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Santa Claus experiments with electricity

The shocking history of capacitors

During the festive season, there is time for longreads. We, therefore, want to offer a text that goes beyond what we usually write here on the blog but is not entirely unrelated to what Smoltek does. This is the story of the origin of the capacitor. Happy reading!

Like all capac­i­tors, ours orig­i­nates from the Ley­den jar, a glass bot­tle that can store elec­tri­cal charge. Ewald Georg von Kleist was the first to expe­ri­ence this abil­i­ty when he received a severe elec­tric shock in Octo­ber 1745. Pieter van Muss­chen­broek fol­lowed suit when he repeat­ed the exper­i­ment a few months lat­er, in Jan­u­ary 1746. This is the sto­ry about their shock­ing dis­cov­ery and the ear­ly devel­op­ment of the capac­i­tor – a  ground­break­ing com­po­nent that is ubiq­ui­tous in today’s electronics.

If you pre­fer to lis­ten, you can click the play but­ton below to hear the arti­cle read aloud.

The early history of electricity

The first known obser­va­tion of what we now call sta­t­ic elec­tric­i­ty was made by the Greek philoso­pher Thales of Mile­tus in 600 BC. He not­ed that amber, when rubbed against cloth, attracts light objects such as hairs. But it took more than two thou­sand years before any­one set out to explore this force.

Sir William Gilbert’s mag­num opus – De Mag­nete,  pub­lished in 1600 – con­tains some of the ear­li­est sys­tem­at­ic stud­ies of elec­tric­i­ty. He observed that sub­stances like glass, sul­fur, and dia­mond exhib­it­ed the same attrac­tion prop­er­ty as amber when rubbed. He called this an elec­tric force. The name is derived from the Greek word for amber.

Six decades lat­er, Otto von Guer­icke invent­ed a sim­ple machine to gen­er­ate sta­t­ic elec­tric­i­ty. His elec­tro­sta­t­ic gen­er­a­tor con­sist­ed of a ball of sul­fur cast on an iron axle, which, when pulled around and sub­ject­ed to fric­tion, gave off elec­tric charges, which man­i­fest­ed them­selves in sparks.

In 1705, Fran­cis Hauks­bee cre­at­ed an improved elec­tro­sta­t­ic gen­er­a­tor. It con­sists of a crank that rotates a large wheel from which a belt runs to a small­er wheel attached to an axle through a glass ball.

At the begin­ning of the 1730s, Charles François de Cis­ter­nay du Fay, also known as just Dufay, dis­cov­ered the exis­tence of two types of elec­tri­cal charges. He named them vit­re­ous and resinous after the mate­r­i­al he used to pro­duce them (glass and resin), but we call them pos­i­tive and neg­a­tive. Du Fay also noticed that two of the same repel and two of the oppo­site attract each oth­er. More­over, he dif­fer­en­ti­at­ed mate­ri­als in electrics and non-electrics, which are sim­i­lar but not iden­ti­cal to what we today call con­duc­tors and insu­la­tors.

Copper engraving showing a man cranking a large wheel that transmits the motion to an axle with a glass ball that is held by a pair of hands.
Fran­cis Hauksbee’s elec­tro­sta­t­ic generator.

Igniting alcohol

In the fall of 1745, things sparked the explo­ration of electricity.

First up was Matthias Bose, who makes a name for him­self as a flam­boy­ant demon­stra­tor of exper­i­ments with sta­t­ic elec­tric­i­ty. In one of his most famous tricks, he ignites alco­hol float­ing on top of the water by gen­er­at­ing sta­t­ic elec­tric­i­ty, which he con­ducts through a met­al bar to the water.

His main con­tri­bu­tion to this sto­ry is the use of the met­al bar. He hung it hor­i­zon­tal­ly with one end above the Hauksbee’s rotat­ing glass ball. If the dis­tance is not too great, or if a met­al chain hangs from the met­al bar down to the glass ball with­out touch­ing it, the met­al bar will cap­ture sta­t­ic elec­tric­i­ty that can then be trans­ferred to some­thing else. In Bose’s show, it was the water with alco­hol on the surface.

Zap!

Next up was Ewald Georg von Kleist. Inspired by Bose’s met­al bar, he tried to prove that elec­tric­i­ty can be under­stood as a fluid.

On Octo­ber 11, 1745, he filled a small med­i­cine bot­tle with alco­hol and closed it with a cork through which a nail was insert­ed. He then used a met­al bar to trans­fer sta­t­ic elec­tric­i­ty from an elec­tro­sta­t­ic gen­er­a­tor to the nail. In this way, he imag­ined that sta­t­ic elec­tric­i­ty was poured into the alcohol.

