Categorie: Philosopher on the Job

  • Op zoek naar de verhalen van de FFTR

    Een interview met drs. Ignace de Haes over het boek Denkers en Duiders: Een eeuw Nijmeegse filosofie, theologie en religiewetenschappen in honderd verhalen


    “Heb je al gehoord …”, “Wat er gister toch is gebeurd …”, “Wat ik nu toch weer heb meegemaakt …”: Deze en soortgelijke zinnen hoor je de hele dag door. Mensen vertellen elkaar continu verhalen. Verhalen over de man in de bus die zijn nagels zat te knippen, over de docent die op blote voeten college stond te geven, over de medestudent die een diepe zucht slaakte bij het horen van de naam ‘Plato’. Iedere gebeurtenis, iedere ervaring, alles wat we meemaken, het zijn allemaal verhalen. We vertellen, we luisteren en we vertellen verder. Alles wat we doen, wat we denken, wat we voelen, de keuzes die we maken, het draagt allemaal bij aan het verhaal dat we over onszelf, over onze omgeving vertellen, want wat is het leven als het geen verhaal is? Iedereen werkt dag in dag uit aan diens eigen narratief. Die verhalen komen bij elkaar, tijdens ontmoetingen tussen mensen. Op één dag lopen er al honderden, duizenden mensen op campus rond, die allemaal hun eigen narratief met zich meedragen. Moet je nagaan hoeveel verhalen zich door de jaren heen hebben verzameld, hoeveel er op je liggen te wachten als je de moeite neemt om te zoeken, te luisteren, hoeveel er voor altijd verborgen zullen blijven om nooit meer gevonden te worden. Al 100 jaar bruisen de gebouwen van de Radboud Universiteit van de verhalen. Je zult ze misschien niet iedere dag bewust zien, maar ze zijn er wel degelijk.

    Een faculteit vol verhalen

    Hoe bijzonder is het dan om bewust op zoek te gaan naar deze verhalen, om te vragen, om nieuwsgierig te zijn, om interesse te tonen, om te luisteren. Dit is wat drs. Ignace de Haes, twee jaar geleden, besloot te doen. Ter ere van het 100 jarig bestaan van de Radboud Universiteit, besloot hij om een zoektocht te starten naar de verhalen van de FFTR, want, zoals hij zelf zegt:  ‘‘We zijn een faculteit van grote verhalen, zowel bij de theologie als bij de filosofie. Met dit project wilde ik op zoek gaan naar de kleine verhalen, dat zijn verhalen die in principe subjectief zijn. Bij dat soort verhalen ga je uit van iemands ervaringen en herinneringen.’’ Ignace is twee jaar lang op zoek geweest naar die kleine verhalen. Steeds meer mensen sloten zich bij de zoektocht aan. Een jaar geleden, kwam ook ik het team versterken: ik ben in de archieven gedoken, ik ben met mensen gaan praten, ik ben gaan zoeken, gaan luisteren, om deze verhalen te verzamelen. Nu, een jaar later, hebben we met zijn allen maar liefst 100 verhalen bij elkaar gesprokkeld en gebundeld in het boek Denkers en Duiders: Een eeuw Nijmeegse filosofie, theologie en religiewetenschappen in honderd verhalen. Na het meewerken aan de zoektocht naar de verhalen van het verleden van de faculteit, ben ik benieuwd naar nog één laatste verhaal, het verhaal dat achter dit boek schuilgaat. Ik heb aan Ignace gevraagd of hij mij dat verhaal wilt vertellen.

    In het begin sch…

    Ignace is twee jaar geleden begonnen met het verzamelen van de kleine verhalen van de FFTR. Hij wilde zowel verhalen over de theologie als de filosofie vertellen, omdat dat de twee grote, oude pilaren zijn, waar de faculteit op steunt. Zijn idee was om 100 verhalen te gaan schrijven: één verhaal over ieder jaar dat zowel de universiteit als de studies filosofie en theologie bestaan. Poëtisch genoeg was het eerste verhaal dat hij schreef, het verhaal over het begin, over de schepping van hemel en aarde, of ten minste het ontstaan daarvan. Het is namelijk nog maar de vraag of hemel en aarde überhaupt geschapen zijn. Dit ontdekte Ellen van Wolde tijdens haar onderzoek naar de Hebreeuwse grondteksten van de Bijbel.  Ze kwam erachter dat het Hebreeuwse woord bara, in de Bijbel vertaald is als scheppen, terwijl het eerder scheiden betekent. Op het eerste gezicht lijkt dit geen indrukwekkende bevinding, het is slechts één woordje, hoe kan de vertaling van één simpel woordje nou een impact hebben op een verhaal, laat staan op een boek zo dik als de Bijbel? Toch wekte deze bevinding een stortvloed aan reacties op, allerlei deskundigen en gelovigen reageerden op en maakten zich druk om deze bevinding. Waarom? Daarvoor moeten we terug naar het begin, naar de eerste zin van de Bijbel, want ‘‘In het begin schiep God hemel en aarde’’ (Genesis 1:1) wordt dan: ‘‘In het begin scheidde God hemel en aarde.’’ Zo kan één woordje, één klein woordje, het hele verhaal van de wereld, het hele wereldbeeld van gelovigen op losse schroeven zetten. Wat betekent het als God niet de wereld uit het niets schiep, maar de wereld al bestond voordat God deze scheidde? Bestond er dan al iets voordat God bestond? En wat betekent dat voor het geloof? Wat betekent dat voor het scheppingsverhaal? Is dit een bedreigende vondst, of juist een verrijkende? Ellen van Wolde zette mensen aan het denken, aan het reflecteren met haar vertaling van één simpel, klein woordje. Bij het opnieuw vertellen van dit verhaal, grinnikt Ignace tevreden: ‘‘Ik vind het zo geweldig. Die eerste zin van de Bijbel bestaat al 2000 jaar en dan komt er een wetenschapper die zegt: ‘Ja, die eerste zin, die klopt niet, die is verkeerd vertaald.’ Eén woord anders, maakt een compleet ander wereldbeeld, wat het wereldbeeld van het Christendom in elkaar laat storten. Nou, dat vind ik prachtig.’’

