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PART I.
THE FIFTH STAGE.-- continued.
Discourse with Faithful - Talkative and Faithful - Talkative's character
Christian Meets Faithful
ow as CHRISTIAN went on his way,
he came to a little ascent, which was cast up on purpose that pilgrims might see
before them; up there, therefore, CHRISTIAN went, and looking forward, he saw FAITHFUL
before him upon his journey. Then said CHRISTIAN aloud, "Ho, ho! So-ho (stay,
and I will be your companion)." At that, FAITHFUL looked behind him; to whom
CHRISTIAN cried again, "Stay, stay! till I come up to you!"
Faithful. But
FAITHFUL answered, "No, I am upon my life; and the Avenger of Blood is behind
me!" At this, CHRISTIAN was somewhat moved; and putting to all his strength,
he quickly got up with FAITHFUL, and did also overrun him, so the last was first.
Then did CHRISTIAN vain-gloriously smile, because he had got the start of his brother;
but not taking good heed to his feet, he suddenly stumbled and fell, and could not
rise again until FAITHFUL came up to help him.
Then I saw in my dream, they went very lovingly on together, and had sweet discourse
of all things that had happened to them in their pilgrimage; and thus CHRISTIAN began:
Chr. My honoured
and well-beloved brother, FAITHFUL, I am glad that I have overtaken you; and that
God has so tempered our spirits, that we can walk as companions in this so pleasant
a path.
Faith. I had thought,
dear friend, to have had your company quite from our town; but you did get the start
of me, wherefore I was forced to come this much of the way alone.
Chr. How long
did you stay in the city of Destruction before you set out after me on your pilgrimage?
Faith. Till I
could stay no longer; for there was great talk presently, after you were gone out,
that our city would in short time, with fire from heaven, be burned down to the ground.
Chr. What! did
your neighbours talk so?
Faith. Yes; 't
was for awhile in everybody's mouth.
Chr. What! and
did no more of them but you come out to escape the danger?
Faith. Though
there was, as I said, a great talk thereabout, yet I do not think they did firmly
believe it. For in the heat of the discourse, I heard some of them deridingly speak
of you and of your desperate journey--for so they called this your pilgrimage; but
I did believe, and do so still, that the end of our city will be with fire and brimstone
from above, and therefore have made mine escape.
Chr. Did you hear
no talk of neighbour PLIABLE?
Faith. Yes, CHRISTIAN;
I heard that he followed you till he came at the Slough of Despond, where, as some
said, he fell in. But he would not be known to have so done; but I am sure he was
soundly bedabbled with that kind of dirt.
Chr. And what
said the neighbours to him?
Faith. He hath,
since his going back, been had greatly in derision, and that among all sorts of people:
some do mock and despise him, and scarce will any set him on work. He is now seven
times worse than if he had never gone out of the city.
Chr. But why should
they be so set against him, since they also despise the way that he forsook?
Faith. "Oh,"
they say, "hang him: he is a turncoat; he was not true to his profession!"
I think God has stirred up even his enemies to hiss at him, and make him a proverb,
because he hath forsaken the way.
Chr. Had you no
talk with him before you came out?
Faith. I met him
once in the streets; but he leered away on the other side, as one ashamed of what
he had done: so I spake not to him.
Chr. Well, at
my first setting out, I had hopes of that man; but now I fear he will perish in the
overthrow of the city: for it is happening to him according to the true proverb,
"The dog is turned to his own vomit again; and the sow that was washed to her
wallowing in the mire".
Faith. They are
my fears of him too: but who can hinder that which will be?
Chr. "Well,
neighbour FAITHFUL," said CHRISTIAN, "let us leave him, and talk of things
that more immediately concern ourselves. Tell me now what you have met with in the
way as you came; for I know you have met with some things, or else it may be writ
for a wonder."
Faith. I escaped
the slough that I perceive you fell into, and got up to the gate without that danger:
only I met with one whose name was WANTON, that had like to have done me a mischief.
