The Chemistry of Alchemy Page 27

  Not all of his ventures concerning the colonies, however, were successful. On an early return to London (1641–1643), he searched out investors to found a new settlement, New London, as a colony of alchemists who would dedicate themselves to developing needed alchemical products and metallurgy. He brought back investments and enthusiasts from England, but difficulties with competing colonies and problems appropriating land already inhabited by indigenous people, as well as varying religious beliefs in imported alchemists, plagued the effort. For instance, one alchemist friend from England, Robert Child, didn't like the restrictions of the mainstay Puritans and said so. The Puritan leadership reacted with censure of the alchemists and went as far as supporting native raids on the settlement. Even Winthrop's father sided with the established Puritans against his son. Robert Child was arrested, fined, and deported. Nonetheless, New London was not a failure. Instead of a center for alchemical research, it became a medical center.

  While faith in alchemical medicines in Europe wavered, in the New World they found greater favor. The Galenic method of adjusting the four humors had survived in the cultural memory as the belief that the way to improved health was, to be delicate, out with the old. In other words, they bled, sweated, and purged whatever was in their stomachs, bowels, glands, or veins in the belief that the bad stuff would go with the excrement. There were herbal potions that would accomplish these tasks, but generally more slowly and gently. Alchemical medicines, on the other hand, got the job done.

  The use of these medicines wasn't entirely groundless. Sometimes purging worked. In the case of food poisoning, clearing the stomach and bowels might stop the absorption of toxins. Dropsy, the name used at the time for edema, or swelling, could be deadly. A diuretic such as saltpeter could help. Several metallic preparations were effective vermicides, that is, worm-killing medicines, given in dosages high enough to kill the parasite but low enough to leave the host alive. In addition, these medicines were viewed as Christian (Paracelsus) versus pagan (Galen).

  Winthrop made medicines and provided patients with medical advice and assistance. He trained an army of women healers and supplied them with packets of medicines, distinguished by color for their activity, and the women dispensed the medicines without cost. These efforts gained Winthrop the appreciation and respect of the colonists—but there were other areas in which he swam against the colonial current—notably on the subject of witches.

  Winthrop was a defender of witches.

  It may seem surprising that a Puritan would be (or could be) a defender of witches, but Winthrop was. Between 1647 and 1654, before Winthrop became governor of Connecticut, seven people were convicted of witchcraft and hanged. In 1657 Winthrop became governor, and when four more people were tried as witches, he stepped in and made certain they were acquitted. However, when he was in England securing the royal charter for Connecticut, the arrests of suspected witches began again. Before he got back, six more women had been found guilty and four executed. On his return he nullified the remaining convictions and saw that the victims were safely relocated.

  What's interesting is the reason identified for Winthrop's actions. It wasn't that Winthrop didn't believe in the presence of witches. He believed in witches and magic, but as an alchemist he knew how hard it was to do magic, so most of the charges had to be false.

  Winthrop, with the help of another alchemist, came up with guidelines for distinguishing diabolical magic. These standards prevented persecutions until he died—but shortly thereafter the Salem witch trials commenced, more virulent on the rebound, as malignancies can often be.

  Winthrop had no trouble locating an alchemist to help him develop the guidelines for identifying magic because, in fact, there were quite a few. In the form of governors, Puritan ministers, and physicians, upward of fifty alchemists were operating in New England around the time of Winthrop—and actively seeking the philosophers’ stone and metallic transmutation. Even the administrators of Harvard and Yale Colleges were interested in alchemy. The president of Harvard in 1671, Leonard Hoar, proposed to build an alchemical laboratory in the school. This was too late for Winthrop's friend George Starkey to use it—but Starkey would have been enthralled.

  GEORGE STARKEY

  Born George Stirk in Bermuda in 1628, George Stirk became George Starkey sometime after his father died and he was sent by a guardian to study at Harvard.3 In the course of his studies, he and Winthrop came to know each other as alchemists and Starkey acquired alchemical books and supplies from Winthrop. After Starkey graduated he set up a medical practice in Boston and married. After getting caught in the dragnet surrounding Robert Child, Winthrop's belligerent investor from England, Starkey had his movements curtailed for some period around 1647—which may have been a factor in his decision to move to London in 1650.

