SPYROS GERAVELIS LANDSCAPE DESIGN

Disconnection from Nature and Our Collective Neurosis

From a speech at the 4th Ecofestival of Patmos 2025

 

Let me begin with a brief historical overview of humanity’s disconnection from nature. 

The first great rupture in this relationship occurred with the Agricultural Revolution, just about 10,000 years ago. Until then, early humans lived in complete symbiosis with nature. Every day, a simple walk in the wilderness provided their food for the day. They did not hoard or worry about tomorrow; they trusted nature as a nurturing mother and did not feel separated from her. Their relationship with the natural world was woven into a rich fabric of magical, mythical, and symbolic bonds.

 

With the cultivation of plants and the domestication of animals, humans began creating food surpluses that were stored and depended upon for survival. The need to manage these surpluses led to the establishment of authority, labor, and property—institutions that have since dominated human life. The connection with nature became less immediate, and the first divide emerged between the natural and the human worlds—affecting both society and human consciousness.

 

Yet, nature remained spiritually charged. There were still fairies, nymphs, mermaids, and spirits of the land—figures that gradually transformed into religions. Most of these, especially the monotheistic ones, severed spirituality from nature, transferring the sacred exclusively into the inner world while placing God outside of nature. Over time, these systems became mechanisms of control. Even so, spirituality persisted; the sense of wholeness that gives meaning to life endured.

 

The next major rupture comes with the Enlightenment in Western civilization. “I think, therefore I am,” said Descartes, locating the essence of existence at the most surface level of being. Descartes grounds the subject in the certainty of thought: existence is proven through the mind. It took four centuries before Heidegger challenged this abstract foundation and emphasized that the human being is not first and foremost a thinking entity, but a “being-in-the-world.” Existence precedes thought and is given meaning through relation, action, time, and mortality. Thus, the essence of existence returns to the lived experience.Since the 17th century though, rationalism gradualy rose to dominance, and scientific thinking became the sole accepted means of understanding the world. Science analyzed and fragmented reality into discrete parts in order to control it through a human invention—mathematics. The scientist dissected nature to know and manage it, but in doing so, killed it symbolically. Nature lost its wholeness, and humans lost their connection to it, coming to see it merely as an object of exploitation.

 

The Industrial Revolution and capitalism turned this disconnection into a physical one. People gathered in large cities around factories that spewed poison. They lived in purely human-made environments, cut off from any direct contact with nature. Nature became nothing more than a “resource,” raw material to feed the insatiable appetite of industrial production.

 

The final rupture in our perception of nature arrived with the technological revolution. 

One of the last and clearest warnings in the 20th century came from Jacques Ellul (1912–1994), a thinker who described himself as a “Christian anarchist.” 

He noted that the computer became the tool that connects and coordinates a vast number of technologies—and that technology itself has evolved into an environment, an autonomous system.

 

Today, a technical object organizes, processes, stores information, and even makes preparatory decisions—replacing many of humanity’s intellectual functions. The human-made technological world no longer mediates between humans and nature; it "is" the environment—an amalgam of man and machine. 

This technical mediation dominates absolute. 

Technology fragments both natural and cultural realities, leaving us with broken wholes that never give a sense of fulfillment. 

 

Moreover, technology demands total control. Programming and coordination on a global scale are now necessary. Only supranational institutions can orchestrate this, mobilizing all energy sources and managing information flow—ushering in a new form of totalitarianism. 

And finally, today, human contact with the world—both natural and social—occurs mainly through screens. Direct, lived experience disappears; the natural environment has been replaced by the digital. 

 

Thus, nature has gradually transformed from nurturing mother, to resource, to spectacle, and finally, to digital representation—from an inseparable part of ourselves to an object, an image, and eventually an inner void. 

 

Let me share an exchange I once heard between an environmental activist and a passerby. Someone asked him, “Why do you care so much about the environment?” 

He replied: “Because I live in it.” 

And at that moment, he realized that this simple truth had never even crossed his interlocutor’s mind.

 

 

 

Consequences for the Human Psyche

 

What does this mean for the human psyche? Let me read you a revealing passage from Carl Jung: 

 

     “Every time we touch nature, we are cleansed. People who have been polluted by too much civilization take a walk in the woods or a swim in the sea. The bonds are loosened, allowing nature to touch them. This can happen from within or from without. Walking in the forest or lying on the grass, bathing in the sea—these are entries into the unconscious through the external world. By descending inward through dreams, we touch nature from within. And this is the same thing: things are put right again and restored to their proper order.” 

