Changes in Postmortem Identity and Grief

Introduction: A Tale of Three Generals

George Washington is generally revered in the United States as the Founder of the Country—“first in war, first in peace, first in the hearts of his countrymen”—as eulogized by one of his generals, “Light Horse” Harry Lee. The accolades were well deserved for a man who was Commander of the Armies and first President of the US. Cities, counties, even a state, are named after him. His face adorns the dollar bill. Yet Washington died a three-star general, the highest rank available at that time. In America’s Bicentennial, Washington was posthumously promoted to the now highest rank available, General of the Armies—a six-star general—a rank only shared with World War I General John Pershing.

Harry Lee’s son, Robert E. Lee, also experienced a number of modifications in his identity after his death. A native Virginian, Lee decided to follow his state after its succession from the Union. Despite his former military oath, he took up arms against his nation in the Civil War. While a hero in the South, Lee was reviled as a traitor in the North. After the war, he was indicted for treason—a charge that General Grant managed to quash as inconsistent with the surrender terms at Appomattox. Lee did, however, lose his citizenship. Nonetheless, Lee became, after the war, a voice for sectional reconciliation. He became a figure of respect, both in the North and South. A century after the Civil War, a barracks in The US Military Academy at West Point was named after him. While it is an historical question whether Lee had been pardoned after the Civil War, President Ford ended the ambiguity by a full Presidential Pardon in 1975. Yet, ironically, Lee’s reputation, now in an age of diversity, continues to evolve, as contemporary historians recall his reluctance to African-American enfranchisement.

There is yet other Civil War General whose continues to evolve even after death—George Armstrong Custer. An ambitious general in the Civil War, Custer went on to fight in the Indian Wars. Never popular among his fellow generals, and skilled in using media, Custer aimed high—perhaps for the presidency. His bid for glory ended with his attack on a much larger Native-American force at the Battle of Little Big Horn, memorialized in a famous saloon painting commissioned by Anheuser-Busch, “Custer’s Last Stand.” Immediately after the battle, Custer was lionized as a hero despite severe criticisms of his decisions by no less military figures than Generals Sheridan and Grant. A whole series of movies from the very beginning of film depicted Custer as brave—even sympathetic to the plight of his Native-American foes. This culminated in the movie, “They Died with Their Boots On,” in which Errol Flynn plays Custer willingly sacrificing his men to save gold-digging settlers. His final letter in that movie even absolves the Native-Americans for the massacre. Yet by 1970, his reputation had changed. In another movie, “Little Big Man,” Custer is portrayed as a thorough racist megalomaniac, who will let nothing deter his ambitions.

A Theoretical Frame: Symbolic Interaction and Identity

Symbolic interaction theory primarily draws from the work of G. H. Mead (1962). Mead, a member of the pragmatic movement, shared with that philosophical strain the challenge of Darwin. If man [humans?] evolved from lower forms of life, it seems evident that somewhere in the journey, mind (i.e., the power of reflective thought) and self had to arise. Thus, the Kantian notion of a priori and transcendent knowledge is replaced by one that stresses the development of thought as the organism responds to the problems posed by its environment. In this way, mind is seen as something not superimposed and radically different from lower forms of life but rather as a further stage of evolutionary development.

Thus, mind and self are “emergents” rather than “givens.” This brings one to the basic axiom of symbolic interaction: Mind and self emerge through social interaction, through the mechanism of language, which is in itself a social emergent. To illustrate, the newborn child as he or she interacts with those around begins to learn that certain sounds have meanings; that is, that influence the action of those others around the child. For example, it is much more efficient for the hungry infant to say, “Ba Ba,” than to simply cry. Gradually, the infant begins to incorporate into his or her repertoire, these significant symbols. At this point, mind is developed. While symbols can be nonverbal, the verbal language becomes the symbolic system par excellence. The use of verbal symbols becomes important because it allows the child to symbol things to self as well as to others. It is in this way that self can develop; that is, that the individual can view self as the object of his/her own behavior.

