Religious Ethics in a Conflicted Word—On Ethical Motivation between Political Theology and Anthropology

Abstract

The article seeks to define the concepts of religion and ethics as well as their compound. It does so (1) by asking for the supposed demarcation line between religious and secular ethics and (2) by considering the relation of religious ethics and political theology. Based on the respective findings, the article offers a meta-ethical perspective on the subject by challenging the anthropological backdrop of both secular and religious ethics. In conclusion, it proposes a formal approach to ethical judgment that may function as a discerning method when it comes to the assessment of specific models of religious and/or secular ethics. In this regard, the article provides conceptual thoughts on ethical motivation and the operationalization of ethics on an institutional level.

1. Religion? Ethics? Seems Conflicting…

Religion and ethics are both not only strictly anthropic ‘in nature’ but phenomena of human Grenzerfahrungen, i.e., extreme experiences where a real or symbolic border is reached, be it the body (including natural needs and desires) or mind (convictions, beliefs, etc.) of a being, a person, a community, or a people. Death, for instance, of course being a ubiquitous aspect of the human condition, is an example of such an extreme experience. As such, it presents itself as an interesting example that allows us to attain an initial grasp on the complex question of religious ethics in not only a pluralistic but conflicted world.

Modern medicine knows of a certain condition of the human body labeled ‘brain death’. Although the respective medical discourse knows the struggle of definition regarding this specific form of death, it only scratches possible ethical aspects of the phenomenon. The discourse is primarily scientific and more concerned with the wording than the social aspect of the condition where a person’s body (organs) is (are) still ‘alive’, whilst the brain is already deceased due to undersupply.

In Western societies, the concept of brain death and the closely linked medical practice of organ transplantation, as well as being an organ donor, is uncontroversial and mostly met with acceptance—though not so in Japan (for the following cf. Coulmas 2014, pp. 95–98). While the Cartesian dualism of mind and matter (that is but a more ‘secular’ phrasing of the Greek-Judeo-Christian distinction of soul and body, logos and sarx) still forms the backbone of Western ontological understanding of the world and its entities (including human beings), the Japanese background derives from a world view that is strongly informed by Japan’s religious traditions, mainly Shintoism and (Zen-)Buddhism.

Even in modern times, the latter is considered to have a deep and subtle influence on Japanese culture as a whole (cf. Suzuki 1958; Coulmas 2014, p. 118). An essential thought in Zen-Buddhism, which also informs the strict and disciplined practice of zazen (seated meditation), revolves around mu (emptiness). This emptiness is not to be confused with Western ontologies of nothingness or void. Put into Western philosophical terminology, it would rather be considered ‘less than nothing’ (Hegel), an understanding of ontological indifference devoid of any moral, ethical, and ontological differentiation and hierarchy between supposedly different entities. Thus, a two-valued and hierarchical distinction between body and soul is entirely foreign to Zen-Buddhism. We can find another stark contrast to traditional Western thought in Japan’s autochthonal religion. The more or less animistic aspects of Shintoism traditionally involve ancestor worship and the belief that an ancestor’s spirit permeates a newborn child (cf. Coulmas 2014, p. 34f.)—and that is because, according to the Shinto mythology, when a person dies s/he becomes a kami (‘god’).1 Furthermore, the newborn’s life is considered a parental gift. For obvious reasons, such a gift cannot be repaid in equal and thus comes with the obligation of taking ample care of one’s well-being which also involves caring for one’s body and not destroying (parts of) it willingly.

One only has to put two and two together to understand that the handling of a medical practice such as organ transplantation is, for the most part, regarded not only as non-offensive but rather altruistic and ethical in the West while, again for the most part, in Japan, the idea of giving away parts of one’s body causes discomfort and is regarded as somewhat indecent. Yet, in both cases, (social) actions are overdetermined by cultural convention which in and of themselves are overdetermined by religious doctrine and tradition. Yet again, if one were to ask the Westerner and the Japanese person whether they consider themselves and their motivation as religious, there is a high chance (in fact much higher in the Japanese case)2 that s/he would deny the question.

We could go into much more detail with this example. We could, for instance, point out that the Westerner might rather see her/his motivation as morally obligatory and even ethically informed. The Japanese person on the other hand might more likely inform us that there is no specific ethical reasoning behind her/his decision and that it is but self-evident. Thus, we could try to minutely analyze the details on, for instance, a linguistic level to attain an understanding of how much latent religious, cultural, and ethical elements play a role in the respective reasoning. But we will do none of that here. The main reason for starting out with such a specific example is to provide a first glimpse at the profound ambiguity of the terms religion and ethics—especially when they both come together to form a conceptual compound. Also, the example might function as a display of the phenomenon of conflict which does not always mean armed conflict—although the state of world affairs directs our attention primarily towards such drastic conflicts. Hence, this whole introduction may be understood as a philosophical meditation that, hopefully, opens some doors for discourse and brings up some questions that might not be too obvious.

