Why We Must Kill Off Our Role Models

A couple of years ago, I read “The Anxiety of Influence” by the late literary critic Harold Bloom. It was a tedious read, wordy and cryptic. Bloom got a kick out of being an elitist.

That said, the book is based on an interesting idea: Bloom argues that to establish ourselves as strong artists (substitute artist for any other profession you like), we have to eventually kill off our role models, the people who paved the way for us.

We have to take their accomplishments — the very thing that inspired us to follow in their footsteps — and make them seem imperfect. It's only then that we can detach ourselves from their shadow and add new meaning to our chosen discipline. You either mutilate your role model or you remain an imitator, an epigone.

Obviously, Bloom’s thinking was influenced by psychoanalysis. His notion of killing the predecessor is a spin-off of Freud's Oedipus complex. The son kills the father, who is viewed as a rival for the mother.

I have always suspected that this anxiety of influence not only applies to Romanticist writers (Bloom’s area of interest) but also to real life.

It is certainly true for my own vita. If I look at past teachers, there is a distinct pattern. Initially, I am in complete awe of my mentors, wondering how anyone can accumulate so much knowledge on the subject.

Next comes a long, intensive phase of modelling myself after my hero, down to their speech patterns and mannerisms; this is how much I'm under their spell.

But inevitably, after a few years, I start noticing cracks in the surface of my idol. I slowly start moving away from them, eventually denying or reinterpreting their teachings.

At first glance, this all sounds healthy enough. You are detaching yourself from a source of influence, just like you detached yourself from your parents at some point.

But it’s really an act of violence.

In many instances, there was no objective fault with my teachers. I invented their flaws or, at the very least, exaggerated them.

That is the dilemma of any creative person. You have to turn your teachers into something they never were, so you can step on them.

It works the other way around, too. Having been a teacher/coach for most of my professional life, I can think of several people who eventually had to kill me off as their primary influence.

Naturally, it is not a pleasant experience. First, you feel a bit used. Second, you realize that they were right to kill you off. Their potential has outgrown yours. They had to step on you to claim their own place.

However, the problem is not with the killers. The real problem is with those who are too afraid to kill.

Some people, out of pity or weakness, cannot kill off their teachers. Harold Bloom talks about these too, and not in friendly terms. These are the writers who are forgotten just a few decades later, the footnotes of history. By their timidness, they have creatively doomed themselves.

I notice this in a lot of my coaching clients. Most of them don’t struggle with being too ruthless — they struggle with being too agreeable. They are not delivering the killing blow when they should.

What about you? Are you someone killing off your role models? Or are you valuing harmony above anything else, and thus risking never living up to your potential?

It might be the parent who still holds sway over you.

It might be the professional mentor you have outgrown.

It might be the romantic partner whom you have moved past.

Remember — this is not about being fair. In many instances, these figures don’t deserve to be removed. But they have to be so you can tap into greatness.

I realize how cut-throat this sounds. But it is how innovation works, artistic or otherwise. And in the end, it balances out. If you decide to become a usurper, you will eventually be usurped, too.

Who is someone you should “kill off” to come into full bloom? If you feel like sharing, hit reply.

Flying back to Germany soon. Thailand has been fantastic, but after eight months, I’m ready to move on. Probably true for most places, at least for me. When your days are heavily routine-driven, you need the occasional change of scenery — otherwise, you start to go a little crazy. Then again, maybe I just need to be a bit more social. Still figuring out the right balance.

Talk to you soon!

Niels