The self, according to Mead (1962), has two aspects: the I and the me. As Mead had a tendency to use concepts in an intuitive and vague manner and as his thought never reached a state of formalization, the exact nature of these two components is in dispute. Some, like H. Blumer (Meltzer, 1972), have viewed the I and me as two parts of the self perpetually in dialogue, with the me representing attitudes that the actor cognitively accepts as a reflection of the attitudes of others toward him, while the I represents a response to these attitudes. Meltzer and Petras assert that the I and the me can best be considered as aspects of the social act, with the I giving the act propulsion and the me direction.

Stryker and Schwartz (1970) have introduced the concept of identity, conceiving of self in terms of a differentiated structure of identities that advances symbolic interactionist theory and offers a possibility of reorienting the concepts of I and me: “Identities are internalized designations of positions, claimed and validated in social interactions” (p. 14). In similar fashion, Stryker (1968) defines identity as existing, “in so far as persons are participants in structured social relationships” (p. 559). Stryker, thus, defines self a complex differentiated unity. Strauss (1997), too, in his provocative book Mirrors and Masks seems to conceive of identity in a similar fashion, addressing the fact that any given context, one can speak of a “situation identity.” It seems that the ideas implied in these works offer a real possibility of theoretical advance. Identity, then, is defined as that aspect of self expressed in a particular situation. It is those particular qualities selected from the total sum of attributes imputed to self and deemed appropriate to a given situation. Thus, identity differs from self in its scope.

Self refers to all the qualities that a person attributes to himself inclusive of all situations, while identity is much more limited. Self is the hierarchical organization of a whole series of identities. One “caveat” is offered here. Situations are made up of a series of norms that emerge as people interact. Thus, while we use situations as a form of shorthand, we do not mean to connote reification. Identities also emerge in this process and therefore are rooted in others. Being a particular type of person involves reciprocal relationships with others who must validate that identity. And Schwartz and Stryker (1970) point out “changing the pattern of choice” requires “changing the pattern of relationship to others to the degree that one’s relationship to others depends on being a particular kind of person, one is committed to being that kind of person” (pp. 14–15). This can facilitate the explanation of Melvin’s study of “Behavior Rhythms in Mental Hospitals” (1969), in which patients acted more bizarre during weekdays when psychiatric staff was around than weekends or evenings when such behaviors were not reinforced by essentially a custodial staff. Even a mental patient requires those reciprocal others who will call forth the implementation of a particular identity.

It should also be realized that identity does not merely refer to the enactment of a role for identity is a unique personal construct. In attention, while some identities may be constructed in reference to some positional network, others may revolve around physical attributes (e.g., “beautiful” and “crippled”) or feeling states (e.g., “a kind person” and “the meanest person in the valley”).

As one investigates the organization of self, it may be useful to differentiate three types of identities. One type of identity may be spoken of as a core identity. The core identities may be considered as those identities to which an individual is most committed, that is, those that are deemed appropriate to a relatively wider range of situations and to a wider range of others. They are, thus, more general in their application. We would then expect that they would draw upon in their construction many of the qualities a person attributed to himself. Therefore, they are highly congruent with the total self-image. Because of this, we would expect them to be quite open to investigation, publicly validated, and generally, socially rewarded. Stryker (1968) similarly offers a series of hypotheses relating the salience of identity to commitment and situational supports. Stryker hypothesizes that the more a given network of commitments is based on a particular identity, the higher will be the salience of that identity. Thus, to summarize, we are essentially saying that some attributers ascribed to self are considered more general in their application and will, therefore, be considered appropriate in a wide number of situations. For example, a person may conceive of himself as a kind, gentle priest and define most situations as calling forth these “priestly” behaviors.

