Volume 6 Issue 1

James Prescott Joule

If any principle in science deserves to be called a "law," what would it be? Undoubtedly, the law of conservation of matter and energy: neither of these fundamental entities can be created or destroyed. Also known as the first law of thermodynamics, this law has no known exceptions anywhere in the universe. Whoever discovered this law must have been a scientist of the highest rank, a PhD, director of a reputable university research department, respected the world over, and interred in Westminster Abbey, right? Actually, he was none of the above. For him, science was just a hobby. He had trouble getting his ideas published. Professional scientists looked down on him, and were it not for the help of a friend, his work might have been lost in obscurity. Yet his experimental procedures and measurements were of the highest caliber, and the principles he deduced from them are of fundamental importance. They helped shape our modern world, and every housekeeper is a beneficiary of the discoveries he made. Units and laws of physics were named after this somewhat reserved, unassuming, serious-minded citizen scientist by the name of James Prescott Joule.

Second son of a wealthy brewer in England, James Joule was home-schooled till age 15. He was not a spoiled rich kid, even though he could spend a workman's annual income on a painting if he wanted it (and once did). James loved playing outdoors with older brother Benjamin and younger brother John. Together they engaged in the typical boyish amusements like playing guns, rowing on the lake, climbing hills and throwing snowballs. Their play included observational skills like measuring the depth of a lake, estimating the distance to a lightning bolt by timing the thunder, and using electricity to see if a lame horse's muscle would jump. Once as a young man he stuffed a pistol with three times the normal charge trying to get a better echo across the water; J. G. Crowther describes the scene: "His brother was startled by a tremendous report and when he turned round he found that James' pistol had jumped out of his hand into the lake. At another time he shot off his own eyebrows." Boys will be boys, but at least theirs were not idle minds. The brothers had a variety of interests; Benjamin was an enthusiastic musician, and James developed skill in painting and photography; he even collected art. At 16, James had been sent to Cambridge and was tutored for a time by John Dalton, the elderly Quaker scientist considered to be the father of modern atomic theory. Spurred by in an interest in science, and having the family wealth at his disposal, James took a keen interest in devising experiments to measure things: heat, energy, motion, electrical currents, magnetism and gas pressures. Like Faraday, he expected to find simple laws that governed diverse natural phenomena, a motivation that derived from strong theological beliefs.

Throughout his twenties, working at his father's brewery, young James Joule was actively demonstrating through a series of clever experiments that different forms of energy were related. For instance, he measured the temperature of water being forced through narrow holes in a piston. He measured electrical current and heat output from an electromagnet that spun as he turned a crank. And he measured the temperature of water and sperm whale oil as paddles turned, powered by falling weights, proving that heat output was equivalent to the mechanical energy input. The precision of his measurements was remarkable, sometimes measuring temperatures accurate to a 30th of a degree. His numerous creative experiments convinced him that all forms of energy were equivalent, to the point where he said in 1843 at age 24, "I shall lose no time in repeating and extending these experiments, being satisfied that the grand agents of nature are by the Creator's fiat, indestructible; and that wherever mechanical force is expended, an exact equivalent of heat is always obtained."

Joule had discovered the mechanical equivalent of heat, but the scientific community was not ready to accept it. Though the phlogiston theory of heat had been discredited by the late 1700s, heat was still considered a property of a body, not a form of energy released by work in converting one form of energy to another. In 1843, he journeyed to Cork and read a paper describing his experiments to the Chemical Section of the British Association, but he says, "the paper did not excite much attention," except for two who "were interested." Polite disdain, perhaps, but in retrospect J. G. Crowther, author of British Scientists of the 19th Century, thinks more highly of it.

Reynolds [biographer of Joule, Memoirs, 1892] considers the experiments described in this paper were technically the most difficult that had ever been accomplished by a physicist. They are certainly unsurpassed in the history of science.

The combination of superb experimental skill with clear thought and philosophical depth makes this paper the finest expression of Joule's genius. He was twenty-four years of age, and had been engaged in research for five years. Though he was friendly with Dalton, Scoresby, Davies and others, he had worked in extraordinary intellectual independence. His chief supports were his own genius and his father, who, to his memorable credit, liberally financed his extensive experiments.

Crowther finds it remarkable that young Joule was so meticulous in measuring things, because "young scientists are nearly always impatient of measurement. Joule had the middle-aged passion of measurement from his earliest youth." His notes are equally meticulous, orderly and filled with profound insight into the implications of the measurements. He wrote other papers during his twenties, one comparing the capabilities of electromagnets, steam and horses as sources of motive power. At age 28, his genius matured with a lecture that contained a philosophical statement of the law of conservation of energy.

In a groundbreaking lecture, Joule stated that bodies carry with them a "living force" of inertia, and it cannot be destroyed "though that was the common opinion of philosophers." Friction does not destroy it, or the earth would have come to a standstill long ago, he said. Rather than being destroyed, it was transformed into another thing when it disappears: that thing is heat. He had proved experimentally that heat and work are equivalent and can be converted one to the other. Joule demonstrated his grasp of this laboratory principle by extending it to the motion of the earth, the burning of meteors, the motion of the trade winds and the heat generated by motion of our limbs, as when a man ascends a mountain. Joule showed how his dynamical theory of heat explains melting, latent heat, evaporation, and much more. "We may conceive, then, that the communication of heat to a body consists, in fact, in the communication of impetus, or living force, to its particles."

Crowther is unreserved about the import of this lecture: "He had discovered the law as the outcome of a long series of completely conclusive experiments. He had conceived it clearly and powerfully, and applied it with much imagination." So where was this epochal lecture On Matter, Living Force, and Heat delivered? At the Royal Society or the British Association? No; at St. Anne's Church in Manchester, and Joule had trouble getting it published. The Manchester Guardian only wanted to print excerpts of their choosing. James need his brother's persuasion to convince the Manchester Courier to print it, which they did in two parts in May, 1847. Since it was published in a newspaper instead of the scientific journals, it went virtually unnoticed for 37 years.

The month following the publication of this lecture, Joule had an opportunity to address the British Association about his experiments on the mechanical equivalent of heat. "As Joule's previous papers had raised little interest, the chairman of his section requested him to confine himself to a short verbal description of his experiments," writes Crowther. A contemporary described James Joule as "under the medium height; that he was somewhat stout and rounded in figure; that his dress, though neat, was commonplace in the extreme, and that his attitude and movements were possessed of no natural grace, while his manner was somewhat nervous, and he possessed no great facility in speech." So the short and stout and nervous Joule endeavored to make it quick, and commented that "the communication would have passed without comment if a young man had not risen in the section, and by his intelligent observations created a lively interest in the new theory." That man was William Thomson— the future Lord Kelvin.

