It appears that the third time really is the charm. After my third reading of this poem by T.S. Eliot, I have arrived at a position regarding the overall meaning of this poem that differs greatly from my original impression. At first, it seemed to me that the long-winded, stream of consciousness style of this poem created a thick layer of complex-sounding thoughts that covered one exceedingly simple idea: a man is attracted to a woman. Poor Prufrock is clearly a thinker, not a doer, as indicated by his frequent questions like “Do I dare/Disturb the universe?” and “So how should I presume?” (45-46, 54). He perpetually overanalyzes his life, beating himself up for his own age (“I grow old…I grow old…”), his clothing (“My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin”), and his physical build (“They will say: ‘But how his arms and legs are thin!’”) and he freely admits his self-consciousness around the women, stating quite simply, “in short, I was afraid” (120, 43, 44, 86). Therefore, my original theory dealt mainly with the idea that men of the early 20th were intimidated by women who were beginning to fight for their right to vote and, in the process of that fight, breaking away from their traditional societal roles as wives and mothers. With this new and sudden change, the men of the era were left wondering if they should change their position in society as well—there was much confusion surrounding these gender roles and, as it turned out, men like Prufrock seemed, for a time, less manly than they might have hoped.
After my most recent reading, however, I think that Eliot’s meaning goes deeper than the femininity that industrialism and modern society forces upon men. Instead, I think the key to the total meaning of this poem revolves around Prufrock’s “overwhelming question” which, though mentioned twice (lines 10 and 93), goes undefined and unanswered. One commentary on the poem suggests that the overwhelming question relates to Prufrock’s desire to understand the women’s purpose in life, while another perspective was convinced that the question had to do with the suppressed sexual drive of all of the poem’s characters. I disagree.
I think Prufrock’s “overwhelming question” is more along the lines of “What happened to passion?” To be clear, I do not limit the definition of passion to affectionate relationships; though they may certainly be included, passion also extends to any strength of conviction, any rush of vivid creativity, and, essentially, any strong emotion felt by humans. It is this kind of powerful, life-giving emotion which is so desperately lacking in Prufrock’s world. From the very beginning, dull anticlimaxes abound: the evening sky is not beautiful, it is “like a patient etherized upon a table” (3). “A hundred visions and revisions” end only in indecisive questions of “Do I dare?” (33, 38). His time spent weeping and fasting, in agony over the desire to act on his desires ends only in his disappointing statement of “I was afraid” (86). Prufrock’s life is completely devoid of real passion that exists outside of his own mind and, as a result, he lives a lonely life surrounded by the interminable chit-chat of emotionally detached acquaintances. The only semblance of imaginative life in Prufrock appears at the end of the poem when he dreams about “mermaids singing… [and] riding seaward on the waves” (124,126). Yet even this promising flash of vivid imagery and beauty is quashed by “human voices,” and, with the demolition of Prufrock’s final ounce of passion, he “drown[s]” (132).
So what is the point of Prufrock’s sad, dismal life? It is an illustration of society’s power to kill creative thought and human emotion. The need to fit in to established rules and etiquette that Prufrock feels while at sophisticated tea parties so overwhelms his mind that his creativity and emotions are smothered by self-consciousness and timidity. At the root of this problem is insecurity and fear of man—the innate human desire to be accepted combined with a developed willingness to do whatever it takes to avoid being an outcast. This is a problem I encounter every day, as I observe my own actions. Like everyone else, I desire approval. I cringe inwardly at embarrassing moments, though I may laugh on the outside. I feel antsy at times when I am by myself at school and feel much better with other people around. Thankfully though, I have not reached the point that Prufrock does. Unlike him, I am unwilling to sacrifice my passions (for reading, writing, performing, studying, travelling, etc.) even if my friends do not share them. I do not desire to fit into my society so much that I will forsake my own set of unique and powerful interests to do so. Prufrock’s empty, hopeless, and meaningless life is warning enough that such conformity systematically chips away at a person’s energy, character, desires, and identity and is ultimately not “worth while” (90).
The main idea?
A life without passion is no life at all.
