Denis Papin,
22nd August, 1647.
The Roman writer Gaius Plinius Caecilius Secundus, known to the world as Pliny the Younger, was a bit of a loafer. Fair enough, he was stinking rich and he could afford to cavort around his exquisite seaside villa at Laurentum not doing much, but if you read some of his writing, particularly Letters, Book IX.36, Pliny is quite happy to take us on a Roman gentleman’s daily round, which consists of getting up, and then sitting down again.
The thing I have always found intriguing about the Roman writers of this time is how much they value things that we would now see as rather wasteful. Read a description of Pliny’s day and it lacks any sort of physical toil and modern eyes see that as the prerogative of the rich. We see his life as the pursuit of the ‘finer’ things and he certainly isn’t getting his hands dirty. In accordance we see his life as somehow less honest than some bloke who is building a wall or is digging a hole. As if he’s cheating, really.
This view of what it means to contribute in a healthy and productive way to society is relatively modern. It comes along with the Industrial Revolution and brings out folk-memories of ham-armed yokels pounding mountains of slag into submission through honest-to-God toil. It’s all very Protestant and all a bit, well, fake.
Sure, you need people to beat coal mines into submission, but you also need thinkers. And thinkers are always seen as fundamentally less trustworthy than doers. In reality of course, you need both and society has always needed both. But were you to suggest that we give, say a $300 a week welfare check to two separate people, one of whom was charged with simply digging a hole in a field, for no reason whatsoever and the other was given the task of sitting on a deckchair next to the sea and coming up with brilliant ideas that could change the world, old Deckchair Boy would be lynched as being a lazy fucker within ten minutes and Hole Man would become a local celebrity and have beer bought for him by the gallon. Everyone would rather give Hole Man 300 bucks a week simply because he was at least doing something physical.
In that situation, who is really contributing more to society?
We didn’t always think this way. Under FDR’s New Deal, new jobs were invented out of fresh air that were dependent on what people could actually do rather than what people thought they should be doing. Now, sour faced right-wingers would insist that anyone getting a government handout should be breaking rocks for no reason whatsoever rather than getting the same amount of money for painting murals. But society is a brighter and nicer place when we paint murals on it. Humans have been painting on walls for 70,000 years. Society has never become better by men breaking rocks for no reason. In the New Deal, the US government gave money to artists like Jackson Pollack to go about the place and paint shit, because (whatever you think of him), that’s what he could actually do. They could have given him the same money to chop wood into matchsticks, but there were other men who were good at that. Musicians weren’t sent out to pave roads in return for a government job, they were told to form orchestras and put on free concerts for the people. People were celebrated for what they could do and rewarded for it. It’s hardly surprising that within a decade or two America went from being a Depression Era hellhole to the Greatest Nation on Earth©. By celebrating what people could do, not by ignoring what they could do.
What some people can do is think.
At some point, we seem to have decided to treat thinkers with narrow-eyed suspicion, perhaps reckoning that they’re just doing nothing at all and pulling the wool over our eyes. But without them, the modern world would be a radically different place.
Pliny describes the start of his day:
”I rise when I please, generally at the first hour, often earlier, but seldom later” - so he’s up at the crack of sparrows, the lad - “The windows remain closed; for I am wonderfully removed by the silence and darkness from the things which distract me and I am free and left to myself to begin the most important part of my work… This is when I do my thinking”
The actual act of thinking is something he takes pride in. Thinking is his job. Even now, I myself read this and think ‘you lazy bastard’, but to him, this isn’t laziness, this is what he is best at. He’s no good at digging a hole in a field. His muscles are all in his head.
And through the Enlightenment and the Renaissance, it was the blokes who sat down, put their head in their hands and then went “BRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTT” with their minds who lifted us into the science age. Pliny wasn’t a lazy bastard, he worked as hard as he could with the best tool he had.
He was also a bit of a lazy bastard, but that’s another story.
The 17th Century spat out all sorts of quasi-maniacal thinkers, like Newton, who was part genius, part wizard, all bonkers. Another one of them was today’s birthday bastard, French polymath Denis Papin.
Denis Papin, born on August 22, 1647, in the small town of Blois, France, was a physicist, mathematician, and inventor whose work was integral in setting the stage for the industrial age. His life, though marked by both intellectual brilliance and personal struggle, helped shape a technological revolution that transformed the modern world. Although he is often overshadowed by better-known figures, Papin’s inventions and ideas—especially in the realm of steam technology—provided the foundation for advancements in energy, engineering, and transportation.
Papin’s early education began in medicine, and he earned his medical degree at the University of Angers. Yet, even as a young student, Papin was captivated not just by the human body, but by the mechanical universe around him. His medical studies gave him a methodical approach to problem-solving, but it was in physics and engineering where his interests truly lay. Seeking to expand his knowledge and gain experience, he moved to Paris, where he had the opportunity to work under Christiaan Huygens, one of the most respected scientists in Europe.
Working with Huygens was a transformative experience for Papin. Under Huygens’ guidance, Papin was involved in pioneering experiments, particularly those focusing on air pumps and the behavior of gases under varying conditions. These experiments were crucial in developing the understanding of vacuum and pressure—concepts that would play a central role in Papin’s later inventions. More importantly, his time with Huygens allowed him to hone his skills in both theoretical physics and practical mechanics.
Papin’s promising career in France was disrupted by the religious turmoil of the time. As a Huguenot, Papin faced increasing pressure as religious tensions in France escalated. The revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685, which stripped Huguenots of their rights and protection, was a turning point for many Protestants. However, Papin had already left France by 1675, seeking refuge from the growing hostility. He relocated to London, where he found a new intellectual home in the Royal Society, an institution committed to promoting scientific inquiry.
