Rewilding Home: Reconsidering Our Dwelling in the World

Abstract

This paper focuses on the increasing relevance of rewilding in the context of the global ecological crisis. This crisis is conceived not only as a loss of biodiversity, but also as a breakdown in our capacity to dwell meaningfully on Earth. Although rewilding has been developed primarily as an ecological restoration strategy, this paper argues that it is first and foremost an ethical concept. In this sense, starting from Næss’s ecosophy, contemporary theories of self-rewilding, and environmental virtue ethics, this paper develops a philosophical framework that interprets rewilding as a form of dwelling based on the concept of oikos (home). It shows that rewilding entails a transformation of human agency through identification and self-realization, which makes the “ecological self” emerge. As for its methodology, the paper adopts a conceptual and interdisciplinary approach, combining ecology, environmental philosophy, and virtue ethics. The paper concludes that the concept of rewilding should be linked both to ecological restoration and ethical flourishing, requiring the development of certain virtues—e.g., humility and the recognition of ecological dependence. In this regard, rewilding should offer a relevant context to rethink our relationship with nature, starting from the idea of dwelling in the common home.

1. Introduction

The accelerating loss of biodiversity and the global degradation of ecosystems have triggered a recent debate on large-scale restoration strategies that may address complex ecological challenges. Among these, rewilding has emerged as a prominent approach. Current research highlights both the relevance and the ambiguity of rewilding. On the one hand, it aligns with contemporary policy frameworks—such as the European Nature Restoration Law—emphasizing ecosystem resilience and long-term recovery. On the other, it raises fundamental ethical concerns about the value of wilderness, the legitimacy of interventions such as species reintroductions or de-extinction, and the tension between ecological integrity and culture. More recently, philosophical contributions have shifted the focus from ecological restoration alone to broader questions concerning human character, calling attention to the need for “process-oriented” and relational understandings of the self and its place in the world.

Within this emergent debate, a growing body of literature suggests that rewilding cannot be reduced to a technical strategy but must also be understood as a transformation of how humans inhabit the Earth. Drawing on ecosophy (Næss), self-rewilding approaches (Feltrin), and environmental virtue ethics (Hannis), it becomes possible to reinterpret rewilding as a practice of dwelling, rooted in the concept of oikos (home). From this perspective, the ecological crisis is not only environmental but existential: it echoes a rupture in the relationship between human beings and their world, and a loss of the capacity to dwell meaningfully.

This paper aims to develop a philosophical account of rewilding as a form of dwelling, integrating ecological restoration and ethical transformation. It argues that rewilding should ultimately be reframed as self-rewilding through the cultivation of virtues that enable both human and non-human flourishing. The main conclusion is that rewilding offers not only a strategy for ecosystem recovery but also a framework for rethinking human identity and impact in the world. The paper is structured as follows: Section 2 introduces the concept of rewilding and its development within the current ecological and ethical debates; Section 3 analyzes the relationship between rewilding and culture; Section 4 explores the notion of home as a symbolic space drawing on Næss’s ecosophy; finally, Section 5 examines self-rewilding and ecological virtues as the basis for a renewed way of dwelling.

2. Rewilding the Planet

Biodiversity is declining and ecosystems are being degraded because of changes in land use and growing human pressure on natural resources [1]. These factors undermine the ecosystem’s resilience, making it harder for it to recover from disturbances [2]. Although traditional conservation approaches (such as the creation of protected areas) have led to some specific local achievements, many threatened species continue to decline, and the state of ecosystems is gradually deteriorating on a global scale. This shows that new approaches are needed. Indeed, the value of restoration strategies that focus on ecosystem processes, adaptability, and restoring key ecological functions has been gradually acknowledged in the public debate. Thes approaches clearly overtake the idea that we have to recreate fixed ecosystem states or specific groups of species [3]. These latter strategies accept that ecosystems are always changing and that their future paths are uncertain.

Within this context, rewilding has emerged as a relevant and influential approach in current ecological restoration [3], particularly in Europe, where land-use legacies have radically altered ecosystem structure and function. Although definitions differ, there is a broad consensus that rewilding prioritizes restoring ecological processes over adherence to fixed historical endpoints. For instance, Perino et al. [4] define rewilding as a “process-oriented, dynamic approach” focused on the “restoration of ecological processes that can lead to increased self-sustainability of ecosystems” rather than intensive ongoing management.

