The Salieri Effect

On disrupting and integrating automatic thoughts

“Comparison is the thief of joy.”
― Theodore Roosevelt

Wake me, Amadeus

It’s 3:30am in Rome, Italy, and I woke up thinking about the iconic role of Antonio Salieri, played by F. Murray Abraham, in the 1984 Oscar-winning film, Amadeus.

I’m assuming you’ve seen the movie, but if you haven’t, it profiles the life of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, told largely through the lens of his contemporary, the much less known composer Salieri. The movie starts with an older Salieri screaming out after having cut himself in a foiled suicide attempt - a fairly abrupt start to what turns out to be one of the best films ever made.

Anyway, I awoke with this notion of the Salieri Effect, which is a term given to that feeling of inferiority after encountering someone who embodies knowledge and accomplishments you would love to have yourself. It’s actually more complicated than that, in that the Salieri character was overflowing with envy and righteous indignation, neither of which I have.

But tell that to my subconscious middle-of-the-night brain.

“From now on (God) we are enemies, You and I. Because You choose for Your instrument a boastful, lustful, smutty, infantile boy and give me for reward only the ability to recognize the incarnation. Because you are unjust, unfair, unkind, I will block You, I swear it. I will hinder and harm Your creature on earth as far as I am able.” ~ Antonio Salieri, Amadeus

F. Murray Abraham as Antonio Salieri in the film Amadeus

Freudian Slips

So I thought I’d deconstruct why my nighttime brain might have conjured this thought.

Earlier yesterday evening, I participated online in the second week of my PhD program in depth psychology, where the students in my cohort discussed the merits of Freud, Jung and William James, as they intersected on the subject of religion. I’d completed all of my reading before the class, and buckled up for a mind-expanding dialogue.

You ever see that Weird Al Yankovic video to his parody song, I Lost on Jeopardy? If not, watch it here.

That’s a bit how I felt during the class. Several of the other students seemed to have such a command of the subject matter that my head was spinning. Don’t get me wrong - it was fascinating, but holy moly. Smart people. Humbling, to say the least.

During my four-decade-long professional career, I developed a particular skill in sifting through the noise to get the best outcomes possible for my organizations. I accomplished that by developing certain leadership skills that motivated people to perform their best, which in the process served me well, and resulted in multiple promotions along with increased responsibilities and recognition. I bring this up to illustrate that before I retired, I felt fairly competent at what I did. I was in my comfort zone.

When I started this new PhD program, I was fully aware that I was stepping into an entirely new set of skills and talents, which meant stepping out of what was comfortable for me, and into a new and difficult set of challenges. There’s a reason they call these things challenges. It’s hard to feel humbled. And yet necessary in order to continue to grow.

So here I am in my sixties embarking on something completely new. Something outside of my prior skillset, surrounded by other people who have clearly spent an extraordinary amount of time studying and integrating this material. So it’s like going back to childhood, in a way.

So while it’s intimidating, it’s also invigorating. And I love it.

Keeping Score

Continuing my deconstruction, after class, we went to a small reception which included a group of internationally known psychiatrists, where I spotted Dr. Bessel van der Kolk, and feeling shy, decided against approaching him, lest I look like a “fan boy” disrupting his evening. It’s not as though he’s George Clooney, yet in many ways, seeing a figure like him carries that level of regard for me - he’s someone whose body of work has made an impact on humanity. I found his book, The Body Keeps the Score several years ago, and read it with rapt attention, as he discussed the notion of integration between the mind and body to deal proactively with repressed trauma that often manifests itself with patients in difficult ways. To date, his book has remained on the New York Times bestseller list for seven years.

His book offers valuable insights, building upon a foundation of psychotherapy rooted in Freud’s foundational work about repression of symptoms that manifest themselves in unconscious ways. Van der Kolk suggests a number of approaches to reintegrate the body and mind, many of which are disputed by those in the scientific community, but so is every approach that challenges contemporary models of care. I admire people who push boundaries.

In any event, I went back and read my review of his book from seven years ago, where at the end, I described how I would love to spend an evening over dinner with him discussing his findings. And here I was with that ability, and I didn’t. I think that’s part of what set my middle of the night brain pinging me.

Integration

So back to Salieri, who was haunted by his knowledge that Mozart was far more talented than him. He couldn’t imagine how God could give so much talent and ability to such a morally bankrupt figure as Mozart. Salieri had devoted his whole life to his craft, including committing to his own celibacy as his offering to God. And then comes along this … this child who was clearly possessed with a greater gift. When he discovered Mozart’s talent, he couldn’t live with this knowledge.

Unlike Salieri, I recognize that I haven’t devoted my life to this material, as have the other students, as has a figure such we Dr. van der Kolk. It’s just new to me. And while I’m in a latter period of my life, I’m bravely embarking on a new adventure, during a period of life where many people throw in the towel.

But like most of us, I still carry that childish notion of feeling less-than, and when confronted with it, find it disarming and uncomfortable.

And so it work me up in the middle of the night, reminding me I’m nothing special.

So my message back to that inner voice is, "Okay, thanks for the information. I acknowledge that you’re trying to remind me to not get too big for my britches.” And yet, I can’t help countering with the song, “I beg your pardon, I never promised you a rose garden!”

With that acknowledgement, I let my inner voice know I understood what it’s doing, so I can take one unsteady step at a time, with a commitment to myself to continue to lean in, and to embrace the sense of inferiority with courage and a patient smile at the childhood version of myself. I’m going to be okay. Thanks for the reminder, subconscious me.

“Knowing yourself is the beginning of all wisdom.”
― Aristotle

Why share this story? Because I think at least one person who reads this will understand the application of this to something going on in his or her own life. If so, know that you’re going to be okay too.

It’s strange to feel ourselves out of our element, outside of the zone of comfort where we feel competent and in control of the narrative. Where we feel we need to stretch and grow, but still have to wrangle with those middle of the night insecurities that erroneously tell us we’re stupid, insignificant and meaningless.

You’re not. I’m not. Comparison is the root of unhappiness. I see it. I see clearly what’s happening here in my unconscious. And I choose to lean in. And so should you.

“Be you. You are sacred.”
― Lailah Gifty Akita