Ben’s Blog #24 – Ben Franklin, Electricity, and the Church

Dear Citizens,

In my last entry I alluded, with deliberate vagueness, to my having had an adversary in my electrical experiments.  This adversary was a conservative element of the Church,
the Anglican Church of England, whose presence in the colonies was important and influential.  Not, however, as influential as it was in England, itself.

Their position was that I had no right to tamper with the workings with the Almighty.  Lightning was, they believed, a physical manifestation of God’s wrath and Man had no right to attempt to divert its course.  If God wanted lightning to strike a certain building, it was not for us to interfere.  The miracles of nature He provided, both the beautiful, like rainbows, and the damaging, like lightning, were not for diversion, alteration, or negation.  Nor even for understanding.

I considered this.  These were serious men and had serious concerns.  But I could not agree. What sacrilege was there in trying to understand the workings of the Almighty and help make that understanding be of service to mankind?  He had given us not only the power of reason but the compulsion to use it.

Note from Christopher Lowell:  Here, Ben stood absolutely at the epicenter of the Enlightenment–a turning point in the history of human inquiry.  Front and center came the belief, embraced by Ben, that hypotheses should be confirmed or disproved by objective means; that shedding the light of science on natural phenomena could only serve mankind and that there was nothing profane in such investigations.  Obviously, Man was endowed with both curiosity and intelligence, and if that curiosity helped to advance our understanding of the universe and “natural phenomena,” so much the better. Rejected was the notion that any source of social power (political leaders, the Church, etc) should determine what could and could not be examined.

I observed to my critics that far from letting God’s miracles fall where they may, even my critics themselves carried umbrellas to divert the course of water as it fell from the heavens. They were neither amused nor persuaded by this argument.

I thought that we had not only the ability but also the duty to study the miracles that are so abundant in our daily lives, and to help our fellows by our own investigations.  And so I said, “Let the experiment begin!” and proceeded with my electrical experiments despite the objections aforementioned.

In closing this particular discussion, let me note that institutions of authority such as the Church, and less formalized but obvious social authority such as those possessing advantages of class and wealth–those areas which had such influence in England–were precisely those institutions our fathers deliberately fled in crossing the Atlantic.  On this continent we had new beginnings, new ideas to explore as we explored the vastness of America.  We had our own wits on which to rely, our own authority on which we were, even then, slowly coming to depend.  It is no accident that years later, the Preamble to our Constitution, by which you still live, began with the words “We the People,” for it was the people in whom we were placing trust and faith.

Until my next correspondence with you, dear readers, I remain,

yr humble and obedient servant,

B. Franklin

Ben Franklin and the Lightning Rod –The follow-up – Blog #23

Dear Citizens,

In my last entry I described, briefly, the reasons for my having had the audacity (or the stupidity) to go out into the teeth of a spring thunderstorm and fly a kite as high into the skies as I could.  And with my beloved son, William, helping as well! That my theories were proven correct was satisfying.  But the reactions to this experiment are worthy, themselves, of some discussion and as I promised, I’ll amplify a bit on what happened after the skies cleared.

The idea that homes, barns, and buildings of all kinds could have the danger of fire from electrical strikes considerably diminished was quite exciting and caused much discussion following my publication of the details of that night in June 1752.   I was very gratified to see that within a month, lightning rods went up over all the public buildings and many private residences in Philadelphia.

An exception to this general enthusiasm was a grumpy fellow with whom I had crossed swords over various issues and who was to continue, well into the 1770’s to dislike me and oppose anything I said or did. This was Mr. John Dickinson, who maintained residences in both Philadelphia and Delaware.  He refused to consider protecting his own home from the dangers of lightning with a lightning rod and, with ironic inevitability, that Philadelphia home did indeed become a roaring blaze following a lightning strike. His great wealth made the loss a mere temporary inconvenience, or so I would like to believe.

As I suggested in these pages last week, an unexpected surprise awaited me a few months later.  And that was my learning,  later that summer,  that a team of French scientific “chercheurs” had, in a small town to the west of Paris called Marly, following my directions on the subject, proved my theories a month earlier than I had, myself. I was delighted! Had I lived in your times, the information would have been instantaneously available, but as you know, this was not the case in my day.  Yes, perched on a platform high in a tree, as I had recommended be done in earlier writings, the French team had successfully attracted the electrical “fluid” from the heavens. I wrote my congratulations to them instantly.

