Perfectionism: I went looking for a god. What I found was a monster.

I’ve been struggling long and hard with procrastination. After a period of prolific productivity, I found myself unable to finish anything, especially creative work. I filed for a tax extension (which I never do.) I started writing dozens of articles that never saw the light of day. Then there’s my book about the mythology of Wonder Woman that seems to be trapped in the eternal cycle of something masquerading as progress. Oh, and putting off my psych reading, so that I have to pull an all-night study session, which I’m just too old to do without consequences.

When something is that pervasive, I start to wonder about its archetypal nature. Archetypes, according to legendary psychoanalyst Carl Jung, are universal patterns that dwell in the Collective Unconscious, an inherited reservoir of primitive symbols recognized by people cross-culturally, throughout the world. Some of these archetypes, like love, wisdom, and war, are presented as gods in classical mythology. So I wondered, Is there a god of procrastination?

The question first led me to Aergia, the goddess of laziness or sloth. But lazy, I’m not. I’m nearly always working on something. I’m just not finishing what I work on, or I’m not doing what is most important or urgent.

Then I started thinking about the sound of the word procrastination. It reminded me of the mythic character Procrustes, and after a bit of digging, I found I was on to something. (For the record, there is no etymological connection between procrastination and Procrustes. I checked during one of my procrastinatory research rabbit holes. This is a mythopoetic association, not linguistic.)

Procrustes (also called Damastes) was the archetypal serial killer, one of three bandits killed by the Ancient Greek hero, Theseus, on his way to Athens.

Long before his fateful encounter with the Minotaur, Theseus set out for Athens to present himself to his father, King Aegeus, whom he had never met. Wanting to arrive at the palace with worthy tales to tell, Theseus chose a treacherous road to the great city. Before Theseus set off, his grandfather had warned him about the dangers he would face, including three devilish bandits, Procrustes among them.

In some versions of the story, these bandits were not merely wicked men, but demonic denizens of Tartarus, the Greek mythological version of Hell–a place where monsters dwelt and the foulest souls were punished. Viewed through this lens, the bandits were not merely human criminals, but monstrous aspects of what Jung called the Shadow, unacceptable parts of the self that are driven from conscious awareness. Confronting these aspects of the self is the work of individuation—becoming more whole.

Procrustes was the third and final bandit that Theseus encountered. He posed as an innkeeper who offered respite for weary travelers on their long journey. He had crafted a special bed that he promised would offer the deepest and most restful sleep. But Procrustes had particular criteria. One had to fit the bed perfectly, and he made sure they did.

He would lead his unsuspecting victims to his marvelous invention, which was fitted with manacles for the wrists and ankles. He would strap the exhausted travelers in. If they were too short, he would stretch them by turning a great wheel. If they were too long, he would chop off the lower limbs with an equally great axe. In any case, he delivered on his promise of the deepest sleep. (In some versions of the story, he had two beds, one long and one short. He would fasten tall people to the short bed and vice versa. Either way, nobody fit until he was done with them.)

What does any of this have to do with creative work? I’m glad you asked.

A creative project is a winding road, and one fraught with peril. It’s miraculous that any statue, movie, or novel ever comes to fruition. Take this essay, for example. I’ve been writing it for months. As I type this very sentence, it is not guaranteed to be published. Publication is Athens. That’s the goal.

Various iterations have been too long, too short. Too academic. Too basic. Worthless dreck. Overly precious. Nobody will like it. Too mystical. It’s too coach-y. It’s not good marketing. It needs to be a content cluster or a one-hour YouTube video. Make it a thread for Bluesky. I’ve stretched and chopped it so many times. I’ve deleted it and started over. It’s maddening.

In his book, The War of Art, Steven Pressfield explores the phenomenon of creative Resistance, a force that opposes anyone who sets out to better themselves or produce something meaningful. Procrustes is a particularly monstrous form of Resistance, procrastination powered by impossible perfectionism, holding every detail to arbitrary and often contradictory standards.

Procrustination.

So what do we do? Back to the myth.

Theseus had been warned about Procrustes, and so was on to his game from the get-go. Knowing Procrustes’ con gave Theseus the advantage. He hoodwinked the demon bandit into lying in his own bed, where he swiftly bound him and cut him down to size using his own axe.

The secret is knowing what you’re facing, looking at it straight on. Then subjecting to it’s own tactics.

Ask yourself what perfect looks like. What are the specific elements? What’s on the checklist?

Procrustes will never have an answer to this question, but always a response along the lines of “I’ll know it when I see it.” That’s not good enough. He has no idea what perfection means! He’s exposed. He cannot meet his own standards. He’s in his bed. You know what to do. Grab your creative tools and get to work.

Put perfectionism itself under scrutiny. Who are you to say what is good enough? The question is—does it meet spec? If the goal is a 1000-word article about perfectionism, then that’s the spec to meet. Anything else is arbitrary.

Even the idea of good enough is not helpful. Good is meaningless.

Does it have a beginning, middle, and end? Did you say what you intended to say? If you don’t have an intention, then you don’t have a goal. You’re just wandering, and you’re at Procrustes’ mercy. You need to know where you’re going, even if you’ve never seen your destination. And it helps to have a deadline.

Procrustes promises rest, and that’s a trap. Do not let him get you or your work into his bed. Don’t murder your creative work by subjecting it to impossible, arbitrary standards.

One more archetypal aspect of this story. Theseus encountered Procrustes on the road between Eleusis and Athens, connecting this story with the Eleusinian Mysteries. This is not just an adventure tale; it’s a story of spiritual significance.

In her book, Gods in Everyman, Jungian analyst Dr. Jean Shinoda Bolen identifies the Road to Athens as a metaphorical quest “to be at the center of power, commerce, or intellectual achievement.” She suggests that in their efforts to reach their goal, Procrustes’ bed represents the impulse to conform, to dismember or deform their souls in order to achieve worldly success. This is antithetical to both leadership and creativity.

Now, I’ve got to get back on the road. Procrustes is in his bed, sleeping the deepest sleep. Onward to Athens.