Professor Emeritus of Philosophical Ethics & Laureate Paul van Tongeren:“We live in a world filled with meanings that we do not assign ourselves, but rather interpret in response to what we perceive”

Author : Edward van den Boorn

Photography : Merlijn Doomernik

Graphic Design : NC Development

Naarden-Vesting ׀ July 2026

In the ‘PODIUM’ dialogue series, Capita Selecta spotlights remarkable and inspiring individuals and/or organizations. These conversations explore themes such as leadership, wisdom, responsibility, and personal and professional motivations. Vision, mission, and strategy are examined in the context of the interplay between the individual, organizational, and societal levels.

We spoke with Mr. Paul van Tongeren (Deventer, 1950), Professor Emeritus of Philosophical Ethics and former ‘Thinker of the Netherlands (2021–2023)’. He studied Theology in Utrecht (Netherlands) and Philosophy in Leuven (Belgium), where he earned his doctorate with a thesis on Nietzsche’s critique of morality. In addition to his university teaching, Paul van Tongeren has delivered lectures and guest talks for private companies and public organizations across many countries and has published work in numerous languages. In 2002, he received a royal honor and was granted the Order of the Lion of the Netherlands.

The dialogue with Paul van Tongeren powerfully illustrates the importance of language and word choice. Our conversation touches upon concepts such as (new) leadership, knowing, wisdom, leader versus manager, responsibility versus accountability, complexity, and dilemmas. What contribution can a philosopher make to decision-making processes within organizations?

We warmly invite you to step into a reality rich in context, meaning, and virtues.

INTRODUCTION

For Paul van Tongeren, philosophy begins with asking questions. Insight is pursued for its own sake - for nothing other than the pleasure of the insight itself. Actively thinking a thought for oneself is, in his view, a source of the greatest pleasure. His thinking is constantly oriented towards the questions of what is truly true, truly good, and truly beautiful.

Paul van Tongeren puts forward the proposition that ‘the good is that which we seek, even though it will never be found or definitively established. And yet, one must keep searching. Looking in the mirror leads to self-insight. You put this to the test through interaction and communication with others; one is human solely in relation to others. Paul van Tongeren defines wisdom as ‘the ability to deal with what you do not know or what you cannot do.’

‘Dialogue’ is defined, among other things, as ‘an open, egalitarian conversation between two or more people. Its purpose is to exchange knowledge, experiences, and ideas, with genuine listening and an understanding of each other’s viewpoints at its core.’ The dialogue with Paul van Tongeren beautifully illustrates the importance of language and the choice of words. Paul van Tongeren chooses his words carefully and always places them in context. His explanations are structured and occasionally complex, reflecting the fact that the world and reality he describes are equally complicated.

Engaging in dialogue with Paul van Tongeren is a most remarkable and inspiring experience. He states that ‘we all have a tendency to reduce complexity to something manageable, making it simpler so that we can get a grip on it.’ Yet, to do justice to that complexity, and philosophical ethics in particular, one must do precisely the opposite: reverse that simplification. We must attempt to break through this simplification to demonstrate that matters are more complex than we imagine. Consequently, a dialogue with Paul van Tongeren is an endeavour that raises more questions than it answers. According to him, our quest and our questioning transcend the boundaries of human experience and the realm of sensory perception. Our conversation touches upon concepts such as (new) leadership, knowledge, wisdom, leader versus manager, responsibility and accountability, complexity, and dilemmas. What contribution can a philosopher make to decision-making processes within organizations?

We cordially invite you to enter a reality rich in context, meaning and virtues.

THE DIALOGUE

The concepts of ‘wonder’ and ‘insight’ are central to your thinking. What do they mean to you?

‘Wonder’ forms the basis of my inquisitive mindset. It makes me open to reality as it presents itself. Philosophy is the discipline that places the dimension of meaning in our existence at the centre. We live in a world filled with meanings that we do not assign ourselves, but rather interpret in response to what we perceive. Philosophical wonder is about breaking through assumptions we take for granted. This can create a moment where you stop judging and become aware of the mystery of existence. Humans have a natural desire for insight. This is not merely about acquiring knowledge, but about actively thinking through ideas for oneself. ‘Insight’ is something pursued for its own sake - for nothing other than the pleasure of the insight itself. Philosophy can therefore bring deep pleasure. Anyone who does not know that, i.e. anyone who has never experienced the pleasure of grasping something, seeing something, or gaining insight into something, is, I believe, missing something truly fundamental.

