What is the first news event you can recall?
I was born just before the fall of the Berlin Wall, but I can’t pretend that I remember that. It’s probably the terrible new year’s café fire in Volendam, a town in my home country of the Netherlands, in 2001.
What is the biggest problem?
Factory farming. I think that’s the greatest moral atrocity of our time and it’s the issue I probably care about the deepest. Eighty billion animals suffering and slaughtered every year. I think historians will judge us very harshly for it.
If you could spend a day in one city or place at one moment in history, what would that be?
I think I would go for the Maya or the Aztecs because we know so little about them. There’s very little archaeology. And what I’d see on that time-travelling journey would likely be so different to European or Chinese civilisation. It’s what I’ve always loved about history: it shows you that things can be radically different. There’s nothing inevitable about the way we live our lives.
What is your favourite quotation?
“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.” Margaret Mead.
Which of your ancestors or relatives are you most proud of?
My mum. She’s super morally ambitious. She’s an Extinction Rebellion activist and was arrested for it a couple of weeks ago! She’s the kind of person for whom it’s always been obvious that if you say something, you have to do it as well.
What have you changed your mind about?
I’ve developed a much deeper appreciation for people who build companies. Take how difficult it is to fire people in Europe—I have more sympathy right now for entrepreneurs who are critical of that, especially if they’re starting a new organisation. We’re not building the future in Europe, and I think the reason is that it’s so hard for companies to pivot. You see it with Volkswagen right now; they’re being destroyed by Chinese competitors, even with all the tariffs. And it’s largely because employment law is super difficult in Germany. That’s probably a very “neoliberal” thing to say, but it’s where my experiences have taken me.
What is the last piece of music, play, novel or film that brought you to tears?
I don’t know whether it counts, but I recently read the autobiography of my aunt—and that brought me to tears. She spent her life as a missionary and a doctor in Africa. It was at a time when modern feminism didn’t exist, but she still carved out a path for herself and didn’t do what society expected of her; she didn’t start a family, didn’t find a husband. And she did so much good. It’s incredibly courageous compared to, you know, my relaxed existence.
Your new book is called Moral Ambition. Can you explain what that is?
In short: moral ambition is the desire to stand on the right side of history before it is fashionable and to devote your career to some of the most pressing issues that we face as a species.
In the book, you describe the 18th-century anti-slavery campaigner Thomas Clarkson as your hero. What defined him, aside from the particular cause he took up?
I think he had the exact right mix of idealism and vanity. He could see himself as the historical hero who would take down the slave trade and slavery. And the point is, obviously, that he did it—he did then devote 61 years of his life to fighting slavery.
Can anyone be morally ambitious? Or is it just for the courageous, gifted and wealthy?
Can anyone be morally ambitious? The answer is yes. Rosa Parks was a seamstress. Nelson Mandela worked as a security guard. But the gifted and wealthy do have an additional obligation, I would say, to not just check their privilege—but to use their privilege.
Rutger Bregman’s “Moral Ambition: Stop Wasting Your Talent and Start Making a Difference” (Bloomsbury) is available now. He is also a founder of the School for Moral Ambition