Von Kleist knew that the glass is an insu­la­tor. There­fore, he was con­vinced that sta­t­ic elec­tric­i­ty could be “cap­tured” and retained in the bottle.

He acci­den­tal­ly touched the nail.

Zap!

He was thrown across the room.

Von Kleist had received a strong elec­tric shock, prov­ing that he had cap­tured elec­tric­i­ty in the bot­tle (but not in the way he thought). In fact, he had cre­at­ed the world’s first capacitor.

Disappointments

Von Kleist wrote about his exper­i­ment to sev­er­al oth­er elec­tri­cal exper­i­men­tal­ists. Some want­ed to try it themselves.

Warned by Von Kleist’s exam­ple, they kept their dis­tance when the exper­i­ment was repeat­ed. This proved unnec­es­sary, as the exper­i­ments failed, and noth­ing happened.

What a disappointment.

Amateur night

Von Kleist didn’t write to Anderas Cunaeus, a lawyer and ama­teur sci­en­tist. Yet Cunaeus came up with some­thing strik­ing­ly sim­i­lar. Maybe he had heard about Von Kleist’s exper­i­ment. Or not. Nev­er­the­less, he did a sim­i­lar exper­i­ment with house­hold items at his home.

The result?

Zap!

Cunaeus was out for two full days.

Leiden University, anno Domini 1746

It is a cold evening in Jan­u­ary 1746. Snow is falling thick­ly in the court­yard of Lei­den Uni­ver­si­ty – the old­est in the Nether­lands. A few tardy stu­dents are cross­ing the court­yard from a lec­ture hall to the evening’s sup­per. They pass by the lab­o­ra­to­ry win­dow of Pieter van Musschenbroek.

Pro­fes­sor van Muss­chen­broek stands at the win­dow, think­ing of his friend, the lawyer Anderas Cunaeus, who has done what pro­fes­sion­als have failed to do – recre­ate von Kleist’s exper­i­ment from three months ago. Now, he will try to repeat the exper­i­ment himself.

He adjusts the chain so that its free end comes as close as pos­si­ble to the glass ball with­out touch­ing it.

Mean­while, one of his dis­ci­ples hangs a met­al wire over the oth­er end of the met­al rod. He then fills a glass jar with water.

They are now ready for the experiment.

Setting up the experiment

While one of the stu­dents cranks the wheels of the elec­tro­sta­t­ic gen­er­a­tor, Pro­fes­sor van Muss­chen­broek takes the water-filled glass jar with his bare hands and holds it up so that the met­al wire is low­ered into the water.

Anoth­er stu­dent now takes clothes in his hands and holds them against the rotat­ing glass ball. The fric­tion between the glass and the cloths cre­ates sta­t­ic elec­tric­i­ty, pass­ing to the met­al bar through the met­al chain and fur­ther to the water through the met­al wire.

While stand­ing there, he thinks about Bose. He may be an assid­u­ous self-pro­mot­er, but stor­ing and trans­fer­ring sta­t­ic elec­tric­i­ty with a met­al bar was pret­ty clever.

Kopparstick som visar van Musschenbroek setup.
The exper­i­ment set­up used by Pro­fes­sor van Musschenbroek.

Prove up

It’s time for the exper­i­ment itself. Pro­fes­sor van Muss­chen­broek reach­es out with his left hand to the met­al wire hang­ing into the glass jar he holds in his bare right hand.

Zap!

Never try again

On Jan­u­ary 20, 1746, Pro­fes­sor Muss­chen­broek wrote to his des­ig­nat­ed con­tact at the Paris Acad­e­my and told him about the exper­i­ment. He began his letter:

I would like to tell you about a new but ter­ri­ble exper­i­ment, which I advise you nev­er to try your­self, nor would I, who have expe­ri­enced it and sur­vived by the grace of God, do it again for all the king­dom of France.

Pieter van Muss­chen­broek, Jan­u­ary 20, 1746

Abbé Jean-Antoine Nol­let con­firmed the exper­i­ment and then read Musschenbroek’s let­ter at a pub­lic meet­ing of the Paris Acad­e­my in April 1746. He named the elec­tri­cal stor­age device Ley­den jar, after Pro­fes­sor Musschenbroek’s university.

Grounded

Pro­fes­sor van Muss­chen­broek real­ized that a con­di­tion for the exper­i­ment to suc­ceed was that there was a con­duc­tor con­nect­ed to earth on the out­side of the glass jar.

In the cas­es of von Kleist, Cunaeus, and him­self, they were the con­duc­tor to earth, as they held the glass jar with their bare hands.

