On a day in mid-June, when the Google News headlines were bemoaning $4/gallon gas in the United States and indications were sinking in that even more expensive fuel was to be the new reality, my son and I were waking up in my nephew's apartment in Stuttgart. On our agenda was to figure out what tourist attractions to visit in this southern German city that cultivates its reputation as "the cradle of the automobile."
We decided to forego the venerable museums in the city center that trace Stuttgart's history from when it was the site of a Roman fort in the first century A.D., through its groundings as a municipality almost a thousand years later, and then through another millennium with a succession of battles and the residencies of various dukes, duchesses, kings and queens.
Instead we boarded a streetcar for the Bad Cannstadt district and the Mercedes-Benz Museum (www.museum-mercedes-benz.com/?lang=en). I was expecting an homage to the internal combustion engine, that voracious burner of fossil fuels. We found that and much more. The museum not only pays tribute to a particularly expensive brand of automobile, it also offers up a history of the entire twentieth century, framed by the invention of a new method of motorized travel in 1885 and the widespread recognition of global warming today.
The building, which opened two years ago, is reportedly the most visited museum in Stuttgart. That fact alone says a lot about Germany's fifth largest metropolitan area, where the local economy is built on corporate commerce. Like the car, the museum is very impressive. An oblong and slightly wavy cylinder with two glass bands sandwiched by silvery bands at the top, middle and bottom, the edifice gives the impression of a clenched smile—either that or an otherworldly spacecraft that happened to touch down on a concrete slab just off Mercedes Street near the Neckar River.
The atrium is also the hollow core of what turns out to be a spiral floor configuration, not unlike but less elegant than Frank Lloyd Wright's Guggenheim Museum in New York. Instead of an unbroken spiral, the Mercedes-Benz Museum confronts the visitor with three massive concrete walls, the triangular aspect evoking the company logo. Mounted on each wall is an elevator with sleek, silvery, futuristic lines that whisks visitors to the top floor to begin the winding descent through the corporation's version of twentieth-century history.
Before boarding the elevator you get an electronic box to hang around your neck along with earphones. The audio tour picks up signals along the way, keying the spoken explanations to what you are looking at. It is well designed and informative.
The first artifact you see upon exiting the elevator is a stuffed horse signifying travel before the invention of the automobile. Through a passageway is the machine Gottlieb Daimler developed in 1883, which, we learn, "laid the foundations for a motorized society." It is the first high-speed four-stroke gasoline engine, dubbed "the grandfather clock" because of its shape. Near by is a replica of the two-wheeled vehicle Daimler and collaborator Wilhelm Maybach mounted this engine on two years later, creating a motorcycle that was the world's first gasoline-powered vehicle. Also on exhibit is a three-wheeled conveyance that the museum touts as the world's first car (patented before the four-wheeled "first modern automobile"). Its patent, number 37435, is dubbed the "birth certificate of the automobile." It is breathtaking to think of all that has followed from these contraptions over the last 123 years.
Most of the rest of museum is devoted to that history, but with a twist. It is not surprising that the exhibitions are laden with the manufacturer's cars, trucks and buses through the decades – and there are some pretty nifty machines to behold – but the sweeping corridors that hug the perimeter of the cylindrical building purport to give a more generalized history of the twentieth century. This too is unremarkable, as it is common for museums of this kind to use historical markers to place their artifacts in chronological context. But as the visitor moves further and further down the spiral, that history becomes more intense and the Mercedes automobile increasingly becomes a star player.
Of course German history has its peculiar complications, notably including the 12 years the country was in the grip of Adolf Hitler's fascist regime with its twin goals of world domination and the annihilation of entire peoples. As I descended into the middle reaches of the museum, I couldn't help but wonder how Mercedes-Benz would treat the Nazi period and the corporation's role in it. The question became more poignant because the museum is a peculiar mix of commercialism, exaltation of sleek machines, and the institution's own posture as self-styled purveyor of historical education.
What I found was disappointing. Not only is the blot of fascism on Germany's history minimized and in many respects all but ignored, but the role of the company is even glorified – complete with narration backed up by the sort of uplifting yet bland musical accompaniment you'd expect from a late-night infomercial for hair transplants – for its contributions to the post-war economy.
You learn, without any elaboration, that top managers lost their jobs during the allied "denazification" in the mid- to late 1940s, but that most were reinstated. The museum's website classifies two of the central historical periods of the century as "Times of Change—Diesel and Supercharger" to identify the years 1914-1945, and "Post-war Miracle—Form and Diversity" for the years 1945-1960.
The fact that the Mercedes-Benz factories were heavily bombed during the war is presented with no more context than that "&instead of a pile of rubble, there now stands an automobile company that commands world-wide respect and admiration." An informational panel on Hitler's dictatorship concludes with the astounding understatment that "government regulations soon restricted the freedom of companies to make decisions and impeded the private purchase of vehicles."
One of the "galleries" in the museum displays makes and models (in some cases the actual cars) used by celebrities such as the Pope (yes, you can see the first prototype of the "popemobile"), Lady Diana, Ringo Starr and Emperor Hirohito of Japan. Is the museum guilty of selective memory to the point of obfuscation by not including in this gallery an exemplar of the cars that can be seen carrying Hitler in any number of clips from documentary footage of his heyday?
The question seems relevant to me. Yes, a museum built by a corporation has the right to burnish its image in ways it sees fit. On the other hand, the question also brings to mind the dangers of privatization. In this case it is the telling of our collective story that is being privatized. If an auto museum just showed off autos and left it at that, it would be one thing. But when it weaves the story of its brand into a more generalized history of technology and world events, does it assume a responsibility to delve into less comfortable subjects? Freedom of speech, I suppose, includes the freedom to not say (to gloss over) things you don't want to say.
The architecture of the Mercedes-Benz Museum dazzles. The artifacts are sexy. The history is entertainingly presented. But in the end, the most visited cultural emporium in Stuttgart is lacking in honesty. In other words, if you go, bring a shaker of salt and don't leave your skepticism at the door. It is a museum, yet the exit gives onto a fully functioning new car showroom—another interesting melding of culture and commerce.
In the end, the lesson for me is that history is a dynamic concept. As in anything else, the consumer is always well advised to beware. When the image and reputation of a highly image-conscious automobile company are thrown into the mix, that advisory is even more important. As the current era of expensive petroleum propels us into the post-petroleum age, a visit to the "cradle of the automobile" is worthwhile. Just don't let the sex appeal of the machinery warp your defenses against self-serving history.