The increasing prominence of rewilding is aligned with the objectives of many national and international organizations. For example, the European Union recently adopted the Nature Restoration Law through Regulation (EU) 2024/1991 [5]. This Regulation explicitly recognizes that “it is necessary to lay down rules at Union level on the restoration of ecosystems to ensure the recovery of biodiverse and resilient nature across the Union territory” and that ecosystem restoration contributes to climate-change mitigation. It establishes mandatory targets to restore at least 20% of the EU’s land and sea areas by 2030 and all ecosystems in need of restoration by 2050, in particular, ecosystem function and long-term resilience rather than short-term habitat restoration. Within this legal framework, rewilding can be understood as a complementary pathway that operationalizes the Regulation’s ambition for “long-term and sustained recovery of biodiversity and resilient ecosystems” through nature-controlled processes and reduced management dependency. In this regard, rewilding may offer a valuable approach to achieve the goals of the European Nature Restoration Law. Furthermore, it also provides a significant tool for evaluating restoration outcomes under its implementation [6].

“Rewilding” has recently appeared as a central concept in the current environmental debate, engaging both experts in conservation biology and environmental ethics (or philosophy). In fact, this concept raises fundamental questions about our responsibilities toward nature and the desirable state of ecosystems, in a context radically transformed by emerging technologies. In this regard, the central issue concerning rewilding is primarily ethical rather than technical, as it deals with the definition of what the natural world should be like and what form it should take. As we may easily understand, these questions involve both the scientific and normative dimensions of rewilding: it is not only a technical approach to ecosystem restoration but also a framework that may help us consider the attribution of value to species, ecological processes, and historical standards. Rewilding, thus, lies at the intersection of the ecological values we should promote and the extent of human intervention in nature. Indeed, it is worth considering the question posed by Brann et al., which opens a relevant ethical issue: “What organisms are necessary for ecosystem integrity? Are some species more valuable than others? Do we have a responsibility not just to protect, but also to resurrect lost systems through practices like rewilding or de-extinction?” [7] (p. 53). The core of this approach is the fundamental principle of Leopold’s Land Ethic: “A thing is right when it tends to preserve the integrity, stability, and beauty of the biotic community; it is wrong when it tends otherwise” [8] (p. 224).

The term “rewilding” comes from conservation biology, specifically from the work of Michael Soulé and Reed Noss, who proposed it as a “scientific argument for restoring big wilderness based on the regulatory roles of large predators” [9]. Their definition stressed three essential elements: “Large, strictly protected, core reserves; connectivity; and keystone species […] referred to as the three Cs: Cores, Corridors, and Carnivores” [9] (p. 326). Two aspects of this definition are relevant: 1. it stresses the significance of landscape connectivity and top-down ecological regulation, anchoring rewilding within a biogeographic and trophic framework; 2. it highlights the weight of large carnivores and other keystone species for maintaining ecosystem functions, radically changing the approach to biodiversity. In fact, biodiversity conservation today goes beyond the protection of isolated areas, as it includes the restoration of entire ecological networks. For this reason, we can conclude that the meaning of rewilding has expanded significantly over time. While the original stress was on the restoration of wilderness through trophic reconstitution, current interpretations of rewilding include a wider range of philosophical orientations. In this sense, “rewilding, very roughly, is any effort to return a landscape to what we imagine to be a wilder state” [10] (p. 568). Anyway, this flexible definition is at the same time appealing and ambiguous: on one hand, it makes rewilding applicable to a variety of ecological and sociopolitical contexts; on the other, it raises questions about what is meant by “wild” and what image of nature should define the desired outcome of our impact on nature. This ambiguity has contributed to the popularity of rewilding in public discourse, where it is often portrayed as “an exciting new direction in Western environmental thought” [10] (p. 568), capable of addressing the limitations of traditional conservation approaches.1

A crucial aspect of this conceptual expansion is the distinction between different kinds of rewilding. In this regard, Turner identifies “two forms of rewilding: a more passive version that involves a commitment to letting non-human nature go its own way, as contrasted with more active, interventionist versions” [10] (p. 568). While passive rewilding mainly focuses on natural regeneration and minimal human intervention (e.g., succession and the spontaneous colonization of species), active rewilding involves extensive and deliberate human interventions (e.g., the reintroduction of species and the use of ecological proxies for extinct species). This distinction highlights the inherent tension between non-interventionist standards and the practical necessity of human intervention in deeply altered landscapes.

