Rethinking Legacy: From Self-Aggrandisement to Selfless Service.

At some point in life, many people start to think about the legacy they will leave behind after they’ve gone. What impact did my life have? How will I be remembered? What will my legacy be?

You don’t have to be egocentric or narcissistic to ask yourself these questions. They’re quite natural. Don’t we all, to a greater or lesser extent, want to feel like our lives are worth something, beyond our own temporal experience?

Legacy for Self-Aggrandisement

Kings, Queens, Emperors and those of high social status have sought to secure their legacies for millennia, whether through statues, portraits, names on buildings (or places), or biographies.

With legacy in mind, Emperor Charles V built palaces, sat for numerous portraits by the finest artists (including Titian), signed over 100,000 documents in several languages and wrote his triumphalist biography while at the height of his powers. So much has been written about Charles since the sixteenth century that his latest biographer, eminent historian Geoffrey Parker, asks the question in the preface of his own offering, Emperor, “Does the world really need another book about him?”

More recent, and much more modern, examples of this type of legacy building come in the form of the super rich who pay vast sums of money to have their names put on buildings at prestigious institutions. A way to achieve material immortality, perhaps.

These sorts of examples are typically what might spring to mind when we think about legacy building. But there is another way to build a meaningful legacy that will transcend a lifetime.

The Value of a Good Funeral

If I was to recommend one experience that can clearly and profoundly illustrate, to both mind and heart, the meaning and value of well lived life then it would be this: the funeral of a good person. 

I have been privileged to attend the funerals of several excellent people; people who have lived lives of service, who contributed what they could to those in need wherever they were.

Their funerals were carried out in a spirit of celebration rather than mourning. They had fought the good fight and done the work that they were put on this earth to do.

I remember Colin. He was a leader at the church I went to as a boy. He embodied stewardship. I remember more from what I saw him do than what I heard him say. He always had time for people. He always cared for people. And he always worked to empower people to make progress in their lives through living by good principles. He was active in contributing to his local community and ran a business which served customers and gave work to others in the town. He loved many and was loved by many.

A large church building overflowed with people for Colin’s funeral. It was a beautiful occasion. When I cried, I cried with gratitude for the blessing of my association with him during his life. I still feel like I owe a lot to Colin and will never forget him.

I also remember Eric. Eric was humility personified. His quiet, peaceful, unassuming demeanour made him a pleasure to be around. He would listen, remember and serve. Whenever he learned of another’s need he would find a solution and offer it. There was no thought of personal gain or reward, just service.

Like Colin, the church building where Eric had his funeral was overflowing with people. There may even have been more who were unseated than seated! Eric was anything but an extravert, so the sight of so many at his funeral spoke volumes about the value of quiet, heartfelt service.

Finally, I remember my granddad Robinson – a boyhood hero of mine. I loved hearing stories from his life as a fireman and in the army as a paratrooper. He didn’t speak to glorify himself or his work, but simply to entertain me as a young boy. He always looked out for others – guiding, guarding and providing with his stoic demeanour and Christian principles.

When coming to terms with some of the horrific scenes that he was confronted with in the course of his work, he would take himself away to some local gardens to be alone with God. He remained a tower of courage and moral strength until the end of his life.

Like Colin and Eric, my granddad’s funeral overflowed with people – people whom he had loved and was loved by alike. I will never forget speaking with a good friend of his after the funeral. He told me how my grandad saved his life, putting himself in serious danger in the process. “He should have left me for dead!”, the man exclaimed. I still remember the expression on his face and the passion with which he told the story. Gratitude for my granddad’s selfless act was inscribed on his heart and mind.

My granddad had never told me that story before. It was left to the many (and there were many) whom he selflessly served to tell those stories. That was the basis of his legacy.

The Richest Legacy

In the preface of Emperor, Geoffrey Parker asks another question, “Is there more to exalt than to denigrate about Charles V?” He leaves the decision with the reader. Charles’s tireless efforts to shape and secure his legacy did little to satisfy the questions that remain about his character based on how he treated others during his lifetime.

The richest legacies aren’t triumphalist biographies, palaces or inscriptions on buildings; they’re the inscriptions of love inside the hearts of those you have served.

In the final analysis, nobody cares about the extent of your status or the prestige of your title; they care about what you contributed and how you served.

None of the men whose funerals I mentioned had even a sliver of the status of Charles V, leader of one of the most expansive, powerful empires the world has ever seen, yet they were widely respected, trusted and loved. Their influence through the goodness of their lives will live on in the hearts and minds of others for generations. What could be a richer legacy than that?

Dear reader, each of us will leave behind some sort of legacy when we leave this life, whether we like it or not. The question is, what would you like it to be? And perhaps more importantly, how will you build it?

Tom EnglishComment