What is nature?
It’s not a trick question. I’m inviting you to pause for a moment and think about what the word brings to mind. Chances are your head is full of images of wild landscapes or specific creatures. I’ll wager you didn’t put yourself or another human in the picture.
Well nor does the Oxford English Dictionary. It defines nature as ‘the phenomena of the physical world collectively, including plants, animals, the landscape, and other features and products of the earth, as opposed to humans or human creations.’
Similarly, the Collins Concise Dictionary makes a distinction between humans and the rest of the natural world — a distinction that is not reflected in our growing scientific understanding that we are part of an intricately interconnected web of life.
We rely on healthy ecosystems for water, food, medicine, our general wellbeing and much more, while our activities have a significant impact (often negative) on the world around us. For Lawyers for Nature — the team that helped House of Hackney put nature on the board — the linguistic separation between humans and the natural world has resulted in ‘misconceived superiority over Nature [that] has contributed to the ecological crisis we find ourselves in today’.
Disconnection from nature has been described as possibly ‘the world’s greatest environmental threat’ in that it perpetuates an attitude where natural resources are to be taken, used and then disposed of. Conversely, building a deep-rooted emotional connection with nature offers far greater opportunity to affect broad-scale systems change. Those with the strongest connection to nature adapt how they interact with the world around them to make more efficient use of resources, are more likely to act to protect and boost biodiversity and tend to be healthier and happier — all behaviours we need to encourage to build a more sustainable future.
If language can divide us, it is also a great connector.
In April 2024, Lawyers for Nature began the fight back with a campaign to change the dictionary definition of nature to one that includes humans. But that is just one way that language could reconnect or bring us back together with the natural world.
But even using the phrase ‘nature connection’ is problematic for some — indicating just how much the words we choose to talk about the world around us matter. Nature connection describes our relationship with the natural world. It covers everything from a material reliance on natural resources to a deeper appreciation of the importance of nature and our place in the natural world. Using the word ‘connection’ implies that there are two entities — humans and nature — and that they are linked, though maybe only by the most fragile of bonds. It doesn’t suggest humans and nature are one. However, nature connection is probably the best phrase for describing the different relationships humans have with the world around them — leading to its growing popularity and use as a term.
There are many ways that we could build appreciation for the environment — by foraging for food and cooking it, painting the landscape or going out for a walk. Changing how we think and talk about the world could also make a difference.
Traditionally, we have seen ourselves in the landscape and felt a connection with the landscape within ourselves. It is reflected in the words we chose to describe our surroundings. In English, we refer to the ‘brow’ of the hill or the spine of a ridge. The Welsh describe parts of the natural landscape as a ‘cefn’ (back or ridge), ‘moel’ (bald, indicating a bare or barren hill), ‘pen’ (head or peak), ‘braich’ (arm or ridge), ‘esgair’ (an old Welsh word for leg or ridge) or ‘talcen’ (forehead or front of a hill). Shoulder is used in English, French (épaule) and Welsh (ysgwydd) to refer to a projecting ridge close to the top of a mountain.
All languages contain magic words. Not abracadabra, hocus pocus, or any spell or charm used by Harry Potter. But names. We give names to our children, our pets and our first car. Instantly they stand out from the crowd and become special to us.
One of Simon Barnes’ top tips to Rewild Yourself is to learn the names of different species — whether that is birds, trees, butterflies or any other plant or animal.
The same goes for natural features of the landscape. These days we tend to lump all waterways together as rivers, not making the distinction between a ‘brook’, a ‘beck’, an ‘estuary’, or a ‘stream’. In all probability, the last time you used the word ‘stream’, it was to refer to the latest thing you watched on Netflix, not to describe the landscape.
The Welsh have multiple words for hills and mountains. Iceland famously has 85 words for snow, while Scotland and Ireland excel at the number of different ways to describe rain. These variations were coined by people that have lived in the same place for so long that they notice and appreciate the differences.
Losing our ‘literacy of landscape’ can have profound consequences. Young people in parts of North Alaska no longer recognise the different Iñupiat and Yupik words for ice, making it hard for elders to warn them when they stray on to a dangerous patch of ice rendered unstable by rising temperatures.
We know the power of words. A good book has always been able to transport us to another realm. Perhaps if we pay greater heed to the words we use and what they mean, it could change our relationship to the physical world in which we live. It starts with changing the dictionary definition; who knows where it will lead.
