I met Rafael Alvira Domínguez (1942-2024) occasionally: in Pamplona, ​​Piura, and Lima. Sometimes over a cup of coffee, and other times at conferences or colloquia where he was a speaker. He was a kind philosopher with a humanist bent. He cultivated political philosophy and anthropology, and was interested in the dialogue between business and the humanities. In his learned and practical interventions, his thinking shone through, filtered through the lens of life. This Platonic way of thinking appears in his recent book, *  Conversar la vida. Un diálogo con Rafael Alvira*  (Ediciones Cristiandad, 2025, Kindle edition), which compiles some conversations/interviews he had the year before his death. It’s an inspiring read. It has given me a more detailed portrait of Professor Alvira, revealing facets previously unknown to me. We would say now, an innovative thinker already going against the grain of some trends, whose contribution is appreciated in this time so full of clichés and anthropological reductionisms.

He was the director of the Institute for Business and Humanism at the University of Navarra. I enjoyed reading many of the notebooks, journals, and books they published. Alvira says: “We believed that the theme of philosophy in its relation to the world and the civic sphere was very important, that philosophy had to be cultivated in itself and also in society and the world, in all aspects. And in a world like ours, in which business plays such a prominent role, it seemed to me that philosophy had something to say on this subject” (p. 27). They spoke with IESE Business School, but they were unable to establish adequate channels of collaboration. As of the publication date of this book, a footnote indicates that Business and Humanism is no longer active. It is a shame that it has disappeared, but, at the same time, it presents a challenging task to continue efforts to foster a serious and profound interdisciplinary dialogue between political philosophy, anthropology, history, the humanities, and business.

One of the phrases that resonates most with us is “continuous change.” Alvira argues that “in modernity, the concept of novelty, which was very profound in Christianity, has been transformed into the concept of change: change and progress; by changing, we progress. And we have forgotten that innovation is not that; innovation is about adding more depth and more love, and not simply progressing because you say you are progressing. And, what is worse, saying that you are progressing because you adapt to what exists, when what exists is culturally very low (p. 46).” This last point is worth bearing in mind. Not every trend, he adds, might even be detrimental. Healthy prudence, therefore, recommends not throwing oneself headlong into the arms of the first thing that sounds new. Jumping on the train or plane as soon as possible does not guarantee a good destination.

On the other hand, if we consider that innovation—as Alvira suggests—is about putting more love and depth into our daily lives, it turns out that you don’t need to be a genius to discover increasingly effective and efficient solutions, as if the latter were the crowning achievement of life. Innovation is within reach of the average person, like when a couple whose love spans decades manages to maintain the enthusiasm for adding small novelties to their daily routines: that’s newfound love, that’s depth, or, as Gabriel Marcel would say, adding the freshness of presence to the constancy of routine.

Alvira points out that “being erudite, like being a scientist or technician, is all well and good, it’s very human, but there’s a difference between being human and being a humanist. Being erudite, scientific, or technical is being human only partially. It’s as if we were to consider seeing or hearing as dimensions of human knowledge: they are human, but they are only a part of what it means to be human (p. 72).” The humanist is aware of the immensity of what they don’t know. “And then they open themselves up in both dimensions, horizontally—to universality—and vertically—to depth. And this openness isn’t simply cognitive attention, but rather accompanied by the heart, because it truly interests me (p. 73).” Head, heart, and spirit converge in the human being to reveal their most distinctive fibers, open to transcendence and to their fellow human beings.

Love, depth and also greatness of spirit to face challenges and undertake noble projects, perseverance to not stop at the first difficulty and vision to glimpse the more humane future, discerning the wheat from the tares.