idea: that men are to some unimaginably vast and incomprehensible Being
what the unicellular organisms of his body are to man, and so on _ad
infinitum_. Dreiser occasionally inclines to much the same hypothesis;
he likens the endless reactions going on in the world we know, the
myriadal creation, collision and destruction of entities, to the slow
accumulation and organization of cells _in utero_. He would make us
specks in the insentient embryo of some gigantic Presence whose form is
still unimaginable and whose birth must wait for Eons and Eons. Again,
he turns to something not easily distinguishable from philosophical
idealism, whether out of Berkeley or Fichte it is hard to make out--that
is, he would interpret the whole phenomenon of life as no more than an
appearance, a nightmare of some unseen sleeper or of men themselves, an
"uncanny blur of nothingness"--in Euripides' phrase, "a song sung by an
idiot, dancing down the wind." Yet again, he talks vaguely of the
intricate polyphony of a cosmic orchestra, cacophonous to our dull ears.
Finally, he puts the observed into the ordered, reading a purpose in the
displayed event: "life was intended to sting and hurt".... But these are
only gropings, and not to be read too critically. From speculations and
explanations he always returns, Conrad-like, to the bald fact: to "the
spectacle and stress of life." All he can make out clearly is "a vast
compulsion which has nothing to do with the individual desires or tastes
or impulses of individuals." That compulsion springs "from the settling
processes of forces which we do not in the least understand, over which
we have no control, and in whose grip we are as grains of dust or sand,
blown hither and thither, for what purpose we cannot even suspect."[20]
Man is not only doomed to defeat, but denied any glimpse or
understanding of his antagonist. Here we come upon an agnosticism that
has almost got beyond curiosity. What good would it do us, asks Dreiser,
to know? In our ignorance and helplessness, we may at least get a
slave's consolation out of cursing the unknown gods. Suppose we saw them
striving blindly, too, and pitied them?...

But, as I say, this scepticism is often tempered by guesses at a
possibly hidden truth, and the confession that this truth may exist
reveals the practical unworkableness of the unconditioned system, at
least for Dreiser. Conrad is far more resolute, and it is easy to see
why. He is, by birth and tra