What does it mean to be a “good” environmentalist?
Environmental debates are often framed as moral contests between heroes and villains. But real environmental stewardship is far more complicated, and far more human.
Environmental debates often become moral very quickly and are presented as binary choices.
People are labelled heroes or villains. Good environmentalists or bad ones. Protectors of the planet or enemies of it.
Government decisions are described as either a “win” or “loss” for the environment no matter how complex or conditional.
But environmentalism is not a single philosophy. It’s a broad church followed by adherents applying a range of often competing assumptions and moral frameworks[i].
Within it are wilderness preservationists who believe nature is best left untouched. Conservation biologists who support active intervention to restore species or repair damaged ecosystems. Farmers and foresters who see themselves as stewards of productive landscapes. Climate activists, Indigenous land managers, engineers designing cleaner energy systems and ordinary people trying to live more sustainably (or at least sort their rubbish to avoid a note from the rubbish collector[ii]).
They often disagree with one another - sometimes fiercely.
This means simplistic binary framing risks excluding the perspectives of people who validly claim to be an environmentalist.
Which raises an obvious question.
What does it actually mean to be a good environmentalist?
Start with a simple truth
A good environmental ethic begins with something basic: humans are part of nature.
We are a species that depends on functioning ecosystems. We drink water drawn from landscapes, breathe air shaped by forests and oceans, eat food grown in soil, and build our societies from materials that come from the earth.
Without healthy natural systems, human civilisation will collapse.
Environmentalism, at its core, should begin with recognising that relationship.
Nature isn’t pretty scenery. It’s our life-support system.
The myth that environmental harm began with modern society
A common claim in environmental discourse is that environmental degradation is primarily a product of modern industrial society.
According to this view, the further humanity has moved from a simpler, pre-industrial existence, the worse our relationship with the natural world has become.
But history tells a more complicated story.
Long before modern industry existed, humans transformed ecosystems in dramatic and often destructive ways.
One frequently cited example is Easter Island, where the island’s once-extensive forests were cleared over time by its Polynesian inhabitants. Similarly, many researchers conclude that human hunting and landscape modification played a significant role in the disappearance of Australia’s megafauna tens of thousands of years ago.
Comparable patterns appear across the world: the extinction of mammoths in North America, giant lemurs in Madagascar and Moa in New Zealand all coincide with the arrival of human populations.
Human beings have always altered their environments.
What has changed over time is not the fact of human influence, but our capacity to understand and manage it.
Modern societies possess scientific knowledge, environmental monitoring, regulatory systems, and technologies that allow us to measure impacts and reduce them in ways that were simply impossible for earlier societies.
Cleaner energy technologies, improved agricultural productivity, pollution control systems, protected areas, and environmental restoration programs are all products of modern technological and scientific progress.
In many cases, environmental impacts per unit of human activity have reduced as societies become more technologically sophisticated, and as economies grow.
This does not mean modern societies have solved every environmental challenge.
But it does challenge the romantic idea that humans once lived in perfect ecological harmony and only recently became a problem.
Use, but use responsibly
The second principle follows naturally: resources will be used, and they should be used responsibly.
Human civilisation cannot exist without resource use. Every home, hospital, book, solar panel, wind turbine, and electric vehicle depends on materials drawn from the natural world. Even the most basic forms of human life rely on land, water, plants, and animals.
Environmental decisions almost always involve trade-offs between conservation, livelihoods, energy, food production, and economic development.
Opposition to irresponsible resource use is understandable. Opposition to all resource use is irrational.
A common argument used against fossil fuels, and sometimes against resource use more broadly, is that these resources are finite. Which is technically true.
But everything humans depend on is finite.
The oxygen we breathe is finite.
The freshwater we drink is finite.
The soils that grow our food are finite.
Only the most extreme would argue the finiteness of oxygen means we should stop breathing[iii].
No human can live without drawing on natural resources at some level. Even extreme subsistence existence far removed from modern society would require the use of basic resources. Every single person advocating environmental protection today relies on resources every day of their lives.
The fact that a resource is finite does not automatically make its use immoral or unsustainable. What matters is the rate and manner of its use, the availability of alternatives, and whether society manages the resource responsibly over time.
Which exposes the moral weakness of anti-resource absolutism.
Environmentalists who argue against extractive industries while posting those views on social media are participating in a technological system built from mined minerals, processed metals, timber, plastics, and energy. The phones, computers, networks, and data centres that carry their message are themselves products of the very resource use they condemn.
This does not make environmental concern illegitimate.
But it does reveal that the real issue is not whether resources are extracted and used.
The real issue is how they are extracted and used.
Thinking about those who come next
This brings us to the core idea that should guide environmental thinking: sustainability.
Sustainability is one of those words that is widely used but often poorly understood. Increasingly it has been used as a kind of moral label - shorthand for something being good or morally acceptable.
But that’s not what the word means.
Something is sustainable if it can be sustained over time. That usually means it can be replenished, regenerated, or replaced at a rate that allows the activity to continue indefinitely.
A forest that regrows after harvest can be sustainable.
A fishery that maintains healthy breeding populations can be sustainable.
A water system that replenishes itself through rainfall can be sustainable.
The human population can grow sustainably if we use methods of food production that are more efficient.
The concept is about longevity, not moral purity.
When sustainability is treated simply as a synonym for moral virtue, the discussion quickly becomes confused. Activities are declared “unsustainable” not because they cannot continue over time, but because some consider them undesirable.
The decisions we make today about forests, soils, water, energy, and biodiversity shape the options available to the generations who follow us.
