Would Shakespeare Have Used Preprints? Exploring the Historical Roots of Early Research Publication

Imagine a world where the works of Shakespeare were shared before the ink dried on the page—where the Bard, in the midst of crafting his iconic tragedies and comedies, submitted rough drafts of his plays for public consumption. Would he have submitted his manuscripts as preprints? It’s a curious thought, but when we trace the historical roots of publication, we realize that the very idea of open access and early dissemination is far from a modern invention. In fact, the essence of what preprints represent today can be found in the scattered fragments of early research publication in Shakespeare’s time.

Shakespeare lived in an era when the written word was just beginning to transition from the hands of a select few to the eyes of the public. The printing press had not yet fully democratized the dissemination of ideas, and authors, even the great ones, still depended on limited avenues of publication. However, what Shakespeare did have—especially in his collaboration with actors, playwrights, and patrons—was an early form of the iterative and public sharing of ideas, which mirrors today’s preprint culture.

Let’s envision Shakespeare as a pioneer in the realm of early research publication, but not necessarily in the realm of the scientific method. Much like how modern-day preprints allow for rapid dissemination of research before it’s been peer-reviewed, Shakespeare’s plays often found their way onto the stage long before they were printed in final form. The performance itself became an open space where ideas were tested, critiqued, and reshaped by audiences and fellow playwrights. His works weren’t refined by solitary introspection, but shaped in the heat of public discourse, echoing the open-source approach that preprints embody today.

Consider the folio as a type of “academic journal.” But instead of a closed process involving peer reviews behind closed doors, Shakespeare’s plays—before they were formally printed—were subjected to the open review of audiences. Plays like Hamlet or Macbeth would be put on trial by spectators who, through their applause or lack of, shaped the very structure and meaning of Shakespeare’s work. This aligns closely with the process of open peer review in modern preprints, where feedback from the global community accelerates refinement before final publication.

In the world of science, preprints are often seen as a way to get feedback and input before formal peer review. But Shakespeare had his own version of this feedback loop. Instead of sending his work to scientific journals, he sent his plays to the stage. And the reviews were immediate. A playwright could make revisions on the fly, rewriting scenes based on audience reactions, incorporating fresh ideas and interpretations, and refining the play to fit the times and tastes of the public. Shakespeare’s “preprints” were not hidden in an archive or behind a paywall—they were played out in front of the world.

Now, consider how preprints in modern-day science have taken on a new significance. Much like Shakespeare’s open access to feedback, preprints allow scholars to test their ideas and receive feedback long before the lengthy process of peer review and final publication. But in Shakespeare’s time, even the process of printing itself had its challenges. The technology was new, and there were no centralized platforms for the rapid dissemination of ideas. But had the infrastructure of the modern publishing world existed in Shakespeare’s day, would he have shared his rough drafts, play concepts, or even incomplete works in early forms of print or public performance? The likelihood is high.

Shakespeare was a keen businessman as well as a writer. He understood the value of accessibility and market engagement. What better way to get the public involved in his work than to offer early access, a precursor to preprints? Just as a scientific community today might release a preprint for the sake of early discourse, Shakespeare would have seen the merit of allowing his audience to shape the direction of his work.

However, the issue of intellectual property would have been more complicated in Shakespeare’s time than it is now. Today, preprints sometimes raise questions about the ownership and attribution of ideas. Shakespeare, though, had a personal stake in protecting his creative works. He often worked with actors and fellow writers, collaborating on plays that would ultimately bear his name—but in some cases, these works were not solely his own. What happens when the artist’s name, reputation, and ownership become blurred, as it often did in Elizabethan theater, where plays were a collective effort? Had Shakespeare been operating in an open-access world, would the issues of collaboration, authorship, and ownership have evolved differently?

If we place Shakespeare in a modern context, it’s clear that his approach to writing and publishing aligns closely with the ethos of preprints. It’s a model of openness, access, and community feedback. Today’s scholars and researchers use preprints to gain quick feedback, build their networks, and refine their work before official publication. Shakespeare did much the same, but through performance, collaboration, and constant revision.

In the end, the Bard was not just a playwright; he was an innovator. And had he lived in the age of preprints, perhaps his manuscripts would have been circulating in the open domain, subject to the same feedback loop that drives modern academic research. The core values of rapid dissemination, collaborative feedback, and continuous refinement are timeless—and they could just as easily have fueled Shakespeare’s creative process as they do the work of today’s scientific community. Would Shakespeare have used preprints? In many ways, he already did. He simply called it the stage.