eJournals Colloquia Germanica 45/3-4

Colloquia Germanica
cg
0010-1338
Francke Verlag Tübingen
Es handelt sich um einen Open-Access-Artikel, der unter den Bedingungen der Lizenz CC by 4.0 veröffentlicht wurde.http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/121
2012
453-4

Global Consciousness, Commodity Form, and the Natural History Object

121
2012
J. P. Short
cg453-40280
Global Consciousness, Commodity Form, and the Natural History Object J.P. SHORT Univ ersity of Georgia To antedate globalization to the nineteenth century is the work of the new global history, which establishes ample grounds for such a move - in flows of trade, capital and labor first of all. This empirical and material history bears along with it, trailing in a kind of phosphorescent wake, the idea of global consciousness, an altered awareness of the individual’s relationship to the globe, the world, the planetary. At its most compressed, this is formulated as the «annihilation of time and space» through technologies of transportation and communication: railroads, steamships, the telegraph, time zones. The history, or pre-history, of global consciousness in nineteenth-century Germany, or Europe, represents here the classic problem of drawing a relationship between material life and mentality, of reading technological and social forms for evidence of an evolving consciousness of the global. The scholarship on global history over the last decade looks for transnational relationships, exchanges, appropriations and conflicts. It finds connections between the most distant places, tracing out how global or transnational forces shaped the local or the national, and how these were, in turn, implicated in the global. It asserts the distinctiveness of globalization as a major historical force, but, again, antedates it, looking back to the nineteenth century or even before. Most fundamentally, globalization signifies the emergence of a world economy through international trade, the convergence of prices leading to a world market, and global flows of capital and labor. The decades after 1870, up to the First World War, saw the rapid and unprecedented acceleration of these trends in the vast migrations, colonial empires, capital flows and commercial connections that were emblematic of the period. This economic history conventionally implies, in turn, a cultural dimension, a reflection of growing economic networks in the domain of consciousness. The new globalizing reality is supposed to have transformed experience by altering material culture, multiplying contacts and communications, redistributing populations, bringing the world closer. My particular interest revolves around this question of how the «global» was produced for consciousness - or, perhaps, how it was not - during this period. Concerning the question of origins, it seems to me that global consciousness - the convergent play of scales, proximities, distances and vantage points Global Consciousness 281 - was not some automatic effect of globalizing technologies, epiphenomenal and given. Rather, the global took hold on consciousness as the complex and problematic outcome of certain techniques of seeing, elements of commodification, cultural technologies and modes of modern experience. To get at this elusive development involves a certain reshuffling of technologies and cultural forms, a somewhat idiosyncratic attempt to move beyond the marked domains of transport and communication. My focus is not on flows of capital or commodities or labor nor on the role of the state nor on the place of violence, although the well-established history of these things is crucial to my framework. Instead, in order to get at the protracted, submerged process that developed an image of the global, or a global self-image, I propose to assemble and interpret a series of historical technologies, objects and cultural forms that both exemplified and produced the ramifying engagement of Europeans with the world: for example, natural history and the commercial traffic in its objects; the bourgeois domestic interior; the interiorized vantage point and visual logic of the panorama; the fractured, estranged global of the cinematograph; the condition of boredom; and the development of a kind of critical «kitsch globalism» by the early modernist avant-gardes. Here I would like to touch on the first of those themes, natural history. In particular I mean the natural history object - starfish, corals, iguanas - sought in the remotest places for assembly into exotic collections for edification and exchange. I would like to interpolate the natural history object, ubiquitous in nineteenth-century Europe, into the relation between economic subject - humans producing and consuming - and object - the commodities they make, buy and sell - in a globalizing world. As a third element, the natural history object disrupts the powerful duality of economic subject and object and accentuates it at the same time. This is because it admits to no stability, standing at once for living nature and death, for scholarly disinterest and commercial interest. Fusing the organic and the inorganic discloses a kind of inherent tension that reveals all the more vividly the