SOURCE: “The New Ethics: Global Responsibility,” in New Perspectives Quarterly, Vol. 8, No. 2, Spring, 1991, pp. 44-9.

[In the following interview, Küng details his ideas for the future of religious understanding and a common world ethic.]

[Gardels:] Is this the last modern century?

[Kung:] I would be more radical than that. Strictly speaking, modernity ended in 1918. World War I shattered the belief in inevitable progress toward peace and prosperity, “the end of history,” as Hegel put it. And the hegemony of Europe—cradle of the Enlightenment and the secular ideology of Reason—began splintering with the breakdown of the colonial system and the devolution of power to several centers including America, the Soviet Union and China.

And, already by 1918, the bad faith of nihilism, the moral detritus of modernity, had become the key concern of writers and intellectuals.. .

Yes, after all, Nietzsche, who died in 1900, had already pronounced that once the supreme value of God was discarded, other values would also disintegrate, leaving only unbounded power to fill the void.

At the end of the 20th century, mass consciousness has caught up with the historical facts and the cutting-edge, turn-of-the-century intellectuals. Now, the malaise of spiritual homelessness and moral arbitrariness afflicts the whole civilization. Fragmented and morally confused, we are enmeshed in an epochal paradigm shift—from the modernity we have found wanting to a new “post-modern” constellation.

Especially with the ecological imperative, the entire world now realizes that modern progress threatens our survival. In our interdependent world, everyone senses that we need “global standards” and “universally binding ethical norms.” Yet, modernity itself is incapable of generating a new, unifying world ethic to save us from ourselves. From the beginning, modern scientific and technological thought has proved incapable of providing the foundation for universal values, human rights and ethical criteria.

The response of some to this age of devolution and what you call bad faith has been to seek a return to the certitudes and centers of pre-modernity. The Ayatollah Khomeini is an example of the Islamic quest for a return to premodernity. Another example is Pope John Paul II, who, it seems, wants the whole world to resemble Polish medieval Catholicism.

But the church's strategy of re-evangelizing post-communist Europe through a program that denounces western democracy as nothing more than consumerism, hedonism and materialism—instead of unambiguously affirming freedom, pluralism and tolerance—will not work. It is the clerical delusion of a prudish pope that appeals to the youth of Eastern Europe about as much as communism.

How, one asks, can the purveyor of such a repressive religious attitude criticize Islam's xenophobia, its theocratic conception of politics, its rigorous sexual morality and the exclusion of women from public life?

Yet the other response to pre-modern orthodoxy is hardly more attractive. For the most part, the alternative has been to float uncommitted amidst an ultra-modern potpourri of beliefs, content with radical pluralism or relativism, the anarchy of trends, the methodological “anything goes” and the indifferent attitude that “all is permissible.” This has been called “post-modernity” by social critics like Jean François Lyotard, but is, in fact, characteristic of the disintegration of late-modernity.

Such an apologetic modernism, with its fixation on the fleeting present, offers no contribution to a new set of ethics that transcends the morally confused paradigm of modernity.

The mechanisms of modernity can displace a past ethic, but they cannot themselves produce a new ethic or, in an age “beyond good and evil” as Nietzsche properly called our modern times, even provide a justification for ethical behavior. Reason cannot rehabilitate what it has destroyed; more science and technology cannot correct the defects and repair the damage done by science and technology.

What we need now, above all, is to strive for a new basic consensus of integrative human convictions that are commonly accepted and applied across all situations and in all contexts of this fragmented world.

As the secular age runs out of steam because its unity has splintered, would you say that we are now in a pre-religious moment much the same as Rome was in its decadent twilight? Having hit bottom in the void, are we perhaps prepped for the birth of a great, unifying religion rooted, for instance, in an ecological imperative?

Well, I would say that the passing of the modern paradigm gives religion a new chance. In an age beyond good and evil that is also an age of unprecedented technological capacity that can destroy the environment and disrupt genetic integrity, it seems doubtful that we can survive without a set of absolute moral limits on human freedom.

Only a dimension of judgement that is transcendent, that provides accountability to a higher authority—in short, a responsibility to God—can provide the basis for the absoluteness and universality of ethical demands.

To be sure, a non-believer can be a moral person. He may decide not to kill others or destroy the natural environment, but that is a hypothetical imperative conditional to his interests; it is not “categorical,” as in “thou shalt not” under any circumstances.

