Crisis of Conscience

The economy was already faltering when I arrived at Italy's Lake Como in the spring of 2008. I was there for a seminar on commerce and finance, one of those Davos-like gatherings where the rainmakers of global capitalism wander around fountains and confide in each other. But the mood was bleak that year, and the rumble of approaching economic thunder accented all discussion. Instead of being a time to relax and share, it became a time for worry and reflection—about a system that suddenly seemed to be built on sand instead of rock, and about the whole direction of economic and social development.

The global recession of the last few years has begun to pass. But while the outlines of a more temperate, more sober capitalism are coming into focus, I find myself wondering about the people—myself included—who will work within it. Where did we fall short? What do we do to better shape the future? And, beneath it all, what have we learned about ourselves as human beings? These more personal aspects of the financial crisis have preoccupied me greatly in recent months, not only as someone who has spent his professional life in banking but also as an ordained minister in the Church of England.

We are all guilty of compartmentalization, of dividing our lives into separate realms with different rules—and nowhere is this sin more obvious than at work. The office risks becoming a neutral world where questions of worth (other than shareholder value), of rightness (as opposed to what is lawful), or of wisdom (as distinct from what is practical) need not arise. But they are questions we need to face if we are to find a path of fulfillment, for both ourselves and the world in general.

We may never get there. But our renewed progress—and our personal happiness—depends on our commitment to certain guiding ideals. The first is to work with integrity—to be honest, trustworthy, and committed to the exchange of value for value. Other principles follow naturally: treat other people as ends in and of themselves, not just as means to an end; aspire to contribute the most, not to receive the most; strive for balance between family, friendship, and work; and, if you should find yourself in a leadership position, focus on service rather than power. Underpinning all these notions is the ability to ask ourselves, "What is the value of what I do?"—and to find an answer that satisfies.

These principles are nothing new. But the era of globalization—which has brought us into contact with more people around the world—has given them a greater relevance and urgency than at any previous stage in human history. Of course, they may yet go unheeded as we continue to ignore our moral compass in exchange for a nice car, a large house, and trips to Lake Como (where the names of the hotels all sound like expensive puddings). But I hope not. If we listen to the voice of conscience, it reminds us that something is owed by the affluent. This includes extensive giving—which should be at a level that is material for the giver. But no less important is the donating of time and talent. We have, after all, one life. And when it comes to how we spend it, the sayings are all true: you can't take your money with you, professional success doesn't make you happy, and you can eat only three meals a day.

Green is chairman of HSBC and author of Good Value: Reflections on Money, Morality, and an Uncertain World.