The island of Misali, part of the Zanzibar archipelago in the Indian Ocean, is a wonderful example of the remarkable role that religious values can play in confronting the crisis facing our natural world.1 The coral reef surrounding the largely uninhabited island is home to a rich variety of fish and turtles, providing direct livelihood to people in neighboring Pemba, which is over 95 percent Muslim. But rising population and depleting fish stocks led fishermen to adopt desperate and unsustainable fishing methods to maintain their catch, including dynamite fishing and the use of guns. Although such destructive methods damaged the corals and harmed local species, government bans had practically no impact. Local religious leaders helped restore sustainable fishing and a rich underwater life to the island, however, by highlighting Islamic teachings about conservation.
The fishermen clearly failed to understand and apply Qur’anic lessons about man’s stewardship of nature to their fishing methods, requiring remonstration from local religious leaders to correct their self-destructive practices. As faithful Muslims, their hearts and minds already contained a consciousness about nature rooted in spirituality that religious leaders could actualize through advice drawn from Qur’anic teachings. One local fisherman aptly summarized why the religious message succeeded, whereas government decrees had failed. “It is easy to ignore the government,” he said, “but no-one can break God’s law.”2
Religion, Science, and Nature
Analogous examples of the importance of religion in protecting nature are found in all the world’s major religious traditions.3 Indeed, most people in the world may only heed religious, as opposed to secular, ethics about nature, and scientists increasingly recognize the need for religion and science to join forces to address the crisis.4 In 1991, for example, Carl Sagan, Stephen Jay Gould, and other renowned scientists issued a joint statement entitled “Preserving and Cherishing the Earth: An Appeal for Joint Commitment in Science and Religion,” which declared:
[Our current environmental] problems of such magnitude, and solutions demanding so broad a perspective must be recognized from the outset as having a religious as well as a scientific dimension. Mindful of our common responsibility, we scientists—many of us long engaged in combating the environmental crisis—urgently appeal to the world religious community to commit, in word and deed, and as boldly as is required, to preserve the environment of the Earth.5
Yet the agnosticism of many scientific thinkers raises the question of how such a call can coexist with a view that, in the words of Seyyed Hossein Nasr, “claims for itself a monopoly of the knowledge of the order of nature,” or the knowledge that is accepted by society as “science.”6 It is one thing for religious leaders to protect nature by highlighting the sanctity of God’s creation, as the example of the fishermen in Misali illustrates, and quite another thing to defend the environment from exploitation relying on a secular worldview that arguably conflates values and tastes as “preferences” that have no moral import, thus compromising the ability to make morally meaningful statements.7 Nasr asserts, “In a world in which the very category of ‘sacredness’ as applied to nature is meaningless, to speak of the sacredness of life is little more than sentimental thinking or hypocrisy.”8
It is necessary here to highlight the radical difference between science as organized knowledge, which can refer to any level of reality, and scientism, which claims that modern science, defined as a strictly empirical or sensory means of knowing the material world, has a monopoly on knowledge—that is, that anything beyond the sensory world is unreal, impossible to prove, or purely fanciful. Accordingly, scientism is an ideological construct that effectively supplants a metaphysical view of the universe, eliminating any basis for religious ethics about the environment through its reductionism. It ignores any higher, divine or celestial, levels of reality, and qualities such as beauty, justice, and virtue, which are above sensory, empirically observable phenomena.
If there is to be lasting cooperation about nature between religion and science, scientism, which is inherently hostile to religion, cannot be allowed to usurp the role of science. In fact, scientism is “bad philosophy,” not “good science.” It is self-refuting—because it is impossible to prove that “The only way to know anything truly is by using your physical senses” by using your physical senses.9 Moreover, contemporary “hard science” itself has now brought to light a number of “limit theorems,” a phrase the Catholic philosopher-scientist Wolfgang Smith introduces to describe various ways science discloses its own boundaries.10
It is then a scientistic (not a scientific) worldview which, through confining itself to technological, political, economic, and other purely materialistic structures, does injustice to man and threatens nature by treating both as resources rather than as the sacred creations they are. Specific crisis events, such as the melting of the glaciers of Mount Everest, with its dire consequences for downstream farming and hydropower,11 the melting ice sheets of the Antarctic and Greenland, or the acidification of the oceans and destruction of the Great Barrier Reef, are merely the “tip of the iceberg,” to borrow an analogy from systems theory,12 because they are manifestations of unnoticed larger problems generated by an underlying dysfunction: our worldview.