One may also speak of peripheral identities. These identities are specific to a limited number of situations. Our priest, for example, may also define himself as a strict disciplinarian of children and express that aspect of self as he handles his confirmands. With a limited numbers of people, perhaps his childhood peers, he may define himself as “one of the guys who enjoys a good drink, a good joke, and a good time as much as anyone.” If one of his parishioners should also happen to be visiting his hometown area and sees him with a turtleneck, a beer, jousting with his buddies, she may define him as “out of character,” and he may totally surprise one of his confirmands who didn’t ever realize he knew how to “kid around” or even have a first name. But, our priest is not “out of character” at all; he is merely “out of situation,” in another situation, interacting with different others, which call forth different aspects from his conception of self. Again, if these self-attributes are relatively situation specific, we can speak of the identity as peripheral. This is illustrated by Schwartz and Stryker’s (1970) study of delinquents, in which it was found that delinquent boys were more likely than nondelinquent boys to report inconsistency between their self-evaluations and their perception of the evaluation of others. Identities are more situation specific. It is the existence of a series of identities, which makes any notion of “personality” so elusive. For example, if we ask 10 different people to describe the character of any given person, we are likely to get as accurate descriptions as from the six blind men who described the elephant.

A few additional comments are in order here. First, peripheral and core identities are not to be conceived of as polar. They simply represent points of continuum. Identities thus may be more or less core, more or less peripheral. Second, then, there can be no distinctions in the properties, both are public, validated by others and they are open to both testing and change. Third, there must be congruity within self, or expressed in another way, congruity between identities. In other words, the person must conceive of himself or herself as a basic unity, even if his or her image of self from one situation to another seems an apparent contradiction to others. Thus, the fervent churchgoer who is also a ruthless competitor may seem like a hypocrite to the outsider but will, when asked, be able to justify to self and others the apparent inconsistency. When a congruency exists, that is when a certain identity is not compatible with other images of self, one of the three things is likely to happen. One, a severe crisis may result which in a minor form may be visible in the adjustment difficulties of the aged and adolescent and in its more severe forms in various types of mental illness. Or, it may result in an identity becoming encapsulated.

An encapsulated identity is not really an identity at all but rather behaviors that are unincorporated into the definition of self. These behaviors, which may even be relatively regular (rather than an isolated incident; e.g., “the secret alcoholic,” “the medical addict,” and “the closet queen”), are simply never symbolically defined to one’s self as being meaningful to the structuring of self. This brings in the notion of psychological defenses that social psychologists of the symbolic interaction tradition have generally ignored. The encapsulation process may lead us to a greater concern with some of these defenses such as H. S. Sullivan’s (1953) notion of selective attention, which is a defense in which, through various means, we fail to symbolically recognize experience. It is illustrated by this account of a prostitute: “the act of I sex could go through because I hardly seemed to taking part in it . . . indeed it was scarcely happening to me. It was happening to someone lying the bed that had a vague connection with me” (Jackman, O’Toole, & Geis, 1963, p. 153). Being undefined, it is also not public. This allows us to recognize that we simply do not passively synthesize all evaluations of others; some are rejected and in some situations, the others may fail to symbolically press the implication of the exhibited behaviors. This later point has important implications of labeling theory and has, in fact, been recognized (Bishop & Riehman, 1974).

In any given situation then, the individual actor has to select which attributes he or she considers appropriate to the situation. Thus, interaction may be viewed in a threefold manner. Each actor must define the situation, define that aspect of self-appropriate to that situation (his or her identity), and seek validation of those definitions in negotiations with others. Since each actor is simultaneously engaged in the same tasks, the process of interaction can be quite complex and the outcomes are unpredictable.

