“Upon all waters, we offer worship; upon all plants and fruitful trees, we offer worship; upon all lands, we offer worship; upon all the sky, we offer worship; upon all stars, upon the moon, upon the sun, we offer worship; upon all lights without darkness, we offer worship; upon all earths, near and far, above and below, inhabited and uninhabited, we offer worship.”
This passage from the Yasna, a core liturgical text of the ancient Persian Zoroastrian tradition, radiates with a spiritual ecology that feels strikingly contemporary. In its sweeping invocation—covering water, plants, land, sky, celestial bodies, and even unseen or distant worlds—it reflects a profound awareness of the Earth as sacred, interconnected, and alive.
The Sacred Fabric of the World
What is immediately striking is the inclusivity of the worship offered. There is no hierarchy here, no separation between "spiritual" and "material." Water, trees, the sun, and the stars are not symbols of the divine—they are divine. They are worthy of reverence in their own right. This holistic view dissolves the boundary between the human and the planetary, emphasizing that our lives are not isolated, but woven into the broader fabric of creation.
This approach reveals an ancient form of what we might now call planetary consciousness: a recognition that the Earth and cosmos are not merely resources or scenery, but sacred participants in the drama of existence. The verse’s rhythm—“upon all… we offer worship”—evokes the steady beat of ritual, suggesting that reverence for the planet was not just poetic sentiment but daily spiritual practice.
Echoes in Modern Consciousness
Today, as we face climate change, mass extinction, and environmental degradation, this ancient worldview offers a much-needed reorientation. The modern ecological crisis is not just a failure of technology or policy—it is a crisis of perception. We have forgotten how to see the world as sacred. The Yasna calls us back to a vision where light, land, and life are not commodities, but kin.
By asserting that worship extends to “all earths, near and far, above and below, inhabited and uninhabited,” the text also anticipates a kind of cosmic humility. It acknowledges realms we may not even be aware of. In this sense, it’s not just early environmentalism—it’s proto-cosmology, recognizing the multiplicity of worlds and our small place within them.
Persian Roots of Eco-Spirituality
The Persian roots of this vision matter. In a time when narratives of environmental awareness often lean heavily on Western scientific frameworks or Eastern philosophies, it is vital to reclaim the ecological wisdom embedded in ancient Middle Eastern traditions. Zoroastrianism, one of the world’s oldest continuously practiced religions, presents a moral universe in which caring for the Earth is not optional—it is a sacred duty.
The Earth (Armaiti), water (Apas), and fire (Atar) are not elements to be dominated but divine entities to be protected. These are not abstractions. They are part of a deeply ethical worldview that recognizes balance, purity, and responsibility as central to right living. Such values are embedded in the DNA of Persian cultural and spiritual identity—a heritage worth reawakening in the face of global ecological collapse.
Reclaiming Sacred Responsibility
Ultimately, this passage from Yasna 71:9 challenges us to reclaim a sacred sense of responsibility toward the planet. It calls us not to worship instead of acting, but to act because we worship. To care for the waters because they are holy. To tend to the trees because they are fruit-bearing temples. To walk gently on the land because it is alive with meaning.
In the ancient Persian vision, we find a mirror for our own spiritual hunger—for rootedness, for reverence, for relationship with the more-than-human world. We do not need to invent a new planetary ethic. We need only to remember it.
Let us offer worship—not as escape, but as commitment. Not to the heavens alone, but to the Earth beneath our feet.
Reference: Persian DNA, Yasna 71:9, English translation via AI—
Footnote:
The Avestan phrase vîspãmca gãm upâpãmca upasmãmca frapterejâtãmca ravascarâtãmca cangranghâcasca ýazamaide is conventionally translated as: “We worship all the cattle, tame and wild, those in herds, those that roam, and those with sharp horns.” The noun gãm literally means "cow" or "cattle," a sacred creation in Zoroastrian cosmology representing nourishment, life, and purity. However, within the broader theological and symbolic framework of the Indo-Iranic tradition, cow also serves as a metonym for the earth as a nurturing, life-bearing entity.
The adjectives that follow — upâpãmca (“tame” or “near”), upasmãmca (“wild” or “afar”), frapterejâtãmca (“herding, grouped”), ravascarâtãmca (“roaming, scattered”), and cangranghâcasca (“sharp-horned, possibly fierce”) — describe a cosmic range of beings or domains, suggesting not just zoological categories but existential modes of being. In this light, gãm can be poetically reinterpreted to mean “earths” in the plural — encompassing all realms of the physical world.
Thus, a symbolic translation might read: “We offer worship upon all earths — near and far, above and below, inhabited and uninhabited.” This interpretation maintains fidelity to the Avestan cadence while evoking the universal, planetary reverence embedded in the Zoroastrian cosmology of creation (gētīg and mēnōg realms). Such a rendering is not a lexical substitution, but a thematic expansion that reveals the inclusive, ecological spirituality of the hymn.
