-Savio
SALDANHA SJ
22-12-2025
DOI:
10.5281/zenodo.18024369
Introduction:
Development at the Cost of Breath
India is facing an ecological crisis
that is no longer abstract or distant but acutely visible in the lived reality
of its people. Large-scale deforestation carried out or sanctioned by the state
— whether for coal mining in Bihar, infrastructure projects in Aarey Colony
(Mumbai), development in Nashik’s Tapovan, or mining and urban expansion in the
Aravalli ranges — signals a troubling trajectory. These interventions occur at
a time when several Indian cities repeatedly feature among the most polluted in
the world, and when climate vulnerability disproportionately affects the poor,
tribal communities, and future generations.
What makes this crisis particularly
alarming is not merely the scale of ecological destruction, but the ethical
contradiction it exposes. The current Indian government, which explicitly
grounds its ideological vision in Hindutva, appears to neglect the very
ecological sensibilities embedded in India’s religious and philosophical
traditions. This dissonance invites a deeper moral and cultural examination:
has India, in the pursuit of rapid economic growth and corporate-friendly
development, lost the narrative that once connected land, life, and the sacred?
State
Power, Corporate Interests, and Ecological Violence
The clearing of forests for
extractive industries — particularly coal mining linked to large corporate
conglomerates — raises serious questions about environmental governance in
India. Environmental Impact Assessments (EIAs) are often diluted, public
consultations reduced to procedural formalities, and dissenting voices — especially
those of Adivasi communities — frequently silenced through legal, political, or
coercive means (Lele & Menon, 2014; Baviskar, 2011).
Forests in India are not empty land
banks awaiting “productive use.” They are complex ecosystems and cultural
landscapes inhabited by communities whose cosmologies, livelihoods, and
identities are inseparable from the land. The destruction of forests is
therefore not only ecological violence but also social, cultural, and spiritual
violence. When trees are felled in the name of development, what is often
erased are entire ways of knowing and being in the world.
India’s
Religious Heritage and Ecological Consciousness
India’s civilizational
self-understanding has long been shaped by religious worldviews that emphasize
coexistence with nature rather than domination over it. This is evident across
traditions.
The Hindu thought, despite its
internal plurality, contains a strong ecological ethic rooted in the concepts
of dharma, ṛta (cosmic order), karma, and ahimsa.
The Vedic and Upaniṣadic vision of divinity as immanent — “the One dwelling in
all” — undermines any theological justification for reckless exploitation of
nature. The idea that the Earth (Bhūmi Devi) is sacred, that rivers are
mothers, and that trees and mountains possess spiritual significance reflects a
cosmology in which humans are trustees rather than owners of the natural world.
From this perspective, large-scale deforestation for short-term economic gain
is not only environmentally destructive but profoundly adharmic.
Buddhism strengthens this ecological
sensitivity through its emphasis on interdependence (pratītyasamutpāda),
compassion (karuṇā), and mindfulness. The Buddha’s ethical framework,
particularly the Noble Eightfold Path and the Five Precepts, fosters restraint,
awareness of consequences, and non-harm — values directly opposed to
extractivist development models that externalize ecological costs.
Jainism offers perhaps the most
radical ecological ethic among world religions. Its unwavering commitment to ahimsa,
aparigraha (non-possessiveness), and anekāntavāda
(non-absolutism) challenges modern consumerism and limitless growth. In a Jain
worldview, environmental destruction is not merely imprudent policy but a moral
failure that threatens the very possibility of life.
Islamic teachings on khilāfah
(guardianship) and tawḥīd (oneness) similarly frame nature as a divine
trust rather than a commodity. The Qur’anic insistence on moderation,
prohibition of waste (isrāf), and accountability before God establishes
a powerful religious critique of environmental excess.
Sikhism articulates an explicitly
ecological spirituality in which air is the Guru, water the father, and Earth
the mother. The principle of sarbat da bhala (the welfare of all)
renders environmental destruction ethically indefensible if it harms the
collective good. The Sikh vision of humanity as “one unit” further exposes the
moral bankruptcy of development that benefits a few while endangering many.