After the 20th century—with its world wars, mass exterminations, mass-destruction weapons and ecological catastrophes—who can believe in a naive humanism that trusts the Kantian “ought”—the innate imperative to do good in each of our hearts?

Never before has mankind had the technological capacity to end life on earth. In such an age, the metaphysical question raised by Albert Camus—“why not commit suicide”—is now faced by humanity collectively. Why should we respect the genetic heritage of humankind? Why not destroy the rainforests or deplete the ozone layer? Why should there be life at all?

Only religion can answer that question. The unconditional moral imperatives that will preserve life can only come from an Absolute that provides over-arching meaning and that embraces and permeates individual and human nature. Religions can present their ethical demands with an authority man does not have.

I'm not calling for the naive God of Sunday school “who sees you.” I'm speaking of a higher authority to which we are accountable and responsible for our actions. An authority that is not the Pope, not the President, not the Party, not professional success, not Science and not the Market.

However, I do not believe that a new unifying religion will emerge. Rather, I see a new set of universal ethics, based in the humane convictions of great world religions. In the post-modern era of communications, economic complexity and interdependence, ethics must again become public instead of merely personal.

What would be the moral substance, so to speak, of this world ethic?

The ethical goal for the third millennium is “planetary responsibility.” That is the slogan for the future.

Such an ethic is, above all, the opposite of the reigning ethic of success whereby any means of behavior is justified by the end result of profit, power, enjoyment or the good life.

Such an ethic also cannot be what is called a mere “dispositional” ethic, where absolute, abstract values such as justice or love are concerned only with purely inner motivation of the person without regard to concrete consequences in the real world. This kind of ethic is ahistorical and apolitical. It can be a kind of moral isolationism.

When I say an “ethic of responsibility,” I mean it in the sense that Max Weber did. Such an ethic asks realistically about the foreseeable “consequences” of our actions and takes responsibility for them.

To be sure, without a personal ethic, the ethic of planetary responsibility could easily collapse into an ethic in which the ends justify the means. And without an ethics of responsibility, personal ethics would decline into self-righteous inwardness. A situation without norms is morally blind; norms without a situation are empty.

Relating this to the post-Modern Age, I would agree with the philosopher Hans Jonas, who argues that the threat of economic and population growth to Earth's biosphere requires the human species to adopt an ethic that reveres nature and limits freedom in the present for the sake of long-term survival.

How does this view differ from eco-theology, pre-Christian Pantheism, or even Japanese Shintoism where, in effect, the sacred is the equilibrium of a whole natural world that would fall into destructive imbalance if limits are transgressed?

There is much with which I agree concerning the notion of ecological equilibrium.

The monotheistic, prophetic religions—Judaism, Christianity and Islam—have much to learn from Shinto and some Indian religions that emphasize the cycle of cosmic birth and death over the reality of the person.

The prophetic religions should take nature more seriously and not concentrate so much on the person. In the Hebrew Bible, the New Testament and the Koran nature is background. There were six days of creation, then everything else is about the human being.

Yet, for me, it is not enough to believe only in nature. I think there is a great neglect of the individual in some of the Far Eastern religions.

If one believes, as many adherents to polytheistic Eastern religions do, in a cosmic equilibrium as the ultimate reality, an equilibrium without a core or an accountable center, it is not clear where the notion of personal responsibility comes from.

This seems clearer in the Abrahamic religions, where there is one source of authority, one God who judges our actions.

True, there are different ways to see ultimate reality that imply different imperatives for individual and collective behavior. But many Indians would say that they are just as monotheistic as the Judeo-Christian culture and Islam. They believe in one ultimate reality that stands behind all their gods; who can be compared, though they have more natural gods, to saints or prophets. In the Chinese Confucian tradition, heaven is the center. The will of heaven is decisive for the behavior of the human being.

In Japan, where religions are not exclusive, there are very strong social ethics from the Confucian tradition and from Buddhism, with its ethics of compassion.

Yet, despite these differences, it is my argument that all the world's major religions share a humanum—a humane ethical code that, while rooted in the divinum, or absolute, of a particular concrete religion, is common to all and the minimum requirement of any faith.

