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Exploring the Interior

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Karl S. Guthke

Introduction: From the Interior of Continents to the Interior of the Mind

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  • 1 Ulrich Im Hof, Das Europa der Aufklärung (München, 1993), ch. 6: “Die große Öffnung in die weite W (...)
  • 2 The Correspondence of Edmund Burke, ed. Thomas W. Copeland, III, ed. George H. Guttridge (Cambridge (...)

1The essays assembled here view literature and literary life in the cultural contexts that emerged after the waning of the Middle Ages and the rise of the intellectual emancipation that culminated in the European Enlightenment. Prominent among these contexts is what the Swiss historian Ulrich Im Hof called “the grand opening-up of the wide world.”1 This was the sea change that Edmund Burke envisioned in a much-quoted remark in his letter of June 9, 1777 to William Robertson, the author of a just-published History of America: “Now the great Map of Mankind is unrolld at once.”2 This observation is all the more remarkable in that it revealed a keen sense of what followed from it: the realization that “we possess at this time very great advantages towards the knowledge of human Nature.” The implication was that the distant lands on this map of the world – he ticked off China, Persia, Abyssinia, Tartary, Arabia, North America and New Zealand – were now being explored with a view to their indigenous populations. Of course, the Age of Discovery had begun to widen the horizon of Europeans two hundred and more years earlier, ever since Marco Polo and Christopher Columbus, when explorers were driven by the yen for precious metals, spices, and other luxury goods, by the urge to save souls, by the national ambition to plant flags on no-man’s-lands, or by the lure of adventure. (The first two essays in this collection focus on neglected aspects of that age.)

  • 3 John H. Parry, Trade and Dominion: The European Overseas Empires in the Eighteenth Century (London (...)

2However, by the second half of the eighteenth century, this period of world history was already drawing to its close, with the remaining blank spots on the map largely limited to the interior of the continents beyond Europe. What was dawning “now” was what oceanic historian John H. Parry described as the Second Age of Discovery.3 Its explorations of the interior, rather than the coastal regions more commonly frequented or taken over by traders, missionaries, planters, settlers, and empire-builders, continued well into the nineteenth century and beyond, with Alexander von Humboldt travelling in the Andean countries, Mungo Park along the Niger River, Carsten Niebuhr in Arabia, Meriwether Lewis, William Clark, and John Franklin in North America, Richard Burton and John Speke in search of the source of the Nile, David Livingstone and Henry Morton Stanley in central Africa, Friedrich Wilhelm Leichardt in the outback of Australia, and Claude Lévy-Strauss in Brazil, to mention just a few of the many making their mark between Captain Cook’s voyages and Bruce Chatwin’s forays into Patagonia. Unlike the first Age of Discovery, this age was spurred on by the desire to explore the non-European continents with a view to the advancement of science: not only their natural history was to be studied but, most emphatically, the nature of their inhabitants, their cultures and beliefs – their “humanity”, in short, which had been acknowledged by the Pope as early as the sixteenth century. It was only now, in the age of the “philosophical traveller,” as Georg Forster had it in the introduction to his Voyage round the World (1777), that ethnology was born or, more accurately, cultural anthropology based on European and non-European data.

3Burke had this dual interior – of the continents and of the minds of their inhabitants – clearly in mind in his letter to Robertson. Not only did he name the various exotic habitats, he also spoke of the anthropological conditions of their populations, and with keener interest at that, noting their forms and degrees of “barbarism” and “refinement.” But what was the specific significance of the study of such human conditions that would reap those “very great advantages towards the knowledge of human Nature”?

  • 4 Gesammelte Schriften (Akademie-Ausgabe), 1. Abt., XV (Berlin, 1930), 67.

4Understanding the indigenous populations of far-away lands would enlighten the Europeans about themselves: about their difference or similarity or identity. The encounter with “natives” out there would not merely allow, but also challenge Westerners to look within: to examine their own culture, their values and ideals – and problems – from the perspective of the stranger within their widened horizon. As Christoph Martin Wieland, as urbane an intellectual as one could come across in Enlightenment civilization, put it bluntly in 1785, anthropology was now becoming ethnology, with European self-knowledge arising from confrontation and comparison with foreign modes of being.4 Gauguin’s “Que sommes-nous?” comes to mind – the crucial part of the title of his Tahitian chef-d’oeuvre featuring Polynesians who are clearly not “nous.” What T. S. Eliot, speaking metaphorically, noted about the exploration of the external world is equally true of the world of “human Nature”:

  • 5 Four Quartets, “Little Gidding,” pt. 5, http://www.columbia.edu/itc/history/winter/w3206/edit/tseli (...)