Those who failed had put down the glass bot­tle for fear of an elec­tric kiss. (In all hon­esty, they fol­lowed the best prac­tices of their time and delib­er­ate­ly ensured that the glass jar was not grounded).

The novelty is spreading

The Ley­den jar did not only shock Muss­chen­broek. Soci­ety was also shocked – both lit­er­al­ly and figuratively.

Self-pro­claimed “elec­tri­cians” held pub­lic demon­stra­tions where they gave sparkling shows and jolt­ed their audi­ence. Nat­ur­al philoso­phers elec­tro­cut­ed ani­mals to bet­ter under­stand this new force. Physi­cians applied elec­tric shocks to humans to cure var­i­ous ail­ments. And tech­nol­o­gists sent charges through wires over rivers and lakes to fig­ure out what it could be used for.

The news of Ley­den jar’s abil­i­ty to store elec­tri­cal charge made its way across the pond to what, for a few more years, would only be referred to as the Amer­i­can Colonies. There, Ben­jamin Franklin exper­i­ment­ed with Ley­den jars.

Is water necessary?

It is 1748, and we are at the home of Ben­jamin Franklin in Philadel­phia. He has just filled a Ley­den jar with charge and put it on a glass insulator.

With a look of deter­mi­na­tion, he begins his experiment.

Franklin pulls out the cork of the jar and lifts it with the wire through it. He grasps the bot­tle with one hand, and brings a fin­ger of the oth­er hand near its mouth. A strong spark comes from the water, as painful as if he had touched the wire before remov­ing it. It con­vinces Franklin that the elec­tric charge is not in the wire. It is still in the jar.

He pours water from the charged jar into an emp­ty sec­ond jar. The sec­ond jar shows no sign of elec­tric charge. Thus, the elec­tric charge must remain in the now emp­ty first jar.

“What the frock!” Franklin exclaims.

He reach­es for the teapot con­tain­ing fresh, unelec­tri­fied water and pours new water into the first jar. Test­ing it again, he finds it still capa­ble of giv­ing him a jolt.

He lat­er writes:

Thus the whole Force of the Bot­tle and Pow­er of giv­ing a Shock, is in the Glass itself; the Non-electrics in Con­tact with the two Sur­faces serv­ing only to give and receive to and from the sev­er­al Parts of the Glass; that is, to give on one Side, and take away from the other.

Ben­jamin Franklin

Does the shape matter?

Franklin now asked whether the shape of the jar is cru­cial to its abil­i­ty to store charge.

He took a piece of win­dow glass and put it in his hand to test this. On top of it, he then puts a plate of lead that he had electrified.

Now comes the test itself: He puts a fin­ger to the plate. Zap! There was a spark and shock. In oth­er words, the shape doesn’t matter.

Where is the charge stored?

But where is the charge stored? On the glass? Or on the hand and the lead plate in con­tact with the glass?

Franklin placed a piece of win­dow glass between two lead plates to find out. The whole stack rests in his hand while he elec­tri­fies the top plate.

He then sep­a­rates the parts. The glass plate gave off tiny sting­ing sparks when he touched it. He could feel this in many places on the glass sur­face. He also notes that there are no charges in the lead plates. Final­ly, he returned the glass between the lead plates.

Now, the moment of truth: Franklin grabs both lead plates. Zap! A strong jolt showed that the charge was still there.

From this exper­i­ment, Franklin con­cludes that the elec­tric charge was on the glass and that the lead plates only served to bring the charge to or from its surface.

Not first

Franklin was not the first to dis­cov­er that water is unnec­es­sary and a glass plate works just as well as a glass jar to hold a charge. John Bevis had already demon­strat­ed this in the same year. How­ev­er, Franklin did not find out until later.

But unlike Bevis, who thought that the charge was in the met­al in touch with the glass plate, Franklin proved that the charge is actu­al­ly on the sur­face of the glass.

Positive is lack of negative

More­over, Franklin also fig­ured out that there are not two types of charges, as du Fay had stat­ed almost two decades ear­li­er, but only one charge: the neg­a­tive one. A pos­i­tive charge aris­es when a neg­a­tive charge is removed.

In oth­er words, instead of see­ing pos­i­tive and neg­a­tive as two sep­a­rate enti­ties, Franklin viewed them as two states: the pres­ence of a neg­a­tive charge and the absence of it.

With these insights, gained just a few years after the dis­cov­ery of the Ley­den jar, it was now pos­si­ble to explain what hap­pened on that snowy win­ter evening when Pro­fes­sor van Muss­chen­broek had him­self electrified.