So, to sum up this introductory part and disclose its method: When we want to talk about religious ethics in a conflicted world, apparently, we have to deal with layers and layers of cultural as well as religious phenomena that might inform individual and social action on a private and/or public level which in turn might cause or resolve specific conflicts. Such layers and aspects of the respective concepts may be discussed and analyzed through the lenses of different sciences such as social and political sciences, religious studies, anthropology, ethnology, ethology, etc. All of these specialist fields may then yield their specific results according to their chosen question and/or sujet. This will provide a potpourri of theories which in turn may be connected to produce broader hypotheses—and so on and so forth. Eventually, this endeavor might turn into a precise and complex description of what can be experienced on an empirical level. But even with this, two questions still remain: What is religious motivation? And what is ethical motivation? Whilst empirical observation and empirically based theorization produce more or less precise data (depending on the method), such data only provide an impression of religious or ethical motivation after the ‘fact’. What cannot be observed is but the passage à l’acte. What brings people to act out and call their respective motivations either religious or ethical or both or neither? What demarcates the religious and the ethical in this in-between-state that is motivation (if there is any demarcation at all)? In the following paragraphs, we ruminate on the subject of this in-between-state of motivation and Grenzerfahrung. Thus, our goal here is to deliver impulses towards a formalized approach to (religious) ethics instead of a content-driven, essentialist interpretation that is primarily based on Western metaphysical tradition and rationalistic bias. By this, we hope to provide a fresh approach with diverse access points for scholars from different fields.

2. Dalai Lama vs. Hartmut Rosa

When it comes to religion and ethics, conflict is just around the corner: namely conflict between those two very concepts themselves. Both religion, i.e., religious doctrine and the like, and ethics are concerned with human life and how the individual or group leads their life. Although theologians and religious leaders may ensure that their respective religion involves more than just some moral teachings and well-executed rituals, there can be no doubt that the subjective dimension of religion, i.e., belief and conviction (which both may be partially unconscious), has an impact on the lifestyle and moral conduct of the religious individual and/or group. But—and this is important—this subjective impact only becomes objective, i.e., a (shared) reality, when it binds itself to somewhat moral or ritualistic actions. The same goes for secular ethical convictions and (unconscious) mindsets in the same vein. This means that for an uninvolved bystander, religious or ethical convictions of a person can only show through their action—and not even necessarily through what s/he might (have) be(en) told by that very person (who might have lied).

Here, the problem of misunderstanding, misinterpretation, individual bias, and tendentious analysis and description of ambivalent situations arises. This may bear the discord not only between the agents of one and the other religion but between those of one and the other secular ethics as well as between those of religious ethics and secular ethics. This seems to lead to a dilemma situation. For now, the question arises whether there might be some meta-ethics or—in the wording of the Enlightenment—a Vernunftreligion (‘rational religion’) through the lens of which the quarrel can be resolved—once and for all at best. A comparison of how this question is tackled publicly within both the scientific and the religious spheres shall act as an example to provide more contour to this dilemma at the demarcation of religion and ethics.

For about ten years now, none other than the Dalai Lama himself has appealed to the global community with his clear-cut message that says, ‘ethics is more important than religion’ (cf. Dalai Lama 2015, 2016; Alt 2015). Not only is it fascinating that one of the world’s most popular and widely respected religious leaders is making a stand for secular ethics instead of religion, but the reasoning behind his plea is also remarkable. To explain his thought, the Dalai Lama produces a metaphor in which religion is identified as tea whilst ethics is identified as water (cf. Dalai Lama 2015, p. 9f.). People, he says, like tea because of its special flavor but they could live without it. People cannot live without water though. He also makes clear that ethics represent a primary aspect of ‘human nature’,3 while religion is but secondary. The former is inherent, the latter acquired (cf. ibid., p. 10). Thus, people have within themselves the ‘elemental and humane ethical wellspring’ (ibid.). One might recognize that this concept of ethics and its distinction from religion is quite similar to that of the philosophers of the Enlightenment—especially Kant, who in his second Critique remarks that the fundamental law of pure practical reason ‘is, therefore, not limited to men only, but applies to all finite beings that possess reason and will; nay, it even includes the Infinite Being as the supreme intelligence’ (Kant 1898, p. 121)—and we will surely return to this point. For now, we shall take a closer look at what, for the Dalai Lama, this fundamental ethical capacity involves.

