In one sense, Benjamin Franklin ultimately can trust nothing and no one. 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. 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.