Your Brain On Nature

Eva M. Selhub, Alan C. Logan

• Publisher: Collins
• Year: 2013
• ISBN:
  9781443427586
• Topic: Medicine
• Subtopic: General Health

How to safely de-tox from IT overload--with the healing effects of nature.

Scientific studies have shown that natural environments can have remarkable benefits for human health. Natural environments are more likely to promote positive emotions; and viewing and walking in nature have been associated with heightened physical and mental energy. Nature has also been found to have a positive impact on children who have been diagnosed with impulsivity, hyperactivity, and attention deficit disorder. A powerful wake-up call for our tech-immersed society, Your Brain on Nature examines the fascinating effects that exposure to nature can have on the brain.

In Your Brain on Nature, physician Eva Selhub and naturopath Alan Logan examine not only the effects of nature on the brain--but the ubiquitous influence of everyday technology on the brain, and how IT overload and its many distractions may even be changing it. Offering an antidote for the technology-addicted, the book outlines emerging nature-based therapies including ecotherapy, as well as practical strategies for improving your (and your children's) cognitive functioning, mental health, and physical well-being through ecotherapeutic, nutritional, and behavioural means.

• Details the back to nature movement and the benefits of nature on the brain and body, from reducing the symptoms of ADHD to improving mood and physical energy
• Explains the effects of air quality, aromas, light and sound on the brain, including SAD and sleep loss

A fascinating look at the effects that both nature and technology have on the brain's functioning and one's overall well-being, Your Brain on Nature is every tech-addict's guide to restoring health and balance in an increasingly IT-dependent world.

Chapter 1

Nature on the Brain: From Ancient Intuition to Magnetic Resonance Imaging

Man is an outdoor animal. He toils at desks and talks of ledgers and parlors and art galleries but the endurance that brought him these was developed by rude ancestors, whose claim to kinship he would scorn and whose vitality he has inherited and squandered. He is what he is by reason of countless ages of direct contact with nature.

—James H. McBride, MD, Journal of the American Medical Association, 1902

As children, both of us grew up in households where time spent in nature was encouraged, and our current memories tell us that such times in the great outdoors were filled with curiosity, fascination, and discovery, as well as with calm, joy, and happiness. The fragrance of pine and flowers; the sounds of rushing creeks, waterfalls, and ocean waves breaking; and the sights of fireflies and other interesting animals captured our minds. As time passed, our responsibilities and adulthood pursuits left less time for nature immersion. The recognition and instant recall of nature’s benefits would be obscured by our own efforts to advance in a technologically driven world. Our individual stressors, personal anxieties, and the overwhelming demands of contemporary life would ultimately bring us back to the medicinal aspects of nature, to our current investigation of the scientific validity of those childhood memories.

The pattern of our close relationship to nature in childhood development and subsequent distancing through early adulthood in many ways mirrors the development of Western civilization: as our society has progressed, we have moved away from nature, placing greater importance on technological pursuits and our own creations. Mounting scientific evidence is revealing, however, that by pushing ourselves away from nature, we humans not only have distanced ourselves from crisis-level environmental concerns but are risking losing contact with one of the most vital mental health tools imaginable—nature. Both of us are fortunate to have nature-filled childhood memories to draw on. The experiences allow us to recognize and appreciate the value of nature and the importance of environmental protection. Yet, what might happen if those memories didn’t exist? What would happen if our childhood experiences and relationship to the natural world were to be shaped exclusively by pixilated images and time spent in front of a screen? By denying ourselves nature, we humans risk denying a vital part of our heritage, a truth that, ironically, through advances in medical technology, we are now able to see more clearly.

Biophilia—Humanity’s Vital Bond with Nature

Humanity’s historical contact with nature has left an indelible mark, a driving force for us to have an affinity for all things living (plants and animals alike). Our connection to nature is right there in our DNA: that’s the essence of the biophilia hypothesis. “Biophilia” was originally defined in early 1900s’ medical dictionaries as the instinct for self-preservation or the instinctual drive to stay alive. In the 1980s, Harvard biologist Edward O. Wilson proposed that biophilia is an “innately emotional affiliation of human beings to other living organisms.” Wilson didn’t see humanity’s affiliation with nature as stemming from individual experience or romantic notions, nor as a by-product of North America’s wilderness attraction. Rather, he saw biophilia as a common thread spanning across cultures, a phenomenon that has been confirmed to some degree by various groups of scientists who have determined that the preference for certain aspects of nature is culturally universal—landscapes that provide trees (but not too densely packed), views that afford a vista or some degree of predator surveillance, the presence of fresh water, and a rich variety of plants and animals.