Note from Christopher Lowell:  Ben’s immediate and reflexive instinct to hail the work of fellow scientists, rather than to sulk that he, himself, hadn’t been the first to prove his own theories, is typical of his generosity of spirit.  And this trait helped to establish his own international bona fides as an honest and thorough reporter of scientific experimentation.   
 
I felt quite delighted that within a month’s time, on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean, an important theory of electrical energy and its transmission had been demonstrated.
It more than justified my belief in the exploration and understanding of “natural philosophy” as we called scientific research in our time.  But not all agreed that such exploration was desirable.  In my next writings, I shall be happy to detail a rather serious adversary’s position in the matter.

Until then, I remain your humble and obedient servant,
B. Franklin

To my faithful readers,

Following many years of electrical experiments and thought, I came to the conclusion that lightning, while certainly dramatic, was , simply stated, just a more dangerous form of static electricity.  If this were true, man should be able to divert its course (as can be done with static electricity) and move the dangerous charge away from houses, barns, public buildings and the like. If I were able to prove this thesis,  I would render an important service and help fulfill my wish to live usefully.

The descriptions I had written earlier of my successes and failures regarding electricity, and these notes, originally sent to my friend Peter Collinson in London, had been translated into many languages.  Thus, in 1752, I had arrived at a point of some reputation as an electrical scientist.

I thought, erroneously as it turned out, that electricity was a sort of fluid, present in the atmosphere. A tall iron pole, placed upon the top of a tall building might well attract such electrical fluid during an electric storm, I thought.  Moreover, a wire, running from that pole into the ground would protect the building in question, as the electrical force would travel down the wire and end up harmlessly in the earth–far from people, animals, and combustible surfaces.

This was becoming quite exciting and my plan was to attach such an iron pole to the tallest building in Philadelphia–the Christ’s Church bell tower.  Unfortunately, though, that tower was being repaired and its reparation was taking far too long to suit me.
So, remembering my enjoyment as a boy in flying kites, and knowing that I might well be able to fly a kite even higher than the bell tower, I revised my methods.
I affixed a very short, light-weight metal rod to the tip of a kite.  Just as importantly,  because I needed something metal at the end of the kite string to prove that diverting electricity was possible, I attached a metal key.

Using a wet, long satin “string” for the kite, and armed with a Leyden jar, my son William and I took the kite out into a storm one June night in 1752 to prove my theory.

Note from Christopher Lowell:  Various paintings, many of which done in the 19th century, overly romanticize this important moment in scientific exploration.  Some depict Ben as a very old man and his son as a toddler.  In fact, Ben was only forty-six years old and his son, William, twenty-one. 

We had surprisingly little difficulty in getting the kite into the air, and as the thunder rumbled around us, I waited for the electrification of the key.  There was no great flash of lightning (which might well have done us in), but there did come a moment when I felt a decided tingling.  When I moved my knuckle just close enough to the key to feel the beginnings of electrical shock–I moved quickly away!!–I knew that the electrical charge had, indeed, moved down the string to the key.  My experiment had been a success and  I knew that mankind would be the beneficiary.

A great surprise awaited me.  And one which I was quick to acknowledge.  I shall describe that surprise and other events that followed that rainy night in the next scribblings I will be pleased to make in these pages.

Until then, I remain, ever your faithful servant,

B. Franklin

Ben Franklin and Electricity – Ben’s Blog #21

Good Citizens,

For those faithful to these pages, and who have read my entry last week entitled “Ben Franklin, Scientist – the Gulf Stream,” I finished by speaking of how entranced I had become with electricity.  Today I’ll talk of my experiments in that fascinating realm.

For most of my youth, electrical “experiments” were more of a parlor game than a real examination.  We knew that static electricity passed through many people, could cause them all to jump.  Quite entertaining that, although less so for the participants.

In the 1740’s, my friend in London, Peter Collinson, of the Royal Society, sent me some electrical apparatus with which to examine this strange phenomenon of electricity in more depth.  Nothing has ever fascinated me more and I worked and mused upon all this for some years.  It was from those experiments that I developed theories about plus and minus electrification.   I was not averse to showing off and once, with a group of friends, we cooked a turkey on a spit from the inside out by means of running a current through the bird’s body.  It was uncommonly tender!

Note from Christopher Lowell:  He really did this.  And because his friends sat around and ate the turkey, commenting on its good flavor,  I believe we could say that Ben was the inventor of the barbecue!!!

