Originally published 26 December 2000
The morning after.
We wake to the detritus of excess. Trash bins stuffed with wrapping paper, ripped from gifts that get bigger and more expensive every year. Piles of mail-order catalogs (in 1998, 64 catalogs for every American, 12 percent of all the printing and writing paper produced in our country). Gifts we don’t want or need. Toys that will soon join last year’s “must haves” in the garage or attic.
I don’t know about you, but for me Christmas has become a symbol of all that’s wrong with our stewardship of this planet: an insatiable orgy of resource depletion. Christmas is our national holiday of overindulgence, a celebration of our supposed God-given right to strip the planet bare to satisfy our greed. Bigger, heavier, gas-guzzling cars. The latest, most ostentatious electronic devices. Mini-mansions on two — three, four — acres of land.
We live like there’s no tomorrow. In fact, we live like there’s no today. We are so busy consuming, and making the money that makes the consuming possible, that we don’t have time to live, to love, to walk, to read, to play, or to care about millions of brothers and sisters around the planet who have nothing but poverty and disease.
Meanwhile, we resist any attempt to limit our consumption of the planet’s dwindling resources or to modify our despoliation of the environment (witness the recent failure of the developed nations to agree on standards for reduced emissions of greenhouse gases). Is there a patch of green? Pave it. A stream? Dam it. A remaining acre of old-growth forest? Chop it.
How ironic that the birthday of a man whose message was charity and restraint should become our national festival of conspicuous consumption. Air, water, timber, oil: We offer them up on the altar of avarice. Biodiversity be damned. Consumption is our national religion. So deck the halls with miles and miles of electric lights. Roll out reams of ever glitzier paper to wrap our ever gaudier baubles. Keep those malls open 24 hours a day. It’s Christmas time, peace on Earth, more goods to men.
Oh dear, there he goes, ranting again. And he’s as guilty as the next person.
True, true. We’re all in this together. And the news isn’t all bad. We seem to have turned the corner on ozone depletion, by willful, concerted action. Green business practices have become sporadically fashionable. And a larger percentage of the population is probably concerned about environmental degradation today than at any time in human history. Even those folks in the suburbs with the two-ton SUVs recycle their glass and paper.
But, of course, token recycling won’t slow the juggernaut of greed. If we are to keep the planet from going to hell in a hand-basket, what is required is no less than a kind of religious conversion, a worldwide commitment to treating the Earth like the wonderful gift that it is.
And fortunately, there are folks out there who are seeking to forge an alliance of world religions around the standard of planetary conservation. The United Nations Environmental Programme has supported efforts to bring religions into partnership for environmental protection. And, truly, the scriptures and traditions of all religions offer ample instruction for a caring, responsible attention to planet Earth.
In this country, a five-year survey of the world’s religions for their views of nature and their potential contributions to environmental awareness has taken place at Harvard’s Center for the Study of World Religions.
An inspiration for many of these efforts has been cultural historian Thomas Berry, who in his many writings has pleaded for environmental activism by religious communities.
No force for change can be more powerful than the rallying of religious commitment on behalf of the planet’s threatened ecological systems, of which humans are in integral part. At the heart of the new religion-based activism is the conviction that human spiritual health is nourished by living in harmony with the environment.
If these admirable efforts to engage religion on behalf of ecology are to come to fruition, the impetus may have to come from the bottom up, rather than top down. Institutional religious leaders sometimes seem more interested in preserving the prerogatives of their own traditions than in fostering a world view that sees all peoples and creatures as part of an organic unity.
Still, I’m optimistic. Even on the day after Christmas, among the prodigious signs of excess, there remains a bit of the old message, lodged at the heart of every religious tradition, as in these words of the Koran: “Eat and drink, but do not be wasteful, for God does not like the prodigals.”