Robert Bosch was not just a motoring great
His role in realising the practical motorcar is universally acknowledged; his efforts on behalf of simple human decency perhaps rather less so
Among the worthies presiding at the birth of the auto industry – the Daimlers, the de Dions, the Henry Fords, those who brought the automobile from experiment to market reality – Robert August Bosch was perhaps unique in possessing no burning passion for the horseless carriage. In fact, he would doubtless be equally happy with his legacy of coffeemakers and dishwashers as with his automotive achievements; to him it was quality products that mattered. As for the current status of other ideas he held dear, he might be less pleased.
From his 1861 birth on a prosperous family farm in Swabia, southwestern Germany, Bosch possessed an inquisitive mind and a drive to make things better. All sorts of things, in all sorts of circumstances, and while young Robert was bored by theoretical parts of his formal schooling (culminating in electrical studies at Stuttgart Technical University), he always had a good farmer’s knack for problem-solving.
His father, respectful of education in every form, therefore suggested Robert continue his own in practical work situations, leading to time spent in America with a Thomas Edison factory (although not, as sometimes reported, assisting Edison), plus the London workshops of Siemens AG. In 1886, having returned to Swabian Stuttgart, he opened a tiny electrical firm, advertising himself as fully conversant in the booming fields of home telephones, telegraphs, and ‘professional testing and installation of lightning rods…’
Less than a year later he spotted a magneto ignition system for internal combustion engines, surprisingly unpatented, decided he could make it better, and slowly, patiently did just that. Over the ensuing decade, the Bosch magneto became the gold standard and, when combined in 1902 with the truly efficient sparkplug of Bosch engineer Gottlob Honold, provided the final ingredient for viable motorcar transportation. By the outbreak of World War One, Bosch’s tiny firm had grown into a thriving multi-national and, well, you know how well the corporate story ultimately turned out.
The human story, though, is far more interesting. Robert Bosch’s lifelong desire to make things better extended to society at large. In actions and principles, he is forever labelled a progressive liberal, but Bosch himself would likely prefer ‘pragmatist’. Long before Ford’s legendary five-dollar day, Bosch pay rates vastly exceeded prevailing norms. ‘I don’t pay well because I have lots of money,’ he once explained; ‘I have lots of money because I pay well.’
Likewise, Bosch had no employees, he had associates; people respond better to respect, he reckoned, and benefits ran from healthcare to pensions to associate libraries (including Marxist classics – Bosch believed in hearing arguments from every side). After The Great War, he also instituted survivor benefits for bereaved families, and job training for disabled veterans. Military contract profits went into charities and civic reconstruction, and, as a dedicated panEuropean, he helped fund Germany’s League of Nations participation.
His philanthropy nevertheless reflected his pragmatic values, favouring hospitals, social programmes and education. ‘Education liberates,’ he said, enabling the public ‘to recognise false [political] theories for what they are.’ And to him, the politics of authoritarianism, bigotry and nationalism made nothing better. So when approached for money in 1927 by the National Socialists, Bosch published their blatantly anti-Semitic letter in the company newspaper under the title ‘A Letter That Went Unanswered’. Asked his impressions upon meeting new Chancellor Hitler in 1933, Bosch commented: ‘This individual wants to be a statesman and doesn’t know what justice is.’
Bosch thereafter turned to Resistance. Although belonging to no party or religion, he already donated to opposition and Jewish relief groups, and aided many of those at-risk with company employment. Some were transferred to safe overseas postings; some, like other trusted staffers, smuggled news in and out of Germany during ‘business trips’, or forged links with European anti-fascist leaders. Eventually, even as Nazi diktats imposed slave labour on his factories, Bosch and associates assembled a company underground movement. In 1944, members of the so-called Bosch Circle joined in the failed but monumental assassination attempt on Adolf Hitler.
But Robert Bosch was already two years gone, succumbing at age 80 to complications from an ear infection. The media-savvy Nazis threw a swastika-laden state funeral; by their very nature, of course, they could never understand the pragmatic benefits of simply, quietly making things better, for everyone.
‘in 1944, members of the so-called bosch circle joined in the failed assassination attempt on adolf hitler’