Chr. 'T was well
you escaped her net; Joseph was hard put to it by her, and he escaped her as you
did; but it had like to have cost him his life.
But what did she do to you?
Faith. You cannot
think (but that you know something) what a flattering tongue she hath; she laid at
me hard to turn aside with her, promising me all manner of content.
Chr. Nay, she
did not promise you the content of a good conscience.
Faith. You know
what I mean, all carnal and fleshly content.
Chr. Thank God
you have escaped her: the abhorred of the Lord shall fall into her ditch.
Faith. Nay, I
know not whether I did wholly escape her, or not.
Chr. Why, I trow
you did not consent to her desires?
Faith. No, not
to defile myself; for I remembered an old writing that I had seen, which saith, "Her
steps take hold on hell".
So I shut mine eyes, because I would not be bewitched with her looks;
then she railed on me, and I went my way.
Chr. Did you meet
with no other assault as you came?
Faith. When I
came to the foot of the hill called "Difficulty," I met with a very aged
man, who asked me what I was, and whither bound? I told him that I was a pilgrim
going to the Celestial City: then said the old man, Thou lookest like an honest fellow;
wilt thou be content to dwell with me for the wages that I shall give thee? Then
I asked him his name, and where he dwelt? He said his name was Adam the first; and
that he dwelt in the town of Deceit.
I asked him then, What was his work? and what the wages that he would give? He told
me that his work was many delights; and his wages, that I should be his heir at last.
I further asked him, what house he kept, and what other servants he had? So he told
me that his house was maintained with all the dainties in the world; and that his
servants were those of his own begetting. Then I asked how many children he had?
He said that he had but three daughters,--the lust of the flesh; the lust of the
eyes; and the pride of life;
and that I should marry them all, if I would. Then I asked how long time he would
have me live with him? And he told me, as long as he lived himself.
Chr. Well, and
what conclusion came the old man and you to at last?
Faith. Why, at
first I found myself somewhat inclinable to go with the man, for I thought he spake
very fair; but, looking in his forehead as I talked with him, I saw there written,
"Put off the old man with his deeds."
Chr. And how then?
Faith. Then it
came burning hot into my mind, whatever he said, and however he flattered, when he
got me home to his house he would sell me for a slave. So I bid him forbear to talk;
for I would not come near the door of his house. Then he reviled me, and told me
that he would send such a one after me, that should make my way bitter to my soul.
So I turned to go away from him; but just as I turned myself to go thence, I felt
him take hold of my flesh, and give me such a deadly twitch back, that I thought
he had pulled part of me after himself: this made me cry, "O wretched man!"
So I went on my way up the hill.
Now when I had got about halfway up, I looked behind me, and saw one coming after
me, swift as the wind; so he overtook me just about the place where the bench stands.
Chr. "Just
there," said CHRISTIAN, "did I sit down to rest me; but, being overcome
with sleep, I there lost this roll out of my bosom."
Faith. But, good
brother, hear me out: so soon as the man overtook me, he was but a word and a blow;
for down he knocked me, and laid me for dead. But when I was a little come to myself
again, I asked him wherefore he served me so? He said, because of my secret inclining
to Adam the first; and with that he struck me another deadly blow on the breast,
and beat me down backward, so I lay at his foot as dead as before. So when I came
to myself again, I cried him mercy; but he said, "I know not how to show mercy,"
and with that knocked me down again. He had doubtless made an end of me, but that
one came by, and bade him forbear.
Chr. Who was that
that bade him forbear?
Faith. I did not
know him at first; but as he went by, I perceived the holes in his hands and in his
side; then I concluded that He was our Lord. So I went up the hill.
Chr. That man
that overtook you was Moses; he spares none, neither knows he how to show mercy to
those that transgress his law.
