The Great Blockchain of Being

On October 31st, 1517, a plump, anxious friar and theology professor named Martin Luther nailed a list of complaints — his 95 theses — to the door of a monastery in Wittenburg. Luther was vicious, thorough, and attacked just about every aspect of Roman Catholic doctrine. He hated the new taxes anytime a new bishop was elected, the absurd yearly mass for the dead, the endless pilgrimages. But he saved special venom for indulgences. The indulgences were medieval pay-to-play, a way for the naughty to offset their peccadillos with a payment to the church. Covet your neighbor’s wife? Eat too many eel pies on Easter Sunday? Give a bag of silver or gold to your local bishop and you too could still walk through those pearly gates. For Luther it was a step too far — a greedy, cynical ploy by the Church that implied humans could haggle with God. It was widely hated, and when someone finally had the gall — or stupidity — to complain about it, people listened. Including, of course, the authorities. In 1521, Luther was called by the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V to recant at a formal papal assembly, or “Diet,” in the city of Worms. Luther was a small-time friar, used to woolen frocks and mutton sausages, untrained in the pomp and majesty of the court. But though he may have looked modest, Luther had a powerful weapon on his side — popularity. In the four years since Wittenburg, Luther had been a content machine, publishing almost 25 books, pamphlets, and religious tracts. His words made him a folk hero, the voice of a new religious movement that dared to defy the Catholic church. He had taken the printing press and weaponized it. And the threat this new technology posed to the iron grip of the Church was immense.