Wilson’s definition of “biophilia” extended to the emotional plane. He observed that nature uniquely influenced the human mind, having the potential to influence the matters that mental-health-care providers concern themselves with: cognitions and behaviors. Wilson’s expanded view still fulfills the original definition of “biophilia” because these innate cognitive and behavioral reactions to the natural world ensure self-preservation: they draw us close to adequate water, nutrition, and shelter, and ensure that we flee from a predatory beast. Evidence suggests, for example, that we are born with a predisposition to fear poisonous reptiles and spiders—having never seen these creatures. Experimental studies have shown that a physiological stress response is set in motion even when an individual is consciously unaware of the threat. The researchers use clever masking techniques whereby they show pictures of the potentially threatening stimuli (such as a spider) to a test subject so rapidly (for only 30 milliseconds) in sequence with neutral images that the individual does not consciously perceive the threatening stimulus when queried. A pronounced stress response to these threatening stimuli can be observed, and conditioning studies show that these “ancient” fears become easily ingrained and more resistant to elimination, as opposed to modern threats such as guns, or neutral objects such as mushrooms or flowers.

Researchers at the University of California, Santa Barbara identified further support for the biophilia hypothesis when they challenged test subjects to detect changes in photographic scenes of animals compared with images of vehicles and inanimate objects. Given that people face cars every day, and they pose a far greater threat in contemporary life than animals do, one might expect the subjects to be better attuned to the images of the vehicles. Yet, it seems that the priority in visually monitoring animals, a critical skill for the hunter-gatherer, is still alive and well in the modern screen-toting adult—a reality that does not serve well while trying to walk and text in a metro area. This was something that Wilson had proposed regarding biophilia: contact with nature shaped the human brain and, as such, it was pre-equipped for a specific view, one that would “persist from generation to generation, atrophied and fitfully manifested in the artificial new environments into which technology has catapulted humanity.” There may be some atrophy in our modern world, but the biophilic response remains—in underappreciated ways.

Recent studies conducted in 2010 by University of Virginia psychologists have underscored just how innate humanity’s responses to nature are: infants demonstrate signs of fear when exposed to natural threats they’ve never been culturally groomed to fear. Of note is that the subliminal exposure to spiders fires up activity in the amygdalae (singular amygdala; these are two almond-sized and -shaped brain structures referred to as the fear centers of the brain). While it might be amplified by social learning (and perhaps watching movies such as Arachnophobia at a young age), the brain-based detection of ancient nature-based threats seems to be in our genetic code. Although humanity’s affiliation with nature might be amplified by social learning and romanticism, nature appears to fire up the brain just as it did in our primitive ancestors. For example, test subjects shown even a one-tenth-of-a-second glimpse of scenes of nature prefer them over urban and built scenes; indeed, a reflection of the innate preference comes from the finding that the more rapid the presentation of the nature images within other environmental scenes, the more the nature scenes are preferred over the built.

Nature: An Ancient Cure Abandoned

Healers within various medical systems, from ayurveda of the Indian subcontinent to traditional Chinese medicine, have long advocated nature exposure as a form of medicine. Within these healing systems, elements of nature—mountains, trees, plants, and bodies of water within natural settings—are considered to be filled with an energy, a vital force that could be transferred to people in the promotion of health. As humans began to make a transition from rural life to urban civilizations, an even greater emphasis was placed on taking advantage of the medicinal effects of nature. For example, records of early Roman philosophers and physicians, such as Cornelius Celsus, show that walking in gardens, exposure to rooms filled with light, staying close to water, and other nature-based activities were effective components of standardized plans to improve mental health and sleep.