    Diversiteit

    Ignace heeft niet alle 100 verhalen alleen hoeven schrijven. Dat zou onmogelijk in twee jaar tijd zijn gelukt. Sowieso paste dat ook niet bij de visie die hij voor het project had. Zoals ik al eerder heb gezegd, wilde hij namelijk op zoek naar de kleine verhalen van de faculteit, de subjectieve verhalen, de anekdotes, verhalen die in een hoekje liggen te wachten om ontdekt te worden, verhalen die al heel lang in het geheugen van verschillende mensen opgeslagen liggen, maar gewoon nooit of nauwelijks verteld zijn geweest. Ignace beschrijft zijn visie als volgt: ‘‘We hebben al genoeg wetenschappelijke boeken, dus het mogen verhalen zijn van alumni, van medewerkers, van anderen die iets observeren. Daarnaast mag het over alles gaan.’’ Hij wilde zoveel mogelijk mensen bij het project betrekken. Als je naar de laatste pagina’s van het boek bladert, kun je aan de auteurslijst, die maar liefst twee hele pagina’s beslaat met in totaal 48 namen, zien dat dit zeker gelukt is.

    Op deze auteurslijst staan namen van mensen die Ignace zelf heeft benaderd en gevraagd om een verhaal te schrijven, zoals prof. dr. Peter Nissen en prof. dr. Christoph Lüthy, die samen met Ignace de redactie van het project vormden. Veel mensen hebben zich ook via mond-tot-mond reclame als een soort sneeuwbaleffect bij het project aangesloten, zo heeft dr. Willem van der Kuijlen voor het verhaal van 1988 getiteld: ‘‘Filosofische stratenmakers’’, de vier filosofen: Pieter van Diesen, Theo Theunissen, Zafer Aydogdu en Henk Hoogervorst gevraagd om een verhaal voor het project te schrijven. Dankzij de veelzijdigheid van de redactie zelf en van alle mensen die hebben meegewerkt is er een boek ontstaan met een grote diversiteit aan schrijvers, stijlen en verhalen. Sommige verhalen zijn meer historisch, andere juist anekdotisch. Er zijn interviews, prozateksten, beschrijvende verhalen, en stukjes uit archieven in het boek te vinden. Sommige verhalen zijn grappig, andere zijn emotioneel, sommige zijn kritisch, andere zijn lovend, sommige gaan over gebeurtenissen in de geschiedenis die in de archieven verstopt liggen, andere gaan over wat recentere en meer bekende ervaringen. Al met al is het volgens Ignace ‘‘een kleurrijk, divers pallet van verhalen van vroeger tot nu’’ geworden.

    Favoriete verhaal van Ignace

    Uit dit pallet wilt Ignace eigenlijk geen favoriet kiezen, want het zijn nu eenmaal 100 prachtige verhalen geworden, die allemaal hun eigen charmes hebben en allemaal op hun eigen manier iets toevoegen aan het geheel. Toch is er één verhaal dat voor hem een speciaal plekje heeft. Dit is het verhaal van 2021 over Justine Borkes, een mevrouw die een vaste bezoekster was van de koffiehoek op de 15e verdieping. Iedereen kende haar, maar niemand scheen precies te weten wat ze daar nu eigenlijk deed. Ignace was nieuwsgierig naar haar verhaal en heeft haar gecontacteerd om te vragen of hij haar mocht interviewen. Dat mocht en het verborgen verhaal van de onbekende dame in de koffiehoek werd aan het licht gebracht. Tijdens het gesprek, kwam Ignace erachter dat Justine dichteres was en filosofie had gestudeerd. Ze wilde heel graag promoveren, maar dat is haar uiteindelijk niet gelukt. Toch bleef ze naar de koffiehoek op de 15e verdieping komen, want, zoals ze zelf in het interview zegt: ‘‘Filosofie is voor mij meer dan alleen de teksten van filosofen. Filosofie heeft voor mij alles te maken met ruimte en thuiskomen. Dat is de reden dat ik de ruimte opzoek waar filosofie bedreven wordt. Door die ruimte laat ik me inspireren, ook in mijn gedichten. […]De koffiehoek op de vijftiende verdieping was mijn thuis, mijn huiskamer, omdat juist die ruimte voor mij gelijk staat met filosofie en gastvrijheid’’ (De Haes, Lüthy & Nissen 2023, 13).

    Wat begon als een gesprek uit Ignace zijn interesse in en nieuwsgierigheid naar het verhaal van Justine, werd een afscheidsinterview. Toen Ignace haar interviewde, lag Justine al in het ziekenhuis. Nog geen twee weken later, is Justine overleden. Deze ervaring heeft veel indruk gemaakt op Ignace: ‘‘Dit heeft mij geleerd dat er achter iedereen een verhaal zit, alleen je moet er wel nieuwsgierig naar zijn, dan zul je zien dat iedereen bewonderingswaardige verhalen te vertellen heeft.’’

