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Works of John Bunyan — THE INTERNAL CONFLICT, OR BUNYAN'S CONVICTIONS AND CONVERSION.4

 

In addition to his want of scriptural education, it must be remembered that, when he thought of miraculous power being evidence of faith, his mind was in a most excited state—doubts spread over him like huge masses of thick black clouds, hiding the Sun of Righteousness from his sight. Not only is he to be pardoned for his error, but admired for the humility which prompted him to record so singular a trial, and his escape from 'this delusion of the tempter.' While 'thus he was tossed betwixt the devil and his own ignorance,' the happiness of the poor women whose conversation he had heard at Bedford, was brought to his recollection by a remarkable reverie or daydream:—

'About this time, the state and happiness of these poor people at Bedford were thus, in a dream or vision, represented to me. I saw as if they were set on the sunny side of some high mountain, there refreshing themselves with the pleasant beams of the sun, while I was shivering and shrinking in the cold, afflicted with frost, snow, and dark clouds. Methought also, betwixt me and them, I saw a wall that did compass about this mountain; now through this wall my soul did greatly desire to pass, concluding that if I could, I would go even into the very midst of them, and they also comfort myself with the heat of their sun.

'About this wall, I thought myself to go, again and again, still prying, as I went, to see if I could find some way or passage, by which I might enter therein; but none could I find for some time. At the last I saw, as it were, a narrow gap, like a little doorway in the wall, through which I attempted to pass; but the passage being very strait and narrow, I made many efforts to get in, but all in vain, even until I was well nigh quite beat out, by striving to get in; at last, with the great striving, methought I at first did get in my head, and after that, by a sidling striving, my shoulders, and my whole body; then I was exceeding glad, and went and sat down in the midst of them, and so was comforted with the light and heat of their sun.

'Now this mountain, and wall, was thus made out to me: The mountain signified the church of the living God; the sun that shone thereon, the comfortable shining of his merciful face on them that were therein; the wall I thought was the Word, that did make the separation between the Christians and the world; and the gap which was in this wall, I thought, was Jesus Christ, who is the way to God the Father (John 14:6; Matt 7:14). But forasmuch as the passage was wonderful narrow, even so, narrow that I could not, but with great difficulty, enter in thereat, it showed me, that none could enter into life, but those that were in downright earnest, and unless also they left this wicked world behind them; for there was only room for body and soul, but not for body and soul and sin.

'This resemblance abode upon my spirit many days; all which time I saw myself in a forlorn and sad condition, but yet was provoked to a vehement hunger and desire to be one of that number that did sit in the sunshine. Now also I should pray wherever I was; whether at home or abroad, in house or field, and should also often, with lifting up of heart, sing that of the fifty-first Psalm, "O Lord, consider my distress."'

In this striking reverie, we discover the budding forth of that great genius who produced the most beautiful flowers and delicious fruit, when it became fully developed in his allegories.

While this trial clouded his spirits, he was called to endure temptations that are common to most, if not all, inquiring souls, and which frequently produce much anxiety. He plunged into the university problems of predestination before he had completed his lower grammar-school exercises on faith and repentance. Am I one of the elect? or has the day of grace been suffered to pass by never to return? 'Although he was in a flame to find the way to heaven and glory,' these questions afflicted and disquieted him so that the very strength of his body was taken away by the force and power thereof. 'Lord, thought I, what if I should not be elected! It may be you are not, said the tempter; it may be so, indeed thought I. Why then, said Satan, you had as good leave off, and strive no farther; for if indeed you should not be elected and chosen of God, there is no talk of your being saved; "for it is neither of him that will, nor of him, that runs, but of God that shows mercy."

'By these things I was driven to my wit's end, not knowing what to say, or how to answer these temptations. Indeed, I little thought that Satan had thus assaulted me, but that rather it was my own prudence thus to start the question: for that the elect only obtained eternal life; that I without scruple did heartily close withal; but that myself was one of them, there lay all the question.'

Works of John Bunyan — THE INTERNAL CONFLICT, OR BUNYAN'S CONVICTIONS AND CONVERSION.3

 

By this time he had recovered the art of reading, and its use a little perplexed him, for he became much puzzled with the opinions of the Renters, as set forth in their books. It is extremely difficult to delineate their sentiments; they were despised by all the sects which had been connected with the government, because, with the Quakers and Baptists, they denied any magisterial or state authority over conscience, and refused maintenance to ministers; but from the testimony of Bunyan, and that of the early Quakers, they appear to have been practical Antinomians, or at least very nearly allied to the new sect called Mormonites. Ross, who copied from Pagitt, describes them with much bitterness—'The Renters are unclean beasts—their maxim is that there is nothing sin but what a man thinks to be so—they reject the Bible—they are the merriest of all devils—they deny all obedience to magistrates.'