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.5

5As usual in such encounters of minds and cultures, two facile answers suggested themselves to the philosophical travellers of the Second Age of Discovery, whether they actually left their armchair, travelled with Cook or other captains or led expeditions themselves. One was universalism, claiming that human nature was essentially the same everywhere and at all times; the other was relativism, claiming well-nigh ineradicable difference or “incommensurability” (as Goethe might have said): Albrecht von Haller, “the last universal scholar,” versus Johann Gottfried Herder, the champion of anthropological “diversity,” as he indeed called it. In other words, whether the encounter with the transoceanic stranger occurred in real time and space or second-hand, through reading the increasingly popular travellers’ reports from the field: was this encounter a look in the mirror, or at an inscrutable face?

  • 6 Schriften, eds. Paul Kluckhohn and Richard Samuel, II, 2nd ed. (Stuttgart, 1960), 646 (“Verwandlung (...)
  • 7 As reported by Georg Christoph Lichtenberg, Schriften und Briefe, ed. Wolfgang. Promies, I (Münche (...)
  • 8 Schriften und Briefe, I, 543; cp. Karl S. Guthke, Der Blick in die Fremde: Das Ich und das andere (...)
  • 9 “Des cannibals,” in Essais, pt. 1.
  • 10 Julia Kristeva, Étrangers à nous mêmes (Paris, 1988); Adam Phillips, Terrors and Strangers (Cambri (...)

6The European Enlightenment tended to believe that “c’est tout comme chez nous,” blithely translating (and thereby inevitably falsifying) the unfamiliar into the familiar, which could then be assessed by the standard of reason or common sense. This was a largely unconscious sleight of hand, uncomfortably analogous to the early missionaries’practice of fitting the feast of the fertility goddess Ostara or the expected return of Quetzalcoatl into their theological frame of reference. Novalis’s conviction that such “appropriation,” the “transformation of the foreign into one’s own […] is the never-ending business of the mind”6 may have been as widely accepted at the time as it is rejected today. But, to be fair, the Enlightenment notion that the unfamiliar and the familiar could be seen as basically the same, or at least as similar and comparable, also took the form of acknowledging that, as Helvétius’s bon mot decreed, there were many “Hottentots” among “us.”7 Lichtenberg agreed: “they,” the “savages,” are like us, but we are also like them, in our suppressed penchant for cannibalism, for instance,8 or in what Burke would have called our “barbarism”; perhaps we even outdid them in that respect, as Montaigne had noted much earlier.9 So, who would provide the more plausible role models: we or they? Rimbaud’s “je est un autre” reverberates in Julia Kristeva’s and Adam Phillips’s Freudian observation that the foreign qualities of the other that repel us are also our own.10 There seems to be no way out of the hall of mirrors.

  • 11 See the anthologies Die edlen Wilden, ed. Gerd Stein (Frankfurt, 1984); Exoten durchschauen Europa (...)
  • 12 See E. C. Eze, “The Color of Reason: The Idea of ‘Race’in Kant’s Anthropology,” Anthropology and t (...)

7Or is there? Two patterns of thought common at the time suggested that there was, but they revealed highly problematic aspects of their own. Instead of seeing a reflection of a self-image, stereotyped counterimages were projected onto the stranger. This could be either the idealized image of the noble savage (which would imply European self-criticism to the point of emulating the “other”)11 or an image that flattered the Western sense of superiority. Examples include the Tahitians who were mythologized in the eighteenth century as inhabitants of Arcadia, Paradise, Nouvelle Cythère or the Golden Age, on the one hand, and Crusoe’s Man Friday as the paradigm of non-European peoples as objects of colonization and domination, on the other. This of course arouses the suspicion (to say the least) that such cultural pre-perceptions are self-serving constructs that have nothing to do with ethnological reality. Kant’s image of sub-Saharan Africans and Cornelius de Pauw’s equally demeaning image of the North American Indians virtually expelled these populations from humanity or at any rate from humanity capable of Enlightenment,12 and the noble savage, Lahontan’s Adario for instance, was more easily found in literary works than in real-life encounters, be it in America or on a South Pacific Island – where Georg Forster, while impressed by some of the qualities of the indigenous people, was also disgusted by the decadence and greed of their upper class.