    De verhalen gaan verder

    Iedereen heeft een verhaal en die verhalen stoppen niet simpelweg met bestaan als je ze hebt opgeschreven en gebundeld in een boek, ze worden doorverteld, ze gaan verder, er komt altijd een vervolg. Wanneer mensen overlijden, overleven hun verhalen. Wie zouden we nog zijn en wat zouden we nog doen op de Faculteit der Filosofie, Theologie en Religiewetenschappen als we niet meer zouden putten uit de verhalen van het verleden? Als we niet meer vol verwondering en nieuwsgierigheid om ons heen zouden kijken? Als we het gedachtegoed en de levensverhalen van mensen, filosofen, theologen en schrijvers met hen zouden begraven om hun verhalen door ruimte en tijd te laten afbreken, vergaan? Zou er dan nog iets als literatuur bestaan? Nog iets als Theologie? Religie? Filosofie? Waarop zouden we bouwen als we geen verhalen meer hadden? Wat zou dan ons fundament nog zijn? Ons uitgangspunt? Ons bestaansrecht? We werken iedere dag met verhalen, of ze nu literair en poëtisch zijn of wetenschappelijk en feitelijk, of de filosofie in het wit tussen de woorden te vinden is, of op een zilveren dienblaadje aan ons wordt geserveerd. We zijn altijd op zoek naar de verhalen van het verleden en naar hoe we daarop kunnen voortborduren in het hier en nu, hoe de verhalen verder gaan, nooit af zijn.

    Denkers en Duiders: een eeuw Nijmeegse filosofie, theologie en religiewetenschappen in honderd verhalen

    Dit boek is dan ook een momentopname, een barometer, een peiling. 100 bewonderingswaardige gebeurtenissen zijn door de medewerkers en medewerksters van dit project verzameld en opschreven. Door dit boek zijn mijn ogen geopend en ben ik ze gaan zien. Tijdens het zoeken en schrijven, heb ik de universiteit en de FTR-Faculteit zelf op een hele andere manier leren kennen. Natuurlijk vraagt iedere student zich wel eens af, als ze weer eens in de overvolle bus 10 hutje mutje op elkaar gepropt zitten, waarom de campus niet gewoon in het centrum is, dat is toch veel makkelijker? Ook heb ik het wel eens vreemd gevonden dat we hier überhaupt de FTR-Faculteit kennen en niet, zoals bij veel andere universiteiten, een Faculteit der Letteren en Wijsbegeerte. Pas als je de geschiedenis induikt ga je hiervoor de antwoorden vinden, vallen dingen op hun plek en ga je op een andere manier om je heen kijken, ga je andere dingen zien. Zoals Ignace het omschrijft: ‘‘Je leert iets over de geschiedenis aan de hand van subjectieve verhalen en als je al die verhalen doorleest krijg je een rode draad van de geschiedenis te pakken. Dit boek geeft een mooi beeld van een eeuw Nijmeegse filosofie, theologie en religiewetenschappen in honderd verhalen. Nu ben ik natuurlijk heel benieuwd hoe de aankomende 100 jaar gaan verlopen.’’ De Radboud blijft bruisen. En wie weet, misschien komt er over 100 jaar weer een boek vol met de verhalen, die vandaag beginnen en die we samen mogen gaan beleven, samen mogen gaan schrijven, iedere dag weer.

    Weggeefactie

    Dit prachtige boek vol verhalen, die inzicht geven in 100 jaar geschiedenis filosofie, theologie en religiewetenschappen aan de Radboud universiteit, is niet alleen verkrijgbaar in de boekhandel, er worden binnenkort ook 3 exemplaren verloot! Op de Splijtstof Instagram zal een post geplaatst worden, waarop je kunt reageren, om kans te maken op een exemplaar. Uit de reacties zullen drie gelukkige winnaars worden geloot. Houd je ogen en oren dus goed open. Wie weet, staat Denkers en Duiders binnenkort bij jou op de boekenplank te schitteren en kun jij je verdiepen in de verhalen van het verleden.


    Bibliografie

    Haes, Ignace, de, Christoph Lüthy, Peter Nissen. 2023. Denkers en Duiders: Een eeuw Nijmeegse filosofie, theologie en religiewetenschappen in honderd verhalen. Nijmegen: Vantilt.

  • Into the Black Hole with Jonathan Zackor

    The Valkhof Museum’s exhibition ‘Into the Black Hole’ opened in October of 2023, to much fanfare. Students from Radboud University (such as our very own Laura Schranz!) participated as ‘public-in-residence’ to co-design the exhibition alongside the Valkhof museum. I decided to interview Jonathan Zackor, a Master’s student in Tourism and Culture at Radboud, who was part of the core group of students working on the exhibition. I had a strategic advantage in scheduling an interview with him, owing to the fact that we have been boyfriends for almost a year and a half.


    I decide to spring a surprise interview on Jonathan during his shift at the coffee corner in the main University Library. He is wearing his black work polo shirt and a pair of comfortable-looking jeans, but his individuality is still obvious even through his uniform: his split-dyed hair (currently half-brown, half-orange), the tattoos on his arm and his nose piercings make him easy to spot. He is softly spoken, switching between English and Dutch to take people’s coffee orders, and apologetically defaulting back to English with a smile if someone tries to order using unfamiliar Dutch slang. In a quiet moment, I ask my first question:

    For the uninitiated, who are you, and what was your role in the Valkhof Museum exhibition ‘Into the Black Hole’?