dialectical production of consciousness, or in this case global consciousness. For natural history produced dense, composite forms: at once petrifactions of «the world» or «nature»; global exotica; scientific specimens; wonders; merchandise. Brought into the subject-object relation of capitalism, these forms suggest ways to think about its global dimension. As display, natural history exemplified the play of scales and vantage points, miniaturizing «the world» in the diorama, the terrarium, the aquarium. And natural history also opened up the question of time and the global by juxtaposing temporalities: its own expanded time (geologic and natural historical) with the compressed, empty time of modern travel and communications. Or we might think here of the 282 J.P. Short natural history expedition as temporalized travel, as traveling back in time in the sense that Johannes Fabian meant by the «denial of co-evalness,» making colonial discourse productive of evolutionary time frames (Fabian 31). (And, parenthetically, the theme of natural history also resurfaces toward the end of my period as an element of modernist kitsch globalism, highlighting limitations of «global consciousness.») Of particular interest to me is the transnational traffic in natural history objects, as well as the fabrication and trade in their ingenious artificial imitations - by the latter I mean, for example, the delicate flowers and jellyfish made in Dresden by the Blaschkes and sold internationally to museums. For, above all, natural history was extremely significant in the nineteenth century as a cultural form mediating global diversity but also objectifying it, paralleling and ultimately instantiating the commodity form and exchange. If the commodity form and the exchange relation, which formed the basis of globalization in the nineteenth century, are central here, this of course in a way only restates the problem of relating subject and object, consciousness and world, rather than resolving it to develop some sense of globalizing consciousness and its production. Certainly, the paired relationship of product and producer, of commodity and consumer, indicates - in a period of extended transnational commodity chains - a changing experience of material culture. Theodor W. Adorno, looking back to the nineteenth century, suggested «that the commodity category could be greatly concretized by the specifically modern categories of world trade and imperialism,» and he evoked, writing to Walter Benjamin, the «arcade as bazaar.» For him, the significance of «compressed distance» lies in manipulation and legitimation, the work of ideology (Scholem and Adorno 501). This seems, though, insufficient for understanding the particular experience of the «global.» Introducing natural history opens up the matter for refinement, offering clues to a particular experience of the world bound up with a certain moment in the history of capitalism. My interest in the natural history object lies in the fact that it is neither one thing nor another, neither simply nature nor culture, at once found object, object lesson, souvenir and commodity. The natural history collection was a metonymic system standing for a global ensemble of remote zones. Expeditions traced the paths of colonial exploration and trade; objects circulated in transactional networks of merchant-naturalists. Natural history figured and mediated global diversity, fixed and materialized it, and, moreover, embodied in striking form the dialectical unity of organic and inorganic that was constitutive of global consciousness. Interposed into the pairing of economic subject and object that was at the center of global relations it concretizes and illuminates its most elusive, ten- Global Consciousness 283 sional aspect and registers the globalization of consciousness at the same time. Already in the 1840s, in Paris, Marx was, of course, elaborating his transposition of philosophical categories into political economy. At the center of this was the dyadic relationship of worker and commodity, which was also a relationship of man and nature. For Marx, human labor in its most natural sense resulted in the gradual elaboration of «anthropological nature,» the fashioning of the material world in ways useful to human life. «In creating a world of objects [gegenständliche Welt] by his practical activity, in his work upon inorganic nature, man proves himself a conscious species being» (Marx, Manuscripts 113). He produces even when free of physical need. Man «contemplates himself in a world that he has created» (Marx, Manuscripts 114). In a state of estranged labor this relation is not broken but transformed. «The product of labor is labor which has been embodied in an object, which has become material: it is the objectification of labor. […] objectification as loss of the object and bondage to it» (Marx, Manuscripts 108). This deeply contradictory relationship is reproduced by what Marx called the commodity fetish, metaphorical language expressing the displacement of social labor - the source of value - by abstract exchange value; the attribution of exchange value as inherent (objectification); and the effacement of that twofold operation (or