Whether Bahai, Buddhist, Confucian, Christian, Hindu, Jew, Moslem, Shintoist, Sikh or Zoroastrian, all share in their basic beliefs a conviction of the fundamental unity of the human family and the equality and dignity of all human beings; a sense of the sacredness of the individual person; a sense of the value of human community; a recognition that might is not right, that human power is not self-sufficient and absolute; a belief that the force of inner truthfulness and of the spirit ultimately has greater power than hate, enmity and self-interest; a sense of obligation to stand by the poor and oppressed; a profound hope that good will prevail in the end. All world religions place a distance between man and his bestial drives.

The task of theology today, as in the past, is to place this humanum in the post-modern historical context so that it is ethically meaningful.

During modernity, a process of reflection and self-criticism moved all religions toward the direction of this common humanum. For example, the inquisitorial practices with fire and torture were removed from Catholicism, which then embraced the notion of human rights born in the French Revolution; human sacrifices were eliminated in Indian religious practices and, in several Moslem countries—though obviously not in those that remain two paradigms (the Reformation and the Enlightenment) behind—the doctrine of jihad, or Holy War, was moderated, penal codes reformed and respect for the rights of women and non-Moslems enhanced.

In the post-modern millennium, I am convinced the preservation of human rights, the emancipation of women, the realization of social justice and the acknowledgement of the immorality of war will become leading convictions of all major religions.

How is what you propose any different than syncretism, the facile synthesis of religions, or the indifferent pluralism of tolerance—relativism really—that accepts all things equally?

I am not proposing mere tolerance, religious coexistence or indifference, but a truly ecumenical approach in which the new global ethic can be supported by all religions from within their own tradition.

Ecumenicism is based in a critical attitude toward one's own religious traditions, but also a steadfastness of belief that one's own religion is the true religion.

My belief that Christianity is the one true religion in no way excludes truth in other religions. Indeed, it allows their validity insofar as their message does not directly contradict the Christian message.

The humanum I respect as unconditional I respect because of my belief in the Christian God. On this solid foundation of faith, I am able to look at my own religion critically and engage in dialogue with other believers about the establishment of a new moral order, an ecumenical world order that embraces the ethic of responsibility.

In such an order, the motivation to conform to moral norms, the degree of compulsion and, indeed, the meaning of one's participation in a common moral order must come from within a specific religious tradition.

What might the rules of the new moral order be as mankind heads toward the next century with our Promethean ambitions intact?

I think there are several general ethical rules.

First, there must be no scientific or technological progress that, when realized, creates greater problems than solutions; for example, the eradication of hereditary illness by genetic manipulation.

Second, the burden of proof that a new technology won't cause social or ecological damage must rest upon the authority—government or corporate—that approves the innovation.

Third, the common good should have priority over individual interest, as long as human rights and personal dignity are protected.

Fourth, the more urgent value of survival must have priority over a less equal value such as self-fulfillment.

Fifth, the ecosystem must have priority over the social system.

Finally, mankind must abide by the rule of reversibility. In technological innovation, irreversible development should occur only when absolutely necessary. For example, operations involving gene surgery could irreversibly alter the genetic information system in a person, and germ-line engineering could have fateful effects on countless generations to come.

You've called for an ecumenical world in the first post-modern century. Yet, the world is embroiled in war and conflict involving Islam, Judaism and Christianity in the Middle East.

What can the ecumenical approach bring to the intractable moral dilemmas of the Middle East?

The nations involved in the Middle East conflict, and here I include the US as well as Israel and the Arab nations, represent the great world religions: Christianity, Judaism and Islam.

As prophetic religions they have much in common. All three are of Eastern Semitic origin; all are prophetic in character (a belief in creation and in an ultimate redemption), and all claim Abraham as their ancestor.

If they were to reflect on this origin, they could make an extremely important contribution to world peace.

Of course, there are essential differences between these three prophetic religions. Judaism focuses on God's people and land, Christianity on God's Son and Messiah, Islam on God's word and book. These differences cannot and should not be concealed.

A union of these great world religions is not necessary for peace. In any case, a single world religion is an illusion.

What we need, though, more than ever after the crisis of the Gulf War, is peace between the religions. I cannot repeat often enough that there can be no world peace without religious peace; no peace among the nations without peace among the religions, no peace among the religions without dialogue between the religions.

All prophetic religions—Islam, Judaism and Christianity—believe in one and the same God, the God of Abraham.

These three religions believe in the one God who tolerates no other gods, powers, rulers and figures, but who is not just the God of one people but of all peoples, who is not a national God but Lord of the world, who wants the well-being of all peoples.