True stewardship ensures natural systems remain productive, resilient, and healthy – not locked away from human use.
Environmentalism is not morally pure
Environmentalism is often framed as an inherently altruistic movement - a moral project motivated by concern for the planet and future generations.
But like any human movement, environmentalism is not immune from uncomfortable histories or conflicting motives. Some of its ideas have been shaped by prejudice, exclusion, and self-interest.
The wilderness ideal provides a striking example.
For more than a century, the idea of protecting “pristine wilderness” has been central to conservation philosophy. Yet in many parts of the world these landscapes were never truly empty. They had long been inhabited and actively managed by Indigenous peoples.
Research increasingly shows that many ecosystems now regarded as natural wilderness were shaped by millennia of Indigenous land management. In Australia, for example, Michael-Shawn Fletcher and colleagues argue that the idea of a pre-colonial untouched wilderness is a myth, obscuring the profound influence of Aboriginal cultural burning and landscape management.[iv]
The wilderness concept nevertheless became embedded in conservation thinking, often accompanied by policies that removed Indigenous people from lands newly designated as national parks or protected areas. Historians have described this approach as “fortress conservation” - protecting nature by excluding people.[v]
Even some of the most celebrated figures in early environmentalism were shaped by the racial attitudes of their time.
John Muir, founder of the Sierra Club and one of the most influential voices in American conservation, wrote passionately about protecting wilderness. Yet some of his writings also contained derogatory descriptions of Indigenous peoples and African Americans. In 2020 the Sierra Club itself acknowledged this aspect of its history, stating that parts of Muir’s legacy were “deeply troubling and unacceptable.”[vi]
Environmental thought has occasionally drifted into even darker territory. Some strands of twentieth-century environmental philosophy incorporated ideas about population control and social engineering that overlapped with authoritarian or fascist ideologies.
But more commonly, environmentalism can simply reflect human self-interest.
Protecting nature can sometimes mean preserving beautiful landscapes for those who can afford to live near them while restricting the livelihoods of others who depend on those same environments. Environmental sociologists describe a phenomenon known as environmental privilege - the ability of affluent or powerful groups to monopolise environmental amenities such as scenic landscapes, clean water, or access to protected nature.
This privilege is a factor at play in Australia. I’ve talked directly to a “tree-changer” who objected to timber harvesting on public land because it would spoil the view from his new house, and another local who didn’t want to lose access to an area of public land where she walked her dog as an extension to her property.
These tensions raise a deeper question that is rarely asked in environmental debates.
What counts as the moral choice?
Is it immoral to provide reliable energy using fossil fuels to a developing country if that energy replaces highly pollutant heating, lifts communities out of poverty, powers hospitals, or allows water treatment plants to operate safely? Why would use of the same energy technology be immoral elsewhere?
Is it immoral for a subsistence farmer to harvest timber and sell it to a local mill if that activity supports their family and provides employment within their community?
If such livelihoods are accepted as morally legitimate in some places, on what basis do they become immoral in others?
Is it morally acceptable to restrict access to resources produced locally while importing these resources from a country with lower regulation, high levels of corruption or poorer safety?
Once questions like these are asked, it becomes clear that many environmental arguments are expressions of values, preferences, and ideology.
In wealthier countries, expressions of environmental activism are increasingly influenced by middle class guilt and eco-anxiety. Popular opinions of charismatic activist scientists can sometimes be accepted as a matter of faith regardless of contrary evidence or nuance.
But context matters.
Environmental stewardship cannot be reduced to simple moral slogans about what is inherently good or bad. It requires recognising that different societies face different needs, trade-offs, and constraints.
Acknowledging that complexity does not weaken environmentalism.
If anything, it strengthens it — because responsible stewardship of the natural world requires grappling honestly with human realities rather than pretending they do not exist.
When environmentalism loses its moral compass
Environmentalism loses its way when it forgets this human foundation.
Occasionally environmental arguments drift into a position where human wellbeing is treated as secondary or even expendable. Policies are proposed that knowingly threaten livelihoods, food production, energy security, or community stability in pursuit of environmental goals.
But environmentalism that disregards human welfare loses its moral footing.
Protecting nature matters precisely because humans depend on it.
An environmental philosophy that treats people as enemies of the planet rather than participants within it becomes something very different from stewardship.
Extreme environmentalism that is willing to harm human wellbeing — or that demands the abandonment of the very resources that sustain modern life — is not morally superior.
It is morally incoherent.
Stewardship, not purity
Real environmental stewardship is far less dramatic than ideological purity.
It requires balancing conservation with human needs. Protecting biodiversity while ensuring communities have food, energy, and livelihoods. Managing landscapes so they remain both ecologically healthy and capable of supporting human societies.
This is complicated work. Trade-offs are inevitable.
I once had a conversation with a personable environmentalist who had been a somewhat vocal critic of forestry. He told me that the organisation he represented simply “did not believe” in human intervention in forests.
I asked if they supported the re-seeding efforts following the Black Summer Fires. He quickly answered – well yes, of course.
I suggested using a fixed wing plane to distribute seed harvested by humans was clearly human intervention.
Stewardship has never been about purity.
It’s about responsibility.
So, what is a good environmentalist?
Perhaps it is simply someone who understands three things.
Humans are part of nature and depend on it.
Natural resources should be used with respect and care.
And sustainability means ensuring the world remains productive and liveable for the generations who follow us.
Environmentalism grounded in those principles is not anti-human.
It is deeply human.
And that is exactly why it matters.
