Sacred Campus Spaces Could Become Engines of Conservation and Farming, Study Finds

A single university campus in southern Thailand has become an unlikely laboratory for one of the most persistent questions in sustainability research: can the places where communities worship, gather, and remember their ancestors also teach them to protect the environment and grow food more sustainably? A new qualitative study published in SN Social Sciences suggests that the answer may lie in a strategic planning tool borrowed from business management. Daycho Khaenamkhaew of Nakhon Si Thammarat Rajabhat University examined six culturally significant sites on his campus and mapped their potential through the SOAR framework, an approach that evaluates Strengths, Opportunities, Aspirations, and Results. His findings indicate that shrines, halls, and traditional houses are not merely decorative remnants of heritage but underused assets that could anchor environmental education, agricultural promotion, and community engagement.

The six sites studied form a cross-section of southern Thai cultural life. They include the Phra Phuttha Sihing and the Small Phra Phuttha Sihing Hall, both tied to venerated Buddha images; the Chao Pho Mahachai Shrine, a center of local spiritual devotion; Lha Thao Lan, a site of community memory; the Kinnaree Roundabout, a public landmark rooted in regional mythology; and a Thai Traditional House that preserves vernacular architecture and domestic wisdom. Each of these spaces, the study argues, carries layers of meaning that connect people to place. That connection, according to the theoretical lenses of Cultural Capital Theory, Place-Based Learning, and Community-Based Cultural Development, is precisely what makes cultural spaces promising vehicles for sustainability goals that purely technical interventions often fail to achieve.

The SOAR framework itself deserves attention, because it represents a deliberate departure from the more familiar SWOT analysis. Where SWOT asks managers to catalog weaknesses and threats, SOAR is grounded in appreciative inquiry, a methodology developed by David Cooperrider and Diana Whitney that focuses on what an organization or place does well and builds strategy from that positive core. Strengths and Opportunities look inward and outward at present conditions, while Aspirations and Results orient stakeholders toward a shared vision of the future and the measurable outcomes that would signal progress. Researchers such as Jacqueline Stavros and Gina Hinrichs, who codified the approach in their 2009 book on strengths-based strategy, positioned SOAR as a way to energize planning processes rather than paralyze them with defensive risk lists. The framework has since been applied to sustainable tourism planning and organizational development, but its extension to university cultural spaces is novel.

To generate the data, Khaenamkhaew combined three qualitative methods: documentary analysis of records related to the sites, non-participant observation of how the spaces are actually used, and in-depth interviews with 24 people, including university administrators, lecturers, and support personnel. The interview count aligns with established guidance in qualitative methodology, notably the widely cited work of Greg Guest and colleagues on data saturation, which suggests that thematic saturation in relatively homogeneous groups often emerges within roughly a dozen interviews. The material was then subjected to qualitative content analysis organized around the four SOAR dimensions. The study followed Thai national guidelines for human research in the behavioral and social sciences, with informed consent, voluntary participation, and anonymity maintained throughout, and the researcher determined the work fell within categories exempt from formal ethics committee review under those guidelines.

The Strengths dimension surfaced a rich inventory of cultural assets. Participants described the sites as embodiments of local identity and spiritual values, and crucially, as repositories of environmental wisdom embedded in community practice. Sacred groves, shrine precincts, and traditional houses in Thailand frequently encode centuries of ecological knowledge, from water management to the selection of building materials, and the interviewees recognized these spaces as places where such knowledge remains visible and teachable. In the language of Pierre Bourdieu’s theory of capital, these sites function as cultural capital that can be converted into educational and social value. The study’s framing suggests that a Buddha hall or a traditional house is not a static monument but a living classroom whose authority derives from community trust rather than institutional mandate.