Humans as ‘embodied spirits’ or ‘ensouled beings’?

Yes, and ‘ensoulment’ or ‘spiritual’ as the distinguishing characteristic setting us apart from other mammals. It is a curious contemporary trend to consider humans and animals equally. I have witnessed the emergence of this phenomenon, which has even come to be taken for granted. If there is one thing a philosopher should be aware of is assumptions taken for granted. When discussing the distinction between humans and animals, one increasingly hears the answer: ​​“Yes, but can’t animals do that too?” or “Aren’t we just animals ourselves?”

If there is one thing a philosopher should be very aware of is things taken for granted.

Yes, we belong to the mammals - to a specific kind of animal. According to the traditional definition, we are also ‘Animalia’, and the human being is ‘Animal Rationale’. The first word, ‘animal’, literally signifies that a human is an ensouled living being. However, the ‘differentia specifica’ - as it is termed in logic - of the ‘rationale’ distinguishes us from other animals. It makes us a specific kind of animal. ‘Ratio’ is what the Greeks called ‘logos’ and what we call reason. What is characteristic of human beings is the capacity to experience that insight affords a pleasure distinct from, and greater than, any form of utility or practical usefulness. An unsolvable matter preoccupies you as a problem, driving you to seek a way to eliminate it. Yet the true solution lies in the insight that the problem cannot be solved. Instead of hiding behind apparent solutions, you can gain insight into the problem's insolubility. This does not make the problem disappear, but there is something in the pleasure derived from that insight which, at the very least, alleviates the suffering caused by the problem.

Putting things into perspective?

No, I don’t think so. I am very wary of the word ‘relativizing’ because it suggests a kind of freedom we do not possess. To ‘relativize’ means placing something in relation to something else within a broader context - relating it to time, culture, or history, for instance. In doing so, the matter loses its oppressive weight, and I believe you run the risk of failing to take it seriously. The insight I am referring to today is something else entirely. That insight takes matters completely seriously. It concerns the realization that you do not place yourself above the situation, but rather must engage with it in a fundamentally different way.

You just touched upon the concept of ‘time’. What do you understand by ‘time’?

Augustine (354–430 AD) asks himself that very question and answers: if no one asks me, I know; but as soon as you ask me, I do not know the answer. I cannot put it any better than he did.

Is there no sense of resignation in that?

No, there is certainly no resignation in that. It does not involve the kind of resignation that would make you lose interest in an answer. Not being interested in an answer implies that you do not take the question seriously. The best term to use here is ‘sublimation’ - that is, transforming misery into something elevated, something ‘sublime,’ or even something beautiful. You cannot achieve this through relativization, as that merely diminishes the importance of the matter. Incidentally, this is an idea I encountered in the work of one of my major sources of inspiration, Friedrich Nietzsche (1844–1900). In a short text describing a painting, he shares what we can learn from artists: that they can bestow a sublime radiance upon the world around us - even when that world is bleak and dismal. Artists achieve this on canvas, in stone, or through music; we must attempt to do the same in real life. This is what human beings seek through their ‘logos - through their capacity for thought. Artists reveal the world to us, allowing us to perceive and experience it in a way that truly does justice to reality - a way that allows the harmful to remain harmful, the bad to remain bad, and the good to remain good. Yet, at the same time, they present it in a manner that possesses a sublime quality.

Who determines what is good?

In a sense, no one does. There is no single, unambiguous answer to this question. There is no authority with the right to determine what is good. Yet that does not mean there is no such thing as ‘the good’. Reconciling these two aspects is difficult, but it is also the very heart of ethics. The good exists, and no one determines it - not even you. And yet, it is there. How, then, should you deal with it? By trying to find it.

There is the good, and no one determines it. Not even you yourself.

‘The good’ is that which, in classical Greek philosophy, sometimes appears as tò zēttoúmenon - that is, ‘the sought-after’. That which we seek. What we seek must guide our actions, with the understanding that the object of our search is neither supplied nor presented to us - not by any authority, nor by anything taken for granted, nor by any law, nor by any necessity of nature. To put it even more paradoxically: the good is that which we seek, without ever being found or fixed.