Faith. I know
it very well; it was not the first time that he has met with me. 'Twas he that came
to me when I dwelt securely at home, and that told me he would burn my house over
my head if I stayed there.
Chr. But did you
not see the house that stood there on the top of that hill, on the side of which
Moses met you?
Faith. Yes, and
the lions, too, before I came at it; but for the lions, I think they were asleep,
for it was about noon; and because I had so much of the day before me, I passed by
the porter, and came down the hill.
Chr. He told me,
indeed, that he saw you go by. But I wish you had called at the house; for they would
have showed you so many rarities, that you would scarce have forgot them to the day
of your death. But pray tell me, did you meet nobody in the Valley of Humility?
Faith. Yes, I
met with one DISCONTENT, who would willingly have persuaded me to go back with him;
his reason was, for that the valley was altogether without honour. He told me moreover,
that there to go was the way to disobey all my friends, as PRIDE, ARROGANCY, SELF-CONCEIT,
WORLDLY-GLORY, with others; who he knew, as he said, would be very much offended
if I made such a fool of myself as to wade through this valley.
Chr. Well, and
how did you answer him?
Faith. I told
him that although all these that he named might claim kindred of me, and that rightly--for
indeed they were my relations according to the flesh,--yet since I became a pilgrim,
they have disowned me, as I also have rejected them; and therefore they were to me
now no more than if they had never been of my lineage. I told him moreover, that
as to this valley, he had quite misrepresented the thing; for before honour is humility,
and a haughty spirit before a fall. Therefore, said I, I had rather go through this
valley to the honour that was so accounted by the wisest, than choose that which
he esteemed most worth our affections.
Chr. Met you with
nothing else in that valley?
Faith. Yes, I
met with SHAME; but of all the men that I met with in my pilgrimage, he, I think,
bears the wrong name. The other would be said Nay, after a little argumentation,
and somewhat else; but this boldfaced SHAME would never have done.
Chr. What did
he say to you?
Faith. What! why
he objected against religion itself! He said it was a pitiful, low, sneaking business
for a man to mind religion; he said that a tender conscience was an unmanly thing;
and that for a man to watch over his words and ways, so as to tie up himself from
that blustering liberty that the brave spirits of the times accustom themselves unto,
would make him the ridicule of the times. He objected also, that but few of the mighty,
rich, or wise, were ever of my opinion;
nor any of them neither, before they were persuaded to be fools,
and to be of a voluntary fondness to venture the loss of all for nobody else knows
what. He moreover objected the base and low estate and condition of those that were
chiefly the pilgrims of the times in which they lived; also their ignorant and want
of understanding in all natural science.
Yea, he did hold me to it at that rate also, about a great many more things than
here I relate: as, that it was a shame to sit whining and mourning under a sermon,
and a shame to come sighing and groaning home; that it was a shame to ask my neighbour
forgiveness for petty faults, or to make restitution where I had taken from any.
He said also, that religion made a man grow strange to the great, because of a few
vices (which he called by finer names); and made him own and respect the base, because
of the same religious fraternity. And is not this, said he, a shame?
Chr. And what
did you say to him?
Faith. Say! I
could not tell what to say at the first. Yea, he put me so to it, that my blood came
up in my face; even this SHAME fetched it up, and had almost beat me quite off. But
at last I began to consider, that "that which is highly esteemed among men is
abomination in the sight of God".
And I thought again, this SHAME tells me what men are; but tells me nothing what
God or the word of God is. And I thought moreover, that at the day of doom we shall
not be doomed to death or life according to the blustering spirits of the world;
but according to the wisdom and law of the highest. Therefore, thought I, what God
says is best, indeed is best; though all the men in the world are against it. Seeing,
then, that God prefers his religion; seeing God prefers a tender conscience; seeing
they that make themselves fools for the kingdom of heaven are wisest; and that the
poor man that loves Christ is richer than the greatest man in the world that hates
him-- SHAME, depart! thou art an enemy to my salvation!