The notion of unspoilt nature as a mental healer gained popularity in North America in the mid- to late 19th century. Once again it was spurred on by the rapid expansion of cities and growing concerns that the industrial revolution, with its dimly lit, poorly ventilated workplaces and crowded residences, was contributing to mental distress. In the 1800s, writers such as Henry David Thoreau and naturalist John Muir voiced their concerns about urban life and described nature as essential to well-being. Thoreau described nature as a calming tonic and creativity booster, a place where “my nerves are steadied, my senses and my mind do their office.” Muir reported that “tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people” could experience an awakening while wandering in wilderness. In his 1898 address at the annual meeting of the American Medical Association, physician Frederic S. Thomas linked higher rates of mental health problems with the stresses of modern civilization. Overstimulation, noise, smoke, and stench were, he felt, acting upon inherited susceptibilities.

Frederick Law Olmsted, a landscape architect and key player in the development of parks throughout the United States, was motivated by his view that parks had a beneficial impact on positive mental health. His 1865 federal report on the status of Yosemite National Park stated, “If we analyze the operation of scenes of beauty upon the mind, and consider the intimate relation of the mind upon the nervous system and the whole physical economy, the action and reaction which constantly occurs between bodily and mental conditions, the reinvigoration which results from such scenes is readily comprehended.” The report noted that immersion in nature is favorable to health, vigor, and intellect and “that it not only gives pleasure for the time being but increases the subsequent capacity for happiness and the means of securing happiness.” While obviously not proposed as a cure for mental illness, nature-based recreation was described in the report as a means of reducing “mental and nervous excitability, moroseness, melancholy, or irascibility” that would diminish optimal mental functioning.

As North American cities expanded rapidly, medical doctors began to prescribe nature exposure as a means of reducing stress and improving mental outlook. This practice was not based on scientific evidence; it was a return to the intuitive recommendations of the ancient healers. However, contemporary research was connecting anxiety and depression to the stress of modern urban life, so it seemed plausible that a break from these pressures would be a safe prescription. A thriving industry of privately funded sanitariums and health resorts, all set deep within natural settings, took flight. The very names of these sanitariums implied a retreat to nature: The Pines, The Highlands, Lake View, River View, Crest View, Grand View, Walnut Lodge, Blue Hills, River Crest, and Glen Springs, to name just a few of the hundreds advertised within countless turn-of-the-19th-century medical journals. The owners of these establishments, and the physicians who worked within them, provided services for the treatment of mild nervous diseases and the stress-related fatigue diagnosis du jour, neurasthenia. Practically every ad boasted of beautiful scenery, pine forests, and charming walks. One advertisement, for The Pines, even talked of how the grounds were “rolling and diversified in character.” These retreats recruited their attendees from the well-heeled urbanites and lured them to greenery. Those who weren’t quite flush with cash could find an oasis in newly created metro parks, including New York’s Central Park, designed by Olmsted, an individual who advocated that such urban escapes would promote mental relaxation for users.

Within the medical profession during the early 1900s there was largely an acceptance of—and in some quarters enthusiasm about—the beneficial effects of the nature retreats. The anecdotal notion was that nature could have a medicinal effect, providing a tonic for the brain as it dealt with a world that was becoming increasingly complex. Along with writing out prescriptions for some time in nature, physicians were making note that a sedentary and indoor lifestyle was at odds with our human lineage. From urban-park planners to medical doctors, all hypothesized that nature is in us, it has shaped us, and even though we may turn away, we do so at our own peril. The industrial revolution was changing the world in rapid fashion, and physicians such as James McBride, whose quotation opened this chapter, were trying to raise awareness about the growing disconnect with nature.

A variety of cultural, economic, and scientific changes put an end to the sanitarium boom. Even though there was some level of acceptance among the medical profession, and few would challenge the notion that man is indeed, as James McBride informed his colleagues, “an outdoor animal,” the message was losing its way. The scientific basis for the existence of these mental retreats was extremely limited. As the cultural pendulum swung toward evidentiary validation, the assumed benefits of such institutions—exercise, whole-food diets, sunshine, open air, hydrotherapy, immersion in nature—as a means of helping nervous afflictions were all lumped in with pseudoscientific patent medicines and baldness cures. In short, doctors and scientists began to distance themselves from such soft notions that nature contact was in itself a vital force. As the automobile and suburban sprawl took over, the half-page advertisements for the Glen Springs Sanitarium gave way to full-page advertisements for the antianxiety drug meprobamate (or Miltown, the first synthesized, brand-name version of it) and other chemical means of dealing with modern stressors. Some of these now-abandoned sanitariums, the buildings being reclaimed by trees and shrubs, remain as haunting memories of yesteryear, of a time when purposeful time in nature was the prescription.

