Now to a certain extent (the Heideggerian analogue would suggest, at this turning point in her story), Carrie is becoming “authentically” herself by listening to the “voice of want” rather than to that of conscience. Dreiser intends us to see that her new condition does not constitute a “fall,” as the “world’s opinion” asserts, but, on the contrary, a rise: her actions toward Drouet
Page 154
(and subsequently, in a parallel manner, toward Hurstwood) lead to her growth as a person by giving her a heightened awareness of the possibilities of her nature and the world. The same conduct which the “voice of conscience” condemns, proves conducive to her progress toward the discovery of Beauty’s manifestations of Itself in the world and the development (once Drouet chances to introduce her to the realm of the theater) of her individuality as an “artist.” Thus it is only by ignoring the dictates of her ‘‘average little conscience” (SC 70) that Carrie can genuinely be herself. And to the extent that it actually enables her to “understand” the Beauty in life and to achieve an “authentic” way of being, her conduct, conventionally considered evil, is in fact good. In sum, Carrie is a “moral” person in a sense which the account of conscience in Being and Time helps to explain: the “voice of want” that guides her actions is rather like the “authentic” conscience described by Heidegger: it calls to her from within, disclosing to her what she ought to be and how she can become her true self.30
Conversely, the voice that says she is “immoral” falsifies her nature as an individual, for it distinctly resembles the conscience of “inauthentic” Dasein. Heidegger observes that this “everyday” conscience “is simply the voice of society, or the superego, in Freud’s terminology. It reflects the conventions that ‘they’ have adopted. So this everyday conscience is neither authentic itself nor conducive to an authentic existence. It is just another way in which ‘they’ stifle and dominate the individual, and take away his own possibilities from him” (MH 32–3). Similarly, the conscience which would deny Carrie the possibilities she has in her liaison with Drouet “represent[s]” (says Dreiser) “the world, her past environment, habit, convention. ….” In other words, it purports to be “the voice of God” but in fact merely expresses “the voice of the people …” (SC 70). So neither the prescription nor the proscription of acts by the voice of conscience is personally meaningful to her, and her transcendence of the averageness the voice advocates is tantamount to an escape from the tyranny of “the they” to the freedom of true self-discovery.
Yet, at the same time, her apparent escape from the influence “they”. exert is undermined in an intensely ironic manner. For all the unconventionality of her conduct from the standpoint of morality, Carrie’s life is essentially governed by the “voice” of the conventional world: what she desires reflects the values of her society, even if how she pursues her desires does not. Thus ironically, “they” taint her “aesthetic” idealism by making her wish for material wealth, while she is in the process of disregarding “their” moral ideals. One fact suggesting this irony in the scene I
Page 155
am discussing is Carrie’s consultation of her mirror, for as various critics have noted, mirror symbolism in her story is identified with an extreme concern about clothes, imitation of others, and the images of “success.”31 Also, as Dreiser’s comments in Chapter XI clearly suggest, the “voice of want” that frees her for self-realization by silencing the complaints of conscience too often turns into a voice which conveys to her a misleading message of its own:
Carrie was an apt student of fortune’s ways — of fortune’s superficialities. Seeing a thing, she would immediately set to enquiring how she would look, properly related to it. Be it known that this is not fine feeling, it is not wisdom. The greatest minds are not so afflicted. … Fine clothes were to her a vast persuasion; they spoke tenderly and Jesuitically for themselves. When she came within earshot of their pleading, desire in her bent a willing ear. The voice of the so-called inanimate! (SC 75)
Here it is clear that the “voice’’ of things communicates to Carrie an essentially “inauthentic” set of goals. In listening to this voice of “inanimate” things, she mistakes “fortune’s superficialities” for the true substance of Beauty. The “persuasion” of “fashion” is a Jesuitical influence indeed, for it directs her mind of “fine feeling” to desires that gradually debase her nature and delude her about how to be: lured by the loveliness of appearances, she begins to tend too much toward fulfilling the wants of the flesh but neglecting the needs of her spirit — a key theme to which the novel will cause us to return.