Certainly, in his short appeal and interview, the Dalai Lama does not develop an elaborate concept of his ethics on an academic level, yet there are hints within his interpretation that illustrate the essence of this ‘natural capacity of humankind’. Interestingly enough, the first characteristics of his (decisively ‘secular’) ethics that the Dalai Lama mentions are compassion and the notion of a physical, mental, and emotional bond between people (cf. Dalai Lama 2015, p. 10). With regard to the competitive atmosphere of global economics and the problem of institutionalized egotism and nationalism, he goes further on to say that meditation is more important than ritualized prayer (cf. ibid., p. 11). Thus, he suggests more listening, more contemplation, and more meditation (cf. ibid.). Meditation is clearly emphasized in his concept and not only that—for him the act of meditation is linked to the ‘act’ (the will?) of non-violence and the (well-informed, ‘intelligent’) love of one’s enemies (cf. ibid., p. 12). The seemingly religious undertones that seep through these formulations are then processed under the concept of spirituality—and this is the point where the line between ethics and religion in the Dalai Lama’s wording seems to dissolve: Asked what his understanding of spirituality is, he says that spirituality is the most fundamental of all human(e) wellsprings (cf. ibid., p. 16). Spirituality shows itself in the decision to cultivate the inner values we appreciate in others. But still, this process of cultivation needs an ethical basis to be sufficient and sustainable in the secular and scientific world (cf. ibid.). Finally, when asked what secular ethics could achieve in this world of conflict, the Dalai Lama’s answer is mindfulness, education, respect, tolerance, care, and non-violence (cf. ibid., p. 19).

Even a superficial look (and such should be enough for our means here) at the Dalai Lama’s thoughts on ethics makes one think blatantly clear: When he talks about ethics he actually talks about practice, not theory. This comes as no huge surprise due to the Dalai Lama’s Buddhist background and profession. Buddhism not only acknowledges the importance of the body when it comes to religion but in many cases, it puts an emphasis on bodily practice and experience before any systematization of doctrine, i.e., dogmatics, as is done in the monotheistic religions, especially in the Western world (cf. Kadowaki 1980, p. 13). Hence, the practices the Dalai Lama calls for surely are (at least unconsciously) associated with religion, namely Buddhism. We shall keep this subtle juxtaposition of terms and concepts in mind when we turn toward our other example.

With the Dalai Lama’s appeal to the world, we discovered a public statement on the issue of religion versus ethics that due to its origin seems kind of unintuitive. The religious leader speaks out against the primacy of religion and in favor of secular reason in the shape of ethics. Our second example (which can be associated with the scientific and thus the secular sphere) presents us with a very similar counterintuitive proposition. In 2022, renowned sociologist Hartmut Rosa gave a public lecture (of which the book version became a bestseller in Germany and of which an English version is planned to be released in the summer of 2024) with the unambiguous title: Demokratie braucht Religion (‘Democracy Needs Religion’). So, we may expect a statement from Rosa that diametrically opposes the Dalai Lama’s. Or are we not? Let us take a closer look.

First of all, we have to remark that Rosa’s lecture was prepared for and presented in the context of an ecclesiastical reception (Diözesenempfang) which Rosa openly embraces since he begins his speech with reference to the Jahreslosung (biblical text of the year) that reads: Gib mir ein hörendes Herz (‘So give your servant a discerning heart’; 1. Kings 3:9). The German translation of the Old Testament’s text speaks of a ‘listening heart’ instead of a ‘discerning heart’ (NIV) or an ‘understanding heart’ (KJV). This is important because while the latter two phrasings of the English translations convey an analytic and/or rational(istic) undertone and the human heart is understood as an active subject that, with the gifted ability, can understand and discern the meaning of God’s will and act accordingly, the former translation sketches the image of the human heart as a passive subject that firstly has to be received as a gift (of God) in and of itself to then, secondly, be capable of receiving the necessary knowledge to be able to understand and act accordingly.4 Now, the respective distinction is important because Rosa immediately goes on and assures that this biblical notion corresponds precisely to the central idea of his magnum opus Resonance (cf. Rosa 2022, p. 20). In accordance with the findings and hypotheses of this work, he now wants to show that religious institutions, traditions, practices, systematic thoughts (‘Gedankengebäude’5), convictions, and rites can function as a huge support for dealing with current crises and world affairs (cf. ibid., p. 27). The main issue Rosa sees here is the aggressive relation of modern societies towards the world, i.e., nature, each other, and/or themselves (cf. ibid., p. 41f.). These kinds of aggressions, Rosa says, derive from the fact that modern human societies systematically and through processes of institutionalization follow the ideology (one must rather say: secular doctrine) of (primarily economic) growth which leads them to a ‘frantic standstill’ (‘rasender Stillstand’) where they continually have to accelerate and update their means of production to preserve but the status quo (cf. ibid., 33–41). Thus, Rosa’s diagnosis aims for a certain therapy when he summarizes that we, the people of those modern societies, have lost our sense of actual progress or advance (cf. ibid., p. 46). This is where resonance and religion come into play.