--shall I entertain thee against my sovereign Lord? How then shall I look him in
the face at his coming? Should I now be ashamed of his ways and servants, how can
I expect the blessing?
But indeed this SHAME was a bold villain--I could scarce shake him out of my company!
Yea, he would be haunting of me, and continually whispering me in the ear with some
one or other of the infirmities that attend religion; but at last I told him 't was
but in vain to attempt further in this business, for those things that he disdained,
in those did I see most glory: and so at last I got past this importunate one. And
when I had shaken him off, then I began to sing:
"The trials that those men do meet withal
That are obedient to the heavenly call
Are manifold, and suited to the flesh,
And come, and come, and come again afresh;
That now, or some time else, we by them may
Be taken, overcome, and cast away.
Oh let the pilgrims, let the pilgrims then
Be vigilant, and quit themselves like men!"
Chr. I am glad,
my brother, that thou didst withstand this villain so bravely; for of all, as thou
sayest, I think he has the wrong name. For he is so bold as to follow us in the streets,
and to attempt to put us to shame before all men; that is, to make us ashamed of
that which is good: but if he was not himself audacious, he would never attempt to
do as he does. But let us still resist him; for notwithstanding all his bravadoes,
he promotes the fool, and none else. "The wise shall inherit glory," said
Solomon; "but shame shall be the promotion of fools".
Faith. I think
that we must cry to him for help against SHAME, that would have us to be valiant
for the truth upon the earth.
Chr. You say true.
But did you meet nobody else in that valley?
Faith. No, not
I: for I had sunshine all the rest of the way through that, and also through the
Valley of the Shadow of Death.
Chr. 'T was well
for you; I am sure it fared far otherwise with me. I had for a long season, as soon
almost as I entered into that valley, a dreadful combat with that foul fiend, APOLLYON.
Yea, I thought verily he would have killed me; especially when he got me down, and
crushed me under him, as if he would have crushed me to pieces. For as he threw me,
my sword flew out of my hand; nay, he told me he was sure of me: but I cried to God,
and he heard me, and delivered me out of all my troubles. Then I entered the Valley
of the Shadow of Death, and had no light for almost half the way through it. I thought
I should have been killed there over and over; but at last day brake, and the sun
rose, and I went through that which remained with far more ease and quiet.
Talkative
oreover I saw in my dream, that
as they went on, FAITHFUL, as he chanced to look on one side, saw a man whose name
is TALKATIVE, walking at a distance beside them--for in this place there was room
for them all to walk. He was a tall man, and somewhat more comely at a distance than
at hand. To this man FAITHFUL addressed himself in this manner:
Faith. Friend,
whither away? Are you going to the heavenly country?
Talkative. I am
going to that same place.
Faith. That is
well; then I hope we may have your good company?
Talk. With a very
good will I will be your companion.
Faith. Come on
then, and let us go together; and let us spend our time in discoursing of things
that are profitable.
Talk. To talk
of things that are good with you or with any other, to me is very acceptable; and
I am glad that I have met with those that incline to so good a work. For, to speak
the truth, there are but few that care thus to spend their time (as they are in their
travels), but choose much rather to be speaking of things to no profit; and this
hath been a trouble to me.
Faith. That is
indeed a thing to be lamented; for what things so worthy of the use of the tongue
and mouth of men on earth, as are the things of the God of heaven?
Talk. I like you
wonderful well, for your saying is full of conviction; and I will add, What thing
is so pleasant, and what so profitable, as to talk of the things of God?
What things so pleasant?--that is, if a man hath any delight in things that are wonderful:
for instance, if a man doth delight to talk of the history or the mystery of things;
or if a man doth love to talk of miracles, wonders, or signs--where shall he find
things recorded so delightful, and so sweetly penned as in the Holy Scripture?
Faith. That's
true; but to be profited by such things in our talk should be that which we design.