Jews, Christians and Moslems hold fast to a basic prophetic ethic: humane demands for justice, truth, faithfulness, peace and love—which are claimed as requirements of God himself.

Judaism, Christianity and Islam have been shaped by the prophetic criticism of the unjust and inhuman circumstances under which humiliated, enslaved and exploited people must live—there can be no worship of God without respect of human beings and human rights.

We can see that there is a very real foundation for an ecumenicism of the three religions which together form a monotheistic world movement with an ethical focus. This relationship could be called an Abrahamic ecumenical movement. I am convinced that there will be no peace in the Near East, and no resolution of the Palestinian question, unless this Abrahamic ecumenical movement can be made an effective factor in world politics. How else can anyone guard against the religious fanatics in all camps?

But the most difficult question of all is: How will a solution be found for the city of Jerusalem, which in the course of its three-thousand-year-old history has known so many overlords; a city that is holy to Jews, Moslems and Christians and that even secular Jews and Moslems do not regard with indifference?

The destiny of Jerusalem in world history is to be holy to all three Abrahamic religions at the same time. And to all three because of Abraham. In addition, there are also “holy” ties to Jerusalem that are specific to all religions: for Jews it is the city of David, for Christians the city of Jesus Christ and for Moslems the city of the prophet Mohammed.

Jerusalem is not just a piece of land; it is a religious symbol. But religious symbols need not necessarily be politically exclusive. Some people have called for an internationalizing of Jerusalem; Tel Aviv could be Israel's capital, Ramallah that of the Palestinian state. But perhaps there is yet another solution. The Palestinians are seeking a political identity, are claiming self-esteem, and want their own flag. Why, in a new age, shouldn't peaceful coexistence be possible so that two flags can wave over Jerusalem: the Jewish flag with the star of David and the Palestinian flag with the crescent?

This could be the first element of an overall political and religious solution for Jerusalem; why shouldn't the symbolic Old City become the capital for the state of Israel and the state of Palestine—since a new division would be nonsense in economic, political, social and religious terms?

Jerusalem could be a capital that, for the well-being of all, is not divided. Would that be so unheard of in history? A city with two flags? Don't the standards of Italy and of the Vatican now fly over Rome, which was similarly disputed?

A second element in the future status of Jerusalem could be provided by a differentiation between the capital and the seat of government, which need not necessarily go together. As with Bonn and Berlin in Germany, why couldn't the Old City of Jerusalem, which is the symbolic section, be the neutral capital for Israel and Palestine? The Israeli center of government would remain in Jewish New Jerusalem and the Palestinian center of government could be formed in Arab New (East) Jerusalem—each center of government on its own territory, not separated from the Old City. Specific conditions could be negotiated. Where there is an ethical will to make peace, there is usually a political way.

But how, in the center of Israel, can the question of the old Temple site, the Haram el-Sherif, be incorporated into a peaceful solution? Let me venture a constructive suggestion—a third element in an overall political and religious solution for Jerusalem. The three Abrahamic religions need a religious symbol, a common holy place, as a great sign that all three worship the one God of Abraham and therefore have something fundamental in common that could overcome all divisions and all enmity.

Peace, founded on common faith, could be symbolized in a common holy place. The fact is that there already is a sanctuary for the one God of Abraham: the “Dome of the Rock,” a unique holy place on the old Temple site of Jerusalem that is often wrongly called the Omar Mosque, although it is not in fact a mosque. According to Jewish and Moslem tradition, the Dome of the Rock commemorates not only the blinding of Abraham's son Isaac but also the creation of Adam. And, too, these religions believe the Dome will be the scene of world judgement.

Is it so utterly absurd to believe that after a religious and political settlement between Israelis and Palestinians, Jews, Moslems and Christians could pray to the one God of Abraham at this holy place? In this way the Dome of the Rock would be a Dome of Reconciliation for the three religions that derive from Abraham.

Is all this an illusion? After the war the cards are being reshuffled, and it will be even more difficult to win the peace than to win the war. Violent aggressive emotions have been let loose—almost as in the Second World War. But a more sober mood will follow on all sides—just as after that war. Humanity as a whole, like individuals, seems to learn only from bitter experiences. Will we all become mature enough to arrive at a new peaceful order in the Near East after this catastrophic Gulf War, just as a new peaceful order arose in Europe after the Second World War?