The countermeasure Rosa proposes is also connected to the Jahreslosung. The listening heart King Salomon speaks of means the heart of the political leader, i.e., the king, who has to both listen to his subjects and reign in a manner that suits their needs. Our modern society replaced this single royal sovereign with a pluralistic and diverse sovereignty of the people—the means of their ‘reign’ being democratic procedures. Now, although the belief in a sovereign by the grace of God is obsolete, Rosa declares democracy the central creed (‘Glaubensbekenntnis’) of our society (cf. ibid., p. 54). Yet, democracy needs a listening heart to work properly (cf. ibid., p. 55). To work properly, it can learn from the churches that have the respective narratives, spaces, rites, and practices at their disposal (cf. ibid.). Thus, we can conclude that Rosa at least partially (or rather normatively) identifies the needs of secular societies, their policies, and political systems with aspects of the religious sphere. In other words, the ethical institutions (i.e., those ethics that became constitutions and laws, those ethics that became institutionalized (cf. Münchow 2022)) of modern society need practices and narratives that are closely related to religion or of religious origin because their own institutional administrative practices, in this regard, are lacking. With regards to his own concept of resonance, Rosa explains in greater detail what modern society is lacking. Here, he identifies four elements: affectation (‘Affizierung’), self-efficacy (‘Selbstwirksamkeit’), transformation (‘Transformation’), and uncontrollability (‘Unverfügbarkeit’).

We can observe here a similarity to the demands the Dalai Lama speaks of when he, in his own right, stresses elements like mindfulness, meditation, education, respect, etc. Apparently, both appeals center around concepts that are less theoretical and more focused on practices, yet both name practices that involve a huge amount of passivity and flexibility (of both body and mind). Although one calls it secular ethics and the other invokes the spirit of religion, both concepts meet in this common place they themselves evoke and which seems to comprise the seemingly distinct or even antagonistic concepts of ethics and religion. We certainly have to admit that neither the Dalai Lama nor Rosa provides a strict scientific definition of either concept in the respective sources. Still, one might argue that it is the stipulative character of their appeals which make their own definition so strong, for these definitions dissolve the alleged boundaries which rigorously divide the secular and the religious sphere. The ‘mirror-inverted’ titles with all too similar content provide an impression of this fact even on a surface level.

This certainly poses a problem, and we are scratching the surface here. But now that we might have been sensitized a little to the complexity and depth of the question that is foreshadowed in the opposing titles and theses, we can dive a bit deeper. Both of our examples tie the whole meaning and reasoning of secular ethics and/or religion to the spheres of politics and economy where they are now supposed to work their magic and solve the known problems of the global society. But if it were so easy, we would not be here talking about the issue of religion, ethics, and religious ethics. Although the ideas of both thinkers might be engaging and stimulating, there are enough scientific studies that point out problems that have to be considered when handling such difficult and complex concepts of human intellectual history. Thus, in the following paragraphs, we have to take a closer look at the pitfalls of ethics, religion, and their amalgamations.

3. Did Someone Say ‘Political Theology’?!

One hundred years ago, German jurist Carl Schmitt became a popular figure not only in the field of (constitutional) law but also as a political philosopher. This was due to his ground-breaking findings concerning the political concept of sovereignty published under the title Politische Theologie (1922). One integral thesis of his study reads as follows: ‘All significant concepts of the modern theory of the state are secularized theological concepts […]’ (Schmitt 2005, p. 36). We cannot go into detail about Schmitt’s thesis and some of its shortcomings6 here. But in it, we find a very prominent assessment of the situation we discovered above which indicates that we are on the right track.