The good is that which we seek, without ever being found or fixed.

What is the difference between ‘knowledge’ and ‘wisdom’?

In the Comenius programs in which I am active, I discuss the theme of ‘Wisdom in Leadership.’ I always try to explain that wisdom lies in the ability to deal with precisely what I just tried to articulate: the challenge that life is about ‘the good,’ while thinking is about ‘the true.’ Regarding both the good and the true, we seek them, yet no one can definitively pin them down. Precisely for this reason, they serve as normative guides for everything we do. In a sense, then, we are under a mandate to seek something that cannot be definitively established.

We are not subject to the command of a ruler whom we can simply ask what to do. Wisdom, I believe, lies in the ability to navigate this situation. That does not mean it is solely about wisdom; after all, in various roles, there is a great deal you need to be able to do and know. And whatever skills or knowledge are required, you must master them to the best of your ability. Yet, that is still something different from wisdom. Wisdom, rather, consists of the ability to deal with what you do not know or what you cannot do.

‘Wisdom’ lies in being able to deal with what you do not know or what you cannot do.

The concept of ‘virtue’ lies at the heart of ‘virtue ethics’. It is a concept that carries a certain strictness and implies a requirement. What is ‘virtue’?

‘Virtue’ is a formal concept. It refers to a cultivated disposition. You might become accustomed to doing something in a particular way until it becomes a habit - a character trait. Some people have a trait of always responding kindly to what is said, while others have a trait of always responding with suspicion. A character trait we judge good is called a virtue; a trait we judge bad is called a vice. So much for the formal explanation. However, as I just indicated, there is no fixed definition regarding the substance of ‘the good’!

The substantive definition of what constitutes good character traits has been elaborated in countless directions over two thousand years of virtue ethics. As a developed, systematic theory, it began with Aristotle (384-322 BC). Central to this are the four cardinal virtues. These ‘core virtues’ are essentially the four substantive characteristics that any trait must possess before it can be termed a good character trait. These four core virtues are:

•              Wisdom (‘Prudentia’) - The ability to deal with uncertainty;

•              Moderation (‘Proportionality’) - The ability to choose the right mean;

•              Courage - The capacity to persevere under difficult circumstances;

•              Justice - The capacity to treat everyone equally.

No matter which domain you consider - be it power, money, loyalty, generosity, or ambition - the expression of these qualities must be wise, moderate, courageous, and just, before you could classify them as good character traits.

Yet here, too, the same point applies: nowhere is it explicitly stated what these characteristics entail or prescribed how one should apply them. The art lies in continuing the search, even when you know the answer may never be found. And for the true philosopher too, this is an immense and difficult task; they too may feel a strong urge to switch on the television in the evening.

What do you understand by ‘leadership’?

(Smiling.) I would like to make two points regarding that.

First, I am surprised by terminologies that suddenly appear and become popular. ‘Leadership’ has existed in Anglo-Saxon business literature, as well as politics, for longer than in the Netherlands. In our country, that term appeared about forty years ago. Where does the term come from, and what did we talk about before that time?

In 1981, a beautiful and outstanding book by the Scottish-American philosopher Alasdair MacIntyre (1929-2025) appeared with the title ‘After Virtue’. It concerns a quest for a coherent ethical framework and a plea for virtue ethics. At the beginning, MacIntyre describes the moral chaos in which the world finds itself. In this book, he describes three types of modern society that he criticizes: the Therapist, the Manager, and the Aesthete.

‘The Manager’ actually stands for what later came to be called ‘the leader’ or ‘leadership’. This has acquired such an automatic resonance that everyone thinks they know what you are talking about. This starts to clash, and something emerges that has come to be called ‘different leadership’. For the past five to ten years, that has been called ‘new leadership’. The way in which such a term changes, emerges, or becomes commonplace is something that makes me suspicious. My somewhat naive hypothesis is that ‘the manager’ and management jargon were perceived as too technical or instrumental: the more technical approach of ‘human capital’. Viewed in this light, one can see ‘Human Resource Management’ as a technical reduction of people. A counterweight proved necessary, and that became ‘the leader’. The leader thereby became a person, but was at the same time also the one standing at the top of an organization.