Nature and Stress Physiology

The notion that nature scenes can influence psychological well-being and stress physiology remained largely untested until Roger S. Ulrich decided to pay it some attention in 1979. A few years earlier, Ulrich, as a geography PhD student, had found that residents around Ann Arbor, Michigan, were typically skipping an expressway and taking a longer and slower route to the major mall simply because it was reported to be more scenic. They were sacrificing time and gas money to take a longer route, and he wanted to know what might be motivating that seemingly consistent decision. Ulrich wanted to dig deeper and have a look at the psychological variables that might explain how the aesthetics of natural landscapes can influence human behavior.

He decided to examine the mental influences of nature scenes on stressed students. After taking a required one-hour course exam in a windowless room, 46 students volunteered to do some psychological tests and then view about 50 slides. After answering the questions, the students were split into two groups: one viewed slides of natural settings devoid of buildings, and the other group looked at urban buildings (retail and industrial) that did not have graffiti or litter present. Images of people and animals were excluded from the slides. The psychological testing showed that although the students were indeed a bit stressed and frazzled after their one-hour exam, their divergent mental states and outlook after viewing the two types of environmental scenes were striking. The nature scenes increased positive affect—feelings of affection, playfulness, friendliness, and elation were elevated in the group that viewed various nature scenes. Not so for those who viewed the urban scenes. Those views significantly cultivated one emotion in these stressed students: sadness. The nature scenes tended to decrease feelings of anger and aggression, and urban scenes tended to increase them. Given the ability of stress to drag down health, and positive mental outlook to buffer stress and promote health, the implication of this report was clearly enormous. Still, it required validation; in particular, scientifically valid markers of the body’s stress response would help bolster the case for nature.

Encouraged, Ulrich moved forward from the initial subjective testing to examine how nature scenes might influence stress physiology and even brain activity. He set up a similar experiment with unstressed healthy adults, although this time he also used an electroencephalograph (EEG) apparatus to measure brain activity. Sure enough, the team discovered that viewing scenes of nature was associated with higher alpha wave amplitudes, which is a good thing. Higher alpha wave activity is associated with increased serotonin production. Serotonin is a chemical that operates within the nervous system. Almost all antidepressant medications are thought to work by enhancing the availability of serotonin for use in nerve cell communication, hence its moniker of “the happy chemical.” When we turn the dial down on hyperarousal and calm sets in, as is the case in meditative states, higher alpha wave activity is noted. On the other hand, anxiety is associated with lower alpha wave amplitude and enhanced activity of beta waves.

Ulrich followed this up with another study to assess the ability of nature scenes to influence stress physiology via heart, skin, and muscle readings—including pulse transit time and electrocardiogram (EKG), skin conductance (sweat on the skin, which is influenced by the stress response), and muscle tension via electromyography (EMG). Some 120 undergraduate students watched a stressful video related to workplace errors with tragic consequences (entitled It Didn’t Have to Happen). Immediately after the 10-minute video, the subjects watched another 10-minute video containing either urban scenery (retail, commercial, with and without traffic and crowds) or natural scenery (trees, vegetation, with and without water). The objective measurements showed that those who watched nature scenes had a more rapid and complete recovery from the stress caused by watching It Didn’t Have to Happen. Nature acted as a sort of visual valium; the nature scenes fostered positive thoughts and lowered anger and aggression post-stressor. For many of the participants, not only did the nature scenes offset the effects of the stressful video but their reports of positive mental outlook were higher than their pretest scores.

Additional work from Ulrich and his team has shown that nature scenes reduced physiological markers of stress among 872 blood donors. In this study, all donors sat in the same waiting room over the course of a three-month period. The only variable manipulated was the programming shown on the wall-mounted TV: some days the TV was off, some days it was playing standard daytime television, some days it was rolling scenes of an urban environment, and on the other days it was...