Though Thomson was seven years his junior, he had the connections to bring James Joule into scientific circles. Their collaboration developed into a lifelong friendship. About a week after this meeting, Joule married Amelia Grimes, daughter of a city official. Thomson was surprised another week later to run into Joule near Mont Blanc, and find him with a lady, not knowing he was getting married, and here he and his bride were on their honeymoon. He was probably more surprised to see him with a long thermometer in his hand. Joule explained that he wanted to measure the temperature elevation in waterfalls, so Thomson offered to join the fun and help him a few days later with this project, another demonstration of the mechanical equivalent of heat. Unfortunately, they found their chosen cascade too broken up into spray to get good data. Was Amelia put off by this intrusion into their romantic vacation? Not at all; Crowther writes, "His young wife, as long as she lived, took complete interest in his scientific work."

Amelia died in 1854 after just seven years of marriage, having given birth to a son and a daughter. James took the children with him to live with his father, but soon experienced other losses; his father died in 1858, and in the same year, James was a victim of a train derailment when a stray cow got onto the tracks. The carriage in which he had been reading a mathematics book overturned, and he had to crawl out for his life—only to find the engine men nonchalantly eating their dinner, apparently unconcerned that three people had died in the accident. This made him somewhat phobic about riding trains from then on. In 1864, his younger brother died. In spite of these traumas, his collaboration with Thomson grew productive and soon yielded more discoveries of fundamental importance.

Joule respected Thomson's mathematical abilities, and tended to play second-fiddle to the Glasgow professor, acting as his chief laboratory assistant, even though he possessed enough of his own genius to be his peer. Perhaps physical or psychological ill-health from recent trials affected his self confidence. Nevertheless, they made a great team.

Do you like having a refrigerator in the kitchen? Here's the story; it comes right out of this historic collaboration, and it took Joule seven years of difficult—and dangerous—experiments. The new theory of thermodynamics was driving physics at the time; Joule and Thomson were at the crest of the wave. Joule measured air as it compressed and expanded, and found that it departed just slightly from Boyle's Law for an ideal gas. From this, they deduced that air should cool slightly if allowed to expand through a small hole without performing any work. Thomson suggested Joule prove this with experiments.

Small-scale tests showed promise, but Joule decided he needed a bigger apparatus powered by a 3-horsepower steam engine to get more reliable measurements. The Royal Society provided the funds, and the machine was built. For the first year, he was able to operate it at the family brewery. But in 1854 the brewery was sold, so he had to move the contraption to his house, with some of it sticking out in the open air because his lab was not large enough to contain it all. His older brother described the scene: for several months James "could not find time to take his meals properly–just ran in and out again. The experiments were so delicate that many were carried out in the night, because a cab or cart passing along the road disturbed them, though the laboratory was at the back of the stables" (Crowther, p. 193).

Joule had to transport the contraption again in 1861 when he moved to a new house, but then a neighbor complained about the commotion so much he got the authorities to put a stop to it. "James was deeply upset by this action," Crowther says. Nevertheless, after seven years working on the thermal properties of gases with Thomson, they published their crowning achievement, an explanation of the cooling as being due to the absorption of heat in the performance of work separating molecules that have a slight mutual attraction. This is the Joule-Thomson effect, the basis of liquid air production and the refrigeration industry. The rest is history; the refrigerator today is one of the most-used electrical appliances in the home, allowing families to cool and freeze food, preserving it for long periods without the chore of calling the ice man every few days to deliver big blocks of ice that had been stashed during the winter. But that's not all; we haven't yet mentioned Joule's Law, an important equation known by every electrician. It relates electrical power to resistance and current, and is the basis of the space heater and toaster and electric range; current forced through a strong resistor like nichrome wire generates power proportional to the resistance and to the square of the current. All that power is output as heat. When you watch that wire turn red, you are watching Joule's Law at work.

At age 57 Joule's money had run out, and he became poor while working on a more detailed verification of the mechanical equivalent of heat. Fortunately, the Royal Society funded the work, and the queen provided him a pension to live on. He published this, his last paper, in 1878, then lived out his final 11 years in relative privacy till succumbing to a long illness at age 71. Clerk Maxwell said of him, "There are only a very few men who have stood in a similar position and who have been urged by the love of some truth, which they were confident was to be found though its form was as yet undefined, to devote themselves to minute observations and patient manual and mental toil in order to bring their thoughts into exact accordance with things as they are."

The Royal Society, who had years earlier paid little attention to this non-professional hobbyist, venerated Joule in his old age. He was described as "kindly, noble, and extremely chivalrous, but hated quackery, especially from persons of standing." As one who had been disparaged himself, "he encouraged the efforts of workers as yet unknown and resented disparagement of their work, 'as though his own early experience had left him with a fellow-feeling with those who were struggling' to secure recognition of their results" (Crowther, p. 144). J. G. Crowther thinks Joule's life resembles that of Leonardo da Vinci, in that they both pursued perfection, and "continued the refinement of technique, subtle thoughts following the solitary contemplation of the results of their accessions of manual skill." Joule needs no stone monument in a cemetery; your home is filled with them, and from now on, you will no doubt remember this unique character with the magnificent full beard when you use your refrigerator, space heater, hair dryer, toaster, iron, or any of the other modern appliances that soon sprang from his discoveries in fundamental physics. Most important, Joule's proof of the law of conservation of energy is one of the supreme achievements of modern science. Of this most basic and universal of all scientific laws, Henry Morris writes, "It is surely appropriate that the privilege of making such a vital discovery was given by God to a man of sincere Christian faith." (Scientists of Faith, p. 53.)

To understand fully the motivation that makes a man like James Joule work so long and hard, often alone, we need only hear his own thoughts. Here are excerpts found on loose sheets of paper after his death of what Crowther believes was to be an address to the British Association in 1873. Joule had been elected President, but due to ill health had to resign, so the address was never delivered. It's about time for the world to hear the wisdom of these words, because rarely has such a clear statement been given on why science should be the enthusiastic pursuit of the devout Christian. In the notes, Joule talks about many things; the value of science education for the youth, his opposition to science being applied to warfare or politics, the value of mathematical rigor, and the need for precision and planning in experimentation. He de-scribes the ideal moral character of the scientist: one must be humble, diligent, energetic, prudent and zealous, pursuing science due to "a love of wisdom which unfolds, a love of truth for its own sake independently with regard to the advantages of whatever kind are expected to derived from it." Science and knowledge elevate us above the beasts that perish, and enriches our lives with "varied and fresh enjoyments."