‘New leadership’ represents the attempt to turn leaders back into ordinary people.

The problematic aspect, however, was that this development narrowed the gap between (technical) management and (human) leadership. However, this ‘human (top) leader’ was elevated to such a high level that he no longer resembled ordinary people. The distance had become too great. I have a strong impression that ‘new leadership’, as it is now called, is an attempt to bring things together and turn leaders back into ordinary people. In short, I do not want to simply go along with the self-evidence with which we are inclined to speak of (new) ‘leadership’, and so on.

The second point I wish to make in this context is that we must be attentive to the moment when certain terminologies appear. Something happens at such a moment. Michel Foucault (1926-1984) in particular always analysed very sharply what happens in a development, beneath its visible surface. ‘The event’ takes place primarily in the manner in which it is rendered invisible. He speaks of a disciplining that arises from certain terminologies. That kind of distrust is not insignificant. Secondly, and thus from my background in philosophy and ethics, I would like to state the following regarding the concepts of ‘leaders’ and ‘leadership’. A true leader should be someone who ultimately has only one concern: that those he or she leads fare as well as possible. Nietzsche speaks of ‘teachers’ as leaders. A teacher only takes things seriously with regard to – and from the perspective of – his or her students. Even himself or herself. If you broaden that, you could argue that a leader is someone who views all things solely from the perspective of those he or she leads.

Does he or she lead people or the organization?

Well, there you see a first problem. For what or whom does he or she lead? And when I refer back to my first, suspicious remark, I think: there it is again. The manager, who viewed people from a technical perspective as ‘human resources’, suddenly had to become a leader for identification and motivation, and for inspiration, as it is called nowadays. But what does ‘the leader’ actually lead? The organization! He or she is simply the operator of the machine. So not in the sense in which I would want to speak of a leader.

Who or what do you actually lead, and how do you bring those two together?

I think that many executives/leaders recognize this as a problem. It is a problem that is important to reflect upon: who or what are you actually leading? Are you not selling yourself as a leader of people in order to effectively be the leader of a business or organization? And if you take your task as a leader seriously as someone ultimately focused on the best possible outcome for the people you lead, doesn't that imply that you must learn to reflect on what it actually means ‘for his/her people to fare as well as possible’? More broadly, that you learn to reflect on ‘the well-being and the good of society’. Does this run parallel to the interests of the shareholders? Very concrete issues are, therefore, indeed hidden, as it were, in the peculiar and rather fashionable use of the concept of ‘leadership’.

Ethics is critical reflection on ‘the right’ course of action.

‘Management’ concerns the more technical implementation and execution of a specific plan. My interpretation of the concept of a leader or teacher refers to developing a vision of ‘what is good for humanity and society’. Moral philosophy, ethics, reflects critically on what is morally right or wrong, on what is good and bad. It is the critical reflection on ‘the right’ or good action. It attempts to answer fundamental questions about values, norms, duties, and the good life. If I translate that to the world I know best, i.e. education, then an example of a typical vision is ‘educating and developing people that society will need in twenty years’. That is then called a vision.

But why? A genuine educational vision is about achieving the highest possible self-development and the greatest possible growth of what a person has within themselves. And if I look beyond the individual, perhaps what a culture needs. I am focused on ensuring that those I teach are ‘shaped’ as broadly as possible. Subsequently, I must translate what that means for the students. So I must show them that I am educating them in light of that vision. The test I have to administer and the corrections provide a guiding opportunity. This framework applies perfectly to developing a vision, just as it happens in the business world. There, too, it is about vision: outlining a desirable horizon, bringing people along and motivating them, measuring, and making adjustments.

A leader must ‘know’ what is good, and so he must actually be a philosopher.

The essential point, however, is the question of what a vision is aimed at. This is also the reason why, according to Plato (427-347 BC), the best philosopher should not become king, but rather the king should actually be a philosopher. Plato has been heavily criticized for his idea that the philosopher ought to be king. I am not going to defend that; there are all sorts of negative aspects to it, and there are also many misunderstandings regarding it. And Plato was thoroughly mistaken in practice as well, but important and central is the idea that a king must know what is good, and therefore must actually be a philosopher. That is, then, something different from the idea that the philosopher must become king…. Returning to the difference between manager and leader: in answering the question of what a vision is aimed at, one can distinguish between manager and leader. The leader remains a manager if his vision does not go beyond what ultimately turns out to be a plan he wishes to work towards. This is then referred to as a point on the horizon. If that is described merely in terms of (utilitarian) concepts such as scale and security of existence, etc., the question still remains as to why that would be good. It must be about ‘the good’.