 — Carl Jung, Dream Analysis: Notes on a Lecture 1928–1930

 

What does Jung tell us here? That contact with nature is equivalent to contact with our deepest self. It has the same psychological effect as dreaming. In the depths of the unconscious lies a point where the infinite within meets the infinite without—they are one and the same. At the center of our being is an unbreakable identification with the natural world.

 

Jung argued that Western culture has repressed four essential elements: nature, animals, creative imagination, and the primal side of the self. This repression led to a world stripped of sacredness, where nature is reduced to a mere object of exploitation. 

While Freud focused on instinctual repression as the source of neurosis, Jung revealed a deeper unconscious universe and the need to reconnect with archetypes and the collective psyche. He saw the root of neurosis in the rupture with this unconscious realm—and with nature itself.

 

Our alienation is twofold: external (from nature) and internal (from ourselves). We see it daily—people cannot stay alone, even for a few minutes, without distraction. The constant reach for a smartphone replaces introspection. As the spiritual dimension of nature has been lost, so too has the spiritual dimension of the inner world. The result: growing neurosis and the proliferation of psychotherapy and spiritual practices that attempt to recover the lost sense of meaning.

 

Rationalism alone cannot give life meaning. Meaning arises from deeper sources. 

As Erich Fromm wrote 80 years ago:

 

    “The common human suffering is alienation—from ourselves, from our fellow man, and from nature; the awareness that life slips through our fingers like sand, and that we shall die without ever having lived; that we live in abundance, yet without joy.”

 

The loss of nature’s inner presence creates a spiritual void and psychological imbalance. Healing, therefore, cannot be one-dimensional; it must restore both the connection with nature and the spiritual dimension within. Deep contact with nature can play this role—bridging the gap in the outer and inner worlds. This is not mere recreation but a therapeutic encounter, a place where the unconscious meets consciousness, as in psychoanalysis or mystical enlightenment.

 

Nature is not only the outer world—it is also our inner landscape. Returning to nature is returning to the self. 

 

To experience the psychotherapeutic power of nature, we must approach it not through analysis but through quiet reverence and wonder. When we invest natural elements with sacredness, we open ourselves to let nature enter us. This cannot be forced; it happens spontaneously, as an inner revelation that reconnects us with both the outer world and our inner essence—leading to a fuller experience of being.

 

Our challenge, then, is to relearn how to approach nature not as an object of use, but as a space of inner and spiritual renewal. In a world where alienation has become the norm, contact with nature offers an accessible path toward the deepest parts of ourselves—a rediscovery of the connection between the infinite outside and the infinite within.

 

 

 

Scientific Perspectives

 

Beyond psychoanalysis, recent studies in medicine, neurology, and applied psychology confirm that contact with nature has profound benefits for both body and mind. 

Exposure to natural environments lowers heart rate and stress hormones such as cortisol and adrenaline, signaling a shift to a relaxed state essential for recovery from stress. Emotional responses to natural stimuli can occur within milliseconds, suggesting a biological connection hardwired in us.

 

Hospital studies have shown that surgical patients with views of natural landscapes recovered faster than those facing a wall. On average, patients with a view of nature stayed 7.9 days compared to 8.7 days for those without it. They required fewer strong painkillers and were generally calmer and more positive.

 

Erich Fromm was the first to articulate the theory of "biophilia"—the innate love for life and nature as the foundation of human experience. 

Modern neuroscience has confirmed that this bond is not just emotional or cultural; it is embedded in our biology. Even patients with severe neurological impairments have shown remarkable responses when interacting with nature—such as spontaneously planting seedlings despite motor limitations. Nature, it seems, awakens fundamental human capacities and fosters psychological healing.

 

Other studies indicate that connection to nature enhances our sense of belonging and emotional well-being. People who feel deeply connected to the natural world exhibit lower anxiety and depression levels, greater resilience, and improved cognitive function. 

 

 

What Can We Do?

 

Obviously, we cannot return to the way of life of our hunter-gatherer ancestors. We must find new ways to rebuild our relationship with nature. 

Reconnection requires time spent immersed in natural settings, but above all, it depends on the quality of our presence—on surrendering to the experience. Many of us lack both the time and the awareness to do so.

 

Modern Japan, however, has developed a method that combines scientific understanding with ancient wisdom: "Shinrin-yoku", or “forest bathing.” 

