When I first started reading about biophilic design eight years ago – after my wife’s stroke got me researching how our environment affects health and wellbeing – I kept running into something that bothered my engineer brain: the spelling kept changing. Sometimes I’d see “biophilic,” sometimes “biophillic” with two l’s. At first I figured it was just typos, but it showed up so often in different articles and even some research papers that I started wondering if I was the one who had it wrong.
This might seem like a small thing to worry about, but when you’re trying to learn about a field that’s new to you, getting the basic terminology right matters. I spent thirty-five years in automotive engineering, where precision in language could mean the difference between a part that works and one that fails catastrophically. Maybe that’s why spelling inconsistencies bug me more than they should, but I think there’s more to it than just old habits.
The correct spelling is “biophilic” – one ‘l’ – and it comes from two Greek words: “bios” meaning life, and “philia” meaning love or friendship. So it literally means “love of life” or “love of living things.” The term was really brought into mainstream use by biologist Edward O. Wilson in his 1984 book “Biophilia,” where he wrote about humans’ instinctive connection to nature and other living systems.
I tracked down a copy of Wilson’s book at our local library after reading references to it everywhere. His basic idea – that we’re hardwired to seek connections with nature because that’s what kept our ancestors alive for thousands of years – made perfect sense to me. Of course we feel better around plants and natural light. Of course being able to see trees and sky improves our mood. Our grandparents’ generation knew this without needing scientific studies to prove it.
But somewhere along the way, especially as I got deeper into reading about how to apply these principles to home modifications, I kept encountering that extra ‘l’ creeping in. I saw it in blog posts, design websites, even in what looked like professional publications. Started making me second-guess myself – was I remembering the spelling wrong?
The confusion isn’t just academic. When you’re trying to research solutions for making your home more supportive of aging in place, or looking for ideas to help someone dealing with chronic pain and mobility issues, you need to be able to find the right information. If you’re searching databases or websites with the wrong spelling, you might miss important studies or practical advice.
I remember one particularly frustrating afternoon when I was looking for research on how natural light affects depression in older adults. I’d been searching for “biophillic lighting” and getting scattered results that didn’t seem quite right. It wasn’t until I corrected the spelling that I found the solid research I needed – studies that helped me understand why enlarging our windows and replacing heavy drapes made such a difference in my wife’s daily mood.
This spelling confusion can create real problems in professional settings too. I’ve been volunteering with our church’s building committee to improve their fellowship hall, and we’ve had architects and contractors who clearly know what they’re talking about but spell the term differently in their proposals. When you’re trying to communicate with people about design concepts that might be new to them, inconsistent terminology just adds unnecessary confusion.
The implications go beyond just finding information. When I first started writing about the modifications I was making to our home – sharing practical advice with other retirees dealing with similar challenges – I had to decide which spelling to use. I went with the original, correct version because I’d tracked it back to Wilson’s work and the other foundational research. But I noticed that some of the people commenting on my posts were using the double ‘l’ version, which made me wonder if my corrections were coming across as pedantic rather than helpful.
What really matters, though, is that when we use imprecise terminology, we risk muddying the understanding of concepts that can genuinely improve people’s lives. Biophilic design isn’t just some fancy architectural trend – it’s about creating environments that support human health and wellbeing by reconnecting us with natural elements and processes. When someone dealing with depression, chronic pain, or the isolation that often comes with aging is trying to research solutions, they need to be able to find accurate, reliable information.
I’ve started being more deliberate about using the correct spelling in my writing and gently correcting it when I encounter the misspelled version in discussions with other homeowners or volunteers. Not in a know-it-all way – I’m certainly not a professional in this field – but because I’ve learned that precision in language helps preserve the integrity of ideas that can actually help people.
In my volunteer work with the senior center, I’ve seen how important it is to use consistent terminology when we’re talking with board members or potential donors about improvements we want to make. When we can clearly explain what biophilic design principles are and point to solid research behind them, we’re more likely to get support for projects like adding skylights to their recreation room or creating accessible garden spaces.
The solution isn’t complicated – it just requires paying attention and being consistent. When I’m writing about home modifications or sharing advice with other older adults, I make sure to use the correct spelling and sometimes mention where the term comes from. When I encounter the misspelled version in articles or discussions, I try to gently point out the correct spelling, especially if the context suggests the person is serious about learning more about the field.
I’ve also found that explaining the etymology – the “bio” meaning life and “philia” meaning love – helps people remember the correct spelling while also reinforcing what the concept is actually about. It’s not just a design buzzword; it’s about recognizing and supporting our fundamental human need for connection with nature.
For those of us who came to biophilic design later in life, often out of necessity rather than professional interest, getting the terminology right is part of taking the field seriously. These aren’t just abstract concepts – they’re principles that can make the difference between aging in place successfully or struggling in environments that work against our physical and mental health.
Language evolves, and I understand that. But when we’re dealing with research-based concepts that have practical applications for human health and wellbeing, maintaining precision in terminology helps ensure that the knowledge gets passed along accurately. Whether you’re a retiree trying to modify your longtime home, an adult child researching options for aging parents, or a professional working in design or healthcare, using the correct spelling helps maintain the clarity and credibility of ideas that can genuinely improve lives.
It’s a small thing, but small things add up – just like the small environmental modifications that can have surprisingly large impacts on daily quality of life.
Robert is a retired engineer in Michigan who’s spent the past few years adapting his longtime home for accessibility and wellbeing. He writes about practical, DIY ways to make homes more comfortable and life-affirming as we age — from raised-bed gardens to better natural light.