In our time, the concept of ‘sustainable leadership’ is widely used. In your view, how does ‘sustainability’ relate to the classic concept of ‘stewardship’? Old wine in new bottles?

I would like to make two observations regarding this. First, ‘old wine’ is often very good wine, contrary to what the saying suggests. Second, ‘sustainable leadership’ is also a specific interpretation of what is ‘good’ that - however important - should not be taken for granted or used as a bargaining chip.

In what way do you assess the concept of complexity?

Confronted with complexity or complex problems, we all have a tendency to reduce complexity to something manageable so that it becomes simpler and we can get a grip on something. This can be in science, technology, or simply in dealing with ordinary daily matters. Well, in philosophical ethics in particular, we must do exactly the opposite. Our tendency to make things manageable and, in service of that, simpler, does not do justice to the complexity of moral reality. For we reduce that by simplifying things. So what should we do when we start thinking philosophically about complexity? Simplification reduction! We must try to break through the simplification and show that things are more complex than we think they are.

We tend to reduce a moral problem to a uniform, two-dimensional problem of choice.

We then call this a ‘dilemma’.

From an ethical perspective, I do this by indicating that we are normally inclined to ultimately reduce a moral problem to a fairly uniform, two-dimensional problem of choice. We usually call that a ‘dilemma’, which is a foolish word in that context. In fact, by saying that nothing is ever without problems, we give ourselves a free pass – ‘the two horns of the bull (‘dilemma’)’. The foolish and dangerous thing is that people force themselves into a choice that is justified by qualifying it as ‘his or her choice.’ This therefore does injustice to the problem. You could also roll a die. The latter would outsource the choice as well.

You could also roll a die; that would also outsource the choice.

A problem has many sides. We must try to see them and map out all their aspects. I am trying to show that there are at least four important and radically different perspectives on ethical thinking. And all four are important, for they all bring important, but radically different aspects to light. This makes a problem more complex and therefore harder to solve. But what do you want? To look less closely so that you can handle it more easily? Or do you want to see better what you actually have at your fingertips, making it more difficult to handle?

Will the philosopher facilitate decision-making processes or bring matters to a standstill?

Certainly not the latter. That would render his effort and contribution a failure. Of course, that might be the manager's fear when introducing a philosopher. That fear is understandable, but unnecessary if the philosopher does it well and is given the opportunity to do so. He will teach team members to search and ask, realizing that there is no definitively fixed answer.

The philosopher teaches people to make a decision at the right moment.

Not too early and not too late.

The philosopher teaches people the skill to make a decision at the right moment, and regarding the right matters. Not too early and not too late. The philosopher contributes in particular to the attitude of continuing to search. He ensures that the good leader arrives at a decision at the right moment because practical circumstances make it inevitable. The good leader, who is fully aware that they cannot figure it out, and yet keeps searching. That is when it succeeds.

Are there central themes and thoughts to be identified in thousands of years of Western philosophy?

In a sense, one could say that Plato's themes are the history of Western philosophy. Throughout history, they have been summarized at different moments and in different ways.

A first example concerns the three famous questions of Enlightenment philosopher Immanuel Kant (1724-1804). These are:

• What can I know? What is knowledge? What is truth?

• What ought I to do? Is there such a thing as a duty? What are the virtues? What is the good?

• What may I hope for? How should I deal with that which I cannot know? That which I cannot establish? Of what can I have no certainty?

A second example in which core philosophical themes were summarized are the transcendentals of Medieval Scholasticism, i.e., the most fundamental, general properties of 'being'. These are: bonum, verum et pulchrum (the good, the true, and the beautiful). These are the three domains with which questions concern themselves.

What exactly is ‘quality’? Plato teaches you to ask this question.

Plato is essentially talking about one all-encompassing core question: What is quality? Plato should be read and understood more. Also, and especially, in the public and private domains at the administrative level. You very regularly see efforts to measure quality, how to safeguard it, and how to improve it. But what ‘quality’ actually is - that question is actually never asked. Plato teaches you to ask this question.

