No one stood more directly in the eye of the storm that descended upon Germany in 1933 than Franz von Papen. Not only did Papen play a crucial role in overcoming Reich President Paul von Hindenburg's resistance to Adolf Hitler's appointment as chancellor, but his presence in the newly formed Hitler cabinet provided it with an aura of conservative legitimacy that helped mollify the fears that many Germans might otherwise have felt about the so-called Hitler solution. To complicate matters further, Papen proved utterly incapable of containing the dynamism of the Nazi movement and watched ineffectually from the sidelines as the Nazis unleashed a veritable revolution in the spring of 1933 that either swept Germany's conservative institutions aside or, what proved more likely, forcibly coordinated them into the organizational structure of the Third Reich. Nowhere, however, was Papen's ineffectiveness—or, for that matter, his lack of civil courage—more apparent than in the summer of 1934, when the Nazis ruthlessly murdered two of his closest associates, along with several other prominent conservatives, in a two-pronged strike against both the more militant elements within the Nazi movement and a clique of anti-Nazi conspirators within Papen's own vicechancery.

By 1850, a major shift in how Europeans participated in the Christian religion was well underway. On Sundays, most members of a church's or chapel's congregation were women. Women received communion more assiduously than their male counterparts. Catholic religious congregations for women were founded and joined at rates well above those for men. In Protestant lands, women became deaconesses. From Italy to Scotland, women contributed greatly to churches' social and charitable missions through their active involvement in voluntary associations and parish committees. Moreover, mothers now had the primary obligation to nourish religious sentiments in the home. Even the representation of angels had changed, the powerful, free masculine figure replaced by one who was restrained, domesticated, and feminine.

Many elements were woven into this rather sneering assertion by Ferdinand Avenarius, founder and editor of the leading cultural journal of Wilhelmine Germany, Der Kunstwart. Toys, by then thoroughly commercialized consumer goods, had “true value.” By extension, consumer goods could have value. Unfortunately for Avenarius, that value stands in “inverse ratio to its dazzle.” Dazzle did not simply obscure or even eliminate value, but rather maintained a complicated link. “Value” was the mirror image of “dazzle,” varying in equal and opposite proportion. That “inverse ratio” was also connected to the power that dazzle had over “weak minds.” The values and assumptions that informed and united Avenarius' broadside represent the subject of this essay. For Avenarius was not piecing together ideas at random, nor were they applicable to toys alone. Rather, this outburst was but one example of a persistent effort by German cultural elites to assess the problems as well as the possibilities of an increasingly commercial, even consumerist society. In that effort, Avenarius and others would mobilize the Romantic suspicion of vision and reemphasize the central importance of creativity and autonomous self-expression in the construction of genuine subjectivity. In this way, important elements of the Romantic tradition worked to authorize, even promote, certain types of consumer items while stigmatizing others, suggesting a nuanced and historically specific response to the challenges of modern consumerism.