One of the most distinctive features of rewilding is its focus on species reintroduction and ecological restoration at large spatial and temporal scales. Indeed, “rewilding involves returning historic species (or their proxies) to landscapes where they once roamed, offering a possible means to put wildness back into landscapes through wildlife restoration, reintroduction, or substitution” [7] (p. 59). This approach reflects a shift from “passively” conserving existing biodiversity toward “actively” reconstructing lost ecological structures and processes. In this sense, rewilding can be defined as “a type of massive landscape restoration that goes far beyond rehabilitation, reintroduction, and revegetation” [13] (p. 531). It seeks not merely to repair damaged ecosystems but to re-establish self-regulating systems capable of sustaining ecological functions over the long term.

At the same time, rewilding is profoundly rooted in broader historical traditions of conservation. Following Soulé and Noss, Foreman argues that conservation has evolved through multiple “currents,” including the wilderness movement, the protection of biodiversity hotspots, and the application of island biogeography principles, emphasizing connectivity. In this framework, “rewilding is a fourth current,” which does not replace earlier approaches but rather complements and reinforces them [14] (p. 549). This perspective stresses the integrative nature of rewilding, bringing together different elements of landscape ecology, species conservation, and the wilderness ethic. Thus, rewilding does not represent a radical break with past approaches in conservation, but rather an extension of already existing paradigms.

The Ethical Concerns of Rewilding

Beyond its ecological and practical dimensions, rewilding similarly raises important ethical considerations, particularly in relation to de-extinction and the restoration of lost species (i.e., active rewilding) [15]. In this sense, rewilding is a relevant ethical issue. Indeed, some authors argue that rewilding can restore both ecological and moral value: “Possible arguments in favor of de-extinction and rewilding include restoring value, creating value, justice, and a last resort of conservation success” [7] (p. 59). From this perspective, the efforts to reintroduce species or reconstruct ecosystems are not only scientifically justified but also ethically desirable, especially where human impact has caused extinctions or ecological degradation. In this sense, “if the loss of species involved injustice, then de-extinction may offer a path to justice,” while also providing “a possible last resort when all else has already failed” [7] (p. 59).

However, these arguments are counterbalanced by significant ethical concerns. Critics highlight issues of “unnaturalness, ecological health, animal welfare, and hubris” [7] (p. 59), that question whether we should either attempt to recreate past ecosystems or introduce species into new environments. These concerns both refer to the risks of unplanned short- and long-term ecological consequences and the ethical implications of manipulating organisms and ecosystems. Furthermore, they raise important philosophical questions about the goal of conservation itself: we may wonder, indeed, if we should either restore the historical (and cultural) conditions of ecosystems, maximize biodiversity, or promote ecosystems capable of adapting to potential changes.

These discussions suggest that we can interpret “rewilding” as a complex concept that encompasses both scientific and ethical dimensions [10,13,15]. It can also be reframed as a strategy that includes three distinct actions: 1. ecosystem restoration; 2. a reevaluation of conservation goals; and 3. an opportunity to rethink both the meaning of wilderness and our responsibility toward nature. Its focus on large-scale processes reflects a growing acknowledgement of the limited effectiveness of conventional conservation approaches when it comes to tackling global biodiversity loss. It is flexible and open to alternative interpretations, allowing it to adapt to a wide range of contexts, from landscape restoration (i.e., passive rewilding) to more interventionist ecological engineering (i.e., active rewilding) [10]. In a nutshell, the concept of rewilding calls for acknowledging this multitude of approaches. Rather than a unified framework, it encompasses several practices aimed at restoring ecological integrity and wildness in a radically anthropogenic world. In summary, it is a powerful lens that can be used to rethink the relationship between human beings and nature in the current technological context.

3. Rewilding Culture?

As mentioned earlier, the ethical debate around rewilding goes beyond ecological restoration and extends into the realm of culture, raising complex questions about the relationship between natural processes and human history (or, better, about our impact on the world). One of the main points of disagreement concerns the proper level of our intervention in landscapes that have already been significantly altered by our activity. As Turner notes, some wilderness promoters endorse a strict non-interventionist position: “If we want wilder landscapes, the best approach is not to intervene at all, but rather to let nature go its own way” [10] (p. 572). However, rewilding challenges this intuition by arguing that such an approach may be inadequate in already degraded systems: “The crucial issue is the starting point: should we take a ‘hands off’ approach now and let a damaged and degraded landscape go its own way? Or should we actively undertake some restoration/reintroduction efforts first, with the aim of taking a more ‘hands off’ approach later on when the system is in a better condition? […]. Taking an immediate ‘hands off’ approach might not be the best way to minimize the overall human impact on a landscape” [10] (pp. 572–573). Indeed, in contexts where ecological processes have been disrupted—e.g., through the extermination of keystone species—supporters argue that “some further human intervention might be needed to make the landscape wild again” [10] (p. 573). This apparent paradox discloses a crucial ethical dilemma: should human agency be minimized immediately or strategically deployed to restore the conditions under which nature can function and recover spontaneously? In this sense, rewilding reframes intervention not as domination, but as a potentially necessary step toward re-establishing autonomous ecological dynamics.