No escape

The fric­tion against the glass ball gen­er­ates pos­i­tive charges. These are passed through the chain, bar, and wire into the water.

Since equal charges repel each oth­er, the pos­i­tive charges are pushed against the inside of the wall of the glass jar. Since the glass is an insu­la­tor, the charges can­not escape the jar.

Redistribution

But the force with which charges repel equal charges and attract oppo­site charges isn’t stopped by an insu­la­tor. There­fore, the pos­i­tive charges inside the glass jar repel neg­a­tive pos­i­tive out­side the glass and attract neg­a­tive charges.

In its nat­ur­al state, the glass’s exte­ri­or has an equal mix of pos­i­tive and neg­a­tive charges. How­ev­er, the pos­i­tive charges inside the glass repel the exter­nal pos­i­tive charges, redis­trib­ut­ing them away from the sur­face while attract­ing neg­a­tive charges clos­er, con­cen­trat­ing them.

This process requires a ground path for the dis­placed pos­i­tive charges. This is where the hand becomes cru­cial, act­ing as a con­duc­tor to com­plete the cir­cuit and allow these charges to reach the ground through the experimentalist’s body.

Storage

As the pos­i­tive charges in the jar grow, so does the resis­tance that new­ly added pos­i­tive charges must over­come. Even­tu­al­ly, the jar reach­es its max­i­mum charge capac­i­ty. There are a large num­ber of pos­i­tive charges on the inside of the glass and an equal num­ber of neg­a­tive charges on the out­side of the glass.

The charges remain as long as there is no way for the pos­i­tive charges to get to the neg­a­tive ones. So you could say that von Kleist was right – the jar stores charge, but not in the liq­uid, as he thought, but on the out­side and inside of the jar.

But as soon as there is an oppor­tu­ni­ty for the pos­i­tive charges to get to the neg­a­tive ones, they will take it. This is what hap­pened to von Kleist, Cunaeus, and Pro­fes­sor van Muss­chen­broek when they touched the nail or chain that was in con­tact with the water when they held the jar. The pos­i­tive charges rushed through their poor bod­ies – from the hand touch­ing the nail or chain to the hand hold­ing the jar. Zap!

Caveat

The above is a mod­ern descrip­tion of how a Ley­den jar works, using knowl­edge from the mid-18th cen­tu­ry. It is a sim­pli­fied view of, in par­tic­u­lar, what hap­pens on the sur­face and inside the glass wall.

It wasn’t until the 1910s that sci­en­tists had the knowl­edge to under­stand what hap­pens at the sub­atom­ic lev­el. It’s pret­ty damn inter­est­ing stuff, and the sto­ry lead­ing up to it is at least as excit­ing as the one we’ve heard so far. But telling this sto­ry would take us on too many wind­ing side roads, and dwelling on the capacitor’s inner work­ings is anoth­er arti­cle, so let’s fast-for­ward the time­line to the begin­ning of the 20th century.

Fast forward

Did you see what I just did? I used the word capac­i­tor in the con­text of the Ley­den jar. That’s because a Ley­den jar is actu­al­ly a capac­i­tor. That makes von Kleist’s med­i­cine bot­tle the very first ever made.

Fur­ther­more, when Franklin put met­al on both sides of a piece of win­dow glass, he cre­at­ed the world’s first par­al­lel plate capac­i­tor.

In fact, two par­al­lel plates insu­lat­ed from each oth­er are the very essence of a capac­i­tor. The insu­la­tion does not need to be made with glass. It can be vac­u­um, air, or any mate­r­i­al that doesn’t allow charges to move across the gap between the two plates.

Some iso­la­tors, like glass, have the prop­er­ty that they increase the abil­i­ty of the capac­i­tor to store charge thanks to a phe­nom­e­non called polar­iza­tion (sub­ject of anoth­er arti­cle). Such an iso­la­tor is called a dielec­tric.

All this began to be under­stood in the 19th cen­tu­ry and led to the first mod­ern capacitor.

Birth of the modern capacitor

The Ley­den jar is a high-volt­age capac­i­tor. With the devel­op­ment of teleg­ra­phy, tele­phones, and radio in the late 19th cen­tu­ry, there was a need for small­er capac­i­tors for low­er volt­ages. This accel­er­at­ed the pace of innovation.

The first mod­ern capac­i­tor was devel­oped by D. G. Fitzger­ald. It con­sist­ed of met­al foil with impreg­nat­ed paper as a dielec­tric. He patent­ed the solu­tion in 1876. Paper capac­i­tors, as they came to be known, were fur­ther devel­oped and wide­ly used through­out the 1950s when plas­tic film capac­i­tors began to appear.

