Genius and Leadership - Mahler, Bernstein, and Tar

Look up "genius" online or, as I first did this morning, in our 1937 Webster's New English dictionary. The online Webster's includes a range of uses for the word including the benign examples of "strong leaning or inclination," a "strongly marked capacity," or "a person endowed with extraordinary mental superiority." The 1937 Webster's starts with reference to persons who have some aspect of deity. I've only personally known two certified geniuses in my lifetime, although I suspect there have been many more. I know that I do not qualify and that I've been intimidated by "genius" in some examples and empowered in others. The fact of it is, genius can count as a result of the privilege we grant those who have it, how it can inspire great things, or how it can destroy relationships, institutions, and governments (remember the declaration of "stable genius?").

Genius is certified in terms of intellectual capability in the IQ test but, based on the definitions available to us, goes far beyond that to the realms of science, business, philosophy, the arts and more.  The ability to influence through exceptional insight or creativity and the genius associated with mobilizing people and ideas are beautifully reflected in music. The 2023 Academy award nominations of the movie Tar stimulated me to look more deeply into genius and the musicians who have demonstrated it. I was not a fan of Tar and was relieved when it received no Oscars. Why? I believe it portrays genius and its resulting power in a very bad light, let alone the near slanderous parallels between the movie's main character and Marin Alsop, a noted female conductor who sponsors female musicians and happens to be married to a woman with whom she has children. Lydia Tar's malign grooming and power-wielding mirror what men do in various sectors every day and, other than novelty and a not-so-sensational revelation that sexism and exploitation come in many guises, what motivated the creation of her fictional character? Finally, regardless of the accolades for Cate Blanchett's acting, the scenes where she conducts are abysmal at best. The director should have known how bad Blanchett was and should have done something about it.

Nevertheless, Tar stimulated reflection for me into the references in the script to Alsop, Bernstein, and Mahler. The lineage here is fascinating and it is direct. Mahler was a conducting sensation in the late 19th and early 20th century who garnered rave reviews from the moment he directed Beethoven's 9th by memory in his debut in Vienna. His flamboyance (genius) as a conductor was controversial enough, and rising anti-Semitism incendiary enough, for Mahler to leave Vienna for a respite period of conducting in the U.S.A. He returned to Vienna in 1911 and died at the age of only 51. Mahler's compositions were not as popular as his conducting during his lifetime but were retained through proteges such as Bruno Walter and revived substantially by Leonard Bernstein in the 1960s.

The use of Mahler's Symphony #2 for John F. Kennedy's funeral in 1963 and Mahler's Symphony #5 Adagietto for Robert F. Kennedy's funeral in 1968, as well as the score draped across his chest at his own burial in 1990, were indicative of Bernstein's affinity to Mahler's compositions. Bernstein's use of Mahler's compositions during American tragedy have become routine to ceremonies of remembrance. Bernstein also came to great public recognition first from his conducting but then through his televised "Young People's Concerts" and popular acclaim in "West Side Story." However, Bernstein's substance as a composer has not always been recognized. Here again, a devoted protege, Marin Alsop, specializes in conducting Bernstein, seeking to renew his prominence as a composer. The fictional character, Lydia Tar, claims to also be a protege of Bernstein, placing herself as a peer to Alsop.

What is this lineage about and what does the choice of the music at the center of the film imply? The choice of Mahler's Symphony #5 and the Adagietto movement are likely indicative of the struggle between artistic death and life for Lydia Tar and perhaps even her struggle with relationships. But maybe there's more. Interpretations of the ending of Tar indicate that perhaps the puzzle image that appears repeatedly conveys that there is a puzzle that the director never intended to reveal. A protege of Leonard Bernstein, John Mauceri, author of For the Love of Music, was the music advisor for "Tar" and surely knew all of the details about Bernstein's affinity to Mahler in general and the 5th Symphony in particular. On the broader topic of music, Mauceri would likely have wanted viewers of Tar to connect with and feel the Mahler #5 and he would also have wanted each individual to discern their own interpretations of what they heard.

My study of musicologists' view of the 5th is that it was the point at which Mahler turned away from "programs" in his music to the broader philosophical questions that he pursued for the rest of his compositions. The 5th itself reflects a massive pivot from the funeral march at the beginning, to searching and yearning in the 2nd and 3rd movements, to finding and professing his love for Alma in the Adagietto, and finally to the triumph and ecstatic celebration in the final movement. The Adagietto is perplexing in itself because it includes moments of lush romanticism but also includes anguish, exaggerated by repeated appoggiaturas, perhaps a reflection of the ambivalence in the troubled relationship Gustav was to have with his malevolent muse, Alma. The anguish of the Adagietto might also be understood by considering the thematic quotations in Mahler's Ruckert Lieder, Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen'. This particular text and Mahler's setting of it is about the deep satisfaction found in solitude, especially of a type that births creation. Might Mahler have been declaring the need for solitude while simultaneously yearning for the connective ecstacy that love provides? 