    “I’m Jonathan Zackor, I’m an international student from Germany who is doing his Master’s in Tourism and Culture. While I was working at the Valkhof Museum, I was still doing my Bachelor’s degree in Arts and Culture Studies, so my Master’s orientation coincided with the work I was doing at Valkhof. I was hired by the Valkhof Museum, as a Radboud student, particularly as a student who could participate in giving a unique perspective on the collaboration between art and science.”

    He leans over to look at what I have written down so far, then asks, “Could you add that I was selected to be a member of the core group, not the senate?”

    On the topic of unique perspectives, I ask him if he noticed a difference in approach or mindset between him and students from different faculties. He begins to answer, but is interrupted by an influx of customers to the coffee corner. He diligently switches to taking people’s orders, and once the rush dies down, he returns.

    “A difference? Well, yes… I think a difference was already reflected in my motivation when I applied for this position. They were asking what our opinion about the black hole was, what initial thoughts we had about it. I told them that I wanted to become an academic researcher, that I’ve done some independent research on it already, and that I’ve done some independent research on Affect studies – with an A!”

    At this point, something shifts: Jonathan is no longer just chatting during his work shift, cleaning Billie cups and keeping an eye out for customers – he embodies an academic, a professor giving a lecture on cultural studies (one I am struggling to capture the true depth of in my hastily-typed notes).

    “In my opinion, the phenomenon of the black hole is extremely challenging to grasp, so I attached some thoughts to it that were inspired by my previous research, such as imagining the black hole as a void with all emotions absent, with all humanness absent. So I was considering the black hole from a Culture-studies’ perspective. I was not the only person working on the exhibition from the Faculty of Arts, obviously, but I was very willing to stand in for the initial idea that I had.”

    “I think the perspective I have is also important for people who don’t know anything about black holes. Like, I didn’t know anything about the scientific side, I think most people probably don’t. In antiquity, people came up with Greek gods to try to understand the phenomena around themselves that were beyond understanding, and I think the black hole represents something similar.”

    “In my studies, we are taught to be extremely critical. Our study is very theoretical, so I thought it was very different…”

    Jonathan dashes away for a moment to retrieve some returned Billie cups from customers, puts them in the sink, then makes his way back over to me.

    “…I feel like other studies from the Faculty of Arts might have more practical applications, like studying languages, but with Arts and Culture Studies, it may be a stereotype, but you can’t really do anything with it if you don’t have more education, like in a job. You know what I mean?”

    I am a PPS student; naturally, I do.

    So, being an Arts and Culture student, you’re used to having to deal with more abstract ideas that aren’t tangible. You’re used to studying things that can’t necessarily be understood, like a black hole.

    “Oh… you put that much better than I did.” Jonathan half-sighs, half-chuckles.

    What does the exhibition mean to you, firstly as Jonathan the Arts and Culture scholar, and secondly as Jonathan the individual?

    “As a scholar, it means a successful combination of art and science perspectives.”

    He doesn’t elaborate, so I nudge him:

    And what about Jonathan, the individual?

    He smiles, this question is more difficult. After thinking for a moment, he says: “I think one major component of the exhibition was that it was co-designed with students my age, and I think it’s quite an honour to be part of this. I think that the exhibition really thrives off of that as well, because you can hear the contemporary voices. That’s very cool. Like it’s very… in the moment, completely recent. It speaks for our generation.”

    You were talking about Affect earlier; how do you feel when you’re in the exhibition?

    “I feel fascinated by all of the voices that come together. It’s a very overwhelming experience. It leaves me in awe. It makes you wonder why museums don’t work with students more often.”

    What do you think a student from the FFTR could learn from a visit to the exhibition?

    “People can have different conceptions, theories, “scientific theories”…” (Jonathan mimes the quotation marks for “scientific theories” with his hands, half-mockingly, with the air of someone who has several strong opinions on the separation of scientific theory from cultural theory), “…but they can express them in artworks as opposed to in writing. In philosophy, I feel as though writing is the primary way of expressing and learning ideas and theories. In the exhibition, philosophy students could try to retrace the objects, and try to see what theories the objects might incorporate or represent. Obviously the written descriptions of the artworks on the plaques help people to interpret the work…”

    Jonathan hesitates for a moment to gather his thoughts, then confides in me: “If the museum wants to work with students and take them seriously, I think a point of improvement in the future would be for them not to pick and choose from our ideas as it suits them or the status quo.”

    I detect some frustration and, in the spirit of journalism, I resolve to delve deeper, devising a new question while Jonathan finishes his shift.

    Were there things that the senate or the core group had suggested, but weren’t able to implement in the final exhibition?

    “Since I was a member of the core group, we weren’t part of a lot of conversations that the senate had. So I can’t really say anything about that. But we, as a core group, were each given additional specific focuses. One idea we had was contrary to what museums usually do –  we wanted to not print dates on objects we were exhibiting. There are a lot of objects in the vitrines and exhibition space such as the mobile telephone, prints, books from Radboud’s special collection… Using these objects, we wanted to give a comprehensive overview of people from different cultures and different time periods gazing into the stars and making art about it, or wanting to explore what’s waiting for them in the universe, and inventing technologies to do so. This is a cross-cultural thing, and we wanted the visitor to think for themselves about what connects different cultures, in spite of temporal differences. So we were thinking about just completely removing the data and locations of objects from the objects themselves, to not have the dates printed in the object descriptions.”

    “We wanted to do away with museum traditions. The students had visions for how we could change things, and this was brought up in conversation. But I think this, and other ideas, were sometimes too progressive, I guess, in the museum’s eyes. ‘This is not how we do it here’, basically. So those ideas from the students were put to the side, I feel, because they were so out of the way of traditions. But we weren’t really told that this was something we couldn’t give input on.”

