Thinking of My Obituary

I'm getting old enough now that thinking about what I want my obituary to say is not some vague hypothetical but instead is something visible on the horizon. So asking myself what my obituary to say isn't just some exercise to orient and make my life better, as suggested in this article.

And in any case, with most of my life passed, a lot of what my obituary would say is already set (if you will) in stone. And though I will never read it, I could probably predict with some degree of accuracy what it would say. So if I want to make any edits, now is the time.

Reference: This 3-step method to simplify your life starts with your obituary. Ross Pomeroy, Big Think.

The idea of thinking what your obituary would say is to force you to think about your values. For example:

"VandeHei would like his obituary to say that he was a great father, son, sibling, and husband who was passionate about the work that he did and generous in the workplace. The task before him now is to make all those descriptors ring true by the end."

Now this isn't anything like what I would want my obituary to say. I mean, sure, it would be nice to be thought of fondly by those who survive me. But 'family and workplace' don't exactly define the scope of my values. I'll come back to that.

Even more importantly, though, is the whole obituary question forces me into a framework where I am defining my life according to what I want other people to say about me. Now in life, we can't really avoid at least some concern about what other people say. But one would think that in death maybe we can leave that particular conceit behind.

Maybe the best obituary is no obituary.

Still. Unless the transhumanists get their way, there is going to be a point in my life where it's about to end and, assuming I still have control of my faculties, I'm going to be looking back and wondering whether I've had a good life or not, all things considered. It's not exactly an obituary, but it's not exactly nothing, either.

And now the main point of the article comes to the fore. A lot of what seems to really matter to me today fades very quickly into the background as the end of life approaches. I already feel that happening, and I'm not even (I hope) close to shuffling off this mortal coil.

Pomeroy, quoting VandeHei, says simplicity is the key to this.

"Simplicity isn’t really about productivity... It’s about clarity. It’s about freedom. It’s about spending your finite days on Earth doing things that matter, with people you love, in ways that feel true to who you are."

Of course, the point of this is also to sell a book, so there's that. But let's consider the question in any case.

I definitely see the value of simplicity. For example, I only need a few dishes - a cup, a bowl, a plate, a spoon. In a pinch I could even do with less. The same with clothing; I need very little. Bikepacking has taught me how little I can carry with me and still survive comfortably. Well, not that comfortably. But you know what I mean.

At the same time, though, simplicity alone wouldn't work for me. Not because I am materialist, but because I believe my life is about more than merely existing and more even than being thought of fondly in family and the workplace. I have what I might call a fierce inner life that always demands to know, to see, to experience, to face challenges, to resist power and control and oppression. Simplicity does not work for this. 

Yes, I suppose I could give those up. But then my life would be pale in comparison. And I would look back on it thinking that I let myself live the life of the bland instead of embracing it and making it all that it could be. My last days would be days of regret, not satisfaction. I have always sought a life where I soar like a bird, even though it is in so many ways far more complex than it needed to be.

Is that selfish? Maybe, though it need not be seen as such, first, because I think everyone should be able to live this way, if they choose, and second, because I think this way of living is actually beneficial for the people around me.

I mean, I'm not going to make value judgements. John Stuart Mill, for example, speaks of higher and lower pleasures. "It is better to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied; better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied." Maybe, but I'm not going to judge. It's not for me to say which is the 'higher' pleasure. There's no reason a person cannot life a long and contented simple life as, say, a farmer or in the trades, and be happy with their lives in the end. Billions of people do exactly that! It's just not for me. And I don't think people should be forced into such a life. There should be an escape hatch.

The simple way that such a life is beneficial to others is that it offers a model of what can be done with a life. Again, I'm not saying everyone should live the way I do, but they may see in me something of value to their own lives and a way they can make it possible. I do things, for example, that people may think they can't do: everything from running for Mayor to cycling in the wilderness. The example I offer is not one of success - indeed, in both cases, I've experienced a lot of failure - but in the value of making the attempt.

Another way I think just a life is beneficial to others is that it produces things of value. My drive to know, to see, etc., results in (I would hope) new knowledge and accounts of experiences that can inform and engage other people. These are, if you will, the legacies I leave behind. I like to think of myself as a (small) participant in the story of human knowledge and thought. I have often said that I see the world differently from most other people. Maybe this difference, in the long run, matters (or maybe not - that part of it is totally outside my control). 

And a third way I think such a life benefits others is that it can directly affect their material conditions. I am as much an educator as a philosopher, as much a builder as a researcher, as much an activist and a theorist. I like to think that in the way I live and the things I do I am adding to other people's happiness and satisfaction.

So maybe my relations with other people do matter to me, but not so much in what they think or what they say, but in the concrete ways my life touches theirs. One presumes this would lead to a nice obituary, but we cannot count on that, and in any case, the nice words aren't really the point of it at all.

There's an old saying (I can't find it on the internet; that's how obscure it is) that one can make a difference or get credit for it, but not both. That certainly seems to be true to me. In any case, given the choice, I'm going to opt for making the difference every time. Not because I don't want credit (or the paycheque that comes with it) but because the difference is worth far more to me than the credit ever was.

I'm human. I want to be liked. I want to be recognized. I want to be rewarded. I want to be thought of fondly. But none of these have ever been the point for me.

So for me, the best obituary is a blank slate. Just as in life, feel free to say what you want about me. Include the good and the bad, or nothing at all, if you wish. I'm fine with it. And by the time that obituary is actually written, I won't feel a twinge of regret.

 

Robert F. Kennedy's simple gravesite. 
Photo by the author.