Talk. That is
it that I said: for to talk of such things is most profitable; for by so doing, a
man may get knowledge of many things--as of the vanity of earthly things, and the
benefit of things above (thus in general): but more particularly, by this a man may
learn the necessity of the new birth; the insufficiency of our works; the need of
Christ's righteousness, and so forth. Besides, by this a man may learn what it is
to repent, to believe, to pray, to suffer, or the like; by this also a man may learn
what are the great promises and consolations of the Gospel, to his own comfort. Further,
by this a man may learn to refute false opinions; to vindicate the truth; and also
to instruct the ignorant.
Faith. All this
is true; and glad am I to hear these things from you.
Talk. Alas! the
want of this is the cause that so few understand the need of faith, and the necessity
of a work of grace in their soul, in order to gain eternal life; but ignorantly live
in the works of the law, by which a man can by no means obtain the Kingdom of Heaven.
Faith. But, by
your leave, heavenly knowledge of these is the gift of God; no man attains to them
by human industry, or only by the talk of them.
Talk. All this
I know very well; for a man can receive nothing except it be given him from heaven,--all
is of grace, not of works: I could give you a hundred scriptures for the confirmation
of this.
Faith. "Well
then," said FAITHFUL, "what is that one thing that we shall at this time
found our discourse upon?"
Talk. What you
will: I will talk of things heavenly, or things earthly; things moral, or things
evangelical; things sacred, or things profane; things past, or things to come; things
foreign, or things at home; things more essential, or things circumstantial--provided
that all be done to our profit.
Faith. Now did
FAITHFUL begin to wonder; and stepping to CHRISTIAN (for he walked all this while
by himself) he said to him (but softly), "What a brave companion have we got!
Surely this man will make a very excellent pilgrim."
Chr. At this CHRISTIAN
modestly smiled, and said, "This man with whom you are so taken will beguile
with this tongue of his twenty of them that know him not."
Faith. Do you
know him, then?
Chr. Know him!
yes, better than he knows himself.
Faith. Pray, what
is he?
Chr. His name
is TALKATIVE; he dwells in our town: wonder that you should be a stranger to him,
only I consider that our town is large.
Faith. Whose son
is he? And whereabout doth he dwell?
Chr. He is the
son of one SAY-WELL; he dwelt in Prating-row, and he is known of all that are acquainted
with him by the name of TALKATIVE in Prating-row; and notwithstanding his fine tongue,
he is but a sorry fellow.
Faith. Well, he
seems to be a very pretty man.
Chr. That is to
them that have not thorough acquaintance with him: for he is best abroad; near home
he is ugly enough. Your saying that he is a pretty man, brings to my mind what I
have observed in the work of the painter, whose pictures show best at a distance;
but very near, more unpleasing.
Faith. But I am
ready to think you do but jest, because you smiled.
Chr. God forbid
that I should jest--though I smiled--in this matter, or that I should accuse any
falsely; I will give you a further discovery of him. This man is for any company,
and for any talk; as he talks now with you, so will he talk when he is on the ale
bench; and the more drink he hath in his crown, the more of these things he hath
in his mouth; religion hath, no place in his heart, or house, or conversation; all
he hath lieth in his tongue, and his religion is to make a noise therewith.
Faith. Say you
so! Then am I in this man greatly deceived.
Chr. Deceived
! you may be sure of it. Remember the proverb, "They say, and do not; but the
Kingdom of God is not in word, but in power".