This temptation must have been severe. The Renters were like the black man with the white robe, named Flatterer, who led the pilgrims into a net, under the pretense of showing them the way to the celestial city; or like Adam the first, who offered Faithful his three daughters to wife—the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life—if he would dwell with him in the town of Deceit. 'These temptations,' he says, 'were suitable to my flesh,' I being but a young man, and my nature in its prime; and, with his characteristic humility, he adds, 'God, who had, as I hope, designed me for better things, kept me in the fear of his name, and did not suffer me to accept such cursed principles.' Prayer opened the door of escape; it led him to the fountain of truth. 'I began to look into the Bible with new eyes. Prayer preserved me from Ranting errors.

 The Bible was precious to me in those days.' His study of the Holy Oracles now became a daily habit, and that with intense earnestness and prayer. In the midst of the multitude of sects with which he was on all sides surrounded, he felt the need of a standard for the opinions which were each of them eagerly followed by votaries, who proclaimed them to be THE TRUTH, the way, and the life. He was like a man, feeling that if he erred in the way, it would be attended with misery, and, but for Divine interference, with unutterable ruin—possessed of a correct map, but surrounded with those who, by flattery, or threats, or deceit, and armed with all human eloquence, strove to mislead him.

 With an enemy within to urge him to accept their wily guidance, that they might lead him to perdition—inspired by Divine grace, like Christian in his Pilgrim, he 'put his fingers in his ears, and ran on, crying Life, life, eternal life.' He felt utter dependence upon Divine guidance, leading him to most earnest prayer, and implicit obedience to Holy Writ, which followed him all through the remainder of his pilgrimage. 'The Bible' he calls 'the scaffold, or stage, that God has built for hope to play his part upon in this world.' Hence the Word was precious in his eyes; and with so immense a loss, or so magnificent a gain, the throne of grace was all his hope, that he might be guided by that counsel that cannot err, and that should eventually insure his reception to eternal glory.

While in this inquiring state, he experienced much doubt and uncertainty arising from the apparent confidence of many professors. In his own esteem he appeared to be thoroughly humbled; and when he lighted on that passage—'To one is given by the spirit the word of wisdom, to another, knowledge, and to another, faith' (1 Cor 12:8,9), his solemn inquiry was, how it happened that he possessed so little of any of these gifts of wisdom, knowledge, or faith—more especially of faith, that being essential to the pleasing of God. He had read (Matt 21:21),

 'If ye have faith and doubt not, ye shall say unto this mountain, Be thou removed, and be thou cast into the sea; it shall be done'; and (Luke 17:6), 'If ye had faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye might say to this sycamore tree, Be thou plucked up by the root, and be thou planted in the sea, and it shall obey you'; and (1 Cor 13:2), 'Though I have all faith so that I could remove mountains.' The poor tinker, considering these passages in their literal import, imagined they were meant as tests to try whether the believer possessed faith or not. He was a stranger to the rules of Hebrew rhetoric; nor did he consider that they were addressed to the apostles, who had the power to work miracles. 

He had no idea that removing a mountain or planting a sycamore tree in the sea, were figures of speech conveying to us the fact that, aided by faith, mountainous difficulties might and would be overcome. Anxious for some ocular demonstration that he had faith, he almost determined to attempt to work a miracle—not to convert or confirm the faith of others, but to satisfy his own mind as to his possessing faith. He had no such magnificent idea as the removal of a mountain, for there were none in his neighbourhood, nor to plant a tree in the sea, for Bedfordshire is an inland county; but it was of the humblest kind—that some puddles on the road between Elstow and Bedford should change places with the dry ground. When he had thought of praying for ability, his natural good sense led him to abandon the experiment. 

Works of John Bunyan — THE INTERNAL CONFLICT, OR BUNYAN'S CONVICTIONS AND CONVERSION.2

 

Bunyan was now dressed in the garb of a religious professor and had become a brisk talker in the matters of religion, when, by Divine mercy, he was stripped of all his good opinion of himself; his want of holiness, and his unchanged heart, were revealed to his surprise and wonder, by means simple and efficacious, but which no human forethought could have devised. Being engaged in his trade at Bedford, he overheard the conversation of some poor pious women, and it humbled and alarmed him. 'I heard, but I understood not; for they were far above, out of my reach. Their talk was about a new birth, the work of God on their hearts, also how they were convinced of their miserable state by nature; how God had visited their souls with his love in the Lord Jesus, and with what words and promises they had been refreshed, comforted, and supported against the temptations of the devil.

