Dugdale, a deeply spiritual physician and medical ethicist, reintroduces us to the timelessness of Ars Moriendi, a contemporary treatise on dying wisely.

DM: What inspired you to write about death and dying?

As a primary care doctor, I have discussed with countless patients how miserably their loved ones died. They tell me they don’t want to die that way, and yet I have continued to witness patients waste away in the hospital completely unprepared for death. They arrive at their life’s end unprepared from many perspectives—physically, socially, relationally, spiritually. I wanted to do something about this, give my patients the tools to die better. I wanted them not to arrive at the end of their lives unprepared.

DM: What is one lesson you’d like readers to take away from your work?

I wrote The Lost Art of Dying: Reviving Forgotten Wisdom to make the case that in order to die well, one has to live well. My hope is that long before the end of their lives, people will do the hard work of anticipating their finitude; reconcile broken relationships, think through the benefits and burdens of medicalization, and wrestle with life’s ultimate questions within the context of community.

DM: What is your idea of perfect happiness?

“Happiness” feels a bit too fickle for my liking, even if it’s perfect happiness. I prefer the word “joy.” And I suppose my idea of true joy would have to do with basking in the presence of Divine in the context of all that is Good, True, and Beautiful.

DM: What is your current state of mind?

I’m pretty even-keeled. The great physician Sir William Osler uses the word “equanimity,” from his famous essay “Aequanimitas.” I supposed that’s how I’m feeling at the moment. A sense of peace, stability. Anchored, despite the pandemic, protests, and U.S. election discord.

DM: Who are your favorite writers?

I have to say that there’s a reason why the Bible is the number one bestseller of all time. It’s really packed with everything—poetry, philosophy, prophecy, theology, history, and stories of adventure, intrigue, calamity, and death. Together with poetry, the Bible is probably my best inspiration for creativity.

DM: What are you reading, what’s on your bedside table?

I find poetry a helpful complement to the medical journals and three major newspapers I regularly read. Currently on my bedside table I have My Bright Abyss and He Held Radical Light by the poet Chris Wiman. Wiman’s language is exquisite. He knows finitude; he himself lives with an incurable cancer. I’m also currently reading a book on leadership, re-reading Louis Menand’s The Metaphysical Club.

DM: What is one thing people never imagined about you?

Good question. In high school I went to Japan as an exchange student and took up the art of Japanese sword fighting called kendo. I can (still) do some real damage with a bamboo sword!

DM: What book would you like to be buried with?

Ah! I’m not sure I’d want to be buried with a book. Books are for the living!

DM: What is your exit plan? How would you like to die?

Having spent the past couple of decades thinking about how I want to die, my idea is not all that original. I want to be at home, surrounded by my family, singing, reading, praying, and being. Until I’m not.

DM: If you were to die and come back as a person or a thing, what would it be?

There’s a part of me that loves the idea of soaring about the world, flying over forests and glades, deserts and canyons. But there’s another part of me that finds life under the sea so intriguing—a busy, majestic, colorful world scarcely noticed by humans. So maybe an octopus! A highly intelligent creature who occupies the mysterious deep and can multi-task!

DM: If heaven exists, what would you like to hear when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?

“Well done my good and faithful servant.”

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Exit Interviews Are Edited for Clarity.