  Starkey was not a wealthy man and, by most reports, not a prudent man. He spent time in debtor's prison and was known to drink to excess. He relied on the three Ps: patronage, publication, and products such as perfumes, paints, metals, and medicines. In London, Starkey set up equipment in his rooms and began production of medicines and alchemical experimentation. He became known to the Hartlib circle, probably through introduction by Winthrop, and enjoyed the goodwill of these new friends. To keep their interest, to keep in their circle, he fell back on a tried-and-true device: he began telling them about a mysterious adept he knew who had given him secret knowledge, Eirenaeus Philalethes, and he promised to share what he knew with them.

  For a while, it worked. Interest in the Philalethes (translated as “peaceful lover of truth”4) and his writings kept Starkey in the loop, but Starkey seemed intent on working against himself. He became so difficult it has been suggested he suffered from heavy-metal poisoning, which has irritability as one of its effects. As a result, Starkey was less liked, while his stand-in, Philalethes, became more popular. This strange situation continued to the point where Starkey, the man on the out, was accused of stealing from Philalethes, the man on the in, when they were both one and the same person.

  Figure 19.1. Though he praised John Winthrop's alchemical abilities, Cotton Mather was instrumental in the upsurge in persecutions of witches after Winthrop's death. (Image from Devils, Demons, and Witchcraft, by Ernst Lehner and Johanna Lehner [New York: Dover, 1971].)

  He was dropped from the Hartlib circle. He had a profitable medical practice but began to neglect it for more time at the fires. He disputed with more-moderate physicians who tried for a “Paracelsian compromise”5 between alchemical and Galenic cures. In the end, he challenged other physicians to stay in London during an outbreak of the plague to test their methods. Starkey himself stayed to treat patients, contracted the disease, and died.

  His laboratory notebooks, however, survived and from these careful records it has recently been revealed that Starkey was a brilliant and insightful experimentalist.6 He puzzled over and interpreted recipes from past books, noted what didn't work and what worked, and improved successful methods by careful trials based on an understanding of alchemy. He used Van Helmont's method of tracking weights to analyze the course of reactions. The quality of his work was such that at one time it was mistakenly attributed to Isaac Newton7—and in fact Newton was a follower of Starkey, he just didn't know it. He thought he was following Eirenaeus Philalethes.

  Isaac Newton an alchemist? Yes. In his workrooms with acids, vats, smoke, and fire. Though the notion may seem odd, it wasn't. To make his discoveries in planetary motion, Newton delved into old books of astronomical data; why not delve into old books to learn the secrets of alchemy? In his quest, Newton referenced Philalethes (Starkey) more than any other alchemical writer.8 Not only Newton, but Starkey also strongly influenced another important alchemist living in London at the time: Robert Boyle.

  Boyle's notebooks reveal that he had direct interaction with Starkey and learned recipes and processes from him. Boyle practiced alchemy before Starkey came along, but under Starkey's tutelage he was able to take his skills to a hi
gher level, which we will explore in the next chapter. Here, however, we focus on a common conundrum with which the three men wrestled: the question of elementary composition of matter.

  Starkey, Newton, and Boyle were all believers in the possibility of metallic transmutation—that metals could be broken down into some primary parts and these parts could be rearranged into the desired product—they just didn't know how. Starkey, Newton,9 and Boyle thought Van Helmont might have been on the right track when he talked about corpuscles, the smallest possible particle of which matter might be composed, but the problem was with the words thought and talk. They were at the beginning, the brink, of imagining the makeup of matter. There were arguments whether the particle they looked for was an indivisible “atom,” a more pliable “corpuscle,” or somewhere between, but they had no way of telling because they had no way of catching the will-o’-the-wisp to find out.