The Opportunities dimension pointed toward place-based learning, a pedagogical movement associated with educator David Gruenewald, who argued in 2003 that education should be rooted in the specific ecological and cultural characteristics of a location. For a university, the six campus sites offer ready-made venues for courses that connect Buddhist teachings on interdependence with conservation ethics, or that use traditional agricultural practices preserved in community memory as models for sustainable farming. Participants also saw openings for agricultural promotion, an agenda with particular resonance in a region where farming livelihoods intersect with cultural traditions, and for deeper university–community collaboration in which the campus serves as a convener rather than a gatekeeper. The study positions these opportunities as realistic extensions of what the spaces already do, rather than speculative repurposing.

The Aspirations dimension captured what stakeholders want these spaces to become. Interviewees expressed a desire to expand the educational and sustainability functions of the cultural sites, transforming them from passive heritage into active infrastructure for learning. This aspiration reflects a broader shift in higher education toward campuses as living laboratories, where sustainability is not only taught in lecture halls but demonstrated in the physical environment. In the Thai context, where universities often serve as anchors of regional identity, the aspiration carries additional weight: the cultural spaces belong as much to the surrounding community as to the institution, and their development as learning environments could strengthen town–gown relationships that benefit both sides.

An important methodological caveat runs through the Results dimension of the study. The anticipated outcomes, including enhanced environmental awareness, strengthened cultural identity, increased community participation, and expanded sustainability-oriented learning, are projections rather than measured effects. The study did not track whether visitors to the shrines subsequently adopted conservation behaviors or whether agricultural promotion initiatives materialized. This distinction matters for readers who might otherwise interpret the findings as evidence of impact. What the study establishes is a structured, evidence-informed map of potential, generated from the perceptions of people who manage and work alongside these spaces daily. Converting that potential into verified outcomes would require longitudinal or experimental follow-up, ideally measuring changes in environmental attitudes, participation rates, and agricultural practices over time.

The theoretical contribution of the work lies in extending SOAR into cultural sustainability, a domain where strategic planning tools are rarely applied. By combining the framework with Cultural Capital Theory, Place-Based Learning, and Community-Based Cultural Development, the study offers a template that other institutions could adapt. Universities across Southeast Asia and beyond hold comparable assets: historic buildings, memorial sites, sacred spaces, and examples of vernacular architecture that communities already visit and value. A SOAR-based analysis of such assets could help administrators identify which sites are best positioned to host conservation programming, which community partners should be involved, and what realistic outcomes should guide investment. The approach also aligns with a growing body of research on pro-environmental competencies in university students and on the role of cultural identity in shaping environmental behavior, suggesting that heritage and sustainability are complementary rather than competing agendas.

The study’s practical implications extend beyond the campus gates. In an era when environmental campaigns frequently struggle to overcome public apathy, culturally anchored spaces offer a channel of communication that bypasses the usual barriers of trust and relevance. A farmer who visits the Chao Pho Mahachai Shrine may be more receptive to a conversation about sustainable practices conducted on familiar, respected ground than to one delivered through an official pamphlet. The research, published on 6 October 2026 and available under DOI 10.1007/s43545-026-01804-y, ultimately argues that the greenest infrastructure a university possesses may already exist in the form of its shrines, halls, and traditional houses, waiting only for strategic vision to activate their latent educational power.

Subject of Research: Strategic analysis of university cultural spaces for environmental conservation and agricultural promotion using SOAR dimensions

Article Title: SOAR dimensions in strategic analysis of cultural spaces for environmental conservation and agricultural promotion

Article References: Khaenamkhaew, D. (2026). SOAR dimensions in strategic analysis of cultural spaces for environmental conservation and agricultural promotion. SN Social Sciences, 6(10), Article 503. https://doi.org/10.1007/s43545-026-01804-y

Image Credits: AI Generated

DOI: 10.1007/s43545-026-01804-y

Keywords: SOAR framework, cultural spaces, environmental conservation, agricultural promotion, place-based learning, cultural capital, sustainability, higher education, Thailand, qualitative research, community engagement, heritage