Debates on rewilding and intervention are further complicated when considered alongside ethical analyses of de-extinction, which raises broader philosophical questions about the scope and limits of restoration. For example, Sandler [16] critically assesses common justifications for reviving extinct species—such as restoring lost value, creating new value, or serving as a conservation “last resort”—but ultimately argues that these claims are limited. While extinction undeniably entails a loss of ecological, intrinsic, and cultural value, such value is fundamentally relational, depending on species’ evolutionary histories and ecological contexts. As a result, “the contextual and relational bases for the lost value […] are not recreated through de-extinction” [16] (p. 356), meaning that revived organisms cannot fully recover what has been already lost. Furthermore, since de-extinction does not address the underlying causes of biodiversity loss, we run the risk of it serving as a technological substitute for more rigorous forms of conservation. In the broader context of rewilding, this argument reinforces a fundamental ethical principle: ecological restoration cannot be reduced solely to the (re)introduction of species but must consider the historical and cultural conditions that provide meaning and value to landscapes. In this sense, concerns emerge about cultural landscapes by underscoring that both ecological and cultural values are context-dependent and cannot be straightforwardly reconstructed once disrupted [16].

This tension makes the ethical significance of cultural landscapes—i.e., spaces that have been shaped by long histories of human inhabitation and interaction—emerge. Several critics of rewilding have argued that its emphasis on restoring “wildness” risks overlooking or even erasing these cultural values. As Drenthen observes, “rewilders are blind to the value of the old cultural landscapes that are the result of centuries of human inhabitation […]. An erasure of signs of human history from the land would imply a blatant disregard of the many meaningful connections between local communities and the landscapes they inhabited over long periods of time” [9] (p. 326). From this perspective, rewilding may be seen as privileging ecological criteria—e.g., biodiversity and trophic integrity—over historically embedded and embodied relationships between people and place. For this reason, cultural landscapes are not merely degraded or transitional states but may themselves hold intrinsic and relational value, contributing to identity, memory, and heritage.

The apparent opposition between rewilding and cultural preservation, however, may be overstated. In this sense, “there is no prima facie reason why these different values in the landscape could not be conserved at the same time” [17] (p. 410). This argument points toward a more integrative understanding of landscapes as multifunctional and layered, where ecological and cultural values coexist and potentially reinforce one another. Indeed, the recognition that “there is no escaping from history: all rewilding landscapes are layered cultural landscapes” [17] (p. 422) challenges the notion that rewilding can ever return ecosystems to a pristine (or pre-human) state. Instead, it proposes an acknowledgement of the historical contingency of landscapes and seeks to negotiate—rather than to eliminate—the presence of our impact on the natural world. From this standpoint, rewilding no longer concerns returning to a wild state that excludes human interventions; on the contrary, it is about redefining the relationship between the ecological processes and the cultural meaning we may create.

The ethical reflection on rewilding must, therefore, cope with different and competing values, namely, ecological integrity, biodiversity conservation, cultural heritage, and human well-being. Indeed, “projects must be sensitive to local socio-ecological contexts […] [and] at times […] will not be mutually-reinforcing, requiring reconciliation of difficult trade-offs” [18] (p. 515). This statement highlights the importance of placing rewilding within specific regional and social contexts, rather than treating it as a global and universal solution to many different problems [18]. In fact, in some cases, rewilding initiatives may align with local interests (e.g., by enhancing ecosystem services or supporting sustainable livelihoods); in others, they may conflict with current land uses or cultural practices, requiring careful deliberation and participatory decision-making. Therefore, rewilding, from an ethical point of view, depends not only on ecological outcomes but also on other extra-organic processes (e.g., inclusion, justice, and respect for diverse forms of knowledge and values).