Among these random but uplifting thoughts we end with two quotes that so well express the theme of this book, that good science – the best science – is the fruit of devout love of God as Creator. To Joule, the study of nature and her laws is "essentially a holy undertaking," second only to worship as the rightful response to the Maker of all things. Hear the words of James Prescott Joule:

After the knowledge of, and obedience to, the will of God, the next aim must be to know something of His attributes of wisdom, power and goodness as evidenced by His handiwork.

It is evident that an acquaintance with natural laws means no less than an acquaintance with the mind of God therein expressed.

In science labs and hardware stores around the world today, the most fundamental property of the universe—energy—is measured in joules.

David Coppedge is president of Master Plan Association (masterplanassociation.org), an online ministry dedicated to defending the Biblical doctrine of creation, and a contributing writer for the Institute for Creation Research and editor of Creation-Evolution Headlines (http://crev.info).

 

Anton Praetorius

Examination

It appears to be a peculiarity of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries that the hysteria of the witch-hunts followed upon the "enlightenment" of the Renaissance and the intellectual and religious freedom of the Reformation. For nearly two hundred years, Europe was marked by witch-accusations, witch-hunts, witch-trials, and fantastical witch-confessions. By the time Anton Praetorius arrived on the scene as a pastor in Budingen, Germany in 1597, such things were a matter of course; yet Anton did not view the ill-treatment of a fellow human being or the misadministration of justice as a matter of course, and his voice rose alone in protestation of the events he witnessed.

While the contemporary age is filled with its own types of hysteria, it is hard to understand many of the events of past centuries relating to the accounts of witchcraft. Academics propose various theories. Some believe the phenomena were delusions; some that the phenomena really occurred; some that the persecutions arose from social tensions and that people used witchcraft as an excuse to rid their communities of unwanted individuals.

What is known is that there are very strange accounts of events that members of that society took seriously, seriously enough to shed blood regardless of actual proof for the alleged crimes. According to many records, very few, either among Christian believers or natural philosophers, spoke out against or tried to curb the hysteria and enthusiasm of those who made accusations. In some ways, the treatment of alleged witchcraft seems to be an almost unifying theme between believers and non-believers, Protestants and Roman Catholics. All believed in its existence, and all believed it should be rooted out. Anton Praetorius believed this as well, just not how it was executed in practice.

Many sixteenth century ideas regarding witchcraft, both what constituted it and how it was to be sought out and exterminated, were influenced by the fifteenth century document, the Malleus Maleficarum, written in 1486 by two members of the Dominican Order, Heinrich Kramer and Jacob Sprenger, and published in Germany in 1487. The work is divided into three parts (each part then addressing a series of sub-questions): 1) "The first part treating of the necessary concomitants of witchcraft, which are the devil, a witch, and the permission of Almighty God;" 2) "Treating on the methods by which the works of witchcraft are wrought and directed, and how they may be successfully annulled and dissolved;" and 3) "Relating to the judicial proceedings in both the ecclesiastical and civil courts against witches and indeed all heretics."

Alongside treatises such as the Malleus, wild accusations made by neighbors against neighbors, and local hysteria, there is also to be considered the fact that Martin Luther, John Calvin, and countless others spoke out against witchcraft in all sincerity of conviction. Their writings and preaching stated that this was not something to be treated lightly, but something to be avoided; people needed to be fortified against such attacks of the devil. Luther warned of the power of the devil and often mentioned the spiritual and physical attacks he experienced and attributed to Satan. In a sermon on Deuteronomy 18:10-12, Calvin preached, "But we know that in all ages and all Nations Sorcery or witchcraft has held sway, and even greater sway because it has rejected God's truth...." Many men believed that the increased accounts of witchcraft were a sign of the end of the world.

This is the world into which Anton Praetorius was born in 1560 in Lippstadt, Germany. Anton was the son of Mattes Schulze. The surname Schulze was derived from the German schulteize, a word referring to the person in charge of collecting payments on behalf of the lord of the manor. According to one of the customs of the educated at the time, Anton chose to change his name to the Latin equivalent of Praetorius.

Anton studied theology. One of his early jobs was as the principal of a Latin school in Westphalia. He married a woman named Maria, who bore him one son, Johannes. Maria died of the plague shortly after their marriage. Anton's next position was in Dittelsheim, where he bore the distinction of being the first Calvinist pastor to that parish. In 1597 he received the prestigious appointment of pastor to Wolfgang Ernst, the Earl of Ysenburg, Budingen and Birstein. This occurred after the circulation of a poem Anton had written about the Earl, in which he entreated governments to enact a reformation of church and state according to Biblical and Calvinistic principles. In addition to poems, Anton wrote songs, a catechism, and books, one on Christian education for families and one on the Sacraments.

During his time as pastor for the Earl in his castle at Birstein, Anton witnessed the torture of four women accused of witchcraft. This event greatly impressed itself upon him and affected his future work. A court record states, "As the pastor has violently protested against the torture of women, it has therefore been stopped at this time." But by the time the torture had been stopped, only one of the women survived. Anton's interference incurred the wrath of the Earl who dismissed him from his post as pastor within a year of his arrival.

Records that exist show the brutality often used during these trials. It is hard to imagine witnessing such events. Imprisonment and torture could last for days, and it is no wonder Anton was moved by the condition of the women. In the case of one mayor of the city of Bamberg, there exists both the record of his torture and confession and of a letter he wrote to his daughter explaining that his confession was falsified. He bribed one of the jailors to smuggle out the letter to his daughter. In heart wrenching language, he tells her that regardless of his protestations, his accusers will not relent in their torture. He tried to bear the torture as long as possible. When he chose to confess in hopes of ending the ordeal, they continued to torture him until they convinced him to accuse other townspeople of witchcraft as well.