He talks of prayer, of repentance, of faith, and of the new birth; but he knows but
only to talk of them. I have been in his family, and have observed him both at home
and abroad; and I know that what I say of him is the truth. His house is as empty
of religion as the white of an egg is of savour. There is there neither prayer nor
sign of repentance for sin; yea, the brute in his kind serves God far better than
he. He is the very stain, reproach, and shame of religion to all that know him;
it can hardly have a good word in all that end of the town where he dwells, through
him. Thus say the common people that know him: "A saint abroad, and a devil
at home;" his poor family finds it so; he is such a churl, such a railer at,
and so unreasonable with his servants, that they neither know how to do for or speak
to him. Men that have any dealings with him, say 'tis better to deal with a Turk
than with him: for fairer dealing they shall have at their hands. This TALKATIVE,
if it be possible, will go beyond them--defraud, beguile, and overreach them. Besides,
he brings up his sons to follow his steps; and if he findeth in any of them a foolish
timorousness (for so he calls the first appearance of a tender conscience), he calls
them fools and blockheads, and by no means will employ them in much, or speak to
their commendation before others. For my part, I am of opinion, that he has by his
wicked life caused many to stumble and fall; and will be, if God prevent not, the
ruin of many more.
Faith. Well, my
brother, I am bound to believe you; not only because you say you know him, but also
because, like a Christian you make your reports of men. For I cannot think that you
speak these things of ill will; but because it is even so as you say.
Chr. Had I known
him no more than you, I might perhaps have thought of him as at the first you did;
yea, had he received this report at their hands only that are enemies to religion,
I should have thought it had been a slander (a lot that often falls from bad men's
mouths upon good men's names and professions): but all these things, yea, and a great
many more as bad, of my own knowledge I can prove him guilty of. Besides, good men
are ashamed of him; they can neither call him brother nor friend; the very naming
of him among them makes them blush, if they know him!
Faith. Well, I
see that saying and doing are two things; and hereafter I shall better observe this
distinction.
Chr. They are
two things indeed, and are as diverse as are the soul and the body; for as the body
without the soul is but a dead carcase, so, "saying," if it be alone, is
but a dead carcase also. The soul of religion is the practical part; "pure religion
and undefiled, before God and the Father, is this: to visit the fatherless and widows
in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world".
This, TALKATIVE is not aware of; he thinks that hearing and saying will make a good
Christian, and thus he deceives his own soul. Hearing is but as the sowing of the
seed; talking is not sufficient to prove that fruit is indeed in the heart and life:
and let us assure ourselves, that at the day of doom men shall be judged according
to their fruits.
It will not be said then, "Did you believe?" but, "Were you doers,
or talkers only?" and accordingly shall they be judged. The end of the world
is compared to our harvest; and you know men at harvest regard nothing but fruit.
Not that anything can be accepted that is not of faith; but I speak this to show
you how insignificant the profession of TALKATIVE will be at that day.
Faith. This brings
to my mind that of Moses, by which he describes the beast that is clean.
He is such a one that parts the hoof and chews the cud; not that parts the hoof only,
or that chews the cud only. The hare chews the cud; but yet is unclean, because he
parts not the hoof. And this truly resembles TALKATIVE: he chews the cud, he seeks
knowledge, he chews upon the word; but he divides not the hoof, he parts not with
the way of sinners--but, as the hare, he retains the foot of a dog, or bear, and
therefore is unclean.
Chr. You have
spoken, for aught I know, the true Gospel sense of those texts; and I will add another
thing. Paul calls some men, yea--and those great talkers too--" sounding brass
and tinkling cymbals;" that is, as he expounds them in another place, "things
without life, giving sound".
"Things without life,"--that is, without the true faith and grace of the
Gospel; and consequently, things that shall never be placed in the kingdom of heaven
among those that are the children of life: though their sound, by their talk, be
as it were the tongue or voice of an angel.
Faith. Well, I
was not so fond of his company at first; but I am as sick of it now. What shall we
do to be rid of him?
Chr. Take my advice,
and do as I bid you; and you shall find that he will soon be sick of your company
too--except God shall touch his heart and turn it.
Faith. What would
you have me to do?
Chr. Why, go to
him, and enter into some serious discourse about the power of religion; and ask him
plainly (when he has approved of it, for that he will) whether this thing be set
up in his heart, house or conversation.
