In his book The Road to Character, the author David Brooks describes the two kinds of virtues that we might all hope to acquire over time.
The first kind is what Brooks calls “CV virtues” — meaning the kind of professional accomplishments that you might post on LinkedIn.
In the wake of the tragic apparent death of my friend Mike Lynch — one of Britain’s most successful ever tech entrepreneurs — there will rightly be a lot of coverage of Mike’s CV virtues, given his glittering academic and business achievements, and his long and successful battle to be acquitted on trumped up legal charges in America.
But the other kind of virtues, according to Brooks, are so much harder to acquire. He calls them “eulogy virtues” — the deep aspects of your character that are so laudable that your mates and colleagues will talk about them after you’ve passed away.
I’d like to share a story about Mike that tells you something about his eulogy virtues — and why he was so beloved by London’s tech community.
Early last year I went to visit Mike, who was stuck in the nightmare purgatory of house arrest in America, awaiting trial for fraud charges that he vehemently denied.
As you may know, in the US justice system, when you get charged by the government — as Mike had been — the odds of winning an innocent verdict are vanishingly small.
Less than 3 per cent of all federal court cases end up with the defendant being found innocent; the odds are stacked overwhelmingly in the government’s favour.
So Mike was almost certainly facing 30 plus years in a US prison — a hellish predicament that would have broken almost anyone.
When I arrived at Mike’s house at the top of a hill in San Francisco, I was met by burly security guards. They were effectively prison wardens, there to stop Mike leaving the building — a reminder of how gravely serious his situation was.
The guards eventually let me in, and Mike welcomed me into his kitchen and made me a cup of tea.
And here’s what I’ll always remember about Mike.
The last messages I got from Mike were just a few weeks ago
As we sat sipping our tea, Mike’s only concern was for my wellbeing — because I’d recently been through a close family bereavement and a tough time with my own business.
If I’d have been in Mike’s shoes, I’d have been whining about the injustice of the US legal system — and to be honest, I’d probably have done the cowardly thing and run off to a country that doesn’t have an extradition treaty with America.
But Mike not only stoically cooperated with a flawed legal process — he had so much humanity and empathy that his main focus in his kitchen that day was to try to make me feel better.
In fact, after 45 minutes or so of responding to Mike’s kind words of support about my life and career, I actually had to check myself, and say: “I’m sorry Mike, but how the hell are you?”
It says so much about Mike’s thoughtfulness and kindness that he tried so hard to cheer me up — and it was the same over the following months.
Despite the overwhelming pressure of his impending trial, Mike continued to find the time to have me over to his house for lunch or jump on a call — offering advice and support about my next career move, and checking in on my family life.
Mike faced the worst moment in his life — the fear of decades-long imprisonment for a crime he didn’t commit — with bravery, compassion and humour.
While he was under house arrest in San Francisco, I recall Mike laughing about the puritanical American approach to house arrest, which was really strict, but at the same time a judge would happily let him leave the house if it was for “religious worship”.
Mike told me he jokingly wished he was Greek Orthodox — because that religion has so many feast days that he’d be allowed to leave the house and go to church almost every other day.
The last messages I got from Mike were just a few weeks ago — shortly after an American jury had found him innocent, and he’d just made it back to his beloved home country after a gruelling legal battle.
In that message Mike wrote that it was “so wonderful to be home” — and that he was understandably “exhausted”.
But then — before signing off our email chain — Mike took the time to send his best wishes to my pregnant wife.
That’s Mike as I’ll forever remember him — for his thoughtfulness, generosity, empathy and kindness.
Those are Mike’s eulogy virtues, and I’m so sad to be without them.