  • 13 Stephen Greenblatt, Marvelous Possessions: The Wonder of the New World (Chicago, IL, 1991), 7; Rob (...)
  • 14 Justin Stagl, “Die Beschreibung des Fremden in der Wissenschaft,” Der Wissenschaftler und das Irra (...)

8No wonder such image-making prompts the reaction that mutual understanding between the “savages” and the “civilized” (to quote the title of Urs Bitterli’s magisterial book Die ‘ Wilden’und die ‘ Zivilisierten’of 1976) remains virtually illusory by definition. This was certainly true in the Second Age of Discovery; Herder is the principal witness within the non-seafaring, German-speaking world. But in our own day too, exponents of poststructural and postcolonial cultural studies like Robert Edgerton and Roger Sandall continue to be at least tempted to sympathize with the idea that the “true” identity of non-European populations remains a book with seven seals to European observers, and vice versa. “We can be certain only that European representations of the New World tell us something about the European practice of representation.”13 But apart from that: objections to the dual stereotyping mentioned or for that matter to the verdict of irreducible difference can hardly help resorting to the assumption of “universals” or “convergences”14 – which would then again run the risk of assimilating the unfamiliar to the familiar, depriving it of what might arguably be understood as individuality.

  • 15 Lichtenberg, Schriften und Briefe, II (1971), 166.
  • 16 Forster, Werke (Akademie-Ausgabe), V, 65.
  • 17 Weimar Edition, Abt. 4, VIII, 33 (“Die Fremde hat ein fremdes Leben und wir können es uns nicht zu (...)
  • 18 Gisela Brinker-Gabler, ed. Encountering the Other(s) (Albany, NY, 1995), 3 (Brinker-Gabler). See a (...)
  • 19 Condorcet, Esquisse d’un tableau historique des progrès de l’esprit humain (1795), ed. O. H. Prior (...)

9Even so, one or the other of the eighteenth-century “philosophical travellers” did indeed navigate between the Scylla and Charybdis of stereotypes (that invite misunderstanding) and the perception of incommensurable difference (that prevents both understanding and misunderstanding). Georg Forster was one such exception. He at least attempted to see the encounter with the stranger from the stranger’s perspective. He would have agreed with Lichtenberg’s quip that the Indian who discovered Columbus made a very unfortunate discovery.15 In this reversed perspective, it was obvious to Forster that the South Sea islanders’propensity to what Europeans called theft was in fact fascination with unfamiliar objects and thus a form of intelligent curiosity – which should have been congenial and indeed admirable in the eyes of the exploring Englishmen aboard Captain Cook’s flagship.16 Forster’s observation amounts to intercultural bridge-building that avoids not only wholesale assimilation of “them” to “us” but also both stereotyping and the retreat to “incommensurability.” The foreign remains foreign, but nonetheless accessible to the understanding of the outside observer, who may indeed feel a certain degree of kinship. As Goethe put it, “what is foreign has a foreign life, and we cannot make it our own, though it pleases us as guests.”17 Present-day anthropologists who attempt to transcend the either-or of universalizing assimilation and the sheer impossibility of “authentic experience of otherness”18 might have heard their cue in the words of Forster or Goethe. Antoine de Condorcet, the philosopher of perfectibility, Enlightenment-style, pointed out the value of such transcultural bridge-building: the understanding of overseas populations would have a desirable effect on the Europeans’assessment of themselves and their own culture19 – a prelude to Gauguin’s question in Polynesia: “Who are we?” The outward look prompts the inward look.

  • 20 For an extensive presentation of this concept see Karl S. Guthke, Die Erfindung der Welt: Globalit (...)