Faith. Then FAITHFUL
stepped forward again, and said to TALKATIVE: "Come, what cheer? how is it now?"
Talk. Thank you,
well. I thought we should have had a great deal of talk by this time.
Faith. Well, if
you will, we will fall to it now; and since you left it with me to state the question,
let it be this: How doth the saving grace of God discover itself, when it is in the
heart of man?
Talk. I perceive,
then, that our talk must be about the power of things; well, 'tis a very good question,
and I shall be willing to answer you. And take my answer in brief, thus: First, Where
the grace of God is in the heart, it causes there a great outcry against sin. Secondly--
Faith. Nay, hold;
let us consider of one at once: I think you should rather say, it shows itself by
inclining the soul to abhor its sin.
Talk. Why, what
difference is there between crying out against, and abhorring of, sin?
Faith. Oh, a great
deal! a man may cry out against sin of policy; but he cannot abhor it, but by virtue
of a godly antipathy against it. I have heard many cry out against sin in the pulpit;
who yet can abide it well enough in the heart, and house, and conversation. Joseph's
mistress cried out with a loud voice, as if she had been very holy; but she would
willingly, notwithstanding that, have committed uncleanness with him.
Some cry out against sin, even as the mother cries out against her child in her lap;
when she calls it "slut" and "naughty girl," and then falls to
hugging and kissing it.
Talk. You lie
at the catch, I perceive.
Faith. No, not
I; I am only for setting things right. But what is the second thing whereby you would
prove a discovery of a work of grace in the heart?
Talk. Great knowledge
of Gospel mysteries.
Faith. This sign
should have been first; but first or last, it is also false: for knowledge, great
knowledge, may be obtained in the mysteries of the Gospel, and yet no work of grace
in the soul.
Yea, if a man have all knowledge, he may yet be nothing; and so consequently be no
child of God. When Christ said, Do you know all these things? and the disciples had
answered, Yes: he added, Blessed are ye if ye do them! He doth not lay the blessing
in the knowing of them; but in the doing of them. For there is a knowledge that is
not attended with doing: "he that knows his Master's will, and does it not."
A man may know like an angel, and yet be no Christian; therefore your sign of it
is not true. Indeed, to know is a thing that pleases talkers and boasters; but to
do is that which pleases God. Not that the heart can be good without knowledge; for
without that the heart is naught: there is, therefore, knowledge and knowledge. Knowledge
that rests in the bare speculation of things; and knowledge that is accompanied with
the grace of faith and love, which puts a man upon doing even the will of God from
the heart: the first of these will serve the talker; but without the other the true
Christian is not content. "Give me understanding, and I shall keep Thy law;
yea, I shall observe it with my whole heart".
Talk. You fie
at the catch again; this is not for edification.
Faith. Well, if
you please, propound another sign how this work of grace discovers itself where it
is.
Talk. Not I; for
I see we shall not agree.
Faith. Well, if
you will not, will you give me leave to do it?
Talk. You may
use your liberty.
Faith. A work
of grace in the soul discovers itself either to him that hath it, or to standers
by. To him that hath it, thus: it gives him conviction of sin, especially of the
defilement of his nature, and the sin of unbelief--for the sake of which he is sure
to be damned, if he finds not mercy at God's hand by faith in Jesus Christ. This
sight and sense of things works in him sorrow and shame for sin; he finds moreover
revealed in him the Saviour of the world, and the absolute necessity of closing with
him for life; at the which he finds hungerings and thirstings after him, to which
hungerings, etc., the promise is made. Now, according to the strength or weakness
of his faith in his Saviour, so is his joy and peace; so is his love to holiness;
so are his desires to know him more; and also to serve him in this world. But though
I say it discovers itself thus unto him, yet it is but seldom that he is able to
conclude that this is a work of grace; because his corruptions now, and his abused
reason, make his mind to misjudge in this matter: therefore in him that hath this
work there is required a very sound judgment, before he can with steadiness conclude
that this is a work of grace
To others it is thus discovered:
1. By an experimental confession of his faith in Christ. 2. By a life answerable
to that confession: to wit, a life of holiness-- heart holiness, family holiness
(if he hath a family), and by conversation holiness in the world; which in the general
teaches him inwardly to abhor his sin, and himself for that, in secret; to suppress
it in his family; and to promote holiness in the world--not by talk only, as a hypocrite
or talkative person may do, but by a practical subjection in faith and love to the
power of the Word
And now, sir, as to this brief description of the work of grace, and also the discovery
of it, if you have ought to object, object; if not, then give me leave to propound
to you a second question.
