You can't get something from nothing.
Despite the popularity of this well-known adage, the dream of perpetual motion, i.e., building machines that could produce more usable energy than you put into them, people have a tendency to pay attention (albeit with some skepticism). During the early 18th century, for example, Johann Bessler, a.k.a., "Orffyreus", shot to fame across much of Europe with his claims to have invented several "self-moving wheels" that seemed to keep working without any external force applied. Despite testimonials from various notables, including Gottfried Leibnitz and Joseph Bernoulli, Bessler's refusal to explain how his wheel worked (along with his habit of smashing his creations to keep them from being analysed) caused him to fade into obscurity. Ironically, while the modern consensus is that Bessler's wheels were fakes, nobody is quite sure how he did it.
But that's hardly the case with a more recent example. In 1812, a Philadelphia inventor named Charles Redheffer quickly gained fame and fortune by exhibiting his own version of a perpetual motion machine and charging hefty fees for anyone who wanted to see it. While the principles of thermodynamics had yet to be formulated, there was already enough scientific consensus about the impossibility of such devices that most newspapers were skeptical of Redheffer's claims. Certainly Thomas Jefferson, who had recently stepped down from his position as President of the United States, publicly stated that Redheffer "seems to be reaping a rich harvest from the public deception."
While few scientists took up Redheffer's offer to have them come in and see for themselves that there was no trickery involved, this overconfidence would be his undoing. After appearing before the Pennsylvania Legislature and asking for the princely sum of $1000 to perfect his discovery, the politicians were naturally skeptical. After much pleading and deliberation, the officials finally agreed to have Redheffer's discovery be independently assessed by a team of scientists they would appoint.
Unfortunately for Redheffer, this committee decided to test his claim by dropping into his Lancaster workshop unannounced. After finding the door locked and with no sign of the inventor around, they decided to break a window to see what could be spotted inside. One of the more athletic committee members stood on another member's shoulders as he peered inside the small window that he broke. Though he saw Redheffer's device from a distance, there was no way to get any closer. Exercising some Yankee ingenuity, he borrowed the glasses of several of the other committee members and used them to fashion a makeshift set of binoculars to study the machine in greater detail. Based on the lack of wear on some of the wooden cogs (which had supposedly been kept running at all times), the committee members agreed that the device couldn't work the way its inventor had claimed.
After making a rough sketch of what they saw, the visitors were preparing to leave when spotted a young boy lurking around the outside of the workshop. After stopping him for questioning, the boy agreed to talk about his job in the workshop in exchange for some money. He admitted that his main job was to operate a crank from underneath the floor to make the engine run. When the committee made their report to the Legislature, Redheffer fought back with a rather nasty letter which was published in local newspapers. The letter basically accused the committee head, Henry Voight, of giving a fake report to force Redheffer to reveal how his invention worked so that Voight could steal the idea. Redheffer also added that he "strong in conscious integrity, repels the foul reproach cast upon him by the committee as an infamous piece of calumny. It is the committee who have impardonably descended to state an absolute falsehood who have been guilty of deception." He did offer to display his machine for inspection, but only if he was able to take "the proper steps for the security of [my] discovery."
Though Redheffer still had his defenders, he likely concluded that he would have better luck in New York City where he was still unknown. And so, he promptly moved his workshop, wonder machine and all, to a new site in New York City. After redesigning his machine to make the trickery less obvious, he then proceeded to put it on display the way he had in Philadelphia. Unfortunately for him, there were skeptics in New York as well. One of them was Robert Fulton, already famous for building the world's first steamboat, who had no problem insisting that the machine was a fake, sight unseen.
In 1813, Fulton was part of the audience when Redheffer displayed his machine as usual. After closely observing the machine in action, Fulton became suspicious enough to put his ear to the wall next to where the machine was running. He then announced that he was hearing the sounds of a hand crank and concluded that Redheffer's machine was a fake. Despite Redheffer's "anger and bluster", the other people in the audience became excited and insisted that part of the wall be removed to prove Fulton's claims. While Redheffer objected, Fulton offered to pay for the costs of repairing the wall. After going ahead, Fulton found a "cat-gut cord embedded in the wall."
This cord was traced to another part of the house where Fulton and the others found what later reporters described as a "poor old man, with an immense beard, who appeared to have suffered a long imprisonment, and when the searchers broke in upon him was so unconscious of what had happened below, that he remained seated on his stool gnawing a crust, and with one hand turning a crank." The audience members were reportedly so outraged by Redheffer's trick that they destroyed his machine. They likely would have done the same to him if he hadn't quietly disappeared. And, that was pretty much it for Charles Redheffer. There doesn't seem to be any record of him turning up in any other cities to promote his perpetual motion device. Apparently, he chose to fade into obscurity instead.
Not that the dream of free energy faded with him, of course. Certainly, there have been other perpetual motion schemes since Redheffer's day, including a rather ambitious effort during the late 19th century by John Ernst Worrell Keely whose "etheric force machine" eventually cost his investors millions. Fortunately for Keely, his timely death in 1898 saved him from Redheffer's fate.
While there have been numerous patents for perpetual motion machines filed with patent offices around the globe in the last century alone, none of them have ever attracted the kind of following that Redheffer and Keely once had. In fact, the United States Patent and Trademark Office(USPTO) has established a formal policy of refusing patents for perpetual motion machines without a working model, something that patent offices in other countries have done as well. Future inventors hoping to transform the world with the promise of free energy will likely have to get used to dealing with skepticism.
Life can be hard for innovators.