It was a situation of incomplete realization that resulted in circumstances that made complete realization impossible. And to be in such an impossible situation or any impossible situation is to be dead. It was as simple as that. If J. Alfred had just realized that he didn’t realize he was already dead, it might have made the difference. Instead he spent a long time waiting to die when he was already dead.

It wasn’t always this way. When J. Alfred was younger he was striving to understand his situation, using most of his energy to collect information, to learn, to apprehend his circumstances. He wanted to be sure. He wanted to know what the truth was. He had devoted himself to that endeavor while maintaining the social norms. So he spent a minimum amount of energy and learned the habit of being socially acceptable and devoted the rest of his energy to his realizing his intention. He spent half his life learning, reading, testing, experimenting and gaining knowledge about his circumstances. Slowly his awareness had achieved focus and clarity. He continued in his habit of being socially acceptable preferring to wait until he was completely sure and had complete understanding of his situation. He ignored every true feeling or desire so he could devote all his energy to understanding and analysis of being in the circumstances he was in. And slowly he brought order and awareness to his being and to his circumstances. Slowly he dispelled the mystery. Slowly he realized his intent. And everything was in order.

And once everything was in order and he was aware of his circumstances, he realized that he was in an impossible situation. He was aware of his circumstances and he realized he could do nothing to change them.

J. Alfred Prufrock has reached maximum entropy.

He is completely ordered. He is a man who has ordered all the energy he has available to him in his circumstances. The little energy he efficiently devoted to his social life was effectively practiced and has become a habit and is completely beyond his control. The remainder of his energy he has converted into maximum information and awareness. It is at maximum entropy. Unfortunately the state of maximum entropy is a condition where energy is no longer capable or operative. His energy is not available for work. His energy is now ordered information and stereotyped awareness and completely bound up and useless.

He is completely aware of his circumstances and completely unable to do anything about it. Unfortunately he is his awareness. His awareness is his truth. It is perfect. It makes perfect sense. It is eternal. It is impossible. It is his own private circumstance. It is him. He is it. To reject this awareness is to reject himself. To be aware of the truth is to admit he can do noting about his pointless circumstances. It is impossible. To deny the truth is to admit that he wasted years of effort and energy, which is exactly the truth he is aware of. It is a sad state to be in. It is impossible. It is eternal. All you can do is wait. Live out your habit. There is no point. And you will be unable to move. Because everything tells you it is impossible and you can do nothing, that you have no meaningful control over the situation but are helpless to alter your circumstances that would have an meaningful effect on your situation.

To a reasonable man like J. Alfred Prufrock, his reason took him down the predictable paths of the rational process, using inference, deduction, analysis, logic, induction, refutation, contradiction, dialectic, and rationalization .

And all his thinking was based on the strict. safe, preordained, correct rules of logic. Thinking with caution, traveling down narrow, one way streets of thought, paved with black and white assumptions and marked with ideas of excluded middles. Ideas to make thinking correct, repeatable and simple, so all would travel the same path and reach the same destination, the same way, the right way, the only way. It’s either true or false. Right or wrong. Cause, effect. Either or. Nice and neat. Cut and dried. Over and done. QED. Peace of mind.

And J. Alfred’s thinking always ended at the same place. Always the same. He could think no other way. He was trapped by his habits of thought. Since he was his habits of thought, he had no alternative. He had no choice. He had to accept the truth and that meant accepting his circumstances as being unalterable. The truth determined everything. The truth was self evident and impossible to deny and impossible to be in. And faced with the impossible truth of his situation J. Alfred Prufrock’s thinking ceased working. It was an impossible, unreasonable truth. It defied rational thought. And J. Alfred was left with the awareness of his situation and no mind of his own, because he couldn’t bear the thought of thinking any other way, for J. Alfred didn’t realize that real truth is a truth whose opposite is also true. If you think about it rationally you will be in an impossible situation. Such is the nature of reality.

So J. Alfred waited to die because he couldn’t admit he already was dead. And even though he thought he might as well be dead, he couldn’t kill himself. The circumstances wouldn’t permit it. It was the kind of situation no one wants to be in. And there J. Alfred remained, aware of being helpless and hopeless, aware of his circumstances, unable to act, aware of the truth, unable to think, waiting to die, unable to die, in circumstances without point or possibility. A truly impossible situation.

There’s no law that says the truth can’t be impossible. And the fact that the whole situation was impossible doesn’t mean it can’t be true or happen. The fact that anything exists at all is more than possible, more than probable, more than improbable, more than unbelievable, it is certain. It is self evident. It is what is. It is impossible, but only if you think about it. Incredible isn’t it? Absolutely?

The impossible is not inconceivable. The truth is, in the present circumstances, the impossible is the order of the day. It is just the way it is. It is not a matter of proof. It is not something that can be deducted or explained. It is a matter of observation. It is obvious. It is self evident.