There certainly is a connection between religion and the secular, though it may pass through the bottleneck of theology, i.e., reflected religion/religiousness. Following Schmitt’s thesis on political theology we might as well say that being a citizen is a somewhat religious moral subject because of the latent theological backbone of even the modern, i.e., liberal and constitutional, state law. However, an important aspect of this secularized religiousness is its unconscious character. Schmitt himself was not really aware of this.7 But modern research on the subject (cf. Agamben 2011; Legendre 2011b, 2016; Münchow 2022) shows that something like the transformation of the omnipotent God who became the omnipotent lawgiver—for Schmitt but an example of his thesis (cf. Schmitt 2005, p. 36)—involves much more than a somewhat accidental transfer from an alleged religious past into an all-encompassing secular age of modernity. It does so especially on a social-psychological level.8 An insight of political philosopher Jacques Rancière might help to understand how metaphysics and religion exert subliminal influence on secular citizenship and, thus, politics,

In ‘Ten Theses on Politics’, Rancière talks about the meaning of the ancient Greek noun arkhê which means ‘beginning’, ‘origin’, or ‘source’, and the respective verb arkhêin which means ‘to begin’ or ‘to walk at the head’ (cf. Rancière 2010, p. 29f.). This term is rather important when it comes to political and/or social systems, for we encounter it as a primary word in compounds like monarchy or patriarchy. Rancière now reminds us of both the symbolic and imaginary aspects of the term when he states the following: ‘And if there is one who walks at the head, then the others must necessarily walk behind. The line between the power of arkhêin (i.e., the power to rule), freedom, and the polis, is not straight but broken’ (Ibid., p. 30). The determinative element of both our chosen compounds illustrates this perfectly: If ‘the solitary one’ (ho monos) walks at the head (arkhêin), i.e., marks the beginning, ‘the solitary one’ is special, just like the paradoxical phrase ‘the first among equals’ (primus inter pares) indicates. The same goes for the apparently more specialized patriarch. Here it is ‘the father’ (pater) who walks at the head. Thus, in a patriarchal society, everyone has to follow the father, sons, and daughters alike. But the example also elucidates the imaginary and essentialistic aspect of the concept: since the sons ‘share’ the ‘image of the father’, they still come before the daughters.

This phenomenon comes as a modification to the concept of political theology because it shows us that the allegedly seamless translation of the omnipotent God’s sovereignty to the first among equals (the monarch by the grace of God, if you will) to the sovereign people of a liberal state holds a collectively unconscious element: the sufficient reason that is—upon closer inspection—but merely an imaginary one (for the following cf. Münchow 2022, pp. 53–72). The reference to the philosophical concept of the ‘sufficient reason’ is of no coincidence here for it indicates the close relationship between politics and the metaphysical tradition of the occident.9 Western metaphysics imply the sufficient reason for the kósmos because the kósmos is only the kósmos because it is, as the Greek term says, ‘in order.’. To be in order there needs to be one sufficient reason for it. There needs to be an initial coup, a strike, or—to say it with Freud (1974, p. 100)—‘ein[] einzige[r] Zug’ that acts as the first structural fulcrum. Thus, the reason needs to be absolute, and it needs intention, i.e., will and volition. The absolute will, however, is but a very abstract concept. Not so is the personified absolute will that is the absolute creator-godhead. Such a godhead can function as the imaginary coating of sufficient reason. So, where (secular?) philosophical thought provides an essentialistic, either monistic and/or teleological, principle, mono-theistic religious thinking makes it personal.

But how do ethics and political practice come into play here? It is safe to say that any individual who is born into a society experiences this very society as a given. Not only that, but the individual itself is, as Pierre Legendre puts it (cf. Legendre 2011a, p. 33), ‘spoken in advance’ by the respective ancestor or elder subjects of that society. Through the institutionalized symbolic structure of the community/society—especially general institutions that have tradition and can be handed down from generation to generation like religion, law, money, and power (cf. Parsons 1937)—each individual is confronted with a somewhat orderly world, or at least a world that is supposed to be in order. This alone can be enough to establish deep-rooted and unconscious conviction, belief, and/or reasoning in individuals and/or communities that ‘know’ of or imply a metaphysical fulcrum that supports and sustains the elaborate symbolic order of their respective society. Deviations from such beliefs or convictions are, thus, highly problematic because they target not a mere eligible surface (like scriptures, laws, currencies, contracts, etc.) but the unconscious element that lies beneath. Hence, the symbolic structure itself evokes and procures the ideological background of phenomena like tendentious political inertia and ‘status quo bias’.10

