Notes from Benjamin Franklin: An American Life

I’ve been contemplating leaders who I’m unfamiliar with lately, and one of the ones that struck me as the most interesting (and the most cloudy, in my mind) was Benjamin Franklin. So, I decided to pick up Franklin’s biography written by Walter Isaacson as I had also greatly enjoyed the highly readable biography he wrote for Steve Jobs.

Isaacson begins his biography explaining that Franklin was, in many ways, so very different from his contemporaries. He sums this up excellently by saying:

Benjamin Franklin is the founding father who winks at us. George Washington’s colleagues found it hard to imagine touching the austere general on the shoulder, and we would find it even more so today. Jefferson and Adams are just as intimidating. But Ben Franklin, that ambitious urban entrepreneur, seems made of flesh rather than of marble, addressable by nickname, and he turns to us from history’s stage with eyes that twinkle from behind those newfangled spectacles. He speaks to us, through his letters and hoaxes and autobiography, not with orotund rhetoric but with a chattiness and clever irony that is very contemporary, sometimes unnervingly so. We see his reflection in our own time.

Indeed, reading Franklin’s biography, I was reminded of many modern day figures who seem to be in the same line as him, inventors and writers and so forth. It is not difficult for me to imagine Benjamin Franklin sarcastically sending off tweets on political goings on, whereas it is exceedingly hard for me to even picture George Washington in our contemporary setting.

Benjamin Franklin had many skills, roles, and inventions to his name. Isaacson gives a short list of his major accomplishments, which surprisingly leaves much out for the sake of brevity:

He was, during his eighty-four-year-long life, America’s best scientist, inventor, diplomat, writer, and business strategist, and he was also one of its most practical, though not most profound, political thinkers. He proved by flying a kite that lightning was electricity, and he invented a rod to tame it. He devised bifocal glasses and clean-burning stoves, charts of the Gulf Stream and theories about the contagious nature of the common cold. He launched various civic improvement schemes, such as a lending library, college, volunteer fire corps, insurance association, and matching grant fund-raiser. He helped invent America’s unique style of homespun humor and philosophical pragmatism. In foreign policy, he created an approach that wove together idealism with balance-of-power realism. And in politics, he proposed seminal plans for uniting the colonies and creating a federal model for a national government.

Franklin never seemed to stop ‘doing’, one of the main reasons for this being that he believed scientific advancements and invention should come out of the passion of discovery and curiosity, not out of invention’s sake alone. This meant that even late in life he was finding new ways to put his mind to use, because the world was never short of material which interested him and made him consider a new idea.

Isaacson uses this platform as a moment to reflect on the ‘worthiness’ of a productive life, and the motive behind it. Franklin was, though not an atheist, far from the traditional religious man of his times, and he considered much of his spiritual life to be centered around best serving his fellow man. Isaacson wonders how this shaped him, and wonders further how our own motives shape us:

Whatever view one takes, it is useful to engage anew with Franklin, for in doing so we are grappling with a fundamental issue: How does one live a life that is useful, virtuous, worthy, moral, and spiritually meaningful? For that matter, which of these attributes is most important? These are questions just as vital for a self-satisfied age as they were for a revolutionary one.

Though clearly brilliant, Franklin did not have the formal education of some of his contemporaries. Though he was slated to head to Harvard, at the last second his father (who might be considered a lower-middle class blue collar working man) pulled him out, likely for lack of money. Franklin ended up having a slight distaste for those in higher education, and many have argued that he became who he became because he didn’t receive the same training as others around him. Isaacson takes slight issue with this concept, saying the following:

What would have happened if Franklin had, in fact, received a formal academic education and gone to Harvard? Some historians such as Arthur Tourtellot argue that he would have been stripped of his “spontaneity,” “intuitive” literary style, “zest,” “freshness,” and the “unclutteredness” of his mind. And indeed, Harvard has been known to do that and worse to some of its charges. But the evidence that Franklin would have so suffered is weak and does not do justice either to him or to Harvard. Given his skeptical turn of mind and allergy to authority, it is unlikely that Franklin would have become, as planned, a minister. Of the thirty-nine who were in what would have been his class, fewer than half eventually joined the clergy. His rebellious nature may even have been enhanced rather than repressed; the college administrators were at the time wrestling mightily with the excessive partying, eating, and drinking that was infecting the campus.

One of Franklin’s favorite books as a young man was John Bunyan’s ‘Pilgrim’s Progress’, and a few of his works throughout the years featured echoes of this story within. It shaped not only his writings but his worldview, as did Green philosophers and the ongoing enlightenment itself:

Plutarch’s heroes, like Bunyan’s Christian, are honorable men who believe that their personal strivings are intertwined with the progress of humanity. History is a tale, Franklin came to believe, not of immutable forces but of human endeavors.

Though in many ways a genius, Franklin was full of unusual quirks himself. As a younger person without means, he became a vegetarian mostly out of practicality, and would often eat a ‘mixture of water and bread’ instead of eating real porridge or drinking beer:

As a young apprentice, Franklin had read a book extolling vegetarianism. He embraced the diet, but not just for moral and health reasons. His main motive was financial: it enabled him to take the money his brother allotted him for food and save half for books. While his coworkers went off for hearty meals, Franklin ate biscuits and raisins and used the time for study, “in which I made the greater progress from that greater clearness of head and quicker apprehension which usually attend temperance in eating and drinking.”