After his dismissal by the Earl, Anton moved to a parish in Laudenbach, which was near Heidelberg. Here he wrote his book Thorough Report about Witchcraft and Witches. When he first published the book in 1598, he wrote under the name Johannes Schulze, but when he republished it in 1602, he published it under his own name. It was published again in 1613 and posthumously in 1629. In it, he denounced the use of torture to extract confessions. He wrote, "In God's Word one does not find anything from torture, embarrassing cross-examines [or] confession by force and pain."

Praetorius clearly condemned witchcraft as a practice, but he was wary of the mania of witchcraft accusations. He was not driven by the hysteria surrounding him, the hysteria that had been going on and off since the early fifteenth century, where neighbors were quick to attribute any personal trouble or calamity to the alleged witches around them. The Constitutio Criminalis Carolina, the criminal law decreed by Charles V in 1530, was the law the courts were required to follow. Article 109 of the code stated that only witches who used magic to cause harm could be burnt, and witches who did not cause harm could not be punished by death but could be punished with other penalties. While the article limited the amount of torture that could be used in a trial, it did not do away with it. The laws were often ignored, however, in much of Germany, particularly the smaller territories. More witchhunts, persecutions, and executions took place in Germany than in any other European country.

Anton thought the appropriate response to witchcraft was preaching, exhortation, and prayer. He believed in the punishment of crimes, but not if those crimes could not be proven. He objected to the disparity that often occurred in the treatment of men and women when it came to punishment for witchcraft crimes. And, above all, he thought that the administration of justice should never be based on torture or hearsay. For these beliefs, he was willing to risk his worldly good and renown.

Bibliography
Burns, William E. Witch Hunts in Europe and America: An Encyclopedia. Westport, Connecticut: Greenwood Press, 2003.

Clark, Stuart. Thinking With Demons: The Idea of Witchcraft in Early Modern Europe. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997.

Kors, Alan Charles and Edward Peters. Witchcraft in Europe, 400 – 1700: A Documentary History. Philadelphia, Pennsylvania: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2001.

Reformed Online. http://www.reformiert-online.net/

Trevor-Roper, H.R. The European Witch-Craze of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries and Other Essays. New York: Harper Torchbooks, 1969.

The Malleus Maleficarum. http://www.malleus maleficarum.org/

 

The Boy King

Imagine the future of the Church depending, humanly speaking, upon three young Reformers. That was the case in 16th Century England as Edward, his sister (and future queen) Princess Elizabeth and cousin Lady Jane found themselves caught in a maelstrom of danger and palace intrigue. Two died young, Edward and Jane, but the impact they had upon Elizabeth was life-changing, and world-changing. Here is the story of one of this intrepid trio, Edward VI, the boy king.

Edward_VI_2The traditional story of Edward VI is largely the story of his two Protectors. The standard histories say little about the boy king himself. The large outlines of the story are fairly consistent from writer to writer: Edward came to the throne in 1547 upon the death of his father, Henry VIII, who had arranged for a council of advisors to oversee the boy until he came of age. Of these, Edward Seymour, the Duke of Somerset and the boy's uncle, took control of the council and secured for himself the role of Lord Protector. Somerset pursued a careful, but evangelical Scholars prefer the word "evangelical" to "Protestant" or "Reformed." At this early stage, even Cranmer was still coming to terms with what he actually believed. The theological winds were blowing largely from Zurich. Bullinger, Bucer, and Peter Martyr were theological stars in the evangelical sky. course in religious reform, and championed economic and political "liberty" for the lower classes. Like the other members of the council, he was guilty of padding his own fortune with spoils from the sprawling ecclesiastical structure they all worked to dismantle. Somerset largely ignored Edward and left the boy's education to his tutors. But in time the Protector's own arrogance and his liberal economic attitudes garnered him the ire of his fellows on the council, and he fell from power. Eventually he was executed.

Seymour_EdwardJohn Dudley, Earl of Warwick and later Duke of Northumberland, took control of the council and the young king. Unlike Somerset, he showed—or pretended to show—interest in Edward, spent time with him, and soon brought him into the workings of the council as well. Like his predecessor, Northumberland pursued an evangelical course; on other fronts, he looked out for himself and his own.

Most of what Edward's administration did was the work of these two men, Somerset and Northumberland, and of one other: Thomas Cranmer. Cranmer, archbishop of Canterbury, created the first English prayer book (1549) and later the second (1552). These moved the English church away from traditional forms of worship toward something more evangelical. They also involved the congregation more actively in worship, since they were written in the English of the time. Cranmer also devised the 42 Articles, which summed up the new theology he hoped the English church would embrace. They rejected purgatory and papal authority and embraced justification by faith and eternal predestination. These were later edited and rearranged to become the 39 Articles.

Edward's story, of course, also involves his two sisters, each of whom would later ascend the throne. Edward loved them both, though he was closer to Elizabeth, whom he called "Temperance."

Elisabeth_I_2Elizabeth was only four years older than Edward, spurred on by a near brush with scandal, she was quickly maturing from romantic naïveté to savvy caution. Alison Weir, The Children of Henry VIII (New York: Ballantine Books, 1996), ch. 2, "Amorous Intrigues." The intrigue involved the machinations of the Protector's brother, the Lord Admiral, who was plotting an amorous path to power. Mary was twenty years older than Edward and singularly dedicated to what she called "the old religion,"—particularly the traditional mass— and would rather have died a martyr than have anything to do with the "new" evangelical religion. She, too, was learning self-preservation. She had an advantage that Elizabeth did not, however; Mary's older cousin was Charles V, the German Emperor. His ambassador in London kept a close eye on Mary's interests and was authorized to threaten imperial intervention when her freedom of worship was threatened.

In this traditional version, Edward comes across as a weak and sickly boy, never his own man, who enjoyed evangelical sentiments because that's what he had been taught. He accomplished little, was flattered greatly, and thought more of himself than he should. After a short reign, Edward's frail health was further damaged by measles and small pox; eventually he succumbed to tuberculosis and died at the age of 15. Though Foxe and other evangelicals of the day spoke of him as a new Josiah or a latter-day Solomon, later historians have called both his faith and his significance into question.

Cheke_JohnThe traditional story needs a bit of overhauling, though. First, it seems Edward was healthy and robust enough for most of his life. He enjoyed hunting and participated in the other sports common to young nobles. The collapse of his constitution came in the last year of his reign, and the fatal illness may have been something more complicated than tuberculosis. Diarmaid Macculloch, The Boy King Edward VI and the Protestant Reformation (Berkley: University of California Press, 1999), 224. Macculloch records Jennifer Loach's suggestion: "complications brought on by pyogenic pneumonia, or bronchopneumonia which led to general septicaemia." Weir tosses in the possibility of arsenic poisoning (146, 150).