    “There was also an issue with language. We were a mix of Dutch and international students, and one of the museum’s missions with the exhibition was to attract more students, which was why they wanted to have our perspective as students. We basically told them: ‘to be inclusive, it would be best to have English as the main language of communication’. But then there is also the tradition of the Valkhof museum to cooperate with German partners and visitors, so in their tradition, the main language of communication is Dutch, followed by German and English (or English and German). We wanted the main language to be English, not only for the big texts, but also for the videos, to make it more attractive to the general student population. But the museum reverted back to what they were used to. It was a very small thing, but I think we could have spent our time better if we had known there were certain things we couldn’t have changed, and we could have dedicated our energy elsewhere, towards things that were possible to change. The boundaries were sometimes a bit blurred.”

    “Basically, how museums usually work, they work with internal and external stakeholders. That makes sense for the museum. We as a core group were basically put in charge of the exhibition concept, or so we were told, which included the upcoming written narrative – the story we wanted to tell to the visitors – and we had a lot of ideas. Each of us in the core group prepared little powerpoints, presented what we thought about black holes, our study backgrounds, and we really connected with each other. From those conversations, we came up with a ‘master narrative’ which included the narrative, but also how to set it up in reality, spatial design, colour coding. One member had a really cool idea for making a vintage space poster, like Star Wars.”

    “And once we were told there were also external stakeholders involved, like a design team, we were excited to work together with them, we spent a lot of time on it, which says a lot, as students. We had multiple meetings. But what we weren’t really told – and I’m just saying that this should have been made clear upfront, to make sure we spent our time properly – was that the design team were the ones in charge because they had a lot of practical experience. We could give them our plans, but they would then tell us what they could do with that. And once they got back to us, I think all of us were shocked because the plan was completely different from what we had in mind with the story we wanted to tell. It was very different. We all really had to get warmed up to the idea. This is not to say that I don’t like the exhibition space as it is now, but we really had to get used to the idea because, at first, we didn’t know how this was going to go. And I think we would have done things differently if there had been transparent communication. I don’t want to sound too critical, but I remember everyone having a moment of silence when the plans were presented in front of us. We were like: ‘Huh? How did they come up with that?’. It was a surprise.”

    Did you learn anything about philosophy, politics or religion while you were working on the exhibition?

    “Well, I did learn a lot, of course, because another member of the core group is literally studying PPS, and she was very inspiring in her talks. I feel like she had a very personal stake in it. I love learning from other people as well. We had a lot of different backgrounds in the core group, and, of course, in the senate, but we didn’t collaborate as much with the senate as with the other core group members. I like to just listen to the very amazing ideas people have around me, obviously there is a reason why the collaboration wanted to have a philosophy student, and I think it was a great mix.”

    “The connection emphasised to me that mechanisms of exclusion and inclusion are all around us. People look up at the same night sky, as part of this imaginary of people thinking about the universe – we are all part of this. But there are still structural things in place that means that this togetherness is obstructed. We set others apart – we obstruct this togetherness. We create Otherness, we perpetuate ideas of cultural supremacy, we try to separate art and science.”

    “In my studies this is very much a point of attention, but to also see these ideas and points of attention emphasised in the work we were doing together, across studies and faculties, was really nice. The exhibition united students of all disciplines in thinking about black holes, and this unitedness is one of the goals of the exhibition itself.”

    “I like that the exhibition shows that people always have been, and always will be, curious about the world around them. I really like that.”

    The location and the exhibition itself describes itself as “accessible to wheelchair users and the disabled” on the website. Do you think this is the case?

    “It is now! For people with physical disabilities. So basically, when the initial design plans were shown to us, and we had a discussion about it, people were like ‘is it accessible for people who use wheelchairs?’, because the initial plan had obstructed the wheelchair ramp with walls. This was rectified, so now it is accessible for people with a wheelchair.”

    “But for some exhibition pieces, specifically ones that use a lot of light and noise, I would have appreciated a warning for people who are sensitive to flashing lights or intense sensory input in general. I don’t think there’s a warning in place right now, and that might limit accessibility for some people. But for the videos, for example, the education videos, there was a lot of conversation about how to deal with the sound. So we finally decided on ‘sound showers’, which I really like. Sound showers come from a source in the ceiling, and you have to stand under it, literally like a shower head but for sound. If you’re not under it, you don’t hear it. So that is good for people who would be overwhelmed by a lot of different sounds in the same room.”

    “And I also remember when we first went into the building on the Keizer Karelplein before the exhibition was set up. A lot of people from our group felt that the physical space of the building was very disorienting, challenging, and we kind of wanted it to not be overwhelming. There are a lot of colours, weirdly-shaped pillars, and we just wanted to create a coherent environment. When we were walking through the building at first, we felt quite uncomfortable. We felt we really had to work with the space and we didn’t want it to be too overwhelming for visitors. I think the exhibition itself is quite a lot, you know, it’s a bit overwhelming in terms of the content and the fact that it makes you feel like a little thing in the universe, it’s quite existential. This is making me think about Camus. May I refer to Camus?”

    You may.

    “I think Camus would have liked this exhibition a lot. You see yourself as this tiny thing, right in front of a black hole, and you think ‘Yes, it exists, you can ask a lot of questions and learn about it, but you can’t escape it, so you just have to face it’… I do like Camus.” Jonathan laughs a little at his own admiration for Camus.