Moreover, they reasoned of the suggestions and temptations of Satan in particular; and told to each other by which they had been afflicted, and how they were borne up under his assaults. hey also discoursed of their own wretchedness of heart, of their unbelief; and did contemn, slight, and abhor their own righteousness, as filthy and insufficient to do them any good. And methought they spake as if joy did make them speak; they spake with such pleasantness of Scripture language, and with such appearance of grace in all they said, that they were to me as if they had found a new world; as if they were people that dwelt alone, and were not to be reckoned among their neighbours (Num 23:9).

'At this I felt my own heart began to shake, as mistrusting my condition to be naught; for I saw that in all my thoughts about religion and salvation, the new birth did never enter into my mind; neither knew I the comfort of the Word and promise, nor the deceitfulness and treachery of my own wicked heart. As for secret thoughts, I took no notice of them; neither did I understand what Satan's temptations were, nor how they were to be withstood and resisted.

'Thus, therefore, when I heard and considered what they said, I left them and went about my employment again, but their talk and discourse went with me; also my heart would tarry with them, for I was greatly affected by their words, both because by them I was convinced that I wanted the true tokens of a truly godly man, and also because by them I was convinced of the happy and blessed condition of him that was such a one.'

The brisk talker of 'talkative,' was confounded—he heard pious godly women mourning over their worthlessness instead of vaunting of their attainments. They exhibited, doubtless to his great surprise, that self-distrust and humility are the beginnings of wisdom.

These humble disciples could have had no conception that the Holy Spirit was blessing their Christian communion to the mind of the tinker, standing near them, pursuing his occupation. The recollection of the converse of these poor women led to solemn heart-searching and the most painful anxiety; again and again, he sought their company, and his convictions became deeper, his solicitude more intense.

This was the commencement of an internal struggle, the most remarkable of any upon record, except that of the psalmist David.

It was the work of the Holy Spirit in regenerating and preparing an ignorant and rebellious man for extraordinary submission to the sacred Scriptures, and for most extensive usefulness. To those who never experienced in any degree such feelings, they appear to indicate religious insanity. It was so marvelous and so mysterious, as to be mistaken by a poet laureate, who profanely calls it a being 'shaken continually by the hot and cold fits of a spiritual ague': 'reveries': or one of the 'frequent and contagious disorders of the human mind,' instead of considering it as wholesome but bitter medicine for the soul, administered by the heavenly Physician. At times he felt, like David, 'a sword in his bones,' 'tears his meat.' God's waves and billows overwhelmed him (Psa 43). Then came glimmerings of hope—precious promises saving him from despair—followed by the shadow of death overspreading his soul, and involving him in midnight darkness. He could complain in the bitterness of his anguish, 'Thy fierce wrath goeth over me.' Bound in affliction and iron, his 'soul was melted because of trouble.'

'Now Satan assaults the soul with darkness, fears, frightful thoughts of apparitions; now they sweat, pant, and struggle for life. The angels now come (Psa 107) down to behold the sight, and rejoice to see a bit of dust and ashes to overcome principalities, and powers, and might, and dominion.' His mind was fixed on eternity, and out of the abundance of his heart he spoke to one of his former companions; his language was that of reproof—'Harry, why do you swear and curse thus? what will become of you if you die in this condition?' His sermon, probably the first he had preached, was like throwing pearls before swine—'He answered in a great chafe, what would the devil do for company, if it were not for such as I am.'

Works of John Bunyan — THE INTERNAL CONFLICT, OR BUNYAN'S CONVICTIONS AND CONVERSION.1

 

Here was a disease that set all human skill at defiance, but the great, the Almighty Physician, cured it with strange physic. Had any professor reproved him, it might have been passed by as a matter of course; but it was so ordered that a woman who was notorious 'a very loose and ungodly wretch,' protested that she trembled to hear him swear and curse at that most fearful rate; that he was the ungodliest fellow she had ever heard, and that he was able to spoil all the youth in a whole town. Public reproof from the lips of such a woman was an arrow that pierced his inmost soul; it effected a reformation marvelous to all his companions, and bordering upon the miraculous.

