such as those with rolling hills, trees, a stream or other source of water, thriving flora and fauna, and a place of elevation. Those feelings of beauty signal to our minds the resource abundance (or scarcity) and safety of a locale and orient us and those we are moving in unison with (in the context of our evolution) to set up camp in what we would call home.
We experience biophilia in almost any kind of nature, from viewing the changing colors of leaves to the phases of the moon. More everyday awe. There are robust communities that have grown out of the awe we feel for clouds, the ocean, waves, trees, and birds, to name just a few. And gardens. Should you encounter flowers in a garden, fragrant pollinating forms of colorful geometry, you are likely to feel sensory delight, a sense of beauty, and perhaps awe, and be more inclined to cooperate. The scents in the garden—of basil, rosemary, camellia, peach, pine—send neurochemical signals from your olfactory system through emotion- and memory-related regions of the brain to the frontal lobes, including the orbitofrontal cortex, where our tendencies toward ethical actions are moved by our emotions. Scents in gardens take us on an awe-inspiring journey, often back in time to other moments of significant fragrance. Those scents signal to us what is pure, life-generating, rewarding, good.
How might we make the case that we have a biological need for wild awe, a need that is on par with our needs for protein-rich food, thermoregulation, sleep, oxygen, and water?
Or the more social needs, like being loved, cared for, touched, esteemed, and respected?
Basic, evolved needs unfold reliably during our development, are supported by specific neurophysiological processes, and if unmet, lead to poor health and social dysfunction. Within this framework, our biological need to belong is clear: it emerges reliably early in a child’s life, is supported by broad networks of neurochemicals (dopamine, oxytocin) and regions of the body (the vagus nerve), and if unmet—think solitary confinement or being an orphan from a civil war—leads to the deepest kinds of dysfunction, such as the stunting of the growth of the brain, chronic illness, depression, and premature death.
Do we have a biological need for wild awe? Let’s begin with the question of development. When given the chance, children find abundant awe exploring the outdoors; pouring liquids and filling buckets of sand; collecting bugs, twigs, and leaves; climbing trees and digging holes; splashing water; and marveling at the rain and clouds. Our remarkably long childhood emerged in our evolution to allow for the exploration and play necessary for learning about the natural and social environments. Less controlled by the prefrontal cortex (and the default self), children’s brains form more synaptic connections between neurons than adults’ brains and are more oriented toward novel explanation and discovery. The child’s awe-filled relationship to the natural world is a laboratory for deep learning about the systems of life, essential to our survival.
With respect to the neurophysiology of wild awe, the sights, sounds, scents, and tastes of nature lead to awe-related vagus nerve activation and reduce fight-or-flight cardiovascular response, blood pressure, cortisol, and inflammation. Here are but a few empirical examples of how our bodies are like an antenna when outdoors in nature. The sounds of water activate the vagus nerve. Certain scents in nature calm our stress-related physiology. Many plants give off phytoncides, chemical compounds that reduce blood pressure and boost immune function. Encounters with images of nature lead to the activation of dopamine networks in the brain, which animate, you will recall, exploration and wonder.
And as with any biological need, when our need for wild awe is satisfied, we fare better, and when it is thwarted, we suffer in mind and body. In testing this thesis, controlled studies have had people go on walks in nature, or had them view images or videos of awesome nature or see how people living near accessible green spaces fare. Scientists in South Korea and Japan have studied the effects of forest bathing, where people are led through immersive awe experiences in forests—for example, walking, taking in scents, feeling leaves and bark on the skin and with the hands, contemplating for a moment a tree and its remarkable design. When we satisfy our need for wild awe, it is good for our minds; we concentrate better, handle stresses with more resilience, and perform better on cognitive tests of different kinds.
Frances Kuo, a pioneer in the science of wild awe, had children diagnosed with attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder go for a walk of comparable length and physical exertion in a green park, a quiet neighborhood, or noisy downtown Chicago. Children scored better on a measure of concentration only after the walk in the park. Getting outdoors in nature empowers our attention, what William James called “the very root of judgment, character, and will,” and our ability to discern what is urgent from what is not and how to place the hectic moments of our days into a broader narrative. In geographical regions where the population has greater access to beautiful green spaces, people report greater happiness and goodwill toward others.
In fact, it is hard to imagine a single thing you can do that is better for your body and mind than finding awe outdoors. Doing so leads to the reduced likelihood of cardiovascular disease, respiratory disease, diabetes, depression, anxiety, and cancer. It reduces asthma in children. It leads to reductions in everyday aches and pains, allergies, vertigo, and eczema. These benefits of being in nature have been observed across the life span, ranging from newborns (who enjoy higher birth weight when born near green spaces) to the very elderly. Our bodies respond to healthy doses of awe-inspiring nature like we respond to a delicious and nutritious meal, a good sleep, a quenching drink of water, or an uplifting gathering with friends or family: we feel nourished, strengthened, empowered, and alive.
Our need for wild awe is strong.
Wild Awe on a River
When Stacy Bare finished climbing the Flatirons and was back on his feet, he would get outdoors with force, rock climbing, hiking, backpacking, skiing, and rafting. He was struck by an idea about the inflaming traumas of combat. When deployed, people in the armed services find awe in the places where they serve and people they meet, in their sense of family, in the transcendent intensity of being on tour, and in the frequent courage seen in combat. It is often a dark, threat-filled awe that can quickly shift to horror at carnage, chaos, violence, perpetrating harm, and watching young people die. But there is awe there. And the transition to civilian life leaves veterans hungering for awe.
Moved by this idea, Stacy dedicated his life to giving wild awe away. In his work with the Sierra Club, he created programs for hundreds of thousands of people each year to find wild awe on walks, hikes, backpacking, rafting, and rock climbing. He took veterans who had lost limbs in combat and climbed with them up sheer rock faces. He has returned with veterans to places of combat but for purposes of recreation, skiing with locals in the beautiful mountains of Iraq and Afghanistan. For this giving away of wild awe he was named a National Geographic Adventurer of the Year.