As for Edward's faith and its ultimate significance for the English Reformation, we need to turn back to primary source documents. Though we have Edward's journal, it is mostly a dry record of political events. It contains little theological reflection. We do not have his notebook on the sermons he had heard. We do know that Knox, Ridley, and Hooper were pulpit regulars at court, and that the imperial ambassador complained that the young king gave them too much attention. We do have a good deal of Edward's school work, however, and it shows us how Edward's mind worked.

Edward's education "began at the age of three under Dr. Richard Cox, but in 1544, from the age of six, he was principally under the direction of John Cheke." Heather Hobden, "King Edward VI's Defense of Astronomy" <http://www.cosmicelk.net/edward6.htm>. Cheke describes his approach to education in a letter to Roger Ascham, Elizabeth's tutor:

I would have a good Student pass rejoicing through all Authors, both Greek and Latin; but that he will dwell in these few books only, First in God's Holy Bible, and then join with it Tully in Latin, Plato, Aristotle, Xenophanes, Isocrates and Demosthenes in Greek, must needs prove an excellent man.

Here we have the confluence of the Reformation and the Renaissance. The question is: which would shape his thinking?

When Edward was about thirteen, he composed an oration in defense of astronomy, a science that had fallen into disrepute. He wrote the original in Latin; the excerpts below are from Heather Hobden's translation. Heather Hobden, translator, in "King Edward VI's Defence of Astronomy." John Nicols, who reprinted the Latin original, called it: Astronomiam utilem admodum esse Humano Generi. Edward left the oration untitled.

Knowledge, which is arisen from God, the source of all good, is divided into knowledge of the natural world, matters relating to discourse such as the arts of rhetoric and logic, and matters of ethics which apply to the morals of individuals and to the government of the State . . . Being part of knowledge, arisen from God, who inspires us to investigate the natural world, Astronomy is certainly useful to man, for God does everything to some purpose.

Edward goes on to credit the patriarch Seth with inventing the science of astronomy and the Egyptians and Israelites with developing it.

Yet all arts which propagate amongst men the glory of God are not lightly called useful. This indeed is the greatest good of man, that he comes to know God and depends on that knowledge. For Astronomy shows the work of God, through which he is revealed to man.

Edward then quotes Psalm 19:1 and sums up Romans chapter one:

Paul likewise in the first chapter of his epistle to the Roman people says that although they do not yet know God perfectly, they may come to know him through his works. The more then we get to know Astronomy the more wonderful will we see God's work to be.

Edward points out that astronomy is vital to commerce and agriculture. Then he sums up:

Wherefore, since all knowledge is of nature, and is the gift of God implanted in human hearts, since the abilities of the discoverers and propagators of Astronomy have been God-given, since if it be one of the liberal arts it will demonstrate truth and give satisfaction to the enquiring mind wishing all things to know, since again it is useful to farmers and merchants, showing the glory of God to the whole world, we think it far from useless to the body, the mind and the State.

Maria_Tudor1The oration is standard fair for the time, though it does cast light on Edward's attitude toward God's creation and man's responsibility for dominion within it. Edward's independence of thought and his creativity come across more clearly in his meeting with the Italian mathematician and physician, Gerolamo Cardano. When Cardano passed through London in 1552, Cheke arranged for him to meet with the young King. They spoke in Latin and began with comets. Cardano had a new theory about their origin. Cardano said they originate in "the concourse of the light of the planets." We would say the reflection, refraction, and interference of their light waves.

Now to appreciate Edward's response, please remember that the Renaissance worldview assumed a stationary Earth surrounded by concentric crystalline spheres. These solid spheres bore the seven "planets" through their geocentric, circular orbits all the while intoning celestial music—the music of the spheres. But in 1531 measurements of the parallax of what would later be called "Halley's Comet" had shown that it was actually moving above the Moon. So how did it pass through the spheres to get there . . . or to leave?

Edward asked Cardano, "How is it, since the motions of these [the planets] are different, that the light is not scattered, or does not move in accordance with their motion?" Hobden. Few teenage scientists in the 21st Century would jump to that question in English, let alone Latin. Yet Edward knew enough about the science to question even a leading expert of his day. Of course, Cardano was wrong; Edward was at least on the right track.

Ed_and_popeMore striking theologically is Edward's composition on papal supremacy. After listing arguments for and against the doctrine, he considers the rise of the papacy and the nature of the Antichrist. Though he follows other sources, as a school boy would, he arranges them to his own tastes. And he makes the issue personal. "If they do not do the Pope's bidding, that is to offer to idols and devils, he burn us, and makes us bear a faggot." Notice the "us"; Edward identifies himself with the persecuted "poor lambs of God." In the end he concludes that the Pope is "the true son of the devil, a bad man, an Antichrist and abominable tyrant." Macculloch, 29. This at eleven years old.

Of course, theology learned in childhood may be lost in later years. It is important that we see Edward's perseverance in the evangelical faith both in his later words and deeds.

This is from his journal:

The lady Mary, my sister, came to me to Westminster, where after greetings she was called with my council into a chamber where it was declared how long I had suffered her mass, in hope of her reconciliation, and how now, there being no hope as I saw by her letters, unless I saw some speedy amendment I could not bear it. She answered that her soul was God's and her faith she would not change, nor hide her opinion with dissembled doings. It was said I did not constrain her faith but willed her only as a subject to obey. And that her example might lead to too much inconvenience.

On 19 March the emperor's ambassador came with a short message from his master of threatened war, if I would not allow his cousin the princess to use her mass. No answer was given to this at the time.

The following day the bishops of Canterbury, London and Rochester, Thomas Cranmer, Nicholas Ridley and John Scory, concluded that to give licence to sin was sin; to allow and wink at it for a time might be born as long as all possible haste was used. Edward's Journal for 1551.

