Adam Kissel
Submitted as a Final Exam for
Social Thought 343: Benjamin Franklin
Professor R. Lerner
December 8, 1997

In one sense, Benjamin Franklin ultimately can trust nothing and no one. God may bring good fortune through providence, or may not; one cannot count on providence. [1] The King is to be revered, perhaps, but he cannot be trusted to know the needs of the colonists better than the colonists themselves. Parliament is half beast and half devil, the Governors sent from Britain are horribly corrupt, and the local colonial governments are far from mature. Without these authorities, one must turn to himself and his friends. But any attempts to develop a systematic philosophy of the good life fail, for our own reasoning is too fraught with distractions and untoward influences from others and even from our own blinding pride and ambition. Reason gives way to inclination. One's friends, too, suffer from the same vices that afflict oneself. [2]

Even experience is suspect; nature can fool our senses. In one tale, Franklin announces that he can perform the miracle of calming the seas. Surrounded by onlookers, he taps his staff onto a pond and the waters do become still. Later he tells a friend that he had placed oil in the base of this staff, which had spread over much of the pond and calmed it. While the laws of nature can be trusted, experiments can be made, and natural patterns can be formulated, we always run the risk of misreading the signs. The theory of electricity, for example, was a mess before Franklin put his hand and mind to the subject. Unquestionable scientific knowledge could be believed; the experience that led to such knowledge, however, could prove untrustworthy or even, as lightning, deadly.

All of this untrustworthiness might spell doom for a pre-Kantian foundationalist with no absolute maxims and no palatable religion to which to turn. Franklin did fit the latter part of that description, but Franklin did not despair. He accepted the difficulty of the world he was given, grew wary of lofty philosophical ideals, and became one of the first American pragmatists. [3]

Franklin found himself in a New World rustic and raw, curious in its religious conflicts and untutored in its civil society. Philadelphia, for example, while an important American city, for a time had no higher education, no library, no fire department, no street cleaners, no one to guard the buildings, and no good newspapers. At some point, Franklin took a deep breath and formed a plan. Although one's habits may be bad, one can improve. One can learn skills such as reading, writing, and other skills or arts of persuasion. One can increase in virtue and encourage his friends to virtue. One can build schools and public buildings, even a fruitful nation with a good government. One can perform careful experiments and repeat them as often as needed in order to come as close as possible to the truth. The world may never become perfect, it may even be hopelessly imperfect, but one must do the best one can.

Surely if Franklin put his trust in anything, he put his trust in slow but steady progress. If he believed in anything worthwhile on earth, he believed in the ability of man to achieve progress in a wide variety of endeavors. [4] He believed that self-knowledge and hard work, backed by an education in all matters of practical importance, and proceeding from well-wrought plans and a stringent method, could effect that progress. In this formulation reason and the virtues, though often (but not always) seeming to be good in themselves, became primarily the instruments of progress.

Franklin was not shy about sharing this vision of progress with other present or future leaders. His Junto and many of his professional and social clubs on two continents identified progress of one sort or another as their primary goals. This vision became practically a religion for Franklin, a sect of those aspiring to a life "Free and Easy." [5] One summation of his lifelong creed appeared in a letter to the Massachusetts House of Representatives in 1773: "By degrees and a judicious Improvement of Events we may work a Change in Minds and Measures."

Franklin also encouraged progress among the general population, through an incessant stream of published pieces in his (and others') newspapers, culminating perhaps in Franklin's memoirs, now known as his Autobiography. Progress became a great democratic possibility. It could be grasped by all, and progress in one subset of society could inspire progress in others. Those persuaded to fulfill a plan for improvement could persuade others, until an entire town would be willing and ready to improve itself. Even in terms of basic necessities, Franklin could compare the Old World to the New World and identify innumerable practical items and social institutions lacking in the colonies. There was no end to the possible avenues for progress.

Further, Franklin and others could invent new conveniences and provide comforts never before seen or enjoyed. Most exciting to Franklin in his later years was the prospect of scientific progress toward useful practical improvements. Especially in times such as war, in which moral progress might have seemed hopeless, Franklin could place his trust in the lasting benefits of scientific and technological progress. One imagines a special twinkle in Franklin's eye when he writes to Joseph Priestley about hot air balloons in 1780 and when he proudly exults (to Sir Joseph Banks in 1783) in the prospect of a rapid "progress of human knowledge" which will provide benefits long after Franklin's own death. [6]

When Franklin chose to place his trust in incremental progress via knowledge, persuasion, and methodical assiduity, he chose prudently. At age 82 he could write fondly and proudly about "the growing felicity of mankind, from the improvements in philosophy [even philosophy], morals, politics, and even the conveniences of common living . . . . The present progress is rapid." [7] Progress begets progress. With the help of God, Benjamin Franklin's hard work and pragmatic plans afforded him a lifetime of success toward turning a backwater wilderness into something of a nation.

1. Nevertheless Franklin believes that God generally brings good to man and especially to Franklin himself. On Franklin's belief in a providential God, see my "Benjamin Franklin's Vital Religion" (MS).
2. Following in the tradition of Aristotle, however, Franklin asserts that true friendship can only be shared by the wise and virtuous ("On Simplicity," 1732). In the same essay he shows that he has been reading Bacon; indeed Bacon's essay "On Friendship" (#27) posits the kind of utilitarian friendships that surface in Franklin's Junto in the very same year. Franklin does put much of his trust in those practical maxims which he learns from Bacon, Mather, and others' books (provided they seem to accord with reason and experience).
3. The term when applied philosophically is anachronistic, but Robert E. Spiller superbly characterizes Franklin as a precursor to the pragmatists of the present century. "Benjamin Franklin: Student of Life," Meet Dr. Franklin (Lancaster, PA: Franklin Institute, 1943) 83-103.
4. For Franklin, progress is not a process but a goal. In his letter to Noah Webster of December 26, 1789, he complains that progress has been used often, he believes incorrectly, as a verb rather than a noun. But one also suspects that Franklin is pleased that the word has become such a commonplace that it has taken on a new meaning. It is important also to recognize that Franklin has made a point of noticing the increased use of the word (notice is, incidentally, another such word singled out here, and as an aspect of knowledge it is equally appropriate). As a final note we should not overlook the fact that Franklin even sought to make progress in the English language.
5. Poor Richard wrote of God's likely reward for those achieving human progress, in 1736, that "God helps those that help themselves."
6. In this latter instance, Franklin shows a remarkable world-consciousness in which he finally almost admits that knowledge is an end in itself. The almost transcendental "Spirit of Experiment" nearly carries him away.
7. Letter of Benjamin Franklin to John Lathrop, May 31, 1788.