Variety of capacitors

The first paper capac­i­tors were fol­lowed by a for­mi­da­ble explo­sion of dif­fer­ent types of capacitors:

  • vari­eties of elec­trolyt­ic capac­i­tors, where one plate is replaced by an elec­trolyte, includ­ing tan­ta­lum capac­i­tors and nio­bi­um capacitors
  • mica capac­i­tors with mica as the dielectric
  • ceram­ic capac­i­tors with a ceram­ic mate­r­i­al as dielec­tric, includ­ing  ceram­ic disc capac­i­tors and mul­ti­lay­er ceram­ic chip (MLCC)  capacitors
  • film capac­i­tor with plas­tic film as dielec­tric, includ­ing PET-capac­i­tors and PTFE-capac­i­tors

Capacitors for the future

Cur­rent and future demands for extreme minia­tur­iza­tion or for ultra-reli­able and ultra-sta­ble ser­vice result in the devel­op­ment of new types of capacitors.

Inte­grat­ed capac­i­tors are capac­i­tors formed by appro­pri­ate met­al­liza­tion pat­terns on an iso­lat­ing sub­strate. These include met­al-oxide-met­al (MOM) capac­i­tors, met­al-oxide-semi­con­duc­tor (MOS) capac­i­tors, and met­al-insu­la­tor-met­al (MIM) capac­i­tors. Despite the name of these types of capac­i­tors, they can be encap­su­lat­ed and sold as reg­u­lar, although very tiny, capac­i­tors. Some­times, they are also called sil­i­con capac­i­tors since the sub­strate is usu­al­ly sil­i­con. Sil­i­con com­pounds can also be used as dielectrics.

Deep trench capac­i­tors (DTCs) are cre­at­ed on a semi­con­duc­tor sub­strate by cre­at­ing deep recess­es, called trench­es, to max­i­mize the sur­face area and capac­i­tance in a small foot­print. DTCs are also known as trench sil­i­con capac­i­tors (TSC) and sil­i­con capac­i­tors (SiCap).

Glass capac­i­tors are mod­ern Ley­den jars. They con­sist of mul­ti­ple lay­ers of met­al inter­twined with glass, sim­i­lar to how MLCCs are built. They are used in the most extreme sit­u­a­tions. Glass capac­i­tors are the most durable capac­i­tors in all respects. For exam­ple, they can with­stand high dos­es of nuclear radi­a­tion and strong neu­tron radiation.

Note that the term sil­i­con capac­i­tors can be used for both inte­grat­ed capac­i­tors and deep trench capac­i­tors. Quite confusing.

CNF-MIM capacitors

Of course, we can’t write an arti­cle with­out talk­ing about our car­bon nanofiber fiber met­al-insu­la­tor-met­al (CNF-MIM) capacitor.

With­out going into detail, we can say that CNF-MIM capac­i­tors are pro­duced in much the same way as the inte­grat­ed capac­i­tors of the MIM type. You might have guessed this by the name.

How­ev­er, they dif­fer from MIM capac­i­tors in one fun­da­men­tal way where CNF-MIM capac­i­tors are more sim­i­lar to DTC. Both DTC and CNF-MIM capac­i­tors use nan­otech­nol­o­gy to increase the sur­face area. This is impor­tant because the abil­i­ty to store charges is direct­ly pro­por­tion­al to the area.

But the area can only increase so much for DTC; the sky’s the lim­it for CNF-MIM capac­i­tors (almost lit­er­al­ly). DTCs have trench­es that are lim­it­ed how deep they can go before the sub­strate becomes too brit­tle and breaks. CNF-MIM capac­i­tors, on the oth­er hand, build car­bon nanofibers on top of the substrate.

Humbling perspective

Pieter van Muss­chen­broek was not the first to dis­cov­er the Ley­den jar. Still, he was the one who made it known and sparked a flur­ry of research into the nature of elec­tric­i­ty. Elec­tric­i­ty was stud­ied fran­ti­cal­ly for the next hun­dred and six­ty years or so. It’s an incred­i­bly fas­ci­nat­ing sto­ry, but since we’re approach­ing this article’s end, we’ll leave it at that.

Fast for­ward to today, Smoltek is dri­ving the devel­op­ment of suc­ces­sors to the Ley­den jar. The his­tor­i­cal per­spec­tive makes us feel hum­ble. Sure, our CNF-MIM tech­nol­o­gy is a big step for­ward for capac­i­tors, but it has been pre­ced­ed by oth­er, more essen­tial steps made by oth­ers before us. We feel hap­py to be a small link at the end of this 275-year-long chain of dis­cov­ery and development.

Zap!

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