Here is an extended account of the same events by another hand. It gives us a clearer idea of Edward's theological training and religious convictions:

The two bishops were sent to persuade him. They did allege that there were good kings in the Old Testament, that had suffered hill altars, and yet were praised for good kings. He answered them roundly, that, "as examples when they are good, and had God's word to allow them, are left to us to follow them, so are evil examples set out to show that they were men, and did fail of that perfection which God requires in his, to teach us not to be followers of them, but utterly to warn us in any wise to [shun] them. Abraham lay with Hagar his maid; David took Uriah's wife to him, and to hide his adultery committed a murder; did they this that we should think it lawful for us to do it, or does Scripture make mention of it to this end that any should do as they did? Solomon did worship the idol Moloch may we therefore give priests our subjects leave to honor, yea to make a piece of dough bread for God?" From "A discourse written by Sir Richard Morrison, the King's ambassador with the Emperor" in John Gough Nichols, Literary Remains of King Edward the Sixth (J.B. Nichols and Sons: London, 1857), ccxxviii. The spelling and some verb endings have been modernized.

Edward insisted that before he would grant their suit, the bishops would have to show him from Scripture that he would be right in allowing such idolatry. Until they could do so, he insisted, "I shall require you to fear God with me, and to bend yourself rather to imitate me, and to contemplate any peril, than to set light God's will, thereby to please an emperor." He then summed up Psalm 78, which describes how God dealt with Israel when she abandoned His covenant in favor of idols.

As for Charles V, Mary's cousin, Edward said:

The emperor . . . is a man more likely to die himself every day than to do us any great harm ...we must wait upon God's will, and commit the event of things to His wisdom and mercy...I know God is able to defend me against as many emperors as ever the world had. . . . I must do as God gives me commandment . . . . Ibid.

Edward_VI_aged_6In fact, Charles outlived Edward. "I fell sick of the measles and the small pox," Edward wrote in his journal for 2 April 1552. Though he survived the disease, his constitution never fully recovered. By that summer his health had begun to deteriorate. In the months that followed his condition worsened greatly, and the attendant physicians could do nothing. "He coughed and spat blood, his legs swelled painfully, eruptions broke out over his body, his hair fell out, then his nails." Will Durant, The Reformation (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1957), 586. The physicians called it consumption; but given Northumberland's character, some suspected poisoning.

Northumberland came to Edward to insist that the throne could not pass to Mary, lest all the work of reformation be undone. Edward concurred. He authorized a change in the line of succession. Lady Jane Grey, his father's niece and now Northumberland's daughter-in-law, would be next in line. She stood solidly with the Reformation and exchanged intelligent correspondence with its continental leaders. When the judges protested the illegality of the order, Edward roused himself to press them to obedience. Weir, 146-148.

In his last hour Edward whispered a prayer he himself had prepared.

Charles_VLord God, deliver me out of this miserable and wretched life, and take me amongst Thy chosen; howbeit not my will but Thy will be done. Lord, I commit my spirit to Thee. O, Lord, Thou knowest how happy it were for me to be with Thee; yet, for Thy chosen's sake, send me life and health, that I may truly serve Thee. O, my Lord God, defend this realm from papistry, and maintain Thy true religion, that I and my people may praise The holy Name , for Thy Son Jesus Christ's sake, Amen. Weir, 153.

So young Edward died, having done what he could to establish the evangelical faith. And from the sky above thunder rumbled, lightning forked and flashed, and hailstones "red as clotted blood" rained down. Ibid. Weir goes on to suggest that Northumberland buried Edward privately rather than let his body lie in state and, perhaps, risk an autopsy. Remember the arsenic.

   

Crossing the Jordan: The Narrative of Arnold Gragston

When reading Fergus Bordewich's account of Rev. John Rankin's role in the Underground Railroad, it sparked a memory of another account from the Slave Narrative Collection. The Narratives consisted of more than 2,000 interviews conducted from 1936 through 1938 with elderly former slaves. It was all part of a Depression-era WPA project. One of those narratives was of particular interest, since it is a first-hand account of a slave who secretly transported other slaves across the Ohio to "a man named Mr. Rankins."

Slave_Escape_4Most of the slaves didn't know when they was born, but I did. You see, I was born on a Christmas mornin'—it was in 1840; I was a full grown man when I finally got my freedom.

Before I got it, though, I helped a lot of others get theirs. Lawd only knows how many; might have been as much as two-three hundred. It was 'way more than a hundred, I know. . . .

I was born on a plantation that b'longed to Mr. Jack Tabb in Mason County, just across the river in Kentucky.

Slave_Escape_2Mr. Tabb was a pretty good man. He used to beat us, sure; but not nearly so much as others did, some of his own kin people, even. But he was kinda funny sometimes; he used to have a special slave who didn't have nothin' to do but teach the rest of us—we had about ten on the plantation, and a lot on the other plantations near us--how to read and write and figger. Mr. Tabb liked us to know how to figger. But sometimes when he would send for us and we would be a long time comin', he would ask us where we had been. If we told him we have been learnin' to read, he would near beat the daylights out of us—after gettin' somebody to teach us; I think he did some of that so that the other owners wouldn't say he was spoilin' his slaves. . . .

Mr. Tabb was always specially good to me. He used to let me go all about—I guess he had to; couldn't get too much work out of me even when he kept me right under his eyes. I learned fast, too, and I think he kinda liked that. . . .

It was 'cause he used to let me go around in the day and night so much that I came to be the one who carried the runnin' away slaves over the river. It was funny the way I started it, too.

I didn't have no idea of ever gettin' mixed up in any sort of business like that until one special night. I hadn't even thought of rowing across the river myself.

But one night I had gone on another plantation 'courtin,' and the old woman whose house I went to told me she had a real pretty girl there who wanted to go across the river and would I take her? I was scared and backed out in a hurry. But then I saw the girl, and she was such a pretty little thing, brown-skinned and kinda rosy, and looking as scared as I was feelin', so it wasn't long before I was listenin' to the old woman tell me when to take her and where to leave her on the other side.

I didn't have nerve enough to do it that night, though, and I told them to wait for me until tomorrow night. All the next day I kept seeing Mister Tabb laying a rawhide across my back, or shootin' me, and kept seeing that scared little brown girl back at the house, looking at me with her big eyes and asking me if I wouldn't just row her across to Ripley. Me and Mr. Tabb lost, and soon as dust settled that night, I was at the old lady's house.

I don't know how I ever rowed the boat across the river the current was strong and I was trembling. I couldn't see a thing there in the dark, but I felt that girl's eyes. We didn't dare to whisper, so I couldn't tell her how sure I was that Mr. Tabb or some of the others owners would "tear me up" when they found out what I had done. I just knew they would find out.