Well, I wrote long letters to Peter Collinson describing my successes and failures with electricity and had he not collected these into a volume, my observations might well have gone unnoticed. But he did so and many in the scientific community in England, and later in Europe, after my observations had been translated into various languages, I became, if I may say so, well known and a source of information about the properties, hitherto undescribed, of electricity. For those of you who might be interested in some of the particulars involved and to learn in more detail of my efforts, I turn to Mr. Lowell.  He will provide details for those interested and I know that your modern means of information storage and retrieval will be helpful here.   (And for those who are less interested in the details of this particular discussion,  I will not take it amiss if you simply skip this section of this journal and move forward.)

Ben’s writings were, as always, meticulous and it was his attention to detail, coupled with the elegance of his prose and the openness with which he approached both success and failure, that made his writings so quickly and universally appreciated.

The following URL will provide the interested reader with some very helpful information regarding Ben’s correspondence with Peter Collinson.  It comes from a paper written in 2004 by Professor E. Philip Krider of the University of Arizona for the International Commission on the History of Meterology.  http:// www.meteohistory.org/2004proceedings1.1/pdfs/01krider.pdf.  Here’s  Prof. Krider’s first paragraph:

Krider:  “In the first paragraph of the first letter,.. Franklin described “the wonderful effect of pointed bodies, both in drawing off and throwing off the electrical fire.” He showed that discharges to and from points work quickly and at considerable distances, that sharp points work better than blunt points, that metal points work better than dry wood, and that the pointed object should be touched (i.e., grounded) in order to obtain a maximum draw effect…

In the second letter,..  Franklin combined the concept of equal positive and negative charges with an assumption that glass is a perfect insulator and described the electrical behavior of a Leyden jar, the first electrical capacitor. He noted the importance of grounding in both charging and discharging the jar, and he made an analogy between electricity and lightning when he described a discharge through the gold gilding on the cover of a book that produced “a vivid flame, like the sharpest lightning.”

In his third letter,.. Franklin began to use terms like charge and discharge in describing the Leyden jar and showed that the electrification of such a device resides entirely in the glass. Next, he described an electrical battery wherein several capacitors were charged in series “with the same effort as charging one…”  

Dear readers, you will forgive my not being able to remember the exact content of my letters with Mr. Collinson, it being now over 260 years since I penned them.  But you will probably be able to see by their perusal that it’s but a short jump from my early experiments to my research into lightning and the power of electrical current from the skies.  But that discussion will await another entry.  When I begin that discussion, in my next journal entry, you may well find that the facts involved in the origin and procedures of those experiments in marked  contradiction with the erroneous versions that I understand are sometimes associated with my “Ben Franklin and the Lightning Experiment.”  For you to judge!

Until then, I remain your humble and obedient servant,
B. Franklin

Ben Franklin, Scientist: the Gulf  Steam – Blog #20 A

Dear Citizens,

It began with curiosity.  My very first memory is of pressing my nose against the cold window pane of my father’s study in Boston and seeing, across the street and down the hill, the masts–just the tips of them–of the great sailing ships moving out of Boston Harbor and into the great Atlantic –bound for ports I couldn’t even pronounce.   Majestic!  Inspiring!  I wanted to go too and learn what was beyond Milk Street where I was born and where I lived.

Curiosity marked my youth.  I studied clouds (on my back, lying on the ground), and wanted to know why they moved in a certain direction and not in others.  I read everything I could. If there is one trait that wove like a thread through the entire fabricof my life it was curiosity.

Later, while running my printing business in Philadelphia and while working for the betterment of my city in those areas I’ve been writing about (see Blogs #15-18), I was also doing experiments in what we called “natural philosophy” and what you call, simply, science. Curious about the human circulatory system, I built a model of it to study. I did experiments in physics, astronomy, invented the science of meteorology, was interested in diseases and health.  My interest in matters scientific was a constant.  Here’s an example.

My mother, Abiah Folger, was from Nantucket and her people were fishermen and whalers, quite knowledgeable about the sea.  My cousin, Timothy Folger, told me of the existence, right in the ocean, of a mysterious river he called the Gulf Stream.  Sailing one’s ship upon it, one could cut the time to Europe by a third.  A voyage that took six weeks would only require four. This was, to me, quite exciting and I determined to map this Gulf Stream. I worked on this for the rest of my life.  In 1785, returning from France on my last voyage at the age of 79, held on by my grandson, Temple Franklin, lest I fall over the gunwales into the churning sea, I took temperature readings of the Atlantic six times each day every day to see whether temperature differentials might define the Gulf Stream’s breadth and therefore help me map it.