Talk. Nay, my
part is not now to object, but to hear; let me, therefore, have your second question.
Faith. It is this:
Do you experience the first part of this description of it? and doth your life and
conversation testify the same? Or standeth your religion in word or in tongue, and
not in deed and truth? Pray, if you incline to answer me in this, say no more than
you know the God above will say Amen to; and also nothing but what your conscience
can justify you in: for not he that commendeth himself is approved, but whom the
Lord commendeth. Besides, to say I am thus and thus, when my conversation and all
my neighbours tell me I lie, is great wickedness.
Talk. Then TALKATIVE
at first began to blush; but recovering himself, thus he replied: "You come
now to experience, to conscience, and God; and to appeal to him for justification
of what is spoken. This kind of discourse I did not expect, nor am I disposed to
give an answer to such questions; because I count not myself bound thereto, unless
you take upon you to be a catechiser; and though you should so do, yet I may refuse
to make you my judge. But I pray, will you tell me why you ask me such questions?
Faith. Because
I saw you forward to talk, and because I knew not that you had aught else but notion.
Besides, to tell you all the truth, I have heard of you, that you are a man whose
religion lies in talk; and that your conversation gives this your mouth-profession
the lie. They say you are a spot among Christians; and that religion fares the worse
for your ungodly conversation; that some already have stumbled at your wicked ways,
and that more are in danger of being destroyed thereby. Your religion, and an ale
house, and covetousness, and uncleanness, and swearing, and lying, and vain company
keeping, etc., will stand together. The proverb is true of you which is said of a
whore, to wit, that "she is a shame to all women": so you are a shame to
all professors.
Talk. Since you
are ready to take up reports, and to judge so rashly as you do, I cannot but conclude
you are some peevish or melancholy man, not fit to be discoursed with: and so adieu!
Chr. Then came
up CHRISTIAN, and said to his brother, "I told you how it would happen: your
words and his lusts could not agree; he had rather leave your company than reform
his life. But he is gone--as I said: let him go; the loss is no man's but his own.
He has saved us the trouble of going from him; for he continuing--as I suppose he
will do--as he is, he would have been but a blot in our company; besides, the Apostle
says, "From such withdraw thyself."
Faith. But I am
glad we had this little discourse with him; it may happen that he will think of it
again: however, I have dealt plainly with him, and so am clear of his blood if he
perish.
Chr. You did well
to talk so plainly to him as you did. There is but little of this faithful dealing
with men nowadays, and that makes religion to stink in the nostrils of many as it
doth; for they are these talkative fools whose religion is only in word, and are
debauched and vain in their conversation, that (being so much admitted into the fellowship
of the godly) do stumble the world, blemish Christianity, and grieve the sincere.
I wish that all men would deal with such as you have done: then should they either
be made more conformable to religion; or the company of saints would be too hot for
them.
Then did FAITHFUL say:
"How TALKATIVE at first lifts up his plumes!
How bravely doth he speak! how he presumes
To drive down all before him! but so soon
As FAITHFUL talks of heart-work, like the moon
That's past the full, into the wave he goes;
And so will all but he that heart-work knows."
Thus they went on talking of what they had seen by the way; and so made that way
easy, which would otherwise no doubt have been tedious to them, for now they went
through a wilderness.
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