Underlying these debates is a more fundamental question about the role of humility in conservation, at the epistemological level: “Going into the wilderness on foot or by canoe—on the wilderness’s terms—is a pilgrimage of humility. Embracing the need for large carnivores in the wilderness landscape is an even deeper step toward humility. We must ask ourselves, ‘What kind of people do we wish to be?’ Can we find the generosity of spirit, the greatness of heart to allow self-willed land, to share our world with wolves and jaguars? Are we wise enough to understand that wilderness is the arena of evolution?” [14] (p. 553). This perspective resonates strongly with the ethos of rewilding, which seeks to restore the autonomy of natural systems by decreasing human control. Nonetheless, humility in this context does not necessarily imply complete withdrawal; on the contrary, it may involve recognizing the limits of human knowledge and the unintended consequences of our actions, while still taking responsibility for ecological restoration. The call for humility is radically intertwined with the debate over intervention: it suggests that human actions should be guided not by a desire to dominate nature but by a willingness to support human self-organizing capacities and to coexist with its uncertainties.

Building on the topic of humility, Feltrin’s account of self-rewilding [19] deepens this ethical standpoint by framing it as a transformation in our inner life rather than merely a change in management strategies. Rewilding, in this sense, requires a new awareness in which humans are understood as “one autonomous yet interconnected agent among many others” [19]. This perspective rejects the idea for which humanity is separated and superior to nature, and emphasizes coexistence, multispecies justice, and the cultivation of an “ecological self” grounded in relationality and interdependence [20]. Furthermore, this transformation is not only cognitive but practical: it entails reshaping our habits (or virtues, as we will see later) and impact on the environment. Within this framework, humility is not simply an attitude of restraint but a disposition of openness and responsiveness, requiring humans to acknowledge limits to their control while actively participating in restoring ecological conditions. Rewilding thus emerges as both an ecological and ethical project, in which the cultivation of an ecological self becomes a necessary condition for the long-term success of restoration efforts and for a more respectful coexistence within the multispecies community.

In this sense, the topic of the need of rewilding culture should be reframed as follows: first, we must recognize that rewilding can and should incorporate cultural values, preserving meaningful relationships between human beings and the landscape together with ecological restoration; second, we must consider whether rewilding itself represents a cultural transformation, that is to say, a change in the way human societies understand and value nature. As rewilding gains prominence, it challenges deeply ingrained assumptions about control, productivity, and the separation of nature and culture. Rather than viewing landscapes solely as resources or heritage artifacts, it encourages a perspective that emphasizes process, change, and cohabitation with more-than-human life.

In summary, the ethical value of culture in the context of rewilding cannot be reduced to a simple dichotomy between nature and history. On the contrary, it calls for a nuanced approach, acknowledging landscapes as socio-ecological systems where ecological processes and cultural values are always intertwined. In this sense, rewilding has both the potential to restore ecosystems and to reshape cultural attitudes toward nature. Thus, the ethical challenge posed by rewilding is not primarily whether to restore hypothetically “empty” or uninhabited spaces, but rather to rethink how we dwell in the landscapes we already share with non-human forms of life.

As such, the question shifts from where to rewild to how to “dwell”: how to re-inhabit cultural landscapes in ways that allow them to become meaningful spaces rather than sites of extraction. Human beings inevitably transform environments into places of dwelling, into “homes,” but rewilding invites a redefinition of this process—one that acknowledges coexistence, limits, and the presence of other-than-human beings. The central issue, therefore, is not the separation between wilderness and culture, but the ethical practice of dwelling space itself: learning to dwell in ways that sustain ecological processes while preserving the cultural meanings through which landscapes become “home” (oikos). This approach has been developed in the religious field, for example, by Pope Francis through the concept of integral ecology [21].

4. Which Planet? Our Home as a Symbolic Space

When approached through the lens of rewilding and dwelling, the ecological question ultimately converges on a more fundamental inquiry: which planet do we inhabit, and in what sense can it be called our home? This question is not merely geographical or ecological, but deeply symbolic and existential. In this section, we mainly follow Arne Næss’s reflections, for which the notion of “home” (oikos) must be understood not as a physical structure or a neutral container of life, but as a constitutive dimension of human identity and experience—i.e., as a symbolic space. He argues: “When the majority of people lived on the land, with little mobility, it was natural to feel at home at certain places. One stayed at home, left home, went home—but home was not a building […]. Home was where one belonged. It was ‘part of oneself,’ that is, it delimited an ecological self, rich in internal relations to what is now called environment” [22] (p. 339). To interpret the planet as “our home” therefore implies a transformation in how we conceive both the Earth and ourselves: not as separate entities, but as mutually constitutive realities [20].