    I recall that the students involved in the exhibition were each asked to devise a question for the visitors to consider as they walked around the exhibition. Your question was along the lines of: “Imagine you are being sucked into a black hole and into a different dimension, and you have to leave something behind. What is it?”. What would you leave behind as you went Into the Black Hole?

    “I asked this question because I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to answer the question. I think that everyone does want to leave something negative behind, maybe they feel that it isn’t a part of their story. So I feel like it’s, again, a very existential question. Usually, I tend to want to think about it, not just give a funny answer. I guess I would want to leave behind the feeling that I don’t deserve good things. Because I do, and everyone else also does. I don’t like it when people question their worth.”

    Speaking of worth, and as a way to round off the interview, what do you think makes the ‘Into the Black Hole’ exhibition worth experiencing?

    “I think the fact that it encourages people to experience curiosity, in the face of their fear. People look at black holes and think: ‘this is scary, but I’m going to study it anyway’. This is very human. I think the exhibition is a testament to human beings doing things both because of, and in spite of, existential fear or dread. Students, artists, scientists, everyone.”

  • Philosopher on the Job: An Interview with Lisa Doeland on Careers in Academic Philosophy

    It is that time of year again when many students are graduating and thinking about their next steps into the world of employment, taxes, and other aspects of life after university. By now, I ought to be used to the jokes I hear about philosophers struggling to find their place in the world after their bachelor’s or master’s degrees. To many philosophy students, continuing their research may seem like an obvious and straightforward path. If an academic career is something you are considering, I strongly recommend talking to your lecturers and professors about their experiences.

    As a philosophy student interested in political ecology and climate ethics, I reached out to a number of lecturers and researchers in relevant fields. I wanted to hear about the paths they had taken to work on these topics in the realm of academic philosophy. This project started as part of a course I followed during my bachelor’s degree, titled Philosophy in Practice. Throughout this course, I investigated some potential careers, hoping to be swayed towards following one path or another.

    However, as I neared the end of that degree, I quickly realised that there is no fixed path for everyone in navigating a particular career, academic or otherwise. A particular conversation that sticks with me is one I had with Radboud University lecturer and PhD candidate, Lisa Doeland.

    I open our discussion with some questions I had been pondering for a while: “How did you decide to pursue a career in academia? Did you always know that this was the right career path for you?”

    “No, I didn’t always know,” Lisa admits, smiling as she joins me at the table in her office. “I began with my bachelor’s degree in Literary Studies, but I became interested in philosophy before I completed it. During my first year, I followed a course on the Philosophy of Culture, and I really liked it.” Soon after, Lisa enrolled as a philosophy student, too. After seven years, she had completed two bachelor’s degrees and her master’s degree in philosophy.

    Upon learning this, I wondered whether Lisa had moved from her master’s degree to a PhD position in relatively short succession. Throughout the final year of my bachelor’s degree, I questioned whether I wanted to spend the next several years in academia. A big part of me wanted to explore other interests and see what would await me in the near future outside the university.

    While I am still undecided on what path I will follow after my master’s degree, Lisa shows me that it is alright to take the time to focus on other aspects of life and figure out what comes next.

    “I had my first child when I finished my bachelor’s thesis in Literary Studies,” she comments. “It wasn’t long after that until I wrote my master’s thesis, too. It worked out well because I had good focus, especially when my daughter was young. I would think, ‘alright, now you’re sleeping, I can write’. Within four or five months, I finished the thesis. I was amazed by that, but it happened.”

    Shortly after completing her master’s degree, Lisa started working at the university as a programmer of lectures and debates. She already knew that she would like to do a PhD but was not sure about the topic yet. “I really like doing philosophy – theorising – but I wanted to make sure that there was some societal relevance to my research. I hadn’t found my niche yet,” Lisa resumes. “I was about 30 by then. I had worked as a programmer for around three years when I finally found a topic that was both societally relevant and interesting from my philosophical perspective: waste.”

    The natural follow-up question is how she entered her PhD position in the Department of Philosophical Ethics and Political Philosophy. As Lisa has been researching the topic she found most intriguing, I was curious to hear how she got there.

    “I didn’t apply for a PhD position. It all started with Angela Roothaan, whom I met through a Filosofisch Café in Amsterdam,” she explains. “I did an interview with her, and afterwards, we got talking. She asked, especially because I’m a woman, ‘Why are you not doing a PhD?’ – I was asked this question many times over the years, mainly from women in academia. With Angela, I wrote the first draft of my research proposal. However, I knew I still needed a full professor as a supervisor. I thought, ‘alright, who would share my fascination with waste?’ This is where I was happy to have René ten Bos as my guide. Finally, I asked Cees Leijenhorst too, for day-to-day supervision.”

    “What does your day-to-day supervision entail?” I wonder, curious about the difference between thesis supervision at the bachelor’s or master’s level and PhD research.

    “Cees has been very important throughout my research process. This is not because he’s particularly interested in the topic of waste, but because he’s a good and critical reader. He would keep asking questions.”

    “What kinds of questions?” I wonder, especially since the ontology of waste is not Cees’ specific area of expertise.

    “‘Why are you making an argument in this way and not in that way? Where are the summaries? Where are the introductions? – I had become accustomed to writing for a more general audience, less so for academic audiences. Cees Leijenhorst has been a very helpful supervisor,” Lisa shares, appreciative of the advice she receives.

    I was particularly intrigued by the idea of formulating a research plan and proposing it to a potential supervisor. Lisa continues, “I needed some time to digest everything and complete my proposal, leading to my official enrolment as an external candidate. That was in 2018, so I am now five years into my PhD.”