Accordingly, addressing this root cause requires that we change how we look at the world, at ourselves—and ultimately, at Reality.13 Religion asserts that only a holistic approach to the sciences of man and nature can solve the crisis we face, by showing us how to change the way we live.
Modern economic thought runs counter to this solution. First emerging in an industrializing eighteenth century context marked by surging materialism, it separates economics from social life and from the possibility of an integrative, religiously informed worldview. Robert Foley describes this breach:
Modern society is made up of two spheres: an economic sphere of individual initiative and interaction, governed by impersonal laws that assure a beneficent outcome by pursuit of self-interest; and the rest of social life, including political, religious, and moral interactions that require the conscious balancing of self-interest with social considerations.14
This is sometimes called the “separate domain” argument; it posits that the motivations of “actors” in the economy, whether they are ethical or not, have nothing to do with whether a market economy generates “beneficent” outcomes, because economic exchange is compatible with a variety of motives, whether egoist or altruist, making the free market amoral (as opposed to immoral).
But if market prices fail to include environmental costs in the price of goods, then underpricing these goods leads to environmental degradation, called “market failure” by economists. And conventional economics cannot answer the question, “Why not leave it to future generations to bear the costs of current pollution, given the delay between cause and effect?” Conventional economic theory attempts to respond to market failures with technical solutions within the prevailing economic paradigm, ignoring the root causes of these crises in favor of short-term solutions that often cause worse outcomes in the long term. A purely scientistic worldview, moreover, arguably demands solutions based on the separate domain argument to the maximum extent possible.
But if the separation of ethics from economics, along with the technological and socio-economic structures that result from this separation, leads to economic instability in the short term and environmental unsustainability in the long term, then we must question not only whether an economic system needs virtuous actors, but also whether the economic system itself must be institutionally or structurally virtuous. As Gandhi put it, “dreaming of systems so perfect that no one will need to be good” is one of the greatest delusions of our time.15
Religion then must challenge the mainstream economic claim that industrial and post-industrial capitalism, as well as economies based on Marxist thought, such as communism, can be environmentally sustainable. Only through a metaphysical approach can we clarify the intimate, but neglected, connection between religious cosmological sciences and religious economic thought. To arrive there, however, we must first identify the secular roots of the crisis nature faces and also understand why conventional responses to this crisis have failed. Only then can we find a way forward, through a holistic approach that integrates ethics and economics and, ultimately, honors nature as God’s creation.
Work as a Spiritual Practice
All the world’s major religions see the end of the human state in the perfection of our spiritual possibilities. Economic activity must therefore address our physical, intellectual, and spiritual needs, balancing all three in such a way that no single dimension is emphasized at the expense of others. E.F. Schumacher, arguably the most important economist to represent religious thought in the twentieth century,16 identified the basic objectives of this integral approach in terms of three objectives that would meet the needs of individuals for personal and spiritual growth and dignity:
First, to provide necessary and useful goods and services. Second, to enable every one of us to use and thereby perfect our gifts like good stewards. Third, to do so in service to, and in cooperation with, others, so as to liberate ourselves from our … egocentricity.17
Clearly, all three objectives apply to what one does and what one makes.18 Economic activity thus has two aspects: the transitive (or objective) aspect and the intransitive (or personal) aspect. Work is transitive that produces results outside of the worker and is directed to some object or service in the external world (Schumacher’s first objective of work). Work is intransitive where its effects stay within the worker and contribute to the formation of character (Schumacher’s second and third objectives of work). Titus Burckhardt illustrates this point in a Muslim context:
I knew a comb-maker who worked in the street of his guild, the mshshatin. He was called ‘Abd al-Aziz (the “slave of the Almighty”) and always wore a black jellaba—the loose, hooded garment with sleeves—and a white turban with a litham, the face veil, which surrounded his somewhat severe features. He obtained the horn for his combs from ox skulls, which he bought from butchers. He dried the horned skulls at a rented place, removed the horns, opened them lengthwise, and straightened them over a fire, a procedure that had to be done with the greatest care, lest they should break. From this raw material he cut combs and turned boxes for antimony (used as an eye decoration) on a simple lathe; this he did by manipulating, with his left hand, a bow which, wrapped round a spindle, caused the apparatus to rotate. In his right hand he held the knife, and with his foot he pushed against the counterweight. As he worked he would sing Qur’anic surahs in a humming tone.