The walls of a fortified city were once thrown down by a shout and the tiny blast of rams'-horns (Josh 6:20); and in this instance, the foundations of Heart Castle, fortified by Satan, are shaken by the voice of one of his own emissaries. Mortified and convicted, the foul-mouthed blasphemer swore no more; an outward reformation in words and conduct took place, but without inward spiritual life. Thus was he making vows to God and breaking them, repenting and promising to do better next time; so, to use his own homely phrase, he was 'feeding God with chapters, and prayers, and promises, and vows, and a great many more such dainty dishes, and thinks that he serveth God as well as any man in England can, while he has only got into a cleaner way to hell than the rest of his neighbours are in.'

Such a conversion, as he himself calls it, was 'from prodigious profaneness to something like moral life.' 'Now I was, as they said, become godly, and their words pleased me well, though as yet I was nothing but a poor painted hypocrite.' These are hard words, but, in the most important sense, they were true. He was pointed out as a miracle of mercy—the great convert—a wonder to the world. He could now suffer opprobrium and cavils—play with errors—entangle himself and drink in flattery. No one can suppose that this outward reform was put on hypocritically, as a disguise to attain some sinister object; it was real, but it arose from a desire to shine before his neighbours, from shame and from the fear of future punishment, and not from that love to God which leads the Christian to the fear of offending him. It did not arise from a change of heart; the secret springs of action remained polluted; it was outside show, and therefore he called himself a painted hypocrite. He became less a despiser of religion, but more awfully a destroyer of his own soul.

A new source of uneasiness now presented itself in his practice of bell-ringing, an occupation requiring severe labour, usually performed on the Lord's-day; and, judging from the general character of bell-ringers, it has a most injurious effect, both with regard to morals and religion. A circumstance had recently taken place which was doubtless interpreted as an instance of Divine judgment upon Sabbath-breaking. Clark, in his Looking-Glass for Saints and Sinners, 1657, published the narrative:—'Not long since, in Bedfordshire, a match at football being appointed on the Sabbath, in the afternoon whilst two were in the belfry, tolling of a bell to call the company together, there was suddenly heard a clap of thunder, and a flash of lightning was seen by some that sat in the church-porch coming through a dark lane, and flashing in their faces, which must terrified them, and, passing through the porch into the belfry, it tripped up his heels that was tolling the bell, and struck him stark dead; and the other that was with him was so sorely blasted therewith, that shortly after he died also.'

Thus we find that the church bells ministered to the Book of Sports, to call the company to Sabbath-breaking. The bell-ringers might come within the same class as those upon whom the tower at Siloam fell, still it was a most solemn warning, and accounts for the timidity of so resolute a man as Bunyan. Although he thought it did not become his newly-assumed religious character, yet his old propensity drew him to the church tower. At first he ventured in, but took care to stand under a main beam, lest the bell should fall and crush him; afterwards he would stand in the door; then he feared the steeple might fall; and the terrors of an untimely death, and his newly-acquired garb of religion, eventually deterred him from this mode of Sabbath-breaking. His next sacrifice made at the shrine of self-righteousness was dancing: this took him one whole year to accomplish, and then he bade farewell to these sports for the rest of his life.

We are not to conclude from the example of a man who in after-life proved so great and excellent a character, that, under all circumstances, bell-ringing and dancing are immoral. In those days, such sports and pastimes usually took place on the Lord's-day; and however the Church of England might then sanction it, and proclaim by royal authority, in all her churches, the lawfulness of sports on that sacred day, yet it is now universally admitted that it was commanding a desecration of the Sabbath, and letting loose a flood of vice and profaneness. In themselves, on days proper for recreation, such sports may be innocent; but if they engender an unholy thought, or occupy time needed for self-examination and devotion, they ought to be avoided as sinful hindrances to a spiritual life.

Works of John Bunyan — by John Bunyan and George Offor— INTRODUCTION Part 12

 

'This, for that instant, did benumb the sinews of my best delights, and did imbitter my former pleasures to me; but behold it lasted not for before I had well dined, the trouble began to go off my mind, and my heart returned to its old course. But O! how glad was I, that this trouble was gone from me, and that the fire was put out, that I might sin again without control! Wherefore, when I had satisfied nature with my food, I shook the sermon out of my mind, and to my old custom of sports and gaming I returned with great delight.

'But the same day, as I was in the midst of a game at cat, and having struck it one blow from the hole, just as I was about to strike it the second time, a voice did suddenly dart from heaven into my soul, which said, "Wilt thou leave thy sins and go to heaven, or have thy sins and go to hell?" At this I was put to an exceeding maze; wherefore leaving my cat upon the ground, I looked up to heaven, and was as if I had, with the eyes of my understanding, seen the Lord Jesus looking down upon me, as being very hotly displeased with me, and as if he did severely threaten me with some grievous punishment for these and other my ungodly practices.