  Our current understanding of atoms and molecules is they are far too small and fast to ever be seen. Modern models tell us that if we ever “looked” at an atom, that is, if we bounced visible light off an atom, the atom is so tiny it would be knocked off course. So even though they were enthralled with the new microscopes and the marvelously small things microscopes revealed, the early moderns never would have been able to discover their corpuscles just by looking.

  But they knew there might be a way to indirectly find evidence for corpuscles. At least one way was suggested by the alchemical theorist Daniel Sennert. Robert Boyle thought Sennert's idea was a good idea—a very good idea—so good he claimed it as his own.

  And so, to the alchemical workroom of the Honorable Robert Boyle—round one!

  DEMONSTRATION 19. REDUCTION TO THE PRISTINE STATE

  Daniel Sennert (1572–1637) was primarily a professor of medicine, though he also engaged in alchemical research. His medicine was a combination of Paracelsian and Galenic approaches, but in his alchemy he adhered to the Paracelsian salt, sulfur, and mercury understanding of the makeup of matter. He also put his faith in metallic transmutation, plant signatures, the existence of a plant version of a homunculus, the possibility of witches, and the reality of diabolical magic. But he didn't use magic in medicine, and he based his ideas concerning alchemy on what he observed.

  For instance, Sennert, in the interest of forming a framework on which to base his alchemy, came up with a method for demonstrating the corpuscular nature of matter, and we are going to try his demonstration here.

  Sennert proposed doing the experiment with silver, and Boyle did the experiment with copper. We found gold worked well, and because gold is a bit easier to deal with and see, we are going to use gold here. The idea is to dissolve gold (or silver or copper) in acid, then filter the solution, and reduce the gold back out of solution in the following sequence:

  metal solution back to metal

  The last step is called reduction to the pristine state; that is, you regain the material with which you started. For Sennert, this process showed that gold broke up into pieces small enough to go through a filter but then could be reassembled on the other side of the filter, which he took as evidence of the corpuscular nature of matter.

  Now we know that the gold is actually converted to gold ions, not neutral atoms, and the size of particles that can go through a standard filter is many, many times larger than ions or atoms, but it still makes a nice demonstration of seventeenth-century thought. Besides, you already have your gold solution left over from demonstration 7 sitting on your mantel, waiting for today.

  DISPOSAL

  After this demonstration you will have a fine gold coin to display on your mantel with your other triumphs, but any other solids or solutions you obtain must be kept in sealed containers until you find a recycle center that will take it or a friendly chemist who can manage the proper disposal.

  REDUCTION TO THE PRISTINE STATE

  For this demonstration you need the golden solution from the parting of gold demonstrated in chapter 7. If you skipped that demonstration, why not go back and do it now? We promise the results of that demonstration and this one are quite pleasing. We were pleased!

  Have your golden solution from demonstration 7 in hand? Good. Now make certain your safety glasses are in place and then set up your filtering apparatus as we did in demonstration 7. We know the solution appears clear and we know nothing should be collected in the filter, but filtering was a necessary step needed by Sennert to support his hypothesis. Filter the gold solution.

  While you are waiting for your solution to filter, find your second 1946–1964 US silver dime suggested for purchase in “Stores and Ores” and clean it gently in soap and water. You will also need two small beakers, pH-lowering solution, table salt, saltpeter, and tweezers.

  Put about 20 milliliters pH-lowering solution, one-eighth teaspoon table salt, and one-eighth teaspoon saltpeter in a small beaker and swirl to mix. In your cast-iron skillet, warm this solution for fifteen minutes on a gentle heat, perhaps 40 percent power. Once it has heated for fifteen minutes, remove the beaker and the skillet from the burner and allow it to cool.

  This solution that you've just created is our “blank,” a solution that has none of the ingredients of interest. In this case, the ingredient is gold and we prepared our blank so that we could be certain that any changes in the silver coin were caused by the gold and not just tarnish from the acids and salts.

  Once the blank has cooled, put your dime in the beaker and swirl for thirty seconds. Turn the dime over with a plastic fork or your Teflon tweezers and then swirl for another one-half minute. Lift out your dime, rinse, and dry it.

