THREE hundred years ago there was born at Elstow in Bedfordshire one whose descent, as he describes it himself, was “of a low and inconsiderable generation.” This was John Bunyan, whose “Pilgrim’s Progress” was to make him the most popular of religious writers, and to raise him to a pinnacle of fame as one of the master stylists of the English tongue. Our interest in him, however, is more in the religious than the literary side of his remarkable career. Though no one who has a taste for elegance of diction and language of chaste simplicity clothing the ideas in words so suitable for their purpose can help feeling the spell the greatest master of allegory in our language casts over the mind. In Bunyan there met in a remarkable degree an imagination as fertile as ever exercised a human brain, but it was an imagination controlled by a judgment so well poised that it held in check any tendency to reckless extravagance either in thought or diction. We are not taking into account, meantime, that this imagination and judgment were sanctified by grace, and were used by the Holy Ghost for work that has made the name of John Bunyan immortal in the religious literature of the world. Mere imagination in itself could never have produced the well-balanced descriptions of the various phases of Christian experience so pithily and happily expressed in the various characters that walked on the Pilgrim Road. On the other hand, a sober judgment, unassisted by an imagination of unusual fertility, could never have given us those vivid and life-like descriptions—so vivid
and life-like indeed that, in spite of ourselves, we cannot help regarding his personifications of feelings and experiences as real, living persons. It is very rarely that these two gifts are bestowed in such a rich degree on one person. Imagination of surpassing fertility is not uncommon, neither is a sound, solid judgment. But it is a very rare thing to get them combined, and still rarer to get them combined to such a degree as they were in Bunyan. But, after all is said about his remarkable gifts, it was grace that gave heavenly fire to his imagination, and Christian sobriety to his judgment. Or, as Christian says to Piety, the sedate and chaste maiden he met in the Palace Beautiful, “I saw One, as I thought in my mind, hang bleeding upon a tree.” It was that sight, which infused life into the soul of Bunyan and moved his whole being, without which the greatest allegory of the world would never have been written, and the name of Bunyan would never have been known. It has been said, and truly said, that had the “Pilgrim’s Progress” never been written, Bunyan’s fame as an allegorist would rest secure in the next best known of his works—”The Holy War.” Here again, those who read these famous works for religious instruction will observe, as a matter of personal spiritual experience, that the “Progress” precedes “The War.” In the “Pilgrim’s Progress” we have Christian under the deepest concern and soul agony, setting out with one overwhelming desire—”Eternal life! Eternal life!” It is the story of the Christian’s journey, and though we are told of contests that he had on the way, Bunyan reserved for “The Holy War” a description of the stern and never-ceasing conflict that is being waged in the believer’s heart. Here we have the din of battle, the clash of arms right through, and with what masterly skill the field and the combatants engaged in a life and death struggle are described! How true to Christian experience is his description of Mr Evil-questioning with his numerous progeny, of Lord Will-be-will’s valiant efforts in despatching some of these varlets, and imprisoning others. And what a masterly touch there is in the words: “But Mr Unbelief was a nimble jack, him they could never lay hold of, though they attempted to do it often. He, therefore, and some few more of the subtlest of the Diabolonian tribe, did yet remain in Mansoul, to the time that Mansoul left off to dwell longer in the kingdom of Universe.” But we must restrain ourselves meantime from entering a field so fascinating to the heart and so in-
instructive to the understanding. In this opening article it is our intention to give a short biographical sketch of Bunyan, and to make reference to his works later on.
In his “Grace Abounding,” one of the great Christian autobiographies, Bunyan tells the story of his life. “It was my delight to be taken captive by the Devil at his will, being filled with all unrighteousness: the which did also so strongly work and put forth itself, both in my heart and life, and that from a child, that I had few equals (especially considering my years, which were tender, being few), both for cursing, swearing lying, and blaspheming the holy name of God.” These things, he further adds, had become a second nature to him. Owing to Bunyan’s pre-eminent position in the world of letters—not only his literary excellencies, but his religious opinions have come under the review of men, who, whatever qualifications they may have as masters of literature, are about as capable of judging the religious experiences of Bunyan as a blind man is capable of describing some matchless piece of scenery of God’s wonderful world. These critics, forgetting that Bunyan’s religion was of the type that the natural man cannot know, thoughtlessly intrude into those matters of which they are ignorant, and tell us that Bunyan is not to be taken seriously in the above and similar descriptions. Those who know anything of these things will certainly not take these critics seriously. We consider it necessary to refer to this matter, because in quite a number of standard works dealing with English literature such sentiments are freely expressed, and are apt to influence young people in believing that after all, Bunyan’s deep sense of sin was only a morbid feeling, produced to a large extent by a melancholy brooding spirit, assisted by a lively imagination. Those who take such a view, would do well to read what he so impressively says in the introduction to “Grace Abounding”:—”God did not play in convincing me; the devil did not play in tempting me; neither did I play when I sunk as into the bottomless pit, when the pangs of hell caught hold upon me; wherefore, I may not play in my relating of them, but be plain and simple, and lay down the thing as it was.” Well might Bunyan say in this as he said in another connection: “The Philistines do not understand me.”
Careless though he was, yet he was not without thoughts about the Day of Judgment and dread of the torments of hell, yet he could not let go his sins. He went from bad to worse, and “delighted in all trans-
gressions against the Law of God,” so that he was the very ringleader of all the youth that kept him company, “in all manner of vice and ungodliness.” On looking back on the years which the locusts had eaten, Bunyan feelingly adds: “Had not a miracle of precious grace prevented I had not only perished by the stroke of eternal justice, but had also laid myself open to the stroke of those laws, which bring some to disgrace and open shame before the face of the world.” While he was wallowing thus in sin he says that when he saw one that was reputed godly do wicked things it made his spirit tremble. One instance he specially mentions when he was at the “height of vanity,” “yet hearing one to swear,” he says, “that was reckoned for a religious man, it had so great a stroke upon my spirit, that it made my heart ache.”
The next stage he mentions in his spiritual state is that God now visited him with judgments. On two occasions he was saved from drowning, and on another occasion, during his army career, he was one of a party drawn to besiege a certain place, but when he was ready to go one of the company desired to go in his room. This man as he was doing sentry duty “was shot in the head with a musket bullet, and died.” On these he adds this comment: “Here, as I said, were judgments and mercy, but neither of them did awaken my soul to righteousness; wherefore I sinned still, and grew more and more rebellious against God, and careless of mine own salvation.”
Such was his state when he married. His wife’s father was counted a godly man, and through her he was led to read religious books. He now became very religious in his own way, but all the while he was not sensible of the evil or danger of sin. As for Christ he had no need of Him—”nay, I never thought of Him,” he says, “nor whether there was such an one or no.”
It was a sermon on Sabbath-breaking that first roused him out of the dull stupor of sin. The Sabbath was one of the special days in which he “took much delight in all manner of vice.” That was, according to his own testimony, the first time he felt what guilt was, and when the sermon was ended he went home with a great burden on his spirit. But this concern soon passed off, and Bunyan betook himself to his games on the Sabbath as before. It was while playing at a game called Cat that he was brought face to face with the Judge of all. He had given one blow to the piece of wood, and while he was about to strike it again, as he so
impressively records in the classic passage in “Grace Abounding:” “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 of my ungodly practices.”
(To be continued).
Lecture on the Sabbath.
BY REV. N. CAMERON, GLASGOW.