Secularism and naturalism

Having come of age in a educational environment wherein the central tenets of Roman Catholicism and the conservative social and economic stances of the Republican Party were presented as one and the same, considering my understanding of and regard for of the environmentalism movement to be founded on biases would be a gross understatement. But as I matured and began formulating opinions for myself, I came to espouse the very “heathen” principles that had for so long been demonized in the classroom. As I began reading fundamental works of philosophy, I rejected any notion of god and began formulating a modal coda for my own life, independent of my contemporaries’ magisterial influence. Central to my beliefs was a level of respect, one ideally present in governmental policy and everyday interactions alike, that extended to every living person—even those classmates of mine so anxious to remind me of my eternal damnation.

But with a shunning of the supernatural came an appreciation for the natural world unlike any I’d had before. While my peers were confident in the provisions their god had laid out for them—each eagerly awaiting a life after the end of theirs on earth—I came to understand that this humble planet was quite literally everything we had, and was astounded at its vulnerability. Paramount among my preoccupations in the years following that revelation was the weight of my impact on the planet, and how my actions held greater ramifications for the globe. From my perspective, we humans were more than likely the most important arrangements of atoms to have arisen in the known universe, a biological machine capable of wondrous artistic achievements and profound emotional relationships. This sentiment informed my ethical values, but also came to help me appreciate the rarity and magnitude of our present situation.

Earth is the only known vessel for life, a minute bastion of complexity set against the staggering cosmic landscape. No world is more important, no hunk of heavier elements more worthy of protection than this petri dish of leopards, whales, pigeons. Should its delicate balance be compromised, the most exciting developments in the history of the universe, the climax of billions of years of supernovae and asteroid collisions, might be extinguished forever. To my mind, this wasn’t something I felt comfortable idly standing by and watching unfold. Upon research, I discovered it was within my ability to make even the slightest impact—or, rather, nullify my impact—and I set about doing so.

In the years since, I’ve campaigned for clean energy initiatives and supported candidates who take serious stances on the environment. After reading Jonathan Safran Foer’s Eating Animals, an exposé of the factory farm industry and of the impact of a carnivorous diet, I’ve for several months moved to eliminate animal products from my diet altogether, aiming at full veganism before I graduate. The staggered approach is in the interest of my health, but it was an animal rights and environmental issue a moral person could not possibly ignore. In coming years I intend to remove other destructive elements of my lifestyle, such as minimizing my consumption of petroleum products and choosing more carefully the consumer electronic goods I purchase. I’ve only got some eighty years—if I’m lucky—to do the most possible good on this planet. I might as well go about ensuring that the most significant matter in the universe—that is, living matter—isn’t crushed by my footprint.