This practicality in many ways became defining characteristics of his personality (even as he grew more and more wealthy and had more and more means), shaping ‘Poor Richard’ who was yet to come, and reveals an important trait of Franklin’s — he was a man who was happy to appear the way that would best benefit him, and play upon the beliefs of those around him:

American individualists sometimes boast of not worrying about what others think of them. Franklin, more typically, nurtured his reputation, as a matter of both pride and utility, and he became the country’s first unabashed public relations expert. “I took care not only to be in reality industrious and frugal,” he later wrote, “but to avoid all appearances of the contrary”

That practicality and simple desire for betterment led to Franklin writing a ‘credo’ that in many ways defined his views throughout his life:

Franklin wrote out a “Plan for Future Conduct” during his eleven-week voyage back to Philadelphia. It would be the first of many personal credos that laid out pragmatic rules for success and made him the patron saint of self-improvement guides. He lamented that because he had never outlined a design for how he should conduct himself, his life so far had been somewhat confused. “Let me, therefore, make some resolutions, and some form of action, that, henceforth, I may live in all respects like a rational creature.” There were four rules: 1. It is necessary for me to be extremely frugal for some time, till I have paid what I owe. 2. To endeavor to speak truth in every instance; to give nobody expectations that are not likely to be answered, but aim at sincerity in every word and action — the most amiable excellence in a rational being. 3. To apply myself industriously to whatever business I take in hand, and not divert my mind from my business by any foolish project of suddenly growing rich; for industry and patience are the surest means of plenty. 4. I resolve to speak ill of no man whatever.17 Rule 1 he had already mastered. Rule 3 he likewise had little trouble following. As for 2 and 4, he would henceforth preach them diligently and generally make a show of practicing them, though he would sometimes be better at the show than the practicing.

…and in many ways, Franklin again and again showed his knack for understanding the true character of those around him better than anyone else:

When he heard the tale of a former governor of the Isle of Wight who had been considered saintly yet was known to be a knave by the keeper of his castle, Franklin concluded that it was impossible for a dishonest person, no matter how cunning, to completely conceal his character. “Truth and sincerity have a certain distinguishing native luster about them which cannot be perfectly counterfeited; they are like fire and flame, that cannot be painted.”

…of which there are many examples throughout the book:

While gambling at checkers with some shipmates, he formulated an “infallible rule,” which was that “if two persons equal in judgment play for a considerable sum, he that loves money most shall lose; his anxiety for the success of the game confounds him.” The rule, he decided, applied to other battles; a person who is too fearful will end up performing defensively and thus fail to seize offensive advantages.

As someone who has always been taught that Benjamin Franklin was an American patriot, it was interesting to read that for the bulk of his life Franklin was a major proponent of the crown. It was only when it became clear that America and England could no longer carry forward that Franklin became someone who fought for independence, instead working most of his life for unity between the two people-groups. Once convinced, Franklin had many roles to play in the defining of our country:

Back in Philadelphia, a group of Marine units were being organized to try to capture British arms shipments. Franklin noticed that one of their drummers had painted a rattlesnake on his drum emblazoned with the words “Don’t tread on me.” In an anonymous article, filled with bold humor and a touch of venom, Franklin suggested that this should be the symbol and motto of America’s fight. The rattlesnake, Franklin noted, had no eyelids, and “may therefore be esteemed an emblem of vigilance.” It also never initiated an attack nor surrendered once engaged, and “is therefore an emblem of magnanimity and true courage.” As for the rattles, the snake on the drum had thirteen of them, “exactly the number of the colonies united in America; and I recollected too that this was the only part of the snake which increased in number.”

One of my favorite sections features a diary entry from John Adams (who worked closely with Franklin in France), who found him to be a difficult person. The entry reveals much about the difference between the two’s worldviews:

Adams vented in his diary about the difficulty of getting Franklin to focus on work: I found out that the business of our commission would never be done unless I did it . . . The life of Dr. Franklin was a scene of continual dissipation . . . It was late when he breakfasted, and as soon as breakfast was over, a crowd of carriages came to his levee . . . some philosophers, academicians, and economists; some of his small tribe of humble friends in the literary way whom he employed to translate some of his ancient compositions, such as his Bonhomme Richard and for what I know his Polly Baker, etc., but by far the greater part were women and children, come to have the honor to see the great Franklin, and to have the pleasure of telling stories about his simplicity, his bald head . . . He was invited to dine every day and never declined unless we had invited company to dine with us. I was always invited with him, till I found it necessary to send apologies, that I might have some time to study the French language and do the business of the mission. Mr. Franklin kept a horn book always in his pocket in which he minuted all his invitations to dinner, and Mr. Lee said it was the only thing in which he was punctual . . . In these agreeable and important occupations and amusements the afternoon and evening was spent, and he came home at all hours from nine to twelve o’clock at night. One of Franklin’s French friends put a more positive spin on his work habits: “He would eat, sleep, work whenever he saw fit, according to his needs, so that there never was a more leisurely man, though he certainly handled a tremendous amount of business.” These two descriptions of Franklin’s style reveal not just differing views about him but also differing views about work. Franklin was always industrious, and in America he famously believed in also giving the appearance of being industrious. But in France, where the appearance of pleasure was more valued, Franklin knew how to adopt the style. As Claude-Anne Lopez notes, “In colonial America it was sinful to look idle, in France it was vulgar to look busy.”

Indeed, Franklin was a person who adapted himself to the needs of the moment, time and times again, and was a major player in not only gaining independence for the United States of America, but defining its governmental structure and its values. Isaacson concludes the book with an observation about Franklin as a young man that had an impact on both his life and the founding of this country:

From the age of 21, he held true to a fundamental ideal with unwavering and at times heroic fortitude: a faith in the wisdom of the common citizen that was manifest in an appreciation for democracy and an opposition to all forms of tyranny. It was a noble ideal, one that was transcendent and poetic in its own way. And it turned out to be, as history proved, a practical and useful one as well.

Truly, ‘an American life’.