In this perspective, the concept of home is inseparable from the formation of the self. Næss insists that “‘to have a home’, ‘to belong’, ‘to live’ and many other similar expressions suggest fundamental milieu factors involved in the shaping of an individual’s sense of self and self-respect. The identity of the individual, ‘that I am something’, is developed through interaction with a broad manifold, organic and inorganic. There is no completely isolatable I, no isolatable social unit. To distance oneself from nature and the ‘natural’ is to distance oneself from a part of that which the I is built up of. Its ‘identity’, ‘what the individual I is’, and thereby sense of self and self-respect, are broken down. Some milieu factors, e.g., mother, father, family, one’s first companions, play a central role in the development of an I, but so do home and the surroundings of home” [23] (p. 164). In this sense, the human being does not first exist and then relate to a place externally; rather, identity emerges through a network of relations that include both organic and inorganic elements: indeed, “the human psyche is […] intrinsically concerned with home” [24] (p. 237). Following Malpas, we can state that “the stuff of our inner lives is thus to be found in the exterior spaces or places in which we dwell, while those same spaces and places are themselves incorporated ‘within’ us” [25] (p. 6). This insight challenges modern conceptions of subjectivity based on autonomy and separation, replacing them with a relational ontology in which belonging becomes a primary condition of existence.

From this standpoint, the ecological crisis appears not simply as environmental degradation, but as a crisis of displacement [20,22]: it is a loss of the conditions that allow human beings to feel at home in the world. On this topic, Rothenberg writes: “We feel our world in crisis. We walk around and sense an emptiness in our way of living and the course which we follow” [26] (p. 1). In this regard, Næss describes contemporary society as undergoing a “place-corrosive process” [22] (p. 339), in which the meaningful bonds between individuals and their environments are progressively eroded. This process not only affects ecosystems; it undermines the very structure of human identity. As suggested in phenomenological terms, the crisis lies in the difficulty—or even the impossibility—of dwelling: of establishing a stable, meaningful relationship with the world that allows the self to flourish. Paraphrasing Heidegger, such a crisis is not a crisis of the places in which we could live, but the fact that “mortals ever search anew for the nature of dwelling, that they must ever learn to dwell […]. What if man’s homelessness consisted in this, that man still does not even think of the real plight of dwelling as the plight?” [27] (p. 159). In this sense, the question “which planet?” is inseparable from the question “how do we inhabit it?”.

The symbolic dimension of home emerges precisely at this intersection between place and identity. The planet, understood as oikos, is not a homogeneous or abstract space, but a constellation of places, each capable of becoming a “Place” through processes of experience, belonging, and identification. As Næss observes, “the development of a place for a person to feel at home… shows exceptionally clearly some of the forces at work in the establishment of a place as a Place” [22] (p. 340). This transformation—from mere location to lived place—is not automatic; it requires engagement, experience, and a gradual process of identification. A place becomes home when it is integrated into the self, and when the self recognizes itself in that place.

This process of identification lies at the core of Næss’s ecosophy and offers a key to understanding the ethical implications of dwelling [28]: “The term ‘identification’ is not meant to function simply as a description of the inter-relation of self and other, but as an explanation of how such mutuality is possible: identification is the recognition that there is in others ‘something similar or identical with oneself’ that allows for one to respond to them in certain ways, which is why we are told that ‘solidarity with others already presupposes a process of identification’” [29] (pp. 38–39). In this sense, identification is not a collapse of differences, but an expansion of the self through relations with other beings—human and non-human alike. As developed in ecosophical thought, “identification is the path to self-realization,” a process in which the boundaries of the self gradually extend to include wider aspects of the environment. Through this expansion, the planet can be experienced not as an external object to be managed or exploited, but as a shared home in which humans are participants rather than masters.

However, this possibility is not as simple as it sounds. The globalized and technologized current conditions have profoundly altered our relationship with concrete places, often substituting rootedness with mobility and abstraction. Næss himself remarks that “our lack of a definite biological place to call home allows us to feel at home everywhere” [23] (p. 166). While this condition may foster a certain openness and capacity for universal empathy, it also risks dissolving the concrete relationships that give depth and meaning to human experience. Without specific places of belonging, the idea of the planet as “home” risks becoming purely rhetorical—an abstract ideal lacking existential grounding.

