The Theory of Role Models, or How We Come to God

A person’s entire life is a chain of authorities. We look up to each of them, learn from them, try to become like them. Then, often with surprise, we begin to notice their flaws, mistakes, and weaknesses — and we become disappointed.

A child is given natural authorities: parents. Later come an older brother or sister, the “troublemaker” in the courtyard, a teacher at school, a professor at the university. Books and films give us their heroes, writers, and actors. If we are lucky, a friend may become an authority. In one’s own family, it may be a spouse. At work, a boss or a recognized expert. In the Church, a priest.

With age, especially in maturity, disappointments come more and more often. And one day there may come a critical moment when no external authority remains at all.

Then, it seems to me, two paths open up. The penultimate authority for a person is oneself. And if confidence in one’s own strength is gone — or was never truly there — then only the final, highest, and unattainable authority remains: God.

Sometimes there are several authorities, each with its own period of existence. But usually there is still one dominant authority. In religious families, God appears as an authority early, although at first sometimes only as a secondary one. Yet toward the end of life, perhaps He is the only one who remains.

My own chain looked something like this.

My mother was the first authority, but also the first early disappointment. My father remained an authority for a long time, even after his death — almost an idol; my son was named after him. My older brother was one too, until he went to prison. My school physics teacher instilled in me a love of science, but ceased to be an authority after I finished school. The university gave me a couple more authorities; the last one supervised my PhD dissertation. After the defense, my eyes were opened — and disappointment became inevitable.

It became harder and harder to find authorities. How much I wanted to have friends who were authorities! Sometimes it seemed that I had found them. But after closer contact, after conversations, gatherings, and drinking with them, disappointment usually came rather quickly.

Books remained. But not so much the heroes in them as the writers themselves: the Strugatsky brothers, Lem. Yet after rereading them, and especially after my own attempts to write, even they began to fade.

And that was when I came to understand: you yourself are almost the only remaining authority for yourself.

Is that good or bad? More likely, it is difficult. And at first, even interesting.

During this period, you begin to notice that you yourself are becoming an authority for others. First, for your daughter. Later, for your son — though, it seems, not for long: he too appears to be growing disappointed in me, which is quite natural and fits precisely the theory I am setting out here. Then come students, readers and listeners of my articles and presentations, some subordinates and colleagues at work.

Perhaps they are better off than I am. The absence of authorities is akin to loneliness, and few people like loneliness. But our admirers, too, gradually become disappointed in us. Except, of course, for the dog.

Something similar is happening to me now. For the moment, I am holding on and still confident in my own strength. But surely one day — I hope not soon — I will become disappointed in myself as well.

And then, perhaps, all that will remain for me is to turn to God as the highest and final authority.

I wish you many authorities.