Note from Christopher Lowell:  Ben’s work paid off in an unusually accurate map of the Gulf Stream, still used today, I’m told, by NASA.  

Because it was my strong belief that scientific investigation should be reported with as much accuracy as possible, failures as well as successes, I began making very detailed notes about everything I did.  My credibility as a scientist was aided by this habit, as my readers could, by this method, have more trust in my objectivity.  This was to be particularly important in the early 1750s and the culmination of the most interesting experiments I ever did–in electricity–which will remain the subject for a future discussion.

Until then, I remain your humble and obedient servant,
B. Franklin

Benjamin Franklin and the Founding of the University of Pennsylvania – Blog #20

Dear Readers,

My interest in creating a university, which you read about in my journal entry of last week, was high and I set all my energies to create a school that was not merely an imitation of Yale, Harvard, or William and Mary; universities and colleges whose goals were the education of future clergy, but a different kind of place altogether; a university where practical skills such as printing and swimming might be taught; a university where a more eclectic set of curricula was prized.  And this, I was able to do after some effort.

I called my school the Publick Academy of Philadelphia and I was instantly made a trustee for life; an honor that I relate with some pride given the fact that I had only had two years of formal education, myself.  My Philadelphia Publick Academy opened with exactly the kind of wide-ranging curriculum I had sought.  This liberal education became one that was sneered at by some of the graduates of the other universities of the day, but quickly prized by the ordinary residents of the city.  Quite quickly, the registration for this university grew and, as I understand it, that growth and interest has not abated in your time. I believe you know the school today as the University of Pennsylvania.

I never lost my belief that a person has the right to speak his mind and whatever his ideas, it is the public who should judge them.  And that idea sparked the creation of what has always been a driving force for me–the belief that common people have the right to an education.

The description of one final Philadelphia project, a smaller one but precious to me, awaits the reader in my next journal entry.

Until then, I remain your humble and obedient servant,

Benj. Franklin

Ben Franklin’s Junto and the Pennsylvania Hospital, Part 3   Blog #18C

Dear Readers,

My belief in the importance of having a modern hospital for the citizens of Philadelphia was not my original idea.  It was the concept of young Dr. Thomas Bond, recently returned from Paris and filled with new ideas of treating the sick which he had learned there.  I willingly and immediately give all credit for the idea of the Philadelphia Hospital to him.

But I will state as impartially as I can that it was my belief in the power of working together for the common good that led me on my own journey around the city, knocking on doors and explaining the concept to my fellow Philadelphians. And that belief, you may recall–and certainly will recall if you have been following these musings from their beginnings –that belief came from a book I read when only sixteen; a book that praised the work that could be done when people joined together to strive for a cause they believed in.  This concept, working together for the common good, was what was behind many public projects I led in Philadelphia, it was behind the meeting I was to organize in Albany,in the colony of New York, in 1754–a meeting of all the colonies where we agreed to work together for the common good–and it was behind the drive for liberty that ended in the Declaration of Independence many years in the future.

But for the moment, I will say to you that after much effort, we succeeded in collecting from the citizenry the funds needed to return to the Pennsylvania Assembly for the monies they had promised to our cause.

And so our Pennsylvania Hospital was, indeed, built.  Dr. Bond had a new home in which to practice medicine.  I contributed the first medical library to the hospital and I understand that it is still there, along with the cornerstone I, myself, laid.  If you fall ill when visiting my adopted home town, I have all confidence that you will continue to receive good treatment there.

These memories have triggered others –of religious freedom and liberal education.  I shall pontificate further on these subjects next week.  Until then, I remain,

Yr humble and faithful servant,

Benj. Franklin

The Junto and the Philadelphia Hospital, Part 2    Blog #18B

Dear Readers faithful to these pages,

In my entry into these pages last week, I told you of the proposal before us; to secure the funds and build a hospital for the populace of our city, Philadelphia.  The challenges involved with such a project were great.  And I found a possible solution to the problem of funding in an unorthodox, original idea.

I was, at the time, a member of the Pennsylvania Assembly, and thought to approach this august body for assistance.  I proposed to them that they contribute £2000 to help build the hospital on the condition that I raise an equal sum among the citizenry.  I believe that they agreed to this idea for no other reason but that they thought that I would never be able to raise such monies within the general populace. It was, in fact, a new idea and one that you call today by the name of “matching grants.”