So, what we find here is the issue of a drastic ambiguity of institutionalized ethics. First off, the line between the secular and the religious vanishes beneath a deeply ingrained metaphysical tradition of sufficient reason, and secondly the ethical, or rather the institutionalized ethical-religious politics (political theology), becomes suspicious as a whole. This is mainly because institutionalized ethics gain a tendency towards convention since their very own inauguration and the initial motivation from which they emanate are of no concern for their own administration and operations. Once again, an example may help to understand the fact that any ethical institutions ‘forget’ their own initiation (an example, by the way, which caused none other than Kant a headache (cf. Münchow 2022, pp. 127–31)): The initiation of the concepts of modern liberal states/republics and constitutional law came as a pressing result of the French Revolution. The revolutionary act itself, though, involved but anything more than what constitutional law guarantees. The establishment of civil and human rights on a constitutional level went hand in hand with both the symbolic and the real murder of the ‘first citizen’, the monarch, in this case, Louis XVI. Now, surely human and civil rights in conjunction with (modern) constitutional law do not allow for a lynch mob to count their political denunciation and murder as a valid political practice. In other words, the inauguration of these laws also involved the domestication of what Hegel fittingly called the Schrecken (terror) of absolute (in this case revolutionary)11 freedom which is capable of tearing down the traditional order (hence ancient régime) as a whole. But the price for this process of domestication—which we, on second thought, certainly want to pay—is the banishment of anything that is outside of the confines of the new order, even the all too real power of a sovereign people, or as German writer Daniela Dahn puts it: ‘Ausgegangen ist alle Macht vom Volk und nie zurückgekehrt [All power emanated from the people but never returned]’ (Dahn 2013, p. 16).

4. Flawed Anthropology: Ethics and Religion

We have now collected both positive accounts of ethics and religion as well as critical ones. We have discovered that it may be much more complicated to distinguish the two even where academic speech and scientific theory make use of such concepts. From this, we can draw a first conclusion concerning the concept of religious ethics: When we want to talk about religious ethics, we have to be as precise as we can be and clarify what we even mean by the single terms of the compound. Is the concept of ethics we want to apply in our theory really secular? Is the concept of religion the theory uses but another occidental political theology in disguise (maybe even only because our audience is used to theism and/or metaphysics of sufficient reason)? When someone like the Dalai Lama talks about secular ethics in front of a Western audience, he may appeal to them really because of the term ‘secular’, which is much more en vogue than the term ‘religious’, at least in the academic sphere. However, does the Dalai Lama in his short speech really clarify the pitfalls of political theology? Does the audience? When Hartmut Rosa surprises said academic sphere with the notion of the necessity of religion for a fulfilling social-political practice, does this really account for over two thousand years of ready-made and well-learned, yet mostly unconscious, metaphysical tradition that seeps through every nook and cranny of Western (and thanks to colonialism, global) politics and economy? In light of this, both religion and ethics appear as unserviceable terms. Yet, the imprecision or (to put it positively) the openness to interpretation of both terms hold something that we also discovered earlier, and which leads us back to our initial core question: What about motivation?

When both ethics and religion can function as the means to the end that is social-political fulfillment—at least when we follow the supposed thought process of either the Dalai Lama or Rosa—then we can assume that both may hold some motivational potential, a potential that, for instance, current law and apparently even a constitution cannot convey. This idea is not a new one. None other than the discoverer of the categorical imperative, Kant himself, felt the urge to supplement this steadfast imperative with moral theology for the sake of motivation (for the following cf. Münchow 2022, pp. 113–23). He could not let the thought stand that the transcendental subject’s respect regarding its very own constitution as the subject of the categorical imperative should be enough to motivate it to act accordingly. Instead of focusing on the universal moral law within each and every one of us, Kant chose the route of adding in the afterthought of a transcendent felicity and with it the teleological worldview (now but on an individual rather than a collective level) and the all-too necessary sufficient reason, the absolute God. Thus, through the back door of the non-metaphysical, non-essentialistic moral philosophy of a great Enlightenment philosopher crept in the haunting shadow of political theology (hence the aforementioned headache bestowed on Kant by the regicide). It is no wonder that Kant’s theory ran into the same problems as did Protestant ethics which came before his: With the promise of ulterior or otherworldly reward, the religious element of Kantian ethics became laden with the tendency of subjectivism. A concept of religion that fosters but the subject and even more so its emotional drives (i.e., pleasure principle)—in Kant’s own terms: its ‘pathological interests’—is a flawed concept of religion.12 But we realize again that the inherent teleological momentum of traditional Western metaphysics is at work here. Therefore, it is not only subjective religion that is problematic, but objective religion, i.e., doctrine. Here we encounter the same issue of institutionalization we saw earlier in the form of the modern constitutional state. Once an orthodoxy is decided upon, the obviously liberal event that is the very decision for such and such doctrine itself is not just dropped or abandoned but ‘shows’ itself as being out of the question, i.e., without any place or right within the confines of the newly established doctrine.13 The decision on the correct doctrine is made—no more liberty and decision-making are needed. Nothing to see here, please disperse! Initiate project: divide et impera. The subject or the masses need to be castigated by or at least in the name of the supreme intelligence.