Directed by her desires toward this self-enhancing yet subtly self-defeating mode of being, Carrie soon discovers Hurstwood as an “ambassador” offering her still greater possibilities. And Dreiser’s presentation of Carrie’s response to the “resort” manager’s wooing is informed by a similarly Heideggerian slant on the relation between language and being/Beauty. Once she has been Drouet’s mistress for a time, has learned from experience the degrees of wealth and splendor the city offers, and has begun observing the distinctions (in taste and status) between the drummer and his more prestigious “friend” Hurstwood, Carrie becomes receptive to the manager’s flattering attentions. In Chapter XII — having thus been emotionally prepared for these new events and being left alone during one of Drouet’s sales trips — Carrie sees both the mansions of the rich and the richly attired Hurstwood as entrancing possibilities for her ever-yearning self. And the way in which the novel depicts her discovery of these related seductive influences further implies Dreiser’s idea of the unimportance
Page 156
of words in moments of experience crucially meaningful for a sensitive, seeking individual.
First Carrie takes (with her neighbor Mrs. Hale) an afternoon buggy ride to look at the lamplit mansions along the North Shore Drive, where she discovers with discontent a world higher (and presumably happier) than her own:
She was perfectly certain that here was happiness. If she could but stroll up yon broad walk, cross that rich entrance-way, which to her was of the beauty of a jewel, and sweep in grace and luxury to possession and command — oh! how quickly would sadness flee; how, in an instant, would the heartache end. She gazed and gazed, wondering, delighting, longing; and all the while the siren voice of the unrestful was whispering in her ear. (SC 86)
With this “voice” communicating to her, she returns home and characteristically sits in her rocking chair, “sad beyond measure, and yet uncertain, wishing, fancying” (SC 87). Then suddenly, while she is rocking and dreaming of the magical realm of beauty she has glimpsed, Hurstwood appears — as if summoned up, genie-like, by the (magical) “lamps of the mansions” (described by part of the title of Chapter XII).
With Drouet absent and in her mood of unfulfilled yearning, Carrie is totally susceptible to the appeal of a new experience; and by becoming the voice of that appeal during his unexpected visit, the manager takes full advantage of her mood. Just as was the case in the opening and lunch scenes involving Drouet, there is a sharp discrepancy between verbal action and the underlying emotional ‘‘action” in this episode of “seduction.” The words spoken by Hurstwood throughout the scene are largely unimportant, for they are casual and confined to impersonal topics. Nevertheless, he eloquently makes what seems to Carrie (as the latter part of the chapter’s title highlights) a true “ambassador’s plea”:
In this conversation she heard, instead of his words, the voices of the things which he represented. How suave was the counsel of his appearance! How feelingly did his superior state speak for itself! The growing desire he felt for her lay upon her spirit as a gentle hand. She did not need to tremble at all, because it was invisible; she did not need to worry … because … She was being pleaded with, persuaded, led into denying old rights and assuming new ones, and yet there were no words to prove it. (SC 88–9)
Throughout this scene of mostly wordless wooing, Hurstwood uses his eyes a great deal to make his case to Carrie: like the man-
Page 157
sions’ lamps which earlier glowed with a “mellow radiance” for her (SC 86), his eyes now “radiate an atmosphere which suffuse[s] her being” (SC 88). Significantly, the only words Hurstwood speaks to emphasize the message conveyed by his glances and his impressive clothes, are those in which he asks her (with seeming clairvoyance) if she has ever seen the houses along the shore drive! Appropriately and perceptively, his question quickly leads him to remark on her evident unhappiness and dissatisfaction (SC 89). That this “seduction” scene based on a language akin to what Heidegger terms ‘‘discourse” has established a genuine (if distortedly self-serving) understanding between her and the manager is clear, since just two days later — in their drive on Washington Boulevard — Hurstwood receives a kiss from Carrie symbolically confirming her prospective acceptance of his “credentials” as her new “ambassador.” And so the stage is set for their subsequent relationship, pointing toward her quest for new forms of beauty and self-realization in the ultimate urban world of New York, especially in its seductively glamorous theatrical world.