And yet, most interaction seems neither complex nor unpredictable. Simply, this is because most of us carry a shared repertoire of definitions that arise in social experience. Most situations have clear definitions that have been internalized in the process of becoming socialized. In other situations, there is enough carryover and cues from previous situations that we have encountered, so that definitions can be negotiated easily and early. There are, however, those situations in which these conditions do not hold. These may be cases in which one person is unfamiliar or new in an interactive setting and therefore has not reestablished an identity or situations which are novel and in which normative guidelines are yet to emerge. In illustration, the first situation may be a case of a neophyte graduate student who enters a relative settled interactive setting and the us (i.e., the more established students) and has to adjust his or her behavior to the prevalent norms, while the second situation may be typified by two newlyweds who must begin to negotiate and construct a normative structure. And, there may also be those cases in which one’s definitions of the situation and the appropriate identity are not validated by others in the process of interaction. For example, a person may enter a hospital and define himself as a successful business man who is both assertive and independent but find that this definition of self clashes with that of the medical staff who define him as a patient who should be passive and obedient. Or, it may be illustrated by the partygoer who views himself as witty, clever, and exciting but is viewed by others as a particularly crashing bore. In these situations, then, interaction is likely to have a disjointed, unpredictable, and perhaps explosive character until the setting is somewhat stabilized.

For while situations vary in the degree in which they are structured, some having relatively clear and stable definitions and others somewhat vague, in none is interaction completely predetermined. There is an emergent quality to all interaction. The process of interaction in which all actors simultaneously take the role of the others and attempt to adjust and regulate their behaviors by their perception of the others’ responses entails a dynamic possibility. This fitting of behaviors is fragile and may develop in untoward or unplanned directions as anyone who has even engaged in an argument can well attest. Furthermore, as we react in tentative fashions to these new emergent situations, subsequent reflection on our actions may cause us to modify our conception of self or identity and thereby further add a dynamic quality to the interaction. Thus, not surprisingly, even in the hospital ward, Strauss, Schatzman, Ehrlich, Bucher, and Sabshin (1963) could describe as a “negotiated order,” in which operational definitions of situations were constantly being reworked.

To summarize then, we have stated that in a situation the person must select which attributes of self are appropriate. Thus, every situation calls forth a distinct construction of identity. This identity then directs behavior and hence guides the course of interaction. The identity chosen will depend on the way the person initially defines the situation. This definition and its congruent identity are subject to modification as the actor attempts to validate these constructions in interaction. Interaction will proceed most smoothly when these claims of actors in a given setting are compatible with each other and therefore mutually validated.

This does not mean that change always has to be of this gradual and subtle nature. Sometimes a conversion experience and unexpected radical redefinition of self can occur. Or, there may be particular points in one’s life in which one passes from one status to another which may involve changes in core identities (e.g., single to married). Finally, there may be those cases in which behaviors either that emerge in interaction or those involving encapsulated or peripheral identities assume importance in the response of others and thus lead to radical redefinitions of self. An example of the former would be a case in which an argument goes awry, and one party in anger kills the other and is then so publicly defined. The voyeur who is caught illustrates the latter case.

Postmortem Identity

The very fluid nature of identity is such that even after a person dies, others—perhaps family or even the larger social order—may constantly reevaluate and redefine his or her essential attributes—recasting that individual’s identity. Generally, postmortem identity remains relatively stable—the individual’s situational attributes are fixed by those who knew him or her in those roles. In fact, the eulogy may be seen as an effort to “fix” or cement the individual’s identity as it offers a final summation—a closing narrative. In addition, the cultural norm of not speaking ill of the dead defends against redefinition. Nonetheless, even identities can change after death. In fact, the very open nature of social media, such as Facebook, where unknown individuals can, even anonymously, post comments and share memories of the deceased make modifications in postmortem identity even more likely in the future (Brubaker & Hayes, 2011).

This is especially true of celebrities and public figures. Here, their identities may become recast as new information becomes available, with societal shifts in values, or even as the result of relatively random events.

New information that emerges after the death sometimes can effect changes in postmortem identity. For example, Congressman Stewart McKinney (Republican-Connecticut) died in office. When information was released that the cause of death was AIDS, speculation arose that though married, McKinney was a closeted homosexual—challenging the prevailing identity of a devoted family man. In McKinney’s case, both media and physicians emphasized that the virus was likely contracted through infected blood during McKinney’s earlier heart surgery.