10In the course of the later eighteenth century, the exploration of the cultures and the mindsets of non-Europeans, with its encouragement of the complementary exploration of the culture and the mindset of the explorer, ushered in a novel concept or ideal of what it means to be educated that challenged the traditional concept. The focus of the inquiry into “human Nature” shifted from the study of literature, art, philosophy, and especially history to the examination of “the great Map of Mankind,” with the proper study of man including or even becoming the study of the populations encountered beyond Europe. Burke made that point in 1777 in his letter to Robertson: for “the knowledge of human Nature[,] we need no longer go to History to trace it in all its stages and periods. History from its comparative youth, is but a poor instructour.” The alternative, which he envisioned in terms bordering on exhilaration, is what I call “global education,” born of the spirit of geography and ethnology. It was to have signal resonance in the decades around 1800.20

11About half of the essays in this volume, those of the first section, discuss first-or second-hand, physical or vicarious mental encounters with exotic lands and populations beyond the supposed center of civilization. For the most part, the works of literature (in a wide sense, including travel accounts) and the documents of cultural life featured in these essays, including one that extends the purview to the early decades of the twentieth century, bear testimony to the crossing not only of geographical, ethnological, and cultural borders but also of borders of a variety of intellectual activities and interests, stumbling upon terres inconnues in the process. And more often than not, these texts are among those that are less commonly examined, if at all. But even the “must see” sites of the literary and cultural landscape may open up unsuspected vistas. In any event, whether they are less conspicuous or worth a detour, these texts provide surprising glimpses of the temper of their times.

  • 21 Kant, Critique of Practical Reason, trans. and ed. Mary Gregor (Cambridge, 1997), 133.
  • 22 See Karl S. Guthke, The Last Frontier: Imagining Other Worlds from the Copernican Revolution to Mo (...)

12The unfamiliar geographic and ethnologic worlds explored are not the only ones that fascinated writers, scholars, and scientists throughout the “long eighteenth century.” The word “world” had wider connotations at the time than one might suspect. Among the several sciences that prompted early-modern and eighteenth-century explorers of the “other” was astronomy, and what it offered for exploration was nothing less than “worlds” as well: the worlds, commonly so called, of post-Copernican planetary systems in the universe – with their assumed human-like inhabitants. The most frequently quoted passage of Kant’s Kritik der praktischen Vernunft (and perhaps of all his writings for that matter) is the declaration, in its “Conclusion,” that one of the two “things” that keep commanding his admiration and reverence and informing his thinking is “the starry heavens” with their “worlds upon worlds and systems of systems.”21 It is perhaps no coincidence that a literary and philosophical scholar like Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, who demonstrated great interest in the exotics of other latitudes and longitudes, repeatedly also pondered the worlds in the firmament and their putative populations, and, again, with a view to a speculative comparison of “them” and “us.” Albrecht von Haller too, the polymathic scientist who never tired of his probing ethnological interest in the “others” on Earth, from Michigan to China and India, preoccupied himself with a philosophical and indeed theological examination of “us” versus those – possibly “happier” – extraterrestrials populating the stars or their planets. Needless to add, these and many other authors attracted to this theme at the time22 had only their imagination to guide them. To be sure, the borderline between experiencing and imagining was anything but clear-cut in the geographical and ethnological explorations. But with creative imagination left entirely to its own devices, nightmares and utopias could all the more easily be projected onto the unexplored worlds in the universe. And all too naturally such speculative literary and philosophical encounters with the inhabitants of the “starry heavens” (confidently extrapolated from supposed analogies between those worlds and ours) would invite the same question as the encounter with exotic populations did: “Que sommes-nous?” The exploration of those imagined inhabited worlds in the universe and their “relation” to us is the theme of the essays of the second section.

  • 23 As quoted by Erich Heller, The Artist’s Journey into the Interior and Other Essays (New York and L (...)
  • 24 See n. 21 above. For further expressions of the “inward turn” in the age of Goethe, see Guthke, Di (...)