'I had no sooner thus conceived in my mind, but, suddenly, this conclusion was fastened on my spirit, for the former hint did set my sins again before my face, that I had been a great and grievous sinner, and that it was now too late for me to look after heaven; for Christ would not forgive me, nor pardon my transgressions. Then I fell to musing upon this also; and while I was thinking on it, and fearing lest it should be so, I felt my heart sink in despair, concluding it was too late; and therefore I resolved in my mind I would go on in sin: for, thought I, if the case be thus, my state is surely miserable; miserable if I leave my sins, and but miserable if I follow them; I can but be damned, and if I must be so, I had as good be damned for many sins, as be damned for few.

'Thus I stood in the midst of my play, before all that then were present: but yet I told them nothing. But I say, I having made this conclusion, I returned desperately to my sport again; and I well remember, that presently this kind of despair did so possess my soul, that I was persuaded I could never attain to other comfort than what I should get in sin; for heaven was gone already; so that on that I must not think.'

How difficult is it, when immorality has been encouraged by royal authority, to turn the tide or to stem the torrent. For at least four years, an Act of Parliament had prohibited these Sunday sports. Still the supineness of the justices, and the connivance of the clergy, allowed the rabble youth to congregate on the Green at Elstow, summoned by the church bells to celebrate their sports and pastimes, as they had been in the habit of doing on the Lord's day.[

This solemn warning, received in the midst of his sport, was one of a series of convictions, by which he hardened sinner was to be fitted to receive the messages of mercy and love. In the midst of his companions and of the spectators, Bunyan was struck with a sense of guilt. How rapid were his thoughts—'Wilt thou leave thy sins and go to heaven, or have thy sins and go to hell?' With the eye of his understanding he saw the Lord Jesus as 'hotly displeased.' The tempter suggests it is 'too, too late' to seek for pardon, and with a desperate resolution which must have cost his heart the severest pangs, he continued his game. Still the impression remained indelibly fixed upon his mind.

The next blow which fell upon his hardened spirit was still more deeply felt, because it was given by one from whom he could the least have expected it. He was standing at a neighbour's shop-window, 'belching out oaths like the madman that Solomon speaks of, who scatters abroad firebrands, arrows, and death'[58] 'after his wonted manner.' He exemplified the character drawn by the Psalmist. 'As he clothed himself with cursing like as with his garment: so let it come into his bowels like water, and like oil into his bones.' 

Works of John Bunyan — by John Bunyan and George Offor— INTRODUCTION Part 11

 

During the Commonwealth, there was substituted, in place of the Common Prayer, A directory for the Public worship of God, and the uniformity which was enjoined in it was like that of the Presbyterians and Dissenters of the present day. The people had assembled, and been exhorted to reverence and humility, and joined the preacher in prayer. He then read portions of Scripture, with or without an exposition, as he judged it necessary, but not so as to render the service tedious. After singing a psalm, the minister prayed, leading the people to mourn under a sense of sin, and to hunger and thirst after the grace of God, in Jesus Christ; an outline or abstract is given of the subject of public prayer, and similar instructions are given as to the sermon or paraphrase. 

Immediately after the sermon, prayer was again offered up, and after the outline that is given of this devotional exercise, it is noted, 'And because the prayer which Christ taught his disciples, is not only a pattern of prayer but itself a most comprehensive prayer, we recommend it also to be used in the prayers of the Church.' This being ended, a psalm was sung, and the minister dismissed the congregation with a solemn blessing.[53] Some of the clergy continued the use of prayers, contained in the liturgy, reciting, instead of reading them—a course that was not objected to. This was the form of service which struck Bunyan with such awe and reverence, leaving a very solemn impression upon his mind, which the old form of common prayer had never produced.

Bunyan was fond of athletic sports, bell-ringing, and dancing; and in these he had indulged, so far as his worldly calling allowed. Charles I, whether to promote Popery—to divert his subjects from political grievances—or to punish the Puritans, had endeavored to drown their serious thoughts in a vortex of dissipation, by re-publishing the Book of Sports, to be used on Sundays. That 'after Divine service our good people be not disturbed, let, or discouraged from dancing, either men or women; archery, leaping, vaulting, or any other such harmless recreations; May games, Whitsun-ales, Morris dances, Maypoles, and other sports.' But this was not all, for every 'Puritan and Precisian was to be constrained to conformity with these sports, or to leave their country.' The same severe penalty was enforced upon every clergyman who refused to read from his pulpit the Book of Sports and to persuade the people thus to desecrate the Lord's-day. 

