The 95 Theses: How One Miffed Monk Accidentally Invented Viral Marketing

The 95 Theses is the name given to a list of complaints about the Catholic Church that a German monk named Martin Luther allegedly nailed to a church door in Wittenberg on October 31, 1517. This was, in retrospect, rather like posting a strongly-worded restaurant review on the establishment’s front window, except that instead of complaining about the soup, Luther was complaining about the systematic commodification of divine forgiveness, and instead of the restaurant manager coming out to have a word, he accidentally started a religious revolution that would split Christianity in half and lead to several centuries of warfare.

The document’s title, when translated from Latin, actually reads “Disputation on the Power and Efficacy of Indulgences,” which is possibly the least catchy title for something that would fundamentally reshape Western civilization. It’s a bit like calling the invention of the wheel “Circular Object for Facilitating Movement: A Preliminary Inquiry.”

The central premise of the Theses was Luther’s objection to the sale of indulgences—essentially receipts that the Church sold to reduce one’s time in Purgatory. This was a remarkably efficient business model that the Church had developed, effectively monetizing the afterlife. Luther found this theologically questionable, which was the 16th-century equivalent of leaving a one-star review.

What made the 95 Theses particularly effective was not merely their content—which was dense, theological, and written in Latin, making them about as accessible to the average person as a tax code written in Klingon—but their timing. The printing press had recently been invented, allowing Luther’s complaints to be copied and distributed across Europe faster than he could say “I probably should have thought this through.” Within two weeks, his door-posted grievances had gone, in modern parlance, viral.

It’s worth noting that historians aren’t entirely certain Luther actually nailed anything to any door. He may have simply sent his Theses to his bishop, which would make the whole door-nailing story the equivalent of a historical embellishment, or what Earthlings call “making it interesting for the students.”

The consequences were substantial. The Catholic Church was not pleased. Luther was excommunicated, declared an outlaw, and forced to hide in a castle, where he translated the Bible into German and, allegedly, chased away the devil with his flatulence. The Protestant Reformation followed, leading to the creation of numerous Christian denominations, each with their own interpretations of doctrine, preferred hymn tempos, and feelings about decorative church architecture.

The 95 Theses remain a monument to the power of one person with a grievance, access to emerging communications technology, and absolutely no sense of what they’re about to unleash upon the world. In this respect, Martin Luther invented not only Protestantism but also the essential format of internet discourse: post your complaints publicly, watch as chaos unfolds, and then spend the rest of your life dealing with the consequences.