Vol.8 No.6

The Silent Soldier
The invention of the humble printing press gave the world a weapon against civil and religious tyranny.
by Betsy Mayer

In a fictitious plot to take over the world, a deranged despot and his army demolish all forms of print technology: presses large and small, photocopiers, computers, typewriters, even fax machines, cash registers, and adding machines.

Next, he burns all printed materials: books, catalogs, files, and musical scores. He even removes labels from tin cans and checks from checkbooks, and destroys anything that has print on it that can’t be removed. He also destroys all paper mills and paper supplies.

Finally, fearing that great minds could quickly reinvent paper and presses, he annihilates the literate, with the exception of a few writers, scientists, and educators spared to further his ends. This being accomplished, he sits back to enjoy a rerun of the Dark Ages.

Unquestionably, the technology which has made the most impact on history is the humble printing press. Before the invention of printing, books weren’t available to common citizens. And without literacy, tyranny flourished. Hand-copied knowledge could not have accumulated fast enough to spark the industrial revolution, the discovery of radio waves or electricity, the invention of the telegraph, the telephone, the light bulb, engines, rockets, or computers. For civilization to advance, the world needed the press.

THE PRESS IS BORN

The story of the invention of printing is high drama. It begins in the year 1423, in old Haarlem, Holland where a Laurence Coster began experimenting with moveable type.

Supposedly, Coster first conceived of printing after carving letters on a tree for his children. Several hours later he returned and found the bark fallen and an imprint of the letters in the soft earth. Why couldn’t he carve letters on wooden blocks, form words and sentences, tie them together, ink them over, and then stamp any word or sentence in the language?

Coster set about to perfect his idea and employed a young German named John Gutenberg to assist him. But wooden blocks could not sustain the pressure of printing. Would the dream of printing die?

After Coster’s death, Gutenberg returned to Germany fired with the idea of finding a harder substance to form type, and of becoming a rich man. In Strasbourg, he providentially met John Faust, a wealthy goldsmith. Faust’s knowledge of metals and liberal investments completed the formula. Amazingly, they kept their venture a complete secret.

Finally, in 1448 they perfected a metal that withstood the pressure of printing. The world’s first printed book, they decided, should be the famous 42-line Latin Bible. A talented copyist spent a lifetime completing a Bible and its price reflected this. If they sold their printed Bibles as hand-copied ones, they could make a fortune!

Gutenberg spent eight more years forming type to imitate hand-printed letters. In 1456 the first printed book was produced. And as Providence ordained, it was God’s Word that received this singular honor. Gutenberg pressed the first pages and hung them to dry as priests and kings slumbered on, unaware that their power over the illiterate masses would soon end.

Faust and Gutenberg had more than commercial interests in mind for keeping their invention secret. The church taught that only scholars and priests should read the Bible. If Bibles could be produced so reasonably that anyone could own one, the inventors might find their lives in danger. To disguise its source, the fly-leaf of the first edition bore the imprint of Mainz, Germany.

SELLING THE FIRST PRINTED BOOK

But now they had an equally vexing problem. How were they to sell the Bibles? Faust, who had invested large sums of money in the venture, insisted on selling them himself. Soon he and a secret store of the new Bibles were making their way to Paris. He first called on the most influential citizen of the city—Charles VII, king of France.

The king was delighted with the beautiful book. Believing that he held the most magnificent copy of Scriptures in existence, he paid eight hun-dred and twenty-five dollars for it.

With the king’s name heading his list, Faust called next on the archbishop. The prelate bought an exact copy of the king’s Bible at the same price, and Faust continued on his way looking for other customers. We wonder if Faust anticipated what happened next.

A few days later, the archbishop called on Charles VII.

“I have something to show you—the most magnificent book in the world!” enthused the king.

“Indeed!” The archbishop was thinking of his own book.

“Yes; a copy of the Bible. It is a marvel. The letters are so even that you cannot discover a shade of difference.”

“I have a splendid copy, and if yours is more perfect than mine, I want to see it.”

“Here is mine. Just look at it!” and the king showed his copy.

The archbishop turned the leaves. The pages were the same, the letters were the same. Could one man have written both? Impossible! Yet there was no difference between them. “How long have you had this?” the archbishop asked.

“I bought it several days ago from a man who came to the palace.”

“Singular! I bought mine from a man who came to my palace.”

Both the king and the archbishop were speechless. They placed the two Bibles side by side, and found them precisely alike. There were the same number of pages. Each page began with the same word without variation. Wonderful!

But in a few days, the archbishop was still more perplexed. He discovered that some of Paris’s rich citizens had identical copies to his, and that other copies were for sale here and there.

“Where did you get them?”

“A visiting bookseller.”

“What was his name?”

“We don’t know.”

“This is the work of the devil!” The archbishop could arrive at no other conclusion. The Bible was a dangerous book, not intended for common reading. And here was one selling it freely everywhere. Some man had sold himself to the devil for that purpose! He soon discovered it  was Dr. John Faust, of Strasbourg.

“You have sold yourself to the devil and must be burned to death.”

The invention of printing was still a secret, but Faust must tell what he knew or be burned at the stake. He showed the archbishop how the Bibles were printed and Gutenberg had printed so many that the price was reduced one-half. The archbishop, the king, and everybody else were astonished. So Faust saved his life; but the idea of selling himself to the devil has gone into story and song.

THE PRESS V. TYRANNY

Unwittingly, by forcing Faust to confess his secret, the church spread the invention of printing throughout Europe. The demand of the people for reading material was imperative. Printers sprang up everywhere. By the end of the 15th century, four million volumes had been printed, primarily the Scriptures and other religious writings. By 1536, eighteen  million more volumes were printed. After that, the numbers have been impossible to calculate.

The invention of printing, in the providence of God, came to the world at the right moment. Had Luther nailed his ninety-five theses to the church door one-hundred years earlier, his influence would have stayed in Saxony. But within days of October 31, 1517, printed copies of the reformer’s work were soon scattered in every European nation.

The papacy had learned how to deal with heretics. By the thumbscrew, the rack, and the fagot she had silenced voices raised against her false doctrines and practices. But here was a new thing which she had not learned to use or silence. Literature could be confiscated and burned, but more could be printed. It left no footprints, and soon found its way from home to home and from country to country.

The printing press introduced a new era. Light and liberty began to dawn upon the hearts of men, dispelling the world’s longest and darkest night. Men began to think, and both civil and religious despots trembled.

Well may the citizens of Strasbourg point with pride to the little island which is believed to be the site of the Gutenberg shop, and say, “That is the spot from which the light shone forth upon all the world.”