13There are worlds in the universe – but isn’t one of the most famous poetic lines of Goethe’s that in his “Prooemion,” which maintains “im Innern ist ein Universum auch” (“There is a universe within as well”)? Novalis seconded this in his sixteenth Blütenstaub fragment: “We dream of travels through the universe [“Weltall”]. Isn’t the universe within us?” Might that universe within, which both authors, and Schiller too, found more fascinating than what Thomas Mann was to call “Milky Way speculation,” not be explored in its own right, and perhaps with more plausible findings? Hadn’t Hegel decreed, in his Vorlesungen über die Aesthetik, that all post-Greek art had turned away from the material, outer world of reality to the immaterial inner world of the soul or the mind? Hamlet, as Coleridge saw him, would then be the prime example of “such as have a world in themselves.”23 Kant narrowed this world within to the realm of morality: the second “thing” he revered was “the moral law within me.” This sounds abstract; but as he continues, there is the “world” again. For “the second begins from my invisible self, my personality, and presents me in a world which has true infinity but which can be discovered only by the understanding [“Verstand”] and I cognize that my connection with that world (and thereby with all those visible worlds [of the “starry heavens”] as well) is not merely contingent, as in the first case, but universal and necessary.”24 Arthur Schnitzler, in his play Das weite Land, came closer to the world of experience: “Die Seele ist ein weites Land” (“The soul is a large country”).

  • 25 The Artist’s Journey, 71.

14The final section of this book focuses on the exploration of this universe within. It is an exploration of the human “interior” similar to the self-examination resulting from the first-or second-hand encounter with the “other” in remote parts of the planet as well as from the imaginative encounter with extraterrestrials. Its prime exhibits are two of Schiller’s plays, one of which, The Maid of Orleans, is briefly mentioned in Erich Heller’s The Artist’s Journey into the Interior as a major destination of that journey.25 The final destination of the journey into the interior in this sense may offer the most troubling and, at the same time, the most revealing experience: the encounter with death, which in so many famous and infamous cases is articulated in what is known as the last words – a veritable cultural institution in many parts of the world. A somewhat off-beat essay on literary exit lines attempts to explore what they reveal, or conceal. In the concluding essay, this collection comes full circle, in that the spotlight on the “interior” of Nietzsche’s allegedly misrepresented personality is shone from the interior of a “far-off” land. It is Elisabeth Förster-Nietzsche who diagnoses her brother’s descent from “genius” into insanity, thereby creating a powerful myth from Neo-Germania in the wilds of Paraguay where she had settled a few years earlier. With luck, and the reader’s indulgence, that essay may serve as a kind of keystone holding the parts of this volume together.

15Suggesting such coherence is not quite the exercise in herding cats that it might seem to be. The frontispiece of this book may illustrate its thematic ramifications in another way.

16The image is the frontispiece of the first and only volume of the periodical Der Reisende Deutsche im Jahr 1744 (“The Travelling German in 1744”), introduced by the Halle history professor Martin Schmeitzel and published by Kittler in Halle in 1745. Its full title promised descriptions of countries and towns as well as reports on the latest events in the world at large, along with political, genealogical and “especially” geographical annotations. The engraving, by Friedrich Schönemann of Leipzig, gives center stage to the globe of the Earth, with the then four known continents not outlined but merely inscribed by name. However, the greatest and indeed only interest that the image commands derives from the typified inhabitants of those continents who are shown surrounding the globe. To the right and left of it, there are the exotics: a Turk, wearing what appears to be a fez, on one side; a Native American, identified by a poncho and feather headgear, and an African, on the other. The foreground is claimed most prominently by a European, a rococo gentleman dressed in the fashion of the time. With his outstretched arms he appears to take possession of the planet Earth. What was that world like? An answer is obviously provided by the non-Europeans flanking the globe. Two of them, the American and the African, are engaged in conversation. About what? The Turk, who seems to listen, points to the globe. Clearly, their meeting must give rise to interest in their different cultural identities, and of course this interest is shared by the European who extends his arms not just to the far corners of the globe but also to their representative inhabitants to its right and left. So what at first glance seems to be a gesture of taking possession may more accurately be one of “getting-to-know.” That is indeed what the loquacious full title seems to suggest, with its emphasis on “describing,” “reporting,” and “explaining” (“beschreibet,” “bekant macht,” “erläutert”). After all, the “travelling German” of that age was not a citizen of a colonizing country. He travelled as a reader of travel books.

17The preface confirms this interpretation of the frontispiece. The desire to know and to understand is one of the principal characteristics of the human mind, and it follows that we are eager, indeed “driven” to hear about events on “the stage of the world,” particularly about the most recent ones everywhere on the planet, or so contends the professor of history. For “geography is the right eye of all history writing.” So the focus of the individual issues of Der Reisende Deutsche that this volume assembles is on reliable information and news concerning “many a country and place” that had been misrepresented in earlier reports by other writers.