There was no doubt however about Rock Hudson. His death by AIDS challenged his image—his identity—of a debonair lady’s man. Instead, it became very clear that Hudson was gay and his earlier marriage to Phyllis Gates was a ruse to put to rest rumors of homosexuality.

Societal shifts in values are a major reason for changes in postmortem identity with varied celebrities or public figures. Even George Washington is not immune. Once revered as founder of the country, Washington’s identity is now somewhat challenged in a more egalitarian era. Washington’s prestige and standing has suffered from the fact that he owned slaves.

Andrew Jackson identity has been even more severely threatened. Jackson has long been an American icon, famed for his victory in the Battle of New Orleans as well as his presidency and his role as a founder of the Democratic Party. A poor boy who fought as a child in the revolution, orphaned in adolescence, and yet became president was lionized as an embodiment of the American dream—that anyone, no matter how humble in birth, could rise to high office on his or her own merits. Now Jackson has faced significant redefinition due both to his status as a slave owner and his harsh policies toward Native Americans.

Sometimes this shift in values may redeem these public figures. Charlie Chaplain, for example, was a successful comedic actor whose career spanned both the silent movie era and the talkies. In the 1940s, his affair with an actress, a paternity suit, and intimations of communist sympathies severely affected his image in the United States and led to a European exile. In a much more tolerant time, Chaplain now is viewed as a comedic genus, and the charges against him are seen as a vendetta by former Federal Bureau of Investigation Director Herbert Hoover. Ironically, as Chaplain’s identity was rehabilitated, Hoover has suffered. No longer seen as the protector of American values, Hoover now is seen as a closet homosexual who was overzealous in his office.

In other cases, even seemingly, random events can affect postmortem identity. For example, the smash Broadway play, Hamilton, revived public interest in Alexander Hamilton and helped reshape his identity from a somewhat arrogant aristocrat to a true revolutionary hero.

It is not just celebrities and public figures though who may experience identity changes postmortem. In some cases, this too may be due to new information. Francine, an older widow, for example, considered her late husband, Tony, to be a faithful husband, good father to his three children, and a good provider. He was “the salt of the earth” as Francine described him. In the months following his death, Francine became aware—through letters and flowers left on his grave—that he had a long-standing affair with another woman.

Similarly, Maggie felt her son, Kevin, virtually walked on water. He became a priest and the founding principal of a Catholic High School, ending his career as a monsignor in a prestigious urban parish. His funeral sermon was given by no less a personage than a cardinal. To Maggie, his premature death in his late 50s was devastating, but she took comfort from all that he had achieved. Later though, Kevin was accused by a number of young men—former students from the High School he founded—of sexual abuse. At first, Maggie simply denied their testimony, but later the sheer scope of the charges, the number of men who came forward, and the results of an internal investigation made the allegations hard to discount. Maggie’s sense of Kevin remains deeply challenged. She struggles to understand whether he was a pedophile or simply whether his actions were misunderstood. In any case, she is deeply troubled that his postmortem reputation has suffered, and many of the plaques or portraits memorializing him have been removed from the schools and parishes he once served.

In both these cases, encapsulated identities were exposed leading to a postmortem redefinition of identity. Tony is no longer perceived as a faithful husband but as disloyal spouse. Kevin’s postmortem identity is now very different from what it had been before his death. Even his nephews who once worshipped their uncle constantly review their memories for signs of inappropriate behavior.

In other cases, postmortem events such as the reading of the will can lead to a reassessment of identity. For example, a will may disenfranchise certain prospective heirs leading them to reevaluate both their relationship and the identity of the person who died. In other cases, bequests may reveal hidden interests or charities or certain relationships that cause others to reassess the identity of the decedent (Teighe, 1982).

