The 2025 dramatic series Amadeus is a fictitious account of the final years of famed composer Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Mozart, a musical prodigy, is plagued by alcoholism, emotional instability, and a chronic need for validation. His life, at this stage at least, can be described as a desperate attempt to be acknowledged. In a pivotal scene, after the opening of The Marriage of Figaro (the timeless opera), Mozart encounters his father, hoping for, and even expecting, praise. Instead, his father scolds him for neglect, for failing to seriously consider how his opera, based on a banned book, could contribute to national instability and civil strife in a vulnerable period — during war time.
Mozart, stunned, asks his father, “You couldn’t hear it, could you?” Then, more so speaking to himself, says, “You never could.” As his father exits, the look on Mozart’s face reads: And you never will. His father, more concerned with optics and, in all fairness, duty, never exhibits much of an interest in his son—who Mozart is is less important to him than whom he ought to become. This protracted struggle perfectly captured the inner world of an individual struggling with self-oriented perfectionism, someone with something to prove. The problem, as is likely evident, is twofold: 1. Mozart’s desire to be loved on his own terms, and even as a cry for help. 2. His father’s perception of Mozart’s actions as a challenge to his authority.
While the socially-prescribed perfectionist internalizes others’ standards, even if they have some degree of regret for doing so, the self-oriented perfectionist, on the other hand, often experiences what in psychoanalytic thought is called ambivalence, experiencing paradoxical feelings and/or desires. In this example, Mozart wants to live up to his own standard of perfection while simultaneously winning his father’s approval, which is based on his own standard.
To manage the distress of having conflicting desires, Mozart simply, and passively, hopes his father will recognize his genius and, in turn, his worth. But, time after time, and production after production, lead to more heartache and misery. Each output, despite arguably embodying perfection, is met with dismissal.
So, this raises two questions: 1. What is perfectionism for? 2. Can the perfectionist ever feel satisfied? Perfectionism can, in one understanding, be thought of as the obsessive attempt of fusing apparently conflicting opposites, a cultivated harmony, which can also be thought of as “having it all”–like Mozart wishing for both his father’s acceptance and artistic freedom. Thus, perfectionism is an attempt not only at creating beauty but also brilliance. In the above-mentioned scene, the viewer likely arrives at several realizations. They realize that perfection, in some sense, can be achieved. And, more importantly, they realize that the foundational desire of perfectionism—of an impossible, contradictory union—can’t be.
This is why perfectionism is so insidious. One may gripe about a bad grade or a poor performance. They may bemoan not being the best athlete or artist. But, in the end, this may, at bottom, be a search for the impossible. On the surface, Mozart was fixated on, and seemed to have been proud of, being the best. Again, his operas were arguably perfect. Yet, as they were instrumental—a means to the end of paternal approval—he would never find solace in their existence. In the series, Mozart carries a deep void, despite others’ approval (which he eventually receives after many attempts) and his own arrogance: he crumbles with each encounter of his father’s displeased ghost, who stalks him both while awake and in his dreams.
To be clear, it isn’t that needing to prove yourself is inherently bad, nor is having to perfect some specific thing, again Mozart perfected his operas. The problem lies in needing to perfect something that can’t be perfected and in needing to prove something to someone who can’t embrace you. There are likely several reasons for the father’s unwillingness to accept his son. Mozart may have reminded him of his own failures; his temperamental rebelliousness may have made him feel cowardly for always conforming; and his creativity may have made him feel ordinary. Maybe most importantly, Mozart’s chronic defiance may have caused his father to feel impotent.
In the end, Mozart had two basic, and you can even call them existential, choices. He had to choose between being himself and making his father happy. If he were to take some of the responsibility for their discord, he may accepted that his father was an other-oriented perfectionist, only able to maintain relationships with those who only did as they were told. Mozart’s vision would forever clash with that of his father’s—this seemed like a basic fact of life. But, if Mozart merely needed to prove his genius, had he merely needed to show the world how brilliant he was and what he was capable of, then he had already succeeded, multiple times over.
So, this is my challenge to the perfectionist: Can you create a life for yourself that doesn’t require the approval of all of those whom you deem important? Can you find value in yourself solely because you, and even some important others, value your unique talents? And, can you hear your own music, even if it may fall on deaf ears? Mozart was never going to resolve his relationship with his father in his own way, but could have reaching perfection been a good enough consolation prize? His father may have not cared for his greatness, but it doesn’t mean that Mozart had to follow suit.
Leon's Existential Cafe 