On October 31, 1517, Martin Luther strode confidently to the door of Wittenberg’s Castle Church, nailed up his Ninety-five Theses, and in one swing of his hammer started what later became known as the Protestant Reformation. The defiant monk, enraged by the sale of indulgences that promised forgiveness apart from repentance, sought to overthrow the Roman Catholic Church with his teaching of justification by grace through faith alone.
Or so the story goes.
This story, however, is not without its holes. Consider the “nail,” the theses themselves, and Luther’s intention.
The “Nail”
The image of Luther nailing the Ninety-five Theses to the door of Castle Church is powerful, and as Protestant heirs of his theological convictions, we appreciate the sense of confidence and finality the image carries.
Unfortunately, this story first shows up over a hundred years after the event. The first image of Luther with a hammer appeared in 1697.
The first image of Luther with a hammer came in 1697.
By contrast, the first historical accounts of the theses-posting date to the 1540s, and they say nothing about Luther nailing the Ninety-five Theses to the door. Peter Marshall quotes Philip Melanchthon, Luther’s chosen successor, who recounted that the German monk, “burning with eagerness and piety, issued Propositions concerning Indulgences, which are recorded in the first volume of his works, and these he publicly affixed to the church next to the castle in Wittenberg, on the eve of the Feast of All Saints in the year 1517.”
Melanchthon didn’t report that Luther specifically nailed the theses, but affixed them.
Practically speaking, nails were tremendously valuable prior to the industrial revolution. A blacksmith had to make each one individually. Moreover, from other publicly posted documents that have survived, we know documents were typically glued up. Daniel Jütte recounts how in 1521, officials in Antwerp forbade the posting of anti-Catholic material in public places, and they were specific about how things were typically posted: “Slanderous libel, rondels, or ballads directed against those who are not followers of Luther shall not be written, distributed, or pinned and pasted to church doors or any archways.”
For these reasons, it’s unlikely Luther used a hammer and nail. But that’s the picture that survived. Why? Because an image of the reformer marching through town with a glue pot doesn’t seem as world defining.
The Theses
Why does this matter? Understanding how Luther affixed the Ninety-five Thesis helps us to make sense of what Luther intended that day 505 years ago. And to answer that question fully, we ought to turn to the source in question: the theses themselves.
From the start, Luther didn’t intend to rend the Catholic Church. His goal was to be a faithful Catholic theologian and to clarify Catholic teaching on an issue he saw within the Church. In 1545, reflecting on his life, Luther stated that in 1517, he was a faithful Catholic who would have murdered in the name of the Pope.
It’s fascinating that the Ninety-five Theses are as famous as they are, as the publication of theses like these was tremendously common. But for reasons Luther never really understood, the Theses became wildly popular, propelling him to international fame. Nevertheless, the theology contained in the Theses ought not to be celebrated as beacons of Protestant light.
It’s at least problematic to date the Protestant Reformation as starting on October 31, 1517, because the theses themselves contain no distinctively Protestant doctrine. Michael Reeves writes: “If the ninety-five theses were meant to be a Reformation manifesto, they were a pretty poor effort: they contain not a mention of justification by faith alone, the authority of the Bible, or, indeed, any core Reformation thought.”
An image of the reformer marching through town with a glue pot doesn’t seem as world defining.
Before Luther, other reform-minded Catholics existed throughout medieval Europe: Jan Hus, John Wycliffe, and others. Bernard of Clairvaux sought to encourage reform in his own day, as did Thomas Aquinas and Anselm of Canterbury. It was common for theologians within the church to be frustrated with its leadership and to call the church to holiness. So, we must conclude that a reformation movement began within the Catholic Church in 1517, but it was later that this movement brought about the Protestant split.
By my judgment, April 26, 1518, was the day Protestantism began. On that date, Luther presented the Heidelberg Disputation, writing,
He is not righteous who does much, but he who, without work, believes much in Christ. For the righteousness of God is not acquired by means of acts frequently repeated, as Aristotle taught, but it is imparted by faith. . . . The law says, “do this,” and it is never done. Grace says, “believe in this,” and everything is already done.
Only then was the heart of salvation by grace through faith in Christ alone clearly seen.
Luther’s Intention
Luther certainly posted the Ninety-five Theses to the door of Wittenberg’s church. Yet no evidence from his era implies he nailed them. “Nail, glue, pin—these are minor differences in the historical narrative,” we might say. Why does this question even matter?
Ultimately, getting the details right matters because this guards us against highlighting the wrong parts of the story. By the end of his life, Luther was a valiant defender of the truth. But in 1517, he was an obscure monk who was striving to be faithful to Catholic teaching.
It’s easy for those of us who are sympathetic to Luther, myself chief among them, to think his posting the Ninety-five Theses was intended from the start to be revolutionary. But it wasn’t. The chapel door was nothing more than the community noticeboard. There was likely no fanfare or gathered audience. Posting a series of disputations was the normal course of events for professors in German universities to make the public aware of points of debate he intended to address. Luther simply made use of a common practice.
Painting Luther in 1517 as more heroic than he was does him a disservice. To say he considered the Ninety-five Theses as his great rejection of Catholic teaching doesn’t do justice to how revolutionary his later teaching actually was.
It was when he was forced into a corner after posting the Ninety-five Theses that he found confidence in the gospel. The theology of the theses didn’t bring him that confidence. Rather, the beautiful truth of being justified by faith in Christ alone, as he stated in the Heidelberg Disputation, made him into the reformer we remember. That truth is worth its weight in nails.
The Gospel Coalition