In all texts, man's body threatens his "soul" with eternal damnation; as referenced in De Nerval, only those whose "fraternal souls, delivered from their mortal bodies, [are] all the more free to denote themselves" to the regeneration of the universe," and by Dante, "those who have rejected spiritual values by yielding to bestial appetites..." are trapped within hell. Similarly, in Dante's "Inferno" and Baudelaire's Les Fleurs Du Mal, the soul is central to their descriptions of Godly procreation.

Lines 71 and 72 of The Waste Land most directly relate to these ideas: " 'That corpse you planted last year in your garden,/ 'Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?/ 'Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?.../ 'You hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!'." Opening "Inferno III," Dante reads the text inscribed into the Gates of hell: "Divine power made me,/ Wisdom supreme, and primal love./ Before me nothing was but things eternal,/ and eternal, I endure./ Abandon all hope, you who enter here." While it may be a reference to the realm of hell as a physical entity, it may equally describe humanity—humanity was made with "wisdom supreme," but cursed with "...primal love." In eternal purgatory, hell cannot exist void of the human race; hell, Dante's illustration, reflects human vice and besets its inhabitants with mortal, worldly punishment. Thus, it is the human race that "before nothing was but things eternal, and eternal [they] endure." Returning to line 72, it then becomes evident that the planted "corpse" is destined to fail and decompose; if man is doomed to rest "eternally" in hell, rebirth and redemption are futile.

Baudelaire, in a similar manner, describes the mortality of God: in the poem's fifth stanza, the narrator discovers himself (analogous to humanity) to be the undying eighth part of God. Initially two unnaturally aged and failing old men, God is likened to "centenarian twins...spectres odd." Discovering the number of these entities, "monsters," the narrator interrogates his own humanity: "The seven old hideous monsters has the mien/ Of being immortal./ Then, I thought, must I,/ Undying, contemplate the awful eighth:/ Inexorable, fatal, and ironic double:/ Disgusting Phoenix, father of himself/ And his own son?" Given a body, God's immortality is morbid; rather than a pinnacle of beauty and perfection, the image from which man was born, he is a "Disgusting Phoenix," and his own father.

With this, God and the human race are abject, impure, and irrevocable. Finally, in line 73, Eliot's reference to "Frost" pulls upon Dante's ninth circle: Treachery and the frozen lake of Cocytus. Just as hell's souls, The Waste Land's corpse is submerged and frozen in a (its) bed.

Overall, these three lines relate to the given sources in their description of human suffering, innocence, and redeemability —and the same of God.

Lines 30-59 develop two parallel themes: Lance, and the Goblet or Cup as male and female "sex symbols of immemorial antiquity," and Tarot as a system of allotting mortals divine fortunes. Preceding page 8 in Weston's account of semiotics in the Holy Grail legend, descriptions of masculinity and femininity are tied closely to virility and fertility (respectively). Quoted, Weston states that "[as] symbols of immemorial antiquity and world-wide diffusion, the Lance, or Spear, representing the Male, the Cup, or Vase, the Female, reproductive." Weston further states that within the "Grail romances we possess...[is] the fragmentary record of the secret ritual of a Fertility cult."

In these statements Weston justifies analysis by asserting that it is backed by inter-mythological theory; Weston's definitions (of symbol) maintain continuity across various socio-cultural settings, specifically Celtic and Greek. The Cauldron of the Dagda Coire Arsic, known as a "legendary vessel of infinite bound & hospitality in Irish mythology" and the Greek Horn of Plenty.

This is a vital passage, relating T.S. Eliot's understanding of poetry as dramatic human condition(s). I will discuss these lines in my conclusion, however, they (like much of this text) exist in duality: "roots" in reference to a sanctified humanity, and the anarchist nature of natural (mortal) life.

First, I refer to Rupert Brooke's AN UNUSUAL YOUNG MAN. In response to the tragedy of warfare, the man (titled 'friend') summits a "hill of gorse" and sits alone "looking at the sea. His mind... full of confused images, and the sense of strain." Explicitly outlined, the man is pensive, in reflection and torture. His ascension to the top of a "Gorse hill," a yellow-petaled flower with a prickly body, mirrors a rite or religious ritual; willingly, almost obligatorily, he subjects himself to the prickles to contemplate while overlooking a vast and supreme ocean. (Two parallel symbols of human waste and the consummate eternal (ocean).) While this image alone holds weight, when applied to Eliot's theory of impersonality, however, the man aids in developing a recurrent motif of war.