Note from Christopher Lowell:  Dr. Franklin is being too modest here.  His belief in the power of people working together for the common good and his ability to persuade them to do so were the underpinnings of this effort.

I set about then, with friends from the Junto, to solicit the financial support we needed.  I had to convince the citizens of the city that they would be well served by the presence of a hospital in the center of town; that the habit of having physicians come to their bedside during periods of ailing was not nearly as efficient as their coming to a common place for healing, themselves.  As this was a relatively new concept, it took some selling.

Were we successful in these efforts?  It will not surprise you, dear readers, to be told once again that this part of the story will await next week’s entry in this space. Putting you off like this will also give me the opportunity of trying to recall specifics of a venture that now seems far away and long ago.  As indeed it is.

But until next week, when I shall, to the best of my ability, finish this story, I will leave you, assured that you always enjoy,

the highest esteem from your humble and obedient servant,

Benj. Franklin

The Junto and and the Philadelphia Hospital, Part 1 – Blog #18A

Most dear Citizens,

I so much enjoyed recalling how our colony’s first Public Library came into being, that I’ll continue this week with the story of our first hospital.

The success of our library (see Benjamin Franklin’s Blog #17), garnered me the reputation of a man able to get things done although, obviously, I didn’t get those things done by my efforts, alone.  Nevertheless, this growing reputation occasioned my being approached by a friend of mine who was already a member of our Public Library Company.  This man was a doctor, Thomas Bond, originally from the colony of Maryland but recently returned from Paris, where he had been studying medicine.  Now, in his capacity as Philadelphia’s Port Inspector for Contagious Diseases, he was seeing a great number of very ill immigrants to our city who had, alas, nowhere to seek treatment for their maladies. He asked for my help in securing him the necessary funds to build a hospital for our growing city, now close to 15,000 in number.  I was immediately interested in such a project and certainly agreed with him on the usefulness of such a hospital.  But how to raise the money—-ah, that was the challenge for us.

But the more I considered what excellent and much needed service a hospital in our community might provide to our colonial citizens, the more I thought that such a project was well worth our attention, our planning, and our thinking.  And not least among the challenges to our thinking was the problem of securing funds for the construction of a hospital.   How I came to resolve this problem will await my reflections next week.  And so, dear readers, I deliberately leave you with the hospital unfinished, unpaid for, unavailable.  Ah, but fear not.  This will not be for long.

Until next week, dear friends, I remain,

Yr humble and faithful servant,

Benj. Franklin

Benjamin Franklin’s Junto and the Creation of the First Public Library  – Blog #17

Dear Readers,

I am certain that the dénouement of last week’s diary entry will come as no surprise to any of you.  Our delight in providing for our own edification and improvement by sharing books with each other, our fellow “Junto” members, gave me the quite natural idea of making such learning possible for the entire city.  I wanted to expand this idea for all of Philadelphia, and this is what gave me the idea that was to become the first subscription Library Company in the colonies.

I wanted all to be able to read, not just the rich, the powerful, the well-connected.  I wanted ordinary people to be able to enjoy the same excitement about learning that I had; farmers and tavern-keepers, and blacksmiths, and, mirabile dictu, women!
Hence, the motto we carved into the north tower of the library:  “To pour forth benefits for the public good.”  The word “public” was a signal to those who considered themselves the elite of the city that this building and the contents therein were open to all.

If you are in a congratulatory mood for my contribution to learning, consider this:  if you have ever had to pay a fine for an overdue book, you have me to blame as that as well, for the idea was mine, also!

Our Library was a great success and the idea spread quickly to other colonies.
I was quite pleased and must agree (this once) with Mr. Lowell that it must be considered an important part of “Ben Franklin’s Accomplishments.” But in an echo to the ideas of Rev. Cotton Mather, the idea was only born because a group of like-minded individuals was thinking along the same lines.

A benefit I certainly didn’t anticipate:  today, thanks to the efforts of my sometimes annoying but always industrious aforementioned business manager,  I have been pleased to have been invited to speak at many 21st century public, university, and school libraries.  I have also been engaged to make fund-raising presentations for others, something I most enjoy, as today’s libraries are the repositories of our nation’s culture and past and a continuing source for her future.

The subscription library was the Junto’s first big success and next week, I’ll tell you about another civic project and the unique way we found to fund its construction.

Until that happy time, I am ever,

yrs most faithfully,

Benj. Franklin