When Zarathustra started preaching around 1200 BCE in ancient Persia, which is known today as Iran, he wasn’t just founding a religion—he was creating the world’s first environmental protection movement. Good thoughts, good words, good deeds. But there was a mantra and words to live by: don’t pollute the earth, water, or fire. Ever.
Take Zoroastrian burial practices. We’ve covered the Towers of Silence here at Green Prophet before—those circular stone structures where bodies were placed on top for vultures to consume. Why did they do this? Because Zoroastrians believed dead bodies were contaminated with evil (druj) and could not touch the sacred elements: earth, water, or fire.
No burial (pollutes earth). No cremation (pollutes fire). No river disposal (pollutes water). Sky burial was the only option that honored nature. The body became food for birds, a final act of charity. Today most Zoroastrians use cement-lined coffins to prevent earth contamination, or they’ve moved to other methods as vulture populations crashed from human causes such as electrical shocks and poisoning. But the principle remains: respect the elements that sustain life.
Celebrating Nature’s Turning Points
Nowruz, the Persian New Year celebrated on the spring equinox, is perhaps Zoroastrianism’s most visible environmental legacy. As we’ve written about on Green Prophet, this isn’t just a cultural festival—it’s a celebration of nature reawakening. Families grow sabzeh (wheat or lentil sprouts) weeks before Nowruz, watching green life emerge from seeds.
Goldfish are a traditional symbol of life, renewal, and fortune on the Haft-Seen table for Nowruz, the Persian New Year, representing vitality and a prosperous year ahead, though animal welfare concerns have risen due to millions dying after being released into ponds, leading some to use edible alternatives like marzipan goldfish or sugar fish instead.
The holiday marks when day and night are equal, when light spreads evenly across hemispheres. Fire is lit. People jump over flames during Chaharshanbe Suri, singing “my yellowness is yours, your redness is mine”—asking fire to take weakness and give strength. The whole celebration is about alignment with natural cycles. Spring cleaning before the new year. Visiting graves on the last Friday. Placing hyacinths and tulips in homes. Everything synchronized with the earth’s rhythm around the sun.
Engineering in Harmony with Nature
Ancient Persians didn’t just philosophize about respecting the elements—they engineered around them. As we’ve explored in previous Green Prophet articles, their architecture shows remarkable environmental sophistication.
Wind catchers (badgir) in Yazd and other desert cities are essentially ancient air conditioning. These tall towers catch breezes and channel them down through buildings, sometimes over underground water channels called qanats. The Dolat Abad windcatcher in Yazd stands 34 meters tall—still the highest in Iran—and can drop indoor temperatures by 10 degrees without electricity.
Qanats themselves are engineering marvels: underground channels that move water from mountain aquifers to desert cities without pumping. Some are still functioning after a thousand years. UNESCO recognizes them as world heritage because they represent “creative genius” in sustainable water management.
These weren’t just practical solutions to live by. They were Zorastrian expressions of a worldview that said: work with the elements, don’t violate them. Here’s what makes Zoroastrianism ecologically radical even today: it treats environmental degradation as moral corruption.
The world is a battlefield between truth (asha) and lies (druj). When you pollute water, you’re choosing druj. When you contaminate earth, you’re siding with evil. Every small choice—where you put your waste, how you use fire, whether you honor or desecrate water is a moral decision that tilts the cosmic balance.
You can’t separate ethics from ecology in this system because they are the same thing.
Modern environmentalism often frames nature protection as enlightened self-interest or future-oriented planning. Zoroastrianism says: the earth itself is holy. Polluting it is sacrilege. You don’t need utilitarian arguments. You need to not be an asshole to creation.
There are maybe 100,000 to 200,000 Zoroastrians left worldwide, mostly in Iran and India (where they’re called Parsis).
Zoroastrianism introduced a radical idea for its time: that humans stand inside a moral universe. That our choices matter. Long before monotheism found its later forms, Zoroastrianism articulated heaven and hell, angels and judgment, free will and ethical responsibility. Judaism absorbed these ideas during the Persian period. Christianity and Islam carried them forward.
Today, Zoroastrians are not fighting for dominance. They are fighting for continuity. Intermarriage, migration, shrinking birth rates, and cultural dilution place constant pressure on a faith that does not proselytize and does not adapt easily. They don’t have a leader or a “Pope” figure making it difficult to create leadership.
Yet the ecological principles remain stubbornly relevant. In a world drowning in plastic, choking on emissions, and treating the planet like an expendable resource, Zoroastrianism’s insistence that nature is sacred, not because it’s useful to humans, but because it is sacred.
If Iran becomes free, consider visiting the eternal flame: The Yazd Atash Behram in Iran shelters one of the world’s oldest living flames — a sacred fire burning continuously since 470 AD. Though the temple itself was built in 1934, the “Victorious Fire” has survived centuries of exile, invasion, and careful guardianship, standing as a quiet, stubborn symbol of Zoroastrian endurance and divine purity.