In the excerpt's following lines, the man's mental decrepitude (figurative)—illustrated by his irrational change in nationality & pledge to European nations—turns him into a symbol and actor in Eliot's theory of the Impersonal poem.

Outlined as the condition of "Impersonality," a poem must elicit its designed visceral, bodily response separate from its creator. That is, a poem must largely function autonomously (this is at least one interpretation). As Eliot articulates, "the more perfect the artist [of the poem], the more completely separate in him will be the man who suffers and the mind which creates; the more perfectly will the mind digest and transmute the passions which are its material (Eliot, "Tradition and the Individual Talent"). Extended to Rupert Brooke's An Unusual Young Man, This character of poetry seems manifest in the protagonist. The man is the mind upon which war, as a poem, acts. With this analogy, war becomes a perfectly self-sustaining entity; war is the poem and the artist, and by their effect, the man ('friend') will "transmute the passions which are its [wars, not his own] material."

With this, it's possible to equate the lines, “What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow/ Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,” as man’s (humankind’s) roots that so tenuously clutch out “stony rubbish” body and mind and creator. Under the spell of war, man must transmute its passions—those of our own; those passions that drive humanity (in all its sectors, from barbarity to sophistication)—into something greater than its parts. Though, this is a puzzle the poem and excerpt do not willingly reveal: in deep thought, the man (‘friend’) concludes, “Something was growing in his heart, and he couldn't tell what.”

"When the boys said to her: 'Sibly, what do you want?' She answered: 'I want to die.' In relation to My Past, by Countess Marie Louise, the English rendering of The Service for the Burial of the Dead...of the Orthodox Greek Church in London, Sibly's plea for bodily liberation transforms the body into a physical vessel that confines the human soul—the soul being the human's godly half (or fragment of god). Throughout all texts, the soul seems to exist attached to rather than held within the human: lines 25-29 of "The Burial of the Dead" state that, "There is shadow under this red rock/ (Come in under the shadow of this red rock),/ And I will show you something different from either/ Your shadow at morning striding behind you/ Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you..." 'Shadow,' is referred to as a definite object; rather than the product of one's body, 'shadow' is a place for the body to take refuge within.

Further, Tone 2 of the "The Service for the Burial of the Dead..." illustrates a soul departing from its body: "Alas! what strife hath the soul in parting from the body. Alas! what tears, and there is none to pity her; towards angels her helpless eyes are turned in supplication...let us plead with Christ for rest for him who has passed away, and for our souls the great mercy." As the soul is described separate from the body, the female pronoun "her" is attached. She, "turned in supplication," asks for the great mercy (assumed to be entrance to heaven, or a similar plane). The female soul, possibly a symbol of virgin rebirth, awaits return to God, and return to sanctity.

Overall, as suggested in the final lines in the Book of Ezekiel, all texts suggest that the human body is a subaltern vessel, and that the soul is the only kin of God (or the child or product of God).

The Waste Land, (as a title) seems in explicit condemnation of human behavior, morality, and faculty. The narrative itself—in it's three disjunct poems—is an account, or portrait, of humanity's cycles. The first poem, "The Burial of the Dead," and final, "What the Thunder Said," comment on a human's predispositions. In the first, it's asked "What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow/ Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,/ You cannot say.."; can the human justify its innate "roots," and its blood of Adam and Eve? This question is evident in many following and preceding stanzas. In the final poem, man is placed upon a desolate image:"What is that...Murmur of maternal lamentation/ Who are those hooded hordes swarming/ Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth...Jerusalem Athens Alexandria/ Vienna London/ Unreal." The stanza is a brutalist depiction of man's vice, and in the final lines Eliot seems to extend this barbarity to the hubs of human 'intellect' and capacity. These themes, also found within The Golden Bough, are just one understanding of "The Waste Land"'s syncretic title.