'Many hundred godly ministers were suspended from their ministry, sequestered, driven from their livings, excommunicated, prosecuted in the high commission court, and forced to leave the kingdom for not publishing this declaration.' A little gleam of heavenly light falls upon those dark and gloomy times, from the melancholy fact that nearly eight hundred conscientious clergymen were thus wickedly persecuted. This was one of the works of Laud, who out-bannered Bonner himself in his dreadful career of cruelty while making havoc on the church of Christ. Even transportation for refusing obedience to such diabolical laws was not the greatest penalty; in some cases, it was followed by the death of the offender. The punishments inflicted for nonconformity were accompanied by the most refined and barbarous cruelties. Still many of the learned bowed their necks to this yoke with abject servility: thus, Robert Powell, speaking of the Book of Sports, says, 'Needless is it to argue or dispute for that which authority hath commanded, and most insufferable insolence to speak or write against it.'

 These Sunday sports, published by Charles I, in 1633, had doubtless aided in fostering Bunyan's bad conduct in his youthful days. In 1644, when The Book of Common Prayer was abolished, an Act was passed for the better observance of the Lord's-day; all persons were prohibited on that day to use any wrestling, shooting, bowing, ringing of bells for pastime, masques, wakes, church-ales, dancing, game, sports or pastime whatever; and that 'the Book of Sports shall be seized, and publicly burnt.' During the civil war this Act does not appear to have been strictly enforced; for, four years after it was passed, we find Bunyan and his dissolute companions worshipping the priest, clerk, and vestments on a Sunday morning, and assembling for their Sabbath-breaking sports in the afternoon. It was upon one of these occasions that a most extraordinary impression was fixed upon the spirit of Bunyan. A remarkable scene took place, worthy of the pencil of the most eminent artist. This event cannot be better described than in his own words:—

'One day, amongst all the sermons our parson made, his subject was, to treat of the Sabbath-day, and of the evil of breaking that, either with labour, sports, or otherwise; now I was, notwithstanding my religion, one that took much delight in all manner of vice, and especially that was the day that I did solace myself therewith; wherefore I fell in my conscience under his sermons, thinking and believing that he made that sermon on purpose to show me my evil doing. And at that time I felt what guilt was, though never before, that I can remember; but then I was, for the present, greatly loaden therewith, and so went home, when the sermon was ended, with a great burthen upon my spirit.

Works of John Bunyan — by John Bunyan and George Offor— INTRODUCTION Part 10

 

 

 All nature is progressive; if an infant was suddenly to arrive at manhood, how idiotic and dangerous he would be! A long training is essential to fit the human being for the important duties of life; and just so is it in the new birth to spiritual existence—first a babe, then the young man; at length the full stature, and at last the experienced Christian.

The narrative of Bunyan's progress in his conversion is, without exception, the most astonishing of any that has been published. It is well calculated to excite the profoundest investigation of the Christian philosopher. Whence came to those sudden suggestions, those gloomy fears, those heavenly rays of joy? Much learning certainly did not make him mad. The Christian dares not attribute his intense feelings to a distempered brain. Whence came to the invisible power that struck Paul from his horse? Who was it that scared Job with dreams, and terrified him with visions? What messenger of Satan buffeted Paul? Who put 'a new song' into the mouth of David? We have no space in this short memoir to attempt the drawing a line between convictions of sin and the terrors of a distempered brain. Bunyan's opinions upon this subject are deeply interesting and are fully developed in his Holy War. The capabilities of the soul to entertain vast armies of thoughts, strong and feeble, represented as men, women, and children, are so great as almost to perplex the strongest understanding. All these multitudes of warriors are the innumerable thoughts—the strife—in ONE soul. Upon such a subject an interesting volume might be written. But we must fix our attention upon the poor tinker who was the subject of this wondrous war.

The tender and wise efforts of Mrs. Bunyan to reclaim her husband, were attended by the Divine blessing, and soon led to many resolutions, on his part, to curb his sinful propensities and to promote an outward reformation; his first effort was regularly to attend Divine worship.