mystification) (Marx, Capital 76-87). The commodity appears as «a power independent of the producer,» part of an «alien world of objects» which the worker «creates over and against himself» (Marx, Manuscripts 108). The metaphor of the fetish expresses, in displacement and mystification, the power that commodities hold - perversely, paradoxically - over their producers, and in this sense the transposition of subject and object, of organic and inorganic, so that commodities appear metaphorically animated, vivified, endowed with agency. We recall the simple table in Marx, made of «that common, everyday thing, wood,» which «as soon as it steps forth as a commodity […] not only stands with its feet on the ground, but, in relation to all other commodities […] stands on its head, and evolves out of its wooden brain grotesque ideas» (Marx, Capital 76). Already very early in the nineteenth century, in 1808, the utopian socialist Charles Fourier traced in the language of trade this inverted relationship between people and goods. Commodities are on the move. «The finest minds of the nineteenth century are those who can explain the mysteries of the Stock Exchange,» he laments, adding that «the temple of memory is only open to those who understand why sugar has weakened or why soap has eased. […] The old language of merchants has been replaced with the suavest expressions, so that people talk elegantly about sugar easing or weakening 284 J.P. Short […] and soap doing very well.» We hear in «glowing Pindaric terms» that «‹Soaps have experienced rapid and unexpected movement.› We seem to see the boxes of soap leap up towards the clouds» (Fourier 270). The artist and illustrator Grandville, a contemporary of Marx and Fourier who worked in Paris, registered a similar sense of a quickening object world. His work breathes droll, dreamlike life into vegetables, ink pens, oil paintings, musical instruments, champagne bottles. Fig. 1: J.-J. Grandville, A quoi bon du reste la personne? On ne va là que pour voir les habits, Un autre monde (Paris, 1844). «The enthronement of the commodity,» observed Walter Benjamin, «is the secret theme of Grandville’s art. […] The subtle artifices with which it represents inanimate objects correspond to what Marx calls the ‘theological niceties’ of the commodity» (Benjamin, «Paris» 18). Grandville literalizes visually what Marx later sought to capture in his own metaphorical language. His drawings «depicted the adventures of the strolling commodity,» inverting the sense of the flâneur taking in the arcades (Benjamin, Arcades 367). This announces the graphic language of capitalism that will flourish in advertising. «Under Grandville’s pencil,» Benjamin suggests, «the whole of nature is transformed into spécialités [luxury goods]. He presents them in the same spirit in which the advertisement […] begins to present its articles» (Benjamin, «Paris» 7). Indeed, «Grandville’s works are the sibylline books of publicité. Everything that, with him, has its preliminary form as joke, or satire, attains its true unfolding as advertisement» (Benjamin, Arcades 853). Global Consciousness 285 Of course, to interpret Grandville’s work as an expression of what Marx would call the commodity fetish is to reproduce and reinforce the inverted dyadic relationship of subject and object later articulated by Marx, which by itself only takes us so far - into, say, the nineteenth-century world of the arcade or the department store or the world exhibition. But Grandville, if his vivid work gestures subtly in that direction, opens up a whole further dimension of critical interpretation in his rendering of an engineered, commodified nature. Just as world exhibitions «propagate the universe of commodities,» Benjamin says, so do «Grandville’s fantasies confer a commodity character on the universe» (Benjamin, «Paris» 8). And so we get the rings of Saturn as a wrought-iron balcony for strollers, or a fashionable, cosseted moon. If commodities come alive, then, by the same token, the natural world becomes commodity. Let us observe, as an example, a particular image from his work Un autre monde, published in 1844. Fig. 2: Plantes marines, une reproduction exacte des dentelles, brosses, pompons, toupets et gazons, Un autre monde (Paris, 1844). 286 J.P. Short We are at once combing the seashore and gazing at a shop window. Grandville’s caption: «The marine life collection, showing that underwater plants and animals are based on forms invented by man - fans, wigs, combs, brushes, etc.» A dialectical image capturing the tensional object of natural history. The same might be said of the images of the German zoologist Ernst Haeckel, although here we move in the reverse direction, not from the strange vitalism of the inorganic, where Grandville begins, but from organic nature to inorganic, crystalline form - and finally to artifice, art and commodity. Haeckel’s immensely popular and influential work Kunstformen der Natur appeared in installments beginning in 1899. The focus here is substantially microscopic, but the microscope is equally kaleidoscope. Fig. 3: Ernst Haeckel, Pediastrum. Melethallia. Gesellige Algetten. Plate 34, Kunstformen der Natur (Leipzig and Vienna, 