This tension highlights a crucial point: the universal dimension of the Earth as a possible home to dwell can only be accessed through the particularity of concrete lived places. In fact, the planet is not experienced directly as a whole, but through the multiplicity of environments in which human life unfolds. As such, the symbolic meaning of “our home” depends on the capacity to establish meaningful relationships with specific places (“Places”, in Næss’s terms), and to recognize these places as part of a broader ecological totality. In this sense, the Earth becomes home not through abstraction, but through a process of scaling up from the local to the global—i.e., from the intimacy of lived experience to the ethical awareness of planetary interconnectedness.

This insight has profound ethical consequences. If the planet is understood as a shared home, then care for the environment cannot be reduced to a set of external obligations; it becomes an expression of belonging and identity. To harm the environment is, in this sense, to harm the conditions of one’s own dwelling, and therefore to damage the self. Conversely, to care for the Earth is not an act of altruism directed toward an external object, but an affirmation of the relational structure of the self—i.e., the ecological self, as mentioned. As suggested in ecosophical terms, ecological responsibility emerges from the recognition that the self is always situated within a network of relations that extends beyond the human sphere.

At this point, the issue of home can be reframed as a symbolic space: the Earth becomes our home only insofar as we are capable of dwelling within it meaningfully, that is to say, of establishing relationships of belonging, identification, and care that transform space into place, and place into home. In Harvey’s words, “dwelling is the capacity to achieve a spiritual unity […] between humans and things” [30] (p. 183).

In this sense, rewilding and dwelling converge in the concept of oikos as a place we can dwell; for this reason, the ecological crisis is fundamentally a crisis of “homes”. This reflects a rupture in the symbolic relationship between human beings and the world, namely, a loss of our capacity to dwell on the planet as a shared space full of meaning. Rediscovering this capacity requires not only ecological restoration, but also a transformation in the way we conceive ourselves: we are beings who belong, who dwell, and who recognize the Earth not as a resource, but as the very foundation of our identity.

5. Self-Rewilding and Virtues: How to Dwell in Our Home

If we interpret rewilding not only as an ecological practice but also as a transformation of human attitudes, its more relevant implications concern the formation of the self: in this sense, rewilding should be primarily understood as self-rewilding [19]. As Feltrin argues, ecological rewilding “necessitates both societal and personal change” [19], which can revitalize “the connections between individuals, communities, and the biosphere” [19]. This shift is not merely theoretical; it is ethical and practical, involving the formation of habits that enable a renewed way of dwelling [31].

Within this framework, virtue ethics provides a particularly fruitful lens [32] (pp. 235–248). Rather than focusing solely on actions or outcomes, a virtue approach asks “what kinds of relationships with the nonhuman world characterize a flourishing human life” [31] (p. 146). Rewilding, therefore, is inseparable from the development of virtues—i.e., stable dispositions/habits that orient human behavior toward ecological integrity. These include humility, temperance, care, and attentiveness, which together shape a way of inhabiting the world that is neither exploitative nor detached. In this regard, Welchman writes: “To be a competent steward, one must possess and act from dispositions such as loyalty, temperance, diligence, justice and integrity, as well as intellectual virtues or technical skills such prudence and practical rationality” [33] (p. 299). It is worth noticing that such virtues are not external constraints on human freedom; rather, they are conditions for flourishing (or self-realization, in Næss’s words [20,22,23]). As Hannis emphasizes, ecological virtue contributes directly to “a good life” understood in eudaimonistic terms [31].

The connection between rewilding and flourishing is further clarified through Næss’s concept of self-realization [34]. In ecosophy, self-realization is not a narrow individual project, but the unfolding of one’s capacities through relationships with other beings and the environment. It refers to the dynamic and relational “fulfillment of all the capacities (or capabilities) a particular person may have” [28]. As mentioned above, this process involves a process of identification: the recognition that the self is intertwined with broader ecological networks. As we mentioned quoting Næss “there is no completely isolatable I,” since identity is constituted through interaction with both “organic and inorganic” surroundings [23] (p. 164). In this light, human flourishing cannot be separated from the flourishing of the world; the well-being of ecosystems becomes internal to the well-being of the self.

Self-rewilding can thus be interpreted as the ethical and practical realization of this relational ontology. It involves cultivating what Feltrin calls an ecocentric awareness, in which the human being recognizes itself as “one autonomous yet interconnected agent among many others” [19]. This awareness must be embodied in the different practices of everyday life, reconnecting humans with their environments and reshaping their habits. In this sense, self-rewilding parallels the classical conception of virtue as a disposition, acquired through practice and oriented toward a form of life, and should be compared to Hannis’s notion of ecological virtues [31] (p. 154).