I was worried, too, about where to put her out of the boat. I couldn't ride her across the river all night, and I didn't know a thing about the other side. I had heard a lot about it from other slaves but I thought it was just about like Mason County, with slaves and masters, overseers and rawhides; and so, I just knew that if I pulled the boat up and went to asking people where to take her I would get a beating or get killed.

Slave_BeatingI don't know whether it seemed like a long time or a short time, now—it's so long ago; I know it was a long time rowing there in the cold and worryin'. But it was short, too, 'cause as soon as I did get on the other side the big-eyed, brown-skin girl would be gone. Well, pretty soon I saw a tall light and I remembered what the old lady had told me about looking for that light and rowing to it. I did; and when I got up to it, two men reached down and grabbed her; I started tremblin' all over again, and prayin'. Then, one of the men took my arm and I just felt down inside of me that the Lord had got ready for me. "You hungry, Boy?" is what he asked me, and if he hadn't been holdin' me I think I would have fell backward into the river.

That was my first trip; it took me along time to get over my scared feelin', but I finally did, and I soon found myself goin' back across the river, with two and three people, and sometimes a whole boatload. I got so I used to make three and four trips a month.

What did my passengers look like? I can't tell you any more about it than you can, and you wasn't there. After that first girl—no, I never did see her again—I never saw my passengers. I[t] would have to be the "black nights" of the moon when I would carry them, and I would meet 'em out in the open or in a house without a single light. The only way I knew who they were was to ask them; "What you say?" And they would answer, "Menare." I don't know what that word meant—it came from the Bible. I only know that that was the password I used, and all of them that I took over told it to me before I took them.

RewardI guess you wonder what I did with them after I got them over the river. Well, there in Ripley was a man named Mr. Rankins; I think the rest of his name was John. He had a regular station there on his place for escaping slaves. You see, Ohio was a free state and once they got over the river from Kentucky or Virginia, Mr. Rankins could strut them all around town, and nobody would bother 'em. The only reason we used to land 'em quietly at night was so that whoever brought 'em could go back for more, and because we had to be careful that none of the owners had followed us. Every once in a while they would follow a boat and catch their slaves back.

Sometimes they would shoot at whoever was trying to save the poor devils.

Mr. Rankins had a regular "station" for the slaves. He had a big lighthouse in his yard, about thirty feet high and he kept it burnin' all night. It always meant freedom for [a] slave if he could get to this light.

Sometimes Mr. Rankins would have twenty or thirty slaves that had run away on his place at the time. It must have cost him a whole lots to keep them and feed 'em, but I think some of his friends helped him.

Those that wanted to stay around that part of Ohio could stay, but didn't many of 'em do it, because there was too much danger that you would be walking along free one night, feel a hand over your mouth, and be back across the river and in slavery again in the morning. And nobody in the world ever got a chance to know as much misery as a slave that had escaped and been caught.

So a whole lot of 'em went on North to other parts of Ohio, or to New York, Chicago or Canada; Canada was popular then because all of the slaves thought it was the last gate before you got all the way inside of heaven. I don't think there was much chance for a slave to make a living in Canada, but didn't many of 'em come back. They seem like they rather starve up there in the cold than to be back in slavery.

The Army soon started taking a lot of 'em, too. They could enlist in the Union Army and get good wages, more food than they ever had, and have all the little gals wavin' at 'em when they passed. Them blue uniforms was a nice change, too.

No, I never got anything from a single one of the people I carried over the river to freedom. I didn't want anything; after I had made a few trips I got to like it, and even though I could have been free any night myself, I figgered I wasn't gettin' along so bad so I would stay on Mr. Tabb's place and help the others get free. I did it for four years.

I don't know to this day how he never knew what I was doing; I used to take some awful chances, and he knew I must have been up to something; I wouldn't do much work in the day, would never be in my house at night, and when he would happen to visit the plantation where I had said I was goin' I wouldn't be there. Sometimes I think he did know and wanted me to get the slaves away that way so he wouldn't have to cause hard feelins' by freein' 'em.

I think Mr. Tabb used to talk a lot to Mr. John Fee; Mr. Fee was a man who lived in Kentucky, but Lord! how that man hated slavery! He used to always tell us (we never let our owners see us listenin' to him, though) that God didn't intend for some men to be free and some men be in slavery. He used to talk to the owners, too, when they would listen to him, but mostly they hated the sight of John Fee.

In the night, though, he was a different man, for every slave who came through his place going across the river he had a good word, something to eat and some kind of rags, too, if it was cold. He always knew just what to tell you to do if anything went wrong, and sometimes I think he kept slaves there on his place 'till they could be rowed across the river. Helped us a lot.

Burns_SlaveI almost ran the business in the ground after I had been carrying the slaves across for nearly four years. It was in 1863, and one night I carried across about twelve on the same night. Somebody must have seen us, because they set out after me as soon as I stepped out of the boat back on the Kentucky side; from that time on they were after me. Sometimes they would almost catch me; I had to run away from Mr. Tabb's plantation and live in the fields and in the woods. I didn't know what a bed was from one week to another. I would sleep in a cornfield tonight, up in the branches of a tree tomorrow night, and buried in a haypile the next night; the River, where I had carried so many across myself, was no good to me; it was watched too close.

Finally, I saw that I could never do any more good in Mason County, so I decided to take my freedom, too. I had a wife by this time, and one night we quietly slipped across and headed for Mr. Rankin's bell and light. It looked like we had to go almost to China to get across that river; I could hear the bell and see the light on Mr. Rankin's place, but the harder I rowed, the farther away it got, and I knew if I didn't make it I'd get killed. But finally, I pulled up by the lighthouse, and went on to my freedom—just a few months before all the slaves got theirs. I didn't stay in Ripley, though; I wasn't taking no chances. I went on to Detroit and still live there with most of 10 children and 31 grandchildren.

The bigger ones don't care so much about hearin' it now, but the little ones never get tired of hearin' how their grandpa brought Emancipation to loads of slaves he could touch and feel, but never could see.

"[I guess] I could be called a 'conductor' on the underground railway, only we didn't call it that then. I don't know as we called it anything—we just knew there was a lot of slaves always a-wantin' to get free, and I had to help 'em."
Arnold Gragston (quoted in interviewer's introduction)

 

Bound For Caanan

Bound_for_Canaan_Book_coverStill the fugitives came, night after night, having seen the Rankins' ever-glowing light from the Kentucky bluffs. Sometimes they swam. More often they rowed across the river in skiffs "borrowed" from the Kentucky shore. Sometimes, in the hottest weather, when the Ohio was so dry that steamboats were stranded, they could walk most of the way across. (The river was narrower then, about 150 yards across at Ripley; today, after much dredging and banking, it is about 600 yards wide.) But escapes were most common in winter, when the dense vegetation on the Kentucky side was easier to move through, the snakes that infested the hills were dormant, and the ice on the river froze as much as eighteen inches thick.

