Argula knew her limitations. She was not trying to become a Reformation “star.” She described herself as a humble writer, one of the foolish the Lord had made wise. Being a woman, she didn’t have the kind of theological training the faculty had received. She didn’t know biblical languages and could only quote the Coburg Bible her father gave her as a child, and Luther’s recent translation. For these and other reasons, she didn’t insist on an inherited right to speak, but rather on her responsibility as a Christian. “Let the stones cry out today!”[1] she wrote in a poem.

The news of the trial of young Arsacius Seehofer circulated quickly through Ingolstadt, Germany. He was a student at the town’s university, accused of following evangelical beliefs. The year was 1523, two years after the Diet of Worms. Martin Luther, still outlawed, had just published a German translation of the New Testament that was selling like hotcakes. Overtaken by these rapid developments, exponents of the Roman Catholic Church tried to contain the damage. Arsacius, an easy target, was forced to deny his newly-found convictions in an abusive mock trial, then sent off indefinitely to a Benedictine monastery in Ettal, about 160 miles south of Ingolstadt.

An Unlikely Defender

Argula Von Grumbach (492-1554), a 31-year old mother of four, listened to the news with apprehension and outrage. How could they even call it a trial? On what did they base their accusations? What’s more, she wondered why no one had come to the student’s defense. If the men were silent, she had to speak out.

In a move which was unprecedented in her day, she challenged by writing the university’s faculty, which included the famed John Eck who had disputed with Luther in 1517. She suggested the trial be held in German, allowing the community to participate, and that Scriptures were held as the only standard. She even offered to appear before the faculty in person to defend Seehofer and his convictions.

Quite predictably, her letter was dismissed. News of her challenge, however, began to spread. In Nuremberg, some Lutheran friends of Argula decided to print her letter, which had to be reprinted fourteen times in a single year. In the meantime, she wrote seven more pamphlets on similar pressing issues. Between 1523 and 1524, about 29,000 copies of her writings were distributed in Germany – an impressive number at that time.

Her gender played an undoubted role in this wave of notoriety, as the wounds to the mighty university faculty were all the more conspicuous when inflicted by a woman. She was compared to Deborah, Judith, and the women who accompanied Jesus.

Argula knew her limitations. She was not trying to become a Reformation “star.” She described herself as a humble writer, one of the foolish the Lord had made wise. Being a woman, she didn’t have the kind of theological training the faculty had received. She didn’t know biblical languages and could only quote the Coburg Bible her father gave her as a child, and Luther’s recent translation. For these and other reasons, she didn’t insist on an inherited right to speak, but rather on her responsibility as a Christian. “Let the stones cry out today!”[1] she wrote in a poem.

Before writing, she sought the advice of friends, particularly the Lutheran Andreas Osiander who, “quite astonished how well read and familiar with the Bible”[2] she was, encouraged her to act on her convictions.

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