And yes, there are eternal themes in philosophy, but they are so vast...

In what way do you define the concept of ‘responsibility’, for example in relation to Jean-Paul Sartre’s concept of ‘autonomous responsibility’?

Cut me off if I talk too long, but these are very big concepts that I cannot simply explain with a quote. I have studied the question ‘What is responsibility?’ extensively. I did so in a way that I often apply, and looked at how this concept has developed in the history of ethics.

My conclusion was that the concept of ‘responsibility’ plays hardly any role in two and a half thousand years of the history of philosophy. You do not encounter it for the greater part of the time. When does it appear? In recent history. There are three major moments when the concept of responsibility comes to the fore very prominently.

First, Max Weber (1864-1920) introduces the concept of ‘Verantwortungsethik’: you are responsible for the foreseeable (sometimes negative) consequences of your actions and bear responsibility for them. This is strongly linked to the experience of the First World War and the period that followed, the Second World War, the greatest war madness European history has ever known. The powers and forces that met and fought each other there had a certain ideal, a point on the horizon, a vision, and so on. They thought they were doing what they had to do, or what was the right thing to do. The second example dates from the 1950s, the period of the arms race. By wanting to protect ourselves, we have only made the world more dangerous. This was the time of the Existentialism of Jean-Paul Sartre (1905-1980), in which the concept of responsibility is a central one: you are (also) responsible for the things you did not do or the decisions you did not make. The third example concerns the environmental crisis that came into view with the report ‘Limits to Growth’ (1972) by the Club of Rome.

These are, in fact, three examples of tragic crises. What do they show? That with everything we have done, and are doing, we are not making our lives better, but actually worse. We can view these three examples as examples of classical Greek tragedy. The real tragedy in, for instance, ‘Oedipus Rex’ (Sophocles, 496-406 BC) consists not so much in the fact that Oedipus murders his father, but rather that he murders his father in an attempt precisely not to do so.

And what do we do with major problems? We simplify them by turning ‘responsibility’

into ‘liability’ and asking where we can submit the invoice.

The tragic realization from these examples lies in the fact that we actually cannot ensure that things go well, unless we accept the risk of achieving the opposite. It is at moments like that that the concept of responsibility appears, saying ‘you are responsible for your actions’. That concept of responsibility, which appears in Emmanuel Levinas (1906-1995), Weber, and Sartre, was therefore actually a tragic concept. It arises from a tragic experience. We cannot, but we must. So that is a big problem. And what do we do with big problems? We simplify them by turning ‘responsibility’ into ‘liability’ and asking where we can submit the invoice.

Towards a new understanding of ‘responsibility’?

Certainly. The foregoing invites us to reflect further on the concept of ‘responsibility’. To make it manageable, we have simplified it to such an extent that it no longer does justice to what we want. The concept must be rethought; we must think about the concept of responsibility in a richer way. After all, there is something important in that tragic experience. We must not eliminate it by making it manageable with claim forms and the like.

With regard to the new understanding of responsibility, I have tried to contribute (somewhat) by distinguishing two types of responsibility: ‘prospective’ and ‘retrospective’ responsibility. ‘Retrospective responsibility’ can be developed in part in terms of liability. Central to this, therefore, is the question: ‘Who is to blame for what went wrong?’

Quite apart from the fact that one could still make a distinction between legal and moral liability, the models of both types of responsibility are identical. The basis of retrospective responsibility lies in the ‘prospective’: we have a task to focus on things going well. A task that is distinct from the liability we have as actors for those matters where things have gone wrong, and for which we therefore ‘receive the invoice’. However, I have defined ‘prospective responsibility’ much more broadly: it is a task to care for what is good. For example, we have the (prospective) responsibility to ensure that things go well for our children. However, we cannot guarantee this, nor can we translate it entirely into retrospective responsibility.

We must further elaborate on the concept of ‘prospective responsibility’ to arrive at a more applicable and richer understanding.

You are a philosopher and theologian. In what way do these recur in your thinking and writing?

I just used the concept ‘τὸ ζητούμενον’: ‘the good that must be sought’. Dionysius the Areopagite (1st century AD) uses precisely that concept as the name of God. My thinking is constantly focused on the questions of what is truly true, what is truly good, and what is truly beautiful. In a certain sense, this transcends any provisional determination thereof. It transcends any identification thereof by one or by the other; by one power or the other; by one leader or the other.