1899-1904). Global Consciousness 287 Fig. 4: Ernst Haeckel, Calocyclas. Cyrtoidea. Flaschenstrahlinge. Plate 31, Kunstformen der Natur (Leipzig and Vienna, 1899-1904). Much of Haeckel’s early work was on single-celled radiolarians, whose symmetric patterns appeared to him reminiscent of crystals - thus laying the foundations of what he would call in his Generelle Morphologie der Organismen (1866) an «organic crystallography.» The individual organisms in a given plate might come from wholly different parts of the earth - Europe, Australia, Africa - bringing global diversity into tight constellation, or effacing it altogether. Haeckel traveled the globe: in 1882 he was, as Max Müller put it in his Cambridge lecture, «rushing through Indian forests and dredging in Indian seas,» and at the turn of the century, in Java, Ceylon, Singapore (Müller 7). Haeckel’s ordered, symmetrical, crystalline nature surfaced as Art Nouveau or Jugendstil décor and decorative objects for the bourgeois interior. 288 J.P. Short Fig. 5: Ceiling ornament, Villa Medusa (Jena). He seems to anticipate this; a note to one of the plates in Kunstformen der Natur describes how «the fine cell network of the delicate leaves [of the moss produce] beautiful motifs for embroidery patterns, while the capsule with the delicate cover and the opening’s serrated edge provide patterns for urns and bottles» (Haeckel 15). With the entrance gate to the Paris World Exposition of 1900, a sort of gigantic radiolarian designed by René Binet, we seem to come full circle. In 1899 Binet wrote to Haeckel: «About six years ago I began to study the numerous volumes written on the Challenger Expedition in the library of the Paris museum and, thanks to your work, I was able to amass a considerable amount of microscopic documentation: radiolarians, bryozoans, hydroids, etc. […], which I examined with the utmost care from an artistic standpoint: in the interest of architecture and of ornamentation. At present, I am busy realizing the monumental entrance gate for the exhibition in the year 1900 and everything about it, from the general composition to the smallest details, has been inspired by your studies» (Haeckel 15). Inorganic nature - the symmetrical organism magnified, rendered in iron - becomes the portal to the world of objects, the world-in-miniature that was the world exhibition. Global Consciousness 289 Fig. 6: René Binet, entrance gate, Paris World Exhibition (Paris, 1900). But more so than in the world exhibition, the composite nature of the natural history object as global commodity emerges most vividly, it seems, in a now obsolete, forgotten form, the Handelsmuseum. The commercial museum marked the intersection of global, especially tropical, commodities with the idea of the museum as site of scientific accumulation, institutionalization and display, the marriage of commerce and science. Naturalia fit rather well in series of goods like sisal, ivory tusks, jute, copra, ostrich feathers, ebony. Hamburg, entrepôt of world trade, was the center of the natural history business in Germany. Indeed, the business preceded the development of institutional and pedagogical natural history there. In 1843 the Hamburg Senate and the Natural History Association agreed to establish a museum, but it would take nearly five decades before a building was constructed and the museum finally housed in 1891. The commercial traffic, on the other hand, flourished already in the 1850s and 1860s. Numerous merchants sold naturalia from foreign lands in the Spielbudenplatz and surrounding streets: exotic animals - monkeys, parrots - and shells and other specimens. Umlauff’s Welt-Museum und Naturalienhandlung offered «reichhaltige Sammlungen naturhistorischer und ethnographischer Gegenstände aus allen Weltteilen» (Benrath 41). Umlauff himself had originally worked on ships, where he became familiar with the world of exotic artifacts. And Carl Hagenbeck, of course, operated his «Handlungs-Menagerie,» trafficking in live exotic animals. 290 J.P. Short Fig. 7: Catalogue of naturalia, J. F. G. Umlauff. The Natural History Museum rather carefully divided its holdings between a Schausammlung and specimens stored for scientific work (Benrath 71); the Handelsmuseum rather less so. But it would be a mistake to read the Handelsmuseum as a Barnumesque wink at science. The Umlauff establishment was involved in developing museum collections, even displays (Penny 104-05). The Godeffroy Museum also fused commercial interest and scholarly disinterest. It was famous among naturalists for both its own extraordinary holdings and for supplying other natural history collections (Kranz 17). Godeffroy, a merchant and ship owner in Hamburg (and friend of Ernst Haeckel), opened the museum in 1861. He was deeply invested in the Südseegeschäft, with outposts and agents across Polynesia, Australia, and the Bismarck Archipelago. His trade in pearls, mother-of-pearl, coconut oil, tortoise shell and trepang - that is, sea cucumbers, taken in the South Seas, boiled, dried, smoked and shipped to China for soup or aphrodisiac - seems barely distinguishable from the traffic in naturalia (Kranz 14). For years he instructed his captains to bring zoological, botanical