Returning to the idea of genius, Mahler and Bernstein reflect the height of genius, if for no other reason than their prominence in public notoriety and recognition, partially recognized in their own time but more substantially after their deaths. Mahler and Bernstein struggled with demons that likely drove them to offer their creative best and they both attempted to engage with others as they did. They both had impact in their own times as they exercised artistic and human leadership. I believe that the fictional Lydia Tar, with humble background who was drawn to Bernstein's genius, sought to advance herself rather than truly to advance art and the human spirit. After all, the beginning and conclusion of the film are about Lydia's work with publishers on her autobiography, Tar on Tar. Perhaps Lydia Tar began with a commitment to her art but became captivated by her own advancement, abused power in the process, and these brought her cataclysmic downfall. For me, the Mahler #5 was symbolic of the demons with which Lydia Tar struggled and the Adagietto represented the see-saw of ecstatic love and anguish over love that could not be satiated as long as Lydia was unable to be true to herself.

True genius in leadership is about something beyond oneself and, if it is not, the dark and deep spiral of destruction that was Lydia Tar's life will be the end that one is likely to meet. This is the transcending message I take from Tar; for all the flaws in the story and the acting, this is a crucial message to take away about genius and leadership.

Jamail & Rushworth (Eds.) - We are the Middle of Forever: Indigenous Voices from Turtle Island on the Changing Earth

We can never destroy the Earth is a message that rings loud and clear in Jamail & Rushworth’s (Eds.) We are the Middle of Forever (2022). However, that’s not a good message. Instead, it is a statement of the ultimate reality of human existence on Earth – regardless if we destroy the environment and our own survivability on Earth, the Earth has and will continue to replenish itself after untold catastrophic transitions over the millennia. This collection of interviews with indigenous Natives of North America tells us that we can do something about environmental destruction but that we must enter the conversation about saving the natural environment with humility. The lesson of humility is critical across all types of leadership but it is particularly relevant in the context of the environment.

These interviews of Native persons from various tribal backgrounds and experiences include highly educated faculty and researchers, community advocates, grass-roots organizers, and more. Each interview is labeled for its focus and includes areas such as strength, sense of permanence, living from the heart, awareness, trust, kinship, and more, all of which contribute to a set of disciplines for saving Mother Earth. The interview summaries begin with a description of each individual and then proceed through the exploration of ideas that each individual views as essential to respecting nature and the Earth. To be honest, I struggled with the first chapters and felt myself frequently asking, “What’s the point?” As the book builds momentum and connections are made across chapters, the ultimate purpose and prospect of each is revealed.

“Turtle Island” is North America, the name reflecting the separation of the continent from other landmasses around the world. When invaders and settlers began coming to its shores, attacking, torturing, and killing natives into submission, grandmothers warned against complying with the invader’s human and resource views, “No, this is not the right way to relate to the Mother, and there will be consequences” (p. xi). Later in the Longest Walk of 1978, Phillip Deere reminded all of the grandmothers’ wisdom when he said, “We are going to continue to walk, and walk and walk until we find freedom for all the Native people. And I will remind you, you may not be an Indian, but you better join us. Your life is at stake. Your survival depends on this” (p. xvii).

The “sense of permanence” interview of Gregg Castro (Salinan/Ohlone) asserted that reliance on science alone reinforces a view of the superiority of humans when, in reality, all creatures have rights and have a role to play in protecting the Earth as a living, breathing, changing place. The work of dismantling human arrogance must start with fixing ourselves and reversing the relatively recent obsession of civilization with possession, the assumption of ownership, and the resulting greed it engenders. Fixing ourselves of course is dependent on awareness, which is a very strong emphasis among Native peoples. Lacking awareness results in our not seeing ourselves in the context of systems, the world, and across time. The interview of Lyla June Johnston (Navajo and Cheyenne) on trust further exposed the perversity of the colonizers who came to Turtle Island with self-perception so low that they sought to dominate the frontier through white supremacy, sometimes even misappropriating the messages of Christ and his teachings of love to justify the slaughter of innocent native men, women, and children. This slaughter occurred sometimes as extermination and in other cases took the form of children being stolen from their families and assimilated in boarding schools away from the influences of their intergenerational tribes.

The bottom line revealed by Shannon Rivers (Akimel O’otham) in “balance” was that “Mother Earth will balance herself. Whether or not we get to see that balance, and whether or not it will happen in our lifetimes, we don’t know” (p. 156). The antidote to obsessive individualism and destructive accumulation for personal gain is Indigenous values, wisdom, and sustainable ways of living (Nelson on “dispelling delusion with alchemy”).  The Anishinaabe tribal grandmothers’ seven teachings include love, bravery, respect, humility, truth, wisdom, and generosity. These seven teachings are mirrored in many Indigenous belief systems and represent a fundamental rebalancing of all living things on Turtle Island.

Melina Laboucan-Massimo (Lubicon Cree) said that “The climate crisis is the direct result of the Western capitalist industrial complex, coupled with patriarchy and all the other ‘isms’ that exist which separate humans from Mother Earth” (p. 302). Averting the crisis through Indigenous wisdom and practice would revive the sacred loop of ‘healing justice’ that opens the way to “unpack and decolonize, in trauma-informed ways” (p. 314). In straight-forward and meaningful terms, Laboucan-Massimo encourages practices of community ritual, singing and dancing and advises, “You say a morning prayer, ‘Thank you for another day of life. Thank you for keeping me pure during the night. Help me to be a good human being’” (p. 332).