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In the history of American abolitionism, a few worthy individuals stand out above the rest: the courageous and resourceful Harriet Tubman, the zealous and cerebral Frederick Douglass, and the fiery and radical William Lloyd Garrison. 

While these names certainly deserve their pride of place, one figure undeservedly languishes in the background — a man who, despite being relatively unknown today, was so indispensable to the success of the abolitionist movement that he was often referred to as “the father of abolitionism.” That man was the Reverend John Rankin. 

As Caleb Franz reveals in his new book, The Conductor: The Story of Rev. John Rankin, Abolitionism’s Essential Founding Father, Rankin risked everything he had to shepherd thousands of slaves to freedom, and he helped lead to the abolition of slavery itself through his public advocacy. In this tightly written, sensitive, and gripping narrative, Franz resurrects the story of one of history’s most unsung heroes. 

On the surface, Rankin seemed to be an ordinary man, but his plainness veiled a web of complex dualities. A mild-mannered family man who hailed from the South and abhorred violence, he became the leader of one of the Underground Railroad’s most traveled and dangerous lines. A theologically conservative Presbyterian minister who loved his church, his kin, and America, Rankin’s anti-slavery agitation helped to break up his denomination, his country, and nearly his family too. 

Despite these major ruptures, Rankin remained fundamentally conservative. While other abolitionists were prepared to destroy institutions and personal relationships that they believed were morally compromised by slavery, Rankin strove to preserve institutions and relationships, while cleansing them of slavery’s sinful stain. 

Rankin was tested early on. He was ordained in his early twenties and began criticizing slavery from the pulpit in Kentucky, quickly drawing the ire of slave owners and their sympathizers. Rather than bow to social pressure, he chose to head north to Ripley, Ohio, hoping to find a community that was more tolerant of his message.

Unfortunately, it also meant leaving his parents behind. In one particularly moving passage, Franz describes how Rankin’s father accompanied him down the road, shedding silent tears, knowing that it might be the last time they would ever see each other. 

Slavery would threaten his family’s unity again when Rankin discovered that his brother Thomas, who was still living in the Rankin family’s home state of Virginia, purchased slaves. The news broke John’s heart. But instead of angrily disavowing his brother, John Rankin saw an opportunity not only to win his brother back, but also to wake up the American public to the evils of slavery. 

In 1824, Rankin wrote a series of letters to Thomas and published them in a local newspaper. He told his brother that he loved him and that his heart longed to see him liberated from “what is both sinful and dangerous.” He then went on to demonstrate to his readers that the most common contemporary pro-slavery arguments were theologically flimsy, logically self-refuting, and scientifically nonsensical. 

Rankin’s Letters on American Slavery were later bound into a book and circulated around the country, stirring up controversy and inspiring countless others to join the abolitionist movement. Garrison attributed his own conversion to immediate abolition to Rankin’s Letters, often referring to Rankin as “my anti-slavery father.”

Garrison would go on to rage against Southern tyranny, advocating for Northern secession, and once burned a copy of the Constitution, calling it a “covenant with death.”

Rankin was far more conciliatory. Because he grew up in the South and still had many friends and family there, he could not see Southerners as his enemies, no matter how far they strayed from the truth. “No person has more kindly feelings towards the slaveholding States than myself,” Rankin told an American Anti-Slavery Society convention. 

As Franz writes, “It pained Rankin still to see his southern brethren driven astray by the institution of slavery. They weren’t evil as much as they were lost, in need of someone to show them the light.” Rankin simply could not get behind Garrison’s call for the free states to secede from the Union. 

Rankin did, however, reluctantly support disunion within his denomination. As Franz writes, “He characterized church secession as sinful and in blatant rebellion of the example of Christ … Rankin believed that secession would not only bring ruin to the church but would expose the country to unparalleled levels of vice and immorality.” Still, tolerating slavery was even worse than schism. With great pain, Rankin helped to establish the Free Presbyterian Church, which forbade any slaveholders from becoming members. 

Though Rankin loved his Southern brethren, he had no qualms about helping slaves escape from Southern bondage. Black slaves were made in the image of God just as much as free whites were, so they deserved their freedom too, even if they had to “steal” themselves. Always a cautious man, Rankin never made daring trips to Southern plantations to liberate slaves like Harriet Tubman did, but he eagerly helped shuttle more than 2,000 runaways through his home — making him one of the most prolific conductors on the Underground Railroad.

Unfortunately, as more slaves ran away, political conflict over slavery only became worse, eventually leading to a bloody civil war. Rankin had to watch as the war — a war that he indirectly helped to bring about — ravaged his Southern homeland. 

Much to his satisfaction, Rankin lived to see the reunification of the country, the legal abolition of slavery, and the healing of the Presbyterian schism in Ripley. His life’s work complete, Rankin spent his last remaining years quietly with his family. Few physical reminders of Rankin’s legacy exist today, save a simple and humble monument over his grave.

Nearly 140 years after his death, Franz has given us a new monument: a biography truly worthy of its subject. As he expertly weaves together original research and historical background, Franz’s scholarship is top-tier, but he also tells his story with incredible pathos. The Conductor is a fitting tribute to an ordinary, conservative man who achieved extraordinary things. 

Tyler Curtis is a contributor at Young Voices.