Cynicism aside—still, if we look back through history, we may discover that the religious-ideological complex has had its (doubtful) share of success which might stand surety for the inherent motivational drive of religion due to its appeal to human emotion through practices (rites), sounds (music), and especially images (‘the one’, ‘the father’). But secular ethics on the other hand earned the addition of ‘secular’ for a reason. That is, there is no way back behind the line drawn by the Enlightenment. Thus, it earned its stand against rigid doctrine and institutionalized liberty for but a small oligarchic or aristocratic minority. Furthermore, secular ethics stands for positive anthropology of liberal human subjects who are capable of ‘being good’ (as persons, as citizens, etc.) because of the moral law and conscientious sense of duty within them (as opposed to the external motivation which aims for the irrational yet pleasing desires).

So, maybe we can conclude that the problem does not lie in the concepts of ethics and religion but rather in the flawed anthropologies that may derive from or at least be informed by each of them, especially when they work as conveyor for an unconscious yet rigorous metaphysics. If the political issue, i.e., the conflict, lies in the lack of ethical or religious or religious-ethical motivation, and if institutionalized ethics and political theology show strong tendencies to motivate (pseudo-)political practices but exacerbate conflicts instead of solving them, then maybe the problem lies not only in flawed anthropology as theory/doctrine, but in a flawed anthropology which is practiced.

5. Instead of a Conclusion

Anthropology as practice—what does this mean? The simple answer may be abstract yet fitting: it means ‘to be human(e)’. But it does so not in a mere biological sense, and the parenthesis already indicates that anthropology here is understood in the ethical sense. Our subject, thus, suggests an additional (NB: not a substitute!) meaning for the term. In this regard, anthropology as practice aims for a concept of humanity on a social and political, i.e., public and thus ethical, level. This, however, is certainly not to say that we need something like a brand-new humanism. The problem of any humanism has always been that it relied on definitions of the conditio humana which were too precise, yet too loose. Sixteenth-century humanism (take, for instance, Pico della Mirandola’s famous treatise on human dignity)14 was too precise in defining the human being via the dignity it received through its (essentialistic) likeness to the image of God. Defining the human being with reference to a certain highly specific religion, its canon, and its doctrine (which eventually must create and appeal to a certain faith) is far too specific to be counted as ethical in the light of a modern post-Enlightenment sense of the term, let alone the demands of a 21st-century globalized world. Yet, when the same humanism is engrossed in a certain universal naturalism its definition is far too loose to be in any way practical. First of all, (human) nature would be defined as creation by the mastermind godhead of monotheism. Now, even if the term nature here functions as a universal term and any human being outside the specific belief system would be included in this theory, what we encounter here is nothing short of a bland inclusivism which, again, can hardly be considered ethical in our book. Let alone that, secondly, nature in and of itself is a diffuse term if it should function as an explanatory model of humanity. Nature is not ethical (and it does not need to be). Ethics is an anthropological, a human phenomenon or, to be more precise, a phenomenon of consciousness and reason (in the broadest sense of the term). Ethics is not about plain being (i.e., being as plain existence (Vorhandensein) which is the subject of study of the natural sciences) but about meaning and reason (i.e., the man-made and sometimes made-up sense the humanities study, explore, and in this process may even create). Ethics asks not the question: How do we as human beings live? This would be ethology (which certainly has its own right to be). The fundamental question of ethics is: How do we as human beings want to live? Hence, a term like nature is either too reductive or too broad to serve the complexity of an adequate and modern anthropology.

