The one who changed the world

The one who changed the world

A Gutenberg Bible at the New York Public Library • Photo by Kevin Eng (CC BY-SA 2.0)

Originally published 4 January 1999

Let’s get a jump on end-of-year hoopla and ask now: Who is the “Per­son of the Millennium”?

Who is the per­son who for bet­ter or worse most pro­found­ly influ­enced the course of his­to­ry dur­ing the past 1,000 years, and might that per­son be found in the ranks of sci­en­tists and technologists?

Here are some pos­si­ble can­di­dates, admit­ted­ly a Euro­cen­tric list:

Christo­pher Colum­bus. With a bold voy­age across an appar­ent­ly bound­less sea he turned the world upside down, shat­ter­ing ancient civ­i­liza­tions of the Amer­i­c­as, sup­plant­i­ng them with Euro­pean colonies far from the reach of mon­archs. He caused mas­sive trea­sure to flow into Europe’s cof­fers, fuel­ing the nascent Renais­sance with cash. His dis­cov­ery of a “New World” set off an impe­r­i­al scram­ble that would ulti­mate­ly spread Euro­pean ideas and val­ues around the planet.

Mar­tin Luther. Post­ing a set of 95 the­ses against indul­gences on the door of the Cas­tle Church in Wit­ten­berg, Ger­many, he changed the way humans relate to their God. No longer would the Church hold exclu­sive keys to the king­dom of heav­en; no longer would prayers ascend to God only through chan­nels con­trolled by the Pope. In Luther’s the­ol­o­gy we find the germ of an enabling free­dom, in which every indi­vid­ual stands equal­ly before the divin­i­ty, Bible in hand.

William Shake­speare. In a recent book, the schol­ar Harold Bloom main­tains that Shake­speare invent­ed the mod­ern idea of what it means to be human, by cre­at­ing char­ac­ters who are intro­spec­tive, who have per­son­al­i­ties, and who shape, not sim­ply react to, the forces of his­to­ry. “The ulti­mate use of Shake­speare,” Bloom asserts, “is to let him teach you to think too well, to what­ev­er truth you can sus­tain with­out per­ish­ing.” And of course no one, with the pos­si­ble excep­tion of the authors of the King James Bible, had a more pow­er­ful influ­ence on the Eng­lish language.

Galileo Galilei. The truth about the world is to be found in the Book of Nature, said the great Flo­ren­tine physi­cist. Nei­ther rev­e­la­tion, nor tra­di­tion, nor the author­i­ty of mod­ern church­men or ancient philoso­phers super­sedes the evi­dence of the sens­es. He was the first tru­ly mod­ern sci­en­tist, in every sense of the word. The exper­i­men­tal method that he almost sin­gle­hand­ed­ly invent­ed is the source of our health, wealth, and technology.

Thomas Jef­fer­son. “We hold these truths to be self-evi­dent, that all men are cre­at­ed equal, that they are endowed by their Cre­ator with cer­tain unalien­able rights, that among these are life, lib­er­ty and the pur­suit of hap­pi­ness.” These words have come to define the only accept­able gov­ern­ment, deriv­ing its pow­ers from the con­sent of the gov­erned. Jef­fer­son stands for a galaxy of excep­tion­al men — Wash­ing­ton, Madi­son, Hamil­ton, Adams, Jay, and oth­ers — who mirac­u­lous­ly appeared at our aborn­ing nation’s hour of need and changed for­ev­er the flow of world history.

Charles Dar­win. Of all thinkers of the mil­len­ni­um, none has so fun­da­men­tal­ly altered the way we under­stand our place in the cos­mos. Dar­win’s achieve­ment was not just to pro­pose the uni­ty of life by com­mon descent, not just to offer a mech­a­nism — nat­ur­al selec­tion — by which nature directs its cre­ative impulse, but to so but­tress his the­o­ry with evi­dence that it swept all before it. After Dar­win, it would nev­er again be pos­si­ble to imag­ine humankind as any­thing oth­er than embed­ded in a tan­gled web of time, mat­ter, ener­gy, life.

Togeth­er, these indi­vid­u­als can be said to have con­tributed to the great mil­len­ni­al theme of grow­ing indi­vid­ual free­dom — free­dom from tyran­nies of body, mind and spir­it. How­ev­er, none of these men could have achieved his influ­ence on his­to­ry had it not been for the inno­va­tion of one oth­er most­ly unac­knowl­edged person.

Johannes Guten­berg. Of all these “per­sons of the mil­len­ni­um,” we know least about Guten­berg. Details of his life and work are drawn most­ly from records of the law­suits that plagued him through­out his career. The man we see behind the epic inven­tion — print­ing on a press with reusable diecast met­al type — was the son of a patri­cian of Mainz, Ger­many, born in the last decade of the 14th cen­tu­ry. In 1455, he com­plet­ed the famous Forty-two Line Bible that was his mas­ter­piece, the first print­ed book in Europe, and the first in the world to be dis­sem­i­nat­ed widely.

It would be won­der­ful to know more of the cre­ative life of this obscure man who brought togeth­er so many inge­nious inno­va­tions into one seam­less new tech­nol­o­gy. He was clear­ly dri­ven by a vision of mech­a­niz­ing the pro­duc­tion of beau­ti­ful medieval illu­mi­nat­ed man­u­scripts, step by step, from words in black ink on white paper to poly­chrome dec­o­ra­tions. What he achieved was no less than a rev­o­lu­tion in human com­mu­ni­ca­tion, releas­ing the mass of peo­ple from the demand­ing neces­si­ty of oral­ly pre­serv­ing a record of history.

Once the accu­mu­lat­ed knowl­edge and wis­dom of the past was per­ma­nent­ly fixed in read­i­ly avail­able books, the ener­gies of humankind were released for the cre­ation of more knowl­edge. Print­ing changed “the appear­ance and state of the whole world,” said Fran­cis Bacon. Cer­tain­ly, it is hard to imag­ine Colum­bus, Luther, Shake­speare, and Galileo except in the con­text of print­ed maps and books. With­out books, no Enlight­en­ment — no Jef­fer­son, no Darwin.

If there is a sin­gle per­sua­sive sym­bol of the mil­len­ni­um’s dri­ve towards the affir­ma­tion of indi­vid­ual free­dom, it is the print­ed page you are hold­ing in your hand.

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