He says, 'I fell in very eagerly with the religion of the times, to wit, to go to church twice a day, and that too with the foremost; and there should very devoutly both say and sing as others did, yet retaining my wicked life; but withal, I was so overrun with a spirit of superstition, that I adored, and that with great devotion, even all things, both the high-place, priest, clerk, vestment, service, and what else belongs to the Church; counting all things holy that were therein contained, and especially, the priest and clerk most happy, and without doubt greatly blessed, because they were the servants, as I then thought, of God, and were principal in the holy temple, to do his work therein. This conceit grew so strong in little time upon my spirit, that had I but seen a priest, though never so sordid and debauched in his life,[50] I should find my spirit fall under him, reverence him, and knit unto him; yea, I thought, for the love, I did bear unto them, supposing they were the ministers of God, I could have lain down at their feet, and have been trampled upon by them; their name, their garb, and work did so intoxicate and bewitch me.'

All this took place at the time when The Book of Common Prayer, having been said to occasion 'manifold inconveniency,' was, by an Act of Parliament, 'abolished,' and by a subsequent Act prohibited, under severe penalties, from being publicly used. The 'manifold inconveniences' to which the Act refers, arose from differences of opinion as to the propriety of the form which had been enforced, heightened by the enormous cruelties practiced upon multitudes who refused to use it. Opposition to the English Liturgy as more combined in Scotland, by a covenant entered into, June 20, 1580, by the king, lords, nobles, and people, against Popery; and upon Archbishop Laud's attempt, in 1637, to impose the service-book upon our northern neighbours, tumults, and bloodshed ensued; until, in 1643, a new and very solemn league and covenant were entered into, which, in 1645, extended its influence to England, being subscribed by thousands of our best citizens, with many of the nobility—' wherein we all subscribe, and each with his own hands lifted up to the Highest God, doe swear'; that being the mode of taking an oath, instead of kissing the cover of a book, as is now practiced. The cruel and intemperate measures of Laud, and the zeal of Charles, for priestly domination over conscience, may be justly attributed to the wars which desolated the country, while the solemn league and covenant brought an overwhelming force to aid the Parliament in redressing the grievances of the kingdom.

Works of John Bunyan — by John Bunyan and George Offor— INTRODUCTION Part 9

 

The conquerors marched to Leicester, which surrendered by capitulation. Heath, in his Chronicle, asserts that 'no life was lost at the retaking of Leicester.' Many of Bunyan's sayings and proverbs are strongly tinged with the spirit of Rupert's dragoons—'as we say, blood up to the ears.' 'What can be the meaning of this (trumpeters), they neither sound boot and saddle, nor horse and away, nor a charge?' In his allegories when he alludes to fighting, it is with the sword and not with the musket; 'rub up man, put on thy harness.' 'The father's sword in the hand of the sucking child is not able to conquer a foe.'

Considering his singular loyalty, which, during the French Revolution, was exhibited as a pattern to Dissenters by an eminent Baptist minister;  considering also his profligate character and military sayings, it is very probable that Bunyan was in the king's army in 1645, being about seventeen years of age. It was a finishing school to the hardened sinner, which enabled him, in his account of the Holy War, so well to describe every filthy lane and dirty street in the town of Mansoul.

Whether Bunyan left the army when Charles was routed at the battle of Naseby or was discharged, is not known. He returned to his native town full of military ideas, which he used to advantage in his Holy War. He was not reformed, but hardened in sin, and, although at times alarmed with convictions of the danger of his soul, in the end, the flesh pleading powerfully, it prevailed; and he made a resolution to indulge himself in such carnal delights and pleasures as he was accustomed to, or that fell in his way. 'His neglecting his business, and following gaming and sports, to put melancholy thoughts out of his mind, which he could not always do, had rendered him very poor and despicable.'

In this forlorn and miserable state, he was induced, by the persuasion of friends, under the invisible guidance of God, to enter into the marriage state. Such a youth, then only twenty years of age, would naturally be expected to marry some young woman as hardened as himself, but he made a very different choice. His earliest biographer says, with singular simplicity, 'his poverty, and irregular course of life, made it very difficult for him to get a wife suitable to his inclination; and because none that were rich would yield to his allurements, he found himself constrained to marry one without any fortune, though very virtuous, loving, and conformably obedient and obliging, being born of good, honest, godly parents, who had instructed her, as well as they were able, in the ways of truth and saving knowledge.' The idea of his seeking a rich wife is sufficiently droll; he must have been naturally a persuasive lover, to have gained so good a helpmate.

They were not troubled with sending cards, cake, or gloves, nor with the ceremony of receiving the visits of their friends in state; for he says, that 'This woman and I came together as poor as poor might be, not having so much household stuff as a dish or spoon betwixt us both.' His wife had two books, The Plain Man's Pathway to Heaven, and The Practice of Piety; but what was of more importance than wealth or household stuff, she had that seed sown in her heart which no thief could steal. She enticed and persuaded him to read those books. To do this he by application 'again recovered his reading, which he had almost lost.' His wife became an unspeakable blessing to him. She presents a pattern to any woman, who, having neglected the apostolic injunction not to be unequally yoked, finds herself under the dominion of a swearing daredevil.

