The eighties in many ways was a lost decade for me. It was then I began raising a family and
building my career. I was too busy to
notice much of the cultural developments going on around me in those days,
particularly in the pop music scene. I
did watch Fame and the Cosby Show religiously every week; so I hadn’t
completely isolated myself. I also went
to movies on occasion. Probably my
favorite film from that decade, and one that has made my personal best list is Amadeus.
They would have had to have really messed Amadeus up,
bringing it to the screen, for it not to make my list. Amadeus encompasses much of what I have liked
for about as long as I can remember. Mozart has been my favorite composer ever
since reading a biography of him called, The Wonder Boy, when I was in the
third grade. And as you might predict, I
adore classical music. And of course, I
am a student of history. Amadeus couldn’t
miss, and Forman’s picture didn’t
disappoint us. Indeed, Amadeus took
eight academy awards in 1985, including best picture, best director (Forman),
and best actor (Abraham).
As with all great works of art, Amadeus teaches us something
about the human condition. What it has
taught me is what I have affectionately dubbed, The Salieri Syndrome.
Antonio Salieri was a real composer who lived contemporaneously
with Mozart. A legend arose after Mozart’s
death claiming Salieri had poisoned Mozart out of jealousy. The story gained legs because of the
mysterious circumstances that had surrounded the commissioning of Mozart’s
Requiem Mass, which would be his last and also unfinished work. Salieri was purported to have been the
anonymous patron in question, and allegedly his intent was to claim the piece
as his own after eliminating Mozart. The
legend has been kept alive by the playwright, Pushkin, and more recently, Peter
Shaffer, whose play Forman adapted to the screen. The legend makes for great drama, but is
almost certainly a myth.
However, The Salieri Syndrome (hereafter called The Syndrome)
is all too true. At its heart, The Syndrome
is what I describe as coveting your neighbor’s purpose.
As the story has been told, Salieri aspired to become a
famous composer, and did, indeed, attain to a high degree of fame as court
composer in late 18th century Vienna. Being a religious man, Salieri likely
attributed much of his success to God’s favor.
So far, so good. But the
appearance of Mozart would soon cast a shadow of doubt over Salieri’s healthy
perspective. Salieri had enough
giftedness to recognize Mozart’s greater gift.
This point was driven home in the film when Salieri told a Priest, who
was hearing the story, something to the effect of, “I looked through the bars
of the music and beheld an absolute beauty.”
Unfortunately for Salieri, instead of thanking God for having
given Mozart such an awesome gift, Salieri began to resent the fact God had not
so gifted him; Salieri started to covet Mozart’s purpose.
And see what happened as this covetousness took hold within
Salieri’s heart. First, Salieri could no
longer enjoy the fruit of God’s gift to him.
Many people were blessed by Salieri’s compositions; his works were
celebrated by the public and awarded by the Emperor. But perhaps more importantly, Salieri became
a highly regarded and sought after teacher.
God had given Antonio a position and a platform in that society. Salieri had the attention of a great many
people. He was in the enviable vantage
point to shine the light of God’s love and grace across a vast expanse of needy
people. Instead, because he allowed The
Syndrome to infect his heart, Mozart’s purpose quickly blinded Antonio to his
own accomplishments and his own purpose.
Salieri would end up squandering his God-given opportunities by exploiting
them in an attempt to bring ruin upon Mozart.
As I said, the tale is fiction, but The Syndrome it portrays is a tragic
reality of human nature.
The second ramification of The Syndrome for poor Salieri was
it stunted his growth. Salieri’s
relationship with Mozart afforded Salieri a tremendous opportunity to learn
from one of the great musical geniuses.
True, Mozart was no great teacher; yet Salieri had enough innate talent
to hone his own compositional skills through his close association with Mozart,
just by soaking in Mozart’s many instructions, comments, and ideas. Sadly, consumed by The Syndrome, Salieri
cheated himself of a rare chance by attempting to steal Mozart’s purpose for
himself. What a colossal and horrible
lie it is to take what belongs to someone else and actually believe it has
become one’s own.
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