Unfortunately, John Rankin never wrote about these people until he reached old age, and in the brief account of his life that he did record, they are rarely more than tantalizing shadows. One young woman is "beautiful and accomplished in her manners and but slightly colored," a seamstress who "had intercourse with the highest class of ladies, from whom she gained much knowledge and learned politeness." Another, a pious Presbyterian nurse, was fifty years old, and about to be sold away from her home in Kentucky when she was brought across the river by "a free colored girl of Ohio." Another was a young man who "said that in Kentucky there were twenty men after him in a wheat field and they were so near him he thought they would hear his heart beat." These heroic men and women remain elusive in the first hours of their freedom, seen only for a moment in the Rankins' accounts as if in the sudden glare of a flash in a darkened room, only to mutely recede again into the darkness of the past as abruptly as they appeared.

The most famous single fugitive to pass through the Rankin home was also the most enigmatic of all. On a bitter night in the winter of 1838, a heavy-set black woman picked her way furtively down Tuckahoe Ridge toward the frozen river. She followed the familiar track from the plantation where she was enslaved, careful to keep herself out of sight when she reached the snow-covered floodplain, moving close to the ground. In her arms, she carried an infant whom she had wrapped in a shawl against the cold air. She was leaving her other children and a husband behind, hoping that if she was not caught, and if she did not die, she might be able to return for them someday. She had fled abruptly for the same reason as so many other fugitives: a day or two earlier a slave trader had appeared at her master's estate to negotiate her price or that of her child. She knew that she might die crossing the river, but if she did nothing she would die a different kind of death, to be sold away south, and away from her family forever.

Eliza-Crossing-the-Ice-Morgan-1881In some accounts, the woman begged help from an elderly Scotsman or Englishman who lived near the shore, and who sheltered her until she heard the baying of dogs on her trail. As she ran from his house she grabbed hold of a plank and raced to the river's edge. When the ice was solid, teams of horses could cross it. But there had been a thaw and the ice was rotten, full of air holes and cracks, and the water was running over it, and it was ready to break up. No one had ventured onto it for the past two days, but she had no choice. Her first step broke through. For a moment she stood paralyzed in freezing water. Then she plunged forward, carrying her baby in one hand and the plank in the other. The ice seemed firmer as she ran toward the Ohio shore, but then without warning she broke through again, this time up to her armpits. She pushed the baby ahead of her onto the ice, then levered herself up with the aid of the plank. Laying the plank across the broken ice, she crept along it until she fell through once more. Again she managed to throw the infant ahead of her before she sank. Crawling back onto the ice, she continued her progress in this fashion until the ice disintegrated beneath her again. This time she sank in only to her knees, and she knew that she was close to the Ohio shore. When she finally touched solid land she collapsed, physically spent.

rankin2She was safe for the moment, she thought. But she was not alone. A white man had come up out of the darkness and loomed over her. Had she known who he was she would have recognized him as her worst nightmare. He was a Ripley man named Chancey Shaw, a sometime slave catcher who often prowled the northern bank of the river on the lookout for fugitives. He had watched attentively as the woman made her way across the ice, and he was preparing to seize her when, he later admitted to a local abolitionist, he heard her baby whimper and something unexpectedly moved inside him. Surprising himself, he heard himself tell her, "Woman, you have won your freedom." Instead of arresting her, he led her, soaked and freezing, to the edge of the village. There he pointed to a long flight of steps that ascended a bare hill, at the top of which the rectangle of a farmhouse and a light were visible. He told her to make for the light, saying, "No nigger has ever been got back from that house."

The first that the Rankins knew of the fugitive woman's presence was when Jean Rankin heard her poking at the fire. (The door to the Rankin home was always unlocked in anticipation of fugitives.) Immediately falling to the indispensable work that was everywhere performed by the women of the Underground Railroad, she soon had the mother and her baby fed and out of their wet clothes. Upstairs twelve-year-old John Rankin Jr. was awakened by the voice of his father. "I had answered that night call too many times not to know what it meant," John Jr. recalled many years later. "Fugitive slaves were downstairs. Ahead of us was a long walk across the hills in the dead of night under a cold winter sky. Then the long cold walk back home, which must be made before daybreak."

Rankin_house_looking_up_path_2005Still sleepy, John Jr. came downstairs with his brother Calvin to see a short, stout mulatto woman dressed in one of their mother's old linsey-woolsey dresses and a pair of their father's socks, seated before the fire with her baby in her arms and a pile of clothes drying before the fire. The Rankins massed around her as she told them her story. "She seemed so simple as she looked up in our faces," John Jr. recalled. "How little did we know that this courageous mother, who was though now unknown, was to stir the heart of a great nation." More than a decade later, she would be transformed in the imagination of the novelist Harriet Beecher Stowe into the fictional slave "Eliza," and her perilous crossing of the frozen Ohio River would achieve the dimensions of myth as the most famous rendering of a fugitive's escape ever written. But in the shivering figure before their fire, the Rankins simply saw a fugitive slave who had to be moved on quickly and safely to the home of another friend who would house and feed her, and then guide her on her lonely way to freedom.

Rankin_house_windowThree horses were brought around to the back door, and using an old chair as an "upping block," the fugitive hoisted herself up onto Jean Rankin's horse. Calvin was assigned to carry the baby, and John Jr. fell in behind him, as the boys wound down the thickly wooded bank of Red Oak Creek. At Red Oak, they handed off the woman and her child to James Gilliland, the local Presbyterian minister, who would in turn see that they were forwarded to the next station north. "So far as we were concerned, it was only another incident of many of similar character," John Jr. told an interviewer long afterward. The Rankins never even knew her real name.

From BOUND FOR CANAAN. Copyright © 2005 by Fergus M. Bordewich. Reprinted by arrangement with Amistad, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.

   

Magazine Menu

Search Leben

Advertise in Leben

Click on contacts to send an email to our advertising department.

Publisher

City Seminary Press

2150 River Plaza Dirve
Suite 150
Sacramento, CA  95833