It is about the continued search that goes beyond every boundary. If you translate that into Latin, you get ‘transcendent’. That literally means ‘to go beyond the boundary’. There is a deep religious undertone in my thinking and writing. It does not speak of ‘God’. When I use the concept of God, you will have a specific image associated with it. Then we should investigate whether we are using identical images in doing so. ‘God’ is one of the names humanity has given to that transcendence of every definition. To that crossing the boundary. I just mentioned Aristotle (384-322 BC) and explained what distinguishes humans from (other) animals. Man is ‘that’ animal that can hardly do otherwise than cross its boundaries. That can hardly do otherwise, unless he becomes ‘animal’.

You remain human by continuing to search. In that sense, man is essentially religious.

Unfortunately, we must conclude that too many people ‘animalize’ too easily. They resign themselves too readily to a certain truth or a certain norm. These are, in fact, ‘finished’. When you are finished, you have become an animal. You remain human by continuing to search. In that sense, man is essentially religious. That essential core element of what makes a human being human demands to be cultivated. If we do not cultivate it, it withers and animalization arises, presenting itself as ‘massification’: herd behaviour.

The cultivation that is necessary can take place in various ways, and throughout history, humanity has found all kinds of forms for this. ‘Art’ is an important cultivation of that religious sentiment of the inevitable pull towards transcendence. In art lies the attempt to show that what you see is something other than what you see. Martinus Nijhoff (1894-1953) expressed it as follows: ‘Just read, what is written is not what is written’. It reaches for something that is not there.

The various religions are a cultivation of the religious nature of man. Philosophy is a deeply religious activity because it is a cultivation of that relationship to that which you can never reach. In that sense, philosophy is deeply religious, but not bound to a particular religion. The practice from which I am speaking now is that of philosophy. The fact that I also consider myself a religious person has, first and foremost, that underlying, fundamental meaning. Personally, I think and speak from the perspective of Roman Catholic thought.

Are philosophy and theology distinguishable?

Yes, they are distinguishable. A theologian thinks in terms of - and within the framework of - a specific religion. In that sense, every theology is a form of prayer. Philosophy does not bind itself in that way to either one specific religion or to an artistic movement. Nor to one philosophical doctrine. People sometimes call me a ‘Nietzschean’, but that always makes me a bit angry. I am not a follower of Nietzsche.

In what way did you arrive at the choice to study philosophy and theology, and eventually to teach them?

My grandfather was a craftsman, a wagon maker, with five children. My father was one of those five, one of whom went to the seminary and therefore cost a lot of money. The others could no longer study because of that. My father became a teacher. My parents had seven children. Above me sat a girl who went to the Gymnasium but had no ambition to go on to study (further), which my parents also considered self-evident at the time. My father found it quite unlikely that I would be the fairly good student who went to the Gymnasium. According to him, that was ‘not so easy’. Now, at that moment, I had the ambition to become a priest and wanted to go to the seminary.

My father considered it rather unlikely that I would be that good student.

However, to be able to become a priest - which was my ambition at the time - I had to go to the Gymnasium. Again, my father was not convinced and indicated that I should first take the entrance exam for the MULO as it was then called. When I passed that quite easily, I was subsequently required to take the entrance exam for the then-existing HBS. I did that successfully, and only then was I allowed to take the entrance exam for the Gymnasium. At the seminary, however, they indicated that that was really no longer necessary. I was eventually admitted to the Gymnasium without an entrance exam - i.e., the entry to this seminary.

I describe this because none of it was at all a matter of course. I was born shortly after the Second World War. That was a period of emancipation in which entire population groups had to reach the level of higher education in the first place. By the time I finished Gymnasium, I knew that I did not want to become a priest. Thanks to the classical languages, I had meanwhile discovered Philosophy. I was in contact with Plato, Seneca (± 4 BC–65 AD) and Augustine (354–430). I understood what the texts referred to. Ultimately, I graduated from university as a theologian, but with the idea that Philosophy was the most beautiful subject. Within Theology, I completed over forty Philosophy exams. When I eventually decided to study Philosophy in Leuven, I was allowed to start my Licentiate (now: Master's) immediately. My Bachelor's thesis in Theology focused on the relationship between Theology and Philosophy.