Yet, again, these changes to postmortem identity do not always have to be negative. Joan was a dedicated mother and teacher. Very modest and unassuming, her children primarily defined her by her identity as their mom—quietly supportive, loving, and caring. Yet at the funeral, and long afterward in letters and cards, they were astounded by accolades bestowed by her colleagues but far more meaningfully by over the hundreds of her former grade-school students who indicated the important role Joan had in their lives. As her oldest son said, “we always looked at her as a great Mom—we are just beginning to perceive her as one of her students reverently named her—‘St. Joan of Carlson Elementary.’”

Changes in Postmortem Identity: Implications for Bereavement

Obviously, changes in postmortem identity have the potential to affect survivor’s grief—in some cases severely complicating grief, while in others facilitating the grieving process. For example, in the case of Joan, the dedicated teacher, her children learned about another side of her identity. What they learned was consistent with their own sense of Joan’s identity, yet it offered further validation of Joan’s life and work. In fact, it reinforced their own image of their mother while reconfirming that her life had significant meaning beyond family. The tributes she received, including naming the school’s library after her, facilitated the grief of the children—reassuring them that their mother, however modest she seemed, had a life full of achievements.

However, in Francine and Maggie’s case, the changes in postmortem identity complicated their grief. In both cases, new information challenged and invalidated the image they had of their deceased relative. In Francine’s case, knowledge of the affair invalidated Francine’s conception of Tony as well as their relationship. Even though they were married for over 40 years, Francine wonders if she ever knew “the real Tony.” She constantly obsesses on events in their marriage such as his fishing trips with his friends or bowling nights—wondering if these were really opportunities for illicit encounters with his mistress.

Maggie, too, wonders about her deceased son Kevin. Was he simply maligned, misunderstood, or truly a predator? In any case, the challenges to his postmortem identity have severely complicated her grief.

In fact, these negative challenges or changes to postmortem identity can be of such a nature as to constitute a traumatic loss with all the psychological sequelae that trauma generally entails. The very nature of trauma is that in addition to the loss, survivors have to cope with challenges to their assumptive worlds. This means the coherence of the earlier narrative has been shattered. For example, we think viewing a movie in a theatre is one of the safest activities. Yet, should the theatre catch fire and people, especially someone we love, dies, we may no longer feel safe in a movie again.

A significant negative change in postmortem identity is similar to the trauma that follows a sudden, unexpected loss. Rubin, Malkinson, and Witztum (2012) identify such a challenge as relational trauma, which they define as “something that attacks the very coherence and organization of the deceased in the mind of the bereaved” (p. 73). The basis of what we once believed about the individual’s identity and the very relationship shared is now suddenly discredited—creating all the symptoms associated with traumatic loss.

Moreover, coping with the grief associated with changes in postmortem identity can be disenfranchised. Disenfranchised grief refers to losses that are not socially sanctioned, openly acknowledged, or publicly mourned (Doka, 2002). Here, the loss of a reputation—even postmortem—can be disenfranchised for a number of reasons. First, the grieving individual may be too ashamed to share or process that grief with others. Second, the general grief-related norms of “not speaking ill of the dead” or “focusing only on good memories” can severely inhibit such conversations. The result is that the individual struggling with the losses related to changes in postmortem identity may do so alone and without support.

Conclusion

Since identity is constructed, identities can shift even after an individual dies as new information or new values emerge. Given the increasing role of social media in memorialization, as well as the anonymity it offers, this issue is likely to become even more critical in the future. These shifts in identity can facilitate the grieving process but more often complicate the grief of survivors.

Grief counselors, then, need to be sensitive to such changes and the role they may have in the survivors’ grieving processes. It is useful to question clients about new information they may have received about the deceased as well to query what they may be experiencing on varied social media sites where the deceased is memorialized and how it is influencing their grief.

Over half a century ago, the sociologist W. Lloyd Warner (1960) completed an extensive study of social class in America. One of his interesting findings was that social mobility continued even in death. As descendants moved into higher social status, they sometimes reburied deceased family members in cemeteries with higher social prestige, mirroring their own change in social status. Not only can social status change after death, identity—that is how an individual is perceived—can change as well. Even death, it seems, does not solidify an individual in social space.