At the same time, this transformation raises a fundamental tension between autonomy and dependence. Modern thought often equates autonomy with self-sufficiency, whereas ecological thinking reveals the extent of human dependence on complex networks of relationships. However, this apparent tension dissolves when autonomy is understood relationally [28]. Retaking MacIntyre, we can argue that “acknowledgement of dependence is the key to independence” [35] (p. 85). In other words, genuine autonomy should not be achieved by denying dependence, but by recognizing and integrating it. Similarly, in the field of ecosophy, we can redefine autonomy as “ecological autonomy” [28], acknowledging our dependence on the natural world. In this sense, rewilding does not threaten human freedom, but it enables a deeper and more grounded form of autonomy. Within this standpoint, “ecological virtue and the virtue of autonomy both require a proper understanding of the complex dependencies and interdependencies involved in human life and agency” [31] (p. 161).

Through this insight we can understand what dwelling is. It does not simply mean to occupy a space, but to inhabit it in a meaningful way. Self-rewilding offers a way to rediscover this way of life by promoting practices that reconnect people with their environment, since “arrogant indifference to nature and arrogant indifference to people often go together” [36] (p. 146). These practices cultivate virtues that allow us to perceive the world not merely as a set of neutral resources, but as a common oikos. Therefore, the transformation of the world into a home does not depend on technological control, but on the development of appropriate attitudes. Furthermore, the ethical dimension of self-rewilding cannot be reduced to a system of external duties. Næss explicitly rejects a duty-based framework, emphasizing instead that moral behavior emerges from an expanded sense of identity [28]. Indeed, once identification takes place, “benevolent acts become as natural as the inclination to care for ourselves” [37] (p. 5). In this sense, ecological virtues are expressions of our inner nature, rather than obligations imposed from outside. Care for nature becomes a form of self-care, grounded in the recognition that the self is constituted through its relationships with the world.

Nevertheless, the cultivation of such virtues is not something easy or automatic. Contemporary societies often encourage dispositions (e.g., greed, arrogance, and indifference) that undermine both ecological integrity and human flourishing. Our consumerist cultures promote “arrogant self-sufficiency” [31] (p. 161) while obscuring the reality of ecological dependence. On the contrary, self-rewilding is a counter-cultural project, challenging dominant egoistic values and proposing alternative and common ways of living. This simultaneously requires individual transformation and broader cultural change, aimed at fostering virtues that support sustainable forms of dwelling.

Ultimately, self-rewilding and virtue ethics converge on a common goal: the possibility of dwelling well on Earth, achieving a good life. This involves recognizing the planet as a shared home and cultivating the virtues that allow both humans and non-human beings to flourish [38]. As ecosophical thought suggests, “the higher the level of realization, the more the realization is a joint venture” [39] (p. 137), namely, a process where individual and ecological flourishing go hand in hand.

Rewilding, therefore, is not only about restoring ecosystems, but about restoring the human capacity to dwell in them meaningfully. It calls for a transformation of the self through virtue and a renewed understanding of dwelling as a practice of belonging. Only through such transformation can human beings truly make the world their home—not by possessing it, but by learning how to dwell. In summary, rewilding shows that “when any environmental issue is pursued to its origins, it reveals an inescapable truth—that the root cause of the crisis is not to be found in how men interact with nature, but in how they interact with each other—that, to solve the environmental crisis we must solve the problems of poverty, racial injustice and war; that the debt to nature which is the measure of the environmental crisis cannot be, paid person by person, in recycled bottles or ecologically sound habits, but in the ancient coin of social justice; that, in sum, a peace among men must precede the peace with nature” [40] (p. 62).

6. Conclusions

This paper argued that rewilding should not be understood solely as an ecological restoration strategy, but as a broader philosophical and ethical project centered on dwelling at home (oikos). By integrating insights from ecosophy, we have shown that the ecological crisis is fundamentally a crisis of home—i.e., a rupture in the relationship between humans and the world they dwell. In this sense, rewilding should be reframed as self-rewilding, namely, a transformation of our habits and perceptions, which would help us dwell in the world. This transformation is grounded in the cultivation of virtues that enable a relational understanding of autonomy and foster human flourishing within certain ecological limits. In this context emerges the centrality of the concept of oikos, which redefines the planet as a common space of belonging rather than a mere resource to exploit. Ultimately, dwelling well on Earth requires not domination but participation, not control but (self)care. For this reason, rewilding reveals that restoring ecosystems and restoring humanity are inseparable tasks and must go hand in hand.