and ethnological spec- Global Consciousness 291 imens back to Hamburg, and as his collection grew he hired the zoologist Eduard Graeffe to organize it into a scientific museum, a Handelsmuseum. Its fate - it was offered as security for a loan during difficult times after the crash of 1873 and was finally sold off in bankruptcy proceedings in the 1880s - completes the conflation of market and museum (Kranz 15, 27). Natural history was, though, science first of all. At one level it - and the Handelsmuseum as one of its institutions - signifies exploration, observation, description, collection, modes of empirical and taxonomizing science in the nineteenth century. Voyages of exploration and collection generated its primal scene. Eduard Graeffe furnishes us with one of countless examples of natural history collecting, this one suitably from the Antipodes. He is on an island off of New South Wales, in Australia, searching the reefs and tidal pools and finding mostly sea urchins. With respect to the fauna animating this lagoon, I found myself quite disappointed in my expectations since it contained neither a great diversity of animal forms nor a great number of individual specimens. Although I was on the reef for hours when the tide was at its lowest, turned over hundreds of stones, searched in the deeper waters of the lagoon, still I found only very seldom an interesting sea creature or a good shell. The corals themselves are on the outer side of the reef, to be found probably at a depth of several fathoms, while just a few species live in the lagoon. By contrast, one finds on the reef that rings the coast of Samoa a great abundance of the most varied types of coral. Among echinodermata, I found here on the outer side of the reef, just where the surf breaks, a black, oval-shaped sea urchin of a type never until now observed by me with short but very thick spines. […] I found likewise a new kind of Acrocladia with beautiful violet spines whose shape is most similar to the Acrocladia mamillaria. In the sand of the lagoon in the shallow areas one often sees holes and regularly finds, digging at the depth of a few inches, a beautiful type of Spatangus, the sea urchin with small bristle-shaped spines. […] It is a strange spectacle to observe the wave-like motion of spines across the shell of this animal, very like the legs of a moving millipede, though these bristly spines move not all at once and in the same direction but rather rise and fall at different places in different rhythms and directions. (Graeffe 1, 161-62) This is a scene of dogged searching, discovery, close observation, physical description, and maybe some small admixture of wonder. It takes place at an immense distance from the main office in Hamburg and from Graeffe’s readers, subscribers to a popular-science journal called Das Ausland; the full travelogue foregrounds the isolation of discovery, a tiny island on the immense globe, indeed on its «other side.» The lure of geography is a spatial expansiveness, distance, the journey, the exotic and strange. Commerce makes no appearance here. Scholarly disinterest occludes commercial interest. 292 J.P. Short And yet Graeffe is also the far-flung agent of a robust trade in natural history. Contemporary letters from the Godeffroy Museum to the Museum of Natural History in Berlin, for example, detail a lively trade in organisms from Asia and the South Seas, from Bangkok, Samoa, Penang, Canton and elsewhere right through the 1860s. 1 And at the Umlauff firm, a decade and more later, the same business flourished. Skeletons of African flamingoes (Phoenicopterus roseus), for example, ranged in price from fifteen to twenty-five marks, depending on their dimensions. The skeleton of an East Indian marabou (Leptoptilus argala) was forty marks. 2 Among Hydrophidae (sea snakes) the Hydrophis Hardwicki from the Java Sea could be had for twelve to fifteen marks. A sand snake (Psammophis sibilans) from the Psammophidae, or desert snakes, could be had from Cameroon for five to twelve marks. 3 A rich correspondence from the turn of the twentieth century between Umlauff and the Museum of Natural History in Berlin illuminates the relationship of commerce and science: Umlauff supplies naturalia, proposes exchanges of objects, solicits expertise, plans dioramas, and trades information about collectors and expeditions. «By post I sent you today the head of an orangutan, as well as the hands and feet of the same,» reads a letter from Hamburg. «Since the orangutan belongs to a wealthy private collector who wishes not to be named I ask that you publish nothing on it. The thumb has a distinctive nail, the cheeks are large and the color is reddish.» 4 They wheel and deal over a bewildering array of body parts and skins from all corners of the globe. «I want to reduce the price for the baboon to 20 Reichsmarks and hope the pelt is worth the sum to you,» offers Umlauff. «Have you any interest in Siberian mammal pelts? Have a big shipment […].» 5 Or, in the compressed form of a telegram from Umlauff to the museum in Berlin: «american wants gorilla and skeleton in hand within six weeks asked 3,500-dollars agreed.» 