An ocean of anger had consumed the once quiet town of San Latzio. Two distinctively radical schools of thought had entrenched themselves deep within the community, creating a sharp division between the beliefs of the townsfolk. On one hand, a devoutly religious congregation, and on the other, a purely scientific, technologically driven perspective. An unquestionably prominent tension had risen, with both sides prepared to set the town ablaze in a firestorm of fury.
Leaning on a pole opposite a dimly lit door, Reverend Lorenzo spotted the slender man slowly approaching under the veil of the night sky. The pitch black surrounding the man quickly parted ways, revealing a plain white coat and an eccentric, recalcitrant hairstyle.
“Ah, Reverend. What a beautifully clear night sky! How fascinating that the clouds have cleared."
“Indeed, perhaps we have God to thank for such calming, tranquil weather”"
"Perhaps you should put your faith in something more realistic, more grounded, and more logical”
"Now, save your argument for another time. Past this door is a wine bottle with your name on it."
The two entered through the door, revealing an isolated pub. Pushing past the door, a bell rang. Sitting down near the front of the bar, the scientist pulled out of his coat an artificial hand made of pig fat and straw, out of place among the earthy wood flooring and crimson flames of candles. He signalled the bartender, carefully projecting his voice to order two glasses of the tavern’s finest wine.
"What do you think of this place?" The Reverend inquired.
“I’ve only heard good things about the wine here. I suspect they use a more refined methodology of wine extraction, alongside fresher grapes.”
"My my, no need to overthink such things. I’m confident it's due to the expertise of the vintner."
The inventor’s eye twitched. With a strained voice, the inventor asked, "Well then, to what do I owe the pleasure of meeting you today?"
"I feel the church is getting rather archaic in the coming years. Just last week, a tile came down and nearly sent me on an early trip to Heaven."
The inventor twitched again. He started tapping erratically on the table.
"Interesting. Any ideas for what I could do to assist you, Reverend?"
“Well, I was thinking you could provide some insights. As a man of God, I feel woefully unspecialised in terms of creativity. I am a preacher, not a thinker."
The tapping stopped. "Oh," The inventor inquired in a surprised, partially elated voice, “in that case, I have many suggestions on how to improve the quality and prestige of your church. Have you considered a religious newspaper? All you would need to do is write your sermons, and they could be delivered without a word said."
The Reverend took a large sip from his glass. "Preaches are not simply words strung together. There is a wholly human feeling conveyed when I preach in front of an audience. I assure you, it will take technology a thousand years before they can replace the sense of connection you feel when you go to mass."
The inventor frowned. "There is no such thing as this ‘human connection’ you’re talking about, Reverend. A printing press could easily do your job in a fraction of the time and effort."
A sharp red flame smouldered in the Reverend’s eyes, only to be extinguished abruptly.
"Now now, we’re going off-topic, my friend. In the meantime, we can ponder over your religious paper another day.”
“Perhaps I could set up a clinic and cure the ailments of your patrons.”
What is there to cure? God’s work done in God’s way will never lack God’s supplies. The Lord has a plan for all of his children. To artificially cure one of their diseases is to go against the will of God. "
"Well, does God have no heart?" The inventor violently snapped. Does he have no empathy, no compassion, no soul? How could he condemn children to death? "
"I’ve had enough of your bickering!" The Reverend snapped back. He had risen from his seat, a rare instance of anger resonating from the benign Reverend.
“You need this job as much as I do,” The Reverend softly spoke. “Let’s calm down. Surely you have other ideas. "
An atmosphere of outrage emanated from the inventor. All of his body was tense, as if he was preparing for a fight.
Gradually, the rage subsided into disappointment. A sense of defeat rushed over the inventor. He was one of the greatest minds of San Latzio, yet he was burdened with serving another as a consequence of his lack of fame and funding.
You’re right, Reverend. It was very illogical of me to speak in such an uncontrolled manner. Truth be told, my late father was a Christian, and the thing he wanted most out of a church, as a rather educated worshipper, was his own copy of the Bible. Perhaps, if you’d so graciously let me, I could distribute paper versions of the Bible, so followers could read along with you. "
The Reverend pondered for a bit. "Interesting," he responded, "It's brilliant! Giving everyone a bible will bring them close to God. I’ll fund your printing press as soon as you can start working on it. "
"Great! "I'll start working on it tomorrow, and I'll keep you updated as I go," the inventor said excitedly, "It's been a pleasure working with you, Reverend."
Likewise, my friend, I hope we meet again.
The Reverend’s use of a printing press was a resounding success for San Latzio’s small community church, bringing international recognition and making the Reverend an icon of Christianity. His following would grow tenfold, allowing him to fulfil his dream of preaching to the largest possible audience.
The inventor’s brilliant invention of the printing press brought him renown among his fellow inventors, securing him an invitation to the finest, intellectual parts of society. Forever named in the history books, he would go on to revolutionise society with his many inventions.