  • 26 See also the description of the frontispiece in Justin Stagl, A History of Curiosity: The Theory o (...)

18The paraphernalia scattered at the bottom of the frontispiece appear to illustrate this point. They are instruments associated with scientific inquiry of the kind that European nations were engaged in as they explored the lands and populations beyond their own continent: compass, telescope, square, and books galore, no doubt specimens of the numerous popular accounts of travel to distant parts of the world, whose interior was just beginning to be opened up. In fact, one such book seems to be in progress as the image tells its story: a scribe, identified as a European by his clothes, sits at a desk holding his quill to a page of a manuscript. What could he be writing about if not about what the exotics from the three distant continents had to report?26

19But that is not the whole story. Conspicuous among the scientific instruments at the bottom is a celestial globe. The sky above the globe of the Earth, amounting to more than a third of the engraving, is empty. Might the celestial globe underneath it be intended to project its presumably inhabited “worlds” into the blank space representing the universe?

20And what about the universe within? Could it be that this is what the scribe is pondering as he records what the non-Europeans reveal about themselves? As the outward gaze turns inward, as Goethe’s did repeatedly, the vexing question raised by the growing knowledge of the strange cultures at the ends of the world and by rampant speculation about even stranger extraterrestrials suggests itself once again – Gaugin’s haunting query: “Who are we?”

  • 27 Dichter über ihre Dichtungen: Theodor Fontane, ed. Richard Brinkmann (München, 1773), II, 373, 672
  • 28 Lessing, Sämtliche Schriften, 3rd ed., ed. Franz Muncker, XII (Leipzig, 1897), 294.

21These essays are not samples of “literary history” in the sense of a summary of what we have come to know about a given subject thanks to the labors of our predecessors. Rather, they were occasioned by something puzzling lurking half-hidden in a work of literature, a fact of literary life, or a document of cultural history. This then led to an examination of nooks and crannies that, on inspection, turned out to be closer to the core of an interesting issue than one might have expected. This way, the study of literary and cultural texts and of their “life” in the intellectual climate of their time might be thought of as an exploration that imparts a sense of adventure and, with luck, the joy of discovery. And perhaps one or the other of the three readers that the German novelist Theodor Fontane thought, or hoped, one could always count on27 will share this armchair experience or might even be encouraged to pursue further explorations along these or similar trails. Lessing was not wrong when he confessed that the hunt was “always” more worthwhile than the quarry bagged;28 even so, both can be fascinating.

  • 29 Martha C. Nussbaum, Love’s Knowledge: Essays on Philosophy and Literature (New York and Oxford, 19 (...)

22For why do we enjoy reading works of literature or documents of cultural history? Why – if not because their explorations enlarge, refine, or clarify our own experience and perhaps encourage us to shape or guide or understand experience to come. As Martha C. Nussbaum, the American philosopher and cultural historian, has observed, “our experience is, without fiction [or historical texts], too confined and too parochial. Literature extends it, making us feel and reflect about what might otherwise be too distant for feeling.”29

Notes

1 Ulrich Im Hof, Das Europa der Aufklärung (München, 1993), ch. 6: “Die große Öffnung in die weite Welt.”

2 The Correspondence of Edmund Burke, ed. Thomas W. Copeland, III, ed. George H. Guttridge (Cambridge, 1961), 350– 351.

3 John H. Parry, Trade and Dominion: The European Overseas Empires in the Eighteenth Century (London, 1971), pt. 3.

4 Gesammelte Schriften (Akademie-Ausgabe), 1. Abt., XV (Berlin, 1930), 67.

5 Four Quartets, “Little Gidding,” pt. 5, http://www.columbia.edu/itc/history/winter/w3206/edit/tseliotlittlegidding.html

6 Schriften, eds. Paul Kluckhohn and Richard Samuel, II, 2nd ed. (Stuttgart, 1960), 646 (“Verwandlung des Fremden in ein Eigenes, Zueignung ist also das unaufhörliche Geschäft des Geistes”).

