The Religion of Environmentalism and its Shrines

Environmentalism is the latest religion, the most vicious and the most consistent. By “environmentalism” I mean the politically-correct movement which encompasses: feminism, animal “rights”, tree-hugging, socialism, pacifism, multiculturalism, racism (particularly targeting whites), and “pristine” nature.

On my recent vacation, I had a chance to drive through Petrified Forest National Park. It’s a long road that goes past several areas of interest, including the ruins of an Indian Pueblo, and later the petrified wood.

There was a distinct bias in the “descriptive” signs. In their little fantasy world, the American Indians lived much happier, more fulfilling lives than we do today. The high priests of Environmentalism, who wrote the text on the signs, hold them so highly because they lived like animals.

I say this, not as a pejorative, but as mere description. The two prerequisites of civilization are literacy and agriculture. The Indians who lived in this part of the world did not achieve either. They had “petroglyphs”, which is a 50-cent word to describe primitive drawings scratched into the rocks. They hunted and gathered. They migrated as climate and geologic changes dictated.

I don’t think they should be blamed for not having made certain discoveries, but I certainly don’t think they should be presented as anything more than a historical footnote. Their ruins and pictures are interesting, as is the fact that people lived in this harsh land 1000 years ago.

When I arrived at the petrified wood, the signs first aroused my anger. Innocent people are treated like dirt—“Don’t you dare pick up any petrified wood, and your car will be searched upon exit.” I thought the Constitution had something to say about the presumption of guilt, or was it innocence? I would not have entered this place if they had disclosed their policy up front.

The sign at the “Agate Bridge” made it all so clear. The Agate Bridge is a whole “log” of petrified wood that is spanning a sizable gully. The softer rock eroded away, leaving the log supported at both ends. In the early part of the 20th century, the Park Service built pillars to support the log, lest it crack and fall into the ditch. Later, this was replaced with a much less visible concrete beam running underneath the log from end to end.

Ok, it’s an interesting and highly unusual feature that attracts visitors from all over the world. Any park maintenance crew would do the same. But the sign explains further: The Park Service’s philosophy has changed. If they found such a feature today, a sign says, they would leave it unimproved. Their policy is to allow natural forces—including erosion—to continue, but to disallow man to get within 10 feet of it. This means that eventually, the log will fall into the ditch, but it’s ok so long as nature, rather than man, does the pushing.

Instantly, Environmentalism’s message was clear to me. There is intrinsic value in things untouched by man. But it’s not for the sake of being on display for people to see, nor even for posterity. No, you must not pick up even a fingernail-sized pebble for a simple, but profound reason. Better that it sit there and decompose, or wash down into the mud at the base of the hill than be sold or placed on a shelf in your curio cabinet.

They even have a special phone number to call, posted at frequent intervals, to report “wood thieves”.

This is sacrifice for no benefactor at all, not even an alleged benefactor such as a Cosmic Smurf or a collective of men.

The epic conclusion to it is that shortly after the inspection station, I saw the first of many stores selling petrified wood. Each had a fenced-off yard of this stuff for sale, the chunks ranging in size from pebbles up to large logs.