  Inspect your dime at this point and you should see that it has not perceptively changed.

  Now pour the gold solution from demonstration 7 into your other small beaker. Using tweezers, dip about half of your dime into the solution for about fifteen seconds, but not more.

  And that's all it takes.

  Retrieve your coin, rinse it, and wipe it, and you will see it has gained a golden surface. The gold may not be as shiny as heat-treated gold, but even the duller color is obviously gold. A photo of our silver dime dipped in filtered gold solution is shown on plate 8 in the photo insert.

  Find your citrinated silver dime from demonstration 4 and compare the two. The citrinated dime may have a better color, but the golden dime looks more genuine and would have passed tests for real gold, such as the touchstone test. In the touchstone test for gold, the gold sample was scraped on a special stone, called a touchstone, which goldsmiths knew would make a characteristic mark if the material were gold. In fact, a skilled gold artificer could estimate the amount of gold in a particular alloy by the mark it made on the stone. Geber's citrinated silver would not pass this test, but the gold we just made might.

  The appearance of the gold coating on the silver dime is dark because the gold deposits as finely divided particles rather than a smooth, continuous metal, but Sennert would be satisfied. To him, our demonstration would have confirmed metals can be broken up into pieces small enough to go through a filter and reassembled; therefore, metals must be made up of miniscule corpuscles.

  Sennert made attempts to estimate the size of the corpuscles by noting that alcohol fumes penetrate paper and the same substance will occupy a much larger volume as a gas than as a liquid—and these same types of observations would ultimately lead to mathematically modeled and verifiable estimates of the size of atoms, but that would be two hundred years in the future. In the meantime, other alchemists, including Robert Boyle, found this demonstration consistent with the idea of matter composed of corpuscles.

  In several of his important writings, Boyle described the process of reduction to the pristine state, but he failed to mention Sennert as being the author of the process. This omission on Boyle's part has been made famous as a result of a fascinating analysis by historians Lawrence Principe and William Newman.10

  According to these authors, there is good evidence Boyle read Sennert's description, but they say it is
possible Boyle simply forgot where he got the information. However, they add, Boyle cited Sennert in other contexts, and at one point Boyle seemed to go out of his way to emphasize he didn't know of anyone else trying the procedure, which they say weakens the poor memory argument. Principe and Newman add the caution that there was precedent for copying recipes, and it was a common-enough practice in the age. John Dee, a friend of ours from chapter 11, lent his copy of an alchemical work to John Winthrop (the younger) in which he wrote on the title page “He learned to form these new characters from my Monas Hieroglyphica, without so much as a by your leave or any acknowledgement.”11

  So either Boyle had a short memory, or he followed the less rigorous standards of the day, or, perhaps, he tried to distance himself from a perceived archaic past. After all, Sennert feared witches, but Boyle's friend Winthrop did not, and Starkey railed against practitioners of the Paracelsian compromise, which Sennert espoused. Perhaps…yet Principe and Newman note Boyle also reported a reaction of Starkey's as his own: the cooling effect of sal ammoniac in water.12 Certainly enough forgetfulness to go around.

  You can do a quick-and-dirty demonstration of the effect yourself (as long as you wear safety glasses). Put about a quarter cup (60 milliliters) of distilled water in an Erlenmeyer flask and then add about a tablespoon (15 milliliters) of ammonium chloride. Swirl the flask and feel the exterior.

  Pretty cool, huh? Starkey thought so.

  The leftover solution can be rinsed down the drain.

  Nonetheless, we do not want to leave the impression that Boyle was not an original experimentalist. Below we present a couple of Boyle's reproducible observations13 that, as far as we know, were trials he decided to do on his own inspiration, for the information and the joy of experiment.

  For these demonstrations you will need steel wool, fine copper wire, pH-lowering solution, saltpeter (sodium nitrate), table salt, baking soda, a rubber band, and flexible plastic wrap or a plastic sandwich bag. You will also need your cast-iron skillet and you will need work gloves to tear off your pinches of steel wool.