    Curious to learn more, I ask, “what is it like being an external candidate at the university?” I wonder whether Lisa’s PhD experiences vary from those of an internal candidate.

    “I’m enrolled in the Graduate School for the Humanities. It is not just Philosophy, Theology and Religious Studies – other humanities studies are a part of it too. The Graduate School hosts many events, but I don’t often attend them. Perhaps I would attend if I was younger. I think I’m quite old compared to other PhD students. Though, I want to emphasise that even if you’re an external candidate, the university finds ways to include you. There are also reading groups at the university. Finding and becoming a part of a community can be important as an external candidate. Otherwise, it might be a lonely project if it’s just you, your laptop, and your supervisors. I don’t think that would be healthy.”

    “How did you go about finding your sense of community?” I question, pondering Lisa’s earlier remarks on often not attending the Graduate School events.

    “For me, it’s been helpful to be a part of the philosophical cafe in Amsterdam. That’s a community in itself. It’s not an option, then, to limit yourself to your own research or interests because there are always other people’s lectures. You quickly find yourself reading, doing an interview, and then researching a philosopher that you hadn’t heard of before. It broadens your scope because you spend a lot of time developing and connecting philosophy to other themes – societal issues. Reading groups and philosophical cafes like that have helped me out a lot. Though, of course, you can also find this sense of community at the university. If you’re part of a PhD project, you will be inspired by other researchers that you’re working with.” Lisa sheds light on her experiences, and we continue to discuss the importance of building a network of people working as academic philosophers.

    Reflecting on her network before entering her PhD position, I ask, “how did you find the shift from lecture programming to working as an academic in the university?”

    “I already knew many professors and researchers at the university through my work as a programmer. They didn’t know me as an academic yet, but they knew I read their books and engaged with their work. As a result, the academics I have been working with already knew what they could expect from me and knew that I was capable.”

    “Was anything different than you expected?” I wonder, thinking about how her place of work remained the same while Lisa’s new position was quite different.

    “I always knew it was going to be hard work – especially teaching. Perhaps I could say, ‘I only have one or two hours to prepare, and that’s all’. But that’s not how I roll. For example, I lead a course called Classical Texts, where I read philosophical literature together with students. Last week, I thought I had a good understanding of a text until a student asked some interesting questions about it. When there are many students asking questions, I can’t always answer them all. I try to be upfront about it – ‘I’m sorry I haven’t got a proper answer for you right now’. Next week, I want to be able to explain it to them. This means reading up on Kant for a day and a half – it is important. It helps me out in my own research, and I feel obliged to guide the students properly. Some extra work needs to be done, but I create a healthy work-life balance for myself anyway. I try to make sure that I have enough time for everything, especially for my family, though I’m also intrinsically motivated to put in the work. I don’t mind reading up on Kant and putting in the extra hours.”

    This time, I meander to the topic of starting a family and being a woman in academia. Many higher-function academic positions are still male-dominated today. “Do you feel like women are still underrepresented in your field of philosophical research?”

    We take a moment to reflect, and Lisa shares her thoughts. “I think there are a lot of women in interesting positions today. When I think about the research and the literature that I draw on, I made a conscious decision to engage with certain authors. At one point, when I was 3 or 4 years into my PhD, I felt like I was working in a male-dominated field. From that moment onwards, I focused on reading published research from women, but now I don’t really have to think about it anymore. These women are still on my radar, but I feel like things have changed. It is also really changing at this faculty, and I’m very happy about that. It’s important to make sure that everyone is included and that there’s a good balance of different identities.”

    Lisa continues, “I think things are getting better for women in academia. Yet, for everyone, it’s harder to find academic positions abroad since you could find yourself filling precarious positions for a long time before landing a permanent position. Meanwhile, it’s not always possible to move to other cities for new positions when you have children and a partner.”

    I may not have decided whether to pursue an academic career yet, and I may sway to one path before jumping back to another many more times. Nonetheless, this conversation has been incredibly useful in understanding the many elements that need to be considered if I were to pursue a PhD position later. With this thought in mind, I ask one final question: “What advice would you give to a current student considering a career in academic philosophy?”

    Lisa takes a short moment to ponder my question before answering with a smile. “Do not simply focus on wanting to do a PhD and finding a position. Make sure that you engage with subject matter that lights your fire. You need to be intrinsically motivated, engaged, and feel like your research is important. There must be something at stake, and your heart needs to be in it, so to speak. The right way to go about this could be to do a PhD as an external candidate, but if you find a good position in a good research group, I imagine that’s amazing, too. You can flourish when you find passion for your field and discover your sense of community.”

    We exchange a few last words and wish each other luck in our future endeavours. Although I do not know what awaits me in the near future, I find a sense of comfort in knowing that there is no singular, fixed path to a career in academia or another field. The conversations I had with Lisa and other academics have been extremely valuable. If you find yourself questioning your potential place in academic philosophy, find a moment to enjoy a cup of tea with some of your lecturers.


    Shortly after our interview, Lisa published her book, Apocalypsofie, and is now working on the completion of her PhD. More information about this publication can be found following the link below:

    https://www.uitgeverijtenhave.nl/boek/apocalypsofie/.

