The Life of John Bunyan [11]
His words and promises." But what
seems to have struck Bunyan the most forcibly was the happiness
which their religion shed in the hearts of these poor women.
Religion up to this time had been to him a system of rules and
restrictions. Heaven was to be won by doing certain things and not
doing certain other things. Of religion as a Divine life kindled
in the soul, and flooding it with a joy which creates a heaven on
earth, he had no conception. Joy in believing was a new thing to
him. "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," a veritable "El Dorado," stored with the true
riches. Bunyan, as he says, after he had listened awhile and
wondered at their words, left them and went about his work again.
But their words went with him. He could not get rid of them. He
saw that though he thought himself a godly man, and his neighbours
thought so too, he wanted the true tokens of godliness. He was
convinced that godliness was the only true happiness, and he could
not rest till he had attained it. So he made it his business to be
going again and again into the company of these good women. He
could not stay away, and the more he talked with them the more
uneasy he became - "the more I questioned my own condition." The
salvation of his soul became all in all to him. His mind "lay
fixed on eternity like a horse-leech at the vein." The Bible
became precious to him. He read it with new eyes, "as I never did
before." "I was indeed then never out of the Bible, either by
reading or meditation." The Epistles of St. Paul, which before he
"could not away with," were now "sweet and pleasant" to him. He
was still "crying out to God that he might know the truth and the
way to Heaven and glory." Having no one to guide him in his study
of the most difficult of all books, it is no wonder that he
misinterpreted and misapplied its words in a manner which went far
to unsettle his brain. He read that without faith he could not be
saved, and though he did not clearly know what faith was, it became
a question of supreme anxiety to him to determine whether he had it
or not. If not, he was a castaway indeed, doomed to perish for
ever. So he determined to put it to the test. The Bible told him
that faith, "even as a grain of mustard seed," would enable its
possessor to work miracles. So, as Mr. Froude says, "not
understanding Oriental metaphors," he thought he had here a simple
test which would at once solve the question. One day as he was
walking along the miry road between Elstow and Bedford, which he
had so often paced as a schoolboy, "the temptation came hot upon
him" to put the matter to the proof, by saying to the puddles that
were in the horse-pads "be dry," and to the dry places, "be ye
puddles." He was just about to utter the words when a sudden
thought stopped him. Would it not be better just to go under the
hedge and pray that God would enable him? This pause saved him
from a rash venture, which might have landed him in despair. For
he concluded that if he tried after praying and nothing came of it,
it would prove that he had no faith, but was a castaway. "Nay,
thought I, if it be so, I will never try yet, but will stay a
little longer." "Then," he continues, "I was so tossed betwixt the
Devil and my own ignorance, and so perplexed, especially at
sometimes, that I could not tell what to do." At another time his
mind, as the minds of thousands have been and will be to the end,
was greatly harassed by the insoluble problems of predestination
and election. The question was not now whether he had faith, but
"whether he was one of the elect or not, and if not, what then?"
"He might as well leave off and strive no further." And then the
strange fancy occurred to him, that the good
seems to have struck Bunyan the most forcibly was the happiness
which their religion shed in the hearts of these poor women.
Religion up to this time had been to him a system of rules and
restrictions. Heaven was to be won by doing certain things and not
doing certain other things. Of religion as a Divine life kindled
in the soul, and flooding it with a joy which creates a heaven on
earth, he had no conception. Joy in believing was a new thing to
him. "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," a veritable "El Dorado," stored with the true
riches. Bunyan, as he says, after he had listened awhile and
wondered at their words, left them and went about his work again.
But their words went with him. He could not get rid of them. He
saw that though he thought himself a godly man, and his neighbours
thought so too, he wanted the true tokens of godliness. He was
convinced that godliness was the only true happiness, and he could
not rest till he had attained it. So he made it his business to be
going again and again into the company of these good women. He
could not stay away, and the more he talked with them the more
uneasy he became - "the more I questioned my own condition." The
salvation of his soul became all in all to him. His mind "lay
fixed on eternity like a horse-leech at the vein." The Bible
became precious to him. He read it with new eyes, "as I never did
before." "I was indeed then never out of the Bible, either by
reading or meditation." The Epistles of St. Paul, which before he
"could not away with," were now "sweet and pleasant" to him. He
was still "crying out to God that he might know the truth and the
way to Heaven and glory." Having no one to guide him in his study
of the most difficult of all books, it is no wonder that he
misinterpreted and misapplied its words in a manner which went far
to unsettle his brain. He read that without faith he could not be
saved, and though he did not clearly know what faith was, it became
a question of supreme anxiety to him to determine whether he had it
or not. If not, he was a castaway indeed, doomed to perish for
ever. So he determined to put it to the test. The Bible told him
that faith, "even as a grain of mustard seed," would enable its
possessor to work miracles. So, as Mr. Froude says, "not
understanding Oriental metaphors," he thought he had here a simple
test which would at once solve the question. One day as he was
walking along the miry road between Elstow and Bedford, which he
had so often paced as a schoolboy, "the temptation came hot upon
him" to put the matter to the proof, by saying to the puddles that
were in the horse-pads "be dry," and to the dry places, "be ye
puddles." He was just about to utter the words when a sudden
thought stopped him. Would it not be better just to go under the
hedge and pray that God would enable him? This pause saved him
from a rash venture, which might have landed him in despair. For
he concluded that if he tried after praying and nothing came of it,
it would prove that he had no faith, but was a castaway. "Nay,
thought I, if it be so, I will never try yet, but will stay a
little longer." "Then," he continues, "I was so tossed betwixt the
Devil and my own ignorance, and so perplexed, especially at
sometimes, that I could not tell what to do." At another time his
mind, as the minds of thousands have been and will be to the end,
was greatly harassed by the insoluble problems of predestination
and election. The question was not now whether he had faith, but
"whether he was one of the elect or not, and if not, what then?"
"He might as well leave off and strive no further." And then the
strange fancy occurred to him, that the good