Unlike the West, the East has preserved a deeper relationship with nature and its spiritual dimension. The Taoist or Buddhist of China and Japan encounters the cosmic unconscious directly and wordlessly. A Taoist saying goes: “Those who know do not speak; those who speak do not know.” The Tao—the “Way”—is the path of union with the universe, within and without. It cannot be explained; it can only be experienced.

 

In Japan, nature is still imbued with sacred presence. Trees, rocks, and springs are inhabited by *kami*, the spirits of the ancient Shinto tradition, integrated seamlessly with Buddhism. I was struck in Japan by how almost every Buddhist temple includes a Shinto shrine within its gardens.

 

Yet the pressures of modernization and Westernization have taken a heavy toll on Japanese psyche. The Japanese word for stress is… “stress.” In response, the people of Japan have sought a new path back to their primal relationship with nature.

 

Thus arose Shinrin-yoku, a scientifically validated, medically recognized practice of forest immersion as therapy and prevention. 

Dr. Yoshifumi Miyazaki, a leading researcher, has shown that spending time in forests reduces stress, enhances mood, strengthens the immune system, and improves cardiovascular health. The practice involves awakening all the senses—sight, sound, touch, smell, and even taste—to open oneself to nature. Since 2003, the Japanese government has invested over $4 million annually in forest-bathing research, integrating it into preventive medicine.

 

But Shinrin-yoku is not just science—it is also culture. It reflects an ancient worldview that sees humans and nature as one continuous living system.

 

 

The Practice Ahead

 

       The experiential activity that will take place tomorrow is based on the findings of Shinrin-yoku and on meditative practices from the East. It is carefully designed and structured so as to have an effect within a limited time. It seeks an opening of the senses, the imagination, and the body, as well as a shift in perception, in order to offer an initiation into nature outside us and nature within us.

         Of course, the creation of a deep relationship with nature requires regular contact and, above all, an approach with the right spirit. We must surrender to the nature within and the nature outside us, allowing it, in turn, to open itself to us. We are invited to experience a kind of re-sacralization of the world, to see with the eye of the heart, and to approach life with imagination, beauty, and soulful empathy. To live this experience, we must “open our hearts” to it. But what is it that we call “the heart”? Let us allow a contemporary psychologist, drawing on Aristotle’s thought, to speak:

“In Aristotelian psychology, the organ of perception is the heart; from all the sense organs the channels lead to it; there the soul ‘ignites.’ Thought is by nature aesthetic and sensorially connected to the world.
…
The activity of perception or sensation in Greek is "aisthēsis", whose root means ‘to take in’ and ‘to breathe’ with a ‘breath/sigh’… What does it mean to ‘take in’ or to ‘breathe in’ the world? First, it means that I receive and inhale the literal presence of things with an in-breath, a lifting of the breath. The transformation of matter occurs through wonder. This aesthetic response, which precedes intellectual wonder, inspires the given beyond itself, allowing it to reveal its own particular desire or tendency within a cosmic order.
Second, ‘to take in’ means to take something to heart, to internalize it, to become intimate with it.
Third, ‘to take in’ means to internalize the object itself within its image, so that its own imagination (and not ours) may be activated, so that it may show its heart and reveal its soul, becoming personified and thus lovable.”
—James Hillman *

            In order to live this experience, we therefore need to expand the perceptual range of our senses. James Hillman again tells us:

“We have learned to believe that beauty resides in High Art, in museums, in concert halls. We must remove beauty from art alone—from art history, art objects, and art appreciation. These lofty ideas have mystified revelation, the fullness of experience, projecting it into an eschatological expectation. We wait for revelation to arrive as illumination, as an explosive experience that must shatter the sensory world, simply because we are unable to perceive revelation in the immediate presence of things as they are, by discovering their beauty.”

 

               Tomorrow you should leave behind mobile devices and any other objects associated with everyday rhythm or scheduling. It is also advisable not to have consumed coffee, as all of these act as anchors to the sympathetic nervous system. The activity is dedicated to conscious slowing down and to activating the parasympathetic nervous system. The intention of the session should be the absence of goals and judgment. The approach should be filled with curiosity and openness, since the activities are not tasks to be completed, but practices aimed at expanding consciousness.

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*James Hillman (1926–2011) was an American psychologist, author, and cultural critic. Born in Atlantic City, he studied at the Sorbonne and at Trinity College, Dublin, and later completed his doctorate at the University of Zurich, where he was trained at the C. G. Jung Institute. He eventually became Director of Studies there (1959–1969).