 It affords a lovely proof of the insinuating benign favour of female influence. This was the more surprising, as he says, 'the thoughts of religion were very grievous to me,' and when 'books that concerned Christian piety were read in my hearing, it was as it were a prison to me.' In spite of all obstacles, his rugged heart was softened by her tenderness and obedience, he 'keeping on the old course,' she upon every proper season teaching him how her father's piety secured his own and his family's happiness. Here was no upbraiding, no snubbing, no curtain lectures; all was affectionate, amiable mildness. At first, he became occasionally alarmed for his soul's salvation; then with the thought of having sinned away the day of grace, he plunged again into sin with greediness; anon a faint hope of mercy would fill him with fear and trembling. But this leads us to the wondrous narrative of his new birth.

Works of John Bunyan — by John Bunyan and George Offor— INTRODUCTION Part 8

 

'With such proofs of his peaceful submission to government in all things that touched not the prerogatives of God; it would have been marvelous indeed if he had taken up arms against his king. His infatuated delight in swearing, and roisterous habits, were ill-suited to the religious restraints of the Parliamentarians, while they would render him a high prize to Rupert's dragoons. Add to this, the remarkable fact, that Leicester was besieged and stormed with terrible slaughter by the king, but not by the army of the Parliament. 

The taking of Leicester by the king in person was attended with great cruelties. The abbey was burnt by the cavaliers. Rupert's black flag was hoisted on the gate which had been treacherously given up. Every Scotchman found in the town was murdered. The mace and town seals were carried off as plunder; and, if the account given by Thoresby in his History of Leicester is correct, the scene of carnage was quite enough to sicken Bunyan of a military life. He knew the mode in which plunder taken from the bodies of the slain was divided by the conquerors:—

   'Or as the soldiers give unto

    Each man the share and lot,

    Which they by dint of sword have won,

    From their most daring foe;

    While he lies by as still as stone,

    Not knowing what they do.'

'The king's forces having made their batteries, stormed Leicester; those within made stout resistance, but some of them betrayed one of the gates; the women of the town laboured in making up the breaches, and in great danger. The king's forces having entered the town, had a hot encounter in the market-place; and many of them were slain by shot out of the windows, that they gave no quarter, but hanged some of the committee, and cut others to pieces. Some letters say that the kennels ran down with blood; Colonel Gray the governor, and Captain Hacker, were wounded and taken prisoners, and very many of the garrison were put to the sword, and the town miserably plundered. The king's forces killed divers who prayed quarter, and put divers women to the sword, and other women and children they turned naked into the streets, and many they ravished. They hanged Mr. Reynor and Mr. Sawyer in cold blood; and at Wighton they smothered Mrs. Barlowes, a minister's wife, and her children.'

Lord Clarendon admits the rapine and plunder, and that the king regretted that some of his friends suffered with the rest. Humphrey Brown deposed that he was present when the garrison, having surrendered upon a promise of quarter, he saw the king's soldiers strip and wound the prisoners, and heard the king say—'cut them more, for they are mine enemies.' A national collection was made for the sufferers, by an ordinance bearing date the 28th October, 1645, which states that—' Whereas it is very well known what miseries befell the inhabitants of the town and county of Leicester, when the king's army took Leicester, by plundering the said inhabitants, not only of their wares in their shops, but also all their household goods, and their apparel from their backs, both of men, women, and children, not sparing, in that kind, infants in their cradles; and, by violent courses and tortures, compelled them to discover whatsoever they had concealed or hid, and after all they imprisoned their persons, to the undoing of the tradesmen, and the ruin of many of the country.'

Can we wonder that 'the king was abused as a barbarian and a murderer, for having put numbers to death in cold blood after the garrison had surrendered; and for hanging the Parliament's committee, and some Scots found in that town?' The cruelties practiced in the king's presence were signally punished. He lost 709 men on that occasion, and it infused new vigour into the Parliament's army. The battle of Naseby was fought a few days after; the numbers of the contending forces were nearly equal; the royal troops were veterans, commanded by experienced officers; but the God of armies avenged the innocent blood shed in Leicester, and the royal army was cut to pieces; carriages, cannon, the king's cabinet, full of treasonable correspondence, were taken, and from that day he made feeble fight, and soon lost his crown and his life.