But with humanism out of the picture, how does anthropology as a practice become feasible? How can such practice account for the plurality and complexity of human beings, their cultures, traditions, religions, mannerisms, etc., yet be specific enough to be practical? How can anthropology and ethics be precise enough to be operational without running into the aforementioned pitfalls of institutionalization, namely political theology, ideology, and political inertia? One possible answer we can propose here might hark back to Kant and the categorical imperative. The moral law in each and every one subject, i.e., the categorical imperative, is as precise as it can be when it comes to the normative dimension of ethics. The categorical imperative’s strong suit is its formal character. In and of itself it has no content and is, thus, not contentious. It is but a function of the will to judge itself, it is the principium diiudicationis bonitatis (cf. Henrich 2001, pp. 17–28) par excellence. Today we know this, but even Kant himself did not see the advantage that lies in the fact of the moral law being but a formal imperative that does not need a sufficient metaphysical reason (cf. Münchow 2022, pp. 94–113). It is adequate and sufficient in and of itself for it is evident as long as it is not contaminated by pathological interests a posteriori. Its weakness then again lies in its mere formal character. It needs to be applied. It needs to ‘dirty its own hands’. But—and this is important—when it does so, the categorical imperative does not become modified. It does not receive a specific content which changes its absolute character. As Kant says, the categorical imperative is but one and one alone (cf. Kant 1898, p. 38). Any decision, any judgment derived from the application of the formula is but eventual, situational and does not modify the one evident philosophical concept that says: ‘Act only on that maxim whereby thou canst at the same time will that it should become a universal law’ (Ibid.).

The point made here may become clearer when we take a look at the subject of the categorical imperative. Its subject is none other than will itself. Will, as a philosophical concept, is quite interesting because it ‘inherits’ a ‘space’ between the all-too-well-defined limits of traditional Western metaphysics and its ontologies, namely ‘being’ and ‘nothingness’. Will has no objective being. It consists of potentiality, intention, images, etc. One might, however, point to empirically verifiable brain activity to counter this thought. But we should keep in mind the distinction we made earlier between the spheres of natural sciences and humanities. Then it becomes clear that will and brain waves are two very different phenomena and their study should thus be well defined. In will and volition, we encounter something that has the potential to become real (maybe even in the empirical sense) although it does not necessarily need to come into being. Thus, we find will to be in a ‘space’ between being and nothingness. This is not the sphere of becoming as, for instance, Hegel would have it. A sphere of becoming is but an essentialization of this elusive in-between-state of being and nothingness, one of which Hegel’s concept of history is an example of. Instead, what we have here is—for lack of a better term—a new (me-)ontological dimension for a ‘post-metaphysical metaphysics’ (for this and the following cf. Münchow 2022, pp. 162–260): a non-metaphysics that has its formal theoretical backbone in the practical-philosophical concept that is the categorical imperative. In it, such non-metaphysics finds a formal ‘doctrine’ that is but free of any content that only fosters contingent and accidental, i.e., pathological, tendencies. But as a categorical imperative, it also helps navigate the complex, diverse, and plural human world of sense and meaning. In this regard, it acts as a theory that is bound to become practice. This certainly involves the process of institutionalization—but now devoid of any political theology or pathological tendencies. The formal moral law within each and every one subject asks rather for faith in its pure form: being true to the eventual character of fulfilled human social and political (and we also need to add: artistic, religious), i.e., ethical, life.15 (Is this pure faith not the core of any religion—the fides qua creditur?) What it does not ask for, what it in fact rather counters, is the idea of a teleological conclusion of the matter of (social) life. In contrast to such (subliminal) essentialistic institutionalization, it provides the stage for candid encounters with the new, the foreign, and the future.

Hence, the theory which is the moral law becomes practice exactly where habits, customs, and traditions reach their limit and become Grenzerfahrungen, in a positive sense that is. The core aspect of any ‘secular religious-ethics’ is therefore eventual and processual. It is all about situational actualization and not about ‘universal decisions’ made in the past or in illo tempore. Or to say it with Schelling: it is about true freedom instead of a ‘has-been freedom’ (gewesene Freiheit) (cf. Münchow 2022, pp. 211–31, esp. 213). Thus, such ethics would do best when they act as the mere formal framework of rich encounters between people, cultures, traditions, etc. For our Western thinking and metaphysical tradition this would mean loosening the grip of universalism which binds itself to specific cultural and historical, i.e., contingent, contents. Western tradition can learn a lot here from Asian or African religious and philosophical thought. Take, for instance, the fluidity of identity in the Daoist tradition, the positive concept of emptiness in Zen-Buddhism, or the irreducible dialectic of the individual and the community in the (South) African concept of ubuntu—each must present itself as a challenge to political theology. With regard to the demands of a globalized and diverse society of the modern world, it can only be ethical to engage in such thought (which but sometimes might even be religious in nature) across the borders of any ready-made traditions. The backbone of this whole endeavor is still universal, but only on a formal level. This is important for the theory to become operational, so that religion and ethics may become the practice of true liberty and freedom.