I learned that, as a result of an eye disease which is common in Africa, he was already half blind, and that, in view of long practice, he was able to “feel” his work, rather than see it. One day he complained to me that the importation of plastic combs was diminishing his business: “It is not only a pity that today, solely on account of price, poor quality combs from a factory are being preferred to much more durable horn combs,” he said; “it is also senseless that people should stand by a machine and mindlessly repeat the same movement, while an old craft like mine falls into oblivion. My work may seem crude to you; but it harbours a subtle meaning which cannot be explained in words. I myself acquired it only after many long years, and even if I wanted to, I could not automatically pass it on to my son, if he himself did not wish to acquire it—and I think he would rather take up another occupation. This craft can be traced back from apprentice to master until one reaches our Lord Seth, the son of Adam. It was he who first taught it to men, and what a Prophet brings—for Seth was a Prophet—must clearly have a special purpose, both outwardly and inwardly. I gradually came to understand that there is nothing fortuitous about this craft, that each movement and each procedure is the bearer of an element of wisdom. But not everyone can understand this. But even if one does not know this, it is still stupid and reprehensible to rob men of the inheritance of Prophets, and to put them in front of a machine where, day in and day out, they must perform a meaningless task.”19
In the example of ‘Abd al-Aziz the comb-maker, all economists would recognize the first objective, or the transitive aspect of work—the production of goods and services for human welfare. Some economists like Adam Smith recognized the intransitive aspect related to the second and third objectives of work to various degrees, acknowledging that different types of work have different effects. As Smith noted in later editions of The Wealth of Nations, employing few of man’s faculties could have serious social costs by reducing certain human capabilities:
The man whose whole life is spent in performing a few simple operations, of which the effects are perhaps always the same, or very nearly the same, has no occasion to exert his understanding or to exercise his invention in finding out expedients for removing difficulties which never occur. He naturally loses, therefore, the habit of such exertion, and generally becomes as stupid and ignorant as it is possible for a human creature to become. The torpor of his mind renders him not only incapable of relishing or bearing a part in any rational conversation, but of conceiving any generous, noble, or tender sentiment, and consequently of forming any just judgment concerning many even of the ordinary duties of private life.20
From the holistic perspective of religious ethics, production or exchange that violates any of the three objectives is “degrading” because we decrease the value of the objective we violate not quantitatively, but qualitatively. One reason is because “goods differ in kind,”21 so to view selling pornography, for example, as the same as selling household items is ultimately a category mistake. The first dehumanizes its producers, the second, ideally, does not. When “everything is for sale,” writes Michael Sandel, markets themselves may corrupt goods. If you pay children to read books, he explains, then children are taught that reading is a chore, not a practice with intrinsic worth; similarly, selling seats in a classroom diminishes the value of a diploma, and hiring foreign mercenaries degrades citizenship. Sandel concludes: “[W]hen we decide that certain goods may be bought and sold, we decide, at least implicitly, that it is appropriate to treat them as commodities, as instruments of profit and use.”22