J. Alfred Prufrock is cruelly aware that he is in an impossible situation. Impossible for him. What is he to do? Half a life is twice an eternity in an impossible situation. Nothing makes sense. Not even death. Everything seems futile, uncertain, tentative.

You look to the horizon and see nothing definite. You find only emptiness inside yourself. You find no clues. You have no truths. You have no reason to care. You have no reason for hope. There is nothing to gain. There is nothing of value. You have no worth. You are completely alone. Nothing is essential. There is only surface. Everything is empty. Nothing has meaning. Nothing has real purpose. You have no purpose. You have no meaning. Everything is pointless to the point of being cruel. The future has no promise. You are not involved. You don’t know what to do. You wait for a change you know won’t come. You know it’s up to you and you can’t do it. There is no certainty. Without reason you have no certainty. Without reason you have no reason.

There is a hole in your heart and confusion in your mind and you can’t find your soul. You wish the old passion would come back and fill you: the passion of discovery, the passion of newness, the passion of the life, the passion of involvement. And you remember (at least you think you do) the joys you felt, the joys of each new understanding, each new experience, the first touch, smell, taste, sound, sense, the joy of knowledge fitting together, the joy of marveling at the beauty and the mystery that is to be realized, but it is the joy that is gone. And you don’t know what happened and all you feel is the cruelty of it all, the emptiness of it all, the dim memory of it all.

And before J. Alfred really realized it, before he consciously confronted himself in that void in himself, the fear (of his own fear overwhelming him) buried him in his own self pity and he resigned himself to the reassuring prison of social acceptability never revealing his too soon buried dreams to anyone for fear of being revealed.

J. Alfred Prufrok is a complete failure at heart: an anonymous middle aged man, of average respectability, of practiced appearance, of compromised dreams, of social habit and resign, who regards himself successful in circumstances of absolutely no value in a society that is sterile and meaningless, who is a spiritless man of surrendered passion and will, who is filled with a sense of his own paralysis and futility and is tortured by feeling worthless, helpless, hopeless, and pointless, a man who has lost touch with his soul, with his center, with the truth, with himself. Whose fate is as inevitable as a bad habit. Whose fate is to choose to be a habit. And who is now just a habit, his very own, self sustained unhappy habit of himself. Who at some point in his life made his choice and then forgot he had any choice. Who had a choice between the comfort, security and reassurance of society and risking himself in the awesome mystery of the universe but chose to scurry back to the herd, choosing appearance over reality, choosing prudence over passion, losing heart and gaining fear, losing hope and gaining doubt, gaining comfort and losing joy and having to rely on faith without having any trust, and ended up living without loving.

J. Alfred Prufrok who dreams of making a self validating gesture, a gesture of his heart full of passion made of desire, shaped by intention, to be fulfilled by his will. All he dreamt of was performing just one gesture, one individual, personal act that would have meaning for him, to him, in him, as him. All he wanted to do was one thing. And having done it he would feel he had done something worthy, that would be worthy to him, worthy of him, be of value to him, not be worthless. A gesture he could feel in the depth of his soul and know he hadn’t wasted his entire life.

But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t take the chance. The risk was too great. He couldn’t risk that he might be the object of ridicule, that he would feel ashamed and feel less than the nothing he already was, that he wouldn’t be able to hide behind appearances, that he would be found out, exposed, rejected and ejected. Then he would have nothing at all. He would be alone. It was safer just to hide. His fear and self pity comforted him, consoled him, condemned him and devoured him. Self pity and fear took everything, left nothing of value and gave nothing in return.

J. Alfred Prufrock gave himself away. He had given himself away in social compromise and self indulgence and cowardice. And in return he had no freedom, no power, no certainty, no responsibility and no joy. He had no lust, no guts, no balls, and no hope.

He had no faith in himself, he needed others for validation. He had no purpose in himself, he needed others to tell him what to do. He had no trust in himself, he didn’t know what to do. He had no will of his own, he had to ask for permission. He had no respect for himself, so he didn’t know what was of value. There was nothing of value left, so there was nothing left for him to do, except to keep doing what he was doing. Life was a habit that he’d already learned. It was easy and he wasn’t alone. And he somehow just couldn’t muster the strength, the power to change.

“Where had his passion and his power gone?” he asked himself. And then he responded, “It’s just old age. It’s just time stealing it away.” That’s what he told himself.

But it was a lie.

It wasn’t age and it wasn’t time that had taken his power.

It was habit. He had invested all his energy in his socially acceptible habits. He had lost his freedom and joy to habit. He had lost his will to habit. He had lost his passion to habit. He had invested everything of value in habit, his power, his energy, his life. He was his habits, just a habit, nothing more and nothing else.

J. Alfred Prufrock, a man who couldn’t say no to himself.
J. Alfred Prufrock, a man of habit, of lost heart, of no will, of pitiful love.
J. Alfred Prufrock, a man with no soul of his own.