  • Filosoof op de Arbeidsmarkt – Lev Avitan

    Lev Avitan is spoken word-artiest en oud student filosofie aan de FFTR. Tijdens zijn studie is Lev begonnen met spoken word en inmiddels is hij een bekende stem bij poëzieplatform ‘Mensen zeggen dingen’. Daarnaast is hij medeoprichter van de podcast ‘Echtemannentakkies’ (te vinden op Spotify) en betrad hij recentelijk het podium van Paradiso bij ‘Poetry on Sunday’ met het gedicht ‘Onzekerheden’. In zowel zijn optredens als zijn filosofie besteedt Lev aandacht aan hoe structureel geweld op individueel niveau ervaren wordt. Daarbij maakt hij gebruik van emotieve termen, zoals wonden en helen, om uit te drukken wat geweld voor hem betekent. Op deze manier probeert Lev zich niet alleen kritisch te verhouden tot de maatschappij en haar gewelddadige infrastructuur, maar ook tot wat het betekent om filosofie te beoefenen. 

    Lees meer…
  • Philosopher on the Job Market – Alex Groen

    A few years ago, I would have never imagined myself writing about beer.When I was living in Italy, I did not even like beer. At some point, pilsners appeared in my life but they did not look like a particularly original choice. IPAs seemed much more interesting. Then I started working in a bar, and I discovered the magical properties of sour beers. In case you are in need of a recommendation, among my favorites are: Rodenbach Gran Cru (6% ABV), Vibrant P’ocean (a collaboration between Rodenbach and Dogfish Head, 4.7% ABV), Florida Weisse (Thornbridge Brewery, 4.5% ABV), Blos (brewed by Nevel Artisan Ales for Café De Kluizenaar, 5.5% ABV). Yet, one of the beers that literally stole my heart was Studio Oedipus no. 30 (4% ABV), a delicious raspberry Berliner Weisse with a beautiful pinkish color. This is where our story begins.

    (meer…)
  • Filosoof op de Arbeidsmarkt – Sofie Lakmaker

    Ik ken Sofie Lakmaker van de bachelor filosofie aan de Universiteit van Amsterdam (UvA), maar het is al een aantal jaar geleden dat ik haar voor het laatst heb gezien. Ik ontmoet haar op het terras van literair café de Engelbewaarder, tegenover het Bushuis, één van de UvA-gebouwen in de binnenstad. Ondanks het vieze weer is het druk. We zitten op een uitbreiding van het terras, een vlot op het water. De tafel staat nogal scheef, en ik ben steeds bang mijn telefoon – die het interview opneemt – in het water te laten vallen.

    © Willemieke Kars

    Sofie heeft gepubliceerd in de eerste Sampler, een bundel van uitgeverij Das Mag met verhalen van aanstormend schrijftalent. Ze schrijft columns voor De Groene Amsterdammer en in februari komt – volgens bol.com – haar eerste roman uit, ook bij Das Mag. Die roman zal dezelfde naam dragen als haar verhaal in de Sampler: ‘De geschiedenis van mijn seksualiteit’.

    Lees meer…
  • Philosopher on the Job Market – Jim Burgman

    I thought about getting a tattoo at least five times with five different designs. The first time, in my Coldplay phase (although I should say one of my Coldplay phases), I wanted a taattoo with the title of one of their songs. The second time, I went for a drawing of a hedgehog who uses one of his spines as an arrow. A friend of mine made it for me as a visual representation of my personality, and it was supposed to mean something like ‘a determined hedgehog’. The third time, I wanted a cactus. The fourth time, a carrot. For, if you know me, you will also know that carrots are always part of my lunch. Every. Single. Day. The fifth time, touched by the work of photographer Laura Dodsworth, I thought about a breast.

    Needless to say, my indecisiveness became inertia. I did not get any of them.

    © Jim Burgman

    Defeated by my tattoo-vacillation, I was determined to find out what mysterious bonds could tie together philosophy, art and tattoos. I ended up Skyping Jim Burgman on Easter Sunday. Video calling with someone you have never met before can be pretty awkward, especially (and maybe paradoxically) because, contrary to what happens in a regular interview setting, you enter their private zone. You see the room where they are sitting, which, in the majority of the cases, is their studio, living room or bedroom. You see how they decorated it, what they have lying around, the colors of the walls, and other small things that tell you something about their personality. In my case, I got to see Arthur, Jim’s cat, who tried to grab his attention a few times at the beginning of the interview and then, as every cat on the planet, started to mind his own business.

    (meer…)
  • Filosoof op de arbeidsmarkt: René ten Bos

    Wat bezielde je eigenlijk om het Denker des Vaderlandschap op je te nemen? Wat dreef je destijds?
    [Lacht:] Pure ijdelheid, dat is één. Ik kreeg die vraag op een gegeven ogenblik. Er is namelijk een soort comité, ‘de Maand van de Filosofie’, die bepalen wie deze titel kan krijgen. Er waren twee kandidaten, laat ik de andere kandidaat niet noemen, maar de stemmen staakten een beetje en ik ben het toen geworden. Er wordt dan een afspraak gemaakt in Trianon – ook wel bekend bij Splijtstof. Ik zat daar ‘s middags met iemand en wist van niets. Vervolgens komt er een hele groep mensen binnen, journalisten, een uitgever, collega’s, etc. om mij te feliciteren. Ze hadden natuurlijk weleens gepolst of ik er open voor zou staan. Maar vanaf dat moment, november 2016, wist ik dat ik de nieuwe Denker des Vaderlands zou worden. Ik had dat helemaal niet verwacht, maar toen ik ze zag lopen dacht ik: oh God. Dan heb je nog een half jaar om je voor te bereiden. Ik dacht: ik ga er een beetje over nadenken en ik zie wel hoe ik daar in duikel. Dat betekent dus dat je een waanzinnige drukte over je heen krijgt en dan ga je plannetjes maken. Wat ga ik doen in deze periode? En die plannetjes zijn redelijk uitgekomen.

    Read more…