In London, Papin became an associate of Robert Boyle, a scientist whose work on gases had a profound influence on the understanding of air pressure and volume. Collaborating with Boyle provided Papin with both inspiration and support. It was during this time that Papin developed one of his most significant inventions: the “Papin Digester.” Invented in 1680, the Digester was essentially an early pressure cooker. While its immediate use was for cooking food quickly by using steam pressure, the device was revolutionary because it provided insights into the relationship between pressure and temperature. The Digester was also equipped with a safety valve, an ingenious solution to prevent explosions caused by excessive pressure—a feature that would prove critical in later steam engines.
Although the Digester was primarily marketed as a kitchen appliance, its real significance lay in the principles it demonstrated. Papin had shown how steam could be harnessed and controlled—a breakthrough that pointed the way to far greater applications. This invention laid the groundwork for later steam engines, which would drive the machinery of the Industrial Revolution. However, despite the success of the Digester, Papin struggled to find consistent financial backing, a problem that would haunt him throughout his career.
Papin’s curiosity extended beyond cooking devices. His vision was broad and forward-looking, encompassing applications of steam power far beyond the kitchen. In 1681, he left London to become the director of experiments at the Accademia Publica di Scienze in Venice. This academy, inspired by the Royal Society, sought to promote scientific exchange in Italy. Papin’s role involved leading experiments and organizing scientific demonstrations. However, financial instability plagued the academy, and after a few years, Papin found himself once again seeking new opportunities.
In 1684, Papin returned to London, resuming his work with the Royal Society. During this period, he proposed one of his most ambitious ideas: a steam-powered ship. He envisioned steam being used to drive paddles, which would in turn propel a vessel. Although this concept was ahead of its time and ultimately never realized during his life, it foreshadowed the steamships that would revolutionize global transport in the next century. Papin’s vision highlighted his ability to see the potential of technology far beyond its immediate applications, a hallmark of his inventive genius.
In 1687, Papin was offered a professorship in mathematics at the University of Marburg in Germany, where he continued his scientific endeavors. The move to Marburg was both an opportunity and a challenge. While he had more freedom to pursue his research, Papin found himself isolated from the more prominent scientific communities in England and France. Additionally, he encountered resistance from colleagues who were skeptical of his ideas. Despite these difficulties, Papin persisted in his work, focusing on designs for steam-powered machinery, including water pumps and early atmospheric engines.
Papin’s time in Marburg was marked by some significant advances, particularly in the field of steam technology. His experiments with pistons and steam pressure directly influenced later developments in steam engines. Thomas Newcomen’s atmospheric engine, often credited as the first practical steam engine, was in many ways a continuation of Papin’s work. Newcomen’s engine, and later James Watt’s enhancements, would become central to the Industrial Revolution. Although Papin never achieved the widespread recognition that these later inventors did, his contributions were essential stepping stones in the history of steam power.
Despite his successes, Papin’s career was fraught with difficulties. His financial troubles persisted, and he struggled to secure consistent patronage or institutional support. Personal challenges also added to his burdens. His marriage to his cousin, Marie Papin, was delayed due to local religious objections, and even after it was allowed to proceed, his life remained marked by uncertainty and instability.
By 1707, Papin, weary from years of struggle, decided to return to London in the hopes of reconnecting with the scientific community there. However, much had changed in his absence. The Royal Society, once a source of support, had moved on to new priorities, and many of the connections that had previously aided him were no longer available. Papin spent his final years in relative obscurity and poverty, a tragic end for someone whose work had such far-reaching consequences.
Denis Papin’s death, likely around 1713, was a quiet and unnoticed affair. He passed away in circumstances that remain unclear, his final days marked by the same financial difficulties and neglect that had characterized much of his career. Yet, despite the hardships he faced, Papin’s legacy endured. His pioneering work in steam technology and pressure-based mechanics was instrumental in the development of devices that would power factories, ships, and railways during the Industrial Revolution. Although history may have relegated him to a lesser status compared to figures like Watt or Newcomen, Papin’s contributions were foundational.
Papin’s life story is a reminder of the difficulties that many early inventors and scientists faced. He was a visionary, often ahead of his time, whose ideas were not fully appreciated during his life. The world he envisioned—a world powered by steam—did eventually come to fruition, but it was others who would reap the rewards of his pioneering work. Papin’s inventions, particularly his Digester and the concepts of steam-driven machinery, have left an indelible mark on the history of technology.
Denis Papin may not have achieved fame or fortune during his lifetime, but his legacy lives on in the machines that shaped modern industry. His life serves as a testament to the power of perseverance and the importance of pursuing ideas even in the face of adversity. The steam engines, turbines, and vessels that transformed the world owe much to the quiet ingenuity of a man who, despite all obstacles, never stopped envisioning a better, more mechanized future.
Papin’s final resting place was lost to time, as was his fate. An archive from the Royal Society records a desperate letter dated 1712 - "I am in a sad case". He was believed to have died penniless and been buried in an unmarked grave.
However, in 2016, a record was found that states that Denys Papin was buried at St Bride's Church, Fleet Street, London on 26 August 1713 – just a few days after his 66th birthday.
St Bride’s Church is where, in the 1580s, Eleanor White married Ananias Dare before they set off across the Atlantic to settle at the Roanoke Colony. There they had a daughter, Virginia, the first ‘English’ child born in America.
A memorial to Denis Papin now stands at the western entrance to the church.
Happy thinking!