My Master's thesis in Theology was about ‘Ethics in Freud’s Psychoanalysis’. By the end of my Theology education, I was essentially a Philosopher with a strong interest in Psychoanalysis. My thesis within the Philosophy program focused on Nietzsche’s ‘Also sprach Zarathustra’.

Would there have been other possible paths in your career?

That question cannot be answered sensibly. Times have changed. If I were the same person as I was back then, the answer would be ‘Yes’. At this moment, it is unlikely that anyone would study Theology. At that time, it was an obvious path within the outlined emancipation context and a path to climb.

In my choice of studies, I never stood at a point where I had to choose between turning left, right, or going straight ahead. The path to Philosophy was perfectly clear to me. I have too poor a memory for History. I found the study of Law interesting, particularly the whole atmosphere surrounding the judiciary, especially Criminal Law.

The latter due to the tension in ‘Law & Morality?’

Yes, but more generally speaking, ‘The Law’ is, of course, an ultimate attempt to simply capture what we seek for the moment or a specific period of time. A good lawyer constantly feels the tension between what is established and what it is actually about. That tension, that is exciting. Is what the law prescribes also just?

Which question were you never asked, but always wanted to answer?

(Thinks.) I don't know. (Silence and thinks further.) That is a perfect question for Douwe Egberts’ tea bags.

Have I forgotten to ask a question?

No, you have asked quite enough questions.

“Der Andere könnte recht haben.“

With which quote would you like to conclude today?

By way of introduction to my answer: Hans-Georg Gadamer (1900-2003) was a German philosopher and a leading figure in hermeneutics. He was portrayed magnificently by the ‘Süddeutsche Rundfunk (SDR)’ in a series of wonderful broadcasts on the history of Philosophy. Gadamer simply sat in a chair and spoke. The final broadcast focused on Gadamer’s own position within Philosophy, and he was asked the following question: ‘Mr. Professor, can you summarize your philosophy in five words?’

Gadamer thought for a moment and answered: “The other might be right.”

Transcending the boundaries of everyday sensory reality and our normal consciousness requires fundamental openness, a change of perspective, and sincere listening. Not only to win, but also to acquire knowledge together. What I touched upon today regarding transcendence is precisely this.

The quote with which I would like to conclude our dialogue today is therefore:

‘It could be that the other person is right.’ - Hans-Georg Gadamer.

ABOUT PAUL VAN TONGEREN

Professor Emeritus of Philosophical Ethics & Laureate ‘National Thinker of the Netherlands, 2021–2023’.

Paul van Tongeren (Deventer, the Netherlands, 1950) studied Theology in Utrecht and Philosophy in Leuven, Belgium. He obtained his doctorate in Leuven with a dissertation on Nietzsche’s critique of morality. From 1985 to 1991, as professor in Philosophy, he was specially appointed by the Radboud Foundation at the Leiden University, with a chair dedicated to ‘Philosophy in relation to the Catholic worldview’. Paul van Tongeren served as Professor of Philosophical Ethics at Radboud University Nijmegen from 1988 to 2015, and as he was a specially appointed Professor of Ethics at KU Leuven from 2002 to 2016.

In addition to his university teaching, Paul van Tongeren gave and gives lectures and guest talks for private companies and public organizations in numerous countries and published work in many languages.

With  ‘Living is an Art: On Moral Experience, Virtue Ethics, and the Art of Living’, Van Tongeren won the Dutch ‘Socrates Cup’ in 2013, an award for the most urgent and original philosophy book written in Dutch. In the book, Van Tongeren encourages readers to critically examine their own lives in order to transform them into a work of art.

Since 2005, Paul van Tongeren is a panel member of (the national newspaper’s)  ‘Trouw’s Eleven’, i.e. eleven philosophers. For the 2021–2023 period, the ‘Month of Philosophy Foundation’ awarded Van Tongeren the honorary Laureate ‘National Thinker of the Netherlands, 2021–2023’.

Paul van Tongeren received a royal decoration in 2002, being granted the Order of the Lion of the Netherlands. He delivered his farewell lecture on December 11, 2015, at the Stevenskerk in Nijmegen.