7 As reported by Georg Christoph Lichtenberg, Schriften und Briefe, ed. Wolfgang. Promies, I (München, 1968), 291, 383, 409, 618. Lichtenberg’s works are also available at https://archive.org/details/LichtenbergSchriftenUndBriefeBd1

8 Schriften und Briefe, I, 543; cp. Karl S. Guthke, Der Blick in die Fremde: Das Ich und das andere in der Literatur (Tübingen, 2000), 93– 97.

9 “Des cannibals,” in Essais, pt. 1.

10 Julia Kristeva, Étrangers à nous mêmes (Paris, 1988); Adam Phillips, Terrors and Strangers (Cambridge, MA, 1996), 15– 17.

11 See the anthologies Die edlen Wilden, ed. Gerd Stein (Frankfurt, 1984); Exoten durchschauen Europa, ed. Gerd Stein (Frankfurt, 1984); Winfried Weißhaupt, Europa sieht sich mit fremdem Blick (Frankfurt, 1979).

12 See E. C. Eze, “The Color of Reason: The Idea of ‘Race’in Kant’s Anthropology,” Anthropology and the German Enlightenment: Perspectives on Humanity, ed. Katherine M. Faull (Lewisburg, PA, 1995), 200– 241; Cornelius de Pauw, Recherches philosophiques sur les Américains (Berlin, 1768– 1769).

13 Stephen Greenblatt, Marvelous Possessions: The Wonder of the New World (Chicago, IL, 1991), 7; Robert Edgerton, Sick Societies: Challenging the Myth of Primitive Harmony

14 Justin Stagl, “Die Beschreibung des Fremden in der Wissenschaft,” Der Wissenschaftler und das Irrationale, ed. Hans-Peter Duerr, I (Frankfurt, 1981), 279. (New York, 1992); Roger Sandall, The Culture Cult (Boulder, CO, 2001). See also the Traven essay below, n. 20.

15 Lichtenberg, Schriften und Briefe, II (1971), 166.

16 Forster, Werke (Akademie-Ausgabe), V, 65.

17 Weimar Edition, Abt. 4, VIII, 33 (“Die Fremde hat ein fremdes Leben und wir können es uns nicht zu eigen machen, wenn es uns gleich als Gästen gefällt”). Letter to J. G. Herder, 14 October 1786.

18 Gisela Brinker-Gabler, ed. Encountering the Other(s) (Albany, NY, 1995), 3 (Brinker-Gabler). See also Walter Hinderer, “Das Phantom des Herrn Kannitverstan,” Kulturthema Fremdheit, ed. Alois Wierlacher (München, 1993), 216 and passim.

19 Condorcet, Esquisse d’un tableau historique des progrès de l’esprit humain (1795), ed. O. H. Prior (Paris, 1933), 122– 123. See also Anthony Pagden, European Encounters with the New World: From Renaissance to Romanticism (New Haven, CN, and London, 1993), 113.

20 For an extensive presentation of this concept see Karl S. Guthke, Die Erfindung der Welt: Globalität und Grenzen in der Kulturgeschichte der Literatur (Tübingen, 2005), 9 – 82, and essays 3 and 4 in this volume.

21 Kant, Critique of Practical Reason, trans. and ed. Mary Gregor (Cambridge, 1997), 133.

22 See Karl S. Guthke, The Last Frontier: Imagining Other Worlds from the Copernican Revolution to Modern Science Fiction (Ithaca, NY, and London, 1990), ch. 4.

23 As quoted by Erich Heller, The Artist’s Journey into the Interior and Other Essays (New York and London, 1976), 128.

24 See n. 21 above. For further expressions of the “inward turn” in the age of Goethe, see Guthke, Die Erfindung der Welt, 32.

25 The Artist’s Journey, 71.

26 See also the description of the frontispiece in Justin Stagl, A History of Curiosity: The Theory of Travel 1550– 1800 (Chur, 1995), 163– 165.

27 Dichter über ihre Dichtungen: Theodor Fontane, ed. Richard Brinkmann (München, 1773), II, 373, 672.

28 Lessing, Sämtliche Schriften, 3rd ed., ed. Franz Muncker, XII (Leipzig, 1897), 294.

29 Martha C. Nussbaum, Love’s Knowledge: Essays on Philosophy and Literature (New York and Oxford, 1990), 47.

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