Christian and Jewish traditions,
particularly through the theology of stewardship, tikkun olam, and
contemporary ecological theology (e.g., Laudato Si’), reinforce the idea
that the Earth belongs to God and that human dominion is never absolute but
accountable.
Across these traditions, a common
moral intuition emerges: harming the Earth ultimately harms humanity itself.
So, it is ironic that a nation which boasts of rich cultural and religious
heritage should forget one of the basic fundamentals of the very philosophy
guiding it.
Hindutva,
Selective Memory, and the Loss of Narrative
Against this rich
religious-ecological heritage, the current political deployment of Hindutva
appears strikingly selective. While invoking civilizational pride and
religious identity, it often sidelines the ethical core of Hindu
philosophy—particularly its insistence on restraint, reverence for life, and
harmony with nature. The use of religious symbolism alongside policies that
enable ecological degradation risks reducing religion to cultural rhetoric
emptied of moral substance.
This selective memory is compounded
by the suppression of dissent. Environmental activists, journalists, scholars,
and indigenous leaders and people who challenge state-led development
narratives are frequently portrayed as “anti-national” or obstacles to
progress. Such framing not only undermines democratic discourse but also
forecloses the possibility of collective moral discernment.
As I reflect on this convergence of
ecological destruction and political silencing, I am struck by a deeper crisis:
we seem to have lost the narrative. India’s ancient story of coexistence with
nature—sustained by religious imagination, local wisdom, and ethical restraint —
is being replaced by a technocratic narrative of growth without limits and
development without accountability. When dissent is suppressed, society loses
not only opposition but memory, imagination, and conscience — and in the name
of the very religion which advocates the protection of forests and peaceful co-existence.
Conclusion:
Reclaiming Conscience in an Ecological Age
The destruction of forests in India
today is not merely an environmental issue; it is a civilizational test. It
asks whether India’s religious and philosophical traditions will remain living
moral resources or be reduced to hollow symbols mobilized for political ends.
It asks whether development can be reimagined within an ethical framework that prioritizes
life, dignity, and sustainability rather than extraction and profit.
The way ahead begins with
acknowledging that environmental destruction is inseparable from questions of
power, inequality, and narrative control. Forests are cut not simply because
development demands it, but because certain lives, knowledges, and futures are
considered expendable. Any genuine path forward must therefore place ecological
justice at the center of democratic and ethical reasoning.
First, environmental governance in
India must be re-anchored in transparency, accountability, and participation.
Environmental Impact Assessments must cease to be procedural formalities and
instead become robust, independent processes that meaningfully include affected
communities—especially Adivasi and forest-dwelling peoples whose lives are most
directly shaped by ecological decisions. Protecting forests cannot be reduced
to compensatory afforestation or carbon accounting; it requires safeguarding
living ecosystems and the cultures that sustain them.
Second, religious traditions in
India must reclaim their prophetic role. If Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism,
Sikhism, Islam, Christianity, and Judaism all contain deep ecological wisdom,
then religious leaders and institutions cannot remain silent or selective in
the face of environmental destruction. Faith, stripped of ethical courage,
risks becoming a tool of legitimization rather than transformation. A credible
religious response today demands speaking truth to power, resisting the
instrumentalization of tradition, and affirming that harm to the Earth is harm
to humanity itself.
Third, education and public
discourse must be reoriented toward ecological literacy and moral imagination.
This involves recovering suppressed narratives—tribal cosmologies, local
ecological practices, and dissenting philosophies—and allowing them to
challenge dominant models of growth and consumption. Development must be
reimagined not as limitless extraction, but as the enhancement of collective
well-being within ecological limits.
Finally,
hope lies in rebuilding solidarities across differences. The ecological crisis
transcends religious, caste, and national boundaries. It calls for alliances
between environmental movements, faith communities, scholars, and ordinary
citizens who refuse to accept ecological collapse as the price of progress. At
this crossroads, the task before us is neither nostalgia nor despair, but
discernment: choosing life over convenience, justice over silence, and responsibility
over indifference. The future of India’s forests—and of its moral soul—depends
on these choices. Finally, at this crossroads, conscience must be reclaimed—not
as private sentiment, but as public responsibility.
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Saldanha
S.(2022) The care of Environment: A moral virtue or a Secular Duty. DOI: 10.5281/zenodo.7733127
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