6 It seems unaccountable, now, that natural history was once thought to be especially accessible to the uneducated, that its objects were transparent, in a way (Penny 145-46). To the contrary, it appears to connote paradox, contradiction, and ambiguity. When Christian Buddenbrook returns from eight years in Chile «dressed in a yellow plaid suit that certainly hinted at the tropics and [carrying] a swordfish sword and a long stalk of sugarcane,» these improbable emblems of an overseas, exotic world of commerce portend instability, change - not at all unlike the exotic objects in Effi Briest, the taxidermied shark and crocodile suspended from the ceiling, which have a kind of talismanic power and foreshadow disaster (Mann 214, Fontane 52-53). If there was a dreamworld of capitalism in the nineteenth century then surely natural history produces a kind of collective or composite ob- Global Consciousness 293 ject, multiply determined, representing what Freud called the «work of condensation» in the dream (Freud 224-27). Freud’s own dream links natural history and death: «I have written a monograph; it is lying in front of me; it has colored plates; there are dried plants attached to each specimen. It is like the stillness of a field strewn with corpses, with no trace remaining of the battle that once raged» (Freud 305). Natural history couples the organic - organisms, wildlife, biology - with death in striking form (which will eventually resurface, in a kind of second death, as obsolescence and the uncanny). It signifies a concretized exotic - and obscures it by displacement into collection, taxonomy, a metonymic standing-for-the-world. This gives a rather different sense to the «annihilation of time and space,» the bringing of the world «closer.» Certainly there is no deconstruction, no transcendence of our original dyadic relation, but rather, perhaps its apotheosis in a way - if through tension and paradox. That is precisely the utility of introducing the natural history object as a third form into the dual relationship of economic subject and object; it throws light on the dialectical nature of consciousness, just as it poses the global as both object of consciousness and constitutive of it. The natural history object reflects back onto the commodity form, illuminates the exchange relation, the configurations of organic and inorganic, nature and artifice, world and collection. Notes 1 J.D.E. Schmeltz, Godeffroy Museum, Hamburg to Museum für Naturkunde, Berlin. 1863-69. Museum für Naturkunde der Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin, Historische Bild- und Schriftgutsammlungen [MfN d. HUB, HBSB]. Bestand: Zool. Mus. Signatur: S I Godeffroy Museum. 2 Preis-Courant über Skelette von Vögeln, J.F.G. Umlauff. MfN d. HUB, HBSB. Bestand: Zool. Mus. Signatur: S III Umlauff J.F.G. Unnumbered. 3 Preis-Courant über Reptilien, J.F.G. Umlauff. MfN d. HUB, HBSB. Bestand: Zool. Mus. Signatur: S III Umlauff J.F.G. Unnumbered. 4 J.F.G. Umlauff to Paul Matschie, MfN. 13 August 1906. MfN d. HUB, HBSB. Bestand: Zool. Mus. Signatur: S III Umlauff J. F.G. Blatt 49. 5 J.F.G. Umlauff to MfN. 14 October 1899. MfN d. HUB, HBSB. Bestand: Zool. Mus. Signatur: S III Umlauff J.F.G. Blatt 22. 6 J.F.G. Umlauff to MfN. 3 July 1903. MfN d. HUB, HBSB. Bestand: Zool. Mus. Signatur: S III Umlauff J.F.G. Blatt 24. Works Cited Benjamin, Walter. «Paris, Capital of the Nineteenth Century» (Exposé of 1939). The Arcades Project. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1999. 14-26. 294 J.P. Short -. The Arcades Project. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1999. Benrath, H., ed., Hamburg und Umgebungen. Berlin: Albert Goldschmidt, 1895. Fabian, Johannes. Time and the Other: How Anthropology Makes Its Object. New York: Columbia UP, 1983. Fontane, Theodor. Effi Briest. New York: Penguin, 1967. Fourier, Charles. The Theory of the Four Movements. Ed. Gareth Stedman Jones and Ian Patterson. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1996. Freud, Sigmund. The Interpretation of Dreams. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1999. Graeffe, Eduard. «Reisen nach verschiedenen Inseln der Südsee.» Das Ausland. Ueberschau der neuesten Forschungen auf dem Gebiete der Natur-, Erd- und Völkerkunde 40.48 (26 November 1867): 1, 159-64. Haeckel, Ernst. Art Forms in Nature: The Prints of Ernst Haeckel. Munich: Prestel, 1998. Kranz, Helene. Das Museum Godeffroy, 1861-1881: Naturkunde und Ethnographie der Südsee. Hamburg: Altonaer Museum, 2005. Mann, Thomas. Buddenbrooks. New York: Vintage, 1992. Marx, Karl. Capital. Vol. 1. New York: International Publishers, 1967. -. The Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844. New York: International Publishers, 1964. Müller, F. Max. India, What Can It Teach Us? New Delhi: Penguin, 2000. Museum für Naturkunde der Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin, Historische Bild- und Schriftgutsammlungen. Bestand: Zool. Mus. Signatur: S I Godeffroy Museum. Penny, H. Glenn. Objects of Culture: Ethnology and Ethnographic Museums in Imperial Germany. Chapel Hill, NC: U of North Carolina P, 2002. Scholem, Gershom, and Theodor W. Adorno, eds. The Correspondence of Walter Benjamin. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1994.